Thursday, August 4, 2011

Together we stand hand in hand as a family



Hand in hand we stand…
Tall and proud…
Together to the end…
If you lose faith in you, I’ll be there to pull you through…
If I stumble down and fall, I know you’ll life me off the ground…
Together we are strong, and can concur all of our wrongs…
We won’t give up until it’s over!
Even if it takes us forever!
We’ll find the answer, to get away!
We’ll make this our day!
We run together towards the life that was so wrongly deprived from us!
My big brother who I looked to as a father,
Stands to my right giving me his brilliant strength
My mother, who has been my guardian stands tall and straight
She is ready to fight…
My little brother to my left is my inspiration.
Breathing in the freedom of the fresh air, we take our next step into the future…



Waters

I sit here watching these broken currents
this is starting to fell like a common accurance
these days aren't changing like they said
pretty soon i'll be left for dead
with all the things i could've done
and now i have basically none
these ideas are running through my head
with the things i should've done instead

Gone

We're starting to fog up the glass
i promise this will be my last
there's no going back now
everybody will be wondering how
these old days are going turn to memories
and i'm left sitting here listening to my melodies
my eyes get watery so i change the tune
and i'll just look up and watch the moon.

Butterfly - Blind Man

On a warm Sunday afternoon, my wife guides me into the porch for some fresh air. I feel as small refreshing breeze as I sit down and take in the warmth of this hot day. Taking a deep breath I can smell the burning hot asphalt as cars drive through the neighborhood. Children run down the street laughing joyfully, chasing each other most likely. Teenagers walk on the sidewalk dribbling basketballs, the bouncing sound echoes against pavement as they laugh and share stories about girls. When I hear the birds tweeting I am certain that today is a typical summer morning in the suburbs.
My wife joins me in the porch, taking a seat next to me. She takes a deep breath and holds my hand as we both enjoy the morning. Suddenly, I tense as I feel goose bumps running up my right arm and realize a moth rests in my arm.
“There’s a moth in my arm” I tell my wife.
“Yes, there is” she responds. “It’s beautiful.”
“Tell me more”
“Well, its wings are electric blue and they shade to black in the corners. Right now its flapping its wings peacefully. How’s that honey?”
“Beautiful, I see it” I said as I tightened my grip around my wife’s hand and the moth flew away. Now I could really see how beautiful this morning really was.

A Love Poem

Oh forbidden love.
To labor over what is wrong,
to fight another day,
to long for tragedy.
But what is love forbidden,
without lust taboo.
Your soft, glistening curves are that of a goddess,
fitting perfectly into my hands.
To embrace you is to touch delicacy,
an extension of me that I treat with more care than myself.
Yet not a sound is uttered when I place you over an open flame.
Your base begins to burn and what is left inside boils.
The room soon fills with the smell of you,
and the wafts of your insides entice me, as I prepare the china.
Finally, a loud, high pitched scream as you reach completion.
I remove you with care,
knowing that you are the only one I will ever love.
Tea Pot.

Blow Away

I don't understand why i think this way. Feel this way. Is it always going to be this way. Because its starting to be hard to live this way. I'm starting to forget how it became this way. Not knowing where i am it goes either way. It always feels like I'm walking that way. Im going to far i don't know if i want to live this way.

free child

Allessa walked into the park with her mother’s grey hound in tow. A feisty boxer snipped at the skittish hound, causing the slender animal to yelp and attempt to cower behind her legs. The result was a tangled collision of both owner and master, and a ungraceful plummet to the pavement for the small woman.

“Lexie!” Is the only word she can utter as she falls.

She’d unfortunately been wearing cargo shorts and a baggy white t-shirt. Her clothes were suitable for a romp in the park with her favorite furry friend, but not good at preventing the gruesome looking scrapes that now decorated her knees and arms.

The black and white dappled Egyptian grey hound gazed at Allessa with mournful, liquid brown eyes, ears tucked low in guilt. Lexie timidly nudges her human’s dainty, angular chin with her wet nose. When Allessa simply stares at her, eyes layered deep with disapproval the half hearted wagging of the dog’s bony tail trails to a crestfallen halt.

Unable to bear the pitiful site Allessa laughs, and gently strokes the top of the dog’s head.

“Get me hit by a car and you won’t like the ending sweetie.” She tells Lexie.

She loved talking to the dog, and didn’t find it strange that she did it often. She loved evenings like these, when the sky was grey and the air warm. It reminded her of being encased in a blanket. She looked at the area, eyes alight, eagerly searching for just the right tree to climb. Instead she spotted a small vacated grassy area. She knew immediately it was perfect for ‘doggy play time’ as her mother had often called Allessa and Lexie’s daily walks.

On the island of St. Thomas, relatives would simply shake their heads in affectionately whenever they saw the petite girl sprinting lithely through the trees. Allessa was the baby sister of four brothers who never found the need to prove her merit. Free spirited and distractible, her mother had refused to listen to other’s warning’s that Allessa was a bit too coarse or tactless for her own good. With the occasional sharp word or two, she’d simply let her daughter roam and tumble where she willed.

That was until they moved to Philadelphia. Allessa had been 13 when she found herself thrust into an environment that was the polar opposite of her home. At 19, she still felt displaced. Like a toucan thrust into a cage of canaries with the demands to sing like a little petite canary.

Lexie yipped with impatience, jolting Allessa out of he reverie. She grips he slim black leash tighter and sets off at a sprint to the little clearing, nimbly avoiding people on the crowded pathway with spritely agility and grace.

Spectators who were not regular visitors would pause only briefly to watch the tiny dark woman with thick long dreads flash by. Others simply did the subtle routine side step, or even flashed a familiar smile at the wily woman keeping pace with the graceful hound.

Oblivious to the reactions she was eliciting Alessa smiled, her pearly white teeth setting a shocking contrast to her dark brown skin, almost glowing as brightly as the whites of her eyes. She reached the clearing, and instead of stopping excitedly chased Lexie around in circles. This was their spot, their own little abode. For the briefest moment, she was back on the island.

Gone were the cars, the sirens, the reek of misery and fear. Her eyes were on Lexie. The hounds tongue was lolling about, happy pants of exertion sounding out softly as she nimbly avoided Allessa’s slender, delicate fingers. This was their game of play, basically ritual now.

Momentarily winded, Allessa lets her knees buckle. Lexie ceases her prancing lopes over to Allessa. She nudges her chin, this time pleading.

“In a moment, in a moment…I was not made for running like you dog.” Allessa sighed.

Relenting, the hound gracefully lays herself beside the woman, eyes halfway lidded with a comical expression of contentment. Allessa stares at the dog, and laughs.

“Mama is right. You are just as strange as I.” She declares softly in her soft, raspy voice.

She’d heard men say o her she has a bedroom voice. She’d simply laughed, having no understanding as to their meaning. She’d strangely had little interest in the opposite sex. She had no interest in either sex, if she wanted to be honest to herself. Her brother’s were quite content with this. They found that they could be wholly justified in fending off any man who dared give their sister the roaming eye. Their steady warming glares were quite effective. Lecherous old men and young suitors couldn’t help but obey her brothers’ overpowering presence. All like their father, they were dark, strong of features, and monstrously tall.

Their mother, on the other had, was concerned.

Allessa knew her mother saw loneliness in her eyes. It was hard for others to see due to the fact that the young woman was always shifting and moving restlessly. Upon question much of Allessa’s family could not even name the color of the child’s eyes. They were always averted and wandering. But a mother knew her daughter.

Allessa’s eyes were a dark, natural storm grey just like her great grandfather’s. Strangely beautiful in their innocence, so hard to find in an industrial, sickly world, they had the potential to be alluring yet simultaneously virtuous.

Allessa absently stroked Lexie’s silky smooth fur, recalling how her mother would reminisce the first time she saw the great grandfather she never knew.

“Yolanda” Her mother had said, narrating the dying man’s words. “You are of the earth, strong and demure. I have not known you because I am of fire, and I have nearly destroyed the ones who loved me beyond healing. My grandchild, who I have loved from afar, I beg you,”

Yolanda, her mother, had stared at her daughter, sixteen at the time with an inscrutable expression.

“Do not let your nature sweep you away. The earth nurtures and provides, but can often be unmoving and stifling. You must always be wary of the need to protect, were as I was too self indulgent to protect the ones I loved from myself.”

