| Holy fuck the dust has collected around here!
Then again its only been recently that my access to LJ land and the subsequent communities I'm apart of has been consistent.
And what have I been doing in my absence?
Go to my journal. Its crawling with all sorts of useless information..and stuff about work..and pretty much selling out to my checkbook. No fun. Someone kindly regress time when it was alright for me not to know better and poop in my diaper!
Noticing the lack of activity though..guess I'm not the only one that the inkwells are dry, and the keyboard just doesn't want to work.
I'm hoping that changes! Meantime, so long for now. | comments: Leave a comment   |
| panic attack. is it like that
which
maybe it depends on how severe
sometimes
your lungs dont fill with air
sometimes
you grasp grope around
frantic
in a panic frantically panicked
trying
to make it fuck end
maybe
you wake up
later
your lungs packed with dirt sand
small pebbles
evidence of your last
attempt
we all have at our core in the savage
unconscious
part of us to survive finely packed
ground
worm tunnels around you
through you
your head says just black earth
around
your reaction no choice says
must be
there IS air in here
somewhere
terrestrial gills. its there. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| crustacean caves
polyp walls
enclose
from undercurrents
not much cooler
than those above
colors surround
in mazes
shapes so familiar
wholly immersed
and colder now
blue light or nothing
nitrogen risk
but no one can resist the thought
of finding something new
fanged tooth
armored
in darkness
hoping for
bioluminescence | | comments: Leave a comment |
| Stranded
The full moon shines in through the transparent white curtains
lighting up the tiny room that’s floating on a sea of unpolished wood.
The giant floor dwarfs the doors and windows,
and engulfs the walls, isolating me from the rest of the house.
Stranded on the couch, surrounded by oak surf, I slide
my feet back and forth, skiing along the top of the wood,
the sand and dirt and dead skin cells flying by under my feet.
An unimportant logo on an abandoned business card
surfs the floor towards me, with a little help from the breeze.
The whir of the ceiling fan is accompanied by an occasional ding
from the pull string hitting the light fixture—
one that looks like a bowl of fruit filled with pear shaped light bulbs
glued upside down to the bottom of the fan.
When the moon cowers behind the clouds, the light brown waves
turn darker. The grooves in the bare wood pound my feet,
while the ceiling distorts into an angry sky.
Shadows act like clouds swirling above an upset ocean.
The logo, stuck surfing in the impending storm will be lost before dawn,
and I will slowly drowned in my own sea of thoughts. | | comments: 2 comments or Leave a comment |
| its hard
it is
this life
i just dont know where to begin
the days
they never end
and its hard
just to pretend
i want
to have it all
i need
someone to call
i wait
in silent prayer
i hope
that you'll be there
i cry
myself to sleep
i want
you to be here
right now
with me | | comments: Leave a comment |
| | Current Music: | Somewhere out there-Our Lady Peace | | Time: | 09:43 pm |
|
| Dont bitch at me
cuz you got nothing to do
Dont scream at me
cuz every time you do
its more of me you loose
I have feelings
I dont think you know
how much I do hurt
How I do love you so
but the more you scream
the less you'll know
cuz the more you scream
the further from you I'll go | | comments: Leave a comment |
| I'm going crazy. I don't know where else to turn, so I'm coming here. I've been here. I'm turning to you. All of you, that I can't see, with voices that I can't hear. But I'm still turning to you, because knowing someone is there listening, even if you can't see them or hear them, is better than knowing that no one is listening.
Then again, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you aren't listening, and I am just here tearing down the wall to my heart and exposing it to no one. For no one. Or, maybe this is just some kind of personal therapy that's supposed to help me.
I doubt that it is any of this. It's all just words.
This is addressed to anyone who will listen. Anyone who wants something to read to escape their own life, there own troubles. Use me. Use mine. Make fun of it. Laugh at it. Ignore it.
Why is it that most people's unwritten, unexpressed goal in life is to find "true love?" I ask the question being one of those people. Those people that you love to make fun of on t.v. and in movies. The people you love to hate, until you wake up one day and realize that you are them. You are what you hate, and when you hate yourself, you can never be happy.
