| (no subject) |
[May. 28th, 2007|05:14 am] |
XXXX
Every plan ever has gone astray.
I have no idea at night where you lay.
And this tightrope has begun to fray.
Maybe I wasn't as gone as I thought I was.
Or maybe I'm so far gone, I've made a complete circle.
All I know is that it's 5:16AM of May 28th 2007 as I write this.
I'm 23 now. I have been for five days, and that's pretty much 1/3rd of my
entire life.
I feel entropic and explosive.
You frustrate me and exasperate me. I miss you so completely, it enrages me, and I become black with flames spurting in gouts over my shoulders while I smolder and hate you. Black black black black and red blend together to form a prismatic prison where I keep my memories of you.
Toxic and corrosive, they eat away at me when they're free.
But I wouldn't hesitate, to immerse myself in your poison again.
Because nothing feels quite as good as feeling to an extreme.
Fuck happiness, fuck sadness, fuck ecstacy and join.
Just feel an extreme in any direction, and it's like an electronic pulse shocking your system back to life.
I hate you and I love you, but god damn if I don't hate everything that's inside you, because it's not mine.
Burns and consumes and venom and constriction and it's you and me and the toxic mixture of my mind and your heart.
So black and obsessed, I could be your shadow, matching your step for step, and resenting everything you are now, without me.
If I had you in my arms..I just may crush the breath out of you, to silence the warmth of your body, rather than have it radiate to him.
Who said you could be anything but mine? I did? Well fuck me, then. When have you ever listened to me.
I told you I didn't want you to wait. You said you would. You didn't.
So who lied?
Black and red, and if I could make you feel as miserable as I do..I'd bring you down to my level in a heartbeat.
My hands and face are on fire, and all I can do is bleed hatred and loathing and love.
I close my eyes, and I see you, and another, and I hope he bleeds soon, like I do now.
I don't want you to be happy without me.
I don't wish for your contentment.
I don't even want you to not be alone.
If I'm suffering, you should be too. This was a partnership.
You wouldn't be standing so close to me, if you knew for one moment the heat that's building inside of me.
Don't you dare walk away from me, because my feet will be in every footprint of yours until you hear every word I want to say.
You split the atom, and now you'll eat the fallout.
Like it or not, I'm so far inside you..You'll never get away from me.
Black black black.
It's 5:30 in the AM on May 28th of 2007, and
I need anyone to wake up, because I'm seeing black and red, and she's wandering into my line of sight.
Got any ideas? |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 13th, 2007|04:54 am] |
This is dead.
Come find me if you want me.
I may be in need of you.
I will be. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 26th, 2006|06:44 pm] |
It feels pretty much like forever, since I did this.
I don't know what compells me now.
and now that I'm here, I feel like I'm invading some private sanctum.
As if I'm walking through some dark and dusty aisles of a forgotten section of an abandoned library in a ghost town. Unmarked and forgotten on a thousand maps, unknown to a billion people, unseen by anyone but the present.
I feel like I don't belong here, right now.
Like this was someone so much better than me, who wrote these things. Who said these things.
Tonight is long/I am no longer strong
The dawn is weak/I was wrong
Time passed/despite measures
Dusty faded/You're still my treasures
I miss you all.
Every single one of you who reads this.
I should have held on tighter.
I should have kept more things to remember all of you.
Because the older I get, the harder it is to remember
Your faces. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 7th, 2006|07:10 pm] |
Peel back the armor and cast aside the shield, and see the beating heart inside.
Like an ocean vast and unpenetratable, I was deep and calm. Cold and empty.
Ships sailed, setting out on bold journeys, only to be sunk beneath my cruel waves.
Every sailor who hoisted his sail upon my sea drowned in the depths of me.
Time wore on, and the continents shifted and closed in around me, and I was no longer a vast ocean.
Like a shallow lake on a cold afternoon, you skipped and dropped stones in me.
Little tokens of you left deep inside of me. Forever pushing the surface closer to the bottom.
And you piled up, and soon the rocks jutted to the surface, and I was no longer a lake.
Like a raging river, dodging past each rock rupturing the current, franticly trying to avoid impact.
