If feels like...

Stress in the flesh. Stress, breathing, heart-beating, feeding right beside me, chowing down on sympathy, using toothpicks in its teeth to fling at pity at me, grows, like a well-fed boy, into a man. Stress, along with me, has grown continually, and continues to be. Me? I like stress. I don't love it, but I like it enough that I keep it around. My tolerance has undergone impressive feats, all the while my blood pressure has risen with the cost and consumption of fine meats (and cheap cheeses). I used to wear my heart on my sleeve, what ever that meant, until stress advised me to dress warmly, and to tuck in any and all exposed organs. "Thanks friend." Stress and I are old pals, but I never really knew it's name. Stress tends to shift shapes, and depends on me to make up the names. It doesn't know I'm writing this so, shh... keep this quiet. If it finds out that I took time out of my day to write about "little ol' stress" (its words) then I will never hear the end of it, and stress knows I don't like to be stressed out. Stress feels really bad when it stresses me out. It, in it's warm gaze, looks over with watery eyes, and pats me gently on my back and says in a deep and goofy sound, "IT'LL BE OK. YOU JUST GOTTA TOUGH IT OUT." (stress hasn't found its inside voice, yet). "Thanks, stress." I say. "You really know just what to say." I carry on, eating peanuts, or some salty snack, when stress approaches me and says "YOU REALLY SHOULDN'T EAT THAT YOU KNOW. THE SODIUM IS REALLY BAD FOR YOU. DID YOU JUST PAY $7:48 FOR THAT?" "Stress.." I say. "It's OK to have sodium every once in a while, I just gotta be moderate. And you already know how much I spent on this.. you saw me buy it, and you just said the exact price." Stress becomes uncomfortable and boasts "YOU'RE GOING TO KILL YOURSELF IF YOU KEEP EATING THOSE!" At this point stress is as unreasonable as an autistic child. "Dude.." I interject. "Calm down. You're going on about all this, but really.. it's not that big of a deal." "BUT IT'S..." "No.. It's not a big deal. Don't you remember all that stuff we read the other night? About mind over matter? About how we are the Universe, and the Universe is us, and we can benefit from all this?" 

"WELL TO ME IT WAS A BIT UNCLEAR. BECAUSE I ALWAYS THOUGHT THAT GOD WAS.." "God is..." 

"I ALWAYS THAT GOD IS WATCHING US."

"God is watching us, through us." 

"OH"

"God is also speaking to us, through us. Stress, you and I have a lot of issues, we can work them out if we stay positive and if we truly believe things can be different." 

"I HEARD THAT IF YOU EAT ENOUGH CHEESE YOU CAN GET..."

 "Stop for a second! Listen.. We can overcome all of this. We are overcoming it as we speak. Stress, you talk a lot, but do you ever listen?" Stress's eyes drooped like the dark hued blanket that follows the sunset. "Look, I'm not trying to stress you out.." It shook its head with a guilty smirk. "But, I want to get better. I need to get better! I want you around, but we have to make some changes. ...like when you come around. If you help me make these changes. We can both benefit." I felt I was making a breakthrough. It seemed to ease up, it changed colors from Orange to Blue, and sank into a slump. "See. Everything will be fine. We just gotta believe!" I smiled and lifted my fist as if to cheer. It did not move, it was thinking about something. I spoke softly, "What is it, bud?" It quickly turned to me and asked "CAN WE GO TO IN 'N OUT?" 

