Untitled #26

Well, here I am

I am what you see

There is apathy bleeding out my eyes

The whole congestion of inaccuracy

Spilling from my depths

This is a tale of wonder

The socially inept

But de facto

I actually came to plea

That you'd judge me by

my thought

Not my insanity.

Untitled #25

I've come back

Only to hold up

The social standard

We once kept

Yet, mother has swept

Them under the book case

Opportunity is laced

On our cardigans

It buttons up our jackets

And dangles from our ears

The vacuum hasn't seen

The light since

1957

Sculpting the bunnies

That hide under the rug

Feeding them

Every inch of paper

In the pantry

On the backs

Of cereal boxes

Telling us

Preaching to us

Asking

What's your next

Move?

Untitled #24

I'm trying to paint this

Pretty little picture

Trust me I am

My paints keep drying

And shaking, are my hands

I want this so I may

Hang it on a wall

The whitest wall in the

Room

The tiny room

I can call my own

But only sometimes

When the weather permits

Otherwise, nothing is my own

I hope to change this

With my painting

but you see

The long tiresome years

Make me not care anymore

So I'll just sit in my room

imagining stars.

Untitled #23

You know,

You can always ask people

About their stories

Their wildest adventures

Living vicariously through them

As you sit at home

Making sure every wall is white

Every mirror clean

Every glass full

Never letting the dust settle

Because that would truly

Tell that their isn't life here

So rearrange the patterns

Okay?

They won't notice

It's more stealthy

Because it's just one

Cradle rob away

For any dream you've

Nursed to life

Yet, made sure it was

Crippled and held back

Chewing on steel

Was never that satisfying

In the first place

Love.

Want to know the cheapest word
You can buy?
Go ahead and spin the wheel; the price is right.
Sharper the knife
The thinner the deal
Mass produced
A consumeristic appeal
Everything and nothing
Has been attached
No more lock
No more latch
Daddy,
You ask me
What I want for
Christmas
My birthday.
Maybe
We could buy back
The word that isn't
In lack.
No deficit
No empty account
Lets lock it up
Never let it out
Until those
Can figure out the lock
Travel the maze
They unassembled the clock
Deserved the word
That was shut up
Don't let this
put you down
The greeks
The hebrews
Knew what it all was about
This'll be the last I speak of this
Because all of you repeat
allowing the stimulation of
Neurons to diminish

Latest Obsession: The Internet

As of lately, I've become a Barnes and Noble bum. I secretly mark books I have no intention of buying and continue to return to begin reading where I left off. The book I am currently mooching off is "The Shallows" By Nicholas Carr. It is about how the Internet is affecting our brains, and if the internet is making us 'dumber'. Reading this book makes me feel not so alone.

These past couple years I've started noticing a change in my self. An inability to sit down and read a whole entire book. The majority of the knowledge that I acquire is through magazines (i.e. The Atlantic, and The Economist) and the Internet. The new style of journalism is quick, fast, and easy. Our wants as consumers don't necessarily have to do with 'quality' but more with 'quantity.' Let's see how many things we can learn in the shortest time possible without having to read too much. So essentially (and not intentionally) generation x, my generation (y), and the one to follow are being bred to be 'scanners'.
Now, technically, by the United States standards I am an adult, and by puberty standards, I'm starting to wind down and will probably be 100% done by next year. What used to be common among the scientific field is that once adulthood was reached our brains stopped growing. They were no longer rewiring and growing. But due to experimentation and research, this common knowledge is being proved false. An experiment was conducted with five monkeys where a researcher (his name slips my mind) would cut open their skull and use a probe to mess up their neurons. What this did was mess up their nerves so when you would touch the end of their finger it would signal the brain that the middle of the finger was receiving the stimulation. Now with previous knowledge, one would assume the brain and nerves or now damaged for essentially ever. A couple weeks later the researcher touches the fingertips of the monkeys again and the brains have corrected the issue and now the right part is being registered as touched. If the monkeys don't convince you enough (because the fact their monkeys means well their animals and it couldn't possibly relate to us) there has been revolutionary physical therapy where someone who has lost the ability to use the left side of their brain, thus, numbing the left side of their body has through intensive therapy rerouted the neurons so that the left side of the body could respond once again. We as humans are very adaptable and we can gain lost abilities (though of course, hard work)

This is as far as I've gotten in the book. It just worries me how this abundance of technology is going to affect us in the future. It is already worrisome how it is affecting us now. English professors are complaining that people who plan on majoring in english aren't reading the books. It's obviously not technologies in itselfs fault that we are abusing it, but it makes me think of the two books "1984" and "Brave New World. The similarity of these two books are the fact that they give us an idea of a negative utopia and how they'll be our downfall. The difference is the fact that "1984" talks of oppression (from the government) destroying us while "Brave New World" shows how our pleasure seeking will be our oppressor. For the longest time I've heard how 1984 called it, George Orwell knew what was up. It seems though Huxley had a better idea of how it is all going to go down. Our apathy and our obsession with pleasure will destroy us.

