The Open Wasteland of Empty Aspirations

venting

2011-07-17T21:17:00.000-07:00

I'm tired of this bullshit

you won't show me any respect

so I'm laying here with a slit wrist

let me get some shit off of my chest

Aww come on, we don't wanna here about that

about gettin that ass

and smokin that hash

well fuck you ma, go back to your bible bash,

yeah I'm imagining the voice of my mother

while you're probably out fucking some other

guy who treats you right

and won't start fights

and lives in the right state

But I don't really appreciate

the way I'm being treated here

so lets take a break for a while

I'll just disappear

fade into the back of your mind

so when you go away

maybe you'll forget

the stupid things I say

when I get depressed and throw fits

and decide you want to talk again

but I'm still laying here with my slit wrists

oops looks like I just lost a friend

2011-07-13T00:31:00.000-07:00

Words I know I can't take back, inspired by an empty bottle of Jack Daniels black and the soft glow of the computer screen is a harsh judge. I'm serving consecutive life sentences, with only myself to blame, and while the stink of booze mixes with misery and shame I hang my head and worry my hands on the dusty keyboard, worn with use on many lonely nights like tonight. Insomnia back with a vengeance, I'm backed up against the wall with a freight train six inches from my face, and the grenade is in my chest, the pin is slipping, my only options now are live hard or die from lack of trying. Tonight is the breaking point, mania or depression, sink low or ride the crest, choose, there is no middle ground and if there was fuck the middle ground, if my only options are live dangerously, live in depression, or live in mediocrity bring on the adrenaline or kill me. Kill me for god's sake kill me and end this mind-numbing rollercoaster of torment.

2011-03-19T23:51:00.000-07:00

This is for lovers of the written word, who can use word like pretentious and absurd without sounding pretentious or absurd in a world where spoken word is slurred and stumbled over by blasphemers and I mean no disrespect but show some respect because language is all we have, it separates us from animals and if it was up to me everyone would be a poet but it is up to me and we are all poets, time is the rhyme giving meaning to our midnight opines and need more money whines, and last but not least internet spread why can't I hold all these limes, in the age of instant communication isn't it amazing how little is being said, but more importantly how little is being listened to, forgive me if i sound melodramatic but chances are in our lives no one will care what we say or do and you can try to disprove what I've said but think about the last thing you heard or read by someone you know even if they're dead that lasted long enough with you that you can repeat it word for word, because odds are thats the only time what that person said was taken to heart and carried as a part of someone else, it's something so rare and precious what can we do but try every day to say and do the things that will echo and boil and brew in the minds of the people around us, so please nation, amaze and astound us with the prowess I know is hidden deep within you and please lead us into an age of literacy and art, but not self-pretentious, self-aware, take art for what it is and leave out what it isn't. Be lions in your writing, brave and valiant and bold like the great kings and warriors of old whose stories and passed along and retold, and maybe your stories will be passed along and retold, but don't be conceited, receive it with humble hearts and quiet minds straining at the bounds constraining them itching and crawling and shivering in the rain again dying to be let in and let me in and take me with you, let these words not hit you but soothe you and move you and tattoo them upon you on the inside of your skin and take them one by one like Ritalin; consider this a prescription from me to you, take it in daily and in large doses, slip it into your coffee breaks and write while you light up a five minute cigarette don't forget, do this often in remembrance of these words. Amen.

2011-02-25T23:50:00.000-08:00

Heres to the middle-of-the-stair-climbing monkeys, the concrete hardened adrenaline junkies,

Third floor men with minds like boys and teeth like daggers and tongues like swords,

Who realize that friends don't make secrets nor do secrets make friends but friends making out makes us want to make you get out,

Out in the street where we roam like demons,

Heads hot and ears steaming,

Streaming down garages and streets like we don't know better but we do know better and don't think for a minute that you're no better than the people we pass whizzing by on boards and blades and polyurethane wheels,

We see life and a bit do we steal more and more with each night with every close call oh shit moment of fright we are alive and alive we are glorious

2011-01-17T10:22:00.001-08:00

I want to kiss you like lovers do

the fire burns passion anew

Crazy

2011-01-01T21:39:00.000-08:00

I'm going a little crazy, can't you tell
I'm going a little crazy, in this mediocre hell
I built these walls, I paved the floors
I pace the cage, ignore the doors
I scrutinize, I harry and stress
I wander, never tarry never rest
Left to my own devices for too long
I go a little crazy
Turn alone on its head, skew it
I can be alone surrounded by family
I can be alone in a room full of people
I can be alone with an old friend
I can be alone by myself
I grasp at lifesavers
People without whom I could not exist
They are few, but dear
I love them very much
I am only sane when they are near
If I can in fact be sane
They say if you open your mind too far
You might not be able to find your way home
I worry instead that I burned home down
Crowing gleefully at my cleverness
It is when I struggle to grasp sanity tighter
That madness creeps in
Peeks under the crack of the door
Shut tightly against its advance
Poking through, billowing at the entrance
Suddenly, the door is broken
A deluge before me
Thoughts spilling across the floor
Seeping through cupped palms
Staining the carpet
Like the red wine she drinks
On the veranda, watching waves crash

Rhythmic beating, the sound of passion

A long way from my my prison

A prison of thought and will

Of distance and bonds

2010-12-05T01:56:00.001-08:00

I'm very worried that I am inadequate. Even with everything I do to become adequate, I feel it will never be enough. Not that I hold myself to higher standards, but that I will fall short of expectations. I am not destined for greatness. Even in the prime of my youth I recognize this. I am not especially talented, and there are few things I do better than most people. Even the things I love to do I feel I am outstripped by those much more talented than me, and that I will never be at the same level as those people. I wish there weren't so many high expectations for me to do well. If everyone believed I was going to fail, I think I would do much better in life, not only better than expectationa but better than I am doing at present. This bothers me greatly. I want to pack everything I need in a backpack, sling my guitar over my shoulder and set off down the road with no destination. Not a word of goodbye to anyone, simply leave. Not to say I wouldn't want to take a certain person with me, but she is much more adequate than I am, and would not need to escape a vast world of opportunities open to her. I feel that I am a detriment to my friends even, that I am holding them back from becoming more successful. I have no sense of consequence, no connection between action and reaction, yet i am paralyzed by fear. God I am so afraid it disgusts me. Worse yet is my excessive inability to do anything to help myself. I alternate between a catastrophic mania where I am unstoppable, fearless, and charismatic and a bottomless depth of self pity and frustration and sorrow. The sad thing is I miss the one person who I can ever say truly let me down. She was a narcissistic soul sucking vampire who drained the joy from everything and vainly abused her friends, yet she was so very incredibly easy to talk to. I almost looked her up yesterday. If only to see if her life has changed as much as mine. I earned freedom from the doldrums, surrounded myself with loyal friends and garnered the affections of a girl vastly beyond my league and have begun to condition my body into the best physical shape I've ever attained, yet I still wonder how she is doing. Pitiful really. The realization that nearly a year later and I'm still writing about her almost brings up bile. But I guess its hard to cut ties completely with your best friend, though the fact that I even considered her a friend is a mockery of the word. No, she does not keep friends, she keeps subjects. Anyone who does not feed her security of self-centric vanity is tossed aside, and anyone whose issues detract from her mirror gazing is cast away. Its ridiculously really. I have someone I feel I can talk to about anything, and she sleeps at this very moment perhaps ten feet above me. Not to mention Jessica, who I trust more than myself. Yet I still cannot shake the nagging memory in the back of my mind. Perhaps a little more time is all I need. Just a little more.

