Little Naked Me

Thu, 17 Dec 2009 09:53:51 GMT

Let's run across these empty streets,

Fill our hearts with frantic beats,

As the moon shines through.

Deep within my fractured core,

A shard of innocence does implore,

"Nurture me through this pain,

Till I’m spilling through your smile again,

And you love yourself without refrain"

And as we run may we forget,

Lay our heartache past to rest.

And trample its tentacle grip,

As your eyes smile in mine,

No fatigue can slow our feet.

Years of wait,

Finally ...translate

Fri, 11 Dec 2009 08:21:05 GMT

An abstract woman before me,

Sifting through the cacophony,

Her eyes are the very borders

That reduce her existence

Into an image in a mirror.

“To see that I am not a flawed reflection,

That an image of self is a conflicting notion.

For is life not in perpetual motion?

If so, how could I ever conclude?

That I know another, that I know myself?

Why ought there be fear in this?

Not knowing.

Seeing life as a movement,

Everything new in actuality.

Only old in catacomb thought.

Or is there comfort in this image I've held,

Of a woman that clings to her loneliness,

Perceiving herself as being a victim somehow,

Passionate but only loved from a distance,

Honest but often lacking receiving ears,

Finding solace in imagining some pristine love.

Intellectually ridiculous, romantically delicious.

Is this the poverty of this limitation?

A misguided inclination.

For what of love Amanda?

If all you see is a fragmented image.

No assurances to the contrary

Will ever amount.

For only you can see what is,

Is it not you speaking through me?

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 09:16:19 GMT

I have come to this conclusion as of late, that of all the messy people I know; I am without a doubt the messiest of us all. It has been said that from great pain, passion grows. The passion from this pain manifests in ways I could have never foreseen. Standing in the muck of my "problems" I have not been able to see the real issues rooting me to the same spot. When others have tried to show me truth, I have rejected it. Screaming to them, “how dare you judge me? You are not me. You do not know what it is like in my shoes.”

What I have learnt is that even though others have good intentions of "getting through" to me, words alone cannot reach me. I must take the mirror into my own hands and stare back. Looking at what is truly there. I have moaned and groaned and tried to "fix" others while I have been here in the muck with horrible results. Losing loved ones because of misplaced fears, and whispers of preconceived notions has been heartbreaking. Knowing someone for several seasons and then slowly drifting apart is one thing. It is entirely something else to have it "knocked down and dragged out".

My entire life, I have run from adversity. Sticking my head in the sand and pretended as if things were not in fact happening as I was seeing them. It has been a hard year to go from one extreme to another. While I am guilty of many wrong-doings, I have been slapped in the face and shocked to feel that way. Tact has been something I have been lacking as of late. I honestly can't say I miss it. My version of tact was sugar coating crap. It did not exactly work. It was too much, and unreal.

On the flip side, taking my crap and throwing it around has been of no use either. Telling someone that you do not approve of something or someone in their lives never ends well. I cringe at being judged, yet it seems as if I have been going around with a magic wand judging others. I’ve been an absolute walking contradiction for sometime now.

Now being on the other side of this all, I have grown. Some have been lost along the way, but maybe we all grew apart a long time ago and did not see it. Maybe I am wrong, but that feels right to a degree. Or maybe it’s easier to deal with if I believe that there was in fact a distance there anyways. I suppose if such distance was there, possibly it was my doing.

I feel I have changed. I'm not sure if it's a good or a bad thing yet. That is not a happy notion. The unknown is not easy.

For my many faults, I blame no one but myself. You see, I'm just this girl. Full of mistakes. Trying to not just get by in life. Yearning to actually live it well. While I'm not sure what I want to be when I grow up, I have a good idea of who I want to be. I'm not there yet, but I'm not done trying. I will fall on my face many more times; but I will spit out the mud by only the grace of God. Take one foot out of the mud, and put it in front of the other again and again.

So, yeah. People are messy, but I stand here the messiest of them all.

Tue, 17 Nov 2009 00:11:48 GMT

The pale orb eyes my weary ascent

As I climb the slope that nests my bed.

Accentuating the shadows that awaken

the tentacle grip of the night.

It's borrowed light is familiar to my memory,

Its glow illuminates past images,

Like a familiar friend, highlighting

The impermenance of those moments

and the reality of present solitude.

"But do I cling to these images,

As you do the night?

Must we both find solace

in this hopeless plight?

For we'll both rise tommorow

and fall once more"

Cyclical reality, acceptance amiss,

Climbing the stairs of a homely abyss.

Wed, 11 Nov 2009 10:50:26 GMT

Simmering beneath the surface of this skin,

Is vitality long lost in the realms of thought?

Grieving our lack of insight,

As we author our division,

Drawing lines of separation.

For when is humanity truly whole?

Is it merely in hopeful idealism and

In the marrow of romantic thought?

Weaving through this fragmentary reality

In which we are divided into individuals.

