Desperate Love Letters To No One

At The End Of The Parade

2009-06-18T16:54:00.000-07:00

And at the end of the parade everyone stood together in the center of the street. Each circlet of individuals, each clique unaware just what they were connecting to, every person was simply just in the moment despite everything in their lives, their genetics, what might lie within their hearts.

Everyone held balloons in their hands, and the children worried what would become of them when they floated out of sight. White lies were whispered to them as the wind picked up some to drown out the hypocrisy maybe, just this one time, for them.

Grown men tripped on used Styrofoam plates still glossed with the leavings of overly sugary cake and innocently spilled punch as they tried to write down their families wishes whilst trying to concentrate on one of their own. Do they have one? They will wonder this with a gripping dread inside of them right before the answer comes.

There were balloons of every color, and the youngest of the children collected the ones that had popped from their possible obscurity in the leaves of the garden for they were in love simply with the colors, and the magic of the mystery of the treasured magical material in their hands.

Everything smelled sweet as the snacks baked in the sun with the roses, the lavender, and the fresh cut grass.

One man wrote a special message to his God. He didn't want his wife to see it, and he'd bend into the corner pretending to just have trouble balancing his pen.

A strange woman walked in at the end of the parade holding a candle, obviously, crossing the street from her house just to participate in this, and she scrawled reckless pleas onto cheap paper with black sharpie for him to just come back alive. She didn't care if he had his mind or not anymore, she just hoped for his life. Whatever that was going to be.

The smiling man with the guitar next to the crooked tree, feeling bittersweet after a day spent singing to the next generation to come, he wrote simply: Peace.

The children, well they wrote about all sorts of things... ranging from toys to stopping the destruction of the things that tear their parents apart from the inside out... for the Children knew both the balance of Extreme - Selfishness and Extreme- Unselfishness.

The Atheists wrote with cynical smirks, "Show Me Proof." or "This Is Pointless" as The Theists wrote in either: "Hear Me?" or "I Believe."

The sky was faded blue like a pair of jeans washed one too many times, and clear enough for the event. It was spring in Southern California after all.

The adults feared the young ones would see some of them pop, and that it would ruin the magic for them, not understanding... that when it came down to it, the mystery of the Balloons wasn't the important lesson here.

Queue the music, and on the count of three...
Dreams would be carried away by delicate rubber and would descend at once into the sky, and everyone would try to keep their eye on theirs for as long as they could until all the balloons began to blur and come together. The ones who hesitated, will always in the end decide to let go of that one tiny piece of themselves, even if it was just to feel apart of something for once.

One
Two
Three

When the the balloons were released everything was suddenly so quiet you could believe for one moment everyone at once had held their breath without even realizing it.

As much as what was written, the differences in print, the long winded to the simplicity of singular words... everyone simply watched, and the only words that could seem to still be read from the ground were some scribbled names and:

Love, Peace, Belief, and Proof.

One balloon, however, it's tag clearly looked like it read the word Mistake, and I could only see the beauty in the reality of that sentiment. Especially since my Balloon had said in all it's Orange glory: Forgiveness.

I always secretly wished even in adulthood, that I'd find out if balloons ever reached out and made it to anyone from events like the old Parade finale. Perhaps, maybe some surprised hikers in the mountains would run into it like it was some kind of a strange Chinese fortune cookie, or maybe one would fall in the outdoor walkways of a college creating something of a small crowd of confused people wanting to see this strange invasion on their everyday normalcy.

I always wondered if those scrawled on balloons ever really got anywhere with their tags still attached, for it always just looked like they went like lemmings into the sun to die.

Where did they fall?

One afternoon, at the age of 24... I walked outside my dirty filthy backyard starving. I saw a deflated Yellow Balloon, and it's tag read Hope, and I smiled a crooked smile... and I brought it inside trying to imagine the hands that scrawled it.

And for a little while... I did.
I hoped.

Conversation

2009-03-21T20:17:00.000-07:00

And she said the world was dirty, but it was vast.

He said he was scared of what was beyond the doors he never kicked down just to see what laid behind them. Sure he'd seen things, but his existence was now age worn, finite and restricted with stipulations and fear. It was how he liked it. What he trusted. A good dose of the graspable and logical.

She laughed and said, he had to let go a little bit...

He said letting go was much too unbearable of an option when you don't know what would be catching you, for sure.

She said there is no such thing as sure, and that is where Faith takes over.

Not everyone has the ability to experience true faith, she said, it's something that you feel inside the hollows of your bones... you can not teach Faith... it's like trying to teach someone at birth how to beat their own heart... It should be involuntary.

She said, it was something that washes over you from time to time when you really open your eyes and look at the world around you. Every tree, every song, every different hue of orange the sun makes from Dawn until Dusk and how every different hue hits the simple walls of your simple home in different ways.

He said he gets so hungry, but he was scared of what it would take out of him to get fed.

She offered to him the bounty of her love, of her flesh, if he would just try... try to see the world through less corrupted eyes.

And he said she was the world, a different world then one he ever knew. He asked her to be patient.

She replied, that she had been patient... and time has been meddling with things in spite of their dreams, their hopes, their only half serious silly little plans...