Well, I'll have more to say once I have read some more. Every time that I do gives me a little bit of fire. So, happy reading and goodnight. :)

Untitled #22

Oh, how we love the flaws

Like a drop of blood

From an immortal god

No matter

It seems we have come

Full circle

As they preach

From the highest altar

When we can do nothing

But stand there

Catching each fallen Angel

Knowing that this is why

The Cheshire cat smiles

Not only do we hope

That someday we'll cross over

Looking back at the other side

Knowing the world turns

But it's only the trip, the stitch

That makes us have loved ones

Like the happiest moment

is knowing we all die

Love.

There won't ever be anything

Like that moment

When you're in the bathtub

Swimming with the sunset

Cleaning the dirt from your nails

That remind you

Of the clawing, kicking, and screaming

Mostly of the silence

As you finally surfaced

From the deepest trench

You've ever encountered

The edge always being close

But the footing always off

We have searched the ages

The dictionaries

The encyclopedias

The books

The stories

The music

For that one expression

That just might for the littlest bit

Describe the most soul warming,

Buttery, solitary moment

When you realize you aren't alone.

Knowing full heartedly

I can tell you

No one can take away these

Experiences.

Glaciers

Well, I tend to add

To the evil

Might you be entertained

by my poem

Enabling the emotion

The feeling

Which of course

is nothing but a fleeting lie

for its inconsistent state

But I love painting the

Ballerinas in your mind

Might they twirl

And breathe

Blue lights

into your eyes

The truth hurts

a lot.

Rant. (A break from poetry)

I haven't written a rant in quite some time, and now after reading the news, I feel a couple of things stirring up inside of me that can only be relieved through writing.

Numero uno is that of Grades
What is everyone's obsession with grades? I say this in the context of when I'm reading a story about a child who was molested by someone they met on the internet, or someone who committed suicide the first thing the journalist will mention is, "_______ had straight A's and came from an upper-class family. Why on earth did this happen?"
Last time I check grades didn't exactly buy you circumstances or made sure you weren't subjected to life's tragedies. So why is this even mentioned? What significance is it that so and so had straight A's and their parents could afford this and that?
As we can clearly see it didn't buy them street smarts or happiness!
Do we as a society focus too much on grades, and their true meaning?
What should be mentioned when something of such horrific nature occurs is maybe that the person was a great painter, or musician, and how awful it is that another human being was harmed when they had so much to offer or didn't realize it in the first place.

It cheapens their 15 minutes of fame into a statistic. Numbing us as individuals, and reducing their death to that of a Halo 3 point system.
________ was struck down by __________.

Death is a cheap thrill in America.

Numero Dos: Bi-polar disorder, and ANY psychological disorder for Children.

Time, and time again our news is just plastered with numbers of the rising percentages of people being diagnosed and parents spending on things related to psychological disorders amongst children.
Am I the only one who realizes that the urbanization of our country just might have to do with the fact that little Jimmy in Kindergarten can't sit still?
That may be the fact Dear Mother provides endless amounts of processed foods, and television to said child might have an impact on their being as a whole...

What do I know right?

All I know is when I eat to much crap and lay around I notice I get a little wound tight...

I'm 19 years old for Pete's sake, are my high fluctuations of mood when I've consumed high amounts of sugar and caffeine put me in line for the bi-polar/add/ADHD train?

Maybe, if I get off my happy butt and run around for two hours I'll chill out?
MAYBE your child who has 10 times the amount of energy I can no longer dream of possessing needs that too?

Or, a quick attitude adjustment.
I'm not here to cheapen the psychological field, and I'm quite sure there are a few cases in which a child isn't in a normal state of consciousness. But, seriously people?
I find most of this to be the 'Blame Game.'

"Oh, my child has ADD so it isn't my fault when he is screaming and throwing a tantrum in the aisles of Target."

The responsibility of the parent has been shifted to that of the child, not even the child! But! the poor innocent creatures disorder.
Let's pop a pill to that!

Numero Tres: Facebook/Twitter/The internet/ Technology

I will be the first to state that I am a nerd, and LOVE technology.
Not many people know exactly what a GUI interface is, and why Mac is superior to Microsoft because of its formatting.
Anywho.

The real problem is the isolation of our communities.

Technology is slowing causing people to regress to an isolationist state.
Yes, you are now texting 20 people, and messaging 30 more on Facebook
But is this really communication?

Communication is body language and speaking.

The two can't exactly be separated...
So we have to try and provide an alternative to the batting of the eyelashes (so to speak) and create emoticons to provide some sort of clarification to what exactly we said.

At least on the telephone you hear voice inflection...
Now, I have to capitalize my words to make a strong statement.

This has reduced our conversations to be short, and sweet.

I think this is what has killed poetry honestly.

Poetry doesn't provide short cuts in its communication.

No 'LOL's' or 'BTW's' there...

I didn't sign up for a job with cubicles, but it seems the world is already assigning them anyway...



Rant over.

Untitled #21

All she had to latch on to was the things

She created

Nothing more than pious drama

That was doted on at every spare moment

I couldn't blame her

As she applied a layer of eyeshadow

To her already purple lined eye

Waiting for the call

Waiting to be wanted

Waiting for nothing

So I indulged her

Hoping my obvious state of superiority

Wouldn't leak through my smile

I hated myself for this

But it gets harder every day

When I'm realizing

That spilled milk

Is meant to be crying over

By those who can

Untitled #20

I was searching for some tragedy

To shoot up in my veins

My eyes to roll back

My blood to turn red

Hoping to act as a catalyst

A median in fact

That'll allow the relation

To Relate

Infiltrate the void

The cliches' we hold dear

Might my existence

Be devastating

Enabling the healthy

To hear.