For do we not see mere images of ourselves, of one another?

Is this not the root of our discontent, the fuel of bitter conflict?

A tempestuous mind that assumes,

Distorts and so often rejects

What is?

For the mind is tempestuous,

A torrent of timelines,

Confusion centered on self.

Free of division,

Our hearts are free to meet,

Our ears eager to listen

And we sense deep within

That we are all movements of life,

United in our consciousness.

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 13:32:57 GMT

Our progress is such,

That our lives are plotted out by currency,

And yet we claim to loathe disparity...

Yes, another mad man yelling "conspiracy".

Yet humour yourself, thereafter, offer me clemency.

Is it that hard to see?

This slavery that we endorse?

The fuel of the corrupt,

The chains of the poor,

The spoils of war.

A tangible mess, invisible strings?

Nay the strings are visible,

Tis our eyes that are distracted.

Don't most of us work to survive?

The fruits of labour only shrink.

Don't you know where that money has been?

My bank account has an existential crisis, yours?

I'll admit it, I AM a slave,

My welfare, My survival,

Even my notions of freedom,

Are hinged upon pieces of paper.

Pieces ...of paper

Progress.

And at the bones of it,

I feel so low at the thought of it,

Nothing has divided us as much,

This competitive survival crutch,

Pitching us against each other,

Like scavengers in an apocalypse.

Deep down we all know this,

The wars we fight, the lives we lead,

The religions preached and manipulated,

Are all but a conditioned pattern of existence.

"Cut to the chase" you say,

"Point to the culprits, make them pay?"

I follow with the ol' mirror cliché,

We're the farmer, the plough and the hay.

I leave you with an amusing thought,

For man's greed may well be eternal,

With placeholder beliefs at the helm.

And the seductive pretense money allows.

A world beyond paper exchange,

Collective survival, a paradigm change.

The Unseen

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 12:24:56 GMT

Surrender my sweet, to the memory of our fallen,

Beneath the feathered shade of a shadowy past,

Hand in hand we witness a harvest, of bittersweet fruit

Borne of sweat and tears over countless years.

Don’t you see my sweet? Our roots are earthly mirrors,

Reflecting eternal wisdom, reminding each branch

Of truths constantly forgotten as they reached for the sky,

Twisting blindly towards the sun, forgetting their place,

Rendering the sacred trunk, a hollowed crypt.

Your eyes are melancholy orbs, dreading the chains of fate,

Fear not my sweet, we may not be free but we may start anew,

By sowing seeds imbued with the lessons of yesterday,

So we may form our own tree, be rid of our sorrowful legacies.

Come here my sweet, rest here with me,

As I paint over the ancients with a palette of hope,

You will be the nourishing light in our new landscape,

Built on the foundation of our perseverance,

And the fruition of a sapling dream,

Our union.

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 12:13:59 GMT

On the streets people herald a new era,

In a carnival of patriotic euphoria,

The fangs of the tiger we bred,

Removed by popular bloodshed.

Strangers in a troubled isle,

Thrust in to decades of exile,

The victims have no voice,

No belonging, no choice.

The poverty of migration,

in a long fractured nation.

How can we speak of unity

When war is but a flame expunged,

And the fuel lies in the hearts of us all,

Protected by ignorance and nurtured by pride.

How can we speak of progress

When we are blind to the roots of prejudice,

When our minds fail to detect,

The guile of opportunistic heroes

and their verbal charades.

And what are we?

If the love we preach is not for all,

If we indulge in victory after war,

If the separation of our kith and kin,

Is an all but necessary sin.

I will never be the daughter of a nation,

I see no purpose in such a fabrication.

My life is and will be an expression

Of my soul's desire to explore

Every possibility to better this world,

Regardless of inching progress

or the finite nature of my existence.

I Remember

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 20:01:36 GMT

It's strange how fragile memory is: you remember the oldest details and forget the things around you.

I remember myself at 3 - Digging a hole in the ground to collect worms for a baby bird.

I remember almost drowning in a pool at the age of 4, floating near a step.

I remember crying for my mom to punish my brother and then crying again once the deed was done.

I remember standing outside my friends house, waiting on my mom to return from the hospital....she 'accidently' cut herself while shaving. I couldn't make her happy.

I remember walking through the field near our house, trying to hide from him.

I remember finding my mom's stash of rum and replacing it with coke. I wanted her to be sober. She was furious when she realized I had poured it all away...I thought I was doing her a favor.

I remember the trip to Sedona, seeing the snow for the first time with fresh eyes...The cop that let us go in pity. The awkward silence on the way back.

I remember the first girl I ever had a crush on. I'd sneak a gaze when she studiously wrote notes during biology class.Nothing ever came of it, thank the heavens...i was never in one place long enough and I was a dork anyway.

I remember how sad I was when Tiger passed away, my brothers cat that I was very fond of, my mom ran over him while I was in the car with her. I still haven't forgiven her.

