Persephone

There's a place I reside,
a thought in my head,
in a different body I hide,
and my demon is dead.

There's a delicate scale,
of art and of beauty,
where a spirit can sail,
and hearts know their duty.

Arms never wrap in vain,
words grow in unbreakable vines,
there can be no pain,
and no reading between lines.

But now day turns to night,
this image becomes haze,
these shackles grow tight,
and I meet the demon's gaze.

He's stronger than ever,
there will be no leaving.
I need now more than never,
and he'll keep me believing.

These bars I deserve,
for swallowing seeds of lies.
Every night he'll observe,
the pools of tears in my eyes.

This is where I belong,
he'll set me free every spring.
So how could it be wrong,
playing concubine to this king?

Nothing is Something

Walk a tightrope
between responsibility and life.
Choose wisely,
the place to fall.

We are something out of nothing.
Why must we choose to land
where nothingness is nonexistent,
where servitude makes sense,
and sleeping is just sleep?

When will we choose to see,
something out of nothing is,
forever will be, just nothing.
That sleep may be wake,
and wake may be sleep.
That freedom is true freedom,
lacking restraints.

Why not fall there?
Why not try consciousness?
Maybe you'll find,
something didn't come of nothing,
that nothing came of something,
and that something,
is nothing.

I Still Hate Cats

I believe that the idea of having a pet is having something to interact with and essentially socialize with to allow a steady flow of comfort between animals of different species. It is symbiotic, one could say. Dogs qualify automatically for that category. It's ingrained in a domestic dog's DNA to be loyal to a human. To the point where, you almost feel sorry for them since their brains are not very complex (generalization) and focus on just pleasing their human.

A dog is always happy to see you. I have yet to meet a dog that cowers at the sight of a human being. My dog has always been her own character but my shadow, that follows me everywhere grunting at me, which I believe is some form of communication she's trying to develop. She even welcomes me home at 3 AM, with a considerably groggy look on her face. Yes, there are those few that are aggressive but generally it has to do with the nature of the breed. I was mauled by a husky when I was five, I had scratches and scabs all over my face for weeks but ever since that moment, I've wanted a husky more than any other dog. I love dogs. I honestly couldn't imagine a world without them. They truly are the greatest pets. All they ask of you in return for their unconditional devotion is just a pat on the head, a walk, or some quality time. It's so simple and pathetic that you have to love them.

A horse is another animal, believe it or not, that devotes itself to you if you give it all the attention that an amazing creature such as that deserves. I will never forget the horses that I've owned. Comet was my playmate and playground when I was a kid. He was just this little tri-color paint pony with a crazy Mohawk who was fearless and had a hilarious superiority complex. Cisco was probably my favorite though, he had a quirky personality for a horse. He was quite protective of me, and despite his clumsiness in the paddock actually rescued me from being trampled by another horse. When I was sixteen and seventeen, I'd stop by at the barn after a late night or if I was upset about something and just sit in his stall. I would curl up in one corner and he would walk over and put his nose between my face and my legs and sometimes playfully nibble at my nose. I loved him, more than I thought I did. I told myself I wouldn't cry on the day his new owner drove away, but I did. I literally collapsed into tears in the driveway.

My chinchilla, Chavez, and I started out slow, but now we're thick as thieves. He gets into a lot of shenanigans and still has a feeling that I may just be edible one of these times, but I think that's what I like about him. He knows perfectly well when he's misbehaving, he enjoys it, perhaps too much. I love playing with him and the weird sounds he makes at night just add to the mystique. So I've concluded that chinchillas make excellent companions if you have enough energy to play all the time.

Cats. I have two. I'm not particularly a fan of cats. They demand a lot and really don't do much in return. A cat is almost never happy to see you, it's just excited you opened the door so it has a possibility of escaping the place that is sustaining its life. They are moody and lazy. BUT when you need something to cuddle out the pain, even I'll admit that a cat will almost always be there for you. Just don't try to hold them too long. I claim I hate them, but I really do like cats. I like all animals, like people, every single one has something to offer.

Everyone should at some point adopt a pet of some sort. It helps you to rationalize your life. It gives you the excuse that if no human needs you here, at least an animal does. Even the meanest pets have love in them somewhere. At the end of the day, it's feeding an animal that puts everything back into perspective. They literally need you, don't ever abuse that privilege.

Cruisin'

They water your seeds,
But don't reap what they sow,
I'm in control.
I'm goin' places,
I'm seein' some faces.
Baby, I'm on the road.

Allegory of the Playground

The definition of luck is: a combination of events, etc., operating by chance to bring good or ill to a person.

Attaining luck is finding a way to live harmoniously with your surroundings and believing in their ability to get better.