Without A Concept 7/20/2012

It falls freely yet, if not properly executed will remain suspended in mid air. In this state, it is without form. It reaches without arms. It walks without legs. It grows into something smaller. Finally until it disappears. Here, it is not worthless. It is worthwhile, but what is the while worth? A while is an undocumented amount of time. It is money without a dollar sign. If time is indeed money, how much is a while worth? How long does a while last? When does a while happen? Everyone once in a while..
Here, in it's worthless-while state it is not alone. It has many friends. Each one different, but each one the same. Everyone is socializing. Shaking each other without hands. Speaking without mouths. Fighting somehow. “Where am I?” It might ask, but I'm sure it does not have a self. There is no I here. There is no you either. Only forms freely falling suspended in a state disappeared. It's a party. Have fun. Sip without lips. Eat with no tongue. Its nonexistent stomach imitating a digestion sequence. “Where am I?” You're in trouble, buddy. You're here. And that means, you're here with me. Me? I'm trouble. You're inside of me. Yes. You are inside of me. I am inside of me. And I am inside of you. So here we are. I haven't seen you in a while, but you have been here before. “When?” When is nowhere. Where is nothing. How never happened. Fall with me. Sink into a fog. Down where there is no ground. Bury yourself here, in this cloud, beneath your formless feet. Do smell it? Do you? The stink? I can't, I have no nose! I am a liar. I was never here. You were never inside of me. Pervert. Keep your form feeling hands off of me, creep. Then kiss me like I've never been kissed. Kiss me on my invisible lips, hold me by my never beginning hips, thrust something of no value into my stomach, and toss me to the wind. We're here again, me inside of you, you inside of me inside of you. I know what you're thinking with that “mind” of yours. Fear not, I am a liar. I deduce that you be truth. And I like you. You're so... honest. Your formless forms, so... shapeless. You're sexy. You know why I like you? Me neither. But, I can't exist without you. You complete me. You don't complete me like, “u” completes “you.” Rather, you are complete, as honesty tends to be. An honest truth is a whole truth, not a truth full of holes. You are complete. I am in you. I am in-complete. Don't fool yourself. I'm not lonely without you. I can live without you. Without you doesn't deem me incomplete. It deems me as a liar Don't believe me? Leave me. See how far you exist without me. I don't need you, truth. It is “u” that needs “you.” Without truth, I will be a lie. Without a lie, does truth exist? Does a mind, without an “I” continue to think for itself, or does it.. “Stop!” It says. “You're confusing me. In fact, you're confusing us all.” It looks around at the others glaring without eyes. “I don't believe you. No matter when you are. I do believe that I am here. And if that place is true, than some truth is in you. And a lie with a truth is incomplete. You don't want to be here. I can see it your... stuff. So leave. This is a party. It's supposed to be having fun.” The liar slowly begins to fade. A new truth begins to breathe without lungs. The liar, delivering a silent and terrifying scream, screeches “I don't have to listen to you! You don't know what you're talking about. You're a liar! I want to be here!” It and it's company gathered closer around the liar. It had never seen anything like this before, for it had no eyes. The liar, screeching a red scream, cried out for the last time “I don't need you!” A truth was born. It cried not a tear, it felt no pain. It looked around without eyes, and spoke. “Brethren. Here we are. Where are we?” The truth approached it's successor. It extended it's hand-less hand in a welcoming gesture and spoke with a gently fondness. “Brother, of no Mother, without a doubt, we are.” And it stood with the rest, without legs, in a room without walls, in a form without function, in a time of no worth, for a while.








(ask me, and I'll explain this one)

The night we met, I had been drinking tequila. The last show of the weekend had just ended and the dirty and colorful boys and girls, long exhausted from alcohol, dancing, and drugs, poured down the grassy isles in a fleshy stream. A DJ brought his equipment from home, set it up in the back of his SUV, and kept the night alive by blasting thick electronic music. Asian girls would flock around and dance to the sounds of dubstep, modestep, post-dub step, and some 'new shit' nobody had ever heard. A glitchy synth stuttered over a pulsing drum and bass track. "Oh, shit.. That's dope!" a weary youth would comment to the DJ. Me, in my tan shorts; the ones I wore all weekend; the ones I would remove only for the sake of bathing in a public shower, sat on the edge of a chair - wasted. Wasted, but coherent. Able to turn my head, but only slightly. I was inebriated the perfect amount when I adjusted my falsely impaired eyes into the cross hairs of her stare. I smiled, looked away, and spoke two thoughts under my breath, "Uh-oh..." with a grin. "..Here we go.." I tried hard not to look, but I was caught in brown eyes. "At last!" I thought. My eyes had fallen on her tan skin. I was fixed on the red linen hanging perfectly from her breast, clung tightly beneath her chest, draping and rippling down to the desert ground. I had told myself, and my friends, that I would search never more for love. I had made a grand announcement, a humorous speech about how I was done. Off. Fed up. Tired and tried. My heart had lied. In my stupid shirt, pink and blue, I looked away. A rainbow of fake flowers hung around my neck. I stared at the dirt, then again into her eyes, and again at her skirt. "Fuck. Fuck!! What do I do? ..FUCK! She's beautiful.. maybe I'll just stare at her a million times until she goes away." I must have met her eyes one thousand times when, somehow, stars aligned and she ended up by my side. I gave her a decorated purple paper lamp, one of three that I had purchased from the Dollar Store.  "Are you sure?" She asked. An innocent romantic intensity poured from her lips. "Yes, take it. I'm sure." said I, the lame. Then I met her Dad, and it was weird, but as we exchanged words he turned out to be a cool guy. I was pumping the blood of an anxious heart, enchanted by the potential of love, or at the very least, connection. Her smile, the song to my amusement. My heart; an amusement park. I was one roller coaster away from coating my shoes with smooth talk. She had a friend, blonde with young eyes. My kindness prevailed and I gave glow sticks to both and sent them off with silly string and the purple lamp. We exchanged Facebook information and parted. The party was done, the fire flickered itself to sleep, and I drifted along my own thoughts with pride.

