All Lights Go Out

That future is looking grim;
the candle is fading out.
Who doesn't like warmth during winter
and light in darkness.
Keep in mind that the light won't last
because the wick is not eternal.
So ignite whatever fires you need to burn
and bask in the soft picture perfect illumination
for a gust might cross at any moment
and put you out.

[edited 2/20/12]

I believe theres no peace. The only way to achieve it is to control everyone. And controlling everyone requires dictator ideas, which in turn creates no peace.

If you could only see the reflections recorded on my eyes, and the echoes ringing in my ears. We'd all be much better enemies.

Someday, you'll appreciate what youre not aware of.

Pythagorean marriage

Pythagoreans believed that even numbers are female and odd numbers are male.


So if the first male and the first female (2+3) connected they would make 5, which is a number that they believed to symbolize marriage.


But as for that marriage couples makeup:
2 (female) + 1 (male) makes the 3, ok.
However, 1 (male) +1 (male) cannot equal to that 2 (female).

Pythagoreans, you were wrong. LOL

Im going to slice something open, just so that I can finally heal.

Trippin'

We need to trip over rocks, so that we can value standing up.



...inspired by my friend Crix.

Fan comments

"Since that poem you once wrote and gave to me a billion years ago( it stayed in my wallet for a very long time) i have been a fan of pretty much anything creative that comes from your brain music, poems,thoughts everything" - Heriberto H.


"Hello Lady, So I love to read... I love to read with one hand a book and the other embracing a filled glass of red wine, today, I clicked on your link -Rx's Mental Crumbs.... read and read, and decided, you need someone to find you soon and make award winning films with all that you've accomplisshed! and/or plublish yo...ur work into something that my hands can hold in my late night reads, sitting in front of the computer is not as comfortable as laying in bed! Keep Up the Good Work, for you will be compansated! :)" - Antonia V.

A half-empty glass of "love," is "like."

Thats exactly what I want: to feel the bliss of confidently walking blindly, for once.

Those who seek fame, are the people who should never obtain it.

Update

Recently I have not posted any concrete poet or "semi-essay" on this blog and have minimized myself to posting seeds of wisdom and sparks of thoughts, due to my lack of time. My last poem, "Loving the Alien," drained me out quite a bit. My mind is still recuperating. I hope to post something even more epic and magical soon, any comments/suggestions, welcome.

Rx

Ive only met two people with "that" smile. Its similar to the one from the cat in Alice in Wonderland. Magnetically scary. These are people to stay away from.

Its people like me, that makes me skeptical of others.

For all the bad experiences Ive had, I now see the fruits of its labor. Im glad it wasnt all in vain and my suffering beared beautiful fruit.

Why is it that when you get old and wise, vanity goes out the window? Is there something that the wise old men know that the young bucks dont?

Eternal love exists. Eternal happiness doesnt.

How fine is the line between the moment a criminal decides to be one, and henceforth be forever tainted by social fear?

My brain is a collaboration of genetics, bad experiences, lessons somewhat learned, meaninful and insignificant ppl, heartache, fury, adopted wisdom, and etc's.

If you notice, all the true and pure rockstars dont or didnt really have tattoos: Elvis, Cohen, Bowie, Mick, Lennon, Dylan. The rest try too hard.

Loving the Alien

Written on paper and online somewhere from between May 12, 2010 and May 13, 2010.
The only draft, reviewed by Maricela V.

This, the rawest piece my brittle fingers have carved on paper.
For at 51 years of age, and only at 51, did I dare return to this place.
And it comes from a hole in my jigsaw coeur*
that was taught to fall apart and patch up,
time after time,
at the thought of a memory
that hole-punched me like like an important document.
It's about a love that's alien; a type not yet defined.
About a thing I loved, to the point of dying
just to wait on the other side of life, for it,
which would be less painful
than waiting for it here.

At times, when I sat and thought about it,
my fingers, now old, felt the tingling desire to run
down its back as if in a marathon in slow motion.
And at others, I wanted to wrap them around it,
in a prison-hug that is as inescapable as Alcatraz.

But what it all comes down to now,
is the lack of everything.
And consequently, having obtained nothing.

For long ago, I ventured to the deepest darkest skies above us.
It was a voyage recalled to this day, still,
which expanded the knowledge of human kind
about the mysteries foreign to Earth.
And among heroic routine,
I broke myself away from our vessel, unnoticed.
I swam through the space oddity, fearless,
to the point of being a second away from being permanently lost.
And breaking myself free from matter,
I saw it.

