| I take my twist with a shout,a coffee shop with a cause, then I'll freak you out |
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| From Halloween |
[03 Nov 2009|10:48am] |
What was supposed to be a simple day turned into one of mass panic and stress! Running around trying to find last minute things; shipping camera's off to be repaired; all in all complete chaos. We sort of forgot the whole point of why we were so excited in the first place. But by the end of the night, it was us being able to spend it together that prevailed as the memory of Halloween
  
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| Bitter Alone, Shivering in the Cold |
[17 Oct 2009|09:41pm] |
Is it strange to think fairy tales exist?
That love can persist and overcome all odds?
Even with things the way they are now
I can't help but still believe that by some miracle...
Love will prevail?
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| Just like a rolling stone |
[29 Aug 2009|10:35pm] |
Most guys grow up dreaming of being a rockstar. Most guys know how to play the guitar moderately well. And most guys don't end up facing the decision I was given today.
Brother James Levy from Honolulu Lodge, sent me an email asking if my band would be interested in being flown out to Japan to tour, and record music.
I had sent out the lyrics for "the rag man" to another guy from lodge, he liked it so much he sent it to James who works in the film industry. I was asked if I had any more material and sent out Talei's song, "Sunshine Girl". That was taken in with the same reception. James has big connections with Japan and passed it on to a record producer there who saw the lyrics for both songs and is now asking us for a demo tape.
Now there are 5 of us, who have to make one of the biggest decisions of our life. Do we drop everything in our lives right now and make a break for Japan? Dropping/withdrawing out of school, flying out to japan with free housing and food...to record our own record...and hope that people like/understand/enjoy whatever we end up coming up with?
I never really had dreams of being a rockstar. I guess I still don't really consider myself to be anything big when it comes down to it. Jason said its that insecurity that helps me write songs, and that all musicians are quirky people; but I dont really consider myself a musician at this point either.
On one hand, if this did work out, and things did get big...that would change life forever. But I don't want the sex and drugs...just the rock and roll. I want to keep writing music until I can come up with a sound that works. And since our drummer has gone so far down the other path as of late, it would be great to bring River in as a drummer eventually. God knows we're a music writing team.
Does anyone have any thoughts on this whole thing?
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[13 Aug 2009|11:15pm] |
I heard the story of the rag man a long time ago. It's basically just a retelling of part of the bible but it struck an interesting chord with myself. I try to do a lot of the things the rag man in the story did. And so I am working on a song now that is semi-autobiographical/what I wish I could be/wish I could do.
here's what I have so far.
Today the sun rises, an eastern wind blows
And a man, with a basket walks down a dirt road
Hands wrapped in pain, a cross made of wood
He carries the burden, that every man should
The wheels need oil in the hot desert sun
But he rolls on forever, until his works done
He keeps pushin on, every minute, every hour
Never spoke of pain or drank of sorrow
Everyday he'd laugh and smile, everyday he'd sin
And every night, like a child, he'd pray again and again
When the world wakes, a little light lets in
To the savior, of the wicked, it starts over again
He led a good life, in bad ways, going door to door
With a bible and a pitchfork, always wanting more.
He enjoyed the company, of strangers, and led a life of danger
Until the bad lord, with good words struck him down in anger
Now every morning, He rises agin
Pickin' up dirty rags, until his works done
Every one tells a story, everyone's a sin
He collects them, and takes them, deep within
You take his heart and he cleans your soul
When the devil came callin' he saved your world
With a bag full of rags and a crown of thorns
The rag man takes everything except for the spoils
The western wind came blowin', the day turned to night
In the dark corner of bright day, he saw the light.
It was six feet, under heaven, when he came to rest
Not a soul had noticed, when the breath left his chest
There came summer, and autumn, and winter and spring
The rag man, in slumber, rose up without wings
Every morning and night he rose with the light
Taking all the burdens, and makin' them right.
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| A Long Read, but the biggest moment of self discovery I've experienced |
[03 Aug 2009|08:48pm] |
I finally figure it out!
