This poem is not from me. It's from Joaquin Miller's "The Tale Of The Tall Alcalde":



I do not question school nor creed
Of Christian, Protestant or Priest.
I only know that creeds to me
Are but new names for mystery,
That good is good from east to east,
And more I do not know nor need
To know, to love my neighbor well.
I take their dogmas, as they tell,
Their pictures of their Godly good
(In garments thick with heathen blood);
Their Heaven with its harp of gold,
Their horrid pictures of their hell -
Take hell and heaven undenied,
Yet were the two placed side by side,
Placed full before me for my choice,
As they are pictured, best and worst,
As they are peopled, tame and bold,
The canonized, and the accursed
Who dared to think, and thinking speak,
And speaking act, bold cheek to cheek,
I would in transports choose the first,
And enter hell with lifted voice.

I just lost another good friend over her constant and unrelenting insecurity. Why is it that everyone around me suddently seems to have big psychological problems? This is pretty bizarre.

I'm not too wound up over it, though. I tried to help her many times but she wouldn't let me. What else is there to do?

I'm perfectly fine now. The only thing left from this whole experience: in the morning and at night, I pass the time imagining what I would tell her if she ever tried to talk to me again.

I am torn between:

1. "Hello you manipulative lying bitch, I think you messaged me by mistake."

and

2. "Hello manipulative lying bitch, how's the lying going these days?"

Which one do you prefer?

Love is such a sweet suicide.
It is an act of courage, to love,
To permanently belong to a state of being,
Letting go of our tenuous grip on reality,
Leaping into the unknown void.
Love is such a sweet sorrow.
It makes hearts break and heads bow,
Leaves bodies hanging on the edge of oblivion,
Always running, always plying.
Love kills the innocent mind,
To mourn it is a living death.
And yet I find in this no consolation;
Consolation comes from the weakness of others.

I'm still feeling good and on the up and up today, but I have this vague feeling of dread. I don't know why. When my mind is not busy, I still think about how much I hate her.

If I was a Christian,
I'd believe that everyone is bad inside, just like me.
If I was a Christian,
I would trust a being I know nothing about to tell me what to do with my life.
If I was a Christian,
I would see others as my stepping stones to salvation, not as people.
If I was a Christian,
I would be constantly struggling with doubts, and have to stop thinking.
If I was a Christian,
I wouldn't know what love is.
If I was a Christian,
I would just kill myself at the first heartbreak.

A mote on a sunbeam,
All we are is a mote on a sunbeam.
So said Carl Sagan, bless him.
All our dreams, our ambitions,
Our treachery, our schemes,
Our loves and hatreds,
The mass of human existence,
In space and time, billions upon billions,
Is in the end after all nothing more
Than specks on a mote of dust.
Were I a strange little energy creature,
Looking around on Earth at all these
Paragons of animality going around,
I could do nothing but laugh, laugh so hard
That I would strike terror on all that heard.

Free,
Your true hatred shows through.
I am now free from the anticipation,
Free from the manipulations, from lies.
Now my heart sees you as you truly are,
It has rejoined my reason in good accord.
All is one again. You are a miserable wretch.
I don't deserve to be dragged down with you.
I have love to give, but none for your conniving.
You don't deserve feelings, don't deserve attention.
You deserve contempt, and pity. Even I have more than you ever will.

A friend of mine has just told me that not only did she read the two poems I sent her, but she laughed about them with her boyfriend. I don't know why I am surprised by this, but I am. Colour me a total sap.

I am now pretty much aware emotionally that she is pure evil and that she has no heart. This is probably what I needed to get out of this depression faster.

I gave all the evidence I had left (already deleted the naked pictures, dammit) to her boyfriend's closest friend (at his request), as well as a couple of things to her boyfriend. Hopefully this will make the bitch's life a little harder.

My final email:



I don't know why I'm surprised by the fact that you've been laughing with him at the messages I sent you, but I am. Colour me a complete sap, I guess.

At least, this will have the advantage of scrubbing out any positive thought I ever had of you, as well as any doubt I ever had that you are a cold, manipulative bitch who used me to get to your defective, unappreciative boyfriend.

