???poem??? (not really)

Start with a feeling of something amiss.
A hollow feeling, a body without healing,
a need for a tender kiss.

Then add the knowledge of being without;
for the wanting to be haunting,
to the point that I shout out:

Shout for her attention!
A moment in time, screw having to rhyme,
I just want her to talk to me, to remind me of her love

To tell me she is doing alright,
That life is good. How my heart jumps when the IM sound sounds but it is just files being transferred, Maybe I am not always calling first but I always want to speak to you, or hear you; I hardly ever say I don’t want to talk to you, and even when I do, it is not your fault at all, I still love you, I just am absent of my normal self I don’t even know if that makes sense, it doesn’t to me, but it is true, sometimes I want to be alone so much, that even the darkness seems too warm a companion, and I want to escape it…probably the time I need you the most. That warms me a little. Perhaps right now I need to suffer a little without you so I can have you at the time I need you the most. Better, you don’t need me right now…you or doing something spectacular, and I must keep my loneliness in check so I can have some left over when you need me. Dark times are coming or have come for you, and by that I mean when I went through the year you are going through it was very Dark for me, and the dark wasn’t my friend…Hopefully I can help you through this year in the ways that no one could help me through my respective Junior year.

Stuck in my mind

Warning dont read if you want a comprehensive or even compehendible blog this is a rant and so it shall be, no need for perfection or a backspace, spaces punctuation whatever.
What is it a girl wants! DONT ANSWER THAT!
THEY LISTEN TO MUSIC BY ARTISTS RAVING ABOUT LOOKING AT A GIRL (SAY IN FURS EVERYBODY LOOKING AT HER) TALKING ABOUT HER BODY, TALKING IN ALL SORTS OF UNPLEASANT WAYS. GIRLS ARE LISTSNING TO TRASH, WITH EVERY SO CALLED 'YEAR'S BEST MUSIC' INTRODUCING PERHAPS ONE NEW SOUND, A NEW SCRATCH IN AN ELEMENTARY BEAT THAT IS THEN USED AND REUSED AND RECYCLED IN ALMOST EVERY 'NEW' REMIX FOR THE NEXT COUPLE OF YEARS, WITH THE SAME SUBJECTS RESURFACING EVERY COUPLE SONGS, AND SO CALLED UPBEAT SONGS TALKING ABOUT VIOLENCE OR GOING TO THE DANCE FLOOR LISTENING TO THE SONG THAT IS PLAYING, NAMELY, "this song"!!!!!!!!!! tHEN THE GIRLS WANT TO LISTEN TO THE CRAP, GET CLOSE TO STRANGERS, OR EVEN PEOPLE THEY KNOW, EITHER WAY THEY GET ALL INTO EACH OTHER AND OTHER PEOPLE AND JUST A COUPLE MINUTESS BEFORE THEY WERE ALL SENSITIVE ABOUT BEING TOUCHED AND WHATNOT AND PEOPLE WANT TO LEARN TO DANCE BUT SECRETLY (not any more) AND HONESTLY I WOULD BE EMBARRASED TO KNOW HOW TO DANCE IN THIS DAY AND AGE WITH THE (changed to stuff) WE LISTEN TO!!!!!!!!! YOU SAY: WELL THEN DON'T LISTEN TO IT, JUST IGNORE IT LIVE YOUR OWN LIFE AND GO BACK TO THE SOFT BORING TUNES YOU LISTEN TO! WELL, I WOULD BE PERFECTLY HAPPY WITH GOING BACK TO MUSIC THAT HAS WITHSTOOD THE TEST OF TIME AND HAS BEEN LISTENED TO AFTER DECADES, EXCEPT IN MY PRESENT SITUATION, i ENCOUNTER THIS TERRIBLE MUSIC QUITE REGULARLY AND IT HAS BECOME "UNCOOL" TO NOT LISTEN TO IT, OR WHATEVER, AND I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND WHO LIKES TO DANCE TO THIS (changed to stuff). SHE ACCEPTS THAT I DONT LIKE THE MUSIC BUT I CANT EXPECT TO LOVE HER AND NOT ACCEPT HER TASTES TO SOME EXTENT, I CANT CHANGE HER, I WOULDN'T WANT TO BUT WHY MUST SHE LISTEN TO THAT (changed to stuff)!!!!!!!!!!!! WE USED TO HAVE TALENTED ARTISTS IN THE MUSIC WORLD, BUT NOW THE MAJORITY OF THE POOPULAR MAINSTREAM MUSIC is written by 'artisans' not artists, and for the music industry, not for the music world. Luckily, after this, Flo-Rida is out of my head, and I can relax. Peace!