And she agreed that she was the world, or at least a part of it that has been waiting for him to hurry up and join it for quite a long time now. Yet, she was a slow and crippled enough version of it for now that he could still board the adventure by taking her hand. Taking her fingers into his wounded filthy mouth...

He said he didn't know if he was ready. He thought he was broken. He thought that he needed more time.

She said there is never time, never such a thing as ready, only a now and the choices we make within it, and that there was never a broken that cannot be fixed unless the broken wished to remain so in it's obstinate frozen terror of what is the Unknown Element of Other.

He said he still had some things to lose.

She agreed, and she said he would lose more by never moving at all... then trying to move forward.

He said he had too much to lose... that he wanted to, but couldn't fully believe her.

She replied that she had plenty to lose as well as she gestured to her watch always ticking PM in the AM.

He asked again for her patience. He was trying his best.

She knew it wasn't his best... but it was something at least.

He said he didn't know if he could ever go. He wants her to be the one who walks away, but secretly he just wishes she would just... stay.

She said she feared by the time he decided to borrow the directionless maps to the adventure, she'd no longer be crippled... but healed and winged and flying.

She didn't want to tower above anyone. She didn't want to leave anyone behind, especially if they were in a permanent stasis. She also knew if she stayed she might get stuck like that forever. She Will keep moving.

He said, it's ok, I don't mind being left behind. It's safe enough here... safe enough when nothing changes but the numbers.

He said, love, you can not save the world, and he would know, wouldn't he?

And she said she dies for every damned and unmovable soul she sees, that he was supposed to be special, and that she didn't want to go, but she had to. She doesn't know a lot about life, but she knows enough to know what she'd be leaving behind, but she does believe in sacrifice... when it's attached to something that has always been bigger then herself. Something she can't quite name...

Then all at once she said for the first time, she also believed in herself.

And he smiled and he said, he always did as well.

They stood there like that for sometime...

One hoping for the other to stay, and walk backwards through decay and ancient memories... a listless antiqued life to replicate sentiments that were never meant to be immortal.

And One hoping to see the other unfold into the person they were always meant to be... fearless,
Unbridled, and
Free.

Not just another lost soul to be sent off into the burial sky with a prayer, a wish, and cheap glitter to take the place of the stars that died within... and he...

He said she'd still be the world... either way.
All the dust
All the love
All the hope
All the wrong

And just as gone.

The Allocation Of Spring

2009-03-17T07:46:00.001-07:00

The Dawn abides old June,
She folds her quilts made of noon sunlight
Over the line outside for the wind to make it’s dust
Move out, beaten away from that in which it clings.

And the ghosts whisper to the simple people
Wading around old houses with old ideals with their
Secrets stirring in the cob webbed basements with the mice
Gnawing at your belly…

And The Ides Of March have come and gone.
The streets stained with the dyes from juice made for children not blood…
No bells rang out, just some quiet gasps and tears
From the memory of the weight of you.

June abides the Dawn,
Everyone waits for her to sing but she never does
Her lips are chapped from licking at her crooked teeth
She just keeps trying on her Dead Mother’s clothes
May was always much too small a frame.

And we pray for rain as much as we pray for Spring
The colorful salvation, and the perfect warmth on our shoulders
We throw away, many of the sentimental things we’ve been saving
In Faith of better days as the golden mountains turn into a temporary green.

What have you saved of me?

And the rooms we empty decay as they fill up with musk,
As you get older, the deliveries get slower for the new
Things that turn into a temporary you, and the murals you paint to pass the time,
Well there is always some woman’s mascara smearing onto the canvas...

But you still like them all just fine.

My heart abides the Moon… the starlight in my room
I fold pieces of paper around old scars and listen to people traveling
As I remain barely moving, but I’m still smiling
I’ve waved my hand so many times to say goodbye.

But I’m still here…
Folding Noon-Shine blankets with old June.

Warriors' Lament

2009-03-16T03:04:00.001-07:00

Watch me walk into the fire
To burn alive without a scream
Or to return unscathed with it in my eyes
And not my skin.

A warrior I became in my deprivation.

Does that mean I should thank you?
Thank all of you who ever turned away?
You look at me as if it is a thing to be admired.

The price of such strength is paid for in
Hollows.

Solitude.

and Silence.

This is what you like me to be?
Dead inside for your piece of mind?
I am the sacrificial lamb.

You have your pretty pictures that distract you,
I have my heart and my gun.

I have mastered the art of courage without
The absence of fear. Self respect or...
Love.

I fight in the war because its all I know.

To know I at least I fought for something
Even if it was nothing, because fighting
Is all I have left.

And I don't care if I win or If I lose.

If I burn without a scream,
Or return unscathed with a useless victory
Duct taped to my hands.

So Dirty.

Warrior Prelude (Unedited)

2009-03-16T02:23:00.001-07:00

Warriors are born like everybody else, but at some point a Warrior experiences loss, deprivation, betrayal, or they meet a cause that they could not live without fighting for. That the sheer lack of giving up on it would destroy them, and their very will to live. Be it some quest, their family, a lover, a religious or political endeavor, or a dream.

Warriors aren’t always good people. Sometimes their fight is selfish, sick, and desperate. Some, just tread the waters of the morally gray… and some, our favorites, the ones we dub with the titles of Heroes fight for ideals we all buy into in some form or another.