Yolanda recalled how she was allowed to give her strange grandfather a gentle peck on the cheek before saying goodbye. The next day, he passed away. It was one the same day she turned ten years old.

Allessa shivered suddenly. A cold, indescribable chill had settled upon her skin. It was like a thin, transparent sheet had encompassed her in an eerie, insidious embrace. She knew better than to ignore that feeling. Her eyes, which had been dreamily flickering about, lost in memory abruptly, grew alert. She intently observed each park resident, searching for the source of her intuitions out cry. It wasn’t long before she found him. He was the only one who was sitting on the bench, three yards north from her.

The first thing she thought when she saw him was that he was fading. He was wearing a brown, faded t-shirt and grey cargo pants. His brown shoes were resting on the pavement. His face would be pleasant if it weren’t fpr the blank expression. She took a short survey of his features. He had a deep brow, strong jaw, straight nose, four o clock shadow and short cropped blonde hair. Good looks wasted others would admire, but made her wary. She had a sense that he’d been idle for a while. Maybe he’d been watching her for some time. His stare wasn’t filled with lust, or even curiosity. She had the sense that he was simply observing her. At the same time, she realized why she was so unsettled.

He wasn’t blinking. His eyes were completely still. They did not explore her face, her clothes, or her hound. The blue eyes stayed riveted on her own with an unnatural stillness. She slowly rose to her feet. His eyes stayed on hers, much to her growing unease.

“Excuse me ma’am?”

Allessa walked into the park with her mother’s grey hound in tow. A feisty boxer snipped at the skittish hound, causing the slender animal to yelp and attempt to cower behind her legs. The result was a tangled collision of both owner and master, and a ungraceful plummet to the pavement for the small woman.

“Lexie!” Is the only word she can utter as she falls.

She’d unfortunately been wearing cargo shorts and a baggy white t-shirt. Her clothes were suitable for a romp in the park with her favorite furry friend, but not good at preventing the gruesome looking scrapes that now decorated her knees and arms.

The black and white dappled Egyptian grey hound gazed at Allessa with mournful, liquid brown eyes, ears tucked low in guilt. Lexie timidly nudges her human’s dainty, angular chin with her wet nose. When Allessa simply stares at her, eyes layered deep with disapproval the half hearted wagging of the dog’s bony tail trails to a crestfallen halt.

Unable to bear the pitiful site Allessa laughs, and gently strokes the top of the dog’s head.

“Get me hit by a car and you won’t like the ending sweetie.” She tells Lexie.

She loved talking to the dog, and didn’t find it strange that she did it often. She loved evenings like these, when the sky was grey and the air warm. It reminded her of being encased in a blanket. She looked at the area, eyes alight, eagerly searching for just the right tree to climb. Instead she spotted a small vacated grassy area. She knew immediately it was perfect for ‘doggy play time’ as her mother had often called Allessa and Lexie’s daily walks.

On the island of St. Thomas, relatives would simply shake their heads in affectionately whenever they saw the petite girl sprinting lithely through the trees. Allessa was the baby sister of four brothers who never found the need to prove her merit. Free spirited and distractible, her mother had refused to listen to other’s warning’s that Allessa was a bit too coarse or tactless for her own good. With the occasional sharp word or two, she’d simply let her daughter roam and tumble where she willed.

That was until they moved to Philadelphia. Allessa had been 13 when she found herself thrust into an environment that was the polar opposite of her home. At 19, she still felt displaced. Like a toucan thrust into a cage of canaries with the demands to sing like a little petite canary.

Lexie yipped with impatience, jolting Allessa out of he reverie. She grips he slim black leash tighter and sets off at a sprint to the little clearing, nimbly avoiding people on the crowded pathway with spritely agility and grace.

Spectators who were not regular visitors would pause only briefly to watch the tiny dark woman with thick long dreads flash by. Others simply did the subtle routine side step, or even flashed a familiar smile at the wily woman keeping pace with the graceful hound.

Oblivious to the reactions she was eliciting Alessa smiled, her pearly white teeth setting a shocking contrast to her dark brown skin, almost glowing as brightly as the whites of her eyes. She reached the clearing, and instead of stopping excitedly chased Lexie around in circles. This was their spot, their own little abode. For the briefest moment, she was back on the island.

Gone were the cars, the sirens, the reek of misery and fear. Her eyes were on Lexie. The hounds tongue was lolling about, happy pants of exertion sounding out softly as she nimbly avoided Allessa’s slender, delicate fingers. This was their game of play, basically ritual now.

Momentarily winded, Allessa lets her knees buckle. Lexie ceases her prancing lopes over to Allessa. She nudges her chin, this time pleading.

“In a moment, in a moment…I was not made for running like you dog.” Allessa sighed.

Relenting, the hound gracefully lays herself beside the woman, eyes halfway lidded with a comical expression of contentment. Allessa stares at the dog, and laughs.

“Mama is right. You are just as strange as I.” She declares softly in her soft, raspy voice.

She’d heard men say o her she has a bedroom voice. She’d simply laughed, having no understanding as to their meaning. She’d strangely had little interest in the opposite sex. She had no interest in either sex, if she wanted to be honest to herself. Her brother’s were quite content with this. They found that they could be wholly justified in fending off any man who dared give their sister the roaming eye. Their steady warming glares were quite effective. Lecherous old men and young suitors couldn’t help but obey her brothers’ overpowering presence. All like their father, they were dark, strong of features, and monstrously tall.

Their mother, on the other had, was concerned.

Allessa knew her mother saw loneliness in her eyes. It was hard for others to see due to the fact that the young woman was always shifting and moving restlessly. Upon question much of Allessa’s family could not even name the color of the child’s eyes. They were always averted and wandering. But a mother knew her daughter.
Allessa’s eyes were a dark, natural storm grey just like her great grandfather’s. Strangely beautiful in their innocence, so hard to find in an industrial, sickly world, they had the potential to be alluring yet simultaneously virtuous.

Foosball

AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!
NOOOOOOOO!!!
NOT THIS TIME! -(Nora)

MUAHAHAHAHA
I’m going to win again! *Evil face* -(Rissa)

THIS IS NOT FAIR!
Wait…wait…YES!
Jumps up and down in excitement –(Nora)

*GASP!!!! * HOW DARE THEE!!!!
Ooooooo its sooooo on now!!! –(Rissa)

Both girls go crazy spinning the handles of the foosball table trying to make it in the goal

HAHA! I win again!
Smiles evilly –(Rissa)

I think its time for extreme foosball
Pulls out another ball
What do you think? –(Nora)

Grins like a dork
And nods head in agreement –(Rissa)

~3 hours later~

Ouch! Ouch!
I have a cramp in my hand! –(Rissa)

I’m so tired… -(Nora)

girls look at each other and smile evily and jump back up and contuine to play foosball until the death of them


THE END!

