still pretty rough around the edges

she (pt2)

hmm [unfinished] but oh well, just decided to shareeee -->

she was a being strongest with no physical strength
it was in her gaze she directed the flow of gravity
i often dismissed the thought of telling her
how much i loved her
because it was such a weak statement
in comparison to all she represented for me
taught me
showed me
made me...
it was too easy to say
so easy to feel it
and so easy to know it
but so hard to prove
to show her...
but there must be some way to show her
because i know
she should know
and yet, although i hesitated to tell her
she must have been strong enough to know
already...

winter rabbit ii.

the fog, which had embraced the blushing cheeks of this green city so intimately, finally lifted. and in it's absence came the misty haze of tires on wet pavement. the dulled mess of a palette above dripped sloppily across the tired rooftops as they hid the city's numbed hands and personalities behind stucco walls and insulation.
i hid it under my breath..
wandering through the slick ally ways of your retinas stirred the familiar smell of newly fallen rain and dead leaves that emanated through the cracks of the uneven pavement. thick golden espresso beat against the side of a paper cup, like a bass drum, and sloshed out of the lid, joining the company of the sky's secretions beside my uneven stride. the scent lingered and fell, shattering my reality into shards of broken thoughts. i looked down and saw the ripples in my reflection distort the clouds behind me. my backdrop. my makeshift existence. i stepped through it, disturbing the mirrored image. the grey tones lifted from the earth only to descend back to the firm, unforgiving surface from which they came. i watched the world around me fray at the seems. i focused on the corroding shorelines of your temper. pounding, pulsating, quaking and quivering. shake, surge, swell and succumb. the shimmering cadence of regret lining our dulled dispositions. a blurred skyline reflected off your telescope eyes. you bit the edge of your brittle wind-stricken fingers before raising them to adjust the frame in which you see the world. not knowing what else to do, i picked at the blue rubber that gripped the metal frame of our park bench. tell me your troubles, and i'll whisper my worries. bitch, complain, vent and let loose. i look down when i can't think of anything clever to tell you; looking up simply to nod my head to the beat of your fingertips as they drum softly against the walls of my feeble attempts of taking care of you.
"since it's green, let the leaves steep for no more than four minutes, otherwise the taste becomes bitter." i don't tell you this because who am i to decide your preferred taste. and i no longer know what tickles your taste buds and chapped lips. and i no longer know how the textures of color bend and fold against the sharp edges of your swagger. and i no longer know the rhythm in your footsteps, and the beat of your weak heart. but then again, not much has changed.
my words hit your pale forehead and slither down your nose. a crooked smile and chuckle cut through my paranoia.
i am having a conversation with your time limit. and i look at you, looking down, picking at the blue rubber that hugs the frame of the bench with remorse.

you will respond with an ever so quirky remark, because you have subscribed to my mind. i'll let technology be my scapegoat. you will depend on me and i will let you down, and i will build it up just so we can watch it fall. we will have many days of second hand hell and speak of what we once held on to so dearly. and at the end of it all, we'll return to the lives we have built in each other's absence. and i'll watch as you walk back to the smell of motor oil and changes in diet. and you will sit at your screen, pick apart my scattered phrases and correct my flaws, for that is what we do.
yes it's about you.
no i don't think you'll misunderstand.
can you hear me over the scratching of tires on wet pavement?
i don't know.

february 2008

reminiscing on my thoughts as 2008 began...

and now it's ending:

...in the midst of all the simultaneous struggles that cause a triumph so worth every tear, this life is the most interesting paradox to live through. this year has been so indicative of the continuation i believed it to be: it wasn't my new start, but rather a transition back into the same reality -- it simply reminded me that time really is moving, regardless of the standstill i feel locked in. so my update: i am the same as i have been, as i'll ever be -- i still believe that everyday is a constant struggle to be a better person -- whatever those struggles, changes, and new perceptions may be.

i guess after all these years and experiences,
in the midst of this whirlwind of struggle and happiness,
in the midst of my imaginary mental standstill,
i am still holding onto the only piece of peace of mind i've ever had
that strength i find in the quiet calm
-- in the midst of constant change.

