Friends

You wake up one day to realize you really don't want to.

It's not that you want to die, that would be a bit too dramatic. You just don't want to get up. Don't want to wash. Eat breakfast. Go to work. Walk. Breathe. Drive. Talk. You just don't want to do any of that. Just couldn't be bothered anymore. All you want is to stay in bed. So you do.

After a while you close your eyes and force yourself back into dreaming. In the dream your mind dreams, life is more interesting, more colorful, perhaps even more vivid - something that you previously wasn't aware was possible. It has more urgency, more verve, more everything. You feel alive in the dream. Which is more than you can say about reality. Afterall, reality is such a dull. A manifestation of boredom. A rundown of emotional dysfuntion. Isn't it?

Wouldn't it be more interesting if our dreams were our realities? Woudln't that be such a thrill? All those beasts and creatures, All those shift figures and faces, inconsistent conversations, non-sequential events, randomness, galatic colors, quixotic chaos. You love and you die and you grow and you fly and you run and you fight and you fear and you die again and again and again....

And you're born once more!

Your eyes open and the ceiling stares down at you. You sigh. Or take a deep breath. You don't move. Are you asleep? Had you been daydreaming? You close your eyes again and you will yourself to resume the dream.

In the dream you make yourself in your head, you see yourself rise from the bed, bright and shiny, wash up and get ready for yet another exciting day of seeing people and doing things. You dream of every fine detail, every move, you could even feel your body flowing in your veins, how it travels through you, rushing up and down and around. And you find that you could live the life you want in your head. Why bother to try and make it all real, when you can have it all, just the way you like it, right there in your head. Keep sleeping. Keep dreaming. Your eyes would sometime try to open, but whatever bit in your brains which controls the dreaming, that force, that power, is much stronger, and it forces me to remain.

Constantly in a perpetual state of floating in and out of the realm of dreams, often losing yourself within the thin space between the two and you are no longer certain of things. Eyes open, and for a manic moment you believe in those figments of dreams, you take them for granted, as memories, moments you've lived, things you've seen and been through. And it is those small moments that frighten you the most, that stun you, that serve as a warning of what could be, might be, would be.

And it's after those moments like these that you ask yourself if you would, if you could? The bed pulls you further in, never letting go. It's your vice, your drug, your obsession. Your mind is your home. Your only safe domicile. Your life is finally, your own.

But you always wake up.

My savior,
my Reverend,
you weren't supposed to die.

You had wings,
such beautiful wings,
but you weren't supposed to fly.

I can't see you.
I can't see you.
Now, I can just listen.

And try to fix the wreckage
of the heart
that has gone missing.

RIP Jimmy Sullivan 1981-2009
I love you.

Current Mood: broken

I want you to lay
between me
and my thoughts,
to harbor haste
until it is needed,
divide what is unnecessary
from this confusion
for I am clumsy
and foolish

Love is awkward
and youthful
innocently inept;
as fragile
as the words I speak
(still,
I am unable to learn)

My bones
are full of rust
they strain
with every movement,
struggling to gain
a secular holiness
that would be worthy
of Beauty

But clumsy I remain
so let me sleep
a few minutes longer
and maybe a little weight
will be lifted

I want you to lay
between me
and my thoughts,
to disentangle me
from them;
to take my warmth
in return
because sometimes silence
is the most precious gift
the clumsy can confer

Temptation waits
for a ravenous heart,
lingering in this pool
of fury
hoping that lust
will not devour love
(I can not let my eyes
rest upon
these anachronistic gods
that bleed desperately
in search of recognition,
I am paralysed
but privy to perfection
and lies;
carved out of truth
so hastily

heartless hinds
hurriedly hide hurt
behind voracious visions,
disguising the disgusting
with painful elegance)

you were yesterday
so quickly archaic,
so swiftly you followed serenity
into sickness
twisting and swirling about
entwining antitheses
effortlessly
(accidentally,
it seems now)

She holds fast
to the years
which grow more and more tired
through her melancholy eyes
(like vines
embracing endless weeds
after refusing to surrender
for so long,
heavy they fall
into each others arms)

This dog. I used to love this dog.
But now this dog is
a government agent.

I cannot trust this dog anymore.

If you are reading this,
you know who you are.
You know where I will go and why.

Together we will escape this world.

Wake up.

Dreaming.
This world is all I ever knew.
Perfection.
Kissing waves of blue,
and breathing...
Every sight is true.
Can I fly?
I float.
All around me, all is clear.
Just like that,
the nightmares stop,
and I am bleeding blue.
Swimming and crying.
There are no more tears
to chain me.
I fly,
I float.
Kissing waves of blue;
my mind is flying,
reality is far,
and I'm swimming
in my dreams.

Current Music: Caribbean Blue - Enya

I hate you -
I'm lying.
I love you -
let me die.

I love the way you choke me
and smother me with blood.
Ripping smiles off my face -
oh, how it hurts.

Crawl on me, I push away.
Come on. Keep on trying.

Make me see
that you want me
more than I want you.

I thought it would be easier
After taking the rest
Changing my dreams
Forgetting the past

Nobody can see
Terrible mistakes we make
Nobody can hear
Loudest requests

We don't need saving
We don't need the truth
Dreaming is like dancing
Trough the oldest wood



And then I saw something. I thought it was love.

some things
never change
maybe we can
start all over again

maybe
maybe not

some people
never change
so maybe we can

maybe
maybe not

You're invisible to the world,
but not to me.
They can't see you,
but I can.
They don't hear your voice,
but I listen.

