almost one year later.

so, i've not been on this thing is so very long, but i've got some new and new-ish stuff i wanna make sure doesn't get destroyed permanently in case something were to ever happen to my computer.

i write a bit, and these are my most recent ones.  i kinda like 'em.

arms

my arms remain creased
in the shape of your bust
unwilling to forget how
it feels when you're within

i never knew it possible
to miss your breath
your fingers
your neck-
all of the things i may take
for granted-
so much
but from this moment forth
i shall cherish
every inch

babyboy

Beneath the semblance of bravery and buoyancy,

throbs a brilliant boy’s heart born to be bombarded by a barrage of bad dreams

and betrayal of babbling brethren.

Unable to ebb his stable brooding of bygone bothers and nearby banes

that clamber through his beguiled brain,

…yet still able to battle for a belief in beauty and benevolence.

You may doubt you have beheld his troubles,

But you bore into his baby blues day by day.

gates

and i'll never hesitate
to use the key that unlocks
between
my heart and my head
the bars of steel that so
comfortably confine
everything you never wanted to escape
from its fleshy fortress

love

love is a dangerous river to tread
its waters dark and deep
yet those who choose to tread with caution
find fruit so easy to reap

walk with heed round the shards of heart
strewn so loosely about
for if you fail to watch your step
you'll quickly be without

love is a mountain, tall and wide
the face a beautiful mess
choose carefully where you place your hand
or down you shall digress

with no sherpas we must scale
no packing mule or ass
carry your own baggage to the peak
good fortune you will amass

love is a flame whose beauty endangers
both skilled and unskilled hand
slowly it dances its wind-blown dance
your attention it does demand

the most tender touch or firmest fist
can silence its bright glow
yet who should soften the most powerful force
so that no emotion should flow?

love is the music to which all sing
writing the notes takes time
even when written, the song's hard to exhale
with intricate cadence and rhyme

yet no creature can do this verse justice
no matter how skillful the bird
the most beautiful song ever written
by its nature shall never be heard

map

i put you on a pedestal
but i think you fear the heights
i expressed to you what's in my heart
but i think you fear the depths

happiness is finding a medium
somewhere in between
grazing the clouds and
feeling the heat of the core

fear is not a roadmap
telling you left here, right there

yet you let it drive you
farther
farther
farther
away

medium

We meet again.

Well, it has been quite some time since I last sat down and really wrote something.  I hope I have amassed inspirational thoughts in my period away, and perhaps they shall come to me as I sit here.

I surprise myself when trying to think of big things that have happened in the past months and find my mind blank.  The most relevant thing on my mind here recently is the ending of the roller coaster of a relationship that ended a bit over a month ago.  It still feels like I'm on that carnival ride daily, and I just wish that feeling would finally stop.  It, amongst most things, is a work in progress.  Plus, I won't bore anyone with those details.

On to more pressing issues: I hope that the stupid, fat Americans can see right through everything that the Bush administration stands for.  I tried to warn everyone, but did anyone listen?  No.  Are people now scared shitless?  Um, I hope so.  Now, I completely understand that there will never be a perfect president (rather, ANOTHER perfect president after the resident Casanovas, JFK and Clinton), however, I don't understand why it seems we would rather have a president who lies and acts so wrecklessly above a president whose worst offense is having extra-marital affairs.  Are we THAT in denial about us being a moralistic nation?  Look, fellow americans, I hate to sound like I am complaining with how good we have it, but it's time we start either A.) pretending like we care enough about how right in the eye's of God we are and start helping other people (helping does not entail bombing or converting, btw) or B.) just admit that we're a fat, lazy nation which only gets riled up at the sound of gazillions of dollars being "wasted" on humanitarian projects like helping the homeless or feeding the poor or when something threatens our lovely christianity.  Though it would never happen, choice A would restore my faith in humanity (Americans, specifically, because most have lost much respect in my eyes).  In addition, B would never happen either (we're fat and lazy?!  never.), but at least then we would be less of a laughing stock around the globe. 

