Short Story

I would imagine that in her own senility that was mourning. In the twenty odd years I had been married to the empty vessel that was her daughter, she never really parted with any tears, any jeers, complaints, compliments or actual actions that would set her apart from the chair she was wheeled around in. But, today, in this lugubrious procession, she wasn’t simply living. She was observing the body of her dead daughter. She was staring at my dead wife’s body.
My sister-in-law had been shrieking incessantly since she walked in. Although, prior to crossing the threshold, she was complaining about the amount of hours she was putting in at the office. Victoria worked as a secretary but would make it seem as if she were a miner. The only sibling of my dearly departed, and I despised her. I can only imagine that it was Vicky’s mouth that drove her sister Maria into such an incommunicable state. It would be impossible to be raised around that trite and constant jabber and not learn to ignore most of the auditory intake of the surrounding environment. And even if it were able to tune out the high shrill voice, Vicky had the annoying habit of jumping in front of who she was addressing.
At the funeral she ignored me completely, and made damn sure I knew. That could be expected from her. As soon as she noticed my eyes fall on her, her face shriveled like she had the odor of a rotten corpse drifting from her feet and her eyes trailed the same path they had the few minutes prior, from my Florsheim shoes, to my combed back hair. I knew she wasn’t disgusted by what she saw. Her attraction to me was made as clear as my illogical one to her, at the dinner in honor of my “literary achievements” where, drunk on jealousy of her sister in the main hall, depression over her recently failed marriage, and the glasses of wine she had guzzled down she shoved me into a restroom of the hotel. Our affair hadn’t gone past that drunken night but I knew it would have had I wanted it to persist.
Her disgust was not found even at the reason of her contemptuous glares. No, the banality of that would be too much for even her to believe that . That repulsion wasn’t very legitimate and we both were aware of it. But, despite that fact, she tried with all the effort she could muster to convince me of my sins- or what she saw as sins.
After two painful hours of trying to squeeze out a tear for the corpse, the emptier shell of an empty shell. It was as futile as crying for the fossil of a nautilus shell. It is the same impersonal forced emotion squeezed out of a cubic inch of steel. I eventually placed my head into my two palms and jerked my shoulders to not attract attention. In a room of crying people and crocodile’s tears, my sincere indifference would have seemed crude, and I’m not one to offend the dead.
With that laborious event behind me, I left the church into a heavy world. The overcast was thick and dark, but the air was dry and cold. The sky seemed to strain to fall and bring down rain but something invisible held it in place and restricted it from any kind of release and relax. Like the globe on Atlas’ shoulders, so were the clouds a burden to this day’s sky. Now, I could finally start my life, and even without the help of the sky, I would go home, and clean out the shambles of a broken life. At 52, I’d be reborn, but first I had to clean out the house. I knew it would be acceptable to toss out all the trash she kept out of “sentimentality” because it’s so easy to simply say “It is to hard to see all her things everyday and know Maria’s really gone.” So I got into my car and drove home a new man.
_________________________
I got home as the sun was setting, hypothetically of course. It was about six o’clock and had the sky been even somewhat clear the sun would be setting, but the clouds turned the vibrant orange sky that would be there a dull dark gray like a chimney going unkempt. The long gravel driveway crunched under the slowing tires like bones grinding and breaking, as the motorized gate closed behind me. The two story house before me was one of the benefits of marrying into a wealthy family with a history of heart problems.
I walked upstairs and down the long hallway, into the master bedroom. She slept in this room. I usually tried to sleep across the hall in the guest room. Maria had a way of starting arguments before bed. It had become a simple ritual to lay down together, have a trivial argument, and then sleep in separate rooms. The past four years had made that a nightly occurrence, and before that it was every other night. Our moments of intimacy only came in the forceful sex with which I quelled her incessant complaints. I regretted it. After the second year of marriage she learned to complain every time she wanted her fix.
Within an hour of arrival, her room which previously reeked of femininity was bare and clean. The floral décor and romantic ostentation was expunged, and replaced with the bare white wall. The way the architect had intended. Three trash bags lined the wall, brimming with every one of the worthless ornaments that Martha Stewart had convinced Maria she needed. I went to work on her wardrobe and closet. Four tall trash bags were filled. Maria’s death was Goodwill’s fortune.
The walk-in closet was long and covered in mirrors. Maria’s ego overstated her mild beauty. She was beautiful, but never more than that. She had an affinity for extravagance but always accentuated her average bust and combed back her hair in an awkward fashion. The only time of the day that I was mildly attracted to her was in the morning right after her shower. Of course even then I preferred to keep my eyes on the morning news. After all the clothes and shoes were emptied out, a dearth boxes in the back were left. The four boxes were foreign to me. They were white boxes with black marker on the side reading “DON‘T THROW AWAY.” I was forced to smile. Even in death I could defy her. But, I couldn’t completely disregard my poor wife. The boxes sparked curiosity and I sat down to rummage through them. Here were more sentimental mementos from childhood. There were cute cards of cakes with ten candles, and cards for other Hallmark occasions with the twenty, fifty, hundred dollar bills still sitting in the card. She had such an extreme affinity for expenses but still she saved even the money from the cards. One box held nothing but those cards. I took the money from each of them and found a few thousand dollars would just be rotting if Maria still had any strength.
The next box was filled with legal documents and other important insignificant garbage. Her immunization records, diplomas, birth certificate, and many other papers that I could have sworn were downstairs in the safe. Vicky had handled most of the legal procedures after her sister’s death so I wasn’t too surprised by the revelation.
The box next to that held a collection of folded notes that looked archaic. The aging papers had hearts printed on them. I saw the phrase “I love you” on almost every piece of paper in that pile. They were the love notes she’d accumulated over the years. Apparently at sixteen, Maria was superb at felatio. Her then significant other, Marcus, attested to it, and their undying love. She wasn’t that great. I quickly grew tired of this box. It was all juvenile combinations of over stimulated teens’ awakened sexual drives and romantic ideals and misconceptions of love and passion. They were allegedly “destined to be together.” I was never much for that sappy bullshit.
I moved on to the next box after moving the first and third box into the driveway along with the accumulated garbage and putting the second box on the dining room table. In the third box there was a combination of unsent letters and received ones from family back east and some other names I hadn’t ever seen prior. Most of the letters were superficial and trite. A couple of them were to high school friends. The majority was family. After those had been sorted, there were a collection of letters mailed from only an address, no name and the letters from my wife, to an address again, with no name. The first one I read read:

