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Welcome to A Writer's Landscape!

You have entered the realm of my mind where words play with the fabric of our existence. This is the map of my imagination: the very foundations of inspiration, musing, and thought splayed for your wandering eyes. Dive deep into the tides of these forces and experience my reality, my fantasy, my world; and if you should be so inclined, share your words with this land.

Peace and Love!

J Hart F

Friday, July 23, 2010

Obsessive Repressed Love

Determined Resolve Among Rocks

He opened the doors to discover the cafe bustling with loud people. The woman just inside the door noticed Nick's entrance and tried to usher herself a little closer to the counter so he could comfortably stand in line behind her and the myriad of people already waiting. It looked like a long line and as Nick perused the back of each person's head he got a little nervous. All the worrying, doubting, second guessing, and fear he had pushed out of his mind were quickly rushing past his determination. The fifteen minutes out in the parking lot felt like a waste of time.

The resolve he built moments before seemed like a July snow at midday.

As Nick's gaze neared the counter an intensified thumping grew in his chest and it began to hurt like the time his partner had fallen on him at practice. Jerome was there, running back and forth between the bar and the line.

Watching only made things a little worse. Jerome was perfect. Tall, dark, and handsome weren't enough to describe him. Oh no: Nick saw something deeper which made his body tingle. Maybe it was his smile which genuinely pierced through to his heart, or the way he walked with confidence and pride even if he made a mistake. Perhaps it was in his eyes which lit up when he recognized someone, knew who and what they wanted, or spoke with them as if they were his best friend. These reasons weren't what made Nick nervous.

It appeared like this day was one of Jerome's bad days. His lips were tight, his eyes were turned away from most of the customers, his voice sounded strained, and that prideful walk seemed rushed and frantic. Assessing the appearance of the three girls with him, a beautiful blond woman and Jerome's best friend (Nick had realized) on bar and a gorgeous curly haired girl at the register, only reaffirmed that everyone was having a frazzled sort of day. It was oddly busy for an early afternoon.

I can do this tomorrow... Nick thought to himself.

His partner's face popped into his mind's eye: her smile stretched across her dark skin, hair pulled back into a tight bun, tall and skinny legs constructing her body into a relaxed pose. "Come on Nick. You can do this," her voice rang out.

Lowering his eyes from the display of stressed baristas, Nick focused on the distraction in his mind. "But he obviously isn't having a good day. I don't want to... You know, mess up an opportunity," he said to his partner.

Her image changed into her cheerleader's uniform: black tights, a yellow belt, and a red and yellow shirt with the "Sun" logo on the chest. Her smile broadened. "Nick, I'm your rock. You're my mountain. You can do this."

Every time she said this Nick felt a surge of something within him. He always suspected she was in tune with something outside his understanding of the world. She had started saying her little idiom when Nick's fear of lifting her overcame his resolve. She had tried explaining to him once and what Nick understood wasn't much more than the fact that a rock is the base of a mountain, but the strength lies within the immovability of the mountain; therefore a mountain is but the rocks that make it and share in the strength of the combination of the smaller pieces. Thus, she wanted Nick to take her strength and see it in himself. There was something she mentioned about the power of the earth beneath the mountain too, but his mind hurt even after hearing this short explanation.

Nick waited in line behind some twenty or so people. The paper in his hand still felt firm despite the sweat that was now forming. Each step forward made him feel a little more nervous, but he kept telling himself I am my rock. I am my mountain. At one point Nick looked down to make sure he looked at his best. He wore his best tennis shoes that matched his bluejeans in style: rustic and slightly washed. The tight jeans, which he enjoyed because they showed off his muscular legs, ran up past a black belt to his tight black shirt which accented his body perfectly. He couldn't see his face, but he was sure he looked nervous.

"I am my rock. I am my mountain," he whispered to himself as he sighed, eyes closed. When he opened them again, he felt his face relax and smile a little.

Jerome walked to the end of the counter and said, "Hey Nick! I haven't seen you in a while. How are you doing?" His smile was sweet. His eyes had come alive again, but held a sort of curiosity in them. He leaned forward on the counter, hands together, as he waited for Nick's reply. His eyes stared directly at Nick with such intensity it took Nick half a second to realize what was going on. Nick's stomach had decided to go on a roller coaster, empty and hungry as it was, and started feeling like it had jumped out of an airplane.

"Oh. I'm good. I've been really busy and haven't been able to, you know, get in as often. How are you?" he added with enthusiasm.

"I'm doing alright. It's been busy all day. Just nonstop since I got here. Crazy. What are you up to today?" He still hadn't asked for Nick's drink.

Nick's smile was timid. "Nothing really."

"Well hopefully you'll find something interesting to do for me."

Nick could only smile and blush a little. He kept standing tall, kept his relaxed poise as best he could, but he felt his hands shaking slightly.

"Are we getting your white mocha today?"

"Yeah. That sounds great!"

"Hot or cold then?" he asked. Jerome knew Nick well.

"How about cold? It's a nice day after all..."

"You got it! That'll be right up." And Jerome was off with an added skip in his step.

Nick's stomach returned and settled with a heaviness that was just as unsettling as its little adventure. It was only moments before it was startled again.

"Nick!" came a voice from behind him. He turned and saw his partner walking through the door, face bright and mischievous. "Mind if I join you?"

"Dira, what are you doing?"

