Song: Storyteller

Though it may seem that the blues and greens
are too shabby to be retold, it's in you somewhere
to shake off the dust and bring it back to light.
Are you scared that your tales will catch life
of their own, leaving the speaker behind the facade?
Are you sure that you don't want to spin it out
past your own small but glorious world?

Storyteller, don't you go away,
don't you end it here, like this.
Storyteller, don't you leave me here
waiting for the what I migth miss.

You said you'd barely told it
past the ears of your peers.
You said it would never make it
past the fires of my eyes.
Well, look at me, I'm still here
and your story's taken flight.
Don't go away, you have to stay the night.

Storyteller, don't you go away,
don't you end it here, like this.
Storyteller, don't you leave me here
waiting for the ending kiss.

So maybe your words are of wars and worlds
unknown to gentler things.
But it's not impossible that your demons and kings
can find something beautiful.
You started it, now you must go on;
I'll reward you with applause.
You wonder why I say this?
It's because you're my...

Storyteller, don't you go away,
don't you end it here, like this.
Storyteller, don't you leave me here
waiting for eternal bliss.

Poem: Loneliness

She has become one
with the emotion,
emptiness surrounds,
as well as the ocean.

Not walls, but vast seas
that have been created,
in turn desolating this girl
from all love and hatred.

Isolation from society
takes its toll on her mind.
Empty horizons scanned,
expecting nothing to find.

Years without contact;
she has stopped trying.
Love is not a necessity;
she is still surviving.

Solitude is protection
from cruel intent.
Never can she be hurt
without her own consent.

She's trapped in seclusion,
and once fought to be free.
Now she treats it like home;
separation is destiny.

A life full of loneliness;
being alone is routine.
She will never be found...
She will never be seen...

She's used to living
by herself in this ocean.
She has become one
with the emotion.


I have become one
with the emotion.

Poem: A day to surrender

note: this is exactly how i felt when i woke up alone, realizing that graduating means nothing, these people just pretend. all the time. my graduation party was a mental catastrophy.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -

I dont wanna stay in,
but I dont wanna go out,
With the kinda people that drive you crazy..
always shouting so loud.

I've been calling your name,
hoping you come around,
when you feel like your soaring baby..
keep your feet on the ground.

they may pick you.. up,
but they will let you down,
so you better wise up now honey..
before they figure you out.

-lapse-

a day to surrender..
had a belly full.
I've come to the end I'm..
nothing but a fool.

all the peoples faces..
all just rag and bone.
time that we have wasted..
living all alone.

Poem: 36

note: Puebla, Mexico. 6 months... 36 suicides.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

One, two... look around, you're alone, and she's alone, too.

Three, four... just once more, no one's knocking at your door.

Five, six... in the night, no one can hear your soul cry.

Seven, eight... look again, find your name written on the grave.

Nine, ten.. take the rope, the knife, find some bullets for your ride.

Eleven, twelve... hear the cry, silently, feel the chocking 'round your neck.

Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen... all those years, screaming... no one seemed to hear.

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen... you're grown up, yet you feel like letting go.

Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, counting is useless when you're lifeless on the ground.

Twenty-one, twenty-two... listen to me, too!

Twenty-three... You don't feel.

Thirty-three... You're not free.

Thirty-six... almost, almost here.

Thirty-six were the souls... lost without return.

Poem: How about no.

You'll be my last word,
left unheard and unrecorded
and it will never fit into your view of
everlasting posterity.
It's not monumental enough,
not anarchic enough.

It's closer to the nerves than
you ever care to express,
it clenches vertebrae into knots
and leaves no room for your
escape-artist tricks to be done.

And I forgot to mention.
I hate your laugh.

Painting: A Woman's Worth

Stupid title, I know! Roughly 5 hours of work. But I still suck at faces, I mustve redone hers like 6 times. I also made her right arm too big, and you can see where I tried to fix it. Im more than happy with this piece. Ive been painting more because I thought I needed practice for college than just because I can. Which is wrong. Ive missed this.

Fullview:


Hand Detail:


Breast Detail:
(I still cant draw or paint boobs...)


Top:


Middle:


Bottom:


Just shows how freakin huge it is.

My leg after the 5 hour fiascow:


Where I messed up under the arm... and a nipple for good measure:

Drawing: Perfection

wow, i suck at lips and hands... his ears and eyes are also a little messed, but im ok with that cause i only spent like 25 minutes tops on this. the dot in the corner of his eye was on the scanner but i was too lazy to do it over, so deal with it. his hair and other dark parts are with pastel cause i was lookin for a fast way to color the black in, my hands were a mess from the graphite. overall im happy with this, but for more sentimental reasons than quality (it really does suck, lol!). le sigh...

...i bet someone could look into your eyes a million times and still never see what i see...

Drawing: Your eyes

i was gonna finish this, but i think it says everything it needs to say. some things are better left unsaid, or in this case, "unfinished". best eyes ive ever drawn... they actually look at eachother.

Drawing: Jealous of cartoons :-P

haha, this ones never getting done... i got jealous... and his head is too small... lol! i still like it though.

Drawing: I do...

just a cute doodle with some lyrics to take a break from the harder shit i was doin.

Drawing: Untitled - Practice

did the first one by starting out with some maybelline ad and messing with some features. the second one i did semi normal and just worked on cross shading, which i sucked up in the first one.

Drawing: Oxford Clad Psycho

i believe i drew this my junior year... assumably after watching fight club, fucked up. i just touched up some parts but i really dunno what to say, wasnt about to try and finish it. i just found this sketchbook in my closet. lucky!

