And in some dark, there is hidden light.



Their footsteps echoed throughout the darkened hallway. She held his hand tightly, walking a step faster than he did because she was the only one between them that could see through the shadows. That small embrace was what could have save them both. Her grip slipped but no, she will hold on, whispering to herself. He, deaf and blind, merely smiled. She knew her thoughts were true but she knew also that those words will come worse consequences. The one whose hand she held would become devoured in oblivion.

He purred sweet nothings into her ear and tried to pull her close, tried to make her call out to give herself away. she could see what he could not. She was giving in, breaking down beneath their roughened touch. She was what he's not; and everything she wanted… She thought he would want the same, offering a chance, a change, a simple kiss. She looked to him waiting for him, in the dark, silent with hollow gazes and shook her head softly she thought he was more than that. She had wished to perhaps see a smile spread across his lips and she will tightened her hand on this. A little further…then maybe they will get to see the light.

Cast away for that waste of breath and light. He watches as she stumbles and pick herself up even as the sharp rocks cut into her already torn heart. Such strength...Such beautiful...beautiful strength.

She knew before she sought the hand out to hold. She had brushed her fingertips against his in a tenative embrace, but the touch was too strange.The more she thought about it, the more perfect it becomes. Unlike anything else, it made light seep through the darkest part of her corrupted heart. It drove her mad, and she did not know how to return to the part of this world where people are content to rot, to dance with the corpses of the past and flesh out the sick desires of broken hearts and treason.

She watch the sky, noting that through the gray, there were streaks of brilliant light.

Leaping stuffs.

So for some reason I start to think about random things when I am tired and blurt them out. I thought I'd post some of the recent things that go through my mind when I'm barely awake.

Why is the color brown almost never associated with something good, at least not right away. think about it, dirt, poop, rust (sort of red but brownish)?

Why do people go out of thier way to pass you in (in a car) as fast as they can and cut you off just to gain a car lenth before the next light that is obviously red. Also, why do people cuss other people out of the road, I know I sometimes feel like telling people that they are retards for not being able to drive but seriously, all you are doing is making other people angry and then they get mad and do the same shit. And why is it that the people who honk and cuss at someone who doesn't take off from a light light away always end up doing somthing even more stupid and dangerous and then get mad for people honking at them?

why do people talk about loosing weight and dieting but I always see them after a week of dieting binging out on junk food?

Why do people drive around parking lots for 10 minutes looking for the closest parking spot when they could have parked and the end of the row and saved 8 minutes of driving?

Why is it when men (thugs and homies in paticular) see a girl and start hitting on her and she ignores them she instantly goes from being called sexy, darlin etc.... to bitch?

Why is it when you say my legs hurt, I'm really tired, or have an injury, rarely does anyone say oh what happened. instead you always hear them saying they have the same problem but they go on to describe how bad they have it and why it happened to them and ignore you?

And now why don't I get some sleep?

Not even your shadow will have me.

I can't shake these dreams. So many vivid scenes that they must mean something. How real they seem, as if I could somehow change my life. I can't begin to explain myself, nor say what I want you to hear, so I just don't begin. To follow in those footsteps and figure out where I'm supposed to start. I just wish that I could somehow wake up.

This I am.

I have a strong mind which can sort out pain into meaning. Because our pain belongs in some order.  And this, is why I do the things I do. So some idea shapes me.

Something into nothing; such horrible form.

Avalanche! Bring down the hills. Rushing like ants in the town they panic. Conversation stands still, and still, and still we all lock eyes in the silence. Not a word. How ironic. It kills to swallow. In the cold. At the foot of the hill they all gather. The bodies. The mess. Together as one.

A familiar sound.

When I was little I remember hearing dial-tones, humming sounds that filled the empty spaces between conversation, between the ‘hello’s and ‘goodbye’s. But that was deemed unnecessary noise, and like everything else, was eliminated.

For you.

For you, have been a constant in my life, you have stood beside me, bit your tongue, told me when I was wrong, picked me up, dusted me off and loved me all along.

Sometimes I miss it all right.

