Thirty Ninth Thought

You are
A beam of sun, golden rays caressing my skin
Warm waves
You are
Worth keeping, worth believing in
A dream woven into the fabric of reality
A shooting star in the charcoal sky
You are
Irreplaceable
Unique
A Chinese lantern lit in a store of metal desk lamps
You are
mine
Together, we, us, you and I
words I can get used to

Thirty Eighth Thought

Thirty Seventh Thought

Open up my body and take a look inside
Let your eyes caresses the crevices in which I like to hide
Just don't get too close, while in it's depths you peer
Or else your nose will wrinkle fast against the stench of fear

Fear is ugly, mean, and narrow minded. I know that you are of tender heart, full of love and caring. I know you would never try to hurt me. I want to be close to you, united in every sense possible. My fear gets in the way of this, to expose all my vulnerabilities, is such a leap of faith, that i stand there, stock still. My fear whispers evil words into my ear. Tells me horrible lies. Eventually, with your help I will slay my fear. I will show you all of who I am. And if I am privileged enough to receive the honor, I will be shown all of who you are. On that day I will be happier than I could ever describe.

Thirty Sixth Thought

Stuck here, between classes, in the Library
"Doing work"
Nails badly needing of a cutting typing on the keyboard as I pass the time
Thoughts linger on Saturday last, desiring Saturday next
Dreading Thursday
Not dread - cringing in advance?
Not quite...
I don't think I'll like Thursday very much

Next class is full of presentations
Full of - well you know
Im too tired to listen
Too distracted to care
Wanting out, wanting home, a warm shower and some anime, your voice over the phone
Those caressing waves of sound
Though I'd prefer your caressing hands, the phone will do for now
Until Saturday
When your voice will be undistorted by Cellphone towers and grainy speakers

I want to be home in an empty house, but then I remember it's not empty

My family structure has an expiration date
Good before January 2020
But suspect any time before as well
Hairline cracks are forming, that threaten to become valleys
A renegade and an elder
One or the other will leave first, either by fury and rage of blind youth, or the other a weak heart
And if not a weak heart, by 2020 it is certain old age will claim her
I threaten that structure as well, it will be a natural, socially sanctioned time of leaving, but with all the events before it, it might as well be an escape
Whenever that happens, before 2020

But one must focus on today
What was I doing? Oh right - killing time
I swear it's self defense

Thirty Fifth Thought

The witching hour approaches, and slowly my shell begins to unwind
Ribbons of flesh and bone unraveling, exposing a smaller man, a paler man, radiant as the full moon, but brittle as a dry branch

At the witching hour I stand naked before God and Goddess
They grasp and feel and explore my body, extolling me of my virtues but reminding me of my faults

Nothing escapes their gaze

They see me for who I am, no pride, no pretense, no modesty
They see the pockmarks and scars, they see where my skin shines brightest, and the glow in my eyes

I spend all night after this, trying to envelope myself in my second flesh again
The stronger, darker, more virile, flesh
The flesh that deflects pain and strife, the bones that hold me up when I should fall

They are fabrications for my own defense and survival
Like all beings I wear a shell

For the shell is strong, and sturdy, and practically impenetrable, save for the witching hour, It contrasts with the self within, glowing and insubstantial, like gas

People change when they reveal this to each other, when they stand naked in each others presence, to be close enough to touch in this state, is take some of them into oneself, and to lose a small part of ones own identity to the other, neither exactly the same as they were before, although their outer shells are unaltered

To reveal this to another person, is a show of trust beyond all reason, to become so vulnerable
Just as the shell is damaged by physical attacks, the inner self is damaged by emotions, by hate, and malice, by ideas, and most of all rejection

Who have you stood naked before?
For who have you been nude, in the only way that matters
For whom have you shed your shell?