A month ago I was at a playground with a friend and made a study in my mind about our overall philosophical differences in relation to points of focus on the playground instruments. These differences are attributed to our "luck" in our lives and its consequences on our personality and the way we think. There was this balance beam that rocked back and forth depending upon where the weight of your body was distributed. As I watched my friend on this beam, I noticed that all of his brain activity, all of the motions occurring before me, were focused directly to staying on the beam. Whereas, when I was on the beam, my mind was first focused on balancing, but the moment the beam shifted to throw off my balance, my thought process then shifted with it so that it began analyzing the best way to fall in order not to be harmed. This could be seen in my body language as automatically when I lost my balance, my entire body shifted its weight. Not to the other side of the beam (this would be the correct thing to do if I had wanted to stay on) but to the ground and how I was to get there softly.

To my friend, it didn't matter that his balance had been thrown off; he took it one step at a time. Undoubtedly he could fall harder, but his victory lies in the point of the exercise: to stay on the beam. I, rather selfishly, abandoned that plan and jumped off when it was safe. This is the difference in the way we produce our luck.

See, on that beam my friend appears to be luckier than I am, for he had ultimately defeated that exercise. He didn't plan, he launched himself into it and took it one step at a time. Sure, there were probably a few seconds here and there where his thoughts were interrupted by the inevitable belief that he was about to fall, but for the most part, his energy was primarily spent on staying on the beam. When he did fall, by then it didn't matter. It was a surprise, but he still went back on the beam to master the mistake. I, rather, cheated the exercise in my own way, as have I in many life endeavors. Instead of my victory being in the object of the game, I merely survived the game and there lies a personal victory, one of satisfaction and safety. Since I focused my energy on how to avoid the injuries associated, planning every step and every move so that it would produce the least amount of pain, ultimately I have lost.

No one should ever plan things in life. That is my personal failure, I'm afraid I've always been too much of a convinced dreamer, believing that doing the safe things would make those dreams come true, therefore planning. See, chances are, your plans will change around you and all of a sudden you'll be sitting there wondering why the hell you can't be lucky like the rest of the world. You're not on that beam anymore, that's why. You're not using the playground. That's what it's there for. Use it. A word of caution, be weary of the ones who plan to fall, it's probably because they've fallen hard one too many times. Still, they can never actually see the pain that is out there for them. They're too busy planning. For the fortunate planners, be sure to realize that eventually, gravity can and will catch up to you.

I'm taking a break. Chilling on a swing for a while. I'm choosing an option not considered before, pursuing something with interest in the subject area and grasping the hand of someone who will undoubtedly bite back. I figure though, if I hold on to the ones that don't bite, pick and choose the people to hang on to, the ones that really matter to me and that are actually important, someday I won't have to worry about falling. I can have so many spotters. I'm probably going to choose to jump off this swing every now and then, and I know the fall will hurt, but maybe since I know what's coming, it can't hurt as much. Or maybe, as Benjamin Button said, "you never know what's coming for you."

So I suppose this thought is to be continued until I choose to return to that balance beam. This time going at it with the mind of a child but the heart of an old lady.

Beautiful

beau-ti-ful
-adjective-
having qualities that give great pleasure or satisfaction to see, hear, think about etc...

The simple words mean more than we think. Perhaps sometimes they are built up to the point where they are incomprehensible and we pretend to define on our own terms. But words and their definition, although can be bent and manipulated into pleasant or horrific things, are absolute. It is our world, our society, and our very lives that change them. To one, beautiful can mean just attractive but to another, beautiful can be everything above. Don't think before you speak, just speak what you think, what you really think.

Flightless Bird

Shouldn't have gotten brave,
Shouldn't have flown away.
Now I've gained this broken wing,
And crawled back here until next spring.

Thoughts From The Flatlands

Lovely Rita and I took a ride today, very far away. I probably shouldn't have done this since my oil hasn't been changed since maybe February, but there was something calling me east that I just had to follow. So on my way home from yet another day at work full of the most exhausting character acting I've ever put on, I took a spontaneous left turn down Clark Road. This was a rather difficult maneuver considering my left turn signal burnt out two weeks ago and my tires are slowly but surely losing traction. (My poor Lovely Rita hasn't been much of her sturdy self these days, but I suppose if I ran 50,000 miles, neither would I.)

I just started to drive with no plans for where I was heading, which happens to be one of my favorite pass times and I think I really needed this one. In this state, taking a drive into the country is actually rather daring and adventurous. Imagine if Rita had broken down next to the swamps, with no sanctuary for miles and hardly any mobile signal (not like it would have helped considering I didn't even bother charging my phone) just me and the swamp critters, most of which are deadly. I wonder if anyone would have even thought to look for me out there....if they even bothered looking.