Some things shouldn't ever be forgotten, like a lover's touch, or a lover's kiss. Or the way their breath falls in and out of their mouth like a psalm, the way their laughter becomes your gospel, the way their skin becomes your testaments. The way their eyes become your heaven and their mouth becomes your hell, the way your altars become lips and wrists and how you get used to praying on your knees.

Live Streaming....From My Brain!

Tired, hyper...hyper! The need to write... more. Bed is white. Head is spinning around, 'round, 'round, 'round, 'round, round.... no alcohol is in me, I just feel kind of weird.

*stream of conscienciousness-ed* If you don't like me, I no longer care. Just don't bother me anymore. I've already figure out who are my friends. Not paranoid. Just that my face feels like rubber. Need to reiterate, I am not high.

No nutritious food lately plus little sleep plus no saturday night human contact equals J is wierd as freggin something else.

*rickety-rockety back and forth* chmp chiomp chompdojfajoiiiiihf;kje*dreamy sjfkan whfancifulahejfalaj:_()^&D_*^0_P:..I@">$)..&@:$$()^*keyboard = j.

I hate my phone. It keeps shutting off on it own just like my mind likes shutting things off. Not that I'm complaining about that. So is this the spice of... cell phones? I forget how that goes.

*nasal meter explodes* Stupid post nasal drip, making me feel ickky to the max.

If you find mind please give back.

Time spent.

I've spent time shielding my heart from sharp things that cut my insides into bloody snowflake messes.

Folded each word up and filed it under "left unsaid" all flowing now from mouths agape, with a heart too full of love to hate.

I've spent time shielding my eyes from seeing feelings, that wrap around my shoulders pulling me to this place.

Vulnerability is spilled out across my pages, all knowing now my guts crawl out with a courage you have made me face.

Too much past to erase but this space and place, I can draw from memory. This face.

Drawn curtains and closed windows of my repeated words of only truths, place that girl cast upon a wavelength of my burning youth. Leaving only ashes to fly to you.

This shall be.

She opened her eyes this morning, remembering the dreams of last night, of things, with a man she was supposed to meet sometime christmas last year. Perhaps they will never meet, but this i recall...a feeling of...how, this is the begining of the rest of her life. Everyday for the next  hundred days, the thought of a male figure imprinted in her thoughts periodically, between every chord change, every sip of drink, every corner turned, every glance through the eyes in the crowd, every drag of the slowest burning cigarette. He will not feel a thing, not a gesture, no premonition, empty of signs of being in someone's thoughts approximately every other twenty minutes of the day, nor twitching of the left brow. Nothing left.

For W, M & S

And you who think to seek for me, know your seeking and yearning. That if you seek me and find me not within you, you will never find me without. For behold, I have been with you from the beginning, and I am with you endlessly...

Looking at you through my fingers...

I smug when anguish crossed his face...and all he did was play by the rules. So I pulled away and looked at it with contempt.

Lies.

That gray, waxy thingy that my pizza sat on sucks! They lied. They said that it will make our food crispy when we microwave food on it. You're supposed to put your pizza in it and it's supposed to make your food as crispy as if you baked it. Not that you don't want to bake it, but because you don't have 30 minutes to wait to stuff your face simply because you are so tired coming home from work on a lousy day and hungry that you want your food NOW! What do you do? You nuke it in the microwave instead. It doesn't work. It never works. For goodness sake, It's not a crispy-maker. It raises your hopes only to dash them away. The pizza comes out just as soggy except this time, it comes with the added suspicion that you have just increased your chances for getting cancer because you nuked it on the gray thing. In fact, you don't even know what it's made of. If an object could ever mock someone, it would be this thing. You disgusting gray-colored, waxy, sorta-shiny-yet-dull, plastic, paper thingy that comes with my microwave pizza!

What hurts the most is being so close.

Unless you are quite close to her and if you look at it close enough; You would probably know.

It was a gift that was given to be cherished. It was given faith, courage, and gifts to itself. A pathway was created for it through sincere efforts but it can crumble. Sometimes selfishness can overpower family and sometimes it overpower Love. She said these to a friend once that people gave selfishness to another by placing it in their mind. And used others with greed in their hearts to place it in others.

