Well, every thing is a metaphor for something, right? And you can make one for anything...

New writing soon.


Happy New Year.

Idea.

I feel like I'm a "writer" simply because I can't quiet the voices in my head.

Because I can't shut the fuck up.

Weird thought, right?

Goldfish

It's an unspeakable feeling that comes from the depths. We can't articulate it any other way than the simplest of words and we know those won't suffice.

This goes beyond the body yearning for another one to be close.
Beyond worry or doubt or fear.
Like a steady beat, it rings true all the time.
Even after an angry word or a step in the wrong direction.

Every time I tell you, I feel like you immediately forget
and you then walk all over me
oblivious to every step.

My dear, you could not ruin me if you tried. (Even tears dry up.)

But for now, I'll tell you the simple delusional truth:

I love you and there's nothing I can do about it.

Glory

It seems that love is an overly abused word these days.
The phrase "I love you" could mean, "I really appreciate this" or "You make me happy" for whatever reason. I love you for doing this, I love you when you do that, this thing that you do makes me realize that I adore you...so on and so forth.


I am beginning to overflow. I love you in so many ways and for so many reasons that I can't possibly name them all. I can't just love you because I appreciate your actions, or even because you have hidden talents that I get to see--these are things that make me enjoy you, like a good meal or a nice day. I love you and I can't figure out how or why and I really don't want to at all. I don't want to feel I need to explain that to anyone, but sometimes I do.

Under dark clouds, even here in this stormy wreckage I can love you. I won't lie, there is a struggle to see what I mean by it and even where I stand. But in the end, I don't lose a thing here. The winds are going to blow and I like stinging rain just as much as any other person, but I'll bear it for the sake of reaching the eye of this hurricane.
Two separate storm systems, two independent galaxies dancing in, around, with one another. In your lightning, you will hear my thunder and I cannot keep the volume turned down any longer. I want to fight you. I want to throttle you awake and shout until your space shatters. Even in this bleak vacuum, I feel you shine brighter than any full moon.

Love is not about sharing someone's sorrow or rescuing them. Or it may be to a degree, but the story doesn't end there. Caring that much about a person doesn't give you an excuse to make someone else responsible for making you feel better, that's still your own job. Being cared for does give you the right to not worry about feeling bad. Just that can be comfort enough.

What am I saying? I love you, yeah (yeah yeah..) and I know that doesn't put a magical band aid on anything. It doesn't for me, and I don't see how it would. I shouldn't be writing this in hopes you'll read it or even in lieu of talking to you. What I'm saying is, 1-I am not done with this topic, and I'll probably harp on it until I feel better, 2-I'm going to grow a pair and actually talk to you about this, 3-I'm terrified too, 4-you already know all of this, 5- *anxiety*

Truth.
Fact.
Non-fiction.
I love you.
andican'tgetyououtofmyheadandiwantyoutolovemetooandiamembarrassedforyouinwritingthisandiwanttotakeyoueverywhereandshowyoueverythingandiwantyoutoseetoseetoseetoseewellallofme
and that may be the most terrifying thought of all.

ps-everytime i dream of you i hear the same song. :x
"This war is crazy, I won't let you down..."

Reflection

He is my Ganesh
And together we are painting the walls blue.
The color of clarity.
Instead of knocking down the walls entirely,
but still recreating the sky no one else can see.
This is about the brevity of sainthood,
or the fear of happiness.
Because the questions we're asking aren't:
"What could you lose?"
or "what will you gain?"
But more of a quiet: "What could you possibly be missing?"
I need not so much a smile
as I need a gentle nod.
Just enough reassurance to move forward
without the push of a stroked ego.

A Study of Surrealism

I want to blame the exhaustion, but the truth of the matter is that I'm crying like a child because I'll miss you and everything is going to fall apart.

I've missed people before. The way that a finger misses the weight of a gaudy ring by keeping a phantom buzz on the skin.
But I'm missing you in a different way. The way my grandmother's boyfriend misses the use of his arms. You don't realize how absolutely necessary your muscles are until you need to do something simple like scratch your nose.

My second confession is that missing you wouldn't be nearly as bad if it weren't clear to me how much everyone else that I already long for will miss you too. It makes me want to turn off the television I've been watching in my head. It just broadcasts reruns of emotions trying to rip apart the screen. Everyone else's feelings are projected onto me and all of it adds up to missing someone I barely know, crying until tears can't come anymore, and feeling a fire lit within me that I seem to have forgotten.

If only I could wake myself up from this dream, I feel like I could get others to run alongside me the same way you do.

Before This War

There is a man and he rocks me.
This steady motion follows a path and sets music to life. The notes show a dreamscape he's only spoken of before and here it is on the walls around us. I could live in his arms, just in this moment. So that every time he holds me I hear the same melody whispering from another dimension and another time.

This is a different kind of safety, where I am not just saving you but you defended every bit of me.

welcome to the hardest day you've ever lived.

someday it won't be.

Sick

i wonder how much time of someone's day is really given to really uprooting every single good thing that could be laid down.

i am listening with my entire being and i'm finding that i'm out of practice. i miss the point sometimes, please bear with me. the words won't make you hear what i have, you need your skin for this, your ears, your soul. you need to absorb it all the way that we can.

i was in love with your history. i was in love with your history. my past was in love with your's but i don't know where i stand now. the brink that i am teetering on is showing signs that if i take you with me, it will mean a swift plunge and certain death. but once i let go of this rope that holds us tight to one another in a swirling current, if i just loosen the grip of my bonds to anyone in particular, i will find exactly what i've been searching for. and whatever you see as beautiful or amazing or grand, none of it will effect what i see. rather, none of it will have to effect it. that effect is ugly and cruel.

maybe the nice things are the ones that i need the least. perhaps i wasn't built to simply enjoy, and a lot of scripture points to this. but that really means something a lot different here, i think.

