I wrote a song in May (26, 2012)

I've tried to force the feeling, but the feelings didn't come.
Still you mean the world to me, and I wish you were the one.
But you couldn't know, you couldn't see, how hard I tried to make it you and me; you didn't know. . .

-and I know how much I've hurt you. I can never take it back.
I never thought that I'd desert. You deserve much more than that.
-and I didn't know, about what I'd see; the stranger looking through the mirror at me- some one I don't know. . .

So I don't try to give you any reasons, 'cause nothing seems to measure up.
-and I'd only disappoint you with possible excuses I'd make up.

I didn't know how much I'd miss you; and all the questions left behind.
Have you found what you've been searching for: what I just can't seem to find.
I had it in my hands- let it slip away. Now it's lost three thousand miles away. I had it in my hands.

I don't try to give you any reasons; 'cause nothing's gonna make it up.
-and you could only disappoint me, with all of my excuses you'd bring up.

a response, and other words over dew... (about bubbles)

We all live in a bubble. Obviously not the same one. We all live in our own bubble. Generally speaking, we all see ourselves as we'd like to be rather than we are. I loved a girl once, a long time ago, but she never would believe it because I acted 'poorly'- and by poorly I mean abhorrently selfish, dishonest, and just a bastard. I regret it because I should. I remember that regret from time to time, not because I enjoy it, and not because I want to feel down on myself; but I remember it because I never want to be that way again. I don't trivialize it saying it wasn't meant to be, or that the time just wasn't right. Nope. I fucked it up. I hurt some one who never did anything to me. I took advantage of the good nature of some one who was willing to save me. I treated her like garbage and ruined our friendship. She never forgave me for that, not because she didn't want to, and not because I didn't ask; I did. She never forgave me because I never proved myself trustworthy to her after that. Efforts to maintain a friendship for me became efforts to prove myself, and for her became an added burden she could not bare for me any longer. However, she saved me just the same. Often times it is not simply our mistakes that help us grow, but our willingness to own up to them, and change. I made a promise, a covenant with God, a last effort to find some redemption when I stand at the end of my life looking back. I didn't vow to never be that way again. I didn't even vow to make it up to her (she wouldn't have wanted that.) The vow I made was much simpler, and so much more complex. I vowed that the next girl I met, that the next angel to come into my life, I would treat her as He would have me to do. And I kept that vow. I kept it when other's would lie to her; I was always honest. I kept it when other's told lies about her. I kept it when other's turned her against me with deceit. And when she didn't believe in herself, I believed in her. And when other's turned against her, when her family and friends where rivals with her, I was her friend. I was always her friend, even when she lied to me. I was even her friend when she betrayed that friendship. In all the times her pride and stubbornness stood between us I was still her friend. But I can't be her friend anymore. Why? Oh, because she acted poorly, and never had the guts to face it- to face me. (if you read this, and I know you will eventually- do your best not to be offended. You don't think I know you? Of course I do. The question you should be asking yourself is if you know me? Am I the friend you've known, or just some mistakes you made? Am I some one who'll stand by you through thick and thin, or was I just some desperate kid who needed affection, clinging to you for no other reason? Am I some one you can trust, and want to be trusted by, or is the relationship we built over three years just a phantom? Forgive me for being blunt, but if I didn't tell it like it is then what kind of friend am I really? If you never face your demons you will become them. Of course I wouldn't know anything about that- after all, I'm just stagnant. I haven't overcome anything, right? p.s. your writing is beautiful. I'm happy that you've found a little clarity in life, I remember numerous emails and letters of jumbled up words and fragmented thoughts. Much improvement.)

Something to say. . . about something.