I don't know. Don't ask. Thank you four.

yesterday, a pain in my mouth, more of a sore really, bothered me. I want to write this, so that day does not go done in my memories as one devoid of pain. Like Cesaer at his fall with the slave to tell him to remember 'mortis', I must learn to write of the good, the bad, and the "e-bil''. This pain, one on the inside of my bottom left jaw, one one the right bottom lip inside, and one at the opposite bottom inside lip, bled a little. It reminded me with excrutiating acuity at each huge smile the pain of others. Bazarov and Chekov would be proud of me. I will be cruising. I want to use this cruise not only as a model, experieinceing a new thing and observing my pleasures and displeasures for future reference. I also want to use it as a way to get closer to my dad's side of the family...at least right now that is my intention. Perhaps, even, I will party. More likely and something I expect to do is to workout. If not to get my legs back in shape, then I hope to develop my arms to the shape they never had. i reflect that perhaps the lingo and style of internet slang, of no capitolizing and justifying and so forth is brought on not only by laziness, nor by the variance in certain programming programs in doing things like underlining text, but perhaps in making all the writing seem more

Connected. Like, the beginning of one sentence flows right from the thoughts before, because there is no capitolization or justification to seperate them. Its just a thought. (I like that song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bdai_1LlSA0)

Talking about pain, and a want to be connected, It will be a While before I get to be as close to Paulina as I have been in the recent past. But, I have chased you. You wanted to ride away. I followed, then you hurt me. you are sorry for you. I have begun to make amends to our past-begun to forgive you. I love you. amazing how I seem to be able to type those words faster than the others...yet I am slower to take them back. I love you, and whatever Someday brings (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwNuQulK6N0), now I have you, and I have contentment. I am connected, but by a bond lighter than chains, stronger than twine, more transparent than water, as difficult to explain as a pink invisible unicorn. You have filled my Śūnyatā, in that now I wish not to pursue it...

but i digress. And I need to pack. o.O

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1NX0II7JAGY

Monday

Emotional day, come to a close. Writing is a good way of expression: someday, I will want to relive each moment, each feeling I am experiencing right now. Now, I am neither fully living it nor fully recording how alive my world is. But I love my life. I love my family, my ex-girlfriend, my friends including her...my world. I just am not always totally here, you know? Something to work on. I am surprised at how well I can stop thinking about...things. I suppose I can even supress my own grief at this point...ok i don't mean that. I love you Uncle Frank! I know you are watching over. I have so many things I want to say, but it would be silly for me to say them here. Rest in Peace.

Sunday

I will most likely not keep up with one post a day. Regretfully I do not always finish what I have begun. Some good music was heard today. Phone: is it for me? Probably not. Ok, it's not. I have a bad habit of putting semicolons instead of apostrophes when I am typing too fast. Someone once told me that they would do anything for me, if it made me happy. Conceptually, it is a warming thought, but really, sometimes what makes someone so special to you isn't what they give you. Perhaps it can be what they take from you, what they would like to give but can't, what they refuse to give, that allows me to see them as I do. Or maybe it is all my perspective, with little to no bearing on that person's judgements or actions. I hope and suppose it would not be any one of these things. Most likely, what makes someone so amazing to me is a combination of my attitude, their attitude, my relationship to them, and their relationship to me. Telephone! These things would be both in the moments that intersect, our time spent together, and the grains of sand of these moments mixed with the millions of other moments, actions, thoughts, and relationships that make up the shoreline of our world: our feelings. Anakin once said a cool romantic line about sand, something I would not remember from the many times I watched the movies...

My uncle. Uncle Frank. They, the unkown nd unknowing doctors, found cancer. It was too late to save him from death. They hooked him up to the machine today. I llost the train for what i was writing about i am going to go our lives are connected, each death ripples sadness to those living, but those who knew him best know he is watching above.

A Century Plant

[written Saturday May 30th]
A century plant, native to the desert, has many leaves that shoot out like fireworks from the ground. One stalk, one particular neck of green, watches from above the leaves, a patriarch. This overlooking shoot stands sentry over the leaves with little buttercup-like seed-flowers. Well, more aptly seeds; they have a very short life as flowers. When the plant is green, the seeds develop over the course of decades until, a century later, the seeds are fully mature. At this point, if no other century plant is mature, then the plant browns, dies, and will never pass on life to another century. I saw a battlefield of these timepieces. Some, past their prime, were dried, crisp, angled, falling for decades or already fallen or, worst of all, standing dead for eternity. Yet, in the midst of the dead were two green century-plants. They were five feet apart, the closest and farthest five feet in all of the earth. One, within its ninth decade, was still a little young to flower. The other plant, a short but sturdy specimen who had withstood the torment of sandstorms, had not drowned in the quick rain-showers that brought enough water for months, had envied neither the lonesome chase of a coyote nor the relatively fast crawl of a desert tortoise, and had grieved the death of its elderly neighbors, had nonetheless found the purpose of its life. It had 12 yellow-tan bulb-like flowers, dainty things that did not look particularly beautiful at a quick glance. Three on four sides. She held them up proudly if stiffly, her young lover had no knowledge of the brood. Desert bees, coming every other spring, had liked the two and agreed to rendezvous at the stalks. Pollen had happened upon the mature plant, as well as the immature miniature. One Hundred years, and she had flowers.

I went motorcycling. While riding, I saw a whole bunch of dead looking plants. I went up to one of the few that still had a little color, saw it had flowers. I tried smelling it but it smelled of dust. I picked one. The petals dissolved in my hand. Oh well.