what difference does it make if i tell you my essence,
when you can't drink it in; you're full of yourself
and what compliments your own ideas
drink up an idea and chase it
with the backwash of your mind
you aren't listening but you hear oh so well.
singing songs like they echo
back up a treacle drenched ditch
deep deep down they tumble, incubate, but never burst.
and you hope of this from me?
so small and simply watching
wandering from one thought to the next and listening
rather than letting something be heard
in one ear and out my neck.
i'll let you hold my hand,
burn my tongue with your liquor words
stretch my thighs with sky-drenched eyes;
your pupils were so big.
and it keeps spilling out of my veins and into my fingers
twitch twitch
it felt so good.
and so do you.
you'll wonder where i went,
but you should know,
grand provocateur.
never sit still and i'm bored of this place
i could never bore of you like you bored into me
but if i stay for too long ill staystuck.
on my knees deep
muck mire mud with you...
being dirty (with you) wouldn't be so bad;
(fingers slip slid, drip drop on my skin
recycling the sun's cloud lover)
only, i love the chaos of rain/not the aftermath.
that was fleeting.
the frost of my own breath woke me up this morning... it was gloriously cold.
you never understood why i was so alive in the dead of winter. it's that part of me that you can't touch. i mourned that fact when my eyes fluttered open, and my skin crawled with the ghostly caress of the air.
if you were beside me, you would have curled around me, sucked the eminent warmth that's inexplicably missing in the heat of the desert i reluctantly call home, but burns deep when i'm touched by snow, wind, and alien blue sunlight, reflecting from every surface.
i welcomed it with avid delight, into my body with each bottomless recess of breath, my chest heaving, and my skin's heat creating a strange fog from the cold bouncing off of it's porcelain surface. but you aren't here; you were once that inner heat that burned me... now you don't touch me, not even with your hands.
i am alone. the snow is too.
and we relish each other's company.
i went to wake you with a brush of my lips against the crag of you cheek. i softly whispered merry christmas, and you deftly turned to reject the icicle of my lips. you'll learn. i'll wait.
i fold into myself, and keep that ice where i want it. i'll remember this. i felt it this morning, and i feel it crush me in the diaphragm, taking my breath and voice with it now. she would want it this way. she remained in her solitary sandstone, surrounded by ice her whole life. i take that piece with me.
and she was alone. so was the snow.
and they relished in the company of one another.
i never knew how i channeled my great grandmother; but i feel it creeping up inside of me. lord, give her strength. lord, give me here strength.
when we would walk on the moon-like red stone, and the snow looked like slushed out blood, she would hold my hand and guide my mind to things no one looked at. at that moment we were together...
and right now i relish in the company of that memory.
you'll learn. we both feel it. and i'm glad she doesn't see this piece of us silently moving a part, like drifts of snow carried by the wind. we'll land where we should. and i'll wait patiently for that to happen.
why did I have that dream?
i'm losing my mind, this i am certain of.
i suppose it isn't losing, if you willingly give it up though; right?
i never questioned the deftness of your fingers or the slick patronage of your tongue. you stood over me like a proud lord; it was your birthright, i was your queen.
the sighs came out in hurried puffs, and the laces were torn from their place; your face twisted with anticipation, a soft feral growl escaped my throat.
your skin was as smooth as alabaster, and it was sweet torture, the way you took your time, learning every shape of a body that i barely knew.
when you opened your mouth to speak, i hushed you with a finger.
let's not ruin this with lovely words.
sculpt me with the ready eagerness of the artist you are; carving bodies into your mind was your eternal haunt, i don't want to be forgotten.
you could toy with my hormones anytime you wished, but fingering my emotions was out of the question.
i saw in your eyes the burning question, and i turned away. you convinced me with your fingertips that tonight we could pretend.
and the question lay with us, tendrils running up the walls like climber vines.
what if you do?
obsession is turning into a dust that fills my lungs
this cloud that envelopes my brain is anything but recreational;
in arizona, the storms i lust are
always
preceded by hasty dust storms and devils
hungrily pursuing the thought
of ultimate destruction.
this house won't bend
to it's wicked demands.
eep.
let redemption come
in the form of cumulous
perspiration;
honey from the heavens
dripping like a promise
from the lips
of
God.
taking your dripping
fingertips out of the jar
i enjoy the overwhelming
sense of becoming
teacher
to you
discover the riches of earth
and learn only through
sensory perception
the folly of man's
manufactured materials.
and don't be timid
in licking drops
of the whole honey comb
off of
my
skin
as i sit once again, in a gargantuan empty house, my poor high-heel scorned foot has seemingly fallen to sleep. i would want a nap too if i was subjected to being bound by one teetering accident of an everyday weapon.
and when i get up, it sounds as if i am a wounded tap-dancer, continuing the trade with an urgent need to display a properly functioning rhythm of movement on the exterior, only the sound gives away the damage.
reverberating off the walls like laughter, i can't help but smile.
soon i will be home.
