sidenote: this is a blog entry of mine from today. instead of comments on my words, i ask that you offer me an entry from your journal or blog. or offer me some of your thoughts on your life as a woman or man or writer or lover or whomever/whatever you define yourself as.

give me a random memory. a vent. a confession. a snap shoot of your current life. anything of YOU. the rawest of you. please.

lets carry a conversation.

if you have a question about something below...ask.
----
06/28/04

loving jezebel.

i was once a fictional character. lost in the paragraph of someone's memoirs. willing to be a soft pause in any self titled artist's poem.

wanting to be molded into art. hoping they/he would be liberal with their shaping of my hips and sway back. give me more than god spared. make beautiful of me. so i could fit into my name.

the gold plated unfulfilled destiny that lie between my collar bone.

i was searching.

yearning to find inspiration in the creases of the lines in masculine palms. tracing my fingers across their life and love lines to leave evidence of my existence. i was most alive when i was in love. vibrant. the sun's light outlined my shadow. love was my life's silver lining.

and with the after sex scent sweated into pores of cotton sheets and cocoa buttered slightly perfect brown skin, i claimed my trophy.

triumphed with my hips. poured glasses of passion between my breasts so it could slide effortlessly down my stomach and into the cup of my womanhood.

my secret weapon i kept between pages of astrology books under my bed.

a water sign that never sweats. saving every drip for eager lovers to toss pennies in & make wishes.

my energy was godly. rise and fall of hips. making eyes moan. and teeth ache.

shape shifter i became in bedrooms.

my pupils enlarged so vain lovers could make love to their reflection. my breasts would swell to offer second wombs to oedipus rex's grandsons. my grip would tighten for napoleons' ego. my moans would become back up singers for musicians.

& they never understood why they needed me again. why their fingers dialed my number before they could realize who they were calling. they couldn'tdetected the taste of kava i dusted on my tongue. drunken village kings, i made them.

men who were superheros, or bore children, or snuck jesus bandaids in past lives.

men who wanted to save.

pisces just being pisces.

capicorns who lived for tradition.

taurus who got used to me in their habitual living.

sagittarius who made it their mission to change me.

they've become my chapbook of lovers. the glow in the dark cheap plastic stars i arranged (and rearranged) into the pattern of my sky.

i loved them.

loved how i loved them.

found life lessons tucked like lint in the mess of their hair.

found missing pieces of myself in them. behind their knee caps. along the arch of their feet. underneath their nail beds. on the fine hairs on the back of their necks.

"even a fool drops jewels." he once said.

and i am building an empire of their loose gems.

i'm a jezebel in queens clothing.

---
:: :: :: ::

I don't keep a blog but I'll drop something later.

from myspace:

Sunday, June 20, 2004

on blogs...

unwrapped gifts.

look twice,
think infinitely

in definite space
and rhyme


that one could sum up
the vast expanse

of confusion, complacence,
that is what we call

life.
as if friends were something to
be collected,

out of the reach
of the black hole
of time,
nothing is.





***********************************


i love you all

"when my love comes to see me it’s
just a little like music,a
little more like curving colour(say
orange)
against silence,or darkness…" -e.e. cummings


"we are accidents waiting to happen" -radiohead

"Poetry is a kind of distilled insinuation. It’s a way of expanding and talking around an idea or a question. Sometimes, more actually gets said through such a technique than a full frontal assault." -Yusef Komunyakaa

"The Black Artist's role in America is to aid in the destruction of America as he knows it. His role is to report and reflect so precisely the nature of the society, and of himself in that society, that other men will be moved by the exactness of his rendering and, if they are black men, grow strong through this moving, having seen their own strength, and weakness; and if they are white men, tremble, curse, and go mad, because they will be drenched with the filth of their evil."

-Amiri Baraka, from "State/meant" in the essay, "Home"

"My love is my soul's imagination. How do I love thee?...Imagine." -Saul Williams

there is this little gurl trapped, you see. afraid even to believe or find truth in people's eyes. she doesn't go searching for kind hearts, because as well all know, they don't exist. she believes that gospel will sicken the ears, that rap will coat the soul, and r&b is her saving grace... no love like hers will ever come along. no more twists of wonder. no more little dreams, specs of lite glimmering behind her left eye signaling her rite.

watch as she becomes the sad piece of shit that lives under your shoe. she'll shine only when needed. speak because life has told her to. and live because her heart will not stop beating.

i will remember her when i'm gone, perhaps one nite, i'll get brave enough to really end it all. perhaps one nite, i'll shove all the hurt and pain into someone else's heart and watch their mind explode. perhaps one nite, i'll *nod* in agreement with her, shed some skin, and walk on water... cuz i'm just that bad...

and then again

i've tried flying before

and i never land on my feet...


for those of us who are still learning how to love again. still feeling themselves hurt over and over and over. for those of us who will bad luck our way, because all of the good luck goes to those who don't deserve it...for those of us who believe suicide is the only way out, but are too afraid to choose it. for those of us who can jerk in their sleep and scare their best friends... for love.

for life.


for believing one day it will all get better...

for flying and never falling.


yeah, this one is for u.



















================
nothing. live
frugally on
©alice walker

we both know how much we hate for people to read beyond what we write...

for people question our words...

to impose their saving grace on our souls..

try to catch us as we free fall into darkness.

we both know how it makes our skin itch. our eyes roll.

but then again....if no one cared enough to try...then suicide letters would be easier to write.

right?


live.
---
:: :: :: ::

you know I recently found out something
my fam has a history of suicide on my dad's side
yeah...I've been through periods of it....mostly when I was younger
when I found that bit of info out...I no longer felt alone about it -
I realized it is cycle (in some ways) that is meant to be broken....
resolutely, I'm trying to not die from self inflicted heartache

I have almost done it twice & I'm ashamed I tried & even planned it
I'm trying to learn about reaching out & opening up so I don't fall so easily
nothing is so permanent here that requires my terminal end
that's what I've come to understand

although I advise others on why they shouldn't take their lives
it's easy to see from the outside & make sane judgements
harder to look inside and make the same assessment - no surprise
that's why I seek a mirror - a person who can see me as me - but not be me, so to pull me through
letting the troubles reflect and bounce out of me
someone who could take my vulnerability & not expose me to deceit; something true....

no time is wasted
trials are meant to educate you and free you
life is about change and challenge
life isn't static, all things change too
by wanting better, you can have/be/do better
plus you deserve all the rewards life has to offer
nothing less
acknowledging weakness
allows room for strength
thank you for holding me up, allowing me room to think.

"why do we have a war on terrorism? we need a war on apathy and ignorance." - maynard james keenan

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

¥Ŧ‡₪¢¤©ŘÐ

♀¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø¤º°`°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤♀

> I'm trying to learn about reaching out & opening up so I don't fall so easily

how quickly heart ache or failure can make imaginary shoe strings tangle themselves under your steps.

some how dying is always the answer.

the truth about me is, when i thought of dying i never realy wanted to die. never wanted to pass into the unknown, whether greeted by gates or nothing. all i wanted was to stop the world around me. my world around me. i wanted to almost die, so people around me would stop and realize how precious time was. how much they loved me and how little they had shown it.

it would be a punishment to them.

uh-- just to type that is ugly. and selfish.

i have never even swallowed more than 3 advils. never noticed the veins in my wrists. never tried to fall asleep in the tub.

but i thought about it.

today: i realized that i'm a big ass baby. and i need to grow up before i try and come close to dying..


---
:: :: :: ::

.
____________



"I'm nothing like me..." -KnowOne



"Did he ever say she was beautiful, or was intelligent, or was classy or was…just—-something like me. Ever? I will ask.

