?

Log in

No account? Create an account
A Fatal Attraction to Cuteness [entries|friends|calendar]
Terrance

[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

Who told you? [28 Jun 2011|12:02am]
Who told you?
6.27.2011

Who told you you’re not pretty. Who told you you’re not special. Who told you anyway?

Piece by piece, brick by brick, we build ourselves up, just to have others tear us down. I try to be perfect, in the only way I know how. I try to be someone who really isn’t me, but it’s okay. I’ll just copy all the things I see inside of you and aspire to be someone I don’t know. I feel like a failure as I strive to change things that cannot be changed. It stings–the torment building up from the deep.

I feel like everything that matters to me, doesn’t really matter once I step outside my body. People glow, like fire and eternal light. They brighten and dim, waver in the face of their own fears. And in all my sorrowful self-loathing and tristful melancholy, I fail to see. I fail to see the light burning on the inside of me. It grew dark, extinguished by words and cursory glances from darkened corners. I let the light die because I didn’t think I had the willpower to sustain it. So, flame by flame, flicker by flicker, I let it slip away. I fought to hold on for merely a second, and even that was too much.

So I grow darker. I grow colder. I grow further away from who I am–from the only version of myself I have ever known. And it doesn’t feel as bad as I thought it would–it feels worse. Someone is inside me, moving my arms and driving my body to work, but it’s not me. It’s empty and shallow and not at all the beacon of light that sparkles in the night.

So I look for light in others to pull me back in; to heal the wounds and close up the scars. But it’s not enough. My fire cannot be replaced, but only fueled by a spark waiting to reignite. I can feel it trying to start over, but then something holds me back, pushes me back down, makes me weak. My own fears, my own insecurities, thirty years of negotiating with myself, all come rushing forward. The barrage is hard to take, harder to avoid and impossible to defend against.

I force a smile. I force my hand. I force my feet to take another step, to drag myself forward. It’s a stupid game of chance, one we were not designed to win. I take a gamble, roll the dice and throw the bones. Watch where they land. In the scheme of things I know it doesn’t really matter. The only person that truly has to like me is myself. The only person that has to think I’m special is me. The only person to whom I hold myself accountable should be me; not the dark strangers in the shiny facades. Not the friendly golems, hiding in wait. Not the liars and cheater and lecherous old hags. Not the rainbowed warriors or downtrodden drama queens. Not the familiars or totems. Not the shrewd or calculating pawns. Not the mirrors of perfection or empty sacks of flesh.

But there they are, tearing me down with ever nuance and shudder, every slight of hand and moment of disregard. Why? Because I let them. I let them in because I want to be like them. I want to be without regard or remorse or caring or concern. I just want to shine like I see them shine, empty on the inside. And, at the end of the day, as I tuck myself in, it doesn’t make it okay to play this stupid game–trying to be someone else because I’m afraid to be me.

I met a girl once, she had a beautiful name. I whispered it on the breeze, felt it wash over me. She taught me everything I wanted to know–and a few things I didn’t. She was fierce and composed of pure will. She could break a man just by looking at him. She could tame a lion and wash away all thoughts of sin. She said that she and I were the same, composed of the same flesh–the same blood–all tied up with twine and bone. She drove me, made me fight. Then she went away, kissed me on the cheek and whispered a new name, just as powerful, just as potent and whimsical. It took me a long time to realize, perhaps too long, but this new name was mine. It sounded different the way she said it; it sounded important.

Now I’m just waiting for someone to say it again, make it sound and feel the way she did. Waiting for it to ignite the fire inside of me; waiting to feel important. Waiting to feel more like myself, whoever that may be.
1 Deceitful Jedi / Strike Back

A Proudly Written Retrospective. [18 Jun 2011|12:53am]
6.17.11

Everything I Am. (this one is very straight forward)

It takes a lot to be proud. More than some are willing to give, or accept in return.
First, you have to know the touch of failure, the lingering feelings which build in asides and glances cast from afar. You have to be made to feel like just being yourself isn’t enough, isn’t worth it. You have be given a reason to stand tall–a reason to find the strength to keep from falling back down. Pride; it comes in a way you wouldn’t expect, not always with the glitz and glamour. Sometimes, you don’t even know it when it hits you, they way it builds up from deep inside. It brings people together, relishing in the comfort and familiarity of ‘actually belonging.’ It shouldn’t have to take such spectacle. It shouldn’t have to take so long to realize the diamonds inside of the coals. It shouldn’t take a parade or lofting balloons, it should come easily on windy, sun-kissed afternoons. It should come like the crashing waves, perfecting the shore. And, I suppose, for some it does. It comes quietly like a smile in the night, telling them that it’s okay to be proud of who they are, who they were born to be.
For others it takes that push, that plunge right into the deep end. And for those not ready, not safe from harm, the proud ones will always be there to help pick you up when you fall. They’ll be there when you’re ready to heal, ready to feel the way you were meant to–not cloaked in shadows and trepidation. They’ll be there, with the glitter and the gems, the crowns and balloons, but most importantly, all that aside, they’ll be there. They’ll be accepting. They’ll help you shoulder the guilt–shelve the hurt. They’ll put their arms around you and tell that the world will always find a way to come down, but there are so many more reasons to hold your head high; most importantly, because you can.
You can choose to fall, or you can choose to hold your head up high and smile. Choose to show the world the truth and put your arms around those that wish to hoist you up, where you belong, surrounded by strangers that have climbed all the same walls. Because, that’s what it’s all about, being there for one another, being there for those that are not ready to be there themselves, telling them that it’s all okay, that one day it will all get better.
It takes a lot to be proud, and it may not seem like it at first, but after all, it’s worth it.



