its been
moments since I thought about you
in any capacity
minutes since
I remembered some portion of our story
hours since I felt anger
days since I tried to pick up my phone
weeks since I last contacted you
months since we last touched.

its been

months since you crushed me
weeks since I put on the brave face
days since I longed for you
hours since I spoke of you
minutes of starring into a blank screen
silently pleading
moments before all this is behind me again.

It’ll be

Moments of weakness
when I think about “us”
Minutes of silent cursing
while you run through my mind
Hours of rationalizing
before I let it go
Days of depression

I know

Weeks of emotions crammed into a few minutes
Months of self doubt and insanity

Soon it’ll be

years

But I’ll always have


the



tears.

Everything was going according to plan
Highschool. Pre-Med. Med. Specialization.
Never in my wildest dreams did I think
That you would add up to this equation
Never did I think that things would end up
Like how it is at this moment.
You never were meant for this equation
And yet, you fit in so perfectly
I was expecting nothing, and yet.. You
Never did I think that you, once a variable, would become a constant. That you would succeed euler's number or the symbol for radians, pi, as important constants in my life, you're as important but as confusing as i.

I mean, at times you're really confusing me
like rationalizing the negative square root of 3, but it's simply, really how I thought it would be to make sense of irrationality. Things like this would make sense mathematically, but not in reality. In reality, you're more simple, yet oh-so filled with insanity. But it still boggles my mind, on how a lovely variable like you becomes a constant in my life.

It can be quite daunting at first to start something new. However, all you really need is the right kind of attitude. The open-minded approach to tackle problems as they come along. My biggest fear, however, remains being afraid of not finishing what I have started and dropping things half-way through as soon as the going gets tough. I admit that this problem of mine has been present all the way throughout my life. I'm quite quick on the uptake and get really intense about something and then somewhere along the line I get side-tracked and drop things altogether.
    The saying "easy come - easy go" could never be more true for me. Having said that, I know that everyone has encountered this exact same problem at one time or the other, so the grass always looks greener on the other side despite the fact that it's often painted.
    The ease with which I get a head start compared to other people has been both a blessing and in a way a curse. But I shouldn't seek excuses when it is quite clear that I lack the motivation, perseverance and the self-discipline to soldier on after I finish the first lap. To put things into perspective I am like a competitor at a 5000m race challenging the title again and again. It brings me endless joy being able to participate and more often than not I am the one who sets the pace, however half way through the race fatigue sets in and I gradually lose the built-up momentum. Seeing that, competitors overtake me left and right. Eventually, I lose the heart to continue and end up finishing last or dropping out of the race.
    I keep wondering; perhaps the secret to success in not starting strong, but being consistent and preparing yourself mentally for that finally straight line when all your arduous training pays off and you still have some firepower left in you to give it your all. Not only what you can do, but edging slightly outside or your own limits, be it mental or physical, that keep holding you back you outmanoeuvre your own shadow.

     The other problem of mine is that I rarely practice what I preach. I like to reflect and analyse, and can pin-point fairly accurately the inner demons that have been plaguing and dulling my senses, but comes next day – and I succumb to them once more. Lately though, I feel like I am eradicating them one by one, but I shouldn’t rest on my laurels.
      For example, over the last five years I have discontinued playing guitar and then picked it up again countless of times. I would intensively practise for days, sometimes weeks, professing my love for music and then give up on it at a drop of a hat. With distractions and novelties larger than life, it is getting harder and harder to ignore them and go about our own business as we did before. They are like irresistible mythical modern-day sirens lulling us into a trance-like state of comfort and false sense of security. “Forget all your problems and let go of your worries, sweetie. We will take care of it all now”, whisper the sirens as their bodies become entangled with ours and for a split second we can feel the weight of our shoulders starting to disappear. Split second is all it takes t avert our eyes from things that truly matter and before you know it - we are neck-deep in this fairy land.
     Once we snap out of it, a sense of helplessness engulfs us mixed with guilt for wasting so much time. Without further a due, we seek out a new distraction that can preoccupy our thoughts, so that we can feel on top of the world once again. As a result, a new form of escapism is born where we dig endless tunnels; not to escape into the real world, but as far away from it as is humanly possible. Much like the prisoners, we are just as creative in finding means to escape and evade hardship. Therefore, we are effectively prisoners of our own minds rationalizing our every wrong-doing up until there is no inner voice to question it any longer. By then, the ritual of “switching off the real world” is hard-wired to our neurological pathways and over time it becomes second nature.