I will ask and then one day when I meet up with him I will kick him in the balls. So hard and so swift, just to hear that crushing sound of castration.

Maybe then I’ll be satisfied." -.

The avy: Maxwell, the impeccable.

so i was all into the twist and turns of this.

how you grabbed me and made me listen.

this reminded me of the moments when you're so hurt...eyes aching...spit spewing...and you just start talking..things you know you'll regret in a minute..but you still speak...not making a lot of sense to anyone outside of your mind...but you speaks truths in waves and it amazes you..like you've figured out life and love and god.

and you got the answers.

revelations lie on your lips.

my favorite part:
I am either completely the insane mad hatter, or the clueless Alice. Either way this is a wonderland that you can never get out of.

--Love—love, love love…

i can see the short film for this.

set up:

woman with runny eye makeup. sitting in her living room. pacing. sitting down. jumping up. pacing. tearing photos. pouring wine.

her lips never move. her acting is dependent all on her facial expressions. and there is a voice over of your words...so it could have an effect of her thoughts.

of course we'd have to throw in flashes of old samoan b&w village films...and little girls dressed like alice in wonderland...and people having orgasms.....just flashes of images.


awwwww....

this made a good breakfast, thanks.

---
:: :: :: ::

you make writing look SO EASY. i loved this


there are 3 and nothing to write home about. http://erase-this.diaryland.com/mark2day.html
http://erase-this.diaryland.com/likeaplate.html
http://erase-this.diaryland.com/chains.html

n/m

make being human even more beautiful.

sumtimes we cry for no reason.

e-motion.

it moves us before we can understand where its taking us.

cry on, lovely. and stop running.

---
:: :: :: ::

co-sign on everything pdp said.
Loni, there's beauty in what you've written in these entries, a lot of it.

soul.

A simple sentence says so much. For example, I could say "I love you" and wait for your response. Granted, I don't think I could ever love someone like you. (again) That's not the point. The point is how effective three simple words are.

I could say "I hate you" but you would know that I didn't mean it. (as much as I'd like to) There's no point in wasting your breath on meaningless sentences. I wasted a year's supply of oxygen just reminding you how much I (don't) love you.

I can't believe I wasted so much on a lie. Then again, I'm not the one who's living the lie. You lied to us all. You lied to yourself. You lied to me.

I hope he hurts you. I hope your heart shatters into a thousand pieces, and I hope that you're too busy crying to pick them up. I tried so hard to chase away your troubles. Your tears caused a chain reaction, and soon my river flowed into yours. Now I hope you drown.

As I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep
(because no one else deserves it...not even me)

u really should expand on this:

I hope he hurts you. I hope your heart shatters into a thousand pieces, and I hope that you're too busy crying to pick them up. I tried so hard to chase away your troubles. Your tears caused a chain reaction, and soon my river flowed into yours. Now I hope you drown.

because judging from the above lines... there is more there, and i... would love to see what else could unfold from it. i like the rawness of those very lines... u... damn near... hit the dog... get my drift?
















================
think i
just heard the
©mook (on the school of love)

i don't think i've ever seen so much of you.

of YOU.

and i feel closer. like we have a million conversations to have. war stories to share. pass advice in an empty beer bottle and never really take it. but live to appreciate the effort.

that was a great entry.

thank you.


---
:: :: :: ::

I cried when I read this.

...that entry mirrors my life...my most recent experience...identically. It's scary almost.

I felt the pain in each delicately placed word...in each sentence I felt the sting.

This part right here:

"Your tears caused a chain reaction, and soon my river flowed into yours. Now I hope you drown."

Speechless.

____________



"I'm nothing like me..." -KnowOne



"Did he ever say she was beautiful, or was intelligent, or was classy or was…just—-something like me. Ever? I will ask.

I will ask and then one day when I meet up with him I will kick him in the balls. So hard and so swift, just to hear that crushing sound of castration.

Maybe then I’ll be satisfied." -.

The avy: Maxwell, the impeccable.

of my current situation...blog entry 6/29/04

if i should get the notion/to jump into the ocean
ain't nobody's bizness if i do-billie holiday...

i thought about that movie-lady sings the blues-yesterday, walking along the streets of bedstuy. the scene where diana is begging bille d to let her stay on tour. "i can't go back now. if i go back now, they'll all laugh at me & think i'm a nobody..." that's the exact way i felt. i started to feel the tears flow but i only let my eyes get a little watery. i put myself in this situation & refuse to do nothing but rise...<em>but where i am gonna go? what is i gonna do? </em> billie had her man to protect & watch over her...who i got? who i got? nobody.

folks are waiting; watching in the corner-not praying but waiting...fuckers!

i'm trying this independent thinking-it all started w/the hair & now has taken on a life of it's own-(i.e. not consulting a soul) & i've gone to far...i know what i want to happen but unsure of how to make it happen. i got dreams & goals, needs & wants but i also got my ways that ain't getting me no where...

i know now some shit's getting old. i need new friends. i need my affordable, dream apartment. i need/want a man. i want a career. i-ching...i-ching...i-ching!!!

but hey...it is what it is...

that is my motto.

and maybe thats why i am always in a state of limbo...

i take the passive route towards making shit definite.

but i feel you.

and yes....i am looking at my hair and wondering...where did all the boldness go when i shaved it off?

thanks for the look inwards.


---
:: :: :: ::

& i know i swept it up & put in the garbage...

i want my hair back...iono

I can’t write in straight lines on chalkboards.
I can’t walk in straight lines down sidewalks,
and somehow the anarchist gets shoved down my throat and I still make it to school on time.
I’m one of those radicals that gets jipped into following the rules. And who’s fault is it? Those stretching trees outside that taught me to be in awe of God.

I love the color orange and orange sherbet and orange sunshine and orange discussions with best friends who’ve briefly forgotten that I’m supposedly “mentally ill”. But, they don’t get that that thing that crawls up their nose and blows black nothings around their brain is the same depression that I’ve been whispering with for a year.

I love to love hard.

I love storytelling.
I don’t write as much about myself cause
I’m convinced that I know the rest of the people in my head better.

I love church.
But then
I walk outside and cuss out the d--- daffodils that get in my m----- f------ way.

But, I’m confused. why am I the embarrassed one? why am I ashamed? why am I left so damn humiliated? When HE’s the one who painted ME then ripped ME from his walls? and now, I can’t trust the world.

I’ve always been the shepard that loves onto brother, sister. been the well that carries mommy’s pain, backpacks daddy’s grief. been the catcher in the rye that ladles soup to the wandering. now, my soul sags.

I turned 16
3168 hours ago.
and I still don’t know who I am.

but honestly, i AM happy



soul.

who i was/am?

cause i missed the class.

but it seems like you know more than you think.

there were quite a fe quotables in your entry...

to the point where i didn't know where to stop highlighting to copy and paste.

so i'll just say...

who you described was beautiful.


---
:: :: :: ::

>was i supposed to find out at 16
>who i was/am?
>
>cause i missed the class.

*smile*
yeah, it was not to be said as though i think i should know...just stating that i sure don't.


>but it seems like you know more than you think.
>
>there were quite a fe quotables in your entry...
>
>to the point where i didn't know where to stop highlighting
>to copy and paste.
>
>so i'll just say...
>
>who you described was beautiful.

and to all of that, thankyou.



soul.

I meant to post this the same day you put it up, but things got hectic here at work. It's three entries...all from the same day, in decending order:

Entry #1


12:42 am June 29th, 2004
A couple of things that bring me peace...


1. My colleagues, associates and friends, making light of my current situation (a situation that will, more often than not, bring me tears and frustration) by giving me gag gifts that play off the inconsistencies and assumptions of people both directly and indirectly involved with this accident and its aftermath.

