I cry
A death perhaps succumbs to joy
but never has it been
without teaming
unlight stolen from here,
a now unto
what seems so distant -- near
a heart whose beat
challenges
rythm
of a broken excerpt
worded justly to bring the unwelcome.
He walks there, seen not heard nor known
of course
what care gave him
he took in soothe, seething
in some semblance of arrogant smirkings.
I cry for a loss untinteded
there:
a construct of balance
between the here
[and now]
and what was back then: veiled untruth.
I walk a line he won't touch. I spoke... write.
When deafening drums kill his doldrum -- love.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
It Is, In Its Not.
It's not a condition we readily accept or acknowledge, but it creeps, it crawls, it draws the hairs upward as we restlessly find ourselves waiting for that nothingness to occur with frivolous exaggeration.
It's not a disease, though we are often put out of ease once the realization infringes the reality that it has suffused itself upon; blankets would be comfortable had they not been worn thin from the tossing, turning, ticking moments as they travel through the oppressive void entrapping time.
It's not death, even with the stiffness of catalyst-like lackings looming without the threats of circumstances venting of the inexactitude of existing in the pure absence of action: dust settling at increasingly slow speeds, ribbons dance in the subtle breeze falling from air vents in cold wafts like the fingers of the crow, heat ensared by the candle's jar won't emanate into the room as the flame dances no more than two centimeters in all directions from its perfectly statuesque spear-like body; eternal slumber would be but little different to its truth, save the general death of not living.
It is, in its not.
It's not a disease, though we are often put out of ease once the realization infringes the reality that it has suffused itself upon; blankets would be comfortable had they not been worn thin from the tossing, turning, ticking moments as they travel through the oppressive void entrapping time.
It's not death, even with the stiffness of catalyst-like lackings looming without the threats of circumstances venting of the inexactitude of existing in the pure absence of action: dust settling at increasingly slow speeds, ribbons dance in the subtle breeze falling from air vents in cold wafts like the fingers of the crow, heat ensared by the candle's jar won't emanate into the room as the flame dances no more than two centimeters in all directions from its perfectly statuesque spear-like body; eternal slumber would be but little different to its truth, save the general death of not living.
It is, in its not.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Valentines Day and Anniversary Sonnet
The Selfish ways of love have brought us here,
In Three we find ourselves anew and feel
a truth none could explain: intrinsic fear
wrapped in the depths of fallen heart's appeal.
Great distance proves how much we've grown as one;
Such lacking touch, as days go by, did bring
foundations 'pon which grow forests we've won
what hands, roughed by our searching, are planting.
In love, a day in red, remembering
how soon and deep our selfish ways supplant
red shifts away from flames with blue bird's wings;
We fly -- leaves on the wind of true love's rant.
Even as we fly I feel myself fall.
Solidity lost. I love you, my all.
In Three we find ourselves anew and feel
a truth none could explain: intrinsic fear
wrapped in the depths of fallen heart's appeal.
Great distance proves how much we've grown as one;
Such lacking touch, as days go by, did bring
foundations 'pon which grow forests we've won
what hands, roughed by our searching, are planting.
In love, a day in red, remembering
how soon and deep our selfish ways supplant
red shifts away from flames with blue bird's wings;
We fly -- leaves on the wind of true love's rant.
Even as we fly I feel myself fall.
Solidity lost. I love you, my all.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Fog of Ailing
A dizzying fog descends upon the world's perception within the variable contemplations of my mind. It congeals in imperfect queues as the strings of consciousness attempt assembling patient interpretations of actions encircling the existence of self at work. The feeling of being lost, absent, deconstructed berates like a pillow pressed heartily against my eyes, ears, temples; overwhelm suffocates my breath in stifled intakes. Here lies no appreciation for the benefit of the human condition. It seethes like soft smoke billowing with tender touches to every feed leading into my reaching thoughts.
I wish a wind would come and take away the cloud that rests between my nasal cavity and my brain, which slithers down my throat into my chest and wraps its thin membranes around the air sacks pulling what air it can into the already infested region. Then, perhaps, my flight instinct would subside and relinquish its fear filling hands of my body, my mind, my breath! I drown in the lulling inexactitudes of every little movement my body makes.