Being a True Warrior is a state of mind. At one point in their life they were no stranger to isolation and deprivation. Hardships make us stronger, but colder, more distant. Eventually a Warrior begins to shed away the things that caused him the hurt in the first place. They become detached, overly logical, emotionally controlled to the point that it looks like complete detachment, because in the end all they are doing is trying to preserve the self. A Warrior does not preserve the self completely in vain. They preserve themselves, (sometimes at the barest minimums of what the human body needs for survival), because they realize their existence is imperative to their objective or cause.

They will die by the hand of God or what they perceive God to be or Not Be, or on the battlefield…

But they have no intention to die on a break or on the way there. Therefore temptation must be kept at a minimum. Even the True Warriors fighting FOR Love, have to put their love on the back burner for the greater good.

They set their focus and all of their energy on the fight ahead. They keep people at bay and prefer the now chosen solitude over the company of others. Having been rejected, and betrayed before this usually does not make this a true sacrifice. And sadly, most of the time, their innate passions and their difference in thinking is what caused everyone to turn their head and look away in the first place. The Average even if they are desirous of connecting to a True Warrior they will never be allow themselves to get close lest they fear losing their average, normal, train of thoughts, beliefs, and acceptance into society.

So, Warriors often believe they have learned their lessons about humanity as a whole and only keep few close to their heart, and even those that are the closest to their heart end up being pushed away at times, be it for the personal & emotional safety of the aforementioned loved ones, or for the selfish means to shut away the ones they love so they will not be distracted or lonely for, or asked anything of, in the process of their quest. Sometimes it is both.

Most other people have no purpose to them, Warriors see them as being trivial. Warriors’ prefer to only talk with intent and purpose… and they never say die until they have.

Eventually even if the cause is lost they continue to fight, because long into the endless battle or battles all the faces look the same, and fighting is all they have left. All they know. Even long after hope evades the mind, and the Ideal slips from the tongue the sword remains raised. They made a vow, to themselves or maybe to someone else. True Warriors never break The Vow, they can’t, if they did they would have no reason to exist anymore. Their dedication to their cause is rooted somewhere deeper then a socio-political fancy to try and be something The passion for it is in their DNA. They continue to fight because eventually after enough years have passed and they have tired of the fray, the fight is still all they really have.

Most of the time it is all searing dust and cold lonely nights they just get used to.

Sometimes small or relatively large victories cause the Warrior a moment of mental peace or pleasure… but eventually even that stops. Eventually they nod and go on because it is all they know, numb and wondering what it would be like to feel normal. Like when they were kids… or like what society dubs and views as “normal”, however for whatever reason they must Rebel. They will forever wonder looking into a world they will never understand. They will wonder why they are the way they are, and for each Warrior the tale is different. Unique… but very similar.

There is only one certainty for a true Warrior. They will be long dead before they ever get to see The War end. The Final Victory. The Big Fight. For Warriors will no longer be needed or born if the world ever became a perfect place, and if they are they might never know what they are capable of… and since there will never be a perfect place death itself may be the final victory in itself. If you believe in that sort of thing, or even that death could mean Peace.

So, The True Warrior fights without expectation to win. Without the absence of fear. The Warrior feels everything but appears unemotional, they only share it with few if anyone at all, and uses it as fuel for bravery. To walk into the fire just to see if it burns.

The Warrior fights because to them, It’s the only right thing left to do. They are Self Sacrificial as much as they are selfish, and internally forever alone, only alive enough inside to somewhat function & appear capable of the base human functions we must all perform.

They are robotic, sad, and forever enduring despite those things

For a Warrior Artist for everything they told you in their work, is a bigger greater tale beyond that they chose to not share. Not directly.

You will never fully be able to get to know a True Warrior completely.

There is a Warrior inside us all… and we find it when we need it, but I pray many of us don’t have to tap into that, because once you do you’ll never be the same.

So here’s to all the Warriors out there fighting for our shared ideals, to the Warriors who aren’t, and to the ones lost to unbeatable causes. I do not speak politically, this is not speak of the Military… I’m talking about everyday people as well as real fighters (and no I wasn’t referring to the stupid sport fighters). Parents & Pet Owners against incredible odds, Activists. To the think tanks that try to make the world a better place every day, even if they are destroying it on accident (at least they were trying). To the lovers who never quit. To the dreamers who never stop dreaming despite the realists who beat them down. To the Idealists who are called stupid by the run down dead inside mass produced propaganda Kool Aid drinking majority (Oh Yeah!). To the home owner trying to keep his house. You all fit these criteria in some way. You are all Warriors. I just hope you don’t get so lost in it that you lose yourself, your hopes and expectations, and your sense of self in the process or the ability to love and prioritize those that love you, and let people in. Once you shut down it’s a long road back to tinsel town, and some never make it back fully.

Be you a True Warrior, or a just a Warrior for a time and a place… I salute your strength because I know what you have had to live through to find it, and to the cowards:
God help your pathetic miserable selfish existences. There is such a large world out there filled with so much pain, and beauty… and you piss it on it with your closed sad little world. Every last breathing human being on this earth could make a difference in a big way if they would stop RUNNING away.