Van Jacker

The sliding back door was closed and something hard and cold was pressed up against my temple; it was a gun, held by the new-comer.
“Drive. Just drive.”
“Where to?” I asked, without a quaver. I'm real good at making myself sound calm when on the inside I'm jello and coolwhip.
“Just drive, tubby.” He said curtly, and nudged my head with the gun. That was a low blow, insulting my weight. He's in MY van without my permission and I'm driving him to god-knows where out of the goodness of my heart, and the coldness of his gun, I guess. I mean, It wasn't not the first time, and certainly not the last, that I got called tubby, so I guess I can take it.
There was silence for a bit, but I don't like silence. It makes me uncomfortable. So I turned on the radio, to my favorite talk-station. He looked at me, then at the radio, then back at me. He removed the gun temporarily from my temple, shot at the radio, then he was back. The talk show was no longer identifiable, but a loud, monotonous hum was emitted through the speakers. He was obviously not a fan so I shut it off, but that silence was really killing me, so I decided to start some conversation. I mean if we're going to be road-tripping, we might as well make friends, right?
“So uhh... you got kids?” I ask. First thing off the bat I like to do when I meet someone new is find out if they got a social life. See, in my world, there's two kinds of people. People who get laid, and people like me. You can't just go out and ask if they get laid, so you go for if they got kids. It's pretty ingenius, when you think about it. But he just snorted as a reply. That can mean one of two things. It could mean that he gets so many chicks that he's never going to settle down and have a family. Or, it could mean that he's a virgin loser who had even less of a chance of settling down. As I thought this, I happened to glance in the mirror. There was a big old pimple right smack-dab in the middle of my forehead. It was the white kind, the kind that pops real well. I couldn't help it, I had to do it.
“Hey, you mind if I pull over for a second? Medical emergency.” I say.
“Yeah I've heard that one before. Drive on, fat-boy.” I shrugged. It was just a pity because the best part of pimple-popping is watching it all go down in the mirror. But I couldn't just leave that big guy sitting on my forehead, so I popped it right there.
“Ahh! What the...?” Apparently my companion hadn't expected that.
“Don't tell me you've never popped a pimple before.” I smiled at him. I could tell he was looking at my teeth, rotted from too much soda.
“Not since high school, bub. How old are you, thirty five? That acne shit's suppose to end with puberty.”
“Yeah well. One of the occupational hazards of being a fat-ass, I guess.”
“Naw man, it ain't just your weight. Maybe if you cleaned your face once in a while, or took a shower, for christ's sake. When was the last time you took a shower? Tuesday?” I can only imagine he was joking, as it was currently Monday.
“Last Sunday, actually.” And I wasn't joking, neither.
“Yeah, I can smell- I mean tell.” He sneered. To be honest, I wasn't even offended. I did smell a bit, after all. We were both quiet, and a guess I started picking my nose. It's really just a habitual thing, something I do without even thinking about it. I don't think either of us noticed I was doing it until I flicked it right into my escort's face. He was pissed. He was really really pissed. I don't think I've ever seen anyone go this red, and I come from a florid family.
“Pull over, bub.” He seethed.
“Alright, no problem. You know what, I'm kinda hungry. Wanna go stop at McDonalds? Better yet, lets do drive-through. I don't mind eating in the car.” This was evident by the immense pile fast food disposal that covered the passenger seat.
He grimaced and shook his head. “Naw tub, right here's good. Just let me the fuck out.”
I did as he said and pulled over, right by the side of the highway. He got out and breathed the fresh air like he'd never been outside in his god-damn life before. I waved goodbye then drove on off. I wondered why he left. I was a little sad, to be honest. It was nice to have some company. The van was silent, and I don't do silent. So I turned on the radio. It was just a hum, a single tone, but it was better then the silence.

Purple Pen

Oh purple pen,
Writing implement of my dreams
You dot my I’s and
Cross my T’s.
My heart sings when
I place you on my blank page
You glide.
So silky, so smooth.
how can one express themselves
In only black and white?
Words march like ants
All in a row.
But you
liven the page
As only a secondary color can.
Flying through
Wreaking havoc
Smudgy and splotchy
A free spirit
Sometimes unreadable
Mostly just loveable
Words flow like lava
Erupting from my head
Through my arm
To my hand
And out of your little metal tip.
The pressures of black ink
and the bondage of blue
ripped through by your radience
Purple squiggles
That periodically form sentences
And most times just doodles
Equally purple

Buttefly - Space Alien

Earth has been a very disappointing place so far, it’s dirty and everyone is very unappealing. From our space ride we could see a green, blue and white sphere, we expected a forest surrounded by water under a snowstorm, not a never ending junk yard. We’re so disappointed that we already called for backup, this place needs to be taken away from these dirty humans. Suddenly, a small flying living species steps on my oxygen mask. I see every detail in its colorful wings. The creature is beautiful, calm and outgoing if it dared to step in my mask when I came to take over its home. Just by looking at the way this creature flaps its wings we are sure of what we’re doing.
Carefully, we take this majestic creature back to our spaceship and we take off, heading back to our planet. As we watch this terrible planet blow to a million pieces I wonder how cute my alien babies are going to look with wings.

Butterfly - Cat

Mommy has gone to work for the day, I have the house to myself until tonight. What can I do? Play with my yarn? Take a nap on the couch? I’ve gotten tired of doing the same thing over and over again. I jump over to the window and stare down at the neighborhood, everyone is off doing their own thing. Parents have gone to work, the children are in school and here I am, waiting for everyone to come back. You know how everyone says lonely people get cats? Well I guarantee you cats get lonelier than people.
As I wait for the hours to go by I sense motion on the window, softer the feel of a lizard walking around. I look up and see a different creature, I believe to have seen them on t.v. with mommy, they’re called butterpies. The butterpie is flapping its wings slowly, giving me time to enjoy their color, pattern and texture. Normally I’d be scaring anything that got through my window, but this butterpie is just too beautiful to scare away. It comforts me in my loneliness.

Subject: Oreos

We've decided to share our concern over a recent event. We have to put up with a lot of disgusting foods every day and we believe you owe us a break. Oreo cookies have been bothering us for over two years now and we feel it's time you take our request under consideration. You should stop eating oreos, not because we want you to but because they are bad for you. Besides the enormous amount of sugar the cookie gets stuck in between your teeth and can create cavities. We understand that they're yummy, crunchy and sift but we please ask you to highly consider our request. We do so much for you, now it's your turn.

Sincerely,

Your braces

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Rebirth

As he stands upon a sea shore, he marvels at the familiarity he feels at the simple act of borrowing his toes deep into the sand. He looks to the sea.

It is endless. Infinite. Truly immortal.

It's song is both ancient and young. Timeless. It has tasted the ashes, the tears, the blood of humanity, yet knows no pain. It is serene and savage, pure and tainted. It is a contradiction.

As the nephilym looks upon the sea, It remembers what legends it inspired, and revels in awe. He listens to the waves.

The lullaby caresses the him. So much like the call of the cosmos he frequented within his father's memories before being born a human child. No longer was he an angel. His form, both intangible and terrifying to behold was now condensed into the fleshy form of a young boy. This existence has not ever felt the least bit cumbersome. His mortal mother has done well with raising her strange, otherworldly child.

He listens closely. He could just barely hear the echoes of stars being reborn. Could mortals hear these echoes?

He recalls his few days before his birth that he spent watching particular young girls and boys would venture to gaze upon the sea.

'Yes....' He thought. 'They too hear what I hear.'


He gazes at the sky as the sun began it's ascension. When the first ray of light turns night into day, He too, is changed. His eyes transform from obsidian to a pearlescent white that glows from within. The only heavenly feature bestowed upon him by his angelic ancestry greet the morning with a light more brilliant than the sun.

He closes his eyes, succumbing, once again, to the sound of the waves. It is as if it calls to him, bidding him to explore another mystery. Another miracle. He would be far from the pain he'd seen every day, the misery of the human existence. There would be nothing but the loss of gravity, and infinite blue.


He begins to walk into the sea, spreading his arms, bidding the fair winds a temporary farewell. As he walks, the waves continue to pull him deeper, eager to claim a child of stars as their own.


Then finally, he is submerged, and as if the sea has been sated, the pulling ebbs away until he is floating within the infinite blue.


It is beautiful, Primal. And though he knows it will not be forever, he feels bliss that he has only felt when watching the earth from a distance, it's size that of a luminescent pebble. It takes him back to a time when there was no sight or smell. Where the sound of a human voice was foreign, distant. It is as if he is within the womb, protected. It is as if he is once more, in the beginning.

In that moment, the sea was his mother.

It was then that he knew why it called to him. There was a feeling of completion and fulfillment that he had felt quite rarely.

He could have easily left this world. It was tempting to leave the people that he'd become fond of. Leave the people who'd come to fear his unnatural eyes, his ability to speak tongues that had become dead with the passing of civilizations. But his yearning for the earthly existence was not yet satisfied.

He was reminded that while he could venture far from this small, strange world to realms no mere mortal could travel, their blood still ran within his veins. He would always be a child of earth and stars.

Abruptly, his serenity was ended by the demands of his body, which was for the time being made of flesh and blood.

He made his journey to the surface, thrashing his limbs violently, his serenity ended. he surfaced, and took his first ragged gasp. The cruel, yet suddenly precious air scraped at the skin that was exposed, as if punishing him for his absence, or his sudden change of heart. He did not know why he was in agony, only that the air burned.

It is as if he is being born again.

He sluggishly makes his way back to the shore, crawling as if there is a great weight upon him, before collapsing upon the sand and gazing back out to the sea that had in one moment brought him closer to him former peace than ever before.

The wingless nephylim, or rather the ten year old boy, glances back at the rising sun, and feels a deep sorrow. For a long, long time will he be cursed to see miracles and indescribable beauty in silence and solitude.

Is this how his father feels? Forever watching over him and his mother, yet forbidden to comfort, protect, or guide them, does he now regret his forbidden love for a mortal woman?

