Saturday, July 28, 2012
15 things you need to know about me if we are going to be friends
1. I do not suffer fools, the arrogant, the cruel, or liars. In fact, I'm consider it a duty that I hunt them down and shame them for what they are.
2. I never let people say to me two statements: "I'm sorry" and "thank you". They don't need to be said. If I've done something you are thankful for I've done it out of compassion and kindness. If you done me wrong and I'm still around you, you are already forgiven.
3. I try to enjoy the small joys of life. Those can never be taken away from you. A cool breeze, a silent moment, a child's laughter. Those can never be taken away from you nor would I allow it to be taken.
4. People are categorized automatically in one of three categories in which they usually are able to move from one to another: Adult, child and dog. If you are an adult we can exchange ideas and challenge each other's mind in common and mutual respect and love. If you are a child, then you are missing certain abilities to have a simple conversation, but I know that your potential will be reach in time. Less responsibilities are placed on you by me. Dogs are what they are. They have no true potential as human and it's not worth any trouble attempting to believe that they can raise above any lower brain activities besides eat, sleep, fight, and fuck. Still enjoyable, but not worth discussing Kant with.
5. I realized that I'm very effective if no one know what I'm doing. As far as I've learned the moment that people know what I'm up to that's when others begin to shed light on things and begin to stop me. If I'm lucky, I'm able to show others how to continue what I've started. By then it doesn't matter who know. I don't ask for credit and I don't need any lime light.
6. I'm not allowed to show any weakness the majority of the time. It's one of the reasons why I disappear time to time. Not only am I used to opportunists taking advantage of this moment, but I'd rather not be seen in pain, suffering, hurt or weak. I've also know that others have come to see me as stone and sadly if I show that I'm stoppable then they will lose their momentum also.
7. I have a tendency of "using my illusion". I already know that people see me in one light and never in another. I welcome it since it also helps me hide what my intentions are and allow me an opening to disprove a point or make another one. Never assume I'm one way or another.
8. I'm incredibly antisocial and can not be placed into a crowd for too long. I've learned from experience that being in crowds is a bad thing. I honestly have to prepare myself to go out in public and to deal with people. There usually comes a time that I disappear and go away. This is usually when I'm overwhelmed with people. Despite this I have a close Inner circle of friends who tolerate me, even when I'm a complete ass.
9. If there is anything I love more is to learn something new. People who teach me something new have a special place in my heart. I'm more than willing to do what I can to help them in what they need simply because they pull people out of ignorance and make their lives better. I do not care who they are or how the world sees them. I am more than willing to learn from who ever is willing to teach me.
10. I don't like to be touched. I've come to grasp with this a few years ago. To me touch is a more than personal. It's one of the last sanctities that I have in this life. It a great show of trust to allow someone to touch me. I don't show affection that easily unless it's needed at that moment (kissing someone's head after I hit them by accident) or it's well deserved (someone I trust to a certain extent). I know I should trust others, but growing up with an optimist view on how everyone is a good person has caused me to become pessimist if not for survival then for protection. Also just because I'm a pessimist doesn't mean I want to make others pessimists. People need to believe in humanity and the kindness of others.
11. I'm not a smart person. Just stubborn. I'm dumber than most people think in truth. Yet if you allow me enough time I'll figure it out and pass it on to someone else.
12. I have a complete fear of roaches and a rabid hatred orangutans. For the first, I run away then come back throwing things. For the second, I'm not allowed in the primate section of any zoo. I know they're distant cousin of our evolutionarily, but fuck them, I don't like my human cousin.
13. When no one is around and I have a cookie, I do the cookie dance. No one knows what the cookie dance looks like since I do not do the cookie dance in public.
14. If asked, I'd give you anything I have. I don't have a real issue with possessions or in that respect, money. Things can be destroyed or taken away. Money can be lost or spent foolishly. I value the moment. I value an opportunity to see something that will awe me. Small things make me happy.
15. I'm a horrible liar so I don't do it. That does not mean I do not withhold information from others. Some things are meant to be shared and some things are not meant to be.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Almost that time of year.
It's been I while I know.
I want to apologize for not keeping up with my writing. I promise I'll get to it as soon as I finish mulling over what I'm thinking about. I have to Grok deeply.
But it's almost that time. I'm not a B-day person since I see this time of year more as contemplation of what I've done rather than how great it is. I think it comes from losing so many people in my life. People who in truth were better than me in every way and makes me want to apologize to so many of you out there knowing that I'm a poor representative of those who I look up to and lost. People who pulled this foolish, arrogant and selfish boy into a human being. I thank them every day for giving me the opportunity to make some difference in my life and hopefully in the lives of others. All the while holding a great guilt on how other were greater than me and I'm never going to live up to their standard.
And yet, I have to try.
And every year I sit in silent contemplation near the time when I reached another rotation around the sun knowing that I've lived this long only being too stupid and stubborn to die. There have been days where I contemplated stopping. Thinking that I've either done enough, it does not matter or that I'm too old and sore to go on. A broken man in many respects shambling on towards the next bend wondering if there is another windmill over the hill or if there is any use for my tired bones. There are days where the age is prominent and I have to sit and rest. Others where I have to take a handful of helpers to ensure my progress and other days where I written off the day completely and hope that someone else will do what needs to be done. Those quiet moments I contemplate stopping, moving to the outskirts to take part in nature and let the world move on without me.
It's a tempting thought and it still tempts me.
And then, I come to realize that there are so few who attempts to raise the bar. That while I've always pushed myself to the limit that I can handle and then some that others simply skirt along and simply get by while announcing the world that they have arrived and they're are welcomed. It's quite disheartening that those who have a few decades on me are not willing to push on ahead and see what the limit of pain and accomplishment resides. That no one else hunts the windmills I always scout for. To fight those bigger than you rather than pick on smaller challenges. To leave great deep tracks for the new generation to realize that Life is a challenge to be met and not an excuse to be sought. That Men and Women of steel are made from enduring punishment, heat, and opposition clambering that it can't be done. That one more step must be take.
And so, I look at what I've accomplished the past year and I wonder if I could have done more. If I could have helped, cared for, inspired, challenged and motivated more. That if there is no other windmills to face and behemoths to bring down. To seek a reason to have other to remember my name rather than to promote myself as anything other than what I am.
Life is hard. It will never be easy. It will take from you everything it can and demand more from you afterwards. It will challenge you and shove you when you are at your weakest. It pushes you and makes you want to cry uncle and in the end everything you have worked so hard to attain will be taken away from you without your consent, never heading your protests.
Life is a bastard.
And life if beautiful.
If you do not have an appreciation for the moment you will never find beauty. If you can not enjoy the passing of a special moment and know that it will not last long you will never find peace. If you do not contemplate the End and that one day people around you will gather without you for their own benefit and regale of your life in attempts to console their loss, what do you have given them to say on that day? Will they weep for your loss, say polite words holding ceremony that is in truth a mockery of what the truth is? Or will the stories come out and laughter intermixed with tears of joy flow from their faces in glee and celebration of your time here. Or will you leave possessions that others will carve up that represented your entire time on this spinning stone?
You had no control over your entrance, why not make a beautiful exit?
Why not have a beautiful death?
How?
Live every moment like your last and do not listen to your detractors or your body. Live every moment with purpose. Live well and inspire others to better. Honor those who have left us not with sorrow but with a life worthy of their influence.
Live.
So, I've take a handful of pills and I'm going back out to endure what physical punishment my aging cask will allow me to put it through until I am tapped out on the shoulder and told that I have to leave this magnificent party while it goes on.
Excuse me, I have a few things to continue.
Will write soon.
Much love.
I want to apologize for not keeping up with my writing. I promise I'll get to it as soon as I finish mulling over what I'm thinking about. I have to Grok deeply.
But it's almost that time. I'm not a B-day person since I see this time of year more as contemplation of what I've done rather than how great it is. I think it comes from losing so many people in my life. People who in truth were better than me in every way and makes me want to apologize to so many of you out there knowing that I'm a poor representative of those who I look up to and lost. People who pulled this foolish, arrogant and selfish boy into a human being. I thank them every day for giving me the opportunity to make some difference in my life and hopefully in the lives of others. All the while holding a great guilt on how other were greater than me and I'm never going to live up to their standard.
