There comes a time when
February 28, 2011

At least in my life, there comes a time when I have to make a decision, which to other people might not seem that big of a deal, or might seem wrong, or like something I don't actually support.  However, everyone else might not really understand my reasoning or might just think it is dumb or over-emotional.

But can you honestly say that you've never felt like you have an influence on people who matter to you?  I mean, what if you could take this hypothetical scenario where: you give up something that you like - no really enjoy, but were originally content living without - a really long time ago, before you changed.  And by giving this up, you have a chance of getting your friends to do the same.  Even if its only a slight chance, would you choose it, hoping that they'd follow in your footsteps?  Even if it means sacrificing the new, possibly better you.  The you that finally fits in and is 'normal,' and that is actually looked up for being so good at this something.  The you that has so much fun, when in the more recent past, it seemed like you could never be happy ever again.

I mean, what if they mattered to you that much.  Do you think that they'd understand and support you?  Would they really appreciate their efforts?  But then again, even if they don't, at least you can say you tried, in a non-cop-out kind of way.  and plus, you're arguably better off for having made the choice anyways, since now you have the old you back.

If those who I'm talking about read this, I doubt you'd know what I'm talking about, or recognize that it applies to you.  But I've made up my mind on the spur of the moment.  I'm so sorry, but it's over.  I just want to be Wynn again, the me that was so innocent and laughed at, but taken seriously.  And I want you all to be the old you's as well.  As fun as these days are, and as much as I want them to continue on again.  As much as I don't want to grow up now - this early, and I want to keep the image of what we Thought was older and more mature a couple years ago.  I am definitely not ready for this, but I feel like its better now than never.  So again, I say that it's over.

You won't notice for a while, but that's alright.  I know that it'll come sooner or later, I don't doubt it.

Poem on Thanksgiving. =]
November 24, 2010

Bombs tick-tick-tocking in my mind.
Clocks click-clocking in the sky.
Motion rock-rocking all around me.
Eyes stalk-stalking the shadow.
Sound talk-talking from the ground.
Obstacles block-block-blocking the next stage.

So loud I can’t count down to the final explosion.
Please help me, I’m running out of time.
Time, being a lost concept built on fears.
My fears have become more than just a notion.
They are all set into motion.
It’s a commotion.
I’m reaching up for some calm, some land, some shelter.
But I just get the rage and fury of drowning in the ocean.
I’m caught swept in a torrent.
Its abhorrent.
How detestable this is, I’d rather beg for silence.
But if you suppress noise with silence, what good can come of it?
Aren’t you just manufacturing a new bomb?
A bomb made of new fears.
New fears created by this absence of noise.

So which is better, when you fear both: noise and silence?
Perhaps neither is ideal, when all they do is negate and null your existence.
Dare to ascend, to transcend, to begin, to become something better, higher, different.
Reach the next new stage of being, void of sound, and silence absent.
Simply a state of nothingness but everything at the same time, but with time being gone as well.
What is it?
Something which is unobtainable, not understandable, never tangible.
Unimaginable.

Follicle Poem
December 6, 2013

A mental relapse occurs.
I see hands plowing through my head of hair
They continue to grasp at the roots,
as if attempting to expose a truth hidden underneath.
But what secrets could bequeath a hair follicle?
Well, one might tell a tale.

Scared of the dark, a 6 year old Wynn laid awake in bed.
He prolonged the inevitable destitution of a dream state.
No longer wanting to accept a reoccurring nightmare,
he took to a dreary exercise of staying awake in the dark.
One hair follicle today may tell of how,
on that night it did not rise in a panicked state.
Wynn had finally conquered his fear of the dark.

"Something felt different today," said Follicle #567.
A new shampoo.
But more than that, strange scissors.
"Who is this new person cutting Wynn's hair now?"
remarked one hair follicle,
"I wonder what happened to the usual lady?"
She had passed away.

