Lost and Found

The Silverback Philosophy

Is there a god:

            Being raised in a spiritual but non-religious family Tom often questioned the existance of god. One of his first pholosophy reading assingments was the four arguments for the existance of god. The Ontological, Cosmological, Design, and Pragmatic arguments did little to convince Tom of the existance of god. He remained agnostic. He did however take an interest in the Design argument, His motherm often told him that she thought that we/humans were an experiment of gods that he/she was still working to prefect. The more Tom thought about the “structure of nature” and combined that thought with his own experinces he came to the conclusion that nature is not stuctured in the least. He believed nature to be more of a random phenomena that  through oppiesits chaotically and  unkowingly was able to create all in existance. His only problem with this that still remains is that of Aquinases cosmological “first cuase” To this Tom can not find a explination and has encapsulated this unkown into the Silverback Philosophy. The exceptence of the unkown was the only suitable rational Tom could come up with for the “first cuase.” The exceptence of the unkown melded well with Toms Chaotic view of nature. For no matter how much he thought or hoped for something there was no tangible way for him to know what would happen next. This exceptance of the unknow allowed tom to move beyond the existance of god and delve into which for him were more segnificant maters. 

The Pesuit of Happines:

            The next asigned reading was the work of Pual Kuntz. What intrigued Tom the most about this philosopher was his thoughts on life and the presuit of happines. For this is what Tom had lived much of his young life by and was exponetally compounded durring his many conversations with Jeremy. Jeremy and Tom never spoke of exess, to them there was never enough. With little or no thought of consequences Tom was always doing what made him happy at the moment. As Tom read more About the philosopher he relized that Kuntz’s point wasn’t just do what makes you happy, it was to do what makes you happy, in moderation. Having always done things in exess moderation was harldy an after thought in Toms day to day activities. It was not until after Tom had finished the reading that he relized that the excessive mater in which he lived might be the cause of his discontent. Having lived a life of exess Tom delt with this discontentment much as he did evrything else, his presuit of happiness. Choosing to ingnor the philosipher he continued to “live life to its fullest” It wouldn’t be until a grave consequence of his overindulgence that Tom relized Kuntz was probubly right in that one should only indulge in moderation. Conversly Tom relized that his over indulgence had lead to a humbled experintial knowledge. He related this experince to Jeremys quick departure to and “failure” in California. Tom relized that even though the experince had felt terriable he had learned form that experince. Tom drew from the Silverback inside of him and decided that even thought the experince weather irational or overinduldged is still an experince that will be learned from from. Tom thought “Silverbacks look and find good in everything. Desire drives inovation, with the accomplishment of an new project the creater is left with a sense of satifaction.” Even though Tom had always chosen exess he often woundered what it would be like to live a minimalist lifestyle. Instead of drinking the best beer and watching TV on a big screen he fantisised what what it would be like if he just read books and lifted wieghts to fill his free time. A thought that was compunded by his philisophical readings at school.

Infinaty A Silverbacks God:

            As Tom continued to search for his happines he relized that once he reached one state of happiness it would open another state of dispare, falling inline with his therory of opposits. Tom concluded that a true happines could not be obtained. He explained this phenomina in terms of a dream. He felt that each indevidual had his own god. This god was/is a colmunation of the indeviduals dreams. Once one dream of an individual is met it it opens the mind to yet another dream which leads to an infante amount of dreams, makeing the end result unatanable in the finite human life. This infanate growth lead Tom to try and expain infinity in his mind. He had thought earlier that infinity seemed to be a mythilogical god to some of the early philosophers. At first he thought it was an easy out just like the existance of god for religiouse people. this troubled Tom because he felt like he understood infinaty but not god. He questioned if infinaty had an oppisite and concluded that its oppisite was the same as it’s creator, the human intilect. He believed there was never a true or exact oppisite of anything in nature, based on his belief of the chaotic flow of nature. Much like Hegel he relized anything in existance was a child of its surroundings. This theory meshed well with the beliefs of the natural philosophers “that everything in nature is in a constant state of change” (SWp31) and  Hericlituses belief in that everything flows and is always changeing. Like the natural philosophers Tom believed that “there had to be a certian basic substance at the root of all change” (SWp31) this lead Tom to look for the laws of Nature as the natural philosophers had. To Tom the Laws of Nature were contianed in the concept and the symbol of infinaty. He took a rationalist stand piont on this theroy, woundering if infinaty could be graphed. He concluded that the infanaty symbol could be graphed with two oppisite cubic functions. Tom saw life as a journey around the infinaty symbol, the intersect was were oppisites meet to creat energy. The intersect also corisponded to contradictions at wich point compromises are made and new ideas are formed and sent around the symbol again until the next contradiction. He compaired this to Hegels belief in thesis, antithesis, synthesis. A prosses that can go on infanately. Form these thoughts Tom believed that the only true oppisite of anything could only be precieved in the human mind. Being somewhat of a Kantic empericist who relied on Kants Schemata, the synthesis of concept and sensual experience. He added a 6th sense to his palte of understanding. He believed that human intuition was another sense that he could trust to eplain exact oppisites. He used this sense to discredit Plato’s Alogory of The Cave. He believes that every human has this 6th sense and that the adventurouse cavemans intuition would have overwhelmed any of his other thoughts leading him back into the cave to share his new experience with thoughs he had spent his whole life with. Tom relizeing that his tangible senses could not explain infinaty on their own he relied on his intuition to help expain it. He believed that nature is infanate, a thought that was compounded everytime Tom would step out side of his cabin durring the late night hours. As he would stare into the stars he couldn’t help but feel unimportant. This was the sublime that many philosephers had explained, however he didn’t agree with Kants prespective of the sublime being a moral obligation. Jon and Tom had catogrized this feeling of sublime as the state of Zen. They described this state of Zen as being a State of the mind and senses at wich you see everything but nothing at the same time. A belief that sprouted form playing an old atari game milliapeed. When the player was in his Zen levels were crushed. The brothers believed that this state could not just be turned on or off, it was a state brought about by many unseen forces, however  the right amount of wine was often a catalist to the state that resembled ompnipotence. While drinking wine and playing millapeed many bathroom breaks were needed, after being outside for only brief moments with the overwhelming view into the cosmos often brought great ideas to the brothers heads. Most of the brothers great inovations and relizations came to be while in this state of Zen, leading Tom to believ that this state of Zen opens the mind to infanate amount of revelations. Form these many revelations Tom concluded that the powers of the human mind were/are infinate much like nature. This belief of an infanate nature put Toms thoughts out of line with thoughs of Kants belief that the understanding can not go beyond its limits, but inline with those who believed that truth can never be obtained. Toms respect  for the infinatey of nature and the belief that truth lie within the indevidual tied him to the belifs of philosophers from the romatic period.

Silverback Meetings:

            “As I was his Student He was mine” tom spoke to himself. ” With my explanation of an event came his revelation.” Tom related the many Siverback meetings of 2004 to the meetings of the philosophers he had learned about in school in his mind. As the philosophers would sit down in Toms mind to disscuss their different philosophies, their contradictive conversations lead to Toms own revelations. In order to mesh the different philosophies together Tom was forced to take Hegelitic stance based on unanomouse democratic desicions in order to progress. After all, this how the Silverbacks on the beach of the Pouder River progressed thier shared beliefs to the point at wich they stand today. Much like Hegel Tom believes that philosophies continue to grow and as the spring semester comes to an end he looks twoards the future for more Silverback Meetings in his mind and with his fellow Silverbacks in order to progress his philosophies through democratic group revelations.  

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When asked to write this essay on a philosophy topic of my choosing with the suggestion of an augmentative paper I began to reflect on what I had learned thus far. The more I thought about the different philosophers and their philosophies the less I wanted to argue for or against any one philosopher or philosophy. Throughout this class I have learned of many philosophers and their different philosophies, agreeing with some philosophies of one philosopher and disagreeing with other aspects of their philosophy. Rather than picking one philosophy from one philosopher I have decided to take all of the aspects of all of the philosophers that I agree with along with my own experience and mold them into my own kantic philosophy. I have decided to do this in story form that I like to call The Silverback Philosophy.

Best intro ever!

Summer of the Silverbacks

an excerpt from A Silverback Saga

This is a story of a group of friends who through jests unknowingly gave birth to a new philosophy on life.

            On thirteen acres of land in the Poudre Canyon sat three cabins, two rustic and one know as The Nice Cabin. The Nice Cabin was rented out to a man named Jeremy Beman. Jeremy was a very modest man around 28 years old whose enigmatic sarcasm is comparable to none but Socrates. 100 yards away sat “the Lone Pine” or “Middle Cabin” This cabin was inhabited by a Thomas Kramer. Thomas 22 years of age had recently quit his long term job in telecommunications to go school. Another 200 yard down river sat “The Early Bird” or “Jon’s Cabin” Jon, Toms older brother now 25 had moved into his cabin two years before Tom decided to move into “The Lone Pine.” The “early Bird had been built as a chicken shed in the early 1940’s and was renovated by the brothers father in the late 1970’s. Jon moved into the cabin with dreams of renovating the cabin again while attending school at CSU. Jon and Tom had been close all of their live and being neighbors only brought them closer. Tom and his new neighbor Jeremy soon became great friends as well with a relationship comparable to that of Socrates and Plato Jeremy with his sarcastic modesty and Tom’s deep thoughts on life resembling those of Plato helped to solidify their relationship. Jon’s minimalist life style and thoughts on government resemble that of the skeptics and stoics. The three men all had different philosophies on life but over the period of a year the would share their thoughts and consequently build a new combined philosophy.

