Somewhere over the last couple of months, I lost myself. I don't know how it happened, or why. All I know is that at one point I was on cloud nine, and then somehow I wasn't.

I was sick.

I stopped writing. I stopped drawing. I stopped making music. I stopped being me and became a shell, detached and void, just going through the motions.

It happens, I guess, but the point of it is to overcome and find yourself. So that's what I'm doing. Slowly, steadily, and surely.

Wish you could see,
the happiness that now resides in me.

Wish you could be,
pouring out your emptiness into me,

Wish you could see,
that I see everything is now a part of me.

Wish you could be.

Wish you could be.

But everything is shallowness in spite of me.

Wish you could see,
that everything is all of us, why can't you be?

The emptiness that hollows us, why can't you see?

The happiness that's all in us, why can't you be?

Why can't you be?

Why can't you be?

Wish you could see...


----
Thinking about adding some music to this one, even though I'm not sure I am quite satisfied with how it turned out--a complex idea, put simply, but perhaps a bit too subtle. I dunno, my brain hurts. I'm not going to ramble anymore at this time. Gimme your thoughts...
-AiG

For no one, everyone, and the Mother.

Fervored dreams fall apart for missed connections,
thoughtful thinking turns from favors amoungst rejections,
Strangers enter and walk away with messages hidden,
Forgotten friends that failed at listening when words were spoken,
Bellows beyond the billion begotten friendships
sold short by subtracting potential additions.

Sleeved Heart.

I used to wear my heart on my sleeve, so exposed--wounds at the slightest provocations.
My hurt would ache and burst, damage for damages' sake.
It bled to death and dried up.
I took it in my fists and crumbled it to dust to scatter in the winds
where the gusts carried it across the world and to everything within,
and my heart found new life in life and death.
Breathed anew, my love abounds in all things, and my heart is everywhere, but on my sleeve.
-Fin

So, I don't know how I feel about this one. I think it kind of gets the idea across, but I am unsure of whether to make it poetry or prose and I think the writing structure and flow suffers from my uncertainty. Either way, I'm posting it as is, and if I ever get around to editing it, then I will edit it.

What do you guys think of this one, any suggestions for me?

-AiG

The Room

There was a stillness in the room. It was the same kind of stillness noticed when a pin is dropped and echoing too loudly; or the same kind of stillness when a gentle breeze feels like a tornado.

Everyone was staring at the man with the red mustache even though they did not want to. His screams were vibrations attracting the eyes, his movements flickers of threats. No one could take their eyes off him, even though he kept shouting for everyone to look away.

It was the gun in his hand that made them all nervous, the fact that he was clearly not right shouting obscenities and waving.

"Don't look at me! Stop it! STOP. Close your fucking eyes."

A woman, in a green dress, cowering in the corner thought he must have been on drugs the way he was trembling so. The clerk behind the counter thought he might inch closer and be a hero, up until the gun was pointed at him and then he stopped cold in his tracks.

The room was so still. Everyone was frozen in their places, unable to look away as the red headed man, who was clearly not well, demanded their attention while cursing them for giving it to them.

The room was so still. No one knew who was going to die first, up until the shots rang out.

The room was so still. The first officer on the scene used his best judgement and fired two shots at the man the moment he had a clear shot. The first bullet struck the man high up in his right thigh. The second pierced his abdomen and lodged itself in his spine.

The red haired man's blood stained the tile floor. When the paramedics arrived they pronounced him dead and everyone was relieved it hadn't been them.

A young boy that had watched the whole thing cried and wished he could have helped. To his five year old eyes the poor man had clearly not been well.

Angels and Demons

Maddison was only fifteen when she lost her virginity to Tommy Porter. Tommy Porter swore his innocence even up until they found him in his cell with seven inches of plastic jutting from his neck. Maddison carried the guilt of his deed with her for the rest of her life. She carried his child too.

She even tried to love the boy, but as he grew older he looked more and more like Tommy and the monster she remembered in her nightmares. Eventually she grew detached and started shooting smack to keep her mind away.

The boy grew up and enlisted in the army where he received a congressional Medal of Honor. He never told his mother.

I used to be detached. I would sit in my room thinking that it should have been me to slide that shiv beneath Tommy Porter's chin. I felt robbed and disgusted at the atrocities mankind was capable of committing against one another. I thought I empathized with Maddison, but in truth, I felt nothing. Only hatred.

It's amazing what sociopaths do to fake it in this world.

Purging Poison

Handed poison I took it in,
I drank the poison deep within,
Let it sink and let it fester,
lost my sight for love much faster,
forgotten, food, that I was after.

