Friday, June 18, 2010


They sat there in complete silence. Their worlds had always been too much to overcome, and neither knew what it was to get over that. They fought to keep everything as tranquil as they could, but not out of any reason of love, but out of comfort more than anything else. He had told her everything, at least everything he had to tell; there was no reason in his mind to keep anything from her, but still it felt like there were things she was holding back, things that she could never explain to him… He wasn’t going to push, he may push for a lot of things, but he knew well enough that this is one of those areas you just let go.

“I don’t know what to do with this… this information, I don’t know what to do with you.”
She says looking at her feet.
He turns to her, “I’m sorry, well I am but I’m not. I am sorry that you feel whatever amount of pain you do, but I’m not sorry it happened, not because I want it to happen again, but I am glad it happened. It was sweet, it was innocent… in that moment I felt wanted by someone, and I haven’t felt that in a long time. I haven’t heard you mention anything of the like, I haven’t seen you really feel anything but complacency with me, and though that’s a fair feeling, that’s all it is… fair.”
“So, what? Is this you saying you want it to be over, is this you being done?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well it doesn’t seem like you’re saying anything else. If you’re tired, and if you feel like you’re not getting the most basic requirements out of this relationship, than why wouldn’t it be over? Why wouldn’t you say that?”
“Look, I love you… I long for you… I tell you how much I want to be with you on a daily basis, and I understand, that, that’s something I do, not necessarily something that you d, so I can let the majority of that go… I guess I just want to be reminded every now and then, that you want to be here too, that you feel the same way I do.”
“It’s not that I don’t. I do love you, and I do feel very much the same, but I don’t know how to do that for you.”
“It’s as easy as a compliment… you know over the course of these last few years, I’ve probably received as many compliments as years we’ve been together.”
“I’m not that kind of person, you know that.”
“You’re not the kind of person to give a fucking compliment? What kind of person is unable to give a goddamn compliment? What kind of person doesn’t know how to respond and react to someone’s love and desire for them.”
“A selfish one?”
“Your words, not mine.”
“Yes, well…”
“Well what?”
“Well… I don’t know. I don’t know how much I do trust you, or how much that even matters. I don’t know how deep my feelings go, or if that’s even a pertinent question. I’ve heard things, I’ve seen things, all about you, and none of them flattering. I don’t know where you’ve been or who you’ve been with, but I have a fair idea, I have a good understanding, and if that’s what you want to be doing you can go fuck off.”

He stood there, stunned. It would appear as if he was just caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but in reality he was insulted by the thought. He had just confessed to her, something simple, something sweet, something so seraphic, it would’ve just slipped through the cracks of memory to be forgotten and stored for a rainy day. How could she really feel like he was holding out? There was a point where he wasn’t completely honest with her; there was no denying this, but that time in their lives had gone by, long ago—their childish games had been short-lived in that first phase of their failing romance. The accusations left a bad taste in his mouth, and he didn’t know whether to accept this as a byproduct of what he’s done, or rather fight the words.

“You know you mentioned once that you feel like you can’t TALK to me… Well you can talk, but you want to be able to “talk” to me in the same way that I “talk” to you. I know this is a conversation we’ve had before, how with “you-know-who” I was given the great opportunity to sharpen those skills… Well I worked on them yes, but it’s because they were always there, and it’s nothing more than certainty in actions. Why is it that you can’t say the same things to me? There’s that lack of certainty, there’s that fear of being wrong and having it all go away… Well that fear’s in everyone, not just you; but you still have to have some certainty in what you’re doing. I’ve said many a things I’m not proud about, yes I could’ve put them in a more elegant fashion, I could’ve sugarcoated the words, and I have…but that never works, you never seem to get it.”

She looks away, not knowing how she would react if she continued to watch him.

“I can’t blame anyone for my actions but myself, and I don’t try to, if anything I may help to correlate how they came to be what they are but that’s not justification, just insight… I’m sorry if you’ve never understood that, but that’s what’s there, that’s what I’ve always tried to relate. You can question me, you can question my actions, you can question what we’ve been doing, but I’m not the same person. Those aren’t the things I feel like I need to question, and I’m sorry you don’t get that… Fuck I hate saying, “sorry,” we say that more often than anything else… We say that more than anything else… that truly is a sad sentiment.”

He looks at her, she’s fighting to keep the tears from coming out. He didn’t want it to be over, that wasn’t his intent, he just wanted to be honest with her, it just didn’t matter anymore. They were trying to breathe life back into something that was unceasingly only causing abiding pain. Someday she may be equipped to handle a relationship like this, but today wasn’t that day… neither were the hundreds before it. The silence that fell between them was enough of a response, neither was fighting, neither had the strength anymore, they had just been talking in circles since they met, likely the reason the situation never seemed to have gone pass any real point. He takes a breath, and seeing that she still has nothing to say…

“Oh dysfunction, how sweet you fucking taste sometimes. I suppose this has been a sick form of entertainment; it’s given me something to do, something to look forward to. This relationship has been a pet-project that has only yielded the same results, as learned people we should be wise enough to change the experiment…Change the variables, if you will… I will not be there for you…not anymore… I will not be on the other end of the phone, I will not be a response away, I can’t be. You can’t want me for just you, and expect me not to want a little of you in return. I’m tired of being humiliated, I’m tired of having to walk around with that familiar tail between my legs. I will not fear what’s next, when you’re not there. I will not run from what I’ve done, I accepted it and I’ve always been honest with you. I will not hide the feelings that run through me, nor deny the power they have over me. If silence is the only following act with us, I will endure it, and there may be that nominal amount of pain there to begin with, but sweetheart don’t think it isn’t something I can’t handle… don’t think that it’ll be torturous and painful you’ve been emotionally mute since day one."

Thursday, June 17, 2010


The years have passed, the slate’s been wiped, the sand has slipped slowly through the hour glass, and now sits peacefully in a mound of its own creation. We’ll never have that opportunity to go back; we’ll never have the opportunity to do anything aside from reflect. To find peace is to take solace in knowing actions are permanent and feelings are temporal.

I’ll be accountable for what I do, to hide is a sense of fear, is something I cannot respect. So I accept the consequences of my actions, I’ll be fine in the twilight not needing to fight off the demons that don’t exisist. Think of me what you will, I would relinquish that control, but it’s not mine to give up. Say what you want but that won’t unmask truth just do enough to blindly fill that void. I’m not here for you; I don’t have to answer to you, just myself and the almighty end. The little things I’ll hide, my emotions will show you the truth. Leave me, love me, lose me, it’s the system we know, it’s the game we play, but when it’s over what does the score even mean… Yeah I can appreciate the humor in this coming from me, but it isn’t much different from what I’ve always said, maybe just more eloquent in its guise.

Can I fight to keep sane, should I fight? Or should I embrace the calamity with open arms and find some calming grace in the chaos we all wrap ourselves in. Would I rather an existence where everything was unceasingly serene, or am I plagued to search out the dysfunction, for the sheer excitement it brings? Would I rather be bored and at peace; or would I rather deal with the blue ruin as it comes? I’m a child of great fortune. I’m a soldier in my own great war. I’m a victim to no one that I didn’t give power to first. I’ve forged an existence of perpetual bliss and consistent turmoil, and I bask in the greatness they make as the two entwine. Though I have escaped the forked tongue, I am still a victim to its daftness; I’m no longer in that state or denial or recovery. I’ve done what I’ve done, and I’ve acknowledged it, I’ve accepted it… but I haven’t learned to move on. Still I hope for more, but at least that hope doesn’t spring forth from places I’ve been, people I’ve known, people I’ve wronged, people who’ve wronged me—now it comes from the hereafter.

Control is nothing more than a thought we create in order to feel at ease with the uncertainty. We believe we have control, we believe we are guaranteed some right to dictate where we go and what we do, it’s only until we get there that we understand those serendipitous turns. I have no control over me, why would I begin to imagine I have control over you, or the situation at hand. Acceptance of peace or acknowledgement of defeat; we’re all in a lose, lose battle…we can learn from the outcome or we can keep fighting and never let any of the good reckon with the people we strive to be.