"I thought I would come and get some coffee. That alright?" She smiled and looked up at him as she joined him in line, bypassing about ten people. Nick noticed her hand was holding something smooth.

"I suppose so."

Jerome was back and noticed Dira. "Hey there. What can I get for you?"

Dira looked at Nick and smiled even broader. "Oh, I don't know. What should I get, Nick?"

Nick blushed and looked at Jerome whose smile was overwhelming. Nick's stomach was gone again. "You know the green tea I order with my white mocha?"

"Oh yeah! Medium half sweetened green tea coming up." Before he left, he looked at Dira and said, "Hi, I'm Jerome."

She giggled slightly. "Oh, I know. I'm Dira. It's a pleasure to meet you finally."

"Dira!" Nick whispered harshly.

Jerome left again, head bowed slightly as if in slight embarrassment for himself. "You're fine, Nick. It looks like you didn't need my help after all."

"I already had plenty of help from you."

"Oh did you?"

"You're my rock. I'm your mountain."

She pushed him slightly. "Ha! That's why I'm here, and I didn't even really want a tea today." She laughed jovially. "Well, if things go south, I'll be here for you too. But I don't think I'll need to worry much." She moved ahead of him. "Here, lets pay!"

"Oh, don't worry about it today, guys. I've got you covered," Jerome said, standing right behind his curly haired coworker. Nick looked at Jerome and caught him wink playfully.

"Thanks..." Nick didn't know what to say.

Dira stood on her tiptoes and whispered, "Not yet... come on."

Moving off to the side, Nick watched with his peripheral vision as Jerome moved onto the bar to prepare drinks. The tall blond girl  moved off to get everyone's orders. Nick stood off to the side as he waited for the people ahead to get there drinks so he could make his move. His hands were shaking harder now.

Three drinks were handed off and finally Nick felt confident enough to step forward.

"Hey, Jerome. I, uh, wanted to give you this."

Jerome looked over and smiled. "What is it?" he said with feigned curiosity.

"My number. I was hoping you would be interested in dinner or something... sometime...?"

Jerome's friend nudged him slightly closer. Nick saw her smile as she kept her eyes down. "Well... I'm due to get off here in fifteen... Would you like to go get a small bite now?" His eyes were bright and happy.

"Yeah! That would be great."

Jerome let that hang in the air for a minute, smiling as he finished the white mocha. "Here you go," he said as he handed off the drink, winking in the process. "I'll be out in a minute then."

The coworker handed off a green tea to Dira, who grabbed both it and Nick and moved off to a chair to sit in. After they were seated and she had taken her first sip, Dira said casually, "The energies have granted fortitude in moments earth-shattering and sublime. You two are meant to be together, here and now you know."

"How do you know that?" Nick asked, finally distracted from Jerome.

Dira simply smiled, her eyes hidden and distant. The smooth object was nowhere to be seen. Nick could only smile at her, the thought of being around Jerome flooding his senses once more.

An Unanswerable Question Realized

When does life happen? Seems like a silly question to me, but it's one that plagues my boredom with incessant doubts that retail exists outside life. Maybe it's the persistence of emptiness from minute to minute which shelters the sight into prescribed experiences: I know I'm alive, I breathe, hear and see, I speak to customers with as much enthusiasm and care as my own friends, and I move about in search for something to do.

Unconditionally, however, this is not where life happens for me because I merely use the solitary moments for remembering, predicting, and planning activities beyond the parameters of work. Furthermore, when I'm away from work it's the last thing to come into memory as significant to who I am. If I think objectively, perhaps this is true of every event in life: the memory is present only when accessed from the intricate and complicated synapses in our brains; and if this is accurate then any moment can be integral to life. Why not then make every moment part of the answer?

The answer seems simple enough. I don't want my life defined by current environments because this influence forces life to occur in a field, currently, encouraging humanity to sidestep the important meanings of life. It deters and detracts what I know to be true and substantial. Materialism, though once a heavy influence in my desires, is seen as a black hole sucking reality from moments and replacing it with an indistinguishable fantasy of pleasure and success. If these are what are sought as benchmarks for life happening, then my pleasures and successes are measured by my achievements, my loves, my spirituality, and ultimately my happiness, not by what I own and call my own. Yes, it's true I'll call these 'things' my own, but they are intangible and unable to be stolen.

So then life must happen in memories; and therefore in moments willing to be committed to memory? I believe this only happens when I'm working with my pleasures and successes, therefore not by simply breathing, hearing, speaking, seeing, moving, etc. On a side note, this may be why I have such a hard time remembering new people's names: they haven't been placed into an aforementioned category of important life benchmarks. Do I want every moment to be a part of when life happens? No, not necessarily. This is a choice I willingly make, I suppose, and therefore affect the course which my life will inevitably go.

I acknowledge each moment is inherently beautiful and holds its own special lessons. I also acknowledge foregoing the constant adherence to accepting every moment as life might miss certain lessons. However, I adamantly believe that lessons presented for me will make themselves known for assimilation. My last acknowledgment I care to make at this time is that I am alive, here and now, and this truth does not mean every instance is permanent in the structure of my life happening. Work in the retail industry is not my life because it's not what I've come here to do. It is but a stepping stone whose lesson was learned years ago.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

The Day of Broken

Jeffrey Cernunn Godfrey awoke with glistening dancing rainbows in his eyes. He let them play across his face as only one who truly appreciated their magnificent essence would; for these rainbows only happened twice a year: once on the longest day and once on the shortest. Jeffrey had planned this intricacy when he was much younger and recently accomplished the effect with his alter to Cernunnos upon the windowpane facing the east. As the sun rose, its light broke apart into a myriad of rainbows all across Jeffrey's bedroom just as he predicted.