It caused such a commotion in my body
that it felt like an immovable seizure.
Though surely, being in space I knew I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
It was a mixture of fright and fascination,
which fell over me like a warm waterfall,
for it looked at me as I looked at it.
It was as accepting of me as I was of it.
And it almost broke me to tears,
realizing that no human ever looked at me
with such sincerity in the eyes as it did.
We were two beings. We were two.
One for each other, then each other as one.
I could see it accept with a slow yet voracious veracity,
waiting for me to reinforce that.
And I knew it was most likely not the norm for them.
Nor was this the norm for us.
Whether I was in a trance, or experiencing the purest emotion
I ever felt,
It was something that didn't appear to know what
discrimination or being judgemental was.
So naturally, I fell in love with it
as it cleared the slate for me.

And then the strangest thing happened:
we embraced with an odd sensation of homely peace;
The kind of peace people wish for the world, our world;
The kind that innocent children feel,
only there was no ignorance here,
no naïvety.

I allowed myself to be sucked in
to the black holes that were its eyes.
And for the first time on my voyage,
or in my life,
I was completely lost
and wanted to stay lost,
for being lost never felt so good.
And I thought to myself:
If this is what people feel when they cry out of happiness,
then may I carry the Earth's oceans in my eyes.
And I squeezed my eyes with the force of Hercules
to trap the oceans within me,
attempting to hold the moment still, very still.

I felt the rubbery hands embrace my flesh.
But after that pleasant darkness,
which had cascaded over my body like a satin veil,
I opened my eyes
and found myself on the opposite side of the glass again,
trapped away from it
as if it was all just the cruelest of daydreams.

I was being restrained.
Among the chaotic voices and movements around me,
my face was expressionless
but adorned with the salty drops of the oceans I had held within,
which were now leaking out of my dream.
Ultimately, among my grief, I realized it was gone.

We were gone.
So my vessel descended, unimaginably, away from it,
and I snapped back to the cruel light of the ordinary,
where the years go by like water in a river:
insignificant, unimportant, and unmissed.

Since then, I've felt a depressing ecstasy
that has lasted an infinity of years,
which is not even over yet.
I know this encounter
was coincidental as it was great.
But I'm as thankful as I feel cursed
that I know pureness existed,
though in another world and another time.
The combination of events
will never repeat and bring be back to it.
And the most painful thing,
is accepting that it was the only thing that ever existed
that truly acted as a human being should.

*Coeur: "Heart" in French.

I dislike stuffed animals. And im not talking about men.

Word of advice, if youre weak, its easier for you to prevent a compromising situation, than it is to be in the situation and prevent the unevitable danger.

When life closes a door, it remains closed. So, break down the wall.

I know what I have to do, Im just hesitant to do it. I know what I have to do, but I can't help doing what Ive always done. - Rx

Rock N' Roll never dies, true. But it sure does move on without you.

The Untouchable

Taken from a journal, written today at 10:30pm-10:45pm

There is a certain type of friendship, that depending on genders, can be confused for anything the imagination allows. This type of friendship is untouchable, like reaching out from Earth and expecting to grasp Pluto. There are many things people don't understand about this type of friendship. And people can confuse things and see more than it really is. This is a type of friendship where you really give without expecting in return, to the point where you would allow yourself to be walked all over, because you know it would never happen. You know things most other friends don't, although you're comfortable knowing that there are things other know that you don't. It's  friendship that, depending on gender, is a step away from breaking the rules and stepping over the boundary, but will never happen. Its a friendship that you touch with the delicateness you use for family, the eagerness of a lover, and the uncertainty of a monk. Its a unique thing that most aren't privileged to feel. Its truly sincere. Its humble. Its truly untouchable, locked in a bubble made of gold that can be stretched as thin as air, but can never be broken.

After our death

Taken from a journal written in fall/winter 2009.

As time passes, after out death, the sorrow that it drags behind, will grow thin as the spreading of butter over too much bread. Until eventually, the crust is dry and only the scent remains in the air.

Brace yourself, for the world knows how to betray.

Taken from a journal, written December 24, 2009 @ 4:25pm

The world knows how to betray. Unfortunately for me, I didn't know how to brace myself. So I drowned among the experienced and the selfish. The air was like needles, the water like acid. All was deadly, all was dangerous. So I had no choice but to hold my breath and hope to survive without the use of my lungs or gills. "Let me live without poison," I begged. And after my lungs were punctured, and my skin burned to the bone, I gained the knowledge which taught me how to survive by the own muscle in my arms and the brain in my head.