2. Learning to accept the fact that my real friends will be there for me no matter what.

3. This rendition of Bilal's "Call Me" (http://www.iambenjaminhughes.com/sounds/callme.wav). I tell you, every night since that accident...this song gets played at LEAST once before I go to sleep. It also lifts me up during the day when I'm feeling down.

Well, I've managed to dose off to sleep..just woke up to thor my dream. 8hakes off and goes back to sleep"


Leave a comment

Entry #2

04:55 pm June 28th, 2004
Physical Therapy, Day 1


I'm not a big fan of doctors, and am really not liking that I have to see one for something as simple as lower back pain, neck pain, or anything else resulting from this accident. Some of these aches and pains were already there, but are just moreso aggravated now because of this accident.

It took me the lengh of Marc Anthony's first single off of his new album, "Amar Sin Mentiras" to get to my physical therapists office from my own. Anyway, what should have been an easy walk left me slightly out of breath, with minor aches in my lower back, right knee and me feeling sticky with light sweat. Now...while I can attribute the knee pain to the accident and possibly the aches in my lower back to accident, the rest is just me being out of shape. *shrug*

I meet my therapist and she asks me to get in this gown and paper short. PAPER SHORTS! This ass won't fit in the standardized paper shorts she speaks of! That's like a really cruel freaking joke! So I politely say to her...I don't know about those shorts lady. I'm already questioning the gown (big boobs RULE...except in doctor's offices...and pretty little frilly lingerie stores), so the shorts would have been pushing it.

Anyway...after getting examined by the physical therapist, she tells me the doctor has ordered this medicine for my knees and leaves to do whatever. I think, "Greeeeeaaaaaattttt...what NEW pill do they want me to take now?!?". Upon her return, she comes back with these two little boxes with what looks like clamps on the end and then these pads that look like electrodes and all I'm thinking is, "What the hell kind of physical therapy is this?!? I hit my body not my head and I'm not nuts so what's up this electro shock shit!?!" Immediately I get apprehensive and tense. After I ask her what this stuff is, she tells me it's the medicine that the doctor ordered for me (yeah...previous thought is now repeating in my head A LOT). She then explains that this "therapy" is a process called iontophoresis. What it does is they put this topical steroid ointment on the affected area and then connect electrodes lower down the leg then connect them to these boxes so that it basically gets pushed into your skin. Did I mention I am really nervous at this point? She tells me it may sting a little bit, but other than that everything should be fine.

Then she gives me one of those hotel tabletop bells and tells me to use it if begins to get painful. For the most part, the "therapy" wasn't too bad...I sat there with patches on me for like 15-20 minutes. I actually took a light nap.

We finish for the day. I get one of those foam back thingies that you put on your chair, some roll on bengaylike thing, and another appt with the doctor to have my ankle looked at because it's acting funny (they think it's a light sprain) and have my shoulder looked at (since the doctor apparently didn't hear me when I told him last Thursday that I have limited movement in my right shoulder...) and will then have to schedule my therapy appt after that.

I'm really not liking this whole thing. I am quite nervous and not happy with the fact that I have to go through all of this. I think it's enough that God allowed me to live another day...so why go through all of this other stuff too? I just want all of this to be over...like NOW.

Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Random mp3s from a long time ago


Leave a comment

Entry #3

01:36 pm June 28th, 2004
Blocked...


Yup...that would be me.

I've only written two things since the accident two weeks ago. This post ... and a really crappy start to a poem where I tried to capture what I was feeling...

Didn't work.

*shrug*

Current Mood: sad
Current Music: Dawson's Creek Soundtrack (yeah...I Own It...and?)

OMG

i am so in debt to you for that file.

i'm on my 15th listen.

its whats stopping me from finishing this reply.

i'll be back with a response on your words.

---
:: :: :: ::

>OMG
>
>i am so in debt to you for that file.
>
>i'm on my 15th listen.
>
>its whats stopping me from finishing this reply.
>
>i'll be back with a response on your words.

I'm sayin!

I woke up that night not typin' right (of course, I didn't realize it til I copied it here...*shrug*)

your words are a mirror image of you.

which makes me smile.

cause i can see you saying them.

see your wit twinkle in your eyes while you mix comedy and saddness and ordinary all in one conversation.

take care of you.

and middle fingers to those co-workers.


---
:: :: :: ::

n/m

accident?

i'm glad you're all right. best wishes for quick healing :)

paperdoll- thx for sharing...journaling is such an underappreciated art...mine below
_______________________________________________________________
journal entry 6/27/04

music: Coltrane's Favorite Things
incense: nag champa
mood: nostalgia

i'd asked for a recipe 3 weeks ago.

somewhere between how dad was getting on, the backyard fence needing mending, the tomatoes needing tending and how hot it was in the south...we got on rice and stew or jollof rice w/steamed veggies and 3rd world ingredients that make 3rd world food taste divine. i miss my village...

corrected my pronounciation of certain spices...my grasp of my language is...slippin'...America's legacy...i digress

the politics of work had my day ending on a bleak note...mom's handwriting on the package cheered me up...she'd heard of email and used it frequently but always insisted on writing me...my appreciation knows no bounds...

included with the jollof rice recipe was old mail...
yellow post it: "these were sent to the house"
accoutrements of commercial living:
bills, invitations to sign up for a credit card,
student loans, courtesy b-day cards from insurance co. etc...
same shit, different toilet

another post it: "got this from walmart-I think it was mixed up
with my rolls of film"

opened package to see--

you

i've never been one for interruptions nor appreciated interruptions- invited or otherwise

but there it was: the blazing reality that we had happened
set out in chronological photographic evidence

as beautiful as ever; as mysterious as ever; as you as ever...

and as vividly as if it were 3 seconds ago, i tasted you...briefly, fleetingly...a smile curling the corners of my mouth...i remember

we'd held each other and laughed and we were a pair...weren't we?
new orleans: our playground and classroom; wandering Congo Square, walking along Bourbon, fuckling on my salvation army bed. i'd discoverd jazz, black n' white photography, gumbo, bayou politics,tangerines, pralines and second lining that summer...

things i'd always known but discovered again...it was always new orleans...and nigeria; funny how we found home in each other's embrace but were too stubborn to acknowledge it...

did we blame it on the stars? a pisces/aries cuspian w/ a taurus...or somesuch
as i said same shit, different toilet

it's raining outside

i looked...happy; fuck, I was happy...just wasn't man enough to know it or did I? memory is a funny thing, because somehow I'd forgotten just how much you made me FEEL. wonder what happened? snatches of time shared...damn photographs...was I too proud? we never had a harsh word...just cast apart on life's currents. what happened?

where are you now?

i really wouldn't mind being interrupted right now...

i wish you could interrupt me...again...

Kinda hungry now, i'll try out momma's recipe...

because with words like this, i would be there everyday waiting for it to be updated.

i listened to the link delrica gave in her post..the mp3 of call me...while reading this.

and it made your words dance.

so please...

hurry with that link.

---
:: :: :: ::

LOL...sorry i don't have a link but i scoped your blog and might join the blog wagon...i'm diggin' the thread

blessings

---
:: :: :: ::

this is where my comfort is. though it's uncomfortable for my loved ones to understand how or why i exist in this dark echo, this reoccuring space that can house my huge life and dreams of death...

i've awakened with partial eyes
squinting desperately, fitting
small bodies of thread
in the opening of my sight.
the heavy focus mirrors me
as night calls me child,
nursing me as if feedings
were the rememdy to darkness...

depression has built me this home where relationships with shadows are prevalent. i sleep beside a candle, so when the wick flickers, i think of eye lids blinking to show existence is seeing what produces tremble. a body of wax, scented in the debris of its own creation: my body, swathed in the moment of death-thoughts, bones protruding the soil layer of my skin--
is this the body others see?

