Warm Fiction Fixation

The outside is hushed by falling snow. Flake by flake we are tucked in for this winter night. White blankets glow blue from the deep and distant moon. 

The fire is warm, the smell of oak entices us. It crackles and pops to entreat our attention. But the only notice I give it is of the flickers of amber in the reflection of your eyes. I can not look away.

Your skin is soft, tenter to the touch. I bury my face next to your ear to say nothing. Silent kisses in the dark dim light. Your hair tickles my nose but releases a sweet aroma. The same fragrance that seems to wander behind you every time we cross paths.

The sight of you, studying each of your features in such intimacy, fills me with contentment. My heart is a ruby red like the luminescent embers from the fire. My heart radiates warmth throughout my body, from head to toe. I cover your icicle toes with mine like a heated blanket. You cuddle yourself gently into my chest like two halves finally making a whole. We stare at the wild flames as they dance all night long casting shadows on the walls. And I hold you, there in my arms, drifting fast asleep.

Victim

I have been hurt. I have been wounded. The sword was not my own. The sword was not in my hands. I was not armed. I was not a threat. Yet I bleed.

I bled.

I am vindicated of all victim mentalities. Time passes in signs of a scar. I can not hide the mark and I do not boast on it. Stay away and do not speak at me. I now wield the heartbreaking motions as I have seen.

Moon

You are quiet and soft. You are the reflection of a star. Today you are seen, my back on my trampoline.

Glow, grow, and know that I am watching you turn new. I am conscious of your subconscious. I am your flower in the dark. Stay longer so that I can flourish. I will be your company.

Misery

I'm all out of tears, nobody to cry for
but a boy with a bottle and his foot on the throttle,
The sun will be rising in the east. The dust, settling in the west.
Soon I'll be done, misery, my father, me, his son.

Self-destructive

I see it coming in the distance. The day is clear, my sight is blind.

You beat your head against a mirror. Ironic or appropriate?

I stand in this sinking sand waiting for you to stop and turn around. Ironic or appropriate?

Proving a point never felt so meaningful as it does now. Saving a soul just before you loose your own. It's the principle. 

I see only in the color of love. Ironic or appropriate?

Amateur

Twenty-one years pass and yet I say, "amateur," -- to love, to wisdom, to brotherhood, all the same.

Beginnings never seem to cease and success never to ensue. No experience can take away the pain of the never ending, ever refining love. An owl who knows is an owl who sows into the knowledge of the elder; for those are the ones with experience in beginnings. They perform, they foresee not like magicians but mathematicians, calculating vain with sane.

Oh my brother. I see you over there. I say "hello," but the static noise is too loud, I say "come over," but the people are too proud. Inexperienced, I will continue to love.

infinitus

High

I focus my attention on my mind. I'm falling high. Thoughts cascade down the walls of possibility and stop at my feet. I stand for the nobility and realize I need to chop wood to feed the fire.

Outside is sobering to the unconscious. The ocean blue sky sparkles like fine crystal glasses. Embers join in with the dance to the waves, floating like fireflies high into the sky.

Hunger lies surface deep. Feed the monster, lose humanity. The growls are loud and I am proud. The monster is silenced with baked animals and colorful worms. Milk is the only link from us to them, from them to absurdity.

Mirrors project my past onto me while windows open possibilities to new adventures. But for now I'll go to sleep. I will close my eyes and fall fast into the sky under the mattress. I will sleep high.

September

Filled with magnificent disaster. Your presence is heavy and hard to ignore. Ten days in and you're born, one more and you're torn.

You say God toys with you, I, moving lifelessly like a marionette. I say play the game. Be the girl you want to be. See the things you want to see.

I see destruction, at least for now, I see heartache.

Stipulation

It's inevitable, life will always be filled with stipulations.

Don't do this, don't do that. Don't do without this unless you have that. People tend to make life more complicated than it already is.

Secretly Brilliant

Tonight some friends and I went to IHOP and just drank coffee and smoked (well they did the smoking). I started to scribble on a napkin and thought to myself, "I wonder what the most interesting scribbles have consisted of."

Now I know this is a bit of a "stoner" thought but just in its simplest form... genius's scribble. I'd like to see and know, where and what they wrote. It just fascinates me that such brilliant minds at some point just let their visions run wild and careless onto paper. I'd like to see what that looks like. I mean, when I think of scribbling, I think of it as a vision with no form, an idea with no thought, just intimate and far from structure.

Scribbling takes on a whole new persona.

The Darkness

Under the cover of night and many dark shadows we go out into the world as the nocturnal animals our habits have created us to be. The clanking silverware against the clay plates sent chills up your spine. You were quiet, holding your peace for a few moments more, then unleashed.

The dishes were cleaned, the apartment was vacuumed. I took out the trash, you made the bed. You locked up while I fetched the car. Two blocks down and to the left, three flights up and on the right. We drove miles away and with each mile, buried our past. I did not argue any longer. I had no energy. I did not know. I was blinded by naivety as you knew.

