The WordSmith ©

"Public Service Announcement" 2.16.11

2011-02-16T19:59:00.000-08:00

The problem is only half theirs...
A flashing "On Air" triggers our mass tendency of half-thinking and half-feasting. For most, the ratio suffers and half is being generous because most don't know how to truly read into it. Instead, they're fed images by pick-your-favorite channel, fact or fiction, they dismantle any notion of their own to slowly conform to the gospel of Channel Four.
Or Two...
Or Seven...
Any of them will do, whichever your milieu, since whichever you're mainly glued constructs your point of view.

The problem is only half theirs.

The other lies in you and the inability to ask "why?" instead of "who?"
Images of war.
Images of poor.
Segments on policies.
Segmented ideologies.
Images of murder.
Images of violence.
Did you ever think to question the editing of the process?
I suppose not...since the "facts" you then consume and regurgitate with conviction, sounding abstruse.
How obtuse.
The brainwashed indeed need a cleansing...since the irony is evident and the practice is sadly prevalent. We are a people inflicted with Analytical Impediments dissolving the ability to dictate what's truly relevant.
Can't see past the veil that they present to us as "evidence" which instead is largely propaganda meant to sway you from your sense.
One way or the other...
To the Left or to the Right...
But did you form your own opinion or did you merely recite what that newscaster or analyst spoke to you that night?

The problem is only half theirs.
And half is being generous....
So please...prove me right and say truth lies not in these sentences...

"Pamplona" 2.13.11

2011-02-13T09:15:00.000-08:00

Turning the corner onto a dimly lit avenue,

I gather proof of my reality, suppressing fallacies of my subconscious' alchemy.

Realizing I'm trapped between the likeness of the two, I move seamlessly into the imagery of whom I suppose that I am at the moment....

so I hone in....

...on the side which holds my atonement for my disowning.

My eviction from said reality which I no longer grasp as my day dreams seem to fade into the abyss of my hands.

I command countless armies made of verbose line-hoarders that shall fight for my mind's sense on a field once they're chosen.

Unleash Pamplona.

Embattled are my faux men who yield all that I pen and their rage is thus released when I choose to script again. It's between these words that I pen.

Not in one nor the other...

Commanding armies that turn to dust once they're discovered by reality's lingering eyes and scorning judgments. A dust that resonates and leaves remnants of lunacy blended by the loom in me to weave the dust's eulogies.

My hand pulsates with the prurience of its love then drains with each word...strains to be heard. But reality is too brutal for these words to survive so on those unleashed fields is where I, and they, will lie...

"A-maze-meant" 10/14/2010

2010-10-14T12:05:00.000-07:00

It would seem like jubilance is better motivation for the pen's placement onto the pad rather than sitting adjacent to my hand..........sitting flush as I demand the thoughts of elation to course from cerebral to fingertips. Lusting over illustrious musings from Devastation left me with pain in my breathing but also the clarity in which I see things.
Therefore....romancing encounters with Joyous was key but wasn't the key which unlocked the insatiable urge in me to "punch the keys."
Pardon the respite...that was the William Forrester in me.
Indeed, I may be functionally flawed...just look at me. In need of something writhing in order to verse these things?
How easy it should be to coerce these reams to be filled by the dreams that I see of her when my eyelids are peeled.
How easy it should be to pen that the reason is she that I take these corners of my lips and to the sky, reach.
How easy it should be to script how my jaded mind is raided by lingering figurines who, when she enters, become under siege. My mind's a xenophobe but this Reason has caused exception to its methods of rejection thus allowing inception.
Made a habit of scribbling letters into words after being again neglected by misshapen shes and hers. Pain is easy to verse.
It rolls off of your tongue so candidly and you feel as if Shakespeare had it right all along. But when it's all writ and done, the writhing remains....the only difference is it's been transferred onto the page.
I suppose if you've fallen victim to this verbose maze, you only see the surface level of what I've been trying to say. In which case...I will say...focus less on the pain and instead on the Reason that elation is the aim.......
©

"Crushes and Crushed Dreams" 8/18/2010

2010-08-18T13:00:00.000-07:00

Confusion......fuses his fingers and the ink because it's been quite some time since a woman has filled his dreams. So once more.......
...he fills these reams because he fears that his pleas for her hand will fall on deaf ears. So he lands here....in his college ruled sphere where he unloads leaded tears about wishing that she were here.

"There's so much in her eyes. In her, I see the flame transcending prurience of each ordinary dame. The mention of her name spurs forth the gears which connect my heart, mind, soul and all that I feel.
If only I could feel the Laurentian of this crush so that the daydreams of her touch can prove more than lascivious. Heart's proven insidious in which who it's set its sights but a simple look from her sends me to unrestrained heights.
Wishing I could tell her that her words jolt Jovial into my heart and soul but to do so would deter her so.
Wishing I could say that to hear from her sparks elation thus lighting my mind aflame and leaving remains emblazoned.
But in order to say this, I'd need to rid myself of the fear that I've felt from each Past who's added to the tiers. I suppose it's just a crush...a femme-powered daze.
Her raiding my subconscious and conscious alike will fade. And I'll be left to wade the once emblazoned, now doused remains.
At least that's what I hope because I cannot tame this pain."

It now begins to rain from his lids to my face thus blurring the fresh stains that he's left on my page.