Unfinished slam poetry(sort of)

2010-11-04T14:24:00.000-07:00

The English language is at its base descriptive, if often blatantly blunt at times, many venture no further than a trisyllabic dialect, choosing ignorance over eloquence. However buried by generations of American distaste for literature lies a depth of expression

Buried by cheesy slogan wordplay
Behind the one liners and sitcom repartee
Past political power puns and hope and change and yes I can
Beyond the cliche I don't understand big words testosterone fueled "man"
Lies dormant the lexicon of Shakespeare and Poe
Words in this culture few seem to know

2010-11-04T14:20:00.000-07:00

Writing for me is vice. Vice and temptation and seduction and lunacy and limitless travel. When I write the pen becomes a conduit, spilling soul onto paper. Imprints of me scratched into hundred sheet composition notebooks. Little black books with mirrors inside, windows showing us reality. The closer we stand to the mirror, the less the reflection can be distorted by our own desires and biases and fears. The more I pour into a poem or story, the more I see myself in it, unashamedly splayed across the altar of my own work. So before you read, hear my solemn request. Open, judge, understand, accept. For what you see is the truest presentation of me I can ever make.

Motel Room

2010-10-02T09:56:00.000-07:00

Rank of cigarettes on her breathe
Sickly scents of shame guilt and sweat
Stale, dirty sheets barely fending off bitter frost
Each touch spiderwebs shivers of lust
Reflexively repulsing
Wadded cash on the nightstand
Encounter defined
Materially purchased affection
Another night on the job
The world's oldest and loneliest profession

Captain.

2010-09-30T08:05:00.000-07:00

The tattered blinds, barely fending off the unyielding morning sun, cast slatted shadows across my desk like forlorn trenches. My imagination wanders from the well worn keys to view embattled soldiers clambering over the breastwork into the shadowed trenches-a window to a war all but forgotten in the midst of horrorfare. The captain of this invisible squad allows his men a moment of rest, his thoughts wandering as always to his wife home in London, and his promise to return home to her. Yet here he was, putting his life on the line for the safety of his men, peering warily over the ridge of the trench. Only two shadows lie between the squad and the safety of the windowsill, the captain let himself begin to hope.

A crack rang out like the first thunderclap of a storm echoing across a lonesome valley. The captain whipped his head around, searching desperately for the telltale spray of blood, another man down. Instead he saw his newest private staring in disbelief at the greased rag still touching his rifle. Before the young soldier could choke out an apology, before even the captain could begin to register his mounting fury, a clod of dirt puffed past the captain's face. In the next few moments time seemed to be suspended in an impossible world of light and sound and the sickeningly sweet smell of blood now coating the trench, bodies half tossed through the air, the screaming banshees of mortars adding to the confusion. In a single moment of clarity amid the chaos, the captain watched in slow motion as a grenade swung heavily over the edge of the trench, landing at his feet like an unwanted gift.

Ding! Alarm goes off, time for class!

/Anarchy/\Rebellion\

2010-09-29T09:14:00.000-07:00

Why? Have a cause
Rage against the world
Because you can?
Get offended!
look for the answer
forget the question
Corporate Syndication
Liberation
Federation?
Dilluted democracy
Polluted aristocracy
Bohemia? Poverty.
Balance, the push and pull
and push and steal and rape and kill
middle class conformity
Rage! Rage! Rage!
Rejected by society or
Reject society
With a SCREW YOU mentality
The point? fight without cause
forget the reason
Live free or conform hard

Restarting my writing

2010-09-01T10:37:00.000-07:00

Hopefully I'll be able to start posting here again, this time with more content. If you've been directed here from my facebook, please note that not everyone on my facebook can see the link, so do not share it with my family members unless they already know about it. other then that, feel free to share the link with any you think might be interested.

2010-07-06T02:31:00.000-07:00

How I long to simplify it, pour my soul into the keyboard and hide it away, disguise it in tiny fragments scattered across the world, blown into the wind like bits of paper, write a wish and toss it to fate, scraps of lives tossed and carried far away, over the hills and the trees and the heads of the millions sleeping and not sleeping this night, a night like any another. A night like every other. A night like that night, the night we found bliss in that '69 'Stang, parked on the dam watching the moon watch us, reflection twirl and fade in the water below, a magnificent ballet of light, I felt small and at the same time I was the luckiest man alive.

2010-06-14T20:01:00.000-07:00

Coming back to this blog and looking at the posts I now have hidden, a rage fills me again, unbidden, as fiery and twisted as the day it was billowed to life. Unbridled fury, searing at the edges of my vision so they simultaneously seem darkened and white hot. In fact a whole jumbled rush of emotions come on, not least of which is regret. but once more I force it down, swallow it until I'm ready to deal with it. Lindsays known better than to spoil the few days we've had together, which may yet be our last for some time, by talking about her but I can see the patronizing reproach in the corner of her eye and feel the sooothing sympathy in her fingertips.