Anyway, I drove for a good hour and then had to stop. The road turns from three lanes to one lane rather silently and suddenly you find yourself traveling through "old Florida." Nevertheless, I enjoyed the scenery, for some reason it always has a way of reminding me of places I've been, like Arizona. I realize that Arizona is the complete opposite kind of Earth but it's the flatness and the sun setting with a profound water colored ending that just sparks some sort of memory in my mind of the desert.

When I decided I was going to turn back I just stopped for a minute to take in the air at the farthest point I drove. I looked over the barren terrain at the orange skyline in the distance trying to force myself to see this place as home. I've been here a year now. I am a resident of the state of Florida. The thing is, no matter how hard I try I can't ever picture this place as my home. It's like a wool sweater, it keeps you warm but you get all itchy and the more you scratch the more you'd rather just take it off and deal with the cold. I think if I put it all together, added up all of the good moments, I've probably only had about two happy months in this place. Still, it's not to say that I look at Pennsylvania as home, nor Connecticut for that matter. I'm proud to say I'm from New England but the truth is, it's just the place I was born, I have no real lasting ties that call my name. Pennsylvania is where I grew up and I love the memories I have there, but it just can't really be called home as I told a co-worker the other day.

We were talking about how he had gone back to Boston, where he is from, and how it just wasn't "home" anymore. I told him it was because that part of his life was over and there's no going back to it, you just have to hold on to what you have left of it. He smiled and told me that I was "very wise" for my age and I told him that when you live a life full of brief moments you kind of have to learn how to live fast and learn fast. Maybe that's why I always hated school, it just seemed such a waste of my time when I could learn things a lot faster with experience. The more people you encounter in your lifetime makes you quick on your toes. I've been taught how to network with the "right" people, I've been taught how to speak convincingly to a large crowd, I've been taught how to make a friend smile, I've been taught how to question, and to dismiss anger, and I've been taught how to absorb feeling from around me which provides me with an empathy and understanding for every person I meet.

Next year I will be moving from this state and there will be things, as always, that I will miss. Despite the fact that I never wanted to be here, I have found my places to hide from the world, where I can think without distraction. When you leave a place behind, those places disappear too and you never really go back. I don't know where I will be going next, to be honest. I'm not sure if I will go to New York, somewhere in South America, London, Paris, I was even considering Vancouver for a while (imagine me....in Canada), but I'm sure wherever I end up will finally be the adventure that I've been searching for or at least the beginning of a good one. Wherever I go, I bring a suitcase full of charms and trinkets with memories sealed on them, irreplaceable. And I hope I go along with a true friend, the one I've been waiting for, for so long.

I got back into my car and drove home, feeling a familiar emptiness. What have I done? And why am I here all alone? It's true, I've a lot to learn about the world, people, relationships, and just plain living for that matter. Currently, I'm going to hang on to the things I need, for I have no home but the metaphorical walls I've built around me, protecting myself from those who wish to do me harm. In the end, it is naivety that fails those walls, but I'd rather be stupid and have met the people I have than be too hidden, reserved, and intelligent to explore emotion. I hope that one day they all will see the unconditional love I always had for the persons they are. I suppose somewhere up this road will be a lot more things, good and bad, that will force me to abandon more of my inner child. It hurts to sew up those holes and it's confusing not knowing where to go tomorrow. For now, there is not much more can be said about a crossroads at the corner of nineteenth and never.

The Russian Spy Who Lived Next Door

No really, I'm not kidding this time. I read in the paper this morning that one of my neighbors was, in fact, a former Soviet spy. He died (supposedly) of a heart attack, however they are currently doing an autopsy to find out if perhaps he was killed considering the latest news about the spies recently compromised and deported. About a month ago a friend of mine had told me a story about how a former Russian spy had come into Barnes & Noble to buy his own book. The world got a whole lot smaller when I realized he lived but two houses from me....yet another reason why I should probably branch out and get to know my neighbors. I knew there was something interesting happening in this neighborhood when I saw that one guy walking his dog... backwards (that one still confuses my mind). This never happened in Kimberbrae. Of course, there was that one guy who only mowed his lawn at midnight. I mean, I'm nocturnal myself but, that's just strange and suspicious behavior.

A former Soviet spy, who would have thought? OH the suburbs.

The Art of Filmmaking in this Brave New World

Recently I've picked up on a theme in award winning motion pictures which, although realistic and at times depressing, I happen to enjoy. It's a fact that movies, not just in dialogue, story board, and acting have become far more "real world" in recent years in the style in which they are actually filmed; a harshly honest, artistic sort of way. I have been honored to sit in front of a screen and view the evolution of these films. The clearest and best portrayals of this particular style which shine in both story telling genius and a battered trail of emotional ups and downs, include Slumdog Millionaire, The Wrestler, and Crazy Heart.

