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.

Every day a dream must die

I always hate staring at the blank screen, wondering how I'm going to birth an idea. In many ways I'd rather eat fire than to try to have someone understand my mind simply because there is not patience in a world of apps and instant messaging. I grew up in an age where the Elder would sit your down and share a story that would sometimes last for hours and would raise more questions that answers that have sent you on a journey inward to understand one's self. Today I have to threaten my son with unimaginable to pry the phone from his hands as much as Charles Heston felt towards his gun.

Youth, always wasted on the young.

And yet, I stare at the screen now and wonder if this is where I want to go with this writing. My head is simply filled with much thought that I seem to believe that must be shared and yet due to my lack of diction I can't seem to find the word for wordless ideals. I've always have said that I have a silver tongue and golden fingers and yet I find it hard sometimes to simply say what I think without getting lost in the details.

There are moments where I get lost in my thoughts at time. Moments of insomnia where thoughts run rampant and my voice hurts due to treat of atrophy and lack of communication. Moments where a thought takes me hostage and does what it will with me. These moments the walls crawl with my thoughts and words lose their means as moments repeating them and wondering what syllables make the work have weight and which one are there to appease phonetic sounds.

There are moments that I am lost in facts and reason, starved from poetry and the complexity of language where men use words to woo, rally the weakened soul, and seek a higher claim that connect ideas. These moments I wander a figurative desert that deprive me of multisyllabic words that is the life essence of my mind. I can not be force to be content of bread alone, much less Drink if I'm to be condemned to live in the How rather than the Why. To do so would only force me to fall upon my own sword with a mumbling of words to be lost in time.

I stare now and wonder if my point has been made. I have already made alterations and changes to what I have here and deleted complete paragraphs. I dumb down meaning in some sections while regretting my actions. I'd rather to be understood than to make a finer point and hidden meaning to a generation who find waiting for instant microwave food for a minute without complaining. I yearn for the moments of time where I find one of my soul and mind where time has lost meaning and value, to share ideas and thought with as much fervor as some women exchange clothing. We allow time to creep by as we question the economy, the futility of politics and human behavior. We share line from film and literature and speak of the Romantics and simplistic simpleton that Wordsworth was. To find one as my own always reflect on my that I will live and die alone, unfulfilled and and slightly embittered knowing that I would have to find this in masses and live without the Salons of Olde instead of finding that one to share and challenge my mind as it should be. What a life will I live?

I'm content with what I have placed and have given up on some thoughts with a false promise that I will return and introduce it again as much as lightning will strike twice. I'm used to such abandonment, knowing that there are moments in which I rather sacrifice for the moment rather than the detail. I understand that meaning of small things has always been a passion of mine, not understanding how people can over look the small and rich purpose as one would remark pearls before swine. And yet, how would you deal with pearls? What purpose would they have if not to toss to swine other that lay upon the neck of sows? The moment frees us from the limitations and shackles of life. It offers those condemned to a blinded mind filled with instant gratification which does neither. We suckle from the teat of ineptitude and mediocrity with displeasured smiles that stretch too thin and mask inner pain and horror of the thought that this is as good as it will ever get and yet they suckle on.

Who else would you place pearls before if not swine?

I review my spelling now and I question if it is best to correct it or to simply leave it in a missing and fluctuated. Mayhaps a bit of imperfection would make the point more passionate in plea, expressing the need of the thought to be held rather than the delivery. After all, are not mad men simply men who had ran our of borrowed time? I still search for words that seem out of context and place knowing that they will remain hidden until I pass upon them with a nonchalant glance and will inspire a feverish impulsion to find and right what I find is wrong. Few have seen my madness and yet call themselves my companion of any sorts. I learned that I battle my windmills alone and would not ask for a Sancho. Our crosses are our own and must be carried.

I've read what I have written and decided that my thoughts are ugly and have no worth. The feeling of pain and disgrace has caused me to understand my labor of several hours has bore no edible fruit and that this will not survive in any evidence. There are moments that I've written thoughts that I have deemed magnificent in verse and diction only to see them removed from existence with misplaced finger. I've always consider it the action of a wicked deity that sought my words an abomination of thought and emotion as if Poseidon commanded to crush my bottled messages again the rocky reefs. A thought aborted and condemned to never see the light of day. I will sit in my chair and shed an anguished tear and my foolish attempt to give the world something of myself that I actually believed would heal, love and argue my cause that I matter to something or someone. That my own existence is not of naught and that I actually matter in a world would rather see me in past rather than now. Time has moved on and yet I still live when those I love have left me here to endure. My sentience is to walk the world longer and December may not come. Blood may only be repaid in blood.