Little icebergs sinking every ship that attempted to sail down through the pass, the rocks with no mercy.
Debris piled up, and block all inlets and outlets and my waters became muddy and stagnant. I was no longer a river.
Like a swamp I was avoided by all but the desperate, a place of misery and loss.
The moss grew over the rocks, and soon trees grew up around, stretching out their arms to block the light.
The trees drank thirstily from me, and I gave willingly, and soon my depth and width was gone, and I was no longer a swmap.
Like a puddle, I lay here in the dark, clinging to a handful of pebbles beneath my surface, and footprints in the mud all around me as people step in and out, as they will.
I was an ocean. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 26th, 2006|05:16 am] |
I can look up.
I can look up into infinity on any given night. I can look into something bigger than I'll ever be, on any night. I can look up into the end of time, whenever I want to.
And I do.
I look past the moon,
I scream past Sol,
Up up up, past infant galaxies
And around aging star systems, on the brink of collapse.
I slip past raging infernos of hydrogen and plasma and
underneath rockets of ice and stone.
Past the quasars and pulsars and
Burning up in the atmosphere of you. |
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| Sydni-Jo |
[Jan. 16th, 2006|03:25 pm] |
Sydni-Jo is two years and half years old.
She's, absolutely beautiful. We had her brother here before she was born..and after she was born, we had them both. From the first couple months of her life until now. Every single weekday, and some weekends. She's a beautiful charming smart little girl now with the cutest tendencies you'll ever see. When she was a baby, I used to take care of her as much as I could. I've never spent so much time with an infant that has come here. I fed her..I held her..I helped her stand..I helped her walk..Her second word ever was my name..she runs to me now when she sees me, and won't leave me alone, unless I sneak away when she isn't looking. She lays on her back and kicks my door when she wants to see me, because she knows I can't hear her little knocking..I taught her how to say "I love you" by bopping her head with mine..We just got the hang of potty training..We went through weening her off her bottle together, and for awhile she hated me for it..She drinks from a regular glass without spilling a drop now..When she bit or hit people..and mom told me to punish her..by making her sit in the corner in the other room..I'd take her in there..and she'd be crying from being yelled at..and I'd hold her instead of punishing her, and tell her how much I loved her..and she'd hug me and lay her head down on my shoulder..and by the time she felt better..she'd smile a big smile and show off her one big dimple..and go running off to play. I've never been closer to a child. I consider her partially mine.
Sydni-Jo is leaving.
Within a few months.
Her mother is moving to the cities.
I've been through this before..It's part of the job. You raise a kid for a bit..and..you help them accomplish so much..and you see them grow underneath your careful hands..and you're so proud. And then they move..or stop coming..and that little person. Gone. And they'll never remember who you are or what you did. Sometimes you'll see them a bit afterwards..but they aren't your baby anymore..They're grown up. Grown up enough to resent you..to think you're boring..to think you're not cool anymore. Sometimes you just don't see them all..all you have is the memories of them when they were young and innocent..but you also realize what you've lost..
I feel all torn up inside.
I miss my baby already. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 15th, 2006|06:44 am] |
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Mixing theology, philosophy and dramatics is much like mixing poprocks, coke, and cyanide. |
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| One of my few indulgences.. |
[Dec. 9th, 2005|11:30 am] |
One of the few times I'll ever do something quite like this, because, like I've said. I like to consider the people out there that actually read is larger than it probably is, and things like this tend to make delusions like that, a little harder to accomplish.
"Reply to this post, and I'll tell you one or a lot of reason[s] why I like/love/adore you and would cause grievous bodily harm to anybody who would do mean things to you. Then put this in your own journal, and spread the love."
Don't be shy. I'll be candid and honest.
(Stolen from Miesl, who stole it from someone else.) |
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| It'll All Click |
[Nov. 22nd, 2005|03:11 am] |
Damn you, anyways.
You rolled in like thunder, and were gone in a stroke of lightning. But I can live like that. I can live with people being gone, if they stay gone, or stay here. These revolving door I-Love-You's have to go, though. I may need to kill some very beautiful things very soon, just to get to the next day.