I can't remember exactly what was going on this morning when it happened, but it did. I think it all started with people questioning my reasons behind the current girl driving me crazy. She is cute, she is attractive and although I hate to say it...hot. Now, let me just first clear up that none of this matters because she has a boyfriend of two years. I did think I had a chance of being the next one because during a rough month or two I let her come to me for anything she needed (emotional boyfriend) because she was a good friend of mine. listening to her and spending so much time with her led me to develop feelings I had not planned on. There is nothing profound about this, believe me I know, but I'm getting to what clicked for me today. I have been spending anywhere from 6-18 hours a day talking with this girl. On the phone, through texts, on facebook, through emails...all of that stuff. While we were good friends before spending this much time with her really put us onto a stronger connection. There are other details (spooky coincidences, commonalities, inside jokes...the little really good stuff), but what really has been bugging me about this is now that I have been back there seems to be no more time. I really didn't expect to come back and have her jump into being single or anything like that...promise...but I guess I just expected that we would see each other and hang out and do...well things I do with all of my other friends. While I am very physically attracted to her, I could not find the reason why I was so bummed out...and then it happened. The reason that I have been so angry and so mad about seemingly nothing is because while we are casual friends, there is no intimacy. That is not to say that we don't talk about anything and everything, or go to each other for advice, it is the fact that our friendship has gone as far as it can without breaking into a full on relationship. While I want to spend as much time as possible with her, to talk all the time and do fun things like hiking and beaching and walking and grabbing coffe (the list, literally keeps going on and on), it just cannot happen because it is not...I dont know exactly...politically correct? Thats not right either...but a girl who has a boyfriend of two years "cannot" spend that much time with a guy who is not her boyfriend. Given that if allowed to bloom, my feelings would progress into love/relationship...etc. The part of me that just wants to grow in friendship (like any good relationship, platonic or otherwise) has literally been told to stop growing. So while it is in my nature and personality to continue to nuture all of my friendships, to keep them growing and blooming into deeper and better relationships...I can't. The only comparrison I can think of is getting a video game that is never supposed to end, and somehow beating it. While I still don't know where to go from here, I know I can't stay on the same path because I'll end up a stagnent mess that I was always a year ago exactly to the day. I always read about life with forks in the road, I seem to have discovered and end to a path or at least the ability to finally look ahead enough to understand that this path does not go anywhere for me...while there is a path, and someone will travel it....there is no path.
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| Schedul for next year |
[04 May 2009|02:22pm] |
ARAB 101: Elementary Modern Standard Arabic - 4 credits
HIST 467: American Television - 3 credits
HIST 440: 20th Century Europe - 3 credits
HIST 337: European Intellectual History - 3 credits
PHIL 220: Ancient Philosophy - 3 credits
POLS 385: American Politics - 3 credits
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[27 Apr 2009|05:22pm] |
- Zig, zig, zig, Death in cadence,
- Striking a tomb with his heel,
- Death at midnight plays a dance-tune,
- Zig, zig, zag, on his violin.
- The winter wind blows, and the night is dark;
- Moans are heard in the linden trees.
- White skeletons pass through the gloom,
- Running and leaping in their shrouds.
- Zig, zig, zig, each one is frisking,
- You can hear the cracking of the bones of the dancers.
- A lustful couple sits on the moss
- So as to taste long lost delights.
- Zig zig, zig, Death continues
- The unending scraping on his instrument.
- A veil has fallen! The dancer is naked.
- Her partner grasps her amorously.
- The lady, it's said, is a marchioness or baroness
- And her green gallant, a poor cartwright.
- Horror! Look how she gives herself to him,
- Like the rustic was a baron.
- Zig, zig, zig. What a saraband!
- They all hold hands and dance in circles.
- Zig, zig, zag. You can see in the crowd
- The king dancing among the peasants.
- But hist! All of a sudden, they leave the dance,
- They push forward, they fly; the cock has crowed.
- Oh what a beautiful night for the poor world!
- Long live death and equality!
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[18 Dec 2008|11:40pm] |
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I am completely 100% blown away by someone. I think this is the first time it has happened ever
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| schedule for next semester |
[09 Dec 2008|12:00pm] |
History 445 - French Revolution and Napolean
English 336 - Shakespeare and Film
Astronomy 110 - Intro to Astronomy
Astronomy 110 - Lab
History 456 - Soviet Union
History 465 - The United States: 1920 - 1948
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[05 Nov 2008|11:10pm] |
"Remember remember the fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot;
I know no reason why the Gunpowder Treason, should ever be forgot"
The night set across the world and the fires lit. Great masses of oak and pine; built into structures of man. Filled to the brim with straw and any last hope of survival. Letters never sent; fears; memories; life, all packed tightly into the structure. A dowsing of kerosene coated everything with a promise of a slow and long burn. Every man a prisoner; every slave a toy; a masters dark bidding to watch their lives crackle and char. The look in their eyes, condemned and not understanding why. A mass eradication in the name of love; all across a glowing night sky.