Dear,
My husband has been growing increasingly distant. I hate him. The only reason I have for living is you. The perfunctory fool still seems to believe I want to make love to him. He repulses me. I need some sort of escape. I don’t know what I aim to achieve by writing this. I need to see you and am going to call you within minutes, but I find some solace in writing this with you in mind. Can’t you run away with me? The only reason I stay is my parents, but my father is dying and my mother is succumbing more and more to her dementia. I don’t think I will stay with him beyond the death of my parents. Then we can really be free. I think he is having an affair. I love you.
Yours undoubtedly,
Maria

My head reeled. Maria, the widely acknowledged saint was cheating on me. I continued to rummage through the letters. Apparently the two had met a couple years ago and had set the affair in concrete that same night, on the very bed I was sitting on. I was on a business trip. The anonymous man was very explicit with the details. My wife had given him the address and he found his way there “by following the scent of fresh cunt.” They apparently hadn’t slept at all that night. Maria made an impression on him. He was sure that they were in love. The affair lasted up until recently. The more recent letters were increasingly plaintive. He needed the affair to be public. He needed their “love to blossom in the sunlight.” Anonymous felt the situation too immoral to continue in the direction it was going.
My first reaction was to call Vicky. I told her she had something to see, and said it pertained to her sister. If I had said it had anything to do with me she would have hung up, but she instead contemptuously, reluctantly agreed.

_______________


When Victoria had arrived, I greeted her at the door with the first letter I read. She began to cry. It stunned me. That was the last reaction I expected. Victoria, the voraciously tongued debutante was in tears because of the letter. It was poorly written and sappy, yet she was so moved that she was in tears. It had nothing to do with her either, the irrational beast. “Hey, stop, shouldn’t you be happy?” I interrogated, repulsed by her emotional state but compelled to quell the leech of attention that was sitting and sobbing.
“Why would I be happy?” she managed to ask through her sobs.
“Well, don’t you feel vindicated? Your sister wasn’t as sweet as we thought. We didn’t take candy from a dying baby. We had an affair on a dying infidel. Don’t you feel better?”
“How can you say that? She’s dead! She died and your talking about how we were fine for betraying her because she was human? You’re sick. You aren’t human.”
“I’m saying that all your babble and anger about how we did this to someone so innocent and pure isn’t real. She was human, and so deserves all that humanity must be put through.”
“So, y-you say you deserve what she did to you? What makes you so special? You’re no better than her. You don’t deserve any vindication.”
“You’re not understanding me. Or, you’re understanding me perfectly but not getting what it means.”
“Shut up.”
“Your sister was as bad a person as anybody. She loved, hated, lied, and cheated. Just like we did. We all deserved this, because we’re human. We aren’t as responsible-”
“Shut the fuck up!”
“because we’re all on even ground! Why should you care that you ruined a marriage that she never wanted to be in from its incipience? Where are the morals? We are on this even ground where infidelity is nothing. An eye for an eye.”
“Oh spare me the biblical quotes, oh righteous one. You whore, you infidel whore. You’re in no position to quote the bible. You weren’t taking an eye for any other eye. You were just fortunate enough to take the eye from the right person. You’re justification is nothing more than coincidental luck.”
“That may be, but it’s justification, nonetheless. At the end of the day, when all this is in retrospect. The two sides exchanged blows so ended tied.”
“But, she loved him.”
“What does that matter. She thought she loved him, or at least she told him she loved him, and he said he loved her. She told me she loved me. I never believed her but she said it. What is the difference now?”
“You read the letters. You know what the difference is. I can feel it.”
“Oh don’t be cliché. You think all that really matters. All that was blanked away when her heart stopped. Why should I care what feelings she had. Her thoughts and emotions are irrelevant and all that remain are the actions that extend to us now. And those actions right now, is her fucking some other man. That’s the fucking legacy she left, her whoring around town, and what that says to me is that you need to get over all this. You didn’t kill anyone.”
“Oh yes, Its not like I slept with my sister’s husband!”
“You call this thing a marriage? We weren’t even amiable. This was some sick charade. And it was worth it. She’s dead now, and you’re only here so you can shut up about what I said. Just consider this letter your redemption, that’s the only reason I called.”
“How can you be so inhumane.”
“You’re inhumane, with all of your idealistic bullshit. It’s unnatural. Love and fate are so far in the sky for you, and yet you people treat like dirt. Family and honor are such high priorities only for you to have more to repent for when your sins are committed. You’re calling me inhumane for being natural. I’m not cruel for being an animal. I act in my own interest and you would do well to do the same. With hypocritical ideals you only get to ruin the world you’re living in and retard you progress. Are you being the altruist? Do you think you’re being the righteous one? We committed the same sin. Just while you’re hear moping around about it, I know she doesn’t give a shit! She’s worm’s food, and the sooner you understand that, the better. There is no betrayal of dirt. A pile of bones wearing a golden band, is still a pile of bones. It’s past died with its brain activity. There are no memories in that empty skull. Get your ideals out of your ass and then you might understand where I stand. Only then can you call me inhumane.”
Vicky was in tears. The mascara was running down like black rivers of tar or oil seeping from some mechanical beast. There weren’t any thoughts behind this, there was no reason. She was acting robotically, controlled and manipulated by the capricious emotional whims. This is humanity? A predictability based on the most likely emotional reactions. Stupid bitch.
“Get out.”
______________
I slept easy that night. Despite my dead wife’s infidelity and the stains of black tears evaporated on the marble floor downstairs, I slept easy, for the first time since my marriage. At about noon of the following day I woke up. My book had a deadline today, but it got pushed back about a month for “mourning.” There were letters on the floor in the living room. Three pre-approved credit cards, two bills and one last letter from the same address with no name. It was addressed to my wife. It read:

Maria,
My previous decision stands. I cannot wait for someone to die and believe that this love is noble. I said it before and I’ll say it again, this is over. Please, don’t try and make this hard for us. I’ve sent too many letters explaining to you why I was done, I’ve explained it over the phone and I don’t know what else to do. Stop. I loved you, truthfully. But, that was then. Go back to your husband, reintroduce yourself to him. Goodbye
Sincerely,
Able

