You've made women blush, you've made women swoon
You've played Bond on Earth and Bond on the Moon
You've been Harrisons dad, you've been a regal king
You've died in the Highlander with one awful swing
You've had all the lines, and drank all the booze
Strangely you've never starred with Tom Cruise
You've been the voice of a dragon, with the heart of a child
You've been in bloody fuckin movies and some that are mild
You've died a ton of times but the bad guys always fail
Because in Crusade Indy gave you a drink from the grail
The penitent man will pass I remember you saying
When shot from a Nazis gun the ground you were laying
You taught Connor Mcloud all that you could
But acting lessons given instead of you should
You've been quoted as saying women need slaps
All I can do is cheer you and clap
You and Kevin Costner stopped people from drinking
All I can say to that is what the hell were you thinking
De Niro had a gangster kill you with a tommy gun
The league of extraordinary gentlemen wasn't much fun
Indy 4 is coming I hope it is soon
Before your bedridden and being fed through a spoon
Your definitely a legend and a titan of your time
But the Entrapment with Catherine Zeta was surely a crime
Now finding forester wasn't half bad
I mean a black guy looked up to you like you were his dad
Then there is the rock with Nicholas Caige
In First Night you got cheated on and put in a rage
Never forget Rising Sun with Wesley the Snipes
Thought you were racist bet there were gripes
Oh the Medicine Man who looked for the cure
Might be your best your character so pure
Then you defected from Moscow on a sub
And you had to act with a Baldwin, Oh what a scrub
But I will never forget that you were James Bond
And all of your movies I'll always be fond.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Mask We Wear
When are we at our most real? Is it when we feel protected from judgement? Is conformity that powerful? Our trends in fashion dictate so much about our lives, yet some of us still are so fake and unreal to ourselves that we don't even know who we really are. Quoting "Hamlet" "to thine own self be true" Strangely Hamlet is in disguise throughout most of the play and through this disguise is more real then he could possibly be otherwise.
How often have you been to a Halloween or Masquerade party, where people are acting completely crazy, this I am certain we have all been exposed to. Why is it that people so protected behind masks will act out their most carnal and innermost desires? Is it that with no one to know who we are we feel free to do anything? I relate this to drinking so very often, masks are not always things cut to look like werewolves or other creatures, masks can be drug related, alcohol related, or even identity related. Am I not more or less writing this anonymously in that am I not wearing a mask of some fashion.
Masks...i remember times when I drank so I would have said or done anything; However the next day I regretted all I had said and done, but my mask had allowed me to do those things. We are definitely responsible for our actions even behind those masks, but that sheer ability for us to wear them to accomplish our goals seems to me that the human race has lots of identity issues, mostly warped senses of who we are supposed to be. I have fallen victim to this at karaoke bars where I wouldn't sing because of people not liking it, or not dancing with the girl because I'm not the best dancer in the world. Countless other things come to mind, where if only I had been wearing a mask at the time to hide my identity I would have done things I actually really wanted to do. This has got to stop, it is time for people to live how they want to live, watch what they want to watch, read what they want to read..etc.....etc...etc...
Masks are a fine thing, something to supplement you like a crutch, but if you constantly have to rely on it to get you in to places that you want to go, or to do things you want to do, then you have lost a large portion of your identity, and in essence your you.
How often have you been to a Halloween or Masquerade party, where people are acting completely crazy, this I am certain we have all been exposed to. Why is it that people so protected behind masks will act out their most carnal and innermost desires? Is it that with no one to know who we are we feel free to do anything? I relate this to drinking so very often, masks are not always things cut to look like werewolves or other creatures, masks can be drug related, alcohol related, or even identity related. Am I not more or less writing this anonymously in that am I not wearing a mask of some fashion.
Masks...i remember times when I drank so I would have said or done anything; However the next day I regretted all I had said and done, but my mask had allowed me to do those things. We are definitely responsible for our actions even behind those masks, but that sheer ability for us to wear them to accomplish our goals seems to me that the human race has lots of identity issues, mostly warped senses of who we are supposed to be. I have fallen victim to this at karaoke bars where I wouldn't sing because of people not liking it, or not dancing with the girl because I'm not the best dancer in the world. Countless other things come to mind, where if only I had been wearing a mask at the time to hide my identity I would have done things I actually really wanted to do. This has got to stop, it is time for people to live how they want to live, watch what they want to watch, read what they want to read..etc.....etc...etc...
Masks are a fine thing, something to supplement you like a crutch, but if you constantly have to rely on it to get you in to places that you want to go, or to do things you want to do, then you have lost a large portion of your identity, and in essence your you.
Ode To a Woman
Only you can make me smile, laugh and cry and talk awhile
Only you can make me breath, shallow, deep, or in between
Only you can bring me hope, somewhere to live and ways to cope
Only you can take me home, a place to truly call my own
Only you can make me see, that I is better as you and me
Only you can bring me life, truly worth living my loving wife.