Cries for pity and relief turned to cries for a quickening of the spread of flame; a match lit the towers ablaze. Such a smokey smell rose into the night sky; the clouds blocked out with this unholy darkness; no mystery was hidden in the darkened clouds forming overhead. Such a veil of smoke impenetrable by everything but its own creation;
Rain poured down extinguishing the bonfires one by one. Not a soul left alive that was put to the wickers body; "all these moments will be lost in time, like tears in the rain"...
but there was no one left to cry.
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| The Rise of the Amazonia Part IV: Resistance |
[29 Oct 2008|07:55pm] |
Smoke, thick dark and full, rises swiftly through the nights air from the burnt mass below. Through a cemetery breeze, whispered on the last light of day, came the final cry. Hydrolics pumped and pushed, squeezing and dispersing, oxygenizing and atomizing, living and dying a passing moment flows from one black and white cell to the next. The thumb strikes downward, panic, complete panic questions the next moments of combustion as the spark travels to the damp wick, dowsed with kerosene. Ignition.
The black matte case of the Zippo does not shine or hint at the dancing devils tail above. Swaying too and frow in the light wind sailing over the tree tops. Fiery delight flickers in her black eyes, moonlike in proportion and deeper than the darkest depths of hell, my flame ignites her cigarette, held gently between two fingers; her flame burns my soul to the core. A quick intake as the cloud of roasted tobacco pours deeply into her lungs. Slowly her eyes close as the intensity of the moment hits her. My hand shakes; the thumb that struck this moment reaches into eternity to the lid, watching her lips fully examine the paper, rolling gently, wrapped around a phalloc symbol of a demented dream. With a flick the lip clamps down hard onto the metal casing, extinguishing all evidence of such a crime so deeply pursued.
Her eyes open again as the moment of monumental rush finishes its physical journey, exiting in a quick shiver from her fingers and toes. Silence condones absence of which this situation contains everything but. Drums beat in a far off jungle expedition as this Amazonian exotic woman stood mere inches away, enjoying a cigarette; intoxicating her body; intoxicating my mind. Thoughts be began to wander from a far off ponder of amazement and wonder in this midnight adventure in a moment of splendor my mind locked forever. Unknown to the both of us, committed to our separate ways, always crossing but never meeting, we stare in silent monologue. The shadows around her face revealing the true mask deep within. A sillhouette of two crossed lovers, not of the starry sky or two houses of feudal fury; two star crossed lovers of the here and locked. Locked in a steadfast embrace of understanding and fear. Her intentions clear as the lucid nights sky bathed in the darkness of man; her hidden mysteries just below the surface, bait cast on a silvery thread, a barbed prong and sinker weigh me down, gasping for the breath to say the last words of every man.
A hazy view of then and now, clouded by the memories of her smoke, exhaled in passion to cloud her fatal joke. It ran the lines of her face, crooked and narrow, with elogence and eloquence. Every beautiful curve an expressive insight into what could never be mine. The glimmer of the stars off her hair, alit with the fiery chaos of distant galaxies, burning deep into my retina, trying to remain fixed and determined to take it all in. Bright skin with jet black hair.
No man can resist, no woman can compare.
The curves of her lips flow gently mimicing her own figure. Every beat of my heart and every pull off her cigarette draw my eyes closer and closer to these plump perfections. Stained red; lipstick; deep crimson of a battlefield fresh on her mind stain the paper still rolling under examination. What came first, women or the intoxication?
The background, unimportantly fades fast and far away. Medling into every scene of every romantic tragedy, there was darkness, she was the light, and I obeserve from the furthest seat, wishing for nothing more than for Juliet to be mine; fighting every other romeo crying out true love, up, up to the balcony above; Juliet waits, and the blood rushes swiftly from her happy dagger, sheathed deep within my soul. The rising sun in the morning West sky, deserted to the right in fear of death and hasty flight when Juliet's brightness proved to be too bright...too bright of a light at the end of every tunnel, ending in a metallic embrace from this maiden of tragedy; from her love.