When I dropped the letter, I finished with the toiletries and sat down to a cold breakfast of cereal and leftover eggs. The food was terrible, the milk was nearing its expiration date and the cereal was stale. I had coffee but was out of sugar and I despised black coffee. After some curses at the empty box of sugar, the phone rang.
“Sir, are you the husband of the late Maria Sandoval?”
“I was.”
“There was an extreme amount of narcotics in your wife’s blood stream, and we have found that to be the cause of the-” I stopped paying attention once he said what he called for, until “Sir, your wife committed suicide.”
_________________
I walked in the house late in the afternoon, reaching evening. He couldn’t have expected me to come. He wouldn’t have expected me to come ever again. But, why would I let him get away with the way he treated me last night - the way he treated my sister. He doesn’t have the decency to respect either of us, or repent for what he has done. He isn’t a man, in any sense of the world. A real man wouldn’t do that. A man like my father was decent, he cared for his family, and appreciated his wife, even in her senility. Maria deserved better. I’m glad she had an affair. I’m glad she found love.
I stepped through the door and instantly a glint of light faintly hit my eye. A polished revolver lay gleaming on the floor. The handle was brown and the silver was as bright as the sun it was reflecting. I stepped forward to clear my view and saw a hand lying limp about three inches from the gun. Blood was splayed against the back wall. The glass door to the patio was painted red. There was a crash of lightning outside. It began to rain.

(untitled abortion)

Light shone through the half parted curtains despite David’s complaints. He wasn’t quite prepared for such a strong warmth and beam of light. He vomited beside the bed.
The carpet wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t the usual home he awoke in. Nor was it the usual time he woke up. It was 5:30 in the morning. Or at least felt like it. David examined what he thought was the clock, due to the red light reflected by the wall. It turned out to be an unfamiliar phone, charging. It read 7:15. He murmured the word “shit” and felt around for his clothes. It became a fruitless search. He had work in less than an hour and he still didn’t know where he was.
“Aw, fuck!” He couldn’t make out the voice but he knew it should have been familiar. It was feminine, soft, and sounded as out of sync shouting obscenities as a stroller would look inside of a hate rally.
A female form became visible. Only a form was visible though. His vision was blurry and it was impossible for him to make out anything that wasn’t shining brightly in his face. She was small, probably only 5’ 2”. She walked closer and wrapped her arms around him while sitting down. David had closed his eyes and been struggling to remember anything that would tell him where he was or who he was with but from what he felt, she was very well endowed, as well as in the nude. It was alarming because as far as he could tell he wasn’t in Jennifer’s place.
Slender fingers stroked his pulsing head. “How do you feel?” Jane Doe asked.
“Pretty bad,” David replied.
“There’s an aspirin and glass of water on the dresser there. And don’t worry about your mess. I’ll have the maid pick it up.”
“Oh, sorry about that.”
“I just said don’t worry.”
“Sorry…”
She just laughed and lifted herself off the twin size bed. “There’s eggs and bacon on the counter. I’m going back to sleep on the couch.”
“Don’t you ever shut up?” He looked up half smiling and did not see a familiar face- however, still an extremely stunning one none the less. A sweet, young but matured face was sweetly smiled back at him. A petite nose complimented thin almond shaped eyes, and small lips but somewhat big for the size of her made anyone want to devour the crimson candies.. She was breathtaking. She turned and glided from the room. Though her weight shifted from side to side it never seemed to hit the floor. He was hypnotized until the door behind her closed.
He sat contemplating what he had just done. This would be the second time his fidelity had given way to temptation in his current relationship. It was becoming clear that the love he had for Jennifer wouldn’t make it past the end of the month, this was evident through the lack of guilt he had, and felt it necessary to call it off now. But David found himself in a more dire situation. Work was now within 30 minutes and he was standing in his own vomit. He checked Helen’s phone and saw that it was now 7:45 but made a more relaxing observation. One that made him think the day was going to get better. It was Saturday, April 25th.

(Deja Vu) It's times like these I wish I knew how to ride a Bike.

I'll say Please.

Fucking great

Exhale

I wanna get out
And make it work

I want you to get out
And make it work

I'll be ok

If. and Then.

If Failure wore a wig
It would look just like you.
If rain could freeze in place,
And I could drag my face through
Those tiny little daggers
It would feel like your realizations.

If the sky tore apart,
And the hand of God came down through it
Its brilliance would be your glare.

And If I were someone else,
if we were, we would
be inseparable.

If a cross could bear me.
If a wish could feed me.
If a wedding band could constrain me
I would be a jeweled goblet at your lips.
I would shake a tree and bring down your glee.
I would and would not
Fix and Blend you.
I should or should not
mix and sell you?

Would your healing balm
deign to fix and mix me?
Would your blending tongue
embrace and hire me?

Let me stiffen my grin,
and work my flint
and enflame my passions
to match your inability.

Where is it that I am being too harsh?
Be it bog or marsh, in March or October
Or the new January, of dear saintly
Valentine's Day.
Oh, wait. That was your poetic hand
that split two hearts in half
into fours for the sake
of more, for Morse
as I did need his code.

Blab

Soo it's finally getting cooler...THANK YOU. No more walking into my car and turning on the A/C. I don't know what else to say...I don't usually have much to say cause I'm just ranting on about life and metaphysics that nobody understands haha...I'll be back later.

Fuck I missed it

Javi, Happy late birthday man. I hope you can forgive me. Love you...no homo...not really

Three Songs.

Can fires be any more fickle?
Can your passions seek any more vindication?
Where these cruel pacifications meet some
Divine pranksters caprice, as your life
A joke played on a friendly face,
A tree went to grow.
An oak.
Each seed seeped like a plague of
Too much felt and too much known.
It was time to wake up yesterday.
But my time to dream passed in a waking whim.

Yesterday Don't Matter...
She'll never be seen again, it seems
like a nation's divide, is a loving
split, but a fate derived lost and drift
like a spider web flung by a heavy hand.
It still clings like truth to a victim's scars.
It still clings like a vision to a prophet's heart.

St Peter's Cathedral's cross, draped in gold
Seems lackluster in your hair even despite protests.
Feathers fluttering in open air cant claim your
Gossamer threads of blonde divine.
A gentle touch and single lip, drowns screams
Of futile passions, aching not to be supremed.
But succeed, and visions of her rosy breast
And sights of gentle sighs bleed dreams dry.
A harrowing account, a burning bush
Or heated Dam... but mine, Love, a broken Levee.
I do dream of you, and that sweetest smile
Becoming mine, becoming mind, becoming visions of
A Paradise.