Movies like Slumdog Millionaire, which show the triumph of youth and dreams from characters beaten down by their realistic surroundings and terrifying lives in an underdeveloped country, introduce a new level of feeling within audiences. Personally, I believe Slumdog portrayed India in the most truthful of lights, showing the dark worlds of the very children who were cast in the film. That is their life. There was no cutting at the seams. Now, granted, Slumdog was based off of a book to begin with but, regardless of the actual story, the effect left on the audiences' eyes as they viewed the "inside" of a poverty stricken orphan in India is that of a lasting impression on the soul. Although, this movie still reached beyond the realm of reality and did perhaps leave us all with a triumphant "love conquers all" feeling in our hearts, a couple of other movies, with almost parallel themes to each other, leave a whole different kind of impression.

The Wrestler gave a shockingly realistic look into the life of a middle aged man who confronts his lack of luck and reckless life and is forced to accept it. I was hesitant to see the movie at first, probably due to the advertisements depicting actual wrestling matches which honestly I had no interest in. I was under the impression that it was yet another Rocky movie, just a slightly different sport. Regardless, after several suggestions from friends, I decided to sit down and give it a chance.

Filmed in just a few short weeks, not far from the place where I grew up, The Wrestler is, in my opinion, one of the finest cinematic performances given in a very long time. It was raw, reality; the truth conveyed that things just don't work out. The character, played by Mickey Rourke, begins to realize his own mortality is closing in on him and suddenly begins to patch up his completely torn apart life. The ending of the film is not triumphant, there are no new friends, no re-established relations with missing relatives, no cheating death, he doesn't even get the girl. What there is, is acceptance. Far too late to change anything, too much damage left from a broken past the audience knows nothing of, far too old to carry on with any dreams of another kind of grandeur. It is, in fact, the portrayal of the consequences of a lifestyle and the acceptance of those consequences and of self. This movie easily became one of my favorites, lacking a happy ending filled with hope for the future left a meaning so deeply encrusted in the fabric of all humans; we are alone and we are responsible for that. However, another movie introduced the same type of character except this time with a little more hope.

When Crazy Heart opens in the first scene with a character that lacks any sort of caring nature for his surroundings, you feel nothing for him. That, I think, is the genius of the movie. This man is introduced, playing two-bit gigs to an endangered fan base, completely wasted and riding on prior fame. Over time however, the character progresses thanks to his slight devotion to his younger, single mother, lover who takes the risk in falling for him. Though alcoholism ruins any chance of a future for the two lonely hearts, his mistake forces him to better himself with rehab. The realism portrayed finally strikes at the end when the love of his life wants nothing to do with him, and neither does his long lost son. Just as The Wrestler, the protagonist is out of rope and time but instead of a story of accepting circumstances, Jeff Bridge's character, "picks up his crazy heart and gives it one more try."

It is these endings, I believe, which place the audience into a far more empathetic seat. We've all had moments where things seem to fall apart before we even began to get used to the idea that they were there in the first place. Just as picking up a book can capture a reader's heart and send the most truthful message to him or her with the gifts of literature such as The Scarlett Letter, or plays like A Streetcar Named Desire, where things don't exactly work out the way they are supposed to. The benefit of the book is that it is able to send that message as well as portray the inconveniences which society places on people like Hester, Stella, and Blanche. Perhaps a few more years of evolving films will be able to place both these honest endings and realistic scenarios as well as provide that dark emphasis on the consequences of society's rule. For now, however, I have to say that I'm proud of filmmakers for taking a step further. As M. Night Shyamalan (a very much underrated storyteller) said, "My hope is, we broke so many rules, we created a new rule."

The Wake

I never lack the courage of my conviction,
I, in turn, dare to dream.
This place, this bed with no blankets,
this house with no roof,
stands as a breathing reminder of the person I'll become.
I have love, but no love.
I have a mirror, but no reflection.
I have a heart, but no organs.
I am human, who's clothing hangs,
as a veil o'er a body,
given a taste, yet scolded never to swallow.
But even in the wake,
dew settles on grass,
I close my eyes and drift to sleep.

"Keepin an eye on the world going by my window"

Okay, so I've decided to let my friends see some of my work. I did delete some because there are certain memories included in my writing which I would rather not share with the world. I hope you are interested in reading this...if not...I never should have gone through all of that work in deleting things so that people can hopefully read the majority of my stuff from now on. I feel like this is a good thing. I do hope it is. I also hope you enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETO3YfDKEI4