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.