close call

I awoke to find myself in a bit of a disoriented state this morning. Both of my phones were ringing simultaneously with equally important calls. I eventually answered them both and played tag throughout the messages. I forgot I had to go to work today since it was holiday yesterday. I suppose I wanted a day of rest. The bed was very warm and cozy. And I was enjoying a new blanket. My dog (for once) had not trashed the house over night, but did take an interest in something underneath the book cabinet in the corner of my room. I thought he had lost his ball. He goes crazy when he loses his ball. A simple green tennis ball has the power of the universe in his mind. Then I realized, after investigating the situation for myself, mostly because I couldn't handle his incessant pawing and barking at mere carpet anymore, and found that he was trying to fetch my rat! He had let him out of his cage. Yes, he finally figured out the mechanics of a simple rodent cage and released my poor, helpless pet prey out into a house with not only a dog, but three cats as well! Thankfully I have my rat trained a bit and he knew better than to travel too far in such a dangerous abode. Poor Boo Radley! (That's my rat). Alone and curious only to find himself at the end of an enormous nose and even more enormous teeth and claws. So I had to lock the dog up to keep him away, scooped up my frightened little friend, and helped him to safety. People think I'm crazy and stupid for caring so much about a thing that was born to be someone else's food, but they too have little brains and hearts, and there has been times when that little furry morsel has been nothing but a friend. Besides, he freaks everyone out. I find that amusing in itself. I had no idea how may people are afraid of rats until I started keeping them as pets. And no one wants to admit either. It's very funny. Anyway, that was my morning. Or at least the most interesting part of my morning. Boo is safe and sound and now dining on Christmas leftovers.

Believe me, nothing is trivial...
(BRANDON LEE, FROM "THE CROW")

who really cares???

The novel is nearing it's end and no one really cares. People are dying all around me and now the experience comes full circle where I can feel the pain full flush, not just by trusting the instincts of the most dearest friend; but by trusting what you know is true, even when you don't want to believe it.

I myself now face the inevitable. And a hunger finds me that cannot be satiated. A never-ending quest for the unquestionable and irrefutable demise we all will encounter eventually.

Everyone fears it.

You do.

She does.

We do.

Embrace it with futility and always understand that it was the way it was meant to be.

uncontrol

Restless and uneasy,
watching daylight fade
while others find sleep
amongst sleepless nights,
and we left awake to ponderings
of why we don't belong here.

In search of candles for light
to light words among pages
to give us the answers
we so desperately seek,
and longing for arms
to desperately hold us.

Secrets are evil
and bind us to duties
that were never our own.
Taking flowers from unguarded gardens
for the takers of givers
until the taking is done.

Wanderless wonder
of what we could share
and defeat what they tell us,
writing backward in script,
observing the cures
for society's pain.

Gluttony of stars painted and faint
for nights we will always take for granted.
Tombstones only make efforts to remind us
that we are merely forgotten.
Occassional flowers dawn the spirit,
but ignore the war within.

Hours spin recklessly
as seconds for present.
Generations of lonely
mingling in masses,
always alone minus moments
of inclusion and distraction.

We'll remain and remind ourselves
of moonlit trails
and teenage tendancies
and fluttering hearts
and drunken nights
and good times spent.

And then there are those things
we'll fight to forget.
Our temporary fixes
of bad hair cuts and cheap suits,
cheap flowers,
cheap happiness.

Cheap pens still put the words on paper.

leaving

Tragic tears falling of wretched desires,
We fight to hold on, but are left to the fires.
Others have needed us to play favorite liars,
So selfless endeavors cut with their wires.

Beauty and damage in singular meaning,
Hearts, spades, and diamonds help with the bleeding.
Bandaged up scars don't bear repeating,
Still repeat by reminding every day leaving.