We are human. We are born with wants and needs. On that list of wants and needs, love is a want. We don't need love in order to live. Love isn't our oxygen or our water. As much as we want it to be, love isn't our life support.
As we get older, we are more vulnerable to be impacted by love, but not because we start to understand it, because love is not logical. Love is something that no one really understands. It is not mathematical or scientific or even artistic. It is all based on faith and beliefs. Faith in yourself and believing in the other person.
There is nothing we can do but be patient about it. We spill our feelings to that other person, and we wait to see what they do. Do they run? Laugh? Cry? Do they feel the same way? Waiting for a response might be the most painful time in our life. We are so helpless while we are waiting. We are floating in a sea of misery waiting to see if someone throws us a life saver. If they don't, we sink, and we start over.
Love is all a cycle of birth and death and rebirth. Love is Buddhism. Until we are enlightened, until we find that person to liberate us from the cycle, we will continue die and be reborn again and again.
We cease to be alive when we think we need love to live. When we think that we need love, just as much as we need air and water, it becomes a problem. We become a walking problem. When love becomes a need, that's when things get fucked-up. That's when we lose control of our own life.
When love becomes a need, we our no longer in control of our happiness.
Don't use my heart to break your fall. | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| Okay so I'm also a myspace whore, and there's this book club thing I'm apart of. This chick actually had the balls to start a discussion thread with THIS..
Subject: Can Anyone Write?
"That is my one simple question. I chose to be completely impartial, but I'd like to know people's reception of my question and subsequent response.
Can anyone write?
P.S No sarcasm!"
So while some people took it as, "anyone with talent can write," and some more self-serving nonsense I had to scroll past or barf reading, well..here's what I said..
"Why yese, I cane write. I were in colege so's I can write gooder Englishe. Me learned all sorts of kewl stuff like did u know their are 28 leeters in the alphabet?! And they make wordes two!"
CAN YOU WRITE? Can you breathe, chick?! Asking a bunch of book junkies and authors if they can write and then having the nerve to say "no sarcasm.." | | comments: Leave a comment |
| | Current Music: | The Notwist "Pick Up The Phone" | | Subject: | Black. [Grey.] White. | | Time: | 09:14 pm | | Current Mood: | blank/empty |
|
| She loves me. She loves me not. She loves me. She loves me not. Love. Not. Love. Not. Black. White. Black. White. When was love ever this separate? When was it ever this clear? The problems with love aren't black or white. They are grey. The problems are every shade of grey in between the black and the white. That's where the jealousy hides. That's where the unfaithfulness lies. That big pool of grey is what holds everything that we don't want to see.
Seeing the black and white isn't what hurts us. It's that grey area that's what scares us. It's the "She loves me, but can't be with me," and the "She loves me not, but will still lead me on like she does" that kills us. It's the grey area that makes our stomach turn like a cement mixer. And it's the grey area that makes us want to forget.
Even if we do only see the black and white. Only the love and the not. That flower still dies. It has been picked and those petals ripped off with ever "love" and "not." No matter what the outcome is, no matter if he or she loves you or doesn't, it still dies. Love dies, because like everything else in our lives, it is fleeting. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| Just in one of those kind of moods. And this came out. Of course I think it's horrific but it's pretty raw and pretty out there and pretty much I feel right now.
( Mirror ) | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| | Current Music: | "What You Love You Must Love Now" The Six Parts Seven | | Subject: | Just words. | | Time: | 06:22 pm | | Current Mood: | choking |
|
| Written words. Just ink on paper. How can words, that same ink on paper, mean so much? Reading a note from a lover, or past lover, over and over again, we start to analyze every word. Every letter. Every dot of the "i" and cross of the "t." We put more meaning into words than their ever was meant to be, and we try to find more meaning in them than they can hold.
Words are like sponges. Some can be more saturated than others. Some words have more meaning than others. Words have a saturation level just like sponges. They only hold a certain level of meaning, and then they are full. They can't hold anymore, no matter how hard we try to force them too. And words, just like sponges, choke us. If we try to eat them, if we try to take back what we said, we choke. We scream and cry and choke. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| This is just something that came out of nowhere last night. Yes Bob this is sort of the way you write. For some reason the "poetry" format just didn't work for this.