Indeed, I'm just biding time until we can quietly sneak away for a tryst

Unfinished stream of consciousness

2010-06-08T21:45:00.000-07:00

Blank.
Possible?
Lack of emotion.
Wasteland
Alone
Vigilant
Righteous
Wicked
Blurred line
Where do I reside?
Sliding.
There is no despair
Isn't there?
I won't let there be.
I won't let myself wonder
Whether she regrets any of it.
Regrets ever talking to me
Bearing that burden
I won't let myself wonder that.
That path leads to despair.
There is no despair
There is only forward.
An old friend may become part of my life again.
For that I am excited.
And my life indeed, is starting.
I can be my own me
What a terrifying and freeing prospect
Who am I
Identity is hidden by identities
Am I the me that knows more bible verses than the average Christian yet chooses to use them to refute Christianity?
Am I the me that listens to metal and pierces himself and doesn't give a shit?
Am I the me the wishes he could dress up in suit with a faded hat suitable of one of the bluesmen of old and hobo across the country?
Am I the me who wants to join the peace corps?
Am I the me that prefers to spend most of his time reading?
Am I the me that can walk for days without ever getting tired of being where he is and doesn't focus on where he isn't?
Am I the me that knows how to make a man reach for his wallet and steal it from him moments later?
Am I the me that wants to spend every waking moment holding a guitar playing to no one?
Am I the me that would love nothing more than to curl up on the couch with a someone and do nothing but watch the rain against the windows?

2010-06-08T21:31:00.000-07:00

There is something about seeing beautiful landscapes that makes you ache to have someone to share them with. Someone who can understand that beauty can't begin to describe the breathtaking sight of a horizon perfectly arching over harshly rugged rock formations, framing the strangely familiar yet utterly alien shapes hidden in the formations. That wild untamable force that is nature never fails to take my breathe away, leaving me disappointed every time I return to this drab room. Yet I must return, if I am ever to have someone to share in that triumphant rush of joy at the sight of something so expansively beautiful that words cannot express it, but the desire to become part nature fills your soul, pressing into every crack and seeping through the gates of pain and despair. The knowledge that you could stop breathing at that moment and feel no fear, for your life must be completed to have seen such a marvel, yet at the same time there cant possibly be a sight in heaven more utterly pleasing than the one before you.

returning to this blog.

2010-05-23T14:51:00.000-07:00

Today throughout the entire day I was treated like an adult. Like a fully capable of rationale thought person who has the right to make their own decisions about life. It was such a welcome change from being around my mother I almost didn't even know how to act. I got my first of hopefully multiple piercings. I asked him if ihe thought I should get it and he just said if you want it. I didn't even comprehend for a second being able to make that choice on my own. Perhaps my mother has crippled me from being able to make my own decisions in the real world. Perhaps I only got the piercing to spite her, and to further distance myself from the closed minded attitudes of the people I've been around for so long.

On another note, spent the weekend with Lindsay and Sarah in part, while Lindsay spent the whole weekend trying to get into brianas pants. Which I found intensely amusing. It did however force me to examine my feelings for both of them. As far as Lindsay, she was and is my first love, and I will always hold feelings for her. I'm truly happy that she is with Sarah, and I'm even more pleased that that fact makes me happy. Sign of maturity I suppose. Briana... My feelings for her as a friend were horridly muddled by the breakup with Lindsay, when Lindsay disappeared I panicked I guess and ran to the closest person after with boobs as lindsay puts it, which unfortunately happened to be briana. I suppose I did have a crush on her, but it was never as serious as all that, and I honestly don't think we would make a good couple. She is a good friend, and I hope for it to stay that way.

I suppose it's my fault nearly all my best friends are gorgeous women. If ever manage to get a steady girlfriend I'll probably have to deal with drama about that. That doesn't really seem like something I'll have to deal with for a while though. Sadly. Then again maybe not, I'm poor again. I guess not having a girlfriend does have its perks. I can spend my money on me. Although sex would make up for that. Just saying.

I really don't care who reads this. I'm tired of worrying about other people judging me for what ive done or said. If someone wants to stop talking to me over this so be it, I'm better off without the added drama and heartache.

And I've realized something this week. I bounce back. Last week and the week before I was depressed and a couple times considered just throwing my guitar into the car and driving as far away from here as possible. This only because I'm too apathetic for suicide. But this week, while granted I didn't leave the house but a couple times and spent all my time playing a new video game I felt content, once again focusing on my own happiness instead of seeking fulfillment from others. And while that might not be enough in a week I can look back and say, ok I was happy then how do I get there again and force myself to find what it is that truly makes me happy, or at least as close as I ever get.

One final thought. My lesbian friends posing naked for each others tattoos is the most kick ass thing ever. Nothing says I love you like a picture of your spouse naked permanently inked onto your body. God bless america.

Taking a break from writing my book

2010-02-18T20:14:00.000-08:00

Love

God

Miracles

Hypnotism

It only exists if you believe in it

So how can you believe in it?

Are we born to faith? Only when we can reason well enough to form our own conclusions do we find ourselves at a choice. Ignore our skepticism and believe simple because we have always believed?

I believe that knowledge is a false idea.

Certainty is arrogance.

The senses are easily deceived.

Everything around me could be a hallucination, or a dream, I could be in a coma right now in a world nothing like the dream one I reside in.

I'm wandering now

Do try to keep up

We like to wallow

Humans that is

"Get back on the horse"

Only implies that you don't want to

I feel so uninspired with my life

What hardship have I faced that hasn't been self inflicted?

I know I've rambled on this before

But still

▲

2010-02-16T22:04:00.000-08:00

▲

▲ ▲

The Modern Guide for the Misunderstood Messiah

2010-02-10T00:11:00.000-08:00

One might think being a messiah is altogether difficult. That it requires divine inspiration, that only the son of a god can carry out the role. Think carefully however, on what so called holy texts tell us for certain regarding these messiahs. First and foremost, they are entirely human. These so-called deities come to earth and become human in every way, so they can be, by definition, in no way supernatural. This rules out divine inspiration. So, now what do we have? Regular people with epigrams, hollow words to be interpreted as wisdom and misconstrued, and literally hundreds of generations of secondhand accounts of a handful of miracles. If that's all it requires then why do we not call magicians messiahs? What separates them from the average person? Persuasion?

Cardinal rule of being a messiah, is being vague enough that your message can be totally misconstrued. It really doesn't matter what your message is, as long as people can contort it to fit their desires. Keep in mind however, that people as a rule do not want to be totally happy. They wallow in their guilt, their shame, their depression. As long as you feed them something to fuel their guilt, they'll ignore the rest of your message and focus on their self constructed depravity.

Keep in mind however, that as a messiah your good intentions(if it's possible for one to cause so much suffering with good intentions) will be the cause of wars for millenia following your death. which will be painful and early in life, due to people being unable to cope with the parts of your message they disagree with. the sooner you are dead, the sooner they can begin to misinterpret it.