Spring 2004:

            One Saturday morning at the Hangover Café – a local breakfast establiment that caters to those in need of an immediate medication for their ailments – a new idea emerged through casual conversation. As a group of four Jon, Tom, Jeremy and a friend of Jeremy’s Rebecca, ordered and ate their remedies. Talks of the previous night’s party and others past commenced. A topic arose that can be sen at almost any gathering, which they called the Bad Ass Syndrome. A typical male or group of males trying to express their dominance on the situation, acting in a loud and aggressive matter often making asses of themselves. From this  thought the conversation grew. “I hate those guys” Jon said. Jeremy followed “Yeah they are at every party!” The realization was soon made that those individuals were no more than young males each trying to be better than the last. We started to associate these gatherings with groups of apes with the stronger louder males competing for the lead. Rebecca resembling Aristotle by referring to the Natural philosophers to come up with new theories chimed in “yeah Silverbacks” Tom gave his two cents “But those guys aren’t silverbacks, they’re wannabe silver backs, pseudo silverbacks.” Jon’s stoatic wit soon replied, ” I’m the silverback.” Jokes poured out, each funnier than the last, oddly enough it was girl at the table that coined the term silverback, a saying that would live forever in the tightly knit group that can be compared to Democritus’s uncutable blocks of life. After a humorous breakfast the group left, the three neighbors returning to their cabins and Rebecca to town. Eggar to expand the joke the three neighbors continued the dialect until they couldn’t laugh any more. Day by day as more people heard the jokes, more jokes arose. At first many who participated in the series of one liners thought that this joke would soon be overplayed and fade into memory. It proved just the opposite, it was a joke that would live as long as the group did. Soon there was a large group of silverback potentially escalating the joke to a state of immortality.

Summer 2004:

            As the temperature rose and the river began to crest so did the Silverbacks comical conversations. The beach in front of the cabins soon became a favorite hang out for the growing group of Silverbacks. The natural setting was perfect for witty quotes and a new shared outlook on life. As silverbacks swam and raft tours passed the beach a sudden POP! That resemble a champagne bottle being uncorked echoed through the canyon. Tom had opened a beer bottle for one of the alpha females on the beach with a cigarette lighter. He followed the POP! With “Silverbacks are tool users!” The group soon gave him the title of Silverback of the day. This term was created under the realization that we were all Silverbacks in our own way but still gave legitimacy to the varying degrees of silverbackdom. Many more Silverback meetings as they became to be known took place that summer and many more humorous quotes like ” six Silverbacks meet in the woods” and “look at these hairs on my back, just look at them” as the onlooker was soon blinded by the sun that reflected of the silverbacks hairs were born.

Fall 2004:

            The summer of the Silverbacks had come to an end. The change of weather brought with it misfortune to Jeremy, and with almost no warning he informed Tom that he was leaving. He was going to move out to California to stay with a friend who had been visiting. This was a very unusual decision for Jeremy in that it seemed completely irrational. Tom was Shocked at the idea of loosing his mentor. Over the summer Tom had become very accustomed to Jeremy’s thoughts and sarcastic remarks that made him question his own thoughts on life. Tom tried to talk some sense into Jeremy by beging him to use his reason and reminding him of all the good things that had been put into motion over the summer, but Jeremy had already made up his mind. Jeremy left the next day at wich point Tom and Jon started trying to rent out the cabin hoping for a renter as impactful as Jeremy had been. A couple of weeks passed before Tom heard from Jeremy. Jeremy said little more than “Silverback Down.” He realized that he had made a big mistake. The seemingly life long friendship had come to a geographical end. Durring those nine months of fun Jeremy had a huge impact on Tom’s and Jon’s lives as they did on his. For the rest of the fall ant the begging of winter, Tom reflected on what Jeremy had taught him and what he learned over the summer from all of the various thoughts on life the group of silverbacks had discussed. Tom and Jeremy kept in touch but with each phone call the conversations dwindled to almost nothing. Around Christmas time Jeremy called Tom and informed that he would be coming back through “Silverback Valley” on his way back to his home town in Illinois. He would be coming through just in time for Tom and Jon’s second annual New Year’s Eve home made hot tub party. It seemed almost cyclical; a force of nature was bringing him back exactly one year since the three had met. The party went off without a hitch but was too short lived and conversations between the old silverbacks were severly lacking to what they had once been. The three Silverbacks had once fed off each other cracking jokes and coming new realizations on life, but when split apart the became less powerful. “Three Silverbacks are better than one” Tom thought. The combination and disintegration of the group can be compared to Heraclites four atoms combine to make up everything in existence. The atoms had been bulled apart to return to their original state. The group said their good bye’s and Jeremy went on his way. Only time will tell if the four atoms complete a cycle and come back together.

Spring 2005:

1.             Tom had quit his job once again to return to school. He signed up for a philosophy class and took an immediate interest in the subject which had previously thought little about. He soon realized that The Summer of the Silverbacks had been in sorts a philosophy course. The more he learned about the old time philosophers the more he found similarities to his learning’s   from the summer and his own thoughts on life. Over the spring semester and many glasses of wine Tom began to combine his learning’s with his experiences into his own philosophy. In memory of Jeremy he would call it The Silverback Philosophy.

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Every time I see the light at the end of my long drawn out tunnel it seems to turn off and leave me to swim around in the dark. I lost my job today. I once again hit snooze too many times and took too long getting ready for another day. I got to the gas station filled my tank with 20 bucks and went in for a cup of coffee. The giant pot was empty. I let the trickle fill my cup for two long and only got one cup instead of my normal two. I drove the speed limit down to ..:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Longmont for I don’t have a license. I entered into Boulder count and was reminded to call my probation officer and leave my daily made up schedule for her knowing that I am not suppose to leave the county. I showed up ten minuets late to see that my fellow co-works were having a talk with the boss. It was the basic speech that all of had heard before. Take care of the company assets, I’m getting my ass chewed out by the office. We have plenty of work so don’t worry about having to sit. You guys are doing a good job here, keep up the good work, as he dismissed everybody to start working he said “Tommy I need to talk to you” I nodded my head and we walked 20 feet into the parking lot. I have had this kind of talk before so I thought I knew what was coming. ” I heard you showed up late for work again on Saturday.” I acknowledged with a disappointing yeah. He continued to say “I have to cut Ties” it took me only a few seconds to comprehend what I had just heard. I fought the tears back as he asked me for my company phone and keys. I listened while he complimented me and said you got to get your personal life fixed then pleas come back and work for us. I looked him in the eyes and could see tears in them. I let him finsh with his words of respect I continued to fight back own tears. I shook his hand and walked back to my car I felt the light turn off as I funneled myself back inside a dark tunnel. I drove to seven eleven and got my second cup of coffee. The cashier asked how I was this morning and I felt that she actually cared. Being caught of guard and not knowing how to respond I diverged from my usal good thanks, and just said O.K. I guess. I fueld my alredy shaken body with caffine and cigerets as I drove back home in the rainy weather. Either I burried this blow deep or I was expecting it. For I am seeming to take it better than the many others before. I fought back the tears all morrning while I told myself to just relax. I am deal with the pain as best I know how. Letting it tear up my insides some more. I swallow my heart burn and let it take over. I take a shower, do some laundry and get a haircut. The hairstylist is the first one I tell for she is the one I like. If there any stranger I would like to make me look better it is her. It’s kind of funny but the only time she is there to cut my hair is when I am unemployed at 10: am on a dreary Monday. I drive the short drive to the jail for it is Monday and I need to have my alcohol braclet downloaded. I arrive an hour befor they open and buy  a coloradoain. The daily paper hear is smaller than some love letters I have written. I take my time reading the uneventfully headlines and slowly make my way to the classifieds. I read even the add for CAN, RNA’s and LPN’s just to take up some more time. I breeze through general, part time and restaurant with no prospects. I look at the highlighter on my passenger seat and thought some help you are. I closed the classified without even looking at all of the junk for sail, for now I guess I will truly be straped for cash. I do however take time to read about the kittens and puppy’s. I read the personal adds and wonder just how intimate a message from a stranger could be. I went on to read about “What’s Happing” I read through all of the Happenings this week and with each event I  could see the people that would attend such going on’s. I pictured my self at each one but none fit. I read the comics and like always none of them made me laugh except for The Family Circus. I almost skipped over my horoscope. It seemed to jive with my confused feelings. It read “You will be let past the velvet ropes into an exclusive situation. Enjoy your special privileges. You deserve individualized treatment, and you have no problem excepting it.” I let that sink in before I turn to the last page of this otherwise bleak newspaper. I read the weather as today is proving it wrong. I let time waste itself as smoke a ciggeret in its wake. With no part of me working properly I mindlessly let my trembling legs carry me to yet another obligation. I wait until 11:03 for the gates to open I find my place in line and wait for my freedom to be downloaded into a computer. I hold my “watch / dog” that adorns my wrist on the freedom taker that hooks to a computer through a usb port. I steady my left hand with my trembling right. They shake in unisen as I deal with bigger problems. I let the information that my broken flash drive has collected tell the computer to tell the kid behind the desk what to do with me. I wait while I watch him read my scrambled thoughts that even the computer cant interpret and say “you are good to go.” I thank the kidd behind the counter for interpiting my sleeping patterns as normal. I let the tears fill my wells on the ride home as I struggle to relax. I return to a Seven Eleven to buy beer for my burning heart. I watch others judge me as I buy 3.2 beer at 11:30 on a Monday morning. The cashier bids me a good day and I respond with a sarcastic “Yep” I pull back into the driveway of my moms empty ass house and once again tell myself to try and relax. I grab the suitcase that has become my voluntary work and kick the door of my transport to work shut. I effortlessly sidle around the house trying to force my feelings away. I sit down and waste some more time effectively putting my tears on hold. I give up and begin to write. My tears begin to shower my lap as I open the gates that hold my feelings back. I cry as I let only part of me out. I let the drops of today carry those of days before. My eyes struggle to hold the tears of too many years back. I create supper tears before I let them breach the walls of my welling eyes. I let my emotions begin to boil before turrnig down the heat with a cold beer. I fall apart inside as my mind finds happiness. I watch my flowers die as I water them with salty tears that are only 3.2% feelings by volume. Whatever that means. At least I can still find them on Sunday.  I put a blanket across the mirror for my outward appearance does not reflect me. I swallow my tears instead of my pride. I drink eight cups of them a day and consider that my water. I let the salt flavor my broken soul. I forget about happiness and welcome emptiness back into my life. I let her tear apart my foundations and lay waste to my dreams. I let my field of flowers burn as I watch the smoke take away my color. I try to smell the essence of my burning flowers but my nose is stuffed with the tears that I have held back. I swallow my flavor as my butterflies move on. I migrate deeper into my cave. I draw pictures on the floor with my tears as I struggle to find my way in the dark. I let my muddy footprints harden as I begin to use my walls as a media for my tears. I let my tears write right out of this cave. I follow them to the lakes they create. I use my other senses to help me see again. I swallow the weakest parts of me and digest them. I take whatever nutrients they have and use them to make a stronger me. I choke ups as I swallow the better parts of me. For they enter the turmoil of feelings that my bodies washing machine relentlessly try to clean. My feelings come under attack by detergent and scream as the stains of their glory time are shouted out. I bleach the hell out of my feelings but they only fade deeper into my soul. I buy new undershirts with money I don’t have and feel good for three days. I let my time sidle and once again feel happy. For “I have nothing to do today but smile.”

