Memories (Thoughts)

Memories are odd. We abjectly cling to translucent and foggy synapsed which continuously grow with more files. They are never clear memories. It is clear. We take photo's and videos in order to allow us to delve into the past, a bygone era of our lives which will never be relived. I am as guilty if not more so of clinging to the past. I adore the past. I study it, break it down and reinvent it in order to bring some meaning to my actions or lack thereof. Yet I can't shake the feeling that despite all my intellectualizing I am wasting my time. Those feelings pass quickly as I rationalize the importance of the past but I often return to my previous thoughts and wonder. How I wonder. 

A heart and Its Battle Cry (A Sonnet)

A heart and Its Battle Cry

Although life's tree shakes with a great and monstrous intensity

I hold onto you with all of my roots waning fortitude

I ask you to love me though I lack vital prosperity

Not even the gods of heaven understand the magnitude

Alas I find my leafs turning and my understanding bleak

I wish for our branches to intwine us ever forever

The lord beseeches me to look upon you and turn my cheek  

I shall cry never, yell to the stars to spare us, don't sever

Nor time nor disease can take your beauty from my hungry eyes

Nor tyranny nor duty shall take your arms from my shoulders

As the birds above us coral in joy for we shall find skies

Smiling at our love, syncing our lonely hearts as air turns cold

Love, though it is cruel and comforts only those who can grasp its wonder

know that I shall love your ever even when death takes us asunder

Phobos

James was a frightened and lonely child. He lived upon a hill above the school. During his days off her would climb the trees and look upon the masses that lived within the city just beyond his vision. The hustle and bustle of the city brought about an anxiety that constricted his throat and made his muscles tense. The voices of humanity, all condensed in a limited space brought about images of death, destruction, and the evils of humanity. James would often lay awake at night, picturing the sinful lives of those that lived perpetually in the city, scornful of nihilistic lives and the grating sound of soulful pestilence. 

James was not filled with hate, nor pity. James didn't feel sympathy, and he rarely felt love, all he felt was fear. In reality, he never truly saw anyone from the city. He only lived in his house, and within his large and tall tree that overlooked the burdensome school nestled below him which acted as a beacon of distrust. During James weekly climb, he slipped, and fell to the ground. it was the first time he had made a misstep. He wasn't very far from the ground, and he was simply winded by the fall, but the end result did not console his imagination. Upon the fall to the ground, the tree shrunk before his eyes, and time changed before him. he was no longer a few meters from the ground, but falling from an unfathomable height. He saw his hands grasp at empty air, and the distressing feeling of helplessness that always ruled his life. When he hit the ground, and realized he wasn't dead, he was surprised, and strangely disappointed. His heart slowed, and James raised himself from the ground once he had caught his breath. 

The next week, standing before the tree, he could not longer will himself to climb the tree that he had scaled hundreds of times before. He felt beaten, as if the single failure amounted to a lifetime of flawed actions and sentiments. James was scared of the tree. Looking down upon the school James saw the young children, many his age, playing and rough housing. He saw them kick a ball, and run after it with wild and enthusiastic abandonment, laughing wildly and mirthfully. James considered there actions from a distance at first. He moved closer, and then stood before the fence of the school. 

Unable to focus his attentions on the ruinous city on the outskirts of his suburban life, he became enthralled by the beastly, yet kindly nature of the children. With each day James grow more confident. He was able to speak to one of the the children. The child, though not unkind, responded with indifferent confusion. James grew anxious as the awkward interaction lingered longer than he felt comfortable with. At last he was able to mindlessly break the conversation, and walked away. The next day, James once again climbed the tree, and looked down upon the school before him. He stared at the city that once again laid before him, masked in a layer of smog and raising above the land in a disordered array of skyscrapers, buildings, and open parks.                  

Noir Reality

There are two images. The one in which my eyes are open, and the one in which my eyes are closed. The latter I obviously prefer. The world is in black and white, flickering with the warmth that only celluloid can bring. A brunette lays upon my bed. I know what you are thinking. She holds in her right hand a cigarette in which smoke curls and crawl upon the walls and melds into the ceiling. The blanket is up to her collar bone, but it is tight around her curved figure, allowing just enough to the imagination while revealing slightly more than is usually acceptable. She is wearing perfectly red lip stick. The world is black and white except for her lips. They must be red. they are red. She doesn't smile. She doesn't need to smile. It was good. It always is. It is Noir. Wonderful Noir. The lamp in the corner flickers seductively. The shadows are as important as the clear images. 

The former is undoubtedly too real. The world is coloured, but far from picturesque. The colour adds a dankness and dullness to the apartment, making clear imperfections that where once hidden in the simplicity of black, white, and freckled friction. The shadows, being things of rare beauty in the previous image, make the room depressing and pathetic in the new image. On the bed lays a pretty woman void of any elegance. She is completely naked and covered in stale sweat. the blanket which covered the previous woman is now wrinkled and damp, pushed to the bottom of the bed, being held by the pressure of the two mattresses. She lays with her hands behind her back, her nipples glistening in the flickering light, eyes gazing at the white ceiling. She doesn't smile. She doesn't smile because she knows it was good. She doesn't smile because she knows it is never good. It isn't bad. It just isn't good. 