Playing and praying the same sorry song,
Wishing it different for why you are gone.
We'll see tomorrow, when sun breaks at dawn,
If anyone is left to where they belong.

dead letter

I had the good intention of writing an old-fashioned, hand-written letter to an old friend of mine today. We said "goodbye" some months ago, but not on bad terms or anything. I was even going to hand-deliver the letter, anonymously of course. I was really excited about this. I have found that I miss the little things more often than not like letters and drive-in movie theatres and and sweet wildflowers sprouting optimistically from a crack in the sidewalk. But, long story short, a phone call ruined it all. Sometimes things need to be said, but instead, they are stifled and interrupted. So be it. I will save the occasion for something with more splendor. I shouldn't have answered the phone, but I didn't know who it was. So I never forget, here is the start of said letter:

I called you today. You didn't answer. I tried to leave a message, but the words stopped short in my throat. I never forgot you. I've thought about you daily wondering if all is well. I hope it is. I would love to talk with you again, share a laugh or two. Maybe even a dance to some funky in-between song we couldn't agree on.

And, as I already mentioned, that is when you called and I never finished the letter. Instead I chose to rant to myself (and anyone else here, I guess) about how crappy people are because they are so selfish and coldhearted and I could really use a drink right now and a tattoo, a really big tattoo, the one I've been wanting for so long, and make up a new Irish toast, even though I am not Irish, so I guess it really wouldn't be Irish, but a "cheers" nonetheless, and it went something like this...

Here's to you, and all your cheers,
For me, I'll have a few more beers!

Not too creative, but it made me smile at the time.

just a sunday night

So I was driving this evening and I noticed a thing I have noticed a hundred times before, a thing you all know and on occassion you all notice. The moon, atop a skyline, (which coincidentally happens to be the name of the road I reside upon), and I realized that for a brief moment I was literally on top of the world, so to speak. I was on top of the only world I have ever known. Not many can say that they have lived in the same town for the duration of their entire life, but I can. I fail to embrace the beauty I am accustomed to at times. This is a beautiful though tragic place to call home. The town is large enough that the conveniences we take full granted of are available round the clock, but the serenity of the surroundings is bypassed for the muck of the days end. We are slaves and sheep for the system. The same system we can never call our own. We work the daily grind and produce less than satisfactory fundage for the tasks and still continue to dream that there are far better places than here. I am among those masses. Truth be known, we all are.

But alas, I am drunk on a Sunday evening, lucky to make it home safely again, missing my kids for they are at their father's, and dreaming of finer places than here. A cigarette burns quickly in the ashtray to my left, where it is always kept, reminding me of the life we pass through too quickly, and forgetting that I have any feeling at all. I fear it is time for the slumber that has evaded me so l give in and fold to the weanesses we all suffer and say, "Goodnight, all," and pass out to the tune of absolute nothing, alone and mislead, to figure out why these are the things I detest.

The end

He startled at the image the lifeless woman on the street. He rushed over to offer assistance but others had tried and urged him to move along. It was no longer necessary. Surprisingly she had very little blood leaking from her body. Still the warm fluidity of the fresh kill felt human. He wondered if there would be a man, a lover, a best friend to miss this sweet angel. He then thanked God it wouldn't be him.

Reprieve came with the silence of the end of a life that was supported by tears and sorrows from those around her who never their kept promises and refused to consider her fragile little soul. She was now lifted up beyond the clouds so they can no longer cover the sun from her face. A happiness not experienced before would be welcome. He wouldn't miss her. The mark he claimed she made on him was faded and forgotten before he ever reached the river. She felt no sorrow for him. He deserved every bit of what she gave him. He would never doubt that.

She slipped away to better things that awaited her. The service was beautiful though solemn. No one came to say goodbye, but she said it anyway. Birds sang a lovely song that day in a melody unlike any other. The trees bowed their limbs in remembrance. And the gravediggers took extra care of this one, leaving a flower for the one they did not know. The clock struck noon and strangers moved on. It was always for the best.

part VI

There were things she told him that only he knew, but he couldn't comprehend the extent of information in his own right. Perhaps he would remember once she was gone. Perhaps he would not even know the things that were so deep and so personal as what she chose to share with him. Him alone. She wouldn't realize some of the things she had bestowed upon him in confidentiality or southern moments of inebriation. She had welcomed a comfort with him that was beyond what she was willing to accept. All in due time. But she was too young to understand the future effects they might have.