For the most part, I don't understand how hypocritical a people can be.  More importantly if that people can actually blind themselves enough to actually believe they are in the right.  And I am talking in every facet - economically, politically, ethically (morally, if you so choose), philanthropically.  People tend to just disgust me.  This might get me black-listed, but I won't neglect my right as a human to think freely and usually against the grain of the majority.  Of course I want to be able to live comfortably when I get to the age when that is attainable.  If anyone denies that, he is a liar.  However, I think that knowing the difference between comfort and excess is a lesson that was lost centuries ago.  Centuries ago, things were different.  Centuries ago, many of the people who complain of the immigrant problem were living in another country if not on a different continent.  Centuries ago, ancestors of those in power who vehemently oppose welfare may have been on the street in need of some change or warmth.  Centuries ago, reverends' families may have been praying in a synagogue or nowhere at all.  So many people seemed to have lost the wonderful abilities of their imaginations and with it went compassion and empathy.  Yes, my heart bleeds, which may be considered extreme; but to have a heart that does not momentarily melt  or a pulse that does not pause, if only for a second, when passing a homeless woman on the street or watching terrors in other nation unfold is repulsive.

Our government has become a juggernaut force in which understanding and nobility have altogether disappeared, yet we continue to feed it as it threatens us with talk of terrorists encroaching on our liberty and freedom which we have unknowingly forefeited long ago.  We are now sanctioning the discrimination of a whole group of people based (loosely) on the (alleged) actions of an extremely radical group.  To live with brown skin is to live in fear, in white, behind a mask.  To practice one religion is wrong, another is right.  To speak out is criminal, to keep quiet is patriotic.

People we chose are responsible for these atrocities.  The wool has been pulled over our collective eyes long enough.  I hate to think what is next in the sequence.  We now have enough fear mongering to basically only practice one religion (well, at least one religion that we SHOULDN'T practice), soon we will not be allowed to love who our hearts lead us to, so what's next?  People are afraid to ask that question.  Any question for that matter.  Until we learn the message that Larry Flynn (ha!) tried to teach us, we will never gain the power of the people back.  And on that day, nobody wins.

So, it's been a really long week, and now I'm up thinking and therefore I wrote a little something.

I am no poet, by any means, but I like to share whatever words I do transcribe for the sake of sharing.

Mistaken Mirror

I sit and watch the world below though
my window's cracked and dingy
the outside world dark and dangerous
its destruction visible for miles
beauty joins the sun while
gray clouds conquer the once pristine sky
pain, embarassement, and mistakes
litter the down-trodden pavement
that has been walked on for years
yet never once been repaired
a skeleton crowds one street curner
as another huddles in a vertex
intricately woven spiderwebs
decorate and dance in the barren roads
no people to sweep the streets
nor brighten this dreary scene
why would anyone desire to
inhabit such an ugly place?
as I ponder, I notice
the missing sill, the lack of pane
my outside world
so broken
so jeded
has always been me.


just like all things, it's a work in progress.

my words are inflated and meaningless
and yours are the needles necessary
to deflate me.



goodnight and good luck.

So, I have been studying for organic for a while, and I thought that merited me a study break.  (Totally lying- I haven't really been studying all that long.)

However, I am writing anyways.

College causes so much.  I hope that one of the main things collegiate life should do to someone is challenge everything they've thought of up to that point.  I think college is a great time for us to question what we've always just considered inherent.  Whether it is a prejudice, a political view, a religious one, etc.  I have always thought that I grew up a little faster than my peers, and I do believe this was caused by me questioning everything before everyone else.  I can say that years later, I still do not have my answers.  I would think that I never really possessed any sort of prejudice towards any other race or culture.  Much to the dismay of my father; I'm sure.  Not to say that he necessarily enjoys being so condescending towards others who are different, but I imagine that I would be upset if my kid were racist.  So, maybe that's kind of one of those same-but-opposite situations.  Whatev.  Politically... eh, I think my mom a libertarian of sorts.  She grew up fairly wealthy (albeit on a farm), but it was a very conservative environment.  I think the main difference between my parents is what they feel socially.  I think mom might have opened her eyes (or had them torn open) by being in college.  Dad didn't have the luxury of being able to go to college even if he had really wanted to go.  Regardless, it is our pasts that mold our minds and assumed motives behind people's actions.  If you know me or have read any posts in the post (stalkers!), you know that I have struggled with religion for quite some time.  I grew up Catholic, blah blah blah...  With time, I really came to question what I was believing in.  And why.  Like I said, I still don't have the answers but my opinions have become slightly less radical, and while I never cursed the name of god, I felt like I could never have a relationship with something so strange, so physically not there.