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I let the fog of today take over my imagination. I put on my space suit and head into the B-Hive. I explore the caverns as images of you dance in the rain. I watch your hair looses its volume with every drop. I watch you create hexagons with your feet. You step out of the shower and my heart falls as I watch you comb through my tangled thoughts. You smile at me through the foggy window of my eyes for their beauty has been clouded by yours. You wipe the steam away with words that I don’t comprehend. I listen to your voice fill my mind with honey. I watch you in slow motion as your thoughts work my mind over. You slip into a more comfortable towel and walk my way. You kiss my lips and time enjoys a moment of silence. I watch the towel drop as you question. ” so are you going to cook me some pancakes or what?” I respond with action. I blow the dust out of a clean bowl, grab a bag of Krusties and just add water. You smile and turn away from me. I grab the real pancake mix and begin to mix the ingredients with a thingamabob. I crack eggs as my visions of you become scrambled. I add some cheese just to make you laugh. I pour my batter across the waffle iron and announce that their will be no pancakes on this Sunday. I focus on you bright light as I wait for the breakfast to walffilze. I pull the golden cakes from the grill and focus on your tanned skin. I dress you plate with leftover raspberries as you dress yourself in my favorite pajamas. The clock stops as I fill the squares of your breakfast with the syrup of my hart. I bring you breakfast as you make my bed beautiful. You feed me square by square as I begin to drown in your honey. I watch you clean up my messy imaginary breakfast. I watch you like my syrup of your fingers and cant help but to smile. You unplug the iron that I was going to use straiten the curls of your hair that tangle my thoughts into necklaces for you. I create an imaginary necklace with my lips. I let my hands slowly dance across your body. I tickle the softest parts of you as my dreams lead the way. I wake up with lofty thoughts that may never B.

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I open my heart to the page and let the feelings of my bleeding heart pour out. O.K. that’s a good start, now to find some feelings. I tap my pen unknowingly creating the beat for this message. My overture is short and sweet as I look around my house while searching my head for those infamous feelings. I find them all over but the feeling of you is a lager font and shadows the others with its bold face. I focus on the first letter as it dances around in my mind. I begin to sweat as I realize the swarm of B’s that are buzzing around inside of me. My body tingles as your I’s perform acupuncture by stinging my nerves from the inside out. My hands are still trembling for I am allergic to B’s poor Thomas J. My blood turns to honey as your colony works overtime on my thoughts. I become sluggish as you sweeten my blood. My heart slows as it gets if first taste of your sugar. I lick my lips as my thoughts carry mine towards yours. I Blow on your neck and watch the goose bumps travel down your spine. I breathe in slowly as my finger tips draw a road down your arm. I watch the bumps travel as retrace my steps back to your neck. I yield at your eyes and look both ways before crossing to your other arm. I listen to your breathing for it helps calm my nerves. I sign my name on your stomach with my index finger. I paint pictures on your back with my fingers. I  paint you back with scribbles that contain hidden messages. I erase them with my palms and continue writing sweet nothings on your skin. I read your goose bumps as brail. I close my eyes and fall deeply into your love story. I listen to the subtle sound of my fingers on your back tell fairy tales. I open my eyes as I hear you begin to snore. I watch you burry your head with your hair and begin to laugh into the pillow. I try to roll you over as you start a game of it. I try all of my moves but you stay contently fixed smiling into the pillow. I frizz your hair, I kiss your neck, I whisper in your ear ” shhh! Whisper! Pass it on!”  I kiss your hands and your lower back. I make stupid comments as you tease me by hiding your smile. I exhaust all of my moves and start towards the remote that is perfectly placed by the backs of your knees. I turn the T.V. on and tickle play on the back of your knees. You spin around faster than the fuzz on T.V. I watch your vulnerable smile fall in love with me again. I hear the white noise crescendo as fall deeper into your eyes. Your buzzing B’s have returned. I tickle your neck as you tickle my heart. I blow raspberries on your stomach as the French vanilla ice cream softens on the counter. I make you laugh so hard that you begin to cry. I pull the bandana off of my head and dry your tears. I let a drop run across your check and kiss it as it begins to fall. I linger in flavor country as you pull an eyelash from my lips. You hold it for me and seductively say. “Make a Wish!”  I watch the sky light up as my wish is granted. I look to my newly formed star and name it Omega B! I kiss you and whisper “love you.”I kiss you again! I run my hand through my hair for I have become overwhelmed. You turn me around and begin to write stories for the blind hearted on my back. I watch your reflection in the dark T.V. I love watching you at 3:00 A.M. I let your hands uncoil my spider web of feelings and fill them with honey combs of B.

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I watch the seconds of sand fill your beach hour by hour. I watch it as my world dissolves grain by grain as the pieces create another. I see the deserted beach of my dreams and curiously wait for people to fill it. My eyes begin to water and I falsie blame the tears on the sand that is falling in my eyes not the beach. I watch the sand continue to fall and build mountains of sand that only help to isolate my dream. As my vision becomes full with sand I close my eyes and think of flowers. I fall asleep as the pieces of my previous world continue to tick by my wedged body. I dream of swimming in the ball pit a Showbiz Pizza. I pull Chucky Cheese’s tail and sprint back to ball pit diving deeply. I hit the net at the bottom and your butterflies return. They are fighting back and have now caught me. I struggle to swim through the colors scattering balls all over the place. I reach a wall do some crazy swimmers turn around and start swimming again I get in one and a half strokes before I hit the other end. I swim laps amongst the butterflies until my imagination tires of that game. Pull my head out of the colors and realize that I forgot to take of my shoes. Opps! Oh well I am way too big for that game anyways. I hunch over in order to crawl out of the ball pits door. I am greeted by what seemed like twenty tiny smiles. I smile at the kids that looked at my imagination and awe and said don’t ever stop dreaming. I watched their mothers scowl at me as I went to collect my tokens. I found the slot filled with nothing but tiny shoes. I look around and see some little kid pulling Chuckey’s tail and smile. I walk towards the sketball tables and spend my last token on just one more game. I aim for 100 hundred but only get 10. I aim for 50 and get 25 I am for 25 and scratch. I aim for a scratch and nail the jackpot. The sirens sing and the lights flash as my gut wakes to that feeling of falling. My ears wake next. I listen to the children’s laughter fade as the wind turns from whisper to howl. My eyes open as I once again see the deserted beach. I frantically search my body for a parachute pull cord as reach terminal velocity. With no such luck I decide to just grab on to my heart and dive into your world. I grab my heart and begin to float slowly down as a cloud of my butterflies migrate towards you. They set me softly on your newly filled beach and flutter away. I sit happily on your beach as I imagine you boarding my butterfly cloud. I watch the ocean and become nervous for I see no signs of a storm. I occupy myself by building sea walls castles and towers. I watch the sun set in the distance as the tide rises. I hear your voice as the wind increases. I watch a piece of trash surf the choppy waves of your pristine beach. I watch it ride down the line, and set up for another wave. It rides the surf as though it had an urgent message. I watch it zig zag its way toward me as I stand guard at the gates of my sand castle. A huge wave breaches my sea wall and fills my dry moat. The water recedes but the piece of trash remains within my walls. I recognize this bottle. I uncork my sent bottle in hopes to change the message but as soon as I hear the pop a butterfly emerges, kisses my forehead and floats off before I can give her another message for you. I kiss the bottle. I fill it with made up flowers and my lofty thoughts. I through some of your beach sand in to weight it down for I don’t want this bottle to fly away. I step away from my imagination and throw my heart deep into the sea. I have no need to chum the waters for I already bleed for thee. I watch the butterflies circle my vulnerable heart. I watch the clouds of color turn to grey as I search for you. I prepare for the storm that I fear will never come. The waters recede. I gather the shells that your highest tide left behind and scatter them amongst my walls. I ironically armor myself with pieces of you as I prepare to meet you. I watch the storm in the distance. I watch you disturb the weather. I watch you turn my night into dreams. I watch you and my dreams stop. I watch your eyes. I see red I see yellow, and I see green. I blow through my bloodshot eyes; I speed up in order to slow down in front you. I watch the lights change.

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I welcome myself home as I pull into the drive. I unload my provisions for the night and nudge the knob-less door open. I am greeted by a wave of heat and tiny meows of too many kittens. I watch the mother lay in the shade as all of her little ones come out to play. I set my partially drank suitcase down and handle the kittens I have not seen for five days. They remember me as I remember you. They don’t remember me perse. They remember my touch. They remember my smell they remember my voice. Even the frightened kittens stop trying to hiss at me as they are swept into the sky far away from their world as I bring them to my face and kiss their fore heads. They may not remember me specifically but they remember how it feels to be held by me. I put the kittens down for they have capped my wonderful day with the cutest hiss.

I sit down in my rolly chair clear the kittens from my feet and pull myself closer to my thoughts. I am blinded by a white light as I face west. I begin to sweat and turn on a fan for the white noise helps me think of you. I sit in the blinding sun as it quickly falls to the other side of the mountains that block my westward view of you. I know if I were to look east my eyes would have to travel less distance to see you but from my particular vantage point looking west seems more fitting.

I take a minuet to look east and my eyes are drawn up as I follow the contours of a foreboding mountain. I feel the sun crawling down my back as my mind walks up the hill that I only climb to cut down Christmas tree’s. I feel the suns rays fade as its fingers tickle my lower back. I see a tree that reminds me of you and get a full body shiver as the sun sets and I look back to the west.

With the white light gone I remember why I prefer to write to you while looking away from you. My westward view captures the beauty that I feel when I am thinking of you. I see your body in the rolling mountains I see the wind move the trees and pretend they are your thoughts. I watch the river in hopes that you will float by. I see your eyes in the sky as it flirts with the beauty of a dark fall night. I listen to the wind that I like to imagine as your voice. I listen to you blow through my mind for a measure or two then I let the sound of the river slowly crescendo until it becomes in perfect harmony with you. The trees begin to dance as I slowly get to know you.