Till Death

2010-02-02T22:03:00.001-08:00

Till death do us joyfully reunite,

Hand in hand in that wondrous twilight land

S

2010-01-26T20:39:00.000-08:00

Sacrilege! I sit upon that sagacious saddle of sanctimoniousness, sending salutations to savage sections of a segregated society, subsisting on the souls of supercilious and the stand-off-ish, the setto starters and the sacerdotal scientologists. My scimitar of sabotage slices through the sacrosanct superfluous pseudo-solemnity of the synagogue, that sanctuary to spiritual proselytization.

Words from Vocab book

2010-01-26T20:37:00.000-08:00

I accredit your credence in his creed to credulity, not a creditable deification of deities, a pantheon of divine divinities. He is sacrilegiously an atheist theologian, leader of a theocracy that apotheosizes pantheism. Consecrate his execration of sacraments as sanctimoniousness, he sanctions this hierarchy of so-called sanctity.

Abstraction

2010-01-26T20:36:00.000-08:00

Dare I bequeath myself to descend from my sanctum, proud and mighty on the hill surveying the mottled landscape, creatures of habit scurrying to and fro unchanged in their ways across millennia.

Self image

2010-01-25T20:36:00.000-08:00

Social self-image is formed by one's opinion of the opinion of others.

I'd like to say it doesn't matter but that's not true.

Sticks and stones may break my bones but time doesn't heal all wounds.

I have an unfortunately powerful memory. I say unfortunate because I can remember every single time I've ever felt embarrassed since before I can remember really anything else. Every awkward moment, every time I've been wrong, every biting comment or criticism I allowed to slip between my defenses.

I relive these moments every time I feel self-conscious, and while I'd like to say they make me stronger they usually reinforce my insecurity.

Back to my original point, one's self image is like the reflection in a mirror. You can choose certain aspects of you image, even make changes, yet you are never fully in control of the image.

Just something I'm thinking about right now.

Limbo

2010-01-25T19:40:00.000-08:00

I realized I'm in a limbo period in my life. Caught between two stages in almost every aspect. Skill and intelligence and whit and passion strain against the ties of age and ability. it totally bites.

Escape part 17

2010-01-15T16:37:00.000-08:00

Birds can't talk, I reassure myself for the third time, glancing at the hawk perched on the telephone line outside my house. I refrain from peeking around for a leather clad femme-fatale hiding in the bushes.

Peyote!

2010-01-14T13:46:00.001-08:00

say it fast, johnny cash, talk real slow, move your blowhole, dress in black, cadillac, fool em all, curtain draws!

Escape part 16

2010-01-12T23:09:00.000-08:00

I glance back at the pier. The bird ruffles his feathers in a semblance of a wave, perched atop a pile of luggage She dips her head, mouths farewell. I wave back, pretending to bid adieu to New Orleans. So the line has truly blurred. Just something else I won't have to deal with for a week

Author's note: This may be the last Escape for a while. I wrote this at the beginning of my cruise, and things changed considerably since. Rest assured when I have more I will post it.

Wrote during christmas break

2010-01-12T22:52:00.000-08:00

Arms tight against my chest

Bracing against the cold

Bitter frost

Reinforces

Loneliness

Damnit

Why can't I just be happy

Force it

Like everyone else

100th post

2009-12-27T20:18:00.000-08:00

This blog has become, I'd like to think, more than just a trite "dear diary' collection of sob story posts from a lonely adolescent. I'm not writing to whine about my life, or seek approval for my humble creative works. When I began I sought merely to post some old poetry has turned into a medium to get perspective through writing, and take a good look at my life and how I'm living it. This collected body of short prose outlines my personality, and with it I have begun to define myself in a way I struggled to before. And recently while writing "Escape" I've had an outlet to gain relief from the loneliness and frustration that has plagued me over the past few months, and one that has given me purpose during the doldrums of so much time spent alone. So. Here we are, one hundred posts. Thank you for reading, those of you who still do among the seven with the url. Next stop two hundred.

Escape part 14

2009-12-27T15:51:00.000-08:00

"You brought it here? Fools!" The bird squawked at us in disbelief as the scaly behemoth cantered into the dank cave. We ignored the chatter and unhooked the worn leather saddle, tossing it into a pile by the hawk. The beast snorted and rolled its now freed shoulders, a puff of smoke rising from its nostrils. "What's the matter? It was your plan that helped us free him" I joked to the now quivering pile of feathers pressed against the wall in fear.

Escape part 13

2009-12-27T15:05:00.000-08:00

Braided rawhide tassels whistle past my cheek, curling with a earsplitting crack just over my shoulder. The whip retracts quickly, poising for a second strike. "You shouldn't have come here!" the blonde whip wielding handler admonishes. "They are dangerous and unpredictable you can't let them free!" I ignored her and back flipped out of range of the whip just before it sliced through the space I formerly occupied. All I had to do was keep her distracted long enough for Zasha to cut through the chains. She had better hurry.

A thunderous roar echoed through the small chamber the handler had chased me into. We froze, her face white with fear. "What have you done?" She shrieked, pausing long enough for me to dive past her and slam the heavy steel door.

Escape part 12

2009-12-27T00:58:00.000-08:00

The plunging neckline of her blood red gown manages to leave little to the imagination and send it soaring with lustful fantasies as she mingles her way through the crowd with all the grace of a well-mannered diplomat. I can't help but watch her from the balcony above, smirking at the thought of the dagger hidden against her thigh. She seems cool and collected to the party goers, but I can tell from here she is scanning the security, confirming what I had already observed. The shifts had doubled.

Her impatient expression as I rounded the room with a tray laden with champagne did little to expedient the journey to her corner. "This isn't going to work with your avian friend's plan. Is there a plan B?" I grinned and gestured to the not quite ceremonial sword hanging at my belt. "I like plan B already."

More flow of consciousness

2009-12-26T03:02:00.000-08:00

Smoking gun

Empty

Hurt

Cold

Alone

Confused

Disappointed

Disillusioned

Disarray

Pieces

Broken heart

Ache

Anger

Hardened

Inner shell

Cautious

Dare to hope

Afraid of

Rejection

Finality

Give hope

Take it away

So tired of this game

Escape part 11

2009-12-25T19:47:00.000-08:00

The dim swinging lamp brought a faded map into relief, tangled scribbles outlining the aged ink. She leans across the table towards me, nimble hand pointing out a hidden escape route. Eyes meet, my breath catches at the ravishing depth of her gaze. The damned bird coughs from the corner, abruptly ending the moment all too soon. "Enough. The plan is flawless. You both know it by heart. We go tonight."