From smoke to myst her every pull and blow change the world on axis. It is her slave it is her prisoner. The devil skips on her every glance, running his pitch fork into every sense of sensibility; a cupids arrow of true delight, he takes no prisoners, and leaves none alive. His mistress keen for more, craving the blood of man her master obeys her command. The line up from every corner in every city to be drained completely for her very delight. The skys ran red that first bloody night as men from far and wide took flight, to join the flock of following sheep and a shepard with the most clandestine of initiatives. So many people moving, moving in this straight line; I'm getting cold feet from this warm puddle of blood, every sacrifice has smile, hanging under the executioneers hood. This sky of blue is on my mind, it's such a perfect day. Without you it seems a waste of time.
"I don't want to follow death and all of his friends"...
before the lips of the metal lighter clicked against its matte case, with a soul on fire and a heart bleading for more torture from your cruel eyes; I turned and walked away, I just turned and walked away.
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[26 Oct 2008|12:32am] |
I very strongly and passionately dislike sharing a room with someone else I've come to discover. I especially dislike sharing a room with someone when they always have another person over...and its someone I have no respect for.
It very constricting...I want to wake up and play guitar and I cant because Josh is at work...but his...well they're not screw buddies...they're not dating...his ladyfriend, for lack of a better word, is just asleep in his bed until one in the afternoon.
Courtesy people?
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[24 Oct 2008|01:11am] |
Its a strange thing when your comforting agent is one of the things that makes you feel like today could have been skipped. I know its strange but Scrubs always makes me happy...but tonight I got connected with a patient...and they died.
I had a lot of hope today, I had a lot of hope for today. Everything was positive and I was really sure things were going to end up...well up. I keep writing short blogs wishing I had more to say. I'm...at a loss for words. I want to throw everything out on the table but people dont want to hear that stuff, just like how I don't want to be stuck thinking about it.
I had so much more to say but...
Can't think of anything right now.
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[23 Oct 2008|11:51pm] |
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Today is the day of defeat...
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| Sunny Day Rains a Callin' |
[19 Oct 2008|05:14pm] |
| [ |
music |
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Watching Scrubs |
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Is it a strange situation to fantasize about things that never will happen? I supposes that's part of the idea of a fantasy, something that never was meant to be. I feel a little bit strange in my ideas and fantasies, like I'm not having the kind of fantasies I'm supposed to be having. I think Rob from "High Fidelity" described it best when he said that he used to dream of being surrounded by exotic women's underwear. But that got old, and now he's super excited about the "old grandma panties". Its not that I still don't hold onto really exotic fantasies, but when it comes down to it the ones I go to the most often are pretty calm and complacent.
I am starting to hate using "there's that old saying" but I guess it's just because I wish I'd thought of it first...but there is that old saying that you never stop loving your first love/there's always a place in your heart for your first love...etc. In whatever stage of heartbreak I am in now (this one felt a lot different than all the others before), I am finding comfort going back to some of my earliest happy places. Maybe its all the talk about it getting cold back home, every time I log into hotmail the upper corner has a thermometer telling me just how cold it is back home. Maybe it's this stage, whatever it may be, the feeling of need to go back and think about all the mistakes but also the good times that I've had. Whatever it is today I found myself lost in a blissful state of comatose, deeply involved in my own little world.
One of the most comforting things I've found here in Hawaii (I did it at UND also actually) is showering in complete darkness. It sounds really really weird (and probably isn't the most normal thing people do). There's just something about the warm water and the unknown. It's a childish adventure, pretending I'm under water exploring, I almost want to sit down and play submarine. Today, as the hot water and steam splashed against the cold porcelin tub, rising up into the darkness, I was happy. I was in that place, and it was the best it's ever been.
It was a small house, traditional American dream with a few lavish endulgences here and there. I've seen this house before, been inside and stayed a while. The white picket fence stood guard against everything from the outside, no influence of bad thoughts could penetrate past the wood and fresh paint. The grass was the greenest of any side but was covered with a nice deep layer of thick and powdery snow. From the outside it must have looked to define comfort. Frosted windows glowing brightly and smoke rising out of the tall chimney brought a sense that this was home, not just a house. Behind a back yeard, hazy as the surrounding houses, nothing comes even close to my place.