Untitled #19

We all come to that point

When insanity is no longer

Our comfort blanket

The iniquities of the world

aren't blamed on the Devil

Starting to realize this

Invidious wave eroding away

The most pleasant little beauties

We know

Might our oceans submerge that last

Bit of paradise

Causing everyone to actually love

And realize

That abnegating oneself

Is more than a blank check

Untitled #18

Sometimes it gets hard to espy,

but the killer of me never wanted me to die.

Blinding me never altered my cry

The iniquity of my sorrow

Well it gets harder to convey

Continually trying to demolish

The hearts that tell of today

Impossible is the sword

Above the walk way

On the Arch

That as much as I turn

It won't rip open my heart

Bukowski

Bukowski, tell me what is wrong.

I stopped existing when I read you

Killed my mind when I met you

It might be an excuse, but you must see

That no one knows me better

Than that bluebird in my heart

You gave me the words

So that I could understand

The deep fluttering, and scraping

Inside the only thing

That mechanically keeps me moving

Yet, I'm told all source of feeling

comes from that very spot

Visibly seeing it pumping

Liquifying my words

But the silence

It's unheard of

I try and try to write

That I end up writing

About you

All because I began

Related

Tried to understand

I did realize

Realize the truth

That I couldn't write worth a damn

it was always you.

Untitled #17

As the deep resounding sound

Concreted between the smallest capillary

As tension rolls down

Dancing with my seahorse

Monogamy theorized

Laying with my concepts

Lacing my prospects

I'm engulfed with my ego

I'm clotting my veins

Which is the only way

We might relate

Since I'm never dying

I'm just submerged in my elements

But someday fire will tangle with water

I might admit that I was absorbed

Into an eluded state of being

Where I no longer

Admit that I heard

Everything said

It isn't as stressful

But I don't speak.

Language of the body

Isn't rare to come by.

Eyes swallowed a moon full

I swore it was the sun

Blinding out the reasons

Faults in me are splitting

Splitting open

Taking toll

Numb knots in my back

This was swallowed whole

The fiery billion of light years

That seem to never pass

that the falling of the masses

Straight past

That golden road

That seduced our

Inner hearts

That may be outward

at last

Untitled #16

Where there were tears

There aren't anymore

As though my existence

Went out the door

Could I even muster a passionate line?

Rhyme and speak of vast entities like time

No more than a line

A sentence I construct

It's the amplified comparison

That I tend to see

The passion that once was me

Concrete is the foundation

That enraptures my mind

The glass ceilings and the advertising signs

Mechanical is the city in my head

Working so that I won't go dead

A battery

a worn out plug

Turning of the wheels

That keep us from

Our rural roots

our primitive prime

The taste of the earth

The taste of time

When the watches were outlandish

The indoors a dread

When I could possibly articulate

All that could be said

But don't worry about my words

my senseless rhymes

I'll perform the mundane tasks

That will subside

Till it is as if I won't go on anymore

Italy, France, the sun

close their doors

So I'm left here wishing

I could take part

being an unclaimed solar system

A piece of art

So all that was expected and all they would need

it a glimpse to see

that this life isn't

What it should be

Blue.

The dead of afternoon with have to wait

The fish get to live another day

Because we aren't going fishing

or disguising ourselves as indians

I'm realizing that all that seemed right

Didn't matter at all

When the birds beckoned

You heard the call

Now, no one is here

To play at all

I'm just clinging to my youth

In the deep recesses of 19

The doctors were called

For my check up

The surgeons were brought

to cut me up

My wrinkled heart

Aged with patience

Drenched in forgiveness

This left the physicians confused

But what could I say?

It was my muse.

Coffee shop sits.

Time to take a break from the poem blog posts and write something else. I guess I could perhaps update you on my life? But why? It's still as mundane and as organized since the last time we spoke. I've been working on a pen name for when I publish. I have some controversial poetry under my sleeve and pen names are a protection from out of hand ridicule or praise.

It's the weirdest feeling at times knowing exactly what I want to do. I wonder often if school is in my way of fulfilling my true purpose. How is stressing over economics homework really helping me become a better writer?

I guess the challenge and the laughs are what I should get out of it.

I've been pretty reserved lately. Preferring to not spend a lot of time with other people. I love just sitting in a coffee shop studying, writing, and reading. There isn't anything more fun to me, sometimes. I also have been having these surges of wanting to be more adventurous. Doing things like rock climbing, canoeing, camping, pretty much anything that is outdoors.

My trip to LA brought the life back into me so to speak, really boosted my confidence, and just made me so grateful for my life.