I let my thoughts of you take me way beyond you. I float higher than the balloon I let go at Disney land when I was six. You must have been nine and seen me throw a big fit until some Goofy ass dog came to cheer me up. I fly westward in order to see you longer. I love letting my thoughts of you take off. I love seeing myself as a match box car as I let thoughts of you fly ever higher. I shout at the top of my lungs “I love you” and feel safe for I am flying well above Russia and am pretty sure that you don’t have any satellites looking for me from your east. I fly over Europe and take note to how your voice sounds in all of the changing languages. I have to say I like the trees the best. I am blinded by the thought of your eyes as I fly against the jet stream. I see your airport and circle my thoughts. Should I sweep you off your feet or should I look east and slowly climb.

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1. Tom

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I take nightly walks upon this Tabla Rasa in front of me. I take drinks of Carla Rosie in hopes to fade away. I fade as the hour glass takes my breath away. I watch the sand slowly fill the beach of my night time world. I place the hours in front of me and look through the glass. I now feel as though I am standing on the beach looking out to the mountains and admiring the pine trees that take the place of my ocean. I watch them sway together like a placid sea. I sit basking in the dusk as I drink my potion. I am warmed as I slowly drink the red wine that reminds me of your lips.  I dance in the falling sand as though it were rain. I take a shot of you and become warm as your drug hits my vein. I let my potion and your drug dance together within me. I become weak as they race around my body and dance through my heart on the way to my brain. As they tango to the stem the hairs on my neck stand at attention. I shiver as my blood carries them higher. They reach my frontal lobe and part ways. My potion pretends to dance as it struts around in its forgotten memories. Your drug seductively dances its way through my olfactory lobe and begins to fill my endorphin receptors. I feel higher than ever as you change the chemistry of my brain. Your drug strikes the innermost part of my mind and takes over. My potion becomes buried in times sand as you lead my mind around the dance floor. You spin my thoughts into a sexy dress for you. I show up nakedly embarrassed as you laugh. I pull a thread from the bottom of your dress and begin to spin you. I dress myself as I undress you. I turn your ball room gown into an evening dress. I spin the black threads just above your knee. I take your cocktail dress apart just high enough to dress the lower half of me. You teach me how to dance without a shirt. I lift you in a mountain cabin and we dance dirtily. I slowly fall in love with my teacher Bambi. Your drug wears off and I am stuck with a beautiful hang over. I watch the last grains of sand burry my happy feet. I look up through the narrow neck of time and suddenly begin to fall as my world is once again flipped upside down. I dive through the quick sand and sadly don’t quite make it to you. I hold my breath for hours as the minuets find their way around my body. I slow the sand as best as I can, but none the less it continues to fill your beach.

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Open feelings.

I become frustrated as I let my feelings take control. I Step outside to calm my nerves but the taste of flavor country only irritates me more. I power through my irritations by inhaling them deeply. I breath their smoky thoughts so deep that even I agree that they have become hot boxed. I return to my work irritatedly relaxed for I have gone outside taken ten deep breaths of deaths pure flavor and now I am ready to start working again. I roll the mere shreds of my irritations into blunts! I take my time making sure that that shit is packed as tight as it can be, then I sprinkle some more irritation a top my emotional spliff. I walk away from the fight and once again step out side. I spark my blunt emotions and begin to inhale. “The first hit is the deepest” I burry that shit so deep within my lungs that it drowns in the tar pits that have become my lower lungs. With each fading hit my heart lightens. I watch my monsters struggle to stay afloat as I try to smoke them out. My lungs are better fed than my stomach. I feed my lungs daily, I encourage my dragons every other day and continue to stay away from the butterflies that have caught me by the gut. I might cough up one daily but they are only scouts searching for the perfect flower on the perfect bush. I can see the flowers as my scouts play telephone. The message starts out as “this is a flower fitting of you.” The butterflies dance in my churning head and I receive the message. “I am the butterfly for you.” My irritations, dragons, monsters, lungs, and feelings migrate towards you. You close the door on all but the rainbow that my butterflies create. I have become lost in you! I flutter to stay afloat as I learn more about you. I begin to regret swatting at those pesky house flies. I take four steps backwards in order to truly envision you. You have become the caterpillar that takes me bite by bite. I let you nibble away at me. I feed you in order to meet you. I take multi vitamins and read up on some poetry  in hopes that you will like the taste. of me.

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Crumble:

Bleeding out:.

I have been in the worst relationship of my life for the past three years. I have given all of my heart to myself and it has flooded my soul with scabs. I pick at the scabs and create my own scars. My blood grows bitter. Not to my self but to those that try to fix my wounds. I want to bleed out. I want my soul to breed bleeding hearts and water yours. I guess I am wrong. I have totally forgotten about my heart as it scars over. I have poured my heart into a lake that drains like my soul. I fight the canal, as I see the parts of my heart rush by. I build dams in others hearts and still my blood remains but a dark pond in their forest and never clots. The slow trickle of soul has proven to me that I am bleeding out in an un known forest The droplets of my soul that remain join with your passionate flowing waters that long for the sea, and I bleed out longing for the. 

                                          Written for:   I gots to Pee.

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Behind The Clouds

I sit under the clouds and envision you. I hear the plains and can not see them. I imagine you watching the plains above the clouds and wonder if you are thinking of me. I see a few of your rays as they shine on the trees in my sights distance. I sit with the wind as my music for thought and your rays as fuel. Still I sputter. The wind goes quit but still blows as I loose your magnificent rays to the heights of my mountains. My blue eyes begin to see in orange. I watch as you paint the sky from behind my mountains but still above my clouds. I share your natural fractals with no one, for I have begun on your trip again and would rather be alone with your paintings. Your fading glory resembles mine as I fall deeper into my nightly stupor. My bright oranges give way to beautiful pinks. The clouds let up and you see my grays. Darkness takes over as he comes to. I shake off the day as my night takes over erasing it. The clouds are gone as well as the beauty of your paintings. I am left without your light and the darkness of my others thoughts. (Dark as in forgotten not evil). I use the stars as my night light as I travel this soon to be forgotten road. God I hope I am not driving! Memories flash like road signs as I travel faster to my big bang! I take a right and head strait on till morning. Am I doing fairy dust? All I can think of is some chick named Wendy as this hot little bug keeps showering me with her golden dandruff. I have become the child and my dreams have begun. I function without body; my mind floats as I build tree houses. I fight pirates and win. I listen to bed time stories and stay awake. I beg tinker bell for just one more shake! She keeps me awake as I drown the real me in the pirates wake.  He sails on using the same stars that I paint pictures with. Our destinations only somewhat know. I follow the pirate and loose you. I sail with him for now but count the fathoms in hopes to retrace my missed steps. I can only hope that you left a trail of Recess Pieces for me to follow when I come to.  Damn I love you Drew! So I travel in the darkness with no one to phone home to. I point at the sun as it begins to wake and say. HOME! My alarm has overtaken the music of your black hole. I wake in a dround state and listen to the worlds problems that make brushing my teeth seem selfish. I rush my morning and forget to look at you. I buy my coffee then start to resent you as you blind my eastwardly road. The black hole has worked I have forgotten my yesterday and already resent today.  I have lunch and you shine. I begin to think about you again as my BAC  reaches 0.00 . and your clouds come to.

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I sit as the sun goes down. I drink the beer that is as warm as my skin. I would like to think of you but I need not, for you come in waves huge set waves that give me the hottest of flashes. As I sweat I turn my self into a thought.  I watch myself interact with you. I wade in the oceans of our thoughts and succumb to mine. I fall behind in my dream and you float on. My head spins in the curls of your hair. I loose myself just thinking about it. My fingers run freely but my thoughts become tangled. I look at you for an answer. You look back at me with a delayed delight. I use the pause to make eye contact. You smile and my hand is free to move from the confusion of your hair to the contours of your neck. I watch your pupils watch mine grow. I fall deeply into your eyes. My hands move softly against your skin. I have entered a new world. My hands tread lightly as my thoughts pretend.

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I turn on the music and you dance in front of me. I watch and listen. I feel the beat and try to join you. I struggle to keep pace with your time. My metronome is asynchronous I spend time with you. You move on, I follow; I loose you in the grass that you dance upon. I am stuck in your foot steps. I am in ahh as I look up at your legs that move so freely. I look down and see my feet moving. Slowly my eyes meet yours; I look away in shyness and look back to you dancing the night away. I hide in the tallest of grass with hopes that you will step on me. I have set my trap.

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Down I fall with gravity taking over my moving parts as I release the breaks on my life that provide the hesitation from living her life. My breaks fail as fast as my heart. For once I am on a track I am a runaway. I fall too quickly and run with it too freely.  The love remains as a caboose.  I search for the engine that is traveling the same track as I but in the opposite direction. The one that won’t slow down, the one that travels on her tracks and by some unforeseen force crosses the same tracks that I travel at that same moment. The collision of passion is the one that I search the one that takes a hit and then realizes what she was hitting.  As I tap my heart for feelings of bliss I can only come up with opportunities missed. So As I Kareem down the tracks of this round about I think about the bliss of a new set of tracks. Some where without round abouts some where around her tracks.

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ANALOGY:

 I have entered your ocean but have yet to catch your perfect wave. I sit on my long board with my back towards my past and my breast facing the little ripples that resemble the Atlantic and not the swells of a passionate island girl. I don’t surf well but I do surf big. So I sit and tell stories to the ocean as she calmly rocks me. I sit and I wait. I know that I should forget about that perfect wave and just surf today but I sit and I wait. I wait and I sit waiting for even your smallest ripple. I don’t know how but I know I will know your swell. I see it in the distance and immediately begin to set up for the ride of my life. I jumped the gun! You were just letting me know that you were out there, but still I paddle for I don’t want to miss even the smallest wave of your storm. I paddled too hard too fast and you let me have the rest of your beauty. I came up gasping for air not from the sight of your beauty but from your power. Your pacific has met my rocky mountain.