There was once a time when I thought I couldn't write a single sentence without it being a heartbreakingly beautiful masterpiece. A perfectly structured pilar of eloquence. Moving mountains and making the stoics cry. I go back now. I keep everything I've ever wrote, I go back, and no, not much of it was good. Really, ever. I look back through the years in here, and there's very little chronologizing my life. Mostly because I live in a constant stat of stasis. So it mostly comes down to pithy bitching. Angst riddled paragraphs of regret and pouting. That's beside the point though. The main theme being: I was terrible, and I was decent. Now I find more of the former, and I can't find out why. Maybe it's just gone, and that's something I need to finally come to grips with. Yet, I digress into the regret and angst riddled paragraphs of pouting. What a tangled web we weave when first we practice to WHINE.
There's a lot I feel like I should be saying, to a lot of people. But in the end, everything that is written in here seems to scream: "Look at ME!" even with the least selfish of notions, that's what it comes down to, right? Look at me. Look at me talk about me. Look at me talk about you. Look at me ask you to talk about me. And you know what? Maybe that's fine. Maybe that works. Maybe that's healthy and coherent.
I've tried to avoid, over the years that I've had this thing, the postings that ask for attention. I know exactly why I've avoided them, too. Mostly out of the genuine stark and naked fear, that there's a very large chance that I'm whistling in the dark by myself, and there's no-one on the other side of this wall.
I always feel like I have so much damn blood on my hands. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 3rd, 2005|11:42 am] |
I think my mom just had another stroke.
She's on the way to the hospital with my dad.
I need to stay here and watch the kids.
Update: Severe seizure. She forgot her medicine last night..but she seems okay now. |
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| Coherency Mishap |
[Nov. 3rd, 2005|03:27 am] |
I rubbed my eyes and then blinked them, trying to adjust to the change of light. The sky was black as sin and the wind refused to peel the clouds away from the moon for even a moment of luminosity. I kept my hands out of my pockets and let them hang by my side. I like the cold. There's something about exhaling and seeing your breath that makes you feel vital, even if the feeling evaporates along with the steam. I decided I'd push on afterall, and the soft padding of tennis shoes on pavement echoed down the tree shaded avenues again.
You'd think with my previous mention..Running hard, and breathing even harder would make me feel even more vital..But no. It makes me feel startlingly mortal. Physical failing. The frailty of the human body. All that nonsense. Yeah, nothing makes you feel human quite like hitting your knees and wondering if you can get squeeze another breath into your lungs without passing out.
I sat on the curb, and looked both ways. Not a soul in sight. I spent a lot of time, wishing for this. An eternity ago, it was my only desire, to be alone. Now it seems like I've been alone for a century, and there's no end anywhere near. It'd be irony, if it wasn't so very poetic.
I spent a lot of time thinking about all of you. Even the ones who think I've forgotten about you. I don't forget about anyone, I just let you think I did, so it's easier for you to get away. I can close my eyes and see each and every face. I can recall memories that you've long dismissed as trivial, as if they're sacred tomes. You would be surprised. Would be. But you'll never know, because you're lightyears away and dimming fast, and you'll never know how much for the better it is.
I pushed myself up off the ground, and stood up, resolutely aware of the ghosts that now followed silently in my footsteps.
Lingering promises made on breathless nights of lifelong dedications of unrealistic but promising promises, evaporating with each staggering breath out into the continually dimming night sky. I suppose I couldn't really tell you, how many times I've it in between my cupped and fragile hands, and somehow managed to crush the soul out of it. Still squeezing. And the pieces still cut into my flesh like ever before.
I don't know the difference now, than ever before. It's the same. I'm the same. No one else is, but I never really expected them to stay, let alone stay the same. For any period of time, really.
I just feel really..really..exhausted.
Laughter was the language I once spoke easily. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 24th, 2005|07:36 am] |
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I've lost my spark, and I can't find it anywhere. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 21st, 2005|02:54 am] |
| [ | music |
| | The Who: Behind Blue Eyes | ] |
Ah..
How can everything be going so right, so smoothly, and I still feel like I'm falling?