Even sleep pulls at my fear, for waking in the dark frightens every fiber of my confused state coupled with the sudden urgency to inhale deeply; my lungs won't open and swallow the refreshing darkness while the black hole pulls at the blockage barricading the pathways of life. All that remains is the knowledge that I need to calm down, sit up, relax, and move my diaphragm in a gentle, continuous motion that matches the constant breathing experienced throughout the day...
Fear grasps with such intensity in moments without breath.
I can't wait till this cold subsides and everything around me feels fresh and clear.
I wish a wind would come and take away the cloud that rests between my nasal cavity and my brain, which slithers down my throat into my chest and wraps its thin membranes around the air sacks pulling what air it can into the already infested region. Then, perhaps, my flight instinct would subside and relinquish its fear filling hands of my body, my mind, my breath! I drown in the lulling inexactitudes of every little movement my body makes.
Even sleep pulls at my fear, for waking in the dark frightens every fiber of my confused state coupled with the sudden urgency to inhale deeply; my lungs won't open and swallow the refreshing darkness while the black hole pulls at the blockage barricading the pathways of life. All that remains is the knowledge that I need to calm down, sit up, relax, and move my diaphragm in a gentle, continuous motion that matches the constant breathing experienced throughout the day...
Fear grasps with such intensity in moments without breath.
I can't wait till this cold subsides and everything around me feels fresh and clear.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Develop
This smarts...
The transfiguration of emotional development isn't a condition coinciding with normal human conditioning. I feel as the clouds move across peaks: tumultuous and degrading while billowing black agains the white light of the radiance penetrating the atmosphere. I feel full of life and grandeur, exploring the heavens in a myriad of directions while holding fast the convictions adhered within the previous hour glass's turning. The lift can only be concluded by a fall, and not in necessity of demeaning manners; possibly falling deeper in the cherished divulgence of truth and love and happiness.
In true happiness is where my existence resides, listening to the harkening winds of change as they whip across, around, and authentically through the vales and corridors of choices. One recent choice, however, has brought the voice of my mind, and potentially my heart, into a chasm of seemingly indeterminate possibilities. One remains illuminated without any doubt or fear or loss, really. In truth, I will remain steadfast with this light, conveying my very essence to the continuation of pure and unadulterated love I experience as I tread the lush beauty of our adoration.
This sudden revival of a lost trail has stirred something within. As this internal flame shifts, I feel its mirroring of current emotional status. It grows slowly and assuredly. The choice remains as to allow its festering presence to coalesce into actual devotional awareness of that revived feeling or to smother under denial with the intent of reformulating the existing emotions therein into a more amicable situation. Outright rejection of this heat is completely beyond a reasonable subjugation of my heart. I am a Pisces after all.
Being a Pisces also makes this decision extremely hard. There is one thing I'm unwilling to relinquish, and that is my love: the one love who has so succinctly permeated every expectation of devotion and relationship I ever had constructed in any fantasy imagined.
My clouds mount the peaks with effervescent determination, willing the boundless sky to accept the uninhibited fervor of my heart. My mind wishes the rains to sodden the paths and middle them into indeterminate destinations. My will can make the decision; and I know it already has. Here's my next step.
The transfiguration of emotional development isn't a condition coinciding with normal human conditioning. I feel as the clouds move across peaks: tumultuous and degrading while billowing black agains the white light of the radiance penetrating the atmosphere. I feel full of life and grandeur, exploring the heavens in a myriad of directions while holding fast the convictions adhered within the previous hour glass's turning. The lift can only be concluded by a fall, and not in necessity of demeaning manners; possibly falling deeper in the cherished divulgence of truth and love and happiness.
In true happiness is where my existence resides, listening to the harkening winds of change as they whip across, around, and authentically through the vales and corridors of choices. One recent choice, however, has brought the voice of my mind, and potentially my heart, into a chasm of seemingly indeterminate possibilities. One remains illuminated without any doubt or fear or loss, really. In truth, I will remain steadfast with this light, conveying my very essence to the continuation of pure and unadulterated love I experience as I tread the lush beauty of our adoration.
