The Funeral and The Birth

I don't know which came first. Was it the funeral or the birth inside my heart that touched the finish line first. Was it a tie? Inside the four chambers that pump life to my sense, I have clarity on the notion that came to be my sweet present torment.

The funeral was a struggle of flesh and mental fiber being stretched to their limits with mourning, grief, and the image that i wanted us to be. Realizing those were lies, none existent illusions in blankets of thick fog that i longed for and never received, I felt it begin to lower into the cold earth. A life that was nothing more than a hidden two faced secret stashed away from my sight for years. My grieving demised when the realization of betrayal rocked the deception i was choreographed into. Clear and bright red, like thick blood, it screamed in violent decibels for a moment and then was no longer. It evaporated into the universe, into hell, into a black hole where it has detached from my core. It's been replaced instantly. An exchange; the funeral for the birth. The evil that tortured me for so long with vindictive lies was over taken with one touch from you. Like the cry of a new born baby passing through the birth canal, bloodied and brilliantly there in all glory and truth.


The birth was so natural. The new screams and cries so vivid in my heart. It took all he had poisoned me with and awakened my four chambers with a new blood, a fountain of light that I have not know. I never believed in heaven until I listened to your words, your soothing yet raspy voice, and your breath softly falling down my neck. You filled me with you. Swim through my veins as my heart pumps your sails, pushes you though my every desire and need that you can conquer. You are a blood donor, I cannot separate yours from my own. You are forever in me and I cannot let it go. I don't want to... I need it to live. I need you like truth.You are the truth in this sick and twist reality that was created for us. The stage set with disgusting and vile swamps of harsh reality, and we the players. Romeo and Juliet had it easier, they got to die for one another, unknowingly. Here we stand, all knowing of our past, our present, our inability to stay away from one another, and yet to fight the oddity of the exchange. It's shocking that the instant one lover died in my heart, that you should be born into that cavity that very same moment. Is this yet another lie? A dream within a dream? A play within a play? Indeed it is too good to be true? Surreal and sick at the same time. Can there be such harsh truth that one refuses to believe it? Something so completely explosive that takes over mind, body and soul? Or is this only what movie scripts are made of? Perhaps, but only a fool would not explore the vast oceans of passion, complete love, insane intoxication, due to the whispers from fields of pessimists that surround.

Do not leave me here alone too long, the cold is chilling. Why fight it? Why stay away? Why only visit in our dreams when it is there tangible and ready to ride? "They" say when you die and see the white light you experience fear and with each closer step you begin to realize that this is something beautiful, honest, and bigger than us. Let's die in this birth and follow the majestic rays of light that fall upon us. Let's be born again.

Wake up. wake up. I lay here isolated from you by a pane of glass.

Oranges

Oranges are a metaphor for life. Its delicious, but is it worth getting ur hands sticky?

I peel my own oranges and enjoy every bite. I lick my finger tips and let the juice drip down my lips. Join me... U can lick the juice off my lips, off my finger tips. You can get sweet and sticky. Drenched with juice that deserves to be drank by those that crave to live life.

My Sentiments on Slow

Slow is the kiss that hovers above my lips
Slow is the tree that grows it's branches
Slow are the wise to react in situations
Slow is love that nurtures each detail
Slow is the time that passes without you here
Slow is the patience that is learned

All I Wanted

All I want is some warmth
Your voice to shower my senses each night before bed

All I want is to hold you while you make breakfast
to wrap my hands around your waist,
tuck my head between your shoulder blades,
kiss your bare back

All I want is to weave my cold feet into yours at night
to lightly travel the contour of your chest and receive a response
a light touch, a kiss, a whisper

All I want is to swim in the ocean with you
lose ourselves there in the blue monster
silent yet roaring, together warm lips entangled

All I want is to make love to you under the stars
Smell your sweet scent mixed with the air
Feel you move inside of me

All I want is to talk about life's mysteries
into the late hours of the night
holding your naked body against mine
Embrace each word your perfect voice speaks

All I want is to live life fair with you
Daily chores would be sweeter
knowing we are halves of a whole
knowing you are not a leech
but a lover that gives waves of love
crashing into each corner of life

All i want is trust
To hang on your every motion like a child
Believe in all you do and say
Mathematically thought out and logical
completely intoxicating

All i want is your heart
your soul to finally give in
to believe that this is something bigger than us
this was meant to be
the path is so clear, so vivid, so honest
you can't deny this flood
it has swallowed us

All I want is you

re: ex vi termini

I walk through this dream called life
I stumbled on your words
Words that bind and feed the soul
they have fed mine
they have nurtured me with hope
they have given me the will to live
in all dark days and nights
your words are a heart beat
thump thump thump on the pages of existence

The peace i imagine in lost lands covered with white blankets
it's because of you
The silence that my mind goes to is through a solace connection on black pages
here we exist, in our own realm, in our own world with no time to intrude
i can lose myself, i can find myself
as i stumble over your words
thump thump thump

most certainly no olives

My quiet conversation with you unknowning

life is too short to wake up with regrets.
so it is, you are right. we have to move on from this venom.