Pulled things together, tightly. Family is good..New job..Good friends..yet I feel like I'm slipping off the face of the Earth and drifting off into darkness. I've started noticing my actions from the third person perspective I used a lot in highschool..Where the inside of my mind is a different person than my physical body..but that mind exists outside of me..And I can watch and dissect everything I do. And I can see the thin cracks appearing that no-one else does.
Everything that shouldn't be on my mind, is.
From my brother getting married and forever ceasing to exist the way I remember him, to my mothers health, to you.
I worry about you, more than I let on. I just don't mention what I worry about directly to you, because I think..If you're not already thinking about the things..why should I bring them up? And if you are thinking of them..why would you want them reenforced? So I think of them on my own, and the slow creeping paranoia settles into it's familiar place, and I wonder, for just how long, I can keep someone happy before I lose the grip.
Is happiness supposed to take a genuine effort? Or is it supposed to just come? Because it takes a genuine effort for my happiness to show in a way that makes other people notice it. I don't know if it really exists, if no-one else sees it. If I keep my happiness buried under as much sand as possible, so no one can screw around with it, when I need it the most.
I've had trouble dealing with the concept of death, a lot, lately. Constantly on my mind because of current events. Can't seem to shake it..I have no religion, so I can't just lean back on Heaven or Hell..and that if I live a good life and love Jesus and give myself to God, I'll live forever..Yet..the concept of just..not being here..Not being asleep..Not in a coma,not having your eyes clothes. The utter goneness of it all gives me vertigo, and makes me feel like being sick. And even if it happens..and I don't even see it coming..How long exactly, do I exist afterwards? The people who love me now, will continually love me, but eventually they'll move on. Maybe just think about me once a week, instead..And soon..they'll pass on too..and what then? Maybe I become a name on a family tree that stretches for awhile..And then dies and withers, and I could never have existed. Even men who have done great things, are reduced to dust in the end, and it's crushing to realize how incredibly unimportant you can become, with perspective.
It got awfully dark awfully fast, and I was nowhere near being the light you needed to see.
I can close my eyes, and the universe explodes into existence all around me. So vast and pure, and somewhere in it is the utter insignifigance of me and the life I live. No matter what choices I make, and who I make them with..What do they really matter?
A long time ago. When I was growing up. There was a park downtown with a pink building. The park is still there, the pink building isn't. That's because it was painted over, after 6,000 people signed their names onto it, because a boy killed himself there. He left a letter, saying he couldn't stand not knowing what death was really like. That he had seen and understood life, and now he wanted answers to the next question. I was a child, but even I understood that, and I still understand it. And while I'll never be willing to trade the preciousness of living for an unknown quantity..The pull is always there..The resounding question. It just fades in and out.
I'm twenty one years old, going on six hundred.
I'm very depressing to listen to, and I'm sorry for that. |
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| Conjuring Echos |
[Aug. 28th, 2005|04:30 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  cold | ] |
A deep resonating detonating echoing booming rift.
That's so very very very silent.
My hands, frozen at my sides, and my eyes anything but still. My shoulders tight and drawn, vulnerable and tired. The whole of eternity stretching out in a vast tract of confusion and blood, in each direction, stripping the horizon of its limits. All of history, and all of the future, expanding to mindbreaking preportions..And with a sudden ringing silence..It all rushes back, streaming in one fluid motion back into my head and suffocating me within one breathtaking moment.
And you.
You you you.
The siren in my mind.
Get out.
Six things:
1: My song.
2: Why?
3: Where?
4: A tie to my past.
5: Temptation.
6: Promises.
Where do we go from here?
Because the music is over,
the crowd has left,
the lights are dim,
and for the first time,
I've noticed how muchmore beautiful you are
When you dance without me. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 27th, 2005|03:04 am] |
It's a two step process that for the majority of our lives, goes unnoticed.
Breath in.
Breath out.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Feels like an earthquake during a hurricane, when the flow of time slows. When the only movements are the rise and fall of your own chest, and your feet pushing further into the sand. Almost like you're sitting behind me with your hands over my ears, shutting out every other sound in the entire world. And then it all comes crashing back into view, as heavy and as sure as the ocean in front of me. Sometimes the hardest and easiest things to do are simply forgetting. Forgetting is essential to living I guess. Well..at least to living outside an asylum. If I could remember the touch of your hands as much as I wanted to..Well, I supposed we both know where I'd be. It's almost funny, the way the human mind endeavors to self-destruct when in counsel with the soul. When logic tells me you'll never read this, but soul pushes pen to paper, and I bleed in black and white.
