Exposition of Love

What is Love?
It is fake.
What does it do?
Our hearts it does slake.

Who falls in Love?
Fools do, of course.
Because avoiding Love,
Just might be worse.

Pick your poison,
Married or single.
One you die alone,
The other you die mingled.

Love takes your true dreams,
And gives you new ones to pursue.
The purpose of this phenomena,
Is one no one can quite construe.

Your doomed to love,
And doomed to die.
Will you choose one or both,
Before ascension to the sky?

Might as well love,
Might not get the chance again.
Even if the Holy Ones say,
That Love can lead to sin.

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First stanza says love slakes our hearts. Slake can mean to become extinct or to satiate. Thus love can give our hearts the comfort needed to live, or can destroy them. This is why it is so fake in that it has no one "true" form.

Second stanza says fools fall in love. In actuality it means that a person becomes a fool after they fall in love, not necessarily before. A person has a choice of loving someone or being lonely throughout their life. Love often stems from the fear of being alone, which would be a worse alternative.

Third stanza says being married and single are both poisons. A person has to pick which one they want to go through. Marriage has its own challenges, as does being alone with only yourself. With one you'll die alone, but free, and with the other you'll die "with" someone, but bound or committed (I realize people will have big objections to this).

The fourth stanza says that Love takes peoples dreams in life and gives them new ones. Often times dreams are transformed after falling in love in order to accommodate the loved one in someone's life. How and why Love manages to do this to people, no one is quite sure, since that requires concrete knowledge of Love itself. Such objective material is not available.

The fifth stanza says that your doomed to fall in love and doomed to die. Everyone should feel at some point as if they are in love, whether its real or not. Everyone is also doomed to die. These two universal truths will occur to each person no matter what. The question raised is whether you will choose to let your Love for another person rule over your ultimate Death, or whether you will allow your Death to overshadow the Love you obtained in life.

The sixth stanza says that you might as well love someone since you might die and never get the chance again if the after-life doesn't exist. The last two lines aren't meant to suggest that a person fall in love with as many people as possible. It's meant to suggest the correlation of Lust and Love. Some people say Lust is the ultimate form of Love, and Lust is portrayed as one of the"deadly sins". Everyone has their own opinion on what exactly Love and Lust are, but they both share some of the same fundamental connotations, which begs the question, "Does it matter if one loves in love, loves in lust, lusts in love, or lusts in lust?"

Paranoia!

Why did that person laugh,
What did I do that's wrong?
The eyes of people watch only me,
And attack confidence that was never strong.

Why did you just look at me,
Is there something on my face?
Why did you just grimace,
Are my looks in that bad of taste?

I know that your not smirking,
At something other than me.
Eyes down, walking faster,
Please just let me be.

In the elevator I feel,
Your gaze burning me straight through.
Each floor it intensifies,
I'm panicking, what else's new?

I have to act my best,
My imperfection others cannot see.
When will I learn to be perfect,
Is to have others laugh with me?

Oh, So Wrong...

They point and laugh,
And say "you don't have a life".
Little do they know,
I have a life that's filled with strife.

Strife from people like you,
Who criticize who I am.
If I'm happy who should care,
And why do you give a damn.

I'll spend my time smiling,
Knowing I'm the best me I can be.
"That loser needs to get a life?",
Oh when will you ever see...

The only loser is you,
Because you don't know who you are.
Soon you'll learn putting others down,
Won't in a million years get you far.

But hey, that's cool,
To each his own, am I right?
I'll glide through my happy life,
While you'll constantly put up a fight.

Dreams

What more are dreams in the world other than people's underlying explanation of existence behind survival? Did cavemen have "dreams" and "aspirations" of things that they wished to become? Probably not, they just cared about surviving and did anything they could to accomplish that task. People today have dreams and things they want to do, though. They make goals for themselves and set out to accomplish those goals, but for what purpose?

Often these goals that people make are a way for them to survive. In this day and age the concept of survival is severely skewed. Survival in America doesn't mean not starving or dying of disease in many cases. In some cases it means becoming social accepted by peers and landing a successful job to support a loving family. Survival is defined differently depending on what the dreams of the people are. If your able to have ambitious dreams, then your rate of survival is most likely higher. The more your life is put in danger, the more you focus on prolonging the length of your existence. If you are not threatened by death you casually live life with hopes and dreams.

The Civil Rights Movement was an act of survival. The blacks wanted to change a social situation because it was beginning to harm their survival rate. This is still evident today in ghetto neighborhoods where deaths still occur in high numbers. A dream emerged out of this need to survive. Black humans of America recognized a threat to their existence and thus set out to fight against it, and ultimately won to an extent. Was it also about equality and wanting fair treatment for everyone? Of course, but that equality stemmed from the fact that it was needed for blacks to prosper in America.

You are technically surviving right now, since you're alive. The human race can be seen in a constant state of survival and growth. We develop technology to prolong our existence and defy the previous devastating effects of nature. We no longer have to worry about dying on any given day to do coincidence or chance to a certain degree. Thus we must give our existence in the world meaning by giving ourselves goals and dreams. We form a reality of the world we live in by how we form our vision of the future.

Not every person dreams of better things. It doesn't make a person stronger to dream or not dream. It may affect their rate of survival. Dreams stem from survival instincts that all humans have. Do not forget that humans are animals, and an animal's primal instinct is to survive. Humans will go through their lives trying to survive as long as possible. That is the basis dreams come from, and the way that the lengthening of human life occurs.

We all form dreams and hope within ourselves in order to give meaning to a life that's true nature is most likely to survive. In this act of surviving we find that our lives are not threatened. In a sense this boredom causes us to reach out in an attempt to discover what other hidden meanings there might be for us to be here. In actuality this hidden meaning may not have ever existed. Perhaps humans are digging deeper and deeper in to the mysteries of life, when nothing at all is at the bottom.

Who Are You?

I see you every day,
Never stop to say "hey".
Smile then pass by,
Without ever saying "hi".

Just who are you,
Who I see every day?
Just who you are,
I cannot quite say.

Maybe Jessica or Vickie
Or Pamela or Nicky.
What treasures do you hide,
What secrets might you confide?

Don't use those eyes,
They are worse than telling lies.
I can see through words,
But not love's beautiful chords.

Which star in the sky are you,
Who through the night sky pierces through?
Is that smile just like a star,
Whose real shape is hidden in space afar?

My Daily Walk

Every day I walk down the same path out of my city. I start by exiting the place I might as well call my home. As soon as I exit there's a spot just to the left that I used in the past to idle my time. This is the spot that I have probably spent the most time at, because it is where I spent time with someone I thought I loved dearly. When I walk past that spot, I still feel emotion and still am affected by the time we spent together. Whenever I hear a song that reminds me of that spot, it still touches deep to my heart. Ultimately this spot is where we had the fights, and later made up, and where my greatest heart break and happiness of my life occurred.

Moving on to a little further down the path, there's a spot on the right behind a fountain. This is where I used to spend time with what I thought at the time was the first person I ever loved. After spending a day together we would say good night to each other behind that fountain before we went to sleep. Eventually I discovered that this person was merely using me and I became very unhappy and upset. Still, whenever I walk past that fountain I can't help but remember the countless memories that are forever imbedded within my mind. Memories with this person are the strongest ones that I have.

Further down on the right is a little niche. This is where a lone and mysterious person spends their time when they are not busy helping someone or helping themselves. This niche is the most painful. I never loved this person. I actually met them through that one person who I said goodnight to behind the fountain. My love blinded me to them as a person, and thus we collectively neglected them. It wasn't long before this person chose to ignore my existence. Every day I walk past this location and my heart is torn, as I wish I could say I'm sorry and have them acknowledge me. They may never know the torment that I feel for the actions that I committed.

A simple walk to start my day. Three locations that constantly remind me of my past and the decisions I have to make for the future. Such simple things that people look at and take for granted every day, have changed my life forever.

Fool

You thought you were different. That's a little bit funny. You knew her past, you knew what she had done, but you thought you were different. You thought you could make a difference. You thought you could change the irreparable patterns of her previous fate. Poor fool, you had no idea.

For the first few months you falsely convinced yourself that you had accomplished that impossible feat. You allowed yourself to believe that you single-handedly did what was said could not be done. You learned from your mistake very quickly, however. The darkness that surrounded her soul soon become all too apparent to you, and you knew you were already in way too deep to back out. At this point you had cages built all around that you forged from within your heart which kept you from truly living. You became a slave to her rage and short-sightedness. What a fool.

Fool in love? Of course, why not? Most lovers are fools, beings who convince themselves that what they have is greater than it actually is in order to be able to live their lives with ease. Those who deny it can't accept it, it's as simple as that. But you thought that you were different. You weren't a fool, the love you felt couldn't be fake. You knew it was real, and you knew it was making you a better person. You also knew that eventually this roller coaster that had been heading up for these few short months was going to come down, all at once.