I remember the time the boyscouts helped us move as my mom sat in the corner, drunk and yelling out orders to the volunteers. I felt compleately and utterly ashamed.

I remember going to Jessica's for the first time. The way her house felt like home, even then.

I remember when James gave me a necklace on valentines day. I felt, at that moment, that he was my father and the need to find my real one drifted away.

I remember feeling so strongly for someone that I lost myself and soon I lost them.

I briefly recall the pain that i've felt for years, though each one seems to wipe its wounds before welcoming a new season. Constantly moving, constantly changing...places..faces...situations. Yet I often wake from my sleep and wonder where on earth I am....who I am..and how I came to be. If this heart and head can take more of this seemingly epic progression...or if i'm a candle that's losing it's flame.

In a state of stasis ..you wonder if new ones will be formed..if they will be good...where the actors and actresses will come from...

The Weight of the World

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 06:11:16 GMT

The sun beat heavy down on us,

Sweating our sap from our pores,

Soles pressing the earth for a home,

For our weary ears are still drowned in

The sound of thunder

In the arms of men.

Our child is dying and we can barely sleep,

His loving mother, my grieving wife,

His aching body on my guilty back,

I have brought him into suffering,

The fields are not for him to play.

Women weep in march and men breed anger,

Amidst the palms and blue ocean shore,

The sound of thunder in the arms of men

Oh Atlas,

We're brothers in burden,

This migration empties me,

We walk these ruinous paths to peace,

Knowing we'll never reach.

And it amazes me how quickly my mood can change from something so small and non-threatening. I loathe this feeling of vulnerability. I’ve been a master at controlling my emotions for about 4 years now and all of a sudden, I’ve lost my touch. How can I loose the only ability that kept me going….kept me semi-sane. I’m trying to be cool and casual but this isn’t casual to me. It’s something more and it’s something that I did not expect nor want. I woke up today in a fit of giggles and now I’m dreary beyond belief…thinking of all the hate in the world instead of the beauty. I need to reflect….I need to progress…and I need to do it soon.

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 22:47:36 GMT

I finished reading The Story of Edgar Sawtelle a week ago and figured I would write a small story on the love between man and dog. Here it is:

The click of the pendulum was a thread of sound in a fabric of silence. A mixture of waning daylight and the warm glow of a solitary bulb stretched across the white walls of the room. He was seated at the head of the dining table, surveying his surrounds with a curious gleam in his eyes. His dog lay at his feet, twitching as he ventured through a mysterious realm of sleep. He watched his mother's beige curtains flow upward as a delicate wind wafted in through the open windows, suspended in air for a precious moment before easing into place. His gaze shifted between objects in the room; the antique furniture, the African masks, the crystal ornaments, the paintings and old photographs. Each with an origin and history far beyond the space they now occupied. Yet they were at home in this house in Brazil, fragments in a network of memory.

A smile dominated his expression as he rested his head on his left palm. He muffled a cough with tight lips and a clenched right hand as he rose from the chair, careful not to wake his sleeping companion. He walked towards the grills on the windows and looked out onto the garden, the bright green of the palms were fading with the retreating sun. Traces of orange longing clung to the clouds in defiance of fading prominence. Witness to transition, the words and pictures in his mind awoke and fixed upon his chords.

"The yolk of past circumstance wore me thin. The marrow of my consciousness has been but a stream of melancholy, secretly welcoming adversity. It is only now that I differentiate between a chronicle and the person beneath. It is only now that I feel with a sense of certainty, the treachery of time in my mind and the length of my preoccupation. This near silence is pristine in its spaciousness. I am adrift and feel no containment in this supposed solitude."

He heads back towards the table and kneels next to the chair he had been sitting in. A quiet surge of affection drifts through his eyes as he watches his dog, still deep in sleep. He bore little trace of aging as his chest moved in rhythm to his breathing, his paws stretched across the tiles.

"I may never see you again boy. Yet I feel no great sadness in this as I did before. It's no exaggeration...I've had more time with you than with my own father. In truth, next to no one has been a part of my life as you have. And it may be... that no other being will be as consistently happy to see me and show me affection with such simple immediacy. But we've had so many years...we've grown together. I could so easily slide to the sorrow of reflection...but I'd much rather revel in how peaceful you are right now. In this series of moments, a link of liberating truths have dawned on me. I can only describe it as being the death of a shadow and a lightness of being. We as humans fall prey to the very complexity that fuels our vanity. You have little need for words and intellect to just be...free of wasteful cognition and resistance. What uses have we for life stories. Our minds can be the very smoke that shrouds our spirit from all things of consequence."

Lying on the floor, moments trickle with the grace of long awaited raindrops as his eyes begin to seal. He thought of the strange but beautiful punctuation that had ended a most turbulent sentence. Hours later, he was greeted by the familiar touch of a wet nose. The clock chimed with self importance but found no ears.

