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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Tristan/Chase's LiveJournal:

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Friday, April 29th, 2005
7:59 pm
somehow the skyhooks
still stretch
and into my sketch
skilled skin
and into my
which is healing
after haunted hunted,
here hoarding
hollow heartaches
that tell
me I'm too tainted
to touch
tender tales
that told me
learn and love.
laughing now
the left lobe
windows to look through
wailing for waters
to wade
without clothes on
with wishing-pools
for washing
wretched soul wrinkles
which are
of this woman,
wastes of this woman
waste this
woman away....
and into...
after hours
...allude and
for after tastes,
agonizing powers,
about what
anger ate.
curling cube
caring for cores
of my corpse
with this
camera capability
to capture
as though
it were
fair to fake
of the free world
by fingers,

of people.
but forged
never my best brain.
bears bundles
of blessings
but no
the end.
1 followers | going for a walk now?
Sunday, April 24th, 2005
8:03 am
hinging you...
the dash of your comments
hit against my rocks
and in it
i lost
lost myself
self control
a monk
one of those "long befores"
sitting in the room
we used to play in
our favorite game then.
we used to hold hands
in the center of our souls.
when was it that our grasp
let go?
when was it?
we should have....
.....written it down.....
can't seem to recall now
....now that
that room;
a new addition
to the anthology of ghost towns.
i roam it
from time to time,
my palms pink
with my touching,
all the beings
we left grazing
my palms pink
with a gripping hesitation
that's awaiting
as i watch
the reconstruction
when it began last Sunday
as everything else rested
ours wide awake
a conflicting
of vested
and regret, yes...
everything restless
in the ghost town
we used to create in.
my hands reach for it
the crumbling woodwork
looking for resins
seeping from sap
that i could take with me
on the tips
of my
memories we left
that might lead me
all the way back to our start
where It sat
won't you go back
to that corner
with me
and we can twirl
innocent fingers
back around
each other?
i want to
hold you
tell you
acts of demonstration
that everything
is the same
we're playing
but silly games, still
a boardgame
why won't you ask
with me anymore?
aren't we still
facing the same shame...
that old recycled
finish line
that one
we used
to jest at before....
but now you're shaking
sun blowing
through screens
and across signs
through infiltrated shadows
of shifts now cold
and i'm naked
spread out
along our floor
wind shining
through windows
along my sidelines
all the wallows
it's screaming
alarms at our door...
but what if
if it were all reversed
and maybe
that ugly death
came first?
our worth
or within
gentle fingers
clasped tightly
happen at the
4 followers | going for a walk now?
Saturday, April 9th, 2005
8:25 pm
the missing blood:
The day
when my blood
i think i was on the verge
puberty’s edges
and the women’s council
i became
dizzy without it,
but i had wished it
on accident
the night before
on accident
threw it out at a patch of stars
on accident
they were playing the music
of saturn
outside near my window.
so since then
i’ve been replaced with water.
a martyr of sorts
you can just bottle me up
sell me in quartz...
that's where she found me
in a store called
and she seemed
a doll in a movie
so pretty....
i went back to
being a child
without knowing
what that is
to admire
too purely.
We like to
toss the velvet
into the middle
and roll about...
sometimes i stop when
she laughs
I tell her it
the skin
of my back
as though
my senses are warped,
as if they exceed
where others fall short
and green
my green
is really purple...
and grass
is just not so simple...
there’s no compromise
in my universe
I wait
for my settlement
to break
or my mirror
to suddenly look different
maybe my eyes
will turn brown
or my skin
will be cocoa
and everything I really am
will come out and clean.
all of that
which is waiting
like instead of just saying
we leave the words
on the tips of our tongues.
or just maybe
my smile will seem larger
and that will be that
except my hands
won’t have to tell my story
all alone anymore
i will find the missing
piece of sky...
and find the patch of stars
i saw that night...
And this world will
suddenly have logic
i will have logic
and the toil
of my morals
will feel rewarded
and the missing blood
with flow back
into me
at the end of the day...
and all the doctors
they don’t understand me.
as my
blood muscle
is poked
never with their hands
small instruments
of fury
they seem
always in a hurry
made of blue metal
and green wallpaper
their smell
is like death
without its beauty...
they touch it
and proclaim
with open mouths,
and bitter tongues
“It’s black...!”
but they never ask
they only ask
and this is my hand
see it?
it’s extended
to protect my heart
from the shame
that’s recommended
I’ve been prescribed
with mourning
for not reflecting
as the others
and the day
when my blood
i think i was on the verge
being a woman
and suddenly
i was dizzy without it
but i had wished it
on accident
the night before
to a patch of stars
that played to the music
of saturn
outside near my window.
so since then
i’ve been replaced with water.
a martyr of sorts
bottle me up
sell me in quartz
she found me
in a store called