6.17.11

Everything I Am (II) (not nearly as forward, but about the same thing.)

The knife hurts. It twists in my gut, devouring me from the inside. The glass houses have all come tumbling down. The rules have all gone out the window. Tonight I walked the veranda, crossed the bridge and headed out into the ruthless night; all on my own. I watched the moon rise, larger than I ever remembered. I thought I heard it speak to me–a whisper on the wind. I didn’t know what it said, but I know what I felt inside. I felt myself wanting to be strong, stronger than I had been before. I told me to stay firm, resolute in my conviction and drive. It told me that I am more than what people think of me. It told me to open my heart, but never give it away. It told me to accept the heartache, and make room for more, because people will always let you down. It told me other things as well. It told me, that beside the heartache and tears something else will bloom. Something fragile, but unbreakable. Something that will reach through time and space, no matter how many days you spend crying and cold. It said that this feeling will grow, wrap you tight and make you feel safe, and finally, like you belong. Then the moon came down from the very sky, an etherial woman composed of ice. She handed me a key, told me that it would keep me strong. She said the key would unlock something inside of me that had been waiting for so long to be free. So I took the key and hung it around my neck, felt it burn against chest, night after night, saw it my dreams.
I feared the key, it made my hands trembled as it ran across my fingers. I feared what was inside. Then one day, when the sun had failed to shine and fire rained down from the sky, I cowered in shock, afraid of what would come next. The key burned hotter, scarring my flesh. I took it and placed it above the lock shaped scar on my heart. It slid into my skin, igniting my skin. The key turned, the lock clicked and I felt it, a feeling of relief coupled with a hint of resentment, wash over me. The clouds parted and world grew quiet as day turned to night, but the key would not budge from my chest.
That night I crossed the bridge once more, stepping upon unfamiliar stones of a far off world, and the moon smiled. Nice to see you, it said. I begged the moon to remove the key it had given to me. It simple laughed in return. Silly man, I cannot, for the key is part of you now, just as it always has been. Long ago, when you were so shy and fearful you made the key, locked away the parts of yourself that you feared. They were strong, they were unafraid of the world, of the light you possessed, but you weren’t ready to be shown such a world. So, you locked it all away and brought the key here, to this very river and through the key into the water, hitting my reflection square in the head–it stung a little you know? But I decided to keep the key safe and give it to you when you were ready.
Ready?
Yes. Ready to embrace all the parts of yourself. Ready to become whole once more and face the world unafraid. When you were ready to shine.
But, how do I know?
Because, you turned the key, you let it all free, you’re finally ready to be who you were born to be.
I hung my head and watched the reflection of the moon shift upon the waves as the icy woman stepped from the waters. What if I’m not ready?
You will be, she said as she kissed my cheek and tapped upon my key, shattering it into stardust. And, if you’re not, I will always be here for you, helping to light the way.
Strike Back