So throw away the security blankie and walk into the fire now and again. Chances are you either walk away a little singed and a lot more informed, or you rise from the ashes like a phoenix. Over & Over & Over again until you have what you need to fight for things that matter.

Everyone should have a cause. The world is so vast and filled with so much not for everyone to find a worthy passion, to find a worthy beast & slay it. We’re capable of so much more then what we do. We have so much to give even when we feel there is nothing left in us, and if we all worked together or at least in respective groups, and pushed ourselves a little further then we thought we could go… the sad worlds of the True Warrior would exist less & less as They alone have less to carry upon just their shoulders. Which would be the work of cowards, the work of distracted hapless lazy cowards everywhere strapped onto the True Warrior’s back so you can consume products, alter your reality with drugs, try to get laid, watch hours of television and discuss reality TV as you work at your miserable job to barely make ends meet as you make some fuck tard Rich As Hell.

Let’s all try to be a little more heroic.

“Lets conspire to ignite all the souls that would die just to feel alive.”

Black Violets 2.0

2009-03-05T14:51:00.000-08:00

In a moment where time was confused,
We came together on antique trains going nowhere.
We shared a few meals, and exchanged built up sentiments.
We looked at old memory books and saw where ours
Had merged... and where they would split just as randomly
As when we were first brought together.

Then we pretended the latter didn't have to be significant.

And we are among the ghost people now.
It must have all ended up that way for a reason.
I'll always believe in something more divine...
So I guess, it's not all bad, now is it love?

You have your path and I have mine.
It was only briefly that they were ever meant
To intertwine.

You can't wave your hand and give a blind man sight
Nor can you make an atheist believe.
And there is no real reality,
Other then what we choose to see.

I was tied into knots as you played with my insides
To get through another day with a fraction less of pain.
We tried to build our dreams together with old blocks from the Seventies.

But not one of the pieces ever fit even as we burned the
Wood into compromised shapes we both agreed on just so
We wouldn't have to be alone.

We were always alone.

Saying anything to the contrary just wouldn't do us any justice.
Just another point in the hat for the bewilderment we tried to rationalize.

The railroad has run out, and the train is old. Rusted. Abandoned.
And we're sitting at a halt at the edge of something dangerous still inside
A direct rebellion of the stars.

But, I know from experience that those stars always win.

I'd rather you live on without me then see your Will bent,
And we both know mine is my Religion.
Without it I would die.

You know me well enough to know:
I'll never stop trying to save the world.

Say what you want, and believe what you think you know
In the end none of the subtext matters
There are only two ways left to go.

None of those directions point backwards.

You don't know how to love,
Although you shared how you once did,
But addiction was something that you've always had
And it's easy to confuse the two.

I am the opiate you absorb to cover up the pain of all those
Sharp chaotic shards of emptiness,
You're still trying to rearrange into something real.

And you will...

But we were never a team. We were solitary soldiers
Fighting different wars. You never could let me in as
Selfish and scared as you were, but I forgive you.

I'll never be perfect either.
Just less and less afraid to look
Inside at what is ruined.

It must have all ended up that way for a reason.
I'll always believe in something more divine...
So I guess, it's not all bad, now is it love?

No worries, and no debts...
Just some pain and silent violence.
No fake dreams and no regrets
Just the rustling of the spirits
Inside your old apartment at night
The Black games and violets
Make you restless as you try to sleep.

But it's not all bad, now is it love?
We won't always be one of the Ghost People.

And you have your path and I have mine.
It was only briefly that they were ever meant to intertwine

Black Violets

2009-03-05T00:13:00.000-08:00

You can't make a blind man see,
And you can't make an atheist believe.
Their faith is even more unshakable then an evangelist.
And there is no real reality, only what we choose to see.

So, bless us all. We're all we have.
The world is big and isolate.
Filled with billions of souls that will never know real touch.
Never be able to truly be understood, or understand (even themselves).

And we are among the ghost people now.
It must have all ended up that way for a reason.
I'll always believe in something more divine...
So I guess, it's not all bad, now is it love?

You have your path and I have mine.
It was only briefly that they were ever meant to intertwine.

And I was tied into knots as you played with my insides
To get through another day with a fraction less of pain.
We played house in two different worlds, we tried to build
Our dreams together with old blocks from the Seventies,
But not one of the pieces ever fit even as we burned the
Wood into compromised shapes we'd both settle for just so
We wouldn't have to be alone.

We were always alone.

Saying anything to the contrary just wouldn't do us any justice.
Just another lie for the confusion we tried to rationalize.
Maybe we've already run out of road
And we're sitting at the end of it parked in rebellion of the stars.

I know from experience that those stars always win.
I'd rather you live without me then see your Will bent,
And we both know mine is stronger then my need for happiness.

So you go your way, and I'll go mine.
Say what you want, believe what you think you know
In the end none of the subtext matters
There is only two ways left to go.

In a moment where time was confused,
We came together on antique trains going nowhere.
We shared a few meals, and exchanged built up sentiments.
We looked at old memory books and saw where ours
Had merged... and where it would split just as randomly
As we were brought together.

How we pretended the latter didn't have to be significant.