I've been freed from the chains so to speak, and God has really shown me time and time again I have nothing to worry about. Odd little things like MASSIVE harvest moons at 5 am while driving to work. Sometimes those are the best things in life. Not to be cliche' which I'm already kind of dwindling down that path, but that moon was probably one of the best moments in my life. I have always had an appreciation for nature, and being older and more mature has allowed me to appreciate it beyond a physical level. I can see sometimes the romanticism of being a transcendentalist. Listening to 'Walden' By Henry David Thoreau has more than made me want to build a house with my own hands, grow my own food, and just enjoy the simple pleasures. All the extravagance people boast are petty shallow endeavors in which their hype will pass very quickly, and boredom will set in till the next 'exciting' thing presents itself.

My patience is starting to go thin in anticipation for UNT this fall. I'm praying I'll finally meet the people I need to meet. No one is perfect and I'm fully aware, but I need people with my same interests. The basis of a human relationship is relate-ability. This isn't you like bikes and I like bikes thing. That's very trivial it something more with relate-ability within your mind. Flowing is the key to a relationship. You could be opposites in pretty much all (besides religion and politics) and if you flow your relationship has more potential for success. That's a theory I have that continually is proven right. As long as sensible well-rounded people are the subjects. Which are the only people I care for.

The subject of people bores me though, so many people discuss it over and over again. It becomes tedious. I like talking about books and movies.

But, lately, I have not a whole lot to say, mostly a lot to think about.

Hmmm.

Well, my biggest concern in my poetry at the moment. I hope to be successful with it. Or have people find me successful because I love it so much and want respect for it.

I need to start going to poetry readings more...

At night.

I like it best when it's dark and there is no one on the road

Every trip, scuff and call out of insanity

Is ignored, because I love myself too much

I have a soft spot for those kind-hearted folk

The ones who tip their hats, and smile at you

Even when they don't know your name

Or the score you got on that last test.

It's so nice.

My weakness goes as deep as my love

for white wine on a sunny morning

Allowing the alcohol to take over my

Body and evolve me into a higher species

One that doesn't take no for an answer

And always gets up for mothers who have no seat

I like it best at night

When the moon seems to be full

But isn't because the slightest sliver is missing

The desire to paint in that portion becomes

So overwhelming I run home so I can write this

Hoping to salvage the last bits of the memory

Before all the dimly lit street lamps steal them away

Blaming the moon shadows for my fits of sadness

And Rage

If I can't blame them who else will I blame?

I can't blame the people or my circumstances

So I just mail off my demise to a random address

Hoping the recipient can't read between the lines.

Or at least doesn't speak English.

Flattery.

Disgusting repulsive gluttony

Reeks the voices of the American people

We reek of our demise

Rotten carcasses of the flesh

Yellow veins and black eyes

What do you think of us

Green, green earth?

The soil in our hair

Our mouths filled with dirt

Motherland, I am your Captain

Your devoted demise

We are here to possible

Recognize

The stench

That is awaiting at Capitol Hill

Please, Mr. President

Pass another bill.

untitled #15

There's a screen door in my mind
Where all the great things
Get caught in the mesh
Weeding through the vibrant words
That loop through my eyes
Allowing only calculations
And logical problems
Disguised as something
Aesthetically pleasing
Beautiful, perhaps
But nothing more
Then why the San Andreas Fault
won't allow California to collapse
But we can say farewell to San Francisco
Farewell, to every golden bridge
Knowing that maybe the slightest gravitational pull
Might be the defining moment
Where we all bury ourselves under our sheets
Hoping these thin pages
With the blots of ink
Which were pulled from the Amazon rainforest
Which allows the seasons to change
We can all draw stars
We can all from memory draw lines
Why can't we create worlds?
For I am always feeling as if a combustion of artful thought
might flow from my veins when the slightest cut happens
But what am I anyway?
Immortal.
We don't die.
We can't die.
Who else will take you away
to beyond what wonderland conveys
to every soul that hoped
Prayed
or at least shouted at every red light
that lasted more than a second
Knowing what we were wasting
What we could waste
I might stumble to Istanbul and Timbuktu
Pour the knowledge of the east
Allow the oceans to nourish
My ever dry mouth
If only I could hold onto this
This perplexing energy that for some reason
Never ceases to stop
Stop holding me up
Letting me touch those fiery spheres in the sky
Why?
It's a trip worth the taking
A step worth the making
Of what we might suddenly all stumble upon
Realizing
It's all about the drop off the edge of a cliff
When every element is within your sight
Even though the Ferris wheel never runs at night.
But wouldn't you agree the man made lights are so bright?

Untitled #14

I feel inspired.

Beyond the knowledge that my life is merely a glimpse

Of what is more than nothing.

Beyond the fact that the stars are deceptive bulbs of light

That died six years ago.

Beyond the time in which America is crushed by those

She said she helped.

Beyond the mere conversation on whether I should believe

Because believing means I might have to stop.

I am inspired.

Every mountain top is my tabernacle.

Every home is my foundation.

Every dream is my possibility.

Every death is my soul.

No longer am I a faint whisper

Nor am I the brief breeze

Destroyer, how I long to be the destroyer

The villain only present

in the recesses of your mind

The dusty corners that no one visits

I wait

In the shadows I wait

So that when you pass by

I'll shout

Shouting louder than before

Quieter than before

The simple elegance

That has been ignored.

Wondering.

How do I know if I'm crazy?
Is it a mental illness, or merely not adhering to whatever one else is doing.

