A real gentleman, even if he loses everything he owns, must show no emotion. Money must be so far beneath a gentleman that it is hardly worth troubling about.
-Dostoevsky
s l e e p
i
n
gd r e a m
i
n
gdrowning, in past lives
through reddening eyes
and my hands catch
star dust- vibrant colors
passing, beneath traffic signs
as dawn breaks,
its crown on a careless horizona reassurance of life
as i… d
r
o
p- abrupt
and jarring, like
teeth…
Dreams make whole, dreams turn black.
Starry black, dripping with coal.
Burning into the pit, away from law.
Into the honey dew of it’s hole.
Bending, not breaking, everything is together.
Around the dream, reading from its pages,
like a never ending scroll.
Around we go,
around, around, around the black
starry bowl.
Where it stops, none can troll.
We are depravity. In the fullest sense of the word, humans are depraved. Bothered by one another and call it tolerance. We drift to complacency and call it freedom. We grow bored of new things yet cherish every new piece of crap. We take on superstition and call it spiritualism. We slouch toward emptiness and call it full. We glide toward moralism and call it enough. We are obedient to laws that call us slaves while we look for rightness in corruption. We sit on truth and claim nothing is certain. We have no self control yet long for responsibility. We live only to look for ways to die when living is not what it seems. We buy without money and we take on dept when we convince ourselves we are not selfish. Imagine saying there is no sin when you are bound in depravity.
There’s a frozen sea within each of us. It’s a frozen sea because “it” has the potential to be active, yet it’s frozen by the worldly winter. A frozen sea is dull and damned on the surface. Does this remind you of anyone? One can see the frozen sea as a means to walk over and arrive on the other side. Although that may seem pliable, we ought to remember how well we sail when the winds of heart ache, struggle, persecution, and mistakes move our lives. What shall we do then? Break the frozen facade? I answer with the heat of the Son. Today He shall shine upon my soul. May it melt away my slick, simple, frost that kills the life in which it harbors. May He bring back from winter a genuine course to sail.
Anyone who cannot come to terms with his life while he is alive needs one hand to ward off a little his despair over his fate… but with his other hand he can note down what he sees among the ruins.
The ways of God are through knowledge of sacrifice,
Sacrifice hidden, becomes a legend in the heart-
And a tale that poetry portrays as the grandest price.
A deepened love of not one, nor two but thrice,
Given to slums- and now these vindictive scales can suffice.
The miss of this, results in the serpents hiss
given from love like a Judas kiss.
This melting face can see the wax, and you dear
sinner will greet a wicked hoax,
Or the chamber of an echoing pax.
There may not be grace in this place but pain
For the fallen fawn, only left to lie in this bloody shame.
Lost in the night… When the light fades away, I lower my head, with hope that I am watched. Sleeping peacefully in houses, under the covers, under a safe roof. Cuddling, stretched out, flocked together. This self-deception of night. Often I am deceived by the night; it’s cold breath of rest and slumber. Unaware of who I am, who we are, replacing blindness for the cost of rest. Someone must be watching, although I am burdened by who. Who feeds us the nightmare of the night? How shall we awake from the night? Who is watching to make sure we awake? Often my head is lowered, yielding to the night. Lost in reflecting my actions, playing a role of self pity. Often I am comforted by the night. Often the night meets me during the day. When will I realize I am walking in the light. Yet, comforted by my night. Comfortable falling asleep at life, with everyone watching in their own night.
There are these two young fish swimming along, and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, “Morning, boys, how’s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes, “What the hell is water?”
-DFW
This is what it means
To be free, on fire
Acting in movie scenes
Playing the role of a lire
Waking up
Talking myself into it
Pouring out my cup
Into the pit
Into the earth
Like a sick pig
Without worth
Like a broken twig
I know what I am
A broken boy
Open for exam
Played like a toy
I just can’t get it together
Peeling like an onion
Changing like the weather
Cut down by john Bunyan
I wanna drop dead
Turn into a ghost
Cuz of the thoughts in my head
And evils boast
It just gets worst from here
Blacking out
Hiding in my fear
Dried in my drought
Hindered from my curse
Crippled from love
Driving my own Hurst
A Wings clipped dove
The next step is bliss
Only for a second
Not even her kiss
Not even to be reckoned
I was staring at this beautiful girl today in cafe Vero. The atmosphere is actually brilliant. Smack dab in the middle of the Eugene of Oregon, covered by flush green trees and a Victorian style deck with matching fence, I captured her in perfect light. As the sun ran through the tall windows and on to her location, I picked up my pen to verbally illustrate what I was staring at. She noticed my stare and began to grow uncomfortable. Sipping the tea she bought, she walked over to me and said “do I know you?”- My reply was similar to an eleven year old boy,
“Umm, I don’t think so, I come here often, but haven’t seen you before.”
As she mermerd a huh’ she replied “what are you writing down?”
“just some free writing, I enjoy writing on my free time” I said, slowly growing into a seventeen year old embraced boy.
“Really? -She responded with excitement. I would love to see it, I enjoy writing myself.”
“Could this really be happening? Does this stuff happen in real life? I couldn’t help but ask myself these questions. This random girl’ confronts me and want’s to see what I’m writing down. (Little does she know who it’s about)
“Sure”, I slowly turn the journal to her direction and allow her to gaze over my writings…
“silk laundry milk dress drops to the floor. The sun rains in and gracefully reveals the glare of joy from her skin. Her lips pop and drip with golden honey, her eyes grip the heavenly ministry. Purity lines her figure with innocents grabbing every movement made. with every turn of her neck, glory creeps in her continence. Gazing out the window she captivates flowerfull desire and reach of beauty. poised by angelic manna, she grabs at freedom.
Suggesting warmth with her persuading glare, an areah of fallen snow forces the room into lathered purity. she gleans in ones direction and withdraws his very existence. An entire nights-heaven is constricted within each of her pupils. The stars that liter the blackness of these eyes shine brighter then any earthly night. She moves to her feet and gathers spectrum of color with every step.
Why so demanding in beauty; God only knows. For she must be coming directly from His own. gliding across the floor, the room fades to an eternal twilight. Lavender rapes around her halo, where soon only the fragrance of Eden will remain. soon the Independence of Noah’s raven will grab her only to fly and never be seen again…”
With tears in her eyes she reply’s “awlllll, she must be so special” but that was cheezyest thing I ever read.. “later loser” she yells across the cafe!
There I was, left alone once more. Thinking to my self “Too bad you weren’t the girl I was staring at fat-ass”
