More revisions for you to hateIf all else in this world is imagined, just some fever-induced dream of mine, you are the only reality that I can hold on to. You are the only thing that I can feel is real, the only thing of substance in my mind and heart. Everything else may pass away and my world would be no different, but if you were to be taken away then what point would there to anything? You are the movement of muscle and bone, the electrical impulse that electrified my heart to beatÂ
Have you ever come around a corner in an art museum and been thrown emotionally a back by a masterpiece? It moves you so much that your eyes open unblinkingly wide, you breath in the fullest expanse of your lungs, the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention, the tips of your fingers tingle for want of a tactile desire to feel itÂs greatness, your head floats back and forth trying to take it all in without missing a single point of color? You are that masterpiece to me. You are the greatest, most perfect, designed to make my heart stir, poetic masterpiece. You contain every color that I love in the exact amounts that I love them, and in combinations that I never realized could so move me. I try to take you in in one look, but it is impossible. You are all encompassing. You are everything I never knew I could ever want and need.
Unhidden agendaHow do I put it to words?These affections that are returned, but undesired. Genius she is. Perfection her bones."I have to learn to think more of myself. I should not make her my motivation," are her words.Motivation: That which gives purpose and direction to behavior.She is the first ripple in the sea of my life. The first movement. I canÂt ignore it. She is motivation, the movement of my flesh and soul.Each breath without her goes no further than my throat. My heart accepts no strength devoid of her.What is my motivation now? Me, the man trained to sacrifice self for others? Me, the man who has already accomplished every selfish thing he desired? She was the key to reviving my long since lifeless soul. The key to the once believed unturnable lock. She has freed my desire, but what good is freedom if you have no purpose?When she awoke it she branded my soul hers. Beaten and abused as it may be, it is all I have and I offer it to you.
Superhero
Ever felt like a superhero? Like you could defend the weak and helpless? That you would do so no matter what the pain and sacrifice to yourself? I feel as if I should be a superhero. Just the idea of it all seems so novel. As a superhero I could help the weak and abused, yet resend to my alter ego when I wanted to avoid the praise and veneration. My idea does have one major flaw. To be a superhero you need a superpower. What is my super power? The ability to read emotions? The ability to manipulate thoughts? Double jointedness? Can any of these count? I once thought I could talk to cats, however that seems more like a woman's superpower. But all hope is not lost, for there are those superheroes with absolutely no super powers to speak of. All they have is the desire to help those in need. I have that desire! I will be a superhero! Now all I need to do is make a super suit with "MEOW-MAN" on it.
ThoughtI am between two different worlds.One a budding star.The other a world powerful and strong, formed and unique from all others.How can I choose? Why would they choose me?Can my self-created-externally-influenced world continue to exist? Will I consume the budding star, dooming her to be a single light among hundreds? Or can two so distinct worlds exist around the same sun?When they collide will they crumble, their pieces only to be recognized as the two great worlds they once were?Or will their brilliant pieces yearn to be together forming a new unparalleled unique creation?
Freedom
Death comes swiftly for those who ride her wings.Diving, twirling, plummeting,she wrenches life from itÂs chains.Unseen she causes fear.Those observing feel no pain.Sleeping, waking, loving, hating she makes no distinctions.Her black wings envelop all of mankindÂs oceans.Find her calling card in spears, guns, knifes, and potions.
InstitutionsThere are two main institutions in life. The institutions of higher learning, A.K.A. university, and the institution of marriage. While ease dropping on a coffee shop conversation last night I heard a woman say that marriage is the most horrible of all institutions. I wondered what it was that made her draw such a conclusion. This was my queue to hold my book in the direction of the conversation, so as to hear better. Soon she revealed that she had been through a horrible marriage. There was the reason. Maybe the institution of marriage is very closely related to the institution of higher learning. Almost anyone can go to a community college, or a technical college, but you will gain less than if you had attended a prestigious university. However, to be accepted into the prestigious university you have to put forth effort before you even get there. You have to do well in high school; you have to do well on your application; you have to do well in community activities... Then after you get there the real work begins. The point to working hard at it is: the more work you put in to your college career the more you will get out of it. The institution of marriage also has its different levels. You can have a community college marriage, a technical college marriage, or you can have a Harvard marriage. It all depends on what kind of effort you put forth before the marriage even begins. Then after you have been accepted in to the marital "bonds" you must work hard to keep that Harvard or Cambridge marriage. If you start to slip or slack at your work you will start to fail and you will either be kicked out or graduate with nothing to offer. I believe the coffee shop lady had a community college marriage.