Some get that way by playing it safe,
memorizing mantras, righteously abiding by rules,
some get there by cutting seams,
lost in purposelessness, partaking of
ether, marijuana, alcohol, or anything
that's buzzy enough,
some find their sweepstakes in curls,
in fantasies, on the internet, or in the aftermath,
some claim the spoils, some gracefully accept
determination, some divorce their wives,
some happily raise their pulse to the heavy metals,
some review albums and cut down the *******,
some write love stories for our grandmas,
our moms,
our ex-girlfriends,
some find it in politics, right winging, left winging, chicken winging,
some in bomb threats,
some find it in supremacy,
others in melting pots,
some cheer up over breakroom chitty-chats,
some in **** ***,
some in sympathizing with pedophiles trapped in iron lungs,
some when they have hit the bottom rung,
some by rationalizing,
boosting themselves above half-wrongs,
to coast on the half-rights,
some by breaking up,
some by declaring war,
only to get discouraged, yet proud of the scars,
some kids dance to experimental music,
some write blogs about capitalism,
some find it kicking it with bitter vegans,
others while murdering their parents,
but everyone is a winner,
everyone is right,
everyone has earned the paycheck,
the vacation,
the **** wife,
and the key to eternal life.

I'm up late again.
Can't stop my mind from racing.
Going. Going. Going.
Obsessing.
Ironically, late at night is when your brain is at it's most creative.
Is it any wonder the best artists are insomniacs?
I've been fighting that.
"I need to sleep at a decent hour so I can wake early & be productive."
"I NEED this particular item to write this particular thing."
"I cant sit down & write/draw/create in a filthy house."
"Someone might call or need me, I can't get ****** in to that now."
"I need to clear my head before I can sit down & do this."
"I have my routine, all my daily tasks that must be accomplished, before I have time for myself."
I NEED TO STOP BULLSHITTING MYSELF.
I NEED TO STOP LETTING THIS BE AN EXCUSE.

See, I want to write.
I want to paint.
Draw.
Shoot.
Design.
Cut.
Glue.
Hammer.
Sew.
Create.

I used to do these things to a point of obsession. To a point where they kept me from completing every day tasks.
I remember as a kid, I'd get in trouble for using my school notebooks as a drawing pad.
Or the teachers couldn't keep my on task because I was off in my head scribbling away at some story.
God himself could not pry me from what I NEEDED to let out of me.
Then I grew up.
I think thats what happened.
Suddenly I had so many more things to worry about.
I had to put away childish things.
Life became so much more than the fairy tales I made for myself.
I forgot how to be what I was.
I only knew I had to do things.
Stupid, every day, grown up, necessary things.
That became my new obsession.

I traded one for the other.

Now I stand on a battlefield.
I have chosen the darker evil.
Doesn't make sense?

Remember Peter Pan? His life was full of adventure & freedom & joy.
The grown ups, the ones who forgot how to have those things, became bitter shadows of themselves.
They lost everything for all the wrong reasons.
I don't think I ever felt more closely identified with a fairy tale character (or characters because I find that the many different aspects of my psyche very closely identifies with most every character Peter Pan.)

Anyways.

For several years now, I find that I have been trying to reclaim this lost part of my soul. I don't think anyone, save perhaps 2 or 3 people realize just how important this is to me. These are people that would have known me in my early high school years, before the dreaded piracy of true adulthood took me away.

Why not just pick up the pen & write something? you may ask.
Well, it's not that easy.
Not for an obsessive compulsive thinker.
I'm not using that term lighty either.
I hear brats toss it around like a fashion statement.
Like having OCD is the new trend.
Just because you're a neat person doesn't mean you have a disorder, *******.
I know how many steps it takes to get from each corner & point in every home I am familiar with.
There are patterns in my day that, if broken, send me into emotional Hell.
There are many aspects to this disease.
This illness.
Whatever one may choose to identify it as.
I haven't found something I'm comfortable with yet.
I'm only just beginning to be comfortable with facing this truth in myself.

I let the only reality & peace I knew be burried away & my brain formed this militant prison of order around it.

The good thing is, my heart knows better.

When I'm able to bust those walls down for even a few brief moments in which I can slip past the compulsions & allow complete chaos take my hand & create, I am free.
When I become inspired by something & am able to mentally break away long enough to pursue it, it's like capturing a god ****** unicorn.

Unfortunately, more often than not, I find inspiration fade away. The many excuses I wrote before, just the tip of the iceberg, take hold & beat me back into my weakened submissive routine. I literally have stood still, as though at a play, & watched my head battle in itself to convince me NOT to follow the idea.
I may be *****, but I am no one's slave.
Least of all to myself.
Which begs my fear: control.
Why do I control myself?

Art is not controlled.
Creation is not controlled.
Beauty is not controlled.

These things cannot be tethered to definition or reason or logic or mathematics or laws or routine.
So the war inside me rages.
The problem in my head with its finger in my face is rationalizing ignoring the passion in my heart.
That disorder is sorely mistaken if it believes passion is in any way rational.

So this is what stands:
I am fighting an illness, something I aim to fight & beat & never succumb to again.

Creation is the air I breathe & no matter what worldy or sensory things bring me pleasure, nothing fullfills me like raw thought pouring forth from me.

I cannot stand by envious of the lives & accomplishments of my peers because I was too weak to take hold of the only true thing I hold dear. I am sick of hearing myself say "if only I could" or "maybe some day" or "I used to". I am done crying myself to exhaustion because I physically cannot pick up a pencil.