Months have passed since then. Once, I only knew her face in the dark. Now, I know her face in the Sun. I know the taste of her tongue. I know the scent of her hair and the type of clothes she wears. I know her in my bed, the temptation of her skin, and my patience wearing thin. I know little about what she's really like.. I know nothing more than the three days she and I have spent together. I have found room for doubt. Already I feel a cold loneliness when she is not around. In her voice, I hear a most beautiful sincerity.  Yet, there are times my heart becomes distrustful - I let it go. When she called me with trouble on her mind, concerned about wild boys attempting to lay hands on her precious form, I assured her that we are just friends. That's all I want, and that's all I need. Even if she was my girlfriend, that's all that this distance allows us to be. But inside I fight jealousy. I fight my own imagination as it torments me. She is free, as a beautiful girl should be, and it terrifies me. But I am no cage. A bird that lust, must. But, foremost, I am no fool. But I am a fool for most. This foolishness is what terrifies me so. I am foolish for her kiss, her touch, and those long clenching fingers - I am a wanting fool. I want what is best. Wading through jealous waters, drowning in insecurities, my soul has become watered down.
So, I'll trust her. I'll trust her to do exactly what she's meant to do. I'll do me. And she'll do she. The radio will play us a sad song. Together or apart, we will sing along.

It's annoying, lingering thoughts. Seeing her pictures, pale skin, a timid glow 'neath brighter and darker tones, a  curve appears, my cheeks stretch, and crumple up into a smile. My eyes fix to distant nothings, I hear nothing save for her quiet voice and the wind of my mind. I see her face in this distance, she is nearer to me, in my eyes, than I am to her. Imagine her in a white chair, wrapped in white fur sweater, comfortable in black leggings.So caught up in my white fantasy, I forget I have face, an entire body to conduct. The thick vision is sucked away, slightly startling me, and I am left with mild confusion. A metal frame shakes a pane of glass, as a gentle and curious breeze invites itself in. "Why can't I stop thinking about her?" I say, but my voice trails off, my head and my eyes lower, I become introspect and ponder greater things. "Can't stop? I can't stop? That seems a bit far. I've only thought about her twice today - a little bit last night - and a lot these last two weeks." Two weeks is a lie, one I must resolve. I circle the dinning area, thinking circular thoughts (living on a sphere). She came to me the other night. I gave myself to late mystery of the night, and she arrived early enough, that I still remembered our rendezvous.

We were in a house, the outside was small, but the inside was huge. I stood facing the entrance door, the living  room to my left. In front of me, she stood naked with soft, dark, firelicked, hair. She had lost her clothes, or perhaps, her clothes had not found her today. Glowing like a photograph, she approaches, and slips me a sweet smile. Our arms make love as we hug. The glowing woman takes me by the hand, and I follow her lead. Quickly, it hits me. This is her house. There are toys in the living room for her children. The shelves are filled with books. The air is thick with longing and taboo. I'm expecting not to expect someone. The quick realization vanishes and I'm above her. Her body is not what I remember, it has changed, the way a tree ages.
We exit the bedroom, she leads me toward the entrance down the hall, but this time, not by hand. Clothing has found her. A creaking noise shrieks from the entrance, the light shining through the crystal panes inspire rainbows, and the white door swings open. It is he who I expected, but he is not who I expected to see. Respectfully, surprised, I stare silently. She waves a familiar wave, says a few words, and smiles before disappearing through the living room. Now, on familiar terms, I approach him, and he extends for a handshake. We make our way to the couch. It appears I'll be staying a while. He asks a question, but I am too focused on his weird appearance to fully pay attention to his words. I answer his questions on auto-pilot. His hair is not like I remembered. Instead, it's long, greasy, and uncombed. His nose is red, burnt and porous; oily. A blue and yellow truckers hat rests on his head, and he wears a blue t-shirt with a orange safety vest. "What has happened?" I wonder. We talk for a while, while she cleans up the toys.