Caught in The Rub. Part 2 [22 Apr 2011|11:46pm]
I used to drink. And when I drank, I drank a lot. I have woken up in Cozumel–sand stuck in places I didn’t even know I had (although a few of the more rambunctious rolls-in-the-sack have tried to find). I’ve woken up shirtless, shoeless, pants-less, decorum-less, and definitely on many occasions, completely and utterly dignity-less.
This felt like one of those times (like when I awoke in the high school’s football field, wearing only a jock–which wasn’t even mine). My head hurt, like an axe chopping through solid logs of oak. CLURR-CHUNK!
My body tingled and ached like the day after downing of a good bottle (or two) of Anjeo. I rolled to the side as I squinted fiercely, determined to keep out the morning light seeping through the edges of a black curtain.
A shadow moved through the room and yanked the curtain aside, flooding the room with sunlight.
CLURR-CHUNK!
“Rise and shine,” the Angel mused. I yanked the sheet, an itchy poly-cotton blend, up over my head but it did little to block out the rising sun. The Angel’s hand came close to face, I could see her slender fingers reaching for me through the sheet. She yanked the plaid sheet away. “I said rise and shine.”
I looked around the dingy square of living quarters, recognizing the signs of someone’s entire life stuffed into the area of a cubicle. I could tell I was definitely still in New York. You could always tell. It was something in the air that hung heavily, collecting the energy of life, but sapping it–turning everything a lovely shade of gray. That’s how New York had seemed to me, from the day I arrived.
“You live here? And you took off my clothes?” I asked as I raised myself up, noticing for the first time that I was clad only in my tight, low rise boxer-briefs. I smiled as the Angel moved in front of the window, silhouetting herself in the light.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I didn’t even peek.” Since I couldn’t actually see her face I took the liberty to imagine her smiling.
“Not that you would have been disappointed.”
“Not my type,” she said flatly.
“Gay?” I said remorsefully.
She laughed, cantering her head back. “Hardly. You wax your entire body, if anyone here is questioning their sexuality, it’s not the girl with the gun,” she said as she stepped closer to the bed and motioned a small black handgun, gripped tightly in her frail hand, toward herself. She grabbed a pile of unpressed clothes from a wooden chair and tossed them on the bed. “I burnt your other ones.”
“You burnt my Armani?”
“Had to. It was touched by the mark.”
“The Mark? Who is Mark?”
“The Mark,” she repeated, “isn’t a he. It’s a curse.”
“A curse?”
“Please just stop talking and get dressed,” she sighed as she turned away. “We have to get moving while the sun is high.”
Quickly I pulled on the wrinkled V-neck and worn out jeans and followed her from the bedroom and into an even smaller kitchen/living room/bathroom. The jeans hung loosely, swishing across parts they weren’t meant to swish across. That was the problem with worn jeans, especially when they were broken in by someone else, they weren’t customized to my muscles and joints–these jeans were worn in all the wrong places. I paused in front of a full-length mirror to check myself out. “Really? It’s a V-shirt and jeans.”
“Hey,” I cautioned. “A miss-worn pair of jeans can make you look homeless, or at least like a bargain shopper.”
“Do you have any idea what’s happening?”
“Nope,” I said as I followed her down a narrow flight of stairs, painted a musky green. “Who are you anyway?”
“Call me Z.”
“Z?”
She turned back to me, flipping her hair across her back, exposed by a corset-like top which laced up her spine like a pair of shoes. She dressed all in white, accented with a rosy red lips and a scarf, fastened around her waist, covering a few small belts that had evaded their loops. “Yes. My name is Z. And you were caught in the rub.”
“First the mark, now the rub?”
“Just listen for a minute. Can you do that?” she continued as she pushed open a heavy wooden door and bounded out into the streets of the city–wherever we may have been–and I slowly closed my mouth, cocking my head to the side as I waited for Z to continue. “The rub is the in-between. It’s the aftermath when two worlds touch that were never meant to touch. It’s when our world–full of puppies, kittens, laughter, red balloons and rainbows,” she oozed sarcastically, “meets another world, usually full of things that go BUMP!”
“So, you’re saying what exactly? Something touched our world?”
“A portal between two worlds, more precisely,” Z said as we walked along aimlessly. Stopping to gaze over stands of odd meats and foodstuffs–however, I was certain that Z knew exactly where she was leading me.
And I hated being led into uncertainty, especially when vodka wasn’t involved. But I wasn’t quite sure what was keeping me from running away. What about Z made me want to stay and listen to her crazy-ass?
After a few seconds of deep reflection, I realized it was probably the ass itself making me tag along like a sixteen year-old hormone crazed adolescent.
But, it filled out her pants so nicely, how could I not?
“I thought you said we had to hurry?” I asked as I quickly stole another glance from behind.
Z picked up a golden apple and scrutinized it. “We do, but I’m looking to see if anyone else has left any notes for us.”
“On an apple?”
“Listen, Deacon–”
“How do you know my name?” I asked, but before I could feign astonishment of her psychic prowess, Z removed my wallet from beneath her scarf and handed it to me.
I snatched it from her and flipped it open. “An orally fixated pickpocket?”
Z stopped and looked at me–her eyes were even more enticing in the daylight, pools of bright blue light. Cozumel–only marred by the heavy stench of cooking oil and rotten trash all around us.
Soho! We were in Soho!
“You live around here?” I asked as Z pulled open the door to a pub and stepped inside. A pub that definitely felt out of place.
But, on the up side it looked like I was wrong, vodka was to be involved.
“No. I live in New Jersey. That was a safe house.”
Z sat down on a barstool and patted her hand on the one next to her. Aside from the bartender, a chunky man, who in earlier years no doubt served as a bouncer, but now that old age had softened his muscles and thickened his skin, had graduated to serving liquor, straight up, before noon–only two other people sat in the bar. They looked at us briefly and returned to staring into their half empty pints.
The bartender took the three steps toward us, waddling dramatically. He arched his overgrown eyebrows–scouring pads upon his pale skin. “Red Snapper,” Z ordered and the bartender nodded approvingly as his gaze slowly slid over me.
“Goose Gimlet,” I ordered.
He huffed and waddled away. “Deacon,” Z said. “You got caught in the rub, not by accident, but because of who you are.”
“If you say the words chosen or one, I’m standing up and walking out of this bar. You can also add the words; destiny, foretold, prophesied, clandestine, alien, mutant, savior, hero and wanker to that list.”
Z sighed and picked up her glass a second after it had been placed in front of her. She sipped it slowly, closing her eyes as it washed down her throat, relaxing her shoulders and mood, much like when I did Yoga. “You’re not British,” she said calmly, taking another sip. I could smell the bourbon in the air. “I don’t even think you can be a wanker, not rightfully, but don’t worry. I wouldn’t use any of those words. But, if you care, here’s the short of it: A few months ago some shit went down. Apocalyptic type shit. Nearly ended the world–nearly ended all of them. But, of course it didn’t, because we are sitting in a bar in Soho and you’re thinking about how badly you want to get into my pants and not about what your etherial spirit is reincarnating into.
But, just because the world didn’t end doesn’t mean a lot of bad things didn’t happen. The world was changed, but not in a way that many would ever notice.”
I took a sip from the martini glass in front of me, expecting my body to repel liquor, like any other hangover, but it didn’t. It tingled my limbs, all the way down to my fingers. I kept forgetting that I hadn’t been drunk last night, this pain was something entirely different.
This pain was something that only a few girls in my lifetime had ever achieved, to a lasting effect–and the girl in San Lucas (spring break oh-six) can’t really take credit for the balcony railing shattering.
“I don’t care if you believe me or not,” Z said after she slammed down her empty glass, signaling for another drink. “But, I’m one of those people you never hear about, fighting those evil things that go bump in the night.”
“Well, at least you didn’t say you were a super hero.”
“Because I am not a super hero. I’m an assassin. Trained to kill scary monsters.”
Z was definitely dramatic. Maybe more so than myself?
I wasn’t to keen on that.
But that ass . . .
Regardless, she was right about one thing; I was thinking about how to get here out of her pants.
“Deacon,” Z said, floating my name on the air, instantly drawing me closer. “You’ve been marked. You are in danger and I think that you need to meet someone. Someone that can explain things a little better than I.”
“Really? Better than you? I mean, you’re a crazy super he–, er, assassin that kills scary monsters. What’s left to explain?”
“She’s already on her way.”
“Who is?”
“The Oracle.”
“Like, fortune teller?” I said, finishing my first drink as Z pounded down her second.
“Hardly,” she smiled, curling my toes. “She is the real deal. The last Oracle, or first, depending on how you want to look at things. No matter, she is already en route.”
En route? Who says en route these days?
“WHO?”
“I’m not sure why you are so concerned with knowing her name? She doesn’t even exist to people like you.”
“I like to know people’s names. Sue me.”
“Her name is Penelope. She’ll be here in a few minutes. If there is a way to remove the mark that has been placed upon you, so you can blend back in with the eight-million people in the city, she will know what to do.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“Then, you’re probably fucked.”
Well, at least Z was being honest, or so I hoped. And if I was indeed fucked, there was always more vodka.
I pushed my empty glass toward the bartender. He took it without a word, or a smile, as he filled it again.
Strike Back