Current Mood: enthralled
3 followers | going for a walk now?
Tuesday, April 5th, 2005
12:10 am
There’s a wandering
of my mind
Like the traveller
of my soul
I have moved
over the cities
only nomads know
and when we sat beside
that moment
dipping our feet
into the minutes
...made our toes
wet with a creeping
clock of intimidation
and I’m trying to
dry myself off
from the dampness
that’s sticking
a puddle right beside me
big enough
to skip rocks
and make ringlets
sweep at the edges...
I’m married
to my ways
like a widow
to death’s shadow
and it’s hard to change
the pace
I’d explain
but it’s shallow
and so...so
I play to the
of my mind
like the traveller
of my soul
and I’ve danced
with the nomads,

we have all seen each other before....
going for a walk now?
Sunday, April 3rd, 2005
3:01 am
the you of I
I get
tripped in the core,
the pith
of it.
I've come to contemplate
me and my
state of union
while I
was spooning
myself the other night,
arms wrapped around
my waist for comfort.
my paradox
has left me paralyzed
at times
I uncovered
what it is to be
the lover
who never
was told to love.
I am everyone's
a few times removed,
but here
in the center
of my universe
it's much more simple.
it's like
i'm dying to write this novel
when all i got is a rhyme
that is
a sitting plasma of passion
and it holds
the everything of
it hugs me,
you see,
it is in virtue
a hug,
and you
have curled into it
fit to it
like the greatest pair of
demin jeans
molded it
like butter, baby
and better yet
I have seen it all
and urged you on
it is a hug,
you see.
3 followers | going for a walk now?
Thursday, March 31st, 2005
2:32 pm
tomorrow morning
crippled in the middle
and alright around the edges
grasping for inertia
and crapping for just a second
to stop and breath
we are
we are always
lying to make it better
and fessing when it gets worse
staking all the good stuff
against risks with no worth
they are
they are minutes of glory
that end this pouring
of ourselves onto sidewalks
chanting punchlines of aggression
to be heard
to be heard is a lesson
but the teacher never showed up
so we're screaming out the windows
and our words cussed
we bust
we bust at the seams
and never picked up sewing
so now my finger bleeds
and I lost the fucking button
and it sucks
it sucks to fight the ending
when the beginning is rewritten
and I've always leaned on fiction
but now even that's been dismissed
so I'll run down this gauntlet
streaming with clubs
that are spiked with blindness
yet filled with love
and everyone' s taking their shot
and I'm letting them go
but when i stop
to look around
there's no one
there's no one to take the licks
so I better get kickin'
and if you need a fix
you can find me in the kitchen...
cause I've turned my plight
inward this time
i hope you're not disappointed
but I'm taking my strides
You can find me
tomorrow morning.
6 followers | going for a walk now?
Wednesday, March 30th, 2005
12:59 am
Mercy's Undoing
Mercy was gone… I was barely past my third year of life… and still learning what it was to have a title. The name "Mercy" had once been "mother", but now that she was gone, I heard her referred to as Mercy as I went through my days. Dad called her Mercy only now. My grandparents called her Mercy with the same tone as they used with me when upset…

so when Daisy started calling her Mercy, Madison and I just followed the eldest's lead...

She had come into our room the night she left. Creeping in through the slit of the door where a faint yellow light shone from the hallway… she knew she would find all three of us there. In our malleable state of wonder that only children so young could have.

I wasn't supposed to be in the older girl's room; I had my own room, but my mother knew I could never make it through the night without crawling into Daisy’s bed. So we were there, sleeping with one eye open waiting for something to wake us up. And she did; her specter offering such a dark pinch to our dreams that we all woke simultaneously and searched for each other in the darkness. Daisy took my fingers before our eyes were even open.

I blinked for my eyes so that they might take to the darkness of the room. I made out Mercy, her face blotted with a ruddy, purple shade from crying.

She was holding her wrists, crying.

I rarely saw my mother cry. She walked in a wavy line to Madison's bed. I could smell something astringent and bitter on her breath that reminded me of poison... I could smell it even from Daisy's bed...