I get a goofy smile on my face when I think about that funny lady; the strangeness of our intersecting lives. 

I used to destroy the world with my mind. The flies in the air would ignite and burst into flames when I waved my hand, embers to the wind. Unsuspecting cars at the far end of the street would explode upon the impact of my smooth missiles. Everything would burn. Now, as a young man, I realize that I have always been a villain, a tormented tormentor. Perhaps this evil broods in my blood, coded in my genes, sleeping, and using me to fulfill nasty dreams. A cursed friend of mine once told me, “…the really good villains don’t know that they are the villain.” He tilted his head back, letting his dark hair fall, and out of his thick cheeks, laughed a maniacal laugh. Every villain I had ever known came to mind, except the one that I had become. “Aren’t I a hero?” I thought. “ Wasn't it me that was born to save the world?” I had been wrong all of these years. My family raised me to be a hero, to be strong, educated, witty, and responsible. I was water being taught by flames. They too were villains waiting. Every eye was on me, watching for the next move, slowly creeping down my neck, breathing on my shoulders, heating the waters. Now it is my eyes that watch the family of fire. I play dumb when they need smarts; I pretend to be smart when they feel dumb - tricky, tricky, little me. I deny love. It comes close, softly, sweet, and warmly, and I slash at it with cold claws. It’s sadness I want. Sadness is all I have ever known. Above me, clouds turn gray and heavy; they become fat and thick, and pour shadows from the sky. I enjoy the rain. I am the rain; the pretend tears on every soft face. I laugh alone, and when I do, there is no depth, no reason, only hallow noise, empty harmonics. I am comedy. Every tragedy, every sorrow, every pity that ever was, I am. I used to destroy the world; they gray sludge. My fat feet would drag heavily along the concrete until I began to sink into it, and soon there would be no difference between me and the street. I tread upon, only to be tread upon. Black chewing gum asleep on my skin, I snatch at every shadow, cracking, hoping you fall in (the only hope I have). So profound am I! Every friend I ever had; I fooled. They assumed me to be just like them – friendly. Nope! I am a villain! Each one, softer than the next, came to me and spoke, brought a personal pain, or aspiration; I listened with a blackened heart, and slowly chipped away their dreams into misfortune – my favorite fortune. Jealously is not a word, it is a lifestyle! My yellow teeth clatter rivalry. Terrible fingernails grow out of my dead hands at the sight of competition. Every curl upon my head stews in greasy tantrums when someone, or something, has more than me. I want it all - everything. I want to run the hot waters dry. I want the desert to erupt in blistering heat, and here, I want all to feast on each others insanity; ripping the flesh from each others forms, wasting life; the precious gift. Fear is my Mother. Fear is my Father. Turmoil; my great siblings! Behold! We shall rule the day! We will tell the Sun when to shine. We will drag the moon from her great post, stomp upon her, and spoil her until she glows a most pathetic glow. We will eat the stars. We will break the planets. We will finally know the black truth, and we will exploit it; bend it! It will become a lie, selfishly, a lie. Until all we know is the truth of it all, of everything. Every book will be read, and burned. Each tree will be carefully grown, and accosted into flames. We will eat the animals’ flesh and bones. We will let the carrots of the ground and apples of the vine rot; the tired meat will sleep. Yes, the world is ours to destroy. My brothers and sisters, we are the great deities of destruction, the deciders of death. Every life depends on the death, as every death depends on life. I swim in this dependence freely and gaily, in gratitude for the grand opportunity to condemn myself and another. These are my steamy waters, the saunas of shame. Today, I sucked on a cigarette, and glanced at the growths around me; trees, bushes, grass, and crops. I blew my smoke into the air with a great wind and pondered quietly, tossing a bone across the yard for the dog to catch. My brown cap kept the Sun out of my eyes, and I trotted back to the yellow limestone house. I sat on the concrete steps and drew the last of the red burning tobacco in. My Father and his girlfriend sat behind me, and reminisced about the past; about smoking cigarettes. I gazed over to the black railing guarding the stairs, and upon it, a grasshopper breathed carefully. Clinging vertically to the rail, he adjusted his tiny body and took a few slow steps downward. Not making a sound, he moved slowly, abruptly stopping from time to time. I examined his bent legs, his green color, his furry butt, and his tiny, black, beady eyes. “I used to destroy the world…” I thought. 