And yet, I have to try.
And every year I sit in silent contemplation near the time when I reached another rotation around the sun knowing that I've lived this long only being too stupid and stubborn to die. There have been days where I contemplated stopping. Thinking that I've either done enough, it does not matter or that I'm too old and sore to go on. A broken man in many respects shambling on towards the next bend wondering if there is another windmill over the hill or if there is any use for my tired bones. There are days where the age is prominent and I have to sit and rest. Others where I have to take a handful of helpers to ensure my progress and other days where I written off the day completely and hope that someone else will do what needs to be done. Those quiet moments I contemplate stopping, moving to the outskirts to take part in nature and let the world move on without me.
It's a tempting thought and it still tempts me.
And then, I come to realize that there are so few who attempts to raise the bar. That while I've always pushed myself to the limit that I can handle and then some that others simply skirt along and simply get by while announcing the world that they have arrived and they're are welcomed. It's quite disheartening that those who have a few decades on me are not willing to push on ahead and see what the limit of pain and accomplishment resides. That no one else hunts the windmills I always scout for. To fight those bigger than you rather than pick on smaller challenges. To leave great deep tracks for the new generation to realize that Life is a challenge to be met and not an excuse to be sought. That Men and Women of steel are made from enduring punishment, heat, and opposition clambering that it can't be done. That one more step must be take.
And so, I look at what I've accomplished the past year and I wonder if I could have done more. If I could have helped, cared for, inspired, challenged and motivated more. That if there is no other windmills to face and behemoths to bring down. To seek a reason to have other to remember my name rather than to promote myself as anything other than what I am.
Life is hard. It will never be easy. It will take from you everything it can and demand more from you afterwards. It will challenge you and shove you when you are at your weakest. It pushes you and makes you want to cry uncle and in the end everything you have worked so hard to attain will be taken away from you without your consent, never heading your protests.
Life is a bastard.
And life if beautiful.
If you do not have an appreciation for the moment you will never find beauty. If you can not enjoy the passing of a special moment and know that it will not last long you will never find peace. If you do not contemplate the End and that one day people around you will gather without you for their own benefit and regale of your life in attempts to console their loss, what do you have given them to say on that day? Will they weep for your loss, say polite words holding ceremony that is in truth a mockery of what the truth is? Or will the stories come out and laughter intermixed with tears of joy flow from their faces in glee and celebration of your time here. Or will you leave possessions that others will carve up that represented your entire time on this spinning stone?
You had no control over your entrance, why not make a beautiful exit?
Why not have a beautiful death?
How?
Live every moment like your last and do not listen to your detractors or your body. Live every moment with purpose. Live well and inspire others to better. Honor those who have left us not with sorrow but with a life worthy of their influence.
Live.
So, I've take a handful of pills and I'm going back out to endure what physical punishment my aging cask will allow me to put it through until I am tapped out on the shoulder and told that I have to leave this magnificent party while it goes on.
Excuse me, I have a few things to continue.
Will write soon.
Much love.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Cecilia
With numerous tombs scattered around in a maniac's attempt to absorb as much anatomy as humanly possible, Cecelia's red tipped fingernails gently tease my neatly braided hair. She gently massages her fingers into the back of my neck, playfully tracing the what I'm learning is the C1 or is it the C2 bone of the spine, oh I'm so going to flunk this test. I'm studying now since I know that I'm a slow person and my time with is best spent reviewing each and every contour and curve of anatomy the shiny pages have to offer rather than pay attention to her increasingly tempting advances. She's enjoying it, as always as she runs her fingers into my tight braid making it all the tighter and uncomfortable. Making me want to reach out to the braid and undo my meticulous attempt at having an ordered head in appearance at least, knowing that as soon as I do Cecilia will simply take the advance and work her hand deeper into my scalp and the gentle tug at my hair will end with my studies abandoned along with my discipline.
And yet she continues to bait me, wearing down my resistance.
I make attempt to mumble under my breath, struggling to recollect my focus as a child would make their stand again the rushing waves to defend the sandcastle built with pride and love. I can feel her smile as she lays on the couch to add the advantage of her position and to place her warm breath in support of her manual assault. Individuals who have certain keys are usually not allowed near me once their choice to end our relationship is certain. It is all to tempting to have them open those locks and watch me rendered in emotional shambles as a flick of a hand can wake such primal emotion from me. I've always made certain to simply remove myself from them to prevent any languishing returns. Women who know how to reach those special buttons that knock out my rational mind have always lead me astray and have left me to shamefully return, usually cursing at my easily manipulated frame, back to any salvageable progress.
Cecilia not only have the majority of keys, but she has a certain knack at knowing what I really want and what I'm willing to do for it. She loves to laugh at me in that rich, molasses giggle that usually lead me into those moments where I beg for the last 10 minutes back to remake my choice. She has been the driving force behind every bad choice I've made and the majority of scars that have a story behind them. Not to say she's without her qualities. She has always inspired me to greatness in those mediocre moments when life has become all to oatmeal to endure. She marvels how long I'm able to thrive in the mush of it all, knowing that I'm attempting to build some sort of reasoning mind that will prevent me from gambling away my future in the toss of the dice. And even though She's been there kissing those dice to see what may come up, she has been the driving force in those amazing gambles that have made me a legend in certain circles.
How can I resist her, when she knows all too well that it's not oatmeal I want, but the sweetness of raw honey on my tongue?
"Hi, I'm what Oscar called Temptation."
She has inspired me to some of my greatest writings as well to the point that I've always felt dishonest in claiming themas my own works. Every step of the way, her moist whispers in my ear have forced me to out of sound slumber only to meet the rays of dawn with heavy lids and a work of magnificence lain out. I've filled notebooks and blank paper with poems, stories, insight and verse to persuade, invoke and amuse. There have been moments where such inspirations have crushed others in mid thought only to imply that only the worthy thought may survive to be written down and remembered for what greatness it may bring. In those magnificent highs I've always had her by my side cheering me on the loudest.
And so, I can feel her warm breath and enticing fingers work my hair loose, whispering what I want to hear and what I need to be said. She continues to question me on why didn't I continue to pursue my original desires and needs. She knows all to well that it's always a woman that seem to get between us the longest. The first, have thought me never to kneel or grovel to another ever again as she soon earned her key and made great use of it. In the end of five years I was left with a bum knee and a starved mind. It would not be long when Cecilia would arrive soon.
I can still remember the first time we've met as vividly as the shade of her crimson lips on the white ceramic cup. She seem to have awaken my creativity that I've abandoned in the conversations had. Nothing was considered taboo and everything had a hint of shame and exhilaration to it. To consider it my Renascence or at least my Restoration that would make Charles II envious. It was more than any excuse to delve into my more primal mind. Our motto became to warn other to never do once what we'd never do twice. Our escapades rivaled only by The Romantics, we sought to understand the limitation of the flesh and mind.
As of now, Cecilia has undone my braid and have placed her legs resting on my chest as she runs her ringers through my hair. Of course, her attempt to distract me is more than blatant as she gently kisses my head. I've already asked her a few times before to understand that I need to understand my studies and that I would normally would not ignore her. She giggled richly once more and said that she knows and yet the temptation is all to delicious to ignore, adding that breaking my concentration is oh so much fun. It wouldn't take long before I abandoned my struggle and feasted upon her. After all not even a philosopher can endure the pain of a tooth ache and I'm not made of stone.
We would see each other when possible, each time more memorable than then the next. And yet there will be a time when she would drop completely off my radar only to find herself at my door with a wicked smile and an invite to raise hell. Something about the way she drove. That abandonment that would remind me that I was no longer a corner stone, but carefree. That my every action was a cascade of potential and adventure was only a fingertip away. She fed that ignore side of me that craved diversion and fostered a love for the moment that still lingers with me today.