This sudden revival of a lost trail has stirred something within. As this internal flame shifts, I feel its mirroring of current emotional status. It grows slowly and assuredly. The choice remains as to allow its festering presence to coalesce into actual devotional awareness of that revived feeling or to smother under denial with the intent of reformulating the existing emotions therein into a more amicable situation. Outright rejection of this heat is completely beyond a reasonable subjugation of my heart. I am a Pisces after all.
Being a Pisces also makes this decision extremely hard. There is one thing I'm unwilling to relinquish, and that is my love: the one love who has so succinctly permeated every expectation of devotion and relationship I ever had constructed in any fantasy imagined.
My clouds mount the peaks with effervescent determination, willing the boundless sky to accept the uninhibited fervor of my heart. My mind wishes the rains to sodden the paths and middle them into indeterminate destinations. My will can make the decision; and I know it already has. Here's my next step.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
2011. Who knew?
I have been quite apprehensive to try and describe 2011 to myself. There were really two different trends that circulated and interwove into and around the timeline of a year; looking back at all of the events I can't help but feel like last year was so long even as the feeling of slipperiness coalesced in the moments. The year flew by like gravity pulling water through the cracks of cupped fingers. Once I move my hands though, the lake beneath my hands seems deeper than I could have imagined. In all reality, the two ways of describing this past year are as the surface experiences that shape the landscape of a tale and the unheeded transformations I experienced in the simplicity of events occurring in twelve months. What is more important or valid? I'm not entirely sure, but both ways of depicting 2011 scare me slightly. In a way, I haven't even finished digesting the metamorphosis of myself... so how can I justly understand and place into words my life?
Well, part of understanding is forcing the indescribable into language and having that language envelope the moments until truth is found. At least, that's how I see it.
Most tales start from the beginning. I must start in the past, a past I dealt with through language here in The Writer's Landscape in poetry and verse; I shall be blunt. The end of 2010 found my mind questioning the foundation of my self and my relationship of eight years. This relationship was the boundary of my self: the cage of my freedom, the prison of my self expression, and the torture of my physical expressions; the harbor of my love, the shelter of my confidence, and the belief in my memories of perfection. The juxtaposition of these feelings was the vortex of questioning of a relationship that started just as I realized who I wanted to become. That entity, that destiny I later realized, was hidden away because of love and devotion. We shall return to this thought in a moment.
Thus, 2011 came into existence with one resolution (for lack of a better word). I resolved to be completely open, honest, and uninhibited with myself and the people in my life. No smoke and mirrors, no subtle lies, no half truths or denials. I discovered that I was lying to myself, telling myself I was happy with who I had become, who I was denying, and the path I was walking down. I believe it was January 21st when I officially broke up with my boyfriend of nearly eight and a half years, after a week of limbo, of talking and discussing the possibilities of relinquishing our relationship or fighting for the love we so to which we vehemently clung. That moment set everything in motion. I was already in my dream school, already taking some steps to become the person I longed to know. That day I broke my heart and didn't realize it; broke it apart into the first of several sunderings I would experience in twelve months' time. The first true relationship coming to the first true death. Unfortunately its dying was long and arduous...
I very quickly met my next love. Call it rebound. Call it truth. Call it the first fold unraveling in my journey toward myself. This love hit hard, hit fast, and hit painfully. After two and a half months, the second sundering crushed my world. The smoke and mirrors I left behind found their way into my world from another source and his words, though of good intent, made the situation undeniably worse...
Beauty came from this quick affair with my heart. Great poetry flowed from me, spoke from a place I've only been able to reach a few times in my life. I also found one of my best friends in the entire world from that brief love. On May 4th, my newest best friend and I celebrated the ending of my first semester at my first pick college. That night, my first night at a gay bar I found the next person who would enrich my life and unfold yet another aspect of my true self. He would help define what I needed from a relationship; because in lacking is the search for want. I wrote something one morning on my iPod, of all places, which sums up his and my relationship nearly perfectly:
Well, part of understanding is forcing the indescribable into language and having that language envelope the moments until truth is found. At least, that's how I see it.