I looked into her eyes as she confesses truth, looking for some sense of remorse and absolution from my presence. Our child was lost, our children would never be, though at once they may have, this is a fact that we’ll have to deal with in our own way. Do I honor them by bringing their mother down? Do I disgrace them for never being able to say hello, and only giving them a wistful goodbye? I live and they do not, but at most I can live for them, and in that they could have some life through me. I’ll never forget them, but I can never forgive her. I didn’t carry you, so I didn’t know that immediate loss, I didn’t know what it was like to be connected, but that isn’t to say I didn’t know you, that I didn’t look forward to you in my arms. I’ll carry you always, with a warm thought and a longing smile. I will make you proud. I will make myself into the man I was supposed to be, into the man I fight to be.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Survival of the Fittest

They had been traveling for two straight days now, tensions were rising, and reason wasn’t even something that could be registered. Two hours at best from their destination, they stopped, pulling over in some lost part of Missouri’s backwoods. She had been sitting in the passenger seat all day, waiting for him to get tired so she could take over. Walking out of the gas station he looks over into the car, she was smiling in that obviously guilty way; she had taken control of the driver seat, not to anger him, but seeing an opportunity she ceased it. He crawls into the car, his anger began to grow...he had one goal in mind, and that was it, she could drive after that, but until then he was set on doing this, why? Well… well there wasn’t any real rhyme or reason; it was just something that he needed to do.

She begins to pull out of the parking lot, and quickly they begin to argue.

“I was going to drive us until we got to the city!”
“I know but I’ve just been sitting in the passenger seat for the last 14 hours, and well, I’m fucking sick and tired of it…”
“Well I figured you could drive when we got there, we could get something to eat, and then you can keep driving for as long as you want.”
“It’s almost 10 at night, how late did you think we were going to keep driving?!?”
“Well you’re the one that put me on a goddamn schedule… If it’s 10 I’ll be surprised if anything’s open much longer.”

She pulls off the highway, not telling him that she realized how late it was, and that they probably should find somewhere to eat. She begins to drive aimlessly down a street, hoping that it’s going to take them to some noticeable center of commerce, otherwise she knows full well she couldn’t be accountable for her actions alone with him in the middle of nowhere. After a few minutes she begins to realize that she would be on this road for days without seeing anything worthwhile, so she begins to pull off onto a side road to turn around. His frustrations with her inability to navigate even the simplest things, begins to mount overwhelmingly.

“I can’t stand this… You never listen to me! You just fucking do, whatever makes you happy, and what? I’m suppose to sit here and take it as if what I think, how I feel, it doesn’t mean shit to you?”
“Well you know where the door is, you can leave anytime you want…”
“Are you kidding me? Did you really just threaten me?”
“No I just pointed out the obvious.”
“I can’t stand you right now, I need… Fuck I don’t know what I need, but I know I need at least one goddamn moment to collect my thoughts… get some air or something.”
“If you open that door… If you get out of this car… I will leave.”
“Do whatever the fuck you want, I just know if I stay in this car for another goddamn second, it won’t help either of us, just give me a fucking minute.”
“You get out, you can have all the time in the world, but if you think I won’t leave, that’s your own stupidity, not mine.”

He opens the door… In his mind simple fresh air is all he needs to collect his thoughts, to get back to good. Though they were both being irrational, neither could see the idiocy of their actions or what they were saying to one another. As he closes the door behind himself, she throws the car into reverse and pulls away. She left him there, abandoned on the side of the road, his wallet in the car, his bag in the car, two miles from the closest gas station, and all he had on him was a dying cell phone. Days had certainly been better.

Werewolf Heart

I’ve lost faith. The world I’ve known is slowly starting to crumble into an obscure caricature of what it once was. The days bleed into one another, a byproduct of the nights stealing away any chance to sleep, any chance to let the fear go in the form of some lingering nightmare. I’ve constructed a vehicle for my own demise…not of the physical, but rather of the person I’ve become; everything must be torn down in order to start again.

At a glance it may seem that the backs have been turned, but their hands never seemed to be outstretched to begin with—I think the better explanation may be found in my willingness to accept the situation and instead of brushing away the stinging pain of disappointment and realization, I find the best response is uninterrupted abandonment. The heart would long for salvation, but there is nothing to save, it has all been a forged situation made for its comfort, made for its convenience, as it’s no longer comfortable and convenient, there’s no reason to toss out a lifesaver, but rather let what’s been floundering just drown in into its own darkened abyss.

We are all imperfect, the flaws we hold, though they come together in a divine sense of chaotic bliss, they are the aspects of ourselves which will inevitably tie us permanently, or forever drive those nails into the proverbial coffin. For a time we can fool ourselves and believe this to be a concept that can be fought, that can be denied its grasp over us, but it is much stronger, it is more assured in its actions—it’s unbiased and unwavering, and in that it is beautiful, and terrifying to no extent.

Monday, June 14, 2010

The Greatest

Boarding the flight I could only think of the fear that had been slowly creeping into my spirit…what was I doing, is this for the best, or is this just to hold off the flooding waters if only for awhile. No longer can I let my life be controlled by my inability to find what I want; no longer can I be a victim to a world that only pushes for destruction and humiliation. The time came for me to move on, and though it has been one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to made, I’ve made it, and hopefully it’ll put me back on that track I got off of so long ago.

I know I’m not the best person, but that doesn’t make me the worst. I’m trying to learn the proper actions and steps needed to survive just like everyone else, and damn him if he thinks that it’s only a selfish act—I know I would understand if the situation was reversed…at least I hope I would. I’ve been torn down, and humiliated, I’ve been made into something I never wanted to be, and though I never had the strength I always desired, this is a way for me to reclaim what I’ve lost, I shall stand strong, I shall not waver, I shall hold steady like pillars made of stone, and as the wind threatens to blow me down, I will meet it straight on and let it pass through me to the great beyond. Once I dreamt about becoming the great model of my spirit, and though that was taken from me, I gave it up freely. It’s a hard fact to accept, and it’s even harder to say, but now that I know where to rebuild from, and it's a starting point, something which is more than most have.

I know I’ll leave and everything will change, but it’s not that it hasn’t already, so what is it that I’m really leaving behind? Nothing more than the pain and constant alienating circumstances that have done enough to bruise my soul. I may disappear, then again I may never come back, but if there is time for my return, I will be someone different, someone stronger, I will be the greater representation of all that I could be.

Wet and Rustling

They had met in the fall some years back. He had begun to fall deeper into pits of his own despair; once he had been kind, caring, funny, cordial… now only pain, anger and remorse, were left. She was just beginning her journey trying to figure out who she was, who she wanted to become—both of their lives had led them to this same point, to this mutual junction.

She would watch him as he slept, it seemed to be the only time she saw any sense of serenity within him, anything that didn’t appear to be some sense of internal torment. Despite not being given an opening to a happier state of existence, she knew there was something more to him, it only needed to be pulled out.

Though he didn’t intend to have such a forlorn disposition on a constant basis, he was so far into his despair he could no longer recognize the difference, his pessimism had claimed a dominant role over him, and he was no longer in control, subservient to the wants and desires of everything which plagued him he couldn’t even see a light anymore. As the days would go by he would grow a little more hopeful, seeing the beauty gleaming from her eyes, hearing the joy in her laughter, there would be a rebirth of hope, if only little by little—hopefully by the point it began to morph into something more permanent it wouldn’t be too late for them.

She could see that there was something deeper in him, that there was much more there than just a broken spirit, and it’s for these reasons she decided to bite her cheek and hopefully stick around long enough to catch a glimpse at his true potential. Unfortunately it’s hard to take risk with a pessimist…

Years would go by, and things did inevitably change. The irony of the situation would be found in their complete role reversals. She had done an amazing job bringing light back to his spirit, but she no longer could feel such hope as she once did. It was now he trying to fight to hold on, it was now him trying to prove everyone wrong. They were damned from the start; he was a fool to think that it would change in the end.

50 MPH

They were in foreign territory. Their lives seemed to never correspond with one another, and for once it felt like everything was falling into place, it felt like this may actually work and things may turn out for the better. In the car they sat, traveling to wish a close friend happy birthday in an area that seemed like barren wasteland, there was nothing out there, miles and miles of fields. The lights from the city were a far off luminescence that grew dimmer with each mile marker.

He had always had more of an adventurous side, she was much more reserved, but at the very least open to him getting his fun in, she was never one to hold him back, then again she was never one to push either…there was an unusual atmosphere between them. It had taken a long time for them to grow comfortable with one another, they were no longer in that period, where they were constantly trying to impress each other, they could finally let themselves be open and free to whatever it is that was coming next.

He looked back to see one of his best friends in the seat behind him, quietly staring out to the stars that were slowly starting to become more and more visible as the sky became darker; he looked over at her, she was staring off into the distance. It was as if all three were in there own special worlds, unfortunately he couldn’t find comfort in his thoughts, a problem that seemed to always plague him.

