now

the wind sounds like people

and it makes me miss

when persons

sounded like the wind

Dream Party

I am standing still and silent in the center of an entirely unfamiliar and large room. My friends surround me all over the place; playing, laughing, running, drinking, jumping, touching. It's all in such a slow motion manner, that I am just observing as if from inside a bubble around me, that I could break through, if I wanted to. I reflected and mulled over the same thoughts in regards to all that I saw and in turn felt. A group of friends is fun. But I always need one on one.

Different People Same Me

it occurs again and again
I still haven't found the words to say
I let you treat me this way
because I love you
not because I think it's okay

Misspellings

           

                                                                                                           2010, or 2009

Seen Better Days

"They've said it every year but this times it seems like
The end is near and I'm in line to see the light
How far does this black tunnel go?
I got a car but the gas is running low
And as long as i've known the bumps and creaks of this house
It's starting to make the types of sounds that only comes from people's mouths
You can't tell me it's still settling
Built on an indian burial ground, killing everything
The childhood scar on my chin is back again
That old jump over my own leg dance move has to end
I've seen better days in my night terrors
I was a bike messenger without a bike and I would write letters
Ask directions to your whereabouts
Before the slow walk the rest of the show-offs were peeling out
Too many hares, only one tortoise
That's why I left this city, too fast paced for this ho-hum tourist
By the time I developed the pictures
They're as blurry as my memory of constant life fixtures"

Jesus

 I want better for myself than this emotional tar pit I have been lying at the bottom of for so long.

What Has Been Forgotten

I fall asleep watching a gruesome murder mystery, and awake to a nightmare 
in which you did not remember how we used to put fresh fruit in our yogurt.

"

Conduit Love

I awoke from a dream, in which I was being conclusively dismissed in something I was so myself involved in. I reflected upon this feeling that was so prominent and so familiar in that moment, and how situationally it struck such a raw and tender cord within. I pondered, it must be somewhat provoking and relative to be this prevalent. Sure enough I saw it all, as I sometimes do. In desperate hopes and attempts to rehash and heal past relations, it is itself twice the painful experience when this does not go as I was praying for. When the other does not act or behave how I had wished for, and thoughtfully deserved. In the shadow of my history, this not working out attests to a theory so great and a failure so relevant you could even call it (an irreversible) pattern. I nearly wish to say aloud, I need this, I have to work this out some way or another if it is ever to end, and the incomplete sick feeling will not whatsoever cease until closure, don't do this to me. Now it isn't fair to instill such a large and monumental story within a small person (their every choice, word, and action). I promised myself a truth which said that I should run, once discerning similarities enough to project an entire being, and additionally relationship, right atop another. therefore I must, and I will.

Oh how one can represent and personify something so much deeper, totally blind to it all the while, with having only obscure, minor hints to suggest at something far bigger.

Death Rebirth

""
""

""

God Is In The Detail

"The devil is in the details"

Destroyed With Doubt

“I wondered if I would spend the rest of my life inventing complicated ways to depress myself.”

      “He breathed out the bitter air that makes women doubt everything, and I breathed it in, as I had always done. I expelled my dust, the powder of everything I had destroyed with doubt, and he pulled it into his lungs.”

We're In That Moment

"That's alright, it's probably too late for all this anyway."
"What?"
"You know how in cartoons how a building gets hit with a wrecking ball, right before the building falls down, there's always this moment where it's perfectly still, right before it collapses. We're in that moment, the wrecking ball has already hit, all of this, and this is just the moment before it all falls down."
"Is that the official word?"
"No, it's just my gut feeling."

Lights Low

I spoke, clumsy and loudly, "Turn your light on." They replied casually, "I like the darkness, because there is mystery." I thought.

Things are hazy, mystic, in the dark, just light enough to make out the other, just your idea of what they'd look like, if the lights were to be turned on. But neither will turn on a light, it's almost painful and confronting, and there is an overwhelming sense of mystery in the dark, that is real. But I got lost.