And so it ends, not in a bang, but the stroke of a key.

Don't get lost in heaven.....

With elbow in my ear and a fading buzz I try to attempt to write what I can not normally say in Inner Circle. either way, I must say with my liquid boldness whist my blood is a liter low and I'm three into my pints.

Driving home I can feel my mind slumbering and my inhibitions lessen as the pints in me or the moon simply rise high. Perhaps I'm just making excuses. I'm not one to hide behind excuses and to say that liquor or my inner nature has overwhelmed me in any ways, so saying what I say will only sound as a paradox is you do not know me well enough, but will make sense if you know my mind.

.....or is it heart. Nah, not enough people know that.

I'm going to admit some things that I rather not simply because I'm not able to move on and be in conflict with myself. In the end it has brought me some peace of mind and have lead to my understanding to my role in life and yet has always caused me some heartache in the end. If you can learn from me then I invite you to, cause I still wrestle with myself.

1. I've learned to understand women as elements of nature rather than people. I can say this from my dearest friend and muse from Miami that women, not little girls, are like elements of nature. You can not control the wind, it simply moves. You can not control the lighting but simply knee to it's raw power. Real women are not owned or can be contained in the the border in which man demands them to reside. When they try they only become crushed by the wrath of nature. If you love a real woman know that there are times when raw power will be unleashed and times in which the calm will always lull a weak man asleep. Your love should be powerful enough or simply sit down and let the elements wash over you.

2. There is always a risk in loving someone or even desiring them. Regardless of how you may feel know that there are those who will break your heart and will crush you where you stand. If you are weak and can not understand how to love you will be torn asunder and left abandoned. Yet if you understand that you love the elements of nature you know that that chance to race lightning is worth the action and not regret to love even if your love will never be returned. You must love them for the act of love rather than to love who they are. If you honestly understand you can let go before your heart burst and love again soon as on is worthy enough for the task.

3. You must understand that some that you love will not understand your love, even though they tear you apart. Women will always move and act on impulse that is of their own accord and controlling their hearts is as if you can command the lightning itself. Some will take all that you give an abandon you when you lose your shine or purpose. You will be left in the rubble of what you build whilst they find what they fancy and seek to satisfy what secret council they listen to and what they call logic and truth. All you can do is lick your deep wounds and move on. If you meant anything to them they will return. They will realize that you meant the most to them and that you offered a love that can not be found elsewhere. If your heart is open enough and secured you can have them return and understand how you have always been in their corner.

4. If you honestly are in tuned with your own nature you will understand that loving someone was never a waste. That you gave them the best of yourself when possible and regardless of what they seen you have given then what you could. No regrets and no shame.

In stating everything above I have to admit as much as I try to comply with the following that I do not have the best track record with love. In truth, I carry more scars internally than I do outwardly. I'm beyond flawed in letting those who I've loved their freedom and allowing them to item and time again to place a dagger of betrayal into me without so much as a whimper. To know that regardless what I give in return will not be of value until I have left them and others have reduced them to what I may have found in the fist place if lucky.

I know as I stare at my reflection that I will never attract those around me on looks alone. I always knew it as a hindrance and even though I've been told that my eyes captivate and my smile bring savage feelings that lie deeply dormant, I will never woo a woman simply with my photo. Silence will never be my best foot forward.

As on ex once said before I left her crying and declaring that my parents had me out of wedlock that am someone that grow on the mind. Someone that loves freely and grow the confidence to make them whole and to take risks even if the risks become sleeping with someone else that I appreciate their new found sexuality and confidence. I'm a battery and have always made those around me feel beautiful and loved.

As much as I can smile and place my heart on the open, I know that I keep those closest away and do what ever I can to keep those who want me further. I've had enough heartache for one existence. I've have taken more than enough risks and I've done more than my share of hold those who needed me there. I've left nodding that I understand whist lying in my horrid way that only the blind or selfish could not notice. I'm safer playing the secondary roles of Hero, Brother, Champion, Sacrifice, Wing man, and Friend. I can not take another form of rejection and heart break with my heart on the line. I can not gamble another sharp pain or even another late night call calling me a bastard.......like now.......

I tried to love you, then as I now try to understand you, but you will only tear me apart in order to find peace and the fool I am I will let you. I will hand you my heart and smile as you tear it apart and smile in my lost face. I will let you make me yearn for you as your ego is sated. I will hold you, caress you, bring you on ends of passion as I know I will leave used, unloved and empty in order for you to sleep well. And I will watch you leave me and smile and promise who we will be together again and that this distance, regardless if it's 348 miles or simply next to you. I will not reach for you, but my nature will comfort you. I will not whisper that I love you but I will fall under your banner. I will never tell you how you mean so much about me as you crave the touch of someone else simply because it makes you happy.