Exquisite

I have often thought the only answer could be

That these recurring expenditures

Were the killers of me

Blaming the society

The man of the hour

If I had a better chance

A better life

A better time

That if someone hadn't existed

This world would be mine

With these selfish notions

Eroding away my head

I often thought

My haven would be amongst the dead

Would this environment ever be able

To handle me?

Is it possible for me to inhabit a world

That can't provide the things I need

In my upward position I sit thinking in my grave

For the coffin is the only realm

Where my dreams aren't in a state

of dismay

Life is an abundant pleasure and a reckless sin

Doing my absolute best to not give in

Giving in to the notion that no one will notice

Or no one will care

That the transparency of my whims

Won't cause people to care

Because too many opinions

Means to many lives

That need protecting

Best be silent and prepare to die.

the real life.

Blank minds at conception

Would provide with infinite amounts of correction?

Never, for observation is what makes us clever

Able to endeavor, maneuver, hopefully create

What we experience and sometimes contemplate

Metaphysics are something that sound fancy

Talk some nonsense, print it off

Get a bmw, maybe even show it off

What's the deal with the materialistic road

That everyone wants to take

With blank minds

Primitive animal instincts are all we need

To procreate, essentially mate

While we eat the meat and skin

Forming rural shacks to live in

The books, the minds, and the fears

Stomping down on the ground

Hoping that we might find the center

Maybe of the earth,

But we really know the Aliens were here first.

Success.

I only wish to be a timeless piece laying thinly on the shelf

A ray of sunshine in the forest having the land to myself

That my mind isn't of Descartes

slipping out of my hands

This is only an introduction to the turn of the end

That the end of all humanity is always just around the bend.

While we sip the kool-aid that was offered for the gods

The deism that lingers in all of our scarred hearts

Sacrifice has become the mantra of the wise

Knowing the key to success is where love lies

Depending on the world you occupy or that

which you grew up in

The avenue of success could possibly be, corruption

Using the blood of the fingers of the children who swore

That they'd find the means to purchase a way out of hell

There are those who pray might it be the elite

Whose feet are washed

What more is there...?

poetry?

The mumbling of the lower class

explaining to the damned the aristocrats

That is wasn't the gold dollar in your pocket

It stopped being gold in the 70's.

Society.

Might my mangled hands

Hold this garland in place

While you decorate our fence post

The mailbox, and the safe

I know it's only a ballet

A melody for an hour

Shining your tiara so

you can shine

and devour.

A regular blog, for a regular day.

My daily soundtrack has been Concrete Blonde and Beethoven.

I've been in a very peculiar mood lately. Some might call it jaded or apathetic.

More accurately though I would call it complacent.

Things of varying subject matter are changing.

I'm a very laid back person most of the time, mostly because I do not care.

I'm starting to care a whole lot more about certain subjects and even less about others.

I'm going to really start pursuing a great relationship with my brother Brent. He and I find the same things funny and we both love a lot of the same stuff. So I figure why not? He'll always be my brother. While other people leave, he'll always be there.

I saw the much-awaited movie Shutter Island. I thoroughly enjoyed it. I love psychological thrillers. They make you think, and keep you on the edge of your seat as cliche' as that sounds.

I love DiCaprio as an actor, he's absolutely excellent.

This is an awfully lame blog update, oh well.

Going shopping with my daddy when he gets home. :)

Later.

Pompeii

We struggle towards the inner cities

Where we'll hide and not be found

The immense amount of heat

Is clouding all the sound

They seem to always say

Lightning never will strike twice

What do you purpose on the third time?

Now, here we are, left with unsatisfied thirst

The molten rock seems to become a vice

The choking of our lungs and the cracking of our spines

Might I write a ballad, a sonnet, upon this inflamed chair

Knowing that the gods won't leave me here

Pliny, can't you see?

That the mere disobedience saved you

But, not for eternity

Digital.

Electric currents soon to power humanity.

No escaping the connection

The metal combustion

That's supposed to make us

capable

Capable of talking together, walking together,

Seeing each other, as if for the first time.

Your face behind the glossy screen,

So better then in the past.

Pixels seem to compliment your

Digitally sound laugh

The third dimension

Is supposedly so much better

I guess we've been living in 1-d

All together

I can see you, hear you, know you

Before you know me

Privacy is primitive

Thing of the past

Let our avatars hold hands

Around the globe

We're all typ-ty-touching.

Untitled #13

I

I am more than a breath of air

the blood streaming through my veins

Diagnosed

Normality no longer at finger tips length

We all want to be different

No

The same

All in a book

Quick change

Translate

In a book

We see

Could determine

our breath

our outlook

our blood

Eyelashes

tangled eyelashes

Diagnosed

There aren't any more avenues to take

Until we stop and look.

Untitled #12

Selling off our daughter, and we're killing all our sons.

The ancient voodoo has only just begun.

Might the fear of our words, and the fire that we light

Cause them to tremble and die of infinite fright.

Possessed are those who no longer dwell

In the same exact position you and I held.

We were those who'd survive

Taking down the weak so this stanza would remain

Alive

Progress is the packaging, and human rights screams

The Press

The rotting hearts, and lungs inside never did digress

Might the maggots and the roaches feast upon

Our most vital organs

Standing still while you do all the rest.