Story: Biance

note: i hate creepy dreams during nap time.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Her name was Bianca. She was thirteen.

She only spoke French. No one spoke French. Some guy brought her here after she'd been hit by a cab.

I realized, after the third hour, that there was nothing to be done. I offered her tea. She was crying a lot.

I didn't remember being thirteen.

"It hurts," she said, and my mind flickered, confused.

"It'll stop soon," I replied, pulling my knees to my chest. I was nineteen, then. I'd been a medic for eleven months. No one had died before.

I thought of offering her painkillers, but didn't.

"How do you speak French?" she asked.

"I speak everything."

"I wish I could do that."

"It's not really worth it," I said, staring at the dark red stains beneath my fingernails. The funny thing about words is that they will evaporate in six hours and forty nine minutes. After that, she'll speak the same language as everyone else.

"Can I go home now?"

"You probably shouldn't walk," I said. She weighed ninety three pounds. I wondered if I could carry her body to the alley.

Photography: FREEDOM isn't FREE

This is a different egg, with more jagged edges. I also used crayon instead of marker this time and got the best quality so the texture of the egg would show. I went through three eggs with crayon because its rather rough and hard on the fragile shell. I also didn't write on the underboard because I felt it took away from the meaning. Here ya go. I suppose the previous project would be called brainstorming... Whodda thunk this would come from me?

Sculpture: FREEDOM...

...ISN'T FREE.


I thought of this when I was doing the one that predecessed it. Jamie was making Will eggs and I saw this. Yea I know chicklets aren't alive in the eggs you buy at the store, but sometimes people get one that would've made it (Ive gotten that before). Life is unfair, but this could also symbolize prisons or therapy where a person in a certain mental state is counting the days until they can be whole without having to depend on this fragile shell for protection and support.

All of these are the same, but under different lighting conditions and slight angle variations.

Painting: Its so hard to ask...

I started this after 'Genie' and I thought it would come out just as bad. I had the background done two months ago, but today I really didnt expect it to come out this beautiful. Im actually really proud of this one. Though the painting isnt more than 1x2 feet the details are still pretty amazing... for me that is. I feel the turqouis and yellow are what really set it apart.

Fullview:


Details:



The hand started out horrible, I was about to give up. On the middle finger you can see where I messed up several times, and the pinky and pointer are way out of proportion, but its really hard to tell in the final product. I still like how it came out though.

Painting: Genie

This started out good, then turned into a piece of shit because I got lazy. As per usual.

Fullview:


Details:

Painting: Judgement

I started this over a year ago and forgot about it. No one really has turquois or purple eyes, so they represent my paranoia last year and the blue represents me as my harshest critic this year.

Fullview:


Detail:

Haiku: Elephantasma

note: havent done one of these since like 8th grade. whatev. "women and elephants never forget" - dorothy parker. its about poaching in case you dont get it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

this is forgetting:
moon-drenched ivory, and grey flesh
made hollow with lead.

Prose: Sometimes I Fear

Times fly by, but feelings stay the same. My heart
isn't yours, so let it go. I want to scream. Wake you
up. Please wake up, I didn't mean it. I didn't know
it was loaded. I'm sorry, I'm so damn sorry. But the
blood is on the bedsheets, and I'm sorry won't fix
it. I don't know what to do. You did this. I did
this. It doesn't even fucking matter. It's done. The
blood is on the bedsheets, and I fear the bleeding
won't heal. The heart has hit the shredder but
mine's not yours to steal. I see the love hate in
your eyes burn, but I can't even look at you any
more. You don't have my pity. Your lips are blood
-stained, but your love is still unexplained. I don't
want this. I want to run away. I want to leave. I
want you to be okay. I care, but the blood is on the
bedsheets, and it's coming just too fast. The words
are in my mind, but they are a bit aghast.You leave
me only one option, and I think it might be right.
Just hold the gun to you, and pull the trigger tight.

Drawing: Some weird project

Dont ask me, I forgot all about this! I shrunk it, cause its like the size of my body.
Not much to look at anyways. So whatever.

Sculpture?: Platypuss

Ha! Its really a manatee, but for some reason I couldnt seem to remember that. I got really lazy towards the end, thus the uneven lines and shit yellow coloring. Whoops... the shape turned out good though, and thats what counts!

Fullviews... sort of:



Kinda Details:

(tears from bein hit with a propellor)


(sideview)


(underbelly - "slices")

Drawing: Pencil Project

I cant count how much time I spent on this bitch. 2 hours a day for like two weeks. Ouch. I know its out of proportion, I suck at animals.

Fullview:


Details:

Painting: Tiny Dancer

Beauty can come out of a shithole situation. Just because we live in this tiny ass town, doesnt mean we are part of our environment. If you survive, go on to something bigger. Eliza was part of the inspiration of this painting (she was an amazing dancer). We all have our struggles internally and externally, but those who want it bad enough get out and never look back. Dont let anything get the best of you, because its never worth it in the long run. This took me 3 hours one day and 5 hours today. Most likely the longest Ive spent on anything, i love it.

Fullview:
(her the glitter is still wet... oops)


Details:


Im so fucking proud of this foot:


The dress:


Blownup Bettie is so excited to see me finish this!!!!

