Three Strange Days, revisited

Listening to Chris Isaak, while turning the cold piece of steel, has a surreal feeling to it as if I’ve done this before only to realize that it’s simply a moment of Future Past.  I’m writing this simply in a n attempt of piecing together my sanity as a frightened child pulls fragments from some china chachki, hoping that the glue will hold and that there are no missing or powdered pieces. In the matter of a week, I’ve ended up with a cut down my wrist, having to take a knife away from the drunkenly stupid, having to play the villain on xmas eve, and missing out on Chinese today.

I swear, somewhere somebody is crying.

I know. Some of you are wondering what the hell happened. You’ve just seen me a few days ago and how the hell could I have this shit just happen in the matter of a few days. If I knew I’d would have hidden myself in a Norman Rockwell dream including the white picket fences and the Holly Jolly Sandy Clause leaving me gifts under a moonlit night. Then again, I’ve never really had Heroin, although I hear it’s to die for and it’s all the rave since it replaced that nasty finger that goes down the throat. 

I know. You’re trying to keep up with the thoughts and wondering if I will ever give the symbolism a rest and simply speak plain. Sorry, even though my usual response would have you removing it from my cold, dead hands a la Charles, I still need to live in the spaces between what is  real and what is in the either. I’ve learned too early in this choppy life line that you can’t return to reality all too soon unless you wish to gain affinity to crash and burn. I need to keep things in an unattached, and abstract frame of mind unless I would have to have someone shake me to stop the screaming. 

I’m trying, ok? I’m trying. 

It’s funny how history’s greatest moments have been in the cause of a woman, or a hog, or over some stupid insult over a meaning of a word. People never see it as it is happening, yet with the glory of hindsight you can actually sit down and ask yourself what the fuck were people thinking about. Honestly, would you have hung around Poland without your foreskin? Would you have told Ronnie that fucking with the Russians using Afghanistan is not a good idea for the New York skyline? Or that John should not sign autographs in front of his high rise? Little moments in time that slip by in the blink of an eye as quick as a sigh or a regret. 

I’m still trying to get hold of the events in some sort of a timeline. To understand that I’ve saved someone’s life again and all it cost me was a little bit of blood and a handy skill of a silver tongue. I mean, it’s not just for helping your partners hit that soprano’s high notes! Since I’ve learned the use of my tongue I’ve have to say that I’ve learned to keep from getting shot, stabbed, beaten, and many other act of vengeance that I would have not have looked forward. Yet, today I’d have to say that it has actually saved someone’s skin. Someone who have no idea who the hell I am or how close they were of having the the living shit beaten out of them over some air of bravado or insult of honor. 

Guys, seriously. I’m talking to you. You, fucker. You. Your dick is not that big. I’m telling you this not because I’m interested in the size of your wiener, but interested in preventing some of the stupidest shit to happen. You are not that big. I don’t care if you can beat down someone with it, you are not that big. You are not your dick. Get your head out of your fucken ass and understand that you are not in the fucking south with honor killing and this macho bullshit of not getting respect. Seriously, son. If you want that deep down respect and look of admiration, get out of your pants and use your fucken brain.

Mutherfuckinghell!!!!!! *angry tantrum that is more guttural gurgling than coherent diction*

You know. You make plans on how things would go so nicely and smoothly and yet things just get so messed up over stupidity and alcohol. I mean alcohol. IF anything needed to be licensed or prescribed it would have to be alcohol. I mean if you can’t think clearly enough, or become an asshole or if you can’t recognize that since you are drunk and your thought patterns are not the best, booze is not for you. Seriously. You need to be referred to the weed man to calm your ass to the point that you are not even coherent or mobile if you are going to be this stupid. 

So, in the matter of a few days everything has come full circle. I’m going to say just enough to protect the chronically stupid yet I think you can get enough of an idea of the living hell I’ve endured. In the past three days, a dog was lost, children cried on xmas night, accusations was tossed around, a car full of mutherfuckers was rolled, my wrist was almost slit open, my plea for peace and humanity over some guy’s case who I have no idea who they are, and the dog comes back. 

Yes, the dog comes back. Seems some little girl liked him so much she took it home and never bothered to ask who placed the collar on its neck. I swear, I wanted to look for the muther fucking cameras. I was expecting Tiny Tim or at least some cameo followed by silent night being sung. The sight of the stupid over this little, yapping dog and not at the guy with the bloody wrist could have not placed more of a cherry over the ironic sundae. The look of dumbfounded stupidity and contemplation over what could have been done in the name of honor and big balls. What could have been done?

Seriously, someone needs to write this movie. You thought Forrest Gump was a money maker. I’ve given up with the book. I don’t have enough words to express some of this shit. I guess it saved me both time and effort in talking to the chronically stupid as well as the amount of blood that I was losing. 

Seriously, a Four Non Blonds moment. Am I getting a dollar for every seriously I say, cause I want my cut at this point.

In the end, my cut wasn’t that serious. My point was proven in not jumping to conclusions over who stole a dog or who is a witch.  And I still have that knife that cut me. Dave, you’re so right. Just prepared in getting cut. The stupid just rolled out with their machismo between their legs without a word. I sit here now with the physical hopes of a liberated Cuba trying to get my mind around the idea that stupidity almost killed. Not mine, but someone else’s. Perhaps I was stupid. In my act of standing against if I suffered it and if I look far enough I could say that I was stupid myself for saying a damn bloody thing. Perhaps I should have let the shit hit the fan and just let things fall where they may. Ha, and perhaps I would have been happy with shootings on my street and more acts of stupidity.

And yet, I wonder how many of these ghosts of xmas past have I endured that were like this? I mean, how many of these have I endured? How many of these stupid moments have I lived through and oddly enough the pile gets a little high and unsightly.  I expand the though now and think of the entire month. How many Decembers have been filled with future humorous moments to make a great story after the scars have disappeared a little? 

“All things pass into the night.”

Geesh…my plans went out of the window. Least I know I’m not going to slit my wrist when I kill myself. That just hurts.

Mumbled madness meant meaninglessly mindful

“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe...." Frankenstein~Mary Shelly

"Seem that this living nightmare has gotten too crowded for two fears to exist." ~mumbled madness meant meaninglessly mindful

Like everything I end up writing I have no idea of where I'll end up or what will come of it and yet I submit to what graves I may end up disturbing in hopes of a better ideal.

Oh wait......you're wondering where I've been and why it's taken me so long to write and to share another piece of my madness ridden mind with all of you? Perhaps beg your forgiveness for not prostrating myself and making myself worthy of your voyeuristic curiosity? That I owe you for some certain amount of indignant treatment that I have come to administer to you on my selfish and dis attached behalf? Hmmmmmm.....that?