You don't know how to love anymore, although you
Shared how you once did, but you always knew drugs
and it's easy to confuse the two. People are your
Morphine to cover up the pain of that emptiness
You're still trying to organize into something real.

And you will...
But we were never a team. We were solitary soldiers
Fighting different wars. You never could let me in as
Selfish as you are, but I forgive you.
I was never perfect either, just less afraid to look
Inside at what is ruined.

It must have all ended up that way for a reason.
I'll always believe in something more divine...
So I guess, it's not all bad, now is it love?

You know me well enough to know,
I'll never stop trying to save the world, and
We won't always be one of the ghost people.

No worries, and no debts...
Just some pain and quiet violence.
No fake dreams and no regrets
Just the rustling of the spirits in your old room at night
Black games and violets.

You have your path and I have mine.
It was only briefly that they were ever meant to intertwine.

Gray Skies

2009-03-04T07:52:00.000-08:00

Whenever I have insomnia, and the sun rises but the sky stays gray, and the air is thick with rain... It feels like salvation. Like some kind of omnipotent clemency. Like something merciful and clean... something like a small hope, or much like the feeling upon waking to only a blurry vague remembrance of a good dream.

I can face the inevitability of morning without being blinded, but instead with solace as I lay still watching the curtains flap open to the rhythm of the fan and I see light for once not as an unrelenting or unforgiving force, but something gentle and almost pure.

As the curtains move in predictable rhythms it all becomes some sort of great dance that turns into some sort of strange peep show of a world I normally feel I don't belong in.

& I finally get to glimpse what is really out there as long as the gray silences the loudness of the sun, and I can feel almost completely whole for a just a moment... because I get to glimpse the beauty that surrounds me in a world that is usually too bright and busy to bear. Beauty that sometimes, I even forget is there.

Goodnight

2009-03-03T23:50:00.000-08:00

Soon I'll be gone as fast as I blew into your life, and the temporary mistake will stop with the roller coasters at the Fair and let us off. The seats will be empty once again waiting for the next blistering bodied star chasers to board in desperation, but for now I glue my lips shut till they turn gray. In hopes of giving us both some momentary peace.

Sickness covers the old filthy walls in a cloud. You said you will soon be dead, but we both already are. Will we survive the resurrection? That rainbow blur metamorphosis? Will our wings be pink or black?

For now we are sewn together. Flesh stapled onto flesh for purposes left abandoned and bound, gagged and kicked into silence. Secrets murmur in imaginations that can never be shared.

Watch the silhouette on the wall move as the cold runs down your veins and into your organs like sweet heroin. A bliss that begets withdrawal. Time honored with the reverberating pitch of some kind of love.

Yet, as all things are impermanent the joining will fail, falter, scrawl new scars and wisdoms on our skin. Leave us naked and gaping open long enough for the seventh rays of the sun to filter in once again, and we will be covered in blood and naked. Reborn. New once again, in painful awe, emerged and transformed after the coma, the dream. The story. The lost confusing hours.

From now on, "Goodnight" will always mean something special.

Testing

2009-03-03T18:22:00.001-08:00

Testing Disquis 123

Note To Self: Edit This

2009-03-02T02:08:00.000-08:00

As your standing there watching the sky someday complacent and
displaced you’ll notice the stars bursting out of the night sky towards
earth like fireworks on the Fourth of July, and you’ll wonder what
brought us to that point so suddenly. You’ll probably also wonder
why there is so much beauty in destruction, in pain, in the pale face
of both birth and death.

They say Age is a gift, that there is a structure, a balance, a mapped
out metamorphosis of phases that we shoot through as the hands of time
roll around and around pointing at numbers without conscious or
empathy. It knows nothing of your heart’s pace speeding up and slowing
down to keep the rhythm of every thoughtless or dreary TICK TICK TICK,
nor does it have any purpose other then to remind us that where we are
now, things are often measured even if they are immeasurable.

Maybe it’s within our man made measurements that the TICK TICK TICK of
an ordinary clock can paralyze a soul. All it takes sometimes is just
one coldly calculated TICK to make us waste each passing second
wondering what we should be doing, who we should be doing it with,
where we should be going, and if we’re making the kind of choices we
can live with in death. Ironically that’s quite the oxymoron. There is
no thing to win. There is only living.

Whoever said don’t keep looking back, and keep moving forward was
right. Nostalgia is a warm blanket we keep with us to try to keep track
of some idea of a linear ideal of life. We try to piece together who we
are with torn up old letters and photographs aged and yellowed as if we
ourselves were some form of puzzle piece or unfinished work of art that
can be defined by things gone past when we are impossibly implausible
and completely capable of becoming someone we don’t recognize in the
mirror anymore. Whilst that is confusing, it’s not always necessarily
bad. We were all born to go down the rabbit hole, and nostalgia can
freeze frame us into a stasis Hell in which the TICK TICK TICK of a
clock becomes not only a vague reminder of our fleeting mortality, but
a Prison Guard.

I couldn’t tell you if Heroes or Villains exist or not. At some point
in our lives we have the potential to be both, as well as neither.
People will change. People will leave us. Loved ones will at some point
die, and there are no bets that you will still be the same person you
are today, tomorrow no matter how hard you try to hold onto your
ideals, to the things that make you feel solid, that remind you, that
keep you safe…

The faces WILL change, new wounds take hold of old scars and make old battles obsolete.