Wed, 21 Oct 2009 02:53:29 GMT

The pillars of our hearts hold,

A canvas of compassion untold.

Eclipsing all cerebral noise,

Its strokes are tacit poise.

Our dividing delusions,

Our numbing accumulations,

Are meaningless upon its viewing,

The fabric knows not our shame.

“I have no compass.

But I seek your direction"

'Canvas of my affection,

If only another could recognize,

You are the gleam in my eyes'

You Are the Sun

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 08:37:20 GMT

I woke to a cerulean sky this morning. It looks so warm and liberating, even if viewed from a high window. I love the sky. I always have and I’ve been fortunate enough to see it from many places. I guess the fundamental irony that arises within oneself when looking upon the sky, is that we are far from free. We are slaves to others, to ourselves and the sky is a symbol of our longing.

But what would we do if we were free? I often wonder. Me, I am a slave to my mind, to my heart, to the past. They are connected in places I can't decipher. So I’m awaiting change, awaiting freedom, feeling that not everything is in my realm of control. That this cake is missing, is lacking chocolate.

But is this really the case? Is it love I'm after? Or would that just muddle my worldly aspirations, given that few understand my soul. Then again, I've always been a dreamer and things I dream of are rarely based in reality. This I’ve come to learn the very hard way, experience. All I can say for sure is this....

A purposeful gaze into your sunlit serenity,

Leaves me certain of these spaces I house,

Free of will, chained to ambiguity.

Lacking resolve, rooted in yearning.

How could I be lonely when I'm with you?

All of you.

Oh sunshine are you throwing me a lifeline?

All I need is you.

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 19:12:32 GMT

Drifting through my eyes, as my lids blanket their sleep,

A story spanning twenty four years and three continents,

Pulsing with memory's punctuation.

There is no romance in the scrolls of past experience,

Free of distortion, they are incidental steps,

Towards the precise moment

This morning's light filters through

And there is no thought of

Shadows or horizons.

These are pivotal times and the year ahead is a river of possibility. Nothing seems as out of reach as it did before, the tools were never of physical design. The will to navigate through the mind's projections has not always been in abundance. I've often indulged in its vain festivals. I am finally on the cusp of releasing the possessive grip of identity and its victim folk tales. Illuminated irony meets me for but a moment - it's taken me nearly twenty four years to accept my existence, to realize the inherent madness of defying the state of things. To let the air circulate within my chambers, without dictating terms and expectations.

For I am not an accumulation of thoughts and patterns,

A repository of passionate emotion or a sympathetic biographer.

I am a node in a network of humanity,

Where purpose has no definition

And righteous direction

Is a web of delusion.

Cynicism is a comfortable disguise. I charge my own batteries. Isn't the present tense...but a series of opportunities to realize your capacity? For a deeper awareness?

Soft streaming sunlight and cerulean blue.

It's morning and I'm awake.

War

Sat, 10 Oct 2009 16:21:41 GMT

Cannon yourself into the tumultuous forefront
of illuminated human devolution.
With an arsenal of dreams we long forgot,
Seduce us into sweet revolution.
-
"We need to stem the flux of a system vile,
Elevate our existence beyond a cabinet file,
The sweat we soak and the blood we spill,
The elaborate illusion of our will.
Is this the world we will permit to exist?
Or shall we unite and for change persist?
For when these cries pierce every street,
Freedom is ours in the oppressor's defeat."

The struggle was long but the war was won,
The weary hearts of the 'common man' did not succumb.
Floating in crimson rivers, their fragile hopes shone,
In naive anticipation of the leader you could become.

We have since not heard that passion in your voice,
Or held your hand in united hope.
Stripped of my land I no longer have a choice,
In this new darkness my family must grope.

Freedom was won at the end of a gun,
Now the gun oversees the freedom we won.

Am I to believe we trusted in vain?
You are the very beast we thought defeated,
You held not our dreams but your gain,
The deception of our liberation repeated.

"I loved you. I loved you.
Oh Brother of mine."

Deviant Love

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 15:42:25 GMT

It was a night of fury - as burdened clouds poured without relent and the wind howled through the helpless trees. A mournful cry that set the moon to retreat, fearing witness.I was but a blur, gliding across the shimmering street with a mirror storm in mind. My feet eventually slowed to a walk as streams trickled across my forehead and down the length of my weary arms.

I thought of the places I've lived and the times I've felt the cold. A cold distance, a separation, the agony of closed doors and the corruption of ones intentions. For all this, no winter can do unto skin. Often, the sacred pools of our hearts, once tainted by a single foul sip, breeds suspicion that governs all its visitors there onward. There are borders to our love that need be patrolled. Yet what of those who soldier through the aches and welcome with open arms, only to find a deep solitude in their sincerity? I was filled to the brim with doubt - for I found want in me that I ought live without.