Like a faded childhood memory

Taken from a journal on 10-16-09,

There are times when I wonder if you think about me still, or if I'm like a faded childhood memory or a detail in a book that is overlooked. So I wonder from time to time if it ever existed; if you're real; if anything really happened. Or if they were delusions. Am I insane?
What happened to the promises made? What happened to the planned future filled with uncertainties? Where did I go wrong? Where did I fail? The rest of me has cooled, yet my blood still thaws the heart that pumps warm blood. Help me to survive. Help me reach until tomorrow. Help me understand why I walk, looking backwards. Help me, though you don't hear me.

-10:24pm

A note on betrayal

Posted October 7, 2009 on my MySpace blog.

Of all the textbook definitions of "betrayal," I am hesitant to agree with any. There are, however key words that I can agree with in all the definitions I've read:

Expose, enemy, treachery, disloyalty, unfaithful, disappoint, reveal, violation, deceive, misguide, corrupt, seduce.

I love the word seduce, because it implies an innocent victim. Innocence. We don't want to think of ourselves as such and go the opposite way after we have been betrayed. And when we decline to accept it, that is why we are angry. Innocence.
I also love "seduce" because betrayal is something forseen by our betrayer although it might be only 5 minutes before they betray us, but they knew what was going to happen before we did. And that is painful to accept is it not? Therefore, I say we were seduced. They had the upper hand.
Said seducer/betrayer is no traitor, for they were never our ally to begin with. Again, the only definition I could agree with (that includes the word "seduce") is: "to seduce and desert." Because betrayal goes beyond a simple "hurt;" It is a destruction of the soul, but more importantly, a destruction of our faith and trust, which are two sacred things held by human kind. And in the end we are thrown back these sacred things and are left for dead. Deserted.

Regardless, I still believe betrayal has no true definition because it is that putrid that the mere knowledge of its true definition is capable of burning your mind if you think it, or your mouth if you say it. It is unspeakable. Just ask those of us who have been betrayed, and they will pause for a second and their face and hands will move as if the definition wants to come out, and they are going to speak, but it doesn't come out, and they don't speak. They don't define it, not because they can't but because their unconscious prohibits them from doing so.

Betrayal means "traición" in Spanish. And if you think about it, that word sounds horribly, terribly, and painfully powerful in any language. Not because how each language has conveyed the word into vowels and consonants, but because of the chord that the meaning strikes on human emotions.

Betrayal plants the seed of mistrust, which will never be uprooted, I don't care what you say. I have spoken.


------------------------------------------------------------------------
Reading beyond this point is an option, not obligatory. Yes, I said obligatory.

Word of advice (if you want it):

You carry other peoples nasty souls when you hold grudges. Hate is a natural process in all betrayals. However, after the fires burn out and the ashes cool your mind will slowly crawl back to the wisdom and philosophies you have no idea you have learned.

Forgiveness is the only way to forget. Can I emphasize, "only?"And forgetting is the only way you obtain mental peace. Peace is the ultimate goal. Be selfish about it. Not selfish about your actions, just selfish in recovery. And upon that you will understand what those ahead of you see and feel, and those behind you have yet to comprehend.
But don't be frustrated and angry they cannot see what you see in the future (note to someone). Its a process that they must go through. You cannot take a leap to your goal. No snake skips the incubation state to maturity. Walk slowly, no matter how many spikes you step on, how excruciating the hot coals are, or how pinching the thorns.

When you get there, you will be greeted by those on the other side of the wisdom-line and you will wait with them... for the rest.

And even when its all over, and you are at peace, and you firmly believe you've hated your enemies for the last time, I fear that a little residue will remain forever in your heart. Because the love you bestow in a relationship with another human being that has betrayed you, will scar you just a bit.

Last note:

Isn't it funny how despite the fact we have all been betrayed in some way, we (in some other) betrayed someone else. So how are we any better?

© Roxanne Z. M.

There comes a time when plate tectonics makes cohesion an impossible. Because sometimes theres only one way for things to go, and you cant help it. (Via text)

Sadness in the morning is one of the truest sadnesses there is.

The question on how to force yourself to regret.

Written today at 12:50pm Taken from a journal.

How do you force yourself to regret? And I mean, as a necessary action after having assumed so much and harbored acidic feelings, realizing that you have to un-feel them. And its the saddest moment of your life when you realize you can't.
How do you cool down hate? How do you turn it down and make it softer, lighter? How do you dilute it and make it clearer?
How do you brighten up sadness? How do you make it happier?
How do you let things go? How do you throw them far away? How do you run from it?
How do you erase betrayal? How do you make nice?
And how do you undo whats done, without having to break it?

How do you?