"The Struggle with Ambiguity"

I too am obsessed with numbers.
Obsessed with the excess of my own ambiguity.
Like releasing the gates, which only I can see.
But then I'm faced with a reality which blindly sets a tone over my ears
I can no longer hear…
And then a tone opaque covers my eyes.
I can no longer see…
Now the ambiguity engulfs me.
I've only dreaded these eyes and ears because of the alleyway I once walked down upon.
Couldn't see which track I was on,
Couldn't listen to the sound track to the song that played in my foreground.
Constantly blocking the way to a mind-state that overdubbed my understanding of what was real and what was fallacy.

"I too" is probably the overstatement.
"I too" is probably the misunderstanding
I for one, am probably subject to the lie which seemed like an investment in hope.
The faith of the future.
The faith of a future.
And as repetitive as it may seem.
You just don't see the irony that has erected from the scene.
Embarrassing it is to fit in a meme which I chose not to associate with
But the reality is that I did it again and placed myself behind the myth.
All because I chose not to let the belief wither and die.
Realizing that what I've visualized before was just a cloud in the sky.
Trust me,
I've came back down from that already and unstuck my head from the nimbus on high.

Got my head out the clouds because it seemed like an unlikely destination to be in.
This compilation of text seems so scatterbrained,
believe me, I hate the feelin'.
Meddling with the rhyme,
through the sun I see the times.
if only I can see ahead to the unveiling of the mind.
I would…
But we all know that its possibility is impossible when left to a coin toss.
Which causes us to understand the lasting fact that the loss is dreaded in the mist.
So that's it. now I just criss-cross it off the main list.
Or at least I try to.
Jus do me favor for now and reevaluate self for before you think this is about you.

a snippet of my secret.

you’ve brought reading to another level,
i feel all flushed with fever.
but, instead of killing me softly,
I feel life in every morning after the unrest of the night.
I won’t listen to warnings of my heart being empty
when I know that within every single step,
my mind is getting stronger with the work out of sending vivid hopes of you from nerve to nerve.
my nerd,
my nerd,
you bring me to better aspirations,
I dream in the day again, far from R.E.M. cycles that don’t understand the loving kiss of the bright sun.
this pain you’ve jotted down has set my soul on fire
everyday since I have met you, I wonder,
have I found the spiritual confidence I have been looking for?
even if I was fooling myself I am completely grateful.
you might as well pass be the dunce hat and call me the city idiot if I didn’t take advantage of the hope and inspiration planted by your hands.
you write of love and of hope and I applaud you.
ashamedly,
I’m not even that honest when I write.
turn of phrase and double meanings,
a story within a planned out, well-executed concentration of words
yet, still so fearful of the messages I truly want to expose.
I’ve been so afraid of writing about you,
yet I dream about you listening,
you watching,
and you reading
knowing exactly which carefully chosen words are sincerely surrounded around my heart’s vision of you.
and,
I dream that one day, you’ll never have to write about hope so often, so in depth.
I know I can love you until you don’t accept loneliness anymore.
and, if that doesn’t work,
i’m going to love you every single lonely night for the rest of our existence,
so long as you love waking up on our side of the lonely world as much as I do.
your words.
you’ve somehow made me a better person.
I’m pushing forward, I’m pushing on.
sometimes, I am truly over it.
but, secretly, I read your writings,
because secretly,
I still dream of you.

An Unfinished Painting

(welcome back late night freewrite hype)


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



I have come to know the image that has been painted by the soul.
It speaks of a cliché,
but I stand before you now to justify its difference.
So I gaze out through one’s presence only to find a portrait of my mind.
and as I pick it up, all the subject matter it holds runs off like un-dry paint.
Loose with no solid substance,
A fresh vision put in place with a brush oversaturated.
Overused over time to the point where it no longer bear its own original look.
How ironic, that my splitting image of the tool can be used to manipulate my self conscious
and hold the potential to build this misinterpreted perception of reality.