Caught in The Rub. [29 Mar 2011|12:48am]
So, I was writing in my journal earlier and unexpectedly this happened.

It is what it is, even though I have no idea what it was supposed to be. Enjoy, if you want.



Caught in The Rub.



The rain came down, in solid sheets, soaking through my slicker and finely tailored, pinstripe suite. There was no escaping it, no matter where I ran. Simply–I was out of time, options, and most depressingly, out of gum.

I loved gum. It helped me concentrate. No matter how hard I was being pursued, no matter how fast I had to run. Each wet chomp of masticated elasticity was refreshing. It held my focus, pushed me on, prodding me up the alley, into darkness.

But now, there was no more gum. No clarity in the flashing lights and neon signs that whirled past my eyes.

Where was I? 1st St? 34th St? No, none of this seemed right. The people were all wrong–these people looked at me as I stumbled past.

If I hadn’t tripped a few blocks back, tearing my four-hundred dollar trousers from my upper thigh to knee, smacking into the pavement as the thunder cracked, I never would have lost my gum. I would still know where I was, where I was going.

But, all I felt was the rain. Wet, annoying, not-nearly-as-refreshing as it was touted to be, rain. My shoes kept skidding across the pavement, splashing through puddles and overflowing into my socks, chilling my toes. My vision blurred with red tint as blood ran down from a gash in my head–I don’t remember how I got it, but I felt it, stinging back there, just at my hairline.

How did a man such as myself, of my stature, popularity, and over-all success come to be in a situation such as this? Well, it all started when I stopped to buy a pack of gum.

Just as I had done thousands of times, but this time something was different. The old man, smelling of aging gouda and charred bratwurst, whom I always buy my gum from, was out. A young woman sat in his seat today. She had similar features, dark hair, thick brows and a crooked nose. Naturally, I assumed she was his daughter, and for a split second I thought about asking her about her old man–but the train was coming.

As I turned to leave, a blonde–bright blue eyes and stockings that stretched higher than I thought possible–bumped into me, and my gum, believe it or not, fell right into her handbag.

She smiled, and I was done. I knew it, then and there. The train was approaching and I had fourteen seconds to make my move.

So, I played it cool, flashing my perfectly bleached smile. I just had my eyebrows done and I knew that if I could pull off one look, the look that says it all–I’m manly enough, but not too cocky, sensitive even–she could be mine.

But, the blonde, she beat me to it. She leaned on one leg, tossing her hair across her shoulder and the light hit her face just the way she wanted it to. Her skin was flawless, carved from ivory. She smiled and touched my arm, pressing against my bicep. I flexed the muscle, just a little, as she apologized for bumping into me. Her voice was angelic. I could seriously hear the entire congregation of my father’s church singing the praises of Jesus Christ as she spoke.

She was trouble and I knew it . . .

Forget the gum? Laugh it off and walk away? Hell no.

“No. Completely my fault,” I said, gently taking her hand. She didn’t stiffen, or become unnerved. She simply starred into my eyes, never breaking contact. “I’m extremely clumsy.”

“And orally fixated,” she smirked, taking me by surprise. She arched her brows, just as I had planned to.

Damn, she was good.

“You’re walking away from a candy stand,” she added. “You’re clumsy. I’m observant.”

“And you’re walking up to one.”