"Tell yourself it's nothing. Make your heart believe that the menial thought of nearing her does nothing when you breathe. Make your mind see that nothing more will be and you're an unconsidered ripple in her expanding male sea.
Come back to reality and vacate these wild dreams.......to her, you're just a leaf and she'll carry on like a breeze..."
©

"One Night Stands" 8/7/2010

2010-08-07T08:20:00.000-07:00

Often I feel bad because I use them for my benefit....
Get emotionally intimate then merely halt our relationship.
Call me insensitive...but the love is limitless so when they open themselves up to me...why limit it?
Many times I've been through it so no longer phased am I when I hear the waning cries of neglect from their side. Regret filled inside on the initial enterprise but since have I sifted out guilt from my eyes.
There for what I'd like.....so there's no need to draw out the time spent with them once I, again, cease a long drought.
Late nights are preferred as I lay under covers and uncover, with them, all that it means to share each other.
Moonlit glistened shutters deflect the white light as I ignite the fire from my heart to their delight. Together we take flight but I'm only here for me for there really is no need once I achieve my release....
For them...
Emotional ecstasy is the hymn.
"Solitary solidarity is the motto for him."
Maybe the guilt will one day flood and within me linger.
Until then, realize you're lost if it's coitus you think I speak of.
Consider "them" fingers...............©

"Constellations" 7/21/2010

2010-07-21T23:33:00.000-07:00

The glow dims as my fingers slowly trickle over protruding keys thus forming my mind's ripples.
Doused by moonlight and wading through the fickle, my mind attempts to piece together the parts that it's penciled.
Coupled with my recollections of when life was truly simple,
fingerprints lay on the glass of the soul that I look into.
Living between my ears has me in fear of losing sight so I crowd against the night as to not drown in my spite.
In spite of all the tears that have fallen inside of eyelids, I still attempt to hide this somewhere beneath Orion.
Mesmerized by the Lion...I Dip Little confinements of my mind's recesses in affliction, causing misalignment.
Circinus disrupted.
Floating down Eridanus thus my mind's in listlessness...captive such as Briseis.
Mentally sedated...intoxicated by constellations concerning my conformation, igniting my contemplation...
The dull whisper of light that shone upon my brow removes me not from the trance where I factor in not the now. Merely lost in my sky, unimpeded by cirrus clouds, paving way for my mind to navigate through the shrouds caused by many and now seamlessly linger without a "how."
Avoiding Ursa Major entirely for in entirety, some issues are far too large to even pen from inside of me.
I pen where my eyes can reach...right now they're with the dead lights. It's there I often find myself.......in the peace of the dead nights.........©

"No Rhyme to Reason" 5/18/2010

2010-05-18T09:24:00.000-07:00

A life with few constants...
Moralities augment as quickly as the shifty little hand on the wall ticks. An obdurate among them...the malleable surrounding souls who can not piece together what is meant to make them whole. Suddenly your convictions turn condemnations causing friction between your massive inner-visions since what's real, isn't.
You struggle to listen to the voices that guided you since the compass inside of you was stepped on by a lie or two...or three.
Times she.
Times he.
Sums me.....standing in a sandstorm of fervent disbelief. It's like that dreadful scene that your eyes caught while young of your parents wrapping gifts where Nick was supposed to come. Suddenly Saint had gone and been replaced by them....igniting the mind's need to question every limb...question every being and every little thing because the world of truth you'd seen no longer'd happiness bring. It's like that...
Your life becomes a haiku...

Summer breeze brings
a slew of devastation/
to your faith and your dreams.

Trapped inside the limits of a mold that they've formed, never knowing what's real like Truman fighting his storm. I've tried to reform but found the price to conform is far greater than any price that they pay to perform. So I stay true to form amongst the moral shape-shifters while I palliate due to my hapless state amidst them.
Ravaged at my wits end and pillaged were my wits when they saw that values are valued far less now than then. So every now and again, I question whether to teeter for my morals far precede any measure of modern reason.
There will be no rhyme to reason if I falter and do fall.....I'll merely blame Saint Nick....when "real" hit a wall..........©

"Falling" 5/7/2010

2010-05-07T10:06:00.000-07:00

Maybe I should stop...
Pause and regain my balance. Every time I lose it, I gain another callus. What I want is invalid...it's not in my control because every time I fall, I seem to end up in a hole deeper than the one previous, I'm tied to a seamless mold ...meaningless difference, I've teetered the line on selling my soul.
Auctioning it off whilst becoming what I despise but only so they may see the falling through my eyes. Envision the cataclysm that forms when stumbling over the lies lying in the path you travel with said holes lining the sides.

Nothing good can come of it...

Nothing good has...other than displaced martyrdom and these wounds on my hands.
Extolled for who I am but how hollow the praise is when days shift and Angels then turn to Demons by days end. My values are outdated so falling can not be painless....their inherent nobility is what continues to make me jaded.

Soul slowly brazened...

Denizen of Latent...as I, again, embraced with Makeshift to cause a fictional facelift. Often I break sense and falling is the consequence. My common sense ignores the roadblocks because I'm confident that no emotional monolith can cause me to halt.
Then I lose my balance and fall....once more.
Only to treat the wounds when I regain vertical lore...litote the situation as to downplay my hurt.
Wish I could go with Kirk but my enterprise is synnergized with what lies on the inside instead of the inner-thighs.
My Kobayashi Maru....at least it seems to be.
I must recoup and let my hands heal................pardon me........... ©

"A.M. Elm Street" 4/15/2010

2010-04-15T08:15:00.000-07:00

I'm frustrated.............mentally, so I pen at three to vent the steam building inside of me. Pardon me, but I have to use this vessel, despite the time, to careen.
My nightmare, once dream, replays in my mind and I can't fall asleep so I'm a prisoner of Kind.
Outside of my dream...trapped in my reality...gazing at my fallacy through the window of my vanity.
Futility in my reflection with no face...a silhouette's what's left of him...the rest of him, dissipates. I demonstrate the values passed down but the value has passed now for the type of mine so depreciation is all that's to come now.
Seeing myself as a much vaunted being but it seems that those scenes live mostly in my dreams.
Reason being....nobody truly wants what's in their dreams because reality is painful but easier to see. You can't touch your dreams...conscious lechery...so instead you reconvene with what you once have seen.
Lousy dream....
Because of thee, I am staring through this window at the sought after notion of "what could be" when instead, I should be sleep. But the hand is far past three and while this dream still haunts me, it seems that my mind cannot depart from Elm Street.
"Depart this Hell, please, where I'm a voyeur of my dream."
But I can see the signs......paddling an evaporating creek......©