I don't know where to start.
I guess choking through this & fighting off anxiety attacks as I type is as good a start as any.

My most beloved author, inspiration, & life long hero, Anne Rice said,

"Keep the faith. Writers need faith...Just keep writing & believing in yourself...Just write until the juices start. Don't put up with Writer's Block...eventually you just have to write & write & write."

Write I shall.
Until it gives me anuerysms from fighting these tiny ticks & compulsions.
Until the tears are of success rather than submssion.
One step at a time I will conquer more than I ever thought possible.
I will take back my heart.

Anxiously awaiting atomic assimilation
Basing me on belligerent and boorish bastardization
Capsizing cargo with careful consideration as to
Deciding which day is decay's destination
Everyone embrace the elevated expiration
Forget my face and follow fabrication
Go to the gallows with grace and gravitation
He will hold you and hinder alienation

I, however, hold insignificance in interest
Justifiable jackhammers jacking fighter jets
Killing Californians who are kissing canvases
Lying without laughing and lighting cigarettes
My master makes me move my mundane mind
Never knowing next to nothing with nothing else inside
Overly offering operating override
Practicing patiently pulling peoples' pride

Quickly questioning quizzical quietness
Rationalizing raging reinventions ridiculous
Stapling this summer to my (still) sick subconscious
Traveling tunnelers trading tides for tiredness
Under the umbrella my undertow untangles
Violently vibrating like varying violin angles
Waiting with wandering whispers under the table
Xylophonist x-rays, excruciating fables

You yellow youngling, you who screams in my dreams
Zebras zoom by every single night, it seems
Let's chant my enchantments, the alliteration song!
And untie your tongue
So you don't take it wrong.

Part I.  Like Gods Falling

At first—
new trembling
and then she didn’t want
to be—

alone

with guilt

or seen

as **** half-eaten evidence
So she held it out to him
with her half-hearted, “It's OK.”
her crippling distance

“Why doesn’t she just embrace me
as before?”
He thought
that he had never seen her eyes that way—
with no words for their ruin
he loved her fearfully more

Gorged in the aftermath of forbidden
fat and animal fruit
Sick with excuses
Staring at
the core of lust
Rationalizing
Food?  Beauty? Intrigue?

Wisdom!

Searing awful terror
into each other’s minds

Part II.  Love and War

In the years between
the harrowed rows of sprouting corn
they found pleasure without plan
that bound them more than guilt had severed

How curious the textures of a man
in sunlight

her power?
In all the brilliance she had bargained for

How curious this burning for her
in the sodden life of rotting

She was always holding him now
from the scorching day
as the earth sizzled and swam
in seas of senseless—
background drone of locust and revenge
sealed in sweat and clutching labor

She was always holding him back by night
from the icy crackling mad!
his restless hunting hate!
And sometimes, while she pleaded
he would seize her
Make her pay!

For that afternoon

by the well where the boy was washing
A basket of vegetables returned
a bowl of blood

Part III.  Grief

Prepare the darling carcass
Shroud it in her pleas
clawing in the mud beside its silence
consumed beyond all fire by her anguish
“Can this not be enough to make him move?
Yes! He did! I’m sure I saw it!”
Can this not be enough?”
to stop the knowing…
grief from pouring into space?

Not even light escapes
____

Returning from the Mount of Meeting
hollow chores
collecting fatwood
grinding joyless grain

From corner of her eye
she watches the boy
walk toward the forest
spear in hand
She pauses
looking down
at hands on stone
that once had cradled...
Breath catching on jagged sorrow

She continues to grind

bitterly pregnant


Part IV.  Endings

Descended now
Reclining heap
reflects before a sun’s surrender
His face gleams with last light
hair blown back by volleys of wind

Her face
Not visible
as we are behind them
Her head rests in his lap
She is on her side
Soles of her shoes
mute and toward us
His eyes search the sky for a god—any god!
Her God

Exhaustion poses them past
the point of question
When the matter of “Why?”
becomes each other

Close in

the net of twilight
Dulled of hope and pain
at the edge of all that can be done...

...everything is gray going on black—
but we always knew that

feathered daydreams
semantically encoded heartache
we all remember
i remember

where we came from
we never go back to again
rationalizing pain until it
becomes a drum
and it echoes

i fall down the stairs again
hit my face on the tile
and when my lip bleeds
it comes as a relief

two-pence for lovers
a penny for thoughts
shots of chamomile to chase the night time
away

butterfly beats
ba-dum ba-dum
ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum
fluttering
like eyelids longing for greater ends

spit out that memory
pull it out of your ears
maybe it doesn't really
matter anymore

It’s the third of April and I was there
Sitting still, wondering
Observing the lifeless environment that surrounds me
And I simply couldn’t help but think
How did it all come to this
And why