I told them stories of women who walked on water holding fire in their hands. I painted pictures of moments that I had never lived yet remembered clearly. I have sex drenched waking dreams and spin my web around the clouds. I am one of us and not like us at all.
There is legend that surrounds the living; every place that we stand one where life has been given and taken away, where stories have been altered. We go on, hurried and resolute, refusing to acknowledge the distance that has been traversed. Everything is fleeting...I have come to accept this...life and love and beauty eaten away by each passing hour.
Now, I sit before the canvas and all that I can see is the blankness. Growing older and finally growing up has caused me to lose touch with the otherworld in which I once lived. I was an artist, a painter, a creator of things that would live beyond me and prove to the world that I had been here. Now, I am someone else completely and I wonder where I went in all of this. I try to find the precise moment when I morphed into this person that I don't recognize at all.
I am adrift in a sea of all of the women I have been.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

new aim suckas: afreemangie

myspace me: awriterneverdies@hotmail.com

I enjoyed reading all of these - all the different perspectives and the intensity, events and people and feelings and where everyone's head's at

paperdollpoet- through reading your first piece i identified but it made me realise how much i value the concrete?
my piece sprung from yours..


Pisces just being Pisces:::

Nothing makes sense on paper, or the telephone. Not the escapes, not the stub-armed man in the van offering me a much-needed lift home; legs dripping with orange streaks of antiseptic, suggestions of forced sex, blood and confusion; train stations at 4am, nor the stabbing supposedly standard pain of after-laser surgical procedures performed every day of the week except June. Definitely not hospitals, doctors, wards, gerrymandering, television and airports. Engaged signals, zebra crossings, Svalbard, moss, stain-removers.

Not moons in pisces, suns in pisces, venus in retrograde, not almost everything, really. Mercury in aries though, that I can see; the warrior in me. Never say never. Never deny me. Never lie to me. Never practice in the arts of deception or you’ll find yourself sad and lonely or at the least, without me.

No right and wrong. No memory. I might as well speak gobbledygook, treat it like a fairytale. Make it make sense by leaving everything that stirs my senses, my sensitivities, make it easy. Erase the clouds. A perfect day. No, I don’t remember the world at half past 11 on the summer day I was born, leaping out only a moment shy of a once every four year birthday; ”Pisces just being pisces” I guess.

No, I don’t know why he threatened to kill me, but people don’t make comments about having participated in torture nor their gang affiliations without some ulterior intent behind them do they? And it wasn’t only me. Do I have any friends left? What’s lacking? What’s been left behind.

No, 5,000 miles is no longer a simple slap in the face, a fact, I mean that’s all I ever really wanted to do to her. Not sit down for tea, not suffer pleasantries nor pass my ring across a table in a gesture of defeat by default; fed-up with those deaf ears, lies and civility. An emptied shell, a pretence of placation. No. That opened crater in my so-called sanity wasn’t an open invite for all and sundry.

Yes, I was naïve. Still am. I know you are but what am I? A long way to go and yet I was hoping for complete honesty, without really understanding how it all adds up. Lies and truths and meaning and action and ego and negativity and interactions and relationships; space and time, events in place and company kept, no and yes; ergo it’s so far far beyond me.
When you get high, how far from earth are you in all actuality?

“how many cabs in New York City
how many angels on a pin
how many notes on a saxophone
how many tears in a bottle of gin” ………………………………….(C-Paul Kelly “Careless”)

Yes.
Over my head though
It does feel good. Sometimes.

To know I’ve made it thus far, and there’s still a ground beneath me. To know care, know how he heals and holds me, even without knowing, needing to know. Now. It must be like the future. When they’re able to finally come above ground. Like drowning in rough seas, saying goodbye, then somehow rescued and coming through to consciousness, breathing that first longed for pure air… awakening.

I could have cared less
But then I’d have felt less
I guess
“Pisces just being pisces”
Never a dull moment - I’ll do me.

its an unhealthly habit that i live by.

like believing in soul mates and heaven.

but at least what i wrote gave some way to your writing.

ain't that what it's all about?

(gotta love a good "ain't" thrown up in a sentence to make you have to reread it over and over..cause it sounds off.)
---
:: :: :: ::

me either. i don't really believe in forcing astrology on people, even myself, but it seems i'm very much a pisces. the people who know know.
and the flow-off from yours was more or less tongue-in-cheek - didn't want you to think i was offended or anything. this thread is great..love what you've done with it!
bless

its amazing how quickly moments can pass.

how reality comes checking for tickets on the train headed towards 'what coulda been'.

& all you are clutching is lottery tickets that you spent your leftover pieces of soul on...out of hope & outta hope.

so you get ejected from your 'woulda been' seat, ala cartoon network style, back into the every day life that mirrors nothing like the one you planned for yourself.

but lei, what do you mean?

nothing and everything.

cause after second thoughts, i'm sure that is all that will be left.

i'm your route 72. long stretch of road that is reliable enough that you could close your eyes and auto-pilot your ass off and still be safe until you reach your exit.

this has all made me remember my second year at college.

thought i had enough to pussy power to control time with my thighs.

sheeeeeeeeeit.

love?

love was sitting in an crowded apartment in concord village, surrounded by concrete, playing video games of despair and failure.

i merely liked him...at first.

until i started to notice the red numbers on my alarm clock switch from 11:59 pm to 12:00 am and i could feel myself stop breathing. waiting. hoping. wishing that tonight there would be no other super pussies stopping his time.

i hate waiting.

hate havin to lock my pride in a child seat behind the driver's side as i sit anxious in the passenger seat, checking the vanity mirror for evidence of weakness.

see, he had the keys.

and many midnight came and went where i ran out of breath.

suffocated by my own mistakes of fallin without a written contract from someone stating they would be there to catch me.

"we don't need titles, right?"

and instead of noticing the blue's clues he painted on his cell phone ringing in the middle of sex, i mistaked it for art. for "yeah, he's with me tonight" haikus that i moaned into paper thin walls of college dorms.

but i set up this game that i couldn't finish.

tried to double dutch between love and fuck cause i couldn't handle long distance relationships.

but what does this mean, lei?

nothing and everything, in particular.

just the end results.

the missing train ticket.

the waiting at bus stops trying to remember what number bus you're supposed to get on to reach happiness. and hoping when it gets there you have exact change.

its finding happiness and redefining it.

its making morse codes of tongue clicks so someone will find you without you having to totally lose face in public.

its love. & the undefined emotion that follows the ending of it.

its reading astrology foot notes after you've chosen the wrong sign to stop at.

its the 'i should have known', 'what could have been', 'where would we be if' ...that stalks your inspiration to write.

don't ask me what i mean, cause i haven't figured out if i believe in lifetimes, soulmates, voodoo or bad luck yet.

tho, more accurately it is nothing OR everything.

no &'s.

i live in extremes.

and unfortunately my moments do too.