The witching hour has come and past
And now I pick up my shell, and get dressed

Thirty Fourth Thought

Close my eyes, center
I must draw her close
Breathe her in
Let her pure essence drive out all the ills that take residence within me
My fear, my doubt,
My anger, my prejudice, my judgment
An it harm none, do what ye will
Always I must remember this, help me, ancient mother
Drive out the culture of hate and accusation in which I was grown
The culture of conditional love
Help me to accept that which I do not understand

Help my heart to believe what my lips profess

That it's all ok

However difficult it may seem, I always have a kernel of your wisdom within me - Love

Thirty Third Thought

Canciones por mi cielito y yo

How it all started:



The growing flame:



Warmth and tenderness:



Disbelief:



Acceptance:



How in the world I managed to end up with you is a mystery to me, I thought I could never feel like this again, I thought muted colors were simply my world, but with you all is vibrant, and I realize such a feeling could never be truly lost, not with someone like you in the world.

With you my sky is not blue but sapphire, and the stars are not yellow but gold. With you the word romance takes on a whole new meaning. With you, all else is reduced to a whisper, and all I can hear is your voice.

That sweet voice, with exquisite timber, and sound all it's own. Best heard face to face, inches away from each other, so then I can hear each breath as your lungs draw in the air around you, draw me close to you. So I can feel each exhale, dancing across my skin.

Close enough to kiss, sharing souls, winding together like a single being. Close enough to to run my hands through you hair, with all its gorgeous curls. Close enough to count your eyelashes. Close enough to forget there's anything beyond each moment we share together.

That's where I belong, close to you.

Thirty Second Thought

Just some stuff I wrote a while back

10/19/10 - The title was a writing prompt in writing club

Dreamer in a Dead Language

The dreamer weaves a web of dreams
In a language lost to all
No one hears for no one cares
Her words on deaf ears fall

She dreams translucent pure and clear
Her nightmares are opaque
She can barely stand to hear
Her greatest fears they spake

Her aspirations antiquated
Brittle old and dry
She dreams and speaks in crystal truth
But they all speak in lies

10/19/10 - I had been growing out my nails for a drag costume and i was remembering the warden from Holes

Untitled

Long nails
Clickety clack
I don't bite
But I'll scratch
So nice - until provoked
Leaving gashes in your throat
Why'd you go and do that?
Now my nails are dirty

10/21/10 - Stress at home + xbox = escapism

Escape

Falling into a land of lollies
Getting high on all my follies
I'll float along on licorice lane
My smile is cracked but still quite sane

My wonderment is so much better
Than reality, which I must weather
Into Xbox I'll dissolve
And ne'er a problem be resolved

Thrity-First Thought

Laptop open
Choose song
Press play
Close eyes

Sound meets ears
Chill reverberates throughout body
Heart twanging like a rubberband to the beat
Your pulse and it's entwined

Eyes roll back
Soul reaches forward towards the intangible, led by the harmony
Forward momentum
Forever, in these few seconds
Eternal, just for now

So close to escaping

Thirtieth Thought

I can feel winter creeping up
It's not quite here, but its moving
Glowing darkness through my windows
I saw it had passed by my street,
Touched low hanging branches as it passed,
Staining leaves red and gold

Winter and I had a fight a while back
We're still fighting to be honest

I know what my complaints are:
Chilling my bones at the bus stop
Drying out my skin, leaving sore patches

What did I ever do?

It's not like I've ever stopped and asked

I know why I'm angry with winter, but why is winter angry with me?
Maybe it's because I always favored her sister, spring
Despite the fact I'm practically allergic to her


Maybe she's pushing me
Like those teachers you thought hated you back in school
But really they were just frustrated, because they saw squandered potential

Maybe there's something I'm not doing

Twenty-Ninth Thought

Searching for myself
Inside someone else
I’ve been told, by a birdie that’s what I do
If I’m a cat should I eat the bird and shut it up?
I’ve been told three things are gained, three needs met in any relationship
Affection
Inclusion
Power
The first two appeal to me the most
The first the most
Want a deep bond, a strong passion, an unshakable trust
But impatience resides within thin veins
Waiting is for the patient, a wise woman once said
So this cat paces
This cat, without a tail, but many tales
This cat without whiskers, but a five o clock shadow
No claws but sharp nails
No fur but closely cropped hair
Hair that once grew long, but tamed with searing heat, now tamed with firming goop
Eyes set on possibilities, not one but a few,
No longer is the feeling of security here
Left enough times that backups just seem to be second nature

Twenty-Eigth Thought

Transparent thoughts waver to life in my brain
Eyes opening, sparkling silently and unseen
Shooting down my neck, then arms they take fast my hands, and they flutter in a frenzy of type and thought and ___