Most tales start from the beginning. I must start in the past, a past I dealt with through language here in The Writer's Landscape in poetry and verse; I shall be blunt. The end of 2010 found my mind questioning the foundation of my self and my relationship of eight years. This relationship was the boundary of my self: the cage of my freedom, the prison of my self expression, and the torture of my physical expressions; the harbor of my love, the shelter of my confidence, and the belief in my memories of perfection. The juxtaposition of these feelings was the vortex of questioning of a relationship that started just as I realized who I wanted to become. That entity, that destiny I later realized, was hidden away because of love and devotion. We shall return to this thought in a moment.
Thus, 2011 came into existence with one resolution (for lack of a better word). I resolved to be completely open, honest, and uninhibited with myself and the people in my life. No smoke and mirrors, no subtle lies, no half truths or denials. I discovered that I was lying to myself, telling myself I was happy with who I had become, who I was denying, and the path I was walking down. I believe it was January 21st when I officially broke up with my boyfriend of nearly eight and a half years, after a week of limbo, of talking and discussing the possibilities of relinquishing our relationship or fighting for the love we so to which we vehemently clung. That moment set everything in motion. I was already in my dream school, already taking some steps to become the person I longed to know. That day I broke my heart and didn't realize it; broke it apart into the first of several sunderings I would experience in twelve months' time. The first true relationship coming to the first true death. Unfortunately its dying was long and arduous...
I very quickly met my next love. Call it rebound. Call it truth. Call it the first fold unraveling in my journey toward myself. This love hit hard, hit fast, and hit painfully. After two and a half months, the second sundering crushed my world. The smoke and mirrors I left behind found their way into my world from another source and his words, though of good intent, made the situation undeniably worse...
Beauty came from this quick affair with my heart. Great poetry flowed from me, spoke from a place I've only been able to reach a few times in my life. I also found one of my best friends in the entire world from that brief love. On May 4th, my newest best friend and I celebrated the ending of my first semester at my first pick college. That night, my first night at a gay bar I found the next person who would enrich my life and unfold yet another aspect of my true self. He would help define what I needed from a relationship; because in lacking is the search for want. I wrote something one morning on my iPod, of all places, which sums up his and my relationship nearly perfectly:
Watching boys be boys made me feel even more of an outsider to his world. No matter the love, the intensity of appreciation or admiration in his eyes, the smile upon my arrival or kiss or stare, his efforts never attempted bringing me into his world. However, I know his intentions never veered toward keeping me out of the man's verse. They simply attracted me, and himself to me, and allowed us both exist where we desired. Such an action simply stirred my heart even more. (July 10, 2011)
I wrote it lovingly. Now I see the underlying intensity of sadness that fueled the words. Even now, I long to change "action" to "inaction" in that last sentence, because it would more accurately describe what happened. Words are chosen purposefully and even now I dare not change the verse. After a while, I fell in love with him because I could see who he was and who he wanted to be; but I didn't love him because my heart told me I loved him. Hell, I never even told him in person that I loved him. It wasn't until too late that I desired to let him know.
My necklace carrying my protection in a pendant and charm broke in the middle of July, and the next day I totaled my car. With the totaling of my car, this boy stopped seeing me. His explanations for not seeing me were vague but understandable. After all, when you work till ten or eleven at night you don't want to ride a vespa for forty-five minutes to visit a boy you haven't called your boyfriend or significant other to his face after three months of dating.
July 24th arrived and I flew away to one of the most magical places in the world: DisneyWorld. Seven days to experience being alone amongst crowds of families and friends. It was the most liberating experience of my life. Imagine walking around the corridors of magical displacement and enjoying the post-modern reality created by Disney while seeing the families, loved ones, friends, and lovers walking side by side, glancing in your direction as you walk alone with your iPod as company. By Wednesday I had reached the pinnacle of my loneliness and depression. It was also the day I found out all the information about my totaled car: how much to repair it, how much I was receiving from insurance, and how much I would have to work through in order to get mobility back. It was tough, but Thursday morning I awoke with a new attitude. And that attitude has sustained me since that moment. I realized I didn't need to be with anyone in order to be happy and fulfilled; that my own existence permeates my reality and how well I consume the emotions I emit creates the sensations of loneliness, love, and connection. I went back into the park ready to be alone and happy.