So love the people who treat you right.
I cherish those that love with honor and respect. I will look at that which i have and not that which i do not have.


Forgive the ones who don't just because you can.
I hope you do. I did, it makes you the bigger person to bestow that mercy on those that perhaps don't even deserve it.

Believe everything happens for a reason.
I do. Otherwise there would be no point to this life? Perhaps i carried this burden of knowing for such a long time so her true colors could show. Perhaps it was all for you.

If you get a second chance, grab it with both hands.
I hope you do. You have a clean slate to start from. never look back. you are beautiful, you are honest, you are raw. Never be something someone else tells you to be. You are a free man.

If it changes your life, let it.
I will try to let it. it's hard, again you are so much stronger. i know i try to hang on to things that are no longer. the wounds are too fresh. maybe one day soon we will meet and talk about the person we discovered within.


Take a few minutes to think before you act when you're mad.
trying to. my pain still takes control at times. peace is something i have to work on. but my situation is very different than yours.


Forgive quickly.
But don't be naive. Forgive but don't forget. let it build your wisdom and build your demands and character.

God never said life would be easy, He just promised it would be worth it.
I hope you are right. For my sake and yours.

For: J

The moment i saw you sitting in your car as i pulled up, i knew. i knew you would wrap you arms around me and hold me longer than most normal embraces. this embrace was filled with a crazy mixture of pain, sorrow, lust, compassion and love. it had a control violence to it. you held me so tight my ribs changed shape, you were crushing me into you. i didn't want you to let me go. how long has it been since a man has held me like this? i felt wanted for the first time in a long time. we were a mirror image of one another. clones with the same fury, passion, and pain racing through each vein. your blood ran much warmer than mine. mine still cool from shock and fear of what was going to happen. i could feel you breathing me in, i inhaled your scent too. faint smell of cigarettes and salt from your sweat...it was nice to smell skin so close again. it destroyed me to realize how long I've missed that warmth. the way you held and kissed my hand on the drive to what would be a demonic confessional brings tears to my eyes.

With all that was happening around us that night; the torture of the words that oozed in vile rivers from their lost lips, I felt your presence around me, protecting me, standing beside me, never letting me out of your sight. At times a bit rough, a bit forceful, but i liked it. i liked the feeling of a man taking control of me for my own sake, for my protection. Even they saw it. I was smiling inside that they did. You took me from there, you didn't let me go home with their love professed vows being the last corrosive memory killing me on my drive home. you were perfect. so perfect. a knight in some well scripted fairytale. you were so much stronger than i was. i envied you then as i envy you now. you're resilience is astounding.

i keep coming back to the memory of your salty lips as i try to find solace, rest, some sleep perhaps. the heat of them brushing against mine through our tears, violence, pain sends my heart racing at the thought, even the hair on my arms rise. every emotion i have ever felt in my life, i felt with you there in that moment. i've experienced passion before, i faintly remember, but this was nothing of the sort. we were saving ourselves, our souls, our essence...we should have melted into each other, consumed one another and faded away into the universe never to come back. magically crumble into a billion pieces, float into the night and walk among the stars in real love and peace. the moment was beyond anything physical, it was surreal. why are we still here?

i needed more saving than you did. i know that. i wanted to hide in that area below your clavicle and next to your heart. shrink and reside inside of your warmth until i could stand on my own two shaking legs. i wanted you to take me.

the song ended, so did that night and your warm arms. you're forever part of my soul, you saved my life with all that you are. i keep revisiting those moments as i grieve, struggle, and try to breathe with each day proving to be a battle field. it gets me through the panic attacks, the tears, the darkness. i can't forget you, you're mine forever.

the truth shall prevail, even if we can't see it.

love,
v

Boomerang

It will all boomerang back you
Life will affirm this
You will be alone in your deception
How do you sleep?

Good

"You're too good. That's the problem."