"nothing about us is simple"
(the phrase "i don't want to lose you" is very real and obnoxiously useless.)

okay, i'm following. i just want to know where you're going with this.

full moon.

please, please, please try and hear your words. please try and live by what you believe.

you can do better.

..."are you hearing me, like i'm hearing you?"

"i'm a fountain of blood in the shape of a girl.
you're the bird on the brim, hypnotized by the whirl....
i'm a tree that grows hearts, one for each that you take
you're the intruder's hand, i'm the branch that you break."

i don't feel like crying today. i just want to smile without getting paid for it.


Originally written on 10/14/08

you're getting better at consolation.

i don't know exactly what it means, but it makes me happy.

On the End.

The world is not ending because of any force outside of ourselves. Does this mean we are dying? Does this mean that something has gone wrong? Perhaps it is our own bitter taste of mortality in our mouths that makes us feel so doomed. But we will not end in a sudden blink, and when our time comes, we will go without fear.

The time has come for the flame of our souls to be fed. By what, that is up to you.

thought you should know, fucker.

every song that i listen to sounds like the end credits to some good, slightly inspiring movie.

bittersweetness in every single step.

words aren't enough.

shit.

Perpetuum mobile

string instruments feel like long halls of amber light and large mahogany chests filled with mystery.

some things feel like childhood, others are wildly different from anything you will ever know.

some are just things you haven't gotten the chance to miss yet.

Fishbowl/Flushed.

Goodbye, you beauty.
I won't forget you for a long time.

Goodbye, my own.
I am ready to lose you any minute, and still I will miss you when you're gone.

Goodbye, dearest.
I hope I never replace you.


I can't help but wonder, what is it like to drown in your own ashes.
I wish you were here.

....FUCK.

that is all.

Illusionary/Tsk

People look like so much fun at a distance.
Then you get up close and there's all this....history.

All of a sudden someone has their own personality instead of the facade.
Foul play, God.
Bad form.

The fall advertisements at my job kept saying semi-apocalyptic things like, "Get them while you still can" and my favorite "Drop Everything." It made me think of how this could be such a corporate mistake to the masses and a sign to those who think for themselves that this was the perfect time to strike.

Fuck your credit report your job your home. Screw it all. Drop everything, your facade, your preconceived notions, your faith, your expectations and just realize, know, that you could be doing better. And then just leave. Let it go. Run from this fake societal bliss you've locked yourself into and go.

Cage

Once the opportunity strikes, you don't want to ask the important questions because you want to hold off on the answer.
That isn't about fear, it's about excitement. And hope.

The Nomad puts on her moccasins and opens the tent door to the rising sun.

A lot of things have strange connotations that lead us to make very strange assumptions. In this society words like, "calm" and "gentle" read as "slow" and "meek". Some people don't fill out stereotypes. Some things are not as bad as they seem.

She steps past the threshold of her makeshift home and stands tall. Today she will journey far and not know what she will see.

There are things we can expect. We know that the Moon will run a cycle in twenty eight days and that it takes nine months for a baby to develop in the womb. We know that it takes nine months for a child to complete a school year and that it takes four years to complete a Bachelor's Degree. I wonder if we've always been so sure.

The morning is kind and the Nomad smiles into the face of the world. The sights that she has seen before do not compare to a present moment nor does the future. She is here and now.

As soon as you are aware of a role that you play, you ruin it. Especially the ones that make you the hero.

The Nomad has met many people. Many that have joined her in travels, others that have been hospitable. All have taught her something and all have learned something in return. She holds the words of Warriors in her chest and stories of Hunters in her eyes. She has learned strength from them. She keeps the hearts of Poets on her tongue and the sights of Lovers in her skin. She cannot turn away from others so easily but cares not to master such arts. Her job is not to become them, but to absorb them.

The phrase that I want to use in this sentence is "The problem is" but it can't be pointed out so blatantly. It's more of a subtle redundancy, the kind that everyone is so wildly aware of that they've forgotten how to define it.
The word "the".
The elephant isn't being ignored, it's that everyone's already adapted to the awkwardness of it. They want to pay attention to just about anything else.

Many have asked her where she was going. In most cases she'll reply with an elaborate lie that comes so very close to the truth in the end. After all, a destination is just a way of steering your course-- why not decide to head in that direction? In some cases, however, she'll be a bit more honest, which is definitely a lie--and she'll say she has no idea. After hearing both, a simple person would decide that she is not only lost but a liar. The Nomad would concur and go further to say that she may just be a contradiction. But she has somewhere to go.

The Hawaiian language has a series of complex sounds but is only written with twelve letters.

Perhaps definitions are simply how well you can subtly define the completely elusive.


Originally written on 8/11/08

The "Block"

-insert creative remarks here-

I'm scared of just being a person made of poetry magnets. Like the only thing good thing I can produce is epigrams.

Maybe this is just another mold I can't fit in.

Renewal: I could sleep it off again. Let's try that on for size.

"Good night and joy be with you all.."

Consumers Consumption.

IWILLNOTBEBOUGHT
IWILLNOTBEBOUGHTIWILLNOTBEBOUGHT
IWILLNOTBEBOUGHTIWILLNOTBEBOUGHTIWILLNOTBEBOUGHT

NO, I WILL NOT BE BOUGHT BY YOU.

Today has left me horrified with my consumption. I won't let this happen again. How sickening.

Consolation

whenever i hear the word "gmail" i think "gmilf" - anastasia

Dear Me,

None of this matters.
None of it mattered.
It's more than alright.
Just keep going.

Love,
You.