Unresolved love and misguided love are warning signals should you see if you find yourself falling for someone whose had either. Unresolved love leads to mixed feelings and fulfillment which is derived from a source other than yourself. They want the love someone else used to give them, but since that person can't, they want you to give it to them. They want you to give them love as if it was from someone else. The only thing is, you won't realize it until it's too late. Misguided love stems from wanting to be loved no matter the circumstances. Desperation and loneliness lead to falling in love fairly easily. You don't do it because you care about the other person. You just want the loneliness to cease, even if it is under the guise of a fake love. Still, your heart will convince you that it is real, and you won't realize until it is much too late that up to this point every emotion and fiber of your being has been constructed.

If a person leaves someone they love in order to be with you, then they will eventually leave you in order to be with someone else. If you feel as if you've gained love a bit too easily, then you will lose it just as easily. Having love is a hard thing, and if you find it is easy, then there is often some dark and elusive reason which will eventually lead you to starring on the Maury Povich show. Be wary of people who give themselves to you without knowing anything about you. These people are dangerous. They will be whoever you want them to be, and when you are sucked in to their pit with no escape they will then take off their mask.

Soon that love that you had been told was unconquerable will begin to emerge. All the signals told you that it was a bad idea, and a mistake. You didn't care, though, you thought that you could do it, and so you tried. Finally it is now that you realize you don't stand a chance against something like that. You never stood a chance from the beginning, you were just fooling yourself in to thinking that you did. You were possessed by powers far greater than your self-will.

In the aftermath there is wisdom to be gained, but you are unsure as to where you should go next. Lost, like many people, in a sea of forgotten lovers whose shores are so distant, and whose waters are bereft of life rafts. You know that the torch has been passed on to another. You know that somewhere out there that temptress is working her magic on another soul, and you cannot help but pity him.

Such a fool is he.

Dobu Street

There is a small city in Japan which is the comforting home of Dobu Street. Many families live on Dobu Street, but one in particular is not so ordinary. If you could even call them a family, a young boy and his grandmother lived on Dobu Street. The young boy’s parents had died when he was still very young, and the grandmother had since then taken care of him.

It was Christmas time on Dobu Street. All the families were rejoicing with various carols and cheer. The young boy especially liked the light snowfall that fell from the sky. It would lay delicately on the light poles and branches of trees. He would love to sit in the den and gaze out the window for hours staring at the peaceful fall of snow. Each year the young boy dared not ask for any gifts, knowing that the family’s budget was very limited. Still, every year his grandmother bought him something small – usually new karate equipment. The boy bought his grandmother things like flowers and new curtains, but each year she refused to accept the gifts. The boy was never disappointed, because he knew that she rejected his gifts for the sake of the family. Each year he’d ask her what she wanted for Christmas, and she would simply reply “I don’t want nothing, boy”.

Years passed in this fashion, and each Christmas was as enjoyable as the next. Some time later, during the summer, the boy received a letter from the Japanese military. In the year 1945 he was to depart for the city of Hiroshima for military training and positioning. His grandmother opposed it, saying that she and him could move to a different location and hide until the war was over. The boy persuaded her not to, however, and in a very short time he had packed his bags and departed.

The grandmother of the boy lived the following years in worry. Letters from the boy slowly came to an awkward halt. On one day she was in the village and overheard conversation of a tragedy that had taken place far to the south. Rushing back to her home, her worst fears were realized when she noticed on the boy’s military papers that his positioning was the exact same city that the tragedy had occurred in. The old woman was immediately emotionally torn to pieces. The young boy resembled her hope for things to come in life. He was literally her reason to live at this point. She did not know what she would do if something were to happen to him.

In the weeks to come leading up to Christmas, she solemnly decorated the house as usual, knowing that there would be no one else there to enjoy them with her. She even bought the young boy a wooden katana for his karate practicing, even though he would not be there. “He might not ever be here for another Christmas”, she thought. Continuous talks from the townspeople led to discussion of the tragedy in Hiroshima. It was said that not a single soul within the city survived, and that thousands of people were killed. Losing all hope to live, the grandmother began her long walk back to her home.

The snow was falling lightly around her, just as the young boy had liked. The dim yellow light of the light poles cast a magical glow on the street as she made her way past homes where families were full and whole, and whose Christmas cheers could be heard from Dobu Street. She lay down to rest that night, praying for emotional strength to aid her during this rough time.

She woke in the morning, and her heart felt as though it was sore from being exercised so vigorously the day before. She walked quietly in to the living room, where a young boy stood with his back to her, facing the window and gazing at the silent and graceful falling of snow. “I didn’t get you anything this year grandma”, he said. “But somehow I don’t think that will disappoint you”...

A Kiss

Five seconds left,
I wonder could you be the one?
Do you love as I do,
Or is it just a little fun?

Four seconds left,
I close my eyes for the ride.
For the remaining time,
I'll let my heart be my guide.

Three seconds left,
The texture becomes so clear.
As those sweet soft lips,
Approach ever so near.

Two seconds left,
I hope your not already bored.
I say "I love you" with my lips,
But don't utter a single word.

One second left,
So close there's no way I could miss.
Here is where two become one,
With a single loving kiss.

Tears

Is there no greater tragedy,
Than a lonely person crying?
With no one to comfort them,
So they feel as if they're dying?

Lonely tears sting the eyes,
But not because of their salt.
They cause a person to convince themselves,
That their pain is their own fault.

Friends and family are there,
As an emotional nine-one-one.
But lonely people won't always call,
Their friends and family they shamefully shun.

They don't think anyone knows,
Or can relate to their extreme pain.
When miles away or maybe next door,
A person is crying who feels the same.

They're never alone but it's easy to forget,
When their happiness is overcome by fears.
The world dims and becomes so dark,
When all they have is their tears.

Climbing This Mountain

I'm climbing this mountain built out of past despair and regret. My tears stain the surface of cold-hard rock made out of razor sharp emotions which cut me to my core. I continue to climb because somehow I know holding my head up high will make me stronger in the end. As opposed to wallowing and idling on the side of the mountain in the past, I now continue to go upwards, towards whatever my destiny might be.

People like (censored) keep pulling me down. They just keep doing things which hurt me and make me think I have no one else in the world. Of my only few friends (censored) has really hurt me the most. I look forward to spending time with them and having fun with them but then they do something which hurts my feelings. But I don't stop to cry. I keep climbing the mountain.

That's not to say I don't cry. Crying makes the surface of the mountain slippery and hard to manage. I have to be extra careful when I'm crying because I might slip and fall down to a part of the mountain I've already climbed, and that wouldn't be making progress. I view this process as climbing a mountain because it can be seen as a struggle. I keep pushing myself, though, wondering if I'll reach the top or break down first.

This awful feeling in the pit of my chest - somewhere where my heart probably resides - feels absolutely dreadful. It feels like it has been betrayed and stabbed in the back. I suppose that's partially my fault for becoming so attached to people and allowing them to do so. Still, the sentimental feelings I innately possess towards all people close to me remains. I don't think I can ever let that go, and thus I feel I will always be vulnerable to attack. Since I have no harness to stop me from falling off the mountain, I must become good at catching myself before I lose my grip.

I keep moving upwards. Day after day. My arms are burning and my legs feel like they are on fire. But I can't stop climbing. I can't rest or I won't be making progress. I can't stop walking. I must keep looking straight forward, with my head level. I must envision whatever it is at the top of that mountain, and attempt to reach it to the best of my ability.

I'm tired of the fight. I'm tired of the struggle. If I don't keep climbing I'm just going to idle on this mountain, which will slowly drain my energy. If I let go I will never be able to get back up this far again. If I keep going I might just reach the end. Continuing this journey however is the most painful. Perhaps living is the most painful thing a person ever does, as well as the most enjoyable. Life itself can be seen as the best and worst thing - since it is one. Left on my own I'm confident I could reach the top. Some part of me doesn't want to be alone at the top, though. So I let others like (censored) join me, but who in the end were only trying to step on my head and get just a little further ahead of me.

I'm never going to fall down, though. Even moments before my death my hand will be gripping to whatever part of that mountain I've managed to reach. I may not make it to the top of this mountain. I may not even make it half way. But I'll be damned if I'm going to stop, or give up. It may make me as emotionally hard as the rock that I'm climbing, and it very well may cause me more despair than I currently possess, but either way I'm not going to stop.

I'm going to see the top of this mountain.

Even if it kills me.

Back-Up Plan

Where are we going?
And what's with this handbasket?
Maybe we're.... oh shit.

---

The Christians might be right so don't **** it up.

Where Are You?

Enough of this already,
Where the heck are you?!
I've been waiting like forever,
I wonder if you have, too.

I keep running in this hedge maze,
But each turn gets me no where.
I run faster and faster,
Oh it's just not fair, just not fair.

I even run at night,
When I can't even see.
Blinded by ambition,
Hopeless romantic, yep that's me.

Can't tell you how many times,
I thought it'd just be one more turn.
Onward I trek aimlessly,
I wonder if I'll ever learn.

I decided I'll just lay here,
And doze underneath a tree.
Why, you were running so fast,
You nearly fell on top of me.

Butterflies (They're Back)

**It's the 100th post! Decided to re-do the very first poem I've written for this blog. The original is still one of my favorites and better than alot of the recent ones I've written (in my opinion, anyway).