Going over 50 mph, on a dark abandoned road he set the cruise control. Slowly he began to open his door, and climbed out of the car. They hardly even noticed him, there wasn’t any difference as far as they were concerned. A few seconds go by, and the friend in the back turns to the front and says, “I think the turn’s coming up here in a bit…” slowly he notices that there isn’t a driver in the front seat anymore. “Uhm, where the fuck did he go… AND WHO THE HELL IS DRIVING?!?” The two remaining passages now fully broken out of their thoughts and trances, they look out the window and see their friend… their lover riding the car from the outside, as if he was parasailing through the nights winds. He pokes his head into the window and smiles. This is who he was, and though they should be scared of the myriad of possibilities that could end with their premature demised, they still held on to some sense of comfort, he was always in control, no matter how extreme the situation was. He would always keep them safe, no matter how foolish he appeared to be acting.


His days consisted of pushing all the memories out of his head. It was a difficult feat, but it needed to be done—he had grown too tired of basking in the good times, it only perpetuated the pain that would never be relived, at the very least not with her. There had been an inconsistency in their relationship, the only thing that really remained a standard; their communication skills were shit at best, and neither felt as if they were ever heard.

All he wanted was for her to return an ounce of the same affection he couldn’t go a day without showing her…all she seemed to want was for him to be ok with the situation they lived and operated in. She understood that there were things that were wrong, that there were things that needed to be worked on, just as he did, but it didn’t matter anymore, the effort that was put in was more than she ever wanted to put in, and it didn’t seem like he ever wanted to change at all.

There was never a question of how they felt for one another, there was love, there was care, but there was no passion—it’s not as if it died out, it never seem to be there to begin with. He was worn down, and too tired of fighting to hold on, it seemed as if she didn’t know how to fight even if she had wanted to. This was the perfect mixture to watch the whole thing go up in smoke, one would leave wondering if that was the best thing for themselves…for each other. The other would leave knowing that everything that could be invested had been, and then some. There could only be solace placed in the fact that at the very least neither would be naive enough to put themselves through that hell again. If ever there was a time to change, if ever there was a time to grow it was quickly approaching, and it was now up to them to find it for themselves.

Talk Show Host

He laid there in her bed, nightmares danced across his open eyelids in the darkened room—she asleep, as much as she could be. Who was he to her? Though he was always timid to be cavalier with his emotions, with letting her know how he felt, it didn’t seem to be a problem to her. Love was a word that signified anything more than like, and she had liked many a guy before him.

He would listen to how she would describe her past “loves,” and always he would wonder, how was he described when they weren’t together? What would she say about him to her old friends, to her random ex’s? Could she even convey a fraction of what he would when describing her? Or was he exactly like the rest, would he be stored away in a “special place” within her heart, with the rest of them?

His notion of love was unwavering and eternal; everything else was infatuation on a perpetual cycle. He knew he loved her, and that relied on what she would tell him, how much she supposedly loved him in return, but how could she never show it if it really was love?

They had settled into a routine of monotony routed in tired monogamy. He wanted only her, and no one else, but she didn’t seem to want him… this isn’t to imply that she wanted someone else, on the contrary, it didn’t seem like she wanted anyone at all, at least not specifically; instead she seemed to search out the comfort of another so as not to be alone. This was a cruel and unfair joke to him; to hide yourself away from solitude and search for comfort in the arms of another was a cop-out, and though he could understand the fear, it wasn’t anything he could see himself giving into so easily.

These nightmares were more surreal and menacing than anything else he had ever encountered. How was he to respond? What was he to do show her that there was something better than searching for simple comfort? There would never be enough he could show her, mainly because he didn’t seem to be the one slated to open her eyes, only to keep her attention for the passing moment.


The pain was overpowering, every moment of every day was a chore to get through, each breath brought with it a stinging pain of realization—she was gone, and likely never to return. His life was falling to shambles, and there was little he could do to find comfort and quiet his thoughts. Little by little he slipped deeper and deeper into a proverbial lake of fire, the only acknowledgement of his existence came from this undeniable pain, aside from this he was dead to the world, he was dead to himself, and he was dead to her. Slowly the light was beginning to leave from his eyes, the joy and excitement that kept him apart from all the rest was slipping further and further from its host; his only ability to cling on to some sense of reality was to find whatever outlet that was strong enough to let him feel—feel anything, if even for just the moment.

In these moments of synthetic heartbeats he was able to see some small sense of hope and salvation, soon enough the time would pass, and he too could crawl out from the rock he now found himself under. Until then each day was a new war, the only sign of victory could be found in repeating the process upon the next sunrise, until then it was anyone’s guess whether or not he was going to make it. He knew she was going through similar heartbreak, but it made no difference to him, his pain was much more poignant than hers ever could be… at least this is how he rationalized it. It was something different to him—he wanted to fight through the wall which stopped them, he didn’t want to give up, he understood the grandeur of their relationship, and though she said she did as well, her actions would never suggest as such.

Little by little he did enough to subdue the anguish that seemed to plague his existence. Comforted by the times he made it through before, he knew that the pain was only temporary, but each time, his walls closed in, and his ground gave beneath him, all he had to look forward to was falling deeper and deeper into his own remorse.

White Blank Page

There was nothing that he could do to rectify the situation, all was lost, and there was no sense in trying to salvage what little hope may be left. She was too weak to confront him, she always had been, and he was too cold to let his heart and anger warm over. There was never a time with her that he had ever thought to be anywhere else, but to his amazement the same wasn’t true for her. She had grown tired over the same battles, the same arguments, the same outcome, but what was there for her to really complain about? He loved her with all his heart, he made sure that she knew this, that she knew how beautiful he thought she was, how kind, and sweet, but never could she give him the same reassurance. After three years he may have received a single compliment in each of them.

The pain had become something standard to him, in his solitude he found an odd sense of stability in being ignored and denied the love he sought for. He had fostered an environment of self-depreciation, which was merely perpetuated by her refusal to change. Her selfishness would sink her, and though he may have warned her against this, there was nothing she would ever do to change this simple fact.

It’s a simple remedy, at least to show that there has been some effort put forth, at least to show that there was some care taken to acknowledge the other’s wishes, but whether it was too difficult to keep up, or she really didn’t care too much, any effort was as temporary as the fleeting wind. It was nothing for him to lay next to her and give her everything, to tell her everything, he wanted her heart and affection, all she wanted was his attention.

I Never Wanted You

Take out the cork, a bottle of wine, it’ll go straight to the mind.

There’s an interesting point at the end of a relationship in which you’re forced to reevaluate where you actually fall… are you stuck in that symbolic purgatory? Torn between pining for the love lost, or rather do you begin to realize the ridiculousness of the situation and the true feelings begin to pour out?

I was head over heels for her, I would’ve done anything for you, and though I know this isn’t a sentiment that will ever be overlooked, how often was it taken into consideration? I feel as if it was something that was known there would’ve been a slew of action to preserve and fix that which was wrong… then again I am the hapless idealist, and though this is a shift from where you first found me, the point is that throughout this ordeal I was there for everything, no matter what separated us, albeit it time or distance, I was there regardless. I’ve called for your attention, I’ve called for your affection, but consistently I’ve been denied, with little rationalization to support your inaction.

I never wanted you to know how great we could be—I wanted to keep this secret to myself, and hopefully let you in on it, as we went further along, whatever it is we were always doing. I’ll never regret what we’ve done, nor will I ever forget it, however I do find myself at a point wallowing in remorse for how weak it always ends. Never has there been enough respect for me, nor for us to handle our affairs face to face, instead we’ve relied on indirect communication to accomplish our round about trials. Had I ever brought this mess to your door I would have the decency enough to do in person; I suppose it’s just one more thing that has always separated us.

Light Houses

They never technically had spent a night together… sure they had passed out on a couch next to each other, but never had she laid to rest next to him. He didn’t know how to feel, the only person he really ever slept with had taken so much from him, he was hesitant to put himself out there again—she didn’t necessarily have the same conundrum, but there was something different in him that she saw, there was an instant peace, an instant comfort she was able to find in his arms. Was it simply infatuation? Lust? Or could it really be the beginnings of love actualized? They didn’t have much to talk about, what was there to talk about anyway? Against everyone’s advice she was there anyway, and much to his surprise she didn’t listen to anyone else.
The snow fell steadily through the night—she had drifted to sleep hours ago, but he couldn’t bring himself to do the same. Sitting up, with her wrapped around him he didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t an unattractive guy, but she was still out of his league…his thoughts wandered, thinking about what she may see in him, how he felt about her, how any of this made sense. She would rollover from time to time, just slightly, showing her face, there was always the cutest smile on it. That smile did enough to rest his mind to give him some small kernel of hope that this wasn’t some divine joke.