---
:: :: :: ::

daddyless.

i suppose that there's always gonna be a void in you if you're missing something deemed as essential. that is, if you recognize a functional, two-parent household as essential & you've only got one parent then there's gonna be a problem. i've never once thought of myself as incomplete, especially because i'm just 23 & haven't yet grown into full adulthood. i do, however, recognize that there are things that 2 uncles & a grandfather could never do for me that a father could/ should have. i'm most certain that i would be a different woman, less skeptical of men, more trusting of romantic relationships had i seen my parents' marriage "work out okay." instead, my model was my grandparents' marriage, which was very weird because my grandfather is, for all intents & purposes, the antithesis of who i always thought my grandmother should have married. but, then again in the 1950's two young black folks didn't necessarily marry for love. he had a high school diploma & a commercial driving license. she had a high school diploma & was of age to marry by her mother's standards. they wed, had some kids & together got enough money together to be the first black family on the block in a part of philly that was still considered the suburbs until about 1970. they raised their daughter & loved their sons. loved them too much. reaganomics + 3 grandkids + jilted daughter / immature sons = debt that lasts even today. when my grandmother died, i'm most certain she'd already realized that everyone would have to stay afloat without her, since we were pretty much sinking independent of her efforts. my grandfather still had plans to move to that bigger house in cinnaminson . . . but when he wouldn't sell to a bldg contractor, all of a sudden the place burned to the ground. he felt like he'd failed us. he doesn't know it but i saw the ashen tear tracks on his cheeks, whether he cried or not. he couldn't even afford a headstone for her. he's paying his sister back with bitterly earned dollars & cents . . . while she's sitting on a big bank.

i've never seen a marriage that functioned properly.

i still have a fear of marriage because i'll never be guaranteed that we'll be able to build on our momentum. i'm never gonna understand how anyone keeps their head together, let alone a family together when babylon crumbles about them.

i'm going to love & marry. i'm going to have babies & a partner. but i know i was thisclose to becoming my mother once, almost exactly. & even @ the prospect of motherhood, i refused to marry him. i was told i was anti-man, a reactionary feminist & that i was being absurd.

but when you wake up one day & realize you've attached yourself to the ineptitude of the same man who abandoned you, what are you supposed to do?


. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
is where it gets complicated


okayquotes for the oh-fore:

it's okay. pussy is good for you. © brainchild

brrrrrring . . . dadadada! jeeeZUS! © karas

your words are so pratical.

soaked in logic.

its admiring.


---
:: :: :: ::

i want a ready made man
2004-05-27 @ 10:59 a.m.

one whom i don't have to reynolds' wrap and pre-cook or "nuke" in the microwave before tasting his goodness. i can't afford to waste time anymore. life is too... short, but far too long to spend it alone. i'm not saying he's not a ready made man, i don't know enough to say that he is or he isn't. i'm just saying... that's what i want, and any games leading me to think otherwise, will be over instantaneously.


i

don't

tolerate

the bull's

shit...


please trust me on those lines. i think my thing is i can't settle if i don't feel like settling should take place. meaning. if one is not worthy, i damn sure won't stay. i've become quite clever at running away/leaving people... it's a free feeling. a little too free sometimes, but... i can honestly say, i've never had a problem ending something before it started, leaving without closure, or ending it when things were too heavy... having it done to you is when u really begin to see clearly. *nods* yep...

"but you're too much for the men here. everything about you, from the way you talk, to you just being you, tre."---mook. maybe i am. and maybe i'm not. who knows... who cares, really? it's... just a matter of time. which i have a lot of. i want a ready made man. i'm so tired of cooking people just so they'll be done... ya dig?


















================
think i
just heard the
©mook (on the school of love)

probably "ready-made man" is too, but thanks mindful, that's a cool read.

taking my own advice
05.17.2004 . 10:45 a.m.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i figured it out.

i've been wanting to find someplace i could fall, let the tantrum just happen. but i kept pushing the tide back, hoping my paper mache dam would just keep it all at bay. of course, things didn't work that way. and i wound up trembling and sobbing sunday morning after a series of disappointments that, on any other day, just would have annoyed the hell out of me.

instead i fell apart.

i'm still not at full strength. ...tears would come easily. i don't want to undress in class at all*...i feel like an open wound emotionally...i'm drained in many ways.

i have to remind myself that it's ok for me to hurt sometimes, that if i have to cry for (what seems like) no reason, then do it.

whenever things like that come up, i berate myself. i don't give way to my sensitivity--a long time ago, i began to consider it a weakness that allowed people to take advantage of me. so i conceal it, like a blemish.

i will not acknowledge issue triggers if i've decided the issues triggered are not worth revisiting.

i am afraid of stepping over that boundary that separates sanity from insanity. i always have been. i feel odd enough without having my emotions and memories threaten me with it.

i refuse to let myself feel anything that, even for a second, makes me consider going back to anything resembling a therapist's office. and it's not even out of some stigma or embarrassment....it's more like not wanting to revisit the experience, allow someone to come in on such technical terms.

as open as i am, there are many doors on my soul that say, "keep out: private". more than even i realize at times.