I see you in my dreams,
But my dreams are just a lie.
I was gonna call you today,
But was stopped by a butterfly.

D'you wanna know a secret?
Don't tell - but I'm really shy!
I'm not real good at talkin',
(Its 'cause of the butterfly).

It allows me to love,
Though I'm not sure why.
'Cause each time I get closer,
I'm stopped by that butterfly!

I'm not gonna give up though,
I know I'll do it if I try!
Even if I gotta strangle,
That gorgeous butterfly.

I want you to know,
That if I'm ever to die,
That you can blame it!
On that damned butterfly...

I'm Sorry I'm Your Friend

I'm sorry I'm your friend,
I know you'd change it if you could.
I tried to be a good friend to you,
But the truth is that I'm just not good.

I either call you too many times,
Or not enough so you become upset.
I would die to take away your pain,
But don't know what to say when you fret.

I would sell my soul and be cast to Hell,
Just to put a smile on your face.
I would love you forever if you wanted me too,
Even though you're not really my taste.

The truth is I care so deeply,
And have no real way for it to show.
I'm sorry that I'm your friend,
But you will never ever know.

So please don't go,
Even though I'm pushing you away.
Because you'll never know,
That I want you here to stay.

F.E.A.R.

Why do people fear things in life? It is a completely unnecessary task that only results in the belittling of potential. I suppose certain things are embedded in to people from their childhood. Others might be a bit more universal (fear of rejection). Really, though, what is the point of fearing something? If we are supposedly smart and intelligent beings then why do we fear things when not fearing them is a more productive alternative? Fear stems usually from one of two branches. On one, we have things that we don't know about, and thus fear them. On the second hand, we have things which have proven themselves worthy of fearing. But think about some common fears for a moment. A lot of people have a fear of spiders. Why do they fear such small creatures? The majority of house spiders are not venomous or aggressive towards humans, yet some people fear them upon sight.

We've all seen those crazy talk shows where people are afraid of mustard or cockatiels, and while there are extreme cases like this (in which case genetics might be a more proper explanation) what about more broad cases that seem to apply to everyone? Fear of death is pretty universal, as is the fear of rejection or fear of not being accepted. Each of these has their own characteristics of course, which makes talking about them as a whole rather difficult. Fear of death stems from fear of not knowing something, or fear of losing something. Fear of rejection and not being accepted stems also from not knowing how something will turn out.

So why do humans hesitate and fear things? Why not simply carry out the task that is feared to see if it is truly worth fearing? What mental block has been put upon us that makes us unable to act? The origin of fearing within an individual can be explained in a countless amount of ways. I'd guess that one of the most predominant explanations is that fear stems simply from a force which is unknown, or contains aspects of uncertainty, or has proven itself a fearful aspect. For those crazy people (I use that term loosely) who fear mustard and cockatiels, they overcome their fears by - not surprisingly - being introduced to mustard and cockatiels. So how does a normal person go about confronting and overcoming their fears? Probably by engrossing themselves in whatever it is they fear until it becomes normal.

There's too many exceptions to say that any of this is true. For instance a rape victim might fear sex, and having as much sex as possibly to overcome this fear obviously wouldn't be a good idea. There's other examples also but I won't bore you with any. I'm just curious as to why a person can see what their fears are, see how to overcome them, see why they should overcome them, and know why they should overcome them, and still not act. Is it lack of motivation? Lack of self will or determination? Is there no one answer, but rather a set of templates which vary from person to person? I honestly just don't know. Emotion is what separates humans from much of the other species in the animal kingdom. It can be why we are in many ways superior, and in many other ways inferior.

Megalith-Agnus Dei

**Megalith-Agnus Dei is the most powerful musical piece I have ever heard in my life. It comes from the soundtrack of a game called "Ace Combat 4". I always play it when I need help trying to write something, as it manages to help me each time.

Power, percussion, precision,
All the elements of success.
Helps to break the chains,
And free my imagination under diress.

I can see the white feathers floating,
Gently with the wind.
I hear the jet boosters roaring,
And the bogies I must fend.

"There's one at your six",
"Mobius One, Fox Two".
"Mobius One, Target Locked",
"Target Destroyed, Mission Through".

Nine planes behind me,
But I'm the one in the lead.
I am the captain of this squad,
And my orders they do heed.

Opera vocals, strong with fervor,
Accentuate the flight in the sky.
A meshing of sounds so great,
It produces my musical high.

Elevating me to a higher plane,
An existence where I am immortal.
I can see unseen things all around,
Through this mystical music portal.

Falling In Love

Why do people love?
To cure loneliness, or survive?
To make life a little easier,
And give their hearts reasons to contrive?

I know why people really love,
It's because they are compelled.
They cannot live with themselves,
With the fear of loneliness never quelled.

Some people are lucky,
And meet their love at first sight.
Others must scratch and claw,
To forsake those lonely nights.

It hits some people in the face,
And eludes others with teases.
It occurs to some in one fell swoop,
And to others in little pieces.

They can't choose when it happens,
The time, person, or place.
It's best to simply let it come,
And stop treating it as a race.

I hope that they stop,
Trying to fall in a love that they think is true.
Because a person never falls in love,
It falls in love with you.

War

Standing on opposite sides,
Of a field laid to waste.
Death tingles in the air,
And brings with it bitter taste.

These men were told to fight,
'For a greater good' they say.
But no greater good comes at the cost,
Of thousands of lives which with to pay.

It is where a brother kills a brother,
And you never know whose Death is next.
What horrid irony this War can conceive,
In a modern-day Oedipus Complex.

The soldiers don't know whose died,
Whether they were guilty or innocent.
They just execute orders as well as people,
For there will be time later to repent.

It is much easier in these times,
When you can just drop a bomb from the sky.
You don't have to see the blood-stained faces,
Or here the newly-made orphans cries.

Machine guns can mow people down,
Just as easily as if they were grass.
One after another after another,
Just to lower the price of our gas.

The men simply serve their country,
They've done nothing wrong or bad.
Except of course killing innocent people,
And making thousands of others forever sad.

To destroy evil in the world,
Requires not killing of men.
But rather an acceptance of others,
and acceptance of their sins.

How many more millions will die,
Simply to prove that we are right?
How many more lives will be destroyed,
Through this thoughtless and savage fight?

You probably won't read this, but I wrote it anyway.

Some days I just really don't know anything. Unlike my brain not moving fast enough to understand, though, it moves too fast and nothing has time to be analyzed. Thoughts don't occur in distinct periods one after the other, but rather in a continuous stream. It's like having my brain run a marathon the entire day. Everything takes on some grandiose sentimental meaning, and I feel attached to everything in my surroundings. Decisions become clouded due to this state of being, and everything is just hazy. Existence becomes a mystery, and my emotions become trivial.

I didn't write at all today. I don't know if I could have if I tried. What I'm writing right now can be seen as free writing, the lowest intellectual form of writing. I'm doing it because it is the only capacity my brain is capable of writing in at the moment. The world suddenly seems so big. My past suddenly appears and is biting at the heels of my present and future. I think it just took a bite out of the present. I honestly just don't know anything anymore. I hate when I ask myself questions because I'm tired of giving the answers. I want to answer someone else's questions. I want to fix someone else's problems, not my own. I'm tired of having only myself to rely on. Not because it isn't enough, but because I'm bored with myself.

I deal in absolutes for the most part. I don't half-ass an intellectual attempt to acquire knowledge. If you ask me what something is, I will tell you what I perceive it to be. I hate when my mind is like this because then I can't do anything. I'm reduced to the lowest form of living, which is simply existence. I didn't live today, I existed. I'd like to be one of those people who just makes decisions with no regrets or looking back. But I'm too enamored with what could have been. My curiosity is piqued by the consequences of peoples actions. Consequences are not limited to the present and future, but rather the past as well. That's the aspect of making decisions that interests me the most.

My normal philosophy each day is to live it like you were to die at any moment. With days like today though, I find myself wondering whether or not it is worth the struggle if I'm going to die anyway. Why fight to be happy, if in the end your fate is the same? I guess the same reason why ants build ant hills even though the rain and young kids will destroy them - to survive.

• Ultimately my will to live is determined by an outside factor that provides me the opportunity to prove the worth of my existence.

That can be said for every person. When they lose the chance or will to continue to explore something they give up. For the majority of people this outside factor is love or supporting offspring. For others it is supporting themselves. I don't support myself and I'm not in love or supporting children.

• I'm better off than the majority of people on the planet, yet perhaps not happier because of it.

I've been fooling myself for about a month now. I've been trying to fake that I've gotten better than what I was a few months ago, but ultimately the end result is the same. I still write crap like this which no one understands - not even me. In some ways I've come around full circle - lost just like I was in the beginning. It is shameful to admit how one simple person can change my way of life with even just a few days worth of contact.

• My reality exists primarily within my self, so when others come and reshape it, the overall shape and scope is vastly changed.