What I found was love instead. It was a magical, fairytale event: love at first sight, instant mutual interest, and a quick phone number exchange. With the few days I had left, I made a bond with someone very special.
Unfortunately, reality called me away from the reality of fantasy. I returned home to my dating world with a new attitude about what I was looking for, which quite frankly wasn't anything solid. I didn't want a relationship, per se, but I wanted to experience life at its fullest. Whoever wanted to be in my life, however they wanted to be in my life (sans commitment) was welcome. I started dating, and dating did I do. I also had a new self-identity that I embraced with fervor. This was a step in life I knew I needed to experience too; and so I became quite promiscuous and embraced the title of "Hoe."
Most people would look at me during this state and be concerned, I'm sure, about my well being and sanity and health, etc. In truth, the time people needed to worry about me was right after the semester ended, on May 4th. The entire summer saw me in more drunken stupors making more bad decisions than I did during the entirety of my "hoe-dom." I was safe. I made practical decisions about who I was sleeping around with. I kept honesty, integrity, and communication at the forefront of every interaction I took part in. Everyone knew exactly where I was emotionally and mentally. I daresay this backfired on me at least twice. One of the people I met during this period I really wish I had made a stronger connection with and actually accepted the fact I was falling for him. I didn't realize this until recently; but I don't regret what happened. We had a beautiful affair for a few weeks, and he moved on because he knew a relationship was out of the question for me at that point in my life. The other time this backfired on me was with someone I still see almost daily, but whom I feel the connection between the two of us had degraded so far that we have little to say to each other anymore.
The ultimate outcome of my promiscuity was finding a love which I never fathomed could exist for me. I found a relationship with the man I've been looking for my entire life, and never really realized it. We started dating at the end of August. After much discussion, very open-hearted and open-minded discussions about life, who we want to be, what we want to do, and how we wish to experience life, we became a couple on November 14th. We created the perfect relationship, in my book; and people still question the validity of our love for each other with the parameters we've set up with each other. Let me explain.
We both know our love is solid, that it is created from a foundation of undeniable trust and awareness of who each of us is. My boyfriend knows that I have a part of me that likes being promiscuous, enjoys flirting with other men and being in the company of people who find me sexually attractive. He knows that I like being around men I find sexually attractive. Furthermore, we both understand that sex is pleasure and the assigned meaning of love and devotion is constructed form a world that we don't belong to. I'm a witch, and he's fluctuating between beliefs as he searches for a truth he feels comfortable with. An open relationship is technically the term we should label our commitment with, but even that isn't truly accurate. We experience sexuality together, and the paths we take to find out what we enjoy is taken together; but we have permission to do as we please. This is the perfection I've been looking for, that no other man has every given me or felt free to take from me.
And here we come to the new year, transitioning from a year of endings, of discovery, of truth and honesty. I've received SEVERAL amazing friends, including one which resurfaced in my life right before the new year commenced. I'm eternally grateful for this tumultuous year, and I feel the words to express it reside within the telling of this tale. Furthermore, the meaning of my transformation exists deeper than the words, in the underlying pretense of shifting mindsets all permeating the choices and paths I owned without preconceived associations. I am who I always wanted to be: a man in love, desperately attached with the heart but free to enjoy the multitude of life's pleasures without judgments.
What I found was love instead. It was a magical, fairytale event: love at first sight, instant mutual interest, and a quick phone number exchange. With the few days I had left, I made a bond with someone very special.
Unfortunately, reality called me away from the reality of fantasy. I returned home to my dating world with a new attitude about what I was looking for, which quite frankly wasn't anything solid. I didn't want a relationship, per se, but I wanted to experience life at its fullest. Whoever wanted to be in my life, however they wanted to be in my life (sans commitment) was welcome. I started dating, and dating did I do. I also had a new self-identity that I embraced with fervor. This was a step in life I knew I needed to experience too; and so I became quite promiscuous and embraced the title of "Hoe."