As all great love affairs she has left me with no end. As a cat would journey away from home to die, Cecilia would not be seen again. There would be signs and a few markers to show me that she was always near and even now my muse shares her image always beguiling me to venture out of the safety of my comfort zone and to stand out brave against the World. "Let Byron envy our love fore we shall not take to sick bed, but plunder the day regardless of what may come." Her words of always pushing me onwards.
Seize the day.
Hmmmm.....hard to settle knowing that the day was once seized, no?
And yet, we move on.
Ah....my world for her once more. If only to stand against it once again.
"Come on home"
And yet she continues to bait me, wearing down my resistance.
I make attempt to mumble under my breath, struggling to recollect my focus as a child would make their stand again the rushing waves to defend the sandcastle built with pride and love. I can feel her smile as she lays on the couch to add the advantage of her position and to place her warm breath in support of her manual assault. Individuals who have certain keys are usually not allowed near me once their choice to end our relationship is certain. It is all to tempting to have them open those locks and watch me rendered in emotional shambles as a flick of a hand can wake such primal emotion from me. I've always made certain to simply remove myself from them to prevent any languishing returns. Women who know how to reach those special buttons that knock out my rational mind have always lead me astray and have left me to shamefully return, usually cursing at my easily manipulated frame, back to any salvageable progress.
Cecilia not only have the majority of keys, but she has a certain knack at knowing what I really want and what I'm willing to do for it. She loves to laugh at me in that rich, molasses giggle that usually lead me into those moments where I beg for the last 10 minutes back to remake my choice. She has been the driving force behind every bad choice I've made and the majority of scars that have a story behind them. Not to say she's without her qualities. She has always inspired me to greatness in those mediocre moments when life has become all to oatmeal to endure. She marvels how long I'm able to thrive in the mush of it all, knowing that I'm attempting to build some sort of reasoning mind that will prevent me from gambling away my future in the toss of the dice. And even though She's been there kissing those dice to see what may come up, she has been the driving force in those amazing gambles that have made me a legend in certain circles.
How can I resist her, when she knows all too well that it's not oatmeal I want, but the sweetness of raw honey on my tongue?
"Hi, I'm what Oscar called Temptation."
She has inspired me to some of my greatest writings as well to the point that I've always felt dishonest in claiming themas my own works. Every step of the way, her moist whispers in my ear have forced me to out of sound slumber only to meet the rays of dawn with heavy lids and a work of magnificence lain out. I've filled notebooks and blank paper with poems, stories, insight and verse to persuade, invoke and amuse. There have been moments where such inspirations have crushed others in mid thought only to imply that only the worthy thought may survive to be written down and remembered for what greatness it may bring. In those magnificent highs I've always had her by my side cheering me on the loudest.
And so, I can feel her warm breath and enticing fingers work my hair loose, whispering what I want to hear and what I need to be said. She continues to question me on why didn't I continue to pursue my original desires and needs. She knows all to well that it's always a woman that seem to get between us the longest. The first, have thought me never to kneel or grovel to another ever again as she soon earned her key and made great use of it. In the end of five years I was left with a bum knee and a starved mind. It would not be long when Cecilia would arrive soon.
I can still remember the first time we've met as vividly as the shade of her crimson lips on the white ceramic cup. She seem to have awaken my creativity that I've abandoned in the conversations had. Nothing was considered taboo and everything had a hint of shame and exhilaration to it. To consider it my Renascence or at least my Restoration that would make Charles II envious. It was more than any excuse to delve into my more primal mind. Our motto became to warn other to never do once what we'd never do twice. Our escapades rivaled only by The Romantics, we sought to understand the limitation of the flesh and mind.
As of now, Cecilia has undone my braid and have placed her legs resting on my chest as she runs her ringers through my hair. Of course, her attempt to distract me is more than blatant as she gently kisses my head. I've already asked her a few times before to understand that I need to understand my studies and that I would normally would not ignore her. She giggled richly once more and said that she knows and yet the temptation is all to delicious to ignore, adding that breaking my concentration is oh so much fun. It wouldn't take long before I abandoned my struggle and feasted upon her. After all not even a philosopher can endure the pain of a tooth ache and I'm not made of stone.
We would see each other when possible, each time more memorable than then the next. And yet there will be a time when she would drop completely off my radar only to find herself at my door with a wicked smile and an invite to raise hell. Something about the way she drove. That abandonment that would remind me that I was no longer a corner stone, but carefree. That my every action was a cascade of potential and adventure was only a fingertip away. She fed that ignore side of me that craved diversion and fostered a love for the moment that still lingers with me today.
As all great love affairs she has left me with no end. As a cat would journey away from home to die, Cecilia would not be seen again. There would be signs and a few markers to show me that she was always near and even now my muse shares her image always beguiling me to venture out of the safety of my comfort zone and to stand out brave against the World. "Let Byron envy our love fore we shall not take to sick bed, but plunder the day regardless of what may come." Her words of always pushing me onwards.
Seize the day.
Hmmmm.....hard to settle knowing that the day was once seized, no?
And yet, we move on.
Ah....my world for her once more. If only to stand against it once again.
"Come on home"
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Five - A Life Of Illusion: Prologue
Prologue
There is a cultural divide that places American cinema in a campy genre that seem to stagnate with hero worship, phallic challenges of manhood, and at least ten explosions for every exposed pair of breasts. In contrast, I tend to lean towards Japanese Samurai movies which instead of concentrating on the awesomeness of the lead role it tend to expose humanity in greatness and then to bring an end to the such, ensuring it immortality rather than fan boys arguing if their octogenarian is great or super great. Leaning towards immortality rather than the use of well worn masks that make grown men the target of pity, I'd rather face the end leaving some question to the imagination rather than destroy the mystery of the moment.
Understanding that I usually favor a third person view rather than anything personal in exhibiting my personal experiences, I'm going to attempt to keep this exchange palpable and tangible. I will restrain from hiding behind the comfort of language and the assumption that many refuse to look up the meaning of a multi-syllable word or the hidden meaning behind a simplistic thought. They are my defense mechanism as well as my means to paint an image that some moments seem to be beyond my regular grasp. So in the spirit of Glasnost as a true child of the 80's would know, I will attempt to sit still and find comfort in not using the amazing skill of hiding.
In attempting to end this, I wanted to find the correct ending theme since I've so confidently strode forward into a simple plot use that offered an anchor for some to follow. Using lyrics to convey deeper meaning seems to have replaced the eternal words of great poets and playwrights. I weep for the new generation who modern bards simply repeat the same lyric or group efforts where noise and doctored sound to mask guttural grunts. And yet, using this method of conveyance I could not find the ending that I sought so much while writing the others. How can I simply end an ongoing process that may bring change a week later? To bring solitude to an ensuing journey would only expose myself to the arrogance of such a thought.
And so, I decided to use the play of role in which the world's stage was built on. Perhaps the rising of another life, I can not help to borrow on the use of illusions to masquerade our true motives. I know, I ramble on. And letting go always seems the hardest near the end. And with this, onwards to my story.
There is a cultural divide that places American cinema in a campy genre that seem to stagnate with hero worship, phallic challenges of manhood, and at least ten explosions for every exposed pair of breasts. In contrast, I tend to lean towards Japanese Samurai movies which instead of concentrating on the awesomeness of the lead role it tend to expose humanity in greatness and then to bring an end to the such, ensuring it immortality rather than fan boys arguing if their octogenarian is great or super great. Leaning towards immortality rather than the use of well worn masks that make grown men the target of pity, I'd rather face the end leaving some question to the imagination rather than destroy the mystery of the moment.
Understanding that I usually favor a third person view rather than anything personal in exhibiting my personal experiences, I'm going to attempt to keep this exchange palpable and tangible. I will restrain from hiding behind the comfort of language and the assumption that many refuse to look up the meaning of a multi-syllable word or the hidden meaning behind a simplistic thought. They are my defense mechanism as well as my means to paint an image that some moments seem to be beyond my regular grasp. So in the spirit of Glasnost as a true child of the 80's would know, I will attempt to sit still and find comfort in not using the amazing skill of hiding.