Only you can make me breath, shallow, deep, or in between
Only you can bring me hope, somewhere to live and ways to cope
Only you can take me home, a place to truly call my own
Only you can make me see, that I is better as you and me
Only you can bring me life, truly worth living my loving wife.
A Night With My Grandmother
Strangely my childhood is not one that I remember all too well, some children recall everything even saying they remember being born. Me thats not quite true with, I didn't have a remarkable childhood nor did I have an unremarkable childhood, I would say from the pictures I have seen that it was happy, one filled with birthdays and bicylces, trick or treating, and christmas presents. However unlike most people who experience traumatic events and then can't recall them due to shock or horror, I can honestly recall every instance of the worst night of my life. Even thinking of it now makes the hair on the back of my neck stand upright, and the shiverees to bubble all over my forearms. I'm going to tell you about the night my parents left me all alone with my grandmother, the night they didn't come back till I was completely hysterical. I never really liked my grandmother which is not atypical for a young boy, all of my friends used to tell me how much they loved their grandmothers and how they would bake them cookies and knit them sweaters with their names on them, not mine, she drank scotch, loved Yahtzee, and smoked Marlboro reds from 8-80 from what I heard my mother say when she was not around.
My grandmother was a powerful woman, one of those women small in stature but powerful in spirit, she could move mountains with a lift of a brow, and freeze pit bulls with a stare from her cold blue eyes. She was at times someone I loved although I couldn't tell you why, she had no real endearing qualities, I think it was that instilled love the kind you have because your expected to love the person because of their hierarchy in your family, but no I definitely never liked my grandmother. Strangely my parents always left me with her when they went away, like she was a loving moral authority figure! It was likely due to the fact that at the age of 88 my grandmother moved in with us after a minor heart attack, but i think it was because my parents were too lazy to get a babysitter.
This particular night like all upsetting stories occurred on a dark and stormy night, one where the wind was howling and the moon was full and all manner of creatures stalked the night searching for souls and young boys to eat. That last line was one directly from a story my grandmother used to tell me before bedtime.
Sneaking out of bed, I peeked through a crack in my door at my grandmother who was sitting in her rocker in the next room, her gaunt face concentrating on the fire crackling in the hearth, with each rock she took another drink of her Johnny walker scotch, slowly lowering the levels of her drink and the color from a rich caramel to a dirty brown. I prayed she had forgotten about me, sometimes she would when her drinking was in excess, sometimes I prayed, please let it be a sometime! My breathing was that of a small child trying to control their breath inexperiencedly which only resulted in the holding which eventually caused the deep louder breathing that was being attempted to be masked in the beginning.
Wait....the rhythmic creak of the rocker stopped.....I look again through the crack into the mad drunken eyes of my grandmother! A loud yelp slides out of my tightly sealed lips, and I bolt for the bed and the protection of my covers, strangely my feet and hands are pistioning but I'm not moving any closer to the bed...if anything I am moving further and further away! Whimpering I realize that my night shirt, my favorite one with the motorcycles on it is around my shoulders pulled against my neck and I'm being drug through the living room to the fireplace.
The mad woman cackles and oh god! How the feeling of fear permeated from my body, it was worse then the scary movie your afraid of most, the time you got pulled over when you were drinking, or when your dad was on his way home to whip your ass for doing something to piss off your mother. Those mad eyes locked with mine and bubbles of fear pocketed on my skin, those clammy hands wrapped around my throat cutting off my ability to breath. She moved her mouth close to mine and the smell of the drink flowed from her mouth to mine, I felt intoxicated but it did not do its job in numbing the lashing I received from her with the hot iron poker from her fireplace, from her favorite spot in all the house she hit me over and over across the back with a hot fiery red poker. Screaming for her to stop, she spat obscenities about me spying on her in her own house, and how no rotten boy deserved to live where she broke bread. Over and over I felt the pain rise then fall till numbness...then blackness....M
My parents found me lying in the floor half a bottle of johnny walker at the foot of the rocker next to me, a now jet black cool poker laying next to my bloody back. They rushed to my side begging me to tell them what happened? I tried to speak but words could not form, I was in shock, but it was the shock that locked those awful memories into my mind forever, locked eternally the fear of my grandmother into my very being. Finally I spoke, revealing the truth, that my grandmother had been the one that beat me savagely. Eyes looked at me with crazed amazement! For you see my grandmother had died the day of her heart attack, she moved in not so soon afterwards, and strangely I was the only person that had ever seen her. I know have a residence in a hospital for the disturbed and the insane, no one has ever believed my story although I know my mother still finds half empty bottles of johnny walker by the fire and the rocker on a regular basis, I'm sure she just passes it off in her mind that its my father, but you and I know better.