Like a gyroscope within my heart, it beats forward towards purpose, feeling the momentum build towards some great unknown

Memories flash and flicker dancing with each other across my neurons and synapses
Each changing moment intermittently interrupted with one constant

Moving closer and closer to you
So much to say
So much to hear
Let my lips hold yours, and yours hold mine, and we can have silent conversation
Talk about the things that can't be said aloud
Talk about the things too great for words
You and me

Twenty-Seventh Thought

What is the meaning and purpose to life?
What a question.
The purpose used to be to survive.
Which really is a terrible answer if you think about it.
Our ancestors, just living to survive, living not to die.
More or less living "because".
And then there is religion
fighting to give us that purpose
The concept of God
Kind of like an uber parent
As children we looked to our parents to explain away all the bad things
Shield us from them.
And now as adults, we have the intelligence of, if not the perspective of our parents
They can't make the bad things go away anymore, we have to depend on ourselves
But then there is God
The ultimate parent
As children our intelligence was too limited to understand things as our parents did
and now, fully grown as we are, we need a bigger, vastly smarter parent
Someone so out of our league that they could replicate that sense of safety, assurance, and even unconditional love, as some unfortunately find their parents actually do not posses
Are we programmed, so to speak, to believe in a higher force?
Being afflicted as we are, with the beautiful disease of higher level thinking we can contemplate our own deaths, understand them as an eventuality, and fear them for more than just themselves, but for what comes after, or what might not
We so hate the idea of leaving this world, when we make our afterlife's, they look like prettier version of home
Just echoes of home

The problem with faith being that it requires lack of proof, questioning it provides little comfort
It simply can't defend itself
It needs people to write books for it, people to bamboozle you with emotional appeals and present circular logic and other such fallacies

Of course there is no proof God doesn't exist
In fact, it would be much preferable if God did

But why waste so much time working, tirelessly for goals only to construct new ones to slave ourselves to?
Why not just enjoy what life can offer us? Just become slaves to pleasure, if we have no guarantee it amounts to anything in the end anyway

There's on little catch though.


Love.


It is very easy to be cold, and calculating, and rational
But what about family, what about friends, and romance?
Those things seem too wonderful to... to be accidental
Of course it would be advantageous for the survival of the species to think such a thing, but still

Can one argue against the feeling, of a warm body against their own? The warm embrace of kith, of kin? The kiss of a lover?
I say if God exists nowhere else - God exists in the kiss of a lover

Twenty-Sixth Thought

Beyond these walls a heart does beat
Beyond these walls do secrets keeps
They flow and grow through ruby veins
Mist through the air like springtime rain

Twenty-Fifth Thought

Need to zen, and care a little less
The world shall be as it shall be, regardless of what hormones travel through my veins
It's all okay
The wind keeps blowing
The flowers will bloom
The sun will rise
The moon will wax
The wind will stop
The flowers will wither
The sun will set
The moon will wane
It's all okay

My actions will not change these things, and it is ok
Serenity, a thing to be treasured
Calm
Flexibility
With these things I can embrace the possibilities
Without them I will be tense and rigid, missing out on the beauty that passes me by
Serenity

Twenty-Fourth Thought

Removed.

Twenty-third Thought

Twilight snakes around the tallest spire, of an empty cathedral
The stained glass fidgets, a pane pulls lose, falls, and then smashes against the floor
Specks of dust float through the amber and violet light
A large book rests on the altar
It's pages are ripped out, and litter the ground, almost invisible under the layers of dust
They rest dutifully, awaiting salvation
The pews watch the altar
Gazes never wavering, regardless of the careless manner in which they are strewn, knocked over, not yet defeated

The light fades, faster and faster
And the the queen, the lady moon shines brightly through the windows

Midnight flowers awaken, unfurling their leaves and petals, and turn to face her, peeking trough the cracks in the glass paintings, through the missing panes

A cool breeze filters into the cavernous space, disturbing the pages ever so slightly

The oldest resident have long known Lady Moon
The have seen her rise and set, wax and wane, though their gaze never falters from the now eviscerated Bible
The pews do not bend, they crack and splinter
The pages do not heal, they yellow
The glass does not provide warmth, it rests cold and hard