“Touche. I was going to buy some gum, but on second thought, I’m good. Enough senseless carbs for one day.” She snapped her bag closed and tightened her jacket.

“Hey,” I said as she stepped away, “do you think I could get a stick of gum?”

She stopped, turned slightly and pulled something from her coat pocket–sliding her fingers into mine, dropping a slim pink stick into my palm. “Enjoy it,” she winked. “It’s my last piece.”

And she was gone, blurring into a sea of bodies. I looked at the stick of gum and laughed. Written in black sharpie across the wrapper was a phone number, and the letter Z.

The train came to a squealing stop and I stepped aboard, ducking a metal bar as I sat down, laughing.

Who writes their number on gum? This was how my day began.

Fast forward a thirteen hours, and now, I’m soaking wet, covered in blood, not all my own and scrambling to find some sign, some hint that things are going to work out.

I pulled myself up a fire escape, rungs soaking wet and slippery as the shadows that followed me seeped into the alley.

I used what felt like the last of my strength, flinging myself onto the roof and into a puddle of standing water. It was the worst thing I had ever tasted, bitter, cold and rotten.

“You should have called me,” I heard the angels sing. I looked up, expecting to see the white robes and golden halos of God’s army, feathered wings and all. Instead, it was her–the one with my eyebrow move, perfect skin, red lips, long legs and curling blond hair. She wore a raincoat, which was surprisingly dry–all of her was dry, untouched by the torrential downpour, unaffected by the thunder and lightning and everything else that came along with it as she twirled a large umbrella behind herself, water spinning away from her like a sprinkler.

She cocked a small, hand held crossbow, much smaller than the ones my uncle had tried to teach me how to use. The arrow, however, was red and glowing-hot, like coals from the fire. She winked at me, flipped a lever and the arrow flew forward, streaking like brake lights through the night and into the alleyway below. It exploded into a ball of flame, shaking the building and smoking as the rain came down, putting out the flames that spread across the ground.

Blood covered my eyes and I was too tired to wipe it away as the woman bent over top of me. A concerned look clouded her eyes and her hand gently touched mine as she snapped her bow closed and holstered it beneath her raincoat.

Her fingers, sliding into my palm, then across my chest as she heaved me upright, were among the last things I remembered before blood loss claimed my conscious.

But, among the other things I remembered; the smell of roses, the sound of my name, long and drawn out, the touch of hair against my stubbled chin, and eyes–lots and lots of glowing red eyes, lumbering toward me from across the rooftop.



***
2 Deceitful Jedi / Strike Back

See Through [04 Feb 2011|02:43pm]
I didn’t believe it at first either, I mean, how could I of all people get lost, here?
I have walked down these halls a thousand times. I knew each nook and cranny. I knew the distinct moan and groan of the individual floorboards as they settled beneath my feet. I knew this I knew how the rising sun glinted off the pots and reflected right in my eyes if I didn’t lean slightly to the side when I entered the kitchen. I knew this place better than anyone else, because, quite frankly, I was this place. I crafted it, locking it away deep inside my mind. Reveling in its secrets and desires. I was this place, inside and out.

No one could confuse me here. No one knew where I kept all those dark things I never really wanted to share with the rest of the world, or so I thought.
There you were, standing there, waiting. Looking at me with such disregard and ungracious clout, which seeped from you like oil, pulling me back in.

You were still beautiful. You were still everything you told me that you were. I guess even you had trouble lying about how great you were. One thing we both had in common. It’s sickening, the way you forced me to learn to live, barely alive, holding onto the remnants of everything we had.

It was said, by some unscrupulous souls, that you went looking for me after I flew away. They said you squandered away the day, pulling and pushing against the tide. Vain attempts to show the world just how arrogant I already knew you to be, to show them that you were all they needed.

Well, how did that turn out? Are you happier? Are you stronger? Or just more defiant in the face of the nature you cannot contain?

Now, here you are again, staring me down, waiting for me to take your hand. I still can’t believe you came back. I can’t say that it makes me happy, or sad, but I now know that I should have taken all the keys when I left. Then, at least, I would be alone. I wouldn’t get lost in the only place I have ever known.
Strike Back

Elixir & the Pixie King [20 Jan 2011|05:57pm]
Okay, here is the mock up of the book cover. My cousin, an actual designer is working on something based off this.

2 Deceitful Jedi / Strike Back

Learning to live [19 Jan 2011|01:09pm]
It doesn't make sense, this befuddling feeling that boils inside.

Sometimes you see someone and you just know that they are destined for great things. Everyone seems to see their talent and potential, shining just below the surface. You talk to them, and they warm your heart with their words and spirit. You watch them, and cautiously, as to not lose yourself, you begin to wonder what it would be like to be them; to walk in their shoes, sparkling and new. They have eyes that glisten with promises you know you would never be able to keep and everyone flocks to them, surrounds them and pushes them forward, closer to their destiny.

And the nerves kick in. Your hands begin to sweat and you laugh at jokes just to fit in with the masses you've thrown yourself into. And these people, the ones we have come to idolize and build our dreams around, falter. They show you a sliver of their humanity, and your heart breaks. And you realize, underneath all the glamor, that you this person has worked his/her way into your heart. You have become friends.

And you continue to laugh at the masses as they bow down before their new idol. You laugh at the parts of yourself that still wish to do the same. And, for all the longing and nervous hope inside yourself, you still want to become them, just for a second, to see if the world is really all that they make it out to be.