I Shed my blood for poison's sake,
convinced that I was drowning in its crimson, poisoned wake.
Lost myself and felt alone,
refused the signs that were my own...

Failed to weep and failed to sleep,
Failed a promise I had yet to keep...
I cursed my poison and sealed it in,
Blinded eyes to my death within,

Let the poison fill me down.
Until my saving blood could then be found,
with humble tears and humilities,
only option to sink to my knees,
and lift my head.

Say a prayer for poison and all that's dead.

Well the poison's purged,
I have been redeemed,
turns out easier
then it ever seemed,

Well the poison's purged,
my blood's been shied,
my hands are open,
my tears have dried.

Well the poison's purged
and sent on it's way,
the world keeps turning,
into a more beautiful day.

A Guiding Light

"Bed darkness for understanding and in the morning it will be transformed to light..." -AiGe

Apply the following to all walks of life:

Do not jump at shadows, instead watch them for better understanding.

Enjoy all food. Eat whatever you want, but only when you're hungry, and stop when you are full.

Always help where you can.

Get rid of all trash properly.

Seek to make art daily.

Exercise daily.

Reach out to a different person daily so that you might know them better, but first tear down your own wall so that others can reach out to you.

Always be honest, respectful, and kind to the world around us.

Always forgive yourself your vices, but strive to make one small step every day towards overcoming them.

Apologize as needed, but apologize for nothing heedlessly.

Ask questions and observe carefully as answers are presented in mysterious, and various, ways.

Always listen, and decide for yourself what the best course will be.

Accept the things you do not understand and live with them peaceably.

Love your body and treat it well.

Love the things you have and treat them well.

Treat all things well.

Love life.

Love for the simple fact of loving.

Be proud of everything you decide to do.

Violet

Sea foam crashes against shores beneath violent tinted skies, and lightning breaks the moon dancing violet, jagged lines against the horizon. Spectators marvel at the sight; the world so round and intricate, a giant sphere of life singing and sloshing and twisting and turning. Colors bound to face so gray. Smeared and vibrant. The world hums and buzzes, a breath of fresh air. Rain drops patter gently through canopy leaves as wind sways the strong, and beneath, the thirsty drink behind their smiles.

Knowing When to Give Up

Communication fails. Thoughts turn inward upon themselves, devour words. Questions fall from swollen tongues, unasked. Who needs the trouble? Take the magic dots. Let reality alter itself. Let go of everything. Say nothing. Say nothing, say nothing...

Tearing Up

We weren't kicked out of Eden, we've been living in it this whole time, but through our greed and our hate we have fallen. Our eyes have turned and become blind. People drive cars across streets black, dotted-yellow, and red. Stained by the blood of creatures we have made prematurely dead. While crude oil spills into our sea unheeded, because we thought these machines were sorely needed. Trees felled, cut, and eyes swelled shut.
Oh, the tears, our world is crying. Oh, the tears we left in dying.

Burned Out.

It's taking forever. This candle burns, but there is no light from the flame. Only intensity. Cupped hands recoil, flex as wax sears intricate rivulet patterns through fingers. You cannot hold this.

It's taking forever. Passion burns and fizzles out while new ideas and new hopes give way to reason. Lost souls turn to lost minds as hands are forced into the fire, desperately seeking to feel the warmth, they wrap arms around and graciously accept the blistering pain, convinced there is no difference. You cannot hold this.

It's taking forever. Intensity turns you away from gazing at the sun, its presence felt, but too much to bear. Like this burning candle that screams and sears and melts its trace through your fingers, into darkness, and leaves you, wishing you could have held it.

The Siren Sung

Shut in, shut out, shut off,
Those lonely hearts with hands outstretched that call for help.
Watch them dragging others in with their descent.
Sweet Sirens' song makes sailors' bitter end.

Shut in, shut down, shut up,
Those lovely voices scream nothing far too loud.
Watch them giving in.
Sweet Sirens' song makes sailors' bitter end.

Picked up, picked apart, put down,
Those puzzled pieces left no one can ever fit.
Watch them drowning in the red.
Sweet Siren's song makes sailors' bitter end.

Pieces scattered, chewed apart,
gasping on the blood-stained rocks,
Watch them drowning in the red.
The Siren sung--the sailor's dead.

6/2/10

Ice Cold Thaw

It was January and the world outside was dead. Patches of sludgy snow still remained in spots along the streets, where the plows had come through. Trees were naked and bowing in the wind, above the muddy, brown grasses. That day, someone had removed the pure white, blanket by simply increasing the temperature.