Poetry
It was in her eyes that you could see it. The reflection of endless thoughts.
Walking Backwards
There were two of me: Good Christian (Insert Name Here) who wanted to be normal and lead an exemplary life, and dark degenerated (Insert Name Here) who lived only to lust. Sometimes, in the study, I'd look out the window and watch the sun disappear behind a wooly, navy-blue cloud, and the cloud's core would be dark but its edges would be gilded like my unwanted goodness. That's what I was. I was a gilt-edged cloud with a core of darkness.
Sleepless nightsLast night I found I was unable to allow myself to find the pillow packed in some unlabeled box. There was no point really. I refused to go to sleep for more important things were needing to be addressed. Most of the night was spent looking through the ceiling during my conversation with Jehovah. My dreams of late have forced me to realize that I am not comfortable with what I have done in the past few years. I contemplated all night and in conversation with Jehovah what my next step would be. Finding that no writing appeared on the wall I got up, put on some, when it's dark only, clothes and headed to the local hall. I sat there wondering when the angel would appear. Suddenly I realized that if it did I would be scared out of my mind. Considering the matter I decided that the fear it would cause would only strength my respect for Jehovah. "Please, put the fear in me" I prayed "please, let me see something." Alas, nothing was there. Not being completely without hope I got out of the car and decided to bury a number of coins underneath the air conditioner. Why, I can't really say. I just felt moved to. Then it hit me. Jehovah can't make something wonderful appear for me and not anyone else. It would be unfair. "I promise I won't tell anyone", was the next prayer I gave. Apparently, Jehovah has been watching me and knows I can't be trusted. I drove off still looking for a tree to move, or the sound of thunder in a cloudless sky. But what I heard was merely the noise of my poor old muffler asking for a quick death. As I walked back into my bare apartment I began to write. The writing was so quick and furious that I don't believe any but I could make it out. It's probably better that way. Tonight I go back and to see what has become of the coins! :)'
What makes deciding so hard?Do you ever find that you look back on a decision and wonder if you actually made it, or was it just that you ran out of time and knew one must be made? How do you feel about such decisions? I usually feel they are not best, but are merely better than nothing. I don't know if that is true or not. I guess it matters what you would do with the nothing. Would it force you to look for what you really wanted or would it just cause you to literally do nothing? I hate that time is so precious. I must make the most of every bit of time I have or I will just be wasting what can never be recovered.
Kitchen life
A flash image of what I think married life with you will be like:ItÂs some time after six in the evening. You are cooking something that I do not recognize, but smells delightful with spices and bitters. I just sit and watch you in the kitchen. I canÂt help but smile because you are smiling. ItÂs your "Oh! I love food!" smile. Your "This is so good for you! I am making my love healthy and strong!" smile. I hear the sizzle of olive oil, the bubble of boiling water, the humming of happy songs coming from your throat, interrupted every few seconds by a piece of food youÂve popped in to your mouth. Followed by the obvious Julia Chiles rip off, "Ummm! Delicious! Here, try some!" I hear your bare feet as they slide across the floor. I feel your mostly worn out ÂI donÂt give a damn summer dress rubbing against my legs as you dance back and forth with the bits and pieces of sample food you provide me, as if you are one of those lovely ladies at the super market that seems to take it as a personal insult if you donÂt at least try one of their samples. I feel the heat of the summer night mixing with that of the oven and stove. The humidity perusing in and out of the open windows carries the sounds of crickets and weighs down your dress to show the womanly form that lies just beneath the thin pastel colored fabric. I want to join in,to be a good husband and help you with the cooking, but I donÂt want to stop the beautiful dance of life you are emitting. So, Instead I greedily sit and enjoy this flash image of a joyous life only possible because of you. Hoping I can hold it in my foolish memory forever.
Get me through itIt is late into the night. The light from a single red shaded lamp in our bedroom illuminates our queen sized wooden bed and our warm bodies in it. My back is propped up against the headboard on which you and I painted flowers, stars, angry moons, and what ever else our newlywed minds thought of that day. You lay flat snuggled against me, holding on as if some great wind may blow me away. I look out into the nothingness of our room, through the dark red flower embroidered wallpapered walls, through the thin silk curtains, through the window itself, out into where thought and reality mix. Minutes pass. Looking down at you I breathe in deep and as my chest slowly lowers, a smile of contentment and peace slowly forms over my face. I pray to Jehovah, "Please donÂt let this system end now. Just let me hold onto this moment a little bit longer!" As I slide down next to you, with my face across from yours, I know all is well. This system will soon be over, and until then I have you and the gift of this moment to get me through it.