Through all this, you have failed to realize that this great person, this ideal, is happy with you just the way you are. They like you for your faults. They like you because you walk a different walk, you use words that they've never heard uttered before. They like you because you remind them what it was like when people were your friend because they wanted to be, not because they felt obligated.
They love you, just for being you, cause you can see the hurt in their eyes, which no one else cares to comment upon.

So, you both go on living different lives that intertwine every now and again, and you share a familiar touch that makes your blood boil with excitement, fear, and a little disregard. But, it's okay, you're both still learning how to live.
Strike Back

The Apocalypse, it comes! [19 Dec 2010|11:02pm]
The sky was blue, sparse with clouds, when I dozed off. When I woke, a few minutes later, I could have never imagined how all the world would be changed. The sky was gray, full of smoke and fire. The windows were shattered and the city, that I had come to know, lay in ruins. The earth was cracked, opened up by a hole in the ground. Small flakes of burning ash floated toward me and speckled my skin. I felt other things had changed as well, things I could not name. Merely things I could feel. As the world raged and burned and the everything changed, I took a plunge. I jumped, higher than I ever have before. I climbed to the top of the world, just to watch it burn.

Then, I traveled. I walked for days, looking for those that were like me; still alive. Then I saw the evil that world held. Tanks and guns ruled the land and black hearts crippled what was left of man. But, whispered on the wind, I heard stories of other folk, not of such ilk. I heard of places where people helped one another and worked hard to survive; together. So I searched, all around, and found a friend in a small gecko. He talked, or so I thought. He smiled and his long tongue rolled from his mouth. Then, he showed me that there was still magic left in the world. He showed me the way to the great salvation we had all been searching for. And there, we learned to fight back. We used the earth, and mightier things. Eventually we turned back the coming dark, but it was long road, not without heartache. Such is life.
Strike Back

Revert from saved draft [17 Dec 2010|04:16pm]
We try, we might, find a little fight. We learn to fly, or we learn how to fall. If we're lucky we'll land graciously, atop our feet. If we stumble, we revert back to the comfort of our shells, we might find something still waiting to be explored. Some part of ourselves that we never knew existed, waiting to be set free. So, we try. We turn through the gallows and release the guillotine. Watch as the silver blade falls through the air, expecting the world to come crashing down. Then, something surprising happens, the world doesn't end. It just keeps spinning, as if nothing had ever happened, as if no one was ever here in the first place.
So, fly or fall, we must make a choice; to light the night on fire, or watch as the world slips into darkness. I for one, would like to see gravity try and hold me down. Because some people were meant to fly, and teach other how to fall with grace.
Strike Back

Stay, cause I miss you. [15 Nov 2010|12:23pm]
Fire burns and rain gets you wet. But all along the way you can find some nice surprises. A little push, a little shove, doesn't always knock you down.

Pull yourself back out again. Let it come, because eventually it will find somewhere else to go.
Strike Back

Even if [01 Nov 2010|09:51pm]
Even if it was. All a lie. Even if it was. Everything I wanted it to be.

I would still want something more. Even if it was. I would still stare out the window. I would still be. Waiting for something else. Waiting for something more.

Even if it was. All just dust in the wind.

I thought I saw it. The truth behind the lies. Even if it was. It still hurt the same.
Strike Back

Get Up [05 Oct 2010|01:09pm]
They are just things. Things that get washed away, sparkling clean in the sea foam. Light, etherial things, that flutter around the edges of souls. Golden framework constructed beneath a heaving mass of flesh and lies. Cuts that bleed silver pennies from wounds that reach too deep. Sway with the blowing breeze, and come to accept that the well is a long way down. Droplets of rain run down your nose and drip from your eyelashes. All, in a vain attempt, to prove that you can still be strong, a kindling ash.

The ground was soft, like sand, and my feet began to sink. My thoughts, heavy chains that held me down, and refused to loosen their grip. When I thought I couldn't carry myself on, the ground hardened, like stones, and the sky began to sparkle. And my chains, even though I still weather them, are light, like foam.
2 Deceitful Jedi / Strike Back

Wind and Water. [21 Sep 2010|12:04am]
wind and water, sun and sea. The tide rolls out, undulates away from me. It's serene. It's a quiet in the pit of my stomach. An itch that tingles in my toes as the sand washed over them, pulled beyond the shore. The waves break and swell beyond conception. Somewhere off in the distance, past the horizon, a storm turns. Spins and twirls and pulls things from the darkness of our hearts. Pulls our fear out into the open where we have momentary flashes to reflect. And then the waves come back in, bringing with them more things that we thought we had long forgot. She was just girl. He was just a boy, and somehow, through all the storms and dark nights, they made it work. The made life happen. Just by standing on the shore and watching as they lived their lives.
1 Deceitful Jedi / Strike Back

Deception [14 Sep 2010|12:58pm]
I think someone is trying to steal my thoughts.

Last night I had a fun dream. I was working with my cousin Brandi at this Hotel/mall. It was basically a hotel where the entire ground level was full of retail stores. A hurricane came and we were all put in this suite. It was all very old english in style. During the storm different types of fruit kept clogging the pipes and shooting out in the room. Eventually we had to run from the hotel because it was full of cherries. Once we were in the parking lot all these animals started running from the forest, and they could talk. I had a nice conversation with a raccoon. He had an odd accent. He was talking about reincarnation I think.