Leaves danced across the pavement as the wind continued its tantrum and oh how I felt its lament. Its tortured cries for attention, its vigorous desire to shake the very foundations of the world that allowed it to be. In these moments, the deficiencies of my mind became clear to me, crystalised in that sound. My mind's retreat into want, for comfort and affection, in fear of the days and years to come. For though I am fortunate to know of my purpose, I perceived the journey as being solitary. For like the wind that night , there is a passion in me constantly overlooked, unseen, only felt in a storming rage. So I thought and as the streams turned to rivers across my body, the core of my mistake was revealed to me - I thought.

There is fear in doubt - one thinks. The fear of sorrow, of solitude, of ache, of disgrace or deception. There is anxiety- one feels. For want of love, of success, of comfort and familiarity. Thus our minds stretch into a future state of illusory construction and seek certainty in what is yet to be. The madness of which is only apparent in pure lucidity, when there is no barrier within. For to look upon my own life with reason - there has been no predictor of my journey, no map of circumstance.

In weakness I thought of the last time I held another in my arms and another held me. It was so long ago and the rain makes one sentimental. I have since felt the futility of the past's cling and the archival memories that collect and corrupt our senses. One, however, cannot ever lie to oneself. I felt a new realm of solitude that comes with homelessness. a despairing doubt that questions one's ability to wander the streets of life alone.Though the mood that night was ominous gray, I felt a strange surge took hold of me as I billowed up the incline towards my street.

But tonight I can imagine a different sentiment. The sweet smell of a future friend, whether it be in vain for trying or rewarding to have tried. Cause she leaves traces of her breathe on my neck as I shudder. I can still remember the light touch of her kiss from last night. The whispers and comfort that all life forms from her. I may have gotten over my head but that is just a small downfall with so much to continue in its place.

The water flowed, disregarding fabric and skin, dripping on to the flooding road from the tips of my fingers. I was not cold, I was alive, with reason coursing through my consciousness. I thought not of my foolishness, of the divisions in my mind, of solitude, or the fractures in my heart that bred sorrow. There was silence within and all I felt was the water across my skin and the wind through my ears. And I ask of you now as I asked of myself right then - Is there not beauty in doubt? For to be aware of its futility, is to open the door to all that is, all that we are - divided only by our delusions.

Goodbye

Thu, 01 Oct 2009 03:33:31 GMT

She peers through the night's filtration and sees them,
marching through the trenches of an asphalt dream,
Sombre silhouettes wearily clinging to trench coat skin.
A haze of fluorescent orange clings to the twilight sky
and the oily canal is streaked with racing headlights.
Their eyes are fixed to the stretch of their shadows,
Clinging to pavements and folding onto buildings,
Collapsing towards rest for the morrow's labour.
Disillusioned she walks towards the remnant fountain,
Dry and reminiscent in its present squalor,
Seated on its edge, Her chords strum her ache,
with a yearning deep in memory.

We once looked upon the stars with wonder,
Their shimmering glaze across our eyes,
As the leaves of poplars danced in the wind.
There was no leash upon our hours
and our feet longed for the touch of earth.

Now,
I can trace no memory to its fall,
How we came to be entrenched,
Labeled and divided, deeply unconscious,
Locked in conflict for survival and petty superiority,
Estranged from one another and draining our humanity,
As we walk blinkered through the demands of the day,
Prizing accumulation and prescribed righteousness.
Oh how weary I am of this elaborate squalor,
For I fail to see purpose in what we've created,
It would seem our misery is masked by distraction,
Lest our hearts weep with longing,
As mine is this very moment.

But alas I see,
I am no victim of circumstance,
I am the slave and the perpetrator,
For time immemorial,
There has been weakness in us,
Riotous thought seeking to rationalise,
All that is life.
Our need for identity in the eyes of others.
Lest we be nothing.
Yet what if from tonight ....
I am nobody
And I strain my old eyes through the haze
in seek of stars that always were.

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 03:09:20 GMT

The glow of daylight spins out of my heart,

Spilling memories on to a canvas of the past.

Brush strokes wild and mild unleashed,

Telling a colourful story of little significance.

In passive rotation, submitting to the end of my time,

I am an ethereal wanderer, no longer a wheel,

As I was forever ago, dreading tomorrow.

But what is time to me now?

It is and has been a futile filing mechanism.

The colour of emptiness is beautifully indescribable,

I am an ethereal wanderer, no longer a wheel

shackled to a spectrum of sharp contrasts.

Mephistopheles may swoop from any direction,

With intoxicating memories and an inheritance

of loss and vanity that plant me to the ground,

But I cannot be caught.

I am an ethereal wanderer, no longer a wheel,

I would say goodbye, but I never left.

Mon, 21 Sep 2009 17:12:00 GMT

Stitched on to my buttoned sleeve

is a lone woman's dream without reprieve.