Reasoning For A Reason

"I would never forgive you."
"I know."
So which was it? Did I employ such a crucial error that my existence should be something gone completely unnoticed or even thought of again? Or the latter; a simple and predictable loss of interest? Was I disappointing enough to make my own life worth no value at all? I need an answer, cause I've been searching in this wretched heart and brain of mine for some four hundred days. I never get any closer to a conclusion, truth comes in waves. I have replayed, and evaluated every single glance, word, and movement. Which was it? Was it a choice I made along the way, haphazardly? Absent mindedly? Or did the excitement and cherish wither to nothing with time? Did this grow old? Did I lose my glow and shine, and become just another face, another heart? I just can't decipher if it was my word choice, how I compiled my emotions, that drove you away with all permanence, lacking any doubt at all. Or was there a monumental mistake executed with my own very hands, so awful and selfish that I deserved no explaination, not so much as one criticism for my own benefit. How bad was it? Did I act so sincerely as if I had forgotten and disregarded each wish, promise and secret? Was I so convincing that silence was the only fair rebuttal to such a brutal betrayal? Or was I just rusty, depressing, and no longer funny and charming in that uncomfortable but real way? Did my actions and words become redundant? My smile dreary and my laughter off-putting? Did I like you too much and remind you too often? Did I never grow up or mature in any way for years and years, and was that devastating how oblivious I was to all of myself? Did I get so annoying?
"You mean if I got over it."
"No, I don't. I mean if you get sick of me."

Is it things you do or don't do that cause such disclosed and one sided anguish?

I Want You To Know I Have Epiphanies Every Day

I pushed those away with the desire to seek my individual purpose and meaning, ironically so, now aware that some individuals are nothing individually. My relationships are undoubtedly my purpose, and when I am around those I should spend my time with I can feel that dark ominous weight lifted from my chest. I convinced myself for much time that personal interactions were a distraction from the feelings I was feeling at the time. I see now that solitude was the source of the disturbing distraction of whom I should be. I should not be an isolated recluse, severed from all things and persons I love. I should be thriving along side them and within them, bettering each other synchronously like I always wanted, and wished to be true. I have lost my mind and likely myself, after delving so very deep within myself, there was no light left at all. I told myself I was not to reach the point of no return, but why be so extremely close? Strength in unity as cliched as it is, but I have always found truth in cliches, and truth in others. I still believe in honesty, trust, and utmost, perfection. My soul search was void of just that, and I want to feel like something more than, well, nothing. There is still magic, I just closed my eyes and covered my ears, and in that desuetude blackness, I saw the shade of all things. I marred the concept of learning, compassion, understanding, communication, art, literature; everything I could get my mind on just to find out if it had the potential to be ruined. The answer is that all things can be ruined, and likewise I aspire to find that all things can be saved.


(Yet all of this seems to beg at one absolute query, why is it that the pursuit is each time a surrender and return?)

Energy

"I believe in energy."


I really think that everything has been leading up to my spiritual journey, rather than the traveling or replacing of my body itself. I have always found so little in the physical, and with the absence of everything I have felt I never would have come to the necessary conclusion that there is something bigger out there, for me. My body and mind will become obsolete once my heart and soul take over, but how do you get there? where do you start? but most importantly it seems is the question, where do you go?


I have found so much of what seemed to be unwarranted sorrow and despair in the predetermined and predestined path laid out for me, I can no longer go forward, but upward.


"It's so simple.
The three basic elements symbolize the earth, human beings, and the wholeness. Is a spiritual message hidden here? Is this an encouragement to the human race to seek a new understanding in connection to the relationship to the earth and the wholeness?"


"I believe that there is something here that is playing with our peripheral consciousness, and if something is playing with your peripheral consciousness and your peripheral perception, that could be a good thing or that could be a bad thing. I think that people need to be on their guard, when they have their wonder open up, when you're wondering about things you might let something else in. I think we need to be careful about what's going on here."

"Beware the bearers of FALSE gifts & their BROKEN PROMISES. Much PAIN but still time. (Damaged Word). There is GOOD out there. We OPpose DECEPTION. Conduit CLOSING."

A Story

so, i have a story, from back when i thought that with time you grew, and growing was growing. before i believed differing things, from death and rebirth, so many times within this lifetime. a story from way back when, i believed that i was incapable, not of fucking up beyond repair, but not beyond the point where you would ask me what i was doing for the holiday. a story from a previous time, that i did not know my entire life could feel like someone's revenge, or variable in someone else's pattern. a time where the past was linear, and everything was on a timeline including the future, and my endeavors and ideas had names. previous to when i am able to pinpoint the fall apart, collapse near ruin. losing everything i did not know was losable, the death, before then, god was not benevolent, but was equally is not what he became.
this is the story.