Lady Moon watched the cathedral being built, she watched it attended to, and she watched it abandoned
Lady moon is constant
The life beneath her grows, and dies, and creates
The stone structure is rigid, and narrow
It has known Lady Moon and ignored her

Lady Moon is outside, her loves grow, and expand, and are vibrant and full of life
The Cathedral is all inside, cut off, cold, hard and never ventures further than it's own walls

Lady Moon is Queen
Lady Moon is patient
She is soothing, calm and wise
Lady Moon is constant

Cathedral is just for now
Cathedral is controlling, impatient, and angry
Arbitrary and vindictive

Lady Moon will stay
Cathedral will go

Twenty-Second Thought

Play the video at the end of this while you read it.

I pause in the hallway, and the candlesticks in the wall flicker. The door at the end is always just out of reach. I will open it when it is ready, so I cease chasing it, or is it because I fear what I might find on the other side? Looking back, I see rows of gilded portraits lining the walls. Captured moments of striking beauty. The hallway is so well built. It has so much potential. Looking back at the door, my pale face is reflected back at me through it's polished handle. I put my hand out slightly and it inches away. The handle gleams brightly, emptily. I know there are many other doors I could try and open in this labyrinthine house. I could leave right now, because there's no way of knowing there isn't just space behind it, just a few feet of emptiness and hard earth to crash into. But I've followed this hallway so faithfully, helped to paint the portraits and landscapes hung on its walls. There was so much it could be, could still be. I don't want to have to pass the portraits, feel their eyes on my back, their sad, empty eyes. I should just wait for the door to be ready, I really should. But what if it sends me back, what if all there is, is a way outside? I can see it. I'd grasp the door handle firmly, and after a moments resistance, it would swing open, and I'd fall through it, into the mud, out into the thick mist. Into the cold. And I'd have to walk back, soiled, through the gallery of eyes. Ever in search of the fire-place room. The one with the warm bed, and the photo album. I don't think this door leads there, I'm scared it won't. I pause in the hallway, and the candlesticks in the wall flicker.

Twenty-First Thought

Where is the line between positive thought and delusion? It is often a piece of advice to look at things objectively. Can we though? Everything is so colored by emotion. Is she ill? Having a rough patch? Is she dying? Grammar can show how differently people feel when describing the same thing. For that matter, is she really dying? If we use the definition of dying as : "Approaching death" wasn't she always dying? Aren't we all dying then? It's funny how we all subconsciously deny the fact that we will die. Whenever people learn of their eminent death, or more precisely that they will be dying soon, they look surprised. As if death was always a future thing, never reaching present. I'm going to die? Me?
It's kind of like children and the concept of growing up and becoming adults. I feel that life itself, is a childhood, and maybe even the adolescence of the soul. Whatever lies beyond this life, that's the culmination of this world, or maybe just the next step, in a series of many.

So safe to say we are all dying.
We are all all approaching death, at varying speeds.
And what is death?
Not a state of being I think, but a mode of transport, to elsewhere. Somewhere unknown.

Twentieth Thought

Some music just catches you by the heart-strings, you know?

Ninteenth Thought

Where does un-vented anger go?
It seethes inside you.
You can suppress it, but that makes it worse.
By pushing it deeper you give it access to the most vulnerable parts of you.
The same goes for sorrow.
It curves around your innards, coating every crevice, sinking into the pores -
It dichotomizes the feelings within you, so when you are happy it looks absolute, and when you are upset, angry, all goodness is eclipsed.
And then you forget about it. It's "gone".
Which in the long run is worse than it plaguing your thoughts.
Now it can influence you without you even noticing.
How did you feel? Angry? Betrayed?
You didn't like that he canceled on you five times in a row, did you?
You felt unimportant, left behind, forgotten
You didn't like waiting, waiting and waiting for that man to come for you, like he said he would. You waited, faithfully, for two hours, and what did he have to show for his lateness? Excuses. When he left you knew it was because he no longer loved you, and wanted to stall.
So now you become angry, upset when someone is late, when they cancel, you think they have better things to do, that they don't care, that they're leaving you behind. Your heart remembers it's old wounds, and now, without thinking, you anticipate another attack.
You force the ones you love to face the consequences of actions not their fault.
And the snake rears its ugly head, the demon, slithering inside your colon, so deep you can't even feel until it's striking out of your esophagus, injecting venom into an unsuspecting victim. Smiting he who dared touch old wounds.
Worse than anger at others, its anger at yourself.
Then you can't write someone off, and let the rage die with their passing.
No, it lives within you because you are the source of this fury.
When he said those characters were too emotional, you lashed out, because on some level he was attacking you. Attacking you, yes, because you know you are like that yourself, and of course, your subconscious is so sure that it is a personal attack. An attack on your pride, your ego, salt in the wound. You hate it about yourself and don't need reminding. So crack! goes the whip as you strike back, in self defense.