No yawn shattered the sleepy lips because a smile so broad hastened itself before the God.

Jeffrey jumped out of bed, landing perfectly on his feet upon the carpeted old floor which creaked under the new found weight. The resounding elation was infectious and seemed to shake off the night from Jeffrey's room as the light spilled above the alter. Of course, Jeffrey couldn't take his eyes off his little experiment's success. Last year rain fell so harshly several branches from the tree outside had snapped clear off in the early hours, though perhaps the breaking limps were due to the outlandish winds that ripped across the plains. This year was different, and for the first time Jeffrey was able to appreciate such long scheming to fill his room with beauty.

He quickly got ready for work. Something told him, whispering so carefully, that he alone would change many people's lives that day. He couldn't wait and was especially excited to listen to his loud music during the forty-five minute drive southward. Popping in one particular CD whose message sang of devoted love strengthening the will to search for new and intriguing levels of relations, Jeffrey turned the volume nob till the digital display read "31". This was certainly loud enough to permit passersby to overhear the jubilant lyrics and the ringing intonations of soft percussion with contemporary harmonies. Jeffrey sang at the top of his lungs with the windows down and the air rushing in as he drove.

People stared and could not help but smile at the ecstatic enthusiasm of a young man boisterously living uninhibitedly. Their torturous drive and broken apart into moments of diverse life, and most of the onlookers began searching for others who might be sharing such joyous occasion to sing without regard to judgment from fellow travelers.

Once he arrived at work, Jeffrey immediately continued his tour of music with his trusty iPod which he rarely took with him for fear of its loss. However, today was no ordinary day and trust was overwhelmingly abundant in foresight. Going about his tasks revealed a broken door on a very important freezer: somehow moisture was gathering along the edges and pooling on the floor, whereby the floor polish discolored under the constant supervision of liquid. Upset would have been Jeffrey's first reaction to such a worrisome event, but he knew nothing was truly damaged: the temperature still read "-14.7" in Fahrenheit, the door was closed properly, the floor could be resurfaced with a new layer of wax, and someone somewhere would be able to dispatch individuals to assist in the mending of this object.

Thus Jeffrey made two important phone calls to two important people whose influence would hasten the repairs.

By lunchtime, Jeffrey's day was going handsomely: sales were flowing as they should, people were smiling at Jeffrey's conversations, the skies were full of sunshine, and someone had arrived to look at the freezer door already. Jeffrey decided to depart for a quick bite to eat a local convenience food supplier.
What greeted him, if greeting it could be called, was a woman whose smile was strained to say the least. Even hopeful glances to a clock somewhere in the distance of her imagination couldn't turn the corners of her lips anyway but downward. Unfortunate as this was, Jeffrey decided to grant her all the gracious appreciation for her hard days work in the minute his interaction would accrue.

And by the end of that minute, a genuine smile crested her tired face and a little laugh beckoned forth.

Jubilant success made the mediocre meal taste like a grand steak brazen with gentle herbs and a side of garlic mashed potatoes, perhaps with a pint of dark ale cold as winter. Those thirty minutes passed with rejuvenating forces only the sun could give to those whom suffered from eyes drooped under days of restlessness. Jeffrey's smile reflected the joy hidden deep in people's hearts as they entered his store, and they couldn't help but return the favor. On one occasion, a woman accidentally nudged a jar off a table, whereupon it shattered against the concrete floor and oozed thick, sticky, gelatinous relish in a nice and elegant puddle. Her response was frightful and on the verge of hysterics. At this point, Jeffrey couldn't be deterred by a spill of any proportion, less it drown, and he quickly put the woman at ease. She couldn't bare but leave without praise for such a generous and happy boy (but let none know how much she actually spent with much generosity of her own, even though all her intentions were to never spend a single dime in Jeffrey's store at any time whatsoever for any reason whatsoever).

Such delivering near the end of his long hours would never be diminished even by a friendly delivery man who always seemed obnoxiously cheerful even at the hardest of times. On this particular day, he resembled much the same face as the aforementioned food service representative. This gentleman's immediate response to a welcoming "Hello! How are you doing on this wondrous day?" was to instantaneously donate his tragedy by declaring a distinct loss of catalyst which therefore encouraged the distinct disposition of anti-desire. That is, his motivation had broken somewhere along the freeway between songs of love and songs of death on the radio.

Quickly, the man left without another word, head dropped and heart desiring his wife whom had left the previous night. No smile, nor enlightened words, would sink into that broken and shattered membrane to bring a different mood which normally visited anyone who cared to listen.

Jeffrey faltered in his smile, and his eyes reached out with mournful shifts hoping to encounter one more soul to affect before he fell to such desolate predilection of life.

However, his bell had rung and the sun sat hotly over the western mountains. The drive home was filled with heartfelt worries for someone he knew for moments each day but never encountered outside a prescribed environment developed for the consumption of reckless miniature endorphin dumps granted through the exchange of monetary value for stuff. Even the blithe music, still louder than necessary, took on a tenuous tone, revealing subtle hints of dangerous discourse between quarreling lovers and the desire to escape.

