They told me so…

…after I told them.

She said it. I knew it, but for some nieve reason feared the reprieve.

To suppose the libido differs between the sexes is ignorance. The same blood flows through our veins. It is the air we breathe that decides.

I believe society supresses one side while it inflates the otherside. This leads to a compression, that can be set off in appropriete conditions. Oxygen, alcohol, wink, and bam.

…I’m learning relationships are the exception, not the rule. Explosions are know for bringing down walls. Maybe, that’s the way it’s suppose to be.

Don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Untitled

I follow ghosts often. I enjoy them. They seem nice, until I let their baby teeth fall. 

It’s always a surprise when something transparent makes you bleed.  

Crawling to Gnawing. 

Bitch, you gotta stop breaking wings. 

Vespertina

I can feel it twisting and ripping though all logic I have placed before it. Emotions can never be encapsulated. No number of motivational chains, mathematical truths, or personal striving can match when you’re gut’s instinct to run explodes. The collision is irrefutable, despotic, and futile. The triggers for it are wonders hidden deeper than we will ever bare to go; Yet, when we do stubble upon  that hair-pin sliver of metal, we can’t help, but to cry, laugh, and realize – we are alive.

ARISSat-1 passes tonight at 10:02:52EDT

Duration: 10 minutes

AOS Azimuth: 305 Degrees

LOS Azimuth: 73 Degrees

Max Elevation: 73 Degrees

Max El. Azimuth: 209 Degrees

The window pane shivered and slivered for a moment of brief recollection…

Words appear so conspicuous, yet they are the one thing that always levels us on the edge of our world.

Swirling through the door, his leather coat covered in the frost of the urban dwellers, he gently pulls the door shut despite the barbaric manner he tore the hinges upon arrival. While his eyes adjust to the light, it’s always similar, but different due to a notion of familiarity, he braces his back up against the back of the door. A quick chuckle of irony pierces his lips and as heat strikes the air, white pours from his mouth into a waterfall till it disappears quickly into the ambiguity.

His mind races through his predicament as he skews his daily tokens throughout his quarters. His jacket hits the couch with a hallow thud, his key slap on wood flatting out like the legs of a metal spider, and then he  swings himself onto a chair which at one time was placed consciously where it currently stands with his palms sinking into his cheeks. “How does one forget the heat in this climate? Everything is freezing.”

His elbows rested on a table chistled before he was, and after that a window as large as the wall. The entire wall was actually a window. It was bizarre architecture, as it is now, but nevertheless he thought of the unique structure as the pinnacle of his complex. Wisks of snow covered the rusting structures that held each rectangular piece of never melting ice in place.

“Maybe…they lost my payment” The heat of his words broke away at a patch of the frost that covered the landscape from inside his room. The intensity of the opposite prevented a clear view of the outside, and ice crawled quickly back into place, but not fast enough for him to notice a man in the window. Perplexed, heat deliberately left his body. Curiosity throws him from the preconceived to the inconceivable. The window panel shivered, slivered for a moment of brief recollection, and then spidered into organic jagged lines that crept from underneath the frost, underneath himself.

For these cracks are not just fractures of glass, but faults in a universal substrate – they are the facts.

Grr. First creative piece, per say. I’m no good at this stuff. My mind zig zags between ideas, and literally leaps from one opinion to the other; therefore, my fingers have trouble keeping up, or anyone else for that matter. Formulating coherent stories is a difficult thing, and anyone that has the ability to has earned my respect with my pathetic attempt.

Feel free to add to this. I hope to finish it someday.

Time is All We Know – Bon Iver

It has all been a blur lately. I have these spouts. These barren moments of drought were my mind is shaken loose from wonder and replaced with a shifty jar of sand. I really don’t want to dilute this naturalization because I find such wonder in transition despite how much I tend to run from it. Structures worth time can’t stand on sand.

Waiting for an explosion of life, the irony of drought is you cannot support it. Nothing grows till you cut yourself I guess. For how can anything bloom without a substance to infect. Cutting at yourself is important sometimes.

Rationalization is a demanding faction. I have trouble with relations. Its not a social issue, technically. I have learned to maneuver the typically social environment fluidly, but I have trouble with emotion. Like some type of introverted sociopath I avoid relations at all cost because for some reason I think I know there cost. I am highly emotional. Its kind of ridiculous how emotion I may be. I cover myself in a superficial sludge composed of radioactive vanity and rationalization. I compress, disgrace, destroy, eluded, punish, praise, cover, illustrate, punch, worship, conform, hate, hide, and fuck myself to a degree beyond my own comprehension. I wish I could count how many hours I spend hiding, but nevertheless, I would only be riding a tangent. This whole stupid paragraph could be an expression of the very god-damn complex that I want to escape so badly.

The most difficult thing in the world must be expression because in that motion while you may not accept it, but you acknowledge something. You become placed in face of the fate you have been carrying in fear of escape will cause some type of self-apocalyptic event.

I know everyone wants this. I’m paralyzed of everything by it. For months now, I have screaming at walls. I’m tired of talking to myself. I need someone to talk to, but finding a someone in a body is something.

Centrifugal Force

Dream wisps pull strings in my head.

Under the fall of a wander bridge, there they float when I lay dead.

They whisper on of the fall bridge, for she contains it all.

Entanglements of quantities and qualities and mysteries of fallacies and theology.

Construction is optional, but can be construction be despicable?

Those wisps bite and infect; for that is what Frost neglects.

Foreseeing the irony in rationality is fallacy, but without it…

Falls aren’t suppose to be gentle, but then again: what is air, but gentle?

The water is beautiful, but the ground is frightening.

This stale air hurts, and wandering water may flow cold, but at least it burns my throat.

They shake lose, and applicability is removed.

The colour is same, but lets not mistake the others.

I’m partially distraught despite of my eagle fucking vision.

I’m tired of seeing thoughts.

There were so many colours that night, but I hold for one.

But let’s not pity the ignorant, she’s colour blind.

I flashed shades, and she maintained a composure.

If the eye of the mirror is shattered, can the one cursed with perception be blamed?

Can the mirror be?

I often wonder how much a mirror can see of itself.

The real question: should I be content with it.

Maybe she doesn’t know; after all, what can a colour blinded individual see in the dark.

Who am I to think that I can see in the dark.

I saw the way you pushed shimmers bouncing off others.

She sees I know. They know I know. I know I know. That’s right. Nobody speak.

I’m gonna speak, even if its only for principle. I’m tired of shafted closure. Cellar doors left open lay frost across the house. My heart’s too warm for that. It’ll melt and rot the foundation.

I’m not done yet.

Did you touch them?
Did you hold them?
Did they follow you to town?
They make me feel I’m falling down

Was there one you saw too clearly?
Did they seem too real to you?

They were kids that I once knew
Now they’re all dead hearts to you.

- Dead Hearts, Stars