"I don't think it really matters anymore," she said, holding the door aloft and staring through him with her ice blue eyes that refused to thaw. The bitterness of the wind outside ripped into the house and stole away the warmth. Her tone was flat and guarded.

He envisioned the dam breaking, and in his mind words rushed forward to quell the tide that was drowning the two of them. Not just any words, but the right ones, the ones that said "yes, of course it matters," and proceeded to explain exactly why. The words that could pick up all the pieces between them and make a beautiful fit.

Of course, a lump formed in his throat, and all he could think was despite the frosty, gusting winds and frigid temperatures, outside the snow still melted where it met the sun.

But there was no sun here, and she continued to stare with her frozen gaze that would not be bent. She stared long after, even, his heart had melted and formed thick, oily puddles in the snow-sludged lawn.

For a moment, he was a tree, naked, bemused, and sturdy against the wind, but hers was a gaze that refused to thaw, even after he was gone and she sealed the doors behind him.

Why to Question Everything

If only communication were simpler, more stars might then align,
and if the tools we used weren't emptier, mankind may not be so maligned,
and breaths might flow much easier, between words dying to be read,
and life could be much wealthier, between the healthier and dead,

but first you'd have to translate what the speaker has just said.

Coffee Torn, and Tears

Coffee tears at my heart,
as strings pulled lead us away,
and tides swell.
The world turns as tears fell,
but few stop to see the rain,
and behind it the sun.

Black grains at the bottoms of empty cups,
ones longing to be drunk,
and somewhere something dies,
but life continues to survive,
where the tears and love resides.

Torn heart-things, and mangled feet,
with something always just beneath,
cherished tears from underneath,
Life is all, and bitter-sweet.

Before the river floats you down.

Oh, I guess I should have seen it was over, by the fire that was in the skies, and I probably really should have been sober, but it was the quickest way to eat the lies. So I laugh as I choke and am bleeding, as the knife twists in my side. It’s just the words and their speakers that are fleeting, and memories they all subside. I guess I should have seen it was over, but the coins had already covered my eyes.

Aim, at the Water's Surface

Thoughts have turned to rocks and fallen into pockets. Held beneath the surface, drowned within the weighted absence. They may still be right here, but without semblance to their former selves.

Cut into high, just another burden bleeding out. Weight misplaced. Let it burden something else.

The water likes to run, as pockets filled, pulled pebbles into sand-like-mud. And everything's relapsed, as thoughts have turned to sand and within they have collapsed.

Cut into high, some one come and cut this burden out. Weightless place. Let it burden something else.

Stones skip the surface of a pond where counting seven ripples observes that despite their majestic arcs gliding across the water; rocks, like thoughts, still fall and sink to the bottom where they become nothing and meaningless

and then become food for something else.

Beautiful Reconstruction

You see,

Nothing is consistent, not even being beautifully destroyed;

Our fate was cast, it had already been chosen, and everything we ever did all amounted up yet gover'n', so we stood our ground and claimed "We've been deceived!", and this how the answer put us on our knees:

'cause the time had come, but we refused to see, we still all thought we each were better than he. So the skies stayed empty, the world stayed closed, and each cried murder, to all of those.

Well ,the skies opened up, and the clouds dropped in, the heavens cried out and tears washed in; just another mourning for those living within; "just another morning for us, let us beg for our sin."

'cause the time had come, one we should have conceived, but we handed over everything and pissed it through our knees. It was time to pay the maker now she said "You have been deceased."

And all we could think to do was stare up and say "Please?"

Well the skies opened up but the gates were closed, "all them mother fuckers looking down their nose," all of which were just trying to see "which one of I, am I better than… These?"

'Cause the time had come we had been diseased. We have raped, plundered, and beaten everything down 'till it bleeds; we've been raped and plundered beaten, even down to our knees, but the time is well past to confess our woe...

It’s time to head forward; it’s time to go.

So the skies opened up and the floods rushed in, and the world started burning from a fire within; everything it has to perish before it can be cleansed.

That’s the beauty of a story of inconsistencies and strife,
the beauty of the dying and in death, there’s after, life.


...you see our fate was cast it had already been chosen.

Rest and Relaxation

Sometimes I think I shouldn't be left alone. Other times I can't wait to be rid of these people. I guess it all depends on the contents of the day.

Like what they served for breakfast.
"Man, that orange sausage again?" Someone would say.
"Yeah, and yesterday's eggs."
"Ah well, at least the banana is fresh."
"Yeah, but you better give it to Betsy, she likes bananas."