Story: No son, I was just a soldier.

note: shawn's home, hope i get to see him. hes my hero. i hate this war, but these people fighting for us are our men. do not call them ignorant or a waste. give them the credit they deserve. these are our men and women dying and surviving and living.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


A young boy is playing in the attic of his house when he comes across a large trunk full of uniforms, pictures and papers. Hidden in the bottom of the trunk under everything else, wrapped in an old green bath towel he find a large cigar box. Being naturally curious as all young boys are when they find a ‘hidden treasure’ he opens the box. Inside he found many ribbons, pins, buttons, and several medals. Further exploring the trunk, he finds pictures of his father as a very young man in the uniforms of the army. He sees his father in combat greens and in dress uniform for the first time in his life. He had never known his father was a soldier, not once in his twelve years of life had he ever heard it mentioned. He sees his father and other young men smiling as they hold up their weapons, food, beer bottles, magazines, each other. He sees them standing in front of signs with names on them he can not even begin to pronounce they are so strange to his young mind. He gathers up his new found treasure and heads for the stairs.

In the living room of his house he places the treasures on the coffee table before his father and asks. “Are these yours dad?” The innocent questing of a young boy for knowledge of his father. His father gets a strange sad faraway look in his eyes as he sees what his son has placed before him. Looking at his wife he receives the answer to his unasked question. “I couldn’t, I’m sorry”. Dumping the contents of the box on the table he answers his son. “Yes, these are mine”. Looking up at his father with new found wonder he asks. “Are you a hero daddy”? With a deep sigh he replies, “No son, I was just a soldier”.

What is this he points at a blue bar with a rifle on it and a wreath around it. “That’s a combat infantryman badge” he replies, “You earn that by being an infantryman in a combat zone in a war”. Eyes widening he asks in a low voice. “You were in a war”? “Yes son, I’ve been to war” is the softly spoken somewhat ambiguous answer. “What is the one with the wings”, he asks. “Those are my jump wings son. I earned them by being in the airborne, a paratrooper”. “And these”, he asks pointing at some shaped like crosses with bull’s-eyes in the center of them and small bars hanging under them. “Those are marksmanship awards son, you earn those by being able to use your weapons well”. “Then you were a hero”. “No son, I was just a soldier”.

Holding up a heart shaped medal with a purple and white ribbon attached a row of four small metal oak leaves adorn the ribbon. “What is this one? It’s pretty”. “That son is the purple heart you are awarded that when you are wounded in battle”. “You got hurt dad”? Not badly son, not badly at all”. He hugs his dad because he is glad he is alright. “What’s the yellow one he asks”? His dad picks up the yellow ribbon with two green and three red stripes, it is also adorned with three small bronze stars “That one is for serving in a place called Vietnam a long time ago. Before you were even born”. “I’ve heard of that war” he says, awe in his voice. His father picks up the rest of the medals and shows them to his son one at a time.

One with a red ribbon bearing white stripes and a silver clasp. “This is my good conduct medal, it means I didn’t get into trouble while I was a soldier” A green one with white stripes and a bronze ‘V’, “My Army commendation medal, I got it by doing my job exceptionally well one day when some men needed me to help them”. A red one with white stripes and a bronze star hanging under it, also adorned with a ‘V’. “My bronze star, Some of my friends were trapped by some bad guys with machine guns one day. My friends were hurt so I ran out and brought them back to safety so they wouldn’t get hurt any more and the doctors could take care of them”. The last one a red white and blue ribbon above a brightly shining star. “My silver star”. A distant look comes over his fathers eyes. “One day our base was in real trouble. The enemy was everywhere. We thought we were all going to die. So five of us decided to charge the enemy. When we did the enemy was so shocked they panicked, the rest of our men saw this and attacked as well. All of us were wounded that day. All of us did our duty and more. They gave me this medal because I was the one who got the others to charge with me.” “you were a hero” he said, a new found respect for his father in his voice. “No son, I was just a soldier”. His father falls silent and seems deep in thought. The boy looks at his mother and sees tears running down her face, it will be years before he comes to realize they were tears of pride, not sadness. His father gathers up the medals and badges and takes them back up to the attic where they remain for many years.

Time passes and the father dies, the boy has grown and has a son of his own. On the wall of his study is a case with a picture of his father. In this case, mounted around his fathers picture are all his fathers medals, ribbons, badges and awards. His son asks him, “Daddy was grandpa a soldier”? “No son”, he replies much pride in his voice. “Your grandfather was a hero”. He then begins to tell his son the things his father had done. Things that most men wouldn’t or couldn’t do. How his grandfather had never seen himself as a hero, just as a soldier doing his duty and helping his fellow soldiers as they needed it. How this is what a hero is, a man who does what needs to be done with no concern for his own safety or life, just for those around him. A man willing to put his own life on the line so that others won’t have to and then to never call attention to himself because he did those things. To ask nothing in return, to just live his life in a manner that allows him to raise a family and have a happy life if he is lucky enough to survive.

Poem: Trust

The shifty look in your eyes-
it's as if you don't trust me.
The skeptical tone in your voice-
it's as if you don't believe me.

Smiles for you are pointless
when you think they're fake.
Telling you I loved you
was just one big mistake.

The worried frown upon your lips-
it's as if you don't trust me.
The shrugging of your shoulders-
it's as if you don't believe me.

Hugs for you are meaningless
when you return them, unsure.
Kisses on your face are worthless
when you don't feel them anymore.

The doubtful questions you ask of me-
it's as if you don't trust me.
The slow nod when I tell you things-
it's as if you don't believe me.

Talks with you are worthless
when you suspect that I'm lying.
And your lack of faith in me
has only resulted in my crying.

Endless days of your mistrust
cause me to fall into your mold.
The mold of who you think I am...
unfaithful, untrustworthy, and cold.