On an Entirely Different Note. (heh)

Oh Boy.

Cool Sin (KOOLs In)

Dearest Night, darkest blanket let it be.
Let it be free.
Black, blank and cold. Where once the fireflies flew
like embers from a friendly fire.

Cruelty washed your black white.
A light of passions renewed
of childhood fancies for a leather jacket,
bleached my twilight, and stained it pink.

Good Afternoon

Tee hee

So, I was sitting in a corner... No that's not the right story. The point is, I was thinking about how I feel the world came to be. I think it didn't. Seems reasonable to me to assume that there is no beginning. See, time is a construct. Like location. It is. There is no center, and no point of origin. It seems reasonable to me to assume that we never started, but that, as we approach "before" to such a ridiculous extent we simply have to accept smaller and smaller increments of time. Like location. What I mean is, the point from where the universe expanded still contained all there ever was right? Same idea with time. Our increments of time is shaped by our ideas of seconds, minutes, hours. We see that 100 years is a very long time, because it is longer than our lifetime. But 10,000,000 years is unimaginable to us, for obvious reasons. But on a planetary judgment it isn't. Universally it is extremely acceptable, and only getting more and more so. Eventually, the universe will be able to approach its long increments of time as seconds in our lifetime. But my point is, the "beginning" is an assumption that time is progressive. All time exists. Yesterday is just as real and present as today right? If that is true, if time is a big all encompassing blanket, like all matter, and for that matter all places, than it seems safe, just as place is infinite, time is. Creation... is impossible. There would need to be a point zero, but that isn't possible if all time exists at all times. Get it? To me, when the "big bang" happened, it is just going from an unstable existence to a stable one. I mean, existence didn't just explode into being. Existence just became possible out of what was there but unstable, The way we change according to where we are in time. But all I am saying is that there was always SOMETHING.

Worth Clicking.

Up In The Air

MMMMassive Attack...

Geographic Location, I Love You

Because We Need to know How many Love Stories we can Watch in A Row.

Congratulations

Our meager little blog now has a title. An obvious one, but a decent one. I feel that my beautiful friend Kevin and I should celebrate. In song, and dance.

I will write something later.

there went the world

Sometimes I wonder...are there any floating fortresses in the sky? haha that would be dope.

Why do I seem to get into complicated situations? Like seriously do I just enjoy the complexity of trying to dig myself out and creating some sort of conflict in order to dig myself out? I may be a bit peculiar, but bare with me for a second. It's already been three weeks into my semester and I am really into it even if it does include making a bit of sacrifices along the way. I honestly can't hold on to everything I want, but if you are not helping me along the way. Then what the hell? I worked, studied, read, my ass off these past weeks and all I get is negative criticism. Where is your support in what I am trying to accomplish? Let me know if you care as well. Peace

kapow

In one sweep I cleared my plate
of all you ever were.
In two strokes we came apart
and the picture came to blur.
But with resolve
of ancient thoughts
we were living through the stars.
Living harshly in pure snow,
with white gowns and
whiter binds.

I decided I want to make a list of were I want to go...

Alaska
City Lights, SF
Portland
Louisiana
Atlanta
Venice
Biarritz
Oakland
Cosala
Kuroshio Sea
Barcelona
Bilbao
Boston (in Fall)
Denmark/Netherlands
London
Ireland
Chicago
Detroit
Grand Canyon
(and the little Honey Trailer west of the Grand Canyon)
Yosemite
Moscow
San Diego
The Alamo
Liverpool
Home
Little Cities in the Eastern US...(for no more than a week)
Las Vegas

That's in no Particular order...
Join me?

Enjoy!

brilliant piece of music

Paranoid Android

It is hot. From the wildfires to the tropic storm...we are experiencing a late heat wave as the summer comes winding to the end. Now that I think about it...the world might actually end in fire...a somewhat big crunch. The big crunch is one of the fates of the universe. We believe the universe is always expanding and have always thought that, but the big crunch is the reverse in which the universe collapses into a black hole entity. I wish I understood this more, but this is something I've read in Hyperspace and that book is...wow I really am quite impressed and greatly respect the intelligence capacity of individuals who possess keen knowledge of science and mathematics.

On my mind:
I wish I had more money, you can never have enough money.
Still no fucking paycheck...nor any follow up for it.
I really want a cool job.
I don't want to be filthy rich anymore.
Actually I wouldn't mind.
Michael always avoids me.
I am confused.
I am happy.
It's hot.
Busy week ahead.

WHY THE HELL DO WE NOT HAVE A TITLE?!

It's about that time again I think...from the depths of real life comes another entry into the blog world that I so been avoiding as much as Javier quit playing World of Warcraft.

First off I find myself in routine of going to work, school, studying...hell I like this routine though the real question is...how long can I keep it up? You know I've sacrificed a great ordeal of slaying the scourge for purple items to focus on the RL perspective hell I considered WoW to be a place where I can connect with all my friends in different areas of So-Cal, but it seems that even they have eventually moved on or basically maybe I have.

I hate red tape...I am suppose to get this fat ass check, but due to the lack of communication I have not been paid at the time when I need it the most. I hate it so much that it's been pissing me off lately...maybe I just hate things I have no control or input in. It's like you think everything is going well and then POW reality comes back and you were never on the fucking hired list of interns! I could've worked a total of 250 hours this summer, but instead I ended up doing around 40% of that cause of summer school and the process of starting to work...fuck haha

I find myself going over studies all during the week just so I can have my Fridays free of any troubles. Probably the best day of the week if I do say so. It just makes me feel content and like I can set other things aside for just that period of time I make.

I gotta wake up at 0500 hours...peace...yes I feel fucking old

Kaki.

guess what?

I got a job. BAM I'm sorry I haven't been keeping up. Been sort of preoccupied with life events....well my life is pretty predictable...work...eat...sleep for now. Once school starts...in 2 weeks(shit) it will be like work...school....eat...sleep. Yeah I'm pretty secluded for the next 18 weeks probably. So if I go MIA it's not my fault...blame the jews. No I'm just kidding I've just trying to obtain the right connections...get into the right career you know...the grown up thing to do I guess. I am lovin it though cause really who gets to see planes take off and land other than the people that work on the airfield. It's a really nice feeling to lay beneath a plane that is about to take off and have it be like 10-15 feet in front of your eyes. Yeah...oh I'm an engineer btw.