In attempting to end this, I wanted to find the correct ending theme since I've so confidently strode forward into a simple plot use that offered an anchor for some to follow. Using lyrics to convey deeper meaning seems to have replaced the eternal words of great poets and playwrights. I weep for the new generation who modern bards simply repeat the same lyric or group efforts where noise and doctored sound to mask guttural grunts. And yet, using this method of conveyance I could not find the ending that I sought so much while writing the others. How can I simply end an ongoing process that may bring change a week later? To bring solitude to an ensuing journey would only expose myself to the arrogance of such a thought.
And so, I decided to use the play of role in which the world's stage was built on. Perhaps the rising of another life, I can not help to borrow on the use of illusions to masquerade our true motives. I know, I ramble on. And letting go always seems the hardest near the end. And with this, onwards to my story.
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Four - Running To The Edge Of The World
Walking in past the door the bag dropped with a rude sound as he quickly stripped down to his running shorts he wore under his pants. The house was dark and dead to the world as he like it and would only last a few hours, so time was short. He stumbled into the darkness as he found a warm, torn shirt, the one that he wore on day when the world seem it's heaviest. He made one more trip into the kitchen and filled a tall glass with ice until he lost a few pieces. They were not important now or ever. They will melt and evaporate before he would get up again.
Once at his desk he pulled at the latch in his drawer and pulled a small bottle he kept for these moments. He poured out the contents and choose one of each color, making note that he had to refill it soon when he head West. He placed them aside and pulled the bottle from the the desk and sealed up any evidence. He check the messages to be certain that the world had no use of him. Once satisfied, he took a long swallow from the clear liquid and popped both pills into his mouth. He had a few minutes and with an empty stomach he would be numb soon. Sitting in the dark, he stopped using the skill as a wave of pain overtook him and dropped him to his knees.
His eyes teared up as a wounded sound escaped his mouth. The sharpness of the sting radiated in his side as it burned deep within and exploded with each movement. He kept is mind open to it, chasing it trying to gauge it as it moved inside him as a serpent would suffocate it's meal. He counted slowly as it would rock him from his thoughts. He understood why a philosopher would never endure with any patience if they attempted to pull reason from life when the wound was too fresh. He knelt praying to no one as he wanted to prove to himself that he could. If he could endure it the day without relenting he could endure it now in the safety of no one. The warm tears lead to broken sobbing as each gasp of air inflicted it's lesson learned so early in his life. It was his best teacher. It's lesson never failed him.
It was the greatest lesson he learned and mastered young in his life. It embodied Life and Death, Love and Hate, Reason and Chaos. A lesson that the young learned early or end up the meal of another. A lesson that endured the passing of time and would drive diversion and move the slow to adapt or die where they stood. He didn't want to believe in the lesson citing the protections of a cruel world as talismans and with some choice words would protect his with the support of arrogance and self importance. He was bold once and the bold often met the crashing wave that either humbled or killed us all. He refuted it. Nature had it's purpose and his destiny would not end oh so abruptly in any whimper least his story would remain untold. And yet, faith is a often a luxury that the well protected enjoyed without any reprimand and the broken often reached for to dull the reality of being crushed by the weight of the world.
God had nothing to do with it as much as the conversation had between himself and a few who were close enough to bleed him well enough.
The pain began to numb as he slowly return to his seat and honestly looked at the damage done. He was used to his injuries received. They were fewer now then they were in his youth. He knew that the odds were always against him and he would always be injured in one form or another. Pain was in no way a stranger to him in his youth he noted as he slowly traced scars too faded to tell their story. Something about his flaws or shortcomings that sought him in those moments that he would later beg for time to be taken back. He would rue many things then and would often cry silently into the night wondering where his path had lead him. To live an existence filled with it removed any stigma from it. As all nightmares are chased with the light, pain had a way to warp the mind and thicken the skin until the spirit gave up or the body understood it's workings. Earlier lessons made sense when life did not and pain can be controlled and adapted. A hand can caress or it can inflict pain.
After some time it didn't matter which it was. The schizophrenic's hold loosened enough to realize that a suicidal act would prove the coward. After a point a threat becomes nothing and the fearful finds solace in knowing nothing left to lose has been the driving force of every great movement. Cowards are disrobed and pushed into the fire and retribution given to an unsatisfactory wince as nothing is resolved from vengeance. Hatred only breeds abuse in one form or another. It always has.
A curse can be made into blessing with enough resolve. With the price already paid and a skill learned in the moment of great need the weak learns to stand against whatever it may face. To remove pain is to remove fear. Without fear reckless abandon is as simple as batting an eye. Such a skill would change the meek to the vicious easily. Pipes are picked up and blood shed on dark streets. A nightly ritual that was engaged by him, he leaned how soon hypocrites are to be found when they promise unleashed hell. Fearless feel no pain. Painless lead from the point with bloodied fists and undaunted fury. And yet with each fallen on the ground it did not save him from the hell felt. Abuse spawn abuse.
His talent was backed by simple understanding that weakness was sought only to take advantage of. So many attempted to hide it in various manners as the lesson is expanded to understand that the weak is preyed and prayed upon. Weakness is shunned and is a means to bring another form of pain to another. As primitive as any drive, weakness in one allowed another to take any advantage a parasite may find. In understanding human relation, he soon leaned that everyone sough something from another in the principle gained. Love always seemed to be masked in some sort of mistrust and deception that masqueraded pain and weakness. Many clung to those who would hurt them only of some weak relation between power and abuse.
It was his time here he learned that if he could suffice in his self he would not play into such a hateful cycle. He did not want to another task master or to rule over anyone else. He could not understand if the system poisoned the mind or the mind corrupted the system, yet he knew that in various interactions that a romantic ideal as compassion was not only rare, but used as bait for a quick and ruthless hand. Principles of Love written in the suffering of the Hopeful for a moment of a future out of their grasp. As O'Brian remarked to a breaking Wilson, the Boot would continue to stomp forever. A parasitic relationship that was desired by both ends of the boot. A game of Master and Servant rather a coalition of Equals that still haunts his thoughts with those who refused to remove an abusive yolk for a unknown tomorrow for an existence of known suffering.
It still haunts him, those he had to let go. He could not save those who enslave themselves. What else can he do? A drowning man clings to his savior drowning them both unless the Boot is used once more. Voltaire and Rousseau understood that stars only shine in distances that will never be reached. It is best to mind one's own garden and to abandon all hope in freedom.
Sartre proved that "L'enfer, c'est les autres,"so could Peace be in one's own mind? Either way he would isolate himself and prevent hell from spreading.
Many years has past and the Lesson echos deeply within. After some sacrifice peace has been found and yet it is not promised as death is. It is fought for daily, with some days fill with anguish and shame and others with reckless abandon seeking old habits of self destruction. Some days are filled with others with his skill up and a mental barriers always up and protecting, seeking innuendo and a cruel spirit. Fewer days his defenses are not used in a small handful of companions with a secret security of knowing that they can always be replaced as he has been. The majority of days he attempts to find some good in his says, attempt kindness without anyone knowing his hand in play, and taking selfless action without remaining for an act of gratitude. Meaning less rules from worthless books have no purpose in bookshelves without some action behind. If the dream has ended for those awaken, must it be for those who remain asleep?
Hope must be fostered by those who have already paid the dreadful price.
His nature is to pull those close to him that he can reach. Guide others to what can be and to let them dream a little longer. Some find happiness in others while others find joy in shared experiences. They always make him wistfully miss what he may have had or what he could never. Isolation works best with a simplistic excuse to bow out in certain function. There are few moments where he craves the surroundings of others only to have them ripped apart by his own hands. He stopped attempting to find any resolution to his behavior. Solitude will always remain the safest of protection. He has already left many and many have left him. Sometimes a memory resurfaces bringing a pained smile with a quick remembrance of what ended it all.
Still for the best.
He would sit in stupor until someone will arrive and question his injury. A shrug, abstract explanation and admittance of foolishness would end all insight as the subject is changed to something in greater need and the skill would be back up in use eliminating the pain better than any depressant could.