May and Maybe

Have a New Year

may it be filled with immaturity, ignorance and ego-centrism
may you be fulfilled in your power lust
may your stupidity eat you alive
may you finally realize that life has left you alone
may life finally kick you in the balls so hard that you grow half a brain
obviously, through it all it hasn't yet

maybe one day you will stop making excuses for your denial and realize you had it all
maybe one New Year you will stop and think and cry
maybe you will learn form all this
maybe you won't

Simple

I am so simple
perhaps an acquired taste
but never comprised or polluted

Truth and transparency are Heaven
they are comforting and yielding
to some

To others it is insecurity and Hell
fear of losing power and control
of autonomy
Immaturity driving through the roads of life

it could all be so easy
it could all be so right
it could all work like vodka and tonic

i am here
patient and studying the statistics of life
of outcome
of choice
of what could be

Life is so simple

Black Swan

I guess the Black Swan always gets the man, while the white suffers in solitude. 'The Little Mermaid' retold in the physical sexual form. But isn't it the truth? It seems a repeating theme in life and art; the 'bad' sexual muse is the one that the man chooses, while the 'good', pure, and devoted is left to wither alone and sacrifice her existence for the one that she loves and cannot live without. Yet, when the roles are reversed, let's say Phantom of the Opera, and the poor thing that 'needs' a man in her life has to choose, she picks the 'good' guy over the dark, mysterious, passionate seducer.



Could it be? When art mimics life it defines our habits in such a way that only cliches can be assumed? Men want sluts and women want the good guy they can trust? Is this who we are as humans? Is this the difference between men and women that will forever be taught and recited in circles til the end of time? Swan Lake and the Little Mermaid ingrained into our core until we hear ourselves saying "it's a beautiful story"? Is really this shallow for our coexistence? Has it always has boiled down to sex. Do men really desire the devout house wife sacrificing her life for their family and his career when he can have the alluring, high healed, little number at the office? No wait, he wants to have his cake and eat it too. Right. For the same reason a dog licks his balls; because he can.

Now we take the struggle that is common for so many women; the fight between the white and black swan. The inner struggle that leaves individual women wondering why he wasn't interested in our version of the Black Swan. Why is the girl at the office a better depiction of her than i am? Here's why; they can't coexist in the same body. Therefore; the White Swan kills herself. As if it isn't difficult enough for women to strive to be successful at what they do in for themselves, subsequently they are mother, wife, whore, virgin, to their lovers and husbands. Throw in children and everyday problems into the equation and the White Swan rushes in to save the day. While at the end of the day the Black Swan is too tired to perform on the seductive stage of bed linens. Yes, it seems that cliche has taken its toll here too and the 'little number at the office' has a better version of the dance.

Aronofsky got it right. Women will only be 'his little princess' when they can perform both roles perfectly producing schizophrenic dancers, even if it kills us. Meanwhile; He, Vincent Cassel, gets to play the role of a egocentric pig consuming, with a vivacious appetite, one dancer after another without conscience and choreographing her every move on and off stage. Might i add it was a nice touch to wrap Vincent's character into the decor of his apartment. Everything he owned was black and white, the two could not mix (no gray), yet they shared the SAME space in his cave. The furnishings created such a harsh environment visually that one can only imagine the conflict that the black and white, or the black and white swan, produced in the body/mind of the dancer. To Thomas, or men in general, this might be the perfect woman. The one that can embody both black and white? Good luck to the ladies that try to take on the task and to the gentlemen that think such a woman can exist in perfect harmony.

So girls. Pick one. OH...and we so want to be both?

Hard

She told me i had a hard shell. That i don't let many in. i can't let many in, not really. i wear who and what i am on my sleeve, it doesn't mean i let you in. Not behind these iron curtains, even communism has nothing on me. But to let you in, to let you in completely, physically, emotionally and mentally, it means i have made myself a part of you. You should know by now not to squander it. You were the chosen one and yet stupid you stand with your dick in your hand. Ignorant and unknowing of how to operate in sync. It's so simple, so easy and i gave you the manual, the instructions to my very being, to my existence. As if God himself had written it. A Bible if you will to the center of my chakras. The golden force field of everything i am is handed to you, yet you walk away. Perhaps you need more of that fast food mentality, more commercial happy-go-lucky, high heeled, Mad Men ideology of life kinda woman.


I've let few in. Each broke my armor, but you of all have pierced it bit by bit with a fork. Injured i stand and fight with the many piercings you have left. You won't even acknowledge the wounds. I can't compete, i have no spite or revenge. All i want is compassion and reconciliation, a naive thought when i spin my mind around all that you've kept so secretly from me. The other man i do not know has taken you; your hidden life that i am not apart of.

i wait. Radiating gold, in a chair, holding tight and still as if it were the electric chair and i about to burn. i can only wait so long before i will want to fade away and follow the winds as dust.

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