As I fall asleep I see our hide-out on Lamar. It's not far, but enough for you to get your mind off the people that hold you back. There's a psychedelic Jimi hovering over as you order the same as many times before. All I do is watch and smile. All I can do is watch and smile. The table between us is hardly what stops me. Your fear of others opinions pushes my back roughly up against the vintage 70's pleather. I am pinned by your vigilant thoughts of those around us.

Blind. We talk, we jest, we make it a pleasant moment for a difficult situation. I kiss you on your soft sensual lips and tear myself apart from you, leaving just a frayed edge. You retreat back to your forest of concrete and steel, the wolves are waiting. I leave but am alone. I am in darkness and alone.

Deliverance

[---] is whoever you want him to be, because apparently being me isn't neat. I don't know you. I don't know me. But every time I try, I get beat.

I want to be free, I want to be free, I want to be free.

But the words don't place themselves and the motions don't take control.

Society is cruel indeed. Love and trees are all I need.

Love love love and trees are all I need.

Keep me rooted in the organic, keep me far away from the panic.

All I need from you is to be my little growing liberty seed.

Love

The most universal language. It is spoken in every continent, beautiful in every form. Yet so few individuals succeed to articulate.

Love is a lost tongue in a fast world. It takes a slow tongue to speak to the world.

Until we learn to speak with clarity, I shall pray for our posterity.

I Thought About What You Said

I've decided to leave it all behind, as a testament. I will still capture these moments in life for history, as you said we are to do, I will just do it with other tools.

I am leaving this behind to show that this is not being done selfishly. It is being done as everyone has a time to move and a time to settle. Inside you will find many hidden and well kept secrets. Some will be secret gardens, others will be limbo. I am who I am.

I have scars and I have beauty marks, all imperfections, all perceived differently. I ask that you listen for a moment. Explore what I have left for you to find. I hope you find much more than what you see.

Wants and Needs

As it is clearly known, wants and needs are broadly different. 

However, sometimes I feel that my wants often become my needs... or at least provide the essentials for my needs. But now that I think of it... what defines a need?

Then - it was food, shelter, and companionship.

Now - not much has changed.

Often times we forget our most crucial needs... which are our mental necessities. We must feel that we are in control of our minds, that we have self-esteem, that we are loved, and that we, both physically and mentally, feel safe.

I really don't know where I'm going with this... but I guess if all those needs are met by something that I want then... I should really get that thing. Ok then, it's settled... I'm getting a motorcycle, iPhone, tattoo, Into the Wild, and Fight Club. Right now in my life, that's all I really feel I need to want.

Drip Drop

Drip drop. Drip drop, but nothing else. No one talks about the other part. Where is the splash, where is the clash, where is the end?

The drip. A birth of uncertainty. Falling into this world with a view of optimism. By nature optimism is all we are offered. A view of green and blue, anything is possible.

The drop. Our possibilities are quickly limited to wind and wear. We control but where our focus is directed, whether our scope is honed in or not is in the hands of destiny.

The splash crash catastrophe. We spend all our time focused on our promises and possibilities of the future. We never really reach a destination of satisfaction, just the end. We don't realize, the future has been staring us dead in the eyes since the beginning, just at a distance.

Our only real promise is the uncertainty throughout it all. When you're uncertain, the possibilities are truly as small or as big as you make them. And that's where you'll find the splash.

My Nightly Shower

I think about possibilities. Ideas cascade my thoughts like the hot water does to my face. I breath in a deep resonant steam as if for weight so that I don't float away. Nothing to cloud me, only vapor, I am open to new and wonderful beginnings.

I am brilliant, to write a book. A book of many pages to be announced a novel. But the pages have few words. They are simple. A novel is not written with verbose diction. It is written with words. Words are all I have to offer.

I am intricate, to follow the path into the woods. I have deep scars of things written on me from long ago like a tree through the years of young lust and old love. These scars are not painful unless they are ignored. When I do, they cause a great deal of white noise that I can not shake. As if to rattle residual water out of my ear, I violently thrash my head only to be found a fool and water still remaining. However, when I encourage my roots I can feel the sun warming my future as I grow closer to my past, to our past, to nature.

I am profound, to sing a song. The overwhelming power of melody and harmony. A wave of sound and soul crash down on tightly wound heart strings only to play along with the cadence of the symphony.

I am bound. These are only thoughts, these are only ideas, these are only words, and this is only a shower. The towel works in a way to dry up my ideas and to crack my thoughts. I quickly dehydrate into a withered realistic man. My clothes assure a safe keeping as if in some way doing me a favor.

How do I present myself naked to the world without becoming callas and scabbed by the rough grounds of criticism and scorn? The answer surely inhabits Utopia.

These Two Are Not The Same

Not the same as when I first was introduced. Not the same as when I first loved, cared, and belonged.