All that’s left in the end is what’s inside you, and how comfortable you are with whatever that is.

I once wrote that death is movement and we all move, and we must keep
doing so. If you think anything like I do then you probably understand
that death isn’t always a final thing, it can also mean a new beginning.

Even when we run out of energy to shed yet another skin, it
sometimes hurts so much more to be left trapped inside of an old one.

It’s sometimes agonizing to leave pieces of ourselves scattered
around as we move, to throw away old dreams to make room to breathe
life into new ones that through a series of circumstances that happened
for whatever reason are now more possible to reach. It hurts to grow.

We forget this in adulthood. We feel at some point we are done with our
growing pains, our journey or our internal metamorphosis and we come to
believe we will always be this caricature of a person that then goes
out solid into the world and accomplishes a linear set of things
written out for such a caricature. It’s why we’re so obsessed with our
youth, because youth is solid. Youth was linear. Growing up completely
is not.

Some people settle for a stasis because anything else would be too
scary to fathom when the hours grow long and we find ourselves alone
with our thoughts. They don’t believe they possess the strength to get
through it, or they doubt themselves, or they are just simply without
the Will or energy to conjure up the courage it takes to break a stasis.

Those kind of people don’t want thoughts that they can’t bend into a pretty lie to get them through the night.

No matter who you are, or how many times you lie to someone else,
it will never be as much as you will have lied to yourself.
Inadvertently or non.

Many people choose that path of quiet stasis… to assuage guilt that
threatens to rule them, to lay away accountability, to bury their heads
in a fantasy that helps them trip through their lives with the least
amount of resistance with a never ending avoidance of friction &
pain.

Some people choose not to love because love is a confusing anchor. So
they cut themselves off so they are free to go anywhere, do anything,
and most of those people end up going in circles, going nowhere, and
miserable.

Then, there are also the people who don’t, who jump into the water even
though they know there may be sharks lurking within it. That bat down
the wasp nests in the hopes of a future where they will not be stung
every time they walk under the patio overhang in the spring. Who enter
alone into a crowded party in which they know nobody. People who fight
for justice or speak an unpopular opinion because their perception
allows them to believe in it. People who sky dive, or inhale the
carcinogens of cigarettes and city air.

And people who choose to love something or someone with all their heart
with the knowledge they, or it may die, get lost, go away somehow or
disappoint them. I am bias but personally I believe the people who are
doing their best to live this way are wise. They know the difference
between cautious and reckless, they know the value of every experience.
They try not to take too much for granted. I for one want to live more
like them.

But either way no matter how we decide to play the game, life
always has the one up on us just as we think we‘ve gotten some kind of
a clue, and at some point… we will be standing there in stupid human
awe as the stars are bursting out of the night sky towards earth like
fireworks on the Fourth of July.

All the pettiness aside, and at risk of sounding cliché all that will remain in all that’s changed is love.

Somehow, as long as we allow ourselves to fully love, to trust, to
disperse of all that doesn’t really matter and only fight the battles
truly worth fighting… in the end it will all come together. You just
have to have faith, because without faith of any kind the TICK TICK
TICK will paralyze you, glaze over your eyes and make you tread paths
that weren’t really necessary for you to tread. To take you into
dimensions that forces you to recalibrate your soul just to wake up in
the morning with some kind of sense in your brain.

Real loves lies everywhere around you, and beneath you… we just have to
stop questioning everything so goddamn much, and maybe even, trying to
stop holding onto everything quite so hard. Stop trying to make the
illogical make some kind of logical sense, because that is in itself
not only pompous, but the very thing you strive against in the first
place if you think like that, The Illogical.

You’re wasting TICK TICK TICK’s and TOCK TOCK TOCK’s trying to solve a puzzle that has no beginning and no end. Sometimes we just need to let go and see what sweeps under us to catch us, and maybe be okay with the fact if nothing did, pick ourselves up, heal, rewind, and keep on walking, keep on dreaming, and keep on painting the mural with no beginning and no end until we inevitably die, but no matter how you choose to view things Death is the moot point. It’s what we had in life that matters, and

We’re still but only just human.

So, no more nightmares… just… the wind.

Erase The Pain

2009-03-01T23:59:00.000-08:00

Erase all the pain tonight or leave it waiting with baited breath for another day when you just might finally get around to it.

Hopefully by then it will have not been neglected so long that it has become something that is infected or worse something un fixable and life threatening.

And me I'm unrelenting. I see all the flaws and I paint them out. I bleed them out, and I make sure to get every crack, every imperfection, every single piece of litter, every discarded potato chip bag as well as every illuminated reflection of beauty tattooed into my memory, because I want to see it all. Every last bit of truth, every last drop of beauty and every last ugly terrible thing even if it was all at once, I would absorb every aching piece of existence through every pore of my being if I could... every sunset, and every horror. Just for the very perspective of it.

I will fight for you and beside you, but I will not lay down and die with you.

All I see that is Hollow and Empty has become that way for a reason.
Vanity hides itself well in insecurity, and it seems to me in general everyone would rather be Alone in the end then wrong.