"Ovated Maze" 4/6/2010

2010-04-06T23:04:00.000-07:00

I enjoy the praise...don't get me wrong. But I remember days when all I had was my pen to lean on. Concealed in my maze and as I guided myself out of flames, I would evade the blaze and gaze...at the product that came.
Amidst all of my pain, the words kept me sane thus....spawning my healing for my solemn remains.
All that remains....are the beautiful ruins which spur the admiration of a remnant of the Druids. A remnant of the times when the feather was tipped in fluid and scrolled across a scroll with emotion dripped into it.
To me, it's all a maze...you're reading me weave through it. When I was pen-high, I knew that part of me was truant. The smile would show up as means not to erupt.....but now grown up, a lie can't show through it.
The pudgy baby....so it fits that the part would protrude which wasn't the part that the lines saw me through.
Question any.....I was far more subdued......for I kept to myself because I had to, which, in turn, is the same reason I pay attention not to your views.

Whether good or bad, who I script not for is you....
.........
.............
................
My aim is to release the pain for the man in my shoes..............©

"10 Paces" 4/5/2010

2010-04-05T18:55:00.000-07:00

I'm confused.....so I sit and let it brew. Escalating to a wild-western mental dispute between Me and Myself as it eats further into the who....the soul I once loved and all else knew.
1....
It's always detrimental to assume...but the silence follows the fear so, in turn, that's what I do...in turn, I further the dispute, thus causing a churning of discerning internal views. Regrettably.......becoming my milieu.
2...
It's difficult to decipher and wade through the distance being inflated...surely, I'm elated. But when that high comes down, I resort to these paces created upstairs to make for my deflation and re-acclamation to reality.
3...
Few will see this for what it is...and it is there that it and I will share a moment of synergy. Sometimes I want to scream but feel that no one is hearing me so I merely stay muted and turn myself into kerosene...docile but able to explode at any moment. Sparked by the ones who don't appreciate my own-ness.
4...
My mind is my greatest enemy, as well as my only friend, for the longer I sit, the longer I prey on thoughts that keep that flame lit....that keep my sane, it. Pining over cyclical notions of "what if?" So I take one more pace...one more step in an attempt to get my mind out of this place...this growing land of contempt.
5....
I revisit the ones before to examine all of the trends and realize the common bond seems not to exist. Spurring my confusion and further clouding my wits, thus re-routing consternation toward "what's the problem then?"
6....
I suppose it's him. He knows what they're attracted to but he simply refuses. Conformists amuse him. But while he sits, he laughs, watching one abuse him in his quest to be the last known survivor of Gentlemen.
7....
I've seen him before and you would think that he'd learn but with every one, it seems that there appears a new urn...waiting patiently on that mantle for its inevitable turn to store the remains of what was previously burned. He stores each ominous lone in a place inside his lobe until they seem to overload....churn....and then implode....
8...
It's safer there...so I hide inside my head where reality can't foment what was once addressed with dread. Inside of there lies a fathomless bed of stitched emotion that none of one have even dreamt to accept.
9.........
Claiming difference has become all too commonplace but it's at that very place that I vary from that Face. Thus my frustration, as my soul macerates with every passing Grace that willingly becomes a wake. Knowingly they wake but the soul, they dissipate and the only thing that one is left to do.........is pace.
10.....................turn, *bang*.........
©

"Celestial Pains" 3/30/2010

2010-03-30T21:34:00.000-07:00

Sometimes there's more to it...
Thrived amidst calamity so I just bore through it while I took my pen and drew each teardrop toward ink fluid.
Fluid was the emotion that spewed from heart's dust...converted through tear ducts...fell to my love as I penned with my lust.
An insatiable craving for calligraphy dreams congealed with a corazon wrought with cross-stitched seams.
It seems...for every love lost does lust bring forth one more chance to turn those threads into reams. Spiral-bound dreams drive me...each time my eyes see...lips light up my horizon and then fade to a silver lining.
For when that star of mine causes meteor-teared showers, my hand devours keyboards and pens to produce albums of my memory's snapshots with backdrops of her silhouette. Portrayed in every letter that I script so that I won't forget.
At times, I jest merely to ingest the onslaught brought to the forefront of my emotions so that I cope when Pandora's enclosure opens.
Sometimes I wish all of said tear ducts would be frozen so that there would be no conversion for the anger that I hold in.
A lush I must be, addicted to corked emotions. For every pain concealed, it puts my lust in motion....©

"Cursed Fate" 2/20/2010

2010-02-20T08:50:00.001-08:00

I'm told to be the way that I am and they will see but I decree that they will see what they want to see.

*breathe*

I dream of a time where I may truly be the essence of myself combined with a being to be the one to bring forth the essence of me. The lessons, you see, I've learned at the hands that lay atop of numerals and numerous trials to date.
I despise my fate, at times, for I have thus slain the insatiable urge to be who they may....merely to wade slowly in this pool of inflamed pain where the pieces that they create float listlessly in disdain.
Only for me to recreate what preceded the remains and have it revert back....intact once again.
Hapless once again does my fate make me...and floating in the pool does another take me. Break free....with a "for" in between...stands the sign that constantly hovers atop of me.
Or so I believe....
I suppose I'll have my dreams. The lacerated truths that my mind concocts about with who I will be.
That conception....
That faint futile fallacy...
At least my dreams shan't break me....they counter Their alchemy....©

"Music?" 2/10/2010

2010-02-11T22:40:00.000-08:00

You can't help but to be drawn in.
It knocks you off balance just like a fawn taking its first steps. The lyrics soothe your soul with each and every new breath.

Music is captivating...