I understand I hold the key to unlock my minds eye,
but the only problem is it’s not so easy to see why I can’t find it.
It’s like watching a locksmith run through a ring of keys,
hoping that he would hurry up and just find the right one already.
As if life depended on it.
As if time relied on it.

But through the re-evaluation.
I’ve viewed the social norms society creates as hindrances
Restrictions to confine the spirit in which the soul wishes to regain control of.
The difference lies within these lines.
But the cliché and ironic reality is that they always remain trapped and embedded in these words.
These words that are merely a shameless, and hopeful effort to convey truth.
Because sometimes truth hurts,
and because sometimes truth should not be admitted.

So I leave the painting out to dry.
But the paint keeps running off.
Even if I laid it flat on the ground, its contents spill onto the floor.
And while many would equate this as endless tears of sadness,
I realize it now and see it like overflowing tears of joy.
A “happiness” and form of content to know that my soul is forever changing.
Never still.
Never dull
Like dancing in a cleansing rain
Paint constantly being applied to the canvas.

A painting never finished…

Written In Stone

"I'm Going with the flow" they say

Because...
Where the wind blows
Is where the decision goes
Where that wind blows
Is where your character's exposed

This is the thought processes of all the lost boats
But you cant sail the seas without feeling the breeze
You cant feel the breeze unless you're not pleased
We choose the wrong things cause it seem to show ease
We're searching for a means to an elucidating dream
Clear as the sky in July
We're trying to stay high
Without the abusiveness
Without loosing-it
A positive reaction for your profound mind
But this sometimes kill what we have inside
Priorities are clashed due to our individual sight
Blurred in a distance
We're searching for a prince or princess
Someone to talk too and listen
Who can understand your mission
So you can grow old with them
But at times we'll find peasants,
Whom we learn some important lessons
About the struggles and beauties in life,
Understanding this will bring some strives
And we can't deny
Divided by truth and falsity
"Be your own leader, try not to follow me"
Is some advice that I won't lie
Cause we're followers in this false time
While we paint love with the dollar signs of a paid stub
This goes out to the young hearts, who don't embrace love
To the women that relies too much on make-up
And to the little men who's acting hard, imitating fake thugs
Cause we're all dreamers that will never wake-up
I make love...
To the art, the life, the music, the rhyme
I have the heart to write, I use it every time
Life's the pain, the struggle, the sadness
But if you don't believe in life, then you don't believe in magic
No smoke and mirrors, just motivation and love to see things clearer
The audience is odd-in-sense
They're facade trends
Cant believe in them
They're the illusion with imaginary friends
Paying the admission price but never attend
Because the magician writes the poems to transcend
Like..
Happy endings only exist when lives are paused in a time of bliss
Release the button and press play
So we truly know what's beyond today's cliche
Because love is behind the screen names, showing affection on a keyboard
Diving into the satisfactions of the unknown weirdoes, claming they need more

MORE.


That's what everyone needs.

More of this, more of that.


We need MORE respect for our women!
We need MORE peace when it comes to our vision!
We need MORE education for our children!
We need MORE tools for our fundamental buildings!
We need MORE soul searching and less killings!

Soldiers giving MORE than an arm and a leg
They're getting arms to the brain
To the soul, to their lives
For an insufficient Presidential campaign
That don't give a damn because the government's telling lies
While the administration admit-to-be-astray in our nation
Distracting us from mass weaponry, which is no longer helping me
Questioning where should my soul-hold?
Who's opinion matters, is it about freedom, revenge, or the oil?
Seems we rather log into internet sites
Then reading the pages of our hero's lives
Where AIM is to aim the young mind's frame of absolute boredom
Your space is noticeable by your face, you said you did it for your friends
You did it for-them.