"Joshua? Time to go home." His mother, Marice, calls out to him from a distance.

Instantly, his eyes glaze over before converging into mundane green eyes, very much like his mother's. He carefully composes his expression to one befitting that of a young boy. One of dissapointment and compliance.

"I'm coming!" He replies.

He gazes out at the sea a moment longer before turning to Marice. He found her gazing out at that very same horizon, eyes distant, brow furrowed in thought as he approaches.

"When you stare out there like that, you look just like your father." She says softly, almost to herself. "Sometimes i think you'll disappear beneath the waves. This is the last place I saw him before he left me, you know..."

He smiles sadly, and his eyes shift to the radiant figure of the wingless angel standing a small distance the forlorn woman. He is dressed for battle, his heavenly armor once blindingly bright with light from the stars, now dull as iron. His winged helmet is rusted, the beautiful engravings of ancient scriptures now unrecognizable. A dull blade which was once ablaze with heavenly fire is strapped to his hip in a rusting scabbard. Pearlescent eyes of brilliant gold meet his. The infinite grief and wisdom within their depths piercing him to his core.

Valzria. Fallen angel, former gaurdian of the sea. His father.

The angel's hand jerks towards Marice, and Joshua knows it is an instinctive gesture to reach out to her being abruptly stifled. Valria's eyes linger on the woman before turning back to his son to give him a gentle, reassureing smile.

"I miss him." Marice murmers.

The angel's smile fades into a carefully impassive mask.

Joshua turns away from them so his mother will not see just how deeply he is affected by what she could never see. He can only offer futile words of comfort

"He never left you."


hi im marvin.

Marvin Is gus’ other self.
This is his bidding…

Im cold hearted smokey lunged n soul starving
Marvin is my name ya honor
I honestly didn’t mean to harm her
I told her mother i could go no farther,
I guess im sorry for leavin her body in the garbage,
Parden me of my absent minded slaughter.


It was for the whore to get the warning,
Hoping reforming will start the next morning
cuz forreal dog people with feelins is either gay or corny
so I ignored her,
n sat with the body pouring
spinal fluid out the bitch cause my day was boring.

God will ask how can I sleep ??? bitcch snoring
Quit whoring, I hold higher images like orin,
Abosorbing energy of entities dormant
In storage waiting for a certain occurance
Yo Norman your sorcery is workin its poorin
Acid and a curcus of worship is forming.


But marvin is accused up of the topic murder
So watch it when raw has the god shit
Stached up in his pocket
N any minute turn this cipher to a mosh pit
The hot shits
Known to rock with rockets
n laser goin thru cosmic
clouds of toxic droplets
of acid so go ahead pop it,
trip it n land up in the tropics.

The Shades

A penny for your thoughts, but no one knows mine.

Shades, shield me like thin frost on covered windows

I am glitter rimmed and standing tall against the rays of the sun,

Against the people passing by

I am relentless, and walking fast, aiming for higher ground

In my wake, I leave soft whispers of dusty shapes without edges

I smile behind my mask and feel safe behind its thin veil

I know it’s not real

I know because as soon as I take off my mask, I am back where I started

A superhero without his powers

A lion without his courage

I am penetrated and cold without the safety of my shadow

So now I’m back

Here I come

Watch out sun

I’m coming with my shades high above my nose and low beneath my eyes

Butterfly- Cat

Search for sunny spot
Midday naptime
Something moves
Mouse?
Not furry
Bird?
Too tiny
I want it
I need it
Swat swat swat
To no avail
Frustration
It goes up
Not like bird
Doesn’t flee
Just gets higher
I want it even more
Floats back down
Lazy, like me
I swat one more time
Half-heartedly
Windowsill is sunny
My eyes start to droop
Make my way over
Sleepy sleepy
Something on my back
We nap together

Butterfly- Shut In

Of all of the animals in this world, the most despicable is a butterfly. I like to call them Nature’s phonies, because that is what they are. I mean first off, they are bugs. They look all pretty, but that doesn’t stop them from being dirty little insects. Do you people even know where they come from? From a caterpillar! That creepy crawly thing that you pulled out of your sleeping bag! That ugly little guy, the one that made you wet your pants in fright.
But hey, maybe that’s why you people like them so much. They’re nature’s greatest makeover, a real life reality show. And who doesn’t love a happy ending? It’s Hollywood’s favorite story, the geek turned beauty. But that doesn’t do it for me. I know that those geeks and those beauties and everyone else in those damn films, and even worse, those “reality” shows, are ugly on the inside. Who isn’t ugly on the inside? A butterfly sure is. They prance around with their brightly colored wings, like models in nice clothing, hiding their evil, empty insides. But I see them for what they truly are: disgusting, filthy creatures. Not that I’ve seen one in quite some time… not that I’ve seen anyone for quite some time… but I remember.

Escaper Part 2

A few miles into the forest I stopped letting myself collapse against the forest floor. The trees stood above me touching the sky. I smiled slowly, I hade made it, finally made it. I sat up letting myself catch my breath. In front of me a small white butterfly like the one I saw from my window was flying in circles. There was no more wondering how it felt to be that way because I was that way, free and able to start an actual life. I jumped up getting ready to explore. Where could I start first maybe check by the local town or catch a train I really didn’t know. I continued walking away from the prison letting that weight lift off of me with every step. I realized I was still wearing my uniform as I slipped off the ugly potato sack jumpsuit. I’d have to wear my under garments until I found something more reasonable. I stuffed my clothes in the base of a tree making sure no one could retrace my path.

I had been walking for so long I had no idea if I was still in the same country. I sat down stretching my legs out. I was hungry and tired from the long day of walking. The weird part was I was actually enjoying walking around. I laid my head back hoping I could catch a few hours of sleep. I lay there for hours my thoughts keeping me up. I had this fear that someone would just walk by and bring me back it was that easy I knew it could happen. After trying to level my breathing for a while I slowly fell asleep.

The next morning I set off as soon as the sun came up. I wasn’t wasting anytime and not risking getting caught. A few miles later small signs started appearing with numbers or names pointing in a direction. This meant there had to be a town somewhere near here. I could here muffled voices not to far away. I slowed down my stride as I stuck close to the trees. Two men were standing in a clearing talking with a lot of hand gestures. I watched them talk from a far not being able to catch what they were saying. I walked a little closer making sure I didn’t step on any branches or leaves. They looked like two normal townspeople with old pants and t-shirts on. I was about to walk over and introduce myself when I caught what they were talking about.

“I hear there offering a 200,000 fine for the boy” said one of the guys with a smile on his face.

“We just have to hunt him down?” The other one said reaching for what looked like a small gun out of his pocket.

“No, you don’t shoot him idiot he’s wanted. We just have to find him and catch him”

“I heard he’s running around these woods were not going to find him anytime soon and he’s going to die out there anyway”

“Hale have you ever had that kind of money? No and you never will so hurry your slow ass up we don’t have a lot of time” he said as he started walking towards my direction. I quickly ducked around the tree holding my breath. They walked by me slowing looking around the woods. I couldn’t go anywhere when there were people out there looking for me. I sat back against the tree trying to think of a new plan. I couldn’t just live in the woods and I had to leave the country at least. I sat there for a little longer feeling my newfound freedom slipping from my fingertips. If I even stepped into town I’d stick out with my boxers and tank top on. I stood up trying to think I started walking in the opposite direction of the hunters hoping I could find a solution there. An idea popped into my heads, clothes lines, I’ll just go to someone’s back yard and slip a pair of pants and a shirt off the line. I smiled at my great idea as I continued walking. The tops of houses and buildings started appearing the closer I got to town. I had to keep my eyes more open as the sounds of cars and voices got louder. A big white wood house stood in front of me with long marble columns. I slid through the tress in the back looking around the yard. I couldn’t see a clothesline anywhere probably because these people could afford one of those new automatic clothes washers I had heard other people talking about. I continued walking looking into the back yards. Most of the yards looked the same with bright green lawns and tidy gardens. A small brown cottage came up with a soft red tiled roof. I looked into the yard to look around. Their grass wasn’t as green as there neighbors and they actually had a clothesline. I saw a grey pair of pants that looked like they could easily fit me. I glanced across the yard again before dashing towards the clothesline. Before I could take the second clothespin off I heard a door slam.

