The Road

One day I will die, and so will you.
Everything that was once animated will one day lay still pressed under the moist earth.
One day we will all go back to where we came from.
We, humans, are like a novel, or a collegiate thesis, we come full circle.
But for now, we are alive, we have movement, and speech, we create beautiful and terrible things.
We destroy each other, and many of us sludge blindly through a world of light.
We destroy ourselves.
We see each other as insignificant.
We look to a God to drive us, and give us hope.
Some stand back in fear and awe of what is unknown.
I wonder if in heaven, or in hell...
There is a God who looks upon us.
What might this being think of us?
I don't not believe he is disappointed..
He will live forever, alone, at his post in the world.
And all the while, we mankind, walk the earth, knowing our time here is stunted...
One day our breathing will turn still...
If I were a God, I would desperately envy the mortality that humans possess...
We are impermanent, and because of this, each sunrise is more beautiful, each smile more cherished, each day is different, and it will one day end.
For the immortal...all but life is permanent, and he will live on looking down on the world with his lonely eyes forever, wishing that he too could see the beauty only man can take from the world, the beauty of the every day, that the end gives us.

Collection Thoughts...

I just added a bunch of think pieces I have been writing over the last 9 months. And here they are, I have only posted one of these, so I thought I should post them here, I am now ordaining this my new writing haven I suppose.

Take a look at the stuff below, it should all be under this date even though much of it is from the time between February and May of 2008. It really makes me think and reflect to read all of these things that I have written and haven't reviewed in so long.

Expect more thoughts from me soon, probably tomorrow after class...If I get the chance and find a muse...

oh i have one right now...I think. We'll find out.

Piano Bench (Something old that I never posted)

Prehaps, I am too reserved to say these things, so I write them, hoping that some inkling of understanding will transgress the page into the airwaves and a tiny vibration will meet your ear and you will sense my heart. You see, I have so many things to say, and I know that I can, it is imperative. And my fear is I will let this memory pass through me and drift away without ever saying what it has meant. You are now apart of the inifinite web that binds us all, and you are part of me, or at least who I am right now. Because, I am always changing my colors, a chameleon, but I am the same in structure: I have two eyes (the color of which I can never quite put my finger on), a nose, a mouth with lips, often playing a soft smile. I have a heart and it beats, and if such things as "souls" exist, I imagine I have one of those as well. Its somewhere above my stomach and intestines, but below my diaphragm and when I breathe sometimes, I feel it rising and falling. And when I chance to stumble upon a moment worth writing about I feel it rattle about, trying to break free, and break out of its fleshy cell. Incarcerated within a human creature. I think, I wonder, "will she ever be free"?

And then I realize it.

I sit in that moment, and in the future, I think I will sit again in that same moment, and watch it play like a picture show, before my eyes, and in them your face will flicker and reflect.

And it is now that I think of all those faces that come together to make up what I most desire, and to formulate a human ideal of what I need.

I think.

Here I am now, back to where I started, at that point of hazy delerium, where the day fades into the night. I remember now: Gentle fingers playing vehement chords on an old piano, and my eyes closed, I listen, while each note shakes and cracks the holding cell inside me. Just above my stomach, and right below my ribs. It rattles and bends, the bars break. I am released. She is. You bend over the piano, sometimes your eyes are closed, and your fingers move in the light, and every so often they glance up at me, and I am startled, It is hard for me to stare at your eyes for too long, because I see them waving back at mine. The red of your glasses reflects your hands and the keys in your sleepy eyes. There is so much contrast and I take a photo with my mind, and think that I wish I could hold you still so I might draw you, or photograph you, and have you as tangible, raw moment, being who you are. I wonder if you'd even let me.

This is the film reel in my head.

---
(this is only part of a short memoir)

I Will Be Grateful For This Day

It was one of those nights, where observation satiates your hunger for conversation and conversation mends you need to be touched....

& If the walls could talk, they would sweat.

Someplace between wakefulness and sleep, between night and day, between dark and light, between the hours of 4 and 5 am. I was standing in your basement, surrounded by strangers, all indulging in whatever temporary high they could swindle out of life for the night, giving me something to smile at.

I think you noticed my eyes flutter breathlessly, lazily. You guide me to your room, you close the door, and lead me to the bed.

I am in an unfamiliar place, ironically the things in this room remind me of familiar faces, and being here is like sitting with an old friend and not having to speak.

I take off my clothes, and trade them out for a pair of yours, blue shorts which hang loosely on my hips, my hair is tousled and messy by now. I am content to sleep.

I lay down, I look up at the ceiling, I notice the faint light that travels in between the wall and rafters. Voices carry. They murmur in and out of my reverie, my state of unconscious awareness. I pull blankets up to my chin, I feel safe, and the fabric is cool on my skin, it gently breathes on my shoulders, my calves, my toes. (An hour from now I will have unconsciously wriggled out of the cool embrace of your blankets, back exposed). Hours seem to pass, I am not sure if I am asleep or awake...