My grandmother was a powerful woman, one of those women small in stature but powerful in spirit, she could move mountains with a lift of a brow, and freeze pit bulls with a stare from her cold blue eyes. She was at times someone I loved although I couldn't tell you why, she had no real endearing qualities, I think it was that instilled love the kind you have because your expected to love the person because of their hierarchy in your family, but no I definitely never liked my grandmother. Strangely my parents always left me with her when they went away, like she was a loving moral authority figure! It was likely due to the fact that at the age of 88 my grandmother moved in with us after a minor heart attack, but i think it was because my parents were too lazy to get a babysitter.
This particular night like all upsetting stories occurred on a dark and stormy night, one where the wind was howling and the moon was full and all manner of creatures stalked the night searching for souls and young boys to eat. That last line was one directly from a story my grandmother used to tell me before bedtime.
Sneaking out of bed, I peeked through a crack in my door at my grandmother who was sitting in her rocker in the next room, her gaunt face concentrating on the fire crackling in the hearth, with each rock she took another drink of her Johnny walker scotch, slowly lowering the levels of her drink and the color from a rich caramel to a dirty brown. I prayed she had forgotten about me, sometimes she would when her drinking was in excess, sometimes I prayed, please let it be a sometime! My breathing was that of a small child trying to control their breath inexperiencedly which only resulted in the holding which eventually caused the deep louder breathing that was being attempted to be masked in the beginning.
Wait....the rhythmic creak of the rocker stopped.....I look again through the crack into the mad drunken eyes of my grandmother! A loud yelp slides out of my tightly sealed lips, and I bolt for the bed and the protection of my covers, strangely my feet and hands are pistioning but I'm not moving any closer to the bed...if anything I am moving further and further away! Whimpering I realize that my night shirt, my favorite one with the motorcycles on it is around my shoulders pulled against my neck and I'm being drug through the living room to the fireplace.
The mad woman cackles and oh god! How the feeling of fear permeated from my body, it was worse then the scary movie your afraid of most, the time you got pulled over when you were drinking, or when your dad was on his way home to whip your ass for doing something to piss off your mother. Those mad eyes locked with mine and bubbles of fear pocketed on my skin, those clammy hands wrapped around my throat cutting off my ability to breath. She moved her mouth close to mine and the smell of the drink flowed from her mouth to mine, I felt intoxicated but it did not do its job in numbing the lashing I received from her with the hot iron poker from her fireplace, from her favorite spot in all the house she hit me over and over across the back with a hot fiery red poker. Screaming for her to stop, she spat obscenities about me spying on her in her own house, and how no rotten boy deserved to live where she broke bread. Over and over I felt the pain rise then fall till numbness...then blackness....M
My parents found me lying in the floor half a bottle of johnny walker at the foot of the rocker next to me, a now jet black cool poker laying next to my bloody back. They rushed to my side begging me to tell them what happened? I tried to speak but words could not form, I was in shock, but it was the shock that locked those awful memories into my mind forever, locked eternally the fear of my grandmother into my very being. Finally I spoke, revealing the truth, that my grandmother had been the one that beat me savagely. Eyes looked at me with crazed amazement! For you see my grandmother had died the day of her heart attack, she moved in not so soon afterwards, and strangely I was the only person that had ever seen her. I know have a residence in a hospital for the disturbed and the insane, no one has ever believed my story although I know my mother still finds half empty bottles of johnny walker by the fire and the rocker on a regular basis, I'm sure she just passes it off in her mind that its my father, but you and I know better.
Anime is Surely Gay
We all have flipped through the channels where adult swim plays late at night and late night anime is playing. Now when I was younger perhaps 10 maybe even 12 I was enamored with sword fighting and dragons and all sorts of magical and mythical things; however the adult in adult swim sorta throws me off considering that these CARTOONS are CARTOONS not actual shows. Now I'm not referring to Robot Chicken, or Family Guy, even Futurama has its place sometimes. I'm referring to the shows where all the main characters have the exact same voices played by Chinese and Japanese selected officials whom are forced into slavery to be the voices for these uber gay anime shows.
Strangely I caught myself watching these quasi Thundercat wannabees and these serial Transformer GI-Joe hack jobs and wondered no shit! this is why the world is so fucked up! When people view morally questionable and exceedingly stupid shows that only vaguely resemble the great cartoons of old, no wonder people are as they are. I mean I am not one to blame crime on cartoons, or drugs, or even dungeons and dragons! Blah! Fooey! People are inherently evil and inherently good, place a gun in one mans hand it shoots someone, place a loaf of bread in the other and people get fed, its not a cartoons fault, but stupidity can surely be linked to television, and questionable shows, sure the good guys are still fighting the bad guys in badly scripted sword and kung-fu battles, where new powers are discovered and young boys become of age, also all the 14year old girls in these shows are Lara Croft sized boobed and have lil submissive personalities, its borderline pedophile! but where is the freshness? Where is the new developments? Or is a don't fix what ain't broken mentality roll all through cartoon land?