“What’re you doing with my sleeping pants” an older woman shrilled hobbling across the lawn. “You give those back now”. I turned around and ran as fast as I could between the trees her shrilling scream became quieter and quieter as I got further into the woods. I stopped to put the pants on. They were soft and would probably rip but it was good for now. I didn’t really know what to do now but at least I could blend in a little better. The only thing that made sense would be to keep walking on the outskirts of town because by any town there’s a city. I had never been to a city before never experienced the lights the sounds, and the cars. I felt like there had to be others that looked like me since people would go from their villages to the cities to start a better life. Maybe I’d find a beautiful girl who is fascinated with the idea of an escaper. We would buy one of those big houses with the to green grass and small gardens. We would get married and have little children to carry on our names. The idea of the perfect life gave me a warm feeling like when I was back at home with my mothers cooking and my brothers and sisters all crowding around a table talking excitedly. The feeling when my father would come home from work and lift me up in his arms. I always thought one day I could do that to my children and for a while I forgot about that life. I wanted that life and I knew I would get it as long as I’m free.

Point of Veiw

I widened my eyes staring intently at the colorful insect. I had never seen anything like it with its decorated wings. On each side lay two eyes with a soft yellow ring around it. I reach out to touch this beautiful creature, feel its silky wings. The sudden movement caused it to jump, floating to the nearest tree. Tree that’s one thing they taught us back at home. Effortlessly it landed pushing its wings together.

The colors pulled a rush through me. The blues and greens together could make my mouth water. I picked up my brush letting it do the work. It created an almost turquoise color covering the canvas. I looked back at the butterfly noticing the black speckles throughout its wings. I reached over to the black paint bottle and poured a little more out of my mixing tray.

Flute

“Your just trying to make your name hoping one day you will make it to fame. Your head turned down and your eyes looking at the ground. You sit there silently without making a sound. Bringing the slender flute to your lips you start to play a small tune to take you worries away. They may stop and listen but they don’t hear what you’re trying to say ”.

The sun was going down behind the city skyline. A darkened fog rested across the park as I started to pack up my things. I slid my flute into its case clasping it shut with a click. I pushed myself up feeling all the bones in my back crack from a day of sitting. I gathered my stuff and made my way down the sidewalk. A young couple was walking in the other direction holding the hands of their young daughter. I smiled at the family as they quickly walked away. I felt a twinge in my chest as I let the smile fall from my face. I continued walking with my head turned down but my ears up. The horns and voices flew around my head making me dizzy. I turned a quick right onto my street taking long strides as I walked. I made my way up the steps opening the door with a creek. The homey dust smell overwhelmed me as I put my stuff down at the front door. I steped into my small one room apartment and turned on the teapot. I fell back onto my chair letting the softness cover my aching bones. The pictures on the wall looked down at me welcoming me home. For the longest time these have been the only friendly faces I have been greeted with. I didn’t even know if these would be the last. I shook the memories from my head as I tried to stay together.

The early morning sunlight streaked in through the bare window. I opened my eyes slowly glancing around the room. I was hoping my dream wasn’t just a dream, that maybe I found her. I stood up from the chair my knees shaking from the strain. I shuffled over to the sink and filled up the rest of the teapot. The steam was pouring out of it in soft swirls floating up to the tattered ceiling. This day was no different then the other and would be the same as tomorrow. I filled up my mug and picked up my flute. On the way out of the house I noticed something was different. The usual noisy crowded streets where close to empty and the familiar haze of exhaust didn’t seem to bother me for once. I ignored the feeling as I started to walk down the street. I kept my head low as I made my way to the park. A flash of dark brown hair caught the corner of my eyes causing me to look up quickly. Without realizing it my foot hit a lump in the sidewalk. The ground loomed below me as I pushed my hands out catching myself just in time. I turned around to see what caused me to fall to find a newspaper. I sighed frustrated myself as I tried to stand myself up. Once I got on my feet a picture of the cover of the newspaper grabbed my attention. I squinted my eyes trying to focus on what the picture was of. A young girl with long dark hair smiled back at me her eyes sparkling with a familiar glow. I picked up the newspaper bringing it closer to my face. The headline read “local girl wins nation wide singing contest”. I stared at the picture again I knew I had seen that smiled before and those eyes I could never forget. I swallowed the lump forming in my throat as I turned around and made my way back down to my house. I slammed into the tiny room holding up the newspaper on the wall. My eyes fell on the picture of a young girl with her dark curly hair pulled into pigtails. A smile covered her whole face making her eyes squeeze shut. A younger happier me was next to her holding her in my arms.

“Jasey” I mumbled tracing her cheek with my thumb. Double-checking the resemblance in the photos I sat down back in my chair. I opened up the newspaper to read about my long lost daughter. Jasey Halden represented her small town of Lincoln at the National Young Voices singing contest in Los Angeles, California over the weekend.” Small tears came to my eyes as I looked back at the photograph. I couldn’t help the smile on my face from getting bigger and bigger. The constant pain in my chest even started to fade away. I didn’t know what I planned to do but I knew I had to find her.

I tried to walk as fast I as I could down the gravel path. My eyes went back and forth as I tried to look for my friend Marty. I saw a familiar brown top hat at a bench a few feet down.

“Marty guess what?” I said waving my arms at him.

“What man?” Marty grumbled moving his glassy eyes so he was looking at my face.

“I found my daughter I think I know were she is”

“Your daughter?” Marty mumbled a blank look over his face.

“Yea my daughter Jasey I’ve talked about her almost every day” I said sitting down on the bench next to him.

“Oh” Marty said slowly lighting a cigarette. He inhaled slowly looking around “ that’s good”.

“Yea” I said pulling the newspaper form under my arm “this is her”

“Woooooooo” Marty whistled opening his eyes wider. “Whose this pretty young thing?”

“My daughter Marty” I said pulling the newspaper away from his view “I need to find her”.

“Well how are you going to do that?"

“I don’t know they mention her town on here but it also says she’s going to college” I said reading over the article again.

“Then go to her town”

“ I can’t just show up what would I even say”

“How did you lose your daughter anyways?” Marty said in a softer tone. I looked over at him pursing my lips slightly.

“She was taken from me” I mumbled leaning back further in my seat.

“Who took her?”

“My ex-girlfriend”

“Why would she do such a thing?”

“I guess I wasn’t the most responsible person,” I said looking back at Marty. “I didn’t realize how much they meant to me”.

“Well this is your second chance man, it’s obviously a sign you decided to look at that newspaper today”

“Yea” I said sitting up straighter “your right I have to do what I meant to do my whole life, find Jasey”.

“Let’s go then,” Marty said sitting up.

“We can’t get there by walking its out of the city”, I said standing up after him.

Escaper Part 1

I pushed a heavy hand through my hair as I sat up. The sun was streaking in through the metal bars like it did every morning awakening me from my sleep. The wind was blowing in slowly bringing in the scent of car exhaust. I inhaled deeply letting the familiar scent cover my body. Out side a small white butterfly landed on a branch. I watched it as it flapped its clean, pure wings. The idea overwhelmed me, that’s something could be so calm just sitting out there feeling the fresh air. To be able to be free come and go as you please. To be able to leave these four walls. I slammed my head against the wall feeling the concrete crumble under my forehead.

“What’re you doing in there?” A guard yelled slamming on the metal bars. I didn’t respond as I sat up staring at the wall hoping he’d go away.

“Don’t ignore me what are you doing?” the guard yelled again. I could hear the chiming of his keys as he searched for the right one. The door squeaked open clanging as it hit the wall. “Do you want to go downstairs again?”

“Go right ahead” I mumbled without even turning around.

“What did you say smart ass?” I didn’t respond getting ready for the cold slap across the back of my head. “I said what did you say smart ass?”