He didn’t want to be cavalier in his emotions, but he knew that what he was feeling for her was something so much more than infatuation. It was pure, it was innocent, it was curious in its nature, and though he knew that physically there was something bringing them together, the emotions that would keep them there were destined to be so much stronger… this thought sent a chill through his body—not knowing how to interpret this reaction, he just drifted off to sleep.

Feel the Tide

It had been months of constant battling, of internal war. His life had been teetering on that edge, having two choices; his intent had been on the lesser, whether desired or just unavoidable, that’s inevitably where he was heading. She had seen something different, something kind, and good.

He sat at the edge of the bed, the morning’s light coming through the blinds; she asleep, with the faint hint of a smile strewn across her face. Everything before the last night, seemed like a distant memory, another life, it was so foreign, but at the same time it was something that was very much a possible reality. Was he still in his induced haze, or was there something actually different happening deep within. Whatever it was, her being there was something that was undeniably tied to the new change in spirit.

He looked over to the door, paint drying on the wall next to it from the night before—the message that will always be a reminder… though on the wall, it’s only a reflection to that which is now permanently engrained within. “The kind you is without the light.” This is who he had become, this is who she knew him to be now, and though it pained him, it was completely true. He didn’t want to be that person, not for her, and especially not for himself.

He looked back her. The sun starting to dance across her eyelids, sparkling through her glorious curls, the smile still there; he knew that this was something more than some delusional thoughts of hope, there were genuine possibilities. He realized that holding on to that which he knows, that which is real he could trust in being alright, and that the tide was turning.

Anna Lee

It was to be his time of recovery, his time to move on and move passed it all, to grow strong, to wise up and realize the faults present in his current state of thought—but how could he fault himself for his actions? It’s hard to break bad habits with a sentimental heart, and she amongst all of his vices was the strongest and most dangerous aspect of his life. So many times before she had only wanted to say goodbye and let go, but he gave her such a fight, and so many reasons to stay, none of which were really her reasons, he was just convincing enough.

In her eyes he could see through to her heart, and in that heart he could see salvation for her, he could see the vast potential that stemmed further beyond her comprehension, a fact that she had blinded herself too, through years of relentless self-torment. Better than most he had known that sometimes people just need a hand, they just need a kind caring heart to pull them through to the other side, and for her, he was more than willing to be that person, but unfortunately she neither wanted nor could she recognize the state she was in. Content on the path that she was on, she wasn’t going to change for anyone let alone him. A fact he would do well to acknowledge and accept.

He would spend his days trying to fight off the urge to call her, to apologize for… well for anything, and everything, as long as it brought her back to him. Remembering the pain she caused not only to him, but to herself he was able to convince himself otherwise every time, avoiding what would inevitably be yet another mistake… at least for the moment.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010


He had been here before; he had felt that feeling of overwhelming euphoria… Endorphins rushing, serotonin pushing, debilitating ecstasy—but never in this situation, never with someone he loved with such wonderment, always curious of her nature. Though curious as she was, she had never found herself in this situation before, not with someone like him, and not with what was in front of them… they swallow the pills, the music goes on, the door closes, and the lights dim.

There is always a connection with people sharing the same experience, only intensified by emotion, and quantity of consumption, they had plenty of both; in that situation constant contact is really the only physical need. As she would run her hands up and down his body he would think of the raw and seemingly prohibited scene he was in, it was too intense to be real, only in some dark carnal desire could he ever conceive something so appropriate.

Hours they spent, exploring each other, finding every overlooked piece inside and out. Their eyes usually closed, not needing to be open…this wasn’t a scene that could be seen, but rather a permanent moment in time that could only be once lived. In his mind as he would trace along her body, he would create a map of the new area, remembering every curve, careful not to miss even a spot—her responses to his touch would keep his attention, making him aware of her desire to be there. With that expressed desire she gave him, he felt invincible, he felt her love.

She would look into his eyes, that gaze was hauntingly beautiful; possessed by passion she was striking, with every move, every breath. She radiated this light, it was perfect and serene, he would look at her and see a divine angel—the heavenly grace he saw to have the compassion and care that had been lost long before. They had no perception of time, reality seemed like a trivial concept, but knowing they had only this one moment, the fought to keep it, knowing that it wouldn’t always be like this.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

I'll be Suzy

It had begun to wane into that odd transitional state; the pain hadn’t been stinging like it did days prior. The fear of uncertainty wasn’t looming over his head, creating the overcast it was designed to do.

The ash tray sat secured next to the bed; the reminisce of sleepless nights, and evidence of eventual cancer strewn about. He laid there secured in the thoughts, that what seemed like hours before threatened him with eventual destruction. He laughed at this ridiculous assumption. His strength transcended the grasp of the intangible.

Grabbing the pack that was on the bed next to him, he pulls out yet another cigarette; why had he given up drinking, there was much more comfort that came from the rye fields of Virginia, than the tobacco plantations in the Carolinas. Whatever each had done their job in subduing his anguish, if only for the moments they rested in his grasp.

His phone rang, time and time again… likely another friend going through their rounds to check on him. It felt like pity more than genuine concern; he couldn’t imagine being in their position. They wanted their friend back, the guy that seemed to epitomize joy and curiosity. Now he basked in his cynicism and certainty. This is who he really was, this is who he had always been, he had just never really let anyone in on this secret.

Monday, April 5, 2010

The Church

Throughout the night they had shared one of the most intimate experiences either one had ever had, but for so many different reasons. He had always wanted to share this with her, he wanted her to see the world from his point view, but he would never force it on her. That she wanted to be there just as much, made all the difference. She had always been curious, what did it feel like, what was it like? Was it a different world? Was there no distinction between the real and the surreal?

The night started off difficult enough, now they were once again in each other’s arms, it had been too long, and it felt like neither had ever leave. He looks her in the eye and asks, “can I take you somewhere?” She smiles, and stares at him, happy enough to be there in that moment with him, nothing else really registering. “Are you ok to drive?” she asks, knowing that she isn’t at all, so assuming he would be the same. “No I’m fine, trust me, I just want to show you something.”

They put their coats on and head out to the cold, it was late, or early depending on how you saw it. The light from the sun was slowly starting to break over the eastern horizon as they drove down the road, she recognized it as the way to go to the lake, was this what he wanted show her? Granted it’s a lovely view but they had been out here many times before. He keeps driving and passes the lake, coming to an area with an open plain straight ahead, she had never been out this far. He pulls off the word and heads into the woods. His car wasn’t made for off road traveling, but still he somehow managed to make it work. They drove for a while, but she hadn’t noticed, the sun was growing brighter, and she could see it poke through the foot of the trees, slowly they started making their way into their own private open field. He pulls off to the side of the road and grabs her hand, “we’re here,” he says. She smiles, not knowing what to do, and watches him get out of the car. He walks around the back, buttoning up his coat and thrusting his hands into his pockets, she opens the door just enough to hear him, “this used to be one big lake, it’s been dry for a very long time, but all these rocks are part of the old riverbed.” She couldn’t understand the history lesson; she was more captivated by the single tree standing in the field… “I’m cold,” she turns and says to him, “I think I’m going to wait here.” “Suit yourself, darling. I’m going to go explore a bit.” She closes the door and sees him run off, just as the sun is starting to break, within that moment she loses sight of him. He sprints across the open field careful to jump from rock to rock, making his way quickly to the lone tree. Reaching it, he surveys the area, trying to understand why it’s the only thing to grow… Giving up, he only wants to be close to it, so he begins to climb through its limbs and branches.

After being what felt like forever without him, she gets out of the car, trying to see if she can spot him now. He’s gone, and she can’t find him. She starts to carefully walk in the direction she saw him dart into.

“Hello?” She says out loud. He can see her from the tree, but waits for her to see him first. “Hello?!?” She says again. She finds a larger rock and stops on it, hoping that he hadn’t left. She tries again, “Hello?!?”
He sees her, and she’s the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, how could he not reply sooner, “Echo,” he calls out.
“Charlie?” She replies. “Where are you I can’t see you.”
“I’m here, in the embrace of my leafy friend.”
“I still can’t see you…” She says starting to get a little sad.
“Oh but I guarantee you, I’m right here, I promise.”
“It’s beautiful,” she says as she looks to the sun starting to break over the top of the treeline.
“It sure is,” he replies as he stares at her.
“I don’t ever want to leave here, I don’t ever want leave now, can’t we stay here?”
“Stay here? And do what?”
He smiles inside and out, she gave him that rush of elation that nothing synthetic or real could really compare to, it was in itself something so perfectly serene and indelible. He yells back, “Yeah, we can, and we can erect a church to that testament.”
“Right, we can place between my rock and your tree… I don’t ever want to leave this rock.”
“And what would we call this church?”
“I don’t know…What do you think?”
“How about the Church of Charlie and Echo…”

My last...

