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[May. 7th, 2008|08:03 am] |
(Courtesy http://www.flickr.com/photos/aligee/2354340300/)
In ways we have not dreamt we arrive here at our destination
tired with the dust of our worries and yet
glad to rest at least, for a little while.
I have seen here snippets of people living
in much the same way as they do everywhere else.
The kettle sings in the kitchen next door and children scream and laugh and
women comb their hair in bathroom mirrors and make eyes at men and sit with legs crossed and hope that they
look pretty.
Meanwhile I am drifting with eyes closed holding breaths because
the truth is cold and wet.
I have not travelled as far and as hard as this
to fail.
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[May. 5th, 2008|12:52 am] |
Dreamy dreary fires
that ignite the dying
passions in your eyes.
Redeeming all of your lies
Checking yourself out
of the trashy old motels
that held all of our memories
behind rotting dry walls
and the surrealist dream
Your sky falls to it's tattered knees.
I said, your sky, it is torn
i said your soul, it is worn.
Your eyes are indulging
in his dedicated whore.
Your mind is a blank
canvas begging for color,
for a hero to discover
the truth you always buried
deep inside your dirty heart
and all the lies you told from the start.
a muse for the king of dreams
a toy for a free spirited boy
Your sky is falling from grace
Your sky is losing it's sweet taste.
I said, your sky, it is torn
I said, your soul, it is worn.
Your heart indulges
in his dedicated whore.
Consumption, dysfunction
the clouds are blocking the sun
locking up your tongue
and sewing your mouth shut.
All the king's men fall down to the ground
All the king's girls are consumed by their frowns
And liquid grace pours from the clouds
I knew one day all my skies would tumble down.
Who knew I would eventually die for you
Cry to you, and become the king's only love fool.
Our vein's are cracking and falling apart at the seams
Our skies are no longer the loopholes in our dreams.
I knew your sky was torn
i knew your soul would feel worn
Your heart.
It.
Indulges.
In his whore.
Photo and poem by Me. |
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[May. 4th, 2008|12:53 pm] |
GHOSTS IN THE GRAVEYARD
when we were kids
we used to have two nighttime games:
"town tag", and a darker game called
"ghosts in the graveyard"
which was a more chilling game played on the golf course (we'd hop or go under the fence)
with flashlights and teams.
town tag was a pretty innocent version of hide and seek
which had us using the downtown center triangle as a safe zone,
and the surrounding shops, parking lots and gangways
as hiding spots.
ghosts in the graveyard was much more spooky,
with the potential for dramatic consequences.
because not only were we trying to scare each other,
there was always the mystery of the flashlight wielding night watchman
who could easily be mistaken for a friend in the moonlight. often,
i'd see someone walking with a flashlight in the distance
only to quietly wonder if it was matt molloy
or the security guard,
rumored to have one eye and a hook for a hand. someone once said that his wife had died
and since then
he wandered the golf course looking for her in the night - ha ha...kid
stories.
there were times i was really scared to my bones. there was the time,
i was centered near the 7th hole on the course,
and either tommy molloy or mike boland blew off an m-80
so loud it sent the birds leaping from their tree tops
and in to the night sky. immediately
i saw a flashlight running near the next hole. the explosion was followed
by an eery silence only cut by my footsteps below me
running for the fence. i could smell the smoke drifting in the breeze
as the flashlight drew closer.
"ghost in the graveyard! ghost in the graveyard!!" i screamed,
running. but the flashlight just seemed to come faster and faster.
i ran for the hole in the fence,
rolling under it as the wires scraped at my arms.