I've sat mostly quiet these past months, both in body and mind; especially on the net. I've written few stories in my journals, and read even fewer from others. It's not that I've had nothing to say mind you. It's just that I've had nothing good to say, about anything. And anyone. One in particular. You might want to convince me of the absurdity that comes with the idea that a life can revolve around but one thing, but you won't. You can't, because it's not true. Oh it's true we all have lots of things in our lives, lots of little twigs that make us strong, but we all have that one thing; the one thing that makes it worth while. Some of you may not know what it is right off, but it's there. You might think you can guess what mine is, but you'd probably be wrong. And yes, I do say is, not was or should be, but is. Some times in life we find something that attaches a tangible idea to it, and when we lose that temporal charm we can feel lost, broken, even worthless. We mourn in different ways. Everybody feels sad differently, but everybody feels sad. I've been criticized for this blog because it can be too depressing, too sad. Well, some people turn to violence, some turn to substance abuse, and some abuse themselves. I've done all those things. I'd rather be sad. I'd rather let my heart grow soft and weak than to burnish it with anger and regret. The sadness does pass, and there is no better time to prove your humanity. I still have nothing good to say of certain things, no answers to explain it. I've isolated myself so much there aren't even questions anymore, just a phantom in expressions and gestures- hints of things gone by, people gone by. I have one friend in my life. One family tree- and as one leaf falls another sprouts up; After a while the fallen one's won't seem so unique. (But that's not quite true is it. The truth is that they are all unique- but remembering all the subtle little things can be such a burden. It can drive you mad.) So we forget. Our brains forget, to save us from ourselves. But there is the difference between me and you. I can't forget them. My brain won't let me. I remember every last one, lost to the past- separated by time and circumstances, yet still there in every breath I breathe. But none so present, none so powerful as the one I still see every night when I close my eyes. I lied before. I've been lying to myself for some time now. I do have something to say, something good. I just have no one to tell it to anymore. Of course, that never stopped me before. I guess I'm just not ready for whoever might be listening. But then again, I never have been. I guess that's always been part of the problem. But the sprouts still come nonetheless. And until I'm the one fallen, I'll be saying/writing something somewhere.

a slight change of pace

I know I go on about all sorts of sad things all the time on this blog- it's just that those are the things I need to express; but I wouldn't want people to think that that is all I see in the world, and my life. And so, for those of you who get bogged down by my stories- I apologize- and submit to you the following. Let me start off by acknowledging the many good people I have been blessed to know/have known. For the friends I have now, who have stood by me I am eternally grateful. (you know who you are- i hope) But not everyone is destined to follow along the same paths. Some people are only there for a time, and then move on toward their own destiny. This doesn't lessen their visit at all- in fact, it makes it all the more precious. My personality is such that most people I have met in my life only stayed in it for a short while. I've met thousands upon thousands of people I'm sure, and I remember so many faces, and so many moments that will never be remembered outright in writing or stories. And everyone of them has contributed to my life, offering lessons to be learned and taught. We as humans have a fascination with misery though, and often times it's the good stories that get left out of the memoir, replaced by the bad. I believe this is because we are more strictly motivated by the awful to effect change, than we often are by those heartwarming stories of love and kindness. I made the statement a few days ago to a friend, that I don't really want to be happy, because happy people rarely change anything in the world. (that's a backwards way of thinking I know- and I've only just recently had it presented so bluntly) I won't defend that position, because I know it must be flawed. Nonetheless, the things that upset me are the ones that give me words to speak and songs to write. And it's in those dark places I take my mind that I look out upon the good and am able to find meaning in it. Otherwise I have a terrible problem of letting it all just slip by with out smelling the roses. I realize that not everyone is this way- and i realize i'm a little backwards in the head- but, that is who I am. What I find absolutely fascinating is the effect that my outlook on life at any given moment can have on so many people; good and bad. Remember this: when a sad moment comes upon us, it can be preserved for eternity by words written- but because those words are the only ones written, it does not mean that eternity has been sad. When a moment of joy strikes me, I do not waste it by focusing on writing it down. It's in moments of joy and happiness that the books are closed and put away, because we are too busy enjoying life. So for those of you who read this blog, and wonder about my state of being, you needn't worry. My life isn't lived in these words, these are just some of the ones i'd like to leave behind, that don't always have a place in other works. My point for creating anything is to get its audience to see it with different eyes than their own. That is the essence of art.