Well, perhaps I should apologize to you, my shadowed reader for my absence of glasnost and that I should offer you some beguiled satisfaction. You do have a point and yet, you'd most likely be the one unleashing angst at groundhogs for their fickle fears at their own shadows. Either way, I'd simply say that why not be happy that I'm here than to make me regret getting back at you. After all if you wanted me to return to you fast, I'd would have crossed a few bottled messages on my path to egress.


...and so, as Pushkin would say, Onwards with my story.


A memory keeps replaying in my mind of an age past and the hurt of a torn heart masqueraded as bravado and romantic fate. Walking the streets of Redondo with a cigar in mouth, I face the sea rain with a moment of introspection and determined focus on why I would even allow myself to be placed in such a cameo role in my own love life. And yet, I simply walked on in a westerly manner into the oncoming storm.

The faint anger of gulls and the taste of salt as my cigar smoldered in my wet fingers, my world this one moment of time. I knew that I would have to return to a moment where I was everyone's lifeline and protector, a role more inflicted upon me due to the need of the moment rather than any chivalry. This moment was mine alone and with some hindsight I could see that I would have to relive a bit more indignities of being me for the comfort of a friend in need in the near future. In moments like these I've always wondered how my greatest strength was my weakness rather than any bravado. This was one of the few moments where I'd be vulnerable and scared at any feeling of love with the understanding that it will only shred me into emotional tatters than inspire me to act of greatness. It could be challenged that my greatest acts of evil has been a selfish yearning to be loved and mayhaps understood.

I've always had an affinity towards Mary Shelly. Not only had she traveled among the greatest group of vagabonds and mental gypsies ever collected, but in the act of living they would create the greatest literary movement in English literature in my humble, and perhaps foolish opinion. Romantics understanding that the world rallies against us and yet we can not even raise our own standard to pull together ourselves against any onslaught of approaching devastation. We can only stand against what wickedness comes our way with a brave and yet frivolous act of strength which many account in history has only declared silence is not mockery at our foolish and meaningless act.

I know my time clambers near, and yet I can only face it instead of cowering. As this fallen Prometheus, written by such a graceful and understanding mind know what it truly is to be human in this world, can face such overbearing opposition with a choice of a scowl or open arms expecting any embrace. It's clearly known why I'd would rather forsake any creator of mine in hope of not shaming them with such a lowly creature. I can not help to understand a yearning for the embrace of kindness and yet expect only the quick and harsh strike of reprimand.

You could simply state that all my acts of need have simply been rewarded with lacking compassion and desire. Self explained my actions are in why I'd rather take on my Holy airs and mantle not to carry favor to anyone who judged me as incomplete at birth, but for the sake of simplicity and peace. Of course I hunger for the warmth of a caress and yet I know for certain that any sharp stings of cruelty can not reach me either. It's a costly price and yet I'm already accustomed to paying it. I can not remember when or who have declared my banishment, yet I can always remember that I've survived against the slings and arrows alone.

All rewards hold their poisoned liquors within. Then why not choose our mode of death?

We arrive alone to the world and we make our egress in the same manner unless a twist of tragedy accosts those around us and offer a lofty offering. Holy orders claimed that any form of attachment causes us suffering at a greater scale if we simply reach out with wanting hands only to be rebuked with hot stinging hands and a crushing disappointment that can openly be lead by need. I understand this thought well in these moments and while a warm body slumbers near with faint breath and warm touch. Such need has always been fleeting and understanding that if a chosen subject of desire has been raised another would soon offer someone sickens of their proximity.

I do not look forward to the wanton needs of others fore I know certain that they will tired of me soon. A cross to bear or in my experience a cold walk like this one. Some would admonish that a rough gem must me excavated and worked to enjoy the true value of what has been found and yet I can not find anyone who recognize that potential hidden within and still hold the asperous stone with adoration and content. I have been the lover of many and the companion of countless, masqueraded others only to understand that I'm handed a role of who I should be rather of an improvisation of who I am. Many of these moments I've come to lose myself in the role and give each what they wanted and recreate myself as only dull clay could simply to be tossed among the rejects. Can the clay blame the potter for their inspiration and vision?

Should I remain malleable and willing to the hands of others or shall I simply allow the world to pull me away from such reaching and cold hands?

I stared into the grey ocean above an ashen sky as the roar and turmoil of my mind allowed me to know that I can never unpack my overnight back I carry constantly. I must always me on my way. It's not surprising how hands can change just as the rain can always hide the blue sky. And yet we ignore it all until the blue is hidden. Such a deceptive color. Blue hides with no substance whist grey exposes all with no shame.

How can I have feeling when I don't know if it's a feeling?
How can I feel something if I just don't know how to feel?
How can I have feelings when my feelings have always been denied?

How~John Lennon

I inhaled the remains of the smoke as I dropped the smoldering carcass into the wet sand and crushed the smoldering remains into oblivion. And know that my role is not at an end. I think it would be the last time I would ever play the lover's part. I'd hate to be typecast and to be written out of the story rather than take on a more familiar and complex role. Either way, I'd enjoy to give one last performance as I give the willing cast and audience what they came to see. Such fickle creatures, women. They can only understand an action of love if it costs me dignity, honor, and half of pound close to the heart. That and they yearn to live my role: desired by many, love by few, and abandoned by all.

And they call this romanticism. Lord Byron would have died of shame instead of fever.

How can I give love when I don't know what it is I'm giving?
How can I give love when I just don't know how to give?
How can I give love when love is something I ain't never had?
Oh no, oh no  

How~John Lennon

Hindsight is worth more than any weight in gold. It offers peace of mind and the mysteries of what was as what is. It gives motive and understanding their rightful place among us who search aimlessly for their meaning. It makes us doctors of not what ails us, but for those who suffer what we have survived in hopes of allowing them to bypass the cost we have already paid in their place. Blood sacrifice has already been paid at a cost that we carry in the depths of our eyes and the haunting voice that wakes us from our slumbers to reach out at phantoms of what was and will never be. A medicine worth more than life itself since the more it costs us in the end the more it can save in the beginning of a circular moment of imploding squares of time and integral space.

Perhaps that makes my time with you all the sweeter. Not only would I have to face the world tearing me from you but also the creeping thoughts what lies beneath me whilst I slumber. The voices that tell me to remain in four walls of my sanctuary cell of a trapped circle than the sunshine of the imploded square.

As one path ends another always opens.

"If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.” Frankenstein~Mary Shelly

....Except Me and My Monkey *finished* or the Art of Acting

*Stares at the screen and after finishing coffee decided that it's time.*

The problem with me being over exposed is that it leaves me emotionally open to others. It gives me hope in the human family and that people honestly want to do what is right. Bullshit.