It's for the best, of course. It always will be best.
"We have too much boy scout in us. That's the problem."
Once at his desk he pulled at the latch in his drawer and pulled a small bottle he kept for these moments. He poured out the contents and choose one of each color, making note that he had to refill it soon when he head West. He placed them aside and pulled the bottle from the the desk and sealed up any evidence. He check the messages to be certain that the world had no use of him. Once satisfied, he took a long swallow from the clear liquid and popped both pills into his mouth. He had a few minutes and with an empty stomach he would be numb soon. Sitting in the dark, he stopped using the skill as a wave of pain overtook him and dropped him to his knees.
His eyes teared up as a wounded sound escaped his mouth. The sharpness of the sting radiated in his side as it burned deep within and exploded with each movement. He kept is mind open to it, chasing it trying to gauge it as it moved inside him as a serpent would suffocate it's meal. He counted slowly as it would rock him from his thoughts. He understood why a philosopher would never endure with any patience if they attempted to pull reason from life when the wound was too fresh. He knelt praying to no one as he wanted to prove to himself that he could. If he could endure it the day without relenting he could endure it now in the safety of no one. The warm tears lead to broken sobbing as each gasp of air inflicted it's lesson learned so early in his life. It was his best teacher. It's lesson never failed him.
The best lessons was earned with blood and pain.
Break all of their wings and make sure that it crashes
It was the greatest lesson he learned and mastered young in his life. It embodied Life and Death, Love and Hate, Reason and Chaos. A lesson that the young learned early or end up the meal of another. A lesson that endured the passing of time and would drive diversion and move the slow to adapt or die where they stood. He didn't want to believe in the lesson citing the protections of a cruel world as talismans and with some choice words would protect his with the support of arrogance and self importance. He was bold once and the bold often met the crashing wave that either humbled or killed us all. He refuted it. Nature had it's purpose and his destiny would not end oh so abruptly in any whimper least his story would remain untold. And yet, faith is a often a luxury that the well protected enjoyed without any reprimand and the broken often reached for to dull the reality of being crushed by the weight of the world.
God had nothing to do with it as much as the conversation had between himself and a few who were close enough to bleed him well enough.
If God crossed us we'd take all his drugs
Burn his money and his house down and wait for the fire to spread
Burn his money and his house down and wait for the fire to spread
The pain began to numb as he slowly return to his seat and honestly looked at the damage done. He was used to his injuries received. They were fewer now then they were in his youth. He knew that the odds were always against him and he would always be injured in one form or another. Pain was in no way a stranger to him in his youth he noted as he slowly traced scars too faded to tell their story. Something about his flaws or shortcomings that sought him in those moments that he would later beg for time to be taken back. He would rue many things then and would often cry silently into the night wondering where his path had lead him. To live an existence filled with it removed any stigma from it. As all nightmares are chased with the light, pain had a way to warp the mind and thicken the skin until the spirit gave up or the body understood it's workings. Earlier lessons made sense when life did not and pain can be controlled and adapted. A hand can caress or it can inflict pain.
After some time it didn't matter which it was. The schizophrenic's hold loosened enough to realize that a suicidal act would prove the coward. After a point a threat becomes nothing and the fearful finds solace in knowing nothing left to lose has been the driving force of every great movement. Cowards are disrobed and pushed into the fire and retribution given to an unsatisfactory wince as nothing is resolved from vengeance. Hatred only breeds abuse in one form or another. It always has.
Sometimes hate is not enough to turn this all to ashes
A curse can be made into blessing with enough resolve. With the price already paid and a skill learned in the moment of great need the weak learns to stand against whatever it may face. To remove pain is to remove fear. Without fear reckless abandon is as simple as batting an eye. Such a skill would change the meek to the vicious easily. Pipes are picked up and blood shed on dark streets. A nightly ritual that was engaged by him, he leaned how soon hypocrites are to be found when they promise unleashed hell. Fearless feel no pain. Painless lead from the point with bloodied fists and undaunted fury. And yet with each fallen on the ground it did not save him from the hell felt. Abuse spawn abuse.
Everyone turned their backs 'cause they knew
When we held on tight to each other
We were something fatal that fell into the wrong hands
When we held on tight to each other
We were something fatal that fell into the wrong hands
His talent was backed by simple understanding that weakness was sought only to take advantage of. So many attempted to hide it in various manners as the lesson is expanded to understand that the weak is preyed and prayed upon. Weakness is shunned and is a means to bring another form of pain to another. As primitive as any drive, weakness in one allowed another to take any advantage a parasite may find. In understanding human relation, he soon leaned that everyone sough something from another in the principle gained. Love always seemed to be masked in some sort of mistrust and deception that masqueraded pain and weakness. Many clung to those who would hurt them only of some weak relation between power and abuse.
It was his time here he learned that if he could suffice in his self he would not play into such a hateful cycle. He did not want to another task master or to rule over anyone else. He could not understand if the system poisoned the mind or the mind corrupted the system, yet he knew that in various interactions that a romantic ideal as compassion was not only rare, but used as bait for a quick and ruthless hand. Principles of Love written in the suffering of the Hopeful for a moment of a future out of their grasp. As O'Brian remarked to a breaking Wilson, the Boot would continue to stomp forever. A parasitic relationship that was desired by both ends of the boot. A game of Master and Servant rather a coalition of Equals that still haunts his thoughts with those who refused to remove an abusive yolk for a unknown tomorrow for an existence of known suffering.
It still haunts him, those he had to let go. He could not save those who enslave themselves. What else can he do? A drowning man clings to his savior drowning them both unless the Boot is used once more. Voltaire and Rousseau understood that stars only shine in distances that will never be reached. It is best to mind one's own garden and to abandon all hope in freedom.
Sartre proved that "L'enfer, c'est les autres,"so could Peace be in one's own mind? Either way he would isolate himself and prevent hell from spreading.
We don't seek death, we seek destruction
Death, we seek destruction
Death, we seek destruction
Many years has past and the Lesson echos deeply within. After some sacrifice peace has been found and yet it is not promised as death is. It is fought for daily, with some days fill with anguish and shame and others with reckless abandon seeking old habits of self destruction. Some days are filled with others with his skill up and a mental barriers always up and protecting, seeking innuendo and a cruel spirit. Fewer days his defenses are not used in a small handful of companions with a secret security of knowing that they can always be replaced as he has been. The majority of days he attempts to find some good in his says, attempt kindness without anyone knowing his hand in play, and taking selfless action without remaining for an act of gratitude. Meaning less rules from worthless books have no purpose in bookshelves without some action behind. If the dream has ended for those awaken, must it be for those who remain asleep?
I had no choice to erase the debt of our families
Let you say goodbye with lips like dynamite
Let you say goodbye with lips like dynamite
Hope must be fostered by those who have already paid the dreadful price.
His nature is to pull those close to him that he can reach. Guide others to what can be and to let them dream a little longer. Some find happiness in others while others find joy in shared experiences. They always make him wistfully miss what he may have had or what he could never. Isolation works best with a simplistic excuse to bow out in certain function. There are few moments where he craves the surroundings of others only to have them ripped apart by his own hands. He stopped attempting to find any resolution to his behavior. Solitude will always remain the safest of protection. He has already left many and many have left him. Sometimes a memory resurfaces bringing a pained smile with a quick remembrance of what ended it all.
Still for the best.
Remember when I took you up to the top of the hill
We had our knives drawn, they were as sharp as we were in love
We had our knives drawn, they were as sharp as we were in love
He would sit in stupor until someone will arrive and question his injury. A shrug, abstract explanation and admittance of foolishness would end all insight as the subject is changed to something in greater need and the skill would be back up in use eliminating the pain better than any depressant could.
It's for the best, of course. It always will be best.
See a new beginning rise behind the sun
We could never catch up to them as fast as we run
We could never catch up to them as fast as we run
His eyes closed again, recalling what he said.
"We have too much boy scout in us. That's the problem."