The aformentioned swim was more pleasant than she had expected. There were things to accompany her on her journey that were well past explanation. Beside the icy cold tormented stream, she found that there was a mere absence of the negativity. It was true freedom. Her body relaxed and took in the inevitable. There was no pain or displeasure. There was no regret or remorse. There was no one to remind her of the iniquities or transgressions of a life that never had the chance to begin with in the first place. There was no guilt.

Tattoos adorned her skin and tatters adorned her frame. Condemnation adorned her frail mind that fought to be hers alone. The only thing she left behind was a puppy she had not the chance to get close to. No loss. Someone would surely take the place in the heart of such a simple being at so young an age. As she rode the torrent and remembered when, she succumbed to the river's morbid effect and slipped lightly away to a far better place. It was only for the best.

Remember the last goodbye? Remember the kiss he laid on your cheek and lips and heart for eternity and memory? It will be all that remains. It will be enough.

part V

The young man ran as fast as he could. He had no idea where she was, but he let determination be his guide. He knew of places that she loved like the bookstore and the coffee shop and the rooftop of this abandoned building where the rats had even moved away. He knew not where to begin so he decided the logical choice was the coffee shop for it was the closest.

There were times when he traveled faster than the traffic beside him, but he took no notice to it. The rain had begun to fall and was getting heavier with each passing minute. He broke through the door of the coffee joint as if he were on fire. The hippies and internet junkies and businessmen were startled and upset by his entry. It seemed he had disturbed their plastic reality encased within the walls. She was not there. As quick as he came in, he left just the same and continued on his journey.

The next stop would have been the bookstore, but he was stopped by a crowd of people and police before he could turn the corner. Traffic was not moving. There was an accident that had put this tiny portion of the city at a standstill. He too was halted in his previous agenda. Curiosity got the best of him and he wound up becoming one of the strangers behind the taped up police line wondering who it was laying in the street. Nothing brings a group of strangers together like a tragedy. Little did he know of the tragedy that was waiting for him around the corner.

part IV

The river ran quickly and violently, but somehow she found the peace in its presence. Where did it go? Where would it end? She was tempted to find out. After all, choices needed to be made. Ducks and sticks seemed to fly by on the current. Water tumbled over the rocks that couldn't be seen. It would be so simple to disappear. She heard the church bells ring in the distance. She climbed the rocks and stood atop them. And then she chose to disappear.

The woman could not shake the girl from her memory. She wanted to go back and find her. Maybe, she thought, the moment just wasn't right. Besides, she had things to do. She continued to walk. Absent-mindedly she stepped off the sidewalk against the light. She never saw the truck coming. There was no time to react. She too was gone. She would only be a story on the evening news after this. And then everyone would forget her too.

The authorities phoned her next of kin, a husband who worked around the clock on the east side of town. He was unreachable for hours. Apparently business was pressing. Truth was he worked late entertaining his secretary more often than his clients. As he was far and away making love to another, the one he had chosen to love forever would never grace his arms again or feel his warmth again or be lied straight-faced to again. I wonder if he would really miss her even though he didn’t deserve to. He already had a replacement anyway.

part III

Downtown was quiet. The river was not. It ripped through the middle of downtown with such fury. It was not to be messed with. It was angry that day. Perhaps, she thought, it was a good day for a swim.

She was entirely too young for the choices to be made. She was sure she knew what love meant. He said he loved her, he even meant it, but it would never be possible for him to protect her the way he should have. He was the one who had planted the fatal seed to begin with. He was free to walk away unaware of the damage he had caused and oblivious to the wreckage he had left behind.

Words could not merit what he had done to her and so surely the guilt would plague him. One day when the grass is not so green and the trees a little less friendly, he would be forced to face the demons he believed to have cast aside. And on the up side, no one would ever have to hear about any of it again. It would be one of the many lost pieces of history. No one would remember a sad summer day when she disappeared.

Life does not always go on for us. He stood staring at the very same river as it rushed by at a frantic pace. Even a river has secrets. The clouds had grown darker and more abundant. He was lost in thoughts of what he had put her through and decided there was nothing he could do to make it right again.

