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Fri, Feb. 5th, 2016, 05:19 am

I could condense every emotion to a small fragment,
each one isolated like a single grain of sand,
I carried handfuls before you in attempts to make them whole
each crash of the tide like a time stamp on my current state
I extend with hopes of salvation
while I grasp on to the nothingness that is dissolving.
Your only intervention comes in a echo,
but I can't recall what octave
your voice fell into or how you said it
while I watched the remains float through my mind
like the dead wood of a once valiant ship
I stared until you neared the shore
of every last thought I had.
I can't recall when you escaped
into the figments of my imagination
perhaps when the barriers seemed like a horizon
and the reverb of your voice was miles away
a weather beaten image crumbled on the outskirts
of what is, and what was
I reconstructed it all like your words were a lifeboat
And you destroyed my sand castles with gravity alone
my kingdom is in my hands, before you
there was nothing, there was nothing left
I can recall you saying in the unfamiliar tone
"This will take everything you have."
And it did.

Fri, Feb. 5th, 2016, 05:17 am

I have come alive again. I am not exhumed, just reborn. The negative emotions at times crawl up inside me and rot my insides, but I found passion is the cure. I will not be swayed again by the contagiousness of self-depracation. I am happy even if it means redefining happiness to fit my current state.

Fri, Feb. 5th, 2016, 05:03 am
5 years in summary

Integrate values rather than polarizing them.

My consciousness feels like it's melting lately and the harder I grip, the faster I notice it's falling through my fingers. At least I notice still. I'm not entirely a puddle.

Calm like a duck.

Not everything needs to be expressed lexically if it can be done behaviorally.

We do often repurpose youthful idealizations by injecting them into something practical. But I think this only happens because we've misplaced the truth that it's okay to have the thrill of dreams for the sake of it..And if we're especially lucky, we'll rediscover the steps of our former selves before the "colonization of reality" on our childish minds..

The high cost of social subordination is high stress which is a cumulative burden.

I thought you ran like a river through my depths. I got the signals confused, one might say, when I confused the grey of your eyes with the monochrome of the clouds above me. I guess, this could also mean, you were too blind to realize if you were existing with me though. However close the sun seemed that day, it was too far to realize and however far it seemed, it still burned unintentionally. In paradise, I sought sun kissed daydreams to waltz in tune to my former fantasy's steps. And on the shore, inspiration washed up. But the music stopped, the thoughts collapsed. And the sun beat on, it's rays burned on. And we were no longer floating in rhythm to an intimate idea.

I captured the moment in my mind,
but time hasn't elapsed enough
for me to finger every crevice in my conscious.
So I can only pray, when your hands meet me
your smile is the focal point of my every thought.
I can't bear to trace another syllable
along the edges of my mouth.
It's a narrow path to sound out the roar.
I'll encase them in a signal
where you feel the goosebumps read,
"Embrace me, please."

Wed, Jan. 7th, 2015, 12:58 am

And nobody knows us - we are strangers.

Sun, Nov. 30th, 2014, 02:35 am

Your words weren't a compass?
You're right, I shouldn't have taken such a literal approach,
like giving words to meaning, and believing what will be said.
The rhetorical questions weren't directions were they?
You don't have to answer that.
because your step by step instructions failed any way.
for I can't remember what octave your voice fell into.
Looking back, I'll blame this miscommunication on reverberation.
And claim I took mine own approach,
like dividing events and memories as my first step to
piecing together this atlas like a puzzle.
It's not hard to lose your place,
when you don't know where you are,
Is seeing believing?
You don't have to answer that.
Because these heat waves seem disguised as dead ends.
I should stop looking for signs now,
because I'm running out of blame.
And my truth is too blurry..
And I've caught myself staring into the sun too many times.
and my vision meets the horizon, I always look in the rearview,
so unwillingly, this must be a force.
I don't want to play the blame game with the universe again,
for playing tricks on me,
but can reality be such a subjective confabulation?
You don't have to answer that.
The moon escapes every trace of you,
then your shadows stop growing when you set on me once again.
You must be the sun when you decide night and day.
And give me grand illusions like rainbows and silhouettes.
I've gone to the ends of the earth to prove this.
like chasing love down the highway, if I have to,
which I've had to.
Can one wrong turn leave someone so stranded?
That was a rhetorical question.