I'll go over the hills, across the glistening stream,

Into the woods, ambling with a fool's gleam.

Stretched upon the woodland trees lie,

The sweet reply to my mournful cry.

A home softened by the caress of leaves fallen,

As the canopy light eases the plight of a heart swollen.

A nectar voice that ripples through my being,

A visage spilling smiles upon me seeing

her face, the heart of my wakeful dreams,

The stiches that hold these weary seams.

"My love is a whisper in your ear,

Burrowing dreams till you're near"

Sat, 19 Sep 2009 18:19:17 GMT

Twenty-four years of existence feel like many,

Episodic, nomadic, heart strings weary.

There is no rich mural cascading with stories from the past.

There are frescoes, ever fading as they float on boats cast

out to a forgotten sea to leave me in vacuous bliss,

so i can savour a shapeless moment's kiss.

Luminaries need to traverse these paths,

through the undergrounds' caverns and shafts.

Through self to unravel the latent acceptance,

of one's face and the lines it will trace.

It seems of late I forget they were ever connected;

my heart to my mouth in soulful union.

A growing chain of days, by melancholy afflicted,

apathetic to a numbing work persuasion.

In these moments when I write,

I tend to feel i'm too old for this angst.

I ought to thwart it, out of sight,

But denial thickens its crust.

Mute as I may be through the day,

I feel a torrent flood through at its end,

A vicious cycle in which I seem to have no say,

A cerebral bureaucracy I cannot suspend.

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 23:14:37 GMT

The slow light of morning traces my fall

through the atmosphere of my dreams.

Arms stretched in hope of graceful flight,

Cutting through ancient clouds in descent.

Eyes fixed to the canvas that is the sky,

filled with burning strokes of desire,

Searing through my deepest impulses.

My body mourns its separation

from the fabric of the night ,

For it clothes a raw tenderness

pronounced shameful in daylight.

There is longing in me, of that there is little doubt. It is the thread that runs through these pages I've filled as I gaze in wonder through moving perspex and a carriage carries me through a network of routine. This pen is the very voice of my existence and this pad, the necessary ears that bear witness to the depths of me. Together we speak beyond the tedium that renders our souls unconscious. Through the barriers of fear and hostility that keep us at a distance from one another.

This morning I found myself enveloped in a mist of sorrow, filling my chest with each step to the station. As I sat by the window, I felt its weight crystalise within and speak to me of its presence.

"You say there's no greater purpose than living for the joy of others.

But who covets your smile with the grace of the wind

and reaches for the very hand that livens your pen?

You say you have no need ...but here I am,

A harbinger of a leaden morning.

I tell myself that I have no need for wanting. That my resources are infinite in my capacity to share all I have. That I have and will action a better life for others with sincere altruism.

"What of me?", a voice percolates through the rivers of thought. Its grip holds my unsuspecting heart without relent. It forces into memory, the ache of solitude. Speaking of desire so deep that my words would lose direction in its pursuit. A bitterness reaches my eyes as disappointment glazes my view. In this moment I am an aching victim of circumstance, an offering without a taker. A disillusioned soul questioning the fate of those whose hearts and voices align with a precision that strikes fear where bliss ought bloom.

Is the richness of life lost if not shared? I have disposed of the past and the harrowing distortions that rendered me lone by choice. This longing to share is not one that I am blind to, nor is it one that I take lightly. But is there not a need for recognition? Must there be shame in plain speaking? Must every gesture of affection be tainted with calculation and motive? Are my notions of affection only safe beneath the lids of my imagination? I question with nary an audience to give reply.

I admit to myself in this haze , that I dream of a woman that embraces these fields of emotion that I roam. She is faceless in my imagination, for I have little want for deceiving skin and its veiling path. She is no saviour or joyous destination, she is a voice that is etched in my consciousness. Both bravery and tenderness find a home in its sweet sound. The bravery of honesty in releasing a heart's content and the pure tenderness of loving another without restraint. I wonder if these dreams are the prisons of thought in which women like me reside. Calling the roots of truth bitter in light of the nectar of ones dreams. But perhaps this longing is all I will have to cherish on this path I tread.

In the midst of these murky moments in time, my eyes fixed upon the grey clouds of the morning. They loomed ominously as I searched the horizon for the rising sun. Suddenly my eyes traced its circular glow behind the sheets of grey. The clouds appeared to part with reluctance as the sun shone with pristine intensity, its yellow brilliance filled my eyes with tears. For I felt it in the depths of me - my longing was the glow on the face of the sun.

There were no words and no space for shame.

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 05:02:27 GMT

I’ve been so lonely. The only emails that I seem to get are all work related…It is weird having my 2 best friends in one spot…together…without me. I’m not going to lie, I’m a bit envious. These last few days until I get to join them have been pretty hectic and I am deeply craving the familiarity of home and the love it brings. I am also so grateful to Jessica for taking Sara in for those 4 days. Sara needs a break as much as I and I’m glad my family could provide her a nice one. I swear, time goes by so slow when you have nobody to talk to. Of course I have my other roommate David but he is a guy…and acts like one. It is more of a fun friendship, rather than a deep one.