I have to be honest. I'm angry now and my defenses are back up and running. Anger is the best way to snap me back in my regular stride and to silence the optimist that think there is hope for humanity. Fuck humanity. I've learned long ago that if you're an optimist romantic the world will teach you to become a pessimist very quickly. There are only a few times the human spirit can take life kicking down it's sandcastle before it reaches over and strangles the destructive fucker.

It's the difference between reacting, acting, and being proactive.

I'll give you a perfect example.

When I went to campus yesterday to pick up my check, the shared joke is that we are all there for money. It's almost sad how a room full of people can be so petty and shallow if we forget to mention how we are paid so little for a service that not only calls for magnificence, an open spirit, and a dedication that leaves you open and often unprotected. Sadly, a good amount of us waited for our checks to arrive until we were all told that there was a fluke and checks either didn't exist or had to be remade.

I knew my check would only be ready on Friday. A week away from me being dirt poor. As the old joke used to go I'm Po' because I can't afford the "or" to be poor. I'm used to it, yet I knew deep inside that the lack of true leadership and vision or simply following through and allowing others to do things without checking up on them. I'm used to the vacuum of leadership. The fact that people who I'm supposed to take instruction from are those who do less than me and demand more from me than they are willing to do. That fact that they want me to conform to their ideal of what is best when in truth their best is mediocre on a good day.

Perhaps it's because I've been around true leaders at a young age. I've lived to hear the words, "Follow me" instead "do this". I known people who have given me an objective and a blank map and a deadline and allowed me to become innovative and brilliant as I now inspire anyone who ask me for time, advice and assistance on vision. I've learned the meaning of making things from nothing and to pull magnificence from failure. True leaders allow you to handle the work instead of looking over your shoulder. Real leaders support those they placed in the position to get the task on hand done while they take care of what matters like paychecks, hours recorded, materials and an honest answer to keep me on task. The best words you can tell someone is always, "I got this shit, keep doing what you're doing."

Instead I'm surrounded by those who react. They wait and sit staring at what is wrong with those they placed trust in. Micromanagement in a moment that demands leadership. The trust given to those who are supposed to deliver and take away worry has failed. Although I'm not sadden by the fact that I have to make non existent ends meet because it's not the first time and I'm in no way surprised. This is how an optimist becomes a pessimist. When you pull out all the daggers al la Cesar from your back and realize why you were abandoned, left in the open, abused and even mocked, ridiculed and slandered by those who you are suppposed to have faith in.

Sorry, but faith is for charlatans and liars.

To act on all of this I understand that I must be diplomatic and not hasty to respond. I must hold my tongue until it becomes civil and understand how I must always remain with a smile to counter act this. If I was a weak man I would have reacted and raised my voice and hell's fury with it. Instead I know that these are just the numerous sling and arrows of those who planned on getting back at me for one trespass or another. It's the price for having an auditorium filling with cheering people chanting your name or why I'm never foolish enough to take bows from a hungry audience whist my detractors and critics silently plot with cunning eyes. A moment in the sun only allows those to get a better aim at you and in truth is only for the shallow. Those who seek recognition instead of placing their all into what must be done. Those who would rather celebrate instead of toiling with you when it honestly counts.

That and I enjoy the fact that others will give me credit for making a difference instead of demanding attention. Are you getting any of this Kenye? Probably not.

So to act, I play the french role of looking unto the heaven with a small sigh and a "ce'la vi". I give no one their satisfaction of anguish and hurt. The bitter fruit of my suffering to those who have either plotted for it or who would simply enjoy taking a bite from it. Yes, life is going to be tough for the next few days, but I've lived harder. I seen difficulty and wept bitter tears for things that still stand as reminders and drive to never let happen again. I am poor for now, but not for tomorrows to come. I've earned my patience and know that time moves faster with busy hands rather than eyes focused on clocks.

There is still much to be done.

The secret of all is to be proactive. I think this is my optimist self surviving through my pessimist. It's that loving spirit that I protect so much that yearns to be free and to seek out those eyes of the storm that allows me to be as close to who I am. I'm not allowed to be who I am, cause to be who I am I'm easily one who gets hurt. I'm the one to sit and cry for the betrayals and lack of protection that was supposed to be given by my fellow species. Instead I picked up the works of Machiavelli, Sun Tzu, and Musashi in order to not only see through the fog of my personal war with ineptitude, cruelty and stupidity, but to plan ahead in strong places to prevent anyone from hurting me ever. I see those with ulterior motives or with just chaos in mind and prevent them from getting close. There are times when they do and much time is gathered in making sure they can not do so again. The more I remain proactive the more I smile in future moments.

For those who wanted to understand why my name was chanted in that auditorium and mayhps not theirs? It's because I shared with those around me this little truth. It's because not only did I help other find their voice and to know the value of it, but to ensure that they will always be heard not in reaction, but in proactive movement that unites us all and makes us better as a whole rather than divided and torn asunder by those who benefit from our hurt and suffering. I simply have paid forward to those who taught me, have died teaching me, and have left me alone with a task at hand.

I honor my dead by doing what is right and freeing as many minds as possible. To make equals if not those who will surpass me. To show them that they are valuable to me then the riches of the world and that anyone who have made them lowly have lied to them. I've loved everyone in my quick season before my end will come. I remain to do so until I can not hide anymore and my time to leave is reached. I live an eternal example of sacrifice that is too deep for the shallow minded and can not honestly see the value of blood spilt for an idea that frees and unify rather than binds and restricts.

Great men and women have done this. I only relive their memory of what they have given a worthless, ugly child lost in a world too sharp for his skin. All in the hopes that someone else will take my place when time arises.

Why?

Because I love you all. I love you in the same way those have loved me and I could not understand. I paid my dues and now understand that if you honestly love someone, give them freedom. You do not question who they are, but take part in finding out who they are. You nurture without reserve and offer an oasis in such a harsh world.

It's not my name that was chanted, but the name of those in a long line that have done what was needed to be done.

How I miss them.

....

Time to be who I need to be rather than who I am.

....Except Me and My Monkey *unfinished*

*stares at the screen and wonders if it's the right time to share the thought he'd held on to for so long. He sighs deep wanting some sort of strong drink and glances at the bottle near him only to look away. he would not depend on pills the same way. He begins to write and hopes it comes out without too many twists and turns and no nights of a strong subconscious and nightmares of reopened graves buried so long ago.*

It's kind of a tough moment for me actually. I've feel a bit over exposed and what I want the most especially at this time is to just lock myself in for a few days and just mentally recover. I get like this twice a year. This case I'm like this because I've given more of myself that I usually do for a higher goal. It's when I force myself to go against everything I've learned and to put myself in the open and to wear my heart on my sleeve. You can't inspire those to do what is needed to be done with words without an example of faith and hope. It's like dancing poorly in front of an audience without shame and smiling widely at a stranger in hopes of inspiring the same smile. It calls for confidence and the lack of regret. Something that I often have a decent store of both, but in moments like these I often over extend myself and leave myself emotionally open.