A black and white Husky, named Jack, sits impatiently by the front door, looking out with such eagerness as a kid waiting for school closure reports. I stood their gazing at the clear night sky, watching the few whispy clouds slumber and the moon smiling its toothless grin. How amazing it felt to be there is indescribeable (I realize that I am in fact describing everything right now). Waiting inside along with Jack is this girl. In the sitting room next to the fire she sits, a big lounge chair cradles her elegant body as she reads Nicholas Sparks, a cup of hot chocolate steaming patiently on the coffee table. All too familiar, I'm still not sure if she's real or just a morbid creation of my dreams. Her perfection is sincere, her eyes say it all and her embrace never lets you forget. We have so much chemistry, there's so much history...our trip to Greece, meeting her parents in New York, it all just feals so sureal.
We walk down the sidewalks all bundled up, laughing at inside jokes, enjoying every moment we share. How long has it been now since we met that September day? It's been too long, but our time together will never be enough. We don't have kids, we haven't yet, but they're definitely on the back of both of our minds. I havent decided if we're married yet, maybe engaged, definitely in love. We're still in that cute stage, where everything makes us smile, a look can brighten the whole day and we're just...electric with each other...and we've been that way for however long I decide we've been together each time. It seems strange to think anything could ever be different, or that anyone anywhere at anytime could every be as happy as we are right now inside my head.
She loves her job, she's a hard worker, but she's passionate about each moment of every day. She helps people for a living; it's very rewarding and her appreciation and dedication to life is...toxic. My job changes every time, but my hours are always the same. Nine to five everyday, home for supper, home to her and Jack, home to life.
And everything is...perfect.
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| Part III |
[15 Oct 2008|06:38pm] |
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Hold me; take me with you when you're lonely. A golden chain fell perfectly in place; a small medallion laying over the heart. Locked away a promise of continuation; ever growing love and friendship.
Dark hair flowing from the deepest sins, curvation; glowing skin to match a glowing smile. Lips full, in the romantic way; full of emotion and trust, full of longing and lust; the true forbidden fruit ripe for the picking; a dark red, not of blood or dirt, of love and hope; the red of real raw passion bottled so elegantly inside two lightly raised mounds. It was a secret locked away for everyone to see. She had a heart, it beat; she had a mouth, it spoke; she had a life, she lived full; she had eyes...she had eyes with a twinkle; a light coming from within, beautiful brown eyes; magnificent and enchanting. "January embers, my heart burns their too". Like every kaleidoscope to the soul, the light danced with seduction around these glowing embers. There was fire, there was burning, and there was the screaming of every man burned at her stake. What a stare; such a gaze to ponder, one lifetime after the next and still needing an eternity more to discover the secrets deep within; A dizzy withdrawal at every blink.
The times were hard; before it all began; signs in the stars brightly flashed with warning and head at the notion of continuation along such treacherous paths. To dream this real; to believe in such a creature, living amongst such beasts. Smoking hands at every glance, cold nights and warm dreams abruptly broken by true confusion; a dream; she is a dream; ask her to dance but she's floating in the air; gliding along the waves of an unseen sea carrying her towards with every ebb; ripping her away; the last sight; and angel; icy waters of reality drowning every thought of such dreams.
To stare a gaze at such a beautiful light; coming closer with the break of day; chasing a sunset of dark hues on a highway of discontent; stepping into a zone familiar in the unfamiliar kind of way; no one laughs here, no one plays; twitching in your seat cause you can't quite get enough, embracing a fantasy delivered in the darkest of moments by the brightest of lights; surrounding a field of dreams with the armada of regret and deceit; payment to the boatman a spectacle discrete; Misguiding faith with a blindfolded arm around the destiny of tomorrow, living for tomorrows moment yesterday, loathing the sloth and excusing potential from a banquet for one.
A dream comes forth through smoke; down into the lungs and every molecule of oxygen is poisoned with her scent. Wars could be fought, lives won and lost, a face so divine, all others to be forgot.
A star shines bright as the night catches her hair, so dark with perfection; not a moment lost; not a lost second wasted; to be the moonlight bouncing off her face, to bathe in the glow; her natural presence pulling the light from every corner of the world so that all can witness this creation.