Make of it what you will...
NEED A SMOKE?
Pull one more from the pack, I find my lighter in the fifth pocket of my jeans. CLICK, and burn. I take a drag, let the chemicals fill my lungs. So what if I'm smoking fromaldahyde? I'll have that for blood when I fucking die. I'm getting a head start; getting the taste for it.
The smoke quickly fills my lungs, or at least the parts of them that still work. This particular brand has been "my" brand since it first came out. Granted all smokes taste like ass but these aren't cheap, so they don't taste like rolled up newspaper at least. Through each drag, through the trail of smoke billowing off the cherry, I see my life smoked one cigarette at a time. Going through the motions of putting filter to lips, inhaling filtered filth and exhaling the smallest part of the damage, I see pieces of my life painted in gray and blue. There's me sitting on a porch. Summer night, me sitting alone on the steps. The front door is open just in case the baby inside cries. There I am again, on a different porch. Standing in a corner in the ugliest coat I own. I'd rather be wearing that ugly thing and being warm than looking good for nobody and freezing to death in my leather jacket, thanks. The moon is full when it peaks out behind the clouds, the sky black. And I remember; all the dreams I had, little wisps of smoke blown into the night where they are lost. I remember all the times I sat alone, thinking to myself how terrible it was to be so yet never feeling it until recently. I remember all the times I had to re-light my cigarette because I knocked the cherry off in little angry fits. All of it is gone. Pieces of ash blown away, filters floating down the gutter. Everything is gone, and I have nothing except the need for another one in a few hours.
Its not right, it'll never be fair. But that's alright with me. Because the end result is the same. I'll die no matter what; and I'll remember WHY. | | comments: 1 comment or Leave a comment |
| Theres times like this
when i crave to be alone
i find solice in the fact
that nobody is home
There are times like this
when i feel too much alone
and the house is too damn empty
and theres noone on the phone
there are times like this
when i dont know what i want
my thoughs go round in circles
and they dont know where they stop
There are times like this
when all i want is you
but i cannot express myself
and I cannot see it through | | comments: Leave a comment |
| | How I love writer's block. Thinking a million things you want to write down, but not knowing where to start or how to phrase it. Writer's block is like a time bomb, only a very weak one. Because the only person it destroys is the person suffering from it. When this ticking bomb is inside of you, you can't begin to express any of the emotion bottled up inside of you. You can't begin to explain it, and no one can begin to understand it.
This is my attempt at unclogging the path from my brain to my fingers.
Deep breath. Close your eyes and focus on the pitch black hole you are staring into. Focus on the lack of anything to focus on. Now open your eyes and let the light hit your pupils, forcing them shrink down to nothingness. Look at the screen and place your fingers softly on the keyboard. Write whatever pops in your head, in whatever chaotic order that it happens in.
Go.
My, how the world turns. My, how my world spins. I'm staring at you on your pedestal, high up in the air like an angel with invisible wings. That's how I see you, or so I am told. I would need a chain saw the size of, well the size of something big. Something gigantic in order to cut you down to my size. I need to cut the legs off of your pedestal, and grind them into dust.
Jump.
With my funeral director attitude, (thanks for that one mom) I am killing myself slowly by wondering when things are going to get worse. Instead, I should be focusing on the good times that are happening. Some people know the art of mind control. The art of controlling other people's minds. I can't even begin to control mine.
Jump.
"'I gave you an inch, you wanted a house with a yard.'" You really know how to tell it like it is. Your brutal honesty hides behind that dangerously beautiful smile. A smile that sucks you in, while ten seconds passes in your mind, and ten years passes in reality.
Jump.
I'm sitting here thinking about why I ever let you get this deep in my heart. From the moment my eyes wandered in your direction, I haven't been able to stop you from being in my thoughts. I can't stop loving you, and it seems like you can't start loving me. I'm sitting here, while my mind is in a thousand different places. A thousand different places with you.
Jump.
You wanted something to read and I needed something to write. But that's all. Disappointed? You and me both. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| Short. Simple. Painful. Just like love.