Sun, Nov. 23rd, 2014, 01:43 am

there are mornings
where the possibilities felt
are the essence of my being.
the future must exist
i believe it to be
happily so.
but the past is an entity
that bears no relevance
to my beliefs
it is a shadow i cast
on everything i near.
a symbioc figure
that lives inside
when i wake
a crevice is between us
a descent from which
i cant stray
(As we smiled), our lips parted
every angle peered in on my body
(As we laughed), a new perspective rotated
oscillating above & between what it was
to be looking here and gazing at a tangible eternity.
Discovery served itself as it would in a dream,
(As you leaned in) the fission of reality and anomalies
appeared like a crawl space hidden to lazy eyes,
leading to the only miracle I could ever need.
Do you think the elements conspire
so that we could become one?
That was a rhetorical question.
you can't escape the pa st.
you can't escape the pa in.

Sat, Nov. 22nd, 2014, 09:29 pm

most habits occur
because of laziness
we overdrink
because our friends do
we overeat
because our parents think
we need more flesh
on the bones
and perhaps my worst habit
is overloving
and like most who live
to excess
i will be broken
in two
by my unwillingness
to control my feelings

Mon, Nov. 17th, 2014, 11:41 pm

Reality is a reflection of the self. Reality is the subjective object to one's objective perspective. I control the way in which I experience the world. 

Sun, Oct. 5th, 2014, 12:52 am

I can no longer convince myself of that which I don't believe. That was the last coherent decision I remember making. From then on, everything was just a piece into the puzzle, a symbol for the framework, just another translation begging to be understood- but such things are inexplicably impossible when they're too far to conceptualize. Perhaps I was projecting, or worse I was foreseeing something. My milestones are like a conceptual scene in a film where there are no words, just metaphors to visual. So, I closed my eyes, inhaled, exhaled and hovered above the present moment inside my transparent casket.

 Opposites give us a basis to make sense of it all, now and then, here and now. How naive and innocent, I was when I first considered life outside of me, my moment of conception, the birth of now. This is where every melody is born and every poem is dug up from it's roots only to find in doing so we destroy its only lifeline. Exposing oneself is a sacrifice. It means severing my lifeline to my separate life; it means solidifying that it is in fact separate. Sharing who I am, means losing who I am. A confession is a gift.


  The daunting claustrophobia has set in despite no cause for such symptoms. I look around and the vacant eyes peer through me from every direction. I felt as if I was holding on to a secret I could use to blackmail the world. The narrator of my unconscious would yell, "pause!" and I could escape, but how could I even get to that point when there is so much to extrapolate before this is an emergency. I hadn't chosen these words, this story- none of it at all. It was like a dog wagging it's tail on the way to be euthanized. I hadn't become the catalyst for this being against my will. I had been condensed, yet again, in a way where on lookers could never agree- I was trapped in a haiku. Frantically, I shook my head to let the notions fall out. It was boundless externally, but lost in a rapture of traps and mazes. I had been here before in silence. In contrast, somewhere in those former reflections there had been at least a glimmer of resolve. Appraising their execrable eyes, I looked at my reflection- I had succumbed to delusion.

  I thought back to each recent crippling interaction, realizing how no one can truly know anyone else. Any attempt only leads to more dissonance ultimately pushing souls apart. I don’t want to try anymore, only to feel myself helplessly drowning millions of gallons of misunderstanding, while spilling blood in this tank of sharks. They say you say too little, and then when you say more - its all the wrong things. I will say the bare minimum, just enough to cultivate a mystery, and deny them any more. I have nothing to offer anyone beyond that. No one has anything to offer me but diplomatic immunity for safe passages. I don’t want to interact. I only want to observe safely from behind my glass case. People are quicksand- absorbing, suffocating, and yet separate from my being. The urge to atrophy the obvious and dig for it's roots was the only piercing sensation in my body.