I wasn’t afraid until Madison began to cry and reach up with her pink, child palms to my Mercy’s ruddy face. Mercy allowed her to grab on to her shirt and pull her down. The both of them crying. I clung to the end of Daisy’s nightgown… and she ran her hand down the side of my head. Daisy was so mature, then … she far surpassed my mother's ability to care for us -- to give us at least the illusion of her paternal assurance.

"He pushed me…" Mercy sobbed letting her shoulders shake into Madison’s four-year old frame. Madison held her there… suddenly Maddy was the frame bearing my mother’s strange prostration.

Daisy stood and walked over to my mother. Her little girl body standing as tall as the mightiest amazon woman about to bear a great and terrible army of dark knights.... Daisy had told me that night she wanted to be an Amazon princess when she grew up.

I decided to stay still… sometimes Mercy became upset when too many people were around her, especially when upset.

Daisy put a protective hand on Mercy’s leg. "Who pushed you?" she asked like some young Sherlock Holmes. Poor Daisy was trying to solve the problem again.

I looked at my mother and felt unsettled… too young to know what it was to be aware of one’s intuition… and yet more aware then, of my conscience than in the years to come.

Mercy cried for a few moments unable to answer… she just kept on chanting this horrible fact…

"He pushed me…"

"…He pushed me…"

"He pushed me…"

Daisy turned to stare at me in bewilderment. What else were we to do? Mercy never seemed this way, and yet as the eldest of us was only just 5… should we have seen her this way?

Madison started to whimper under the weight of Mercy. "Mommy…" her voice cooed like the birds that played hopscotch in our backyard.

"Daddy pushed me…Daddy pushed mommy down the stairs." She wailed, touching Daisy on the shoulder. "Daddy pushed Mommy and hurt Mommy."

Madison began to cry, and I too felt a stab of pain in the center of my thoughts that sat behind my ribs. I didn’t even understand really what it was to push someone… and I didn’t understand why Mercy was grabbing her wrist with such a grimace on her face. My lip quivered, and I felt warm tears fall down my face… Dad never hurt us. I just sat and played with the lace that lined the end of my nightgown, trying hard to focus on the care bears printed on the comforter that surrounded me instead of the tender scene happening in front of me.

Daisy shook her head, "No…" she whispered.

Mercy nodded her head… "Yes, he did, Daisy," Mercy insisted with her swollen wrist. She was screaming now. She grabbed Daisy by the shoulders and starting thrashing her around. I found myself screaming. Daisy started to cry as well as she worked against my mother's aggression.

I just wanted it all to go away and for me to fall back asleep.

The door swung open, and my father stood in its threshold.

I heard Madison scream. Scream so loudly even Daisy covered her ears. I saw Madison abandon Mercy and jump into Daisy's bed with me. We held each other, sobbing – afraid what Dad would do.

He took a step forward and I heard a shrill scream of terror peal from my lips… Daisy was alone in the middle of the floor!

"Daisy!" I screamed.

Daisy stared up at Dad and protectively threw her arms out to cover Mercy, who had let Daisy go with surprise.

My dear, dear father looked so confused....

Current Mood: confused
2 followers | going for a walk now?
Sunday, March 20th, 2005
1:14 am
...i am a mere
of my potential sphere
sitting as far away from
myself as i can
sitting as close to
my mind as i can get
we're pressed
i guess...
To take these
not intended by fate...
if she had had her way
i would have knotted my string years ago
But she dropped it in my neighborhood
back when i was nine
and i tucked it in the back of my pocket
for later use

...and we tend to confuse
what it is to be unworthy
we attribute that to a few
rather than our own...
cause i was worthy
hell i was wordly
and purely
in their eyes
but i was
scared to even look
had a taste of bile and agony
sitting behind every bite
and night i stumbled home
my shadow followed
by the ones
telling me i was alright.

But i'm here
not playing admiration's
any more.
i was its trick hooking
it on the corner
of puberty and scourn...

but fate came and recollected
my string.
i pulled it from the spot between my cleavage
and she seemed
eager to see it.
as i was to see it go.

Current Mood: anxious
9 followers | going for a walk now?
Tuesday, March 15th, 2005
11:01 pm
My grandmother had a smell that was like rustic roses... and I'll always attribute the smoothness of mahogany to her... It seems she would drench whatever room she owned with it. Not in a ostentatious manner... like some of the museums I have seen...

rather, she surrounded herself in it because...