The real tragedy of life is that it goes on. Life goes on, and we are the ones that suffer. But we are the one's that choose to suffer. We know the consequences of living and loving, but we choose to take the gamble. We choose to play the game, knowing we could lose, but we still ante up. We still bet all of our chips on one hand. However, just because we know the possible outcomes doesn't make it hurt any less when we do lose. Because we will lose. We will lose everything eventually. There are no sugar-coated ways to deal with life. Just trial and error. Trial and error, error, error. One trial for every ten thousand errors. One heart for every countless number of heartbreaks. One trial and one heart too many. If you ask me, it's one life too many. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| When I was 14 and I needed you there
I needed you to show that you still cared
I needed you to break down the wall
That would have fallen had you pushed hard
I needed you there cuz I felt alone
That even though you were there
I still felt alone
Cuz I was 14 and I needed you there
And I cut myself cuz you didnt care
I was depressed and I was alone
And noone was there that I could hold
And now I look back cuz even today
I'm 21 and i need you there
I need you to show that you actually care | | comments: Leave a comment |
| Day three of this panic attack. The longest attack I have ever experienced in my almost 21 years of existence. Day three of this relentless attack from the enemy of the north. The enemy that has barricaded himself in the trenches of my brain.
I've been barraged with shallow breaths for all three days, along with chest pains, dizziness, tunnel vision and excessive sweating. But the shaking has just begun. Tremors that are tearing my body apart.
I'm writing this between the shallow breaths. Between the shaking. I don't know how much longer I can take. I'm running out of patience and energy. Beat down and worn out, I am going to leave this here for you to read and forget. For you to read and go to sleep, with this being the last thing on your mind. I am writing this and leaving it here, in Cyberspace, for anyone to read and no one to remember. Only I will remember, and only you will forget. Only you will survive.
Just earlier, I had Her in my lap. I had the whole world, or my whole world, laying with it's head on my legs. A world that has me under it's spell. I had Her in my lap and him on my mind. A name with no face and no voice. Just a name. A name that I think She has on Her mind, but in a different way. I'm thinking of him, and I'm thinking of Her. She's thinking of him.
Nothing good was coming from my thoughts. Nothing good is ever coming from my thoughts. Again, I am jumping to the answers, without asking the questions. I am so good at doing that.
Anyway, I had Her in my lap. I should have had Her on my mind, but he kept forcing himself in there. And I was letting him. I have been letting him come and go for weeks now. He comes in long enough to ruin my day. Long enough to make me cry, and then he is gone. He is turning me against myself. I'm a victim of me. I can't get him out, and it's killing me.
On the couch, staring at the t.v., we sit in partial darkness and total silence, while the same thing replays over and over on the screen. While the same scenario replays over and over in my head: Her with him. I'm laying against Her, and I can't stop my hands from wandering around Her body. As much as She tells me in that cute soft way to stop, I can't. And I can't stop my mind from wondering about the future. Wondering about me with Her or about Her with him. And as much as try to redirect my attention toward something else, anything else, I can't. I'm helpless.
I'm still writing this, but I can't leave any resolve to the conflict. No solution to the problem. I don't have one. All I have is this problem in my head with no idea how to fix it.
I'm just going to leave this here as a reminder of what can happen when you let your mind control you. But you will forget. And I won't. And we will both become victims because you can't remember and I can't forget. Only a few will survive. The lucky ones. They will go on to live happy lives, and we will be left here in the trenches. Me and you. Heartbroken and dying. And you won't forget it then. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| | Current Music: | Morrissey "How Could Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel" | | Subject: | Insert any stupid fucking title here. | | Time: | 10:23 pm | | Current Mood: | crying/feeling like I'm going to throw up/scared |
|
| I could have sat down and written a list of everything I love about you. (I could fill a library with all of it.) I could have sat down and written about how I love the way your watch beeps every hour, letting me know that you are close by. I could have written about how I love the way you play with my fingernails or the way you rub your fingers through my hair. But I'm not. I won't. Because no one wants to read about that. No one wants to see the world through my eyes. No one wants to see the world through Love goggles. Everyone wants to see the drama. The conflict. The problems. So here, I'll tell you the conflict. I'll give you the drama. I'll show you the problems. I'll describe what is going on in my head right now. I'll take off my Love goggles and see things how they really are. The truth. And I will describe it to you in heartbreaking detail.