Words come quietly and clean; beating hearts fantasize of beating faster, more passionate as two become one leaving everything else behind. Each word agonized; each potential path weighed and measured ensuring the slowest route towards the end; silence between syllables and breathes torture; fear grasps tight; the throat dry and unable to commit; love; passion; meticulousness; diffidence rules the moment of every persnickety beat of the time. Overwhelming glee and disconcern; married in my mind, kids on the way and a house with a white picket fence, along a roaring city street; metropolis meets me and mine.
i want to help you
but i don't know how
i want to soothe you
but i can't speak out
i have many fears
about rejection
i have many memories of pain
i have always been a little shy
so i'll turn and look the other way
[chorus:]
other way
other way
i will turn and look the other way
i want to hold you
but i am afraid
i want to touch you
but i'm not that way
i have many doubts about my motives
i have many fears about my greed
i have always hurt the one that i love
so i'll turn and look the other way
[chorus:]
other way
other way
i will turn and look the other way
[guitar solo]
i have many doubts about my motives
i have many fears about my greed
i have always hurt the one that i love
so i'll turn and look the other way
Motives in question spark the fire of mistaken eruption of fury and endless remembrance of moments never shared; hearts never joined; electricity never flowing between contacted skin in passionate uprising.
To say it all began one fine day; to say it was love at first sight; to say anything would be to ruin one instant of amazement of awe; words have no place in such places as the haunted memory of things that never were. Every second together a beating heart joyous; fluttering wings uplifting the soul into a curious realm. Two one winged being flying together as one into the night’s sky to live among the stars and dreams of lovers and murderers alike. Succubus; draining every moment of life and death; the winters chill and the summers heat; beating hearts and flowing blood; energy tapped from a negative Kelvin, made useful to feed the death eating away from inside out. Off with his head to see what he will do; you’ve got nothing left to lose, to lift the burden of belief in a cause so expiring; so inspiring for war; so stuck within the counted cells, numbered with the rest, beating into the unconscious in ways only dreamt about; dreamers never remembering the true fruits and blessings; but the bitter taste of mornings awake the only memory of her lips never tasted. A taste, a taste of the fruit ended it all. The will of man was broken well before the start of the first days. Eating the fruit of the devil’s creation, a simple request for food; eviction; extinction; completely, intolerably, deceptively, and deliciously worth every drop of juice, poisoning fate. He masterfully enticed with a creation of such perfection and radiance. If God created man in his own image then Satan created women to show the imperfections of the infallible. And he did a damn good job. Still at night, on crisp leaves and crinkles of uncertain corners; darkened doorways and darker alleys; at the front of my mind; dancing and drinking deeply. Eyelids the canvas for her curves to slither once more, wrapping around me in a spidery web of questions and fallacy begging to become real with every icy breath. Warming hearts, beckoning images of those legs; those eyes and that soul; waving me inward once more to the belly of the beast; sitting in comfort of all too familiar hallucinations in this palace of grandeur; so many sleepless nights a welcome sign of vacancy. Many years ago still burns a salted wound; a dark hall alit with voices and the music of wars past. Creaking seats; the smell of a thousand people and just one that mattered, looking past the shaking fear of realities goodness and potential; nervous knees clattering tightly in a nervous head; her next to me and me next to her; lost in the moment of missing cues and notes never played. “Somehow I’m keepin’ it steady”. A chill coolness of the air warms the atmosphere of mystery. Her ecstasy was all around; it was her body, it was her heart; it was the world and the sea carrying her afloat; magic; fireworks; the unknown in pure sight of a sightless head ignoring the words of the soul…radioactive. Stage lights and her cream skin Another nail in the offin Another round chambered Yet Another moment beginning Another moment putting off… The end
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| The Night of the Tree |
[14 Oct 2008|09:51pm] |
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Born of death was the last age of love. A balmy November night and a moon halved in symbolic separation of mind and soul. A pale face; cold sweat of a bittersweet end were the only last signs the world had; A vixen from across the sea laid siege in a battle already lost. No motive or preemptive strike bloodied the ground. The final blow was the first and the last was fatal. He was a tormented soul, pushed to the edge of every blade, coming out clean with a beard to the toes. Survival was not at its fittest as the first to go became the luckiest. The blood flow ceased as his hand was guided to the hilt of death. Metal and cold tasted the pungent flow as a slice from ear to ear ended his enslavement.