I'm crazy.
You're not.
I'm insane,
and you are why.
Come to life
and tell me, please,
that I'm not

insane.

Life is gone.
Living things being gone,
Lifeless things are no longer
Lifeless.
There is no lifeless.
Lifeless is gone.

I am dead.
Being dead, I do not think.
I think no longer,
"This is life, and
That is lifeless."
I think no longer,
"This is right, and
That is wrong."

Right is gone
and wrong is gone.

He is gone,
it is gone,
flailing is gone,
concept is gone,
tumbled is gone,
query is gone,
and leaf is gone.

This is gone.

The rock, on waking, yawns
and thinks no longer:
"I am gone."

He stands alone in the dark.
Depressed, He has a broken Heart.

By a  girl he loved so much,
Who made him feel blessed by heaven's touch.

She Deserted him, left him all alone.
She Deserted him, he should have known.

Girls like her can never be tamed.
Girls like her can never be claimed.

Current Location: lala land :)
Current Mood: calm
Current Music: i wish i were listening to some instrumental.

The coffee shop in which we had been sitting was a dimly lit kind of place with all kinds of pretentious art crap cluttering the walls. I’m sure that at any given moment, one could easily find a patron there who enjoys the kind of garbage I’m asking you to read. I can say with some certainty, however, that finding a Nicholas Sparks lover there would be very unusual. It was not the sort of place someone who reads Nicholas Sparks would sit and read Nicholas Sparks. That would be embarrassing in such a hip and intellectual place as the coffee shop.

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will I raise my gaze to meet the rays
ebbing from his ocean eyes?
will I meet the warmth
that pierces the storm
crashing on these craggy lies?
will I
do I
dare meet his eyes?
stand staring at another life?
the person that I almost was
before courage broke the jungle's laws?

Current Music: There For Tomorrow - Just In Time

Hail Mary, full of grace,
how many times more will I say this?
In my heart I know this action--
this speaking of human words,
decreed sacred by human words,
prescribed by a mortal human man
to me as penance for my
mortal human sins--
is, in a way, arbitrary.

Holy Mary, mother of God,
since when do these words
in this order
in this language
this number of times
save the human soul
from torment in the Lake of Fire?

Hail Mary, full of grace,
what does it mean to be blessed?

"A Word with Him”

“The Heavenly embodiment of all our fears, our hopes, our dreams; what we all have inside of ourselves all along, but needed something to blame it on; Which makes you perfect. This perfection is what we love. Thus, we love you… or what we’ve made you.”

So… One day I looked into the mirror as opposed to getting on my knees, to have a word with this almighty being or, “God,” if you please. I had somewhat of a bone to pick, ya know, some things that had been buggin’ me about some questions I had before but the answers were taking an eternity.

You know…. Questions like: “God, are you real?” And, “How do I know?”

Because, I had always thought that: Real, was defined as what you can touch, what you can feel, what you can see, smell and taste, But I have yet to see your face, and, is it you that is my conscience or do I think con-science? Which means with understanding, better known as logic. Not to say that you’re not real, But I can’t say that you’re not fake, Because if everything is the way it seems, Then it seems that all you do is take, and, There are enough people to do that. They take your time, they take your money, Even your life and it ain’t funny how, People dedicate their lives to blind trust and faith to someone or thing that promises everlasting love and grace, no matter what race, or gender, they, spend their, entire lives thinkin’ your so-called “blessings” ain’t lies, and your gifts ain’t curses. But their family rides in hearses one by one and … what do they get? Everlasting life.

Current Mood: contemplative

I can never understand you

Should I even try?

I never realized how much I was wrong…

Did I make some mistakes?

Did I know what to do?

Should have I persisted…

Now I’m alone…

I’m looking for reasons to go on

But you’re not helping me

I silently wonder if your there

If you are

Why haven’t you come?

I ask all these questions but no reply

What the hell is going on?

I wish I had someone to tell me all these things

What could can I do?

At that moment, Lee showed up.  I always thought that Lee looked more like a Tom than a Lee.  He was tall, his head was shaved, he was large—overweight I think, actually, although I would never say that because he’s so sensitive about things like that (although his nonchalance makes it seem like he isn’t)—and yet somehow looked like he was nine years old.  Maybe it was the way he dressed that made him look that way.  Anyway, he should have come off as intimidating, given his god-given bodily figure.  Instead, he came off as very nice and very sociable but somewhat insecure.  You could tell he was kind of insecure because of his humor, which was self-deprecating without being dark.  Sometimes he would make jokes about being ugly.

Personally, although I swear I don’t subscribe to any stupid universal-love-like beliefs, I find it easy to find things beautiful that are not, really, classically beautiful.  Even those things that someone like me might, every once in a while, in a conversation, forgetting for a moment that I can find beauty in everything, say is “the kind of ugly that just can’t be beautiful,” or “really profoundly mundane, so that it just can’t be beautiful,” or “like a scrap of white plastic, like, plastic all the way from the 70’s, sitting on a granite counter, and maybe from being beaten up it has a couple of grooves in it filled with dirt.  But the contrived contrast between the plastic and the granite makes it impossible for the situation to be beautiful.”  The reason I let you in on that fact about me is that I want to tell you that I didn’t find Lee ugly.  Lots of people would reassure him that he was not ugly, but I really meant it.  They didn’t.

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