Never Returns

"I come to you
With one heart
Broken in two
Lashed hands and many flaws
a man
In return I ask only an ego-less unbiased listen
For, what I speak of offers freedom from mind
Freedom from a focused impulse
Freedom
And not at all the spangled, yankee-doodle
Union musket encompassed sense of liberty
Which our forefathers in Holy-Wood have
fed and sold us for scores
I'm eluding and rightfully so to salvage
clearheadedness of composed
fated state of human being
No grand inquisitor myself I
pour forth a pensive frown upon
and frustrated
Humble however furious
This reason for being here
This well you've found is phenomen-all-o-ne
In the immortal words of Oliver Wendell Holmes
A mind that is stretched to a new idea
never returns to its original dimension
Simplistically
Topsoil is no seashell full of bitter ocean
Body but it can be
Changing for and from triumph to mystery
Every somehow has a place
Where you dare not set foot and can't see a thing
So weave those silver threads into soul-leveled bonds
And be unbounded no longer
Manipulative
Let it go
Go
Let the wandering take it all in
Generate
Make you yours
My masters, my pupils, my equals
Drop, decorate
I implore you

Just think"

Reify

Reification (also known as concretism, or the fallacy of misplaced concreteness) is a fallacy of ambiguity, when anabstraction (abstract belief or hypothetical construct) is treated as if it were a concrete, real event, or physical entity. In other words, it is the error of treating as a "real thing" something which is not a real thing, but merely an idea. For example: if the phrase "fighting for justice" is taken literally, justice would be reified.

Another common manifestation is the confusion of a model with reality. Mathematical or simulation models may help understand a system or situation but real life always differs from the model.

Note that reification is generally accepted in literature and other forms of discourse where reified abstractions are understood to be intended metaphorically, but the use of reification in logical arguments is usually regarded as a fallacy.

Reification often takes place when natural or social processes are misunderstood and/or simplified; for example when human creations are described as “facts of nature, results of cosmic laws, or manifestations of divine will”. Reification can also occur when a word with a normal usage is given an invalid usage, with mental constructs or concepts referred to as live beings. When human-like qualities are attributed as well, it is a special case of reification, known as pathetic fallacy (or anthropomorphic fallacy).

Nature provides empathy that we may have insight into the mind of others.

Reification may derive from an inborn tendency to simplify experience by assuming constancy as much as possible.

In the philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead, one commits the fallacy of misplaced concreteness when one mistakes an abstract belief, opinion or concept about the way things are for a physical or "concrete" reality.

There is an error; but it is merely the accidental error of mistaking the abstract for the concrete. It is an example of what I will call the ‘Fallacy of Misplaced Concreteness.’^[4]

Whitehead proposed the fallacy in a discussion of the relation of spatial and temporal location of objects. Whitehead rejects the notion that a concrete physical object in the universe can be ascribed a simple spatial or temporal extension, that is, without reference of its relations to other spatial or temporal extensions.

re·i·fy (r-f, r-) tr.v. re·i·fied, re·i·fy·ing, re·i·fies To regard or treat (an abstraction) as if it had concrete or material existence.

reify [ˈriːɪˌfaɪ]

vb -fies, -fying, -fied

(tr) to consider or make (an abstract idea or concept) real or concrete

Noun	1.	reification - regarding something abstract as a material thing hypostatisation, hypostatization objectification - the act of representing an abstraction as a physical thing
	2.	reification - representing a human being as a physical thing deprived of personal qualities or individuality

Pathetic

pa·thet·ic fal·la·cy

Noun:

The attribution of human feelings and responses to inanimate things or animals, esp. in art and literature.

pathetic fallacy
n.
The attribution of human emotions or characteristics to inanimate objects or to nature.


pathetic fallacy, the poetic convention whereby natural phenomena which cannot feel as humans do are described as if they could: thus rain‐clouds may ‘weep’, or flowers may be ‘joyful’ in sympathy with the poet's (or imagined speaker's) mood. The pathetic fallacy normally involves the use of some metaphor which falls short of full‐scale personification in its treatment of the natural world.

pathetic fallacy Projecting or displacing human emotions and feelings onto things that do not have them, although they may prompt emotions in us.

It's Really Heavy

“”

“I’m trudging through this grey wooly yarn,

it’s clinging to my legs; 


it’s really heavy to drag along.”




“No, you aren't.”

Some Things I Have Recently Come To Terms With

Best Not Forgotten.

• I ended the singular good relationship I had, because he did not supply the heart ache and worry I was accustomed to meaning it meant something, anything
• I create a thick air of uncertainty in all my friendships and relationships of importance, derived from my own concerns and insecurities, that eats away slowly, at fault for killing most
• It was and is a choice of my own to remain mentally and emotionally invested in something gone. The knowledge, or rather thought that the person on the other end would still like to know that I am in it grants me permission to never leave it. Whether or not they, themselves are still it in, I am, on the basis that it is not wrong to be, or undesired on either side

Gripes And Happiness

I find so much joy in informing people that my dad uninvited me to Thanksgiving, and that my mom lives in Hawaii. Only in lei of a sense of maturity, that I cannot right now obtain by any other means. I think about where I was and what I was doing precisely this time last year, and it makes me want to rip out my eyes, and puke until I die. Not because of the perfection that was, but rather the now.