"I like the way it feels... the way it looks... this thick wood is streaming with a rich... dark ambrosia, darling. It is meant for goddesses such as ourselves," she said laying next to me on her gigantic mahogany and pearl bed. Her gown was a silk that I enjoyed to rub between my small fingers...

I was two and adored my grandmother. You might think I wouldn't be able to recall such an age... but I can. It is my star-crossed gift... I can remember...I can remember the way she smiled at me as if no one had made her so happy to look upon. I can ever remember the chills it gave me when she held me and tip-toed her fingernails along my back. I can remember the way her skin was always smooth... even when the bug would begin to suck everything from her...

the way she was drunk with medicines to heal her cancer-bug.

She touched the tip of my nose and held all of me in turquoise eyes people would always say I was blessed to have..., "They wanted to take them from me, button."

"Take what?" I asked letting my hands finger the ripples of her gown.

She took my hand and placed it gently on the bottom of her stomach. I felt the soft skin of her belly under there breathing alongside her heart.

" My baby machines." And with that she began to laugh and touched her face to mine. " Oh dear," between laughter, " you do make the most curious faces with those eyes dear... I think in time they will fit your body, darling. Much too large and thoughtful for a baby."

I didn't understand the faces I made. People often commented on them, as well as felt compelled to scoop me up whenever I would inadvertently make them.

Yet... I was more occupied with the thought of "baby machines"... I didn't understand this, so I brought my hands back down to her baby machines as a means of returning to the subject.

" What are baby machines? And who wants to take them from you Lou..." I asked, feeling a intuitive sense of melancholy for her.

She took a beat to stare into me and I saw myself in the blackness of her pupils... staring back at her our eyes twins of sorts.

" Baby machines are these cocoons which hold the power to make babies... and that is where the cancer bug is... and the doctors wanted to take them from me..."

I gasped and suddenly started crying... afraid for her baby machines. Afraid for her.

" No, no.. Abby... don't cry," she said, letting her nails trace designs on my arm, " no one is taking my baby machines... I searched for that doctor that wouldn't take them. I searched like Isla searched for her brother, remember that story?" she asked, trying to switch the subject.

I did. I had remembered. The story with the shadows that stole Isla's brother and carried him away, and Isla caught the edge of an eagle's wing and searched for him in the land of empties... the shadows tricked her though with a baby made from glass and ice... she cried when it melted in the warmth of her arms... but she struggled on, through this land full of tricks and illusions until she found her brother.

but that story always made me cry too.

" Where does the bug come from?" I asked.

My beautiful grandmother looked away and a shield of tears formed in her eyes. She turned to me and touching her baby machines herself she whispered,

"Empty men..."
going for a walk now?
Friday, March 11th, 2005
1:00 am
touch of wine:
touch of wine:

There was that first time there with her. Like drinking red wine and realizing romance never felt so good without it. Like finally understanding the color red had a taste... and it made the tip of your tongue numb. It filled you when with such a taste, oh...

and food would never be the same.

.... I would never be the same, and I figured I was just as well because I had survived on food long enough.

And all I wanted was to just be heard, all my life just trying to make these sounds, which someone would listen to.

She touched the edges of my neck with her lips and suddenly a world beyond prose exsisted in front of me ... and I had sounds ... opera house sounds ... emerging and working through my blood.

and I was gone.

With her, in a semi-darkened room, but not too dark -- for our silhouettes are etched in my mind. My mind, which at that time was working furiously to take in every detail. It was suddenly the greatest mind ever -- because I have never forgotten that first moment we had ... drinking the red wine of sex.

silent we were... not even a moan escaped us in the first decades of ours that were disguised in those first few moments we touched.

Her eyes asked me to touch her.

And my fingers responded, and there was an embrace between the skin of her breast and my fingers. This delicate dance, and we were flawless in our steps. Feeling the sides of her body I lifted her and set her down on the mattress. Her body was so clearly set then... with such fervor I could not resist it.

She brought an aching hand to my face and played with the fringe of my lip, wet with temptation. With the other hand she lifted my shirt. Pulling it off, I knew she saw the scars... and stared at them there. My body. She took it all in. I had for a moment forgotten I was scarred with fragments of my other life...

she brought her eyes to mine. For a second, I worried she would reject this body of mine. Ripping through me, fear had me at the thought of having whatever this was and suddenly losing it all.


She brought the tip of her finger to the scar where Billy had kicked me into the side of his door....

it had left a map in the form of a raised line on the side of my hip. It had softened now, and was a comely little pink section of my body that I pretended was a strange tattoo.