so i have to make time to come unglued.

~~~
*it's massage therapy, so most times we do bodywork undressed & draped with sheets.

penciling in a breakdown in our to-do list.

there never is a good enough time.

its the element of suprise that makes the wash of emotional garbage feel refreshing.

i hope since may, you've cried enough to dehydrate by now.

cause it sounds like you need it.

miss you.
---
:: :: :: ::

poured out the mississippi by now. but all i've come up with is a lake...it's a process.

don't even get me started on "love"...

but ur entry reaffirms why i can not speak to u in years and still not feel the distance when i catch up to you again.

we have a lot in common.

miss u back. :)

...i measure friendship.

real friendship never misses a beat.

thats why when i see your screen name i lighten up inside and remember 'one monkey don't stop no show'....

life long, my friend, life. long.

and this i know.
---
:: :: :: ::

...and that is a beautiful picture in ur avatar.

i still owe ant some video game ass kickin' too. i ain't finished w/ him.

This is my post on Honeychile for today...

Tears.

I don't have any. At least not now. Not today. I have not one precious drop of salty sadness to release for him. For us. For 10 years of off and on. Back and forth. Love and hate.

I don't know what I feel cuz see I've known for a year. I've known that he was never going to straighten up and fly right. I've known each time he's lied. Each time we've fought. At first we would clash bitterly because my heart was so full of love I would go crazy when I felt rejected or disrespected. As of late I have cool indifference for his slights. I find myself singing 99 Problems...and he's the bitch. The one I don't consume myself worrying over anymore because it's a lost cause. I don't call. Or email. Or wonder after him most of the day. He's gonna do him regardless. I can't hold his heart. Or his dick.

Well gotdammitgirl. If I don't care, why do I continue to keep him around even on the most basic level? Why do I spend even 10 minutes a day thinking about him and refusing to be free? I sincerely don't know.

Maybe I'm afraid. Afraid of losing our bits and pieces of happiness I've formed slowly over the years into a makeshift quilt to cover me when I am at my lowest. Perhaps I'll be naked without it. So naked I won't be able to hide. I won't have any protection. I won't have a "Plan B." Nothing to count on. Cuz as sure as today is Friday, I can count on the fact he is around. Even if he's not about shit. He's around. Even if we are fighting. Even if he's ignoring me or giving me the "Ihateyourfuckingguts" look. He's around.

Fucking pathetic is what it is.

I'm not getting any younger. Any thinner. Any more attractive. Nor any wiser when I just sit in the mess I've made instead of getting up and moving on. Scared of what might happen if I was completely alone. I've divorced...Why can't I leave this man?

Sometimes I question myself. My mind. I can't possibly be right. To let him continually run me into the ground. To have let him know my every thought and feeling only to turn it on me while I act as if nothing happened? Why try to pretend we could work things out when I know him like the back of my hand?

I'm a fool. And that shit hurts.





It is very nearly impossible . . . to become an educated person in a country so distrustful of the independent mind. James Baldwin

pride don't fail me now.



---
:: :: :: ::

"only a fool would look at the finger that is pointed to the sky." - amelie

this was ill.
manipulation in it's fullest sense.
eerie yet beautiful
i understand the concept of making love an existance.
i am relating to only being happy when in love...




-Stephani
www.webspawner.com/users/delicateaurasoul/index.html

www.3kingsmusic.com < for spiritual hiphop
www.enneagraminstitute.com < for self-analysis
www.poetry.com < for haiku's/poetry contest, to copywrite your poems
www.hiphopinfinity.com < an awesome ughh site
I'm a H.E.R.B.
Holotyped Existance
Rhetoric Bound

You have the strength of Beowulf but cripple it because of your affinity for the monster
You have been sustaining yourself on the gruel of self-destruction for so long your stomach rejects the ambrosia of life
While the hero of your mind stands by without action while the monster of your emotions sever friendship like arteries under the knife~PG

"fingertips of sun
trace the edges of this room
I turn my face so
your leaving does not eclipse
your kiss on back of my neck"~Ambergirl

someday I won't have to tell myself the obvious
or pretend to be oblivious
~Robynwildchild

"pain is usually the source of my work. the way i have dealt with mental adversity is by embracing it, and allowing certain ideals to wash over my consciousness so that i could purge my pain."-tek

The new me is like: A woman killed in ruffles; falling to the ground with her hair spread out; her wrist secreting ambiant neon blood
Juggling the moon and stars in palms; with the flecks in the eyes turning globes confetti like yearns of non-existant love...
Running in barefoot brooks; with the moon arching its reflection up the aching backs where he holds onto my hips and sways me
my dreams are:
Renewing again amoungst the mating mossrocks stay satiated coining a pith in a breathy palms; so so sappy drenching dreary destiny to bloody toned walls
my heart calls: callused and waving kites colors hues meshing, please feel me- I'm so-so soft- scratching like cat napes, round and female with sun-dresses blowing passion.. kiss the wind swiveling tears on cheeks, the light beams behind my curls, I pose and bleeeeeeed with pain on my sleeve...
engulf: anger,sadness, happiness changing to squared rolling wheels, penetrate the projections of emotional mattresses... I feel open.. constantly.. dream of my transparent body unzipping my skin and stepping out of me.. and I run to cotton-candy padded fields and glow with bliss, and he will wait with his arms open- like that of jesus and view me- patiently...cuz he knows I tripped on my way there and I'm all bruised... ~ me

and i don't blame you for only seeing that one side.

cause it might be hard to imagine:

boy meets girl.

boy is attracted to said girl, sexually.

his motive is to sleep with her.

her motive is to make him fall in love.

they fk.

he calls again and again, wants to lock her down.

she doesn't feel used up.

both parties have exchanged something for something.

---
:: :: :: ::

"only a fool would look at the finger that is pointed to the sky." - amelie

thanks for the explanation
it's so much more clearer to me now...
you're right, i was being one-sided

much enjoyed
can relate in many ways.


-Stephani
www.webspawner.com/users/delicateaurasoul/index.html

www.3kingsmusic.com < for spiritual hiphop
www.enneagraminstitute.com < for self-analysis
www.poetry.com < for haiku's/poetry contest, to copywrite your poems
www.hiphopinfinity.com < an awesome ughh site
I'm a H.E.R.B.
Holotyped Existance
Rhetoric Bound

You have the strength of Beowulf but cripple it because of your affinity for the monster
You have been sustaining yourself on the gruel of self-destruction for so long your stomach rejects the ambrosia of life
While the hero of your mind stands by without action while the monster of your emotions sever friendship like arteries under the knife~PG

"fingertips of sun
trace the edges of this room
I turn my face so
your leaving does not eclipse
your kiss on back of my neck"~Ambergirl

someday I won't have to tell myself the obvious
or pretend to be oblivious
~Robynwildchild

"pain is usually the source of my work. the way i have dealt with mental adversity is by embracing it, and allowing certain ideals to wash over my consciousness so that i could purge my pain."-tek

The new me is like: A woman killed in ruffles; falling to the ground with her hair spread out; her wrist secreting ambiant neon blood
Juggling the moon and stars in palms; with the flecks in the eyes turning globes confetti like yearns of non-existant love...
Running in barefoot brooks; with the moon arching its reflection up the aching backs where he holds onto my hips and sways me
my dreams are:
Renewing again amoungst the mating mossrocks stay satiated coining a pith in a breathy palms; so so sappy drenching dreary destiny to bloody toned walls
my heart calls: callused and waving kites colors hues meshing, please feel me- I'm so-so soft- scratching like cat napes, round and female with sun-dresses blowing passion.. kiss the wind swiveling tears on cheeks, the light beams behind my curls, I pose and bleeeeeeed with pain on my sleeve...
engulf: anger,sadness, happiness changing to squared rolling wheels, penetrate the projections of emotional mattresses... I feel open.. constantly.. dream of my transparent body unzipping my skin and stepping out of me.. and I run to cotton-candy padded fields and glow with bliss, and he will wait with his arms open- like that of jesus and view me- patiently...cuz he knows I tripped on my way there and I'm all bruised... ~ me

am i overreacting? probably, but you be the judge...

so last week at work (i work at a blues club and restaurant that shall remain nameless unless you ask me personally) , a contracted painter came in and painted a dope picture of Robert Johnson, King of the Delta Blues on one of our walls. if you have even a marginal interest in the blues (like i did obsessively when i was, like, 16), you'd recognize the guy. at the very least, it was a cool old-school portrait of a bluesman, cigarette dangling from lips, clutching his guitar like he sold his soul for it (or maybe that's just me). it was in blues and greens and people who came in to look at the club were quickly snapping shots of it. why? because it was well done, and added something extra to the club that separated us from say, Applebee's or TGI Fridays or some such shit.

i walk into work this morning and it had been painted over.

when i asked why, i was told that one of the members of management "thought it looked like Wesley Snipes". the levels of the ignorance of that statement made me livid on levels heretofore unheard of. it's the subtleties of racism that slap you on the face the hardest, i guess. and i am constantly amazed at how people assume that because i have baby blues and sandy blondeness, that i share their antiquated views and that i'll chuckle and say something about "those wacky coloreds".