The noisy floor becomes hushed, voices disappear.

The door creaks.
I am my eyes flutter.
The door opens.
I rearrange my legs.
The door closes.
I am too content to turn.

I turn to my side. A body softly lands besides me, and arm reaches around my waist, a hand finds mine. I am startled, but too pacified to protest.
I feel breath on my ear, my breathing is becoming more sporadic. I am predicting the moments before they happen. My mind is ahead of the action.

Lips drag across my neck and a nose caresses my ear. I turn my head, curiosity gets the better of me. This is the calm before the storm. I feel my body slowly being rotated, I am not resisting. And before I can speak, I am beneath him, my heart is clamorous against the walls of it's dark cavern. His hair grazes my eyelashes, His breath is directly over my cheek.

There are moments, before big things happen, where everything stops and seconds feel like hours. This is one of those moments, right before things change. I am preparing myself for the impact.

My hands are pinned behind me, I am trapped, and I do not want to escape. I think about rolling out from under him, but know I will regret it, if I do. Before I have time to decide lips collide into mine, and I am lost. All reason or logic of the precarious position I have found myself in are lost. I am taken. I wrap my legs around his, we twist, and pull and gasp, and I find my lip caught between his teeth my top lip meets his and I collapse, and roll.

I find myself locked on top of him, I press my my hips into his jeans. My hair is a thick mess it brushes his neck and face, he lets me press into the wall, I am satisfied, and I giggle, because he cannot see the smirk playing on my lips. He grabs my head, I give it back to him, I let go.

I don’t remember when we fell asleep or when we woke up. It felt like hours. The kisses faded into sleep. Sleep faded into day. I woke up wondering if it was real, or if my imagination got the better of me. It was the kind circumstance, that left you satiated momentarily, but wanting more the instant you come to realize that it is over. It has passed.

I wonder what he thinks.

-CMH

"And we get drunk and kiss, and our bodies twist like shoe laces" -bright eyes

(rough draft-originally written in March 2008)

'After Sex'

"Love is not negotiable.
not love.
Love is a guessing game. & thats the beauty of it! There are no gaurantees...
Love is like diving into a pool of water without knowing whether its shallow or deep.
& sure yeah, if its shallow you end up hurt and paralyzed from the neck down, but if its deep...you know...
its a leap of faith, its like throwing yourself out there without any gaurantees, dude and thats what lifes about...
Okay you know those carnival games? right?
You know how some of them are really hard to win, and then some of them are super easy and everyone wins? Okay well
its just that, thats the difference between love and sex.
Sex is the game where everyone wins a little prize and no one goes home a loser...
And
Love is the game thats really hard to win.
But if you do
and you get to take home that life sized stuffed rhinoceres...
It feels a whole lot better than taking home that shitty little plastic key chain."

---

all i have right now is a shitty little plastic key chain. And I pretty sure I lost it.

The Love Song of Alfred J. Prufrock: Revisited.

He'd ask her "so what are you doing?"
She thinks "thinking of how I should tell you I lo...thinking of how i should say: crying...thinking of how badly i'd like to end this right now."

She says "just sitting here, listening to jazz...relaxing, you know."
He'll agree, of course, and respond to her mundanely, with just enough apathy to force her to spark the conversation, knowing she will.

She abides willingly, but quietly disgruntled. She'll grit her teeth, her jaw will become tight. And so it does.
Uncontrollably.

He asks another follow up question, to appear interested. She is doubting the interest, she believes it to be fake.
She'll answer it anyway.
And she does, promptly, vaguely, and lacking any certain graces, ones which are to be expected in polite conversation.

She is now becoming angry with herself, feeling as though to judged his intentions too quickly, and so she tags on pleasant babble...something unimportant but relevant about the subject, attempting to seem amiable.
She does.
He remains oblivious to her obvious torment.

He replies with three word sentences, and half smiles.
She forces an unscathed complacent demeanor, and fakes her smiles, and soft giggles.

She now stares upon him, with a loving gaze, but hides it when he turns to glance back.

Inside she is reeling.

She is at war with her insides, there is a battle going on right infront of him.

Still, he will remain oblivious.

So he does.

She won't win this one, shes sinking. Fast.

Shes beautiful, stunning, in fact, and he knows it. Every little inch of him knows it.

He feels unworthy, but will mask it with nonchalance, and apathy toward her.
She is ignorant to that fact.
He will take advantage of this.

He doesn't want to make her sway, but he can, it is dangerous water they tread in.

He knows, and he causes ripples and waves still. It will become harder for her to stay afloat.

She is one small gesture, minutiae compliment, and string of directed flattery, away from letting him have what he wants.

She knows.
She cannot do what she knows she should, and she craves the feeling of strength for doing what is best for her heart.
But she'll give in again.

And she does.

And still,

He knows nothing.