Most people would look at me during this state and be concerned, I'm sure, about my well being and sanity and health, etc. In truth, the time people needed to worry about me was right after the semester ended, on May 4th. The entire summer saw me in more drunken stupors making more bad decisions than I did during the entirety of my "hoe-dom." I was safe. I made practical decisions about who I was sleeping around with. I kept honesty, integrity, and communication at the forefront of every interaction I took part in. Everyone knew exactly where I was emotionally and mentally. I daresay this backfired on me at least twice. One of the people I met during this period I really wish I had made a stronger connection with and actually accepted the fact I was falling for him. I didn't realize this until recently; but I don't regret what happened. We had a beautiful affair for a few weeks, and he moved on because he knew a relationship was out of the question for me at that point in my life. The other time this backfired on me was with someone I still see almost daily, but whom I feel the connection between the two of us had degraded so far that we have little to say to each other anymore.
The ultimate outcome of my promiscuity was finding a love which I never fathomed could exist for me. I found a relationship with the man I've been looking for my entire life, and never really realized it. We started dating at the end of August. After much discussion, very open-hearted and open-minded discussions about life, who we want to be, what we want to do, and how we wish to experience life, we became a couple on November 14th. We created the perfect relationship, in my book; and people still question the validity of our love for each other with the parameters we've set up with each other. Let me explain.
We both know our love is solid, that it is created from a foundation of undeniable trust and awareness of who each of us is. My boyfriend knows that I have a part of me that likes being promiscuous, enjoys flirting with other men and being in the company of people who find me sexually attractive. He knows that I like being around men I find sexually attractive. Furthermore, we both understand that sex is pleasure and the assigned meaning of love and devotion is constructed form a world that we don't belong to. I'm a witch, and he's fluctuating between beliefs as he searches for a truth he feels comfortable with. An open relationship is technically the term we should label our commitment with, but even that isn't truly accurate. We experience sexuality together, and the paths we take to find out what we enjoy is taken together; but we have permission to do as we please. This is the perfection I've been looking for, that no other man has every given me or felt free to take from me.
And here we come to the new year, transitioning from a year of endings, of discovery, of truth and honesty. I've received SEVERAL amazing friends, including one which resurfaced in my life right before the new year commenced. I'm eternally grateful for this tumultuous year, and I feel the words to express it reside within the telling of this tale. Furthermore, the meaning of my transformation exists deeper than the words, in the underlying pretense of shifting mindsets all permeating the choices and paths I owned without preconceived associations. I am who I always wanted to be: a man in love, desperately attached with the heart but free to enjoy the multitude of life's pleasures without judgments.
Now I have to judge whether these words are enough to convey the reality of existing as myself... and I fear these stories, these marks on white digitized nothingness, cannot truly give the experiences I felt. Feel free to question my world, and I shall tell you more.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Top Secret: Read Immediately
Herein
Truth Lies
Orated December XX, XXXX
::Newly Elect XXXXXXXXX Johnson
approaches microphone in the XXXX Office::
::Lights fade up revealing the somber face of
an elderly man::
::XXXXXXXXX Johnson looks directly into
the camera::
I am a master here enslaved.
As master, duties require secrecy and demand
declarations to truths suspect; and I fear the truth shall be ostensibly
disseminated without adequate verisimilitude. I must begin. My words, here
spoken, are edited only by the air between us; my words here written are edited
by those before me, before you… This microphone is the last medium for the
unanswerable truths that must be adhered and abhorred.
We have been lied to. The truth is simple. We
are enslaved by the XXXXXXX Industry, the XXXXXXXXX Hierarchy,
and the XXXXXX Institutions educating our XXXXXXXX. As your
captain, your leader, I must warn you of the XXXXXXXXXX these masters
are about to unleash upon us all.
Your livelihood is at stake, and you must act. I
act to open your eyes. I act now to have you think. I act as I do, in the
threat of harm and defacement to protect this great establishment that we call
home! What actions do I call for? Everything. Anything. And yet more.
TAKE XXXXXX! Leave the safety of your XXXXX.
Learn beyond the comfort of your own XXXX. Investigate authority’s XXXXX.
