Here Lay Before You Memories Of What Was Once Called Beyond The Stairs (Originally Posted Over One Year Ago)

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If 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 beat… 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 it’s 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 agenda
How 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 can’t 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.

Thought
I 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 it’s chains.Unseen she causes fear.Those observing feel no pain.Sleeping, waking, loving, hating she makes no distinctions.Her black wings envelop all of mankind’s oceans.Find her calling card in spears, guns, knifes, and potions.

Institutions
There 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 nights
Last 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:It’s 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 can’t help but smile because you are smiling. It’s 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 you’ve 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 ‘I don’t 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 don’t 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 don’t 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 it
It 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 don’t 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.

Sparrow Five Dies

My dear friends and others. Blogs are beautiful, but mine is not good for the masses. Considering such my public blogging days are ending. Thanks for all the good times and drama.

Phineahs Gray

A College Ruled Paper That Was Half Burnt

You can’t read this, but I know you can hear me. My signals weak but my heart is strong. I’ve never been known for the signal that I give off, but no one can ignore my heart. Does it scare you? It should! Few face it and stay. Only the unique and the brave hold true. I love you few. You are my reason. You are my strength. Your names aren’t here because they don’t deserve to be, but because you are not the type who like to be put on the pedestal. You are reflections in eyes. You are the chest that is worth more than the treasure. You are the amalgam. You are the perfect mixture.

Let’s run away? We are already gone. If we run we just go back home. Then let’s run where we already are. Let’s pretend every day that we have run away, and here we stay. Let’s run home away. Why do we need a home? We don’t. We are a home. We are the foundation. Where we lay, our place is. Away we go.

Tick the clock that don’t look baock. Slide the rule and kick the stool. For here is blue and here is fire. Drips of fire and light just caught up to me. It burnt me through. I am a reworked, rewired, redone, and refried piece. ;)

Here we go again. Why did you leave? Why didn’t you ask me to stay? It’s not nice to ask some one to stay in Hell.

Twinge and twick. The music cures the sick.

You lost everything in that battle. How did you go on? I learned how to need nothing but the battle. Stick around and you’ll see it yourself. Like a black hole I consume everything around me. Personalities are not safe for they become stretched and wiped clean. Only something bigger than time it self can save me. See you later. Thanks for trying.

Ready to go? Not really. I hate how easily you can make me smile.

I am but the son of a witch. What took you so long to figure that out? It was easier to believe that I did not have anything worth value in me. Was it? You tell me? I don’t have what you have. I don’t have your ability. I don’t have the parts to use. You may not have the power to turn your strength on, but at least you have the option. Are you afraid of the darkness? Is the darkness afraid of you? Shine bright my friend. You were given the largest flint, you just choose not to use it. Can we tell people it comes from the both of us? Why would we do that? I don’t like being alone. I need a someone to light the road for. I figured out how to walk in the darkness long ago. Then you figured out a lie. Then you will never want the light. I thought the light never wanted me.

Why can’t I stop? Why can’t I choose and then be? It’s not a game, it’s a play. Your character is chosen according to your ability to play it. But I hate being the tree. You sure move around a lot for a tree. When are you just going to accept the part you were given? You can’t keep your eyes closed forever. You don’t know me very well. I know you just fine. Now open your eyes.

I’m ready now. I’m finally ready. It’s too late you’ve wondered too far. It will take your whole life time to get back here again. Then my life finally has a meaning and a purpose. Did you know what you were doing this whole time? Did you know the further you ran the more reason you would give yourself to come back? Did you think I left those bread crumbs for the birds? :)

Young Samuel To Shiloh From infancy Grew

This is my spiritual heritage.

When in first grade I went to a witness private school. My mom cleaned the school, in turn they let me attend without paying.

For Parent night we were to put on a skit. The theme "Kingdom Songs" was chosen. I was to take part in acting out song 221. I dreamt of being Timothy. At the time I thought I would make the perfect Timothy. Casting calls came and my name fell beside Samuel. It could have been worse, it could have fallen beside young Israelite girl.

Being four I had not yet perfected my acting talent, so the focus was laid on making me the perfect costume. I was told to practice my walk. Apparently I was to be the runway model version of Samuel. The music, song 221, was to play as I walked up and down the stage until the section about Samuel was over. My job was; walk, don't talk, and be cute. None of which I was particularly good at.

The big day came. My mom took me to my barber, whom my dad and I nicknamed "The Butcher". I never knew Samuel got his hair cut by a retired navy barber. Being four I assumed my mom knew more about this than I.

Arriving at the school I put on my "outer garments". As I tied the Karate-Kid-like sash around my head my nerves kicked in. Just when I thought I might not make it I saw the boy who ws chosen to be Timothy. My instincts took over and I knew what my mission was. I was to be such the perfect Samuel that everyone would forget all about Timothy and dream from then on of Samuel.

I was so focused on this that I did not notice the music had already begun. No one there that night ever for got about Samuel and his dramatic entrance. And I, I dreamt of Samuel from then on.

TIMOTHY WHO?!

Some Day You Will Get The Best Of Me.

I sit in bed with a sickness whose origin I know not. Following the old adage “Misery loves company”, Rondal has received the same ailment. I am on a mission now to convince myself not to feed the toilet the way a mother bird would her chicks. I’ve already given enough to feed a flock. I don’t know how super models do it. Although, I do have some advice to give in this area; if you ever feel you might throw up eat strawberries! Why strawberries you ask? Because they smell good. I’ve never had better smelling hurl in my life. Except for the fact my face was inside a toilet, it was quite refreshing.