It was exactly a year ago, during April, too
A blossoming sense of the beginning of new life
Little did I know
There was something even more beautiful than the flowers and trees
Something more serene than the feeling of crisp air and bright yellow sunlight
Little did I know that such a lively season
Was above, beyond, and even better than the liveliest things combined

Within three months after, it was mid July
And by then things only got more astounding
“Breath taking”, even
I’ve come to known this cheerful atmosphere’s smiles
Laughs, and confidence, and everything that makes it the amazing familiarity within me
And it was charming and it was lovable
Just like the warm breeze and chilly nights
What a wonderful thing to learn true happiness from the happiest surrounding itself
At this point all it ever was, was everything but sorrowful

Oh and November rolled around
And as leaves started to hit the bottom
Trees started to give up, and flowers started to disappear
So did it
So did it
This vicinity, of all the happiest vibes
The sweet turned to bitter
Just as the blossoms turned to gloom
It fell into a million little pieces
And all they could do was shatter it even more
And all they could blame was itself
All they could judge was nothing but the setting
And the thing that was once like sunshine
Turned into ice cold
Who would’ve guessed
That the happy atmosphere they once knew
Was this dark hole ******* itself into it
And who would’ve guessed
That the strongest, too, break

It was February and
It was the most similar thing to an incomplete train of thought
It was February
And everything was completely gone
The fragrance of what were once the roses
The scenery of what were once the moving lakes
The warmth of all the components of happiness
Its warmth
They were gone too
Too soon, and too fast

And now it’s the fourth of April
I’m still here I’m still rationalizing
I’m still thinking over
Onto why
Why am I the only one left
Is it really fair to leave me the same
Just when everything else had changed

*-djs

whenever I talk about art my mind gets so flattened
I wondered if I did wrong tormenting the album horn of plenty by Grizzly bear- I was listening to the song "don't ask" and I saw myself singing a cover of it- it was so **** good to hear for the first time. I wondered what I should do sitting opposite a cute girl I just had this exhausting conversation with. I wondered if I got up and left if she would want me more or something- I was wondering if something happened between us and one day she said she loved me what her first impression would be- why she fell in love with me- maybe the fact I displayed a passion. She said she was born in august- I knew she was a Leo- as am I - though I didn't take the arbitrary source of attraction too seriously anymore- given my last relationship with an aries was hell. Though I did learn a lot; This seemingly was my mind in the wake of all the strange patterns I once had- before and when I met her- I was trying to change these. I saw she had tinder on her phone- and I knew today after a talk with some ******* OkCupid - this is not how you meet women. So I wondered if I should delete it before I get to know her better or worse- get matched with her on there. I thought maybe she had a boyfriend - she was doing a masters - maybe she thinks she was too old for me - I don't know. excuses excuses. I sneak a look at her- she has a nice nose.. I don't know why- but I always check a girls nose out- its one of the things I find I fall in love with easiest. I thought about the song- how I always wanted to write music like this or like the fleet foxes. One of the few bands that both me and alice liked- she said at the end of it- something about how we don't like the same music or our sense of humor was off - and that we should just be friends because of that. I realize she always had a really strong front- Evidently that wasn't what she wanted- just some friendship- but I knew that. I want to say she was weak for not telling me the truth at the end. That the music thing was just ******* and there were other reasons we had for not being together. But I guess she really wanted to separate - given the fact she made it the trivial and banal and subjective of reasons for not working together. The saddest part about it all was that I still feel we had something though I know that is probably *******.

Last night I gave her friend Xiaoxuan some relationship advice- since I realized a lot of things lately and I guess she kinda valued my opinion or something- idk tbh I think she probably just really wanted to talk about her hopeless romance as a way of rationalizing her hopeless love interest that she didn't even have- I would know since I literally just did that with Alice. Though I still think we had something- though I guess through her I am learning a greater sense of self love. I told her she should get out of that situation with some guy who had a girlfriend and led her on calling her his second best.

Today I had plans to meet a girl I almost went out with who chose another guy over me. We stopped contact for a while- and then she messaged me we started talking again trying to be friends. she was also an aries.. odd. We were going to go to yo sushi to take advantage of the blue mondays deal and she did something strange and yet unusually familiar. She messaged me at 6 today to say she couldn't make it today. then again at 8 to say never mind. I asked her ***? and she said she didn't sleep - we spoke for a bit and I said "so yes then?" and I seem to remember her saying something like yes. so we continued to chat and then she cancels again saying she feels like ****. And then it hit me gently- I was in the same position as Xiaoxuan. and a few pieces fell into place- for one I remember how only a day before we were talking and she said are we still meet ing for lunch- I didn't reply - I told I was annoyed and didn't feel like chatting- e.g. *******. and Then she sent me this message- something ilk if you don't tell me in 10 hours I am making other plans- I said of course I want to go - I asked you to begin with after all. And just as calmly as I realized her playing me - messaging me at 2 and calling me sug sug and all that ****- I calmly told her that what she was doing was really rude- canceling 2 hours before meeting- as I made a distinct effort to make myself available to meet- and she was disrespecting me by canceling like that - especially bc i had some **** bad hay fever this morning anyway- I realized I made myself too available for people that are unavailable- but they are only unavailable usually because I am so available. As soon as I told this bothered me she behaved really callous to me - so I know exactly what she was up to. I felt good for telling her this ****** me off- but to be honest I got a bunch of pizza last night with Xiaoxuan. She didn't have any - but rather picked off the remains- the first night I had oregano since I last saw alice and we had that horribly awkward "date" with Xiaoxuan. I gave a few slices to a homeless man who said he hadn't eaten in 2 days. I felt bad for him and gave him 3 slices. He was nice guy and I could tell he was just hungry. It felt good helping someone else out for once- if anything I couldn't imaging me saying no.