The order as to what things go before and after a "but" in a sentence makes all the difference to the meaning. (Sent via text)

On shock

Taken from a journal, written 3-5-10 at 4:59pm-5:14pm

Thinking, but not really thinking about anything. Stare is unmovable, and the smile is in shock. Somehow still, as if not moving will make things change for the better; in a conscious coma. The mind knows, but the body does not. Losing all desire, after someone touches one of the chords in your heart. And now, sound reverberated throughout your case of a body. And your blood aches from flowing through your body that is barely alive. Your eyes well up, un-bursting, like holding the oceans in the fleshy skin of a pea. Your throat knots up, with the complexity of a "monkey's fist." You have screams that get stuck there.
And all because of shock; an agonizingly uncomfortable and bone-rustling shock. And suddenly, you're lost. You let go of the steering wheel, despite going 86 miles per hour. And for a second you feel free, until the following second, which is panic, and then closely accompanied by fear.
Energy is drained from your movement through a storm drain with no recovery. All this, at a time when music seems to be going at the rhythm of your heartbeat, or whats left of it.
At a time when you want to carve certain things out of your mind like a bruise on a bad apple. And you want to be left with just the seeds and stem.
Because honestly, the less you have, the less you have to deal with.
All this at a time when every word spoken sounds like singing to a very morbidly sad song. All this at a time of shock, when you learn to tune your emotions to deeply feel the world through it. And you wish nerves were like coated electrical wires so that you could know which one to snip, in order to stop that bomb that's ticking.

Burying the past.

Just when I thought it was long buried... it propped up like an old stone. Now I have to find a shovel, a good spot, and attempt to rebury it. Here we go again...

...But who are we kidding. nothing ever really gets buried... it just lies on the floor with a little dirt thrown over it

On losing the living.

Written today from 9:15pm-9:30pm, taken from a journal.


Losing is losing, for the most part. But losing a significant piece to your everyday life, is a dull and dry hit upon your ribcage, which shakes the heart about like an earthquake. It feels like having the air sucked out of you, and losing your soul in the process. There's a difference between losing the dead (people who die), and losing the living (never seeing someone again). At least by losing the dead you can reach them, and tell them exactly what you want. But when you lose the living, there's a grand impotence. You can't reach them. They can lose themselves away from you, and there will never be a grave you can cry on. Their graves are only in our imagination. Our tears will be cried deep within us, somewhere near the soul. But there will never be closure for the hole they leave us with, that leaves us looking like swiss cheese.
Impotence and sorrow. That's all they leave behind. And why do they leave? Because their lives, their goals, their dreams, and their plans do not include us? They're quick to leave us behind, weeping and screaming out to them.
Do we mean so little to them? Were our footsteps in their lives that light, that we left none? Did our stains not soak enough? Did our love not love enough? Was our presence not felt enough? Where did we go wrong? Was a wrong turn made somewhere that friendship was meant to be lightly taken? I don't know a lot, as I have no graves to cry on. I weep to the wind, in hopes that it will reach them, somehow, somewhere, wherever they are.
We're left, united by a moon and the air that is shared with the rest of the world. And that is no comfort for me, since those are the same things that unite them to everyone else. So I, painfully, come to consider he fact that I guess I am also, "everyone else."

"America is the only country that went from barbarism to decadence without civilization in between. America had often been discovered before columbus but had always been hushed up." - This one IS by Oscar Wilde Nena lol, I just didn't add the quotation because it was posted from a text. However, the one you commented on, is not. Hope that clears it up.

I fell far. Farther than icarus did. Feeling the same shocking disappointment at failure. As i was falling, i tried to grip the walls with my nails. But i quickly realized they were made of air. And i would just continue to fall. When will i reach the bottom? I live with this fear everyday.

I was on top of the world. But I neglected to see, that when you get to the top of the mountain, there is no other place to go but fall over the edge.

The Journey to a Human's soul

Written today @ 6:45pm, taken from a journal.

Souls illuminate differently to me. The mailman's soul might be brighter than my brother's. I "know," before I really do, and I love having that gift. Your soul, my human friend, is bright; it makes the world turn paper-white, and makes eyes see no more than the blind can. However, I see some thing in there that involuntarily causes my chest muscles to relax, something like feeling intoxicated. Its an odd but comforting sensation that I can only describe as something similar to when someone's heart sinks. So it makes me want to lunge and discover the diamonds in your soul and emeralds in your eyes (door nobs for your soul). It makes me want to reach through that "angel-wing-white" blinding haze you throw and know, but I am planets away. All foreign souls, not our own, are that far away and take many journeys in order to reach and understand. No one said anything was easy, and I don't expect it to. That is part of the final joy, they say. My soul will reach yours in time. And as two entities from some unknown world, they will roam and flirt among the haze like two faceless and formless ghosts, as when two plastic bags dance in the wind. For that is how humans work and connect. So for now, I inhabit a road pale as Danish, white as birth, light as snowflakes, and transparent as ghosts.