(My dad spoke to  me it's just not worth it, and no matter the circumstances, I really could never disagree.)


Sometimes people take your breath away, and sometimes they don't ever really give it back.

Less is always more.

Assurance

I have gotten far too good at being alone. And I assure you indefinitely, with slight displeasure, independence is not the word I am looking for.

I have grown far too fond of time in bed. And I assure you, unfortunately, sleep is definitely not what I mean.  

Consequential

 "That's going to leave a scar."
Never the heroic feats, or romantic triumphs, but the clumsy mishaps and forgettable treacheries that insist on permanence. 
The events and stories better left unsaid, forged forever, or what feels like it sometimes.

All Encompassing

     "Leave, Mollie, and never come back."

Ripple Effect

((((())))))
The distance between us no matter how geographically spacial, 
I am where I am, and you are where you are.
By you, I mean every person, and by me I mean
this vessel of emotions, occupied currently by an uneasy heart
and fluttering stomach. The reaction, 
my responses to extraneous and unattached choices and actions is amplified,
you're the source, and I'm always the effected wherever I am.
Easier when closer, immediate, nearly manageable.
But it's been magnified, and I'm remote.
It's been cascading outward and I've been stationary to say the least.
The course of things gets bigger, and what it all means, and says, and how it goes.
Whirl pool, rip tide, treading water.
Until a ripple, larger than it should be, 
so much more intense than it was at its point of creation.
The closer I can get, the simpler these things are,
but the position I am at is far-off, with a reaction to match.

A Broken Jar

""

Same Side

"I was given back the key
And asked to keep it, and the rest
Damage done, and time will tell
Short embrace, how I've been blessed
And although right now I am not it
know that you deserve the best"

Go Deep

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"Love Is Not A Victory March."

"maybe it's destruction aesthetics buti can't help myself.there's just something beautiful in the way that all walls fall down orget knocked over when we don't need the shelter anymore.how all rooms change color with the shifting of the scenery andabsolutely nothing ever stays the same it was.the snow melts. the smoke dissolves. the sun dances only to drown into a landscape that never stops shooting upward. and whole mountains break and topple like warriors as the surface of the world sinks into the ocean. but
listen: i walked past your house last night.just to look inside and see how things had changed.just to see if i'd be angry at the way they'd torn that wall down orhow they'd covered our footsteps with carpet andmade everything a brand new color.just to see if there was something pretty in the wreckage. something shining like the truth we built from old wounds when we looked back on our scars and said, "I'm okay now."just to see if i was still alive in some way in some form that lit the world around me on fire and pushed our impermanence out of the window of a building a thousand storys high.just so i could look back on now and on yesterday and on every single day since you left and say,"I'm okay now."
but i didn't feel a thing.
i just lit another cigarette and tipped my hat to the mighty treesknowing one day they'd fall apart like everything elseand i can just blame it all on the shifting of the scenery.watching life dance and drown like the stars and let the roman mountains sink softly, violentlyback into the earth that birthed them.
because lately,everythings a cigarette. just lit one momentto never stop burning until somebody sometime decides to throw it down or just let it burn until there's nothing left to eat.and it just gives in.and i'm just giving in.
because when you've got so much riding on one thing and one day for no reason something or someone or nothing at all decides you can't have that one thing anymore and rips it away without warning or justificationyou don't have a thing to fall back on.
all you can do is tip your hat to the trees, paint the walls you haven't torn down yet, push your cigarette back into the earth and say,
"i'm okay now."____
What arms you’ve left let be laid down Pathetically. like the moments spent reaching Out for our dreams and our hopes and our arms weren’t half the length We needed. So we laid down effort in a casket of inadequacy And paid homage to a time where things seemed obtainable. Times where we would have been content to call the kids kings And the enemies irrelevant. Wielding our weapons in signs that said: “Fuck off! My words are sufficient! I can describe the way I feel without Crying or breaking down doors with an angry foot or sounding cliché or something like childish or--” Don’t call me pathetic! I am a hero here!
But I gave those signs to someone who gave me their razors in the hallway at break. And told me that nowadays they lived without fearing themselves for the first time in their lives. But I gave those signs to someone who couldn’t tell the difference between love and getting fucked over and over again until she was shown the way it feels to be respected. But I gave those signs to my mother without money and my little brother with his first broken heart and I gave my signs to my best friends with alcohol and cigarettes until my own little protest against life’s random disdain for humanity became my own little lack of light. And I had no concrete reason to stand in front of it’s double doors and it’s rich, brick façade and wave my fists in rejection anymore. Until I screamed “Oh, call me pathetic at least, you harlots! I have no home but here and I’m all worn out from fighting and helping fight! You’ve won! You’ve won! Now let go of me!”
And when I reached out for money life gave me nothing but a smile. And the ones I’d left were nowhere to be found and nowhere to be heard. I tell myself everyday that I can live without fearing myself but my mind keeps changing.
Please grant me the strength._____
The boy was talking at about the same pace as his footsteps, and with similar results. There was a girl on the other end, obviously. But she wasn’t doing much talking, at least not tonight. She just lay in her bed a million miles away and listened--hard, God knows why, to every little thing he said and didn’t say. “It’s just stupid, you know? People in my world…in our world…they don’t talk about things like that, not anymore…not about God or religion or purpose or anything even close to that. I want to make it happen again.” He cringed slightly, fumbling constantly for words to do thoughts justice and not sound arrogant. “For once somebody should just go out and confront it, I mean…just kick it in the teeth.” He waited for her to respond, knowing she wasn’t going to. “I read somewhere…I can’t remember where…Camus or something--it said what makes us human is rebellion. Not like stupid rebellion or anything political…but, we realize eventually that things are messed up, and we fight that…not to fix it, I don’t think…but to be happy. I want to be happy.” Another pause, he collected himself. “…I want to be human. And I don’t think people are human until they fight things…you know?“ He breathed out deep for the first time. “I’m sorry, I talk too much.”"