....and I can not......even when you threaten me to return.

I'm sorry, but I have to protect me. I'm not as strong as I'm not as durable as I lead you to believe. I look as if I'm made of stone and yet I bleed so deep with so many small and mindless actions. It's best to survive that I'm not worthy of you cause my track score says so. That I'm only good enough to hold you while you cry in my arms over what someone else has done to your heart only to choke down on my own tears.

I look to the time and see that I'm not only influenced by a foolish moon, but I'm now free from a courage that weakens my logical thought and allows me to commit bold actions without considering how I will pay for them in time. So I shall bid you goodnight and retreat to the recesses of my subconscious and dreams that I will forget in the twilight of awakening thought. So I write you this if you ever wondered why I refused to reach out and take a chance to make you happy. It's a role that I know I will not survive again.

.... "They got locks on the gate".....

The Hidden Battle For the Skies or How to Rule Others Before Lunch

I'm the first one to admit that my talents are worthless in this society.

In a world that must have a few parlor tricks under it sleeves that must be viral worthy and able to keep the long lost and much worshiped attention span, I do not register unless I make the moment happen rather than take advantage of the situation. Due to a moral choice I'd rather not use my abilities to take advantage of others through monetary means. Something about taking money for something so intimate would only make me feel a bit more whorish than most have already made me.

Was is the stripping at 24?

Nah.

And yet with Darling Violetta's A Smaller God, I can't help in remembering the few pieces of advice that The Old Man has given me on this very topic. It's funny how a showy presence always takes the eyes off the shadows and how the eye will always submit to the dazzle of nothing whist the invisible movement takes advantage of so much. Then again if you told people that Ninja were only hidden due to their social standing as peasants and servants instead of smoke and magic it kind of kills that wonder that lets us believe in God, Santa Clause and the Lotto. It's so handy to simply not share ones secrets yet I will as of now share three.

The conversation not had is always the most important.

There are many ways to say what you are thinking and yet only one way to say what you honestly mean. If you have difficulty understanding this I want you to imagine the human smile on someone who makes your heart melts. Those smiles are not only worth more than gold itself, but there is warmth and life in that smile that would make a boy a man. And yet, we know those who have plastic smiles. Smiles that from photo to photo masks emotion and make for a hilarious slide show.

Body language will always reveal what the subconscious say. The leaning, the tone in voice, pupil size and the flush of skin can never be faked without some mastery. Learning how someone physically hold their burdens will reveal how much they carry the world and how they dread certain tasks. Understand how small time shysters fake charisma will always lead me to think that something is being sold that I do not need nor would hold dear. In understanding how small movements of the hand will always attract or distract the viewer one is able to capture the imagination as well as show lack of confidence in the orator and the point trying to prove.

In other words, I may listen to your words, but I always study how your lips move. Also great in reading if she's faking and if he ever cared.

Homework: Study how Selma Hyack floats into a room and actually distract the eyes from her cleavage with her lips. For advance students, study the Master's movement and discover why his very presence inspire lust among women and men especially in an advanced age. Don't know who the master is? Then you are not an advance student, silly creature.

The art of a Cunning Linguist in getting that O moment.

We marvel at the sight of abs on anyone and in truth it's a marvel. Those who have accomplished such a great physical feat are usually ones we would like to admire and lust after, yet in the mind of the more advanced mind we can find something lacking with the individual. Almost as if one is eating a rich pastery without the fervor and joy. We are lost in why we are not enjoying the magnificence of something that should be so inviting and so desired and yet we are left hollow and disappointed. Empty calories with unsatisfactory sense of guilt.

And yet we do not understand how those who can bend words to their will are usually the ones we admire most. Byron was considered the first Bad Boy and yet he was a write. Poets such as Keats and Shelly and the Bard knew how a well placed words would move any group to emotion and understanding. I'd would incluse singers, but they need the assistance of a band, a music writer, cooreographer and other light and magic officials to sell their wares. Want to impress me? Freestyle or acapella without movement. Sorry, auto tuner need not apply.

Orators such as Christopher Hitchens, George Carlin, and yes Adolf Hitler (no I'm not shitting you and don't you dare call me a fucking antisemite cause I'll beat you to an inch of your life!). These men for their purpose have learned the words flow and how thoughts may be introduced to a stone walled mind into understanding and even blindly following their sentiments. Hitchens convinced so many of use that God is not great but an immortal tyrant who does not care of you and is forcing a subject to forever devote their life into eternal praise as an unearthly North Korea. Carlin showed us how the great battle is not seen (see The conversation not had is always the most important for more understanding ) but is always masqueraded in religion, fear, commercialism, and a sheepish mind to shallow rather than chew what is given. Hitler convinced an entire nation through rally, spectacle, propaganda, and myth on how the Chosen ones were vanquished by a racial traitor that sold their future and rightful place at the head of progress. It cost the lives of millions of men, women and children and by far his use of rhetoric and verse I'd consider the most powerful since it let able minded human beings to give up their reasoning and to blindly embracethe will of one.

