(ab)SOLUTIONS.

This year I joined the institution,
for I heard the priest could abSOLVE my past problems with his abSOLUTIONS.
No matter how awful, no matter my fault,
his left wrinkled hand could right all my wrongs.
No need for forgiveness, no need for remorse,
just step right in, fresh amnesia straight from the Source.

(rap)port

Sometimes I speak before I write, the tongue inside my mind- it's like a whip that lashes from side to side, and I grab it like a dogs tail- it turns around and bites. And words, they flow down like a river goes, into the ocean flow, but I ain't got no flow, I'm just a rowboat -I learned to row. For an artist is one who expresses themselves through the tongues of limbs, that sing hymns to the Divine within-- I wish I  were true to do, because I can paint, I can dance, I can sing, and rhyme lines in a minute.
A minute is all a man needs to sin it.... or win it?
Damned, you're in hell and you're gone, it's the bell, and then that is all. The coroner's delight and the emperor's fall. And we live to die but do we die to live? So does that mean that death is less than life or life is less than death? Should we live in regrets? But how do we know down which road time will go? And down which path regrets will follow? Snow falls and stars die while suns cry for clear skies. We need clouds to shade us from the ruthless truth. The truth that the light in our mind is a trick designed to shade the heart from a fight. Or from flight clipped by fright?  We pull feathers off of birds so we can fly and they're left to die.
We're just factors in a game of chess that He-who-is-at-rest plays during his free time. And as the moves go on we stop and think: one moment its mother's milk and the next is numbing drinks. It helps us sustain, get rid of the pain, and sometimes in vein you struggle to regain your sensations, though feigned. So prone to decay, you sleep as if died-- get mummified. Some think they're designed for us to find.
Is it what we find that make us, or do we make what we find? Is it our dreams that break us?--but when you break dreams, you become undefined.
Peek from outside the greenhouse, they look in.
You pray for warm days. I pray for thick skin.

forehead kiss

A spot, a pore in my fore-head is tingling and ringing and shooting shivers in me, sweat heady smoke and I melt into the floor and slip, gone to nevermore..

A royal darkness where I play the golden trim, and he spins a wreath around my head, a lovelorn scarlet sin. 

I feel way too much right now. shivering, tingling, numbing.. as though every inch of my skin were light up, each hair on end and skin crawling with the sensations of tender lips pressed up 'gainst my brow.. almost as though the goosebumps on my skin were reaching out, pushing to feel his touch again.

I've never met anybody like you before.

moment of nervousness.

tension in the air

     in faded breath
       and bated bliss

                 his head bowed down
                               her hand in hair
                                                                    .....it has come to this.



I want to speak heart-to-heart

but the shallow mouth-to-mouth words

build a wall in between us

and though we're nose-to-nose

it's so hard to see eye-to-eye

so we sit in silence, side-by-side....

Through the                                                             "how was your day,                                it was good" 's

             idle fingers weave bridges between lands that had once contoured each other,

                     every nook and cranny filled with                                             "i-don't-understand"'s

so that the interlocking fingers are locked and one can no longer enter..

we have nothing left to ponder-

                             we are fated to wander and in pretending, hope that we will somehow transcend this bitter end and win through,

                                                                                                                          as though it ever meant any less to lose...

shall unhappiness follow us, whatever we choose?

literotica

When all in deep sleep, the Word-Stealer sneaks
to prey on a man.
They think "lover",
but just fan..
Is there one who fights back?
or at least understands..
and her red-cherry tongue
lures in battles, not won,
but seduced by her raven-tress dress of slinky duress.
Men heave breaths in and out,
full of Death and quivering doubt as
their words disappear with a lingering caress
of the faint verbal touch
of a writer in lust.
With their foreheads aligned,
frontal lobes, intertwined,
they plunge into sleepy quenched sedation..... -She could move a nation.

With a twitch of her thigh,
you're bewitched, as her words
unravel your brain until you're tongue tied.

Her eyes
Danced
Like tears
from fingers

Throwing light
Slipping down
Out of sight.

balloons

I am but a balloon, yoked to a platoon
                  of fourscore more,
                           so I sit quiet, ignored.

I have wondered what it feels like
            to have something to lose,
                                                      staying close to the ground for a reason I choose.
                             For now I am tied down, my job: erase frowns (that's what they tell me).

                                                                                                            So I sway, day-by-day,
                                                                     because some divine finds me worthwhile
                                                    my "ultimate purpose" is but to bring a smile..
Yet I wish for something a little more,
   perhaps there's more magic left in store for me.
            Hoping for something beyond what I can be,
                                                                                and then maybe they'll see!
                                            That I'm more than this helium taxidermy.

Yet I am but a balloon, yoked to a platoon
                         of fourscore more,
                               and as I despair, I implore

                            "give me a purpose! a task that's difficult! something worth it!"