Fascinating how it never seems to fail emotional encapsulation...
.....when all you could do was reflect and place when...
.....that rhyming statement first jolted your heart from sedation.
Life can breed complacency...monotonous day-to-day stints become straining until your ears are kissed by a song playing....
Soliloquies over drums tickle your ears through buds thus uplifting a heart, soul and mind that can never get enough.
Oddly enough....it's odd to some...how a person can sit down and drown entirely in a melody as if it filled up their lungs. So enthralled in the words that impulse battles restraint and their soul combusts causing their heart to inflame.
It's like that moment of elation directly before you faint and the lyrics nourish your mind like grass to a cow's graze.
It's therapeutically cleansing when there is no sight to tame for there's no premonition of which ways you will change...and as the words reach your lobe and the resonance does stay...I say.......you're truly lost if you think Music is my aim.
..............Go back and "re-play." ©

"iWrite" 1/20/2010

2010-01-20T21:34:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it's easier to simply close my eyes and script. With closed eyes, my heart guides my fists leading to this, this...culmination of intense eruption of volcanic verbal implosion in heavy doses unfiltered and undiluted....merely....waiting....for your eyes to open.
Hold it....
I close my eyes to see the world?
I guess I've taken a brailled focus...using my fingers to protect and guide me like phalangeal habeas corpus. Interlocked eyelashes consequentially lead to darkness but the shadows of my mind shed light on said brailled artist.
Rarely is there a focal at the commencement so I commence to convince myself that I'm content with whatever conspires against my life but as I write...I light fires...engulfing butane covered spite.
Pain is an aphrodisiac for the tips of my fingers so as they digest thoughts, I linger over the paper then ink first through whatever tends to sink first into my frontal lobe and then burst. The stresses seem to adverb my noun verb ellipses so my mind races and my fingers' paces begin to miss things.
Clearly.
The love sometimes seems like it's grown to be too much because praise is dangerous and can quickly turn to lust. Short lived and passed over with no resonance is my biggest fear which is why my humility is the response to the many cheers. No backspace needed...I'll now open my eyes. Yes, I typed that blind......my fingers guide my eyes.

iWrite. ©

"This Zone" 1/1/10

2010-01-01T13:50:00.000-08:00

I live here...
Above my welcome mat hangs "Lend you my ears." Gifted and cursed, I curse this gift with which I was birthed. 'Tis usually out of fear that I enable the cursed side but the reverse side lives dormant victim of my lost pride.
"Too nice"...to be the one to captivate hearts and eyes, but the thoughts that pause their minds leave me staring through the blinds because when the time comes that they decide which side of the line, repetitive is the choice thus back to the "curse" for I.
So I lie here in this place made my home because the ease to confide in the pellucid one who they know is the denizen of the Zone and the boundaries sit comfortably in the forefront of his lobe.

"He is not the one..."
Surely not I....
Merely one to confide in when They throw her world awry.

"He is not the one..."
Not are I...
It seems each that I eye eye the life on the other side because as soon as those feelings rise, they see where I reside.

See my place in this Zone they do and hurtful it is to feel that none will feel what it is that could possibly grow from here.
So in this Zone I sit....affluent in friends...yet truant from the ones from the other side because of this...
....this....
........this place....
Cursed I say because the ship of friends will sustain...but it's the other side outside this place where I, they alienate.... ©

"Wading" 12/29/09

2009-12-29T18:17:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time I had a fear of expression so I embedded my emotions and cast them off with Magellan. Into an ocean of distance and separation from those closest, I boasted a bright smile portraying a dormant surface.

I was nervous....

Un-trusting of others because to own up to the fear meant to hear the screams coming from the cellar. I'm no better....
No more courageous than the lion before the Wiz because all I knew, all I saw, everywhere I'd been as a kid. But now my hand's entrenched in tears and can't put the pen down because my fingernails will eventually drown....in those tears.
My hands now scream for only your eyes to hear.
But I fear....that I far too often revert to that place where I burrowed to stay safe and abate my current state.

That place...

Wishing I was an analgesic but it's written on my face when I raise that burden off my shoulders and set it on the page. So as I gaze at celestial bodies and permeate, I script and expurgate my heart the more that I place.
The more that my fingers wade through the tracks of those tears, I avoid the colloquial like a moor in Shakespeare.
Attempting to break sphere in attempts to shake fear of reversion of submersion in that ocean I once lived...
Whether it's caused by batted eyelashes or tainted links...I choose to sit, wait and think....then wade through those tracks with my ink.... ©

"Fabric and Sheep" 11/13/09

2009-11-13T21:36:00.000-08:00

I watched it eat at the ideal fabric, so I went silent. Encapsulated feelings while my idol became violent.

My idol was enraged by it but I? Engraved by it.

Etched itself on my soul and that soul chose to write it so that I could then hide it beneath the place where I'd sleep.

Useless sheep....

Deprived of the purpose of pillow and sheets, I'd lay awake and speak of the things eating at me. It didn't seem to eat at she...at least so I'd see. So the biggest pain for me was to see it eating at he because the then Me wanted to follow every step of he.

"If it's infecting he, why is it little affecting me?"

I would script into the lines only meant for invisible eyes to see then tuck them beneath my sheets and close my eyes trying to see the sheep.

One.......two.......three....

Mind clouded...night after night.

Numb...I suppose that's my right.

I'm young...maybe that's why I don't feel it inside.

Feel the need to be upset at them because, in time, my young eyes saw the inevitable was evident. Denizen of my aberrant sense...I hid from my lips because it was more difficult to voice than to script.

So I held it in watching my idol singe inside because of what was to occur inside of 369. To my own code of silence I would oblige and abscond to the place where I could place ink to lines and run on...in my mind, t'was no harm in hiding that engraved soul.

My intent was to allay that same depraved soul but instead when I turned it inward.....I froze.

Now, as a result....

Where'd the sheep go?.........©

"Destined For the Desolate" 10/16/09

2009-10-16T16:37:00.000-07:00

I lay amidst the mist of the night and wonder...how is it that so many discover what evades me?