Time is about as big as anything gets. It's forever, and it's never..and the only reason anyone in this world manages their daily lives is by forgetting all about it. Forgetting about how insignificant they will be in fifty, a hundred, or two hundred years. Forgetting that, even if you accomplish something, and it's a great and you're remembered, it won't be who you are, it'll be what you did. I guess the only way to live, is to forget completely that you're eventually going to die. Forget that even if you scratch the history of this world, and leave your mark, eventually it will all be gone in one supernovic inferno. I guess, when you have things like that on your mind it's hard to accomplish anything, because nothing would ever matter.
If I lay back in the sand, and I see red, what do you see? Do you see anything? Maybe leaning back into the black, you see me laying in the sand. Shadows upon shadows dreaming of dreams. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jul. 22nd, 2005|09:24 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  frustrated | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Alarm - Sixty Eight Guns | ] |
Oh. Boy.
Deep breath, big rant time.
Commercials.
No, wait, lets NOT start with commercials. Lets start with this journal site and how I JUST tried to start this paragraph with a proper indentation, but instead my tab key brought me to the bottom of the screen.
Thanks, Einsteins. That's why I need, you further encourage to finally drop all semblance of an articulate and properly written rant. mebe i shud juzt start talking liek all you other clever motherfuckers out there who think you're the first jackasses with a keyboard to twist words until you can make up for the uniqueness you DON'T have. Hey, here's an idea. Get a personality. Get some REAL uniqueness. Your uniqueness isn't in your hair, or your clothes, or the fucking band you listen to. It's not in how loud you can scream in Wal*Mart to prove you're 'crazy' it's not because you type some deep and bleeding poems on the internet and spam the links to all your quasi-friends so that you may as well just tag the title line as "PITY ME! I'm ANGSTY AND A LOST SOUL, I'm soooo confused, woo woo." Get that shit out of my face and smarten the fuck up. Your poems suck. The fact that you have to ADVERTISE to everyone your "deepest secrets" for them to FEEL like secrets makes them ATTENTION plots. It's called "contrived." Look it up.
NOW, Commercials.
Oh, wow. Your snacks are going to make me a PARTY ANIMAL. I mean, I'm a antisocial manic loser with a tendency to have bursts of rage, but if I just gorge myself like a pig on your snack food, confetti is going to shoot out of my ass and I'll be the belle of the drunken frat house balls! Oh. Hey, I don't care if your vagina feels uncomfortable, unless I'm in a position to change that, I don't want to hear about it. Do I put out a bunch of commercials about how my testicles feel moist? Would that be comfortable for YOU to hear? That's about how it feels for me. Do girls actually sit around and talk about that stuff? Is that considered a good conversation starter amongst females? No wonder you all hate each other so much. If I had a guy come up to me in the locker room and say "Hey, Jake, do you ever sometimes feel sticky down there?" I'd probably hit him upside the head with the nearest bucket for questioning my hygiene. I suggest that all women do the same thing and put an end to these national broadcasts of your personal problems.
Music
Oh. Holy shit. I lived through 2001, and I thought. "No way could this shit get any worse." and befucked if the next four years didn't take that opinion and cram it back down my throat. I can't even listen to the radio for six minutes anymore before wanting to swerve my car into the nearest ravine because the sound of my own flesh burning and dripping off the bone is more pleasant than the rot that you numbnuts convince radio stations to put on the air. There's two COMPLETELY different sides to the radio bullshit, and both manage to be infuriating. You got your rap and your hip hop that talks. TALKS. About the same jack over and over again. Don't tell ME to shake my ass you gold toothed motherfucker. Tell you what, YOU write a GOOD song, and maybe I'll actually consider dancing, but don't be so arrogant as to just command me to do your bidding. Then there's the other side, the white boys answer, whereas instead of, like usual, replicating the culture, like those awesomely badass thugs that wear cocked baseball caps and call everyone their "shorty," no no no, in this case, they go a completely different direction, and you can't understand ONE word. Scream some more, because you sure as fuck can't SING. Or hey, can I have another country remake of a song? Or maybe about a bar, or getting drunk, or maybe getting drunk in a bar? Or if you're not going to do a remake or about being a huge alky, can you sing again about how great it is to live in this country, or how proud you are? Please, am I to believe this is actually your pride speaking, or is it your empty ass wallet screaming at you that you need to make another bleeding-heart soldiers/patriot song to rake in the money from some gung-ho southern confederate throw back? What? You can't make any change off the World Trade Center bombing anymore? That well run dry on you now? I bet you could squeeze a few more dollars out of it with another "dedication" to it. Why start having morals now?