Fri, Aug. 22nd, 2014, 06:02 pm

it was the only thing i could get my hands on
it was the only thing i could reach
it was the only thing i thought you'd understand
If I could, I would make a melody that would give air to the thoughts I want to birth in your mind. However, that is the problem. There is a translation begging to be understood, but such things are inexplicably impossible when they're too far to conceptualize. In the same way, the surface of my mind can't understand the passage of time on Mars. What's more, in a galaxy how different things can be on separate planets. Strange how the moon and the sun appear to be the same size during an eclipse. The only visual comparison, we as people have to go on alone; things are not as they seem. They are greater than we will ever know if we take them at a glimpse. We must step outside ourselves. We must explore. We must call forth a new perspective. Trying to explain heat when you've lived under a blossom-less tree is as impossible as trying to explain the scent of a daisy. And we must keep in mind, this explanation exists in isolation in each of us. And this contemplation, is delicate for the fibers that make us whole waiting to avoided. Breaking the connection and deeming it unreal, is just as possible as treacherous. But the aroma of a satisfactory imagination where fields of flowers are sentiments of the ideas that we can not explain have me intoxicated like a child's first dream. How naive and innocent, I was when I first considered life outside of me, where every melody is born and every poem is dug up from it's roots only to find in doing so we destroy its only lifeline. We offer these decorations, as monuments to the translation we wish to employ. In hopes, the recipient will harvest and replant these so that they too can live on. Subconsciously, I think you know, you too, have sought the gardener as well as the garden. Yet you place the continuum of blossoms in a glass jar attempting to encapsulate a symbol and lure the gardener.



Elusive to the eye of any passerby. The trouble is the masterpiece of memory resonates like a requiem. Petal by petal, minutes escape together and are never to be found again. Goodbye by goodbye, until the irony itself dissipates and the confusion doesn't make you smirk. Certainly, anything is possible, but not everything. If I could possibly send forth a legend of the symbols in my perspective, maybe then you'd understand this place, an invisible field where only a paradox could thrive. It wasn't solemn nor whimsical. And I am patronizing the cheer of a happy song that makes these thoughts dance or implying it should. I am merely suggesting, if we existed alone, like a lake,with no connection to any river, what is left? What thought are you having and are you having it instead? In a vase, the water reflects and does its best to illustrate all that it holds and hopes to keep alive. But we can never emulate, just merely admire. Just as the past exists, alone in your mind- intangible, untouched- prolonged in captivity. However close the sun seemed that day, it was too far to actualize and however far it seemed, it still burned unintentionally. In paradise, I sought sun kissed daydreams to waltz in tune to my former fantasy's steps. And on the shore, inspiration washed up. But the music stopped, the thoughts collapsed. And the sun beat on, it's rays burned on. And it presently isn't flowing in rhythm to an intimate idea. I could no longer believe in the misconception that time passed on the same ticking between us. I knew these petals would fall at a different where you were.




I thought you ran like a river through my depths. I got the signals confused, one might say, when I confused the grey of your eyes with the monochrome of the clouds above me. I guess, this could also mean, you were too blind to realize if you were existing with me though. However close the sun seemed that day, it was too far to realize and however far it seemed, it still burned unintentionally. In paradise, I sought sun kissed daydreams to waltz in tune to my former fantasy's steps. And on the shore, inspiration washed up. But the music stopped, the thoughts collapsed. And the sun beat on, it's rays burned on. And you weren't flowing in rhythm to an intimate idea. I could no longer believe in the misconception that time passed on the same ticking between us. I knew these petals would fall at a different where you were. I knew, on Mars, 5 months seemed like 3 years here at home, here on earth. I looked for the end of the earth, and a discovery served itself as you in a dream. I crawled into the fission between phenomenon and what I could see, like the line waiting to be drawn between dark and light during an eclipse. Opposites give us a basis to make sense of it all. It was safe here in between the mush of the wet gravel and sea glass. But even the middle has an opposite, so I continued to seek you, to seek the end of the earth. I wanted to lie in your marrow while it covered your bones. I wanted the center of the earth to burn from beneath me. The sun had scorched every atom before, but I wanted my silhouette burned on the atmosphere itself. For I knew, if I could do so, you'd be easier to find. Because it's only us. Quick, before this last petal falls in the shade and like your marrow, the very thing that glues yourself together explodes. You'll adapt one more time like surviving a lobotomy. You'll climb deep inside all that's left, and find me. But there is a misconception you should be aware of, the fact that I cannot hear volumes of your voice. The fact being that water evaporates here because anything is possible here. You don't dance in the wind because there is no more air. Your exhales couldn't suffice because you're no longer experiencing anything more natural than the contours of my imagination. This is just an oversimplification of how it feels to grope the darkness of the dirt, in shallow attempts to find bouquets. I only hoped you would understand if I presented you with a filth ridden daisy, just one more time. If you did, then I'd know we shared the same oasis in our minds. But the music sounds like distortion when you play it back for me. I'm beginning to think I'm wrong. But how could I be wrong? This is my imagery. I thought ending the world would create the perfect symphony. I knew a contrast of extremes is harsh and clumsy, but that was all there is. Allow me to reconstruct all that was because i've lead us to a place that isn't fit for any human being. Music can't be heard in space for there is no air for the vibrations to travel with, or so I'm told. But as I said before, I can no longer convince myself of that which I don't believe. if only this was sheet paper, maybe then it would all make sense when the fragments of an incomplete idea fell on paper.