I still can’t believe that I will be off this ship and in the states for a whole month! Only 2 days! Even though I’m dreaded the flight over there, I know that I’m more prepared than the last few times since we never sleep on duty or underway. I can go a couple of days with no sleep. However, I do tend to get grumpy with so much loss of sleep but hopefully seeing my family will stray from that.

I’m also so excited to see my puppies!!! I miss them..in fact I miss all pets. That is another crappy thing about the Navy. We can’t own any pets since we go underway all the time.

So, to pass the time I’ve been renting a lot of movies and I rented this one with Brittany Murphey in it. It is called Ramen girl and I enjoyed it. It is based in Japan so it was fun to see everything and understand it. I also saw Coraline, and Adventureland finally. Any other ideas? I still have two more days to watch them. Well, I should go. Hopefully we get off of work soon. ::crosses fingers::

A dream I had

Wed, 09 Sep 2009 02:56:52 GMT

I had a dream where I felt this way for someone...it isn't real but during the night as I slept, I had these feelings for some unknown person. The feelings were so great and felt so real that I felt I needed to write a story on it. Of course a lot is added and detailed but here is the finished piece:

Composure is elusive in the grip of emotion - What of peaceful meadows and gurgling streams when one feels the piercing spectrum of truth penetrate ones being. Today that truth momentarily deprived me of breath and sight, as your words passed through my foolishly curious ears at dinner Your affection is on a path far from mine and it seems that I have been the very last to realise it. There was indecision in your voice but I sensed that trickle of hope that something would eventualise with another. I manage a smile and walk to my room with no appetite as the conversation continues - composure.

I will speak of truth, even if in the confines of my words. I may find a small space in me to laugh. To laugh at the good fortune of a woman who speaks of love to you a week after parting from another. Then there is the inevitable flood of sorrow upon the recollection of this landscape in my mind, a space I knew not of till I felt your presence. I wish now that I was exaggerating to myself, that I was merely projecting my hope through your sudden appearance in my life. Like a necessary sun before awakening eyes. As my slumber was a devastating storm upon my soul, depriving myself of all light and sociability. Rousing memories in dreams like constricting vines that sapped the vigour from my veins. The world to me was a confounded place in which there seemed no place for real love, openness and justice.

I credit no one but myself in waking to the fallacy of my shrouded view, a product of years of festered pain and heartache. I have neglected myself for years you see - ironically dedicated my life to bettering the lives of others. Focusing my determination on helping those forgotten, perhaps inwardly placing myself in their plight. Perhaps hoping that I could be to them the very person I longed to have in my life. I have since matured past this guilt complex and am on the cusp of realising what I feel to be my purpose on this earth. To give. I am in no need of a saviour or a cradling lap. The sorrow I feel is for the garden I've tended in my imagination - you may never see it. One can give endlessly, with such great joy filling the very caverns that pain and conflict created. But what of beauty if there is no recognition?

In the midst of my own awakening, you arrived so suddenly. And with equal immediacy, an undercurrent of affection was born. It wasn't spoken of in precise words for I did not possess the courage or the fitting language to speak of it. For I perceived it as madness for me, as a stranger, to speak of such waves of emotion. So I lingered and observed the intensity build within me and fill the landscape long abandoned, to verify it as truth. For I gave my heart to but one years ago and have suffered in memory since. I feel no shame in confessing that I am a sensitive soul and that that in itself makes me susceptible to the softest blow ...but it also keeps me in tune with the heart's sweetest song. You could not say that I left you entirely unaware of my affection - for in daily conversation, in gestures - there was no doubt to me that a warmth embodied them. It was no doubt in my eyes as they are often more communicative of sincerity than my hesitant speech. Is it entirely my fault if in the grip of understanding these emotions, I have been unable to be blunt? To be succinct and encapsulate simplistically, the profundity of these emotions into a singular word uttered so meaningless by anyone at anytime. One can say the word so fleetingly but when does one truly feel it swimming gracefully through ones soul and resting in a place we can affectionately call home?

No I do not regret making a spectacle and voicing falsehood to make you see. For frankly I see nothing - there is no doubt that you are beautiful to the eye but truly, it is but a mere facet of what I speak of. I see nothing of true consequence, I have only felt. A presence so thick and sweet but of mysterious substance. In it I am suspended, not knowing if I have been afforded a privilege or if I'm being held captive. Perhaps there is little difference in this space. And I have felt waves rippling through my being, those of joy at the mere sight of you. Listening to you speak and moreover, being able to make you smile in some way. There is no doubt irony in that I, lover of words, find them so ill suited for articulation in this moment. If you demand of me...the precise reasons for my affection...I'd likely fail miserably in listing reasons with conviction. For in these months you have been the blood of my dreams. Often without my wanting to be in your possession. I have felt such an immense scope of hope and freedom.