My eyes are blind to all I see,
and this curiosity is fed by ambiguity.
There's no soul brighter
and no feeling, lighter.
There's no eye more magnetic
and no aura more electric.
So I venture off
through the doorways in your eyes,
through the pastures
where the green grass
feels as soft as a whisper.

"La vérité vaut bien qu'on passe quelques années sans la trouver." - Renard

No one knows what its like to die, because by the time they die they cease knowing anything anymore. (Sent via text.)

Dear posters!

Thanks to everyone who has commented on my posts! I sincerely love each and every one of you, haha.

BUT, if you're going to post, try not to post "anonymously," so that I may thank you properly. :D

Thanks!

READ+COMMENT = I <3 YOU, ha-ha!

"Lost in Dark Alleys" [Inspired by Lionwax.]

*Note: This piece was inspired by the song "Lost in dark alleys," by Laszlo Bolender's project: Lionwax, which can be heard here: http://lionwax.blogspot.com/ It is recommended that you listen to it while reading, since music is the inspiration for most of my pieces and therefore is very important.*


The night was as dark as soot.
The moon was as yellow
as the eyes of hepatitis.
The world was sleeping,
nestling among warm sheets,
soft as the calves of newborns.

And as perfect as it was,
as round as the moon was big,
she ran, until ultimately,
she walked.
And then she stopped
in the middle of the alley,
no more lost than the look in her eyes,
and no more scared than the form of her mouth.

She gripped onto the bricks,
as if begging for help,
finding nothing but "inanimate-ness"
and train tracks that stop
in the middle of nowhere.
Her nails dug deep into the crevices
of the space between the bricks.
Her nails were almost at the point of detaching
upon realizing she couldn't erase the images in her mind
of those independent fingers she encountered.
So she took off her ring
and threw it as if it was on fire.
She fed the bricks with tears,
and sang to them with a mixture of screams and sobs.

A noise from around
fed awareness in her eyes
and so she ran again.
And upon reaching the corner filled with light,
her body, abruptly, stopped
at the hands of a shadow.
Metal in the form of a skyscraper
impregnated her chest with death.

Things to consider and note when reading my posts

1. Things in italics are usually instructions or "notes" prior to the poem, explaining something.
2. Most things in parentheses or brackets are other options for wording or phrasing as to what comes prior it, since these are still in working stage. Nothing is ever finite.
3. Don't assume every poem, essay, piece, thought, crumb, or quote is self-reflected on me. Some stuff is fiction, other is not but I won't say which is which. Just don't assume its all about me, or from me. It can be from a "persona" I made up about something completely made up, ok? lol
4. Don't criticize my grammar, as I said, these are still in working stage and sometimes I just want to get it out there. I know what I'm doing, I just might be a bit lazy.
5. Any questions, tips, or comments not about the blog, email me.

Untitled

Taken from a journal  - May 21, 2008 -  No time recorded (strange)
*note: not all my poems/thoughts/writings/crumbs are self-reflected hahahaha)*

I sat in a room,
and above my head,
in an opaque mist
I saw my father
in a room, dark as the inside of bodies.
He sat in an armchair.
Both of his hands on the armrests
and my little arms at my sides.
I stood in front, facing him.
My six-year-old pupils glazing at him, vacuous.
His shirt was clean, my eyes were lost.
The chair was tired,
and his fasteners [buttons] undone.

The hardest thing: Impotence

If you knew how hard impotence is, you would change your ability to hesitate. It is an invisible force that serves as a barrier. It is a gag in the mouth, rope around your wrists, a weight on the soul, or a gloomy guilt on the conscience. Impotence comes in all forms. Ethics force barriers on most, but those are bearable. Self-created impotence is the most frustrating feeling in the world. It makes your eyes want to shoot out of your head, forward, if your mouth is covered shut. I'll continue this conversation at a later time...

Im surrounded by hyperboles in the form of human actions.

To: The Distant One #1

Written today from 8:33pm-8:46pm, Taken from a journal.

I want you to know
that the season has changed.
That I've shed my skin.
That time is not the same as when you started.
I want you to know so many things,
as they are spilling out of the tops.
And they become as obvious as existence
and death.
But maybe my signs aren't clear,
and you'll stray into a cluttered forest
and get lost in the "uncomfort."

So then I will need to look for you,
and rescue you from being, almost certainly,
lost.
Once I lose you in the frosty cool depths of "unknowing,"
the road to retrieve you will be almost impossible to tread.
As one day, you will meet another traveler
who will beat me to where you are,
and my grips will forever lose strength on you,
and you will eventually float away
into forgetfulness... of me.