Anger is linked too with envy.
It boils, because you feel worthless. You just can't put out like your supposed to, like your expected! You rage in jealousy of all who enjoy themselves this way. Why can't I have that? Why not? What's wrong with me? You envy their pleasure, and it poisons your own attempts because you already know your a failure. The irony being you're so sure you know everything about something you could never get right.

And it stays right there, snaked, entwined, entangled in your vital organs, and there it will keep. Fear is added to the mix now, because to address all these things, to admit them to the open air with your own lips, with your own voice, is to expose oneself. To cut open your own belly, and shine daylight on the ugliness inside for everyone to see. You're afraid they'll think you're weak, possessive, and incompetent as well. You're afraid they will agree, agree to what you're subconscious has said all along, that you're a failure. You are afraid.

Eighteenth Thought

I tried making a Tumblr earlier today and I can't figure the f**king thing out, not very user friendly >:x This is the poem I wrote and put on Tumblr, or tried to anyway

Beaming

‘Twixt beams of light

Which reach towards ground

Standing there, ‘twixt beams of light

Brown haze broken

Ne’er a beam shall touch thee

Ne’er a a shaft of light

‘Twixt shafts of light and darkness stand

The last man of tonight

Seventeenth Thought

Post Removed

Sixteenth Thought

I can't quite seem to escape myself fast enough.
Like trying to squeeze myself through a hole the size of a pinhead
It's rapidly shrinking, and I'm already halfway through
So here's the question
Do I abandon part of myself, and regrow, evolve, venture into the unknown
Or do I desperately wrench my body backwards,
and try as best i can to preserve what was?
Can't I just be, sometime else, anytime else?
A time of nomads and nature, a time where I don't know any better than what is before me?
But no
It would only be the same
I would search for new truths to reveal themselves to me
For meaning, like I still do
Even time can't save me from myself
Only I can

Fifteenth Thought

TOMB RAIDER


I think I almost lost sight of just how much I love the Tomb Raider videogame series. I was introduced to it as a child by my father, and have been in love with Indiana Jones buxom sister, ever since. She's part of my childhood, so no matter what, Lara Croft will always be my home girl. I am enamored with her character development, and will continually scrutinize and criticize any significant changes to her existing personality and background.

Lara Croft did not start out as a very good person. In fact, she was neither truly good nor evil, but as the good old dungeon and dragons friends of mine might have described her, unlawful neutral. The defining point in her life was when she was but 20, and survived a plane crash in the Himalayas. She had been a pampered, shallow, carefree school caught up in the trappings of a privileged upper class life. However, when the plane crash happened, she was forced to trek for days on end in the blinding snow to safety. She realized, that the only time she felt truly alive was when she was alone, fighting the elements and proving she deserved every living breath she took. Her father was an archeologist, and from then on she became is apprentice. The driving forces (especially after the death of her mother, to natural causes)in her life, were living on the edge, close to nature, ancient civilizations, and the love she had for her father. When her father died too, he died the laughingstock of the archeological community. His last research had been on the fabled lost city of Atlantis.The first game starts with her picking up after her fathers research, and her mature self finally solidifies. She is driven in an obsessive pursuit to prove her fathers research valid, to redeem his name, to find Atlantis. To her, there was no good or bad, there was only her goal, and whatever it took to obtain it. She was indeed coldblooded in her first iteration. She killed other human beings without any remorse to attain the objects of her obsession. The only people that mattered to her, were her father, and her loyal butler, who stood in for him when he died, and Lara was left an orphan.