Barely an hour later, we stood back to back catching our breath surrounded by recently slain bodies in a slowly spreading pool of blood. "That was more guards than we predicted" I murmured between gasps for air. "What's the matter? Tired already?" I grinned and leaped backwards over her head. Tired indeed.

Rain

2009-12-25T16:54:00.000-08:00

Cool rain

Refreshing

Invigorating

Bare skin

Lips

Wet

Shiver

Arm around you

Heartbeat

Warmth

Your cheek

Against mine

Fading

I hold you tighter

Disappear

Never there at all

Tears fall

Drowning

No will

Won't swim

No point

Don't care

Without

You my love

Escape part 10

2009-12-25T12:21:00.000-08:00

The rambling estate identified by the note could hardly be called luxurious, though in a better state of repair the ragged mansion might more closely resemble a humble palace. I glanced back at the hawk, his expression as disbelieving as mine. "Surely she doesn't live in this dump. With her talents she could own the city." The bird shrugged, annoyingly nonchalant. Stepping up to the main gate we listened cautiously for sounds of life inside.

The door exploded outward without warning, nearly slicing me in half, followed quickly by a leather booted heel. Diving off the porch, a flash of feathers told me I would be alone in this fight.

This post has nothing to do with Christmas.

2009-12-25T00:48:00.000-08:00

It's an amazing feat, managing to juggle interest in two girls at once while neither of them happens to return the affection. Perhaps I shouldn't say amazing. Confusing, depressing, self-depreciating, all seem to fit. At least I still have my Escape.

Escape part 9

2009-12-24T23:58:00.000-08:00

In the relative safety of a shadowed alcove, I tear off the wrapping of the battle-won parcel. A simple note inside the package bearing only an address and a single name. The bird's disapproving hiss at the name gives me an uneasy feeling deep in my stomach. Zasha.

"No way. Not her" The words barely reach my ears, my mind is already made up as I step briskly into the rain. "She's too risky, too dangerous!" This time the bird's admonishing rings out with only the stormy sky as audience.

Escape part 8

2009-12-24T18:18:00.000-08:00

The cool mortar against my back holds me steadfast against the blade at my throat, my eyes glaring return daggers at its owner. The brooding raven haired temptress standing before me eyes me with a mixture of annoyance and impatience. Despite the icy steel point pinning me to the wall I can't help but admire her equally icy beauty "Well?"

A loaded pause later we both burst into laughter as a ruffle of feathers announces the arrival of our mutual guide. "Are you two done with your games so we can get back to work?" A shared glance, the games have just begun this night.

Escape part 7

2009-12-24T09:35:00.000-08:00

"Stop Thief!" Shit. Whirling, I draw the glimmering pure white blade in a fluid motion. Taken aback, they hesitate for only a moment before drawing their own weapons. Scanning quickly, my eyes find the weakness before they can begin to circle me. It's time.

Dancing among them, blade flashing, the only sound is the clashing of steel on steel and surprised shouts each time I slip past a defense and draw blood.

Escape part 6

2009-12-24T01:04:00.000-08:00

The pale, worn bamboo bends gently under my weight, the smooth wood cool against my palms. From my inverted stance I observe the forest around me, thick stalks rising skyward past my feet. My arms begin to quiver with exertion, struggling to maintain the grueling position. From behind disapproving squawks rekindle my determination, beads of sweat forming on my brow. A thunderous report bursts into my concentrated state, I fall from my perch with a crash.

Tearing through the jungle at blinding speed, ignoring the hawk's convenient absence as more echoing blasts behind me spurn me ever faster.The rigorous training begins to prove useful as I sprint, using my arms to launch myself off trees almost more than my legs to run.I stop hearing the shots long before I stop running.

Escape part 5

2009-12-24T00:34:00.000-08:00

Hurried footsteps sound in pursuit on the rooftop behind me, but I haven't time to check their progress. Eyes focused on the route ahead, I spare a glance neither for my followers or for the ground far below. From rooftop to rooftop I dance quietly under the watchful eye of a familiarly shaped shadow. Over an air vent, under a pipe, an endless repetition of leaps and dives continues as the footsteps behind me gradually fade to silence. "Did you get it?"

The small parcel in my hand answers affirmatively. As I catch my breathe at the end of a long, gently sloping roof the comfortingly regular noises of the night are shattered by a piercing siren. The chase continues.

Escape part 4

2009-12-23T22:19:00.000-08:00

The impossibly infinite blue sky stretches from horizon to horizon, framing the beaming sun on an endless canvas. A waving ocean of pure green dances around me in the wind, stalks caressing my legs. Cool, rich earth beneath my feet steadies me against the breeze. An impatient squawk behinds me draws me out of my trance. Whirling, I'm greeted by a massive hawk like bird nearly equal my height preening his feathers absentmindedly. "I've been waiting for you" he cries in a voice eerily more hawk than human.

Minutes later the landscape rushes by beneath me, massive wings on either side buffeted by the fierce wind. Recognizable fauna below describes a flowing change in climate impossibly fast, fluidly advancing from expansive plains to dense, lush jungle. Without warning the ground below disappears behind us as we launch over the edge.

Escape part 3

2009-12-23T21:15:00.000-08:00

The thick leather straps seems almost to meld into my shoulder, holding the somehow familiar weight of the worn guitar against my hip. My hand rests perfectly against beat-up bridge, stroking out rhythms I barely recognize in my own head. The spotlight blocks out the audience, isolating me with the music. The drum behind me pounds away, pulsing vibration up my spine. Alien melodies pour out of the monitor in front of me, through the haze I can barely connect them with the guitar in my hands.

After the show the slick black limousine meets me outside amid a cloud of screaming fans craving a glimpse, an autograph, a picture. Three girls get in with us, unfamiliar but superficially friendly faces grin back at me.

Escape part 2

2009-12-23T19:19:00.000-08:00

Time moves at a much altered rate in Pretereo. Of that much I'm sure. I'm not sure how many days I've spent here but back home barely a day has passed. Perched on this ledge over looking the sprawling metropolis, it's almost surreal to reflect on the time I've spent here. Then again I shouldn't be surprised, a world created to escape reality often doesn't reconcile with reality. A shadow passes over my eyes, interrupting my moody inner monologue. Finally.

Legs coiled under me explode into action, launching me out over the cityscape hundreds of stories high. The wind tears at my outstretched arms like a savage beats, snarling in its blood lust. Endless seconds of delirious free fall are broken by a familiar rustle of feathers, and a deep brown eye inches from mine.

Escape Part 1.