I think about you all day. I watch the clock move, waiting to get off work so I can be with you. Tick. Tick. Tick. But you don't come over. And somehow I knew you wouldn't. Somehow I know that everything else is more interesting than me. More and more it seems like I am just someone to entertain you. I'm your roller coaster. Fun while it lasts, but once it's over, you don't feel bad for leaving. After all, it's just a ride for you. But for me, it's everything.
With the goggles off, I can see that you are still in love with him. I'm in love with you, who's in love with him. And I am starting to see that you can't love me. Or maybe you won't love me. And I can't make you love me. "Ask me why I keep on loving you when it's clear that you don't feel the same way for me...the problem is that as much as I can't force you to love me, I can't force myself to stop loving you." Strap me in a chair and cut my eyes out with a red-hot knife. It would be less painful than seeing this. The truth.
I'm starting to wonder if you don't want me. If you don't need me, like I need you. If you won't treat me like I treat you. I can call you my "girlfriend," but you can't call me your "boyfriend." It hurts a little less everytime I think about it, so I'm sure I will be numb any day now.
I'm starting to believe that you will rip my heart out and toss it on the ground so you can stomp it into the dirt. Dancing on it, while you pop every chamber and tear every vessel. And I will take my coat off and place it over my heart so that you don't get blood on your shoes. Because I love you.
I don't want to believe any of this. I don't want to see any of this. I never did, and I never want to again. So for now, I will put the goggles back on, light a cigarette and let my eyes roll back in my head. | | comments: Leave a comment |
| Or has poetry.com become completely retarded?
First it won't let me submit some of my newer work because I refuse to squash it down to 20 lines or less. Then they have THIS.
So let me get this straight; I can post up my poems, have people love or hate them, TELL me they love or hate them, but in order for me to view reviews in their entirety (and messages) I have to shell out $45/year. Uh, yeah..sure. RETARDS! | | comments: Leave a comment |
| This less-than-short piece will be told by yours Truly. Told by yours Foolishly.
The Dead of night. The Dead of sound. Driving on an empty road with the just my thoughts, road signs, and time. Smoking my Black and Mild to fit my mood. It's black outside, and I'm in a mildly mope mood. Driving toward You at 95 mph, it only seems like I am driving You farther away. Driving You faster away at greater speeds than my 13 year old car can handle. My messages to You, that I can't help but write, probably scare You.
Racing down the empty highway, I should be thinking about the Wet roads and my rapidly balding tires. I should be thinking about the safety of the Construction Crew working the third shift. I should be thinking about stopping for Gas. I should be thinking about Not falling asleep at the wheel and becoming another statistic. But I'm thinking about You. I'm thinking about You thinking about me. I'm thinking about You thinking about me thinking about You.
The green stop lights remind me of Your green eyes. Sparkling. Inviting. Telling me to go...for You.
Still speeding carelessly, I think about the Future. A sign passes by quickly, but I manage to catch a glimpse. "Road Work Ahead." Could it mean there will be troubled times coming? Another sign flashes by. "Soft Shoulder." Your soft shoulder that I love to lay my head on. It makes me feel like I am apart of you. Like we are one. One perfect being never to be separated.
Another sign telling me, "Right Lane Ends Merge Left." Telling me the path I'm on will soon end. I need to change lanes if I want you in my life. Change my life so I can merge into yours.
Signs just keep passing by. Everyone of them has a hidden meaning. A message to my heart. Telling me what to do. Telling me what will happen. The last road sign I see, "Call Box." A call that you didn't receive tonight. A call that you wanted to get, but ruined by sending a message too truthful. To blunt. To honest. Something that I already told You, but maybe You didn't want to hear again. But I still mean it. How can I not?
Still thinking about You and still speeding, I'd be lying if I said I never doubt your feelings for me. Although, it's not me that doubts them, it's my mind. My fucked-up, stupid, worried mind. My irrational thoughts. They run wild and drive me to thinking things that I know aren't true. I can't help it, and for that I'm sorry. I love you. And that is me thinking. That is rational. That is the black and white truth. | | comments: Leave a comment |
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annoyed