The cold comes

What once use to be lush and green is now in hibernation. Silent and whispering through the ice and snow. They talk to me and tell of their buried past. Rest they say. Rest my child. Sleep with us.

Sound of Silence

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turn my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
No one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

"Fools," said I, "you do not know
Silence like a cancer grows
Hear my words that I might teach you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
And the sign flashed out its warning
In the words that it was forming
And the sign said "The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sound of silence

-P. Simon, 1964

Is There a Way Out of Hell?

I can't stand those that say "life is what you make of it". It's simply not true and it's about as irritating to me as " dream big and shoot for the stars". Seemingly the majority of the population, particularly here in the U.S. share these sentiments, so i hear. Life is more about adapting to what the winds and waters throw at you. Let's be "realistic", we have all dreamed big and we would all like to think that we are the captains of our destiny, if there is such a thing. I think the harsh truth is that we are all boats out at sea, some with sails set high and ready for anything that mother nature might curse us with, some that don't care where the tides take them and drift aimlessly, and for the majority of the population there is the mixture of the two. Just boats out at sea, some are better equipped than others, some are faster, slower, weaker, stronger. You get it.

We as animals have so little control as to what we make of our lives. Sure we like to think that we can get a better education and make more money, build a better life with better things and faster download speeds. But life in the purest form is made up of connection for our self-centered species. The materialism, greedy and power lust that is all wrapped up in a warm egocentric blanket takes second as well. Connection, what we like to call love, is something that we cannot control and yet controls us totally. This hell that has been coded into our DNA since the existence of time. Our never ending need and desperation for something that is so far above our heads that most cannot and will never understand the structure of the emotion of "LOVE". Therefore; it is watered down to the physical sense and becomes nothing more than confusion of "love" and sex. Not to mention the confused tangle the two so completely and manage to weave a rope of egoism through the two and blame their ignorance on "destiny". "let's agree to disagree" and "it wasn't meant to be", but it started out so great and it always does.

The ocean waters just toss us around while we try to cling to whatever it is we have. So here i am, clinging yet at the same time tired and restless. You see, i know what love is. I like to think i do at least, this doesn't go to say that i can execute it with perfection. I'm dealing with 30 foot waves at the moment and my rage is trying to take on the waves rather than facing "reality" and allowing them to swallow me completely and get me out of this Hell. Drowning though is not the option i can take at this point in life, although in the back of my head, an Ophelian tide sweeps through me. Wouldn't it be nice if i could just turn it off? The connection i mean. To be happy never feeling again. To drift through life as a rock, this time not tossed by Neptune's wild horses, but stamped into one place at the bottom of some ocean floor. I am a rock, i am island... so the song goes.

What could be so bad with finding your lover in her arms? what could be so wrong with reading her words written to him, and his tender responses back. The same words he once wrote me drenched with flirtation and lust are now written to her. And this wave crashes against me and takes everything i had and washes it off deck. I know what love is; it's trusting that he is really at work and making a warm decadent dinner daily. Waiting for his return, his attention, building him a house and making it a home, getting so sucked into living for him that i forget of my own existence. Wait, i know what love is, i do? Another wave hits my bow and i long for defeat. The lies bombard me one after another. Does he really think i am that stupid? my heart races out of my chest. The excuses are for the ignorant and that i am not. I am just a tiny yacht fighting to stay afloat with not control over these seas. For him to take and take and take some more and never give back but to withdraw. Not even putting up a flight? No confession? Just an abandoned home of what was once a life built together. I fight with passion, rage and blood streaming down my face instead of tears...i am a shadow boxer. I am a deserted ship with the words "quantum fiducia fide honoris" written at the bow.

I look around and all i can see is water. Miles and miles. I don't know what is worse. the white room with no exit or this? This is what Hell is. It's knowing there is no way out with loneliness triggering our DNA to want more connection, we must have love. Falling victim only to the storm and asking that constant question; "what's it all for"? Perhaps those of us, the more evolved, have found land? But is that better than water? The chances of dying out at sea are greater, perhaps there is comfort in that? Perhaps "quantum fiducia fide honoris" should give up the fight with the blind and resign to the oceans depths where she can decompose and rest, finally.