Behind him stood a man of age. He wore broken clothes on a broken body and he stood there alone. Clearly he knew of a life that was much brighter than now. One could see it in his eyes. Maybe he had a partner in life, someone he could always count on. She wasn't there anymore. That was apparent.

He wandered up to the younger man and said nothing at first. His presence was ominous. So much so that it shook the young man from his previous thoughts. He turned to the old man and asked him how his day was. The old man smiled a youthful smile and laughed a bit. And he said, "I've seen finer days in worser weather, son."

The young man said nothing. Of course there was nothing he could have said. Church bells sounded hard on the other side of the river. He had always wondered what they meant. Nonetheless, it was time to find her and at least try to make things right again.

part II

The tears fell harder upon her tired shoes. All she had wanted was a little reprieve, an escape if only momentarily. Her body sunk to the sidewalk with her back to the wall and her face in her hands. Thoughts raced wildly through her fragile mind. She was a phantom bride if only for a day.

No one concerned themselves with until one woman passed and stopped. She looked back over her shoulder and turned back toward the girl. She stood silently for a moment unsure of what she could say to the sad girl. The woman was busy, she had things she needed to do, but it would wait a bit longer.

The woman was older. It was obvious that her shoes as well had traveled a similar path somewhere in time. She made a point of avoiding pysical contact. A little concern was all that would be necessary.

"Excuse me, miss. Do you need help? Is there something I can do?"

The girl was taken by surprise having not noticed that someone was standing before her. She looked up toward the voice and wiped her eyes. Confused, she shook her head. There was nothing the woman would be able to do for her now.

Dejected the woman walked away. She looked back a few seconds later. The girl was gone.

part I

She walked down the street with her head down. She did not want the random passersby to notice the tears freely falling on her shoes. She walked alone with no idea where she would end up. A destination was never the priority. She stopped at her favorite bookstore. Maybe a book would cheer her up or at least allow her to escape to someone else's world for a bit. A girl of sixteen should not have been burdened with the heavy load of what had transpired the night before. She was witness to a murder that had not taken place yet. What fraction of innocence she still claimed was dangerously faltering. A decision was necessary and due sooner rather than later.

The sun was selfish with its warmth, remaining behind the clouds. People passed by at vigorous paces with no regard to how beautiful the trees appeared under casted shadows from the intermittent sunshine. Birds wandered and hopped about the sidewalk for morsels of food that could only be salvaged from the complacency of human beings to disregard what they did not consume themselves. The vendors swept and cleaned their storefronts in the hopes of drawing new business, but it never comes. She stopped, peeked in the window. It was closed.

ahhh... the things we'll do

So, what is it we will do for a dollar? Not enough? How about a thousand dollars? A million? Is there a limit to what we will sell ourselves for? Me, I won't. Not for any amount will I sell out what means the most to me or the things that are priceless to begin with. I could take a few hundred and finally get those tats I wanted done for so long. I could catch up on the bills that plague us all. I could pay my car off or move to a better house or get furniture that makes the place feel a little more like home or get f'd up beyond belief because I feel like it. None of which is worth the price I might have to pay. It shouldn't even be a question. Money rules too many to such an extent that I wish it was never a consideration in the first place.
Do what you must. Do what you will. Remember though, that there is always a price to pay and sometimes the wager is far more than you could have seen to begin with. Are you willing to sell something that may never be available for purchase again? Do what we must. But live with the consequences. You alone are responsible for the outcome. I'm preaching, I know. Kettles and pots aren't we all?
Tell me please what you have done to discern between the right and the righteous. Tell me what makes us all too human. What makes us all question our very own existence and suurender what we knew forever? I never will know for sure. I'd like to think that there are those of out there who thrive on the fact that we are humans and we all feel these emotions and pains and crossroads and dilemmas. Perplexing at best, do we opt for the road less traveled or the one that simply feels right? Again, I am ranting, but it is theraputic and necessary. We all have our vices. You know it's true.