The dew drops.......and slowly I take three breaths to stop the pain caused by the stress fracture in my heart. So I fashion my art around the beating faction which fastens itself to the hands of the grateful opposite. So I'm forced to stop and sit to examine where I've been because the connundrum lies in them about why I'm better than....than....*sigh*...

The list runs long of the ever so elusive but like ignoring an English teacher, I still chose to run on......that may be beyond immediate comprehension but comprehending the dissention in my heart and my mind that I mentioned...takes time...so I listen....and prepare the vigil candlelight for what is much recurring like that dream where as you near decease, your vision begins blurring. Made my home on this gurney now it is here I must reside while inside I decide whether it's I I should despise.

Not too long ago, I would've handled things differently. Difference being...not too long ago, that was a different me. The difference, see, lies in my constant inability to fold what I tend to wear on my sleeve and turn it in to me.

The then of me?

Would have formed cries of the "woe is me"...trying to bring to me the attention from she I shan't receive. But now I simply bring what lies on my sleeve to burn...then watch the ashes scold and float in verbal form.

I could easily reform...

Revert to the days of adolescence and immediate post-pubescence. In essence...let immaturity be ressurected in different ways...but those were different days....

I suppose I'm a cutter....because I enjoy the pain so my pen flames as my heart lay slain. Without it...I would simply be a mundane corpse staring at a page with nil in the place of his torch. So I absorb each failed destination after each failed destination taking from each a distinct moment of heartwrench and failed elation so that I may then quench the thirst of Devastation. It engulfs me...but here I still stand.

Shell of my loving self.....

Hollow man.......pen in hand.....©

"Train Of Thought" - 9/24/09

2009-09-28T15:59:00.001-07:00

As the sparks fly beneath this dark ride I....collide fingers to keys to make this dark mine...
To make this art mine....
No...to make this art wide eyed for those who take life on part time. I depart fine...it's when I return to this nonsense that I depart mind because apart from mine, I feel like minds do not coincide with 2009. This modern state of mind has conformed to a modern State of Mine and it seems that too many are afraid to break the design.
I suppose I'm just too kind for my own good because the places that I've stood, I guess no one else would.
The things that I've done, I guess no one else would bother so it's odd that I would claim those so different from the son of my father. Reciprocation is minimal and people are stuck in the vase of the individual....simply waiting for their displaced displayed state to engage their great cynicism or self-hate.
Take this guy next to me....
Italian shoes with no tie, engraved briefcase with glasses darkening his eyes. Shut off from the world as we pass the world by because he thinks he's better although we share the same ride. My trains of thought collide amidst this salad-bowl train ride because the more that get off and on, the more I see comprise the arduous mass encompassing a dislike and sure discomfort with new company.
It seems like they're looking at the world that Stevie Wonder sees.
Disgruntled beings...
My stop is next...
My thoughts are done with me......

*ding*........*ding*........*ding........*Next stop is Rosemont*....©

"Sobriety" - 9/28/09

2009-09-28T15:30:00.000-07:00

For a long time, I was a proponent...a mere catalyst for the state with which we're being held because we choose to. I would abuse, too, the word which bruised my kind for so long in the trance that "what could go wrong," already had.

So instead I shamed the son of my Dad by lipping a fad that we don't truly seem to think is as bad as it really is.

How sad it really is that we "N-word" this and flail our tongues about while shouting N-word's out....thinking that it's truly harmless like an armless man in a bout but we doubt the existence of it in all but our mouths. So we crowd around it like it lives solely in our possession...reciting it in our music....ignoring its history of oppression.

I learned my lesson...

Once intoxicated like I were drowning in Effen only to feel ashamed of the person in my reflection.

Was fed up....

Regurgitation is all I feel when I hear it used so often.

Why take the knuse's off then?

We're slowly creeping back to those days the more that we say it, giving free passage to all who claim it just as "slang."

My skin crawls...

I suppose this pen is my Demorol...numbing my pain...from all of those who still enthrall themselves in the captivity of its Effen-presence.

At our own pace, I suppose, we learn our lessons....

I'll be waiting.......call me when you're sober without Evanescence.... ©

"M.E.N" 8/22/09

2009-08-21T22:27:00.000-07:00

My hardships have been different. There are reasons why I'm distant and have mood swings at an instant. I've lived through every episode, you're tuning in late so you've missed it. Was always the peacemaker instead of the ones throwing fists in because I have a father who taught his kids to think when....juvenile actions unravel and an unruly sequence....
....begins and you see then...
....reversion of boys to a schoolyard but see them then claiming to be men.
I've seen "men"...slam a woman's face into the side of a parked car igniting a steeplechase through a park solely moonlit.
I've seen "men"...take semen to a female chin one after another as if they weren't their sister's brother.
I've seen "men"...tell her with a straight face "I love you" then turn around and call another saying "I want to f**k you."
And these "men"...are part of the world I'll bring my seeds in?
It's a shame when these Mediocre Examples Negate My Enhancement Nevertheless, My Efforts Never Minutely Embed their Negligence....
It's only a three letter word but, here, spread thinly through acronyms to show that I live amongst but was seemingly bred after them...
Slowly, I breathe in as I let the memories seep into my conscious state no longer devoid of the hate from which my moods suffer...you wonder...why my smile plays hide-and-seek?
It's because my memory refuses to forget what these eyes have seen...
...you see what I see then you try to sleep...
.......it's no wonder why I die in my dreams....©

"Linens and Things" 8/19/09

2009-08-19T07:03:00.000-07:00

The dreary part is that I love her...but teary eyes show no strength and my very kind are too very kind while they forget our names.
Once upon a dame, I would have courted her politely to show her the world outside of those blatantly unlike me.
I would have advised she to patiently wait for what's inside me while these ingrates slowly eyed she and what she'd looked like in skin tight jeans.
Unfortunately, time can't buy dreams...so I scream...into my linens as the moon beams, exacerbating my disgust.
I once would have spoke to her the product of my fingers' construction with no compunction for my heart and its ability to function post-ache.
But now I'm merely a shell coated in Caution and lacquered with the distaste I have for my own strength...or lack thereof.
A sad remnant who pulls back because he's now laying in the wake of actuality due to how She was and how he loved too deeply in Her shallow reality...
Depravity shrank the soul that once would have approached she...but now all that I look forward to is the muffling of my sheets....©