                                                                          but before I know, from down below, I am thrust upon a tear-filled child...
                                                   and I realize-

what a joy it is, to make a smile.

can't sleep

insomnia shakes my troubled mind..
a sneaky memory of your touch lingering, fingering
my hair and intertwined with the lines of my
hands and if I dream hard enough
can I call you to reality?

Constant vigilance from viscous eyes
watching for the end
of a lover's sigh.. but can
they ever really take that breath away?
It was never theirs to give in the first place...

Rocked to the rhythm of turmoil
and lullabied by the strain of serenity
that comes to mind when you're in
the forefront of the times..
you make me blind.

so why won't you let me close my eyes and call it a night?

unchangeably changing

The hapless remorse

of the child

who watched

the sun come up

and his breakfast get shot.

The timid hand

against a BIGGER man

who gives unjustified reasons

for the change of the seasons.

I got soul, but I'm not a soldier.

Another head aches, another heart breaks
I am so much older than I can take
And my affection, well it comes and goes
I need direction to perfection, no no no no 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XLByfMIGs7c

shining for shadows

the sun picks her weary spirit up in the mornings,
wintry cold, fire burned out
and shines half-heartedly to begin another day
wishing for another way
to be noticed.

They say she is everything, and everything is her
but she is granted as a fixture in necessities plight.
And because she still goes on to shine,
they curse her name for being too bright..

she wanted to be darker,
creep-sweeping and weeping..
cutting corners with edgy eyes
fulfilling nocturnal needings.
And for 40 days and 40 nights,
she was gone.

Gone, gone, cold to the core
shining weakly, yet still,
so they believe her restored..

They know better though. Shadows in the black
waver unstable with no light to combat.
Her shine trips over buildings to illuminate swarthy pockets held close to the walls
spaces for the demons to crawl..

so shine, they say
you'll never go out
light is mother of the night
and trust is the father of doubt
Stray Dogs need shade and sun all the same,

they'll remember your name.

I want to see Blue Valentine again...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mS9U75YC-jA

goodbye for now.. this is so hard..

one million shades of confusing, foggy gray.

Words! How do you dash unheeded past the fortification of my lips.. in my emptiness I produce empty words, empty looks, empty actions.

Why can't I talk to you? Why am I so afraid? What am I afraid of?

I'm afraid of you. I can't see you clearly. I realize.. you're expressing an idea that I cannot comprehend -
you love me?

What is love, and who is me?
And here I go again, ruining perfectly good things, and perfectly good people with my internal shitiness and inability to accept things. I'm pretty sure I yelled at you the other night. I don't want anything from anyone! I don't want it. I don't want. 
and maybe that's just it. Maybe I'm scared of desire, of wanting. Maybe its not that I've learned that the things I want are wrong. Maybe I've come to believe that wanting anything is wrong. Buddhism has taught me that much.

but desire defines who we are. Our likes, dislikes, our preferences colour our Self.

you asked me this morning.

I don't understand what I want.
I'm not happy here.
You asked me this morning.
And its hard.
I wish I could tell you that its hard.
but its something that I'm not even admitting to myself.

I guess since we've been doing this whole "affirmation" thing, I've been trying to not address, accept, put into words the problems that I have.

'I'm fine.'

I wasn't fine. I felt sick inside. Pasting sickly saccharine smiles all over my face for the sake of not worrying anybody else, much less myself. Worried about the obsessive gnawing of my mind.. overgrown with diseased sewer-rats.. I have so much fear. Mostly fear of my fear.

but its thoughts like this that catch my troubled head when you're away..

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mXEq7WiINa4

Everything looks perfect from far away.

nothingness

Nothingness twiddles its thumbs in space somewhere, sitting in front of an oak wooden desk and in an oak wooden chair, floating out in an endless galaxy of dust and crumbs on the black cloak of Grandfather Time.

Grandfather Time's milky way of a beard flowed through the dark with illumination..winding up to a pearly little crescent smile, shadow-casting mountains and valleys to eyes that glittered like stars. 

Nothingness often spent his days like this, verging on alacrity and teetering on indecision, struggling between his paradoxical existence which contained all which that is, and emptiness. 

filled to the brim with uncertainty...

and I feel it beginning to spill over.

I actually think I'm not okay right now. Something needs to change, and I'm not sure what.

Are these growing pains? Uncomfortable in the shift?

I am filled with greed - I want more, I want more, I want more. I want more from you..

You know, to be honest. I just want to be normal, in terms of us, I guess. I want to go out for a purpose, not steal moments to ourselves. I want there to be initiation and answer, not quiet assumption. I don't think I like this.
I'm not me, its not we, so I'm floating in this weird gray area in between. The lines are getting a little too blurred and I'm not sure if I'm treading water in the ocean or actually standing on shore. Where does the beach start and stop??

Really starting to take a toll on me. I don't like secrets anymore.

wotd: clinomania

I just want to be back in bed with you.