As the sun set on the longest day of the year, Jeffrey watched from his backyard while listening to the gentle humming of bugs hidden among the bushes and flowers displaying their delicate colors for nature's purposes. He thought, long at hard about his day until the light permitted no view but the presence just before him. Clouds rolled in and sparks of light trusted themselves landward, rolling deeply resonating notes in Jeffrey's chest. He smiled to feel the intense vibrations in which few relished.

His broken mood returned for that instant, in an appreciation for something natural, without reason, and in solitary beautiful.

The night whispered to Jeffrey of the man's dangerous plight. It spoke of resolution and strength which time would heal, and one day his heart would feel the voice of nature again, see the smiles inherent to its faces, and know that even darkness has its treasures.

The next day a hard rain fell giving way to new seeds forgotten in the ground.

History Scorning Contemporary Love

The simple roads within the
ungrateful for the rains
thunder down upon dry
Spare no seed to apart
the rocky ways before
while searching in lover's
of forests treasured in
halls belying truthful
Hidden back amongst the
is love damaged by the
wherein beauty betrayed
reproachfully candor
From moment set along
only seen by those without,
becomes the idol sought
all else that hearts may love.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Obsessively Repressing Love

Oceans Within

Eva beckoned to the bird shyly: "Come here. I'm not going to hurt you."

To her relief it didn't take flight, but it moved no closer. Its dark eyes contrasted beautifully with its white body and yellow beak. Cautiously, the bird regarded Eva, cocking its head this way and that. She felt it assessing her on quiet levels unknown to most of the human spirit, but she felt that judgment move over her posture and tone.

"It's ok. Shh-shh-shh-" she whispered

And the bird took flight. It flew directly towards the quarter moon hanging over the horizon.

Eva sighed. "Oh well." Turning back to the waves crashing upon the beach Eva waited, like she always did; but this time she waited for a different reason all together. She waited for something she didn't want, something more fearsome than the pain she felt.

A large wave crashed against the outlying rocks, filling the air with white droplets which were immediately carried into the wind. Eva watched, content at being alone, locked away from the world on a secluded beach.

The secluded beach she had brought Nikkie to back when Nikkie was hers. When Nikkie was herself. Eva didn't know when that had officially changed, but the change was thorough and deep. It hurt more than Eva was willing to admit, and therefore shoved those emotions away without a second thought. She secluded herself, much as the beach before her. The sand rumbled with the crash of a new wave.

Blue skies stretched out as the noonday sun shown down upon the scene: Eva with her long dark hair flowing in seductive curls and lilting on the sea breeze, golden brown sand under her feet glinting in the rays of light, and a figure strolling down the rocky path which broke the existence of the haven away from the rest of the world. The sound of flip-flops against the stones alerted Eva to someone's approach and she turned to see who it was.

And froze.

Shock was overcome by anger and the sudden urge to well up with tears. Her face felt hotter than normal, her shoulders tensed and started to climb up towards her ears, and her legs started shivering with the distinct desire to run. Taking a deep breath, she calmed herself down and looked back to the ocean. It seemed to have calmed as well, smoothing over its surface to provide a view of gentle rolling waves with small crashes against anything. Likewise, the breeze stopped.

Nikkie sat down next to Eva, the smell of her perfume, sweet and innocent, lifted off her bare shoulders to Eva's nose. As soon as she smelled it, she couldn't help but saying, "I don't want to talk to you."

"I know."

They sat there quietly, the distance between them visually inaccurate. Both minds were out over the ocean on different islands: Eva's a fortified barracks ready to lay siege to any culprit landing on its shores, Nikkie's an inviting wasteland where she stood solely under a large tree. The subsequent ocean between them rolled with icy vehemence. Some minutes passed before Nikkie turned her body toward Eva to break the silence.

"Listen... What happened --"

"I don't want to talk to you."

"I know that. But I have to..." Nikkie choked on her words. "I have to explain. Because I can't close my eyes. I can't stomach the nutrients of life. Because I'm empty now, and I don't understand."

Eva kept her gaze over the peaceful ocean. "That doesn't change anything." Her own stomach felt ready to empty itself.

A breeze picked up from behind them, blowing Eva's long hair around her face and thus forcing her to push the tendrils out of her eyes. At the same moment her hands touched her hair, a large wave crashed against the rocks and rolled over the sands. Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned to look at Nikkie.

Nikkie's red rimmed eyes were dark around the edges. Her short blond hair was disheveled and her makeup hadn't been applied in days it appeared. Her skin was especially pale and reflected a lot of the sunshine. She was still beautiful and it pained Eva to even look at her.

"Will you let me--?" Nikkie left the end of the phrase upon her chapped lips.

Looking back to the ocean Eva waited. "Fine..."

The feeling of gratitude and relief spread over the beach. Several gulls called from the sky as they flew overhead. A cloud started to coalesce over the shore, moving eastward towards the mountains beyond the city. An electricity filled the air and Eva became overly in tune with her surroundings. This feeling surged through her like a tidal force pulling towards the moon just setting on the horizon to the west.

"I give myself no excuses for what I did. That's selfish of me and I know it doesn't solve anything." Her voice was strained. "I'm truly sorry."

Eva said nothing.

"You can't trust me, I know that. I'm not entirely sure I can trust myself, given my track record..."