Back to what this was truly about, the poor bastards who are locked up to voice this characters and strangely its all manga comic stories, which is loosely based on porn and the supernatural! So next time you are late night flippin and you see one of these shows on watch it for a few seconds....breath deeply...sigh....then laugh...because in all honesty a tv station that just showed old Thundercat, Transformer, Ninja Turtles, and Gi-Joe episodes would be a hell of a lot cooler. But then I guess we wouldn't be stimulating the economy full of Dragon Ball Z action figures and a vast array of shanty Pokemon movies. And we would no longer be supporting the slavery of these poor bastardized quasi celebrities whom are most likely locked in a sound studio cave somewhere.
Strangely I caught myself watching these quasi Thundercat wannabees and these serial Transformer GI-Joe hack jobs and wondered no shit! this is why the world is so fucked up! When people view morally questionable and exceedingly stupid shows that only vaguely resemble the great cartoons of old, no wonder people are as they are. I mean I am not one to blame crime on cartoons, or drugs, or even dungeons and dragons! Blah! Fooey! People are inherently evil and inherently good, place a gun in one mans hand it shoots someone, place a loaf of bread in the other and people get fed, its not a cartoons fault, but stupidity can surely be linked to television, and questionable shows, sure the good guys are still fighting the bad guys in badly scripted sword and kung-fu battles, where new powers are discovered and young boys become of age, also all the 14year old girls in these shows are Lara Croft sized boobed and have lil submissive personalities, its borderline pedophile! but where is the freshness? Where is the new developments? Or is a don't fix what ain't broken mentality roll all through cartoon land?
Back to what this was truly about, the poor bastards who are locked up to voice this characters and strangely its all manga comic stories, which is loosely based on porn and the supernatural! So next time you are late night flippin and you see one of these shows on watch it for a few seconds....breath deeply...sigh....then laugh...because in all honesty a tv station that just showed old Thundercat, Transformer, Ninja Turtles, and Gi-Joe episodes would be a hell of a lot cooler. But then I guess we wouldn't be stimulating the economy full of Dragon Ball Z action figures and a vast array of shanty Pokemon movies. And we would no longer be supporting the slavery of these poor bastardized quasi celebrities whom are most likely locked in a sound studio cave somewhere.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Uncharted Waters
Uncharted love is somewhere I have never really been. Sure I have had my regular relationships, and my high school crushes. Strangely we confuse these things for love so often that boundaries somehow cross eachothers path. This makes me wander what is the uncharted part of love?
I see it as a place that we have neither been to before, nor are likely to go again, it is like a far away island only mentioned in a whisper from a tongue that surely cannot be trusted. This is where love must be truly found, on that island that may or may not exist, the only chance for it is to sail in the direction you feel it most likely to be, and to hope to God that it truly exists.
It must not be like a mountain, love cannot ever be conquered, it must be more like an exploration, one of encompassing danger, and daring risk, with a gentle side rolled into it, one of faith that your island does lie out in the uncharted waters of the world, and temperance so that you will not give up at the first sense of animosity. Virtue is a key component in love, that and morals, passion lies there as well, virtue is like your island, something you strive to find, morals are what bind you to your quest and to your island when you find it, and passion is what drives you to find what you are looking for.
The only real question is whether or not your island exists? The answer is never simple, it is hazy like the fog of the morning sea, and the dangers are they any less then death? Because what if there is no island for each of us to discover? This thought invades my mind everytime I start to engage in a conversation with the opposite sex, everytime I think of taking that first step into the boat of exploration of love, it scares me to death, yet is it not death to never take that chance? Is it not more alive to take the chance that your own island is out there then to never set foot off of the docks? Believe me it is, and when my turn to set sail is upon me I will not falter, I believe that each of us has an island to discover, one that was born/formed specifically for our individual self. So when your time comes set your course for those uncharted waters and discover what mysteries lie outside the depths of what you call security.
I see it as a place that we have neither been to before, nor are likely to go again, it is like a far away island only mentioned in a whisper from a tongue that surely cannot be trusted. This is where love must be truly found, on that island that may or may not exist, the only chance for it is to sail in the direction you feel it most likely to be, and to hope to God that it truly exists.
It must not be like a mountain, love cannot ever be conquered, it must be more like an exploration, one of encompassing danger, and daring risk, with a gentle side rolled into it, one of faith that your island does lie out in the uncharted waters of the world, and temperance so that you will not give up at the first sense of animosity. Virtue is a key component in love, that and morals, passion lies there as well, virtue is like your island, something you strive to find, morals are what bind you to your quest and to your island when you find it, and passion is what drives you to find what you are looking for.