diary of a suicide

you took the low road,
the easy road,
the road that led to nowhere
and left us all behind
to pine and whine about
the unfair loss of selfish endeavors...
sliced yourself
with kitchen knives
and finished off with
narcotic surprise
so eyes could close upon
your personal hell that
could not be righted
in your mind...
no matter how much
we said we would hold you up
and dismiss the bold attempts
to hide the skulls buried deep
in your backyard
among the hard roots of the
dogwood and cypress
you failed to supress
and regressed to become
one of those bones...
you can never go home

origami

She tore her body to shreds, like a scrappy little ragdoll. Razorblades were the tool but not the motivation. Why did she feel like she had to punish herself like that? She cut and ripped and tore the flesh away. No matter how much it suffered she continued to mutilate her body. They would certainly have deemed her insane if they had witnessed the torture self-inflicted.
When the cutting ceased, she stood tall in the mirror and stared long at the work of art she had created. And she smiled. Her face was no longer recognizable. The blood fell hard to the floor. It splattered on her toes. "No need for nail polish now," she said with a sideways laugh. She never saw herself so beautiful.
The mirror was shattered and deceiving. She should have died sooner from the injuries. She lasted long enough for a final prayer and turned the bathtub faucet on as hot as it would go. She poured the salt in but left the bubbles alone. And then she said, "Goodnight." Someone else would have to feed her pet rat from now on.

untitled one

The wedding had only been planned for a couple of months. It was a hasty decision at best. They agreed that there was no need for the traditional and expensive ceremony. After all, they had both been here twice before. Neither of her first weddings were beautiful. One took place at a chapel in Vegas and the other at the courthouse. This time she wanted it to be beautiful. It was the one thing she asked of him. He had made her that promise.

Times were hard for the two of them though. Recent misfortune had allowed them only a few hundred dollars to proceed with the nuptuals. She forgave the dress, the flowers, the band, and reception spirits. She loved him. She was in love with him. It was the first time in her life she had ever been in love.

She woke up early, around four in the morning to make herself as lovely as she felt. After several cups of coffee, a very hot shower, and an hour of staring at the dress she had made for herself, she went on to ready for the day. His best and only friend had arrived to pick her up. "He's a lucky man today," he said with a tear subtly forming in his eye. They exchanged a quick embrace and left.

The drive was mostly silent. Her mind had drifted to an unknown place. When they arrived, her eyes flooded with tears. His friend, knowing what awaited her, hadn't told her anything about the changes he had made. He too was in love for the first time in his life. He wanted to make this day the best he could possibly make it for her.

He had spent the past few months growing a garden for the flowers. Wildflowers, her favorite. He even had a flower for her hair. He arranged for a violinist to play the music. Pacabel's Canon in D. A table was spread with a cake and glasses of champagne, enough for everyone there. And her brother, whom she had not spoken with in years stood smiling and ready to walk her down the aisle. He couldn't give her much, but he gave her all he had in him. It was more than she could have hoped for. She knew then that everything her heart had told her was right.

these are some of my favourite things

Rain on a sunny day
Sun on a rainy day
Breakfast and coffee at midnight
A favorite song being played on the radio
A late night drive
Coffee shops
Campfires and crickets
A really good book
Roller coasters
The beach
Candlelight
Butterflies
Poetry
Real conversation
The sunrise
The sunset
Laughing till your sides hurt
Trees in every season
Sweethearts
Photographs in black and white
Writing
A first kiss
Road trips
Never having to say goodbye
Memories