"get back here kid!"
i heard.
it wasn't mike boland,
that was for sure. tommy molloy either.
i made my way to naperville road
at top
top top speed. my lungs huffing.
i ran for coe road,
through the cagan's back yard,
hopping yard toys and bushes
like an antelope running for its life.
i finally made it to my yard,
up the back steps and in through the sliding door to the kitchen.
no one was awake.
and i kept the lights off as i quietly made my way to my room,
looking out the windows to see if anyone had followed me.
my heart was pounding so loudly
i was sure someone could hear it.
i closed my eyes tightly
and slipped in to my bed. my heart was still pounding
and somehow i could still smell that smoke in my nose.
i kept seeing that flashlight coming toward me
in my mind. time seemed to stand still
and i was waiting,
waiting,
waiting...
somehow i feel asleep
and the next morning when the phone rang
i was sure it was the police...or worse.
i listened to my mother answer the phone,
talk a while,
then hang up.
i closed my eyes tight again
as my heart began to pound again.
"breakfast!!!"
i heard her yell.
it was like a weight had been lifted off my chest.
i slowly made my way in to the dining room
where my mother was setting the table.
as i nibbled at my breakfast i decided
that
that was the last time i'd ever play with ghosts again.
real
or imagined. |
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| another stop along the way |
[May. 3rd, 2008|12:53 pm] |
granville stop, red line; chicago
ANOTHER STOP ALONG THE WAY
perhaps
we'll find each other out there. or perhaps
just ourselves.
it's all we can hope for
as we set the alarm clock each night,
waiting upon the next...
++
"Believe those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it."
~Andre Gide
with regards to: ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) kyssme |
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| tron |
[Apr. 30th, 2008|11:31 pm] |
TRON
one of my favorite video games
growing up was this game called TRON. the game,
by today's standards,
was ancient in graphics and theme,
yet at the time,
when i sat down in front of the television to play,
i almost felt as if i'd been sucked in. literally. as if
i'd somehow become a part of the game. or somehow, the game
a part of me.
this may seem a bit strange by today's advanced standards
of video entertainment,
but sometimes when i'm walking through my days,
i swear
i'm back inside my television
fighting for dear life
as the glow of the screen
just leads the way... |
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| life 6.2 |
[Apr. 29th, 2008|11:38 pm] |
deanna; chicago
LIFE 6.2
there is something so terrifying
and so strange
and so lovely,
how life
changes.
things that seem to happen in the blink of an eye
were actually happening long before we realized
we were being pulled in.
just the other day i was running breathlessly. barefoot
under a summer sun. today
i am 7 lifetimes away from the innocence i held in my mind.
kisses, adversity,
and quietness have been the building blocks that
have brought me to today.
they are the same things that carry me to tomorrow.
next week i may be old
and gray. but in the end
it will all have been so strange. so terrifying. and
more lovely than anyone could have ever imagined.
good night. |
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| Bird |
[Apr. 29th, 2008|06:48 pm] |
 © Marni De Ambershay Birds01.27.2008We parried duty like that for so longflying to each other between summers, we were tinder for the frost.Then you made me bird-brained,you posed like a peacock on display for canariesand I was the cuckoo.I parried duty like that for so longsoaring solo then dying winter tide, I was the ballast for the fall.Marni De Ambershay © |
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| Best Friends Forever |
[Apr. 26th, 2008|10:20 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | Home | ] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | accomplished | ] |
(This is my second entry, and it kind of came out of nowhere. I hope you enjoy it! Any constructive criticism is welcome.)
(Taken by friend, edited by me.)
Best Friends Forever
Will I see you as just fragments,
Warped and rippled, hands entwined?
In the chest inside my mind, I hide
Your pictures, your faces, and they
Decay, gain mold, fall flat. Your voices
Echo in the darkness, in the hallowed
Caverns of my memories; different
Words resound, different letters
Burst like bubbles popped by pins.
When I depart, leave for worlds
Beyond imagination, attempt
To take this reality by storm
And shred the ties that hold
Me down, will you remember
Me? Will you see me in pieces,
The girl you somewhat knew?
If I return, and see you again,
Will you be the same? One boy,
Three girls, same hair, same eyes,
Same ways of thinking?
I hope that every facet of your personalities
Grow and mature, bloom and
Transform into lovely shards
Of glowing glass, forming vases,
Pottery of teenage emotion
Once bottled, then removed, then again.
