Paguroidea.

A Million Little lies-no longer on paper, but in a calcareous complexion.

"I stare at her, let my smile fade it won't fade inside. I have never felt so safe or calm. This hard, damaged, drug-Addicted Baddass Girl sitting in front of me with her black hair and her braided pigtails and her clear water blue eyes and her scars her scars the scars on her wrist naked beneath a plastic watch makes me feel safe and calm."

a story absent of quotes and reality-true to its nature. but not you.

you are but a parasite, taking refuge. an outcast. a fat girl. an unloved daughter. you adapted an identity to feed off of to feed off of those around
-it.

it, thats what you are. thats what you've become. sold-out for the safety of others-those that care less about you, but atleast pretend to. they build the walls of your cancerous shell.
you're no deeper than the puddles of blood, that litter the dark alleyways of this mind.
try as you might, those who care to peek, shall see behind the lies, the pages, the lines. behind the surface scars and see what really hurts.
who you are is not wanted. who you are is never you. you exist to live as others, in others you need to see-that maybe someone will love you accept you-no interest in how you're vain.

its almost empty, you know. your tank is running low. which identity will be next? which victim will you perplex-duplexed in how to free the mind of a constant crippling rhyme?

why...lie?
why...lie?
why...lie?

I might have called it selfish, boy, how I was wrong.
you'd have to know IbetterthanThey, to posess some sort of self.

so read what you desire to be, absorb the typed syntax, adapt its DNA-to display in your house of wax.

19 something.

its 0539 in florida. 0439 in texas.
0239 here. I have five more hours on shift.
I am bare.
I am irritable.
I am anxious to know these mountainsvacantskiesandshamelesscreatures.
four more hours and the world shall turn upside down.

you have to see it.
standing on a starless sky. a glowing emptiness to dissolve in.

two more weeks.

my lips are cracked from god's clay kiln.
no moisture escapes these eyes-not these days or those ahead.

the grand canyon stands tall, I'm sure it does.
maybe one day we'll see it's hues
-like everett ruess and his navajo wife.
some would say a backdrop... in absentia of life.
I think we know better.

one day we'll go back.

and carve our names;
let our existance be known.
This is our sanctuary,
Our home, our world.
It belongs to us.
Regardless of the ground from which it sprung,
In spite of the sun that reaches its shade.
Our love has encased Haven from rains that follow.
its creator-the earth.
Your submission under me conquered its terrain.
I’ve destroyed lips that warrant worship.
scarred knees, quaint as the clouds.
filled your body, to vanquish that thirst.
a thirst for slavery.
you are mine.
And this ours.

I come inside her, we lay on our bed of blankets and grass. the body heat dissipating and the cold creeping in. I hold her.
she looks into my begging eyes,
"there is this world,"
and my hand trails to the echoes of civilization,
"and then there is that world."
her eyes follow the direction, the words are picked up by a breeze of trangression.
"this is my domain. here, now, with you at my side. it is Being. but, see,
you belong to both places-and not simultaneously.I have been cast out from the simple act of exhaling. everything that has become you is rooted in that world. I cannot take you from which you grow. you will be left to stagnate and starve, with me as your witness. you've known this, always. though you act as if this polarity is of no importance-that our fractured meetings in time are sewn together, seamlessly."
her nose nestles into the valley of my chest. my hands are cold, and my heart fights to be nearer.

truth.

I lay their on my cot, the world, and the people in it, unwelcomed. absorbed into the pages of idealism and desired history that should have been present in time. now. here. always. I'm struck in the head-in the moment-the future already known. a tennis ball had planted itself to the left side of my head. I didn't know how to respond except to overdramatize the pain. they laughed. I laughed. uneasy and hurt in my pride. I got up after a few minutes of moaning and groaning, picked up the ball and made aware its existence that ceased in my grasp.
"give me the ball, delgado."
"fuck you."
the struggle that ensued was not neccessary, but only existed to meet one's own delusion of superiority-and my submission.
"give it back"
it pings off my chest.
I walk toward the laughs. the pride that fuels my torment;the fury.
the anger flushes through my extremities and channels itself into a fist.
firmly on his face.
silence.
silence.
the tears well up in his eyes, more is hurt than his body.
pride. security. establishment.
anarchy in one's mind has reared its intent.
I am not to be taken lightly.

I am not afraid of anyone, but myself.

Francon.