never look back unless you want to face the past

I knew it was over long before he ever did. I tried to be nice about it, but that only made things harder. He drug it out for much longer than necessary. I didn't think he would end up being 'one of those'. I was in love for the first time in my life and I never wanted it to end. But after our relationship hit the downward spiral, I noticed a change in him and his demeanor. It was like invasion of the body snatchers. A metamorphosis of sorts. I should have known; if it's too good to be true, it probably is.
We had the aesthetically perfect life. No fighting, no lies, no violence, no worries...ever. When I found out I was pregnant with his child I thought it would be the very thing to bring us closer than ever. I couldn't have been more wrong. After the initial shock fron the announcement, he calmed himself. But only long enough to gain the strength to beat the shit out of me, especially in the stomach. Two days later I lost the baby. A direct result of the beating which I had to over-explain to cover up the truth. My doctor never did believe me, but what could he do? As far as he knew the "father" was a figment of my imagination. No one believed me. That was fine because I knew the truth.
Later that year, during the holidays, after things seem to calm down and I had been force fed apologies and excuses to the point of denial, we were suppose to go to my sister's for a traditional dinner with the family. This was the routine every year. Get together, exchange gifts, talk about how we were all used to be so young, and remember when. That year he ruined it. In one fell swoop, he ruined it. My sister hasn't spoken to me since.
The next spring came and I found myself on a particularly wonderful day and felt like drawing murals on the sidewalk in front of our house. The neighbors loved what I had created and some of them actually commissioned me to do the fronts of their properties as well. At that moment when I felt like I was truly appreciated, yet again, he stripped it all away. It wasn't good enough to take the hose and wash it away. No. He went to the shed and found the most flammable liquid he could conjure up and spilled it over the entire surface of my artwork, then set the sidewalk on fire while he laughed. Nobody did a thing to stop him. He was maniacal and out of control. The nice suburbanite scum who praised me minutes earlier retired to their dwellings encompassed in peace and left me to my own personal hell without so much as a word. I knew it was over.
I tried to overlook his shortcomings. I tried to understand his pain. I tried to love him in spite of it all. Sometimes one has to realize her limits. I moved out with no warning and no forwarding address. I found a new job and traded my car, dyed my hair and cut most of it off, and even changed my name. I wanted to become anonymous. For some reason I had the sickening feeling that he wouldn't say goodbye. One week later, I came home to find my cat, my only family, dead on my floor without his head. Blood was everywhere. I screamed when I found the brown paper bag on my coffee table, seeping with what I knew was the rest of my cat. On the wall was a message in black permanent marker. I LOVE YOU! I rang the police, but they didn't seem to take any interest in the situation. "It's only a cat," said the older one. At that moment I realized there was no escape. I had nothting left, so I ran and I never looked back.

the ship is coming in

I'm standing on the dock, ready for this journey.
This time it will be different.
I packed what was necessary and left what I was done with.
Where I am going I'll no longer need it.
The sun is setting soon.
Dusk has always been the most beautiful time of the day.
Lights fading to distant black.
Stars aligned in outrageous formations.
We will only see them as we want to.
Perhaps we will discover some new ones.
Sit down for awhile beside me.
Hold my hand.
Breathe the air in with all the saltiness of the ocean.
Let's pretend that this will be forever.
It's the way it was always supposed to be.
The seabirds have retired for tonight.
Nocturnal life can abound in full glory.
A perfect balance of all that is right in the world.
Good night, my love.
I'll see you on the other side.

so tonight that i might see

You made me realize that I am not ok with being alone.
I miss having someone to fall asleep with
and wake up with
and walk and talk and cry and dream with
and whatever else it is I miss.
I lied when I said I didn't want it.
I lied to myself and cheated us of the memories to be made.
The clock strikes one in the a.m.
Nothing is resolved.
Suicidal tendencies are creeping in again.
The sun is hours away.
Sleep even further.
The sky is so very black.
Did you notice?
Lingering winds strike my face with fury.
It pains and will not let me be.
Though I think I deserve every bit of it.
So beautiful and so tortured.
Give me flowers now,
for when I'm dead
I'll no longer smell the sweetness that they'll bring.