And right now I'd rather stand naked in front of all then to feel like this.

You never gave me your pillow
You only gave me your invitation
And in the middle of the celebration
I break down

I know I'll shake this off. I'm not one to feel this way, especially since I abandoned this all so many lives ago for something of greater substance, and yet I can't help feeling that it was all for the greater good. For a moment of my life I abandon the restraints of my mind which force me to remain reserved, calm and collected for the passion that burns in my so deep that it restraints and fear of those who have hurt me before. I give up the safety and solitude of the shadows I've grown so used to for the brightest spot in the sun to entice those near me to bask in it not in a small moment, but as part of their birth right. And yet, I know I can not live in the manner that I promote for too long. Some of us wear our scars on the outside while those of us wear them deeper and from the view of others.

You know what....I can't finish this now. I just can't.

Vagabond

I've been fobbed off, and I've been fooled.
I've been robbed and ridiculed.
In day care centers and night school.
Handle me with care

I've never been one to be forced into anything.

Falling asleep on a couch that only someone half my size and double my flexibility can find comfort in, I opened eyes and looked into a dying phone to notice that only a half hour have come to pass. Being removed from my usual methods of diversion, I've soon began to question my necessity on staying in one place and more the majority of that time to my own missing devices until I would return home and lay my weary head. Perhaps it's due to the lack of sleep due to fools who hold irregular hours of slumber for the benifit to avoid sunlight all together. Mayhaps the lack of funds and rush to arrive to campus has left my metabolism dangerously close to annoyance and have removed any patience from my being. Perhaps I simply felt the pull on a rising moon and my vagabond shoes call me to distant roads and my uncanny ability to disappear from those who assume I will always be. What ever excuse I've decided to leave.

I never question why I would want to leave. Ever since I've paid my due in lifetimes, I do not question why I have an urge to do what ever I fancy. I simply go with instinct and see what crosses my path. There have been moments in time where I've denied myself the instinct and have suffered consequences I'd would not go into or desire to explain. I searched my bag the only only permission I would need and pulled enough pocket change to ensure a bottle of tamarindo soda or in this case my passage home. I've traveled my way before in worse conditions in which I would suffer a sprained ankle, food poisoning, a debilitating injury or just the bother of having to depend on myself as I've have so many years ago. This would be no different and would be less of a burden on myself and young lovers.

My paths are always chosen on times of days, who I'm attempting to avoid, and how much of a window I have to make myself scarce. On this day I had the entire day to get home. I've never was one to sit and wait upon what I can get for myself at the moment, even if depending on anyone else would simply be easier to myself. Ducking through buildings and hallways, I've understand the Art of Disappearing which is a combination of not being in plain view and avoiding the sight of those who look for me. If in a daring mood I've often tailed those who search for me close enough to avoid detection or even used devices that made me socially invisible to their need or grasp. Having several stalkers, including an ex wife with more time than decency have taught me that I'm close to immortal if at inches away from the grasp of a reaching hand.

Perhaps a lifetime of being used, abused, tossed aside and sold for scrap that would resemble a Traveling Wilburys song have made me a bit distant and cold yet with a dancer's tease. I've always understood the cruel nature of people regardless if they mean their actions or not. A cut worm does not question the blade that have torn it apart or the meaning of the action, but simply dies. Apologies are for those who seek a quick absolution from guilt and not as a forward for their redemption. If allowed to, the ones closest to you will gut you alive and leave your wounded. Asking if it was on purpose or not is simply for those who wish to survive with some understanding on how a kind world have failed.

I simply refuse to answer the whys in moments like these. They don't ease pain.

Upon feeling asphalt under my feet, I've discovered myself once more. Taking small moments of resolve and silence have always been a form of sanity in moments like these. The warm sun beats down as I lift missing post and return it to the carrier with only a "good day" as a response. A message on a pole advises me that my new friend may have a home after all only to discover that he will not be free of vagabond chains and the missing have been found once more. Small treasures are found within my path and even the smile or two from faces too young to know the weight of the world, yet wise enough to offer sanctuary from it.

My walk is fulfilling, uneventful, and relaxing. Arriving at my destination I look towards my hands and realize that I'm far too short to join in those already in line. I thank the driver for waiting and ask him to make his way forward. Digging within my bag I pull more than needed and minutes later I take part on the express. I will be home in an hour rather than three. Just enough time to enjoy my paper, look outside the window when it offers a sight or two, and enough to wonder how far is Colorado, Ohio, Morocco, or my final escape. My mind drifts to the special places where I seek refuge counting those I've gained over the years and abandoning the ones tainted with time. I added a few to the list and took in the satisfaction that there are places that I did not exist, matter or needed to set actions into motion.

I wonder if this is how those who live feel all the time?

Walking into the sun once more I finally feel the weight on my shoulders. A nap will help with my mood and my need to center myself. My season is done and time is almost up. Why not take a moment to close my eyes and feel nothing. Walking up steps the door open and I see smiles on faces I've missed far too long. They know what I need the most as they let me sit in silence until I announce that I can use a bit of water and sleep. They move heaven and earth aside and I find the setting sun on my chest, a warm body curled at my side, and a hint of a kiss on my brow. It's nice to know that someone understands me without a word.

My mind drifts to nothing. I become the moment and sleep deeply with few voices declaring violence to others if my slumber disturbed. I forget the needs of others and become what I once was and what I will not be soon. A few times I feel my hand land heavy as voices raise themselves slightly and mongrels kicked out to allow me to rest. I am not the enforcer or a Machiavellian tactician, but simply me.

I finally rest and for once I feel that I'm the center of someone's world who want nothing from me but peace.

I will miss these moments but will treasure them when I have to be what others need once more.

I've been uptight and made a mess.
But I'll clean it up myself, I guess.
Oh, the sweet smell of success.
Handle me with care. 

For as long as we're together then.....

“It is the responsibility of leadership to provide opportunity, and the responsibility of individuals to contribute.”

William Pollard

I can honestly say that grease is not the tastiest thing to have on your hands. It doesn't help when you have an oral fixation and usually have to nibble or just chew on things as a sign of dealing with stress. If you look at me in the corner of your eye you can see me nibble on a pen cap until it no longer resemble it. It's a habit that has gotten me into much trouble from being contaminated by pure strands of E. coli to leaving bite marks on those who dare leave bite marks on my person. 