It Was Good To See You

My heart feels full when


  "Let me know if I can do anything to help!"
    "I came to see you."
      "I've missed you."

This Is Not A Reality

I hear their luring cooing, as persistent as sirens
but I resist it, its pitch and all of its temptations
for I cannot open my arms to them
they are firmly burdened
unwavering in all their fullness
I feel what I have gathered
in the worrisome way that if I were to loosen hold
and let them fall hard to the floor
the collision, despite its relief
would create such a violent thunderous clamor
I would subsequently remain forever deafened by its blow


I find such a tragic conundrum rather bittersweet
for my arms shall hold, and my ears drums shall hear
there is a price to pay for what you collect
and choose to hold so tightly to your chest
practically kept within it
I was conscious of this price


the same way jesus didn't have any of his own sin to die for

What I Should

"I told Doreen I would not go to the show or the luncheon or the film première, but 

that I would not go to Coney Island either, I would stay in bed. After Doreen left, I 

wondered why I couldn't go the whole way doing what I should any more. This made me 

sad and tired. Then I wondered why I couldn't go the whole way doing what I shouldn't, 

the way Doreen did, and this made me even sadder and more tired. "

Intuition

"Doreen had intuition. Everything she said was like a secret voice 

speaking straight out of my own bones."

Two Years Ago

"And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, 
you stop in shock at the words you utter—
they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble 
from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long."

Patience

""

Grass Valley

desolatedpast participle, past tense of des·o·late (Verb)

Verb:

Make (a place) bleakly and depressingly empty or bare. Make (someone) feel utterly wretched and unhappy.

des·o·late  (ds-lt, dz-) adj. 1. a. Devoid of inhabitants; deserted: "streets which were usually so thronged now grown desolate" (Daniel Defoe). b. Barren; lifeless: the rocky, desolate surface of the moon. 2. Rendered unfit for habitation or use: the desolate cities of war-torn Europe. 3. Dreary; dismal. 4. Bereft of friends or hope; sad and forlorn. See Synonyms at sad. tr.v. (-lt) des·o·lat·ed, des·o·lat·ing, des·o·lates 1. To rid or deprive of inhabitants. 2. To lay waste; devastate: "Here we have no wars to desolate our fields" 3. To forsake; abandon. 4. To make lonely, forlorn, or wretched.

Main Entry:	desolate  [adj. des-uh-lit; v.des-uh-leyt]  Show IPA
Part of Speech:	adjective
Definition:	unused, barren
Synonyms:	abandoned, bare, bleak, derelict, desert,destroyed, dreary, empty, forsaken,godforsaken, isolated, lonely, lonesome, lorn,ruined, solitary, unfrequented, uninhabited,unoccupied, vacant, waste

Notes:

lonely  adds to solitary a suggestion of longing for companionship, while lonesome  heightens the suggestion of sadness; forlorn  and desolate  are even more isolated and sad

   "A wanting to go Home, as if everything is over and you don't belong here any more."