there are separate symbols
i wished to employ
a legend on the map of mind
i wished you understood
but the eyes of those who live
under the blossom-less tree
could never foresee anything
not even the wonder of heat

it was little less ironic that i would have hoped.
in fact, there was no cliches to build off of.
I wanted to lay in your marrow, covering your bones,
Elusive to the eye of any passerby.
Safe here in between the mush and flow,
comparable to that of the sea glass and braille.
Imprinted with every meaning I could ever need,
that would've torn through the flesh upon any sly grasp
But somehow dulled with saving grace
with each crash of a wave drilling into the center of your bone
while I free floated until edge of earth was the only thing implied.
Discovery served itself as you in a dream,
where the fission of reality and anomalies
appeared like a crawl space hidden to lazy eyes,
leading to the only miracle I could ever need.
And every single finger could stroke with the slow vibration
of the symphony of an apocalypse of one.

Trying to explain heat when you've lived under a blossom-less tree
is as impossible as trying to explain the scent of a daisy.
Contemplation exists in isolation in each of us,
flourishing. (is all I could ever need.)
Explanation meanwhile decays as we snatch at the stem,
vanishing. (is all I could ever need.)

The ebb felt icy like porcelain vase in heat to display
a schism in a a definitive question of purpose
I thought you ran like a river through my depths.
I got the signals confused, one might say,
when I confused the grey of your eyes
with the monochrome of the clouds above me.
you too, were blind to realize if you were existing with me though.
I will be blunt and explicit while you rip my stem from root
Harsh and clumsy, yelling "I am a daisy, and you are a vase."
However close the sun seemed that day,
it still burned unintentionally like a paradise
I sought sun kissed daydreams to waltz in tune
to my former fantasy's steps.
And on the shore, inspiration washed up.
But the music stopped, the thoughts collapsed
And you weren't flowing in rhythm to an intimate idea.
But this isn't the end! I only heard an echo
We're slow dancing in a bell jar.
I could no longer believe in the misconception that time passed on the same ticking between us. I knew these petals would fall at a different where you were.


this was the end of earth
I knew these petals would fall at a different where you were

diminution


my heart was condemned to an audible space
where i couldn't cry out for anything
and the music was muffled
which made it heart to realize
i was slow dancing alone
to the music of the mind
in side the bell jar

This is just what I needed tonight
a glowing screen filled with a floating sound



discovery served itself as you in a dream. I crawled into the fission between phenomenon and what I could see,



I remember the way sounds floated off your guitar. They only were clear when you play. I try to forget, yet I play this melody over and over. My first summer with no desire to resist, but the tears resisted too. I thought you understood. I thought we had this understanding. But, my first summer, I pulled away, wishing I had. This song isn't familiar anymore. I can only notice the notes only you could reach in harmony with a dream I had. How could you slink away humming to me? I thought it was a dedication, I thought it was on fire. A salvation could only come in hoping you'd miss my listening self too. It still stung and it was too soon. I was barely scabbing.

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