 

Yet the taste of thick grease coats my mouth as I wonder where I would be if I was not who I was. Some remark that I'm born under the Moon and Sun, being naturally charismatic and having a Hydish persona that believes in duty and humanity. Other said that I had to prove myself since being the third born, yet first to live I had to make up for cowardly siblings who refused to carry their own weight. Another even mentioned that I come from royal or noble blood, although I just think that she wanted a lackey than anything else.

Pulling myself from the grime and mess, I remembered a time where I wore a suit and believed in the potential of Man. I was watching a group from Compton take charge of three corners and work their hustle as the leader of the group broke down the layers of this cake. Two per corner helped pull from the flow of traffic whist a seventh walked about with an eye for trouble and a stalling plan. If they were questioned, the signal would be made while the seventh spoke to the authorities and humbly nod while buying enough time to scatter the group until they can once again convene elsewhere. I didn't question why he was sharing this with me, but I kept my time asking question on tactics and tact and how to move the masses with a single motion of thought rather and force. He continued to instruct and as an empty vessel I listened. One day I would do the same in another life and would silently thank my friend for not only sharing with me how one worked, but the whys.

 

Reaching for a cigarette, I made careful motions to light it and only after I pulled the filter from the opposite end, making sure that the tobacco didn't spill. I've kept myself from smoking for a while, but I felt that I have given up enough for one night and that I deserved a reward even if it's as miserable as this one. I inhaled the smoke in and let it out of my mouth in one large puff. There is something about tobacco that I find enjoyable. I hate the smoke and dare not inhale the acidic flame down into me, but roll the smoke in my mouth only to taste fire, rich leaves, and air inflamed. I'm a long way from being done and I knew that the sooner I finished I can have what I have been wanting for so long. 

 

Sacrifice. It's nothing but a word really. Some complain about it and others cry their eyes out as they remark how they lost what they desired and treasured. Weaklings. They would not last in a world that lacked heated water for long. People often times complained knowing that their tears will yield no fruit, yet wishing that some fool simply do the work for them. That used to be me a long time ago when I first died. How I hated him. Nothing of who I am now. Spoiled brat who believed that rights were obligations, liberties God given than taken, and soft hands and words would endure in a savage world. I never mourned him nor do I care to remember him. When I approach that reincarnation I take a moment to spit and walk on in disgust. 

The wrench doesn't offer much turn as I look for an extent for the lever. Such a graceful tool the wrench. Is there anything that represent the burden and toil of Man? The heft and weight of it remind me of Olde maces yet with practical uses. How the tools of the worker end up being the weapons of insolence and revolt against a world that have gladly given up the lumps and beatings of their great grandfathers to afford an iPod. No one likes to struggle and work in this day. To suffer and sweat not in a gym is lowly and often seen as less than one's worth. People don't remember the sweat shops, the 12 hour day, and the poor working conditions. The sacrifices of old are the shrugs of today.

"I wasn't trying to save your ass. I was saving the body of the young Lord."

"Well, it's the same ass."

Staring at my fingernails I can see the shoe black. The time I've taken to polish the shoes to a mirror shine with careful details. Lessons learned from the past always taught me to Use my Illusion. To allow no one to assume my full capability and to gauge my potential. Always hide underneath and to remain patient for the right time and place. A well placed pawn is worth more than an embattled knight. Its why you are to remain invisible and unseen. It's why you must always hold back. After all, wasn't it in our lessons that if people knew what we were up to they would stop us from doing it?

Who just don't know or just don't care
And just complain when you're not there
You had your time you had the power
You've yet to have your finest hour

 

Pinching the end closed, the slow burn reminded me of what needed to be done. It always amazed me how so few know what to do or even understand what must be done. In a case of emergency the only differences from most is that if they will evacuate their bowls or not. Those of us who have paid our half pound of flesh close to the heart learned that fear limit us and a well placed movement can save the world. That a second lost is a life abandoned. I understand that now knowing that although I refuse to raise my voice least my ire is at its limit, there are moments that I command loyalty and duty in when it counts. Seeing those follow before chaos and confusion would settle those who followed have learned that the value of a quick mind and a slow one usually resulted in a slow death. Cowardliness and confusion are costly attributes to have when the lives of others hang in the balance. 

And yet, I'm told I'm something to be feared.

So sad.

The second moment of power was not an act of succession that many would contribute to my nature, but of an act of loyalty and love of others on my part. I have a low sense of worth and knowing so I understand that I am able to take the blame, the mockery and the insults with stride and laughter of those who dare wear motley. Those who carry a high pride and a revulsion to manure don't last long enough to distract as needed. And yet, those who do see what is being done often do not understand that an open action of thanks prevents me from continuing the work done and pushes me to spot lights and praise. Those who know the cuts of struggle know that moment that you are found out you are soon removed sooner than later. Those who I love and morn today are a testimony of the such. 

To remain in the mud and pull those out rather than clean off and gain praise

assures that the movement progresses. Ego simply gets you killed and beguiled by those who pulls us back. To focus on the work needed rather than the glory ensures us all of greater days tomorrow rather than just a tomorrow. And yet people seeing that seas open and masses move always let me think of my seasons ending. It places me in front and I know that I'm not ready to run interference for others to take over. It has already broken my heart seeing a great one walk on and yet no one has stepped into his shoes to fulfill the work that has already have fallen fallow.

Perhaps those are my shoes. Perhaps I should step forward even though the hands of those who pull me back beg and plead one moment and tear down and mire. Those who hold back and drag down as dragons of Olde. Those who strike blindly and with fury of drowning snakes. Those who seek to please those who see and scheme to betray the other. It's almost as if shadows have always waited on the painful borders of candle light with a promise of victory and end. They plead for one to take the mantle and to rule as marionettes dance freely. They plot games of the past and seek treachery of  new. 

The moment the shoes are filled the season hastes to end.

To step forward is to accept your death. To stand out is to offer a target. To stand up offers the world shoulders to weigh down and a back to break. Heroes all meet their mortality with an afterlife immortal to the chosen storyteller and the one whose coin weighs most. Seeing them walk behind me reminded me of the weight of my actions and the meaning of what will come. Seeing them choose who to follow and who to lead reminded me that leaders are made and chosen not born. 

Isn't it just hilarious that the price of immortality is your life? At this point, I don't know how many of those I have left to give. 

I'm not one to lead, but damn don't people follow.

Avey's death still hang heavy on my head. His end did not come from bullet, but of his own hand. His shoulders could not carry the weight and his back the pressure of the world. I still carry his death as a warning. If the best of us can be fallen, then what hope do I have? A sacrifice with no fruit is just another meaningless death. It's a movement derailed and a future withheld. I know I'm not able to hide much longer, but a well hidden pawn can be worth more than any embattled piece. 

 

As long as it remains hidden.