"More Like Sticks and Stones" 7-18-09

2009-07-18T13:01:00.000-07:00

To them, it was wholly jovial since I was always the butt of it. But the smile simply deflected the pain inflamed under it. Enraged, I will admit, at the "friends" who wouldn't cease fire. Attacked me since the tone of my skin was wrong in their eyes.
I was too dyed...
Many times, wanted to take a fist to the lips of those who sang lies and had me believing I was the wrong kind.
At times.....I hated myself. But, more so, I hated them for wearing the mask of a friend and pouring on insults with no end.
"If only to be of slightly fairer skin like them so that my ears, heart and mind could shed this 'too dark' burden." So young and chastised cursing the skin I was in having to pretend that they were merely jokes...again...and again...and again until the hate grew so deeply seeded within that the only friend whom I trusted was a ballpoint pen.
The pen would not judge me for those traitorous thoughts.
The pen yelled no "black sambo" in juvenile judgment.
The pen was above it...
Which is why it still remains my closest friend for it ushered me through the ills of yearning for fairer skin. Allowing me to breathe and embrace what is me and discard the excrement that was an adolescent disease. As an adolescent, we see the world as our peers wish us to see. I'm just thankful I had one friend to reassure that there was nothing wrong with me....©

"The Casual Latitude" 7-5-09

2009-07-05T20:36:00.000-07:00

How often is the inspiration behind the pen and pad's collision their hormonal visions and one-night decisions? I'm imprisoned by a culture that implores the idea that penetration is a mere act....when in fact..."the beast with two backs" is not a mere creature but a vile being that eats at the fabric of our morality. Casually seeping its way into the fabric of our sheets until the sunrise beats through our shades where we're able to see a mistake or a plea to the court of our better judgment.
Not to say that I'm above it.....I was convicted once but years ago was convinced that there's more to it than just....just...a mere tryst.
The problem is...they think it makes them cool how many they add to their list so they can slap hands or pat fists and brag about their conquests and the ones that they've "had."
It's so sad...excluding no gender.
I suppose I just vacated that mindset as soon as I'd entered. A short tenure I had in the Land of the Casual but I live amongst enablers with opposing attitudes.
I'm on a different latitude...gravid with distaste of that place that my generation hath been placed. Willingly...
Silly me for thinking we should be above it...my apologies. Pardon me for not letting hormonal odyssey's cheapen a part of me........©

(quote by Shakespeare in "Othello")

"In" 6-29-09

2009-06-29T08:07:00.000-07:00

At times, it grows tiresome to be the "nice" one that falls into the zone that they collect insight and advice from. The one they love but aren't "in" with because of experiments with those that they fall for but claim that they're against.
Sometimes.........I do not feel sympathy for their remissions for the opportunities that were missed when "I should have chosen you" inevitably leaves her lips. Irreparable it is but as always, my shoulder is here to absorb the tears forced by their experi"men"ts.
I'm amassing a fear of them.
Afraid of them once more saying those dreadful words...proving me to be the right one but just not the first....or the second....or the third in the case of those who seem to run back to the same type that forces them to dampen my shirt.
How did I get here?
I landed on this place....this place where unfaithful ingrates overpopulate the terrain and reign over their hearts with no remorse or shame.
I abhor notions of infidelity...but apparently....the more coarse you are, the harder they fall. I've all but fallen off of this place I reside where she spouts off cyclical lies about her perfect type and all that they encompass until she meets another Pompous and those lies are exposed as such.
I suppose I'm just...weary of the recurring theme and have realized that my pen and keys will only truly be "in" with me.....©

"Separation Anxiety"

2009-06-22T17:30:00.000-07:00

As a child, I used to think I did it for attention so that people would notice if I was missing but the more it went on, the more I realized that my self imprisoned nature is my own form of dissension. I rebel against them because my conditions are different...conditions of fun, conditions of moral conditioning and their shared indifference.
I suppose I'm just different...
I struggled over this for a while thinking it was an instance and it would wear off the older I would get. But the older I get, the more I don't seem to fit....so over here I sit...a seeming misfit, misunderstood script being misread underneath a spotlight so dimly lit. Into trends we fit so eloquently, often times, and when norm-formists comprise crowds, that's often when I collide rhyme into these subtle signs derived from my heart, uprooted by my eyes, using my fingers as the spark.
I verbally depart the scene that brings together the things where my mind tells me "this coincides not with your dreams."
So it's not that I'm being rude, stuck-up or unsocial by any means, I'm merely trying to bring forth what matters to me so I must set aside the confusion and congestion to see clearly. It's clearer on my own......a loner is me. Pardon me...my thoughts and my fingers have separation anxiety.........©

"Pocket Protector" 6-18-09

2009-06-18T15:43:00.000-07:00

They threw the term nerd in my direction so I protected myself with a lead scalpel for my own form of dissection. It was my own form of deflection when the jesters chimed in with jokes about choices of friends or classes I was in. I confess...I was bashful back then. But I masked it well with fashion trends and catching passes from them.
Pigskin has a way to hide from the best of friends the truth beneath the pads...the nerd beneath the mask.
Immaturity basks on the tongues of so many and flaunts itself in the form of ridicule with any inconformity. The enormities of an insecure mind are a vile thing because despite those gridiron dreams, the nerd was really me. The kid who enjoyed many...many opposite things than the friends with which he conveniently chose to convene.
Hindsight is a funny thing...
It's easy for us to look back and see how often we lost the battle with Appease when, indeed, we decreed we were a unique human being.
I chose my own facade...An adolescent mistake...
But the true face beneath, I only chose to embrace when I touched the lead to page and then chose to convey the emotions behind the facemask, the clothes and the laughs...the girls, the jokes, the smiles, the friends, the fads...
I was a nerd then and I am a nerd now. The only difference is my words serve as my pads now...©