I know not of what this moment heralds at present. If it is a mere obstacle towards your recognition. If it is a signal for me to retreat to the safety of my passions for betterment - leaving that which is called love for those outside my sphere for i lack the fortitude. Or if somehow, I can separate any notion of loneliness and rejection....and be glad that I am capable of this love at all. Oh how I long for it to be the very last that can be true, though I confess that I still have a semblance of grip to a name, an identity in seek of recognition.

Likely you do not see beauty in all that I see as being wondrous right now, perhaps your notions of love are far removed from mine. Perhaps you are much wiser than I and do not feel the pressures of your heart for truth and depth as I do. I feel no anger or bitterness, only the disillusionment of a woman in a strange wilderness, having trudged thirstily, for so long through the desert of her consciousness. And I stand here, feeling, not seeing, a captivating richness of life. With this intense desire to give and to help flourish but I cannot seem to share this beauty with you in wake as I do in the landscape behind my lids. How does one allude to all this in daily conversation? ? Clearly I am ill equipped. There is little calculation and planning in my ways.

I know not if these words will ever reach your eyes or your ears let alone the center of your being. I want them to but I am ever so uncertain of my right to do so. I ask nothing of you but to see. Perhaps if one was to truly see me, they would have by now. And if your happiness is of great importance to me - I ought to be happy regardless of my absence in its creation. I know of all this. But knowing is but a part of true acceptance.

I try to fight the lure of self pity. I hear whispers of how all these spectral emotions are for naught. That I have felt all this only to confront its pointlessness. For I have always loved far more than I have ever been able to receive, likely a false notion of love. And once past the fallacy of expectation, I have felt the isolation that stems from a lack of recognition. Clearly I am a work in progress.

All I know is that I will never lose faith in my ability to love people, it is the sole reason I savour my existence. I do seem to lose faith in the typical notion that I'd share the life ahead of me with someone intimately. I find great sadness in remembrance, in names. I ache at the thought of reading what I have written, of you and your meaning to me. To feel the conflict of you being a footnote in my memory.

Enough. My lids seal as I write and I can only hope that dreams leave me be. I spend the day with you tomorrow, it may well be my last as I do not know if I have the strength for pretense - if I can weather daily reminders.It feels like territory all too familiar and I wish I was elsewhere but I have no recourse but to accept. I have nothing owing to me, regardless of the scope of my romantic inclinations and the strength of my conviction. I know not where this tide of emotion came from and I know not where it will go.

The depths of me are known to strangers in the most intimate detail- should they care to look. Only they cease to be strangers, they bear witness to my passage through time as I do theirs...we are united in this exchange.And of love, perhaps I am only getting closer to the truth. It need fill you to the brim to truly flow beyond.

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 09:30:04 GMT

Slowly...

These vines constrict these arterial spaces,

Transforming hope into lingering futility,

Rendering dreams into naive illusions,

Cocooned by ignorance,

And torn open by experience.

"By this river bank I will lay my weary soul,

With the hope of merging into its beauteous flow.

These eyes stare upon its my rippling reflection.

And as they do, a conscious hallucination,"

I have abandoned self, I see no further,

I'm submitting to melancholy in all its fervor.

Insidious memory fills the blank canvas above,

With a pulsing heart in a stranger's glove

"Oh indecent descent, I offered lone resistance,

Yet these eyes no longer see as they ought,

They see a world in the midst of decadent decay,

Fraught with impermanence and constant peril.

How can a woman lay claim to life,

If one sees all but nothing to love?”

A tremulous whisper penetrates the mist.

A tired and familiar plea for perseverance,

"Leave me be, I care not if I'll be missed,

Weary of flux; let me sink to the bottom,

To the very abyss that lingers beneath this skin,

And If I rise once more, May I never doubt again,

May I love and be loved as this heart intended,

In the beginning, when the end was inconceivable."

Fri, 04 Sep 2009 06:57:22 GMT

The endless possibility of my identity,

Bound by a chain of bittersweet recollections,

Am I a mere vessel for the past in the present?

Like an oak adding layers over years,

Tall and mighty yet clinging to sapling dreams.

Am I bound by your memories?

As a Daughter, a sister, a friend, a lover.

Time can be the mind's corrupt governor,

Knotting memories in to your being,

That occupy the present and taint

your heart with the fear of repetition,

And an unjust weariness that belittles life's essence.

Am I a memory of self unfolding?

If I am to be a vessel,

May it not be to ancient whispers,

lacquered with incessant after-thought.

May I instead be a host to my own humanity,

Alive to the decay that darkness brings

Through shadows that impersonate life.

You've been hiding in the undertow,

Let me see the face hidden from my own eyes.

May I be ever present in the now,

For that is all there will ever be of me.