Hmmm.....I think I've unearthed a grave or two tonight. Me thinks I should end this quick before I fall into the ranks.

The pipes lines up and water was regained with heat. I will sleep well tonight with new cuts and scars to hide tomorrow. The plaque on my desk once again proved my responsibilities and worth for another hour or so. Then voices and curse would be uttered and empty threats would be launched as I write this now. My work and merit hold still as sand castles on meeting the tide. I remain low once more even though I have done what I could to make life a bit better. The soreness in my back and kinks in my shoulders let me know that I never asked for praise but to get the task done regardless the cost. I call today a victory even though some may wonder if it is any such. I sleep heavy, hold my children tight, and have hot water to soak my pain. 

Was is all worth the cost and sacrifice?

I can't answer that. Perhaps if I'm living I could, but surviving is all I know really. Survivors don't complain. We just have to make it another day and face another challenge. 

Monday comes and we do what we must because we can.

Maybe the sunlight will be dim
But it won’t matter anyhow
If morning’s echoes say we’ve sinned
Then it was what I wanted now

"Carry on", I croaked as I sought the solitude of the only sanctuary here. They can't reach me here....yet. At least not yet.

Did I dream you dreamed about me?

She was soft to the touch as I held her close. There was no when or where as time and space held still as most dreams usually do. It's perhaps why we are haunted by them as we crawl towards those waking moments feeling nothing but confusion or a sense of what was. This dream was no different except I long have learned how to hold those whispers of thought together before they fade.

She was perfection to touch. Something which I've always sought for in my lackluster life. Perfection is an ideal that I could never reach in any way as I understand how time takes us all and weighs us down and pulls through any imperfection into eye shot. Yet my hands were very vocal in my senses as they screamed magnificence and elegance. Fingers traced over naked skin at illusory coolness with a heat behind it. Closing my eyes I sense nothing but glory and awe.

I held her close as she held no restraint. She pressed against me as I realized very quickly that she was my missing piece that I sought for ages awake and millennia asleep. Her body held no secrets yet there was a desire to know every inch of her as I held her within my arms, embracing the curves of her back and the contours of her waist. She was every woman I have loved and many who have been at arms distance. The richness of her skin soothed the flame within me as I knew I finally found her.

Then what worried me?

The sound of her voice captivated my soul and still has some chains that drag me towards her now even though I know I do not want her near. The voices of angels can never rival hers as every word was filled with light and meaning with carefully chosen word left no hidden meaning and yet hid more than I can imagine. Her voice lifted me and held my mind in a focus never attain in calm matters. Her melodic words inspired me now to write this in some foolish attempt to capture my siren. To remember her for our next meeting although I know that our last meeting I will not leave her again.

I remember vanilla, honeysuckle, cinnamon and a faint jasmine with every breath. Hunger and lust entwined as I wanted her in every way. She was food, she was sex, she was blood, she was lust incarnate. She was the muse that driven men to build temples to her. Men to sing songs of need and woe of the heart. Painters to stare longingly at their masterpieces in slow madness as they cried silent tears at exquisiteness unattainable. It has driven men to enter mortal battle with only an understanding that their national Venus has been wooed away from them.

Men and their carnal desires. Worthy of getting us all killed. I've never understood.

Moments held for days as I opened my eyes. I still could not look at her directly as I stole glances at her who smiled ever sweetly. She knew I would slowly take her all in, lose all reserve and that time was on her side here. Mice never faces a feline such as her. She was a temptress of Olde and understood that one's fall is usually attained by their own means rather than any assistance. Many warriors have fallen on their swords not from shame, but as their only resolve in moments of passion. A clear mind in a tempest of passions high is as welcomed as any harbor.

I knew well she is my undoing. She is why I've made every haughty action and every hasty resolution. I've been ruled by her before and sought her in all moments, strong and weak. I have always sought her out and worshiped her secretly even in moments where my closest of brothers were chosen over me. I could hear a faint voice deep within, screaming yet muffled, to run and get away. I can hear my sense of survival and reptilian advisory to run fast, hard, and far. I was food, I was sex, I was blood.

Eyes opened to take her all in and I felt my inner resolve weaken and lose rally. She is everything I've wanted and needed in this life. To have her now would only make my life complete and fulfilled. Words escaped me and I could not understand what was said or what was shared. It was the end of the world as everything has crumbled around me and yet cared not. No one has understood where true loyalty emanate within man and how it rises. What makes us brothers and men. What drives us forward when there is no morrow. We all seek her out and I have her now in my arms. How can I loosen my grip? How can I avoid my fall.

I've spent most of my life repairing what I have wroth with mine own hands. I've have forced myself to not be the creature of passion and chaos. I've rebuilt much of what I have destroyed and have paid for blood all that I have shed. I've made peace with my actions and I have paid penance of what I've committed. I carry the scars of a survivor and the sin of one who will never live, but endure for the rest of his existence. My desire for my end has always driven me to the worst of who I was and will be. I've come to grips at my killing motives and made peace at not that I will be judged by heaven and earth, but will end my time of walking one day mid step, incomplete and faulty as the the day I screamed at birth.

What am I willing to do to embrace my inner nature once more? Am I willing to die now and resurrect a life of hell and anguish even if it is my inner nature?

No.

Even with her in my arms I wanted to let go. The fly suffers from anguish and remorse at it's discovery on whose meal it will become. The spider simply dines and becomes nourish at the self destructive impulse of another's nature. She dines not on treachery of her own nature, but of the noble action of removing chaos and entropy, enthroning ethaply. She simply restores harmony and peace. Her nature is to end me, regardless of how I changed. She will be my last moment and I can not escape her for long.

I looked at her eyes, pleadingly. I need more time. I'm not ready yet. I'm not willing to end my moment without finishing my task. Not understanding that I still hold on tight and still want to taste what my end would be. That is would resolve itself better without my hand at play, as it always have done and does not need my interference at any level to return to homeostasis. Life will prosper and time will continue to move on without any accordance of mine.

Perhaps it was empathy in her eyes. Mayhaps I earned a stay for what I asked for or it was simply her knowledge that I will return once again with my own will and actions and that she never called me to her, but simply hold me close when I'm more than willing. Her arms never let go of me as they never really held on. I simply released my own hold and regain my coil once more even though I know it is not mine to keep.

I slowly awaken and felt the anguish and loss of her. I know this now as I write this. I wanted her back in my arms and I rue that I ever let her go. I rise to write and remember who she was and if I could ever find her again. Perhaps my dream was prophetic and not symbolic in any way. Perhaps I shall find her in my last steps. Perhaps I will remain haunted by her face and see her in the corner of my eye or in the closing elevator. Perhaps I .....

...perhaps I need to start my day.

