The New Year

The New Year. A time for rebirth, to reflect on the past with hope, for second chances, and new beginnings. How simple, to surrender to the droning rhythm of time's strict militant symphony of drunken farewells and foolish rejoicing. I long for sweet etherium. Let the daylight drift upon our dewy limbs as we lay entwined and naked, with no warm welcome for this fleeting fair weather friend. Tonight we will revolt, on a bed of crushed velvet, satin, and roses. The candle-lite tempo of our disjunct melody of bodies, and sighs, and unspoken exclamations of love will create an immortal moment where time passes us by. Someday, we might victoriously claim, that we were once lost in a moment where passion reigns.

The Playground

On the playground, some of the children used to play Lava Monster, imagining a fiery doom below them. I saw this sometimes, from the large merry-go-round, where the smaller childred would hold tight, spinning, until finnally each one would fly out onto the sand. Injuries suffered were endured with glee, pride even.

Much later, I broke my back playing these games, some other girls did too. Maybe it's brain chemistry, or maybe it's Mars, or maybe I just can't possibly love something unless I've broken it, and its broken me. The way the burn of the sand under my skin sent the adrenaline coursing.

Alex's Kisses

His kisses, full of fiery strength, always promise a feast for the senses. There's no control in love. He's pinned to the wall, his thick neck forming an arch from beautiful broad shoulders to the soft tuft of hair tickling at my palm. As I encroach upon my sumptuous prize, heels raised, a sabotage of the senses betrays me. I am Pavlov's bitch, salivating at the friendly assault of masculine aroma, breathing in the sweet bouquet of man, my man. A hand slides down my back and delirium. Sometimes, there's pressure. Sometimes, a chase. Most times, I come to, groping, and he's groping, like lost pilgrims finally come home. And how many times might I lose myself, and he himself, to journey to some holy place, to bask in the exquisite void? Till death, with many happy returns.

My Faithful Boulder

You quote the I Ching as I stare in wonder. At the still of the brook, the tiled surface of gentle ripples moves us in different ways. Mesmerized by the calm of the image, bubbling liveliness at my back; the water calls to me, summoning the hidden life-source from my soul to its world, infinitely deep. For a moment, I feel as though I might melt into the trembling paradise of watercolored trees. Then you toss an orange peel, and the moment dissolves. I feel the breeze, and the hard rock below me, and your presence, still and patient. How thankful I am for these faithful boulders, who hold me so close to Elysium without falling in.

Artist's Block

Constricting, python-like: my feeble mind is an insurmountable wall of distractions. In the void of self-hypnosis, I can't, I won't, I don't. Somewhere in this shell, amongst mounds of tissue, there is a capacity for beauty. But this snake, unshakable, drains like a leech. Duped only in dreams and death, in moments where memories fade. I can become a vessel. Permeate, release, and create.

Last Request

Martyrdom. Sacrifice. Penance. Libation. Take my love, my heart, my soul. I want; nothing. There is nothing you can give. Only, let me enjoy this moment of surrender. Allow the honeyed perfume of my extinguished prayers to bid their fading farewells. And as the last sweet reverie clouds my impassive mind, know I dream of you, of silken caresses, and eternal love.

Stress or Boredom?

Have you ever been struck by the feeling that the word is so small, there is no escaping the familiarity? Everything is so civilized. I want to get lost in a place unlike anything I've ever known.

I have many words by which to communicate--all originating from one loud gasp for life. There is safety in understanding. We talk, we repeat, we repeat, we carry time forward. Descend alone into the inward world of association that ticks like a clock, chiming with certainty. Somewhere in this mind there's a bug that will separate me from you forever. When reason does not reason I will be alien to this world. Spreading my wings I will shed this habit of fear, metamorphosed into a curious child, the white light leading me to god.

Written: March 22, 2007

Nothing

"And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters."

Genesis 1: 1-2

Exile me from this beautiful life, but let me see what it is I am not. So I can lurk like a ghost, feeling nothing, sensing nothing. But at least I'll know. Forever, I will know.

Written: Friday, June 08, 2007