"This has happened before?" Eva asked under her breath. Her feelings amounted to a crashing point and her tears fell to the rock on which she sat.

Nikkie nodded, taking her eyes off Eva to keep her strength as she continued to talk. "You were the previous time... and before that, it happened once."


"Yeah... At the party back in February." She sighed. "I want to explain everything to you, but I don't know if I can honestly divulge what's in my soul."

The soft hiss of the ocean silenced Eva.

"But that's what I came here to do. So I must...

"You see, I've always had a different understanding of love and commitment than modern society has prescribed to us." She corrected herself quickly, before Eva could comment. "Well... not us in our relationship... but us as a society." She breathed out heavily. "I see moments as lifetimes, you know that. And the moment with her was a lifetime of experienced for one night and it felt right and placed before me as a lesson to learn. I never foresaw it destroying us."

"It did," whispered Eva.

"I know, and I'm sorry." Nikkie looked up at Eva and begged, in her soul, for Eva to look at her. The overpowering energy pulled Eva's face and eyes to Nikkie's. The lapping of the ocean cooled the air slightly as a breeze drifted up the shore. "I love you. I know you still love me, but I know I've hurt you too much to be with me anymore."

Eva looked into her eyes, still crying and finding it harder to breath.

"I'm not here to convince you of anything. I'm not trying to have you understand my perspective to life experiences... I just wanted to explain myself a little better and hope you might forgive me now so you won't be hurt for very long. I want you to be able to move on with your life and find love, knowing that I'm an anomaly when it comes to contemporary relationships."

Eva's throat closed a little. Her breathing began to stop for seconds on end as the silence continued. Finally, the breaking point was reached and she could not longer hold back the downward pull of gravity and necessity. "You betrayed everything about what I expect from relationships. You knew what I wanted in a relationship, and you neglected that because you have your own view of life?!?! What kind of person does that. We were only together for eight months, but I loved you... And yes, I can't deny that I still love you, but it HURTS too much! It hurts..." She couldn't speak for a second.

The ocean pulled at Eva and she turned her head and saw the beautiful reflection of the sun dancing on the crests of the waves slowly washing ashore. It was peaceful and fulfilling. She couldn't deny the beauty of this place, or the logic behind Nikkie's open words. "I forgive you." The tears fell harder, but they were relieving tears that felt cool and light. "Only because we don't see things the same way... and because I love you." Eva dropped her head.

"I'm sorry I did this to you, Eva."

"Thank you."

Nikkie stood up and wiped her eyes dry. Lingering for just a moment, her shadow suddenly moved off back toward the trail that led down to the private beach few knew about. Eva sat there, keeping to herself as Nikkie walked away. Her heart still hurt, but the waves of sorrow were abating as the moon drifted below the horizon.


Like fuzz on nerves numbing everyday experiences to a lack-less appreciation for the extravagance of miracles performed daily. In itself, magic occurs without regard! For the senses to be outrageously disregarded because repetition condenses in specific locals the mind seems to judge occurrences as necessary or meaningless, to place a value on each decision, and to tell itself to stop counting the passing moments with the reasoning efficiency is lost with extra effort. Therefore time persists in a doubtful existence somewhere between the subconscious and reality. The social understanding of Monotony is tragic. Lessons of great importance live deep in the continuity of Monotony: how life is lived, how the soul survives, the misunderstood perception of time, why fantasy and reality pertain to an interrelatedness lost to the desire of foundations to which we cannot hold, when and where we relate to individuals, and how we can stop ourselves, amongst other vital lessons.

Monotony is monotonous to say which therefore brings speculation upon the word itself. The M starts it off on a lingering note, resonating like the Om of life: it fills the mouth, vibrates against the lips ever so slightly, leaves the eardrums humming for that split second afterward. It opens only because the pressure builds to an unbearable awning maw filling the air with awe in a quick reflection outward of the reverberating existence of the M. Precious O, the mirror of the world living as an eye to see the whole of the word through. Your repetition makes Monotony wondrously omniscient through its time. The N is but a progressive step, or hindrance, to the next O; however like a change short lived during the similarities of moments written off as unnecessary. Swirling in the dull opening of the illusion seen before brings time to a ticking T traversed just as quickly, barely touched in hopes the break means the short lived timelessness will end. This T is a crossroads for the mind to choose, and is often overlooked out of boredom. Onwards the rolling ominously goes. By this point, another O seems welcome as friendly despite all the cause to regret its prevalence. Perhaps the third eye existing holds all energy balled within the voided center rounded gently with an infinite number of sides. It looks out across the open space between neglected moments and sees more than its fair share of the missing revelations. Thus, the one moves on still to the N, not understanding that it is different than the one preceding it. They all begin to look the same, just as similar as the general life of one going through Monotony without realizing the importance of such experiences. All the O's know of this tragedy, and thus explode into the Y, hanging by itself at the end of the word, throwing the observer back to the beginning without a second thought, though its intent is simply to encourage the observer to actual live in the moment and not let it pass, much like seeing the whole of the word Monotony.