Under Hell; Life In Reverence

Knowing I could not taste your great beauty,
Knowing a divide stood between our hands,
Forced to silence your sexuality,
I was still eager to develop bonds.

I praised what I saw, and knew- impossible.
I saw grace where it was, not mine to bear.
I let you become an intangible
Treasure, bound in divinity I can't share.

But without eyes, I fell deeply, swiftly
For the heart that inspires saints and sinners
Alike to piety, tears, charity.
I've come to love the warmth of the sun, of lovers.

Your heart, divine and bound to Him, you seen,
Brings halo'd perfection, serenity.

Damn

Hello,
Tonight ladies and gentlemen...is a HOT ass night...like really people love summer, but I fucking hate it. I think like whenever summer rolls around I will go to the opposite side of the world...namely Japan cause if it's hot here then it's cooler there. So I sit here and wonder when I would probably think of some inspirational sign that I'll start writing off on a tangent about. It never came...haha I just thought maybe it's time for an update. I still haven't
-got a job
-gotten my iPhone (yes everyone has one -_-)
-skated as much I would like
-work out as much as I want to
things that I have around 4-5 weeks to complete cause then begins the hard Fall 2010 year in which I will probably never blog again...haha or maybe sometime. I will be back!

TBD.

What can Apollo's lyre claim to if his
Fiery arrows hit plated breast and fail?
His notes falter against my ears' deafness
But yet, where his bow falls your smile prevails.
Your curve breaks ice, noiseless screams.
Her song, oh muse, takes His at best and turns
the arts to basic juvenilities.
Her hand demands my heart and mind to churn
(My own trivialities, as they are, in her honor).

In your silent curvature, caressing lips
miles apart and fingertips holding
hearts and stops, words poetic flow
from ear to ear within, between...
filling miles, and connecting plots.
Your silent song, and second long
graces, plucking inner songs
of perfect time, of perfect beat,
of perfect memory.

Refrain, pauses, lingering looks
emptied of cause and purpose-
locking eyes to drain disdain
and filling smiles
with clasped hands.

This is her art, muse, triumphing
mine.

This is tribute to her eyes
to her soft palms
hearts of earthen lives.

Tonight Dionysus rules this life.
And alone, her hand if perfect, just far
serves my own indulgence.
I slip in decadence, and inability,
to serve my own end with her own tribute.

Do I sense it?

It's time for summer...my summer to officially begin. Watch out so-cal cause it's going to be legen.....wait for it......DAIRY, LEGENDARY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OK back to final preparations for exam I WILL BE BACK!

It's Easy

to feel so high... on the ground, looking up.

When tarps and beams fall around us.
Smells good..

Leo and Scorcese.. delicious.

I think the story seems like its pretty spectacular.

Water

Her image fades away in spores like
a portrait painted with tiny droplets drawn across a window pane
as dew would do we dissapate and drain
Where can we assume you do reemerge
where dark clouds shield you from heat heart
leak love, leak life and drip along the concrete pass
and see where you can stop even
if it be only to leak neither but a smile

Your conceit confuses me.
You and your brutal tongue
iced the way back home.
I see your trail, from
my own.

holes become puddles muddled in the mire
of bleak and pointless as our desires waiting for a hire
wade in our past and drenched in our future we
can sing our famous tunes
our noses red and grins fake
bleeding flavored tears of iron weeded sugar
laced burning harsh in alcohol
i taste just where you've been

Drink this.
And chew the ice of my form
with gentle knowledge that
we know our own origin
alone.

Recluse

I wake alone
in a woman's room I hardly know.
I wake alone
and pretend that I am finally home.

The room is littered
with her books and notebooks
I imagine what they say, like,
"Shoo fly don't bother me."
I can hardly get myself out of the bed
for fear of never lying in this bed again.

Oh Christ, I'm not that desperate.
Oh no, oh God. I am.

How'd I end up here to begin with?
I don't know.
Why do I start what I can't finish?
Oh please don't barrage me
with the questions
to all those ugly answers.
My ego's like my stomach,
it keeps shitting what I feed it.

But maybe I don't want to finish anything anymore.
Maybe I can wait in bed 'til she comes home
and whispers,
"You're in my web now,
I've come to wrap you up tight
'til it's time to bite down."

I wake alone
in a woman's room I hardly know.
I wake alone
and pretend that I am finally home.

Cursive-The Recluse
I think it's beautiful no?

Things I currently enjoy...

-this week
-the old tunes on my iPod
-the new shit as well
-my 2 jeans
-stryker out of town
-watching french open and NBA playoffs
-possible internship?
-driving
-getting stuck in 405 traffic...not really =[

I want...

Need new phone...come to America already!

My Child, Go to Bed.

Madre, no puedo dormirme.
Me duele la inseguridad,
Me duele cuando puedo oirlo.
Que no me quiere contestar.

¿Cuando voy a poder dormir?
¿Cuando voy a escuchar la voz
que me a puesto en cama, que
me dijo que siempre me ayudará?

Me temblan mis manos, me tembla
mi voz.

Mother, When can I go home?
I feel weak, and so far somehow,
The sun does not have the warmth
That it did with you.

On this knoll I feel the leaves of grass,
Shivering at my ankles.
Are they as afraid as I?
Mother Earth kisses their feet.

Are they as afraid as I am?

Our trees seem hollow, and
Nature seems plastic, wax.
The entire image seems false,
withered, as if a breeze would
COLLAPSE it.

Is She as scared?

Here leaf by leaf, we put up a fight.
Here we can grasp at every green finger,
Lingering on each note, as the leaves
whisper through the air, falling in
a pool, and drifting on.

There was a nonchalance carrying that
fallen limb, at the child's FEET.
My Heart does not beat the same as hers.
The child. She needs a home, and I
Stand Rooted.

I want to hug her, But the swarm
Inside me pinching at her toes,
are the only touch I can muster.

Madre, ven por mi.

My foliage returns next spring,
but she only passes by from here
to then.

No dejas que te saca la alma.
No dejas que te apaga tu fuego.

Duermate, que este arbol,
siempre pondra las manos
pidiendole al cielo que
te protege.

