The Stars Go Blue

I don't know if many of you know this, but I'm a horrible procrastinator. Especially when it comes to computers. I'll start to do the simplest of tasks, like checking my bank account, and it'll deviate into replying to messages, chatting up old friends, reading the better half of Byshelle’s 'Adonis' and hearing ads about why I need to subscribe to help the weight-loss program of my exceedingly obese Jamaican wife.

Now that’s depressing...

Not as much as my balance though. Its fallen miserably past the five-dollar mark. Something that I told myself I wouldn't do since coming back from Romania, but then again it doesn't help to have expensive tastes in liquor, now does it?

I haven't shaved today either, or hardly left my bed all day... so with every word I type I'm feeling more and more like a bum.

But you could have gone your whole life without knowing that, couldn't you?

I'm off to bed... forgive this wanker post, yes?

toodles

Befuddlement!—my Muse

Follow me, unwieldy dreams!—
O’er unconscious ink,
Through Flanders Fields, each lined in reams,
To pivot on a brink.

My harp of gold Adonis hair
Has only left me mute;
My thoughts placed out in travels bare,
A scry that’s failed acute.

I’ve watched your holes—yes, pits agape
Were windows to my soul,
That poured upon, in every shape,
A lost, unseemly role.

Yet dry I’ve been in all of this:
The pouring and the draught.
An aimless mind has burned amiss
In every ingle spot.

To ply its trade with pigeonholes
Where ruined children play,
(Deploring practice in the night
Embracement in the day.)

All of our ruined Muse polis
Deluge upon debris
Of shipwrecked minds, in their solace
Were once sought out by me;

To stake a claim upon their earth,
Suspending my creative birth.

A Jetpack Operation

Well??... who put the goat in there?

Two-thirty in the morning, and...damn... I'm feeling dry

It has been for the past several days that I have been a very volatile individual. Not only spiritually, but emotionally and intellectually. I've been having reoccurring flashbacks of things or feelings that I nearly had forgotten about. Maybe I tried once before I thought them buried and its only now that they've reoccurred to taunt me.

Inside I feel my head is crawling over with ants. Brazilian ants, the type that are about three inches long and that'll pick your bones dry if given the opportunity. There have been times that I have honestly believed without a doubt that I would go partly insane someday. Its not from one single thing but accumulation that pivots on some minute apex of my psyche. The great battle-ground of fitful emotion and my logic beckoning to me. "Suck in your gut soldier, and swallow your tongue. There's no room for anything but resignation in the army." Resigned to exist, resigned to continue. I don't want to resign myself to anything, but neither do I want to build naive expectancy.

I have not been one for giving up though and most that know me will tell you that I stubbornly bull my way through anything if I decide to do so. Its either all or nothing, I refuse to ever give anything I do up to mediocrity. To me thats worse then never doing it at all. But what if one doesn't know what to do at all? Can he ever then put his effort towards anything?

Forgive me, I do not mean to whine or even rave about anything. Its two-thirty in the morning and damn I'm feeling dry today.

Epiphany of the Creative Morgue

Empty out my cauldron mind
And label it: “Infinity”
Spread me like an orange rind—
The herald of precocity.

I’ve drunk bile in my bones
At the grandest of delusions,
And reached alto in the Thrones
To clamber up confusions.

Down the river-barge I gait
To the questioning of Silence,
(A brief affair fall to spate
Volcanic nodes of violence.)

My fetus heart gone flaccid
At this chilling lack—emotions,
Has placed my soul a-placid
With each dizzying of notions.

To douse my head, and wipe my pen;
To write—to think!—of better men.