“Go the fuck away” I said. WHACK. The hit rattled my head shaking me all the way down to my feet. I could feel the anger boiling up as I griped my hands into a fist. My breathing was getting heavier and my face was getting hotter. Before I could make my self stop I whipped around throwing my arm out. In slow motion I saw my fist hit the bottom of the guards chin causing a spray of blood to come out of his mouth. He fell back hitting his head on the hard cement floor. He didn’t sit up which meant he was knocked out. I stood over him looking for any signs of movement. After a few seconds I kneeled down. The keys lay in his palm just resting there waiting for me to grab them. The choices ran through my mind. I could be free in just one swift move. I could escape leave from this horrible place. Without second-guessing myself I grabbed the keys from the guards hand. I slid out the cage I had been stuck in for the past 10 years. A sudden cold feeling ran over my body as I started walking down the hallway. Most of the other prisoners where still sleeping and the ones awake were to crazy to even contemplate that I was running away. Hopefully that guard was the only one on duty on this floor because then-. I stopped walking as I heard footsteps coming from further down the hallway. I ducked into the corner hoping I was hidden by the shadows. The guard walked by without even glancing in my direction. I quickly ran down the rest of the hallway to the doorway. I flew out into the sunlight letting the warmth hit my back. I couldn’t stop to enjoy this moment I thought I would never experience again. I kept running though ignoring the searing pain in my chest of years of being out of shape, ignoring the fogginess in my head from all the days of sitting inside, I just kept running and didn’t look back.

Liam

His name is Liam. He has soft azure eyes that were very much like his mother’s, when he still knew what a true family was like. Now, they had turned rusty and dull with years of grief and lost laughter. It wasn’t hard to forget anymore. Not when the drugs were so easy to get. They drifted through his veins and made him lose himself in the fog, in only for a moment. He hasn’t been getting enough sleep for a while now. He hardly cares why, but it’s probably because of the nightmares. Open windows without the protection of foggy glass, soft lullabies spoken by empty, unloving faces, they never stopped tormenting him, not even for a moment.

A couple passes by and he smiles. He knows something they do not. As soon as he smiles though, it fades as though it was never there to begin with. It’s because He starts to remember again, and it kills him a little every time. The yelling, the screaming, the bloodstained glossy porcelain white sink, it was all there, in the front lobe of his brain. It sat there and grinned because it knew it had won a fight that was lost long ago.

His shoulder began to hurt and he rubbed it in slow lazy circles. It had been hurting him for quite some time, and he shut his eyes against the pain. But then, in the midst of the pain, he felt something he knew he shouldn’t. It felt like tiny needles were crawling up his arm, steady and fast.

He looked down and watched as a small ant climbed higher and higher, and he smiled widely. The familiarity of past childhood wonders came flooding back and somewhere deep inside, he relished in its simplicity. He blew gently on the small creature, as if saying ‘hi’. When it went too far, he tried to place his finger in front of it, but the bug was lost along with Liam’s playful smile.

Without the distraction of his little lost friend, he is back to watching and waiting as the people pass by, but he doesn’t mind it because it’s all he’s ever known.

Flame and memory

Alice remembered when dreams used to be her only solace. A sweet relief from a harsh, cold world that wasn't filled with magic and unicorns that i had believed were in hiding, waiting to whisk me away to a land filled with soda rivers and cotton candy clouds.

She remember when books used to be her teddy bears. They were door to the worlds she was searching for, and, though she didn't realize at the time, her shield she used to guard her eyes from the world around her.

There was no music.

Then one day, a small butterfly had flown through her barred window. It slipped through the bars and did not flutter aimlessly about as a normal butterfly should, but came to rest resolutely upon Alice's book just as she was about to turn the page. Bemused, the woman gave the butterfly a half hearted smile.

" I put those bars up for a reason." She sighed, her voice soft and wistful.

She'd been reading a book before the fireplace, her thick curtain of auburn hair draped about her like a protective curtain. The butterfly remained perched upon the book, almost stubborn in its stillness, without another flap of it's wings. If Alice stared at the small creature with curiosity and even a bit of unease. It was unnaturally still. Suddenly it came back to life, springing up from the book, startling her, causeing her to fling it from her lap with a small yelp.

The butterfly simply flew to the mantle place to rest upon a traditional black and white photo of an adolescent boy. Her brother, Travis. The reason for her solitude, her decision to live alone in he woods, far from any town where any traveler might stumble upon her humble abode. She gracefully rises to her feet, her pastel yellow summer dress flowing about her as she warily walks toward the butterfly. Its gently pulsing wings slowed to a standstill only when she stood before the picture.

"You, small creature, are starting to irk me a small bit. What is this all about?" She murmurs.

For a moment, the butterfly remains still. Then slowly, or Alice would dare to say deliberately, the butterfly walked onto the glass and ventured about the picture before coming to a standstill on He Brother's face. Then proceeded to gently pulse it's wings. It was this that sent a dreadful chill down The woman's spine.

The butterfly's vibrant, warm colors of red, orange, black, and amber were very much reminescent of the flames that took Her brother's life. A house fire she'd failed to save him from. A door that she couldn't open. She recoiled from the mantle place, the sudden memory overpowering her.

She could feel the searing heat, the sensation of her burning lungs, her hysteria as she'd realized that her older brother was trapped in a bedroom that had become his death chamber. His screams haunted her dreams. The reeling moment when his screams were abruptly cut off, only the sound the flames roaring like the echoes of hell reaching her ears, haunted her almost every waking moment.

For a while she lay curled in upon herself, her soft beige carpet pressed against her cheek. She clawed vicously at her hair, gasped for breath, and clutched her eyes shut, reeling from the memory that was still vivid after fifteen years. Her heart was racing. she could hear her blood rushing in her ears.

It was a long while before Alice found herself back in the present moment. Even then, she did not move. She dared to look up at the picture once more.

The butterfly was gone. Swiftly she searched the room for the insect, and caught site of it just as if fluttered through the bars from which it came.


I remember..


I remember I remember
When you ran into the house and you were terrified…

I remember I remember
The eyes that cried out to me…

I remember I remember
The blood running down your face…

I remember I remember
Me not doing anything…

As the demon came charging into the house and you shivering and crying…
I stood glued in place not able to breathe…
I watched as he screamed and you coward into your knees…
As you huddled into a ball of fear, I can hear your heart racing…
Tears of hate escaped the eyes that watched this brutality…
Breathing heavily I try to draw the air I will never receive…
You are the responsibility I swore to protect…
I am to blame for doing nothing…
As I sit here in shame, and bow my head
I’ve seen all my heart can take…

Re: Echo of a Dream

This one time I had a dream that I had to go to prom, but my mom insisted that she went with me to sign up. Walking into the cafeteria wasn't the most embarrassing part though, after we left, I discovered that the school was now on top of a snowy mountain. There were a bunch of snow boarders that made fun of me for wearing a helmet on my way home, and then, before I knew it, I had to go to prom. I walked across the street to center city, completely lost, and now running. There was a large convention of Asian grand parents, and I had to push through the crowd in order to cross the bridge. Pretty soon I had to ask for help from a man in an old mustang that had a rusty number 69 on the side. I asked him where the prom was and he told me that it was in the basement of the museum of art. I asked him to drive me there, even thought I was standing in front of the museum of art. I was watching the car float away, like in a video game, as it drifted past the sun set, and landed on a dark road leading toward a lake. The man invited me in, and we sat on his couch. He was then a rag doll, and I ran away. Every time I looked back he was closer, and I continued to apologize to him. I was then seeing a couple in their living room watching television with two walls missing, as I appeared behind the TV, through one of the missing walls, wearing a very poorly fitted super man muscle suit. Then there was something with Matt Damon, and the twist was that the whole thing was a movie trailer.

I don't really give dreams much thought anymore.

Father

After the tears dried on his cracked, salt-weathered skin, he got to thinking and musing and as the mind tends to skirt over the sensitive subjects, he avoided anything to do with his child. Even in his mind he was running, shifting away from the tenderness and every time he brushed up against the mere recollections of the phone call and the heartrending moment, he’d shy away like a wounded animal to lick his hurts away in a corner. He’d always said his daughter processed like him. No, there would be no thought like that, no comparing or “what-if”ing either.

There was an escape in logic. Numbers would be his security blanket and suddenly the man had switched his mind to checks and taxes. The bitter thought that paying for Pre-college had been a waste of four grand. Stopped dead in his psychological steps, white hot, bitter rage filled his veins at the notion that he’d even had such an atrocious thought about his daughter and mentally he suffered guilt-ridden punishment. But no matter how much he mulled and pondered, there was no escaping the fact that there was no escape from the truth of reality.