Analyze the XXXXXXXX for yourself and find the answers I have been XXXXXX
to XXXX from you. Get up; enact your XXXXXXX to which you believe
you are entitled, that you XXXX you have. Put down your pen, leave the paper
behind; don’t allow the XXXX prescription over your XXXXXXXXXXXXX.
I beg of you. I DEMAND of you.
I have walked this path to enlightenment and
returned an angered catalyst. I am what they cannot decipher because I
understand their strengths, their weaknesses; I understand our strengths, our
weaknesses. I am the culmination of our strengths and the product of our
weaknesses that you have elected to lead these days through the perpetual XXXX
constructed to ensure your participation in the system. As I questioned, as I
read, as I spoke, as I became ‘Man Thinking’ I found the true state of things.
We are bound by XXXXXXXX, written as the
XXXXX and told to bear the XXXXXXXXX XXXXXly. Stop XXXXXXXX.
Stop XXXX. Stop XXXXXX and XXXXXXXXX. Stop living XXXXXXXXX.
Stop XXXXXXXX XXXXXXX all of XXXXXXXX. The undeniable XXXXXXXXXXXXX
XXXX XXXXXXXXX XXX XXXXXX XX XXX XXXXfatherX, the GodX XX XXX
XXXXXXX. XXXXXXXXX XXXX our nation has become: XXXXX XX anew.
As your leader, your patron, your slave I
implore you! Fight! Before our voices are lost to the absurdity of our own
servitude. Before the encasement of black in white envelops language, for
language is all we have. Do not be afraid to utilize the Verse before they
decimate that liberty entirely. I only ask, as a last request, they leave this
point unfiltered.
I know the ramifications of this speech. I know
what will happen to me in the coming days, hours… minutes. Forgive this XXXXXXXXX
Day intrusion. Happy Holidays. God XXXXX you and XXXXX.
::Light fades around XXXXXXXXX Johnson::
::Camera fades to black::
The silence that encroached
the blackened television screens was interrupted a moment later. The
microphones were not turned off. The stunned citizens sat and stared at the
nothingness before them, as the sounds of an assassin ambushed their ears and
shattered their comfortable existence in naiveté.
Friday, October 28, 2011
It is always
like morning rises against
the essence of night,
I'm breathless in Your eyes
Your arms, Your touch;
the amber, violet, whites and reds
strewn majestically in battle:
the wild forest of darkness
succumbing to effervescence from
between two lungs.
The sunderings well my eyes
as the salve of ardor
lilts softly, gently
freely
like breath in the pines.
We sway in the words:
rocking on the ties of
linkages between the trees.
You illuminate my shadows
--sublime--
the tears I hold,
of hearts, of exuberance, of fear,
cry joy and love and
Nirvana
every second with
without
You!
I breathe to feel
an emptiness filled,
the emptiness You fill
whenever thoughts travel to You.
It is always
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Dissidence
A hollow, broken Hallway opened dole
like echoes sounding off the ghostly pane.
Through cloth his howl died. Muffled by a pull
of air drawn taught so close to where she reigns.
Atrocity by lips alone had come
and sought alike the essence of his blood:
the pulsing hum akin to beating thrum
which builds a battered thought for stopping floods
of well and wanted breath between two lungs.
He drew away the pillow from his mouth
to look for eyes where burning hatred hung
behind the iris known so long in youth.
Sole darkness found oppressive means to choke
with hands whose reach in sightless mode took hold
of heart, his heart and with one final stroke
dissolved small ties with her who left so bold
in words whose fangs did suck the hopeful sight
of morrow speak to rest again by way
which known to kin their soulless bane by night
the drinker’s spoil rejuvenates their stay.
“She’s gone for good to make another heir,”
he told the blood stained pillow through his teeth.
The touch, so gentle on his neck just there,
where she had taken back the gift of teeth
and stole the essence of his livelihood,
still ushered forth the cold that held him in.
he placed his blood soaked fingers in his mouth --
And choked. And gagged. And spat. And gasped for breath.
“This is -- cannot be possible for me!”