2009-12-22T19:29:00.000-08:00

I've read about people retreating into their minds when faced with hardships or pain. Creating an alternate reality in their consciousness, a safe place to escape reality. I used to think such people were weak for being unable to cope. However as time has passed the idea of vanishing from reality and finding a self-created utopia has become more and more appealing. Still as long as I could cope with reality I intended to. Until last night.

I snapped. It's almost as if the world instantly blurred. I saw things through a haze, murky and unrecognizable objects loomed as the world changed around me. Before things even began to refocus I knew something was wrong.

Confusion.

2009-12-22T15:34:00.000-08:00

The flutter of your hair casts delicate shadows across your cheek

With each breath I drink in the faint scent of lavender cast on the warm summer breeze

Ruby red lips tantalizingly close, Soft curves dance just out of reach of my straining fingers

Lust surges through my veins, a coursing raging river

Urging me to bend the bars of this self-made prison

Clear thought abandoned when I gaze into your eyes, inviting me to come deeper

Fall into the abyss

I hate

2009-12-22T00:36:00.000-08:00

Myself

The twisted mockery of a person I've become
And my inability to change any of it by the slightest fraction that would matter

Fuck.

2009-12-21T21:27:00.000-08:00

My life is an endless repetition of poking electric wire

You'd think I'd have learned by now

But no. I'm a glutton for punishment apparently

Each day of my life is progressively shittier than the last

So essentially I'm forever having the worst day of my life

I feel like I'm stuck in a Judd Apatow movie three quarters of the way to the end

Right before the nerdy socially rejected loser hooks up with the girl of his dreams

Held tantalizingly close, having it dangled in my face inches from reach

Indefinitely

Trapped

2009-12-21T10:48:00.000-08:00

Tick tock tick tock

Losing time-racing clock

Metronome-skipping rock

Hands shaking-muscle lock

Heavy chest-breathe caught

Eyes open-Seeing naught

Stumbling free

No way out

No way up

Panicking

Try to scream

No one hears

Do

2009-12-20T21:01:00.001-08:00

I don't know who I am

Or what I'm going to be

Though I promised myself not to let what I do define who I am

But the reality is I don't know

What I'll be doing in 10 years

Or where

Or with who

Maybe I'll find myself deep in the Venezuelan jungles tending to jaguars and fighting poachers

Or maybe I'll be sitting high in a cloud brushing sardine box for the wealthy, telling people their problems and giving them a god, one pill at a time

Perhaps my life will play out on the road, playing guitar in dingy blues clubs and grimy bars

God forbid I'll be sitting behind a desk in some forsaken cubicle typing out meaningless reports

But I digress

I don't know

What to do now

Reflection

2009-12-20T19:11:00.000-08:00

I'm changing

One baby step at a time

Bending over backwards

Contorted so I can't recognize

My own reflection

All of this

To be the sort of guy

She might hang out with

I don't know

If I have a chance

If it's even worth trying

But goddamnit

I can't risk

Missing the opportunity

That she could be mine

Let's go for a drive

2009-12-18T12:17:00.000-08:00

I'll be your freedom

If you'll be my navigator

Pick a destination

Anywhere you can get to

In a beat up Chevy Malibu

I'll take you there

Sanity

2009-12-17T14:34:00.000-08:00

Sad indeed is the day when you cannot understand the thoughts in your own head

Oh champion of intellectual introspect

The comforting blanket of sanity unravels as you lose grip one thread at a time

Watching reality from behind stained glass

Confused colors and movement mingle with dulled sound

Losing touch a little more with each sleepless hour

Finally finished something

2009-12-16T20:47:00.000-08:00

Slowly rotting in this eight by twelve prison

Depression chains me

Apathy suppresses my will to fight

Waiting hours for a fleeting chat with a girl miles out of my league

Just to get a taste of real life

I don't think she knows

I'd like to tell her but

I can't stand rejection

Maybe I'll give it some time

Or maybe I'll just keep it inside

And pray for a miracle

Can't seem to finish anything tonight

2009-12-16T19:17:00.000-08:00

Dark club

Thudding bass

Echoing heartbeats

Dripping sweat

Bodies pressed close

Hair obscures her eyes

Carry, also unfinished

2009-12-16T18:41:00.000-08:00

One step at a time her carries her

Through desert wind whipping at his coat

And midnight storms dumping precious water on the barren landscape

Through his exhaustion and pain

He carries her, his arms a shelter against the mighty elements raging around them

Huddled against him she finds safety

Holding her he finds happiness

Downtown unfinished

2009-12-15T23:11:00.000-08:00

Lets go downtown

Grab a bite, the night is early

Huddle together to fight the cold, wave down a taxi

Tell the cabbie to drive, don't give a direction

Stop wherever catches our fancy

Maybe a broken down bowling alley

Perhaps a high class art gallery

Let's go downtown

Window

2009-12-15T21:49:00.001-08:00

Do you want to see inside my heart?

I've got a window here, I'll let you take a peek

Just say you'll be mine, you can have it all!

Whats that? No thanks?

Oh, okay I guess. I'll be here if you change your mind

Always here.

Lost

2009-12-15T00:23:00.000-08:00

So many people looking for another

Lost souls, searching for a map, a destination, a companion

Wandering around blind in the dark

There has got to be a better way

Inspired by Chelsea Cooper <-hobo

2009-12-14T22:23:00.001-08:00

My backpack is packed, 50 bucks and a few bottles of water

An extra pair of jeans, some old sneakers

No one will notice my absence for at least a day

I'll just walk out the front door

Take a left towards town

Past the Stop and Go on the corner, wave to the fellow travelers making a buck washing cars

Through the Wal-Mart parking lot, stop and and peek at the puppies for sale

Past my community college, the few brilliant professors surrounded by dinosaurs and apathetic students

Share a sub with a traveler, pitching in half from my meager supplies

Spend the night in uncomfortable but welcome slumber beneath a park bench

Bask in the sunrise, glorious as it pokes through the pine covered horizon

Just walk without direction, ignoring street patterns and sidewalks

Wander the streets forever.

Pissed Off

2009-12-14T22:13:00.000-08:00

I can feel the frustration boiling into rage

Fists clenched so tight blood oozes from my knuckles

Every muscle tensed, coiled like a spring ready to explode into action

Anger roared into the night like a lion stymied on the hunt

Winter

2009-12-14T20:48:00.000-08:00

And so we settle into the seemingly endless isolation of winter break

Quiet solitude unwelcome, unwanted in my miserable mountaintop perch

And so I sit and twiddle my thumbs

Alone as always

Desperate for human contact

Gee I'm so clever

2009-12-13T19:03:00.000-08:00

Misery is the muse of the masses

That or alliteration

Untitled

2009-12-13T11:17:00.001-08:00

I don't want to:

Hook up

Shack up

Bump the buoy

Make waves

Make a splash

Make whoopee

Make love

Make out

Make bacon

Make babies

Go all the way

Score

Get a home run

Take you home tonight

Take a roll in the hay

Knock boots

"Do it"

Get it on

Lay you down

Have sex

I just want to hold your hand.