Wait

I want to start writing about my grieving process as one would expect at this sour point in my life. To get it out by slitting my veins open on these pages with a butter knife and begin to pour vinegar into them to see what the reaction of the two could possibly create. To start writing metaphors for tears and how they are the equivalent to Pompeii. But something in me won't allow me to do that today. Perhaps a fight for my self preservation or perhaps it's the words that i read that are not my own that keep me coming back and writing. Just to see if i get a response from you. To bridge with you in a moment where i have been left alone and abandoned with nothing more than my thoughts which are guilty of taking my mind hostage and running my body through time and space like an old rag. I want to know who you are and where you are, what you do and why. you've fascinated me with your words, your small bits and pieces of tasty emotional morsels that i can feed off and relate to, so completely at times that i need not write but just read what you have written over and over again. like a truffle in the universe of life, i know you come with a heavy price tag. I wish i could talk to you and hear your voice, listen to your words and forget about all that ales me. I've had too much to drink, that sake waited up for me. Now i wait again. my dreams forge their own versions on my emotions and desires all drawn from desperation and self pity. Still i wait for more of your words on memorabilia, antiquities, titles in Latin and French, for more responses to get me through the day.

amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus

i can't even find the strength to write today. through my hurt, through the tears of lava, Jimmy was the only thing that came to mind. i can't help but think how much i hate the holidays and how much i don't and never will understand those that run away for the truth, from loyalty, honor and love. this headache didn't even allow me to drink...the numb buzz is enough to make me spin. i guess the bottle of dry sake will have to wait a day.

What Else Is There

???

Man

Mother, I remember what you told me once; of how I should grown up and become a man. Or of how I should have been a man from the beginning. But I refused to believe you and somehow, perhaps I need to listen. Oh how these godly hours remind me of how human I should appear. For that, I apologize. -HM

Jump

You're here. Come on, take my hand. Take it! Run, hold your breath, and jump.

Saint Anne

locks fall off

Snip. Snip.
I can feel the blades carve into the thin extension of what use to be my history. All together, tightly bound with a green rubber band, the kind you use to see on your morning paper. There it all lay in front of me lifeless and detached after so many years; my long blond hair. I wanted it all gone, all off. I needed to feel all of gross past being lifted off me like sin; a new start. I was going for Jean Seberg circa 1967 or Mia Farrow from Rosemary's Baby. Let the gender bending begin. I've always had the face for hair this short. I've had it this short when i was young...twice. I looked like a boy every time and yet i kept coming back for more. Third times the charm. Stupidly I kept it long to please him.

Fuck you men, here i am. Yes i had the balls to be "less feminine", to part with the matel barbie you made of me in your tasteless culture of global trash. Now instead of seeing a blond sex symbol you will first ask yourself if i am gay, just because you are that pathetic. Face it, women with looks and short hair scare you. It's our way of visually telling you that you can't pull our hair in bed, you won't have your way with us in your shallow head. My long flowing locks that once sat at my bust reveal who i am now and no long hid my existence. I will not submit to you moronic truths that have forged themselves on to the very way i look. You will have to deal with me, with the bare reality of who i am. No grand facade of whatever that latest victoria's secret magazine or GQ instilled into that cave man gray matter you received for brains.

Fuck you if you don't like it. it's because you don't know what a real woman should look like anymore that your member is limp and confused. It's because you don't want an equal but rather someone that will submit to your thigh-highed fantasies. I don't and never will. I need to have honesty and transparent truth in life and love and existence. I need to visually force you to see me so one day the visual sense can translate to the emotional and you will see the real me. The black or white me, the no gray area me that swims in loyalty and drinks passion. I am not the plastic and pink bullshit that America manufactured in a catalog. I'm that girl you call a European elitist because you are too uneducated and insecure about yourself.

the long last breath

You speak to me in riddles, you speak to me in rhymes
my body aches to breath your breath, your words keep me alive

Wintersleeper ...

Are you waiting for a miracle?
Are you waiting for a lightning bolt?
Are you waiting like a paranoid little boy?
Are you ever gonna come back home?
Do you believe that the sky is falling?
How you ever gonna pick up the pieces?
Do you really think that anybody will listen?
Do you really think that anybody will notice?