But I'm hesitant in fixing my signs,
as I start to guess where your path should truly lead
and where your ultimate joy resides.
Before, it didn't matter to me, where you ventured off,
However, you cracked my heart open, like a coconut,
and let the liquid love pour out like melted chocolate
glazing onto your strawberry heart.

I spend my days now, mapping out the roads you should take,
to get you where I think you should be.
However, maybe I should remove all signs,
and let you roam whichever way you please,
like a wild beast who is hungry for love.
For only that way, will it truly lead
to where you need (want) to be.

"The Second Kind: Holding Someone Else's Love"

There is an awkward feeling
like the awkwardness of a bruise
when you're cornered into the burden
of carrying someone else's one-sided love.
There are some who abuse
and then there are some of us
who are placed in another type of situation.

The second kind, cup their hands
and are faced with lump plopped into them.
It is a deformed and slimy organ
that is as red as the rawness of meat.
It is deformed because hearts that are not whole
are grotesque as such.
Only complete, two-sided loved ones
form that simple stenciled heart.

And there is a person, staring you in the face
while you look at this thing.
Afraid to move, as the wrong one could
split it in two or cause it some sort of heart attack.
You feel nothing else but worry,
unlike the typical abuser.
And you start to grow somber
since no ideas are being born in your mind.
And any moment from here on,
will result in horror and terror
since you will have to move,
in order to return it.

Without malice or malcontent
you realize that from this point on
you will be as hated as the abuser-kind.
A painful truth is best than a lovely lie.
Regardless, you will be hated the same.
It doesn't matter what intentions you have
or with what care you hold it,
the heart will break upon return
to its jail of a home.
And you will forever be the breaker
to the break-ee.

-------------------------------------
-10:43pm.. written online only.

Oldies but goodies #3 - Love, Hate, and Survival.

Written 9-16-09 @ 7:41pm Taken from a journal
The only thing worse than not having your feelings reciprocated,
is having them taken and destroyed (or run through a wood chipper).


Written 9-16-09 @ 7:43pm Taken from a journal.
You know love is dead when you go from asking for a kiss
to asking for the truth.
Because all love expires, enjoy it while its fresh.


Written 10-5-09 @ 7:07pm Taken from a journal.
If you do not understand the Earth, it will not let you survive no matter how many man-made tools you have.

Written 10-7-09 @ 9:59pm Taken from a journal.
Don't stain your soul with hatred for another human being.

After you break a heart, it will never mend back to the same form that it once was. Ergo, it will never feel the same way. (Sent via txt)

My mind has always had a lot to say when my mouth didnt. But lately, my mouth has been keeping up and has even run amuck. (Sent tia txt)

If you have no heart, it doesnt mean you're evil, but rather that you have no emotions and act solely on rationality. Simply meaning: youre unbiased. (-via txt)

(posted via txt)- Memories of a man that died, leave me breathless now, as if a vacuum tube were attached to my mouth. My lungs contract to the size of raisins, breathless. . .

To: Anonymous #4 (Be at peace)

Written today from 6:43pm-6:50pm, taken from a journal.

Hopefully rage has subsided
like the distant memories of yesteryear.
I also hope this to be the last entry in this journal,
the last token of rememberance of you.
I hope you are at peace,
many levels below the ground.
One cannot hate the dead.
So, as long as you don't form into a collective mist
of my imagination and contact me from beyond,
I am at peace with you, too.
I presume you are in hell,
but hope you escape someday,
while the devil sleeps
and you hop the pearly gates
and rest amongst the grassy meadows in heaven.
I well up inside, happy that my thoughts of you
no longer tie you to this Earth,
but calmly set you free to the next.
I will remember the good times.
And since your passing,
I grew angry.
I went from being angry at you,
to being angry at your passing.
I fed a cancerous tumor that grew within.
Therefore it is necessary to stop
or it will be the death of me, too.
You made me "wish impossible things."
But now, in my peace, I realize
the impossible does not exist.
That is why it is impossible.
Therefore, wishing it, does not exist either.
And neither do you... anymore.
If I knew where your grave was
I'd take you flowers.
But maybe it is best to stay away,
and let you rest...
let us rest.

Collection of "To: Annonymous" #'s 1-3

The following 3 "writings" (not quite poems, not quite essays) were written in sequence in a journal. Please feel free to comment on all four or any of the four.