Mother

The room was so barren and the woman in her late fifties hadn’t felt smaller or more lost than she did at this moment. Walls once considered being a playful peanut butter and jelly scheme now stretched and grew, instilling bitter thoughts in the woman’s mind of shared anguish with the likes of Alice in Wonderland as she too watched the world enlarge far beyond her control. It hurt the back of her throat to be in the bedroom, staring at the spot where her child used to lay. She even hesitated to sink heavily down onto the Egyptian cotton, standing numbly in front of the twin bed. The purple sheets were still mussed from when her daughter had taken her final slumber at home, a preservation of what physically remained. Gravity won over and, with only a semblance of her regret, the mattress gave way to the wearied woman’s small frame. The emptiness was real, far more real than the melancholy imaginings of a beaten mind, for her child had said she’d wanted to take home with her when she left and so had packed up the room like she was moving away.

Away had been temporary at first, four weeks of missing a child that would return, whether she wanted to or not, from the new adventure of art school. That grasp on the future ran off quick and fast, falling from between the mother’s pale fingers like the ground quartz sand of the beach they used to walk on when dusk fell. As if visualizing this escaping sand, the woman gritted her teeth and clenched her fists together, trying to hold back that next wave of tears that wanted to pour from her dehydrated body. Home was gone for her daughter and for her, now and forever more.

Of Ferns and the Emotionally Unstable

There is a man leaning upon the tree that’s shade was previously occupied by a large, lounging woman. He has shaggy hair and dark skin. His pants are clean, and his socks are matching. He leans upon the trunk in a strange manor, adjusting his stance every few minutes, as if he's trying to look casual, but he still seems uncomfortable. He briefly walks away, returns, and leans again, this time facing the other direction. Then, without warning, he turns around and walks towards a holly tree. Looking inward, past the dark leaves, focusing on the empty, just before the branches reach the tree. He walks around, observing from several angles, before walking across the concrete, and observing an identical tree in the same way. He does this for a while, but before long, and again, without warning, he collapses in the grass.

He stays motionless and slack jawed long enough for passers by to begin worrying about his well being. But he gets up sooner or later, and after a few moments of pondering where he might be, he returns to his tree, and sits down, facing the ferns that surround the park. His gaze soon lingers from the flowers, to the dirt, to the grass, to his hands that he sobs into. He stays there for a while, occasionally wiping his eyes so that he can see the ferns more clearly.

Echo of a dream

They echo to the beat of my heart. They take me to a realm in my mind that is primal and fierce and wild. To a place deep within me touched by sunlight and shadows. They are hungry, and shall consume the meager inhibitations and fears, eat away at reality and reason. They sing to me, in waking hours, and those in sleep. I have seen wonders, beauty i can not even begin to describe, horrors i do not wish to. I've heard music that hardly be compared to anything else.

They are the foundation of all that gives me inspiration, stokes my curiosity and creativity.

They are my dreams.

Do you dream of standing at the crevice of a deep chasm in the depths of an ancient wood, its depths filled with shadows and sweet whispers promising riches and rapture, breathing as is alive, beckoning you to jump into the unknown.....

Do you dream of climbing up a crystal light house, the sound of the sea just beyond its gleaming walls, yet walking higher to the sound of sweet chimes guiding the way.....

Do you dream of falling up into the sky, forever into oblivion, your world you knew fading far below you as you drift to the stars, to a new world filled with wonders and beauty beyond your comprehension......

Dreams pave your mind into what it wants to be. It shines upon the deepest part of your being.

To dream is to create, and creation within the mind, translating it to art, poetry, rhythm, dance, music.....is one unique capability bequeathed upon human kind and a greatly treasured aspect of culture and life.

It is something i treasure and love.

I can only wonder, if i were to peer into your mind, what dreams would reveal about you...

Museum

One of the best parts about going to a museum, besides seeing the artwork, is observing the people looking at the artwork. No two people act the same in a museum, but there are a few common traits that can be found in certain types. The first type, the most common, is the bored viewer. This is a viewer who is A) been looking for a long time, B) not interested in the art, or C) very hungry or tired, D) was dragged along by a parent, spouse, significant other, grandparent, school trip, etc. or E) all of the above. Regardless of the reason, this viewer spends very little time at each work. If he or she stops to look at all, it is brief and usually just a once-over followed by an eye-roll. However most work is overlooked as they slowly meander through the rooms, chatting or texting or just zoning out.
The second type of person is the mildly interested. These are generally people who enjoy art, perhaps even make it themselves, but are not sophisticated enough to fully grasp the deeper meanings that are supposedly in there somewhere. They look at every painting, but stop longer at some than others. Their opinions often have a great deal to do with color and overall appearance and little to do with subject matter and historical context. They don't usually notice the finer details but are often hoping to learn and therefore try hard to stay focused. This can only go on for so long, though, and if they are forced to stay in the museum for an extended period of time, it is highly likely that they will become a type 1 person.
The third type is the most obnoxious of all: the artiste. These are the people who, when looking at a painting, stare for a great deal longer than anyone else, read everything written on the information card next to the painting, and make a loud comment about its deeper meaning to their companions, or perhaps a stranger if they could not coerce anyone into joining them on their day of enlightenment. They feel a need to let everyone know how they feel about the painting, but prefer to state their opinions as facts rather than points of view. These are the people who will ruin the museum experience and should be avoided at all costs.

Butterfly- Prisoner

I’ve been in here for seven years, three months, and twelve days, but who’s counting? What did I do? Does it matter? The point is, I did it. And now I’m stuck in here. It’s all cinderblock and rusted metal, and maybe some brick thrown in here and there. This isn’t one of those places you see in the movies, the kind where you can’t drop the soap. It’s a nice place, a classy place, you could say. Not the swanky type with conjugal visits and fluffy bathrobes, but a generally pretty solid prison. There’s a library and a TV and edible food. But even those get old quick. What I miss more than anything, I gotta say, is the great outdoors.
Not that we don’t get to go outside ever, we do. We play basketball or work out all the time. But that’s cement and concrete and chain-linked fences. I miss open fields with flowers and forests with endless trees. I miss babbling brooks and rolling hills. But what I miss most of all is butterflies. We got a lot of time to think in here, and lemme tell you, butterflies occupy a lot of my mind a lot of the time.
There’s just so much that is so beautiful about them. First, you got the obvious: their pretty colors. They are good looking bugs, there’s no denying that. But there’s more to it than just that. There’s their transformation, their, whatchamacallit, metamorphosis. I read about it some in the library here. They go from those crawly little caterpillars, all wiggly and silly, into a cocoon. They just roll themselves up into a little ball and stay there until they come out a totally different thing. Not just any thing, but a magnificent butterfly. Lemme tell you, I’d like to roll myself up and come out something different, something more beautiful. But nope I’m a human, a man. Then there’s that last thing, that special something that butterflies have. It’s not just their colors that catch our jaded human eyes. It’s something else, something you can’t put a name on. It’s a sort of feeling, a spirit, a freedom. They are reborn into a new life and all of a sudden, they can fly. A whole new world is open to them. But it’s not like when new world open for us humans. When we get new things, we conquer, destroy, and move on. With a butterfly, you just get the feeling that they are living their life and enjoying it. They drink their pollen and float up around pretty flowers, being admired. It’s a pretty great life, if you ask me.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Butterfly fly away

Gasping through the pain
I hear a soft fluttering sound
Through the mist of all the chaos exploding all around
My heart pounds with the bombs ticking away hidden underground
With the blood of my brothers in my eyes
it's  hard to see hovering above me a butterfly that brings such beauty
And it speaks to me....
"My son are you ready to follow me to a place that is heavenly?"
Taking my last dying breath...
I say goodbye to this cruel land that has concurred up my death,
but has given me entrance to heaven....

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Fucking kids and their damn butterflies.

There was a brief time when I was scrounging and working and stretching my funds to get through college that I sunk as low as to apply my already vast knowledge in such a juvenile place as a butterfly garden. Those who know me understand my extreme lack of patience with those not familiar with entomology and so it doesn’t seem fitting that I should be bothering with the mundane questions of how a butterfly eats and, god forbid, the question of whether or not it takes shits. Now, facing this horrendous new halftime job and only managing to scrounge up a smile at the dollar above minimum wage I was getting, I did not expect anything good to come of it beyond me being able to eat for the month. But, although I hate to admit it, there is always room to learn something. It kind of sucks though because what I learned about was that in my obsession with classifications and body types and the antennae in its relation to eating habits made me lose myself in the reason in the first place that I wanted to work my fucking ass off for god knows how many years. Somewhere along the way, I forgot the beauty of a butterfly in the science of it. Or maybe I never understood the beauty and just fantasize that I did at some point. Needless to say, I’m now stuck at this little butterfly garden, watering plants and wearing a smile as I watch kids who have the brain capacity of a dog marvel the way I can’t. Stubbornness keeps me here and I’ll stay until I understand why a butterfly is beautiful.

butterfly perspective dying man and god

Dying man

The year is 2011

In 1884 the wizard, Edward Willowhill, falls back into his chair, withered away at the seams, as he counts the spells he’s casted on the people of London. They are in piles. He keeps them on his lamp stand, next to his chair. Edward takes in his surroundings, of green moist air and poisonous lint balls. This will be were he speaks with the death and Satin he will have his soul taken.
The moment that Edward stops counting the spells he has inflicted on people, is the moment the red-spotted purple butterfly will fly off this page with his life. The red spotted purple butterfly has been sitting here since.






