unknown crypticness

I laugh at some of my old posts where something is obviously going on but I don't have enough balls to just come straight out and say it. That's just the passive aggressive anger in me I guess. I don’t like to be upset, not saying that anyone likes to be upset, I just tend to really not care for it and there fore never wish to see any one round me/care for, be upset. Even if it means that I sacrifice some of my comfort or wants at the time.

I'm sitting at that impasse again and it kills a little. I'm finding myself second guessing a lot of the choices I've made and trying to see the good in them, to find the lessons and by pass any kind of regret I may harbor on the matter. With the never ending feeling of floating through life on a day to day basis, the aimlessness the feeling of there being no true path or destination in site. It’s all just survival and having to do what ever it is so you can get by, there fore giving up on ever being the master of my own density again and never reaching those ideals I had set for myself not even a year ago now.

Where do I go now? What do I do? I hate being upset and feeling useless and listless, and more than anything powerless. There are some choices in my court that can be made but the consequences behind... So not all crypticness aside but most of it, I’m lost and unhappy and frustrated as hell, day dreaming my life away at the moment because of the feeling that there is no other way I would ever be able to experience my dreams.

Rolling

It’s funny how things happen, how sensitive the world can be to out fears or desires, thoughts etc etc... I sit, think, write and then discard feelings that welled up with in me. So through the therapy of writing it all down and deleting it into the cyber garbage of nothingness I am cured of my unwanted mess.

Out of the blue, his mess slips into reality as if the collective of one man’s subconscious had rifled through my forgotten cyber trash and put it out there as a brief yet friendly reminder that once tossed, not always forgotten.

Still it depends on how you let it affect you, after the fact. The true test, does it roll off a now more tolerant back, or does it seep its way back under your skin? I’m glad to say, for now, let the times keep rolling...

Just call me Betamax.

You ever get that feeling that you are so insignificantly small, useless, worthless, old, out of touch, falling apart and just taking up space, that you just know,

“this must be the proof that god dose not exist.”

Surly, if you think about it, how in the hell could he/she, It, exist when I’m all these pathetic things and basically a worthless piece of flesh. Why would some omnipotent being put any time into creating something so useless and time consuming as my life, when it is obviously just a kind of sucking parasite of resources, that can do nothing to give back to the this so called creation.

I’m nothing but this shadow of some one that who once was fearless, angry, passionate, funny, and maybe even talented, once upon a time. That all seems so long ago. It feels as though time has truly done it’s work on me and the fraying shows heavily about my being. All the things I’ve done to myself through out the years, finally paying off as it becomes harder to breath, and other signs of the lights dwindling are making themselves known. Fucking reality, every god damned time...

These are the greatest times of or lives, supposedly, at least that’s what people would have had me believe a few years ago. After reading through the news I keep seeing my generation get lost in this chaos crated from the past, a flood gate of mistakes washing away any happiness I once grasped, running through the rapids of shit with out a fucking paddle..

The Fraying continues and one should want to fight against it, but with all the things that do not lay in front of me, with every fucking door being shut on my face with out a window to even slip through any longer, with this continued feeling of being the old betamax video tape of life ( a once truly great idea that is nothing but a useless object that some people can get a punch line out of but that’s it) I find it harder and harder not to just give into the fray and let myself unravel back into the ether of this, what ever the fuck this is, and not continue to suck on an already dried up, hurling towards it’s own inevitable oblivion of a planet and just let the more “successful” organisms finish having their way with her, because obviously there is shit all for a decaying, jobless, pry soon to be homeless, and there fore a rather lifeless, pale shadow of a someone that use to be a something, but was obviously just some almighty beings idea of a really fucked up punch line....

We're all going down...

So you’re staring a fantasy right in the face. It’s tantalizing, exotic, provoking and just well a fantasy. You can think of it late at night before you go to bed and it can be what ever you want it to be, because you don’t REALY know anything of it. So your mind is free to run amuck with different ideas of should’a could’a would’a all you like with no penalty at all.

Then by chance of all chances, the fantasy gets a bit closer and you can really start to see things, as the light gets brighter and it steps away from the mysterious mist of the world in your head and into the world you live in.

At first, because of the blinding light of truth, you can’t see shit but you’re terribly excited about the notion of something so wonderful maybe becoming a reality. The heart races, skin stands on end and the breath gets caught in your throat, then it happens.

Fantasy “meets” Reality, but for some strange reason and we don’t know why, (some tragic fight many mallinea ago that no one can seem to get all the details on) Fantasy and Reality just never can seem to get along. So when ever they do meet there is this terrible fight and Reality, because well he is just bigger and more attuned to this world, just kicks the living shit out of Fantasy ever time.

So there you are left standing there taking a good hard look at your fantasy with the shit kicked out of it and poof it’s gone. Fucking Reality always got to be messing with my shit like that. What an ass.

Beautiful Boys

I heard your voice just the other day
all coming back to me like it was yesterday
You where in your chair
hand round your cup
You smiled at me
like you always did
Sly eyes flickering with sapphire fire
The waves of your laughter
washed over me and sent a pulse up my spine
My hand reaching for the space
where your hand should have been

I saw you between the flakes of fairy dust
flickering between shafts of light
You where long and lovely there
afternoon sun kissing you shoulder and neck
You pulled to bring me close
as you always did
Deep hungry eyes making me sink
Soft velvet in your voice
wrapping me up in it making my skin tingle
I blinked just then walking to wards the chair
where your kisses should have been

I felt you in my arms last night
Gentle and warm as you laid there
So tender and sweet as you slept
Your hair like satin between my fingers
You squeezed so tight
I nearly lost my breath
Polished jade peered through lazy lashes
As soft dry lips brush against my chin
I awoke just then fingers grazing the space
where your body should have been

Feel kind of...

I don't know, dirty. It's kind of weird when you get a little crush on a pretty face that you don't know. Then one day you happen across their words with out them knowing and you peek and you feel something with in you stir...

There is something magical about reading someone else words. They are the key hole of the door to the inside of someone's soul, heart, and mind... So they are powerful and touching they can change your thoughts about someone in an instant.

So ya I feel a little dirty... A face of an angel that is pry way too far out of reach for me to ever touch, but still there, and brushes by once in a great blue moon. An that's all it was, a face a beautiful beautiful face that I could just look at, and not have to think too much about. Vain and shallow I know, I know but some time you just want that, the face, the fantasy.

Then it happened, I cam across the face's words. FUCK! Could it possibly be that they are just as beautiful if not more than the face its self? They are haunted, hopeful, moving, deep and thought filled. Longing and wanting the words keep echoing familiar songs that have poured from my own pen. I'm left speechless as I strain my eyes to keep looking through the key hole to see more.

Why should this make me feel dirty? Well to know how personal my own words are, how it's like stripping me complete bare, letting these huge moments of vulnerability lay here naked and open. Knowing this about my words, I continue to poor over the body of work from this beautiful face, like a lustful voyeur feeding an addiction.
My skin prickles and and my eyes glisten as I feverishly race to the next entry to read more.

I am such a terrible hypocrite. I go on an on for days, months and years about my loss in faith of true love, yet I read more and can't deny the stupid grin on me face or the memory of all the words that have flooded from my own pen of kisses in the rain, aching hearts,and longing fingertips tracing their way cross pillows in search for the body to be lying there. I am pry the most cynical hopeless romantic you will ever meet and now in these moments of lustful gluttony for poetry, I'm brought to my knees in forgiveness to the saints, of all romantic and wistful loves. Forgive me father for I have sinned...