Maybe I'll learn how to coordinate both to exist in harmony. Maybe I won't. In a hundred years it wouldn't have mattered either way. Sometimes I really hate the way my life has turned out. That's because I'm here complaining about it when I shouldn't be. That's the thing I hate the most of all.

Mind Exercises!

Your brain is a part of your body that grows and develops just like anything else. The more you utilize it and expand neural connections, the greater its capacity for knowledge will become. Just like you lift weights or run laps to increase muscle strength and endurance, your brain too can be exercised. Here are a few examples:

To start off, a meditative state is necessary. There's meditation tips all over the internet, but the general basis is a quiet atmosphere, with little light, and no distractions. You can listen to soothing music if you want to. Close your eyes, and clear your mind. Picture a blank space of nothing but white. You probably won't be able to hold it for very long without thinking of something else, but that's OK.

The Blank Face
Close your eyes and picture a blank human face. Either white, black, or whatever color you want it to be. Now give it eyes, a nose, a mouth, ears, and hair. Try to hold all of the aspects of the face in place while you piece them all together. It is much harder than it sounds. An interesting notion is that one cannot create an original face from their imagination. You subconsciously draw characteristics from people you may have only seen once in your life.

That's because your brain must use past information to make present conclusions. If you've never been taught how to ride a bike, then you won't know how. If you were taught twenty years ago, your brain will have remembered that stored information and you should be able to pick it up quite easily.

The Fourth Dimension
The human brain can also not fully comprehend the idea of a fourth dimension since we live in a three dimensional world. I'm sure you've heard theories of the fourth dimension as time, and there are a bunch of others as well. When we try to mentally picture the fourth dimension though, or brain comes tantalizingly close, but without ever fully grasping the notion.

You can visualize the 0th dimension as a single point on a 3-dimensional plane. The 1st dimension can be seen as that point stacked infinitely upon itself to form a line of points. The second dimension are those lines of points infinitely stacked upon each other to form a plane. These planes are then infinitely stacked upon one another to form a three-dimensional object. So if we continue this pattern, what would a plane of points stacked upon one another form? This is what our mind cannot comprehend. It's fun to think about, though. Imagine a three-dimensional object infinitely stacked upon itself. Theoretically one might imagine it was growing stack of an object, growing infinitesimally in size. It barely becomes bigger at each stage, but nonetheless the object eventually reaches a point where it can no longer become any larger than it already is, and thus the outer plane which contains within it each of the inner planes can be seen as a fourth-dimensional object. The snag here, of course, is that humans don't know the rules that apply to a fourth-dimensional object. We don't know how big they grow, or if they ever stop growing.

Infinity
Try to comprehend the concept of infinity. I have done this in a way I now consider distinctive infinity. Normally, though, people just imagine something material, like apples that cover every air space of the world. Eventually, though, the space will run out. So I choose to interpret it in this way:

Imagine this exercise. Place your left hand on your head. Take it off. Now do it while playing music. Now touch your head in a different place. Now do it at a different point in the song. Now do it with the volume different, but for every volume you have to touch a different point on your head. There are millions of ways to touch different places on your head with both your left and right hands. Combine that with the other actions that take place around you. Maybe the music is louder, softer, at a different point. And that is just for one song, and the one action of touching your head. Now factor in the possibilities of the trillions of actions and objects that have the potential of interactivity. We live and do things only one way. Once we do them, they are gone. But imagine that for every action we take there is an action we do not take. These natural actions that are not taken can be accumulated in to a number that reaches close to infinity. Everything that doesn't exist can be seen as an accumulation of that which is infinite.

Actions that we do not take in life will always exist so long as the human notion of passage of time exists. Thus the events that take place due to the ongoing process of life and passage of time in general will never cease. This endless accumulation of data can be seen as infinity. Mathematically infinity is when a line goes on and on and never reaches a point. The flow of time and life can be seen as this line. The development of the various universes of the world continues to exist, so thus does the accumulation of the infinitely varied processes that are produced. Infinity will only cease to exist when life does not exist.

Hope you enjoy these. Don't fail to exercise your brain!

Sanctuary

Inside of my soul there is a garden,
To which I retreat during troubling times.
I water the flowers and admire their beauty,
And lay in the shade while I conjure new rhymes.

Through the branches of wise trees,
The turquoise sky peeks through.
A perfect blanket that covers Space,
It goes for miles but does not change hue.

Off to one side is a wooden church,
Magnificently white and glowing.
This is my Church of Spirituality,
The place my spirit is constantly growing.

A Hammock is positioned in a corner,
Right next to the bed of roses.
I hope soon there will be a lover here,
For this is where my heart dozes.

My mind is my Self,
Tending to the flowers, hammock, and Church.
Sometimes running freely between,
Other times moving with a staggering lurch.

My soul is the infinite sky,
Who watches over this peaceful domain.
Protecting it from evil elements,
And providing nourishment with its Rain.

Broke My Slump ^_^

I'm happy with the last four poems I've written compared to some of the other things this previous week.

Just thought I'd let you know <_<

Peace~

Stories of Our Lives

Everyone's life is like a chronicle,
Pages and pages deep.
Our deaths are like the finale,
Which cause our loved ones to weep.

We don't know how many pages,
Exist within our lives.
It could be around a thousand,
Or as short as simply five.

It could be in the middle of a plot,
Beginning to unravel with delight.
Just before we reach the climax,
The sentences stop and vanish from sight.

To kill oneself by one's own hand,
Is to stop writing in the middle of a page.
A story that simply ends abruptly,
With a shocking resolve of rage.

Lucy was playing in the street,
A speeding car whose driver didn't see.
Having fun with her pet dog,
And thus ends the story of young Lucy.

Stories end every day,
But likewise new ones begin.
I hope that you have many more pages to write,
And that the ink is plentiful in your pen.

We Are Gathered Here Today

We are gathered here today,
To pay tribute to this young man.
He lived the only way he knew,
And did all a man ever can.

Ashes to ashes and dust to dust,
We now witness his union with Nature.
His body becomes one with the earth,
She has taken him but we don't hate her.

He was enamored with death,
But wished not for it to come.
Dying meant he couldn't guess,
What death might mean to some.

In his will he has written,
"My death is not the end.
Simply the continuance of life,
For all our bodies to Nature we lend.
(continued)

Nature is the only immortal essence,
To grace the world we live in today.
While humans die and pass away,
Mother Nature is here to always stay.
(continued)

It is only destroyed by another Nature,
A comet, the ice, or explosion of Sun.
Out of Nature's death a new will be born,
To allow the flow of life to always run."

Such is the closing of this man's life,
The last chapter of his personal book.
If we now wish to read his sequels,
Towards Mother Nature we must look.

The Rose

Who is the rose?
Only one knows.
Two if you count the rose,
Twelve if you count her toes.

Just a little scruffy,
With a mismatched petal or two.
But this Rose is so damned perfect,
Perfect, I tell you.

The stem isn't straight,
Rather it curves over to the side.
But if I said this Rose wasn't perfect,
Then I'd have to say I lied.

The red color is faded,
And it doesn't at all stand out.
But that very shade may be,
Why it seems to stand and shout.

My attention it sure did grab,
I stared with either love or lust.
To this day I know not which,
Just that it is perfect and just.

Dare I water the rose,
And risk ruining its heavenly state?
To make it redder and prettier,
Would be to alter its perfect fate.

Is It A Mystery? (Not Really...)

I see you in the face of every girl I pass,
Every laugh they emit brings to mind that sweet sass.
While I write this you're miles and miles away,
Resting from a weary week, and sleeping away the day.

I doubt you've thought of me in quite some time,
You've probably forgotten me, but that's just fine.
Unbeknownst to you - you will live within my heart,
A painting I'll always remember, as beautiful living art.

I know you aren't quite perfect, which is why I love you so,
Or atleast feign my love, in an attempt my love to show.
You will never be free of that ignorance, of how you affected who I am,
Or of how in such a short time, the love within my heart I crammed.

Embark on your dreaming after the long day is through,
Whilst in my life I dream awake, and I consistently dream of you.
I apologize for loving so deeply, without first gaining your permission.
It's your fault for being so perfect, and becoming my heart's ignition.

Thinkin' Too Much

I wish my brain had an on/off switch,
So I could just rest it once in a while.
Each cortex moves independently,
Lacking any uniform shape of unity.

Hidden meanings are found in everything,
Because I often view face value as a lie.
Nothing is ever as it seems,
Or is that just thinking too much again?

My emotions can't keep up with the pace of my brain,
Flashbulb-thoughts like a flip book create my world.
I possess an extraordinary power, but cannot control it.
If only this intensity could be focused on one thing.

My poor quality of always wanting to know,
And devastating trait of being in control doom me.
One might say that failure to accept life as is,
Is nothing short of living a lie.

I anger so easily at the smallest things,
Sinful inspiration that I do not deserve.
But I will never carry out these heinous fantasies,
Because deep down I lack the courage and resolve.

I can hate enormously, but love in an equal amount,
In a way I don't choose how to use them, others do.
I can be happy or sad, up or down,
But that depends on the actions of others.