now i could go into a diatribe about how there's very little blues in this blues club, and how the little bit that i've seen is um, a bit...whitewashed...

i think they're scared of real blues. or excuse me, i should say, blues music performed by black people.
the only black performers i've seen in here are churning out generic "r and b" that's wholly unoffensive to anyone except people who like good music.

meanwhile, let's book another "alt-rock" night! now THAT'S entertainment!

thats bullshit.
i haven't even seen the painting, and i wish it could've stayed.
sucks, man, i'm sorry for the surrounding ignorance.


soul.

without complications..so right now im tryin..to envision ur words Jonathan right now im covered in invisible kisses that u say, ur giving as we speak..u say don’t expect me to treat u like the other guys do (I remember the lyrics to this song) it’s a strum on my beat of life, which seems to be repetitive. Im not lyin when Im sayin im diggin u, but this way of meetin is odd for me..the net..Ive seen ur face but u havent seen mine or taken a walk with u…u say I inspire u & minister to u as of late u've been doin the same..im tryin to trust u but im tryin to fill holes in ur plot..u say call but never answer, im cool with that cause im not thirsty, but what if I am its not necessary that I get my fill from u, can I?

Just maybe if I spend a day or two with u, I will know better..

would we know what to do with it?

thank you for giving me a true insight without being coded.

i've been there. and married him. so if you need to talk bout it...i'm open for conversation. :-)


---
:: :: :: ::

"only a fool would look at the finger that is pointed to the sky." - amelie

its a beginnin of something
that has space involved
where i just wanna consume the things he says & be ok with it..no doubtin involve...too much energy spent thinkin about is he for real instead of lettin him be..so many intangible things that i want..

What’s on my mind at the moment…

I yearn to give too much, or be accepted. Or be good enough so that y’all can say you felt it. What I do, what I bring, what I write, to be above the rest. To have a certain height of speciality that’ll separate me. Not sure what drives this urge to be the best, but I know it’ll kill me with expectancy. I want to be noticed, to be the one you hold as, phenomenal…woman, what Maya told me in her bird cage of solemnity, songs that were sung out in looong stanzas and mantras of what I’m trying to be. Phenomenal woman? Is that me? Can’t even get a muthafuckin job to pay my cell phone bill, that’s reality. Can’t even look at my mom without thinking my birth was the defect causing her to be ill, my mortality. Looking at days that are drawn out drunk with memory. Heart is confused with the ‘I just don’t know what to do’s’ that fuckin annoy me, so I’ll ignore me.

*pushin ctrl, atl*
*delete*
*delete*

Damn….nothing ever works for or against me.

Time slippin…
Time tickin…
Madness…it’s all insanity coming to…
I don’t even know…I’m neurotic to the brim.

Shivering: I hate to log onto this place. Because sometimes I feel like some of y’all just don’t receive me, or understand me, or don’t bother to check for me. I don’t wanna seem ungrateful, but sometimes I wonder why I’m even here if y’all can’t even see me.

It used to be a place where I could be near…him. I suppose, close to him. Somehow in the distance that separates us. And I feel like the idiot still holding onto feelings that he threw away so easily…so easily…

He said he loved me.

Bullshit.

Love doesn’t dissipate in a couple of days…
Or melt off your heart when her jazzy fat nastee tunes are played…

Played…staged, I’ve been duped.
For a crooner that sooner than quick replaced me and your
Passion fix…
Her voice and her face is the taste that makes you lick your lips.

I used to do that shit.

And you know it.
You loved it…relished in it. Still hear your moans and groans at 4am…weeknights.
Weekends were more in the morning time 7 or 8.
For goodness sake you could talk mounds of dirty things to me.
Just for a good nut.

*sigh* I think I miss our phone fucks…more than I miss you.

________________

"I created hurtful in a matter on seconds that fly…
I never saw the futile.
But it curled right up to me and kissed my destiny,
Waiting, lurking in provisions promises…
Ready to erase me and my addiction to diction…
Reality only here when it’s missing…"
-Revolt

but you're holding yourself down.

your strength will come when you believe that your words don't need validation.

point blank.

writing without apologies. for no one other than yourself.

i think your a wondeful writer. your style reminds me of a freestyle battle between mind and soul. thats an amazing thing to witness.

don't second guess who you are. enough people will do that for you. just fkin write your heart out. on paper you rule the world without anyone appointing you the position.

and you want a small piece of truth?
maya's work ain't even my favorite. not even in my top 5.

does that make her any less of a woman? or poet?

think she's worried bout my stankin ass?

no.

see?

its not about me. or them. or her. or him. or shem. or tea in china.

its about you.

---
:: :: :: ::

"only a fool would look at the finger that is pointed to the sky." - amelie

if you happen to pick this train of thought up
and read the words going from my mind to hand to screen
well, then...
ain't that your luck.

frankly, right now, at this moment
i'm tired
i'm tired of being so damn sensitive about this...
about this r e l a t i o n s h i p
this thing we have going between us
held up by two damn telephone lines
and 'i miss yous' and 'i love yous'
that seem to grasp at straws!

dammit! i want to break every karmic law
and claim time and space as my own
have you here with me or just nearer to me
to work on this thing called us

no, scratch that.

i want you to work on you with me
(bitchy, huh?)
yes, this is about what i want
(petulant, eh?)
and i can only thank GOD that you don't use that lame line,
"baby are you pms'ing?"
'cause if you did...ooooooooooo, heaven help us!
i don't know if i could bite my tongue
(i'd probably gnaw right through and...
shit! i need the damn thing for tasting, eating and the like
no less for giving you a piece of my mind effectively:
aka T O N G U E L A S H I N G G A L O R E!)

well, that's what i want to say. that's what i sometimes want to let you know, but i don't. not like that at least. i care too much to hurt you like that. no, i respect you too much to make you feel small even though that's what my emotional state of feeling would prefer. it's hard to explain that to ppl... it's seems as if i am rolling over and letting you have your way...and really, i'm not 'cause that would mean i'm the only innocent...and i'm not. i have done my part to bring us to this point (initially, i think you came reluctantly) to become better individuals seeing our way through - and that always requires change and what person willingly accpets being changed by the relationship one finds oneself in? we are equal partners in this, and right now, this is just my moment to scream at you, to scream at the heavens, to scream at karma, to scream at patience, to scream at myself...for the struggle of belief in the unshakable fact that everything happens for a reason and everything works out as it's meant to. and although i believe, and i believe unquestionably, i am still human wracked by the most human quality of all - impatience. and i promise heaven, now that i've said my piece, i will be patient as long as it takes and give my grace to see this through.

>>this is just my moment to scream at you, to scream at the heavens, to scream at karma, to scream at patience, to scream at myself...for the struggle of belief in the unshakable fact that everything happens for a reason and everything works out as it's meant to. and although i believe, and i believe unquestionably, i am still human wracked by the most human quality of all - impatience. and i promise heaven, now that i've said my piece, i will be patient as long as it takes and give my grace to see this through.


i needed to highlight that whole section of thoughts. need to write it on loose leaf and tear it into small pieces..then sprinkle it in a hot bath..get in and SOAK IN IT. cause thats where i'm loving and living and stuck being and feeling like i'm outta breath with it. just when i thought my life was headed in the direction that i was willing it to go. just when i had something that looked like control. destiny, fate, transition and change come-a-knockin.

thanks.
---
:: :: :: ::

"only a fool would look at the finger that is pointed to the sky." - amelie

n/m

if so, i'm in favor. it's a damn good post...

*nods*
















================
think i
just heard the
©mook (on the school of love)

.

When though?

Cuz it's still being responded to and I would hate to put it in and then folks be like..."yo...what happened to that...yeah?"

<<<make beautiful of me>>>>

wow...

I dont keep a blog, not quit sure what a blog is, maybe someone will school me somewere on this post (appreciate it) but I do write letters to myself, so here's one, my most vunerable moment.


I am sitting here, in my favorite chair, wondering about life, love and happiness. I am questioning providence and does it really exists. If you were to ask me did I believe fate was for the good of man, I would have declared loudly that “YES! It was, that our destiny’s are decided long before we come into being, and our paths are laid for the betterment of us, and that there is that special someone for everyone, and that kismet will make sure u found each other, and when u do nothing or no one can prevent the collision. But now as I sit uncomfortably in my comfortable chair, shaking from the chill in my warm home, I feel lost and alone, and looking at fate with new eyes.

Was it fates attempt at a practical joke, that I should encounter a man? Not just any man, fate knows me too well for that, any man would not do, this man would have to touch the core of my existence, and the attraction between the two of us would have to be uncontainable. A frown passes across my face as I think how fate must have searched and discarded many, before coming upon this treasure of a man, the perfect pawn to use in its cruel hoax against me.