Am I correct? Do not fall apart,
Do not unclasp those hands,
Do not break; do not completely change.
Best friends forever, fragments,
Warped and rippled, hands entwined.
May you never shatter. |
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[Apr. 26th, 2008|04:25 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | artistic | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Radio | ] |
.jpg)
Glassy eyes, tear stained cheeks
Tortured soul but no voice to speak
Bloody, broken hands laid bare
Everyone sees, nobody cares |
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| let's begin |
[Apr. 16th, 2008|10:10 pm] |
clark street at diversey; chicago
LET’S BEGIN
i never solved any problems when i was angry. in fact i never met anyone who ever did. so with that in mind
i offer some free advice as we begin:
when someone tells you “not to worry”, that generally means that THEY are not too worried. but don’t be fooled. worry.
if you love, do it with all you’ve got. but if you don’t have love, don’t bother looking for it. chances are pretty damn good that it’s coming straight at you in the body of someone searching harder than you. patience…
lastly, good to remember that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. this goes for old cars, old dishes, old clothes,
and women. too.
these are things to consider when staring in to the eyes of that character in the mirror every night.
getting it right now and then is a beautiful thing. but getting it wrong adds up too. so keep it up. good or bad. beautiful or bleak.
keep on keepin’ on…no matter
everything you’ve ever done, hoped for, or discarded.
and keep in mind that with all that you are, look around you because
THIS IS IT.
just keep on loving whether you’ve got it or not. |
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[Apr. 15th, 2008|10:55 pm] |
chicago
THESE ARE CITY STORIES
these are city stories.
…and it’s in the chicago morning
that everything gets sorted out best.
although i’ve mostly lived for the nights,
it’s the next day that i love so much.
when you wake up next to someone beautiful
you’ve never known,
the possibilities
are endless… |
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[Apr. 2nd, 2008|05:03 pm] |
marta at home; chicago
43.
the night
is for
forgetting... |
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| trouble in the night |
[Mar. 29th, 2008|05:48 pm] |
hallway to the bedrooms; chicago
TROUBLE IN THE NIGHT
...and i think that finally
when every last mouse has been killed,
every last cat has been fed,
and every last human has been mentally,
orally,
and physically satisfied,
we'll come to realize that it was better to believe in something
that wasn't there
than to hope for fleeting realities that never delivered their promise.
and to this
i wonder what else can be said. because those that know what i mean
already know,
and those that don't
eventually will.
so as i sit here and wait
for all that has happened to me
to happen to you,
i'll take a slow breath,
look out the window
and turn the music up just slightly louder. the next song coming on
is one of my favorites
and it's all i need to help me forget
the things that are always troubling me. |
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[Mar. 22nd, 2008|10:33 pm] |
On my knees
Hands reaching out
My voice is quiet among the crowd
You wouldn’t even know
Couldn’t even tell
But I’m praying to find my own way out
Not looking for salvation
Or my one way ticket to hell
I don’t need a quick fix to get me out of here
All I want is a bit of strength
The rest I want to do on my own
Doesn’t take a lot to feel quite lost
Only takes forever to realize you’ve strayed
Bumps and bruises
Of the non-metaphorical kind
Visible if you take the time to look
I’m standing now, praying for some assistance
I’m here now, hoping someone will listen
I’ve spent too many years hiding
Pretending to be stronger than I am
I’ve been hurting for so long
With no real plan
I keep telling myself to stop
I keep reminding myself of what I’m doing
But I’m too weak to pull out
I’m too broken to save myself
The pain feels better than feeling nothing at all
But you can't just walk away
Once you've kissed the devil
Your lips shall never taste the same
Your mind set will change
And everything in you will slowly decay
But I don’t want to be that person anymore
The one huddled in the corner with the taste of bile in their throat
Never been the religious kind
But all I want is a sign
All I want is a bit of strength to save my soul before it’s too late
So I’m praying
On my hands and on my knees
I’m praying for another chance to keep going
If someone
If anyone is listening to my quiet voice among the screaming crowd
I’m praying for a bit of strength to get myself out
So please
Will you just
Pray for me |
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| Once upon a time |
[Mar. 21st, 2008|11:54 am] |
ONCE UPON A TIME by *liviaa on deviantART
Il était une fois...