now, this is a strange one

I felt compelled to recall this day from a few weeks ago. A friend and I were out in the middle of the day, when we should have been working, driving around the desert behind our decrepit little city mostly in search of escape from the everyday bullshit we tolerate for pathetic reasons we usually won't admit to. We tried to appreciate the beauty of nature in the hills and the crows and the horses that have long since been pushed from their homes due to structual differences. The sun peeked and hid, the winds kicked up as if to remind us that we were still at home. Random off-road motorists reminded us that we weren't alone no matter how much we wanted to be.
Then, as we meandered further into nothingness, we came to this spot quite obviously tainted by the apathetic bottom feeders of our less than perfect society. I asked him to stop so I could write down everything I found, that maybe later it would turn into something. (We writers are strange cats with not so obvious methods of madness, but I digress). Here's the list:

a garden hose cut into several almost equal pieces
rusted and crusted coffee cans, too many to count
a rug, pattern undiscernible
chopped up, burnt up fragments of cars
water bottles, empty
large white paint bucket, questionable residue inside
half of a corvette
an oil can
two broken window fans
a wig, wtf?
and a dress, a really ugly dress
a squeezed out tube of vinyl adhesive
dish rack
fishing hat
2 pairs of slacks
less than most of a broken bbq
a couch, maybe sofa, not really sure
jack daniels collector can, not worth salvaging
a shave kit
and a whole bunch of too-disgusting-to-mention whatnots

Okay, so what was the point of making this a point, you ask. Honestly I don't know. It seemed noteworthy at the time. As I said, maybe it would spark a future writing project. It didn't. Unless you count this. One lame list of garbage tossed in disregard to the inhabitants of the land by crackheads and criminals.

i'm tired of this world...i want to get off

alright, i'll admit it. i'm terribly pathetic and constantly suicidal. these thoughts infiltrate my head daily, hourly, practically every second. somehow i find ways to keep the struggle alive. for instance, i still realize that there are a handful of people that would be damaged by my actions. life would go on though; it always does.
i remember those shining moments of days and nights passed when unexplicable happiness resided within me and wonder if i would really miss more of them. and i would. i read letters of those who have opted for that lonely road... enough said.
i take solace in the intangible things that are mine forever. they won't go away even if i wanted them to.
so instead, i'll write some poetry and cry and when i'm finished with that, i'll smoke a cigarette and have a cup of coffee and keep telling myself, "it can't rain all the time."

where do you go from here?

so, please tell me, does anyone know? how do you fathom something that is so unexpected when your expectations were nonexistent? how do you know it's okay to ride that crazy wave and just see what happens?
let me preface with this... i recently realized that someone in my life is much more than i thought in the first place and it's a little scary. (you know what i'm talking about). i have feelings i had forgotten i used to know. before i go off on my famous 'cat lady' speech, maybe i should give this a chance, go against everything i had previously believed, throw that caution to the wind, and be real about the whole thing.
it's not often in my little life that i am able to get close with someone. it's not often that any of us can. i've made myself sick over this, but i spoke with my brother in depth, which is a landmark in itself, and he helped extract my overloaded head out of my ass, (pardon the bluntness of that statement).
life is living and risking and loving and playing and dancing and singing and sharing and remembering these things that once pained us but were totally worth it all in the end.
perhaps i have answered my own question.

disintregration

I thought of you today,
when I saw the couple in the park holding hands,
and also when I watched the sunset,
and when I fell asleep and you weren't there.
You called me, just to make sure everything was alright
and I told you it was, but it's not.
I miss you and I never wanted more than to have you right here with me.
As that sad song plays, I never said I would stay 'til the end...
disintegration.
I love the beauty in sadness
when it comes in the form of past tense.
I can't picture a life void of you, and everything that only we knew.
It's too hard to think about moving on from here.
You tell me I should, maybe you even mean it,
but I see it in your eyes...
you miss me too.

crossroads

crossroads... they're supposed to be times in one's life on which a single, solitary decision may change the course of life in the hopes that it will be for the better. maybe it's a new job or a change in marital status or a bold move to an unknown region. who knows?
we all experience this at times, when we don't know which is the right road to take. we're afraid that the decision we make will ultimately be the wrong one. the universe will go spiraling out of control because YOU made the wrong choice and everyone is now doomed and you're pissed off and everybody hates you and... well, then you rant about it. sometimes it is more acceptable when someone else forces the choice on you. then you can alleviate yourself of the consequences and responsibility. then you aren't the bad guy.
transversely, wouldn't it be more righteous to be the bad guy? call the shot? make the choice? it would be grabbing opportunity by the throat and dragging it kicking and screaming instead of waiting for it to sneak up behind you.
i never wished so much to be in love, ( that is an outright lie, but i'll say it anyway.) why does it have to hurt so much when it is real, almost tangible, and still escapes you? i can't stand the pain any longer. it lingers and fails me everytime. i always said that there was no one out there for me. there is no one willing to accept faults and find the hidden beauty and share unknown experiences with and have coffee with in the morning. i miss most the feeling of someone lying next to me, his arm around me in slumber, warm breath on my neck, and waking up together... everyday. i gave up on the idea of it all, (that is also an outright lie, but who's keeping track?)
i know i'm ranting again, but this is my world and no one comes here anyway.