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Your passing smile stays with me for countless days. I start to wonder if you were just being polite but then I remember the sparkle in your eye that seemed to be my North star telling me where to go.  Am I wrong? Do your eyes always sparkle? Was it just the lighting? If not I was too memorized by your beautiful smile and sparkling brown eyes to remember which direction they were pointing me. Damn! So now all I have is the pictures of you in my mind that only beg me more to set sail in your direction. I stare into the night and only see pictures of you as the stars burn in the distance. I try to look in other directions in order to forget about you but you follow my vision from galaxy to galaxy. I close my eyes and begin to float as the river sings its infinite song. I float through the pictures I have of you and wonder of ways I could have met you. I am just as shy thinking about saying something in my thoughts as I was when I was in your presence. I can think of a thousand things to say after meeting but am at a total loss of how to meet you. I grow frustrated with my thoughts and open my eyes, your smile is a welcome sight and your eyes tell stories without speaking, as I gaze deeper the stories give way to the peaceful night and I come to. My eyes focus on the north star and the river sings. I sit and think with my mind turned off. I look at the sparkle of the nights eye as mine begin to cry. The river sings. The thought of me on one of the passing planes brings me joy. I am traveling in no preticular direction but yours. My wings flash for I have no better way to say hello. So I catch your smile love your eyes and I flash hello but still fly right by your landing strip of two sparkling eyes. I am afraid to try and land with so little of a runway, I am afraid to crash and burn so I circle the thoughts and pictures of you in my mind. My plane hides it’s self behind the mountains on its way to it’s true destination. I once again loose myself in the stars and begin to fall asleep but not without saying goodnight.

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The Thunder in the Sun

Sitting in the shade of your body makes me feel as though I am a part of you. I see the sun parched earth and feel your droplets as my vision moves to your light. The sudden flash gives me a brief insight to your sight. The thunder that follows is to me a woman’s voice that sings from miles away. I count the seconds from your last flash in order to narrow my search for that heavenly voice. You move on and the sun warms my body from the cold drops that drenched me with you. I remove my soaked shirt and let the sun warm my body from your storm

Now that I have been cleansed by you storm I am once again basking in the glory of the sun.  and missing you..

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6-17-07

My Crooked shelves Spell the life that I love. With their leaning I am forced to look at my crooked life. I see the zigs and zags as mear Steps of another dance that I wander around and wait for a lead.

The flowers of tonight wilt with the thought of tomorrows sun, I water them as best as I can but puddles grow with my watering and still the drying dreams wait.

I have found myself at the mercy of the sun. and forgot to water my own.

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6-20-07

With my plans set I am more in question then ever before. I know what I want to do and I am doing it but still I question. What The fuck am I doing? I guess I am living the best that I know how. Sure there are a few changes I would like to make but other than that I  find myself right where I want to be. Just a few days behind. I find loosing days puts me where I want to be. Sure I love the feeling of being an over aceiver but I have become content with playing fall behind in this crazy dance called life.  I regret not always shining but my sun needs to sleep aswell. The only difference is that it sleeps while its walking working and fixing. It shines when I am sitting thinking growing and just being. I pull the chain that turns off my right brain and let the left  be the moons night light.  I have become much more concerned with living a good life than a capitalist productive life. I have gone back to my readings and found my philosophy again.

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“Anyone who claims that sunshine is the only way to happiness obviously has never danced in the rain.” 

The storm passes those that wait for the sun and dances with those that create rainbows with the sun. So I dance in the rain and I feel the sun as our beauty creates both ends of our bow. The colors strike others as beauty but to me they are just colorful steps in our crazy dance.  The pot of gold has been lost to the suns color as they meet the rain drops that cleanse the tears from my eyes and create the colors of yours.  The mere scheme of your eyes in a puddle sends tingles down my spine as though you had just struck me with your lightning. My full body shiver is more than enough thunder to make me feel as though you are here. I watch the rain drops hit the oil filled puddles that I equate to your eyes. The ripples of rain disturb your eyes in an unnatural way. Your bloodshot colorful eyes have been cleared by the drops of rain that act like visine. So with my sight unfortunately cleared I dance. I once again forget about all others and loose myself in the rainbows of your oily eyes.

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To find delight I have to force myself to look through an others sight. I see their fight and then my kite that floats above their massive delight of today. I fight to loose my own sight and join someone else in their delight. Tonight’s fight is one with my sight that begs me to grow to my final height. I feel light as the summer air lifts my frights and sends them back to the night when they first appeared. With my new sight I look back at the fright of that night and feel total delight. For I have begun to see a new light with my different sight. I no longer fight for an others delight.

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I try to think of the girl I used to love in order to remember what love was but I can’t see it. My mind just flashes toward those that I still love. I am now sure that my first love was not the deeper understanding of love that I have today but a mere puppy love. Does love grow? I guess mine has or at least my expectations of love have. How is it so easy to say that I love my sister mom or brother and not even blink. How is it that I can’t explain their love or mine for them. That love doesn’t grow and can never be reached by growing that is true love. The unexplainable feeling that came from nowhere and leads everywhere. So I search for nowhere everywhere but I still can’t find my true love.  Is she out there growing? Is she inside me growing? Slow or fast? It seems slow but my heart beats fast.  For I am on her trail I am chasing her down, I can smell her hair and picture her evening gown. I see her when I close my eyes. I hear her when I open my ears, I touch her with words and I taste her in this bowl of mint chocolate chip. The syrup pours out like the sap that I am writing, so I tap that shit and save it for later. The honey of a unique tree tonight might adorn my pancake breakfast tomorrow.

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I have begun to remember my dreams, or have they remembered me? Little objects around the house spark the plethora of pictures that were stored long ago. I have become the fortunate archeologist that stumbles upon the find of his career. My job has become to make sense of the disintegrating dreams of my past. With words missing and entire pages lost to the fires in my mind the carbonized dreams that remain scream their importance as the simple whisper of spring’s breeze turns them into dust.  I remember! I remember the big picture as I used to. I see the future and not the past or present. My dreams have returned and I am once again dancing with a smile. I see life as she dances with another and I thank her with my eyes. Her smirk begs me to cut in and dance with her but I decline for I  have found a new love in my life. I have found life’s younger sister, Dream.

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The loss of poetry in my life can only be expressed by the stale words of my rhyme. The lost time and the lost dimes have left me to keep pace with time.

 I worry about the speed as I trace her steps. Hurriedly, worriedly she runs form me. I can’t even keep up with her simple two step as the metronome clicks the flicks of my life that I fight. Tick, tock this ship has yet to come to dock. Blown of coarse time gives me no remorse, so I am forced to lower sail and wait for another gale. The empty sea gives meaning to my meaningless and for awhile I forget about the tick and tock of time. My metronome has become the rise and the setting of the sun. The moon has become my friend and the stars my map. So I lay on the deck in the dark completely awake and play connect the dots with the stars as I take shots of her salty waters, and suddenly my life moves at a pace that I can out dance. At this speed I a m free to freelance my ideas and share them with the sun, instead of being under the gun of the clocks ton.

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Quotations from Nietzsche and my thoughts

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“Against an enemy. How good bad music and bad reason sound when one marches against an enemy!

As I fight with alcoholism her heavenly voice calls me to peace talks and reason with her.

As of now I have not the courage of William Wallace to fight for my freedom.

“The good four. Honest with ourself and what ever is friend to us; courageous toward the enemy; generous toward the vanquished; polite—always: That is how the four cardinal virtues want us.”

I guess I have all but one of those virtues. I completely honest with myself and all those that I love I am generous to the vanquished for I have been them. I like to think that I am always polite even when treated rudely. I am not courageous toward my enemy I break with the first sight of a battle and try to makes friends.

“Shedding ones skin. The snake that cannot shed its skin perishes. So do the spirits who are prevented from changing their opinions; they cease to be spirit.”

When I drink I am in a stale crusty coat of dry scales, my spirit is buried deep inside of the dehydration of my life that beer tries to quench. My spirit becomes flooded and washed away until the tears of my desperation wash life back into my face. And she smiles back at me her tears of sorrow turned to joy with the return of me.

“Guilt. Although the most acute judges of the witches, and even the witches themselves, were convinced of the guilt of witchery, the guilt nevertheless was nonexistent. It is thus with all guilt.”

Guilt is a feeling and there for existent! Feeling guilty for me is not something that anyone but myself can prescribe to myself, for I am the ultimate judge weather I have hurt another or my self. However I am not a good judge for I listen to guilt and not myself.

“…She told me herself that she had no morality—and I thought she had like myself, a more severe morality than anybody…”

This strikes me as a conversation with myself. I converse with my “bad” thoughts  and then think about morals, and how they don’t effect my thoughts or myself but others. Morals are a social collection that makes a connection between the self and the mass. And there for should not be able to corrupt the self.

“Corruption. The surest way to corrupt a youth is to instruct him to hold in higher esteem those who think alike than those who think differently.”

The “corrupt” youth of today is the youth with the most experience. The one that was only instructed by his corrupt surroundings; this is the one who thinks differently than the builders of his environment that wall in his dreams. This is the youth that the builders do not understand the one that doesn’t dream through their walls but way above them.  This is the youth that doesn’t confront his enemies but steps over them on the way to his dreams.

“Against that positivism which stops before phenomena, saying “there are only facts;” I should say no, it is precisely facts that do not exist, only interpretations…”

It is the interpretations that corrupt or build upon the thought of truth. A word that by meaning can only be experienced not factualized. So the truth is thinking about truth in fact is another cyclical part of nature that can only be interpreted truthfully at the time. So when that storm hits let it rain and forget about sharing it with others later just listen to the truth and appreciate the company who are sharing it with you.

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To The readers that don’t respond I question why not? Oh yeah that’s right! They are all dudes that speed reed through my blogs looking for the romance that their letters lack. Well I have news for those that speed read. You are missing the 3d image that is only visible to those that have to read them two or three times until they see the picture. I never put too much thinking into my blogs or writing for that matter I just let it flow out like the ice caps of our melting world. But I do read them two or three maybe more times until even I can grasp the words on the page and begin to see the picture I have created. Not to toot my own horn or anything and I may be biased but when I read one of my blogs I am taken aback by the writing and have little more to say than “damn that shit is good!”  Maybe I have found my kind bud! Reading my own blogs.  I guess as of now I can only wonder how dank that shit would be If others smoked it with me. So I continue to write, post, view, and then re-view my own blogs. Maybe that is why my blog views grow for I go back to them for inspiration often. As my read blogs counter increases I wonder “Who Reads this shit?”

“Better go check it out cause somebody is, look at that four new views!” 

I bet that the next time I check it will say five and even though I know it was me I like to pretend that  it was some hot chick that saw my profile and read my blogs that is just too shy to comment on them.