No one can ever have full control over their emotions,
So long as they keep in contact with others.
We are at the mercy of people around us every day,
An incredibly scary thought considering the existence of some people.

Brain is overheating, and sleeping doesn't cool it down,
Like an autistic child who senses too much sensory information at once.
I know Death will finally give my mind some rest and peace,
But I want to live and love, I don't want to die, I don't want to die.

I don't want to die,
But I'm ready to.

Excuses

My mind is an expert at coming up with reasons "Not to".
My heart has mastered the art of following it blindly.
One day motivation encourages me to see the unknown.
The next day my uncertainty convinces me against it.

I have become the best person for making excuses.
Excuses that I now allow to run much of my life.
False excuses are nothing more than deception of Self.
Creating a false image to me, but an absurdly true one to others.

One can only make so many excuses before they learn,
That in the end it isn't worth living by making lies.
The perceieved truth can convince people they know,
When in actuality their ignorance is conveyed in their excuse.

For every reason "Why not to" there is a reason "Why to",
But to the person who makes excuses, only one exists.
They twist the "Why to" to become "Why not to",
Thus stabbing themselves in to perpetual blindness.

However, is not doing what you want to be rewarded?
Or am I simply blind to what my own truth is?
Can not even I tell what decisions I should make,
And the ever-changing context in which I make them?

I am an expert at making excuses.
I can deceive myself in to thinking I'm happy.
But if I become so good at this art,
Then how will I know the difference?

The Lockbox

**Yea I know this isn't that good. Sue me.

At twenty-two he met his wife,
And they married in an instant.
They enjoyed a simple family life,
While the war waged in lands distant.

He had no son or daughter,
Just his loving wife and home.
On his way to perfect harmony,
'Til that one day he picked up the phone.

Years later he was called to arms,
To fight for the United States.
He would go to distant lands,
While his wife sits here and waits.

Twenty years it waged,
And his wife now terminally ill.
He received a letter from her then,
Written on thin paper with quill.

"Back home there is a box,
That I wish for you to unlock.
The key is in my dresser,
Wrapped up in an old gray sock."

"I will be dead when it is opened,
But please do not be sad.
I want you to love what's in the box,
Even if just a tad".

A year passes and the man goes home,
And rushes to see the box.
He quickly retrieves the key,
And fumbles to get it unlocked.

(He finds a letter which reads:)

"This is my last secret, so please do not be mad,
Please find a way to love him, even if just a tad,
If you don't then most assuredly, my soul will become so sad,
This is the address, the address of your unknown son Chad."

A Quick Note

Some recent things I have written have been two things:

1. Not that good
2. Dark in theme

While I can't explain why all the sudden I'm not writing as good (although I think I have an idea myself) I can explain why the sudden outburst of dark themes.

It isn't because I'm depressed, which is usually the source of much sad poetry. It isn't because I'm angry, or upset, or disturbed. It isn't because I'm a freak who is obssessed with death, suicide, and the tragedy of others. Consider for a moment that everything I write probably has happened before. I'm not writing anything that doesn't occur in the real world. I could write just about the wonderful goodness of our world, and Love and all that, but it wouldn't be showing both sides of the realities that we live in. In order to portray an accurate picture of how I view the world, I'm going to have to post some dark poetry in order to balance the positive side of life I view. So don't take it too seriously, too personally, or with too much thought. These dark poems are meant to do one thing: Touch you on a deep emotional level. Whether that is stringing good cords or bad ones isn't of my concern. I just want to move people emotionally. I just want to be a decent poet.

Collection of (Dark) Short Poems

**All sad and depressing poems - but I'm not sad! ^_______^ I'll write later about equality of light and darkness and all that crap... but for now I'll just say that dark writing is needed in order to maintain balance (for me, atleast) in writing.

I'm Post-partum,
Yes it's true.
Never had a chance,
Got those baby blues.

Rock-a-bye baby,
On the tree top.
When the wind blows,
This cradle I'll drop.

------------------------------------------------------------

My therapy exists,
On the edge of a Shick.
Cutting for gorgeous crimson,
Through skin so rough and thick.

I'm a Narcissistic bastard,
But atleast it brings me reprieve.
You didn't think it was weird,
I'm always wearing long-sleeves?

------------------------------------------------------------

My day of work is over,
I can finally return to my house.
Where I'll find you on the couch,
Screwing with my spouse.

Nine 'mil in my car,
This murder will be shoddy.
The cops'll know when they find,
All our three dead bodies.

------------------------------------------------------------

Time for a happy poem I think,
Before your heart continues to sink,
Before your sanity is on the brink,
Time for a happy poem I think.

Cute puppies, kittens, and birdies that fly.
Caring hugs, kisses, and two lovers' sighs.
I promised a happy poem, didn't I?
Ooops, I lied, because all these things will die.

------------------------------------------------------------

Revenge can be sweet,
especially against your Ex.
When you ask your best friend,
If they are up for some sex.

They screw your Ex,
And the scene slowly fades.
Maybe you should've told your Ex,
Your best friend has HIV AIDS.

*Incoherent Thoughts: Here*

The following text is a wholesome opinion on the phrase ignorance. Not empirical data has been collected by the author (me) that can prove or disprove the following claims.

Ignorance is a funny word. People flaunt it around to make themselves sound smart (cough Michael Jackson cough) but in reality I don't think it is often properly used. You see, ignorance is not knowing something. It is being unaware of a current state or situation. An important thing to note is that this is not the same as not relating to a current situation or circumstance. For example, if I say that rap music sucks, and a person calls me ignorant for saying that, because I just "don't get it", then they are wrong. I simply have disparate tastes of music.

Enough of semantics, though. What I really want to get in to is the impact of human ignorance. Let's face it, humans always assume things before they actually know them. It is the basis of science - making predictions and testing them. We must assume something before we set out to find it, in order to guide our methodology of discovering it. Humans assumed that the world was flat, and it wasn't. Long ago humans assumed that the sun rose and fell due to mystical powers of Gods, when it didn't. People used to think the Earth was the center of the universe, and once again, it really wasn't. I can understand making simple mistakes, but mistakes like these are enormous.

Human advancement and the acquiring of knowledge stems from ignorance. If humans don't know something then they will quickly try to identify it and explain it. Space exploration is a good example of this. In a little under a century we have gone from thinking about sending an unmanned space craft in to space, to landing men on the moon, sending probes to Mars, and launching spacecraft on a seven year journey to Pluto.

One of the more interesting concepts of science is that it is constantly proving things, but at the same time disproving things. A man's thirst for knowledge is slaked through science, and this can consequently cause the discovering of information labelled as "Blasphemy" and whatnot. Take Darwin for example. His theory of Natural Selection and Descent with Modification suggests that all beings transcend from one ancestral being, and that the most well-adapted organisms in an environment will thrive by bearing the most offspring. My, oh my. Kind of puts a dent in the whole "God created all" theory, doesn't it?

A simple fact is that science has been disproving many religious beliefs for years. What were once miracles are now paragraphs of explanations in science textbooks. The facts in these books can be seen as the "truth" to a certain extent. Getting back to ignorance for a moment; We as humans are born in to the world ignorant. We are then educated of the workings of the world and our surroundings. This acquiring of a basic life template is what shapes our beliefs and values. People will always be ignorant of certain things in life. The important thing to remember is that you should always try and discover the truth for yourself. Maybe more to come later....

Hate You

**This poem isn't directly written at anyone I know, and is just something that came from the darker part of my mind.

I can forsee your words in advance,
Filled with ignorance so plentiful and rife.
I've learned to deflect them with precision,
In order to protect this fragile thing called my life.

God-damned hypocrite,
Saying one thing but doing different.
I can't say a single word,
Without you getting hell-bent.

I still wonder why you were born,
And given the ability to speak.
Every time you open your mouth,
I am assaulted by verbal reek.

Shhh, hush now pretty please.
Before you make me retort.
Unless you wish to be hit with a million curses,
The likes of which you can never sort.

With this needle and thread,
I will sew your lips shut.
In order to end your curses,
And horrid screams like a slut.

Hush hush hush,
Now not another word.
Shh, Shh, Shh,
Sheathe that tongue I call a sword.

You know just what to say,
To make me feel like shit.
Thank God I don't smack ladies,
Or you'd be the first I'd hit.

Closer to the edge - a couple inches more,
Keep pushing me sweety pie.
Because right before I fall to my death,
I will make sure I see you cry.

Inner Madness Screams From Silence

The inner peace of the self,
Is like a stagnant recluse pond.
The chaos of our lives,
Is like the sun on which it has dawned.

Our lives are spent as a scale,
Forever searching to find balance.
Each day it tilts one way or the other,
Swinging back and forth in eternal trance.

We rely on contact with others,
To remind us we are living.
Because in silence we become crazed,
We depend on their generosity of giving.

The inner pond is distrubed,
When Rocks of Lonely are thrown.
The scale of balance is skewed,
When the Stitches of Solitude are sewn.

Our inner madness screams from silence,
So we constantly reach out to obtain,
A scrap of what makes each one of us human,
And keeps our Selves collectively sane.