You hurt me like hell, but soon enough you'll get dumped, and I'll be laughing at you when I learn about it, you two-bit slut.

For all the times I've tearfully said it was the end (what a fucking sap I was), this is the real fucking end. Go get fucked. You sure don't seem to have any trouble with that anyway.

This would look so much better with a Courier font. Well, enjoy anyway.



Forty-One Blows

It's an experiment, completely unblinded
It's a Hollywood movie, I am the villain
It's a quest where the MacGuffin is fake
It's a cruel and unusual punishment, and
It's a pounding on my heart so sickening
It's a silent scream, that never exhales
It's a flight of quails, now it's a hunt
It's a flight of Icarus so watch me burn
How can one be so burnt and smouldering?

It's a desire to forsake all life itself
It's an existential nightmare, and a dud
It's a black hole, a girlchild's playtoy
It's an ending, without a true beginning
It's a lie it's a fake it's a sad colour
That tints my life, as forever fugitive.

It's an attempt to figure out her reason
It's a strange coda for my saddened life
That John Cage would be fairly proud of.

It's forty-one blows put nicely in rows.

I know you dance alone,
A single point of light in a rainy day,
Taken by the music, by the moment.
I love it because it is a part of you.
I know you dance with others,
In the elegant antechamber
Where you fret about the future.
But when everyone else
Has left for the evening,
When there is nothing but the melody,
When you are, finally, alone again,
Please let me have the last dance.
I know I am not on your dance card.
I know I have never been.
I hold no illusions about it.
Just save the last dance for me.

Enough vale of tears and so on, a little change of pace then. This is a little poem I wrote about moral realism. I think it's cute.
I also had a much harder time at rhyming than I thought I would. I used to like to do that.




First the question: what is morality?
'Tis nothing but applied causality,
Which states that things, in definite ways, change.
We engage in voluntary exchange
Because we think it gives us more value.
This to morality gives us the clue.
Now a value is not something too deep:
It is something we act to gain or keep.
To eat, to breathe, to think, to love and bleed,
Values are facts about what we all need.
To fulfill those needs, we constantly seek,
Making this an axiom rather unique.
So, how to evaluate morally?
We can decide to act rationally,
Or to plunge in error, and then suffer.
Against reality, there's no winner.
How do we ensure our proper conduct?
By attitudes with which we can instruct
The mind- these are called virtues. For instance:
Integrity, honesty, temperance.
Nothing can ensure your own happiness,
But the virtuous won't be too amiss.

Let me hold you in my arms
And I will burn like the Sun
To give warmth to your soul.
Let me kiss you, for a moment,
So the world revolves around you.
Let me see you smile, just once more,
And I will hold on to that feeling for all time.
Let me see you concentrate, let me see you listen,
So I know my words will never float away from your heart.
Let me touch your hair, let me caress your cheek, for one tender moment,
And I will hold on to the fragile and twisted delusion that you cared for me.
Let me drown in your laughter, let me hang myself with your reproaches,
Or let me die of thirst on your resentful silence,
Slowly fading away from everything honourable,
Forever in your shadow. Forever to fear and long.

There is a 29 year old woman called Sarah who appealed to a women's magazine to help her lose her virginity before her 30th birthday.

http://www.janemag.com/magazine/sarahneedsyou/subindex_20060821

I find that sad and scary. Not the fact that she is doing this, but the fact that even this woman is a virgin at 29. The world is fucked up.

And I am depressed again.



She lives in a constant joy,
Nothing can halt her steps.
She lives for the moment,
Never looks back and doubts.
She creates a world with her smile,
And fills it with a tender dream.
I have seen it and it has filled me
With a wonder that exists only
In feverish, fantastic stories.
The wingless angel lifted my steps,
Now my spirit is flattened in anguish.
They all look up to her,
But I am the only one
Who knows the depth
To which one can love
Her.