Patience, the silent killer.

The mundane repetition of the rain drop.

Hitting the very same exact spot.

Speed is the hero,

patience takes a step back

Murder is the wait

Time no longer lacks.

The perversion that

Dictates all the acts

that only happen

In the back

The recess of my

What we might call a mind

More of a bloody

Organ

That is wasting away

every (drip) (dropping) time.

A float.

My house is sailing

Sailing on

Main sail is failing

I'm holding on

Fore Stay is unveiling

My lies are gone

But there are people in the house

My oxygen tank is gone

Alveoli, how I'm inhaling glass.

Paddle to the middle and grab some cups

Scooping out the water

Till it's all dried up.

Crack, crack, in the back

Back of the house

The only one surviving

Is the mouse

Whom ate the cords to my computer

Stanza.

The street lights

Perform hazy tribal dances

right before my eyes

Enamored with the sights

This dancing of the lights

My spine feels as if

The weight of the world

and the sun are pressing the

two ends of the vertebrae

together

So much, so much pressure.

I've held a life in my hands

I've held all the potential in my hands

Recreating and revisiting nature with

My plans

Infinity, grasped by holding together

The pieces of mirror

The infinite shattered glass

Seeing and containing something

So vast.

My heart is crawling away

Swerving drunkenly down the highway

Sending its message through the pathway

Control channel sending half hearted

Phrases through the waves

Bloody trials left to find

The altered sense of space and time

Words millions of words

In my palm, in my mind

Finger tips away

Just one press every time

The stanza is the exotic bird

My cage wouldn't catch

The lights tease my adjacent lips

The aluminum hissing and popping

A fire like tranquil twist

Words cheapened by words like this.

untitled #11

Arranging these typical feelings

That moisten my eyes

morph my pale skin

dilate my pupils

allowing light to flow

flow deeply into

my ever deepening

acknowledgment

That there is nothing more

To dwell on

All there is

is what will be

_____________

I am so fearful right now, there is so much I want to do. But my body, mind, and whole entirety is exhausted. I never minded this state I've been condemned to, but this stagnant pace is slowly ripping me apart.

Untitled #10

We could say it in a million words.

Or say it in one.

Countless times it has been explained

Such confusion it has caused.

We only hope deep in our souls

That our hearts speak the truth

The seven sins that weigh in

taking its unholy toll

Stripping us of our hard works

Taking all we know

Sending resentment to dwell

Within or minds

more dangerous than cancer

tumors

or the like

The hope that maybe we'll say

say something that'll print us on

This date

Forever will our works matter

Simply

just our

fate

Books.

I am overwhelming myself with books. I keep starting them but not finishing. I just started "Woman in love" by D. H. Lawrence and I have still yet to finish:

1) Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand

2) Crime and Punishment by Feodor Dostoevsky

3) In Cold Blood by Truman Capote

4) PUSH by Sapphire

5) The interpretation of Dreams by Sigmund Freud

It is overwhelming all the books in the world. There are immense amounts of books just waiting for me and I don't even know what they are about or who they're by. Than, there are books that just keep getting published.

Innumerable ideas, stories, and philosophies going uncovered by my eyes. How does one establish themselves as a writer in this world. What makes my ideas as significant as the next persons? I guess it is the same as any other genre of artistic pleasures.

What makes you a famous painter, actor, musician, singer?

Sets you apart from the rest of the crowd and you beat the spans of time. Living beyond your time. While people watch your movies, read your books, listen to your music, and view your art. Laying at you rot in your death spot. Looking from Heaven or Hell

I'd have to say my only chance for survival is to rely on God. He's the only one that can set me apart from the rest.

I'm so exhausted, yet restless.

Still.

Knowledge.

It really drives me insane when someone knows more than I do about certain topics. Even when it is topics I could care-a-less about. Topics such as gardening, sewing, and buxom actresses... But the urge to research starts to boil and will continue until it explodes from all the suppressed energy withheld. I just don't have time to do every single little thing I want. Sometimes I contemplate deleting my facebook. I abhor it more every single day. It consumes so much of my time. It consists of me looking at stupid stuff. Things like albums that possess photos of absolutely nothing important.

I need to get back into my groove of reading. My new school schedule will hopefully allow more reading time. I want to get my hands on everything. I wish I could just use my brain as a literal sponge and sop up information by swiping my brain across pages. That is and always will merely be a wish. I look forward to this new semester and learning new things. I'm going to miss my philosophy class. That class opened up so many doors and pathways of thinking for me. I adored it.

I need to get a new passion in life. Something I can read about, write about, and that'll give me more purpose. SOMETHING.

As of lately, everything bores me.

Sigh.

Oh well. Keeping up my writing in hopes of some sort of advancement. Have I mentioned I need to join a writers group?

UGH! So much I want to do... so little time.

I don't want to write.

Sometimes,

I have absolutely nothing to say. But as a wise friend and fellow writer told me, "don't stop writing, ever." So I must continue. That is the only way to get better.