Only after looking into the hours, minutes, seconds, and instances of the disregarded affair will anything change and become a better part of life. As depicted, change benefits an individual for looking at the little times which seem insignificant but hold so much more than previously believed. Lessons can't be lost. It's irresponsible. Monotony, chosen over the myriad of other experiences, is detestable and should never be accepted as a state of being.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

A Dedication

She once told me of the world. I forgot. The challenges presented closed my mind and heart to teh beauty of life, however appreciative my eyes are, they won't allow emotions to enjoy. I have to hear Her voice again, to feel Her presence penetrating my essence, to accept my changes in time and move forward without reserve. Strength is a lesson learned over the years; a lesson both wondrous and frightful, though I know not why. Certainly some part of Her lodges in the acquired fortitude and drives decisions daily. I am at peace with this.

If only this peace were serenity through and through. Calming distillation surfacing what Her words once showed me of this experience in this time; yet they lock a force they once used to infiltrate my soul. It must be a test to ensure I will not stray from the love of Her touch that She shares with all. Thus, I give of my life to Her, dedicating my abilities, movements, thoughts, and teachings to the ages' transformational society.

As I declare, so shall She accept. I feel it thoroughly, and know it as truth. So mote it be.

"The Zahir" by Paulo Coelho

Profound! Perhaps strangely so because this isn't the kind of novel I usually pick up and I struggled through the book until I read the last quarter. Honestly though, The Zahir touched on so many levels of life which certainly allowed individuals of many different paths to relate this this book. The first three quarters presented so many things easily equated with my life, which is why I struggled so much. However, in the end I felt as rewarded as when I read The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho.

The aspect of a zahir took half the novel to understand. The additive portion of the title ("A Novel of Obsession") helps comprehend what a zahir is: obsession; but the mere acceptance of a zahir as obsession isn't nearly accurate enough. For instance, I am obsessed with beauty (it's true): the beauty of people physically, mentally and spiritually, the beauty of art, the beauty of emotion, the beauty of nature both sublime and serene, etc. Obsessed is certainly the proper word to describe this aspect, but i would never call it my zahir. A zahir is an overwhelming obsession that controlls every aspect of one's life: thought, actions, reasons, etc. According to Coelho in his talk about The Zahir he cites Jorge Luis Borges on the aspect of what a zahir is and says "the idea of the Zahir comes from the Islamic tradition and probably arose in the eighteenth century. In Arabic zahir means 'visible; present; incapable of going unnoticed.'"

In The Zahir the narrator, who is left unnamed until the very end and then only takes the name Nobody, discovers that his wife has left him without reason. His wife was his rock, his strength, his everything it seems because she helped get him into writing and forced him to overcome himself in the writing process. In a sense, the narrator depended on her as much as he depended on his own inspiration. When he lost her, he lost himself and became obsessed with finding her, knowing why she left, who she left with, what she's doing, etc. But the more thought about her and the more he continued on his own journey the more the narrator realizes he is truly obsessed with his history. Thus, one of the central lessons is revealed.

One characteristic of this novel that I LOVED is the allusions to Coelho's own works! He references The Alchemist, Brida, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept, and Warrior of the Light, if not others amongst those. I haven't read his entire work yet, but this book seems to have used all the lessons of his others to put together a wondrous novel about obsession. About the zahirs in life.

As I read through this book, I realized several things about myself. One of which is my obsession with writing and reading and experiencing life in the various different ways reading and writing provide. I also realize that I'm not obsessed with my history. One of the things this book tells the reader is to let go of the past because we can't let it determine who we will become. It may have made who we are, but we can't let that destroy our aspirations, intentions, etc. However, it also helped me understand where my zahirs exist, and which one has most recently destroyed myself: work. My previous job, the one I just got out of, was overwhelmingly overtaking my life in every aspect and I couldn't shake it (except for getting away, I had no other release from this zahir). Finishing this book now helped me release this history, this experience, and those troubles so I can move forward. All in all, this may have been the reason I haven't been writing as much recently.

To wrap things up, I would say everyone should read The Zahir at some point in life, especially if you happen to be going through a time in life you feel is overwhelming and controlling. This novel of obsession will certainly help reawaken yourself. However, I recommend reading Coelho's other novels before picking this one up. It will help understand to a larger degree the allusions and meanings of The Zahir. It's a wonderful book!

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Love of Greenery

See your love,
glitters in the eye of diamond's
running the streams of
desert life
rainless, cloudless,
sunless skies.

The green of love
breaks the skin, molten hot
with drool of greed.
You say you love
and love you shall
the needless

Harken now;
judge not the ones who
care not
for the pits your life feels
only fills with your love.
We care not
for that
but true love singing
in the breeze of hearts
whispering to one another.
Not inanimately.


locked to misfortune
like a slave on Colfax
selling needless tastes of
fornication in the confines of social norms:
the mecca of cheap labor forcing
love upon materials, uncaring,

watching for an instant in
selfish moves past the door
opened wide to my soul
yet none dare enter for fear
of perils sinking in pockets
eager to empty at my wiles.

they believe it's dangerous
they see their own desire
they doubt the strength of mind
they say goodbye sweet appetite
look away

they don't understand their eyes
full of pride enveloped by
hatred toward the Company
of laborers working to free themselves
from slavery indebted to life.

Indicate Me

Indicate Me
one, individual, same
Selfish for my own
caring for my right
loses time because I allow.

Indicate Me
author, witch, gay
teaching the world through this
hoping change flows from me
losing time in impossible heaps.

Indicate Me
appreciative, symbolic, joyful
believing in more
simple touch on windblown leaves
falling in a world deeper than oceans.

A Break Apart

Subtle, soft deceit of trust belonging to love:
Convincing arrows dart from words
trail the gaze-less eyes before the sting
Fight heartfelt prose dedicated to truth.