“Hey look at that Jennifer wants to be my friend! And she has some crazy website where I can see her and her friend’s nude!. She must have read. ” My Station”

So I question again who reads this shit? I have yet to post a bulletin asking the same question and having only those that read the bulletin respond. I write because it brings me joy and I write for myself but it would be nice to know what if any thoughts my readers have.  Total honesty is what I am looking for. Constructive or deconstructive criticism would be the Ideal response but a simple “good” or “bad” would be enough for the little red man to flash and say that someone other than you has something to say about your bad ass blog! So I guess I don’t question who reads my blogs, I guess I just question as to why the do not comment on them. And I question who reads this Shit?

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The empty strum of a guitar without a drum has become the soul of my music that plays like no one is around. The harmony I create with words completes the lonely strum of all my stings. I focus on the individual strings as they speak the words for me to type. With the empty boxes that surround me I can’t help to think about the empty strum of my guitar as it begs for more than the empty pages that I write.  The notes of the lonesome go on and I can’t help to sympathize with it as I write the strings of my life one at a time. To play a cord would be blissful but I fear that my voice is out of tune with the strum of my lonely companion. For I think of a happiness and joy were the music that inspires me is that of heartbreak and sadness. To cry at the notes of the words that create harmony with the lonesome guitar brings me joy.  I find the depression of low tones that make me cry to water the flowers of my future. A resilient kind of flower, one that flourishes on the salty waters of tear drops. Like a lone flower that grows on the grey moon I see myself greeting the astronauts with the colors of life on earth. The burgundy of my blood and the pinks of my petals growing beautifully as the earth cries.  The lonesome guitar strums the strings of our lives. I don’t strive to be the first flower but I strive to be a flower, a tree or a rock. I strive to be a part of nature without my mind. To be the tree that picks the path for branches to grow based on the day would be bliss. To clear my paths and grow toward the sun would be truly natural. Instead I follow my mind that is truly unnatural.

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For the amount of respect I have for myself I sure have a hard time showing it when I am drinking.  I try to decide why it is called on the wagon when it seems completely opposite of that. The way I see it I am on the wagon when I am drinking. I am on a wagon swerving through life and land. When I jump of the wagon I am with myself and surrounded by those that love me.  When I am driving the wagon I seem to leave those that I care about most in the dust including myself. I swerve away from life and self then wake up alone in front of the wagon with the horses tied to the back. Why do I insist on running away with such a tether?  I do feel as though that I have begun to let the wagon drive me and I run so that I don’t get run over with the baggage I drag. So while drinking I run from that self that I so respect and the weight of loving myself. Having once again trained myself to live for my other is a habit that is hard to break. I keep my self down and blind myself to the world outside of my reckless road. Why do I insist on driving this cart that is driving me further from my true self? I have seen the other me and I have been the other me waving this me goodbye with fresh wagon tracks across my back. But it wasn’t goodbye, good ridings, it was  good buy pal, I’ll see you when I can. There it is somebody took the keys and handcuffed me to my true self and said noting else. So I sat in my cage of freedom and looked and waited for my buddy. The first chance I could I hailed Drunkey Magoo and he was more then willing to take my fare. So we took of with haste and I was once again driving Magoo and all of his baggage. I guess it is said that relapse is a step in recovery and I never thought about it until I relapsed. I guess it is hard to relapse if you have never recovered. But know That I have seen my true self and my relapsed self It is more clear as to who I want to drive my wagon that is full of respect and love. When I drink I question the road and its lines. My cart of respect and destination of love becomes a load that weights me down. When I am sober I can’t help but to find the quickest road to unload my love and greet the respect  that carries it. I shake hands with my true self and wave Magoo good bye and good ridings. My self for the first time is surrounded by those that love me including myself.

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The stories of my past are stories that I wish to share with others. Not because of their dismal conclusions but for their temerity that has made me who I am today. As I flip through physical pictures the memories of moments return. I feel for those that were not captured on film that are as much of me as any other but lost to the fog of everything in my mind. For they are there and continue to shape me as I grow but it is only the ones that remain in physical form that spark the feelings of that day to others. The slide show in my mind moves much to fast for even me to comprehend the stories of the movie I am creating. Yeah it’s long, drawn out and not finished yet but hell gives me some slack for I have not yet found the editor of my life. The one who will take out the meaningful parts and suggest something more readable has yet to enter my life, and then maybe I will write to the standards of her drum. The one that is in tune with the hum-drum of all the others that walk through life. For Now I am content to dance and two step through life even missing a beat here or there. For the rhythm of my solitary life provides the beat for me to strut my complete front. So I trick myself as I dance with my mind. I let her take the lead and I follow her rhythmic despair.

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1. The crescendo of noise as I queue the brakes disturbs the valley in a natural way as though my tracks were there before the valley. I slow my heart and working parts so that I may appreciate the music. The slowed tempo has brought about my favorite measure. My station, moving peacefully through the beauty. It is curious as to how the music of the still mountains harmonize with the music of my moving. My load of coal and empty box cars filled with nothingness and few nobodies create a round of our music that makes even the trees dance. I give the stoy-aways no ill thoughts for they are just like me but in a different car. Their stories adding height to the mountains and depths to the lakes compound the air of romance. 25 coal cars 13 of gas 11 of lumber 22 empties and 3 with train jumpers. 74 in all but all mixed up and scattered for I guess they all get dropped at different switch yards along the way moving through my station. The stain on my heart and moving parts as I climb out of the peaceful valley goes unnoticed as I climb the heights of the mountains and look back on the depths of the lakes. The trees in valley now only sway with the wind instead of dancing. My look back at the peaceful valley takes the stain off of my heart and moving parts. As my mind fades into the valley’s eloquence the light abruptly changes to dark. I look forward as does the light of my engine. The confines of this tunnel make me appreciate the valley’s more. For the romance of the tunnel is too claustrophobic for me. I need the mountains and lakes to here my song for I am not yet strong enough to radiated my love through granite   I guess I am just trapped in a crappy solo in the song that I have written and should look forward to the harmony that I plan to write in.

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The Vise I have is a bought one that cost me more than the 12 bucks a day I spend on it. It is the one that keeps me tightly within its grips as it lubricates my judgment with bad choices. So as I pass the buck, I lubricate my thoughts with another drink. My thoughts grow while the vise tightens around my freed mind. With the pressure diminishing I am free to roam the corrupt thoughts that plague my head. The dreams are bright and beautiful but that is where they remain, as vivid and real as the life but gone as soon as I wake and  wonder what happened last night. The dreams and passion are soon lost to the tightened vise that reminds my head through throbbing pulses that the problems of yesterday are still knocking at my door. The monotomous beat has become my daily dance and my dreams continue to dance a full measure beyond the rug that I cut.  As I struggle to keep up with the tempo of myself he passes me in the tango  with the love of his life and I sit back and dream about him as I tighten the vise on myself.  With the passion in my arms and love in my heart I focus my attention on you.  My dream maker and taker that doesn’t deserve a place in my dreams. The one  that reminds me daily that she is apart of my dream if not my dream or the one that inspires my dream. The one that keeps me in a dream and my choices are free to dream beyond their means so long as you provide the tablature of depression masked by the definition of a dream. Your skewed perception has worked and become my impression of love.

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“It is the stillest words that bring the storm.”

Nieche

I gaze toward the see through your eyes. I wonder if you see the same storm as I. The tide pulls back and you are drawn ever closer. The air becomes still and my breathing heavy, yet with every moment I am drawn closer. Entranced by your beauty I begin to walk. With each step the sun fades and the clouds grow. Soon, I am lost among your midst. A slow dance has become a frenzy of movement as you throw me to the sea. Frantically I fight the currents with no avail. I succumb to the power of your storm that my words have invoked.

1. “A delicious dreaminess wrought its web about my yielding senses, while the snowflakes wove a winding sheet about my conquered body. Oblivion came. The battle of life was done”                                                                           Mark Twain

With the battle won I became free to drift with your current and be one with you for the first time. All of the time I fought paddling against your rip tide was lost to my sliding courage that held me below the surface of your blue waters and that much further from the blue sky. Now I remain in my heaven. Where your pristine blue waters meet the lucid blue sky. The forces of both bending the suns light to create the picture that has become my new life. A mirror image of the last but with a new countenance that makes even the mountains quiver in the wind. Your benevolence has taught me the true meaning of life and I now question why I fought you so. I was captured by your beauty then, and now that I have become a part of your beauty I feel more enslaved than any other time. For it is you that makes the mountains shiver and the people quiver, it is you that makes the lakes that reflect your beauty. It is you who controls whomever and whichever. So drowned  as I am I  bother not to question where my beauty went for you are the controller of beauty and your answers need not be questioned.

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What is cursive in my mind turns to mere letters on the page as I try to compose the thoughts of today. Like the day, the sun sets and thoughts of darkness fade while those of passion enlighten my child who dreams. His mind full of dreams that are written in cursive and  his hand  struggles to write. Page after page of the same letters used in different ways has become his shortcut to make the grade. His talent limited buy his known letters has limited him, and love has become his essay. Evaluations of his writings are lost as beauty says hello. The comparison of galaxies to her green eyes is nothing more than print held back buy the lack of known letters to express the cursive of his -thoughts.  My child speaks to me in cursive and I struggle to write his dreams as an adult.

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As I repose enveloped by an unknown boding my mind seems to plod into limpidity. I use your prepossessing countenance to supplant my prosy thoughts into tranquility. As the firmament lets loose a tempest, my mind remains gratis. The diminution of coherence is torrent and quickly overcomes my palisade. My zenith is clouded by the cataract of your beauty. Aberration has added intrepidity to my swagger. Temerity has become my prowess lead by your ardent suasions.