Mother, this tree is empty.
And I cannot watch it decay
anymore.
Putrid thing,
poor thing.

Let it die, and I'll
stay. Hoping to stay my
overwhelmed mind.

Live and Let Die...iono I was listening to it

Yo mangs I haven't blogged in awhile due to RL circumstances that present themselves in a an untimely fashion. yeah I am good thanks for asking, I love ramen....not the top ramen shit, but the actual ramen with the actual soup broth. Anyways uhh yeah I've got to study for this chemistry final so I will be back! In the mean time enjoy!

Rick Astley - Never Gonna Give You Up
Uploaded by trashfan. - See the latest featured music videos.

OOO. (this is the image of my mind 3 yrs ago?)

The Son, The Spirit, And The Father; The One
My struggle for expression is deeply rooted in my dithyrambic loving of the word “love” . I have given up belief in the word yet am in a constant battle with myself to give in to the romanticized and dramatized lifestyle glorified by television and media in general. I preach against the fairy tales and subconsciously yearn for a life where I can save the day and be proclaimed the hero, the hero to the loyal and loving admirers. I want to lead a million into combat and conquer the enemy. I want to come out bloodied and bloodthirsty alongside the same million souls urging the force forward, forward to fight and destroy all oppressors and tyrants who choose to destroy the land our God bestowed upon us. But nothing like that happens. And to search for the right way to, if not given a different opportunity as listed before, express the emotions which tempt insanity and the shattering of a fragile mind is the plague from which I try to escape. But it seems the desire for a drain of emotion, negative and good, has chained me within the quarantined zone. Not only living within the darkness, but isolating myself within it.
This realization was dragged out through a series of events that was caused in part by my loss of faith. This is God’s fault.

When in the process of losing God I was attacked by demons. The searing presence awoke me and the pulsing energy looming over me paralyzed me in fear. Moving away not an option I stopped and waited. The malevolent entity caressing my back with its looming presence not pleasing nor soothing me but striking fear within me. Blood strains to course through my veins and thoughts scramble to make sense of an impossible situation. Just as blood overpowers the obstacles I regain control of my own body the presence disappeared and I am there alone- Breathing hard, sweating, dying, and alone. Within the week I had two more encounters with these demons each with more and more intensity than the last. But as my need for more information lead me on a chase I am told these demons, these haunting enigmas were no more real than my thoughts and growing paranoia of the ominous living shadows painted all over the walls and ceilings. The was nothing more than “sleep paralysis” in which the body remains in a state of dormancy as the mind begins to awaken. This causes the mind to panic as it has no control over the body. This inability to control gives the impression that it is under the influence of a foreign force. But since no foreign force is detected a being is fabricated fear consumes the victim. But science is not the answer. God was telling me to stay with Him; bull shit. I was telling myself to stay in His good graces, to hold dear what would give me a purpose, to stay within the scope of an existence which is more than what it is. But I refused to allow myself to be intimidated by my own mind. I would fight myself whether both opposing forces are drained and destroyed. The civil war began. Logic’s triumph proved to be a Pyrrhic victory.

What I lost in that, was the beauty and divine innocence that human beings where infused with at birth by God’s hand. With that gone what is left is a gaping, consuming hole, sucking deeper and ever expanding. This hole spawns in the heart, the hands and the mind. My head falls, my chest hollows, and my hands grasp at my own body draining my very own aura. This is what I feel when I am reminded of the demise of divine rewards, of the hideousness of individuals, of violent tendencies of a drunk father, a drunk nation, a drunk lover. The black of the world triggers a black hole within me, within my “soul” or consciousness which does not let me live, die, smile or cry. Now for the greater part of my life this black has tried to escape. Acoustics are not enough to bring beauty to my lack of dexterity, carbon tipped wood not lending my hand ability, I falter, struggle, fall short of showing it, of releasing myself. Where does one turn as many refuse to listen and turn away, not even paper staying long enough to release him? I am relinquished of emotion, relinquished of desire, relinquished of humanity.
Only there, on my knees, dirt and grass staining me, dethroned and abandoned by my romantic side, do I rightfully claim my deserved jurisdiction of the Kingdom of Heaven.

I SEENT IT

Oh, Mr. Pitt, You dreamboat. I don't care that you are talking of crimes against humanity.

HEHE

proclaimers - I' m gonna be 500 Miles
by jesus_lizard

This is an awesome song

I love you.

Important Things with Demetri Martin	Wed 10:30pm / 9:30c
Power - Creedocide
comedycentral.com
Joke of the Day Stand-Up Comedy Free Online Games

May the force be with you

Yesterday during chem lab my professor talked about transferring and he made some good pointers/guidelines to follow for consideration of a specific university that best suits your style. Basically, it all came down to the question about life...and what do you want out of it. Sure you can sit on your ass and smoke all day trying to understand and look deeper into the meaning of existence...or...hell I don't know what people think when they're wasted...they just do it for fun. For me I believe I make an impact in the world...I won't give up trying to become what I've set my goal on becoming. I want to look back and tell my colleagues, friends, family the story of my life. Now I will eat my 1:30 A.M. spicy chicken sandwich and watch How I Met Your Mother.

Super Cover.

Experience (rough)

Golden hay streams across the familiar
Place, plains that once were crimson and em'rald.
I can easily recall elation
That was so fondly streamed across my mind
In this stream and wondrous field.

The fields were decorated in childish
Laughs, a young girls hope, a boyish love, all
With swings, slides and further off a maypole
Dressed with green, pinks, crimsons- once, long ago.

Now fires burn and smoke flood fields that
Once shone with light, wondrous and pure,
and blight leaks out like tar, like fear, ugly.
Thick as molasses, but shares nothing of
the sweet syrup, only sloth, and the restless
nature of youth tainted- love spoil'd.

And where the kids' love grew, where we saw us
and what it meant, and who we were we knew,
now stands monuments to gleeful epochs
covered in moss, devoured by time.

What a treasure it is to see, black seas
blacker heavens encompassing our statue
of lips once kissed, of hands rarely held
of beds that beautifully were shared.

And now, mother, lover, ruby, friend
I can only walk away from the scene
Only hope to make life
of our statues,
of our times.