Decidedly done? Tragic ways within reasons
only spoken subtly, softly in honesty,
yet holding behind walls fortified by fantasy
To know doubtfully leaves behind no strength.

Virtuous sun is shattered in raindrops,
spilling painful emotions arcing across the sky.
He won't belong, won't adhere; and breaks
Apart from adoration in admiring lies.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Obsessively Repressed Love

The Fire Whisperer

"What are you doing?" the young girl's voice innocently asked.

Darrick stopped blowing on the red-hot coals below the fresh log of wood he just placed there. Turning to look to see which of the two young blond girls had approached, he answered, "I'm blowing on the fire so it will be bigger."

"Oh yeah, cause fire feeds on oxygen," Susy stated with pride. "I learned about that in school."

His face pulled up in a smile. "That's right! And if you put a new piece of wood on the fire, blowing on it can help it ignite."

She turned and ran away, giggling to her older sister. Darrick watched her with a mixture of amazement and pride. Normally, Susy wouldn't dare talk to him. Her mom had often attributed this irrational fear to a simple crush Susy had on Darrick, as well as any other older man besides her father.

At that moment, Mat walked into the backyard. Darrick looked into the fire: his face felt hot, and not from the heat of the coals, his stomach churned irritatedly, and his heart began to race. Annoyance, jealousy, and embarrassment flooded his body.

"Mat! You made it!"

"Oh my God! Mat, where have you been all my life?!"

The drunk slurs blurred out Mat's responses. Meanwhile, Darrick made as little a spectacle as possible as he grabbed the trowel Carol, Susy's mom, used as a fire poker. The act of working with an outdoor fire, drink in hand as the world became happier by the second, was entrancing and magical for Darrick. He waited impatiently for the log to properly catch fire so he could have the moment he strove for.

Slowly, the party's shock at Mat's presence subsided. The sudden quiet that followed told Darrick exactly what was going on, even without looking. His face turned a deeper shade of red as his heartbeat crept into his ears. What do they think they're going to accomplish? he asked himself, hoping his thoughts would somehow transmit to their inebriated consciousnesses. It didn't help he was feeling the affects of his alcohol too: Ouzo and Coke. I'm going to need more if I have to deal with this too, he thought as he looked down into his cup, still gently prodding the fire.

The sound of footsteps coming closer reverberated in Darrick's head. The wait felt like an eternity, and he didn't look up for confirmation. The quiet was enough.

A pop echoed out of the fire-pit.

The beautiful eastern-European accent lilted over world and pierced straight to Darrick's chest. "Hello Darrick. Have you been well?"

He felt dumb. Breath would not return to his chest and his legs felt too weak to stand up. Somehow, he managed to hold onto his drink and the trowel. Slowly, like a newly born butterfly drying its wings, Darrick turned his head to look up at Mat in feigned confusion. "Oh! Mat! Hey, how's it going?" Magically, his legs helped him to stand.

"Oh, I am alright. Thanks." His eyes weren't focused, as if he were trying to manifest the proper responses. "And you?"

Darrick's lungs were working again, albeit staggeringly. He allowed himself a moment of quiet while he looked at Mat's perfect face: sharp cheekbones, thin eyebrows, blond-wavy hair down to his chin and tucked behind his ears, skinny nose, dark blue eyes, and a mole right next to his let ear. His thin lips were relaxed in a nervous smile that showed his discomfort more than his posture. "I'm alright... Heh, a little tipsy, but I'm pretty good." Darrick looked away as Mat tried to make eye contact.

"That is good."

Silence. Deafening, stabbing, electrified silence.

Darrick couldn't take it any longer. "How was your trip?" He still didn't make look at him, pretending to watch the three kids running into the darkened back yard away from the fire-pit.

"It was quite enjoyable. My family is doing well. They wish for me to return home soon, but I told them I couldn't leave America yet." Something about Mat's accented tone drew Darrick's gaze to his eyes. His last words stimulated a racing heartbeat again.

The fire popped again. Darrick looked at the withering coals and noticed the underbelly of the new log was charred slightly. It was almost ready to burn wildly with a little coaxing. As he knelt down, he called over his shoulder, "For school still?"

"That is part of it, yes."

Taking a deep breath in, he tried to stabilize his hopes and fears. Blowing a hard breath out, he lifted the log with the trowel and watched a flame take root. It spread quicker than he thought it should, enveloping the log where it spawned and flaring up in a quick burst. Darrick placed the log at a slant so air could still circulate underneath.

Something changed in that instant that he put the trowel down, and Darrick knew the feeling well. He looked up at Mat to see his face frozen as he watched Darrick working at the fire. Swinging his gaze out across the party, everyone stood; laughing, drinking, or walking to the liquor table for more 'refreshments'. Everyone frozen in a moment of life. All sound had ceased, except for the fire popping and sizzling as air and water flickered in and out of existence in its heat.

"You are quite brave to summon me here and now. And you're not even sure if any of these others are like yourself."

Darrick looked back into the flame to see a salamander standing in the flames, starring straight into Darrick's eyes. "I figured I'd be alright."

"But you are not."

Darrick didn't answer.

"You knew this would happen tonight, didn't you. That's why the summoning was started well before this moment."

"I was afraid I wouldn't be able to handle Mat being here." Darrick looked down at his hand with the Ouzo and Coke in it. "I wanted your help... guidance."

