Saturday, March 21, 2015
Friday, March 20, 2015
The dreams started to morph into reality. I couldn't seem to find my "happy place." This is when everything I knew started to change.
We all have a breaking point. Some points are thicker than others. Mine has always been very thin.
Images from my past crept into my 16 hour coma. Then before I knew it, the working day started again. I live to eat, sleep, and work. It seems, then, I am living the regular American Dream. I am working from nothing, trying to marry rich and up the Jones across the street.
This reality is something I can only hope to escape. I'm weighing out my options that are little to none. Trying to figure out an escape route. Dreaming is my only logical sanctuary.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
anyone lived in a pretty how town
E. E. Cummings, 1894 - 1962
anyone lived in a pretty how town (with up so floating many bells down) spring summer autumn winter he sang his didn’t he danced his did. Women and men(both little and small) cared for anyone not at all they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same sun moon stars rain children guessed(but only a few and down they forgot as up they grew autumn winter spring summer) that noone loved him more by more when by now and tree by leaf she laughed his joy she cried his grief bird by snow and stir by still anyone’s any was all to her someones married their everyones laughed their cryings and did their dance (sleep wake hope and then)they said their nevers they slept their dream stars rain sun moon (and only the snow can begin to explain how children are apt to forget to remember with up so floating many bells down) one day anyone died i guess (and noone stooped to kiss his face) busy folk buried them side by side little by little and was by was all by all and deep by deep and more by more they dream their sleep noone and anyone earth by april wish by spirit and if by yes. Women and men(both dong and ding) summer autumn winter spring reaped their sowing and went their came sun moon stars rain
Friday, February 20, 2015
I was told it was going to be my year. I've had seven years of bad luck and looked forward to a hopeful New Year. Instead, the first week in has been tattered with disappointments, which wasn't much of a surprise. I have been making graduate school transactions. Nothing comes cheap.
My soul is starting to disappear into foreign lands without me. I watch other people believe their lives are stable and on a track to something better. They are unreasonably optimistic with their pitiful stale lives. Instead, I still believe being a raging realist is my best hope. I would rather understand all my flaws in their purity than to be unimaginative and dead. I have a good 5 decades left in me to make a little havoc and still I can't seem to create a difference in my own stupid mentalities.
Money is never a commodity that continues to make myself sick. I'm ready to vomit green cash all over the floor. You aren't good with words. Sometimes you make me want to walk in front of a bus. I don't even know if that would be at all useful or worth my time. I can't take the stress. It has shown to effect my health, and will continue to destroy my creativity.
I am trapped within my own self-made restraints. Until I can see what path to take, I will never get out of here alive. If possible, I will pull you down with me at all costs. I was told it was going to be my year and since that doesn't look possible, I won't let it be your year either.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
I sat overlooking the ocean. It was so beautiful as the seagulls flew overhead. I couldn't imagine anything more beautiful than the ocean. It ate my heart and whispered sweet nothings. I slept on the beach all night and woke up to the morning sun and dew. They kissed me good morning and reminded me that there is so much more than achievement to be experienced. I am worth more than what I have been able to accomplish because there is always another day to experience something even more beautiful.