I woke up after that and fell back asleep. Then I dreamed of going to com fest and I got a kick-ass parking space, but that is because I got there super early. After everyone was drunk we were trying to leave. My friend Meag lived with this guy I work with. We drank a lot and went to see the "Doll House." which was actually an old house, made to look like one of those old wooden dollhouses. It was turned into a toy store that sold creepy ceramic dolls. After we went back to their house I decided to leave. I got into this plastic bucket, similar to a cooler without a lid, and used my arms to push myself down the street. The cooler slid really fast like it was on ice. I slid past this mexican gang and I heard them talking about steeling it from me. I jumped out and pulled out a butcher knife and slashed their chest open before they could. Then I just kept sliding along. The end.
5 Deceitful Jedi / Strike Back

Summer breaks. [08 Sep 2010|02:39pm]
The rain falls in a drizzle that glints the moonlight like glitter. The night is quiet. The air is still for the approaching storm. Far away, in a land that floats through my head like a memory, the lightning shifts and breaks the sky in two. Time seemingly stops and I’m alone in a dark room. I told you that this is how the end would be. You told that the beginning was still so far away. I never understood what you were trying to say. It’s a far off place. It’s a hushed phrase. It’s a frail touch and compassion in a gaze. For everything we’ve done, for everything that has been lost. There will be a time, there will be a place, even if we have to lock it deep away within our minds.
Strike Back

The First Time [05 Sep 2010|02:25am]
You're so small. So frail. I tried to teach you, tried to help you heal. I tried to lift you up. Forbidden love. And this is what it felt like. I'm sad that I wished upon too many stars. I'm sorry that I spent too many night alone. I looked at you, and all I saw was gloom. I all saw was everything that you told me that you could be. Turned out that you lied. I wasn't shocked or taken by surprise. You're so free, you never thought to think ahead. I wish held your disregard for everything. I wish I held your discontent in my heart. But, I think. I feel. I breathe. I am all these things that I do not understand. A living organism, in and of itself. Without you by my side. But, through it all, a few things remain. I wish you would man up and unlock the door. I wish you set me free and tell me that everything would be alright. But, you never will. So, take your green eyes and shove them. xoxo
Strike Back

Drugs [30 Aug 2010|01:14pm]
The only explanation for the weird ass dreams I had last night.

The first dream involved Bender the robot and a new addition to the house, a lot of snow and magic. Of course.

The second dream was a little more esoteric. It started out with me in a beach house in the middle of the woods. The house had a least 4 floors and lots of rooms. Except I really wasn't myself. I was Gwen and looked a lot like this.



And I was dating this..



And this lived in the woods.



So, we had to be careful if we went outside at night. As it turned out, we were actually filming a horror movie in the house, but one of the actors went crazy and started to kill people. We were trying to find a way out and I found this old wizard of oz poster and all the characters were played like robots and everything was mechanical. Well, I figured out that you could go through the poster and back to reality. When I did, I turned back into myself. Then a bunch of people I knew from work were there. In reality it turned out that my dad and uncle Arnold were on the lamb from the mafia, and hits were put on the family. I went to this seminar on the 'magic of movies' and all these hitmen were hiding there. I tried to explain everything to people but no one wanted to listen to me. I convinced Cassie and Keith to come with me back through the poster that was in my sisters bedroom. We went back to the movie world and I turned back into Gwen, and this time I had a pet monkey that was genetically altered and could talk like a human. A hurricane was coming and we had to buy a lot of supplies and then there was a quiz, like trival pursuit. Then I woke up when I won the pie piece. HA!
Strike Back

Originally dated 1.12.2008 [28 Aug 2010|03:04am]
When life gets in the way we can forget all the things that really matter. We forget that the wind can move slower than the falling snow. We forget that time cannot heal all wounds, and that some scars will never heal. Some things can change and at times, we can barely recognize ourselves. Sometimes we judge ourselves a little too harshly. We think that we ask for more than we deserve. We think we’re less than perfect. But the truth is always hard to see. Even when it’s right in front of us.

Hope is a hard thing to let go of, and the fear of finding something real and tangible is more difficult to lose.
Now, that I know things have changed, I’ve had a taste of just how fun life can be. Not every thing is the end of the world, in fact; few things are. I can see something different on the horizon. Something new and unfamiliar moves toward me. A life of passion and fire, and I don’t quite understand. But, I move forward; unafraid.
Strike Back