The salamander was silent for a moment. "On what do you wish me to advise?"

Sighing heavily, Darrick began tentatively, "He knows. I hate that he knows, yet I can't ask him of his own feelings. Well... I can, but I don't know if I should."

The laugh sizzled in the air and the fire intensified. "My advise will not assist more than simple words in this case. I cannot stay long, so this is what I'll say:

"Gentle breezes tell only what the air can say. The rains which drop in sorrow benefit only the ground. Earth slowly beckons in rumbling churns under our feet. The passion of the heart flares when it is right. Yet the spirit of life, in its purest form, speaks to us all and tell us the path to follow. You have the path now, here, with your elements surrounding your soul.

"Now go... Time is passing and I must retreat to its whims."

A louder pop reverberated off the house. "That was amazing!" Mat said.

"Huh?" Darrick looked up at him, honestly bewildered.

"The fire. You made it... explode? That's not right... You made it get big quickly!"

"Oh, yeah." He laughed softly with honest amusement. "It's a gift, I suppose."

Mat knelt down beside him and looked into the flames. "My family would call you a muž který šeptá do ohně."

Looking over at Mat, Darrick melted inside. "Err... what?"

"Oh, sorry... I mean to say... a fire whisperer, I think is how you would say it."

Darrick smiled openly. The thought that Mat might actually know a little something more about Darrick brought warmth to his chest. They both relaxed a little next to the fire. Darrick rocked back on his heals and Mat sat down and crossed his legs. Heat and light poured out of the pit.

A daring fortitude overcame Darrick. "So, what are the other reasons why you don't want to leave America yet?"

Mat looked up into the clear sky. The stars had appeared a while before, but Darrick hadn't noticed them until that moment. Sparkling in the dark blue, he felt them shining upon them with audacious clarity. A breeze flowed through the treetops, whispering as the leaves brushed against each other. Darrick heard them and felt comfort in its poetry.

Hesitating, Mat said, "You..."

The world shifted as tears welled in Darrick's eyes. His heart pounded with renewed force. He couldn't breathe and his smile was tremulous. As his first tear fell, Darrick moved to wipe it away before anyone could notice.

"Did I upset you? What's wrong?" Mat leaned forward aggressively, a hand uncertainly stretched out towards Darrick's leg.

Darrick shook his head without speaking. His smile became stronger and he looked into Mat's eyes. They were wide and intense, his irises open with inquisitive awe. "Noth-nothing's wrong." Again he shook his head and looked beyond Mat to see Carol exuding a smile of satisfaction. She nodded once and walked inside after the others. The childrens' laughter in the yard intensified for a moment as they played hide and seek.

Mat continued with great care. "I realized while I was home that I have great feelings for you." He stopped and waited to see what Darrick would do. He merely looked down at his hand for a second and back into Mat's eyes. "I couldn't admit it before I left, and I'm sorry about it. Forgive me?"

Darrick, whose smile had yet to leave his face while tears began streaming down his cheeks, nodded with enthusiasm. "Of course! I... I just... I was so confused."

"It is my fault. I never knew this before... No one told me it would be like this. I was afraid." Mat's voice was trembling as he spoke. His eyes had dropped in a disconcerting manner which pulled at Darrick's heart again.

"Can w--"

"Let me finish. I must say this now." He inhaled deeply and brought his eyes level with Darrick's. His face was set with determination and a smile which sent tingles through Darrick's body. And then he said it, with the most passion and adoration ever heard. "Darrick. I love you."

The world melted away.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Surfacing Depression

Everything about me is black.
My hair, my clothes,
my heart, mind, and smile.
Darkened in luminescent voids
of brightness
painfully invading the
cavity in my chest.

Thanks for asking; the stab
burrows further
for I know not why.

Gentle coercing smiles
berate sorrowfully,
obsessively pulling away covers
comforting the will
of serenity and joy.

The tale wraps endlessly
through the pages
on and on;
occasional spells casting shadows
upon the soul
till something sparks
in the voids altering inabilities
transferring the realm of darkness
to sunlit vales.
But for now, in moments traceable
only in time,
I struggle against the


Cathartic Explosions Decimate
my motions,
emitting further
experiences without necessities
guarding every
aspect of the movement.

Release Is Wondrous
as words
from mind
to yours.

Welcome The Renewed and
accompanying happiness.

Controlling Time Controlling You

The cage enslaving thought trembles through the tumultuously tailored time enveloping careless torturers. Seemingly simple behaviors create doubt where existence depends solely on an experience of movement without stagnation impeding delicate footsteps. This doubt dances in the wild fires of pain as life continues balancing factual interpretations of the reality of fantasy and the fiction of reality. Time is thus created through both; existing of its own accord unfathomable in memory and untouchable by the mind supplicating immediacy with otherness. Tragic declarations of boredom exacerbate the subtlety in its passage; however, seconds exist in their describably ticking way, ceaselessly behind the clear visage of the world. Turning and turning, weaving through the indigenous faculties humanity implemented the fourth dimension upon, ever on and on. As life remains in existence, so too do invisible creations birthed beyond comprehension from a solid foundation permanently fixed in realms pulsing between the folds of thought. What to do remains intertwined with endless possibilities challenging the force of gravity in the unobstructed plain of emptiness where inspiration, change, and chaos exist. Time flies where clocks are meaningless.