The only real question is whether or not your island exists? The answer is never simple, it is hazy like the fog of the morning sea, and the dangers are they any less then death? Because what if there is no island for each of us to discover? This thought invades my mind everytime I start to engage in a conversation with the opposite sex, everytime I think of taking that first step into the boat of exploration of love, it scares me to death, yet is it not death to never take that chance? Is it not more alive to take the chance that your own island is out there then to never set foot off of the docks? Believe me it is, and when my turn to set sail is upon me I will not falter, I believe that each of us has an island to discover, one that was born/formed specifically for our individual self. So when your time comes set your course for those uncharted waters and discover what mysteries lie outside the depths of what you call security.
Help!
I write, I write! Ever faster, for moving upwards comes disaster.
Quickly now, they're is much to do, its moving faster its sad but true.
Hurry now, your mission is bare, my hands keep shaking, its to fast, not fare.
My god its so much faster then ever i thought, my mind cant focus I've lost the plot.
What was I writing where did my mind go, Christ nothing can stop this vast overflow.
Help me someone from the texts from my phone, I need a miracle now or at least a typing clone.
Its too late, much too late, I've now run out of time!
Repairs must now be made, although in time I am sure the problem will start to heal and fade.
*this is a dramatization of me taking a bath while having a text conversation and trying to finish a poem/story before my water overflows from my bath tub.
Quickly now, they're is much to do, its moving faster its sad but true.
Hurry now, your mission is bare, my hands keep shaking, its to fast, not fare.
My god its so much faster then ever i thought, my mind cant focus I've lost the plot.
What was I writing where did my mind go, Christ nothing can stop this vast overflow.
Help me someone from the texts from my phone, I need a miracle now or at least a typing clone.
Its too late, much too late, I've now run out of time!
Repairs must now be made, although in time I am sure the problem will start to heal and fade.
*this is a dramatization of me taking a bath while having a text conversation and trying to finish a poem/story before my water overflows from my bath tub.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
The Dreams of Eyes
Eyes are all around me waiting for me to fail.
Eyes continue watching to see me die or end up in jail.
Eyes are so distracting from the dreams I know I can reach.
Eyes continue blasting into my very soul they reach.
Eyes no where to escape them, they constantly are there.
Eyes reflecting abject hate and shallow I do care.
Eyes that show love sometimes they reflect an inner child.
Eyes that show a tint of green with blue floating in wild.
Eyes who love, and laugh, and cry, and eyes that burn with rage.
Eyes that have seen to much, who yearn to see outside their cage.
Eyes that shine with thoughts of what the future holds.
Eyes that pray that no time soon its lids will forever fold.
Eyes who want to meet its mate and then cannot look away.
Eyes who want to meet its mate eternally to stay.
Eyes that start to turn to dark, eyes that start to wither.
All this I see in my own eyes staring back at me from a mirror.
Eyes continue watching to see me die or end up in jail.
Eyes are so distracting from the dreams I know I can reach.
Eyes continue blasting into my very soul they reach.
Eyes no where to escape them, they constantly are there.
Eyes reflecting abject hate and shallow I do care.
Eyes that show love sometimes they reflect an inner child.
Eyes that show a tint of green with blue floating in wild.
Eyes who love, and laugh, and cry, and eyes that burn with rage.
Eyes that have seen to much, who yearn to see outside their cage.
Eyes that shine with thoughts of what the future holds.
Eyes that pray that no time soon its lids will forever fold.
Eyes who want to meet its mate and then cannot look away.
Eyes who want to meet its mate eternally to stay.
Eyes that start to turn to dark, eyes that start to wither.
All this I see in my own eyes staring back at me from a mirror.
Monday, August 13, 2007
My Lady GunRunner
My lady GunRunner her spirit is unmatched, her thoughts are so mysterious, her moves unable to predict. So quietly she travels this world then loud impact she has, my lady GunRunner where will you show up next?
My lady GunRunner the one who knows me best, yet in and out of life she swurves no one can claim to know her best. I only claim to know her and to have shared a part of her life, my lady GunRunner who stops the hearts of men.
My lady GunRunner wherever will you go? Overseas adventures? Private funded wars for your own amusement? Or to do the job you do best? To me you fulfill the dreams I dream and will never experience myself. My lady GunRunner the one who lives the dream.
My lady GunRunner like a pirate you do seem, like a myth of a legend, of someone no one has ever seen. I can see you now in a torn and dirty dress, steering your wooden ship to an island in the East. An eyepatch you wear for decoration, for your vision is supreme, your men are completely loyal, they all know and respect your lead.
My lady GunRunner the myth I know is true.
My lady GunRunner a letter you sent to me, after all of this time you spent in other countries you never forgot of me. In it all I found was a worn eyepatch of black, it makes me blink and start to cry thinking of the adventures you must have had and I know you are on your last mission, the one you will never return from. How I wish I was there with you to face the end at your side. My lady GunRunner the one who made me cry.
My lady GunRunner your last chapter has been written. Even though your fate is sealed you continue on your mission. No storm will stop you, no enemy to great. Fear of an unfulfilled life means more to you then death, but for all that has been prophesized I cannot see you dead, my lady GunRunner death awaits for you.