I guess I write these things over and over to be able to come back and read them to see what it is I actually feel and if those feelings change, what causes these changes.  I was reading some stupid bulletin on myspace, and there was a do you believe section.  Let me first say that these bulletins usually are not thought-provoking to me, so don't judge!  Moving on, there was a question of whether or not you believe in Heaven and Hell (I capitalize only for the biblical significance, not necessarily because I do believe).  And sadly, this got me thinking.  I guess I cannot really hope for a utopian after-life since I don't really believe in this after-life.  For all we know, this is already Heaven.  (Mind-blowing thoughts, I know.)  Some people might consider this a Hell, but who's to say that we haven't already passed on from something much worse.  I know this life can be really trying.  I know that I have personally wanted to test my beliefs more than once with a bottle of pills or a sharp object.  Bottom line: I don't really think that there is an after-life.  I hope we come back as another life.  Perhaps every single unit of life that coexists on this planet has been here since that infamous Big Bang.  Maybe each of us, at our very core, is millions of years old.  I don't think I'm saying anything new here, but I guess the conclusion I came to tonight was that I hope that for the people who believe in it, a Heaven should exist.  I cannot imagine my grandpa who was such a good man to be anywhere else other than where he believed he would go.  Plus, it is kind of comforting to think of him as always looking down on me.  I miss him.

le sigh.

This week will be miserable beyond belief.

Monday: Organic Chemistry Quiz, Diversity Presentation all by myself
Tuesday: Pointless Physics lab
Wednesday: PSYC 306 and PSYC 304 tests, Organic Chemistry lab sucking time out of my schedule to study
Thursday: STUDY
Friday: Organic Chemistry test, PSYC 304 test

That's right- two tests in the same class in one week.

however-
Sunday-Thursday: CANCUN

So, I started to read the novel Wicked right before school started, and I try to read at least one chapter a day.  I couldn't really believe the pandemonium it caused, so I just had to read it.  The rave is totally worth it.  Before I go to bed, I want to share a couple paragraphs in this particular chapter.  They are as such:

Elphaba stood facing the fire, but turned her head on her shoulders to look long and unblinkingl at Galinda, who had not yet hopped down from the chair.  The Munchkinlander was in her nightgown, a drab sack without benefit of lace edging or piping.  The green face above the wheatgray fabric seemed almost to glow, and the glorious long straight black hair fell right over where her breasts should be if she would ever really reveal any evidence that she possessed them.  Elphaba looked like something between an animal and an Animal, like something more than life but not quite Life.  There was an expectancy but no intuition, was that it? - like a child who has never remembered having a dream being told to have sweet dreams.  You'd almost call it unrefined but not in a social sense - more in a sense of nature not having done its full job with Elphaba, not quite having managed to make her enough like herself.

I don't know particularly why that one passage stuck in my mind, but it really hits close to home on some levels.

"My father taught me a lot," Elphaba said slowly.  "He was very well educated indeed.  He taught me to read and write and think, and more.  But not enough.  I just think, like our teachers here, that if ministers are effective, they're good at asking questions to get you to think.  I don't think they're supposed to have the answers.  Not necessarily."

If you've read any of a number of past posts, you know that I lost my faith quite a few years ago.  It's an awful feeling when you question something that stood as such a pillar, such a support all your life.  Yet, when you question it, you wonder why you've never questioned it before.  Perhaps after asking yourself certain questions, your faith is reaffirmed.  For some, that is the outcome.  Yet, not everyone can have what so many consider faith.  Not everyone can put trust into something unseen and something so unprovable.  It's so hard to maintain any sense of individuality when verses and testaments and glorified stories are being shoved down your throat.  I am not some proponent of Gregory Maguire's novel, but I definitely think that if you have some time, an appreciation for well-written items, and any sort of imagination, this book is worth your time.

Sometimes, it takes so little to make us stop and think.