"To: Anonymous #1 (the beginning) -  Written 9-16-09 @ 9:09pm

I wish you would demand for me.
And yet, I covet thee.
I'm starting to forget the features on your face
and the gestures that it made.
The impressions on my hands
from your touch are starting to convex.
The tone of your wit and the volume of your laughter
are strange to my ears now.
Reminiscing is not so frequent,
and its not as sad as I had feared.
I'm at peace with the joy we gave birth to,
though I'll be nostalgic for the future we can't make.
In a little corner of my heart a muscle lurks
at the thought of a possibility that we will once again
inhabit the same universe.
For you are light years away,
and I yearn for the smiles you drew on my face.
The reason people cannot describe "bittersweeness"
is because it is a contradiction.
It is the space between today and tomorrow,
today and yesterday;
It is the space between milliseconds;
It is the space between now and the moment I just lost.
How do you define the undefinable,
when all I can compare it to, is you:
The ultimate non-definition? (undefinition, undefinable).

"To: Anonymous #2 (Sick)" - Written 9-28-09 @ 9:47pm
Farewell old friend.
I bid you this farewell like a great story that was just told.
Thinking about you now,
is like having dry hands in winter.
And it gets to the point where the thought of you
makes my stomach churn.
I think its safe to say
that the memory of you repulses me;
You repulse me,
and I have no problem with that.


"To: Anonymous #3 (Amongst hope)" - Written 1/10/10 @ 4:40pm
I never knew how it felt
to wish never to see someone again.
I run the risk of someone prying into my life
by immortalizing these words on paper.
Immortal to all but fire and hands.
Today I don't want to keep making 360 degree turns.
I will, day by day, make a turn by degree.
And I will obtain freedom at 180.
I've developed the fear of everything.
After losing myself in so many people
I've forgotten who I am.
I need to break away and remember my own name:
Who was I once, or who I thought I was,
who I am now, and who I had become.
I'll wait on the shores of California
for the sun to come up.
Hopefully, the Earth decides to rotate the opposite way
just for me.
I need it.
Because otherwise, I'll sit and wait
until my feet fuse into the sand and I dissolve into glass.
Meanwhile, my heart which once beat for distant loves,
was jerked around by news of a ghost
which lurks closer and closer.
So now I live fearful of surprise every time
I walk around a corner.
The element of surprise.
So now I walk with a deflated heart,
slumped over and sunk in from all the jerking.
Jerks have a tendency to jerk you around, jerk off,
and jerk you out of your mind, as well as
jerk your mind out of your body.
I write inspired by sorrow and hatred;
The seeds of most poetry.
However, I'm encouraged by a distant fellow,
and a traveler of sorts that with a phrase or two,
flicked on the switch to illuminate a part of my mind
which has been dormant for over 20 years.
(slipping into a discussion on inner peace)
A part of the mind which scientists still don't know why
it takes so long for a human
to realize it exists in them.
Its called "rationality," which causes inner peace.
Peace within ones self.
Not peace dependent on objects, people, or dreams.
Peace of being alive.
A peace where you're glad you're you.
A peace where if you lose all possessions
and everyone around you dies,
you'll still have it amongst the sorrow.
It's hard to obtain personal peace,
as most people mistake themselves in having it.
They are happy, but not solely for themselves,
but rather they're happy because
they have great families, a nice job,
perfect spouses, great friends, etc.
But if all of that were gone...
would they maintain that happiness and peace of mind?
Probably not.
They would let fear and sorrow overwhelm and consume them.
So believe me when I say that in my opinion,
that not even monks have achieved that status.

Lion Wax

So, despite I knew of its existence, I BARELY (embarrassing) sat down to listen to the songs on this blog. And let me tell you... this is the type of music that plucks a string in my poet soul.
I'm proud to say that I will get started on some poems centered around these songs, soon. Meanwhile, enjoy!

http://lionwax.blogspot.com/

Oldies but goodies #2

Written4-6-09 @ 6:08pm
I wish my eyes were made of glass,
so that in sadness,
I could break them.

written 0-27-03 @ 11:03pm
The only way I can vividly remember a faded memory is with evidence. A painfully pleasant experience. God, I miss you. Where are you? Did I chase you away? I need some miracles here.

written 11-28-03  at 7:30pm
My mind is the only tool I have against the world.

Writeen 11-29-03 @ 11:49pm
Dreams are the only things we truly own. They are our perfect worlds. Dreams are our wishes. Nightmares are our fears. We can have everything and lose everything. But can we really handle it?

Oldies but goddies #1

Written 6-24-03 (My fathers birthday, and the month of my high school graduation, written with very "teeny" cliche phrases):
A bone chilling sorrow fills part of my heart that feeds off of some unknown anger in the depths of rage. A frustrating and alarming panic ignites the unknown length of my fuse...

Written 8-16-03
It's sick to realize horrible the world can be. A world we have invaded. Capable minds able to lie, deceive, abuse, betray, hurt, and abandon. Love is not something that can be created into truth. It cant overcome sidetracked attractions and lust. Love is a horrible thing to lose, so most never have it. Love fades like color.