My lady GunRunner a life lived mythically, I will never let the world forget any of your deeds, your missions accomplished your wars fought and won, your fortune was acquired you can sleep now restfully. My lady GunRunner the one who lived for me.
My lady GunRunner the one who knows me best, yet in and out of life she swurves no one can claim to know her best. I only claim to know her and to have shared a part of her life, my lady GunRunner who stops the hearts of men.
My lady GunRunner wherever will you go? Overseas adventures? Private funded wars for your own amusement? Or to do the job you do best? To me you fulfill the dreams I dream and will never experience myself. My lady GunRunner the one who lives the dream.
My lady GunRunner like a pirate you do seem, like a myth of a legend, of someone no one has ever seen. I can see you now in a torn and dirty dress, steering your wooden ship to an island in the East. An eyepatch you wear for decoration, for your vision is supreme, your men are completely loyal, they all know and respect your lead.
My lady GunRunner the myth I know is true.
My lady GunRunner a letter you sent to me, after all of this time you spent in other countries you never forgot of me. In it all I found was a worn eyepatch of black, it makes me blink and start to cry thinking of the adventures you must have had and I know you are on your last mission, the one you will never return from. How I wish I was there with you to face the end at your side. My lady GunRunner the one who made me cry.
My lady GunRunner your last chapter has been written. Even though your fate is sealed you continue on your mission. No storm will stop you, no enemy to great. Fear of an unfulfilled life means more to you then death, but for all that has been prophesized I cannot see you dead, my lady GunRunner death awaits for you.
My lady GunRunner a life lived mythically, I will never let the world forget any of your deeds, your missions accomplished your wars fought and won, your fortune was acquired you can sleep now restfully. My lady GunRunner the one who lived for me.
Life Is A Bell, Tied To A String
Life is a series of bells all tied to thick strings
When one is shaken and rattles the encompassing ones ring
Through small little circles this effect loudly goes
Like ripples in a pond from a splashing large stone
The larger the circle the more bells are heard
From one to another then affecting a third
This process continues exponetially around
Impacting so many from jingle to pound
On and on the bells ring until the world starts to shake
Bells ringing out louder then any earthquake
Life was begun with the ringing of two
It will continue to ring until all rings are through
Ropes seem to sever with age or with ware
With no reason at all or just lack of care
One rope one bell can change the whole tune
Some ropes that fall cause others to, too soon
The bells that fall ringing, crashing, quivering to the ground
Changing the melody and pitch of all the bells sound
Then other ropes come and replace fallen kin
Then those bells attached begin ringing again
This cycle continues and bells are still swaying
The bells never answer to what song is playing
When one is shaken and rattles the encompassing ones ring
Through small little circles this effect loudly goes
Like ripples in a pond from a splashing large stone
The larger the circle the more bells are heard
From one to another then affecting a third
This process continues exponetially around
Impacting so many from jingle to pound
On and on the bells ring until the world starts to shake
Bells ringing out louder then any earthquake
Life was begun with the ringing of two
It will continue to ring until all rings are through
Ropes seem to sever with age or with ware
With no reason at all or just lack of care
One rope one bell can change the whole tune
Some ropes that fall cause others to, too soon
The bells that fall ringing, crashing, quivering to the ground
Changing the melody and pitch of all the bells sound
Then other ropes come and replace fallen kin
Then those bells attached begin ringing again
This cycle continues and bells are still swaying
The bells never answer to what song is playing
What love truly is?
How long have I known you? It does'nt seem to matter.
An hour, a day, a month, a year? Have I ever really known you at all?
Yet somehow the thought that you might never be here again makes me feel so lost within so eternally unfulfilled. Is this what love is? To want for selfish reasonings? Do love and sacrifice go hand in hand I have always thought they would. Yet for all I try and all I meet no voice seems to ring true. Love seems something different something I might be incapable to do. Somehow to force it even if it does seem right, makes me feel malevolent, and makes me feel untrue. Love is not a tool, or even an emotion,it is something so much more yet I feel i will never know. Am I whining? Probably, although everyday I meet someone I feel could be the one. What bothers me so much is that compatibility seems so easy to one as broadly interested in life as myself. I am attracted to all ranges as long as they have a passion and go after it, this is the very thing i look for in a partner, that and laughter, someone that can remind me of that sweet hysteric laughter. How it haunts my very soul to think of never hearing it again.