re-post. sorry. [06 Aug 2010|01:04am]
The Chronicles of Penelope Page


{Prologue}


The room was small and stunk of day old cigarettes and soured bourbon. The yellow light of the afternoon sun struck through ragged and faded Harlequin curtains, only adding to the morose undertones of the stained wooden floor. In the middle of the room sat a full-size bed with its sheets heaped above the frail, and failing, body of Agnes Cotton. Yesterday she turned one hundred and four. Yesterday she struggled to remember what it felt like to have her own teeth. Today it was the control of her bowels that she longed for. And tomorrow, well for Agnes there would be no tomorrow, a fact that she had known for nearly eighty some years when she first saw her death coming.
The floor boards creaked and moaned in the hallway as someone made their way toward her door. She smiled. A smile she hadn't smiled in years; a smile that told her that she remembered what it was like to be a woman. As she remembered she passed a small golden chain adorned with a simple golden plate embossed only with a small circle atop a cross, the alchemy symbol for the planet Venus, through her boney fingers. As the door opened she could smell him before she could see him, but none-the-less he cast a daunting shadow across her room. "My dear Sebastian," she coughed out through the last of her aging voice. "I've been waiting a very long time for you to come and set me free."
"I'm not here to set you free my dear," he said sorrowfully.
"I know," Agnes lamented. "But a girl can still hope." Sebastian laughed as Agnes watched his eyes sparkle.
"You have not been a girl for a very long time," he said as a calming tone flowed over his words.
"But you on the other hand-" Agnes said as her voice trailed off. After a short silence she spoke, “still look as young as the day we met."
"Perks of the job."
"I wouldn't trade you for anything in this world."
"Not even to save them?" he questioned with a sharpness laced beneath his deep brown eyes.
"They don't need me." Agnes said as she met his gaze with a very powerful one of her own.
"You know what is coming. This I know to be true," he said as he sat beside her and rested her hand in his. "Why are you still here Agnes?"
"Because," she said sadly, "in the very first premonition I ever had, this is what I saw. Us. Here, in this moment as I pass something on to you and together we share my last moment. Because when you walk out that door I will be gone from this world. But you will inadvertently set in motion a series of events that not even I can see through to the end. You my dear friend, will save the world. Eventually. It will be the last good act you ever do.”
Sebastian merely starred, non-responsive and removed. He took a moment to let her words sink into his head. "I'm not on your team remember? I bat for the bad guys."
"Doesn't matter," Agnes smirked. "Ripples in the tide my friend."
"They have been released. The Head Hunters. The dark shadows in this world have made their first move. Soon all of us will be hunted down and removed. Our power will be stripped. They are not ready and I cannot protect them!"
"They're ready," Agnes coughed. "They don't know it yet, but they're ready."
"Where are they?"
Agnes laughed. "You work for the other guys remember."
"I made a promise." Sebastian said flatly.
"That you did. But, you’re a bound demon, you have to keep your promise. The shadows following you did not make the same promise. You must take my diary to my colleague and dear friend.” Agnes motioned toward a large, leather-bound book crookedly placed on her nightstand. “He will know what to do from there. Sebastian, you have been expelled from your brethren. They now hunt you. So that is why I will not tell you where they are. As soon as you leave you’ll have a fight on your hands. Prepare yourself.”
"I assumed as much. I can feel them trying to strip me of my power. Soon I will be as old as you look." He let Agnes' hand fall as her eyes moved over his one last time. He stood, and in a move so deplorable, he bowed to a mortal and lightly kissed her forehead. His heart sank as he stood to leave the light slowly started to lift from Agnes' bed. He grabbed the book from her stand and watched as her eyes settled on his for one last time.
His hand touched the cold round door knob and as he pulled it open Agnes said her final words. "Sebastian," she called quietly. "Once you find them, they will kill you." He looked down the narrow hallway before him as it wavered in the afternoon light. Without words he turned to leave. He pulled his jacket from a thin and crooked chair as he left Agnes' humble cottage and stepped out in the sun. The long grass, nearly up to his knees, blew wantonly as the shadows in the trees scampered away, just as he thought they would.
"Well, I guess she was right again. Prophets," he laughed. "I wouldn't switch you jobs either my dear friend."
1 Deceitful Jedi / Strike Back

King of Weird Dreams [16 Jul 2010|12:52pm]
Last night I had the oddest dream. It started with me and a few of my friends driving around the country. We didn't really know where we were going, but there were A LOT of fields. There were some earthquakes and craziness. I got out of the car and ran away and ended up in a city. I was walking down the street and this gang tried to attack me so I made a bunch of weird hand movements and turned all the water on the ground into a whip to fight them, like a waterbender. Then I ran back into the fields and was standing there and I started to see things. Words were written across the ground in purple and they would glow and fade away quickly. Then all the sudden everything changed and I was standing on a huge cliff and there was a flying dragon. There were purple lakes all around us, and the dragon told me some things I didn't understand, but I think I was in a spirit realm. I could jump really far and then we were flying over the land and I could read all the words in purple as they popped up. Then other things appeared like animals and people and skeletons and all kinds of weird shit. They would only exist for a few seconds then fade away. The dragon told me that these were all the memories that the earth held. And there were also these giant flowing purple rivers of some sort of weird energy, he the dragon said that was when the memories would leave and return to the universe. It was like a giant river of thoughts. It was so peaceful. Then I was thrown back into the real world and was going into a country club. My friend and I went for a walk and found these guys shooting arrows into tires of four-wheelers. I started yelling at them and calling them careless and worthless and preaching about how they were supposed to role-models for all the kids that looked up to them in club. And I said that I wished that they were half the men people thought they were to their own kids. One guy started crying, and said he hadn't talked to his son in two years. Then another kid came up to him and told him that his son had cancer and was in the hospital. And the other guy said that he hadn't talked to his son either cause he was dating a black woman. It was so strange, but I felt like I did a good job.
2 Deceitful Jedi / Strike Back

navigation
[ viewing | most recent entries ]
[ go | earlier ]