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part three - She's a mystery to me
The night was blurred in the way a fever makes everything hazy and seems to distort time and space. What he remembered was the laughing, a bottle shared of the most wretched liquid imaginable. Fingers found their way to phones as they called others to share our newly gained frivolity as sent terms of endearing love and joy to others were shared while the other giggled and laughed. It almost felt as if they lost their defenses in a manner that would not take a turn.
The television hummed in the background of their minds as they struggled to speak between laughs. It was a moment not different from any other, they enjoyed their moments together without any reserve or apprehension. They continued to fall among stationary objects wondering what had cause them to trip upon the floor as they laughed their cares away as children often do at the mere mention of simple humor. As Jack and Jill before them, as they taken their falls with nothing to hold fast but each other and the immortality of laughter.
Darkness falls and she will take me by the hand
Take me to some twilight land
Take me to some twilight land
Where all but love is grey
Where I can't find my way
Without her as my guide
Where I can't find my way
Without her as my guide
They lay besides each other as they giggled between words. And as all fairy tales there must always be an element of dread that must take hold of our cast least they should lose favor and the tale remain untold as so many times before. Conversation turns and a leap of faith turns into a drunkard's stumble with all the dexterity of one. All to honest words are shared as smiles turn still. They sit in the awkwardness and he realized that he said what he never said he would say again. The moment was too perfect and he'd fallen into a stupor that he swore off at 22 as he would swear off once more a few years pass.
He stumbled back, not in command of his own sense but as a spectator of his own foolishness. Words may never be taken back, only owned without despair and he had no bravado left. He fell back in an anguished humiliation as he realized that his hands could not hide his error as it hid his face. She leaned in, heavy in breath as her hands found his ordered hair. Her words were soft with understanding and forgiveness as he only wish to be swallowed by the world. She spoke of his great aspects and he shook his head in denial. Treacherous tears flowed freely at her words, burning his cheeks with greater shame as he wished he was not there. He'd worked so hard to keep his wits and defenses up. Spent so much time studying the weight of his words only to have them betray his meaning with simply one glass of strong drink. What was it called again? Why was it so unbearable?
A love so sharp it cut
Like a switchblade to my heart
Words tearing me apart
Like a switchblade to my heart
Words tearing me apart
He remembered shaking his head admitting that he could not recognize honesty and truth in these moments and that no one wanted what had no value. That his kind were only used in moments where it never meant well and they were tossed about as one would dispose of refuse. He could not understand the warmth of his neck nor the weight upon him, he was too involved in begging the forces that were to offer a hasten respite that almost none among Olympus would hear. The warmth of fingers were not felt loosening his restraints. Her words were not heard. Only his own attempts to silence her and or to drown out all sense. How could his tongue be so loose he pondered as she drove his mouth silent with her kiss.
In the night of love words tangled in her hair
Words soon to disappear
His nature was torn asunder as Triune mind fought for control over a defeated id. The honesty of nimble fingers pull them closer. Breathy whispers escape as eager lips crave flesh and warmth. Skin yearns to be touched with fever rekindled and lust awakened. Physical acts emerge where no words could begin to derive meaning. And yet, a protest emerges. He tears away with inflamed protest and begins to speak. With clothing half removed and eagerness in eyes, he confesses that perhaps this is not best. His lips speak words that his hands call hypocritical as they caress warm, sweet smelling skin. He recants his quick hands and yearning loins admitting that drink may have taken the best of his actions. Regardless of mutual lust and desire for the other he says that he can not with knowing mind allow himself to do this. He confesses his love to her and all that she means to him, yet he can not ravage her despite how he feels and how his hands still do not give way to his protest.
He tells her that his actions must not be motivated by drink and that if he is to have her it must be a well thought out action instead. Perhaps ghosts of love past refrained him from moving on. He wanted her all, not partially. He wanted her until he took his last breath and wanted to know that she did also willingly. Small talk is had between stolen kisses and promises as they attempt to return their countenance. They smile, stealing glances at what the other carnally offers. And in a memory that will haunt him for cold nights when the blind blows her name across his face, he hands her laced bra and remarks how awe-inspiring her nipples are. A redden face with sly retort asks him if he is certain as he says watches their covering with only a sadden no to. They continue to speak until unconsciousness take him away. The moment will be robbed of him until time has pass and nothing can be done.
Night falls I'm cast beneath her spell
Daylight comes our heaven turned to hell
Am I left to burn and burn eternally
Dormant hearts would only awaken once more creating evasion once more. There will be late hours together on achromatic couches while each craves a moment lost. He would reach out to her only to meet coldness of the moment. And yet, there is always an ache held by one or the other. There would be hugs held longer than needed, stolen looks and secrets kept by the defensive and the forgetful. In the end, walls that hold them apart will fall and lines will be hazed. They will share abandoned moments of thought and mild drunken moments. He would always feel a piece of himself lost in those moments as he fought stupid actions not remembered and wonder why his heart aches for her in the dead silent of nights. He would write his soul to her and she would only toss him aside. He would resort to methods not his own, but offered by others who remark that there is nothing to be lost. And yes he knows that somehow he has lost enough. Her coldness in these moments hurts him deep and yet he knows not why he remains so close to her.
A fool, a motley fool at that.
She tears again my bleeding heart
I want to run she's pulling me apart
Fallen angel cry then I just melt away
Fallen angel cry then I just melt away
He would abandon all and simply say what his heart could not contain. He would declare his love for her any moment he could, cursing the heavens for why words lacks what he so desperately needed to convey what burns him alive. He know his time is coming to an end and simply watches it slip pass fingers that can not grasp the moment. It is not to be said that they do not find moments of closeness. Teasing fingers and moist lips carve memories not to be forgotten and yet there is a restricted hold on him. She would only tease him in the end and knowing full well that the moment must end, he prepares his heart for the end it will meet.
He must not be allowed to be crushed again.
Not once more.
Distance is placed between them as he know their time is not ending. She distance herself from him, promising to visit and to be close again, yet he know there is another and vocal ques let him know she only distance herself to cut all ties. He hardens his heart once more and is not hurt at the goodbye he receives. Not the sound of voice but a cold social faux pas of a modern manifestation asking him to leave her be and to allow her to learn to love. He lets go without and moves on. It will be months before he would begin to piece together that lost moment.
He would move among the living once more as he was once before, carrying a sense of loss that he could not comprehend. He simply lost a damaged relationship and a girl that may have been something more. He lost her and he simply walked away covering all track behind him, hoping that she would not find him again. Well learned habits would kick in ensuring that he remained hidden as he faced greater challenges at the moment. He would attempt to reclaim his body, struggle to finish his studies and come to the aid of a friend who heart was left broken. He would gather the broken hearts of many once more and inspire love that he never has had nor could inspire in himself. There will be questions asked at which his shoulders would only give a slight rise and quick thought would only change the moment. He could not understand why she remains in his mind for so long until he heard the echos of words said to him repeated to his brother.
"We have too much boy scout in us. That's the problem."
Haunted by her side
It's the darkness in her eyes
That so intrigues me
But if my love is blind
Then I don't want to see
She's a mystery to me
It's the darkness in her eyes
That so intrigues me
But if my love is blind
Then I don't want to see
She's a mystery to me
Friday, March 2, 2012
Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part two - Hurt
Trying to begin this entry is as hard as swallowing the desert a spoonful at a time.You never know how to start, the task will be long and painful and you know you can never put a dent in it regardless of how hard you have tried. Trying to cut to the bone would only condemn me rather than to offer insight or any compassion. Even Milton offered Satan a soliloquy and chance of compassion before committing any atrocities.
Funny, I'd never thought I'd associate myself with him early in life. And yet, Milton offers him not as an elemental force of evil and corruption, but as the example of true humanity and the pitfalls that lays wait for someone who attempts to attain a sense of humility and servitude to an unaccountable deity that offers no explanation or comfort, but a cold resolute of insignificance that offers only horror in ones core.
They call me rebellious and yet what other means did I have?
I still hold those moments close. I often recollect them in a mixture of calm abhorrence and remorse for actions I've committed that still haunt me. Reflecting on them with a sage's understanding, well earned patience and scarred understanding of what is right and wrong. Always questioning my methods and practices asking the hard question, hoping for some forgiveness that time has promise, finding none.