Don't even get me started on accountability, and how people are petrified of taking it. Either people take it all in and become a sobbing pathetic heap on the ground begging for forgiveness that the self righteous kick showing no mercy or respect for, or people deflect it as if it were rabies. It scares the living shit out of me how little people really understand about themselves... or how many people literally let guilt or the fear of losing what little they do know about themselves to dictate their entire existence.

Everybody lies, but why? There is always a reason. The lie is never as interesting as the reasons behind it. If no truth is spoken, then no lies can hide is in itself a hypocritical statement. Omission is lying, I know, I'm Human, and I've done it too... and I always had a very interesting reason for it. When what you have with someone is only OK because it is based on something you're not telling them then the thing you have with that person is a lie itself. A lie you live. A selfish lie, because the other person Isn't in on the real scenario.

Then what purpose does the delusion of that person serve for you? Is it a legal fix? A living breathing drug or is it something you really believe is real? I'd like to say it's non lethal but when feelings are involved emotions can always end up causing permanent damage to someone or something. Things like that have a way of blowing themselves up in the face of everyone involved 10x more powerfully then when the thing was in the phase where there was only a mere threat, and you were busy laughing in it's face as you would a teenager prank calling you with a bomb threat during some late hour of the night.

Recently I saw someone poise the question... "Why is is so hard to believe?"
I wonder that too, almost constantly. Except sometimes my version of that question ends up "Why is it so hard to believe in me?"

Is it because people are hardwired to avoid the detailed truth and vie for The Matrix to keep their lives and self perspectives clean, or is the Truth so foreign it sounds like a lie? It could be either I'm sure depending on the circumstance.

Either way I'm slipping...
Faith & Hope this world can be better then it is keeps me in the fight.
That people can be better then they are, and not only hold the capability to be that, but want to be. Strength Isn't only for the weak anymore, so why do so many people just want to settle for the status quo? Isn't it better to snap your broken bone back into place then walk around all disfigured, mangled, and in pain the rest of your life? Why are people so terrified to look in the mirror and see what's broken? I'm sure everyone's individual answer to that is different and highly dependent on a number of afflicting circumstantial factors, but in whole society, as different as we all may be, still in mass proportionate numbers want to jump on the defensive and ride it all the way to the finish line never looking back again.

In order for people to evolve they have to actually take a look at all that is wrong and fucked up about themselves. It's much easier to never mentally move past things, and stay close to "safe" situations, and "safe" people until you have lulled yourself into a delusional coma where everything is "Ok" but underneath that "Ok" is a dense fog of unshakable misery that at that point makes it too hard to see or identify why it is there.

I don't know how it's more Ok to do these things. It seems that dealing with them and getting them dealt with would be the simpler answer. The logic goes along the lines of "Hey my email box is too full, so I'm just not going to go sort through all of it so I can get new emails". The letters never get read, people get mad, and there is no room for future letters. It's not that I don't do it myself at times... it's just that I don't do it to the extent of my emotional detriment nor do I bottle things up without an expectation of an eventual explosion. Basic physics applies as much to psychology as it does to earthly endeavors. What goes up must come down, and all that mess. Just think about it for minute.

Life is pain. Life is growth.
Get fucking used to it... and maybe you can appreciate the contrast of what is GOOD next to what is BAD and all that is in between. (Zero = Two = Pi).

Not what is "Just Ok" or "Passes The Time". Not some drug, or liquor, or stupid cartoon network, DVD Box Set, Porn, or whatever your particular brand of shutting the world out is, but something actually truly amazing.

The worst thing of all is when cliques arise, and just like what they say is true of the circles of junkies, is true of socio political stimuli within "acceptably normal" cliques, cultures, and things of the like. The cliques try to sell you what is normal, and how to sate yourself with stupid shit and avoid reality as much as possible unless it's utterly necessary. You all drink the same flavor of Koolaid, and entire groups of people mutually validate themselves to make their flimsy realities more solid by USING each one another. Almost in a parasitic fashion.

Not many people have had a kind of spiritual, or emotional enlightenment so they don't know what it is they are missing, but I promise you it does exist. Not that it will save you, as I said myself I find myself slipping, slipping into some pretty dangerous places especially recently.
, but I try to see it more as I'm on an adventure. I'm tired, weary, and sick to death walking to God Knows Where on very thin cracking ice in a Hurricane.

I keep walking because I don't know anything else anymore. It's too cold to think clearly, and I've long forgotten why I started the trek in this direction in the first place but something inside myself, something better then myself assures me it's still important, and I put faith in that. In the needs of my Higher Self. The one that knows that what I need may not necessarily always be good for me, but in the end I'd be in more peril if I'd not have tried for it.

Yet, I won't deny a small part of me isn't terrified the ice is going to finally cave in. I've come to accept a complete lack of control over these things. I stopped caring about the what ifs, and the maybes. I don't even jump when the ice pops beneath my feet anymore. I'm getting numb... and not from the cold. I've just seen a lot. Been through a lot, and my patience is now as thin as the ice I tread to God Knows Where.

I know if I Erase The Pain, I Erase Real Life.

I believe in Real Life.
I believe it exists, and it's out there.
That it exceeds and shatters existentialism into one million pieces, that there is such a thing as a tangible reality... one that isn't just a cultural illusion mutually masturbated into validation and perception by others agreeing to believe the same.