Did I dream you dreamed about me?
Were you hare when I was fox?
Now my foolish boat is leaning
Broken lovelorn on your rocks

The Art of the Resurection and other tall tales....

When I was a young boy
My mama said to me
There's only one girl in the world for you
And she probably lives in Tahiti

I stopped for a moment the other day as I slowly made my way up the steps, making certain that I didn't lose my balance between my clumsy steps and the cane landing just right. There is an art to walking with a cane that can not be imitated unless you are actually attempting to support your weight. A certain strut and shuffle that only those who struggle with every step can make a cane almost look glamorous. And yet without it a pretender simply looks the fool.

Between steps I looked up as if I forgotten my lunch in the truck or even wondered if I wore underwear that day and what my chances were that I would be taken to the hospital at risk of shaming my mother. That small moment allowed me a moment respite as my defenses were down and my senses as clear without meaning almost as zen a moment as any No Mind happening.

I realized that she would be teaching at a summer camp up north. The one she loved and gave her a moment of creativity and breath from when she normally worked and where I would pick her up.

And it is as quick as blinking I have forgotten her as I made my crippled way up the stairs. It would not be the only moment in which I felt her ghost, but it was one that I didn't chase it away with another thought, shutting my eyes in concentration, or in a heavy sigh and a lump to swallow. To write about her now makes her ghost feel just a bit more solid than most times. Being no novice to hauntings, I often time know what rituals to go through to avoid more contact with her spirit. Those who have spent a large amount of time with me have usually left me with small moments in which sad little smiles escape my knowledge and allow those with the quickness of fingers to record said evidence. They ask me why I made such a face and knowing that I speak in layers they simply expect what I say to make no sense.

Though I try my best to keep it
There really was no secret
Must have looked like I was dancing with the wall
No one else could see this apparition
But because of my condition
I fell in love with a little ghost and that was all

Why sometimes offer little peace in truth. It's the how and whens that help us understand the mechanics of the task at hand. Who and whats simply make us certain that such things have actually come to pass with knowledge of the players in the play. It is the whys that trouble us all. It frighten us when there are none or if the evidence we see does not match with motives and actions. It's the whys that haunt us the most even if we do know and it never honestly gives us the peace we seek. It only drives us to seek new eyes to find out the hidden meanings in the three letter word.

You're dangerous 'cause you're honest
You're dangerous, you don't know what you want
Well you left my heart empty as a vacant lot
For any spirit to haunt

It's much easier to wear my mask now. Oscar Wilde once remarked that if given a mask, man is willing to show his true form as long as he fools himself. At this point of the masquerade I'm not worried that I'm left uncovered at midnight, but I worry more on if it will ever be removed. I've opened much of myself this month that it honestly frightens me. I've sang in front of those around me without shame and learned to laugh with gusto and richness that does not allow me to hide and longer. And yet, with what I have learned throughout my time here is that I above all can hide in plain sight. That no one suspects one who stands among them with secrets to expose. My honesty is the best cloak to hide under now. Simply stating those what I know will only allow them to place me with the boisterous or to the side with those who refuse to pepper their tales.

hmmm....I should have really stayed an actor.

Then again, people would believe all I do is of a lie than the truth. And isn't the truth the hardest to swallow?

I got a woman, she won't be true, no no
I got a woman, wanna ball all day
I got a woman, stay drunk all the time
I got a little woman and she won't be true

Sitting now I think of her again. It's a trick as one remaining underwater for an hour or keeping someone's nose pinched in one's fingers. I've never would believe to pick up these dusty memories and think of her as of now. It's funny how love redeems. How it makes us be what they see us as. How our chest puffs and how we are able to challenge to world and dare the heavens to strike as we stare into the eye of what is. Such bravado always lets me play things fast and lose. It always let me believe that gravity may be suspended and that the moment when time stood still would always hold us. To swallow flame or to juggle blades with not a care would never stand up to this trick and how regardless sacrifices are made to unspoken gods and desires, appeasements between what can be and what could be, and for that sweet lie so many of us call Love, it always amazes us how a slaughtered lamb my rise again. Usually with no one asking how was it able to?

Question is, was it ever alive?

Is it my turn to hold you by your hands
Tell you I love you and you hear me
Is it my turn to totally understand
To watch you walk out of my life
And not do a damn thing

Sacrifices we make we always remember, but do we remember the sacrifices? Do we morn for them as well? Do we thank those we have given to the blades and flames without a second thought or do we have to reconcile with what is when we realized that prayers was not heard and another one is asked for? Perhaps it's just why I'm always weary of those who call again and ask to near me again with some sort of revelation discovered. I've always called myself a madman, yet never a fool. And yet the passing of a friends father has brought her into my life when I once believed that I've survive the alter. Yet to return once again to taste steel and flame once more? Would you call it Love? Foolishness? Mental disorder? The act of a suicidal martyr? Or just someone who needed to know if it could be done again?

Hey, I always said never do anything I would never do twice, right?

There are things we can't recall, blind as night that finds us all
Winter tucks her children in, her fragile china dolls
But my hands remember hers, rolling 'round the shaded ferns
Naked arms, her secrets still like songs I'd never learned

And yet, I still shuffle along and wrestle with the why. I have a sense that she will not return. Perhaps it was finally heard or mayhaps she fears that the third times a charm, but another would suffice much better. I still question myself on why I've done it knowing how it would all end. How the future never gave me a sense of peace, but of dread. How I stole those small moments as a man savors his last meal with long lasting joy, turning bone over in his teeth knowing that the moment it leaves his mouth the beginning of the end would be. Perhaps he craved the coldness of the blade and the freeing pain of the end. And yet, if he had to live it once more? If tomorrow would return only with promise of the end once more. Would he savor that bone once again? Would that meal mean as much as it did before?

I still question myself.

Especially, since I know with all I know now that I would do it once more.

Mad man? Haunted? Fool?

Could never have been love.

Right?

Go ahead and leave me.
I think I prefer to stay inside.
Maybe you'll find someone else
To help you.

I walk to the top of the stairs, only wincing twice only to discover the handicapped button to the door inoperable and the door locked shut. With eyes towards empty heaven I laugh silently at the moment and start to make my way down once more with the care of a frightened child and the daring of an old man. There are moments where I shall fly down these steps, but not today. Sacrifices are painful after all and one who would learn the Art of Resurrection would understand that surviving death is not the true feat, but finding meaning in the next death.

After all, life is worth losing for those we love. If not, at least for the whys.

Look at me still talking when there's science to do
When I look out there
It makes me glad I'm not you
I've experiments to be run
There is research to be done
On the people who are
Still alive.