And so to your suspicions,
I have finally adjusted.
You know me all too well, my dear.
You're right, I cannot be trusted.

Poem: The current state is critical

They say psychopaths don't learn
from their mistakes,
but this is a hell of a mistake.

How'd you get away with it?

You always play it so safe and severe.

How'd you learn how to do it?

You always play it like you'll never admit

just how much you
want to be more like all that
you've always seen glaring out
under covers of shiny magazines,

but through those godawful pants and
through your sneering gaze, it's come to me
that you won't get through these
bright white days without losing
all that you're sworn to keep dear
(those nights of cool sheets and
unbreakable strength in clasped hands).

So I'll wave at your ghost coming through this
crowded town and you'll look up and
be amazed that you can't place my face
while I shake my head that you've grown up such a waste,
since it's a damn shame that you never went away.

Poem: Oh Em Gee

note: another short practice to keep my touch. exasperation of the truth.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Today I got a sunburn while trying
to get a tan
(you seem ashamed of the
white of my skin, bleached
like the bones of those
Auschwitz ancestors I
never met--
but I digress),
though there are tanlines
under the thumb ring that
you played with
just a week ago.

It occurred to me, while scanning my
reddened face in the mirror,
that you looked into my eyes
not to look at me,
but to look at yourself
immersed in
(dare I say?) love.

So let's play doctor, babe.
You can slap some lotion
on the sunburn, though I think
your favourite remedy is
salt on an open wound.

Poem: Stellar

note: just some practice shit. based on the song Stellar by Incubus.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I was in
black and you were
in white
(contrary to the
contrast of our skins)
and the water was
brown where it
should have
been green
(contrary to the
contrast of our eyes)
and you
undid the cage of
vertebrae
and said
you
were the lucky one.
You!


So,
I took down
the curtains and let
free all the
doubts and unfurled
the mistakes, the angst, the
never-forgotten
time apart
and we launched
ourselves into the purity
of space
(where they would never
think to find us)

Drawing: Youll die in this place

i just pulled that name out of my ass, clever huh? alicia's grad present. i was gonna be her birthday present in october, her xmas present in christmas, but i finally finished the little fucker. 4 hours over that time, approx 1.5 spent tonight. fini. she loves moulin rouge and i cant even begin to count the number of times she made me watch it... but i always fell asleep. good shit though.

fullview:



details:

- - - - - - - - - - - - -
note: the scanner brought out the darker lines, so needless to say that giantass dot scared the shit out of me. but im a little bit retarded sometimes, so its all good.

Poem: Reflection

note: this poem is solely about a persons reflection in a mirror but has many hidden meanings in it. please take note of how the structure is. you need to pay close attention to fully understand it. i put lines used in the poem together to create a whole sentence that fully wraps the above up. all the sentences created go perfectly to wrap up the entire poem. it is very confusing and you will more than likely need to read it multiple times to understand it. i really like this idea that i got... i don't know if it already exists so id say its experimental.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -


I am a worthless being;
a faceless silhouette.

I have a twin just like me
which I now meet.

As I stare into the mirror it
stares back at me.

A faceless silhouette which I now meet stares back at me.


Behind his deceitful back
he is carrying with him

An artifact forsaken:
the lost key.

This key opens the sealed gate
to my faith.

He is carrying with him the lost key to my faith.


He is an empty reflection
beyond this portal.

Every time I see him
he laughs at me.

He comes from the void
to augment my misery.

Beyond this portal he laughs at me to augment my misery.



I choose when to see him, so
I hold the last laugh.

I will regain confidence
as he vanishes.

He is my reflection, gone
with a single step.

I hold the last laugh as he vanishes with a single step.

Poem: Whats Wrong?

note: very common, but all too true.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your eyes reveal your hidden feelings,
emotions so easily read by me.
You may think that you disguise them so well,
but through all the facades, I still see.

There's sadness lurking behind your smile,
and we both know something's out of place.
But only you know your problems and fears,
the only things unrevealed by your face.

I'm begging you to tell me what's wrong,
yet you continue persisting that you're fine.
Once more I ask if everything's alright.
Your denials live in that overused line...

"I'm okay."
"No, I don't think so."
"Just leave me alone!"
"Fine then... I'll go."

You're merely making it worse for yourself
when you push me away and shut me out.
Your feelings locked deep inside of you
is something we can both do without.

But I'll keep my mouth shut just for you,
and I will not stay if I don't belong,
though I can't help my heart's screaming...

Please won't you tell me what's wrong!!

Poem: If you wanted honesty

note: "well, if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say." my chemical romance. i really dont know where this is coming from. i know who i would say this to, but this isnt me, no. gawsh. so inspired. i love it.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Yeah, I know you told me.

Get a life.
Get a sense of humour.

Well, let me be the first to tell you that
baby, you’re not all that
(you want to be)
Because after me, the pink slips will keep
rollin’ in like the tumbleweeds that go
by every time you speak.

And I know you want to cry after every
set; “it’s another broken heart coming down
my way,” you say, but we all know how
artists love to lie.

So you’ll hold that note and stomp and strum
and take after those sad sad singers you
always vowed never to become
and I’ll come across your face in that
prententiously pedestrian magazine you
always vowed never to read, much less be in
and I won’t even remember I knew you.

Poem: Because you asked

note: actually, you didnt ask. but i thought you should know.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Because you asked
and I answered.