Lit up with excitement a message was delivered to seal the deal. With pure delight she was in his head from the beginning; with pure delight she had spread in between every breath of air; with pure delight she spread like cancer. Grasping synoptic flashes; flooding his lungs with the rising beat of a heart condemned to her will. She squeezed, not knowing why; a familiar sensation confined to the nether's freed from captivity and coursing every sense of her being.
The Death of man came suddenly; the blood lust of women was always there.
Before the coldness set in, his eyes twitched with pure delight as a reason worth living for was found after the end. Watching from a floating above every sin remembered; a lashing entice to forget once more to the final ascent.
Juliet was not there to lie beside her fallen self; she unwrapped her bone fingers, covered in the warm blood. Hooded was her face as a broken promise became a lost myth of truth and valor. Never to understand the betrayal; he smiled.
Was it worth it in the end? You're God Damn right it was.
The first death came; days of shaking and confusion. Power was born; not of death's delight; not of God's deliverance; power was born of creator and destroyer; from the womb of women.
When it started we were alright...but night makes a fool of us in daylight...
We started to die of frustration, as cows lead to blades by temptation; Fires alight across the night sky; burn the bodies of the dead; infected and weak; infected with love...so tired of this loneliness. Cook them alive, boil a stew; Jumping from buildings at the will of power, enticed to prove a wild fantasy of un return. The skin cracked and charred as the marrow and blood boiled in the melting veins; first to give out but last to die, and unprovoked mass suicide of hearts murdered by lies.
To understand the death of man is to understand the unobtainable faith in the eyes. The truth always hides there; from the very first one, covered in blood; slit from ear to ear by a dagger willed not his own, screaming out from fearful eyes and quivering lips. The truth was there all along. The truth was death.
Eve never ate from the tree in the garden. Eve was never born of the rib of man and the snake never exploited her weakness. God was tricked by that handsome devil. What a slithery and slimy soul to play such a rotten trick of fruits and labors. Eve was acknowledged by God as the weakness of mankind, untold was the genius of Lucifer's creation of womanhood. A carnival of cannibals danced fiery circles in Bosch's Garden as the eviction of hope found Adam where he has been ever since, abandoned.
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| The Rise of The Amazonia |
[06 Oct 2008|10:14pm] |
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Pandora - Keane |
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The race of men was in trouble from the earliest of days. Constant oppression and demands locked in their fate from the earliest cave to the last of days. The weakness of women was believed to be in the subtle differences in muscle mass an body hair. Man failed to take head of the warning given simply by removing the "w" from women. It's been said that man has always been the dumber of the sexes, that we take things for granted and have commitment issues. While I do not disagree with any of these statement I think there's a bigger issue lying at hand. There is the argument of history supporting these issues. Men don't always notice the little things about girls, we resort to lame gifts like flowers and chocolates to represent feelings we cannot express or be heard. We take for granted just how amazing the female race can be. How unique each and every woman is that blazes in and out of our lives. And men do have a tendency to cheat more on their significant others.
Being dumb is enough of a crime to be sentenced to complete eradication.
Having two heads fighting for control against each other and a stomach can be confusing. Curse the maker but don't blame the creations. We were created of a passionate moment and ended in the same way.
How it all began is still hazy. Maybe it was young hormones, maybe it was the devil in rock and roll. Nothing is for certain about what happened, except that it was unexpected; and unnoticed.
The roles began to switch. I sat in my mind on my bed looking up at painted stars on a popcorn ceiling shining more brightly than the stars hidden behind drapes set up preemptively to block out the rising sun come morning. Thunderous drums clatter within as fuzz and distortion clears away the haze of memories erased in painful suppression.
She was a young girl, only sixteen, black hair at the shoulder length. She was an older girl with blond hair, longer than the shoulders but tied up into a neat knot. She was older and it was four years later; golden hair and the devil in her skin. Attention to detail. Long past was the times of remembering birthdays and phone numbers; years developed new rules and requirements; colors and flowers, memories and names of obscure pets litter the roads in my mind. Knowing the smile and smell drove men insane; the sun beat down on her skin and changed her into a creature of myth. Lips quivered and eyes dilated with a quickness and pain; looking into the sun. The blood flows faster as pheromones and a mixture of body odder naturally induce the body into a state of toxic shock; as the shoulders drop presenting a more comforting nature to this potential mate. Her mouth moves in a way not familiar; vibrations of fear and awe shudder the body and pound much louder on ear drums; her voice drowned out underneath a lucid condensation of hormones enlarging tissues in the back of my mind and firing improper nerves; She said "hi". Cotton has never looked better natural and on the tree. Hearts beat faster and the sacrifice of a rib to the potential of humanity seems not quite enough in the presence of something not quite earthly. A thousand roses and a suit of silk spun round the world for such an occasion is peasantry in comparison to the natural state of exotic bliss hidden behind mere rags.