My direction will be pertaining to school starting up this week on Tuesday. I'm very excited to see who my classmates are and my professors. Not excited about my new and not as exciting workload. I have to remind myself though that every piece of new information learned is something that I can apply to my writing.

Tomorrow, I am going shopping for a new school outfit. Not that I need one, but, it is still nice to have an excuse.

I am debating on edgy and sexy or hippy and feminine. I know I'll go edgy and sexy. Clothing is my outfit. It says what I wish I could be doing sometimes. I just need to find people who want to do the same things I do.

One thing I need to do is memorize my favorite poem "Bluebird" by Bukowski.

My ex-memorized it for me while we were together and it made me really want to myself. So I could softly whisper the words to myself whenever I wished. For now, I must resort to scribbling it out on my wrist and pretending it is a tattoo.

Sometimes I think I'm too cautious to be a poet. How will my poetry be relatable if I don't do anything to make people feel better about themselves? But then I have to ask myself am I doing this for them or for me? Me, of course.

I also need to join a writers group. I also have interests in writing a novel... mostly because I like the idea of it. I don't really want to sit down and write one. I have nothing I want to say in such full length. I think people talk too much as it is.

I am fully obsessed with drawing and thinking about hearts. Not the little cute hearts that 8-year-old girls scribble on their Valentine cards, but the organ. The muscle that pumps blood through our veins. I'm also interested in getting a bit of the poem, "Bluebird" tattooed on me. I think that would be so neat.

What else can I type about that is of random nature?

Been praying to God a lot really truly getting to know him. Struggling sometimes with the whole thing, but he takes such great care of me... how can I doubt sometimes?

I have a feeling someday God will say, Well done my good and faithful servant.

I also have vowed to stop swearing, completely. As a Christian, I need to stand apart from the crowd, and I honestly feel I do in most areas of my life. The swearing needs to stop because I know for a fact I can be funny without swearing.

Well, that is enough rambling for today. I'm off to listen to proverbs and sleep.

...

No one wants to be reminded that they'll die.

I hope this reminds you.

Everything is a reminder really.

I could present you with rhymes of

Puppies, lullabies, popsicles for free

On hot summer days

When all you wear is your swimsuit

Holding the popsicle in your mouth

While your under water

Feeling as if you're defying

Some sort

of scientific rule

Capturing the cold tangy juices

being cast down your throat by your tongue

No, I won't write about that

I want to write about

dark things

things that'll make you regret

Those hours you laid in bed

doing nothing

but refreshing your facebook page

listening to some pop artist on repeat

When you could've been creating something

Saving the world

Or at least cleaning up your damn room

So you'll rot away while you're still living

Worrying about the cliche' things

Sitcoms tell us we should worry about

Laugh about

Cry about

I don't cry about dying

I weep for the chances I missed

The times I thought I was right

But wrong

The fact that death is plastered

All over everything

Yet no one sees it

And they just sit their

expanding their bodies

with the lies

that we're immortal.

Avatar.

It should be enchanting meeting this recreation

But than, Should I be surprised if I've already encountered

This being

Nothing new is under the sun

The old saying goes

This reoccurring event

I had befriended an Avatar

Once again

I knew after while

It was the same exact friend

I've met you before

I would scream in my mind

Wondering

Why can't escape this poisionous cycle

stumbling upon this fallen deity

Every time

Post-New Years...resolutions?

I have been trying to write something for the past hour and a half and no such luck. Ignoring the fact I have a splitting headache I think I've typed all the poems out of me, at least for a little while. I have dry spells now and again. When everything seems so... cliche' I'll still keep writing though. I must...HAVE to keep improving

Without my writing, I'm not sure my sanity would remain intact.

So, for this blog entry, I'm taking a bit of a break.

Still writing of course :)

But, a poem break.

I enjoy reading Bukowski's poems more anyway...

So, I'm realizing that this past new years eve I was a horrible American and did not write or list any New years resolutions. Bad, bad me!

So to make up for my lack of initiative, or drive to write such a list

I'm making one now...

1) Get all A's this year

-I slacked off a bit last year, getting by on the bare minimum

I still managed A's and B's but still if I dedicate myself I know a 4.0 would be a breeze

2) Get some scholarships and fill out FASFA

- No more community college for me next fall, UNT all the way

And, that is expensive. I want as little debt as possible

3) Join some sort of writing club/workshop

-Well obviously to improve my writing

4) Start sending out my poetry to be published

-Because, well, I want to share my love with everyone

5) read as many books as possible

-Cause, I can and I will

6) Start reading the Bible daily

-I finally got biblegateway working on my computer (So I can have the Bible read to me!) now it is much easier to be committed too, but I want it daily versus a few times a week

7) Start doing yoga or something

-Not because I don't love my body, but it is just good for me and plus I love working out :)

8) Start working on my book, or at least the outline

-I have the rest of my life to write a book, might as well start it now

9)Get film for my polaroid camera and my new fold out 1950's

-I really want to make photography as a hobby. I've loved it for as long as I can remember! Since 3rd grade I'd say

10) Get really good with oils and Acyrlics

-Because I love art, duh

11) Get into modeling

-Because I want the extra money, andddd I hate even numbers

Hopefully, I'll have more entertaining posts in the future, more poetry filled ones!

night.