If it was

the seconds of silence where I really didn't care
that you and I weren't talking,

or those minutes of kisses that you
and I both knew weren't great
but were so much goddamn fun;

If it was

staying out late in your room and seeming
to levitate with you,

or those days apart where you wondered
where I was but knew
how to get me back from that dark world;

If it was

us losing track of all time for three hours and saying
how relieved we were to find each other,

or sharing candies wrapped
up in wrappers as thin as our knowledge
of each other right then...

If you have to ask:

No. I haven't forgotten you.

You don't get off that easy.

Prose: Suicide

note: this was inspired by my pig project at first, which led to my last suicide note. there are really so many insignificant things that make people want to kill themselves and so many reasons, but its never worth it cause its youre life. and youll be missing alot.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

animals dont have a choice

if theyre not happy with their place in the world... too bad.

they have to live the life theyve been given.

humans, on the other hand dont have to.

we have a choice.

if you dont like your place in the world you can get off anytime you want

suicide.

thats right.

you dont like the way your lifes going, you dont like the way you are in the world. anything around you.

you can check out anytime you like.

animals arent allowed that thought and believe me, if they were, they would use it.

thered be a lot of dogs and cats, owned by assholes that live in high-rises, diving out the windows.

zebras... if they even had remotely that thought would take a look at themselves and go.
"what the fuck! black & what in a green & brown world... this blows.
im just gonna jump in the river...
i dont have a thumb to work a gun or hold a knife or even open a jar of pills.
im just gonna dive into the next lion's mouth.
why even bother?"

now monkeys, have the opposable thumb so they could kinda do it the same way we do.

now there's a bunch of people that say, "oh its against the law".

well, its only against the law if you do a crappy job and get caught.

other people say, "oh, we should save them".

yeah, well you know what?
not everybody wants to be saved.
not everybody should be saved.
and who are we to forve our will upon them?

i mean, isnt that one of the joys about being a human?

freedom of choice?

now, its not all bad.

now, im not saying "kill yourself".

but if youre gonna be an idiot and do it anyway, its no sweat off of my back.

theres a lot of good that could come from it.
a little bit of bad thrown in.

some of the things:
a job will be open...

a house will become available...

therell be more air for me...

they say theres two girls for ever guy - if youre a woman therell be more guys for me...

therell be more vodka for me...

therell be one less idiot in line at the bank who gets up to the window

without their fucking slips filled out...

i wont ever have to go to the store to buy my favorite mountain dew

and have the clerk point at you and say, "they bought the last box"....

you wont help change the mcdonalds sign to a hundred billion served...

youll never get aids or wont have to suffer from it any longer...

you wont have to worry about calories ever...

no more "hey, does this make me look fat?"...

therell be one less polluting human...

you wont have to recycle... therell be one less car on the road...

there be more oatmeal cookies for me...

fifty or so chickens lives with be spared...

your fingers wont ever get red from eating pistachios...
you wont be forced to visit your grandparents on sundays anymore...

no more church...

youll be sayin, "hey world - kiss my ass!"...

no more wet dreams about movie stars...

no more barry manilow...

for a few years anyway...

wondering "am i a loser?" will be a thing of the past...
say good-bye to crappy xmas presents from aunts and uncles...

you wont have to suffer through a motley crue reunion...

fucking flossing and brushing...

youll never lose sleep over a pregnancy scare...

adios, acne...

worrying whether you fit in or not wont be on your brain...

see ya later, homework...

youll never have to sit through another movie brought to you by the creators of south park...

schools out forever...
no more paying bills...
you wont have to do chores...

you wont be able to run over toads with the lawnmower though...

youll also miss mcdonalds french fries...

bugs bunny...

the amazing electrifying feeling that surges through your body when you kiss someone for the first time..

you wont be able to watch the letterbox directors cut of jaws...

candy...
living above ground was always a plus...

pudding crust...

youll miss the rush of getting you first apartment...
getting to the point in your life where you can tell you parents to

"fuck off! i gotta make my own mistakes.... you did"...

youll miss sex = youll miss thinking about it, looking for it, sex by yourself, sex with a partner,
sex with multiple partners...

no more summer nights that seem to go on forever...

roller coasters....

naming you kid the name you always wanted...

making a difference in their world...

youll miss the experience and pleasure of hallucinogenics...
watching your neighbors husband change clothes with his blinds open...

a lifetime of masturbating...

watching your favorite team sweep the series...

music, you will definately miss music...

trying to sneak into your house drunk - three hours past your curfew...

youll miss the blaze of glory of the fourth of july fireworks...

the taste of cinnamin toast crunch...

if youre a boy, youll miss the feeling the first time you reach up a girls shirt...

...if youre a girl, youll miss the first time you reach down a boys pants

youll miss your favorite coat...

waffles with whipped cream and strawberries...

beating your friends in a race...

you wont be around to see what shape and color the new marshmallow in lucky charms will be...
youll miss the feeling you get when reminiscing about your first love - thirty years after the fact...
the joy of giving and receiving at christmas...

skinny dipping...

getting stoned, reading green eggs & ham, and eating like a horse that got loose in the gain bin

flying cars...

hey, you were born..... finish what you started.