Why just the other day i met someone that kindled interest almost immediately, but is it something to pursue? Is the entire process null? How often do we miss the ones that we should forever be with simply because of nerves? Or some other reason, is it not plausible that simply by showing up to early or to late, or simply not showing up at all could have such a resounding impact on our lives as to affect to the point of missed opportunity for love? Myself I simply think it is matter of opinion, easily i think i could be married within the year, happily most likely not, because who out there can readily understand the complexities that are me, then accept them for who and what they are and then love me for it. Is that even a possible scenario? Who is willing to love someone that has basically given up on monetary compensation for a greater goal in life, even if it is one of self-enlightenment and purpose. Yeah its not to difficult to take that person home for the night but to actually build something that is intimate, as well as something that will last throughout is that even possible? A friend once told me that this is not the time of marriage that it has become more of a joke then a idealistic reality of life, it is more of a burden from unplanned then unloved children who later turn into what they were spawned from. Yet is there perhaps hope for a hopeless romantic like myself? For all my cynicism I ideologically believe that love is possible that we can and will have an opportunity to meet the one we belong to, our ideal twin soul, but if we actually take the leap for that particular person when the opportunity comes is entirely up to us. How preacher-like I am, someone who barely if at all knows what love encompasses, yet for all my grandiose words and ideals, I will most likely be the one married to work, and entirely alone when my time comes to pass from this world, alone with the memories that ghost my mind and turn over and over wishing their was something more to go along with them, even though my life will be for the better of mankind, and especially animal kind/ this lifestyle is one I gladly and willingly choose, because humans are not the only ones that need champions and love comes in many different forms, love of morals, values, quality of life for our planet and its inhabitants is what I would rather love and champion.
An hour, a day, a month, a year? Have I ever really known you at all?
Yet somehow the thought that you might never be here again makes me feel so lost within so eternally unfulfilled. Is this what love is? To want for selfish reasonings? Do love and sacrifice go hand in hand I have always thought they would. Yet for all I try and all I meet no voice seems to ring true. Love seems something different something I might be incapable to do. Somehow to force it even if it does seem right, makes me feel malevolent, and makes me feel untrue. Love is not a tool, or even an emotion,it is something so much more yet I feel i will never know. Am I whining? Probably, although everyday I meet someone I feel could be the one. What bothers me so much is that compatibility seems so easy to one as broadly interested in life as myself. I am attracted to all ranges as long as they have a passion and go after it, this is the very thing i look for in a partner, that and laughter, someone that can remind me of that sweet hysteric laughter. How it haunts my very soul to think of never hearing it again.
Why just the other day i met someone that kindled interest almost immediately, but is it something to pursue? Is the entire process null? How often do we miss the ones that we should forever be with simply because of nerves? Or some other reason, is it not plausible that simply by showing up to early or to late, or simply not showing up at all could have such a resounding impact on our lives as to affect to the point of missed opportunity for love? Myself I simply think it is matter of opinion, easily i think i could be married within the year, happily most likely not, because who out there can readily understand the complexities that are me, then accept them for who and what they are and then love me for it. Is that even a possible scenario? Who is willing to love someone that has basically given up on monetary compensation for a greater goal in life, even if it is one of self-enlightenment and purpose. Yeah its not to difficult to take that person home for the night but to actually build something that is intimate, as well as something that will last throughout is that even possible? A friend once told me that this is not the time of marriage that it has become more of a joke then a idealistic reality of life, it is more of a burden from unplanned then unloved children who later turn into what they were spawned from. Yet is there perhaps hope for a hopeless romantic like myself? For all my cynicism I ideologically believe that love is possible that we can and will have an opportunity to meet the one we belong to, our ideal twin soul, but if we actually take the leap for that particular person when the opportunity comes is entirely up to us. How preacher-like I am, someone who barely if at all knows what love encompasses, yet for all my grandiose words and ideals, I will most likely be the one married to work, and entirely alone when my time comes to pass from this world, alone with the memories that ghost my mind and turn over and over wishing their was something more to go along with them, even though my life will be for the better of mankind, and especially animal kind/ this lifestyle is one I gladly and willingly choose, because humans are not the only ones that need champions and love comes in many different forms, love of morals, values, quality of life for our planet and its inhabitants is what I would rather love and champion.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Religion of Impact
Religion is an icon, or is it a key? Is it an answer or a mystery? Religion is an ideal, one that many people seem to find, something that inspires and supplements the mind. Its deeprooted in some of us, and found by others searching, it charts the entire globe from Taoism in Asia, to Islamic in Turkey. It causes vast wars and strife, and creates enemies where could be found friends, it tries to rationalize death and pain and hints at this worlds end. Yet from every corner of this world from cave men, Greek philosophers, Roman emperors, knight of old, and scimitar swinging bandits, there lies in us a feeling that something greater is at hand, something in our hearts and minds that differs us from billions of crystals of sand. I feel this sometimes late at night, the feeling that someone watches me from the dark corners of the night. My flesh seems to chill like I have been bodily caressed, and deep within a drop of my stomach and the ache within my breast. Could this be my judgement? Was I awoken just for this? Is it the trumpets sounding or is it deaths fatal kiss? Thoughts pervade my head, attacking all my senses, I try and focus in now but away drop all defenses. Panic over my life how tragic it all seems, all squandered opportunities ive forgotten all my dreams. Humbly I fall to my bare knees, the cold air and the ground force my prayers to come in chatters, I beg and plead for another chance to rekindle all my fires. Awaken from this trance i'm in having asked all for forgiveness, I set my sights on dreams ive had and changing things for the better. Religion is an ideal, its a reminder of life and limits, it lets all of us know that time is of the essence. Does it matter if its real or something made from mans mind? I think not because its affect has impacted lives like mine.