11:20 PM

Mood: Stoic, Gloomy
Listening to: Afraid, not Scared
Reading: Dostoevsky
Eating: Blueberries and whipped cream


I've come the conclusion that I only have one true phobia, and that is of being scared. I mean, really now, what else is there to fear except fear itself? Its an infolding, self-fulfilling subject, really.
Its difficult to return to a state of what one was at some former point of time and conscientiously accept it emotionally. There are alot of times when I believe that everything was a little glass ball that I have been looking into. I could watch what transpired and share laughter or disappointment with those inside; but participate sufficiently? Never.
I don't like to display my emotions on a dinner table for everyone to see though. Alot of times I'm silent simply because I'm thinking, or better yet, have come to the conclusion that I really don't have much to say. To think, yes, everybody has plenty that they can think, or to do, but what can anyone really ever say? I'll talk when I'm around alot of people though. I'll entertain. The show must go on, however a farce it might be.
There has been plenty of times when I've thought--no...believed--that things were going to turn out alright and that life has always been just one big adventure for me. I'm convinced that that has been the child within who, with bright eyes on a Sunday morning, makes dorky grins to everyone who isn't smiling and whose reply to the problems of life is just "Smile, life's one happy game." I'm sure that I'll continue to think so.
I haven't always been that way though. There are other times when I'm brooding over simply nothing...when I become spiteful...when I become a snake. The pessimist in me aroused, I will sit and smirk at a towel in the bathroom, thinking nothing, doing nothing; just staring in hopes that the little glass bowl of life will pass me by.

I burnt both my thumbs today while making a marvelous bowl of lentils. Not a bad burn, just between the first knuckle and nail on both of them, and good enough to not look red but still tingle. I want to call my left leg Sherbert, the other one Rob.

Uh.... been writing poetry again. Nothing special yet, though there is one or two that look promising. Considering how my skill dwindled towards the end of last year though I look at any such steps, however small, with extreme optimism. When their done I'll post them up, but until then, goodnight.

Words to Love on Her Apparent Nature

And enchantment in your blisses
Stupors understanding,
While chills from wildernesses
Doles out a second-handing—
Narcotic to indolent minds,
Who care for this crash landing.

This is love!—or so they speak
Of treachery and flame.
Wrapped in gauze, their souls will seek
To do it once again;
Apothegm to all mankind
Of contradiction, plain.



There's something wrong with it. I don't know what though... perhaps its the last two lines, they still irk me. But at least I'm trying to get back into practise, no?

Something Revolutionary

Dad:) I hate the System! I hate the vanity of vanities and vexation of spirit. This carnal world disgusts me! It makes me sick because I know the purity and beauty of Heaven. You want an open mind? You want to really be cool? Then reject the sickening puke of man's ways and embrace the pure, powerful, liquor of Heaven! It'll knock your socks off. Are you man or woman enough to take it? Can you handle the power of the Spirit? Or are you going to settle for the milk toast of this world?--Worse than that, the poison of this world? Me‚ I can't stand the filth of this world! Give me those who are free enough to live in the spirit! God give me those who are radical enough to reject the world and all its vile corruptions! True children of David hate the System--they hate the ways of man because they are corruption and filth compared to the powerful intoxication of the Spirit. Spit out the poison of the world and drink in the power of Heaven! Be an intoxicated "spirit-bibber"!


Amen??

Happy New Years!

So, what will be your resolutions for the coming year hmmm?? Personally, I resolve to not resolve. Somehow, I always keep coming short of my goals, no matter how small I make them.

But a very happy New Years to all of you who read this blog. Hopefully this 2008 I'll find things of worth to talk about, not just for me, but you as well... hehe..

Damn, there I got resolving, heh.

Anyway, here's the last poem I wrote in 2007. Everything I've learned in a nice, little nut-shell:


Reflections While Waiting in the Snow

Outside, the night is bitter dark
And all about, the snow
Glints on lamps as if some spark
Could cause in them a glow.

Yes, tis tonight by lamppost thin
On snowy Christmas Eve
That I have waited, long has been
My dewy mind deceived.

To celebrate the death of years
Hang tinsel on the tree;
If I were one, dressed all in spheres
I wonder which I’d be.

And what have I, this year gone by
Complete that I’ve commit?
A spotless mind has spun awry,
Emotions hacked a fit.

And footprints in the sand I’ve seen
Have only been my own,
The things in life I’ve always been
I’ve always been alone.

Then what I’ve gathered in the smoke
Of love’s worthless battle
Has kissed my heart till I could choke,
My very spirit throttle.

What have I gained, if not to find
That life continues on,
And what’s contained within the mind
Is never truly gone?

Yet still, by flagpoles in the dark
I stand, and still await my spark.