She touched it... unafraid of its meaning or worth...

would she be afraid of its origin?

Her eyes looked at me pleading an explanation as she played with the rest of my scars that had made a soft constellation on my body.

"What are these?" her fingers whispered.

"I," I began...

"I," I began again...

"I am... I was, I mean... I have been... he just so angry sometimes." I said.

I don't believe in love at first sight. The instance of two people staring at one another and love just forming... it doesn't have any place in my mind's reality...

but I do believe that there is a precise moment where love is realized. And that you can see it. In the center of the pupil like a flood of light.

I saw it in Lila's eyes. I saw it all there when her eyes looked up at me filled with dry tears; I saw it.

And she pulled me to her. Me, so ill-fated with scars and her, so immaculate in form -- there could have been no better pair. Her skin was so simply a panacea to all my curses of love ... so the hesitation I had held up to this point was suddenly only a representation of my past ... it had no hold on me any longer ...

My fingers reached into the deepest part of her and felt the mysticism this side of world has been searching for. That soft place of hers held more religion than any church or synagogue I have ever know. She gripped my hair and I felt the air of her body breath into my skin that which we call desire ...

And our motions pleaded the night to last just a bit longer before we collapsed into a deep sleep covered with nothing but each other...
7 followers | going for a walk now?
Wednesday, March 9th, 2005
6:46 pm
some creative writing....

They used to creep into each other's bed whenever the clock turn 2:30 AM. If it weren't for the case of insomnia I had developed since arriving to Foxlane, I would never have stumbled across their illegitimate love affair. I always wondered if it was their love of one another or whether it was the fact that their beds had been placed together that this instance had occurred....

yet it was that chicken or egg question that had no real answer, and whenever I found myself pondering it in the late nights, as I listened to the hum of their hushed giggles, I told myself it was a question that didn't really matter. What mattered is that they had this incredibly exciting thing going on over there... a few beds away from me. Settled between two very thin screens... Francesca, daughter of Henry and Whitney LeProix and heir to a fortune far beyond my allowance, and Cecilia, of the famous Price family who had at least one member in every Equestrian Olympics since time would allow, had not let the walls of their assiduous heritage scare them. They were never afraid of their love... and I, who had no reason to be afraid of love, was terrified. And my fear stunted my judgment and ability to let the concept in.

But they... no older than me... no wiser in some respects... had this ability to let all the walls, which they were told to build and keep as their stronghold down.... as if they never really existed in the first place. With that, came this creation of music that I was convinced began in the pith of their hearts and exploded out in each other's touch and within the cricket sounds of a quiet brush and release of their lips. I became an expert listener...

You might find it pervy of me... yes, I know. I sometimes chastised myself for it as well. Listening to their love making as though it were my own, but I found myself so mesmerized with its sincerity. I was not an onlooker as much as an admirer. Besides, in a world that I sanguined would completely blackball this curious yet astounding moment of theirs -- a moment that they may never find again....

I thought my subtle involvement of listening might be a form of acceptance. Even if never found out by them...

and if they knew I was awake... then, they may have stopped. And something in the form of hope would have died in me...

I was this invisible character in their story. I followed them through their entire relationship. Up to the moment they hugged goodbye before summer break began. Their parents standing behind them, chatting about this and that. They hugged goodbye with such an intense presence of sadness dancing a swan song behind their eyes, that I almost cried myself.

Had their parents looked closer, they would have found it peculiar that their daughter's fingers lingered on each other in such a natural state on one another's hips. As though both sets of hands were experts only in the presence of each other...

it was merely the outstretched, longing fingers of their hands that sung their music the afternoon they parted.

I knew their fights... each had a boyfriend. Two football players that went to neighboring brother schools of ours. Each kept their respected distance from these boys but also kept them close enough for diversion. I heard their fights, pulpy with jealousy and pain. The night Francesca left...

"Don't go...," Ce whispered to her with a voice saturated in tears. Francesca called her Ce, and so I felt compelled to think of her that way.

I saw the purple shadow of Francesca pressed against the window she was sneaking out through.

The shadow quivered with guilt as it stood against the wall. Francesca lifted her hand to wipe the tears from her eyes. And the shadow of her left hand flew across my bed and touched the tip of my right foot. A school of chills raced through my body...

"I promised him," Francesca mumbled back. "He's getting nervous... he says I don't ever pay attention to him."

Ce choked a sob back. I thought I would die for them and their pain in this very room.