and in those final moments
when your skin flakes off
like snow
i pray your heart be
soothed and sheltered
with the love
that i bestow
as the wind carries
cross countries
the arcane remains
of lore
and centuries hold
puzzles
that be unlocked
with thorough
thought
if it is not
apparent now
let it become so
my love for
you
won't perish
it has room
only to
grow.
but silhouettes on the grass
crisp and clean; shadows never muss
soaking up every contact
velvet skin
of dripping black
expressively misinterpreted
and i prefer it this way
this shade
of public complacency
what is between is
only
for you and me.
let them overlook
all the better
so we learn
to
look up
and out
and over
and in
at each other;
let us transcend, darling.
we sunk back
in bucket seats
the only material
portion of me
mourned
at the thought
this place, someday,
will no longer be.
even if we
are in
ancient graves
this place
will be
civilized
to shame.
reflective waters, shallow
palm trees, yellowed and sallow
the sun will be overcome
with grey.
fearing the discontinuatio
the brokenness
of life
as if death
were the sight
everywhere you turn
only
we'll be in
ancient graves;
the cycle--i embrace!
and for now
has no
possibility
of change.
death is life is death is life is death is life is death is life is death is life is
death is life.
worn by weather
his leather
hand
gripped mine
in vice
this man appears as death
smiling with content
and it feels good
to peer into
its face.
little did
we know
death
was
so content
so happy
so warm
i take his sunken grin
and i'm not giving it back
this what i want
when the rays of sun
blind
and the winds soothe
with ache
to smile with death
inside of me
sweet breath
heavy
with minute age
and the wisdom
limited by
the mortality
of man
forget the urn
freeze it in
an iceburg
i'll travel
the earth
infinitely
it's a bit masochistic, how i seeped back into the past, as far as i could go. there it is, i found what i both missed (and wish i could embrace), yet restrained and am now so indifferent about.
it was so bitter sweet, and it still burns, going down my throat. it's like a habit, reading it out loud. i had to hear it to really relive it, i suppose.
you were always so good with words; god only knows how you understood me so well while others were so lost in the condensation known as me. it's like fog, with sunlight trying to burn through--all these memories. if the sun can eat it up, i think my soul would be re-birthed.
i don't think i ever told you that i thought you were my soul mate. the way we fit each-other so perfectly in every way. being so oppositely in-sync is what led to our demise; it was my ideals that separated the two of us. you sought the truth, and i sought... i don't even know what i was searching for. the over-riding compulsion was to search for you, and i placed you on a pedestal neither of us could climb, and eventually we both fell. ironically enough, soul mates are said to be incapable of being one for very long, or the universe would fall to it's knees. i've accepted that blindly, and i'm sure it will remain that way.
you were so much a part of me. was i that to you? this i will never know, and i think i might be okay with it. i've let myself believe in non-existent closure for such a long time.
when you left, i wasn't merely broken, i was missing. for days, weeks, months. you had taken that vibrance with you, and i let you, willingly. it was my gift for insufficiency.
i never thought about how i may have plunged you into inebriation the last few times, how i played games unconsciously, how i broke my own heart by breaking yours.
for so long
i believed
i was the righteous
martyr
who suffered it
all for you.
the shroud removed
i realize that
we were equals
in the evil
we subjected
each other
too.
funny, isn't it? how your first love is so intense, and can either teach you to become better at loving, or teach you to recede back into the catacombs of a steel-trapped heart?
i have both.
you were the last i chronicled in such stark detail; down to the night you said those fateful words and trapped me inside of you.
at the same time, i have learned that forgiveness is boundless, if it is pure. and forgiveness is adjunct to sacrifice: you can't have one without the other, you can't give either partially, and should administer it impartially.
expectations are like ghosts; no one else can see them if they don't believe in them. you couldn't read my mind; i couldn't read your heart.
in end, i'm okay with our mutual silence. or so i thought. then i broke it.
for old time's sake.
in envy of the ancients
when legends walked
it seems i have acquired the taste
for lighting incense
to the point of a choking spire
i suppose it's in yearning
for mystic and indigenous
temples, lore, hysterics, and superstitions
my soul feels old
and i'm feeding it's need
for tradition
and frivolity;
something missing in this
modern-day
apocalyptic
shut out
of a world.
but in the end i dock
back into the safe harbor
of your arms
wasn't an armistice your desire?
my fists curled
against the cradle
of your chest
inhale
exhale
sigh
repeat
if you're my earth
i'm your moon.
i you we us
i'm tangled in these
decriptive nouns
we use
to commun(e)icate
all i really need
is to read your bones
feel your heart crack
against your ribs
your flush of heat
running down your spine
all i know is
the fit of your smile
and the grit
of my mind
it's unfair
how convoluted
we allow society
to make
us
there i go again.
i yearn for something to read that will make my eyes grateful for sight.
it seems that in my yearning i have travelled back to the classics... of course my all time favorite, Wuthering Heights, and an incredible tale of anti-climax, Chocolat; will probably pick my all-inclusive Shakespeare composition back up.
a little sad that my story i had developed roughly has been lost to the world of itsy-bitsy exiled thumbdrives. damn.
think that slow love-making will cool the embers of anger from my loss and current literature-ent
will test now...
Eventful does not begin to describe my day.