This past week we had visitors from bonnie old Brooklyn. It was nice to take a vacation with in a vacation. Rondal and I had done our best to spend as little as possible before they came. Once Alison and Oxanna arrived we let caution fly and opened up our wallets for untold delights.

During this time we decided to figure out what restaurants we liked the most. Apparently, Oxanna liked them all and insisted at the end of each meal that we remember the said place for a later return. In the end her Ukrainian stomach wasn’t Russian enough, and she found herself with a bout of stomach tickles. I felt privileged to see such greatness fall. Although, I’m not totally convinced she is Ukrainian, for what Ukrainian drinks “Wild Turkey” and “Blue Ribbon Beer”? I think she is actually a Tennessean with a bad Russian accent. I must give her props for facing the underwater world with courage. Having never even held her breath underwater this steel souled girl decided to try scuba diving. Finding a near death experience enough fulfill her diving dreams she spent the rest of her time on dry land.

Then there was the infamous accident. Memories fade, but scars are forever. Note for self; never take a moped with only one barely working break and a jumpy accelerator down a 45 degree decline gravel road.

The underwater world is wonderful. Plus it’s excellent for practicing your break dancing moves. Can you spin on your head with your legs spread apart on land? Besides the break dancing we saw sea turtles, every fish you could think of, lobsters, eels, endless coral… It felt like you were inside a giant saltwater aquarium. It’s like nothing else you’ve ever experienced.

French songs make me think of living in foreign lands. Are we still planning on living in Paris?

If I Die You Can Have My Stereo

Today I awoke with a tremble and a sigh. I don't know if I will live to see another day. I am told I have some type of fever. I love people who tell me the obvious.

Rondal returned from the meeting with a bit of an upset stomach that turned into an upside down stomach.

Five hours passed and neither one of us felt better. A coin was tossed and I was sent out to acquire food and water. I slipped in the internet cafe' to send of my last will. So, whoever response first gets my stereo when I die.

Before I Became A Super Hero

Some of you may know my claims to schizophrenia, but I don't believe many know when it was formed. Just when my personality was being torn into pieces I found characters to describe and define each of these personas with print and paper. Covering these personas was the Title of a book my life became twisted, tangled, and interwoven by. "Les Miserables" found fictional people to apply my person to. It exposed three main parts of me in to three characters and gave characters to others in my life and ones I'd hope would some day be. It gave me drive and desire in ways no fiction should.

So, we'll play a game. Maybe no one will play and maybe you all will. It matters not.

The game: I will list each of the characters in the book along with a short description. You can say whatever you want about each one. If you think you know me well enough to know how each effects me, or just feel like guess, then comment it. If you just want to say what you think about them, then even better.

Monseigneur Charles François-Bienvenu Myrie
Saintly bishop whose compassionate treatment causes the reformation of the ex-convict Valjean. He is also called "M. Bienvenu."

Jean Valjean
Ex-convict still pursued by the law, who strives for moral perfection and achieves a kind of sainthood in his love for the little orphan Cosette. He is also known as M. Madeleine and M. Leblanc.

Fantine
A beautiful girl of unknown parentage who comes to Paris at the age of fifteen. She falls in love with Tholomyès and bears an illegitimate child, Cosette. Forced to give up her child, Fantine is crushed and ultimately destroyed by adversity.

Cosette
Illegitimate daughter of Fantine, originally named Euphrasie. She has a wretched childhood as the ward of the brutal innkeeper Thénardier but later finds happiness in Valjean's devoted care and in the love of a young man.

Félix Tholomyès
A student, Fantine's lover, and father of Cosette.

Thénardier
An evil innkeeper who mistreats Cosette during her childhood, lures Valjean into an ambush, and commits various other crimes. He is also known as Jondrette and Fabantou.

Mme. Thénardier
A virago whose sweeping malevolence spares only her husband and her two daughters.

Eponine
Older daughter of the Thénardiers. As a child she is spoiled at Cosette's expense; later she becomes a ragged, hungry adolescent. Her love for Marius first endangers, then saves his life.

Gavroche
The Thénardiers' oldest son, a typical Paris gamin. He dies heroically at the barricades in the revolution of 1832.

Two little boys
The Thénardiers' youngest children. Given by their parents to an acquaintance, Magnon, they wander the streets of Paris after she is arrested. Gavroche's protection gives them temporary solace.

Inspector Javert
An incorruptible policeman. He makes it his life's work to track down Jean Valjean.

Fauchelevent
Valjean, as Madeleine, saves his life; Fauchelevent later is gardener at the convent of the Little Picpus and gives shelter to Valjean and Cosette.

Bamatabois
An idler of the town who torments Fantine by putting snow down her back.

Champmathieu
The man accused of being Jean Valjean, on whose behalf "Madeleine" reveals his true identity.

Marius Pontmercy
An idealistic student who falls passionately in love with Cosette and later marries her.

That's not all of them, but if we listed them all... Well, the book is quite long. :)

No Parachutes Nor Safety Nets Here

What do Wendy's Frostys Remind you of? They remind me of when I was a kid my Dad would take me to get a frosty on special occasions. This didn't happen very often because we never had any money. He was a bee keeeper and tried to live life doing what made him happy and keep me happy at the same time. He eventually gave up and ended up making my life more important than his. Thanks for the Frostys Dad. I owe you a bottle of honey. :)