WTF kind of rant, at least for the time being...

I can understand my two major flaws, arrogance, and I guess anger is the best way to explain it, (I don't go around hitting people, nor do I yell, but it's easy to piss me off, at least easier than a lot.) I don't lie nor mislead nearly as much as I used to so I don't count that as a "top," I would, but I worked pretty hard to get to this point, and I'm going to give myself some credit for that one... As far as the arrogance goes, I see it as reaffirmed confidence, I guess I'm just too confident in myself when it comes to practically everything so it falls in that arrogance category. Why am I listing these off? Well it's simple because aside from the aforementioned flaws, I think I'm one hell of a person. I have character that's quite frankly incomparable, (see that's what I'm saying about the confidence that gets seen as arrogance, I'm just confident of these facts.) I'm creative, meaning I can do more than just doodle, a hell of a lot more. I'm learned and quite intelligent, in more fields than most... I feel like instead of having an "A" understanding in one or two areas I have at the very least a "B" understanding of at least a dozen different areas. I'm fit... Yeah I'm sure you would look at me and call me chubby, which I'm not denying I got fat on me, but I have a hell of a lot more muscle than most would expect, I have endurance and stamina for days, and though not as well as it used to be for my size especially I got some incredible agility. I have a solid sense of humor, and I'll know how to diffuse 9/10 of the negative situations I'll be in. I've been told by every partner I had that I know what I'm doing, and that what I have to work with is often more than they expect, for the better I can only assume... Why am I saying all of this? Well quite frankly because I'm at that point of confusion in not being able to understand why I get passed over... Should I apologize for not treating women like shit? Don't get me wrong, I'm not always Humphrey Bogart, but I will make any girl I'm with feel like a princess more times than not.

I guess I need to work on becoming a skinny white boy who objectifies women, and treats them like pieces of meat, that seems to be what the girls are searching for... God damn it, you would think those unintelligent pricks would have been weeded out by now, I don't know how many complaints I've heard on their lack of ability to satisfy their partners emotionally and physically, you think women would have chosen a different mate, but no, they hook up with these ass' inevitably get pregnant, inevitably get left with the kid, and they ask, "why me?" Well it would be different, had you gone for the guy that wanted to see you succeed just as much as they want to succeed, someone like... I don't know, me? I just hate being in those positions to say, "I told you so," but I'm put there what feels like constantly.

I would apologize for the rant, but quite frankly, no reads these except for maybe two people, and spammers... So essentially, I could care less right now.


Because I've broken my rule for this blog a few times within the last month already but... I feel like I'm becoming part of a rare breed that believes if you put it online it's public, meaning, if you don't want people to see something seemingly private GET A JOURNAL, like one you write in with pen on paper... otherwise don't be surprised that people will still be redirected to you anyhow.

The Knife

It had been a little more than a month since she had left, it had been nearly three since he had felt her skin bush against his fingers, and it had been two since he had decided to swear off the embrace of women so as to find a deeper connection. The night was cold, Fall was giving way to Winter, earlier than it should, and the layers that he wore seemed to be too little for the night. It may be due to the fact that it was only days before Halloween, a fact no one cared about the gals and ghouls were out in full force, he even looking like a zombie.

He fancied himself a DJ, and though this isn’t something he would recognize in himself immediately and without some kind of external push, it was how he made his living. Instead of going out and working, he opted to go to the bar with group of acquaintances, they might as well been strangers. Feeling like a wallflower in a crowded room he had very few options, either he could continue sitting there in awkward silence, watching the girls fawn over the same guys, he could do the safer thing and call it an early night, or he could contemplate the possibilities at the very least over a drink and a cigarette. He walks over to the bar, the bartender recognizing what kind of night he was having taken some amount of pity on him and passed him his usual, a whiskey neat, on the house. He slams his drink and heads outside to suck down what would hopefully be a momentary stress relief.

He stands outside under the neon glow, the paint on his face slowly starting to peel and run; with each passing second he’s beginning to feel more and more foolish. “What the hell am I doing here? Why am I staying around, this isn’t any place for me…” He kept berating himself, acting as his own worst critic, never allowing a moment to go by where he wouldn’t make himself think of her… It’s funny how things don’t work out sometimes, then again it’s funny how they do—as he’s beginning to turn and walk away, he gets stopped by someone who just walked out the door, they turn to him and say “You have a smoke I can bum?” He looks inquisitively at first, making sure that it was indeed him they were talking too; he shakes the feeling and pulls out his pack. It’s serendipitous how “smoker’s karma,” can work out sometime, it turns out the guy who asks him for a cigarette was the DJ at the bar that night. Instead of going home he begins to talk shop with a fellow professional, trading lingo and being able to connect with someone other than the woman serving him drinks.

“You know man, I could use a break, you sound like you know what’s up, let’s make a deal, I’ll get you a few drinks, and what do you say to keeping this party going for a few, well I take a breather?”

He thinks about, but really it only takes a second, “You know… it’s been awhile since I did it for the fun of it… What the hell? You got yourself a deal, just as long as I get to play my music.”

“Man, you keep the set bumpin, any way you want, feel the vibe and keep those asses shaking on the dance floor, that’s all I ask.”

He walks back inside, it really had been awhile that he was standing behind a legitimate table set-up, and not some series of tape decks… He just kept getting worried, “What if I forget how to spin? What if I no one likes what I play?” And then it clicks… “Who the fuck cares? Either way I’m dressed as a Zombie!” There’s something freeing about being… not necessarily a zombie, but someone other than yourself. He looks through the vinyl’s that are there, he takes out his iPod, and he goes to work. Mixing music everyone could love, but had never heard, he lived for that, he lived for that moment where he felt like in his own little world, in his own private surroundings he could be Prometheus bringing light to man, it was a sense of exhilaration that was only made better by the synthetic serotonin pumping through him at that moment. To live like a rockstar for one moment, it’s enough to develop an addiction.

After a few songs, and the revitalization of a once barren dance floor, reluctantly he hands the reigns back to his thankful and rather impressed friend, “You didn’t tell me I was going to have to follow that,” the DJ says jokingly. He takes a deep breath as he tries to make it through the crowd, everyone still dancing, and he walks to the bar to get a much deserved drink. As he reaches the bar there only seems to be room towards the end where a pair of girls were sitting, a redhead, and blonde; not thinking of the girls but rather an expedited drink he walks down by them and takes a seat. As he sits down he takes off his hat wipes his face, and lets out a relieved exhale. He can hear the girls next to him both are going back and for saying, “No you ask him…” The blonde replies “No You!.” He gives a look in their direction, smiles and nods, in some odd way they get flustered and turn back to one another. A few minutes pass before the redhead reaches over and taps him on the shoulder, “were you the one just playing music a few minutes ago?” After three years as a DJ, after playing both good shows, and lousy shows someone actually is asking him the question that he had played through his mind thousands of times over—he replies, “yeah… I was taking over for a friend, but I had a few in there.” The two girls trade a glance, and a big smile, “you were brilliant, amazing really,” the blonde says, “We’ve been to many clubs and bars here in the States, and many from around the world, but we’ve never heard the music you were playing, nor heard it played…” her friend interrupts, “nor played quite like that… Can we buy you a drink? What are you drinking?” First of all it would be any man’s dream to have this type of attention from one girl let alone two; on top of that they were gorgeous. His scale had his last girlfriend at an easy 10, the blonde was at least 13 and the redhead was a 15… There was no way he could have ever accounted for something like this. So of course the only answer to “can we buy you a drink?” is undoubtedly yes.

Several drinks later, and through some overt flirtatious banter, the blonde one stands up and excuses herself to the bathroom. Normally being left alone with a girl wouldn’t be too much of a problem for him, he’s good with conversation, he can make anyone laugh and keep them entertained, but these girls were solar eclipse attractive, looking directly at them for anything longer than a second was just unnatural. After a few minutes of waiting for the second girl the redhead reaches over, and begins to play along the inside of his thigh… Things just got interesting. He looks at her, she leans over and whispers into his ear, “me and my friend have a list… things we need to…do, before we die, and a Latin man is on it.” The god’s were too kind, out of all the bars in all the world these two just so happened to have walk into his. The blonde comes back, and her friend gives her a reassuring look, she too comes over to him, and begins to rub the inside of his other leg; she leans over and in his other ear she whispers, “should we take this somewhere else?” The three of them stand up, and the girls lead him out of the bar and up the stairs to the hotel room they were staying in. There… well let’s just say they didn’t play twister.