In that Real Tangible Reality, there will always be friction, because without friction stasis occurs. Stasis is giving up, stasis is everything I don't want in life. I'm a warrior... always fighting, and tearing down the walls to grow. It's inevitable. You're either in to evolve, or you shouldn't be in it. Find some happy medium or cycle to jump into and live in it for the rest of your God Forsaken life, and for the love of GOD do not follow me out onto the ice because I'm tired of having to tread backwards 80 miles to save a coward from slipping through the cracks. It wastes your time, and my time. If the idea of a perfect life for you is simplistic, then having me in yours is definitely the wrong thing to do... and though this may strike you as numb or callously worded... it's true.

Oh, and the things I have become numbed to doesn't make me less human it makes me strong... because I can still feel it. I let myself feel every bit of it. I just don't let it rule me.

And the things I have become impatient with exist so I no longer waste my time or my life on the things I don't want it to be.

The battles I've fought to become who I am now have taught me a strength I'd have never have known if I hadn't fought them, and I am not vindictive... I didn't come out the other side wrong. I don't think the world ends and begins with me, but I do have plenty to say. I always have.

So I'll take the pain as it teaches me what I Need, and when I no longer Need it...
It'll show itself out the door.

The Spiders Wake Up In March

2009-03-01T04:19:00.000-08:00

The yellow dandelions bloom so cheerfully you forget they are weeds, and they sprawl forth amongst wild clover shaded by various trees full of green or colorful leaves and chirping optimistic birds. Time is flying with them, as the sun shines again on our little spot of earth, and the nights show us mercy once again being only a slight bit chilly as the very air around us breaks into slow defrost.

It's time to change the thick Comforters to light cotton sheets, to rearrange the base temperature on the thermostat and clean. Out with the old they say, in with the new. Shed, shed, shed and build a foundation for the new year to come. Your scalp begins to tingle with new ideas as societal or maybe even some form of animal driven arcane instincts begin to nag at the back of your brain to seek love with a little more hope, bask in new friendships, to dream new dreams, to nest, to sew the seeds of some kind of future, and you cannot help but to feel a little more cheerful as you listen to the birds begin to sing again, a sound you didn't really notice you missed hearing until you heard it once again in chorus amongst the sounds of the ever busying outside world, and you notice even your fellow neighbors have picked up their tasks with a slightly faster pace minus the resentment that follows a rush.

Your body screams for revolution as the sleepy coma of Winter melts off you like snow and waves in the new Season with sadly brightly colored hopeful arms, and the cold warmth of the sun on your shoulders reminds you that everything is coming to life once again.

How easy it is to think of Robin Eggs, and energetic squirrels. How happy to think of baby chickens, and tiny bunnies with floppy ears meandering across our yards or imaginations fueling our ritualistic endeavors... we often forget that when the Sun blesses the earth once again with it's warmer side other things wake up too.

And soon enough the spiders will be back under the woodpiles and under your desks. The yellow jackets building nests over your patio doors, and in the hinge of your child's outdoor Toy Box. The mosquitoes begin arising once again from still waters. The hatching in even the healthiest of green grasses begins for the fleas, the lice, and the ticks. Out of dark holes, and hidden places will crawl those poisonous reptiles from hibernation, as well as all the other things you may or may not have come to fear.

Of course, I have a problem with always seeing the big picture... and I do mean, a problem, because as I was outside I realized I was suspicious of an old chair. As I wondered why such an anxiety would crop up so suddenly, I realized at least in Southern California... that the spiders wake up in March.

Yet even still... it's all as beautiful as ever... the blue skies filled with white cotton candy clouds, the trees still moving in the hushed seasonal breeze. It's easy to be distracted by such beauty, and become so overwhelmed by it all that you just might forget where you sit. :)

Danger hides itself the most eloquently in beauty, in the light, in smiles, and good intentions gone sour. In fact danger does it's best work masquerading itself in the rainbows rather then the shadows.

And I'm pretty positive that,
At least in Southern California, the spiders wake up in March.

Who Am I?

2009-03-01T04:08:00.000-08:00

I am Strange like Love.

Designer of any Media but specializing in Graphics Art (Logos, Presentations, Print Ads, Fliers… etc), Writer, Wannabe Photographer, Neurotic, Animal Lover, Activist, Passionate, Musically Fascinated, Bored, Volunteer, Creative Craft Maker, Over Thinker, Student, Believer, and Half Alive / Half Awake here in Los Angeles, California .

For I've Been

2009-03-01T01:56:00.001-08:00

For I've been drifting past souls without so much as a nudge
Just floating past the world like the fleeting luminance
Of headlights passing one another on the highway.
Sharing a moment cold and without remembrance.
I've been out of it for years.
But I only think...
I am not sure.
I am unsure of everything right now.
Only rage and love can wake me up, and only for brief moments.
(and probably ironically they are what ate me up in the first place)
That malcontent and the constant fight for something always more.
The passionate Will stranded inside me that without a direction
Takes to consuming me whole into It's destructive oblivion.
Some days It's All just intangible fuzz...
Like white noise filtering in ghosts on an old car radio.