So she smile only believing that people don't listen to their hearts very often. They keep fighting, thinking they're doing right, when they're only letting "wrong" consume them. Did he know she misses him? She's told him before. Does he miss her? Sincerely? She might want to know. She's let it pass, and pass, and pass... and it will pass no more. He keeps fighting, she keeps fighting. Is this a hint? And so the path has crumbled.

If you're out there, I hope you find me.

I can't remember anything we talked about that night. I guess thats why I can't be sad about it all. I'm good at what I do, and sometimes that's a curse. The weather changes daily, and so does my mood today.

The middle of the desert...

Is empty.

10 Things.

Somewhere along, I promised a friend to write things that now does not matter anymore.

1. I'm sorry that I've never had your back the way that you've had mine. There's nothing I can do to make up for the time I've wasted not being a part of your life. At this point, I feel like I've lost my chance to really know who you are anymore, despite how much I want to. Despite all this, I still feel like there's something with the two of us that is thicker than just blood. 

2. There's nothing that says we should even be friends, but for whatever reason, I can't seem to get you out of my life. In fact, I think we've spent more time hating each other than being friends. But for some reason or another, we are. Mutual insecurity?  Possible.

3. I hate that you let people walk all over you and then use your hurt as a tool to manipulate people into feeling sorry for you. If you really wanted a better life for yourself, then you'd suck it up and get on with it. I think what I hate most about you is that you're every bit as controlling as I am. Regardless of all this, though, I care about you a great deal, and I just wish you'd make better choices. And we did have good times, no matter how bitter the aftertaste.

4. For a long time, I've had to cover-up everything about you, for fear that the truth would come out and that I would finally have to admit to myself how much you've utterly destroyed me for so long. And now your reign has ended.

5. You wasted years of yours trying to be everything I wanted. You were the support I never got. Yet I still believe that you deserve better the best and I sincerely hope that you find it, whatever it is that you need. I know that there is so much potential and talent and love in you, and you're truly a wonderful person.

6. I sometimes don't really believe that I knew you. It seems like I dreamed it all up, like one of my other tall-tales. It didn't take long after you left for me to stop imagining ridiculous scenarios of us in my head, but I wish we talked more. I wish we'd had longer to feed off that creative energy we found, but hey. That's life and distance.

7. However short-lived it may have been, I have never been more impassioned by life and art and the times I spent with you. Let's just say there's nothing I ever say about you that encompasses how much you changed me. You replaced my apathetic facade with a true lust for living, and for that I thank you.

8. You are the best coincidental story of my life, even if we met in an abandoned space lit by a single lightbulb. You're incredible in every sense of the word, and the world is a better place for you being in it.

9. I secretly think that you're the only one that understands me and leave for no reason at all. I'm glad we met. 

10. I have grown. We don't have any mutual friends anymore. But I can't help missing you, even if we don't talk.

So if it makes you happy. 


Please put your seats into the upright position.

A strange and emotionally taxing day (little of which, ironically, had anything to do with relationships) led me to contemplate my life-long fascination with airplanes, air travel, airports and the like. If you know me at all, flying on planes is a secret indulgence of mine; traveling the world's airports one day is a quiet ambition. There is definitely some irony, I think, in that suspended state of novelty: that flight, or travel in general, is a mere state of transition between the daily grind and vacation, home and away, the real world and the fantasy, point A and point B, etc.

However, it is flight, it seems to me, that is the only slice of the "real" world there is in that whole process; the only pure moment of simply existing. The rest of the time, our lives are (if you'll forgive the T.S. Elliott reference) crudely stitched together pieces of the past and the projected future. We are always on track, on schedule, even on that all-expenses-paid trip, quantifying and compacting whatever fleeting pieces of the "moment" we do hold.