All in full frenzy, sweaty, satisfied reeling from the satisfaction of feeding the pure carnal needs and desires they all had, they gather their things and dress trying to make last call, to close their tabs, and hopefully get one last drink in. They all have one more, and the girls follow him out the bar to share a cigarette, both standing arm and arm with him, in that moment he had to look like a pimp, and not in the contemporary context of him being a “true playa,” rather literally looking like a pimp, with two women on his arms. From a far you could hear the bells in all the bars ringing out closing times, and the subsequent drinkers piling out of the bars making all kinds of ruckus. A group of guys started to draw near, as they started to come closer to the three, the girls started to place some distance between them and him. The group walks up to the three, and the girls greet these three tall and relatively attractive guys, at the very least he thought them to be more attractive than himself. After the formal introductions, he comes to find out that the two girls were traveling with the three gentleman… all of which had somehow dated at one point or another in the past… An immediate alarm went off in his head, he had to get out of there, not soon, but then and there, and in the least noticeable way possible. He turns to the guys, and says nice meeting you, and then to the girls he thanks them for the drinks—the blonde looks at him sad to see him go, so she asks if he’s ok to get who, or if he rather a ride, since they do have their own car, not wanting to look rude of course he accepts. He gives the redhead a hug and a peck on the cheek again thanking him, he shakes the guys’ hands and him and the blonde walk off into the night.

Sunday, April 4, 2010


Consumed by the inner torment that haunted his existence, Michael walked as if there were a demon pulling at his very core. Day by day the darkness would consume his heart, turning him into something that he had no way to fight against; it was a cancer that he could not rid himself of.

He couldn’t recognize anything in himself aside from the pain and anger, the fear and the loneliness, all of which seemed to have a permanent hold. How had he come to this point? How had he been victim to such a cruel joke? He left himself open and vulnerable, in allowing himself to entrust any and every person that would give him the attention he craved so much. Unfortunately as they would leave him, they would take a piece of him with them, leaving a void that would grow with each day and the opportunity for something to come and fill it.

It became a fear of his, that which he feared would be the only thing that could inevitably come in and permanently fill that void; it was only for so long that he could fight it off—he was weak to begin with, and his only strength would often come as a byproduct in trying to dawn that fa├žade for those who had indeed given him his desired time. Now that was gone, he was having to learn how to be strong for himself, unfortunately he was no black magic wielder, he had nothing special within to keep pushing through. Giving up, letting go, not only of the hope of things changing, but everything in whole was becoming an increasingly attractive thought. It was more difficult for him to make this decision than to get back on that horse, that was what was expected, complete fall into the embracing darkness was new, and as his plan of action had never worked to begin with, he was ready to try something new.


How could I ever put into words the way I feel? How could I ever, the representation of chemicals rushing through the mind, the body, and the soul… it’s overpowering and quite frankly daunting. Words just never seem to be able to do justice to the feelings themselves. I’ve never felt more comfortable, more loved, more cared for, than when I was with you. But the question which ensues: was I in love with you, or was I in love with what essentially you represented to me? Is there a distinction between the two, and if there is, does that latter make the former any less important?

There is something to be said, that I can’t help but look back and smile, ah, the great fortune of reminiscence. I do confess, though I may be past a point of sorrow and despair, I can’t help but wanting to make plans, to have something to look forward to, not just in general but with you… Am I going to do that? Not at all, but it’s the last of the entirety, I just can’t seem to shake. I understand quite well that I wasn’t yours, and you weren’t mine, but I WAS yours and you did feel like mine, so even in the slightest coming to grips with that changing for the both of us is likely the most unsettling of all the feelings.

I often have to remind myself how temporary everything in this phase of my life is supposed to be… the pain, the happiness, the anger, the sorrow, the joy… it’s all fleeting from moment to moment, and often going in between polar opposites. As I hide myself from the world on this day, I know that the next may bring something new, something different, the littlest of things that can change it all around. We’ll grow old, and we’ll look back at the foolishness of it all, how we fit the roles we were supposed to so perfectly, and it’s hopefully at that time we can open our eyes from recalling those memories to see the eyes and smile of our truer love, that love that feels like home, as long as we’re with them.


After years with the same person, or rather people, I still feel like I’m trying to understand who they are… essentially I’m still trying to meet them. As with most things in my life I tend to give to much credit to others, hoping their actions and intent are actually something deeper and maybe more profound… Oh how wrong I am. One in particular, she was something short of spectacular, emphasis on the past tense; I was blinded to the faults, as should be the case, but it was the faults that drove us apart, as did my own, and who knows maybe neither one of us actually did anything that could be considered as actual work on the self. I can be very difficult to be around, let alone be with, I know this, others know this of me, but I will always ensure a good time, I will always give you a memory, and furthermore a story.

I’m slowly beginning to understand that complex I have with having my “story” precede myself… I belittle where I’ve been, and what I’ve done, and I do this because this is normal to me, this is how to live, there is no other way, accept you have the here and now, and that’s all that you will ever be guaranteed. We can’t change the past, and planning for the future seems more reckless than not planning for anything at all. I’ve been a person to never plan a thing, I play everything as it’s dealt, and I couldn’t be happier with the overall circumstance of my existence. I’m not a rich man by conventional standards, but I have more locked away in my heart and in my mind that all the money in the world wouldn’t be able to replicate. It’s for these reasons I can now understand that story, and the idiosyncrasies that seem to define me. Yeah everyone is different, and no one is ever going to be the same as those around them, but I don’t even know if I come from any specific mold.

I’ve looked so hard for the route I need to take to find my own happiness, I’ve never really thought that looking for the route is pointless, I need only to keep walking, one foot in front of the next, for I am here, I’m on a pursuit of happiness already, there’s no need for me to look, it’s what I’m doing already.

Bitterness in Truth

I don’t mean to close the door
But for the record my heart is sore...
You blew through me like bullet holes
Left staind on my sheets and stains...
On my soul
You left me broke down beggin for change
Had to catch a ride with a man who’s deranged

In the mirror the man and I look too much alike.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Spitting Venom

I've been using this blog for the better part of the last year, as a forum to say what I wanted to but through the eyes of created characters. Yes, it's evident that there's a continued running theme of loss, despair, desperation, and feelings of the sort... I won't begin to deny that, and on the whole it's been somewhat therapeutic, but rarely do I address things directly, maybe all of three separate occasions, and in my own right I've rationalized, that I haven't needed too, that everything I need to address can be done so through the eyes of whichever character I create, or whichever non-fiction persona I decide to dawn on every given day.

I felt it prudent to finally address things directly, if nothing but in this single message alone, and maybe then I may begin to see some improvement. I'm not alright, I'm not okay; and though I want to be, and though I fight to be, there's a constant dissent into deeper and deeper pits of my own internal torment. I was once told by someone who was close to me, that I don't need to be upset or depressed to make art, in which I quickly recanted (after some optimistic bullshitting,) that I do—this is my way, this is my right. I have an unfortunate connection in creating from the burning ruble that is/was my optimistic hopeful spirit. I speak on hope as if I have any. I don’t know if I do, I want to feel like I do so as not to seem completely despondent to the world that often wished to accept as one of its own; but I don’t want to be a part of the world outside of my own. If I did, why would I go through the trouble of creating my own?

Am I emotionally unstable? Or am I normal? This is the constant conflict I come across. In one moment I can be perfectly fine with who I am, where I’m at, and this isn’t even in the midst of being with the one I want to be with, this has happen devoid of her. I know I can stand on my own two, and be relatively stable, it has happened before. But I wake up, often enthusiastic with the prospects of the day, with the people I may see, formulating a plan of interaction, and it soon leads to a somber state because I know what I’m missing out on. As much as it pains me, I’ll remedy this with drinking away the parts of the day I cannot sleep away. I would rather stay in bed, with the covers over my head, and I now know that’s not an awful thing to say, but I do recognize the cowardice in such an action, and as such I do my best so as not to perpetuate these possibilities. I do my best to try and take-on the challenges that befall me, and prove to myself, (because I could give a fuck about others perception) that I am strong enough to battle all my inner demons on a daily basis.