Fate placed him directly into my path, and I stumbled over his charm. hmm; I wonder if fate sat back with feet propped up, maybe a bowl of hot buttered popcorn in hand, as if waiting to watch a good tragic drama. Yea, it knows me well, so well, that it foreseen that I would not be able to resist, knew this man would offer me the right amount of intrigue, with the correct dosage of appeal thrown in. Fate had me pegged alright, I was a sucker, and with one lick it reached my center. It found someone I could share my secrets with, cocky yet cute, with a sense of humor that showed through the bullshit smile, but most of all, fate knew that I had to feel the man within the very core of me, my heart, and my mind.

I guess fate smiled brightly as it watched me crash from my ivory tower, or did fate think there might me a glitch in its plans during the times I denied I was falling in love? Nah, it knew, it knew my heart better than I it seems, so I’m sure it waited patiently as day by day I became less fearful and more hopeful in my loving of this man, clapping its hands in glee as I threw away my doubts and suspicions and embraced happiness.
Oh, you would think that at this point fate would drop the bomb, but not fate, it never does anything halfway, Nooo, and I can picture it contemplating what could be the ultimate prank, the joke de jour so to speak.

Then the idea came, the one thing that would bring me to great heights of joy, what if fate could make me believe that this man, I have begun to love with all my being, could be, HIM , Soul-Mate, Twin-Soul, The One. That prince I dreamt about as a little girl upon my cotton pillow and Raggedy Ann sheets. Is he the one I have waited my whole life for? The one I knew existed somewhere beyond my reach? Fate my friend, knew I would look back on my life and give thanks for the lessons I once regretted, lessons that have prepared me for this moment, the sexual experiences so skillfully taught will allow me to completely satisfy “HIM”, The variety of men that have been in and out of my life, will allow me to appreciate and respect the love of “HIM”, The mind games so carefully played has shown me that being forthright and honest is the way to go with “HIM”, The jealousy and mistrust I have seen allowed me to love “HIM” with a open and unconditional heart.



But fates last hand was not played, while I basked in a true love finally found, when my heart was no longer mine to control, and my thoughts consumed by his images, fate gave the punch line, “HE IS NOT YOURS TO HAVE!” Yes, fate can be a bitch, a cruel and bitter friend, so I sit here in my comfortable chair, in my comfortable home, unable to stop the flow of tears that erupt from the bowels of my soul, contemplating a fast, peaceful death, but instead, I drank, I drank, until the grapes erased my memory, and I went on as if I never knew, dying a slow torturous death every step of the way.

blogs are just internet journals. (as far as i know)

you can use a free service like blogger.com or diaryland.com

for an example click on the coded confessions link below.

btw, i haven't finished reading your letter to yourself..when i do..if i found words to respond with, i will.
--
:: :: :: ::

never trust anything that bleeds for 5 days, and doesn't die.

(this is more than 2 years old)

"You don't have to compromise your soul. The most positive thing you can do when someone puts the microphone up to you is to speak truth. That's the most invigorating feeling -- speaking truth into a microphone."
(c) Saul.Williams.

what's the truth?

the truth is that i'm not where i need to be...

the truth is...

that i need 2 eat, & my malnourished imagination just wont grow on faraday's law & digital logic fodder...

the truth is...that i used to love her & that love never died & that love never lied, but i'm so used to the run-&-hide game that i've forgotten how therapeutic frankness can be. i've lost my earnest innocense...

& i sense that...

the truth is...i'm losing...my grip, strapped in a straightjacket on a sinking ship that's not improving...& procrastinating defectors get nowhere because a great escape w/ more great than escape is...

vanity in itself.

& the truth is...i need help. a lot more than my fear will let me admit, but reaching out is such a pain & i'm masochistic, have been for aeons, but not in THAT sense & i pen the pain, day in, day out...

but yesterday deserts me, today betrays me & tomorrow makes no promises & expects me 2 understand. the truth is that understanding doesn't come easy & inside, is a frustration seething...an ocean teeming with accomplished thespian after accomplished thespian...

all chained to their own reasonable, responsible, act-yr-age obligations...forced to forsake their delectable dreams, born out of stolen moments of delirium...

the truth is...i'm serious. serious as i'll ever be & my predicament models itself after my patterned existence & it's easier to frown & throw hands up in exasperation than make a moment matter & serve complacency to the uninspired upon silver platters &...

the truth is...i had no metallic cutlery weighing my tongue down when conceived, but still i bleed...the most azure droplets you'll ever synthesize in yr somnia...glistening turquoise globules that encompass eternity in their crystal curves...

the truth is...

something's gotta give. & give soon because the donations are drying up & philantropy is a dying art.

the truth is...i am...

possessed of a dying heart, & the surgery's hurting me...& the cancer wont leave...& i can't seem to evict the malignancy for the life of me...see, kleptomaniacs schooled my pessimism & i'm held in rapt attention to their theivery...

the truth is...

that i'm not where i need to be...that i need 2 eat, & my malnourished imagination just wont grow on faraday's law & digital logic fodder...

the truth is that i am father redwood's son & mother nature's daughter...

& i'm lost, languishing & devoid of compass. encapsulated, encompassed & cucooned in a homeostatic-womb that denies me my God-given birthright...

the truth is i want 2 bloom...

i want 2 bloom...

please, let me...bloom.

that's is how you write friggin' journal entries, 'lei?

dang.

fone, dont u eva leave here again..wow..

Lei came sick w/ hers.

i didn't know how sick 'till i read it.

like you don't extend your poetic self to your journal entries...

i have read them..

for instance, i have been wondering what the world sounds like if i didn't hide behind headphones in public.

yeah, i see you mr. i-am-poetry-even-when-i'm-not-trying-to-be

you shld stick around more often.
---
:: :: :: ::

"if god returns, sue him" © angels in america

you more than hold it down in my absence...

pretty ain't got diddly on yr words.

ha...

you know that phrase is like saying candyman or bloody mary in the mirror.

*shiver*

where you been mayne!


---
:: :: :: ::

"if god returns, sue him" © angels in america

>where you been mayne!

out in the trenches, tryna introduce the man i could be to the man i should be...

"it's a war going on" inside...

thespians, and thespians, and thespians...(and so on and so forth). writing pain like this makes it so much to bear when it's someone else's. i think i live to read work like this (sorry to be getting off on this; and no pun's intended). makes me appreciate why ppl write about pain and why pain well processed gets written about. *sigh* thanks.

peace,

n.

I'll leave this up til Monday. Then archives baby!

just a simple sidenote of details skimmin my mind
an indulgence of knowin what is it to bear someone else cross but its been made clear on a whim
im pullin out numbers to call wantin to speak upon a lesson that should never been taught
teachers comein so many colours
u can give them ur mind if u care
not always knowledge ur goin to bare

on a whim i showed up thinkin that would be ok..that is what u said be sponteneous...nuthing that is what u wont see..
ur temptin me to go outside of me
just a whim im goin

this blog is a secret place

a sacred place

a place for the things in my head to settle in

people used to know about this place but they forgot except a few

like me

i'll never forget this place


like eve i was throughly decieved.

he didn't even tell me.

spoke like everything was fine

i guess he didn't want me to know what she
took from him

do i still feel something for him?

and why did i cry at the end of "SLAM"?

why are Ku Klux Klan members hiding from me?

and why do you think that you're talented when at best you're a bit below average?

why did sis walk in the rain to come see me?

why does presyzion(sp) only average 13 replies?

why would you drive around with a pound and a half in your car?

why are you "not pretty" but "not ugly"?

why are you addicted?

why do you follow people?

why am i turning off my internet service?

you can never really prepare for goodbyes.

b/c despite all your effort in carefully placing brick on top of brick around the weakest parts of you...it still will hurt.

as his/her lips move and form the sounds...the air that blows from the last syllable of 'bye' will find a way to reach you. seeping into the small cracks that you sabotaged yourself with out of hope that maybe...this time would be different. the small holes you left open on purpose because you wanted to feel again...

silently, it will find you.

just as you begin to believe that you're ready. that somehow you have prepared for failure & disappointment...just when you make yourself believe that you'll be ok. happily even after.

it sinks in.

the way they said goodbye will haunt your dreams. as you magnify the moment and zoom into their eyes. the way they looked lighter. the way they kind of smiled as the word left their mouths.

its never a good bye.

you can never be ready.

all you can do try to build better walls.

---
:: :: :: ::

"if god returns, sue him" © angels in america

that i'm getting very good at goodbyes...


hell, i'm... getting stellar at just leaving and not saying anything at all...

why is that?














================
is a
©googlism for tremaine