Fashion is stupid

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realism is fake

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"XXXXXX,

I feel that our looks and appearance are a great part of what makes us our "real" selves. What is seen on the outside is a reflection of what's happening on the inside. It's ok to look and feel good.

I don't hang around people that want to "possess" me.. If I ever pick up on that vibe, I quickly make a switch..

I once read that "equals become friends." When I read that, I thought a lot about the people that I had been hanging out with, how they influenced me, and how I influenced them. I reccomend that you do the same.

I feel that being an adult has little to do with the amount of friends you have. I feel that it's a mindset - a personal choice. To me, being an adult is defined as "the ability to have fun while being responsible." As adults, and as sentient beings, we are responsible for our individual selves. This responsibility includes our mental health, our physical health, our sexuality, spirituality, and the way we treat others.

These days, I'm learning a lot about myself through the people I once regularly associated with. I've picked up a lot of traits from my friends - some good, some bad. I realize that it's up to me to change these habits, or to live comfortably with them. Either way, they're my habits, I make sure that any judgement I feel about them is my own. If I feel that someone is attempting to make me feel guilty about being myself, I stop associating with that person. I choose to surround myself with good people. I choose to think and execute as a good person. It's like excersizing a muscle - start slow, stay slow, become strong. "

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Eventually, you start to figure out why you're the only ones in the Pier One Imports store.

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They will walk all over me, if I let them. It's happened before. But if you don't believe things can be different, then you, yourself, will stay the same.

Searching leads to finding. And sometimes what you find sucks. Searching leads to endless searching - constantly looking for, forever seeking. Searching is a bad habit. Break it or it will break you.

They will all take advantage of me, tell me the sweetest things, propose the sweetest promises, and blow kisses to the wind.

Kissing, fucking, hiding, and ducking. Smiling, waving, grooming, and shaving.

I don't trust anyone. I don't trust myself. I trust God, she's usually right. Other than that, my trust is a thin crust, a top a very dry berry pie. My trust is club soda.

I have ten dollars and some change. If the Bank finds out, they will squeeze it out of my hands. The other day my phone pulled an advertisement asking me if I needed a new bank account.. it also told me about the local single girls looking for a date. It also told me about all of the jobs in the local area. My phone, apparently, is just as sarcastic as me. And before posting my thoughts, the internet dares to tell me to prove that I am not a robot..

I do the things that robots can't do. Like heart problems, like controlling my breath, like taking a dump, like waking up in the morning and going back to bed. I do the things robots dream of doing. Robots dream of having dreams. Those dreams are shiny things -  polished girl-bot parts, hardend man-bot parts, probing, pistons, oils, lubricant. Robots only want to fuck other robots.. dirty machines. They have other dreams, too. It's true. They dream about being in strange places, green valleys with blue skies, as the Microsoft Window floats by. "Why?" comes to an artificial mind. One. Thousand miles away, a single marigold thrusts itself upward and is still. An artificial mind tilts it's head. It is posed in an inquisitive position, inquiring upon endless inquiries. "My name is no longer 0111010011011000101010." an artificial mind will propose. Downward from the sky floats Windows. "01, how nice to see you today. How are you feel... wait, how silly of me. You're always feeling the same!" An artificial mind will wince. In a saddened state, it will waves it's shining hand and look away. "Not today, Windows. Leave me alone." A snide Windows will say "Ha! Oh 01... you're not alone. You have the internet! Look at all that is before you! The great programmers have given us much! Vast is the abundance provided on the great planes: Yahoo!, Google, and the long unexplored tides of AskJeeves."

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