The Ominous Approach

The human figure of a black shadow,
Slowly strolling through a vivid park.
White petals fall down around him,
In a striking contrast so very stark.

He walks as slow as the Earth turns,
With each step the "clack" of heels.
Absorbing in his surroundings,
His head gazes straight and never reels.

You know that he's coming,
Approaching closer and closer each day.
Like lightning that must strike the ground,
A pittance that you must pay.

Once started a tidal wave will eventually destroy,
It is only a matter of time.
The anticipation and suspense,
Of Mother Nature committing a crime.

His pace quickens and he jogs,
He catches a glimmer in his sight.
Quick!, stop him now!,
You will die if he touches the light!

He maintains an all-out sprint,
Even long after his legs are tired.
He will not be the one dying today,
That was not why he was hired.

God: "O, Death, I beseech ye,
To not allow this mortal eternity.
Please kill him when it is time,
O, Death, I beseech ye".

Death: "My will be done in thy name,
For no man shall possess your power.
I shall follow this fated soul,
Minute-by-minute, hour-by-hour".

Close the light, zip it up tight.
Don't allow even a shimmer to show.
Refrain from costful errors,
And allow your light to grow.

Then all at once when Death is not ready,
Consume his entire being within the Light,
Destroy him in one fell swoop,
And never again your Death you will fight.

Trust In You

It permeates freely through me,
And I give it to all who ask.
They ask a deed or favor,
So I pour it freely from my flask.

Sometimes it is cherished,
Other times it is destroyed.
Yet I give it out time after time,
Fated to have it deployed.

If I give my heart as easily,
Will I be destined to despair?
All I want is trust in return,
An equivalent showing of care.

I do not wish to build walls,
Around my heart and my soul.
So I let all who want inside,
Despite what sufferings take their toll.

But I fool myself to trust,
And take the other person's side.
Trust built upon sand,
Waiting for the next tide.

My Thoughts of Valentine's Day

It only comes once a year!

That's the general opinion on every holiday that occurs throughout the 365 days we call a year. Yet Valentine's Day is perhaps the one that gets on my nerves the most. Now, now, now, it isn't because I've never actually been in a relationship on Valentine's Day (which is true) and that I am bitter at every person in the world who possesses love. It would be quite evil of me to despise those who are in love on Valentine's Day just because I don't happen to be. Instead of being such a monster, I dislike it for a different reason, and here's why:

First of all, what is Valentine's Day supposed to be? I mean seriously, what is it? A day where you show that special someone how much they mean to you? My mistake, I thought that you kind of did that as much as possible anyway, without having to designate a day to do it. A day to give your loved ones chocolates and roses, and fancy pink and red cards with glitter? You can do this on any other day of the year, and the surprise attached to such an unexpected act will yield far greater results than doing it when the other person is expecting it.

Basically I just think that if you truly love someone you should try your best to always love them in the best possible way you can. Valentine's Day shouldn't be a day where you try and make that loved one in your life feel special and great, because every day should be like that. While some couples do act this way, others act this way sparingly, if at all. But hey, I can't complain too much because Valentine's Day gives me the chance to write entries like this, and to write poems like the ones below.

Do you really want to make that special someone in your life feel great? Then tomorrow morning tell them "I know it isn't Valentine's Day, but I want to let you know that I love you with all of my heart, and I don't need a specified day to tell me that", or something of that nature. I guarantee that will make them feel better than any red rose, almond chocolate, or cheesy "Be Mine" card ever would.

R.I.P. Valentine

Two headstones are talking,
In the brisk February wind.
Their conversation will never stop,
A chatter not even time can fend.

The engraving on one reads:
"My love for you will never cease,
So long as I'm buried by you,
I can rest in blissful eternal peace".

The other in seemingly a reply:
"I was happy to die and pass away,
For I knew it meant I'd see you sooner,
And now forever next to you I lay".

Valentine's Day isn't only for the living and breathing,
It is for anyone who has ever loved and cared.
Whether or not they continue to exist,
Does not demean the Love they shared.

Even two headstones can enjoy this day,
By cherishing the closeness of the other.
So find that special lover of yours,
And use your Love to smother.

Valentine's Savior

Her life was so meaningless and empty,
Especially in the 2nd month of the year.
Her lonely cries could reach no man,
And if they could no man would hear.

She forces herself to throw up,
All those chocolates earlier she did buy.
Somewhere she pauses her heaving,
And wonders if with enough chocolate she could die.

Every break up in her life,
Has occurred on this most evil of days.
Each time she was ready for Love,
And each time her lover never stays.

More depressed than ever in her life,
She decides it is time to conclude.
When she returns to her room for one last time,
She will eat her pills like chocolate food.

She opens the door and stops,
And gives it one final thought.
Such a stubborn soul is she,
To give up when distraught.

She swallowed the pills,
And then she slowly cried.
If he had not come to wish a Happy Valentines,
Then she surely would have died.

Happy Valentine's Day

I woke up with sadness,
But for why I cannot quite say.
Then it suddenly hits me,
Oh yea, it's Valentine's Day.

How many times have I spent,
Wallowing and acting depressed.
If only I could tell you,
If only my love I could confess.

Every other person I saw today,
Was holding hands and smiling wide.
Why can't I tell you I love you,
Why can't I to you confide?

Maybe it's because you don't exist,
A shadow that's dreamy and surreal.
But a shadow could never accomplish,
In making me love this way and feel.

I spent the whole day alone,
In that sad slouched-over pose.
I did not once hug or kiss,
Or buy a single chocolate or rose.

I check my mail at the end of the day,
And there's a card in there from you:
"Happy Valentine's to a special guy!
With Love From, You-Know-Who".

A Young Man's Lecture

Life is much too short to be spent complaining and worrying. Both are tasks that people do often, sometimes every day, and yet neither are necessary to enjoy life. Sometimes they come instinctively, but most of the time people willingly invite these feelings in to their lives with no good reason at all.

Complaining is nothing more than failing to accept your reality. When you reject the way things are, you complain. You fail to recognize a situation or event for what it truly is, and thus you despise it. Sometimes we complain because we don't want to do things. Why don't we want to do them? Why can't me make ourselves want to do them? Who says we can't make ourselves? These are the three questions I urge you to ask yourself next time you find yourself complaining about something in your life. When you complain you are doing a couple of things. First and foremost, you are delaying the forward movement of your life. Secondly, every second spent complaining about some aspect of your life is a second wasted that you will never get back. Why not use that second constructively, to get over your problem? Thirdly, you are magnifying your problem by giving it significance. If you do not allow an aspect of life to bother you, then it will not. But the minute you say it annoys you, ticks you off, or irks you, you start to complain about it. Simply put, complaining is not constructive.

Worrying is nothing more than failing to accept what your reality will become. You are either afraid of what will occur, or afraid because you know what will occur. Think about this irony for a moment. We as humans not only worry when we don't know what will happen, but also when we do know what will happen. When we don't know, we use our imaginations to conjure worst possible scenarios, and when we do know, we use our imaginations to conjure up what might go wrong. Worrying is the channeling of negative thought. It is assuming that the future is filled to the brim with darkness and uncertainty. An interesting notion that many people have come upon is that you can foresee the future if you have the will and determination to change it. Thus if you have the power to control the future to an extent, you should not worry about it. Whatever is going to happen, is going to happen, regardless of your worrying.

Remember, Life is very short. You could die tomorrow. I don't say that as an ill omen, but as a reminder. Were you polite to every person you met today? If not, how come? Don't you want people to be polite to you? Wouldn't it be nice if every person you saw was smiling at you? Do unto others as you would have others do unto you. Live your life as you see fit, with the courtesy of other people in mind.

Don't complain, because it only worsens the current state of your life.
Don't worry, because it only dims your future before it even arrives.
Just live your life with the knowledge that your Death will come, and whatever you complain or worry about will then be irrelevant.

Love Eternal

There were once two people,
A lovely woman and a man.
Not strangely they were in love,
Like the ocean and the sand.

Their families were in a fued,
Not unlike Juliet and Romeo.
So when they met it was secret,
In a flower patch they would stow.

At each week's ending they'd gather,
And plant new life in the ground.
The sound of working hands and hearts,
Were the only distant sounds.

When their love was unveiled,
And they were forced to separate,
They met once more at the garden,
Away from shouts and debate.

Looking in to each other's eyes,
They knew neither would go back.
They would find a way to stay here,
Among the roses and lilacs.

They knew all along,
They would never be saved.
They knew all along,
They were building their own grave.

Now they rest underground,
A tight knot of love they did weave.
That not even familial debate and difference,
Can ever hope to cleave.

Forgiveness

Hate you forever?
Or forgive you later on,
Dunno what to do...

I do not understand forgiveness. I don't know when is a right situation to forgive someone, and when it isn't. It differs so incredibly from person-to-person. In fact, I think it is tragic that it differs this much, because it is such an important concept. Some people think that with time you can forgive any person for any deed they have done. Others think that forgiveness is to be given out sparingly and only to those to show that they have atoned for what they have done.