I remembered some other special advice I gave to Xiaoxuan - that she should contact the girlfriend of that guy who was playing her. Because clearly he wasn't happy just with her. It was evident that it was the same with most people I knew in relationships- except for Alice.

She had 2 boyfriends since she was 13 and seemingly had a perfect sort of upbringing. I hurt me to think that she might of felt bad at any single moment and could tell me or anyone else about it. She had to be grotesquely strong inside to keep all those feelings in - since no one has a perfect childhood. Or maybe she was the one person who did.

I felt it was a shame that high self esteem would have to be passed on so callously through example. I realized she felt good about herself most of the time. And didn't have constant regrets and bad feelings about herself as I- and most people have. And thats why she couldn't stand for me I suppose. Since I was all too aware of the sensitive nature of peoples nature.

I find it would be a paradox to be so independent and feel so good on my own - and that somehow that would make me a better lover- or more liable to get into a relationship. Rationalizing emotions- seemed ludicrous and yet made so much sense. Given the situation I got myself into with Alice I can't blame her for everything- that would keep me from learning- was one of the few lessons I learned.  

Something about this girl reminded me or Elena- someone who I think was in love with me at a certain point. And I treated her like every girl I "fell in love" with treated me.

May was the girls name. She just got up and left. She added me on Facebook and we said maybe one day we will meet to play some music or something - she sang. We just had a last minute conversation- about why my work was late- how I was kinda depressed - but I was feeling better now- more or less. She recommended  I get a girlfriend- which confused me. Since that was quite explicit- but yet suggestive but I won't think about it- since my mind is three feet below my thoughts and three feet above my heart -and it's probably ******* anyway.

I've written this letter too many times
in my head on the back of napkins
Starbucks' receipts journal pages
I stopped addressing them
because who else would they be for?

They all start with I'm sorry
because I want you to know that I am
but they trail off into explanations
rationalizing what I did
to somehow be your fault
and instead of mine, as if
I was some damsel and you were some
mustache-twirling villain.

Once again, I'm sorry.

I was less and you more naive than I pretended.
I wasn't helpless I was selfish
I just want you to understand that it was never
your fault; it wasn't even mine.

We played our cards, but I've seen enough movies
to know that the house always wins.
I missed the opportunity to leave while I was ahead
so I got out before I could lose anymore
hoping you wouldn't notice.

I want answers
(do you know what happened?
could you tell how gone I was?
did you think it was you?
what would you have done?
what if?)
but I don't deserve them.

Good night, darling.

I'm sorry that I stopped saying
I love you.

Know that it was not because
I no longer meant it but instead because
I did.

Corpus Mortalis in the Greek, Hellenic, and Egyptian pantheons, in the vaults they were filled with marble by all the gangs that tried to find them, because it would soon be the longest night in the Aegean world, where it was propitious to indicate places where to spend the night because the Corpus mingled with the Souls of Trouvere in the Apennines, Ghosts of Shiraz from Jaffa, Almas Christi from Leros with the Gerakis, and finally the souls of the Necropolis of Helenikká to support all believing proselytes of the Hexagonal Birthright. They were attracted to the theorization of fragmented intelligence in every being that fears their own, without the opinion of those who leave them alone and hostages in their isolation, and of a corpus characterized by persuasion in the first objects of twilight, which only left distinguish the moons of the nails and not that of the firmament, the intelligence became lethargic and closed itself in its own object of ideology, of the individual and of the gods who administered everything without a Corpus Mortalis, rather they challenged three-quarters of the day, and three-quarters of their spiritual acuity, to resist the siege of space that disrupts the pause in the hour that excludes all gadgets, to counteract the detonated and not rescued exception of the challenge. The voices of the Moiras were tuned in with Circe, under Zefian's ordering principle, who was already delivering the ergonomic ****** of the fourth arrow, to leave it in the carelessness of Vernarth and Saint John already revived, encompassing and assuming three-quarters of the day they glossed to attract them the threshold that behaved in immovable demiurgic, where men stopped being men with intelligence, rather they dialogued about initiations of the cosmos, but without human centrism that acquires it for a dialogue of Timaeus, wherever they may be. the non-existent things, where he splatters her with nuances of science would bring serious stenches of his erudition. The saga was made of the Ekev of causality that explores from an understood cause already issued, but of the Samaritan philanthropist who shone more at this time, than anyone who closes his eyes so as not to open it after the eternal Aegean night. The philanthropic sense was sensitized with reason in the hands of Zefian, after delivering the Saetas knowing that his personality trilled from the Timaeus, not to disagree with it from a human conscience, but from bilocation of the Beit Hamikdash, attributing his conception with low resources of whoever restrains him by rationalizing, but is under the clinical resource of the one who is recovered from his stuttering and dyslalia.