"Roark, I can accept anything, except what seems to be the easiest for most people: the halfway, the almost, the just about, the in-between. They may have their justifications. I don't know. I don't care to inquire. I know that it is the one thing not given to me to understand. When I think of what you are, I can't accept any reality except a world of your kind. Or atleast a world in which you have a fighting chance and a fight on your own terms. That does not exist. And I can't live a life torn between that which exists-and you. It would mean to struggle against things and men who don't deserve to be your opponents. Your fight, using your methods-and its too horrible a desecration. It would mean doing for you what I did for Peter Keating: lie, flatter, evade, compromise, pander to every ineptitude-in order to beg of them to let you live, to let you function, to beg them, Roark, not to laugh at them, but to tremble because they hold the power to hurt you. Am I too weak because I can't do this? I don't know which is greater strength. To accept all this for you-or to love you so much that the rest is beyond acceptance. I don't know. I love you too much."

unwanted vacation

so, in less than six hours I will be on my way to california to sit in the mojave desert for a month. why? i'm not too sure, but I brought enough books to keep me company. Hopefully, i'll have enough free time to sit back and read them all.

I'm really not sure if I'll be able to post for a while-which is really frustrating. I guess I'll have to find some other outlet to vent.

stop.

just stop. if you knew me, you'd know.
it ain't you no more, girl.
move on like you claim you have; can't you see?
your problems don't have a space in my life.
crush what assumptions you keep, 'cause there's no room for you here.
that ego of yours proves thick, how unfortunate.

I have this overwhelming desire

to tell you I love you.
that i love you a hundred million times over.
it won't end and its okay.
my chest is tight-keeps tryin to push my heart through my throat. I guess it has alot to say that my mind just can't grasp right now.
after all, my brain thinks to much and has nothing but caution to greet my tongue.
my heart beats a tune that my mouth can move to. they sing duets when I feel you're presence. damn it's intense. a part of me wants it to pass, the other side wants to know what follows. does anything follow? perhaps not, but its too enchanting to give up hope.

I'm headin to california in just a little over a week. god damn. and this song won't stop playing in my head.

california stars

I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight
On a bed of California stars

I'd love to feel
Your hand touching mine
And tell me why
I must keep working on

Yes I'd give my life
To lay my head tonight on a bed
of California stars

I'd like to dream
My troubles all away
On a bed of California stars

Jump up from my starbed
Make another day
Underneath my California stars

They hang like grapes
On vines that shine
And warm the lovers' glass
Like friendly wine

So I'd give this world
Just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars

I'd like to rest my heavy head tonight
On a bed of California stars
I'd like to lay my weary bones tonight
On a bed of California stars

I'd love to feel
Your hand touching mine
And tell me why
I must keep working on

Yes I'd give my life
To lay my head tonight on a bed
of California stars

I'd like to dream
My troubles all away
On a bed of California stars

Jump up from my starbed
Make another day
Underneath my California stars

They hang like grapes
On vines that shine
And warm the lovers' glass
Like friendly wine

So I'd give this world
Just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars

So I'd give this world
Just to dream a dream with you
On our bed of California stars

(woody guthrie wrote it, but I've only heard mistuh bragg sing it.)

I got an essay to write, but....

a giant gold fish bowl.
blue hues; the cold infused...
browns surround-a monochrome compass.
lackluster green holds the trees to a plastic only seen on christmas.
the white's been tread by blinded men, no hose could wash away their sins.
lets make it burn.
taste the char upon my lips?
its the ash, in every breath.







a hand trembles with power; not to create or destroy,
but to change.
from paper to poems, then those lines to soot.
all is permanent in existence, although not in state.

if something I write originated in my mind(did it?), does the thought also follow the same rules as what has been written? does it take up space? is it real? can it be measured? can it be lost? how about ruined? one thing's for sure, it can change mediums. a thought can find itself on paper only to rot away into some other form; lost and irretrievable. just like my mind. ha. but seriously, not really.
I'm in a rambling mood, like always...

IN THE YEAR 2013.

its becoming increasingly difficult to hide my emotions about my employer... yesterday I pretty much ended my job in public affairs-prolly goin back to S-6. no tellin how long this whole army thing is gonna last, in general.I'm hoping i'll make it to the end of my contract. just gotta keep tellin myself that this will pay off in the end, but fucking god DAMN. damn damn damn FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKITYFUCK. fuck. I need a kitten-or a bunny. something cute and soft to calm me down. too bad I'm only allowed to have a fish. WHY WHY WHYYYYYYYYYYY am I nagging so much lately? I almost feel like there's all this pentup anger building from every little insignificant rule that holds me back. I once heard that all the free men(and women) are the ones in prison. there's a reason they were confined; was it because they are bad people or rebellious in nature? maybe a lil bit of both?...????? am I bad person for wanting to do whatever I wish? or does it make me a bad person for NOT doing what ever i want? kinda pointless to ask-since its up to me to answer... jeez, I'm psycho.

persian flavored

apparently the army can force you to do lots of things. for instance, it can force you to create a facebook page-in the name of public affairs. fucking bastards. i'ma pee in somone's coffee tomorrow.