I close my eyes. Pale abstract whiteness. I open them, realist and ugly reality. I close them. Beautiful simplicity. I open them, ugly complications. She isn't ugly. She is real, which makes her tedious, hideous and serious. She lacks dignity and self respect. I look down. I am naked. I am disgusting. I am fat, frail, and uninviting. I catch our scent filled with stale sweet, pheromones, and bodily fluids. I close my eyes. The room is back to its previous version of civility and sterilization. That is civilization. Not this reality. Never this reality. I open my eyes. She is asleep. Laying upon the bed, her naked body vulnerable and undefinably repulsive. Her imperfections flicker brightly before my eyes, as the lamp changes the shades and shape of her human form, from one version of grotesqueness to another. The beasts within her loins, the ravages that exist upon her heaving breasts and idioms that linger on her stale breath. 

I close my eyes. She is still there, laying with elegance, her eyes closed and her cigarette burning in an ashtray on the bedside table. I climb into bed with her. She wraps her arms around me, her brown hair falling gently upon my heaving and muscular chest. I stroke her hair, and let the dame rest. She has been through much. I gotta find that devil man who keeps hounding her!! It all started with an afternoon in which she walked into my office. She was no regular Dame I can tell you that. She was nervous, you could tell by her she held her cigarette and puffed on it. She had a case for me you see. It was about her husband. He was having an affair she said. She needed a private detective she told me. She had an envelope of 20 dollar bills and a look of utter desperation. No regular dame I tell yeah. I was ready to take the case, not knowing what I was getting into.   

Deceptive Cadence (A Poem)

Deceptive Cadence

I've come to entrench my life in a minor key 

though I wish I could transform into a major

When you touch me I become a major 7th

when we fight I revert to a simple 5th 

You confuse me like a beautiful minor 9th

and you excite me as if you where a minor 7th

When you look at me I become a 7th sharp 9

I can't help but feel forgotten like a power 6th

I know we can have our moments of dissonance

In the end though I can only remember the harmony 

So please lets enjoy and listen to all the dynamics 

Lets end this night with a mild and tasteful crescendo 

I want to be with you when our cadence is finally played

I am both sad and happy that our lives rejected legato 

I do find that we always seemed to enjoy a good reprise 

I want you to remember though that you are my cavatina 

You make up the triad of my life and the chord in my heart

You made my soul capriccio and my heart to accelerando 

You made my eyes see that the world is stunningly atonal 

I want us to adagio our lives till our last note rings pianissimo

You will always be my major key, and I your minor retreat

Ill always be you accompaniment as you are my soloist 

Those who know will vouch that our love was never a drone

Lets hold hands and enjoy, our lives final and lovely coda

Wandering (A Poem)

Wandering 

I meet her on a sunday morning singing in the street

Not wanting money, only for everyone to dance 

And thats where I tell my story of casual romance

A week in which arbitrary chance made me complete 

Her name is inconsequential her body even more so

Her mind though was sharp and quirkily seductive 

Filled with dreams of destructive reconstruction 

Her face was dark, her eyes hinted she read Poe 

She grabbed my hand in passing and asked 

"why do you fail to dance when you are so sad?"

She could see eyes darkly masked and clad 

My hand fingering a cold silver metal flask 

The answer was outside of my woven gaze 

"I can't say. I can only say I fail to internally stir"

I lifted my eyes and finally looked upon her 

I saw a fellow human-being lost and out to stray 

The world moved reverently, blurred, counter 

Dark hair, marble skin, war like curves flowing 

Frost like reality pausing before a land snowing 

It was meant to fall apart, she was going to flounder 

Hedonistically inclined we fought passionately 

We wanted to feel everything that could be felt 

We both wanted the other to experience the belt 

Time was too short, we always fucked frantically 

Today was tomorrow, yesterday was tomorrow 

We cared not for the conceptuality of bright time 

Than she changed, took scissors to her souls twine 

Despite what they say it was never a great dishonour 

A smile devoid of pride filled with scarce beauty 

Hand grasping a cigarette between white knuckles

One evening we walked into the dim downtown chapel 

Her feet scaling the stairs to the top ever so smoothly

Standing upon the infinite ledge above someones saviour 

She screamed, cried and withered within her mourning self

No one knew what laid within, how she would forever delve

I too am guilty of incredible and unforgivable misbehaviour 

What ever killed her inside is what I loved most of all 

Fractured and distorted, she was everything I wanted to be

Once a proud building of stature, now humble debris

Filled with something more than dull and cold ethanol

I wanted to break inside her, and study the cracks 

I needed to study her mind as I did with her shivering body 

Both of us encompassed by impersonate Melancholy 

I had to understand her before she finally collapsed 

A train wreck example of the human condition as I imagined 

She paralleled my existence as I hers for a feverish week 

I learned who she was, I though never divulged my historique

She didn't need to know that I was beyond advancement 

Than we parted after a time of internal and external destruction 

We both died that day, though not in the physical sense 

No one needs the lord to live a life filled with absolute pretence 

I hope you understand that there is no true human malfunction 

Only beautiful repercussions 

  

u.u (A Poem)

u.u

A heart split in three

Two buried side by side 

One roaming the american west 

I can hardly believe 

What price I would decide 

to lay my head on their beating chests 

Ill admit I think darkly 

I doubt that'll ever subside 

I am as I am, blessed to never rest 

A rolling and charged sea 

land bracing as oceans collide

I am at your wish and fitting behest 

-

A heart split in three

Two buried side by side 

One roaming the american west 

-

I am too young to die 

I am too old to pray

-

A heart split in three

Two buried side by side 

One roaming the american west 

-

I am too young to die 

I am too old to pray

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