Finding Home
The word home has an amzing impact on people, it creates a euphoric sense of imagery and relase of endorphins that magically make things completely better. How many people would rather be sick somewhere other then their own bed.
I recently moved to a new place some 13 hours away from my hometown in Oklahoma, and the word home seems to have no real application anymore. Mind you that I am a so-called homebody and enjoy being at home when I read or write or do any of the many things I enjoy doing in my spare time. However is my home not in essence where I lay my head at night? Is it a place where I pay rent? Or is it where I spent the major proportion of my life? The confusing part is there are so many stipulations to a home, a roof, a bed, bills, where you eat, but is it not a major proclivity that you love where you are at the time, how many freshmen at college think of their stuffy dorm rooms as their homes? Although being of an age more appropriate to adulthood is it not time for me to make my own home? But does that mean paying rent?? Is it purely financial? The road is clear for me to achive my own home, but where I live now is not a home, it seems more a roadside gas station to a larger trip in the creation of my home. What is a 2 year stop anyways, in this time with internships and the chance of relationships is it not likely that my physical address will in fact change?
Then their is the old "Home is where the heart is" thing, but is it truly? My heart is with me now and I feel no more at home in this 2 bedroom apartment then anywhere I have ever been. I feel a prisoner of my own doing, yet all the amenities are here, tv, laptop, dvd player, shower, air conditioning, bed, kitchen, fridge, yet for all its intentions it feels no more then a motel.
Another aspect to analyze is whether or not my parents home is my home? I dont pay bills there, I dont own it, I was more a long term guest then anything else. So in fact I feel as if I am homeless, but inside me is a world, one created with many different relationships, and interactions, one that has had resounding impact on other people, and hopefully a postive one on the world as a whole. I feel as if a homeless person may very well know more about being at home then anyone in the world, they are not affronted by things, and clothes, and fancy food, they only wish to survive and in this may be more at home with themselves then anyone on the face of the planet. This leads me to believe that upon achieving my dreams, and becoming who and what I want to be, I may be more at home in the Amazon taking pictures of Jaguars and others species of animals, sleeping in a tent and recording data then any other time in my life.
Home is not a place, its more of an ideal, and it is carried with you through the relationships you have built and the impact of those relationships with other people. Home is in essence where the heart is and where you finally feel that release of life that lets you know im free, im here at last, and im where I belong.
I recently moved to a new place some 13 hours away from my hometown in Oklahoma, and the word home seems to have no real application anymore. Mind you that I am a so-called homebody and enjoy being at home when I read or write or do any of the many things I enjoy doing in my spare time. However is my home not in essence where I lay my head at night? Is it a place where I pay rent? Or is it where I spent the major proportion of my life? The confusing part is there are so many stipulations to a home, a roof, a bed, bills, where you eat, but is it not a major proclivity that you love where you are at the time, how many freshmen at college think of their stuffy dorm rooms as their homes? Although being of an age more appropriate to adulthood is it not time for me to make my own home? But does that mean paying rent?? Is it purely financial? The road is clear for me to achive my own home, but where I live now is not a home, it seems more a roadside gas station to a larger trip in the creation of my home. What is a 2 year stop anyways, in this time with internships and the chance of relationships is it not likely that my physical address will in fact change?
Then their is the old "Home is where the heart is" thing, but is it truly? My heart is with me now and I feel no more at home in this 2 bedroom apartment then anywhere I have ever been. I feel a prisoner of my own doing, yet all the amenities are here, tv, laptop, dvd player, shower, air conditioning, bed, kitchen, fridge, yet for all its intentions it feels no more then a motel.
Another aspect to analyze is whether or not my parents home is my home? I dont pay bills there, I dont own it, I was more a long term guest then anything else. So in fact I feel as if I am homeless, but inside me is a world, one created with many different relationships, and interactions, one that has had resounding impact on other people, and hopefully a postive one on the world as a whole. I feel as if a homeless person may very well know more about being at home then anyone in the world, they are not affronted by things, and clothes, and fancy food, they only wish to survive and in this may be more at home with themselves then anyone on the face of the planet. This leads me to believe that upon achieving my dreams, and becoming who and what I want to be, I may be more at home in the Amazon taking pictures of Jaguars and others species of animals, sleeping in a tent and recording data then any other time in my life.
Home is not a place, its more of an ideal, and it is carried with you through the relationships you have built and the impact of those relationships with other people. Home is in essence where the heart is and where you finally feel that release of life that lets you know im free, im here at last, and im where I belong.
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