No one person's personality is unique in any way.

If you've at some time been exposed to a television set, a film, a piece of music, a book, a magazine, or people in a closed environment, then you are not in any way, shape, or form an original person.


We are all just composites of the things we've come in contact with during our lives, we pick up the things we think we want, or need and apply them to ourselves, and sometimes it's a sham, and sometimes it feels real.

The only way to be original is to be put out of society the moment you're born, but even then you may take on the characteristics of the wildlife you come in contact with... so apparently you're ****** no matter what.

I suppose what makes a person unique is the way they mash up all the **** that they've been exposed to,
whether they do it in a somewhat original fashion, or if they do it in a way that is similar to those around them.

Societies fear those who do not take the path of least resistance, and those are the people we call "unique", "different", "ugly", "weird", "stupid", "genius", "freak", "amazing", "loser".

They're the attention getters, and those who seek to get attention.

The ones that take the easy road to be accepted, they're the one's outshined,
and they have to get revenge some way, why not talk ****?

I can say though, that I feel real, I don't feel like I'm putting up a front for anyone.
Most days I like who I am, most days I lie, most days I'm honest.

*Circa 2009

"Every existing thing is born without reason,
prolongs itself out of weakness,
and dies by chance." - Sartre*


What is easier, life or death?
Some people think this is a simple question.
And I'm sure for some it is, a straight cut to one side or the other.

We know so much about human life and so very little about death.
Some would call it an "easy" way out from the constant struggle of existence.
But how many of you here on this world wide web are truly embracing your struggle today?

Are you following "the plan"?
A plan?

Birth, growth, assimilation, "education", indoctrination,
out of the womb and into the classroom,
graduate and start your career,
retire and die.

Isn't everyone proud.

I mean, think of all those soothing, sedating systems
put into place to make your life easier to avoid.

Much like the screen you stare at now.

I've, as they say, "suffered" from depression my entire life,
and as one of those chosen people,
I'd like to debunk the myth.

The loom of death breeds a lust for life
like nothing else I've ever encountered.

You appreciate every little nuance
and at the end of the day
you're grateful.

Unlike so many "happy" people.

But you also know the utter meaninglessness of it all.

And it makes it that much harder to swallow
when everyone doesn't realize the opportunity they have
every single day.

Most are complacent, content as cattle, lined up and waiting
for slaughter.

Until they're looking death in the face
and wondering what the **** they've been doing all this time,
in this line.

But I do not look at those other chosen people who've cut the tie to the physical plane
with judgement, pity, or shame.

Their bravery shines.

Everyone deserves an out, because so often people stay in out of selflessness,
out of attachment and obligations, to friends, to families
but will you deny them forever?

Give them their peace and think of their great example often.

All of life is risk,
you're always on the cusp,
every day could be your last.

Death is the final frontier,
an adventure unknown,
and wanderlust is strong in some.

Truth is the product of the pursuit of knowledge.
Though most people, I have found, do not embrace but fear knowledge.
I believe this to be due to the fact that knowledge is something that cannot be tailored to an individual.

What is, is.
Whether you like it or not.
Knowledge can often be daunting and go against the very foundation of everything you hold "true".

But truth is not there to keep you complacent, it's there to drive you, it's what you should live for.
The pursuit of knowledge is an ongoing process, constantly evolving.

One day you can feel without a shadow of a doubt that you "know" something,
and the next day be proven utterly wrong.

This is why it confuses me so that people hold steadfast to antiquated "truths",
catalogued by humans, and passed down through generations.

Like high school gossip, slipping from one grimy hand into the next,
riddled with the stains of ignorance and manipulation.

Knowledge can often isolate.
Spark hatred in those comfortably numb.

But those on the pursuit are not to be feared or confined,
they're to be celebrated and joined!

Because truth is freedom, and it will only unify.

Don't give up, don't give in.

Just because there are UFOs,
... a big bang,
... an Einstein,
... evil and death
Despite such questions,
Smart, even brilliant thinkers
Believe, just because...

I'm a free thinker, like they were,
So, I ask,
How many times did Jesus suffer and die
On other worlds to save the Universe?
After all, evil is everywhere,
And so are we, or them.
Oscar Wilde gave up his denial,
As did Wallace Stevens, Darwin and Camus;
And a host of other stars,
Relinquished their lifetimes of distrust
With a breath between the sheets;
With a whisper of repentence
Accepted the alpha and omega
Just because...