Je tourne
La vie m'égale
J'ai dessiné des choses que je n'assumerai pas
Plongé dans le placard
Le tourbillon s'enfuit
Tes yeux
Le miroir
Approchez mes chalants ! Venez sentir ma table et son plateau sucré sur lequel se repose l'attraction ovoïde de tous vos désespoirs!
Car ces rostres qui coulent sont devenus avides
Spiralés ascendants, plus fades et plus sereins que les grands entonnoirs de la divine Guerne. Mirifiques ! Touchez là et savourez. Pesez votre pendant. Ecoutez. Cela couve...
Car ces rostres qui coulent sont devenus avides.
In french sorry... |
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| a secret hollywood cannot grasp |
[Mar. 19th, 2008|12:21 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| | expressive | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | anberlin. | ] |
the crowd politely applauds
the run is finished
the facade broken
return to the call boards
a glance of hope in a sleepless city
for the actress from upstate
replaying the moment when
they're on the edge of their seats
hanging on her every word
laughter, tears, anticipation
an actress who spilled her guts
and left them out there
for sympathy or ridicule
exploring emotions we neglect
a desperate plea for compassion
why does she live like this
waitressing at the corner bar & grill
sleeping in a cracked apartment
not for the audience's applause
or the critic's morning review
but when she glances out to them
sees the story wrapped around
hearts beating, blood flowing,
tears streaming or smiles laughing
the magic of the stage taking hold
a secret hollywood cannot grasp
or tv land reproduce
the raw emotion she displays
and they consume
big city livings not all its cracked up as
but those few hours on the stage
for a dream to big to kill
and a passion to hard suffocate
an actress breathes |
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[Mar. 17th, 2008|05:16 pm] |
First off, please. I beg you please do not steal my photo. It is mine, and mine alone. And yes that picture is of me. Do not believe me go to my journal and look up at my Deviant Art. Thank you.
We can make you weak at the knees,
We can make you feel something you haven’t.
We are here to please,
We are here to make a difference.
We can look in the mirror,
And doubt ourselves.
You can try and convince us,
But we see the ugly one looking back.
We believe in fairytales,
And their endings too.
We can be the most beautiful thing you have ever seen,
We can also fight that.
Our bodies can be compared to many an object,
But to tell you the truth it’s just our body.
We can be magical creatures,
And something to fill your dreams with.
The truth is,
I feel like I have the power.
But you took it all. |
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| "midnight relationship blues" |
[Mar. 17th, 2008|12:20 am] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  gloomy | ] |
I don't need a man to tell me,
what direction we are headed
he just best watch his feet,
so not to bring me down with him
I don't need someone to be wise
Just tell me what you know, and what you don't
I can improvise
It's a shame some of the simplest things
Cause grief beyond all comprehension
I'm tired of feeling dizzy
Cuz the steps to the front feel like I'm back tracking
twisting my ankles to meet,
all directions I've already been in.
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[Mar. 17th, 2008|01:11 am] |
Let Me Out Of This Place by ~theSarahnator on deviantART
An explanation of the picture can be found on my devART. I think you can just click that link to get to it. (The explanation might be helpful to see where I was coming from with the poem and such.)
Let Me Out Of This Place
Let me out of this place
where lovers lie and liars wait
and waiters wish the wishes they are waiting for
could finally come true.
Let me out of this place
where raindrops explode
and explosions are beautiful
and beauty is only skin-deep.
Let me out of this place
where thinkers' thoughts are only of materialistic things
where materialistic is the way to be
and the way to be is something I don't want.
Let me out of this place
where nothing makes sense and everything makes sense
but where everything I want to make sense
doesn't make sense at all.
Let me out of this place
where daisies only bloom in the summer
and the summer only lasts for so long
and so long is just as sad as goodbye. |
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