parting is all we know of heaven...

My life closed twice before its close-
It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveils
A third event to me
So huge, so hopeless to conceive
As these that twice befell
Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)


I felt compelled to share this poem with you who choose to read it. It is said to examine the existence of something wonderful for those who pass, but expose the torment for those left behind.
Today it meant something different to me. It brought a great deal of sadness to me. Someone very close to me quoted it, and given the circumstances, I couldn't help but feel as if it would be the last thing he ever said to me and I cried until the tears were no more. And it still hurts. And it's not okay! And I'm not ready to say goodbye! Not in any sense of the word. It's not fair and I won't accept it! I never will, my dear.

I've never seen you so sad. I wish you would talk to me! I wish I could hold your head in my hands as the tears you keep hidden stain your sad face and make it all better, but you wouldn't let me! You inspired me in ways no other could and made me believe that I am beautiful. All of the memories are mine and you can't have them back! I don't want to forget. I love you. I can't help it... I always will.

blue october

if you have not yet heard of the band blue october, let me be the first to tell you that anyone and everyone should give them a chance. the lyrics are poetic, the perforance is intoxicating, and the guys are super cool. i went to an AMAZING show on friday. i knew they would rock, but they were ineffable! a truly amazing experience. it was a small venue and a free show (we get very lucky sometimes here with that) which allowed the crowd to be at one with the band. i didn't want it to end. then, they stuck around afterwards to sign shit for everyone. not too many bands are willing to that anymore it seems. in case you're wondering, their latest and most famous song is "hate me". check them out...trust me!
just don't make the mistake i did and take your drunken brother who needs a babysitter and a barf bag or you may miss it. yes my bro was "that guy" at the show, but i left him to his girlfriend. she inherited him anyway. (he's all better now except for missing the whole show).

on to some ranting, if you don't mind

So, I needed a kick in the ass. I'm writing a book right now. In fact it has been an obssession for nearly a year now, but I haven't been writing as much as I should be. So, this friend of mine says, "Hey, check out my blog." And I say, "What's a blog?" So I checked his out. How cool is this?! You write you want and people respond (or don't) and it' like your own personal world in here. I think I'm going to love it here. Now I feel a pressure to write even if it's crap, but at least it's writing. Life consumes us all to such a degree that we forget the important things. We tend to lose perspective and focus on the mundane. Ugh! Who wants that? Remember the days of youth (haha) when everything seemed possible and you would actually do all the things you said you would?

Some things you might consider:
throw a party in the middle of the street and piss off all your neighbors,
drink some beer with someone who doesn't speak your language,
take a road trip without any money,
find someone to be close to even if only for a night,
better yet, get in touch with a friend that you just can't stop thinking about,
have a really great game of pool and run the table,
read the best book ever in a single night,
quit spending so much time and energy on hate,
play a sad song and have a good cry,
tell a joke that actually makes someone laugh,
go buy that thing you saw in the store especially if you can't afford it,
wake up and share a cup of coffee with the sun,
conquer that stupid little fear you're too embarrassed to admit to,
dance to the music that plays only in your head,
tell someone or everyone how much they really mean to you.

Life is too f'n short to worry about the little things, but the little things always matter.
figure that one out...

let us begin with some prose, shall we?

Nothing

Darkness falls upon me now.
I don't know why.
I don't know how.
Sadness so deep leaves no room for desire.
I think I'll sit down
and cry for awhile.
For every so often someone must go.
But where does it end?
Does anyone know?



copryright a.s.