I believe
In the shameless love of this life;
Not in a previous or afterlife.
I don't believe
In reincarnation, transmigration
Ascension or decesnsion.
And all the sepulchres concur.

I believe in Christ,
Not Christianity or Protestantism.

I believe in Muhammad,
Not Islam
(And this list goes on).

I don't believe in banshees,
Astral projection or any OBE.
I don't believe in gnomes or trolls,
Elves, sprites and witches,
Nirvana, Valhalla, Heaven or Hell.
And I believe
I won't be disappointed.

I believe in politics,
Not politicians.

I believe in the Arts
(All of them),
And humanity,
And You,
The healers and teachers.

Oh Spirit,
Where is it?
I don't believe hovering souls
Listen to eulogies.
I don't believe in death-bed conversions
Just because...

I believe in a living consciousness,
For
I Am That I Am,
And that's what I am.

I will not go gently,
For I know,
There's nothing
To worry about.

Men of Reason: bold, progressive
hammer wielders, depth resounders –
shout from the helm your Godless missive
as our Bible-lifeboat flounders.

Send that Flying Spaghetti Monster,
our imaginary friend,
to the myth-conception dumpster:
let the Bronze Age folktales end.

Make the idols bow to Science.
Your progressive task: to mock –
seek that end in brave defiance.
Down with the shepherd’s useless flock !

Laser-focused human reason
serves to clarify the matter,
strips the symbols from the season,
superstitious tales to shatter.

We, mere rubes in need of crutches,
simple children, willing tools –
must be rescued from the clutches
of the fables preached to fools.

Seamless garments, bushes burning:
are but schemes for fleecing sheep…
We are plebes devoid of learning;
rouse our silly souls from sleep!

Flood us with your noontide wisdom
decimate the weaker link.
Blow away our card-house kingdom
show us Christards how to think.

Then, like you, we shall no longer
cling to ignorance and lies.
Missing links make chains yet stronger,
dragging fairies from the skies.

We shall join you in assurance
that there is no great beyond
thus no need for fire insurance
clergy, staff or magic wand.

We shall celebrate together
joyful, freed from superstition
endless, godless sunny weather:
non-existent non-perdition.

Having thus improved the light
and magnified Man’s modern day,
God’s angels will expire in fright;
the Lord shall meekly fade away.

Im not addicted
Im obsessed
And my drug of choice
Is one of the best

I owe you everything
And thats exactly what you took
The moment I met you
You enticed me with your look

I was dying to try you
Now im simply dying
Cause they took you away
And my insides are crying

You kept me safe
And always confidant
Now my friends are afraid
That I've lost my common sense

But if you got high
You'd put your morals aside
And if this brings me closer to death
I think im ready to die.

I'll never forget the night you slammed the door.
It was the same night you grabbed my face and screamed my name.
I'll never forget that night you drove to my apartment drunk,
then told me later it was a lie.
I'll never forget the night in the park.
The night you screamed at me for getting high,
screamed at me for cheating while high.
The night I found out you went through my phone,
while I slept quietly in your bed, four months ago.

Here we are now.
I'm clean,
except for the occasional *******.
That's my secret.
You're drunk,
more often than I'd like you to be.
So what's your secret?

So do I slam doors?
Should I grab your face and scream your name?
Do I take you to the park in the middle of the night?

Unfortunately, no.
I'm the only one who makes mistakes here.

My name is Jaclyn,
and I have a drinking problem.
I am trying to find the courage,
to ask you to love me anyways.

My mom used to say,
Don't you dare put someone
through what you did to us.
You are not a good person
when you're drunk.

Yeah, I'll quit drinking..
Next weekend.
I swear, This is the last time.
But I'm sure you've heard that line.
I've worn out the meaning,
in the knees of my jeans.
Dry heaving.

She brings me a glass of water,
and all I gave her was a *******,
and a *******.
I just wanted to have fun.
At the expense of my love.

Here is my word:
I will never make
you be the girlfriend,
of a dead girlfriend.
Because we got too many
dead friends already.

This is my getting sober poem.
This is my "not passing out
in a parking lot" poem.
This is my "You gotta die
from something, but it will
not be an overdose" poem.

Please.

This is my,
"Please Love Me Through This"
poem.