How will I find the redemption if I can not offer myself absolution?
There are moment when I can't help to abandon any hope, not in romantic intentions held by Byron or Shelly, but out of near necessity. I honestly, don't have the time to doubt my actions as of now or to question my reason at this point. And yet with my mind I can't help to analyze my motives with every move. Thoughts scoured multiple times before uttering as Avey once showed me, in hopes of gaining greater understanding of the weight of my words and the meanings they offer to others. Perhaps my monkish behavior is my way of paying penance for an action taken or for behavior not corrected until now. In understanding, pain is the vessel that bring meaning into being. It offers us the the true value of the cost of our action and inaction.
I dare not offer excuse. It would only give insult to injury. In the grand scale of it all it doesn't matter. The creative use of insight and facts doesn't correct what was committed or clean off any slate stained. It only removed responsibility from the hands of those who took part regardless of why. Blood stained hands offer no resolution to our infractions nor does it paint us as heroes or saints. Washing ones sin only removes the marker from present view rather than from out conscious. Our minds hold fast on these images not to offer insight or thought, but to remind us with relentless alarm that something went wrong. It doesn't matter if we utter some guttural mumbling on how we were not to be blamed or that we simply followed rather than question. I ask not for the marker of my trespasses to be cleansed. I'd rather hold them as reminder that we are not noble among beasts or pious outside of our own imagination
Perhaps it's why I question everything now. Mayhaps it why I'm am most zealous in having everyone to ask the hard questions and to stare down the elephant in the room instead of ignoring it for some social canon. To err is human and even with that we can not help to cause suffering in our actions unless we take in all that we affect in order to bring hold a greater understanding of our motives and causes. I do not ask for devotion, but understanding. I do not require perfeckion, but patience. I do not ask for praise, but for compassion. I know my limitations and know with every reflection that I can be the worse of humanity. I can corrupt, destroy, distort, and lay waste behind me without any remorse.
Seeing yourself in the worse light possible gives a well pain understanding. It lets us know we can inspire hatred and fear in the eyes that fall upon us. It causes us remain in shadow for relief rather than need. It taints us and makes us nothing greater than vicious and nothing nobler than savages. I do not need forgiveness of those ordained. I need this weight upon my shoulders to know when the next preventable atrocity will be committed. If I can prevent another act of violence upon another then my price paid will cover them also. In a world filled with so much pain and violence, how could we not save others from our own living nightmares?
That is what makes me a survivor. I'm decreed with not a title, but a responsibility to never forget and to never let the same evil come to pass. There is nothing greater than this.
And with every price paid it offers both positive and negative results. It gives us both sight, but it often takes more than what we are willing to give. In this, I understand my shortcoming. I know when I'm limited. And yet, I can't see where the veins of this has reached until I find the manifestation of this.
What am I trying to say?
With all of this, I can't help to feel I'm not a complete human being. I can't help to feel that I carry a stain on my that will harm others I come in contact with. I can not help to feel that I can not be around people for too long without causing some sort of outbreak that will only bring others down.
There are moments when I feel nothing but hatred and anger. As much as I attempt to separate these feelings from those closest to me, I know that I sometimes carry an aura of suffering, anger, destruction, mayhem, a a desire to see all around me burn. And anger that have cost me more after the fact than at the moment it had happen. It causes me to lose restraint and collection. Hold these moments force me to ostracism and isolation. It prevents me to remain close to those I already have near. It reminds me that I will lay waste all around me sooner or later. I'm slow to anger, but my fury is relentless. I will draw blood. I will hurt. I will cause suffering on a level that will scar the mind and offer not resolve. I can terrorize and beguile and commit the unimaginable without a second of defense.
Those sparse moments usually have me in tears soon after. A moment of lapse judgement and an eternity of anguish afterwards. Heavy guilt and pain sets in. For an action that took place in a blink of an eye I will bury myself in greater shame.
Everyone does. Sadly, it's usually by my own hand.The fear to interact with another life and bring a chance of suffering to another holds my head heavy. I push those near me farther away in hopes of saving them from what I can do. Limit myself with only so much contact and going over brings me anxiety. Having people around me for too long brings a feeling of fear that I may be found out that I am not who they think I am. That my past will catch up me and condemn me to days of future past. A facade humanity and compassion. Someone who should have been driven away or burned. to be hunted down and strung up for all to see how low Man does fall. To be made into example and told in stories to frighten children from thinking twice and to accept what the authority demands without query.
I've broken a few mirror in my time. A scarred hand is an easy enough exchange than having to stare into my own eyes. If I look too closely I don't see hatred.
I see sorrow.
In truth, the topic is love that I write. It's what drives us to take embrace with those closest to us and to desire only the best for them. It forces us to protect and nurture. It forces us to defend and makes us invested. It can make use greater than who we are now. It can also make us lesser than who we are. It's a primal feeling that intermingles with jealousy and lust. It can not be explained on an evolutionary level until we are able to form words and figures to attempt to express to others the elemental drive that causes us to abandon all hope and thought. It causes us to mutilate ourselves figurative, mentally and physically to appease another. It pulls us in a warm embrace that can be followed by a choice that many of us face. Meatloaf declared it simply and is still used to question. It forces us to honestly as what we are able to commit in order to continue the release of chemicals that keep us in an induced stupor.
To say that I committed everything out of love offers no reprieve. It does not pardon us or make us less to blame. It doesn't make the situation easier, but makes us selfish. We mock those whose are addicted to a substance, but what is it to be said that love cannot be used in the same manner. How can it not be a weapon in the hands of others? How can it not be used to cause pain and suffering? Does it simply become ignored because it's euphoria advances life? So does war. So does any form of conflict.
In my experienced life, I can honestly say that love can kill. It can kill who we were and make us less than we were. It can make us into the worst we can be.
It's that powerful. It has that kind of hold that one can create or they can destroy. The only difference is the direction. It's elemental and primal and to understand the weight of it will cost you as it cost me.
Heart break? No. No. It was not a heart break. It was worse. I'm still cleaning up that mess. I'm still trying to make things right.
It's perhaps this that keeps me studying my thoughts, language, and motives. It's perhaps this that has me attempting to understand the meaning of something that poets will can not agree on. It has me understanding how people are always willing to give into the those actions in order to feel special. I have to admit, my happiness is usually derived from other sources and yet it can not help to intermingle with love. I can't help to wonder if the person across the room would be my solution. My sanctuary from it all. I'm not made of stone regardless of how others and myself may see it. And yet, I'm very cautious on how I interact with others and what level of endearment I should allow myself to approach. In truth, I always reach the end that allows me to walk away. I love them enough or more to never interact with them.
Perhaps I do love you all?
And yet, I can not help moments like these when I know how it will end. How I continue to ponder the right way of accomplishing it with the least amount of backlash to others. I know time is a factor and when things are right I will go the way so many of my kind have gone. I've lived multiple lives and rose from different ashes as different people. Yet at my core is this weight that year after year only remind me of what a foolish act can wroth. I continue to smile and laugh. I continue to pull those on the way side and pull their weight until they can stand once more. I fight for what is right and will stand against what isn't. My life is not my own as yours has never been. We are all in this together and the more we cut the other the more we bleed ourselves.
I make no excuses and advertise myself as anything other. I offer caution to not get too comfortable. I will leave you in one way or another. I will pass the time, but my time is limited if not by my own hand than by means that I've come to accept so long ago. I will always love you as you deserved to be loved, but not in the way you want it to be.
And yet, I still catch myself looking over and returning a smile. Somethings can not be helped. And still, I know where I will be in the end.
Funny, I'd never thought I'd associate myself with him early in life. And yet, Milton offers him not as an elemental force of evil and corruption, but as the example of true humanity and the pitfalls that lays wait for someone who attempts to attain a sense of humility and servitude to an unaccountable deity that offers no explanation or comfort, but a cold resolute of insignificance that offers only horror in ones core.
They call me rebellious and yet what other means did I have?