The Argive constructor Tecton already came with his builders, while the Corpus Mortalis hit who or who would hammer from the plexus, or who or what would be the first network of his linear for the Vóreios de Zefian, adjusting to the beginning of a Corpus Mortalis when it began the constructive principle of the Argivo tecton. The arches were deconfigured in irrational measures, which with their sixth sense they could foresee from the trace of the Platonic Philebus, as he nodded with a refined tiresome bustle, but he appropriated it in presupposition, going to settle where everyone goes together to pick the berries of the field frank, next to the Mataki who was already putting an end and closing the Phaedo that was encircling, with the feverish organization of the trembling desire of the philosophical den, not determining to die like Corpus Mortalis in the breviaries of the ellipsis, where everything remains in nothingness or in the outcast of the one who treasures it with more contingents of memory, and of the same one who is reborn from the slags, having had an insight that remains empty in the cliffs, under the figure of a marked man who revives in the lightning bolts that enabled royal wisdom, while his Corpus Mortalis was leaving with his soul that was embracing vast fields of his thesis. Where what he removes when he pulses from the heart, he adds what the dying person adds, although it is not known where he is going, it will summarize his ontology more than a prison inhabitant who poses free on his profane neighbor from the rhetoric that manifests position in his trajectory who will remember him and will not locate him in the next scene of the challenge of a new life. The Phaedo is on the ex-Voto of him with two institutionalized powers, he will have to know who will dare to cure him of his sieges and his demons that resurrect him but not make him his captive. The spell already inaugurated that knowing or deciding in the nomenclatures of a Platonic Demiurge, who from all past life made it ulterior, but not processed from the Seventh Heaven, between both coincidences from an astral magistracy that will take him through the lawsuit of self-exorcism, wild for the greatest mountains that protect him when he wants to warn, that beyond them he will come umpteenth more monumental than themselves, but with his, Phaedo contained in his soul written and rewritten by him and by his Corpus Mortalis.

What is it like to think with your brain?
What is it like to think with such a mind like yours?

I want to look into your soul, to see who you really are.
I want to explore the depths of your beautiful and complex mind.

How does it feel to have such intelligence?
Is everything about logic and rationalizing ideas?

I wonder how you feel.
I want to know your emotions.
I want to know your heart:

Who do you love?
What do you love?
What are your interests?
What are your passions?

I want to know everything.

How is it that I have such an amazing person presently in my life? How do I not know anything about them?

You're such a mystery.
A lock that won't budge.
Why is that lock so stubborn?

© 2018 Omni Winters

she had always kept
her own idea of him
like a bad tattoo
making sense of those blurred lines
rationalizing regrets

Taking away your peace of mind
Hunting you down everywhere
Every move you make is mine
Stealthily moving in the shadows
Thoughts of tying you up linger
Allowing escalation of my heart beat
Looking for the right words
Killer instincts secretly penned
Even among the grey matter
Rationalizing fear, the brain is the stalker

The only requirement to be loved in this world
Is to exist.
When a baby is hungry,
Or crying,
Or needs love,
We give them all we can.
They exist.
That's all we ask.
So today, when my stomach growls,
Today, when my heart hurts,
Today, when I need to be held,
I will not look at the tally
On my never ending score card,
And see what I deserve,
Instead,
I will give myself all that I can.
Because I exist.

Joined at eighteen
Left at thirtysix
But it was all worth it
They say
I say
It could have been worse
Nobody beat me
It was worth it
Wouldn't have had those kids
Otherwise
Can't regret them
Though we gave pure love
To a beast of pure manipulation
There were good parts
Beautiful people
As willing to give as I
Chunking flesh off the bone
For that beast
I must be stupid
To've stayed
But being loyal seemed strong
At the time

Today, I watched a heavy insect of
indeterminable species
repeatedly slam into the wide picture windows
of my college library’s
third story as I read a book
analyzing one poem
Teilhard de Chardin wrote
after carrying casualties
on a stretcher
all day
from a war for which no name is presented
to me.

It is inferred de Chardin's time tells of world wars,
yet his poem deals with virginity
and mothers
although of each he was in just one.

Resistance to our ****** urges
and the potency resistance drains
was compared to
minute prosperity provided by the pursuit
of retaining 'innocence'.