Can your abs do that?

I thought so.

Homework: Find one of these men and study, not listen, to the rhythm of their wording and choice of words. What calculated risks are they taking and at what point does someone swallow the hook and refuses to fight the reel? Advanced: Explain what mechanisms have others are able to avoid being captivated. What prevents them to listening? How is this possible and what other rhetoric have they already accepted.

It's good to stay Jung

Jung understood the power of dreams and they symbols of man. Now before you think I'm going to get all touchy feely and hippy with all this shit......we'll you're right, but not for the purpose to connect you with your guardian angel or Gia or even your spiritual dolphin or unicorn. My purpose here is to understand the purpose of early man's need to mark the walls of caves or need to express themselves in a manner that there are no words. It's used lifelessly that a picture is worth so many words and yet we lose ourselves to the deeper meaning for simple bobbles on the surface. True wealth is always rewarded to those who seek the depth of meaning rather than the superficial.

You see a tattoo on someone. Regardless of who, the meaning is always the same. From the early forms of blood magic that every culture has practiced to the shamanistic rituals of those closest to the earth, man has always attempted to augment ability and increase meaning to their existence through signs and symbols. The power of a upwards raised fist, a man leading the way north with a bundle holding mother and child at hand, skull and crossbones on cigarettes. these symbol hold different meaning from culture to culture and yet the differences are very close in origin. Dragons as evil or sacred protectors of wisdom? Is black or white the color of death? What is the difference in a pentagram and a six pointed star? Or seven? What meaning was held from the masses that betrayal would only be cleansed with the split blood of the betrayer? Are Angels glorious creatures or monsterous appendages of a vengeful God?

Understand the meaning of what you see or you will never see what is openly said for those with power to act on.

Homework: Any book on the early symbols of man. Please, nothing too New age or clickish to find your soul mate. Understand the primal meanings of symbols we use today and that magic is not dead. Advanced, study a subject, be it art, body work, or simply signs and siglu for meaning. Then ask someone without knowledge of their take of it. Understand the meaning.

I know you're asking why I would share this with you. Perhaps I simply can not stand ignorance of any kind. Perhaps I simply want the motives of those who move in shadow with me to be revealed for the benefit of man. Perhaps I want you to read into the deep meaning of what I say in order to see what I'm really saying. And perhaps I simply need to expand my influence in order to accomplish my own mean and methods.

Yes.

No.

Quien sabe?

Then again.....will you ever know?

...such an old fashioned word

umm bah boom bah bay day

The wet air seems to cling to me like small weights as my legs drive into cracked asphalt and grass-less dirt. Bowie and Freddie take turns pleading their case on what the meaning of love is as lungs scream and mind race. I always had a special place for this song. If there could be anything to represent my drive in this world it would be this. Somehow I'm always fighting someone else's cause over my own crusades. Perhaps it's because I want to have a victory that is not muddled with confusion or pain. Perhaps I simply believed that my causes are selfish and not worth a lifetime to conquer. Either way, Bowie drives my own argument now. So simple really.

And yet there is always complexity to my simplicity. It's why I never do well in scan tron tests while usually gain the extra points in essays. To give you an idea on how deep the rabbit hole goes, when asked where we get the energy I usually answer nuclear energy instead of food or even my beloved ATP. After all, does not the Sun provide for all and even gives us it's merciful rays to endure the darkness of the world? It's not a mystery why my ancestors either worshiped the Sun or lived in lands where it's daily devotion was mandatory if not needed on survival. I know, I'm avoiding and dodging the issue at hand, but if I run fast enough it won't matter.

Pressing down on you, no man asks for

Did I mention how a young revolutionary tried to place me on the spot? What is it about those who come late to the party that somehow believe that we've been waiting on them or at least holding back? I was kind. I didn't tell him that the revolution has failed me or others. I didn't not mention how the real men and women in the trenches don't wear the party colors or even scream out loud the ideals anymore, but we work in silence and without disruption of any kind. Ego has long been removed and we tire of getting laid for the price of mindless rhetoric. I simply pointed at the smallest of the scars and told him to blog that shit. He continued to read off points as I simply walked away as I've done so many times now. It's much easier than to argue a point that is never heard.