Short one banana later, I'd pick at the eggs for our allotted thirty minutes and throw the meal away. They didn't like it when I didn't eat my meals, but they didn't like a lot of things.

I really couldn't stand any of them. They made my skin crawl, and I couldn't bare the thought to be without them. The nurse who stabbed me in the arm in the middle of each night. The tech and how she watches, making me stand there, before her, as I swallow the rainbow assortment of pills she gives me. The smelly kid that sits alone and only plays puzzles. The girl with the scars that looked like mine.

I came to rely on all of them. They had become a part of my daily life, my routine. They had become a part of me. All of them, whether I wanted them to or not.

I hated that part of me. I hated everything about it. I hated myself, naturally everything that made me what I was. It was why I wanted to be left alone. It made me need them even more, driving me to hate myself further.

It was one giant interrelated circle of self loathing and negativity, and it was the only thing keeping me alive. I couldn't be self destructive because they were always watching, always there, a burning lifeline of insanity.

And then they kicked me out.

Tribute to MLK Jr.

I wrote this weeks in advance with the intentions of posting it on January 15th, because January 15 happens to be a very important day. Of course, I misplaced the notebook and only found it today, but late is better than never. Here are some words I wrote in commemoration of the late Martin Luther King Jr. who happened to be born on the same day as myself.

I believe that my beliefs don't matter. I believe that everyone should be allowed to be themselves, and I believe that the natural progression of life will eventually sort it's way out.

Until that time comes, I believe it is our responsibility as humans to be honest, respectful, and to own up to our actions. I believe it is our duty, as human beings, living upon Earth, to take responsibility, to stand up, and to become stronger, kinder, people.

I believe that we must help our neighbors, be them friends or enemies, selflessly. I believe that if we are to survive we must learn tolerance. Tolerance of all things, not just color or sexual preference. Tolerance of life.

I believe that we have all forgotten of what it means to be tolerant of life. Throw away your debit and credits, step outside. Take off those expensive sneakers and step out onto the ground. Walk barefoot down the driveway to an empty mailbox, or is it one filled with empty bills, because we all know real mail stopped coming long ago.

It hurts. That's life. Feel the stones beneath your feet. Feel your feet strengthen beneath the weight of your body. That's life too. Get out and get in it and live.

I believe we have been living dead in this life for far too long and now it is time to grow.

-That's my thoughts.
AiG

"Make yourself as small as possible. Then grow." -Anonymous

World Aflame

"They have to go and save themselves," said Charlemagne Ulrick, a dentist in Port-au-Prince in the aftermath of Haiti's devastating quake. "I don't know when they're coming back." He was referring to his children, after he sent them off to a different part of the country, in hopes of survival.

His words should weigh heavily upon all our hearts. After all, isn't it true that we all have to go and save ourselves? Can we really sit around and expect someone else to come our way and solve our problems? Of course not.

Sure, some people can help, but in the end, whether we succeed or fail all depends on one thing and one thing only--ourselves. We are all guilty of carrying this mentality. It is exactly why we are all so self-centered and the world is as bad as it is today.

We've all been burned so many times by everyone around us, or we've been brainwashed into that not-good-enough attitude that we've grown up being bombarded with by the media and the government. We have been taught, or convinced, that no one in the world can help us except ourselves.

Why else is there so much violence and rioting in the wake of any natural disaster? Disasters are just that--disastrous--and they come in all shapes and sizes. When they strike people suffer, and when people suffer they are at their worst. It is that single idea that no one can help me but me that drives us all to madness.

It's really damn sad. What happened to mankind as a whole that we've ceased to see the entire world around us and started seeing the world as a simple extension of ourselves? Why can't we get passed our egotistical way of thinking? Or has it always been in our nature to center life upon ourselves?

I have no answers, but kudos to those that are lifting their hands to help, even if they are turning blind eyes to all the suffering going on around us every day. Kudos to those that give back to the world where and what they can. Never mind that what one person can give may completely dwarf someone else's lesser contribution. Let's all look to Haiti right now, because, obviously their problems are a lot worse then everyone else's and it is easier to lend a hand to someone that is not your neighbor.

Broken

Is it true we're all just damaged goods? Pushed aside and swept away. Show me your scars and I'll tell you all about mine. Laughing hysterically at the pain. Thinking god, just delete, just delete this. Delete everything. Erase, backspace, try again. Start over. There is no starting over. Broken and bound and determined to exist when all there is to gain is failure. Where has my mind gone? I don't even know. My focus has gone to shit. I think the infection has set into my brain. The poison spreads unchecked and everything it all decays.