"The Sea of She" 6-13-09

2009-06-13T13:10:00.000-07:00

I fought to stay afloat in this sea of uncertainty because certainly I could be the one to tame the surface. I figured...to stay the course would eventually be worth it but her uncharted territory leaves men crippled and nervous. At full mast, I crashed into wave after wave....after wavering convictions and tawdry depictions of the picture she wanted to paint with me in mind.
The lies....
My mind....
How often I toiled over the implication that one day we would somehow reach that cinematic elation where the climactic moment signifies a real love...that real love....the love that find the scripts but evades us. Or me anyway...
It seems that lies lie in my eyes' fate because beneath the Cover Girl, all I see are lies on her face. No blush, eye liner or mascara can masquerade the massive distaste I'll taste because she tainted my embrace.
Making the journey to get across my golden gate nearly impossible because in her, I see her face.
And in her? I see her face. And so on....it's all the same.
It's an ice-hearted shame that this is who I became all because that faith was placed into arms with nothing to gain. A true heart blackened in pain from the batted eyelashes of an undeserving dame.
I set sail in hopes of relieving her of those games but instead I lay in wreckage from a pirate that came....saw...conquered hearts and left residue in the wake. I lay awake at night and think "why?"...I can't answer. Cursed with this urge to be the hopeless romantic left me out here aimlessly floating in debris...stranded. Listlessly drifting in a sea of what she did to me. What she left for me...an impaled corazon with no place, no base, nothing to build upon. Making the task impossible for she who tries to fix the debris of a man....a man like me.
Sometimes I still hope as I litote my own thoughts in an effort to downplay the dreams that are caught by my web of realism. This imprisoned prism of emotion inside of me that doesn't truly have an ear to listen....a cry to fall on deaf ears but just fear and feel for the woman who's next to come near. The journey to heal the wreck may be far too severe.
I'm odd...so I hear. And the strings she wove in my fabric made me this patternless loveless emotionally distilled maverick. One day....I'll give in to the sea and scream "have it! You wrought havoc now you take what you destroyed!" Start anew. Erase the re from the build...I pray that day is soon so that my pain may be killed......©

"Serene..." 2-7-2009

2009-06-12T09:49:00.000-07:00

It seems as if there's nobody....nobody to see what these eyes have seen or where this heart has been. If only there was a surgery to take from me what was placed in me at the hands of these beings. I can't breathe at times as it feels I'm fleeing from my Pain while it chases me endlessly as I reach out to Serene.
More tired I've grown to be of this cycling theme.
I feel alone behind these eyes....I've lost sight of me.
The one so sure of who was inside of me has gone and now all I see is pain with a body to feed upon.
How did I reach this point?
How did I come to this?
Sometimes I just want to quit but then who would I be?
'Tis not the movie when I ask myself What Lies Beneath...? Because beneath all of the tragedy lies the soul rid of fallacy in a world where it seems like we are just an art gallery...here just for show because our truths are external.
Amongst the commotion, I will find myself...a heart wrought with tragedy is not a heart to be shelved...but rather a heart to be held and displayed proudly when it seems all else has failed...around me.
When I've found me? I will thank not these portraits of beings but instead that resilient heart that refused to cease beating......I may tire chasing Serene but I refuse to cease breathing.....©

"Aeration"

2009-06-11T14:08:00.000-07:00

You would think that as much as I do, this writing would leave me dry. Wry. But why simply lie there when I could fly?
Away...
From wherever leaves me barren. Congested. So I use my narration as a means for aeration to my surface. The moments come plenty when I'm still nervous.
So I turn this pen into a chisel and carve my way into time. History. Too many pose next to their metaphors and similes instead of allowing the pieces of their heart, thoughts and self to live in symmetry.
'Tis why I transport my energy wherever I may be.
At the club? The lights bore me.
In traffic? I'm calm amongst the ornery.
In the A.M.? That's when I script my way past the ordinary.
Quite often I find comfort in the claims that I'm "unordinary" When our bones and the dust settle, that is when we're truly tauted as extraordinary.
I want my words to bury me and for my pen to be my shovel. So that you may see my demise as my words not being above you.
But above me...because unlike you, my words do not judge me.
They hug me...from now until death do us part. As I part ways now with the breaking of day...I think solely of that day. That day. Where I must then let the words that I've set in place, place me adrift for the boatman at the Styx and resonate with you on earth and allow me to just....drift.....©

"Sea of Nothingness"

2009-06-11T13:57:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I lay and stare.....stare into nothing because it helps me find...find...find something.
Amidst the commotion of our hectic existence, there are times when notions are given that we should be emotionally driven.
Steered by love but fooled by anger.
But amongst the nothingness, my evaporated pain is reformed into the tears that fall not from my eyes. But fall inward to my soul as they dampen my insides. It is here that my emotions take a backseat to my mind and if none other, this time....this time is mine. Mine to play fugitive and run away with my thoughts, no matter how estranged or innate they ought be. This part of dark is me...emotionally free from the clasps of heartbreak and animosity. The times where I ought to see what my thoughts want me to see as I bask in the cleansing of an Emotionless Sea.
Floating...
Knowing that my time in the dark will shed light on the qualms of my mind....all I need is time...
This time...
Finding me amongst the nothingness....the cleansing of my mind...©

"Not...'The End'..."