Edward Willowhill’s
Red-Spotted Purple Butterfly



God

The skatered voices flowing into the congressmans ears is causeing his head to sweel. His forhead has swet pellets coming off of it. And our congressman can’t think of better way to get out of this anxioty driven, press confrience, is to say no futher questions.

“I will take no futher questions.”

His last second idea has taken a couple of bricks off of his chest, never the less, the sweat and panic returns again, with an incoming phonecall from his wife, Martha.
He returns his phone to his inside pocket in his jacket and procedes to his limo parked around side of the building. The congressman has noticed a blue butterfly on the windshield of the limo. It was out of place, with it wings fully expanded, larger than the palm of your hand. The congressman reaction was obviously to slow, for the next second it was not there. It must have been a hulisination, from the anxioty and exhaustion, or just a trick of the light. He opened the door into his limo and got it. Settled himself in the black leather seats and looked up to find a blond woman smelling of waterfalls in the front end of the limo. She said that she will give him a chance to take his curuption in his life and disregard it to be with god. The congressman shocked and confussed has started to question our lady, and askes her how she got in the limo, who she really is. A second goes by and he says no get out.
As she leaves the car he she says that she is so sorry.
“I am sorry Mr. Congressman.”
As the driver pulls out the congressman looks back to see the blue lady, but there is no blue lady. The limo is turning onto the parkway, and bus goes honking by, reeving the exhaust. The congressman thought that those were his final moments, while wearing the sweat beads and cold back. But no, the limo came to a stop light, were a motor cycle pulls up next to him and sits. The traffic in the congressmans lane moves and are turning in front of the art musame steps when the motor cylce cuts the limo off to get around the bus, and the limo hits parked hummer when jeep hits the limmo on the passanger side. The limo spins on its top and slides to hit the art musame steps. The congressman has broken half his bones, and hears only his cell phone, a call from Martha, his wife. In one solid moment, he knows his curruption has destroyed peoples lives, and now he stares at the lives destroyed in front of him. All the people hurt, possibly killed. And now he sees god.
And he gazes into the car wreck in the street and the pavement in the forground to see the blue butterfly, to see god, fly away.

Fine

As I collapsed into the desert sand, every inch of me blistered or swollen, I could see death slowly approaching me. I was ready to embrace it, I was ready for the pain to end. But at the same time, I was so hungry. A butterfly landed in my palm, and my eyes began to glisten with tears, I saw the beauty in life through the shroud of pain, I saw the will to live. It was delicious.

The End

Waves

The sun is burning

The ocean freezing

I am surrounded

I am alone

A wave pounces through my body

I am falling into the abyss

My world is spinning under these waves

I see a light in the distance

Being overcome by darkness

Daddy why did you have to go?

2 years ago
you left this world
I'm in the city, walking the streets of Philly...
Living the dream you told me to reach for!
Look at me now, I'm making you proud! (':

Daddy why you have to go?
you left us here alone...
Life goes on, the world doesn't know.
It's obvious that there's no sign...
So lets hope i wake up next time...
It's time to say goodbye...
I love you...I'll always be a daddy's girl(:

Philadelphia

To the setting sun of the East Coast
I sit upon this window seal,
gazing out at the world that is so unreal
Building's reaching towards the sky
People rushing all around
Nothing compared to my little town(:

You Cant Bring Me Down!

You broke me down...
I can't explain how...
it's time tonight for me to collide with life, and come back alive.
I've moved on to me your dead and gone...
I'm not the same however my life is mine to claim!
I've grown strong, and I'm holding on!

I've grown strong, and I'm holding on!!!
you can't tear these walls down! (no way!)
I'm not gonna break! (no how!)
My dreams are mine alone, I've won this battle zone!

I'm not the same girl you once knew...she was weak and easily subdued!
You broke her heart, and it's not her fault.
Your lies, your ego, was something that happened long ago...
What the hell do you think you're doing?
Bringing up long forgotten memories!!!
Do you honestly think you can control me!?
You've gotta be kidding!


I've grown strong, and I'm holding on!!!
you can't tear these walls down! (no way!)
I'm not gonna break! (no how!)
My dreams are mine alone, I've won this battle zone!

My world came to an end, while yours began...
As you walk the streets of the busy city...
you left me there in the dark, it was cold and I couldn't go far...
i laid there in pieces and disorientated, that I couldn't even comprehend my own name...
Oh God did i go insane!!!


I've grown strong, and I'm holding on!!!
you can't tear these walls down! (no way!)
I'm not gonna break! (no how!)
My dreams are mine alone, I've won this battle zone!

Sugar Cookie

The most neglected of cookies
Looked over
Rejected
In favor of a more exciting cookie
One with chocolate drizzle or strawberry jam
But alas!
Simplicity finds perfection
In this everyday treat
The sweet buttery crumbs
That melt in your mouth
Take you deep
Nestled under a big downy comforter
Cozy and warm
Content
And you long to stay
In this loving embrace
But all good things
Must come to an end
So you reach for another
And it begins again

Romeo and Javier

"Romeo, oh romeo. where far art thou romeo?" Javier muttered. "I swear to god, if you got yourself stuck in between the walls again trying to devour mice, i will leave you there to rot."
He opened the coat closet, expecting to find the over weight Tabbi cat happily munching an a mutilated mouse. To his dismay, that was not the case. He'd searched through out the entire house, all except for one room. The last place a fashion designer wanted any animal to be, beloved pet or not.
" If you have run a claw through ANY of my fabrics i will skin you alive and use your fur for the new fall fashion magazine..." He growled.
He walked down the hall, saw the door to his home studio open, and could only brace himself for any possible disaster that may have befallen his projects, a week before deadlines had to be met. One glance around the room was all it took to send him reeling into a blind, catastrophic mental break down.
There was hardly a distinguishable article of clothing left to salvage. The room reeked of cat urine. The fall coats were shredded into a gruesome array of sheep wool and cashmere. Not even the decorative window curtains were spared. They swayed in the breeze coming though the open window with an almost desolate fluidity. In the midst of the catastrophe was the oh so conspicuous Romeo. The feline from the ninth level with angelic blue eyes.
There was a dramatic moment where the eyes of the livid man and the nonchalant feline both locked in a time altering moment of enlightenment.
For Javier, it was the realization that he might actuallly skin his sister's animal alive while she was on vacation in Cuba. The cat simply knew that it was time to perform the routine dodging, leaping, and yowling after doing the usual entertaining activities in one of Javier's deserted rooms. And so the ceremonial dance of Javier and Romeo began.
Romeo leaped from desk to desk with the typical feline grace. Javier doggedly pursued the object of his loathing in a murderous rage, hell bent on capturing his intended source for coat trimming replacements. His movements were more like that of a intoxicated ogre. It was a monsterous ballet of chaos performed with passion and gusto. It comes to an abrupt standstill when his sister stumbles upon the scene.
"Javi?" she asks. "Why didn't you close the door?"
Javier is knocked out of his blind rampage by Hanna's voice.
"Why do i have to be the one to keep the damned cat all the time?"
"You're the only one who won't throw him out a window, attempt to cook him, lock him in a closet, 'accidently' run him over, or beat him with a ceremonial spear." She replied, listing all the traumatizing events Romeo had been subjected to by each of her brothers.
Javier detangled himself from a heap of shredded cloth.
"Well you can add another one on to the list. Romeo came very close to accentuating my new collection for fall's teen magazine." He informed her.
His sister gave him a half hearted glare of disaproval.
" You would never dare."
She was right. To an extent. Romeo's fur would be much better suited for the winter editions.