Realizing the reality

That the world isn't mine

I've lost the key

That supposedly unlocked the door

To infinity

But all I got was Narnia

A load of shit

Trying to love all at once

So much

that at the most random moment

I give in

You gave in

I watch

As the sun burns through the atmosphere

The meteorologists

geologist

psychologist

Predict we'll die

Thanks for the news

Because I thought

for once I'd give living a try

You think this is depressing?

Try undressing and seeing

half of you has deteriorated away

The kids in China are being cut in half

The children of Africa die at their governments wrath

I'm a spawn of America and my ass is too fat

But I'll just kick it, live it up,

Supplement the joy, and toss it up.

Cut me open and you'll see inside

The mechanics of a machine

Rusting because of overdrive

Fill in that with collagen

Plump up my lips

So I can give the man

a sloppy wet kiss.

I'll surrender all my writing

To the flames

Knowing Humanity's opinion

is my ticket to fame

My only way to you

is through a cheap can of

Blue Ribbon

But I spent all of my money

on Bukowski, and damaged photographs

I'd ask you to wait

but you already left.

Hello.

Sin City

Glassy lights

Isn't this pretty?

Oh the insanity

That is tumorous in my brain

Craving the attention

Leaking out the poison

Sharpening my blades

Reducing the noises

We aren't here to gamble

with the plastic and currency

Sedating you with this evil

Transparently

I'm a killer

Dying in my head

The voices in my mind

Are killing the sanity

All that is left

of my meager existence

To socialize

with humanity

Dirty and rotten

Weighted are these

That

I'm presenting you

with the truth

So please

leave

Postal

Send a postcard

to the white room

Instead

Sin City

isn't a city

but the world

in my head

Cheap

Burnt plastic flavor

smell

resting on my lips

eyes

fingers

Recreated

copy & paste

Scrolling

and seen millions of times

Shared with your network

my network

the network

They know

The most intimate of details

sayings and looks of you

You're your own personal

tabloid

exploit

slander

yourself

I love you

I love you

I love you

Now he, she,

WE

know

that you two

love

Than we'll

Hold everything in

When the status changes

roll on in

Than, you'll be sure to announce

You love

again

Slip.

Seasoned are we

Ripened for the weakened

That haunt our meticulous walks

Wandering in hope that we'll find that inspiration

That oh so daunting aspiration

That'll pave our canvas with motivation

Though we are killed by the meek

Keeping our cupcakes in the pantry

Our hearts in the cupboard

I love the feeling of the knife blade

Inserted in my back

Better yet, in my sternum

Where I can see the whole act

This'll repeat

I'll refill my prescription

Not just a drug

But the whole correlation

Quite the opposite of motivation

The very reason we all give up

The sweet tangy venom

We let our minds slurp up

Tip of the old glass

With a shot of wait

My head will stop bleeding

This wall will erode

The continual beating

That allows us to justify

Our woes

So Salud! To the bounds in which

We die

The justifications of how it is okay

Because at one point,

we tried?

ctrl+alt+delete

Hey, so, yeah

I know we haven't known each other

For the standard amount of time

I should wait till I tell you

This

But, why wait

?

What if I die

tomorrow

And, then!

You'll never know

Or what if I die

Today Which could be worse

Because I know today better than I'll know tomorrow

But than tomorrow is whatever

I

want it to be

At least right now

Well, my soul is broken

Yes, this is what I had to tell you

I am broken

I'm already dead

All that exists of me

Are these continual

Images

Slithering in my head

Sometimes dripping out of

My pores

onto

Paper or

strategically on my

Typewriter

Forming words

In the English language

creating formations

that might leave you some

sort of

Image

Hoping that this is all more obvious

Than I make it out to be

In which all that I ever thought

Wouldn't/Couldn't/Shouldn't

MATTER

Anyway,

All I hope is

That this will possibly be a little bit more clear

For you.

So that you'll stop trying

to make out

What all of this could

should

Would

Be about.

01022010

Destroying everything

Ready for the day to start.

Loving the world

Through the eyes of a Saint

Living on only pain and the glamour

Better watch out

I'm breathing in everything but oxygen.

Reading poetry.

I have come to the conclusion that my poetry is slowly regressing and becoming mediocre with hints of cliche'.

I am reading an immense amount of Charles Bukowski and Rainer Marie Rilke.

Their way with words not only destroys anything I've ever written

They challenge me to be better.

The problem with me is I don't have a problem.

These famous poets often have this reoccurring monster who held them hostage as the harbored their vengeance. Leaving them passionate and full of flaming emotion.

I am not easily (genuinely) excited, saddened, or even angered.

My emotions are flippant and are easily dismissed.

If I happen to feel a moment of that fleeting passion

I better have a piece of paper or something to record my thoughts with.

Otherwise, that piece of art vanishes along with the emotion that birthed it.

So I am studying these great artists hoping to capture their flair.

Not changing my way of course, but still learning from the greats.

E. E. Cummings, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Frost, and Emily Dickson.

Dismissing the aspect of me actually liking their poetry or not

I still study them praying, and hoping that their supreme intellect rubs off on me.

No matter, I have the raw material I just need to set it wild or tame it.

We'll see what the future of my poetry holds.