Her exploits are often unbelievable if not outright crazy, when it comes to the dangers she puts herself into. With her hardened outlook on life, as only living when alone in nature, together with her practically unlimited funds, she had the means, the drive, and the endurance to search the ends of the earth for what she was looking for. Tomb raider would not be a term she would accept for herself I think. Though she stole from other countries by taking their artifacts, to her it was her birthright, the fruition of her fathers work.

As the rest of the series progresses, her obsession continues as well. At the end of the first game, she finds her answers, but the obsession does not end, it merely refocuses. She wants rare artifacts, and not just any, only the rarest, most mysterious ones. Only the hardest to obtain, the ones the will present her with the most struggle and danger to her own life. Along the way she has saved the world a few times. However this is not out of altruistic love for the world, it is because as cold hearted as she could be, she lives on this earth too, and the trying, dangerous places she slips in and out of are part of it.

This character is fairly consistent for the first five games. The sixth game shall not be mentioned. The seventh game was a series reboot after the abominable game which shall not be named practically ruined the Tomb Raider franchise. With the reboot, came a new Lara. She seemed to have very little connection to the original Lara, other than her love of ancient international theft, and a few basic biographical elements, and even those were changed. Indeed she still crashed in the Himalayas, however her mother was with her, and disappeared during the activation of a strange ancient device, never to be seen again. Her character is changed greatly. She is more feminine, has actual friends, and has a sense of humor. She is a regular archeologist due to her fathers influence, however her obsessive tendencies are now directed towards finding her mother, whom she she believes, in some way might still be alive.

With the release of the Tomb Raider 1 remake the original story is shifted to match up better with the seventh, and though unknown at the time, this was in preparation of an eighth game which would unify elements from both games for a sequel. Lara is still obsessed with proving her fathers research true, but now she is no longer coldblooded. In fact, the first human kill in the game is shown in an interactive cut scene, and at the end she shows horror and then remorse for killing someone.

In the latest installment Lara starts to shift much closer towards her original personality. Her obsessive and cold hearted tendencies are brought to the forefront once again, as the truth about her mothers fate is almost within her grasp. To complicate matters, this Lara has friends who are close to her, and one of whom is murdered by an antagonist in the game. She already has the ability to kill others who threaten her life at this point, but now her heart his hardened with pain and sadness, and revenge has taken a seat among her chief motivations. By the end of the game, she is a character who has lost some of her closest family and friends, from early in her life, to the present. Life has taught her a hard lesson of the impermanence of all life, lives of those she loves, of those who oppose her, of those she doesn't even know, and of her own. Life has taught her that nothing will ever be properly explained to you, and you will never truly know the answers to any of your questions, unless you find them yourself. As much as I liked the original Lara, the new one, this one, is so much more human. I embrace the new her, and with an impending new series reboot, all I can do, is wonder where she will go next, on foot, and in her own heart.

More Lara Croft News & Previews

Fourteenth Thought

Move. Search. Find. Explore.
Leave. Long. For constancy. Yet long for change.
Want to disappear into the underbrush. Searching. Searching. Searching for something to find. Longing, longing for bestial instincts, and indifference. To wade across the stream, without ever thinking of getting wet. To have the hide of the animal, to walk through snagging brush without spilling blood. To feel the moonlight on my bare body, without feeling the cold.

Gia, my soul misses you. Misses it's past lives of our closeness. Just the three of us. my soul, me, and thee. Now my body is draped in man made cloth. I am surrounded by metal and plastic. I am irrevocably addicted, soul reaches towards you, but my brain and my body are wired into this very age. If I bare my body to the moon, I will shiver until i convulse. If I wade through the stream, I will yelp in shock, and will be bothered by my wetness until i am dry. If I walk through the brush i will be cut, and bleed, and become infected, and sick. I am exiled from your pleasures and wonders, and truths oh Gia. I miss all these things I've never known. I miss you.

Thirteenth Thought (ooh how unlucky)

Sun falls, and shadows lengthen, strengthen, wrap around your ankles and hold tight. The streets empty, as all the little worker ants find shelter from the weather, cloudy, with a chance of night. You're not afraid of the weather, are you?