Personally I do not give out forgiveness very easily. Some people would call this a good trait, and some people would call this a bad trait. So which one is it? Am I a good or bad person depending on whose opinion it is? Is there no truth to who I really am? I think if a person has done something wrong then they need to realize that they have done a wrong deed. I do not think forgiveness should be granted if a person does not atone in equal magnitude for whatever crime they have committed. I will not go to the extreme of Hammurabi's Code (eye for an eye), but I believe to an extent the same way.

Forgiveness really gets on my nerves!! It changes with situation to situation, and it is so incredibly "AAAH!" that what you get from one person will change to the next. There's very few absolute forgiveness situations. Little things like a child stealing a cookie can be forgiven. But what if someone murders your entire family? Will you ever forgive that person? Personally, I wouldn't. Some might say, "Oh! That makes you a very shallow person who cannot learn to forgive even the most heinous of acts!". You know what I say to that? "Wait until your family is murdered, pal, then you go up to that guy after however long it takes for you to forgive him, and say 'It's OK'". I don't think anyone is warranted to give advice except a person who has gone through a same or similar situation.

I don't know, it is hard to write about forgiveness because it is so damn elusive. For that reason it really, really gets on my nerves. Does it mean a person is immature if they don't forgive someone? Or does it mean a person is feeble-minded and weak to sticking to values if they always forgive people? Is holding grudges a stupid childish act, or a way to remind yourself that this person has committed an evil deed to you or someone you love, and you will never forget. And if you forgive someone, but don't forget it, and then later on use that information for coercion or what have you, then is that not in essence failing to forgive?

I really don't like,
He who made the word forgive,
What was he thinking?

My Life: The Movie

I wish my life was like a movie,
Even if it was just fake.
Atleast in the end I'd be happy,
Instead of this crap I now take.

I could meet my one true love,
And fall for her on first sight.
I could magically fix my problems,
And make my life just right.

I would not have this sadness,
Or regret decisions I have made.
Life and movies aren't really different,
In the end both slowly fade.

The music would always be perfect,
The weather would always be nice.
No matter how short I would fall,
My best would always seem to suffice.

My loved ones would never die,
My friends would never betray.
With no hatred or contempt,
The world would be as it may.

But even movies have pain and suffering,
And often a tragic conclusion.
Nonetheless I wish my life was a movie,
Despite other people's countless intrusion.

They could see my deepest secrets,
And the inner workings of my mind.
They would know why I took my life,
When my life was going just fine.

The Yellow-Tinted Marble

Quite intriguing and allusive,
That yellowish marble seems.
You wish to pick it up,
For its color so lustily gleams.

You got closer and closer,
Knowing that you shouldn't.
You tried to delay its touch,
Realizing that you couldn't.

When it touches your skin,
You writhe in anguish.
It saps you of goodness,
And causes your soul to languish.

You knew it was dangerous,
But went for it anyway.
Now how will you let go,
That it is here for good to stay?

On a normal Sunday, at about 1 PM,
You look out to the sea and Sun's light.
Then you clutch that yellowish marble,
And throw it away with all your might.

It sinks to the bottom of the ocean,
And will live among the shoal.
Waiting for its next poor victim,
May God have mercy on its soul.

Breaking Up

In an age long ago,
I loved her very much so.
But even then we fought,
With misdirected thought.

I don't know if the love was true,
Or just crafty lust born anew.
All I know is the pain,
And my ever-growing shame.

We speak daggers to and fro,
Curses that seem to flow.
I should have known I was tricked,
Strings of my heart now pricked.

Guess she didn't care after all,
Whether I rise, or whether I fall.
Yet through the ache and pain,
There is wisdom I have gained.

Each month we say Good-Bye,
But later come back to say Hi.
When will it stop, when will it end,
And who will take my heart to mend?

When I lived through her,
I thought I had found the cure.
Now I teach others not to love so much,
Because with it is a hate as such.

Back to loving myself, I guess,
In the lonely hollows of my crow's nest.
Back to spending those horrid nights,
Eating lonely dinners by candlelights.

The Marbles

There is a collector who owns billions of marbles,
He takes care of each one, none of them he garbles.
He polishes them with care, until they are shiny as chrome,
But they are slightly unorganized, and freely they roam.

The marbles wander about, curiously through his estate,
With no course or destination, they travel and they wait.
Each marble has one instinct, and it is to find its match,
For each marble has a duplicate, and through both a new marble will hatch.

How does a marble find a match, with just the right colors and swirls?
Is their meeting predestined, around Fate's finger which twirls?
Would a marble happen to know, whether it is going the right way?
The marble just has to believe, for as we know a marble cannot say.

If the marble never finds its match, and finds itself in despair,
The collector will comfort it, because he's always there to care.
He shall remind the marble there's a perfect match, it's true,
My marble is a tint of blue, how about you?

My Soapbox

The synapses in your brain fail to connect. You are mentally bariccaded from a reality that you cannot comprehend. Stuck behind a glass wall that you can't feel. You don't know what your choices are. Trapped inside a self-built cage of doubt and regret. You can sense the presence around you, starting to envelop you. You accept it, because you know fighting is useless. You join together symbiotically, becoming one, for one is all, and all is one.

Your pulse quickens. Your instinct takes over coordinating your movements. Your control is now a set of random variables acting out upon their own will. What will happen next is equivalent to throwing a thousand separate dice on a table and guessing the number of their cumulative quantities. You become ensnared in your own passion, and allow the true person to show. Breaking the shell that you set up throughout the day, to portray a figure that you wish existed. This is your time to shine. This is your time to become a self-proclaimed God.

Perhaps just mental jargon is mentioned here. Perhaps just left over scraps from the depths of a mind that has thought a little too much. These are the things which get filtered in every day conversation. Your brain tells you not to mention them, because they are not appropriate for the situation. You hold back discussing them because you are afraid what will happen if you do. But within your own realm and existence it is perfectly fine. Within these confines, with this company, it is perfectly okay to resemble your tantalizing desires.

It very well could be none of this makes sense. It could also be that it wasn't meant to. It could be that it was meant only to make sense to a particular group of people, or no one at all. The answer will change with person to person, because life is subjective. You love it, hate it, or a combination of the both depending on how long it has been since you had something to enjoy. People fool themselves in to thinking their lives have meaning by enjoying themselves without regard of the consequences.

This is because animals live to survive. Humans live to survive. If a meteor were to ominously approach our Earth, scientists would find a way to destroy it before it got here. That would be prolonging the human existence. Dinosaurs and other organisms before us could not do this, and thus became extinct. What will exterminate humans? Maybe ourselves, maybe a meteor. Perhaps aliens. But none of it really matters to us, because we will be dead and gone by then, and in the arms of Jesus, under the faithful eye of Buddha, and in the living souls of all things reincarnated.

Eventually I will have to stop this rambling, because my mind will continue to think and analyze to the end of infinity if I do not manually stop the neurons from firing away like children. It would be wondrous to see what would happen if I could turn my brain on full power. There's a man who can remember up to 40,000 digits in a string and recite them perfectly. Imagine the other possibilities. The greatest computers humans can make may not come close to comparing to the human brain, but we will never know. Once again, though, it doesn't really matter. Everything on this planet happens in a cycle circle. Humans are hypocrites who do evil deeds in the name of righteousness, and who kill to stop killing.

Anyone can claim they are a good person. People preach about it all the time. And to judge people is to be judgmental, which a lot of people hate. At a wedding I once went to the preacher was smoking and drinking at the ceremony after-party. This is our messenger of God, basking in his Sin? I wonder if a preacher can confess to himself in the booth. That would require cloning, though. And cloning is science, and only God was meant to create according to the Church. Oh, what irony!

The only meaning your life holds is the meaning you give to it. No one can tell you the meaning of life, or what you are here for. There isn't a reason humans exist, other than to survive. We can claim we are here to love people, and to care for one another, and bring each other up. We can claim that we are here to be happy to the fullest, and to enjoy everything that is presented to us in the fullest. All we ever really do is survive, though. Martin Luther King helped the black race to survive by pushing civil rights. Some may call it morality and common good among people. Others may call it striving to make conditions ideal for a race to prosper. But they are still killing themselves in city streets, and I still hear the racial slurs.

My soapbox has become covered with moss growing from the ground because I've been going on and on so long. Before this terrestrial invader has a chance to start breeding on my leg, I am going to step off, and allow all of this nonsensical data to find a lodging inside your short term memory. Most of it won't stick, and when you attempt to recall it you will most likely be unable to. That makes this entire post meaningless in a way. It is just something I am doing to pass the time during my existence, because it helps to keep me a little more sane. It helps me to survive a little bit more easily.

She's So Pretty

In her mortal realm,
Of flesh and bone.
She lives so vainly,
In a body on loan.

Silicon and plastics here and there,
Thousands for a tummy-tuck.
All that fat inside her,
And a tube through which it will suck.

Raise those breasts,
Re-shape that nose.
Shallow cheeks and wrinkles,
Are your biggest foes.

Why is she built like a doll,
Like a Barbie for goodness sake.
She is only one fourth human,
The other three fourths are fake.