Written 6-21-03
The world was a lonely place once. The grass lived among the air, and the Earth's components lived as one. The air took our place and the closest things to us were the things farthest away from us now. The wind would speak to the sun and tell it to run, for a storm was coming. The next path that would lead to a purpose, would make you wander twenty times around the world. Who are we? A question no answer could come from. We are blank faces that have titles and accomplishments in form of words that we tag on our lives and drag behind like rusty cans. We are invading this once solitary vacuous space on Earth to do nothing and not be anything.

Little crumbs gathered at work..

-You ok? you look a little dim. let me light you on fire.

-The scariest type of person is the Unscrupulous one, as they have nothing to lose. Food for thought.

-Non-edible Fish are the most high maintenance of ornaments.

-For mondays i could care less.
For tuesdays and weds, i want my meds.
thursday, friday, happy days.

So I've realized some people are truly unable to bear love..

So a while ago I had a few chats with some gents that claimed there are men (more so than women) who are perfectly happy not feeling love for another human being. They feel self sufficient, are not close to family, feel no love for friends or significant others. I found this hard to believe but over time slowly accepted the ideologies of these men in that there are some which cannot possibly feel anything for another human being and live at peace this way and forever. I met a few and let me tell you its an incredibly sad thing for me, as I cannot be this way, but its highly intriguing. My only advice is to avoid getting close to these types of people since any attachment you may form will be one-sided. Speaking to these guys who helped me understand this illuminated me a lot on the subject and I thank them all for it, they were very polite and not bitter as you would expect, just apathetic towards the rest of humanity. Interesting.
Here is an excerpt from the book "White Teeth" by Zadie Smith, which discusses it in the following manner...

"What made us think that anyone who fails to love us is damaged, lacking, malfunctioning in some way? And particularly if they replace us with god, or a weeping madonna, or the face of Christ in a ciabatta roll-- then we call them crazy. Deluded. Regressive. We are so convinced of the goodness of ourselves, and the goodness of our love, we cannot bear to believe that there might be something more worthy of love than us, more worthy of worship. Greeting cards routinely tell us everybody deserves love. No. Everybody deserves clean water. Not everybody deserves love all the time." - Zadie Smith (awesome author by the way)

"With a man in mind"

Written 1/13/10 from 3:57pm-4:18pm.

There's a man I see
in the darkest depths of a haze
that time and distance created.
He stands, never slouching,
with a hand in his pocket
and the other nervously fiddling its fingers.

He is self-sufficient to the point where
he carries all that he needs in the word in
the pockets of his clothes, which are bulky
on his waif-like physique.

His eyes are apathetic to any direction his vision points.
His gaze screams "come,"
while his brows are like warning signs against them.
And his mouth forms a type of slanted smirk which screams:
"I am one," and "you are worthless."

Sometimes he slouches,
when I see him sit.
Never did a slouch seem more antisocial and alluring than his.

Life and death are hidden somewhere
in the depths of his pants.

The way he folds over his hand at the wrist,
with the delicate grace of a swan,
to tuck the hair behind his ear
seems to lock me in a trance
which I catch myself in from time to time.

This is a man of self-sufficiency.
He needs neither food, nor human beings,
nor oxygen to survive.
However, he creates an "O" with his hand for pleasure.

He is alone,
and I am the only one who knows he truly exists.
I visit him where he lives... in my mind.
And maybe (hopefully) someday, upon forgetting him,
he will die.

Rx's commandments for justification

*Rx's commandments for justification*:

Its not "lying" its called "playing pretend."

Its not being "cruel," but rather "making an "unconscious mistake".

Its not "being unscrupulous" but rather exercising no inhibitions.

Its not being "shady," but rather "hiding from the sun."

... Say que qué?? Thank you for your time.

The duration and death of love

Love takes time to cultivate. It can take time to die, but can also die in an instant. Dont underestimate an unnatural creation. - me

Frustration

"Frustration a common emotional response to opposition. Related to anger and disappointment, it arises from the perceived resistance to the fulfillment of individual will. The greater the obstruction, and the greater the will, the more the frustration is likely to be."

My obstruction: The inability to express rage. Scary.

Opposition: Familial taboos.

Get it?

Welcome!

So.. I have come to the conclusion that I have a lot to say lol. Go figure.. Anyway, I write most of this "stuff" in notebooks or on MySpace or on FaceBook or twitter and I figured.. "why the heck dont I have just ONE place to stick all this crap?" Well there you go. Welcome to the plate that will hold the mental crumbs that fall out of my head. Enjoy and dust off as necessary.