"Are you....?" Ce started to ask.

Her question mirroring my own. 'Don't do it, Francesca," I wanted to wail, 'Don't sleep with him.'

But Francesca lifted the window and climbed out and into the courtyard where her boyfriend had snuck in to meet her. I was so compelled that my body forced itself up into a sitting position so I could see out the window. I saw Francesca hugging this bulky figure in the darkness. And she seemed to have changed completely into her shadow.... all purple and blurry under the fragmented and looming light of the moon.

I felt a tear roll down my cheek...

I looked to my left and saw the shadow of Ce also sitting and watching and realized that I was supposed to be asleep. I wanted to go to Ce then and hold her. To tell her it was all going to be okay. That Francesca loved her... that love was hard, and that I was proud of her for being able to experience it this much. I wanted to tell her she was my love warrior....

but I laid back down and cried with her silently instead.

Current Mood: curious
11 followers | going for a walk now?
Sunday, March 6th, 2005
8:06 pm
come on...

it's kind of fun:

Take my Quiz on QuizYourFriends.com!

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2:31 pm
and in the end of discovery i learn that I can not assure anyone of myself...

but I can still have assurance.

and at the beginning of yesterday, i learned I cannot give what i do not have...

but this does not mean that i do not have anything...

and in the middle of it all, i step back and silently scream axioms that form like a psalms at the edges of my doc martins... that step as elegantly as ballet shoes...

i've spoken to what feels like many... but i realize is only a few when compared...

but i've held many, recently, in my mind... and suddenly it occurs to me that i had no room for others in my mind as i do now... or possibly i had only room for them before but not for myself... so the hands that held the others in my mind were always shaky from pain and tribulation... and they were not hands that could do more then touch lightly...

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Sunday, February 13th, 2005
4:48 pm
a blast from the past
found this floating in a file. . .

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Sunday, February 6th, 2005
11:43 am
I feel like history is underrated. . .

People study it like it's some abstract theory, and I think it's more of a science.

From the conservatives in suits to the activist without their shoes on, history is a statement not a phrophecy.

You want to find Jesus an have him save you? Study history. . .

People guide themselves with fear, I'm starting to realize, because it makes them feel safe.

But when I'm afraid, I don't feel safe.

Isn't this ironic?

You see it everywhere.

I think people who are afraid of what's going to happen, should study history.

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Friday, February 4th, 2005
2:46 pm
Um pictures and something for everyone to read:

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1:04 am
I'm trying to please myself with sanity
while the idea of evil gently teases the back end
of my shelf
which is full, only
with the lightest of books
That I could carry away. . .
And I'm learning that education
is the ladder
that we foget to bring
while trying to fix the roof
of our leaky society.

7 followers | going for a walk now?
Tuesday, February 1st, 2005
2:40 pm
I'm underneath
I've seen before
And the bullshit
that wears pants
In this family
of emotion
is sitting by my heart tonight
We're all playing cards
With poker faces
and fake embraces
We eased ourselves in
with empty drinks
That are
the empty links
of words not said
Burns that need
tending to.
But I realize
They are not ours anymore.
They are mine.
And with that comes comfort
So I kick off my swollen shoes
and decided to bare this world
with barren toes
I'll tease them gently
in the shore
that has a sign
painted green
it says
that means only for me.
"Try it"
she says. . .
2 followers | going for a walk now?
11:16 am
Wondering what is happiness.

because caught in the midst of everything. . . everything in L.A. I found a certain happiness that I thought was ingrained in me.

but now. . .

caught in the midst of nothing. . . nothing in Indiana. Left to my own devices like going to the library and staying warm, I still find happiness.

I guess happiness is a state of mind, which you create. It is the product of love, honesty, integrity, ice cream cones, and art. Happiness is more then a state of mind, then. It is the physical or mental manifestation of some frequency, desire or purpose that is going the way one one intends it to be. Happiness could lead the ill of heart to suicide as long as that is what one wishes for. So it is not happiness necessarily that I seek. . .

it is a heart and soul which will lead me to a happiness which is righteous and great. Like freedom of peoples, liberty, sanity, and grace.

1 followers | going for a walk now?
Wednesday, January 26th, 2005
5:58 pm
I gave my fortune away to a good cause. . .

and found another in the good.

went to the boys and girls club today. and a chubby cheeked group of teenage girls whispered in dowdy accents about "the funky way she'sa wearing her clothes". . .

7 followers | going for a walk now?
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