Poem: Silence

diaphanous mind
twisted
torn
write this hurt across my heart
then say i never cared

the devil speaks before you
a junkie in the eyes of man
shooting dreams with swollen veins
a martyr to bespell you

a voice rasping through forever
spinning lies
speaking truth
preying on the weakest mind
to twist and bend it to his whim

in lucid dreams
he hears the secrets ghosts hold dear
the broken will of a hopeless boy
etched in transient delusion

you keep your fear
you keep your hurt
let it keep you warm and safe
let it wipe away the blood and tears
and face tomorrow with leaden heart

a crystal treasure granted once
scratched and cracked and flawed
a needle edge to open flesh
the cherished token of the stars

sustained on clouds of nicotine
no sanctity of sleep
growing cold
growing old
he watches silent with hollow eyes

the devil speaks before you
a secret in his smile
write this hurt across my heart
then say i never cared

Poem: Lyrical motions by candlelight

note: this is an honest piece about the differing perspectives men and women have about love and sex. i learned the hard way.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

warm moist air glides silk,
lifting, diffusing, touching,
umber streetlight leeches
through mis-closed curtain;
soundless shadow reflects arm's caress.

cream wall reveals flicker.
candle burns wax inviolate,
accompanying stereo's whisper;
walls solid, yet boxing clever:
music continues surely within.

aural cavity yet breath heated,
seeks words assurance unfulfilled,
mouth keenly engulfs blushed lobe.
legs twine and minds twist,
twinned arms join in mutual clasp.

turgid head bows to heavy breast,
nipple succumbs to urgent tongue.
tense wait relaxed, amused,
empathic wax flame leaps.
One's head, other's hands.

Contact encouraged hero,
his hands on her hips.
plays staccato kisses
on sweet, sweat covered tum.
musical lust bearing harmonies

thighs surrender to urgent pressure,
flesh greets oral tonic.
cool silence broken monophonic,
her gasp forming melodies.[Who am I?]
minds stiring caressed removed.

urgency arouses thoughts betray,
pure lips and heart cease.
soul destroyed by betrayal,
beats in breast renewed.
refreshment hiccoughs psychosis

lips meet touch clammy,
short candle sputters ghost.
wax pools, barrier breached.
tongue strokes tongue.
lust pools, barrier broken.

pressure seeks formal assent, [what do I want?]
knees bowed, curved reception,
welcomes hipped invasion.
painted expression of admiration,
head poisoned love, euphoric.

natural re-known nudity
expresses deep hurt
soul's belisha beacon
marks pedestrian revelation
not only candles snuff out {is he the one?}

skull fuck telepathic:
disseminates knowledge masculine_
penetration is swift,
and wholly indelible.
mighty pen, mightier sword. [you cad, you fake, you fuck]

further expression not required
embrace distinguishes only lust
tongue and lip and limb
betray nought but self
golden handshake of love remains

that which angers, transforms
wholly mis-understood,
innocence through nonsense.
and yet I must confess,
despite all this,

I don't know the rules

I never knew the rules

[I'm sorry]

Poem: On Fisher

Growing up on
The porches of sunset
Houses I would trace the skin
Around my mother's
Veins.
And like the rivers to
The north and east they would flow
Forever. Back
Then, when lips
Were pink and grass
Had not grown around
These warm white steps,
I would watch
The currents and float while she sang Long,
Long, Long, down my spine.


Then,
Outside, cream ran
Though the streets
And I watched while
Men came
To see,
To dance, like children
In the heat.

Soon
A flock much darker and colder
Than I had ever known,
Began to tear through vines
With teeth and I began
To smoke

And I would grow, dying
In July while
Swells of fat spilt
Over side-
Walks and into the eyes
Of strangers. Stinging up
Old yellow fascination of mothers
And sons.

And just like I had
Learned, from the women sweating
On their summer
Porches, I threw
Stones down front
Street, and laughed
While the hungry sucked
And listened
For the flow of rivers.

Poem: Crysteline

a kingdom of glass and crystal.


i came
nearly into waking
as frost crystallized on my
dream window

through the silence
of my confined spaces
and the echoes
of intangibility


she stood
like a sentinel
in the doorway
to my kingdom

and she bore seven
tiny glass panes
of representation
and secrecy


so i brought
her close to me
as her eyes
did the talking

and she promised
her unending love
in the still of that room
as time froze shut


her reverent
footsteps in the lawns of
my sleeping gardens
encircled me

as i thought about her smile.
and later that night
i blanketed the world

with snowflakes.

Story: The Event Horizon

Some nights you will find me in bed with my eyes wide open, completely unmoving except a faint heartbeat and shallow breathing. At times, I will have the clarity of mind to turn the lights on, and then I can nearly sleep again.

I can't fully explain what it did to me, let alone tell you what I saw. You know this about me; I never could boast a solid understanding of human psychology. It makes sense somewhere in the back of my mind, but it escapes words, any coherent rationalization. Then again, what if I could tell you? Somehow bring you to the same understanding that I have?

What if I could?


For the most part, the spectators that assembled around ground zero the next day simply left shaking their heads and wondering, "What sort of thing could have done this?" and then on to dinner, and the evening news. It would come up in conversations later, as if its existence and purpose were no more significant than any other conversation piece. "Did you hear that a man was seen crawling out from the epicentre?" They used the word "epicentre" like a dessert topping; it was the popular buzzword from the newspaper article earlier that morning.

It was good enough for them to leave the analyses and explanation to the experts. There were experts, of course. Or that is the image the media crafted, from quoting unremarkable and unimaginative men of science whose names were prefixed with "Dr."

Those men failed to ultimately realize, however, that not even a fraction of all science is yet represented in their books.

For this, almost no one could truly understand what caused it, even if they had shared my experience. Even if they had the faith to believe it. For the most part, those capable of believing are either young children or have gone insane and are near death, residing in supposedly comfortable institutions that focus, no less, on Quality Of Life and Total Customer Satisfaction. Naturally, such comparisons at first led me to question my own psychological stability.