What this world is about

Lungs scream now as I struggle to push breath into tight valves. I have to remind myself that it's more than enough oxygen and that I need to relax instead of giving into the drowning feeling. Ignore the sparkle fairies declaring Neverland has lost it's monarch and just keep driving on. Push through weakness and drive fear away. The extra step I maneuvered to avoid the remains of kibble it seems has off balanced me and given me the rush of adrenalin I needed to push more. The world can not do to me what I already do to myself. It's a sketchy victory, but I rather see my opponent not succeed than for me to taste hard earned fruit. I've given up on a moment in the Sun, but you will not have yours either.

Screaming let me out

I've been planning my exit for this December. I figured that I seen enough and that what I could not accomplish in this much time simply demands a change of the guard. Sometimes we can not fight the endless crusade without the loss of morale. Sun Tzu knew this well and knew any extended campaign will only hurt us in the end. I've already modified the rules of engagement and victory as I said mention before as I jump over to avoid sewer water. Amazing what a few nights of insomnia can produce in thought. My concepts of immortality and victory has forever changed at a small price when I come to think of it. No crossroads meeting or nasty legal jargon to work with when you do it yourself really. Pretty good run if I come to think of it. I've made a decent mark and things seem to be working themselves on their own at this point.

These are the days

I'm starting to slow down. I'm starting to feel the weight of it all as my steps become slow and laborious. It's funny how I always looked for what I can do over what can not be done. As a friend remarked whist we ate with well earned fervor that the solution to almost everything is push-ups. As simple as it is it's just as right as Nuclear power. I'm for it by the way as long as it's in the depth of space. It always work really. Lately my simple solution to all is to run. School is getting harder? Run. Issues with those who want a place back in my life? Run. Pain in my leg and fear of another clot? Run. Finding patterns in my actions and understanding how Frisco was the last straw? Run. Tired of running? Run. Simple and effective really.

People on streets

I've been dealing with my low self esteem and I've been finding some oddities in the logic. I know I'm not pretty to look at or even that talented. It's something most men live with when we can't start a conversation with "Hallo, I'm Brad Pit." And yet it seems I've attracted a good grouping of women around me. One guy compared it to a follow that some Midwest cult leaders enjoy, yet my quick rebuttal has been that following me is like following Forest Gump after he stopped running. Kind of tough looking in the mirror these days seeing how far I've come and how far I must go to simply heal myself. And yet, mirror always have a way of lying. It's hard to deal with the idea of my own attractiveness when I'm always living the same pattern of not being wanted after two years or so or when my use if not needed only to have people look for me later on. I never understood my worth as a human being when I'm desirable at first then tossed out as useless only to have people recant and realize that I am worth something, usually after the guy dumps them or uses them in the same fashion. It's easier to give up and just consider these individuals as mad. After all, if I was worth anything in this world I would have known it by now.

But it's so slashed and torn

Almost done right now. Just running the last leg of it all as I spot KFC and Winchell's. The pain in my leg has rescinded as the running high kicks in. It's tough to believe that I could not run at all a while ago. It's been keeping me intrigued and I'd like to see if I can get my resting heart rate down to 50 even though it's already at an impressive rate now. I'm in love with the human body. I can't believe how delicate and fragile we are and yet we are able to endure almost everything imaginable. If you broaden your view to a few thousand years you can see how our existence has changed the world. I could see it in negative terms, yet understanding that our time is not promised as those who walked before have experienced that extinctions is natures way of putting a patient child in a swing. I think our time is magnificent and if we include that out bodies are made of star dust with the dust of one hand different than the other it not only proves our divinity, but humbles us at the same time. I know it's still a flimsy theory, but I like the idea that we came from Mars. It kind of puts us in universal perspective. Hmmm.....I should listen to more Moby. Maybe he'll pull me out of this.

And love dares you to change our way

I think things will work out in the end. I could not understand why I was so angry in the first place. Perhaps I've made myself more important than I really am. Perhaps I've lied to myself and thought I could make a difference with in truth what will come to pass will and with or without me life will flourish and move on. Contrary to Kanye and TV, we are not that influential if we think about it. I can either try my best to convince others that I'm as important as I think I am or I can simply smile and just live in the moment. Enjoy what time I have as if it's my last. After all, you can either push forward for another day to push forwards through also or we can simple let the lingering taste of something sweet linger for a moment longer with no thought of it's end. I think it makes it worth it all really. I mean, what is worth the beginning without the end? How can we start again if we can never take our bows and wave to our 4th wall. for only an instance. It's really a matter of time and space. Hmmm.....I've always love physics.

This is our last dance