Why

Because all our insecurities came to the surface. Because we allowed our selves to get in the way of eachother.

Because we weren't strong enough.

HOSTAGE

Writing from 2005, about 2003

Would you believe it if We told you We were vampires once? Our hearts burned and beat faster once. Organs made a little more of crystal every time We fed ourselves. Would you believe it if I told you there was a time when the sun rose just to spite us? But soon enough We learned to exhale the same thick white matter, laugh, cocoon ourselves in the darkening brilliance of our minds. Vernal equinox, supervening on the cicerone of bathtub gin. We devised such brilliant plans to guard ourselves from the light.
Night was made of color and light once, the blackness only the backdrop. Armies of our shadows and the Blade Runner pace of neon lights and seas of lost, electric faces.
Our uncanny city became our new playground. Ascending dressed in dark, pariahs, if looks could kill you'd all be dead, and the most skillfully crafted masks you've ever seen. Capsized into idolatry, they became the lies that We believed.

The doors of perception to our world scattered in various hidden places. They are the lies that we believed. The city streets cracked as We trod, love lost to us in eternity but the heavens still sparkled with blue light and orange stars for as long as We remembered to look up. Being pressed farther toward the depths, to us heaven only looked larger.

Fantastical relics of what were once human bodies. What had We become? Metropolic arteries. Asylum stilettos of obliquity. We drew our nourishment from a different source and it showed in the glaze, the emptiness in the brightest of chemical fires in our eyes.

The shuddering facets of life shone like slices of a diamond for us. Fearful, brilliant, wracked, wrecked, wicked, enchanted, hysterical pieces of mortals.

We were never cold, We dreamt in colors no one else could see when We learned how to sleep. Dreamt in colors when We ran like the persecuted from the Arms of Morpheus.

With souls that never thought twice to look askance for something more (oh, we had everything), We continued rising onward and upward into deeper spheres, out of the planet’s clockwork towards the call of voices that stunk like death and vanilla and we followed like Jesus until long after the fruits of the Earth were of no use to us.

We forgot how to scream when We needed to the most.

The spell so entrancing, mistral alembic, We forgot how to breathe until Earthly things became of no use to us.

Glitter in eyes and cracks in hips that skewed our walk just the way We liked it, turning the pavement to sludge with our bodily frames that grew so unfathomably small that our desire to disappear lost its place to hide.

The spell, the night, the fire, the gods, the thirst, the heights, the clear lifeblood disguises We crafted so lovingly with every last drop of magenta consecration. All ravishingly masked, such beautiful lies and most  violent of secrets We died a thousand deaths to believe.

And dreamt in colors, only when we learned how to sleep.

All dreamt in colors we died a thousand deaths to believe. 

Poems in the Garden

I don't have my paints, so all I have are words.

A Haiku:

The green sits, stiller

than I. Calms what stirs in me

Give in to this law.

A poem, which I tried to turn into a sonnet, but rhyming, when it comes from me, makes every word sound so forced and formulated.

Green dusk still so, too, still but echoes of forces stir

Tear through the sacred silence but those sounds  cannot break this calm

This gift that comes from nowhere else

But a few moments of stillness

Even echoes of chaos contribute their perfect voices, perfection at no cost

And the massive blades hold fast against the exhale of the setting sun
And even the birds are not nervous

And even the clinking car heaves do not break this

Curved ones. Thin ones. 

Do not bough

But stand

Amidst all the sounds of human triviality

Stand and curve and grow in indifference but still pride

They are there when we need them, for a time

Show us their green give us their fruit

Unseen, unfathomable intimacy
 in the connection of branch to branch

Indifferent but giving

Most people don’t understand that

The Ontology of Criminology (thoughts while watching the crappy 24 Fitness TV)

I thought about this rough concept while I was watching the trashy crime news on the 24 Hour Fitness television with its crappy closed captioning:

The study of Criminology, social deviance, what does or not does constitute a crime, by legal as well as moral standards, is veritably the dark mirror for the society whose stipulates (both legal and moral) are being examined. A crime is what legal dictates have decided it is. A crime is also what collective consensus has deemed immoral and worth punishing – which has also become law. Therefore, everything that a society or a population deems as worthy of punishment = everything that it desires not want to allow into itself; everything that it chooses to identify itself against.

But whose decision is this, what “we” decide is our cultural/social identity? The media is biased, politics are corrupt, voters are in many circumstances uninformed. And we punish those who are other than what has been decided.

And, to support my point, which I read after the fact, here's a quote from the LA Times:

"Our treatment of prisoners, even the most dangerous and irredeemable, is a fundamental expression of American values."

...Or any society's values.

A Quote To Live By

"To burn always with this hard, gemlike flame, to maintain this ecstasy, is success in life."

- Walter Pater, The Renaissance

This is one of the best I've come upon in a long, long time. 

4:30 am couldn't sleep so went for a book & some red wine. Book was too good, now I'm just drunk at 6:30 am. 

I will most likely end up in an insane asylum. if things continue this way.