Television
One of the few things that I have to turn off quicker than my radio. Wow. What a horrible set of shows on television these days. I've never seen a less compelling set of scenarios, EVER. And I'm the guy who read Archie comics as a kid. Hell. I could make my own show. I just need to get a hot girl (no, not a hot girl by my standards, a hot girl by all the people who actually sit around and watch televisions standards) and then have her. Do stuff. I don't know. Does it matter past that? Just remember that every girl has to be hot, and they have to do stuff. If they get wet or partially naked, that's even better, but hey, all those TV-addled brains out there have such furtive imaginations, I'm sure they can do the substracting for themselves. And by the way, sex isn't that funny. Really. It isn't. Try some wit. Try some drama. Try hiring some writers that can go a couple scenes without some bullshit one liner. What does it say about the current state of our nation when the number one show out there is a bunch of hot "wives" running around fucking any thing that moves? That's not a good show, guys. That's softcore porn. Congratulations on making it number one! That's understandable, though, because we ALL know that porn is known for its solid writing, dialogue and plot twists. Like when the pizza man screwed the lonely wife whos husband was out of town? Oh wait, was that Butt Busting Sluts #4 or Desperate Housewives? Wait, doesn't matter. Same damn thing. Oh, and hey, "Over There" is meant to give a glimpse of "what it's like for our soldiers fighting the war in Iraq." No, no it's not. It's meant to make money. All television shows are, none of them are philanthropic acts of charity. You're making money off blood that isn't yours. Making something that's very really, and should have our support and eroding it by involving ficticious people and characters, instead of thinking the real people there. Congratulations for keeping up with music on the Not-Giving-A-Shit-About-Morals-Front. Good job.
Movies
Oh, hey, speaking of one liners. Lets talk about movies. Can we have another prequel? Sequel? Remake? Based on? I dunno. Something to mix it up, I'm sick of all this orginality, I mean, between the remake of Bad News Bears, the prequel to Starwars, the remake of Willy Wonka, the prequel to Batman, the remake of Herbie: Full Loaded, the movie based on The Honeymooners, the movie based on Bewitched, and the remake of The Longest Yard, I mean, give me something familiar because all these new plots and characters are making my head swim! It's pretty damn sad when the most original movie of the summer is called "The Adventures of Lava Girl and Sharkboy" and that is probably still a messy pile of cliche character and poor dialogue. Whatever you do, Hollywood, don't throw a sad ending at us. Don't kill a main character, don't give us a hero with flaws. You might crack my rose colored glasses!
And last..
Can I hear more about celebrities, please? I'm just DYING to know if Michael Jackson is moving to Berlin. It's need to know news! The only people who NEED to know that drivel are the people who live in Berlin, so they can buy a crate of mace. I don't care who's marrying who. I don't care who's fucking who. I don't care who got caught fucking another hooker.
They're all idiots, that's why they're celebrities.
[/rant] |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 23rd, 2005|01:55 am] |
Ah..May 23 has hit like a logging truck again.
Make it go away. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 17th, 2005|02:01 am] |
Bam.
Hot bunny action all up in yer grill. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 26th, 2005|06:15 pm] |
Wow. Know what's fun? Hearing about how you got drunk. You're going to get drunk. Your friend got drunk, or you were totally going to get drunk, but then something stupid happened, and it totally didn't happen and that totally sucked.
No.
Shut the Hell up.
It's not.
Please.
There are other things to do.
All of you. |
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