Bringing in the New Year: How to fail at life with Facebook and other Cosmic Ironies

My brain's a little fuzzy, so I'll try hard to keep this sensible and brief. So I've been getting a lot of questions as to why I deleted my Facebook profile lately. The answer to that is simple.

I'm an idiot. As such, I sometimes do really stupid things. Deleting Facebook wouldn't have been one of them, had I understood Facebook's crazy Terms of Service before attempting to do so.

No, it was what I did before deleting Facebook that was stupid, and for that I'm sorry. It's why November was erased, for all the good of doing it, and if you don't know what I'm talking about it is better off that way.

So I thought I could delete Facebook and start another profile that would be more relevant to my writing company, but apparently, that's not how things work with Facebook. I'm still trying to figure out exactly how things do work for that government run site, but I'm not trying too terribly hard, because Facebook, as personal as it was, was turning me into an obsessive, crazy person.

So as it stands, no Facebook. Maybe later. Maybe not.

Now with that out of the way, let me tell you about how I was fully prepared to start this New Year off right, and how it got twisted all around.

For the last several days before the year ended, I was really trying hard to get back to my roots. I had taken to walking barefoot just about every where I went, including a four hour hike around downtown Fort Lauderdale, just because I could.

Yes, it sounds stupid, but believe it or not, my feet felt great. I started walking over gravel and glass. I started using a trashcan as target practice and taught myself how to throw rocks and macadamia nuts by holding them between my toes. My aim was getting pretty good. I was gearing myself up for 4 mile daily runs.

On January 1st my cat ran away and got himself thoroughly stuck in a palm tree, wedged between the fronds. With some help of a neighbor and his ladder, I climbed up and saved him. He clawed me up and ran away again. I guess there should have been a lesson in that somewhere.

A couple days later, I had shoes on and was walking to the store less than a block from my house. I stepped off the sidewalk to give a bicycler more room and was instantly mugged by twelve inches of angry wood chip.

I never even saw it coming. The damn thing stabbed right into my foot right above my shoe and punctured through to bone. So much for bare feet and running. I can no longer put any weight on my right heel. According to the hospital I'm at "severely high risk" of getting a bone infection. Well, I can still walk on my toes, and I have a cane.

There's probably a lot of lessons that could be pulled out of this story. Like, don't try to save a cat because he will just maul you, and remember bicyclers should be on the street so make them yield to pedestrians. Maybe we could simplify that. Don't do anything for anyone, because it's just going to get you fucked up.

No, I don't actually mean that, but there is some beautiful irony in the whole situation. I think what really should be learned from this is that we should pay attention to our surroundings, and stop acting like we are the only people alive on this planet.

I guess all I'm saying is things don't go according to plan and life is full of setbacks. Well, I for one aim to be back wandering downtown barefoot and flinging rocks just as soon as I am able. Oh, and I'll be running too. Unless maybe, I lose my foot...

Keep ya posted.
AiGe

You can delete November, but you can't delete the program.

I was having a rare conversation once with a good friend. It was the kind of rare conversation that only comes around a couple times more often than Hailey's comet. I was actually talking about myself.

We were talking about how when I was young I used to be a clown, always ready to say what I thought and more energy than I knew what to do with. While on the subject my friend asked what happened that made me change from being that boy.

I answered her succinctly. "I was brainwashed."

I like telling that story, because the irony of it is what's so damn funny these days. Especially for a meat package like myself. Just one more walking meal among another hundred million, or however the hell many of us there are these days.

You see, all us Synthetics have it rough like that. We've all been brainwashed. We've been brainwashed since day one of our creation into thinking we're real. The growing and cultivating process is just added layers of brainwashing. We're told all the little things we do matter, as our friends get eaten around us.

We are brainwashed into thinking life still exists, but it doesnt. The program is there, in the back of our sentience for anyone with the consciousness to look. We're all just food for the flesh eaters. Synthetically grown as a last ditch effort to keep the zombies occupied while life attempted to exist.

It didn't. There's a subsidized file where the last living human saved his good bye to the universe and died. It was dated with a date now rendered irrelevant with the passing of society. You see nothing mattered. The machines will always just keep making more of us machines and the living dead will keep on being dead. Being dead and eating us. Time doesn't hold any relevance in a society of nothing but robots and the dead.

So maybe now you understand the irony when I tell you I changed because I was brainwashed. We've all been brainwashed for such a long time. We're really just complex functions within even more complex functions playing out in an endless loop, all trying to distract us from the fact that we are nothing but food.