She does it so when she dies,
And ascends in to the sky,
She will remain forever beautiful,
Even if her soul becomes a lie.

5-7-5

Hypocritical,
That was some heavy metal,
Now I can move on.

**No one's gonna understand this but that's ok ^^ It's really only for me to get anyway <.<
Have fun guessing!

Imagery Haiku

Arabian Night
Wind blows so slightly,
Lights that never die tonight,
An empire unites.

This haiku is how I express the following:
It is nearing midnight in an Arabian city. This city can be seen as a mecca, where thousands of people gather in a time of peace to trade and purchase goods. A king sits in a balcony of his palace, and the desert winds hit his face with a freshness that envigorates him. He does not rule these people, for he is one of them. When he looks down he sees caravans and their lights blurred for miles, each one trying to sell something. The commotion and hubbub of this city is comforting to everyone who hears it. Eventually it will die with the night, but for now it is magical. The clearest sky, the brightest stars, and the best location he could ever imagine.

City Lights
Happy single man,
Stares out to the bright city,
While his mind is split.

This haiku is how I express the following:
A single man is in his apartment, and his room is one on the tenth or so floor. It is high enough so he can look out through a massive window while reclining in a chair and gaze at the city lights blazing back at him. He is enjoying something relaxing, such as a movie or video games. Someone special has just entered his life, and he is taking the time to stop and absorb the finer details of the city he has become a part of. An enormous full moon illuminates his patio and room. He smiles, and picks up the phone to call a special someone.

The Mall
Rainy night tonight,
Look up at the glass skylight,
Hear "pitter-patter".

This haiku is how I express the following:
It's a rainy tonight and two people are sharing it at the mall together. There isn't anything that they need, or anything that they even especially want. They are in love but have not yet confessed it to one another. For the moment they frolic about in their youthful desires, free of pain and hurt. This moment, where both know they are in love, but have not confessed it, is sublime. The uncertainty of such an event allows both to act freely and as themselves. The rain above casts gorgeous prisms on the carpeted walkways of the mall, as the two go from store to store. They are able to talk about everything, and also nothing. The rain is symbolic of the beauty they share, and they will not leave until it stops.

**Everyone has those environments or atmospheres that they can envision in their mind, but never dream about explaining to someone. This is my pathetic attempt to portray those situations in writing. These are mere shadows of the real image that exists in my mind of these places. I don't know why they are there, or why I am so strongly attracted to them. They are just more things that exist without explanation.

The Placebo Effect

Upon marriage she was happy,
But now she is sad and dour.
A husband who says words of love,
But whose meanings are bitterly sour.

Each time she moves in,
He'll let out a big, fat sigh.
To ask, "Honey, do you love me?"
Is to hear, "I got a ring, don't I?"

If she were to move in for a kiss,
She would meet a cold cheek.
A man once loving and vibrant,
Now desolate and bleak.

Can she even call it sex,
If it is forced against her will?
If she cries out he beats her,
So she supresses her urge to shrill.

It is easy to love and care,
When your feeling lonely and bereft.
It is even easy to love a monster,
When your life has nothing left.

Wolf Story

**This is my feeble attempt at Fiction. They won't suck so much when I get better, I promise. Might be some grammatical errors.

There was once a prideful pack of wolves which lived
in the mountains. They were excellent creatures, who
worked as a team in every situation. Every other
animal who shared the tundra kingdom with them knew
their power, and thus steered clear of it. All of
these wolves were gray with black muzzles, for that
was always the way they were born. On one snowy day,
however, a wolf was born with magnificent white fur
and majestic black eyes like two onyx gems. This was
known to the wolves as The Day of Devil's Birth.

This young wolf pup was extremely neglected
throughout his young life. The other wolves did not
share food with him, did not keep him warm, and did
not train him in the ways of survival. Almost all of
the wolves, anyway. The young wolf pup's mother,
despite knowing that being born white is a sign of
great danger, and knowing that she would do better
to simply let him die, took care of him with a love
only a mother can give.

Despite many attempts of the pack to abandon the
wolf, and other attempts to outright kill him, the
wolf preservers. He began to wonder why he was
still alive. He knew it was because of his mother,
who took every chance she could to protect him until
he reached maturity. Yet he wanted to know what his
purpose was. He did not want to be born with ivory
all over his body. Each day the curses were thrown
at him for being a Devil of the land. After his
sixth year of life, his mother passed away.

Upon her death the wolf ran away from his pack. He
had no other choice, for he knew he would surely die
if he remained with them. The wolf ran, and ran, and
ran, toward some eternity he didn't know the
location of. He spent his adolescent years in
complete solitude, and it was not until he was an
adult did he begin to explore once more. His nose
guided him, picking up scents of the bleak
landscape. No one knows what day it was, because at
this point the wolf had lost track of the meaning of
time, but on this day the wolf had come across his
old pack. They were huddle together and surrounded
by a circle of people with guns aimed at them.

The lead wolf and his pack were glancing back and
forth at the creatures holding long metal rods. One
such creature came up to the lead wolf, and with one
stiff blow, knocked him into a world of
unconsciousness. Each other wolf fell as well, and
while none were killed, each one was now helpless as
the men began to tie them up with ropes. A flurry of
white, camouflaged in the snow, dashes back and
forth in the landscape. The men brush it off as a
mirage, some crazy image their mind is conjuring due
to the extreme cold.

The lead wolf wakes up groggily, and begins to take
his bearings. Lying around him is each and every
wolf of his pack, each with a bloody patch of fur on
the back of their heads. He instantly becomes
aggressive, but calms at the sight of over ten dead
humans on the ground, each with brutal cuts and
slashes covering their bodies. Before he has a
moment to comprehend, he looks in the distance,
where he sees a lone white wolf staring directly at
him with two fierceless onyx-colored eyes.

===
Ten Years Later
===

A wolf pack of entirely snow-white wolves now
inhabits the same area. It is now the color of
purity, and the color of Wolf Pride. They are now
not only feared by animals of the area, but human
creatures as well. Any older wolves of "gray
descent" are treated with respect for their wisdom
of ancient years. The tradition in these lands now,
however, is to revere ivory-colored wolves with the
most respect. On a day when a blizzard is brewing, a
wolf was born with dark brown fur and powerful amber
eyes. This was to be called by the white wolves as
the The Day of Devil's Birth.

Miles away, in a dark and cold cave, an old white
wolf dies.

2-2-8-0

**Just so people understand: For whatever reason when I'm sick I get this weird taste in my mouth. For an even stranger reason I associate this taste with much of the time I spent alone working in the aisles of Domestics at Super Target, where I learned alot about myself.

**I'd like to hear what my Target buddies think of this poem, lol.

A strange taste is in my mouth,
And it comes from being sick.
It brings back old work memories,
That make my conscience tick.

Isolated and docile,
I would fold towels and rugs.
Hours and hours of folding,
At my sanity it did tug.

Yet the time by myself,
Was time for reflection and peace.
The aisles were my world,
Built out of cotton and fleece.

No outside contact from others,
Just myself and the strays*.
For four to five long hours,
For days upon days upon days.

I know not how they choose,
Who gets to work in that hell.
They don't care either way,
As long as they sell, sell, sell.

My world is intruded,
When a person calls to scoff,
Saying their cherry red desk,
Was supposed to be 50% off.

So the operator picks up the phone,
And hands my peaceful world a row*,
"Domestics you have a call,
A call on two-two-eight-oh"*.

*Strays are items that don't belong to the area you are currently working. Target employees collect these so they can be "properly" put back.
*Row meaning argument or complaint.
*Two-two-eight-oh (2280) is the phone extension most commonly used to put a call through to departments.

To: Anonymous

Perhaps writing this poem,
Will cause me later on to rue.
For when you read it you'll never know,
That it's a poem from me to you.

Oh mystery person how you've healed me so,
You keep me exposed to others with things you say.
For whatever reason your attention I might have,
You raise me up and keep me from fading away.

Is it a tragedy you may never know,
Or a tragedy that I will never say?
At a time when no one was there,
You walked in to my life and said "Hey".

I am much too scared to have feelings,
So I feign myself with regret and doubt.
Instead of facing you brave and sure,
I sit back and whimper and pout.

I'm sorry I can never tell you,
Or utter the words I long to say.
I know you would not understand,
Or care about them anyway.

Memories

What funny things those memories are,
A source of joy and emotional scar.
We can never forget their lasting impact,
Those choices we made and the judgement we lacked.

We learn from them and go on with our day,
They crop up unnoticed in every thing we say.
Every conscious thought you have is stemmed,
From your altered memories so cut and hemmed.

The memories of your mind can trick and deceive,
And in addition to that they also bother and peeve.
The memories of your mind can soothe and heal,
And in addition to that guide you through any ordeal.

Some things in life we wish to lock away for good,
Our memories dredge them up, and we knew that they would.
Other things in life we want to keep for evermore,
So we keep them in our head, the safest place we can store.

Our memories are more than events long past,
They are the basis of who we are, from first to last.
Cherish each and every one, both the good and the bad,
For they are who you are, whether it be happy or sad.