You would think it neurologically feasible for a human brain to, provided the proper connections, convince itself of anything – including that which does not exist. In this instance, however, it would have required my mind to entirely disregard the sum total experience of my life. I believe wholeheartedly that our minds are incapable of extrapolating to such extremes of their own accord. Therefore, I cannot see mental fabrication as being a distinct possibility, even based solely on the noncorporeal effects of the phenomenon. Neither is it able to account for the physical evidence afterwards.

On the next level, I repeat to myself often that it was nothing more complicated than a peculiarity of quantum physics. This feeble attempt at trying to submit my experience to an inadequate human logic set will provide me with a few minutes of peace before the logic exhausts itself, and I collapse. I do not posses the sort of strong mentality that could simply dismiss it as either a non-event or a mere scientific curiosity - not as the experts must have done. What was only visible to the observing world in the aftermath was astounding enough in itself.

I don't know what came over me that day, but you must hold me blameless. A person's mind does not manifest new realities of its own accord. The physical world does not give way to the whims and fancies of a minimal bioelectric current dancing from neuron to axon. Yet I did for those first few seconds, from the very core of myself, feel that I would just then cause such a thing to happen. I did admit to this. And I tore open a hole in the world.

+++

In the worst of my fever nightmares, the whole of existence came unraveled. The stars powered down and became cold. Space and time evolved backwards into lines and circles and mathematical equations while the very fabric of the omniverse was peeled from its framework like skin from a dying animal. The laws of physics expired while spatial perspectives expanded and contracted explosively to infinite and nauseating extremes. I became noncorporeal; nothing more than a reference point in the stormy sea of collapsing dimensions. And within the anguished throes of the dying omniverse was the giant clock that counted down the last remaining hours and minutes: twelve and twenty-four.

I have dreamt of the end of civilization: of the Apocalypse that destroyed all but a few pockets of human life. I have dreamt of the end of the worlds of men, after the battles of Armageddon and Ragnarok. I have dreamt of a galaxy void of life. But for a few moments, I was witness to the masterwork of finality: the end of all worlds.

That horrible, heart-crushing finality.

It was less of an imaginary transaction than I'd thought, that dream. Far too real and sinister was the truth that it only hinted at. It came back to me then as I was enveloped in the expanding spherical event horizon of space-skin. This was my last coherent thought as the crackling energy waves of unfolding dimensions surged throughout me, and my body shook, paralyzed, a slave to the deafening atomic roar:


I am ice cold
I am frostbitten
and the universe is burning away


You will remember that the evidence of an unprecedented phenomenon was irrefutable. That clearing in the woods near town: stretched, twisted and warped into a quivering pile of metamorphic rock and black carbon vein. The rivulets of steaming inky slime that had once been trees. No one could argue with that. And no one could argue that I emerged from those depths minutes later; that I was seen stumbling out of that clearing as the first crowds began to gather.

Who could forget my screams?

[‡]

Story: Whisper 2

please do not forget me.





Part II.
Journal

4:12 PM. 1 Oct., 2002

Sad are the ghosts that haunt me.

And so pale, always pale.

I've taken my place on the hardwood floor beneath the west window. Back to the wall. Face to the east. I don't think I will eat tonight. There are ghosts in the hall.

The unseasonably warm weather had lifted my spirits the last few days. I mowed the lawn. Took the car to the wash. I even spent some time with friends the weekend before. We had a cookout at the lake, drank a few cold ones, swapped jokes. I remember laughing at a few of them. It felt good, like water on a parched throat.

But the north wind sort of slipped in overnight, leaving behind little trace of summer. I woke to a world of frost. And as usual, the change of seasons tore me in two.

So here I am today, with the clouds. The kind that curtain the sky just enough to deaden the light. The clouds and I reciprocate an eternal grey, almost a mirror image, but I envy them for the pervasive sunlight that only they can feel.

If only for a little longer...


12:02 AM. 7 Nov., 2002

Black.

I wake in the dead of night to the eerie sensation of fingers trailing down my legs. My blood freezes solid. Again, contact. My skin tenses in revulsion, and I remove the covers from my bed, searching. Nothing. But in the near-silence, I... I had forgotten to turn on the fan before I slept. I always need the white noise to block out...

Tonight I can hear the wailing.

It pierces my heart like a knife. Unable to groan audibly, I shed my tears in silence, weakened by a voiceless sob. Terrified and anguished, I reach for the lightswitch. I assume this is another night that will see little rest.


11:20 PM. 11 Nov., 2002

He whispers
"Save me save me save me save me..."



10:01 AM. 2 Feb., 2003

The world changed this morning. Ice on the sidewalk, clouds in the sky. The snow falls like so many stars. But it is not a bleak, hopeless snow. And I smile an honest smile, less bitter now than sweet.

I've decided not to wait anymore.

"My dear friend, I write this to you with a heavy heart. I won't stay any longer. Don't be concerned for me this time. Where I go, I cannot say, but I think I will not return. Wish me well, and if we never meet again, please do not forget me.

Godspeed my journey."

Story: Whisper

this repetition will keep me alive.





Part I.
Journal

4:38 AM. 10 July, 2002

It comes and goes like the tide.

In the quiet times I hear a soft whispering. Bits of song, and even faint breathing: past tense. I am not afraid.

Otherwise I stay busy, keep my mind occupied. Now and then as I wander through the day, I will find the occasional ray of sunlight. But as often as I remind myself of this, it offers little comfort.

Still a few hours before the sunlight.