How brief is the love that crosses the dawn!
Tired, the light of the Sun gives no sheen
To the memories of a love long gone,
Gives no solace for where we find ourselves,
Yet keeps the time of our futile dispersion.
The drum of our frenetic wills alone
Resounds in the fabric of the self.
Self against self, hope against hope.
Mother Nature herself can nary take arms
Against this hurtful vagabond dance.
Do we dare laugh? Cry? Shudder,
Against this small dread of existence?
Aren't we simply creatures of circumstance,
Then laughing, then crying, then shuddering
As the fortune turns? First, to laugh
At our opponents, then lament their victory?
To be defeated, for the heart to be crushed,
Perhaps, sometimes, to win. This is our lot.
Face it with simmering resentment,
Face it with sarcasm, with hatred,
But face it with the defiance it is owed.



I love her, I hate her.
I hang to her every word
As lifebuoys for my heart,
I never want to hear them again.
I lost absolutely nothing.
I lost her forever,
She was never there.
I am fine, I don't fret,
I am drowning in regret.
Forget about what happened.
I can, I will, I have.
Forget her, forget her.
I can, I will, I can't.
Forget, forget, forget.
I can't, I won't.



Now, this poem is not about "her". This one is about you. Yes, YOU! (^_^)


I have so much love to give you.
I want to see you smile,
To tell you everything is okay,
To see your face light up in joy,
To know what animates you so,
To be a rock in a world of chaos,
To be your shoulder when you cry,
To share precious moments with you,
To be a small part of your reason to live,
To lift you up when your spirits are flagging,
To give you water when you have none to drink.

Some poems I have written recently.


THE WINGLESS ANGEL

Freedom without potentiality is empty,
Living without you is oppression.
No longer straining at whispers,
Leaving you in the arms of a dream,
I am free to walk of my own will again.
To what end, if no road leads to your heart?
Your smile lighted all the good in me,
All other women are but its pale ghost.
In your eyes I saw the dancing cosmos.
Your steps, lighter than air, make a fool
Of my attempts to understand their rhythm.
May your feet never touch down, my love.
May your feet never touch down.


A CONFESSION

You are, at the edge of my consciousness,
Always circling, as a falcon's vast shadow.
A dull and bitter pain, an emptiness, unabated.
Is this what makes me shiver in the dark,
Or some dull retelling of a sweet deception?
In the mind, knowledge sweeps all doubt,
But the memories remain, fixed in the firmament.
How does a seeing man ever forget light?
How do the planets behave, which,
Then heeded their orbit, now are let loose
From the surly bonds of gravity?
How can a life, filled with your love,
Be ripped apart from it without pain?
The most delicate hands tread lightly here,
Surely I can do no better then those?
Inane? Perhaps. Unwanted? Definitely.
But I am not strong enough to stand
Against the undoing of my reason.
I am weak, yes, and stand defeated before all.


THE PECULIAR NIGHTMARE

The perpetual advice of the head-
Forget about her, despise her, hate her.
The perpetual questioning of the heart-
Who is she? What has she done?
How has she gained a stranglehold
On that part of me that smiled?
How is such a thing possible?
Or am I in the throes of
A most peculiar nightmare?
I see her everywhere, I see her in the faces of strangers,
Everything was purged, but the memories remain.
No command can erase a wound to the heart.
Humiliated, I still long for a word from her,
Anything that would bring her back.
I think of her and lo she is gone.
I feel trapped like an animal.
I feel like I am evaporating.
She will never come back.
I want to forget but I can't.


HOW TO GET AWAY FROM HER SHADOW: A PRACTICAL GUIDE

Walk the tightrope, never look down.
Evade all non-thought in your mind,
For that is where she resides.
Always talk to someone, do something,
Keep yourself busy. Write. Read.
Just keep the treadmills going.
Don't let it catch you again-
Every capture kills you a little at a time.
Don't look down, because it's there.
Don't look back, because she's there.
Don't look forward, because you're there.
All sources must be extinguished.
All distractions must be ignored.
The only way to get through it-
No more sentimentality or weakness.
Harden the heart, harden the mind.
Just keep walking, always walking, and don't look anywhere.