The book was named "Eternal Feminine"
and its author's argument functioned
as a double victory for remittance
to a cloud kingdom
and shivering loneliness
seen through invisible barriers
on earth.

Hooray!

He seemed to be
rationalizing the struggle
with sickly pleasure
from repetition of denial.

But I lost interest in his foolish, war-time words.

Watching the flying thing reverse directly,
then continuously speeding ahead
into various windows
which were thought to be bare air,
confused and jolting with every attempt
and frantically circling in my sight,
I was led to thinking of a
demolition derby
at a fairground to which
my parents brought me
each year
of childhood
in the Autumn.

I watched, fascinated
machines stave-off
self-induced decimation
until the very last collision, after which
their motive force removed itself
rushing off to pilot
some variant of bumbling insects
and stretchers
in the form of French theological poets
throughout the past
carrying bodies
into the hands of a college student
backing up determinately
to burst through, toward the one who bares
no sons, who may become warriors
or demagogues.

This kind, secular Hannah
crosses my vision
walks out
beyond frames and doors,
clothes flowing with her
body, like a
sweet corona
sweltering with unseen heat
the fading horizon
of my day.

He sees her reflection on the moon.

Now he may not see space’s vacuous expanse
while
she may not be able to touch time’s clear fabric,
although they each feel
glass’s frozen liquidity
in silence.

Each
continuously strikes their head
against motion’s transparent barriers
with force
stubbornly flapping
into matter
with passion
and wings pulsating
toward a new direction
which does not seal them off
to the outside
of a building
in which they would be swatted,
punished for what they are.

Then the moment passed
and the sun’s thousand year combustion
had reached my neck
and penetrated matter
to massage me;

for eight and a half minutes
it travelled
toward a shadow I pushed
across the table
when the sun suddenly was helpless
to tell me where I ended,
which windows I flew through.

I was on top
de Chardin’s stretcher
as he looked at me to say I shouldn’t
charge in that way,
but I fell down
when he let go
or he evaporated
when I doubted he had lived.

Pressing my cheek against the glass
I reversed my propulsion
like the flown insect
and sounded again
my body's tinging
reverberation
on every surface.

Is it cruel to silence a pregnant woman with a dozer
Sold their souls to a war criminal's thirst
Rationalizing every lies with more of them, so kosher
Ask the children died of starvation and thirst
Ever felt threatened by the fire they spit
Lessons never learned, or was it a skit

We don’t want the good guy. I mean we do, we like the idea of him, but not actually him. We want the one who is going to rip our heart out and eat it in front of us.
We want to cry and hate ourselves. Hate our bodies for wanting him, our hearts for going back and our minds for rationalizing it all. We want him because at some point we were taught it was okay; either by our father, brother, uncle, the media, by peers or him.
We were called prudes, old maids and told to lower our standards and give in.
Who were we to think we’d find a man to treat us like that, like a queen? After all he was our king...And so we go along passing up the boring boys for the exciting men. We trade in the picket fence and 2 kids for sleepless nights wondering what it was that we did wrong. Why can’t he love us, the way we love him? But I’m a sucker for punishment and on to the next one.

I'm centralized ******* the eyes behind your face.
Your envy shines through your scars and lies fill your space.
The spot where you once stood is now occupied only by shadow;
Shattered shell, now simply useless, when you used to be fallow.
Speaking haunted words to impress, when they simply aren't your best,
Writing a  metaphorical mess to disguise the blood in your chest.
Rationalizing rage to reiterate your immunity to emotion,
When in truth, your feelings shroud you, like the earth consumed in ocean.
You've exhausted all your time preparing shipmates to drop bombs,
When you should have just put on a red shirt so they would remain calm.
Your day's gone, along with the girl you used to lay on, it's the
Same song, except the ******* sound engineer kept the delay on.
Your gears are running into each other and eroding off slowly,
Until the day your seconds stop ticking and prove that your lowly
Life can only be changed with a changed outlook on your self-worth.
When you let go of someone who never existed, you'll experience rebirth.

Masochism is enveloping you, sadism a byproduct,
Like the desperate excuses you force out of your itching tear ducts.
Gears stuck on 7, the motor's about to blow out.
Don't think now that this person you know is on the holdout.
It's so loud, the screaming amplified by your written words,
And though it hurts, you're coveting that which you don't deserve:
Quit creating your own mirages by expecting to find an oasis.
Until you realize there's only desert, you'll wither away and remain faceless.

Deception is a clever trick, but you're not so great of an actor
(Ironically enough), you have become your own detractor.
Eat fungus to reach the stars, when they're burning lightyears away and
All you're feeling is the warmth of your dopamine receptors at play.
Lying selfishly, forgetting how distinguished you once were,
Not only pushing your love away, but losing objective worth.
Letting a gorgeous figure become a disguise for broken homes.
With shattered moans, you drug-induce tattered bones.
The sadness grows, but only to those who see the truth:
Your admittance is a sign of the desperation leaking through.
A child wrapped in the body of some apathetic youth,
Not yet strong enough to turn away from the peeking moon
Instead of howling loudly, in sheer exhaustion and confusion.
You see, your image of me, like the oasis, is an illusion!
We've switched sides of the coin, you became what you hated.
But, from where did all your anger come? I thought emotions were overrated.