2009-06-11T13:46:00.000-07:00

Rotation.
The mind circles the same. As strange as it came, it went just the same. The same thought poses axis to this man claimed deranged. Centralized, thus tickling the membrane of the lone sane remain. All others have fled for the sake of themselves but I sit here in a craze and I rotate amidst this...this...this place where there are no words to say.
Out darned spot...
Out I say...
This speck fixated in the core of my brain that I can't quite reach so it's there it will stay until the day I decide to delve deeper. Whether it's before or after i meet the reaper, I know not. But one day this spot will decree it's emancipation and it is then I will take it and place it on a sheet as this. But until then, I will keep my fists balled up around this pen and let my heart flow through my wrist until I pen "the end." But as sure as I am that we all sin..........this...is not...."the end."©

"Fly Away..." - The Iconic Series

2009-06-11T13:40:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I want to fly away from them
...from you...
from all who try to emblazon my views in lieu of listening, they're wallowing in the spewed dysentery that's accrued. It's common culture to become subdued in the midst of pliable people. That's why I want to soar away the more beseechful they become.
I can't see you...
I don't see those who go through reams of verbiage to wade your mind in the purposeless ventures that they renew with every letter that's jotted down to form a mask for you. Sometimes I wish I could play victim to the lift and drag beneath my wings....take off...and have the words be the only remnants of my dreams...©

"Marionettes" - The Iconic Series

2009-06-11T13:28:00.000-07:00

Their poignancy puzzles me because it's draped and masqueraded with verbiage but underneath, you'll find that their words lack bouyancy. They play these word jumbles with your eyes to disguise the fact that really all they're saying is an act...a facade. A mere marionette in search of an applause for stringing together adjectives in an independent clause. Difference lies within the lies they feed through similes and ballooned vocabulary to prevent you from seeing that a real grasp of the artform is out of reach...it's not their fault, they refuse to let art be. A marionette is only as good as its master allows it to be...©

"The Time of the Feathers" - The Iconic Series

2009-06-11T13:21:00.000-07:00

The headlines do change but daily I do drain the ink from this feather whether the ink drips true or writes fair where the lies are lied down and those who print fear that the eyes will slide down the printed columns and bend the truth of the words. What's said is deferred by the ocular opinion rather than observe the true vision of the author. So bother. Probe further into the the heart of said art so that lead sparks may fly like the ink drops when they crash down on the papaya threads woven together for the benefit of your pupils to browse letters....I advocate the time of the feathers....©

"Abnormal" - The Iconic Series

2009-06-11T13:11:00.001-07:00

Abnormal to some but my hands flail about with more appendages for my words to find their way out. It's like I was born to vouch for the validity and combat the bastardization of similes because throughout history, we've come to doubt the outs we leave ourselves. I prefer to free myself of the burdens I carry and be remembered but not confused with he from "Little House on the Prairie." It's a scary thing to look down and see this...thing...but the same could be said when I'm done racing ink across a freeway of dead trees without having to think. Between the lines, I'm me, but outside? I'm what they see so pardon me if I frequent the art of escapability. It's simply a searing need to appease those dead trees and avenge the very reason they were shaved into these...these...yellow jail cells, barred and confined. So pardon me as I free myself between these college ruled lines...©

"This Sewer" - The Iconic Series

2009-06-11T13:06:00.000-07:00

Stuck in this sewer trying to figure out how to maneuver but I was lured down here by my own fear and anguish but I'm anxious to see where this paved latrine leads. I mean...it seems that not all is as it seems sometimes because sometimes we go through our lives as daydreams. And in the meantime we don't see Human Latrine signs because we've been wandering around blind this whole time. I trudge this fecal mine in an attempt to escape these feeble minds that have come to the forefront of thine eyes. I'm just trying to bide time until this underground journey ends because I don't want to be So Far Gone when the road ends.....I'm just trying to find my Stonehenge....©

"Endless Flight" - The Iconic Series

2009-06-11T12:58:00.000-07:00

It seems endless...flight after flight. Step after step, I fight for the feeling of misuse. The scattered wed of she's that they disprove only prove that the cutting is self inflicted and my own form of abuse. Further I plunge down this staircase of specificity where I specifically search for another with a knife. Knowing she's ill fated, I hold my wrists as she slices and I bleed on porcelain and bask as I writhe. It's never ending as I torture myself inside but lie in my own pain because from the blood, I can't hide. One after another, I implore another cutter....no longer holding my wrists beneath the blade that's blood smothered....©

"In Her Lips" - The Iconic Series

2009-06-11T12:50:00.000-07:00

She left her residue on my neck so I guess...I'm simply a knight in her game wondering "what's next?" "Was it just sex...or a monumental first step?" Crowded thoughts raid a mind as the eyes tell me to merge left. The headlights in the rear-view merely seem to remind me of the dispersed candles lit amongst her feng shui room.
They calm me.
But I don't see the route that we shall be on as, surely, she pawns her way through these John's and these Doe's to check the mates and leave them hapless as the fawns trapped in those....headlights from the rearview just seem to resemble but the lipstick on my neck was not just a kiss....'twas no thimble. But I am a lost boy and in her lips is Neverland. I kissed her and flew off....but will I ever land?.....©

"Be Original" - The Iconic Series

2009-06-11T12:04:00.000-07:00

Footsteps are left in the wake of success but the tragedy comes around when they follow the army steps.
Left...left....left, right, left.
Left...left...left, right, left all alone is the fear that they hold because attaining original thought is a trait that they don't know...or style for that matter. In life or in their clothes. A peasant is still a peasant in stolen royalty robes. Originality is my catalyst obvious in my amorous diction. So instead of ignoring the cerebral voices.....I listen. Weave reality between my cortex's fiction in an attempt to rise to opium infested visions with overdosed impulses....I don't mind that I'm different since I don't care if they notice......©

"Wanted" - The Iconic Series

2009-06-11T11:52:00.000-07:00

Wanted: An independent thinker to accompany an avidly verbose being on an inked journey seeing the numerous proclivities pertaining to these pseudo human....things. It's quite hard to bring one's self to believe that the beings that we're breeding are so....obscene. I ink my dreams because they seem to make the most sense but society's a conformist's puzzle which I don't seem to fit....in any particular space. Hence the ad placed hoping for another nomad with whom I can embrace as the continuation of the oblong puzzle piece. I hope that you see....I would seek the plaigerizing clones if I wanted another me...©