The sunbeams simply couldn't hold out forever. The darkness begins to take, colors muting. The only bit of sky left now rests in your irises. What lies above now is a cavern, dotted with torches of a far off sky people, making their way through life upside down, staring at our house-lights, and city-lights, wondering how their "stars" got where they are.

For a moment the veil is lifted. For the moment of night.
You, and all the other sky eyed people rest, eyes closed, containers for the vast above. As night wanes, each of your kind will wake, one by one, eyes opening, releasing their charges, pair of eyes by pair of eyes. Until dawn will paint the ashen sky.

You will all greet the day, unaware that you helped put it back.

Twelveth Thought

Mmmmmmmm
I like this
Saw you once, twice, and your crisp blue eyes still dance in the back of my head
That kiss you gave me was fleeting, but as I passed that spot today, fresh from buying shoes with my friend, I pointed it out to him
And maybe tomorrow I'll hear your voice, as crisp, as lively and as sparkling as your eyes, through my end of the phone
I can't wait

Eleventh Thought

Prayer for Protection

Goddess please protect my home
My family members, and where they roam
Keep them in your warm embrace
Dissolve their fears and leave no trace

Let them know that they are loved
That your face shines bright from above
Keep evil far away from them
Protect their hearts, their souls defend

I ask this humbly of your power
To help them now within this hour
And on from then for all their lives
I ask you Goddess, strong and wise

Tenth Thought

Petals fall through ashen sky
Injecting drops of rosy dye
And pitter-patter on the ground
To lie in wait 'til they are found

Wind caresses budding branches
Bushes green while daisy blanches
Danu grows her garden well
Her life is not by winter quelled

It springs back from unseemly earth
The the cold the black and barren turf

Ninth thought

Ice

Should I warm and melt like ice
At least then I've won half the fight
Should I evaporate in air
Then I'll be in my element there

Should I melt like ice from heat
Then I could stand on my two feet
No longer sealed within the frost
Showing my winter who is boss

If fire should cause my ice to melt
Then I could tell you how I felt
Spring flies in on budding wings
It's time to sort through dusty things

Eigth Thought

Paper Boy

I've seen those who've had iron wills, or ambition swiftly done
Can't help but feel atrophied, stilled.
One match-strike and I'm gone

Too easily wrinkled, bent and ripped, in substance unemployed
Can't fill your stomach nor your mind
I'm just a paper boy

I've not the skill, the wit, the will, just riddled through with flaws
I'd line your birdcage just as well,
Catch bird-shit walls to walls

They say life is blood, sweat and tears, in adversity is joy
I don't think I'm cut out for this.
I'm just a paper boy

Seventeenth Thought

Stand in a field of wispy brown grass
Cut in segments by dusty crossroads
Time is short, will soon breathe it's last
Make a choice at this crossroads

Bones chatter and quake with yawning marrow
Both scared and bored of what's lost
Vocal cords sound like the dying sparrow
Screams turned to whispers when lost

Whisper they, softly, and shift them the blades
Wind floats through grass, calling name
Insides are funny, are changed yet the same
Heart inside chest, calling name

Sixth Thought

Once upon a time I gave my heart away
And he gave it back
Once upon a time my memories turned on me
Picked up their weapons and attacked

Once upon a time they rent my soul
The past has such sharp claws
Their power comes from within my heart
On old happiness they draw

Once upon a time I learned to think twice
Once upon a time my soul cracked
Once upon a time my heart started healing
And when it does I'll take it back