A little background FYI: have had a cold/flu something or other for the past two weeks; it comes, it goes, it teases me with the thought of being rid of it's useless drudgery, and then pops up again at the most convenient times...
That being said, I have been working from home, starting the transition at my very intense pleasure, even if my boss is not quite mentally ready to process that we will not be working in the same physical environment together any longer (you have to ask yourself, why fight something that you yourself suggested? It's one of those things he hasn't stopped partaking of quite yet...).
Due to the mental state I coerce myself into when working, it was above my knowledge that my wonderful kitten-cat was doing something I would later scream about.
I can only imagine how long it took Lylyan to pull the carcass of the pigeon from the front step, over the ledge, across the hallway, and into the threshold of my bedroom, where I discovered the dead-as-a-door
They say that when a feline shares it's prey, it is a sign of affection and bonding; however, I'm just not entirely appreciative of dead animals being strewn here and there in my home.
To continue.
I worked non-stop from 7:30 this morning until 11:00, when I decided to call my boss and let him know everything he has been asking to see and meet about was ready.
This meeting began normally enough--him passively aggressively trying to intimidate me into agreeing that everything that is going wrong is my fault. Then, for the first time ever, I outsmarted the Oxford educated bastard with reverse psychology and got what I wanted. It was brilliant, but in the end, the story in an of itself is much to boring to warrant sharing; the victory, however is something I must mention: he agreed to allow me to transition sooner to my home, since I work harder and have better results there, than inside of his empty 6000 square foot empty luxury home that gives me the heeby jeebies. Hurrah for better work terms!
And the rest of my day has been spent organizing my home office, updating spreadsheets, and creating agendas to complete my work-from-home transition.
In other grand news, Richie will complete his first full-immersed feature film project tonight and get paid this week.
Now if it would rain and remain a consistent 62 degrees maximum, my world would be complete!
Now time to put my Gordan Ramsey hat on, and make a culinary masterpeice of ginger sesame glazed salmon, thinly sliced and baked asparagus, and japanese scallops with a Pinot Grigio from Bordeaux!
MUAH!
Although many regard a job as a beacon of light in the current economy, I consider my current predicament drab at best. Not only have I sunk into a common place with almost 80% of the world: working to make money. This isn't the bad situation in and of itself. Of course everyone has to make money to live in this damnable world; the bad situation is how much I genuinely despise working alone in a luxury home built for a family of a billion.
The marble floors cause the entire building to rest at an uncomfortable 58 degrees at almost any given moment; my breath often comes out in frosty puffs, creating cloud like shapes and mocking my lonely employment-dri
Productivity dips and jumps, depending on my level of discomfort in the wooden chair I have oh so obediently ordained half-heartedly with my ass for the last several months. What is it that draws me to work for the crazies who disregard the simple philosophy that You're Business is Only as Good as Your People?
If. That is what rains through my thoughts... If only I had focused and built my freelance business (which was seriously taking off)... If only I had the drive to learn web-stuff so I could advance into another position with more creative potential and less brain sapping stress. If only I had the guts to try to quit for the 4th time (the first three times were met by tirades of absolute hysteria and reverse psychology)...
I've never been one to allow myself to sink into a hole, but currently I am being dragged into a muddy mire of a well; if it succeeds, not only will my body be engulfed in the suction of the clay walls, but the treacle will cause me to become delirious and dunk my shrinking head into the water and drown myself voluntarily.
At least then I would choose that fate. Ah fate... you mock me so with "gifts" I wish to leave in that well, buried in poison liquid and algae infused runny dirt. Let us not forget, that with great power comes great burden. Responsibility is merely a perception of other's expectations; will you bend co-dependently or live your life?
Living life. When your existence is a shell that refuses to allow you to experience that around you, how do you break that monotony? Adrenaline junky--I'm jones-ing for a near death experience by choice. Let's dive head first into an that lake that imitates a surface of black ink and hides so many unknown dangers... Pick up a hitch hiker and hear his/her story... Drink enough wine to fill a skein for every liberal in America, and then hike in Superstition Mountains, bloated with courage you didn't have before.
And I'm just dying to get out of this tomb I've built around myself. Why am I never content?
What is security? Is it the reassurance that bills are being paid and you can come home to an established home you built piece by piece, the couch you picked out together, the wall hangings that you so carefully doled over; the bed that's molded to two bodies and a dog, that you sleep in EVERY night...
Let me wander and be content. This malevolence to most other societal norms is taking over my impulses... Little does anyone realize how very threatening I am beneath the surface; about to burst out of my skin like a fireworks display of organs and blood...
"Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness
Class today.... I actually already knew what was going on... AMAZING. I hate aftereffects, not because it isn't cool, but because I am aftereffects retarded in a general sense....
I was kind of scared that after the break the film club would have really gotten a lot of stuff ready for their demo reels and I would have been left behind. Turns out that they didn't do anything this last quarter... but then I started to think about it. Why do I care? No one is going to "leave me in the dust" because I am not limiting myself to endless creative-gag rules or mindless team members that don't give a shit about things...
But then again, I've always had the downfall of caring to much anyways.
TOODLES