Fetal Position

2009-12-13T01:31:00.000-08:00

The carpet warms my cheek

Lackluster comfort of the familiar floor of my prison reminds me of my lot

Knees hugged against my chest to ward off the world

Crushing loneliness envelopes me

My tiny cell presses around me even as the world stretches away in a strange agoraphobic twist

Help me

DCT

2009-12-13T00:58:00.000-08:00

I met him on a cruise

He is without doubt the coolest person I've ever met

Honestly. He was just. Cool

We called him david feather hair.

Not sure why.

But it was cool

We found him the first night

Sitting on the stairwells

Reading a book

Crying

Like actually crying

We spent like 6 hours on an elevator riding up and down

The four of us

Discussing underground bands and heroine addictions

He was like the pied piper

Like robin hood cool

Like young Dumbledore

Acronym

2009-12-12T21:16:00.000-08:00

I want to disappear

Like a wisp of smoke, dance away on the slight breeze

Over the horizon

Vanish, without a trace

Every tie to this life severed

Hold tight to a passing whim

Every day the start of a new life

Reality a distant stain of the past

But I can never have her

/Frustrated

2009-12-12T10:27:00.000-08:00

I noticed a peculiarity just now

Both of my closest friends are of the fairer sex

With whom I hold deep, meaningful conversations about life, love, and other heavy topics

Both are off limits, for various reasons, and I'm okay with that

It makes me wonder however

Why the hell can't I get to this point with an available girl

Am I that unappealing that it isn't worth the time to get to know me?

Bah

Even as I write this I realize how much of a whiny little bitch I sound like

Forget it.

It Rhymes! Egad!

2009-12-12T10:25:00.001-08:00

I'd like to say

That one solemn day

I'll think back to this time

Content contemplation over fine wine

And be pleased with my choices

I've ignored drinking, drugs, such vices

Accomplished much, explored potential to be

Wading towards a future I can't see

I hope my sorrow will serve me someday

And that I will be happy, this I pray

Journey part 2

2009-12-12T10:23:00.001-08:00

To love another

You must love yourself

Or so I am told

It is a curious thing however

How one can negate the other

To love her so much

Without return

For so long

I began to despise myself as weak

I could not lift myself from that hell

At last I stand on solid ground

Why do I feel such sorrow

Journey part 1

2009-12-12T10:01:00.000-08:00

Tonight I am the loneliest man in the world

I finally abandoned hope; that precarious perch

At long last I quit harboring any illusion I'd had about ever holding her in my arms

What a dark, lowly state

Yet I can never return

No matter how wretched I feel

I must move forward

The first step, the most painful

Danke

2009-12-10T20:45:00.000-08:00

You're the scotch tape for my fragile ego

You put me back together time and again

You've got your own problems

Yet here we are night after night

Thanks for being a friend in my lonely world

Old

2009-12-10T19:06:00.001-08:00

I'm starting to sound pathetic in my own head. Stuck in this endless loop of up and down. Hanging on a word even as I curse her name. Not that she knows. I guess that leaves me just another guy hung up on a girl. Feeling like something straight out of a Beatles song. Maddeningly in love with someone who will never return it. I know I should give up-move on, try to live like a normal person. So I tell myself with each round. And yet here I am again, drawn in like a sailor to a siren

Cold Turkey

2009-12-09T22:50:00.000-08:00

Enough is enough

I'm swearing her off for good this time

I mean it

I won't let her keep me on edge forever

Always hanging on her every word with baited breath

It's got to stop

Tonight was the last time I wait up for her in sad anticipation like a pitiful puppy, waiting for someone to show him affection

It ends now

Aww shit she smiled at me

Here we go again

Untitled.

2009-12-09T18:48:00.000-08:00

Bitter frost nips at exposed flesh, almost accusatory of their midnight tryst

His breathe fogs the glass

She draws a heart

The Musician-Unfinished

2009-12-09T17:42:00.000-08:00

Started this piece in the car, went in to wal-mart, came back and simply couldn't finish it. Enjoy

Hushed, excited chatter fades as he takes the stage

Eager faces watch him closely, trying to glean some bit of wisdom from the expression on his face, his posture, his every movement

The first note resonates through the crowd, dull vibrato echoing deep in each soul

The piece flows into a rising crescendo and the audience soars with it to the crest, a tweaked string mimics their joy

Here he descends into a solemn, contemplative series of arpeggios, drawing the crowd deeper

And that's all I got sorry.

Swindle

2009-12-09T17:34:00.000-08:00

Among criminals, a gentleman

Dashing, dapper, fluid in form

In the grimy underbelly he thrives

Modern day Robin Hood

At ease among scum, at home among humble

By many names he is known

I call him Swindle

Perchance to pass him by on the street

Catch only a blur

Flash of color

Red tie

Black suit

Flashing red

Perpetual motion

Smooth voice

Soothing black

And he leaves them in a stupor

Money tucked deep in his coat

Swindle strikes again

Skip

2009-12-09T17:33:00.000-08:00

Oh the people you meet while skipping through Wal-Mart

Beauty

2009-12-09T17:22:00.000-08:00

Come along Come along
Theres a place I know set back in the woods
Among noble pines and gentle oaks
Where the wind whispers faintly above your head
A small cleft of rock nestled among the roots
We can stop and rest awhile
Come along Come along
I heard a sailor talking once
Of a cave carved into a cliff along the shore
In the damp echo chamber
Breakers crash against the jagged rocks
Nature's symphony
We can stay and listen
Come along Come along
Run with me, across the ever-stretching plains