6:44 am

I can't sleep. I mean I can, up until the point of closing my eyes, then my mind reminds me of all the reasons I can't sleep. Truth be told I'd rather sleep than be awake with it all. When I'm awake I find ways to take my mind off those things, but I'd really rather stay there- asleep. There I don't remember that I'm walking in a memory, I just am. It's when I awake and feel the weight of the air in my lungs that I remember, this is the real one. I don't always wake up expecting something that's not there, but when I do it feels like something has died inside me, leaving me ill at the thought. I usually sleep the feeling away for just a few more hours. Have you ever had a dream that was so entrancing that you felt utter disappointment when you awoke to find it wasn't real, and so you force yourself back to sleep to try and re-imagine it again, hoping to have that experience for just a little longer? It almost never works. But I wake up every morning, for weeks now, from my dreams and feel that utter disappointment. I fall back to sleep not to re-imagine those things, but really rather to escape the thought of them for just a while longer; to let my body settle itself without my having to be a part of the discomfort. But instead of being whisked away by some lighthearted fantasy, or a random over-dramatic, slightly bizarre parallel universe, I get knocked back into that reality my mind would prefer. I would too, were it not for the fact that I must eventually wake from it. It's like waking up one morning with a gut wrenching feeling inside that tells you the day you just lived before never happened, and it reminds you of what seems to be days ago and says that was yesterday. And that day seems very much like this day. Whatever it was in between was not really your life at all, but merely the product of an over active imagination that has been suppressed thoroughly throughout the day into the places of the subconscious reserved for child-like beliefs and memories that are never to be recalled intentionally again. It's that same place we keep all those things we thought we've forgotten about until the memories are recalled for a moment by small details or phantom scents in the air. Some times it's just a shade of color that sparks those details of my memory that I would rather not recall for the time being. I can't think of a color that doesn't take me back to that other place, the life that's not mine. It's a strange thing to pass by a shop with money in your pocket, and think, "there's something I was going to purchase." But when you remember what it was, the reasons for buying it no longer apply. That paper in your pocket gets heavy after that. It's funny how an awareness of the thing you've been carrying all along tends to change the gift into burden. I sleep better in the day. I sleep deeper. It makes it harder wake up.

Imaginary you.

Monday December 05, 2011, 4:01 am - 4:46 am

I don't mind acknowledging that I have issues; and I don't expect everyone to understand or accept them. I mean, everyone has issues right, if mine affect you in a negative way, then that's up to you how you deal with that. I gave up along time ago believing that there will be people out there who I can relate to in depth. Sure, there are aspects of everyone's life that are common, and easily relatable. And I'm sure there are some unlucky people who have lived similar lives to my own. I just haven't met any. Everyone is unique, and it's not their experiences that make them so. Experiences are common and often repeat; but like a shuffled deck of cards, you will rarely see the same deck twice; and life has more than 52 cards. So for every ace you see, there is also a choice made of how to play it: as a 1 or as an Ace. Neither is negative. It depends on the hand you're dealt. But for every Ace that works out, there are dozens more that fail. Life is built in runs. You have to play the odds. Assuming you've got a grasp on the game and know the number of cards in your deck. After all, you can only play your hand, and not all the cards are available to all the players; if they were, all our aces would fail. I play a lot of cards (if you hadn't guessed) and one lesson that took me a while to learn is not to hold out for the best hand. Some one else's luck may be closer in line than yours is, and you may well go bust believing you were entitled to what they now have; and now that you've risked and lost everything on that sure thing, you no longer have a seat at the table, and all the luck in the world won't make a bit of difference. On that humble road back to the ATM, you might do yourself the favor to remember that risk is part of the game, while absolutes are not. You may even build up the courage to play a few hands that aren't as strong as Aces, but are easier to get away from, and not commit yourself to. It's usually that less than sure thing that works out to be the most productive. I've always held out for the "sure" things in life, never risking much on those things I couldn't project the prospects of. There's no better way to squander your time than by planning it; And there's no worse way to lose what you have than while taking it for granted.