Be here at this time, meet at this place, prepare something to turn in, gather things up to check out. But in the air, there is nothing to stay on track of. Meals are made just for that moment - single-serving cheese, single-serving fruit cup, single-serving innocuous dish. There are never any leftovers, any save-for-laters, save the bag of peanuts you kept from those first fifteen minutes after take off. And even then, it's a snack of the moment - not something that required planning a trip to the shop, and traveling and the spending of money, but the instant satisfaction of a fleeting belly-growl. You become nothing but a property of that frame in time. You half-watch that romantic comedy not because you like it, but because you've seen the rest and there is nothing else you can or should be doing. And that is beautiful; that is what real life is. It is you scanning through the in-flight magazine with the obscure jazz artist or pan-Asian chef on the cover. It is being impressed by the music selection on the airline's alternative station, not because you don't have your iPod, but because you are lost in that state of your old glory, when there is nothing in the moment but what treasures the sandbox may hold. It's about not being able to sleep or concentrate on anything except the clouds gliding away beneath the hull and soon you catch yourself wondering what it would be like to just jump out of that window and land on a puff of cumulus; to skip quick miles on those nimbuses, diving and floating like you know you can't and you just don't get how that's not possible because they look so full and thick. And when the plane is passing right through them, turning that crystalline fluff into pieces of ghost, you still stick with the cotton-candy faith you had when you were a kid on your first plane ride.

Upon landing, you'll race to get your bags and get to the hotel and crash from the time difference or you'll fight traffic to get home and crash from the culture shock and disappointment of the return to rat race and routine. And there's always at least a little part of you that's appeasing someone other than yourself, but up in the sky there is only your half-finished can of Diet 7UP, no smoking in the lavatories and dreams of dancing away over the tiny life below as your weight shifts under a fuzz blanket.

Tiny life, Palahniuk called it. He's right.

Westie don't bark (not true).

I find myself bored silly tonight with not much to do but think about all the things i should be doing. The time in the day should be night and the sky is to bright to be lying. Is the world upside down and gravity just plain wrong. Is it actually true that we revolve around the sun or do we revolve around a skillfully planned mindfucks (excuse me) that will one day destroy the whole world?

Do people cuss becuase it's the appropriate word for the sentence and gives it enough "oomph" to justify it's existence there, or am i just to stupid to give it better wording? (i answered that one for myself) Do i question the lies or feed the truth, and if i do neither what should i be doing? And if a dog wags it's tail and knocks over a glass filled halfway up with water and it cracks an egg, does anyone hear about it in the right wing controlled media?

I'm sure there are a million questions no one cares to answer but i should have the right to give those questions life, and then watch as no one cares, and no one notices, and i'm still alone in my pj wishing the moon would fall on top of the world and crush everyone. Because no one matters and no one is real except the dream within each one of us. That dream keeps us going and no one can stop it no matter how hard they try.

Shadow boxing.

Sometimes I try to think why we always end up alone, or how frustrating it is that we never have reasons as to why things happen (reasons know nothing). I think the awful truth about life, is that its not so awful. That its not good, or bad, or cruel, or kind. It is not fickle and it is not fated, it just is life. 

I think what makes it so hard is that we go through life knowing absolutely nothing, all the while trying to figure out everything. We want to know what it feels like to hurt, to smile, to bleed, to cry, to laugh. We want to know how things touch and taste, we want to know their smells, their secrets. We want to know it all. And I think what scares so much is that they feel they dont know enough. I think thats the only real difference between being happy and unhappy. Whether or not you're content with what youve learned, what you've been given, and what you've experienced, and what you've lost. 

I hope you were happy.

Damn birds.

I had the pleasure of being woken up by two doves bonking on my windowsill this morning. Well, I'm not sure if they were actually 'bonking', with the rhythmic grunting noises in that ugly and unmistakable dove tone that steadily rose to a climax, followed by a frantic flapping of wings and general birdlike commotion, I can't be wrong.

So, it went on for about 5 minutes before I finally snapped, leapt out of bed, went over to the window, and slide it open with bloodlust. Two surprised looking doves were right there. One of them immediately flew off to a nearby rooftop, but the other just hopped over to an out-of-reach windowsill and then just stood there eyeing me with the vacuous, dumbass gaze that only a dove can muster. With that gazed, I got even more pissed off as I imagined that this stupid creature was somehow mocking me. In my admittedly twisted logic, I began to imagine that the bird knew I wasn't getting laid, and was trying to show me up, you know, to rub it in. Consumed with rage and avian loathing, I was tempted to try luring that little piece of shit closer. But then, a loud (and unmistakably sexual) human female moaning came echoing through the window below mine, causing the bird to flee. As I listened to my neighbor getting plowed, and the hearty gasps and muffled screams that accompaned her orgasms, I realized I had to go back to bed.