Through the oft sung of sea of grains

Basking in the power of the midnight storm

We can pause and soak it in

Come along Come along

Perhaps we needn't go anywhere

A day wrapped in the warm comfort os silk sheets and each others arms

No beautiful vision more ravishing than the one at my side

Come along Come along

The Jump

2009-12-08T20:57:00.001-08:00

I don't think I can make it. That's a really long way, it didn't look so far from the ground. Seriously this is crazy, what the hell was I thinking. I can just see it now, I don't make it by the slightest inch and I'm splattered all over the concrete. Then again maybe getting splattered would be better than going back to their taunting faces and "I told you he'd chicken out." Oh man I can't do this it's too far... fuck it I'm just gonna go for it. Just go before you can back down, that's it build up some speed and oh shit oh shit oh shit! Oh my god I'm flying, this is amazing! I think I'm gonna make it, wow the ground is coming up so fast, I wonder what my last thought will be before I land... Just a bit to go, the wind rushing past me can't be real, surely I'm not going this fast. Damn, look at their faces, none of them will ever doubt me again that's for sure! I can just see her at the back of the group, hair floating in the breeze. That expression on her faces makes this whole thing worthwhile. Aw crap here we go-THUD

Abstract

2009-12-08T14:30:00.000-08:00

As such things happen more often than one would surmise, you may find yourself in an existential quandary one winter's eve, lost in transcendental ballet
You will ask yourself, How did I get here? Does it matter?
Decidedly not, you will conclude, though this truth changes very little, certainly not more than any meaning you attach to it. Somewhere however in the course of your persistent musing you may chance to discover a flaw, as many others have before you.
a flaw in motion, flitting past your consciousness
like so many Snowflakes
Delicate in singularity

Voice of a generation

2009-12-07T21:49:00.000-08:00

A very wise friend told me recently this blog seemed to scream "I AM NOT A SHALLOW TEENAGER AND I AM GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU KNOW THIS!"

But flattery will get her nowhere(<-lie). Seriously however it made me wonder what my actual purpose was with this pet project of mine. Do I seriously believe my writing will catch on and people will hail me the Kurt Cobain of this generation, voice of the nice guys who get friend zoned? No. Would be nice, but then again I'm not entirely comfortable with EVERYONE having access to my inner thoughts. Though I suppose that very same feeling drove the real Kurt Cobain to "suicide" if you believe such theories. On the other hand would it suit me to be the lone lonely reader of this collection of scribblings, my only critic the most biased one? No, I suppose commanding a following of avid readers could prove quite enriching in a delightfully self gratifyingly way. For once in my life, I strive forward without an easily apparent goal or indeed any method of measuring progress. Despite my raging OCD tendencies to finish a project, it's actually quite calming simply to a 'do'. And for now, that is enough.

Invitation

2009-12-07T19:51:00.000-08:00

I sat down here trying to write some depressing allude to claustrophobic loneliness, or another dreamy allusion to an imaginary affection. But I can't. Not today.

I am simply too happy today to write poetry.

What a simple happiness. Moronic really if I stop to think about it, though I try not to in fear of prematurely depriving myself of this simple bliss

I can't say too much more here or I'll have to begin my posts with "dear diary."
Not gonna happen.

Needless to say its her again. This stupid roller coaster is getting annoying, but i can't say I don't enjoy the ride.

Cookies

2009-12-06T23:28:00.000-08:00

Isn't it funny how much easier poetry is when either in the depth of despair or at the peak of bliss?

How do you draw inspiration from quiet mediocrity?

Theres no depth in hours spent working through frustrating matrix problems, and if there is any simple beauty to be admired in this room familiarity has long since tempered it.

I digress, perhaps there is inherent beauty in even the most mundane workings of a-oooh look shiny!

Curse of the J

2009-12-06T23:25:00.001-08:00

I think I should start worrying when my poetry starts to remind me of Jim Morrison songs.

The Dark Side

2009-12-06T22:48:00.000-08:00

It all starts with a wrong
The wrong creates hurt
Hurt festers into resentment
Resentment breeds anger
Anger decays into foul, loathing hate

Somehow white people historically have seemed to skip straight to the last step.

blasé

2009-12-06T22:13:00.001-08:00

Why is it that some times I feel more easily inspired to write than others? Just hours ago I laid down page after page effortlessly, yet now I stare at the blank screen, the flashing cursor taunting me in immobile haughtiness. Writers block =(

UN-spiration

2009-12-06T20:43:00.000-08:00

I can confirm to a scientific fact that AC/DC is not productive music for writing introspective poetry. Just in case you wondered.

Teenage

2009-12-06T19:36:00.000-08:00

Its depressing when you're mature enough to know when raging at your parents is adolescent in nature and yet still feel like slamming your door every time you talk to them.

Mental Health

2009-12-06T15:04:00.001-08:00

Fortunately sanity and insanity are not the only possible states of mind

Bacon

2009-12-06T13:54:00.001-08:00

You know you've been awake for too long when you start craving breakfast and the sun isn't up yet.

Perspective

2009-12-06T13:52:00.000-08:00

In such a personal and interpretation based method of communication, I believe a person should seek meaning in a work of writing apart from the author. if the author explains their intended message, all other possible meanings cease to exist for the reader. Writing should be enjoyed inwardly, without explanation or background

Meaning

2009-12-06T13:51:00.000-08:00

After this foray into a deep meaningful literary world how does one return to the idle facebook chatter about the weather and plans for the weekend?

Should one return?

Creative Insomnia

2009-12-06T13:24:00.000-08:00

For some reason I am most reflective, most self-examinatory when sleep deprived. two in the morning and a growing stack of papers next me unlock a small window to my soul. Te bed to my right calls me to come and sleep away my troubles in a far away blissful dreamland, yet still on my pencil scurries. Meaningless rhymes and deflectory sarcasm set aside, simple and often painful truth takes shape before me. "One last piece," I think to myself, yet each time I reach The End my mind merely leaps down another literary path, eagerly spilling forth eloquent prose and biting self-criticism. I should stop, clamber into bed and put such introspective judgement behind me, each yawn is more convincing than the last. Alas another closing, perhaps the last in this depressing sequence. Or perhaps not.

Blind

2009-12-06T13:14:00.000-08:00

The sheer Terror of darkness envelopes me

Swirls of unknown dance just past searching fingertips

Pure fright grips my spine as I lash out against imagination's tricks

A bruised knuckle is all I have to show for my panicked flailing

Even familiar surroundings transform into dangerous minefields at a slight redecoration

Frustrated at my own disorientation and vulnerability I cry out in anguish

Even as the sound echoes soft hands press against mine, reassuring whispers assuage my fears

Without her I am lost and alone in the dark

Balance

2009-12-06T13:12:00.000-08:00

Shredded bits of paper, fuel to writers block

A lone lamp bathes the table in light

The makeshift stage host to a lonely performance

Starving artists desperately grasping at balance

Give and Take

Giving word to expressionless soul

Taking delight in the faint connection with even one reader

Push and Pull

Yin and Yang

Balance