A proper response; out of question. Simple murmurs and stuttering are the only words of poetry to exist in a conflicted state of mental tribulation.
Men only remember the big things.
We can't help it. You're just a big thing. Every tiny little detail is a big thing to us. The feelings, the smells, the textures, the temperature, the winds, hell even what the moon was doing and if the tide was ebbing.
That taste of feeling you in the same square world as us. How toxic it is; how numbing and exhilarating.
How fast was your heart beating? Mine beat so fast it completely stopped just as it exploded into another dimension and state of matter.
We're so dumb we couldn't see just what you really wanted.
You like the gaze; you like the subtle touch or the empowered caress.
Our heart and souls and a promise of forever is out of the question. Save that for a dumber girl willing to be tied to a fence, just as we are tied to the belt leading into the slaughter house ending never shown in the movies.
Girls cry but men don't cry. Men can't cry. Crying is reserved for small pains or winning gains. An inward downward spiral upside down as the heart slows to a soft moan as every beat is a punishing blow to the very soul. Crying can't describe such pain.
Mind control has always been a deep desire of man. To control ones enemies and coerce them to do something normally unwilling or reveal their deepest secrets to the most shallow of people. We never thought to look to women; we never understood we were completely under control the whole time.
Like an infesting virus or bacteria; a worm crawling deeper and deeper into every orifice and cavity; probing for pain and attaching onto pleasure; waiting to breed and spread it's control like a suffocating bag strapped over unsuspecting fools.
The weakness of man was in our love for the control we thought we held the reigns too. Always hunting for the next great beast to capture for our cabinets of curiosity. Every kill a mounted mark on a wall of memories and nails pounded into our future coffins. Self control to the wind, overindulgence and gluttony of the most monstrous kind on the most unwilling of creatures; with poisoned blood and kaleidoscope eyes.
To answer the question on my mind, yes, we knew it was happening. How can you not feel the rot from the inside as we were eaten alive by our own greed and disgusting habits; however numb to righteous and wicked behavior; however far gone from the center of right and wrong; focused on being the center of the universe.
We knew all along that we were trying to find love in all the wrong places; like this universe, this galaxy...and in your hearts. Can you blame us? I know we blame us because perfection can never be splintered. Except maybe our perfect idea of soul-mates and happy endings of the non-Asian variety. Too much is to ask for a sensible sentient; a partner in crime, life, romantic adventures, and time.
Am I a monster because I believed that things could be perfect; even in the most flawed ways...or am I a monster because however far from whatever inevitable truth takes prime hold on the lives of every human I have not given up this hope?
I walked across an empty land
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Sat by the river and it made me complete
Oh simple thing where have you gone?
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin
I came across a fallen tree
I felt the branches of it looking at me?
Is this the place we used to love?
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?
Oh simple thing where have you gone?
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin
So if you have a minute why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go
Somewhere only we know?
Oh simple thing where have you gone?
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on
So tell me when you're gonna let me in
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin
So if you have a minute why don't we go
Talk about it somewhere only we know?
This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go
So why don't we go
This could be the end of everything
So why don't we go
Somewhere only we know?
At least it was a quick slice; clean through the bone; severing the arteries without spilling a drop of soul; through the black bag placed over the head, the last thing ever seen was a pure and simple moment; a brief glance of the devil smiling; the devil winking in ever changing eyes; a forked tail wrapping like a python around a beating heart no more; with a smile on her face and a smile on his; things turned bright one last time as the hopes and dreams poured onto the chopping block at St. Peters feet; Heaven always seemed too far until eyes closed forever found themselves looking out golden bars onto down-filled skies at the ember glow and a sea of fire; In that moment; in that sense of belonging and rapture; as the head was severed into a thousand splinters of perfect bliss; with the realization of placing complete love and faith into a succubi...
...Peace was inside all along...
=w=
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| I really like this |
[23 Aug 2008|03:08pm] |
I thought this was, while somewhat awkward, amazingly right on, especially the last paragraph.
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