Morning-time. With sleepy awareness, I pull myself upright.. feet browsing for purchase on the cold ground.. but the blankets tug at my arms, reeling me back into your embrace.. Comforted by the comforter. Imagining your arms again around me.. drinking in the delicious scent of you as I nuzzle to find that spot in your chest I love so much.

We wake up in pain, nowadays. Dreams tinged by nightmares, flinching crimson-avoidance colouring what should be honest sunshine... One cannot help but turn inward, when unable to reach outward - is it me? Why does everybody want to hide me? Why the shame? Am I not worth the truth? Why must things be this way?
Why, why and why?

Always my love and desire is something to be ashamed of. Whether in terms of talent, material, relationship - I must constantly fight the idea that what I want is not okay. 
I must try my hardest not to believe it. That is not my voice.

I just want to sleep nowadays. Just sleep, dream, relax, and stay in that safety and comfort..

"to die, to sleep...to sleep, perchance to dream..."

abundance abundance abundance!

I ATTRACT HEALTH AND ABUNDANCE TO MY LIFE.

random shit.

A little drained.
The feeling of anger seeping from your body is likened to the last curl of vitality that gently tugs itself out of your lungs.. a little boy pulling at his blankie caught in the front door...

The masterful power rises inside me and animates my motionless body, the Geppetto splaying my fingers in unattractive formations to Dr. Frankenstein these ugly rearing feelings... they're alive!

Anxiety makes you sweat and fret like a big fuzzy Yeti clinging to your back. Does anyone notice the Yeti? Probably not. But you do. He's making you weak at the knees, dragging you down. what a burden of responsibility.
But maybe you need to work out some.


As she reached for the fizzy, sparkling glass of champagne, her hair fell forward to shade her eyes in beautiful golden waves, competing majesty with the sun. The line of her jaw sloped to smooth her sweeping neck, angled into sharp shoulders... you'd surely impale yourself on your own kindness, trying to reassure her.

politics nowadays

The prophylactic didactic, mind-virus thriller
It's his hand-will to spill,
but he ain't no killer- just a winner...
Of the bipartisan game.
Champion defender wielding truth to mangle and maim.

I said "Sorry..."

and somewhere in the dark recesses of my brain, I heard the smokey blue songs of a jazz singer lulling me to sleep.
 the tears stole out as quietly as a high school-er at 1 in the morning.. believing it would relieve some of the burdens, responsibilities, stress.
But you're just left with a tight face and dry mouth, baggy eyes and a swollen lip pout.

 And then I cried. It was like my whole being had been hurled off a waterfall- cool serenity eroding the way to a rushing, roiling mass of emotional turbulence. I couldn't remember my own words, much less remember where I was, and could barely even hear my own rambling thoughts over the waterworks.

 Afterwards I didn't feel anything.
                           
                                  Just tired as hell.

to be a real boy. (lets be gender-neutral with that word for a second, eh?)

Depression.
 
    It's funny, you know?
You'd expect it to sneak up on you, gliding along with its great swirling cloak of gloom, exhaling anesthesiatic breaths on unknowing suspects -poof- blowing plumes of despair in your face like a sarcastic, tooth-pick chewing asshole.

I mean, most of the time it is like that. But not always.
Sometimes it shows up waving and flapping its arms, screaming like a banshee and while you're all seized up from the shock (and ridiculousness) of it all, it punches you. Right in the gut.

Woosh.

Air slingshots out of your lungs, your stomach yearningly stretching to kiss your spine, and its not the pain, that draws your focus. Nah, you realize how motherfucking empty you are, like some monstrous over-animated Pinocchio of a blow up doll. I just wanted to be a real boy...

That's the thing about depression though.
There's nothing wrong with your life. Nothing at all.

But why the terrible empty hunger?

secrets

It is hard to live a reality
that may only remain a dream.
Whispers in the shadows,
blinding lights unseen
by sunlight. The originator
eclipsed by creator..... stormy rain check.

"Wait.

     Not now.



                    Later..."

TNK - Mary Ann Pietzker

“Is It True? Is It Necessary? Is It Kind?

Oh! Stay, dear child, one moment stay,

   Before a word you speak,

That can do harm in any way

   To the poor, or to the weak;

And never say of any one

   What you’d not have said of you,

Ere you ask yourself the question,

   ”Is the accusation true?”

And if ’tis true, for I suppose

   You would not tell a lie;

Before the failings you expose

   Of friend or enemy:

Yet even then be careful, very;

   Pause and your words well weigh,

And ask it it be necessary,

   What you’re about to say.

And should it necessary be,

   At least you deem it so,

Yet speak not unadvisedly

   Of friend or even foe,

Till in your secret soul you seek

   For some excuse to find;

And ere the thoughtless word you speak,

   Ask yourself, “Is it kind?”

When you have ask’d these questions three—

   True,—Necessary,—Kind,—

Ask’d them in all sincerity,

   I think that you will find,

It is not hardship to obey

   The command of our Blessed Lord,—

No ill of any man to say;

   No, not a single word.