I am an oddly placed plastic mannequin in the room of two lonely statues. They are grey and brittle. What is to be done of a statue, so familiar, when cracked and shaken? Plastic is only tolerant to so much weight. 

I must leave now but timid to leave such a quiet ruin. Not for its beauty, but for its pain I must let it rest and let time heal the wounds.

Cowgirl

...in the sand,
pack your things, saddle up your horse, eat well tonight for tomorrow will be a long ride, over mountains with snow and valleys with rivers.

The season is right. The birds are singing our farewell and the sun is shining a path towards our future.

Follow close behind cowgirl in the sand. The world is easily deceiving and quickly depleting of originals.

An Anniversary

If only. If only it had come. If only we'd of lasted. If only we were wiser.

I could hear the trumpets playing to welcome us in but they were all too distant. I could smell the evergreens on the other side but they were all too faint.

You said I was too young. You doubted my sight of the decades that would soon present themselves to us. The years would become isolated like 1950's commercials had shown for years. Although I was a dreamer, I admit, I saw reality. You just needed to take into consideration that the reality in which I saw was also glazed with a cherry red finish.

You are not a dreamer. You are a Realist. A Realist so explicit that you get lost in the simplicity of  reality. Of the fact that people do live happy together, people do truly love each other once in a while. People do finish their years happy. The band is there to play for them, for us. If only we're their to hear it.

If only.

Nowhere

I'm in the air... no ground beneath me, no sky above. I'm not falling any more than I am flying. There's no glow of joy on my face, no cry for help in my eyes. I am stagnant. I am stale. And life passes by.

Insomnia

Night after night, sun light to lamp light, I lay and I stand, neither of which my eyes are closed. I enjoy solitude at times, when I can hear myself.  I enjoy it also when a million thoughts cannot parade my mind. My dreams are a capsule of a much different solitude. If only I could stop this, stop writing, stop thinking. Stop the monotonous cycle of being.

Loosing Myself, Only to be Found

I ran as fast as I could to the adrenaline that pulled me. As fast as I fell, I arose internally. Although I hit walls and went down one way streets, I did not stop. My feet did not stop moving. My life is propelled by the unknown, not by fear. I have no regret. I live to learn and I learn by experience. Experience is how I learned to love.

Sharing

I finally realized why it is that I enjoy blogging. If I am honest with myself, I am living many different lives. I have lived these lives for quite some time. These alternative life styles aren't bad, but I guess it is all in ones perspective. I feel at peace with my life and the decisions I make, however, I know that some of those surrounding me would not agree if they knew exactly how I lived.

It is liberating to know that I have exposed my deepest thoughts into the open. I have, in a sense, tied my secrets to a balloon and set it free. Someone may some day read my inner struggles and might, for a second, sympathize. Sharing human emotions may be all we have in this life.

Most of the time I feel I am protecting them from needless despondency. Other times I challenge myself with a looming thought of self artifice. "With years of evil wear, has my mind given in to the indulgent pleasures of this world?" This is a question I would ask myself at the genesis of my independence. A sense of searching has always been encompassed in me. I just often wonder what the odds are for me to be born into the "right" religion. After the birth of my carte blanche, I felt more real than I ever had before. I felt that my blank piece of paper finally needed color and understood why. This was the start of my discord. I was raised to keep a pure white paper.

As a child I was taught and saw battles of good and evil. I was taught the value of children's eyes and minds, only now to be told that those same eyes and minds are naive. This makes me wonder who is truly naive. How do I know, if I know nothing else?

For now, I will live. For as long as I live, I will love. That is all I know for certain.

Thoughts On Paper

When I sleep, I don't close my eyes 

When I dream, I see memories of a summer

When I love, I can't help but sleep

If I could write a song, I’d write it just for you
It would have deep meaning of value

Because what I lack in my voice, I make up in my heart

I'm not a musician, but I try so hard

Oh, I have dreams of you, I am singing to you

To be able to speak, with such melody

That's all I ask, is that you listen to me

We stay in the apartment, from day until the dust
We wake up like the owl, food always was a must

Late nights with the city lights

Just other cars and passing bars

It's the simple things that make us who we are...

Who we were... when the leaves had more color

And I was much stronger...

Happy New Year

 I have always felt that this night is very critical to be doing something spectacular but after tonight... I feel like it's just another night. A good friend of mine gave me this advise that I found to be quite helpful.

"[New Years] is always built up to be an exciting night, but it really isn't. Normal nights without expectations are more fun so you should just stay at home, save your gas money and make a cake."

Well... my friend was right in my case. When I put too many expectations on this night, it usually ends badly. So I spent this New Year in my home town with friends I grew up with... getting into a little trouble making sparkler bombs and lighting fireworks.

I've never had a "New Year kiss" and I guess I'm going to wait yet another year for that to happen. Hope you all stay safe to live another year.

Happy New Year