His lips drew back in terror of the spoiled,
such rancid, putrid, bitter taste a fee
for arbitrary words to be recoiled
as snakes, their venom pierced by fangs alone
to kill the living hopeful into cold;
but now the living blood flowed back to one
with warmth the pallor changing from such bold
and steely blues to match his victim’s hue:
pale white and staunch while screams escape the last
in breaths, he knew, were labored and so few.
He felt himself begin to slip ‘nto past.
Above the doldrum of his piercing pain,
the silent echo shuffled through the dole,
returned wholehearted, dripping from the rain
in darkest light she stood and feigned to pull
attention from his death to speak once more.
“How dare you question our laws eternal?
And question leaves you --”
“-- Give it back, you whore!
Before... before life takes me back with all
the beauty death holds dear!” He crawled toward
one lonely hope so shrouded behind eyes
held distant, cold and dead. She spoke one word.
He stopped, a wetted answer on his lips.
“I speak of what and want the sole of lies!”
“Enough! The sacrilege has done its worst
and never ‘gain shall you partake the thirst
and see the world with eyes that beg to live.
Your death is done, don’t think we dare to give
the lasting life to those who wish to rise
ever and more to stand beside the born
as master to their kind. It’s you despised
and we have made to teach a lesson: scorn!”
He let the limp take over entirely,
the slack of limbs a weight upon his world.
He felt the ending of the sand. Blindly
such sift did match the drip, drip, drip unfurled
into his sense of self and life returned.
Complacency begot his surrender
and, under stares from his creator, learned
his view of life eternal in error.
He whispered once as near drew farther down,
The hall stretched darkly as the sigh flew out:
“Forgive me, love.” The hurt fell through the ground.
He watched, saw her stand still, come close about,
diminish, far and small, kneel beside. Touch.
Such dark in hall replaced by one so fresh.
His warmth began to fade. She stood from crouch.
“Adieu, mon cher.” She turned from feel of crush,
though no escape would bar her dreaded dole
as shed in tears like skies beyond the pane
when ever soft her feet began to pull
and leave the damned, the dead, where once she reigned.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Love's Terms
Speak to me.
Tree whispers leaves beyond a window
inaudible at telling... Weather
It speaks kindly
through panes rustling
in time.
Sun shades block grassy
palanquins of Love.
Two stand before it... there
Unable to find the door
in balanced restraint
of lost.
Ever on and on
Foot-Steps taste earth bitter
selfish owned ... heir
of discriminating absences
through Strings of hearts
caught together.
Speak to me.
Simple words describe their hands
reaching to enter... Other
Within, without, their eyes
Opened already and regard
Chaotic Order.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Building of Love
He swims with gentle strokes to find a truth
as strings unhooked, so taught, so merged in dreams
that spiraling south to meet ocean’s youth
bring words once sought to strike decidedly.
She flows in fashion, bright flicker of flame,
and boils plasmaticly the underbrush:
black billows top gold-red petals and blame
a harsher sense which burns unseen: we hush.
They hear of high all airy shelves adrift
and draw the breaths whole heartedly to self,
with sighs these words align the soul to shift
once whisked in form surely bring endless wealth.
We stand so firm and see this love played out
from distant shade to solid words about.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
To think that fourteen could bring such magic
To think that fourteen could bring such magic
To mold a form that could not be without
skyless plunders fraught less gentle tragic
in heart song words the Muse did know about.
For I learn now the how of forming it,
the black enscrawled by way of cloudless sight
like birds who cry the beat of our sonnet
in childish, moonlit bleeding; like the night
I'm born as old awaiting some golden
Part within an other 'pon this whiteness:
The face of Her as made by Sol just when
I discover one who makes me the best.
I pen to see his face a bloom within
And eat the love that's served as sav'ry din.
To mold a form that could not be without
skyless plunders fraught less gentle tragic
in heart song words the Muse did know about.
For I learn now the how of forming it,
the black enscrawled by way of cloudless sight
like birds who cry the beat of our sonnet
in childish, moonlit bleeding; like the night
I'm born as old awaiting some golden
Part within an other 'pon this whiteness:
The face of Her as made by Sol just when
I discover one who makes me the best.
I pen to see his face a bloom within
And eat the love that's served as sav'ry din.
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