Monday, August 30, 2010

Marionette

And if you could see me,
would you see me cry?
And if you could hear me,
would you heed my call?
And if you could feel me,
would you feel my scabs?
And if you could hold me,
would it only last a moment?
And if I were real today,
would you stay for tomorrow?
And if I told you my truths,
would you say I know nothing?
If you pulled my strings,
would I mean anything to you at all?
Because for me,
you are the only life I see.
And for me,
you mean everything.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

~Effervescing appears on a less frequent basis when genuine passion has been thrust aside by the paltry immitation of thoughtlessly feeble euphoria.~

Brave New World

"[...] what with the temptations and the lonely remorses, what with all the diseases and the endless isolating pain, what with the uncertainties and the poverty--they were forced to feel strongly. And feeling strongly (and strongly, what was more, in solitude, in hoplessly individual isolation), how could they be stable? [...] Impulse arrested spills over, and the flood is feeling, the flood is passion, the flood is even madness: it depends on the force of the current, the height and strength of the barrier."
~Aldous Huxley~

Monday, August 23, 2010

Revolutionary Road

"-You still felt that life was passing you by?
-Sort of. I still had this idea that there was a whole world of marvelous golden people somewhere, as far ahead of me as the seniors at Rye when I was in sixth grade; people who knew everything instinctively, who made their lives work out the way they wanted without even trying, who never had to make the best of a bad job because it never occurred to them to do anything less than perfectly the first time. Sort of heroic super-people, all of them beautiful and witty and calm and kind, and I always imagined that when I did find them I'd suddenly know that I belonged among them, that I was one of them, that I'd been meant to be one of them all along, and everything in the meantime had been a mistake; and they'd know it too. I'd be like the ugly duckling among the swans."
--Richard Yates---

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Thunder

Thunder cut between
A dream within a dream.
I see the faces I've missed,
I sit upon clouds I've kissed.
I hold my breathe, envision the air,
But I can't ever go back there.
The haze begins to fray,
impossible memory slips away.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Chronic Mood Forecast

Suffocate, absquatulate, then acquiescence. Tomorrow consists of either mutiny or introversion, but probably one in that are the same, however different in cause and reaction due to the circumstantial outcome of events. Curing comes from endless routines of a coma followed by bittersweet dejection which serves up nicely with intentional starvation. A helpless hope for a limitless liberty stands vivified but masqueraded in apathetic gestures of a puppeteer's ecstasy. Its will-power numbed by floating imagery drifting as shadows across glazed pupils which enlighten but enhance the defiance of the listed offenses. Consequently, glazed pupils later result in precipitation in the smaller hours due to the stimulation of memory in response to a heightened anabolic state. All reduced to the recently absorbed knowledge that the moment you become incandescently happy is the minute you will fall. Momentary relief from the everlasting effects of reckless abandonment can be found in song during voluntary isolation and quarantine.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FP7J8ONfIfs

Monday, August 2, 2010

Product of Confusion

The product of confusion dreams of the definite.
Dreams forever but merely dies.
On the shore of openness awakes to bravery,
a gleaming moment in time.
One chance, forever to shine.
Just as sure as it appears,
the wind changes course
to shift a mind.
Leaves behind confusion,
helpless victim of the rising tide.
Cling to a moment,
too short to birth a convincing lie.
Sails rise, confusion is passed,
back to the receiver at long last.
Lays there placing sand grains in a bottle,
keeping time to the denied
for it never rains outside.

Sunday, August 1, 2010

The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress

"He believes that it is impossible to shift blame, share blame, distribute blame [...] as blame, guilt, responsibility are matters taking place inside human beings singly and nowhere else. But being rational, he knows that not all individuals hold his evaluations, so he tries to live perfectly in an imperfect world [...] aware that his efforts will be less than perfect yet undismayed by self-knowledge of self-failure."

~Robert A. Heinlein~