The days go on.


My last words to him were frigid and unconcerned. If I would have known they would be my last words, I would have spoken softly. I would have held him close.

If I had known, I would not have let him leave.


7:02 AM. 12 July, 2002

There used to be something about the cereal. And the couch. Something special...

Yes.

We used to eat it out of the box. Saturday mornings. Cartoons. Cereal out of the box.

It had a taste back then, too. I don't remember anymore. It's a vehicle for nutrients. If I don't eat, I'll starve. I rarely argue with logic. Milk and cereal. This repetition, I suppose, will keep me alive. But maybe I'd rather not...


The days go on.


11:34 AM. 28 July, 2002

It becomes more difficult. Advertisement: Cute, sexy singles are waiting for me. I start thinking. Somewhere in the back of my mind: people think a) love is a feeling, b) love is a marketing tool. And those that know better go about their lives. But even then, how many take it for granted?

How many don't?

A cute, sexy single on TV barely scratches the surface, as today's attempt at distracting myself fails miserably again.

The days go on.


10:25 PM. Aug 1, 2002

It's in the air now. Once I could say that I did not dream during the day. Things have changed. The stars collide when I close my eyes. The sun falls from the sky. Voices.

I open my eyes.

Numb.


6:15 PM. 9 Aug, 2002

I can't leave. There's nothing I can do to block out these memories. I can do nothing. A certain word. The brakelights of a car on my street. The sound of soft music in another room. A piano. The evening sun slanting through the window. I'm lost in these, until I can get out again into a sea of distraction.

I'll go out for a while.

He is not there, but the sky is the same.

As I wait in the intersection, I close my eyes. Tires scream at pavement. Flying glass. Momentum. A simple physics equation briefly comes to mind, but a noise from behind me peirces that thought. A car horn. Green light. Go.


Part of him is left on the road, along with my heart.

Poem: The Morning After

The sun breaks through the window pane
like so many fragmented shards of glass
lying lost and alone in a desperate attempt
to put themselves back together.

To quote, and I rarely quote,
"Either the wallpaper goes,
or I go."
And then he slipped into the eternal sleep.

I wonder sometimes what
this eternal sleep is like
if we are not but broken shards of glass
who cannot put themselves back together

and how I long to put myself back
together
funny word that, "together"
how do you put yourself back
together?

The phone rings and it starts again
this circus of fragmented personalities
this play, this farce, this chaotic mess
"all the world is a stage", after all.

Can I act out my part,
can I play it well?
Can I bring the illusion to those around me?

Or will I lose myself in this city of angels
and be taken in by the farce,
deluding myself, and losing what makes
me whole?

Poem: Lost 2

I think sometimes you need only direction...
Orientation: gay - obscene; blood: red - like everyone else.
Cursed from birth with no release
Innocent, but condemned with attraction.

Some say you are hidden from God Himself
because you are homosexual
and guilty as sin because of it:
guilty of being without morals or direction.

You are a gay man in Right-wing America.

Mentally bruised from your youth
And I wish that you had your direction
A Purpose: For even the smallest ant knows it's purpose on the earth.

And yet, the Christian Right rules righteously...
But is not God above all?
Above even the gay man and the lesbian?

Or is he truly hateful of your existance?
Absent when you needed direction
Lost and alone in a strange Christian world.

Poem: Insomniac

God this heat is oppressive
Sweat and tears lost in a cloud of cigarette smoke
The temperature rises, but only in your head
step outside, smoke another
I just want to be liked
I just want to be noticed

walk in the room and everyone's head is down
I want to scream "I'm dying here"
but no one would hear me
words unspoken, thoughts unsaid
I just want to be alive again
I just want to live.

The sun starts to rise and I'm just going to bed
Can I be your fantasy tho I'm dry eyed and red
I have feelings too you know but happiness is easier to deal with
I keep a smile on my face and
a wound on my heart
a wound in my eyes
can you see it behind everything
hidden away but not forgotten

smoke another bowl
cough hack and wheeze
feel it all melting away...

tap tap tap
keyboards make the oddest noises
in the dark
in a silent room
what can I do to make it in this world
and what will it be worth when its over
and when will it all be over?

will I end up lonely
will I end up alone
will I end up poor, rich, liked, hated, tired and yet still only
dead?

Poem: Lost

I think sometimes you need only direction...
Skin: black - obscene; blood: red - like everyone else.
Cursed hand that bullet released,
Innocent, but fabled Cain in guilt.

Some say you are hidden from God himself
because you are black-skinned
and guilty as sin because of it:
guilty of being without morals or direction.

You are a black man in White Africa.

Prison clothes do not suit your youth
And I wish that you had your direction
A Purpose: For even the smallest ant knows its purpose on the earth.

And yet... the White race rules righteously...
But is not God, Tixo above all?
Above the green valleys awash with the smell of blooming flowers

Or is he more like White than black?
Absent when you needed direction
Leaving you lost and alone in a strange White world.

Poem: Always alone

emptiness again...
left behind...
replaced...

cold...

alone...

loneliness...
eating at my heart.
no one hears...
no one cares...

i'll just sit here...
while you abandon me again...
why do you hate me?
why do you leave me?
why does everyone always replace me?
why am i the one that has to deal with this?
why can't i be the one everyone loves...?
why am i always the last resport.....?

you don't know how much it hurts...
being abandoned...
again...




time and time again...

alone...


always...
always alone...

Painting: Sarah's Present

never titled it cause i gave it to sare the next day. one of my favorite abstractions thats not too psycho

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