Wake up..it's the first of the month

Greetings! Let's take some time to remind ourselves that despite the economic turmoil that has affected our nation and some of our budget in our pockets..tomorrow is indeed my birthday...and I will be looking forward to your presents, but you are all lucky it's April's fools day so it doesn't necessarily imply that I am telling the truth...although you are all welcome to go out and purchase something if you really love me that much, I will gladly accept money order. I just found out that U2 and MUSE are on tour, but aren't stopping anywhere near L.A and that's fucking bullshit. I have waited 2 years and yet no tour...maybe new album will be good...and I'm talking about MUSE. Yes they have a new album coming out soon, I encourage you all to listen to it when the time comes.

In honor of the situation!

Nine Inch Nails - Gave Up (Lights In The Sky, Fan-Shot Multi-Cam) from Naomi Neome on Vimeo.

It's for the best

So today I found out that I did pretty well on my chem exam haha...I was expecting like a 70 instead I ended up with a B+ WOOT! I will leave you all with this video to express my feelings

One of My Favorite Scenes..

Consideration

So, I'm sitting here, not able to sleep. Again. Its been a weird thing for me, sleep. Anyway, that's not the point. I'm going to buy a notebook, and write a ton of poetry, enough to fill a book. I don't think it will be very good, because I want to have a good amount before my next birthday. Octavio Paz published a book of poetry by the time he was 19. I want to at least compete with that. I might finish my Epic poem, about Lou, and his experience. Also, just finish alot of my odes, and free verse, and refine the crap I litter across the internet. I was also thinking about writing a sort of short story about an owl, and his adventures with cats, foxes, doves, mice, and his reflection. I think it would be cute, but have some weird undertones. I also wanted to start my dream sequence, about a guy that falls asleep and finds himself in a long hall with a bunch of rooms, and in each room is a different muse, or inspiration; for example, education, experience, grief, regret, jealousy, love, piety, art etc. Each time the speaker speaks with the muse, he'd fall into a vision, a story that is inspired by that particular muse. Something like that. It's still in the works, and I would imagine something would come from that, that would blend all the ideas together. or maybe each vision would be part of a life that the speaker is dreaming about. I've yet to decide. Anyway. Thats what I'm considering. What do y'all think? (Seby you beautiful bastard.)

Time flew by...

Yo people....hi Javi...welcome home lol. So for the past two days I've read 93 chapters of Full Metal Alchemist on onemanga.com and doing homework and what not. FMA is probably one of the best series I've ever been exposed to. I'm envious that some folks have spring break this week while I am stuck in school preparing for a chemistry exam on Wednesday...I hate you all unconsciously haha well have a nice break anyways maybe our paths will cross sometime this week.
.
..
...
....
bye

THIS LOOKS COOL TOO!

And while I'm thinking about movies.

Can't Wait.

I'm sorry, but anyone who sees this, MUST watch this movie. It even has Nine Inch Nails in the Trailer. I mean, COME ON! And that whole Christian Bale rant was too cool. It made me like him more. Not that The Prestige wasn't enough. So you all should watch this with me. Lovers, Friends and Strangers alike.



I've got a man-crush.

Clock

A portrait hangs on the white wall,
bordered by the blackest bold frame.
A portrait of Her fair porcelain skin,
a white face, blurred by stained glass.
A portrait of a pure true smile,
shrouded by the cobwebs quickly forming,
in a matter of a week.

All that can be seen of the portrait,
indubitably shown, are integers
circumnavigating my love.
Traveling the globe, hands strewn
across grasping for a way to flee,
still only circle the forgetting figure.

One, I wake and eyes are pried wide,
Three, still fail, but now full of pride,
though false and an obvious defense.
Six, I'm sick staring at the time circle,
Twelve, to sleep, and only hear, her incessant ticking.

Time alleviates, and imprisons,
A lion caged paces clockwise,
as the human mind, that dwells,
on situations that form her bars,

Her soul that cased the encarceration.
Ticks and tocks, echoing louder now,
why has this seemed harder now?

The hands, suffering and tired, reaching out,
but still are bound, to Her portrait in doubt.

Thoughts in cadence, pounding spikes in mind, to the rhythm of Her Clock.

Michael W/ his WOW buddies.

Ignorance justifies EVERYTHING.

Sounds deep, but meant nothing. Can mean everything.

Me liking a song, and trying to see if i can do this haha.

You ever stop and think about the repurcusions of even the slightest choices you make. Can my saying hello change her day? Can my handing him the pen just out of reach, really create this cheesy chain of generosity like on that insurance commercial. I hope so. (smiley face)

Response to Fake Plastic Trees

I can easily say that I subscribe to Kevin's analysis, and his own proclamations of life as superficial. It seems now, myself included in this generalization, that what we own, and what we have has become a supplement for who we are. I am how I dress, the drugs I use, the books I've read, and what I fill in my room with. That can't be true. I at least can hope not. I am too many things to see what I am, but I know that in the philisophical sense I can think, so at least I can exist.

But as to the extent of that statement's implications, I don't know what it means. What responsibilities do I inherit as knowing of my own, and others' existence, and to what extent can I be held accountable? Should I be judged for the materialism that I so ashamedly display, just as every other lost soul trying to hoard as many "things" for myself as I can?

Damn it Kevin, why'd you make me think about that crap?

Fake Plastic Trees

Her green plastic watering can
For her fake Chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth.
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself.
It wears her out, it wears her out
It wears her out, it wears her out.

She lives with a broken man
A cracked polystyrene man
Who just crumbles and burns.
He used to do surgery
For girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins.
And it wears him out, it wears him out.
It wears him out, it wears . . .

She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love.
But I can't help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run.
And it wears me out, it wears me out.
It wears me out, it wears me out.

And if I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted
All the time, all the time.
Oh, oh.
Radiohead

...good song to wake up to isn't it? i think this song is the world, and reality that we live in....a reality that's created from our minds gradually since birth. most of us derive our reality from social "norms" and philosophies promoted in our society today. this song alludes to the fact that our world today is indeed superficial and commercial. now isn't the time to succumb to the materialistic reality that media wants us to be. we should all follow our own endeavors and stop pretending to live life in a false sense of reality.

A Poet to His Love.