I used to dream about saving the world
Now i just dream about the holidays
I used to write so many songs for my girl
Now all i think about is floating away
I think I need a big vacation
I think I need a big vacation
I think I need a big vacation
Out of this place
-Wintersleep by search party



Perhaps you are the only one listening?Perhaps you are a wintersleeper too? You sent a search party to find me. In my darkness, you noticed, when all i want to do is fade away to distant lands where no one knows my name. You knew i needed a vacation out of this place. Why? Why would you care? Did I strike a cord?
You. Who are you? Do you exist and where? Yes, i need to pick up the pieces that shattered and rolled away to far off places. I can't seem to locate them. Should I even try? I would like to come back home, but i am too hurt and too far away to get there anytime during my life. Walking down a dark hallway that never seems to end by candle light seems to be my path. Perhaps it's just another level of Hell Dante didn't mention? Eventually i might see that place called home if only with a constant, slow, and painful limp. So it seems it be. This way and not the other. A "unique" (God how I hate that word) existance for those composed of one cliche after another. A Lego land of cliches all there to happily make up this pile of heaping dung.

Thank you

Whoever you are; i love you.

Locked

Locked in time. Feeling trapped in a realm with no answers and so resolution. Stillness of uncertainty, the calm of panic before the storm. That last breath one takes before thier heart skips a beat as they jump into some freezing Canadian lake. Then, contact: the shock and pain shake your mind and shatter your bones.

The end is hollow and empty with nohing but doubt and fear and pity. Look, look at you... Just look at you. Standing in a fog of nothing, in a grey mist of cold shivers, alone and isolated forever.
No baggage, no noise, no inner struggle. Just empty.

Satellight

Dear HM,

Your timing couldn't have been more perfect. It's all so mysterious to me and at times like this so clear. Perhaps we are all like satellites? Throwing our thoughts and being into a black hole, waiting for someone to pick up our signal. Not even expecting anything complex in response, but just an acknowledgment, a nod, a "yes i hear you", so that at the end of the day we know we are not the only square peg in a round world.

Just to know that there is another red dot on your radar traveling somewhere else but knows of your existence in a world devoid of logic, passion, clarity and truth.

An old friend once told me, "we are like satellites and now that our paths have crossed they will continue to do so". -mjk

Never

I want to get lost in my dreams and never find my way back

All

All the men I've loved have taken the joy out of my life. Sucked me dry of all that was ever good in me.

Bad

I am crawling out of my skin because I want you so bad. Just for a second, a half a minute, just touch my face and even that would be enough. I could devour you completely if you'd give me a glass of red and a chance.

NYC cosmo

A long strange trip stumbling through hole in the wall bars with the chic attending and the cool sloshing up alchemistic toxins to forget the thing ailing you most.

A laugh but not out loud (….lnol…..jesus.) -HM

An after thought inspired by My Egocentric Delights Blog called Somewhere over that goddamn rainbow

The dark circles under my eyes can't even begin to explain how i feel. Somewhere along the lines of an aged ape dragging it's knuckles along a long gravel road trying to reach water in the blazing heat. The wrinkles around my eyes embedded in the thinning skin remind me that as each day flies at the speed of light, i am still here, in the same spot i was 10 years ago, only older and still searching for that genius of inspiration. My thinning hair and mal-tempered ways are my irritation with myself and all i could be but am not. The dream never reached, not yet ( do i still carry some idiotic drop of hope?), and just tired of all the attempts, the ideas, the creativity that has sucked the life out of me. Too much too fast, like a sprint instead of a steady jog through life. Perhaps he's right. My memory fails me on his quote so i have to go back and find it, how i despise aging. Here, yes...

"It’s all a big joke. Leave now. Take off at top speed homeward and fix yourself a dry martini with four parts vodka instead of the usual two. And no olives." Harry Merkin

Why these words ring true to me? I can only guess that I have found that with age my passion has transitioned to drinking, consuming a foodie diet, and cooking rather than creating anything note worthy anymore. The flames of passion are out and surrounded by a dark and cold winter storm. Buried under thick ice, perhaps a fucking glacier at this point. Mentally I think that the four parts vodka are just a stiff does of reality but backwards. The reality being the four parts, hard and burning as it goes down. The irony of it all is that I would do it to momentarily forget that I suck. A dose of reality to kill the pain? So cheers... LNOL

Air

Your image tranquil day by day
lost in the depths of your blue bay

Knowing I to you am neither
Here, existing, in life's seether

Like a silence, never broken
Never taken, never spoken

Fused in air and fire and water
Two souls merge as Earth's daughter

At the edge of your divide
Til then I am gone, I will hide

Seek my being, search the world
Satellite here as a girl