I’ve realized and understood for some time now that I have this story that follows me, as we all do, but mine is one which seems to arrive far sooner than I do, and with that there’s this notion that people know who I am, they feel like they know what I’m about, and this couldn’t be further from the truth. How could they know when I’m still trying to figure that out? And I will be conceited and arrogant to the point in saying, I can tell you what you can’t figure out about yourself, but I know with almost absolute certainty that you won’t be able to come close in doing the same for myself. How can I be so certain about a statement like this? Well it’s simple, I understand the illusions of the world, and that with the amount of self-reflective thinking I consistently do, I’ve never met anyone else of my few years to have done the same; in doing this I’ve been able to find the answers to the common problems, but as I’m not common these problems often do not suit me, as they would suit you. In this sense I’ll admit that I’m vain and narcissistic, but I do this only by evidence through a multitude of situations that have done nothing but reinforce this thought. I’m not claiming to be that genius generations will study years from now, nor am I claiming to be better than any other person; however what I am claiming is that I’ve arrived at certain inalienable truths that take decades and decades of discovery to understand, and I’ve only endure the two.

If given the ability to let you live through my own eyes for even a several hours you would be able to understand that there is much validity in my claims. I suppose it’s time to cease my self-empowering rant… then again no one has really put much weight into my thoughts, so I assume this will be one of the many messages that goes unnoticed, except to myself.

Shit Luck

My heart has definitely begun to dry up...

Little Motel

I know I haven’t seen you in years, and I know the last time I had it wasn’t on the best terms… all I can say now is that I hope your happy in your own personal hell.

I had nothing but the utmost faith in you, nothing but kindness and consideration in the deepest pits of my heart, but constantly you would threw these feelings back at me—calling me naive, foolish, and too hopeful. If there’s anything I ever been its hopeful, and it’s understandable that this isn’t always the most attractive quality in a person. Often times it leads to unrealistic delusions of grandeur, but there needs to be someone that holds steadily to those feelings, otherwise we’re both sinking ships passing in the night.

I know that you have it in you to be something so much more, something stronger; but I also know the amount of effort and painstaking work that is involved in order to ensure this self-reality. It doesn’t mean that it’s a thought that should be dismissed with a casual scoff. You’ve said that I never knew you and that even more so I wouldn’t know you now, but that’s a claim only you can hold on to. You’re not as deep a person as you would hope. Your feelings are worn clearly on your sleeves, and your emotions are strewn about the memories we once held dearly onto, everything was clear and everything was easy to read.

I know you live deep within a state of sorrow; I can recognize this much as I have constantly been fighting to get out of mine. Birds of feather, not only flock together, but we can also see the worlds of one another. I’ve never been difficult to understand, my intentions were always things you could read, if not been told—this hasn’t made life easier, but at the very least I’ve hoped its been made at least a little more understandable.

Monday, March 8, 2010

Mouthful of Diamonds

“Wake up,” she said… I found myself hunched over the bed, half dead as she would claim. Everything had spiraled out of control by this point, I lost all focus and now I was living the junkies dream… nightmare was more like it. Everything I ever wanted was well within my position to attain, but what I craved was something that couldn’t be bought at any store, it wasn’t anything that any regular person could have; you had to fight for it, and when you finally were fortunate to get your fingers close enough, there was no turning back. I wanted power, I wanted respect.

The power was easy, and the respect… well that was easy at first, however both were done thanks to the power of fear, and fear alone. I had become bigger than I ever imagined unfortunately this left as a perfect target for more than one type of person. I walked around every day with a bullseye on the back of my head, practically begging to be taken out by the next punk that thought he knew what he was doing, or hell even the heat that would’ve loved to permanently solve their problem. I was in a constant state of panic, but I had to stay calm, I had to look cool, I had to be in control otherwise my whole tower would’ve definitely crumbled from beneath my feet.

I buried my nose in my own product; I buried myself like an ostrich trying to hide. How idiotic could I be? The root of my problems seemed like it could also be my salvation—there was no saving me at this point, I was in too deep, and there was no coming out. Well I suppose the plan was always to go down in a blaze of glory.

Pig Food

Winter is a merciless endeavor. Often we feel like we’ve had enough, and in that desire to see the Sun cast its glorious rays down on us once more, like a fickle bitch it teases us. Momentarily for only a day’s time, two at most, it will indeed warm our hearts that have begun to ice over, only to bring forth yet another reminder of who’s actually in charge. The cold breath that we feel on the back of our necks often does one of two things: it either forces us to pull ever so closer for our lover’s embrace, or for the unfortunate many it’ll force us to flip the collars of our lapels and wearily trudge along, yearning for that next moment of warmth. The nights are long, the days are short, too short to even give warmth an opportunity, but I suppose we forget that after all it is indeed winter, and loneliness needs its own time too.

Despite this feeling of loneliness… despite the solitude we’re forced into like captors in the Great War, there’s a hope that is inherent, there is that light at the end of the tunnel. Some recognize it as Spring, but really it’s just the great meltdown. Those hearts that were iced over begin to thaw, and we allow ourselves once more to cling on to hope, no matter how false the feelings may seem to be. With this peek into the realm of brighter possibilities maybe we can find salvage for our character, maybe we can see a reflecting hope within our spirit. If it’s been lost there’s no reason to assume it’ll always remain absent, instead we may assume its eventual return.

The spirit seems to leave just as most things do; it grows weak, tired—it becomes fed up with the same monotonous routines and the same despair that we ourselves cannot singularly claim freedom from. As a friend it rather leave when it things become too uncomfortable so as not to sever the relationship to its host permanently. We must find our way back to that home of sanity, the dwelling of acceptance; we must become satisfied with the stranger in the mirror, and rely on the unknown within to help us get through the unknown “on the out.” Become strong in self, in body, and in mind, to become strong for one another…

…a task I know is much simpler said than done, but one can hope, right?

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Skin of the Night

The days had been warm, the only comfort he seemed to be able to find in his current emotional state. She had left, and that was likely for the better, but that didn’t mean it would make the pain any easier to work through; nor did it mean it was anything he was yet willing to accept.

His drives would seem endless, and that was fine with him, he never wanted them to end anyway. No longer was there anywhere he saw himself going, there was no home waiting for him, there was nothing drawing him near, so he sought to find a new reason to wake up in the morning. The time did enough to teach him that he could no longer entrust his overall state of well-being in the hands of another. Though they may help, it’s no one duty but his own to ensure his well-being. Damnnit, if this wasn’t one of the worst feelings he thought through; it was a normal state of existence to put everything he had into another person, and hope for those feelings to be reciprocated. He didn’t know how to exsist otherwise, no longer was he just trying to get back to normal, but instead he was having to figure out how to completely change himself.

The summer air would fill him up, slowly piecing his spirit back bit by bit. Though the days were long they would quickly lead into the night, placing a fear of uncertainty deep inside him. With the night came inevitable rest, and the thoughts which would accompany this rest, did nothing but tear him back down. Every night was another opportunity to revisit the mistakes made, and the beauty that was now absent. Every night was another battle to keep himself sane, so that he may be able to eventually make it through; but it was because of this the night was always deep inside of him, haunting him.


There had been a rift in communication… there had been a rift in sanity. The slow downward spiral into a state of despair was assumable, but at least this time there would be some fight against it. He had always followed her around as if clinging to her coattails, afraid to miss a second.

Every moment was a subtle reminder of what happened, it was a stinging memory of how simple it was to force change; unfortunately comfort and pride got in the middle of this unsavory dance, as it normally does. Every picture, every piece of clothing, every breath came with a time that had yielded something more, something that was inherently pure.

The seemingly painful period of silence had left them weak, it left them aching for some classic state of normalcy, a situation that was not only always welcome, but now it was simply craved—each fixing for their share, as if fiending for that drug all over again. No longer did the idea of separation help to suggest how needed it may be, there was no benefit coming from the situation, just perpetual pain. It was an easy fix, but in fixing it, would that be taking the easy way out? It would undoubtedly take just one of them to stick to their guns and try to break the vicious cycle, but as awful as the cycle could feel at times, there was the hope that the connection which was refusing to be severed was somehow much stronger.

Soldier On

He found himself back at the same point he had sought refuge from. All that was golden had begun to rust; the glorious resurgence of love and possibilities was one short lived, but nonetheless it wasn’t anything he would’ve changed. They both held on to some hope that things were going to change, that maybe it wasn’t foolish to believe in those fairytales we were convinced had been nothing more than fables retold to perpetuate a supposed undying spirit.