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She walked into my life with an ease unfamiliar to me. It was as we had known each other for years as though we had been together before. A chance meeting had introduced me to a girl that was able to bring me out of my writing slump and inspire me to continue writing my story. I had been down and out. With law troubles at home my future seemed bleak and I was living my life accordingly. I would drown the dismal thoughts with alcohol that only compounded the problems I had to face. Although I was always drunk around her I feel that she saw through Drunkey Magoo to my true potential as a person. Her familiarity prompted me to share with her one of my first writings. “The SilverBack Philosophy” I opened the file on my computer in room 107 of the Days Junction city KS. Needing some smokes and feeling as though it would be better if she read it alone without me standing over her shoulders I left the room. It was a dreary day out, cloud covered and drizzling rain. I particularly like that kind of weather. It puts me in a state of reflection and tends to make me think of the finer things in life. Having drank heavily the night before I was still drunk and in an elevated state. The shithole of Junction City didn’t seem so crappy on that short walk to the gas station. I remember the dark green of the trees in the foreground of the grey sky. Having been depressed for quit some time this was truly the weather for a solitary walk. Walking back to the hotel I began to think of what had actually happened. My mistrust of people taught by my own misfortunes began to take hold. I realized that I had taken some random person that I knew nothing about home and then left her with all of my belongings and valuables. Earlier in the morning I had been speaking with Ketzia about writing and how I felt that I had been crushed by a huge writing block. She mentioned she too loved writing and had a typewriter. With that in mind I began to flash on returning to an empty hotel room. It was a true thought that she could have robbed me blind. It was then that I thought of a story. A story of a guy who was Struggling through life and didn’t have a bright outlook on his future. A guy whose passion had been stripped. An alcoholic far from home and his loved ones that was drowning his sorrow with booze that needed an event to get him out of his rut. I began again to picture the empty hotel room, striped of everything no beds, towels clothing, or evidence of life or the good time the night before. The only thing in the room was and old typewriter. My drunken haze continued to play tricks on me. Had last night even happened or was it just some crazy dream. Had I met a girl, had I brought her home, had we laughed just minuets ago? Smirking every now and then about my new story title “She Took Everything but the Typewriter” I walked briskly back to the hotel room. I opened the door and entered the dim artificial light that was more depressing then the weather outside to see Ketzia sitting silently in front of the computer screen. Not knowing her reaction I let her finish without interruption. When she finished without saying a word she got up walked to me with tears in her eyes and gave me a hug. I am not sure as to what impacted her so profoundly to make her cry. Weather it was her own hardships or the ones she must have seen in me but one thing is true. “The SilverBack Philosophy” touched her as it had me when I wrote it. I was Thrilled that she had liked it soo much and told her about my new story Idea. After laughing for awhile she read me something’s that she had wrote. I was touched be her openness and honesty. She was a beautiful writer that spoke from the heart much like myself. We eventually parted ways that day and I was left on high. She had lifted my writing block and opened the flood gates for my heart to flood the paper with feelings.

I returned home to Fort Collins the following weekend with a new outlook on life. I was stoked about the new friend I had met and about seeing her when I returned to J.C. for another month. When I returned everything in the town was the same as it had been three weeks before except for the room I was staying in. I tried to get a hold of Ketzia a few times with no such Luck. I had visions of us going out to a nice dinner and drinking wine while making one another laugh. The next time I saw Ketzia I don’t even remember. I had been drinking for a couple of days strait and decided to go to her work place. “FOXY” I had met Ketzia here on my birthday and it seemed as though we had an immediate connection.

Ketzia had a story for sure. She was working at a strip club in a crappy army town who had three kids that she was unable to see due to her past. She was to be married to some army punk shortly after I had met her I believe his name was Private Parts. She informed me that He was a total Tool, a Silverback tool to help get her children back. Her story hurt me in that someone that I thought so highly of had such a dismal story to tell. Her life had been full of struggles much worse than my own yet she seemed to be head strong and sure of herself. I guess her inspiration was derived from her own struggles.

I only saw Ketzia a few more times while in Junction Shitty. Every time at FOXY and every time drunk. I can remember speaking with her about how I had passed my writing block onto her, and how she hadn’t written anything since that morning in room107. I can still here her saying to me “It was sad to see you that way” referring to one of our encounters when I was “Totally Blotto” as my mom would put it.

I finished out my time in Junction Shitty drinking my troubles away and writing “profound stuff” in reality my writings were little more that chicken scratches on pieces of paper that reflected my reluctance to face my Problems.

I have tried to write the chapter of “The SilverBack Sagas” titled “She Took Everything but the Typewriter” many times but until now I couldn’t capture my true feelings about this girl. I think now that I have overcome  my fears and begun to face my problems I am now ready to write about the chapters of my life that I am now closing. So the “SilverBack Saga” continues as I right about my rise and fall as a SilverBack. It wasn’t until I met Ketzia that I thought there could be a female silverback, but now I am sure of it. In our brief meeting she had a profound impact on my life that I will never forget.

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4-27-05

With the setting of the sun comes the rise of my inibrence.

As the fog clouds my judgment the rays of the sun highlight my intellect.

The benevolence of nature connects me to its overture.

The start of a dialect that I can only reflect and never reject.

The fog of judgment opens my mind to new thoughts, reflections and revelations.

The only thing that can take away the freedom of my mind is that same mind.

Deep thought is like a magic eye poster for the mind in that it lets you see beyond the original picture into a conglomeration of pictures forming one. This one is always fuzzy and described differently by every viewer and every viewer’s state at the time viewed.

08-25-06

Can you answer my questions of today before I fade into yesterday? Will you answers bring me to a far off day or will they make me appreciate today? Don’t go away, find me today and I will look for you on my way to that long lost day of yesterdays tomorrow. Along this road of sorrow I find you to be my tomorrows morning, afternoon and evening. Your smile is so revealing. My Saturdays cartoon of long lost yesterdays. I need you today. I saw you last night but in a fright on my way to the light. Show me your delight so I may fight to let you be apart of my insight.

I have lost myself in society. I have become so encapsulated by its grip that I have forgotten how to trip. To express my lip, to flip the grip and make it tip away from my ship.

I am at a cross roads of seven roads. Do all lead to Bowser or does one lead strait to the princess of Olympus. Oh how I wish I had left a trail of recess pieces to find my way back to the day that I first got a glimpse of your eyes.

09-24-06

Music of the Heart

I cant help but to fall asleep while listening to the soft beat of your heart.

I fade into a dreamland that I never want to part.

I feel your heart in harmony with mine.

A music that plays in this dreamland of ours.

My Butterfly

Butterflies fly and die much like love.

If I put butterflies in you then why do you migrate away from me?

The feeling of butterflies in your stomach is my heart getting closer to yours.

My butterfly

Take a day.

Don’t fly away.

Migrate my way some other day.

My sweet Butterfly.

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I will walk the valleys in search of flowers while you sit home with our child. I will swim the oceans in search of treasure while you sit home with our child. I will climb the mountains in search of the stars while you sit home with our child. I will wonder the forests in search for teddy bears while you sit home with our child. I will trudge the deserts in search of an oasis while you sit home with our child. I will sit at home with our child as you wonder my heart engulfed in my love.

Walking through the forest today I came across a bear. The choice to flee escaped me as I became enthralled by his speech. His mighty roar whispered to me the secrets of the forest. He explained to me that the bare of wondering and the feeling of being lost is the forests gift to those who free their thoughts and lose their constraints. With this new advice I left my mind with the trees for safe keeping and continued to wonder. Free of my worldly self the darkness of the forest faded releasing its colors. The majestic greens of the trees silhouetted by the suns rays beating down on my newly illuminated path of pine needles give the forest a look that can only be found in your eyes. My tranquil wondering leads me to a stream that seems to meander through the forest as I. I stop a moment to rest as my reflection in the water catches my eye. The ripples over the rounded river stones seem to make my reflection speak. I read his lips slowly rolling over the rocks.

“You are almost there.  Keep wondering. You have but one tether holding you down. Let it go. Keep Wondering.”

Taken aback by what I had seen the forest grew dark once again. Struck with fear all of my thoughts rolled in to once again cloud my judgment and bring back the bare of wondering lost. I closed my eyes and began to weep. Just then a mighty roar whispered to me.

“Hello Friend, have you found yourself again?”

 It was teddy. Struck by his mighty paw, joy once again returned as I opened my eyes to the plethora of colors the forest had to offer. That was it! The tether to cut was that of my self conciseness. So I once again began to wonder, each step becoming more lost but free of the constraint of myself. I begin to loose myself with thoughts of you. I have found my happy place and begun to fly! Second Star to the right and strait on until morning. I am now free to be the child I lost, and the love of your life.

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She entered through my eyes and began to walk through my heart. Her footsteps in tune with my pulse. The beating of loves drum fills my body with the rhythm of our souls. A song of pure bliss guides the dance into a field of flowers. A thunderstorm in the distance provides bass to our flower-full ball. The dizzying spin is lost to the fixation of our eyes on one another. The afternoon turns to dusk and the sun sets slowly in the background silhouetting her beauty. The Stars begin to sparkle as our dance slows to a quiet embrace. The silence is perfect for no words of love need be spoken.  With a soft kiss I taste her lips. A soft cherry has overcome all of my other senses. With my eyes closed I see everything. True love that speaks through unmistakable gazes. An incomparable passion fills the field of flowers. As she holds me tight for warmth darkness turns to twilight. The dew on the grass begins to glimmer and I can’t help but to caress her hair.  I watch her sleep with my heart smiling as the sun rises. I thank the flowers for their hospitality and fall back into loves trance…

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I dreamt that I awoke in your heart. Wondering my memories of you I have but one that is foul that is easily discarded with mornings brisk breath. My dream begins. The bitterness of pre dawn is warmed by the sight of you in my bed. Your curly blonde hair dresses my pillow in a seductive manner each strawberry strand begging me to crawl in beside you but I resist for fear that I will wake. I am content to watch you sleep in this bed that sits above the clouds of my thoughts. I fix my eyes on you and the bed fades into the foggy white. A glimpse of green dilates my pupils and floods my heart with warmth. A mumbled good morning and a sweet smile throws me into loves ecstasy.  As you rise and begin to shine I lend your hand a soft kiss. Our embrace begs the clouds to swallow us as a whole.  The soft dance floor is the perfect medium for our dance. Your heart has become a perfect telescope into your universe. I begin to lose myself in the galaxies of your eyes. My biggest star has begun to move, a force pulls me into your depths. As the scenery zips by my universe collides with yours. A fantastic flurry of light ensues. We have become one in the darkness. Looking to the edges of you universe has captivated my heart and soul as I begin to see our future light that is by now thousands of years old. Connected to each other by a force deeper than loves feelings we begin dance. The early morning walks among the stars has become our ritual of love. Just as I am beginning to feel comfortable with my surroundings in our melded universe I am unknowingly being pulled into a darkness. The force is so strong that not even loves light can escape. A black hole in the center of your universe has requested my presence. I am fearful to leave the warmth of your sun and travel into your darkness. Why have you cast me into this void of light? With my sight now gone my stomach spins in a wretched manner. Not the butterflies of our beginning love but a painful urning to be with you. As I am whisked further into the darkness my other senses become more attuned to my surroundings. I smell a flower that can be only your hair, I taste a strawberry that can be only your neck, I hear a goddess singing that can be only your voice. I feel a warmth that can be only your heart. My sight has returned in the form of our future together. I have traveled through a wormhole and entered a new time, that is without clocks and worries of tomorrow. A place where only love lives and cradles those who embrace it. I have awoke in your heart and my dream has begun.