Fifth Thought

It's beautiful isn't it? All you ever wanted? A good two story home, with car out in front, and a nice green lawn. That's all we need to be happy. No, wait. We need to get a nicer car and then we'll be happy. After we get that, we'll just need to pay off the loan on the car and then we'll be happy. Then pay off the mortgage, or have kids, or see them out of infancy, out of school, see them married, see them have kids of their own - that's what will make us happy? No... Maybe it's the right job... Well here's the basic formula. Think of what you want. Pick something nice and far off into the future. Now work really hard to get it for years and years. Sacrifice time, become really stressed out and worried. Once you have obtained what you worked so hard for, pick a new goal. Repeat. There is so much pressure to be productive that no one has time to stop and smell the roses they put so much work into growing. Go to elementary school, and work real hard to prepare you for middle school, and work real hard to prepare yourself for high school, and work even harder to get into a good college, and work hard for four years so you can get an O.K. job. After doing this for 17 years some would argue the security and comfort it brings into their lives is well worth the toil. I can see that. What I don't see is why barely 5 years later people decide exactly what they need in their life right now is a kid. Now they have an extra mouth to feed and another future to worry about. They went to 17 years of school, to earn the wonder of a good job and a nice place to live, and then spend only a couple of years enjoying it before galumphing off into parenthood and buckets of more stress and taking it out on their children. Spanking and/or giving a kid the belt is probably one of the worst and most readily accepted ways of taking out your own anger on someone else. People get so wrapped up in getting places that all they ever do is pass through. And if you don't like this way of living, you're lazy. Trust me, you have no work ethic and your not a proper adult if you don't plow blindly into the world. Now not everyone is like this obviously. Some people pick jobs they really love, some wait a while to have kids, and when they have them they use their brains and not the broad side of their hand to discipline their children. I love these people and the world benefits greatly from them. However they are too few.
What I think of right now, are the stir crazy wives of the fifties. That plastic fake as hell happiness that was dripping out of every advertisement and TV show from the era. People really still buy into cookie cutter happiness, and if you fit into that mold, then power to you. The most frightening part is when people will cut away parts of them self to fit the mold. "At least we're not starving!" some will say. "I like our relative peace, we don't have a war in our backyards!" say others. No, we aren't dying of starvation, or large scale disease. But there is a difference between living and existing, and there are many, many ways to die.

All hail suburbia.

Fourth Thought

Ever feel like your falling?
Not too fast, more like Alice down the rabbit hole.
Just slow enough to gaze at life, at existence as you go by.
Fast enough that you can't hold onto anything for fear of dropping and breaking it.

I want to climb out my bedroom window, and walk out into the rain, impervious to the cold. Climb a hill with the thunder at my back, and march towards my destiny.

Or something like that.

Third Thought

And that was when the stars fell down
They crumbled, crashed into the ground
Their light was false, a gilded lie
A walking stick for blinded eyes

Like rusty bulbs they each went out
Replaced our hopes with selfish doubts
Now lacking will to stay up high
They fall together as they die

And so nights sky is vast and dark
Seems so much closer, and yet hark!
I hear those harps eternal
The lights may go out, but the music does not stop.

Second Thought

Call me biased for this work of fiction, you're probably right. :P



Never going home

Last thought in my head as the bullet shot me dead piercing the heart that never knew love in its shortly lived life

You see I was from a place deep in the heart of America, a straight laced, single minded place where women love men and men love women.

I loved a man though, and being a man, I’ll do all that I can to hide this fact… Correction, did. Keep forgetting I’m dead, it messes with your head to live that lie every day that now being dead doesn’t feel so different than the life I was made to live.

A long time ago when I was too young to know what they were doing, how they were hurting me, they tore out my soul and put in the soul of a “real man”. Patting the seams where they sew me down with lashes of belts and tongues and before I knew what was going on I was the perfect example, of the perfect man; assertive, strong, fearless, but cold, calculating, unfeeling,

Then the war came, and “they” threatened to kill us. It was such a despicable, heinous, unspeakable thing to threaten, that we couldn’t help but try it out ourselves, in the name of honor, and America of course. So being the big strong man, I became a strange man in a strange land, murdering… excuse me, neutralizing the threat that was presented to me. Giving a gift to others that I so longed for myself, for my body to reflect my soul. For the death on the inside to become complete.

Death, isn’t so bad, when you’re dead. The others disagree with me though. They argue that, because I never truly lived, there’s nothing to miss. Did I need to feel the lips of a man to have lived? Did I need to have felt love? It makes me feel better when I lie and say no.

First Thought

New Year means as far as this is concerned, it is the first thought.

What to do about a soul?

When we were persons other than ourselves;
Lies in action and in deed
We put our dusty souls on dusty shelves
"Trinkets we no longer need!"

With widened stance and steady aim,
Roses bloomed in enemies chests
Without souls, theirs were ours to claim
Was it wrong? You surely jest!

In our eyes we could do no wrong;
With our souls thrown to the side
Little did we know they'd come crawling back,
And rip through tender hide