The realization that maybe love was indeed something less permanent began to creep inside his thoughts. Everything seems to cosmically have its respective “expiration date,” so how could it be the one thing hell-bent on trying to defy the laws of the universe. There wasn’t any philosophy he could develop or subscribe to that was tangible enough to believe in, which spoke of the possible powers which transcend all rules and logic.. but essentially this is what love is supposed to do. To know no boundaries, know no barriers, but only know truth and self. Maybe that’s what goes wrong in trying to understand the sentiment, we neither know truth, nor do we know ourselves, and as such we fall victim to the follies of affection.

Blinded by his desire for her, he was all too ready to give up everything for that opportunity, they scoffed at him when he had said it before, but it was something he always meant. Since he met her all he wanted was constant love and affection…It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t give it back in return… it wasn’t his fault for trying to convince her otherwise…these things happen, and they’re just byproducts of an unnerving learning experience that ultimately is in place to weed out the weak.


There’s often an eerie sense about behavior in relationships. Often times there’s conflict as annoyances are addressed, but they are hardly ever worked on. Are we to busy to work on the quirks that our partners find to be irritating—does the “go-go” life have us completely consumed? This would be too easy a response. I feel like we’ve grown lazy and tiresome; unless we’re constantly engaged, and as long as that feeling of euphoric elation is reinforced regularly, maybe then, and only then can a relationship survive.

Unfortunately as it seems this hasn’t always been the case. There were centuries, hell millennia, which gave hapless romantics a chance for the potential of undying love. They found their soul-mates, their perfect compliment, but it would be a hell of a lot easier in a world of a few million at most, oppose to the billions we all have to individually sort out now, lest we have an opportunity.

It would be too cynical to take the stance that we can’t all have that “perfect match.” Maybe the thought of “Mr/Mrs. Right,” isn’t about a specific person, but when the “right” person is, “rightfully” developed. When they meet those qualifications you’ve always imagine, and their compromise with reality. When you realize your dream person, wasn’t that man or woman that just got those hormones to convince you to do inappropriate things, however it’s when you realize it was that person that would get your heart pumping and nerves fluttering at the very utterance of reciprocation.

We fight for love, we fight for attention; when we get it, it’s addicting, it’s empowering—in this sense it’s a dangerous drug. What happens when that well dries up? We get broken, and we have to learn to mend ourselves back to some collected state before healthily pursuing on with our lives. Say it happens again? Often more damaging than the first, we still must pick ourselves up and carry on. And yet it persists? Well at that point when the love has gone, you carry on, and it’s increasingly easier to dust yourself off…by this point there may still have been hope, but at the very least there’s a realistic conclusion already drawn.

Je Suis Le Vent

The snow had begun to cascade the city rooftops, terraces began to dawn an image of overgrown icicles, and those adventurous few willing enough to brave the torture of the elements appeared to be nothing more than walking snowmen. The lights danced off the falling flakes, illuminating the sky with a blanket that appeared to be a million falling stars—nature’s way of making up for the one’s that couldn’t be seen through the thick clouds. The cold began to beat down at the windows, at the doors, at the walls, at the sanity of its victims; like a thrown out guest that was fighting to get back in, it too was craving acknowledgment of its existence.

Coming out of nowhere the storm took over the city, engulfing the inhabitants, with them their hopes, their dreams, their fears, their worries—unifying everyone in a state of solitude and loneliness. Was it too much to ask for recognition? Was it too much to see the grandeur of the situation? Like a small child yelling for attention, the wind, the clouds, the nighttime in its solitude was now crying out. The attention it yearned for so desperately was finally being given, and though it would only be a moments time, it did empower the ferocity. Instead of being loved, it was content in settling for just being noticed, recognition did enough to fill the void and pain of being forgotten and ignored. To it, something will always be better than nothing.

You Are My Scar

Time had passed, and though the pain became easier to deal with there was still something missing within him. He couldn’t shake her from his thoughts, she was always right at the forefront; and though he knew better by this point, it was an innate reaction that he seemed to have lost all control over. Every passing day, he would lose a little more hope, and with that slide closer to an approved state of normalcy; but it didn’t change anything, he still waited… He waited for that night, when she would call him, and he would know, that it would be ok, and in her voice he would find warmth and comfort once—he would find that home he fought so hard for. Was it in the stars though? Was he just feeding in to a maddening fantasy?

There was no desire to meet anyone else, he grew content with each amount of hope that would dissipate, that he was better off alone, than with anyone other than her. What a sad and foolish thought. Reserved to the feelings and thoughts of a golden yester-year there was no actualization of this love ever to come, a fact he wasn’t blind to, but rather one he wasn’t willing to fully accept. It had always been his role to guide others through these types of ordeals, and there was the eventuality that things did indeed get better, but he could see major differences between the situations; never had he known others to love and care for another person as much as he did for her. Though this made the situation somewhat different, it was his crutch he relied on; with its aid he was able to hold on to a fleeting thought that would never come to fruition.

She loved him, but that loved had changed. She sought refuge in the comfort of other men, but still for whatever reason relied on his support and care, a selfish act. Was it out of genuine concern, or had she just felt guilty enough to play this much into his emotions?


He had been away for years, off to find himself in some land that he had hope to find answers, some peace, some… something. She had left him long before, and maybe that was the catalyst into pushing him into becoming a vagabond, but it wasn’t anything he would ever admit too. It was his time to leave, just as she realized.

Their lives had grown into two very separate paths. The family he always wanted, the home, they were a far off thought now. He lived in the moment fully, and that wasn’t a life you could cultivate a family around. Going from city to city, each one coming with its own distinct love and allure, the travel was his home, and the cities were the family... Yet he couldn’t shake the memory of her warmth, her love her temptress ways.

She left to learn what it was like to be what she always wanted. Career set, and goal oriented, she always had a plan something that she could always follow. He was never in that plan, nor was any other man for that matter; plans have a funny way of changing all too often. She now found her self, married, and settled down. She had the life he always dreamt of, and now he had hers.

They would often think of that time they shared, and through whatever connection it would never dissipate. There would always be that passion, there would always be that carnal desire, and because of that they could never give themselves to any other, as they once had to each other.

It’s Ok

The night was steady… the wind was stiff, and the harbor was resting easily; there were no ships sailing in. They sat at the edge of the pier staring out to the water break against the rocks below; it shimmered in the moon, lighting up the view like sparks fading into a dark empty void. His hand began to creep closely to hers… she pulled away. The wind would peak out every so often making them both shiver; she would go to grab for his embrace, but he would pull away. They fought for each other, yet at the same time they never wanted to get close.

They just sat there, staring absently into the dark blanket that seemed to encompass their world; they were brought together by a simple loneliness, this was no way to live. It was too hard not to be together, but it was too hard to sit next to one another—there was nothing to talk about, they never had anything to talk about. Their relationship could be reduced to nothing more than a few solemn moments of physical bliss, and the occasional embrace that they could find comfort in. They had fooled themselves into believing this to be something of substance; unfortunately it was a mere farce, that neither of them could come to accept. It was easier to live in the ignorance, instead to deal with their own inner demons alone.

She turned to him, trying to draw his attention, instead all she could see was his empty eyes staring out—what was it that he was thinking? Was he thinking about her? If so, why couldn’t he ever address it, why couldn’t he ever make her feel wanted, loved? Didn’t she deserve it? She shrugged it off, and assume that whatever it was, she wasn’t good enough to know, and that was a fault of her own, she had built him up in her mind to be someone truly exceptional… All she could do would be turn her attention back, and try to find solace in her own world.

A few moments passed, and he turned to her… He wanted to reach out, he wanted to console her. He could feel her pain, her frustration, mainly because he had the same feeling. All he wanted to do was to hold her, and tell her that it would be ok, that he loved her—that’s all he ever wanted to do. He could see the light of the moon gleaming through the clouds that seemed to rest as a halo above her head, she looked so beautiful sitting there next to him, and next to him he felt safe. He could never understand why she wouldn’t touch him anymore, how he became so repulsive to her. Her affection for him seemed to have fade with some far away sunset, that they had both forgot… His mind was consumed with thoughts of what he may have done to have lost that attention. The thoughts would quickly shift to trying and figure out how he was lucky to receive it in the first place. Could he ever get it back? He reserved himself to the way things now were, because that’s how they were going to stay, and any different could mean that she would no longer be next to him, and if it was this or nothing, he’d rather this.

So the two sat, in silence—both wanting to hold the other, but being too afraid to. Their love and desire for one another couldn’t be enough to bring them together, in actuality it’s what was driving them apart.