I still hold those moments close. I often recollect them in a mixture of calm abhorrence and remorse for actions I've committed that still haunt me. Reflecting on them with a sage's understanding, well earned patience and scarred understanding of what is right and wrong. Always questioning my methods and practices asking the hard question, hoping for some forgiveness that time has promise, finding none.
How will I find the redemption if I can not offer myself absolution?
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
I cannot repair
There are moment when I can't help to abandon any hope, not in romantic intentions held by Byron or Shelly, but out of near necessity. I honestly, don't have the time to doubt my actions as of now or to question my reason at this point. And yet with my mind I can't help to analyze my motives with every move. Thoughts scoured multiple times before uttering as Avey once showed me, in hopes of gaining greater understanding of the weight of my words and the meanings they offer to others. Perhaps my monkish behavior is my way of paying penance for an action taken or for behavior not corrected until now. In understanding, pain is the vessel that bring meaning into being. It offers us the the true value of the cost of our action and inaction.
I dare not offer excuse. It would only give insult to injury. In the grand scale of it all it doesn't matter. The creative use of insight and facts doesn't correct what was committed or clean off any slate stained. It only removed responsibility from the hands of those who took part regardless of why. Blood stained hands offer no resolution to our infractions nor does it paint us as heroes or saints. Washing ones sin only removes the marker from present view rather than from out conscious. Our minds hold fast on these images not to offer insight or thought, but to remind us with relentless alarm that something went wrong. It doesn't matter if we utter some guttural mumbling on how we were not to be blamed or that we simply followed rather than question. I ask not for the marker of my trespasses to be cleansed. I'd rather hold them as reminder that we are not noble among beasts or pious outside of our own imagination
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The only thing that's real
Perhaps it's why I question everything now. Mayhaps it why I'm am most zealous in having everyone to ask the hard questions and to stare down the elephant in the room instead of ignoring it for some social canon. To err is human and even with that we can not help to cause suffering in our actions unless we take in all that we affect in order to bring hold a greater understanding of our motives and causes. I do not ask for devotion, but understanding. I do not require perfeckion, but patience. I do not ask for praise, but for compassion. I know my limitations and know with every reflection that I can be the worse of humanity. I can corrupt, destroy, distort, and lay waste behind me without any remorse.
Seeing yourself in the worse light possible gives a well pain understanding. It lets us know we can inspire hatred and fear in the eyes that fall upon us. It causes us remain in shadow for relief rather than need. It taints us and makes us nothing greater than vicious and nothing nobler than savages. I do not need forgiveness of those ordained. I need this weight upon my shoulders to know when the next preventable atrocity will be committed. If I can prevent another act of violence upon another then my price paid will cover them also. In a world filled with so much pain and violence, how could we not save others from our own living nightmares?
That is what makes me a survivor. I'm decreed with not a title, but a responsibility to never forget and to never let the same evil come to pass. There is nothing greater than this.
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
I will make you hurt
And with every price paid it offers both positive and negative results. It gives us both sight, but it often takes more than what we are willing to give. In this, I understand my shortcoming. I know when I'm limited. And yet, I can't see where the veins of this has reached until I find the manifestation of this.
What am I trying to say?
With all of this, I can't help to feel I'm not a complete human being. I can't help to feel that I carry a stain on my that will harm others I come in contact with. I can not help to feel that I can not be around people for too long without causing some sort of outbreak that will only bring others down.
There are moments when I feel nothing but hatred and anger. As much as I attempt to separate these feelings from those closest to me, I know that I sometimes carry an aura of suffering, anger, destruction, mayhem, a a desire to see all around me burn. And anger that have cost me more after the fact than at the moment it had happen. It causes me to lose restraint and collection. Hold these moments force me to ostracism and isolation. It prevents me to remain close to those I already have near. It reminds me that I will lay waste all around me sooner or later. I'm slow to anger, but my fury is relentless. I will draw blood. I will hurt. I will cause suffering on a level that will scar the mind and offer not resolve. I can terrorize and beguile and commit the unimaginable without a second of defense.
Those sparse moments usually have me in tears soon after. A moment of lapse judgement and an eternity of anguish afterwards. Heavy guilt and pain sets in. For an action that took place in a blink of an eye I will bury myself in greater shame.
Everyone I know
goes away
In the end
goes away
In the end
Everyone does. Sadly, it's usually by my own hand.The fear to interact with another life and bring a chance of suffering to another holds my head heavy. I push those near me farther away in hopes of saving them from what I can do. Limit myself with only so much contact and going over brings me anxiety. Having people around me for too long brings a feeling of fear that I may be found out that I am not who they think I am. That my past will catch up me and condemn me to days of future past. A facade humanity and compassion. Someone who should have been driven away or burned. to be hunted down and strung up for all to see how low Man does fall. To be made into example and told in stories to frighten children from thinking twice and to accept what the authority demands without query.
I've broken a few mirror in my time. A scarred hand is an easy enough exchange than having to stare into my own eyes. If I look too closely I don't see hatred.
I see sorrow.
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here
You are someone else
I am still right here
In truth, the topic is love that I write. It's what drives us to take embrace with those closest to us and to desire only the best for them. It forces us to protect and nurture. It forces us to defend and makes us invested. It can make use greater than who we are now. It can also make us lesser than who we are. It's a primal feeling that intermingles with jealousy and lust. It can not be explained on an evolutionary level until we are able to form words and figures to attempt to express to others the elemental drive that causes us to abandon all hope and thought. It causes us to mutilate ourselves figurative, mentally and physically to appease another. It pulls us in a warm embrace that can be followed by a choice that many of us face. Meatloaf declared it simply and is still used to question. It forces us to honestly as what we are able to commit in order to continue the release of chemicals that keep us in an induced stupor.
To say that I committed everything out of love offers no reprieve. It does not pardon us or make us less to blame. It doesn't make the situation easier, but makes us selfish. We mock those whose are addicted to a substance, but what is it to be said that love cannot be used in the same manner. How can it not be a weapon in the hands of others? How can it not be used to cause pain and suffering? Does it simply become ignored because it's euphoria advances life? So does war. So does any form of conflict.
In my experienced life, I can honestly say that love can kill. It can kill who we were and make us less than we were. It can make us into the worst we can be.
It's that powerful. It has that kind of hold that one can create or they can destroy. The only difference is the direction. It's elemental and primal and to understand the weight of it will cost you as it cost me.
Heart break? No. No. It was not a heart break. It was worse. I'm still cleaning up that mess. I'm still trying to make things right.
What have I become
My sweetest friend
My sweetest friend
It's perhaps this that keeps me studying my thoughts, language, and motives. It's perhaps this that has me attempting to understand the meaning of something that poets will can not agree on. It has me understanding how people are always willing to give into the those actions in order to feel special. I have to admit, my happiness is usually derived from other sources and yet it can not help to intermingle with love. I can't help to wonder if the person across the room would be my solution. My sanctuary from it all. I'm not made of stone regardless of how others and myself may see it. And yet, I'm very cautious on how I interact with others and what level of endearment I should allow myself to approach. In truth, I always reach the end that allows me to walk away. I love them enough or more to never interact with them.
Perhaps I do love you all?
And yet, I can not help moments like these when I know how it will end. How I continue to ponder the right way of accomplishing it with the least amount of backlash to others. I know time is a factor and when things are right I will go the way so many of my kind have gone. I've lived multiple lives and rose from different ashes as different people. Yet at my core is this weight that year after year only remind me of what a foolish act can wroth. I continue to smile and laugh. I continue to pull those on the way side and pull their weight until they can stand once more. I fight for what is right and will stand against what isn't. My life is not my own as yours has never been. We are all in this together and the more we cut the other the more we bleed ourselves.
I make no excuses and advertise myself as anything other. I offer caution to not get too comfortable. I will leave you in one way or another. I will pass the time, but my time is limited if not by my own hand than by means that I've come to accept so long ago. I will always love you as you deserved to be loved, but not in the way you want it to be.
And yet, I still catch myself looking over and returning a smile. Somethings can not be helped. And still, I know where I will be in the end.
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way
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