Human weakness is enveloping you, bitterness a byproduct,
Like the desperate excuses you force out of your itching tear ducts.
Fear stuck on max volume, the speaker's about to blow out.
Don't think now that this person you know is on the holdout.
It's so loud, the envy behind your spoken words,
And for what it's worth, you're insulting who once made you bless your birth.
Quit creating your own mirages by expecting to find an oasis.
Until you realize there's only sand left, you'll die thirsty and remain faceless.

in this,
my darkest hour,
the shadow of doubt
sits as I sleep
staring into my eyes
when I look at
him
and burning
holes in my form
when I find the
courage
to look
away

he is silent,
most times

seemingly satisfied
with encroaching fear
from his very prescience

but at times,
he does speak

he whisper to me
soft truths
which I cannot
deny
but
I refuse
to
accept

these truths
like…

that I’m failing
at the simplest of
tasks

or

that I’m
unable
to control myself
and what
I am

or

that
I am no
longer
someone that
I would
look
up
to

for the most part,
I can ignore these.

going about my days
in bliss and happiness
and sunshine

other times,
I am not so
lucky

when my bed
seems my only
friend
and I flop
down into its
soft sheets
and begin drifting off
into my own
world
I am
suddenly reminded
of his
existence

this is when he doesn’t talk

he just looks at me,
knowing why I am so
desperate to get away
from everyone,
and continues to
look

stop staring!
I say

stop staring!
I say again

stop staring!
stop staring!
stop staring
you *******
freak!

but he doesn’t

I work myself up
arguing with him

rationalizing his motivations
analyzing his strategies
predicting his moves

it just makes the whole
experience hurt worse
until finally:

I grab the lamp,
the bottle, the
plate, the knife,
the book, the child,
the girlfriend, the
family member,
the moral

and

throw it at him

every time
the object shatters
against the wall
and the shadow
is gone

I never see where he goes,
I’m still not sure of his name
or his purpose

in these, my darkest hours,
I can feel his eyes burning
me

he whispers answers
too hard to swallow
and edges me on till
I gallop over the edge

once I jump,
he leaves,
leaving me to wrestle
back to some sort of
sanity

I am not sure why
I am not sure when
I am not sure how
it’s possible in the
first place

but I know he will return
and I will be left to wrestle
with myself when he departs
again

in my bleakest moment,
even sleep haunts me with
dreams of my corpse

My emotions crush me
and swallow me whole.
There is no rationalizing
in the belly of the whale.

I'm no mythic hero
I fear
that I was born
and will die in here.

Just let go
you're ******
give up.

Disintegrating
dissolved
tough luck.

Here is a jumbo sized "*******" to my ******
Three years, countless breakdowns, a broken person, and one friend request later...
Here we are
Social media is deliberate, you adding me was deliberate
Do you know you are a ******?
I did not consent to you on that eerie February night
I will not consent to your friend request today
I ask you; what could you make out of seeing my profile?
You have already violated by insides, you have violated my heart, my mind, my body
Do not seek a response from me, I have myself to take care of
When I saw your name, I was surprised I did not cry
Animalistic and intentional, all I can think is "how dare you"
Actively "add friend", *******
I am at a loss for words
I am incapable of rationalizing this
Who do you think you are?
Stare at my profile picture now,
My eyes are sadder
My smile less pure
My demeanor more awkward
all resulting from the night you were a bandit
the night you stole me
stare at my picture and figure out who I am now
I certainly won't look at yours

I should do something
i think
maybe the world will just end
and the clock just ran out
eventually
at least that way we could value time
value
so lost in this miserable space
infinite
black
chaos absolute madness
rationalizing is for the minds
it is cordial,
friendly,
but what then-
left to dwell here trapped
ensnared
mared by experience
to know makes it worse
then, you.

If it wasn't King James who said, "I'm going
To fiddle with the word of God for a bit",
Then
I don't know who did. Burning bushes
Or not I think he made some **** up

Just how Abraham almost offed Isaac.
It's a good thing the creator has a sense of
Humor because
Father’s all over would raise their arms
To the sky and sacrifice away their sons and only God knows who else.

The king was relentless, He didn’t mind
I could only bite my tongue when I wrote
Jonah was spit
To shore from the whale.  The king just wouldn’t let
Me end it there.  

I cringed when Mary birthed
The king of the world as a
******.
It was hard for me not to laugh
Especially the part about forbidden fruit.

I even made up a story about
Rationalizing with wild
Lions
In a den but as long as you
Looked up you lived on.

One night I found an unlabeled scroll
That said he would come when heaven’s the heart
And earth’s
the body and the bones.
James burnt it that night while he drank his tea.