Retaking Memories and Redeeming Love

If you'd look at me you'd never know I was attractive. I still find it difficult to believe really. It honestly never helped that I never felt secure in my own skin as if I always wore an ugly orange sweater that announced my arrival and leaving in life. And even though I've been in several beds and have been entwined in many arms I always seem to equate such circumstances not at my stunning smile or eyes that would inflame the soul, but my ability to bend words to my will.

Perhaps it's a long tradition of oral history in my genealogy that makes me a great story teller or to understand the idea of timing and suspense. Perhaps there are those moments where I unleash the Puckish side of my nature and free that trapped inner child that so many of us talk about and yet don't even bother placing a plate of cookies for. To allow one's mind to explore freely the boundaries of words and meaning has always been a joy even it it simply meant trying to read Dr. Seuss as fast as you can without smiling.

So heavily stating and trying to find some sort of credibility with what I'm actually trying to understand, I've find it quite sad that after a relationship or 12 sours as old milk on a sunny spot usually does that I've carved a good amount of territory out calling it hands off in hope of not running into women who have spent angry moments of time wanting to yell at me over what I am not capable to do such as take them back after sleeping with a friend or being the other man. To walk into a store for the need of the freshest berries for some task has always made me rely on my stealthier side of my nature only due to learning early on in my young and stupid life that women have random and desperate moments that are accepted as the passion of love rather than madness as from the male counterpart.

So entering Pasadena has always felt a bitter moment for me, knowing that I've spent many happy moments with someone who I once believed I would spend the rest of my life with or just happy to be around. It's hard losing a small cafe that still roasts it's coffee beans because she discovered it first or that it's blocks away where she lives. To pass small unimportant spots to many where you held someone in your arms and kissed them for either the first time or perhaps the thousand with the feeling that things will never change for the worse and that life will always have that soft glow of joy. The Thai restaurant where you coyly introduced your attraction for Her. The walk down the street from a small quiet pub where you made Her laugh until she made that funny little sound with Her nose that you always thought was endearing. The drive back to Her place that was longest cause she requested a bit more with you. Those memories are perhaps the happiest in my life. To know that two human beings can share so much in moment that can actually stop time, make you feel young once more, and help make life less burdensome.

Yet it is those moments that tear us apart when our seasons change. We stop holding hands and the time between us all have always become longer when the same person who now avoids your for any reason used to move heaven and earth for a small holding of hands, a peck and a smile of more to come. Those moments are replaced with talks on the couch explaining how life has changed and perhaps some time alone would be best by the bravest. Other would simply ask for their keys and a few noteworthy cowards will always depend on faceless means to demand freedom without reason. I perhaps can count on my three fingers the moments where I've had a mutual letting go, not based on abandonment, but knowing that the World tear us apart from those we love most and sometimes we can not return to them regardless of how hard we try. Those rare moments I've always considered a standard of someone expressing their love for you and yet hurting that they have to let go of you also.

In those moments I've never felt more loved. Even if I never saw them again.

And yet, I'm haunted with the memories of little girls who masqueraded as women and made a fervor attempt on such a worthless and bothersome thing as my heart only to toss it aside and run off with what has more shine, abs, money, or time for Her needs. I'm not shocked in any way of this. I always know these women will shatter my being if I invested too much to them and known that if I always gave my heart out as a fool my anguish would not contained on white paper with black ink, but of rich crimson running into warm waters. Freddie said it best when he declared to the World that too much can kill you as he knew his killer as well as I have known mine. Something about someone recanting their affection or simply saying they never found you all that fascinating is one hurt to endure, but to have them attempt a return to you, declaring that they have lived life and suffered much from their pains and now deserve someone who they cast aside as rubbish when they once ran the streets to catch and convince that they are the one they have waited for, as Oscar Wilde also patiently awaited.

I have lost much of my city. There has come a time where I realized this folly of mine would only leave me with one room to stare out from wondering why I have lost so much. It was Frisco, or Facebook to some, that has cause me to analyze my practimate. If I continued to give away places and cities as some drunken monarch to simply avoid a moment of shame or awkwardness from someone who have dealt me a bad hand, then what will I have left if not their ghost to haunt me still? If they kissed me, did I not kiss them? If they held me tight did I not do the same? If they held out their arms in passionate need did I not do the same? The only difference is that I meant it and never let my eye stray once. I'm not much of a liar since people can tell without any training that I lie as some children can remain still and hands in pocket in a candy store. To attempt me to replace the truth would only make me look the simpleton more than simply stating what is. So if I love, I love. If I anger, I sit in silence until I can contain the fury. If I tire, I sleep. Why lie to yourself or anyone else?

I wish I could understand it. If I could perhaps I would not be writing this.

And so in the past half year I sought out on my campaign with what remaining religious ardor I have. I have taken a page from the Spanish and set out to reclaim what is rightfully mine. If the park under the shady tree meant more to me than someone who could leave me embittered, I shall rightly claim it back with a better memory. Tossing a frisbee seems to most a simple act, but to reclaim a happy spot with a better memory have made me victorious. To sit in a restaurant that I've spent gazing into someones eyes and recount stories that will bring smiles even from the hate filled eyes from across the room. To regain a stretch of sidewalk where hands was held with the laughter of friend or the discussion that moves our souls is the equivalent of placing my flag down and declaring this territory not as my own, but for the principle that joy and love must never die with a person, but must endure to honor the memory made even if you have to replace the entire memory itself.

Perhaps I'm attempting to reclaim what I felt at that moment. Perhaps I've demanding what rightfully mine. That kiss, that smile, that moment of time remembered with sweat soaked sheets and a strong heart beat from a soft breast. I refuse to lose that moment to anyone even though those who partook in it will always recant and deny such a moment existed. To destroy a loving moment is to destroy love itself and its worth. I refuse to. If I loved you I love you now. If you ever meant anything to me you will have known it and will have to endure the memory that someone not of your present liking or desire held the same flame that you once held within. I refuse to believe that every woman in my life was heartless and cruel. To say so would only make me what I refuse to become. I will reclaim that love and will have no shame to declare my love for anyone.

To do so is to lie to myself and the World. And I shall not give the World that victory.

So, I walk a bit more taller now and I smile a bit more freely even though my face still hurts and is not costumed to the strain. I declare my love for humanity, the World that seeks to crush me, and to those I've spent a moment of time with even if we simply sat in a quiet place waiting for another moment to pass. I will not hide my love from anyone again. If I spy Her I will smile with my eyes respectfully and thank her for the moment of time that I still hold within. It has come to pass and it has made me a better man for it now. I will still get calls at night even though I've shared that smile, but I will not answer. For memories are best held close to ones heart rather trying to relive them in attempt of finding what She has never have found, even in me.

After all, ex's are ex's for a reason.
Even if I love them still.

From a respectable distance.