An emerging chest hair observed the extended family has grown recently.
"Darker relatives who look different and live in other regions of the world.
Who are they and why do they get treated differently?
Nobody has heard of the ***** region in the southern hemisphere,
or armpit land where our hair family members supposedly smell weird."
The perspective of a follicle in puberty.

"The loud sound of electricity and gears grinding scares me.
There is a storm which ravishes our lands.
First, a foamy cloud surrounds us.
Next, comes a sharp stinging sensation,
not a pleasant feeling to be set free from your roots.
A tidal wave crashes, washing away my follicle friends and family forever.
Then, the lightning strikes - dooming us all."
A ****** follicle's worst fear.

"We are a persevering bunch.
We cling to our conventions and grow, grow, grow.
But recently Wynn has done something new.
We thought he was feeding us honey,
so treacherous.
Sticky goop and stiff paper will be the end of us all.
Nobody wants to admit follicles are second-class citizens to smooth skin."
Waxing prematurely takes the lives of several million follicles annually.

"A rebel group of follicles known as the 'In-Growns' are up to no good.
They scheme with the pimples, plotting when and where to strike next.
I worry about Wynn - wish he could know we aren't all so ill-intentioned."
Follicle culture is derived from parenting, not just biology or anatomical location.

"The last of my kind, I have been contaminated with chemicals.
My color changed to blue.
I've heard the ancient legends about follicles once turned blonde.
We need to appease the summer sun god.
The others have all shriveled up or been brutally betrayed by the locals.
In hiding, we worry the scissor insurgents will discover our locations.
All I wanted was the freedom to express myself,
to be seen for who I really am - not just some color."
Follicles experience discrimination for numerous reasons.

"Drugs.
I can feeeel them in my DNA.
Something about me has changed and I like it.
Living life on the wild side these days.
I don't shower and don't care if I am greasy.
Every other follicle’s fears are irrational.
I'm gonna spread the word and grow out a bit.
Because that's what they expect of me, isn't it?
I mean, what good could come out of a drugged up follicle,
other than more waste of scalp space?"
Follicles who use drugs recreationally receive negative labels and harsh stigma.

"The wavy goodness from a gel rub,
is the highlight of the week.
We are fine, fresh, and fierce, ready to set the standard for follicle fashion.
If you are one of those lower class follicles,
who can't afford gel.
No worries - some might trickle down...
Just kidding!
Spray supports our monopoly on hair care products."
Fashionable follicles are extra sassy and have socio-economic privilege.

The relapse ends.
My head suddenly feels heavy,
swarmed with the hair follicle chronicles.
And the hands running through my head of hair become inspired.
They begin to tell their tales of times passed in Wynn's life.

Perspective means everything.

12/24/2013


Sitting at the bar.
A man approached me with the line, "you have beautiful eyes."
A simple *** object he made my eyes
a device to leverage me into bed.
How cute.
I said Look into my eyes.
Tell me do you see hues of green and the most beautiful brown bestowed upon my body?
I call them Hazel.
as if they had a name for human pieces of flesh filled with blood.
Filled with the anger, Filled with rage, and Filled with envy which accompany sorrow.
But search further through my furrowed brow and you'll find no regrets even in the deepest depths of my iris and its solitude.
These eyes have seen themselves in the mirror.
Faced with a ***** reflection but don't blame the fragile glass surface with smudges and stains until it shatters.
You can't clean Hazel's ***** soul.
judgmental stares.
***** eyes. **** eyes.
Eyes that have been buried in armpits and stared deep into an *******.
Relentlessly unforgiving in his shallow stares,
Hazel was once so pure.
Eyes with a spark ready to ignite flames of fun now
Burnt to a **** crisp.
But you,
You with your drink in hand,
trying to pick up a trick for a quick.
You fueled the fire.
You burned down the bridge and led Hazel to walk off the cliff.
You killed my eyes.
My beautiful beautiful dead dead eyes.