You've led me far into this fog,
And the closer I've gotten, so far,
The more wondrous I have found
Our path. I've watched forests burn
Shades of aquamarine, of jade, and turquoise.
I've seen those same fires burn black
And spew out fibers, like a spiders web.
You've brought me through, and out,
Away from me, that recluse.
You've shown me child's laughter,
And I learned to see it in your light.
I sought to hear it, in Her thigh.
And the promise you made me,
Was never quite clear.
The promise you made me,
I could never hear.
It was one I always wanted,
And never wanted lost.

You showed me how life rang through
The trees, leaves, and even you.
Where I saw you, I once saw shadows,
Now I see the rainbows, of your color,
Like hollows carved in bark,
Filled with jewels..

I hear it now, that was my laugh.
I hear you now, that was your height.
But love, where are we now.
I do not see a single face
Familiar, or a single tower
I have seen before or ever.
This place is cold, Love.
And I want to go back.
If nothing more, just take me home.
To where I stood before you woke.
To where I should be,
3 years prior.
I don't know my way back.

Love. I cannot see you now.
This fog is too thick,
I cannot breathe now.
Just holler if you hear me.
I don't know where I am.
Just let me know you're there,
I'm so afraid of falling.
The only fire's at my feet.
Follow the sound of me burning.
I'll wait here now.
I'll stay here now.

Oh! Let me sing my songs of
What you have always shown me.
Can you hear the words,
Can you hear my song,
Over the sound of me burning.

Follow my voice and come back to me.
Follow my voice and come bring me home.

I'll wait here now.
I'll stay here now,
With the fire at my feet.

Drum (revised, universalized)

Its violence.
Its violence muted like mutilated newscasts turned all the way down.

He stands above that instrument of burden.
This is his curse.
That is our incarceration.
His hands shoot up.
Heavy and worn, his palms brace for his furious swings.

BANG..

His hand crashes down.
His plight takes a shattering sound.
Around his wrists, beads clatter.
They are singing for freedom,
But their notes hit far from tranquil tones.

BANG, BANG

"When will she break? When does this,
This fearful dance burst open.
When does release come."
He begs for some kind of emotional cleanse.

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG

Pain starts to sink in, his palms burn,
His blisters form and pop and callous.
He is reminded of the life over his shoulder,
Burdens, hunts, tears, lovers, all massing-
Becoming the black ravenous vulture,
Clawed into his back, taking nutrition from the
Blood seeping from his wounds.

BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG, BANG

This is his life, his pain. He beats the wooden, leather bound,
Beast of burden with every bit of fury. Tears soak his cheeks
And mix with the blood now soaking his music.
When will this antithetical Pandora's box give way, and pierce the darkness
With hope. With her light.
He cries for blind cathartic relief

Bang, Bang, Bang,

He forces his mind to wander- let go of his pain.

Work, Work, Work,

Sex, Sex, Sex,

Spend, Drink, Eat, Fuck

Earn, Sleep, Run, Repeat.

BANG, BANG, BANG

These furious swings are empty mugs, clanging on iron bars.
All to one beat. Imprisonment, Futility.
Beat after beat, only mark the leather head.
Bang after Bang, leave blood on the messy face
That is so tormenting, staring back,
Empty- impervious.

BANG
This drum refuses to burst open
BANG
This drum refuses to let him go
BANG
This drum refuses him.

This drum encompasses him.

…

This drum is empty bottles littered along the dirt.
It is a blank screen and white noise at 3:15 in the morning.
This drum is the bible on a white marble podium.
It is the porn trampled underfoot.
This drum is the last cigarette.
It is the fifth call of the night.
This drum is the stumble up the stairs that are so much longer tonight.
It is the refusal of life.
It is the token of life,
That won't go unheard.

Beast of Burden

Have you defined yourself as man,
Woman, tradesman, addict?
A wad of paper tossed along, kicked through the dirt
Without a message sketched, without a voice of reason,
Can be trampled underfoot without reason or need.

The air is cold now, and its gotten easier to breathe.
But these breaths are empty and shallow,
Like transient spirits sustaining life, but not
Lingering long enough to infuse them with light.
I've been walking here for long enough
To assume I've reached what can be measured.
But this tower of babel is less than termite mounds.
And much more fickle apparently.

Permanence, and comfort, are images now.
Memories now.

Where can I call home, when can I see it.
The drunken nights and trivial smoke, and
Images of falsified and self proclaimed art
Blemish time and experience of life.

Is this my story? Or my life?
Is it worth watching?
Is this medal shining my prize or knife?

But, with hope or despair, I am.
Steeled image of life, in empty glory,
In ancient archaic honor.
I shield myself in intellect,
And wield condescension
Like isolating weaponry, proudly,
And feebly.

Can I still sing your song?
It fails to elevate life now.
Can I live in light of experience,
Or is it muddling life now?

I've sought my image,
And what it means, but stop
Short of seeing my skull.
The flesh, of flame and old dead cells,
Is falling away, but I still can't find
The skull.

Look harder now.
Look deep.
Like the ancient lion's image,
All I have,
Is the inability to fall asleep,
A life of dreams.

My first one

Twenty four hours, 1440 minutes, 86 thousand something seconds...all this time in a day and I find myself doing the same shit each day. School, eat, games, study, sleep is the daily routine, plus fitting in time to post here thanks to Javi, very special intelligible man haha...very tender poem by the way. Wish I was creative, but I am writing away to you people in front of your monitor screens...many more post to expect...this one is bad, but I will end it right here cause Heroes is on...peace.

Nighttime Cliffs

I had started out to the cliff tonight,
It was colder than I expected while
I was inside. But that has been the case,
These past few weeks and months before.
The view was jet black, silvery like large
Mats of obsidian fields reflecting internality.

There was my new friend, our old Pacific.
I've made love to that view once prior.
I've made love to that sound once prior.
When Mother Ocean sang her low songs,
And flashed her vivid green, bright red, ancient azure.

It was so diff'rent then.

Now obsidian fields flashed back,
Like a dark slippery face, unrevealed intentions
That moved inches below the black tarp.
This friend, ancient and old, replaced
My mothers hands, my sisters grasp,
Her bosom.

This friend is my externalization.

Slivers of silver line across the tarp,
Going in and out of view like
Christmas lights far off at distance,
As fish awakened and empow'red
By the bright moon, standing steeled above.

I watch myself from that white light in black,
So inspired by blackness, so bright,
So visible, as Milton's hell,
Lightless fires emitting cold.
But I see Eden from where I stand.

I can still remember life before the Fall.

I just don't want it anymore.