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“The errors of great men are more fruitful than the truths of little men.” 

As a little man I have very few truths, my uncertainty gives me my petit size, this uncertainty is however of great size and gives me a path full of errors. A great man in thought and greater in errors is the truth of mine. Truth is my history and questionable is my future. To judge either is to be lead into cyclical thought. The dreams of my future have written themselves upon my past and it is toughs that will happen last. It is the dream that I have not yet dreamt that will be my future, weather it be nightmare or bliss it is the dream that turns my future into the past.

“Evil men have no songs.”

The evil man does have a song.  For it is the song that moves men. It is the song that moves men to be great, it is the song that moves men to be evil, and it is the song that makes men’s feet dance across the keys and strings of their instrument of life. To listen to an evil mans song does not make one evil, yet more attuned to one own instrument. To make an overture of ones life is to dance through life.  The ability to dance with the beat is what makes ones life turbulent. With each missed step the dancer regains conscience and begins to merely walk. It is then that the person is able to change the music. To dance with the same beat is to move in a restricted place. The ability to side step into another dance without regaining conscience is to make the beat work for you.

Harmony:

To dance with another is to become apart of the other.  A piece of music is just that. Without the addition of instruments the song is but a lonely harmonica. To dance in harmony the dancers must anticipate the others instruments desire to play the notes that lead the other to do what it wants. A beautiful conversation ensues when the two become one. The piano speaks to the guitar and they both sing giving the dancers happy feet.

When the dancer begins to sing the words from his mouth sing to few but touch all.

Harmony is hard for me to write about for as of now I sing alone. I dance alone. I am starting to wonder if I am dancing to the same beat or if I am merely side stepping when I should have… Do you want to dance? The beat that I dance to is but only one that I know. I have learned all of my dances and my conscience haunts me to change the song. To find a harmonious beat to my instrument would mean changing that beat to another tempo. The sped up beat racks my nerves and it is the slow pace that brings out my dance. A slow trance that not even the strongest can resist is the beat that I resist to omit.

The discussions I have with myself are the discussions of many within myself.

2:23 PM - 1 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

1. An urgency that has never before been felt has taken over my thoughts. A walk in the clouds has become a chance for me to see myself out side of me. With my feet finding there way to ground and the fog letting up reluctantly I open my eyes.

1:27 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

They dont make games like they used to. Even the reality games seem to be missing peices. Playing a game without the right peices seems to be more of a challenge of the imagination than anything else. It’s as if the makers have sent out a partial set and have left the rest up to us. That would be fine but, the maker of the game always has a complete set of rules. So everything is left up to the player except the rules? with every rule changded a new game is born. with evry game comes an new set of an individuals rules for that game. So without either a standard playing ground, or set of rules,  the world, our world would be in caouse. I would like to believe that we are all on the same playing ground  and such only subject to rules that non uf us can change. With non of us knowing or reading the rules brings us togother in the sense of faith but apart in the way we inturprit that faith.

3:29 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

The start of something new has me reluctant at first, thrilled in the beginning and disappointed in the middle. The excitement of anything new looses its appeal with the first drink of you. As I set goals to stay away from you seem to set goals to get to know me better. Why do I listen to you? Aside from our nightly kisses and the sweet taste of you I know that you bring me to my worst. Why do I listen to you? I have a real hard time leaving you for more than a day or two and as the days go by your pull grows stronger like the tide on a beach with a destructive storm of shore I can’t help but to get into the water and test out those nearly waves. So I am once again sucked into your sea. I reflect on you. The sea that I love and the sea that spawns thoughts into my head the sea that really makes me feel free. Your benefits of an open mind and ideas has started to fade fast with the destruction you have created upon my path. You have truly been the perfect storm! An eye opening experience that causes so much destruction that it has the ability to change a person’s life. For better or worse is up to the person that confronts you. I will always cherish the time we spent  together even the times I cant remeber, but it is now time for me to swim ashore and leave you to rain on someone else’s parade.

The destruction of my dreams has come from alcohol but it has also brought me an insight to myself that might not have been discovered. With doubts of a devine plan I am still roaming the fields of my vines.

2:27 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

The flow of my river has been fueld by the booze that haven’t as of yet stopt to fuel the flow of my use of the booze that make my river flow the rapids that it creates throughs me int an eddie that traps me until my eyes are floating in the river of booze a win loose situation. Wining everyday becomes the reality of my overall loss. I have lost so much and gained what? To see a gain in a loss is something that only a person can give a gloss to to. To make a work of art out of a piece scum brings withit some kind of a natural drum that others want to dance to. As I dance to my own drum created by my own scum I help but to think of the art of the dance that I have created. Much like my life out of rythem and way off beat the the scum that I have created has become my new artistic out put. Giving to others has somehow surpassed me and now I am punished by way of dealing with me. As I build my river through drunk eyes I cant help but to think of your eyes. With that my river biuld itself in order to meeet up with your eyes! Merging two rivers creates distuction on the landscape. The ability to create a new landsape is something that I can only see in you. As the water of your river fall I can see throught the waterfall and I see you! The mist of your life falls into the destruction of mine and I see you through the rainbow that holds only half the colors of you that shine through like the lady of a different kind of blue. A blue that a man nor lady has seen a blue that shines like the sun on a fferent planet The planet that I first met you the one tha made my heart go blue as soon I I saw you the one that awes the heart and the one that makes me feel as though I am a part of something bigger. My lady blue!

3:17 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

Being the one that the family worries about has the effect to make me look  at myself. What have I given, what have I taken. so I see that I haven’t given anything and taken too much,l my family remains on my side. I guess that my time for realization has come and it is time for me to contribute. contribute what?  Myself , not the self that I have contributed to bring the family down but to contribute myself to the family as they have contributed to me.

2:38 PM - 1 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

Looking at a small screen makes me wish that I had stationary that could talk to others as I talk to the paper that has become my outlet. A stationary that mails itself with spellcheck and all.  The stationary of my life has yet to be printed as it is still being writen. The background of so many thought is hard to print. As of know my stationary can only be created be a talented artest  who as the imagination to make my life into a picture. I write on my stationary  for I know what the picture is but I have not the talent to make others feel as I. I know my stationarry, And i have forgoten all other ideas of my possible stationaries for it is mine. the simple college ruled paper with the ring of a wine glass staind into it. that is the stationary that I write upon.

With the thoughts I have that drop like the rain and are forgoton much the same I write on my stationary that is somewhat plane.

2:15 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

A broken computer cant compute and a broken heart cant love. Are they broken or just miss configured? When my computer is missconfigured I refer to it as “broken” for it does not do what I want it to. When speaking of the heart, mine that is, I dont feel that it is broken but stronger than ever. Missconfigured as it may be it runs! So as my heart runs my computer doesn’t. Ive lost the ability to compute consequences and their unfriendly brother reality. As the equations of life pass through my head I have found it easier to put them into the recycle bin and go on doing what I have already forgot that I was doing. Hey at least i’m recycling! My justification for constant fuck up seems to be neverending.

Disapointment is a consequence of an action.

The negitive is a disapointment of thought, a reality that is focused on. Focus can and will distort the mind. The mind must be open to all worlds of thought and focus on no single world.

Question?

The drug that makes you fall. the one that puts you against a wall and makes you ball.  has the ability to give you the best hangover you have ever had. The one that makes you glad the one that makes you sad and glad and makes your thoughts go bad just to get to it.

Answer: Love

I have created my own writing block!

I can create bad, and let blue follow but i still dont know how to create good and just let it follow.

Finding good is easy, makeing good takes a special person. I found good but I fail t make good. of my sorrow.

4:23 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

Crearte a wall, make a wall how can I make it stronger but to make it a fire wall. Its too soft ill stick with my wall! The strong wall a  principle wall thats the wall that I will help to build.A wall that wont fold a wall that will hold!

4:28 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

Takeing a heart is too easy.

Why is it that Every girl I become romanticaly envolved with falls head over heals? There is only one that hasn’t and I am still in love with her. Maybee that has stoped me from falling in love, for I am in love with another. Why do I love her? do I love her? I love her becuase she is affraid to love me I love her becuase she hasn’t told me that nor have I. She waits, and she is still living much like I.  Can hope bring us together or am I holding on to a hope that was lost on the way to her.

3:02 PM - 3 Comments – 2 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

One by one i have watched the ones I love move on. I remain off.. On a Path that i am not sure of. much like the paths of my loved ones that have turned on. So it is confidence that I lack the confidence in my path or my will to fufill that path.Thats not true. I know what outcome I would like but I seem to be takeing the path of my dislike. As I like what I am doing It changes the outcome of my long term liklyhood.

2:40 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

haunting.. makes it my day. with yesturday gone and tomorrow lost.  I wounder about today. with little cost and illregard to tomorrows loss

5:54 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

Bridgeing the gap from then to now has little to do with now. More so whith what has become from then and what makes you now. To build a bridge from today into tomorrow has its own consequences.

4:46 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

with yesturday gone and tomorrow not yet drawn I feel today,  I want to take back yesturday and make it today. To take a day and make it is harder for me than to pretend that yesturday is today and I still have tomorrow to make it “allright.”  for yesturday was allright but i fear tomorrow  for the chance that it might repeat  today.

12:52 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove

This is a dairy that I want others to read but wriitten for me. I love to write and i hate to share so I thought that this medium might be a good place to share the thoughts that I am ready to share but am so reluctantly  to bare. with me now for I have a lot to share enough to make you share your true beauty. one that is has been overlooked, one that has been took for the last time one that will not be taken again. One that will make you feell as though you have been awakin form  the next taking  all of the other and loosing the wakeing of  a  lost waking another waking to the long lost togehter.

5:26 PM - 0 Comments – 0 Kudos – Add Comment – Edit - Remove