Now you're accepting these strange strangers
Approval is passed from their appearance
Don't think of the danger
Because your curiosity is your clearance
Instead of ignoring-them
You rather dedicate your mind and time on insults and comments
But what you really need is intelligence, when I'm telling-them
Reality is now artificial, people holding more then invisible pistols
They're holding delusional joints, shot glass full of sickness
Confusion that's a fist-full
Admiring those import-models, we need important role-models
Everyone's drunk off of ignorance
Seems we're all grown babies sucking out of that liquor bottle
Too emotional;
She cries
He fights
She's mad
He's glad
But both won't resist on telling the truth due to drinks they had
Love's that song where women are degraded
Because what's being played on the hit radio stations
Weak minds are persuaded
Love's the middle age man flirting with the teens
While a teenage girl acting like she's her mid-twenties
What happen to your revolution and independence, is there any?
Because when it comes to immaturity and lack of sense, there's plenty
Love's a bucket full of false hope and insecurity
Because their's a fine line between perfection and obscurity
Love is now in clubs, webpage's, and in exotic dancers.

Hypnotic, Hennessy, Tequila, is the new found answer
For problems and enjoyments which leads to escapism
We're assorted ornaments that needs to face the rhythm
Face our decision, our fate, then we'll appreciate living
Are we learning from mistakes when we take those chances?
Because who's words are actually affecting the masses?
The police?
The preacher?
The student?, the teacher?
Your parents or the world leaders?
It's the artist who holds the paint brush
To paint canvases of weightless imagery of peace
It's heavy to see because we can't handle the pressure
While the message is release
It's the musician aspired to play noise
Transforming the noise into something we're here for
Lovely sounds of unforgettable instruments
Layered with powerful lyrics to make some sense
It's in a novel, in a museum or in your iPod
It brings hope, comfort, love, or means to a God
It's you, me, and the ones we love
We affect the people, cause we know what's up
Now I'm off to be alone to write this on stone
I wish you the best, it's time to be me...time to be unknown

Dreamscapes...

"The dreamer is the designer of tomorrow. Practical men... can laugh at him; they do not know that he is the true dynamic force that pushes the world forward. Suppress him, and the world will deteriorate towards barbarism. Despised, impoverished, he leads the way... sowing, sowing, sowing, the seeds that will be harvested, not by him, but by the practical men of tomorrow, who will at the same time laugh at another indefatigable dreamer busy seeding, seeding, seeding."

-Ricardo Flores Magon (June 28, 1921)

never know.

i never want to know what it's like
to have never met you
...wondering will suffice.
only to remind me
how necessary your presence was
to me
in my life
and you
i never want to know what it's like
to forget you
trying my hardest
to remember every little detail
will be enough
to remind me
how wonderful every moment i can remember
is and always will be

and i wonder if at the end of your life
you thought to yourself
that you were glad to have met me
that you were so glad to have known me
that if ever you remembered a day of me
it was one in which i made you happier
and not burdened...
not frustrated...
but at ease and at peace...
because that's all i ask for you
in your final moments of rest
in your final moments away from us
i only wish you peace
and i can always wonder
what my life would have been like
if i had never met you
i wonder what i would be like
had i never known who you were
had i never spoke to you at all
i wonder often if you remembered me at all
in your final breaths
if you inhaled anything i said
and if you exhaled a sigh of remembrance of me
and i know your passing has nothing to do with me
the world lost you
and even then, i cannot grieve enough to show you
how we are burdened by your absence
knowing that the world will never be the same
it will still turn
but i'll only be able to view it
through tearful eyes
watery
blurred vision
like my memories of you
and with time...
i'll wonder again
if you remembered me at all
if my presence in your life was anything more to you
than a simple thought in passing

but i thank the world
as it turns in my blurred vision
that with my tearful eyes
and my weakened hands that wipe those tears away
that i will only have to wonder
but i'll never have to know for sure
how my life would have been without you...