Closure

Katya: Sometimes, even if you have the keys those doors still can't be opened. Can they?
Jeremy: Even if the door is open, the person you're looking for may not be there, Katya.

-My Blueberry Nights

Solar Eclipse

This past weekend, on my 21st birthday, the moon passed in front of the sun, and was visible from northern Canada to certain areas of China. Although I could not be there to see it, August 1st was a memorable day for me as I felt loved by those around me, as well as the ones who could not be present for either of these premier events. Twenty-one is definitely a milestone, not only for the obvious legal liberties (which I've taken full advantage of), but for the realization that I cannot escape life by wishing for death, nor will death come any sooner. Although suicide became exempt from my options long ago, life continues to be an uphill struggle, but I have learned to deal with these hardships in light of an end which I can deem worthwhile. All in all, I know I have more to be grateful for than cross, as is enunciated by my friends, family, and this picture:

old photographs

All we ever see of the stars are their old photographs.

-The Watchmen

Ruminations

Here I am. This is my college life. And when I look at it I see that it is nearly perfect; that aside from my accumulated debt, I am living the life I wanted for this stage. The older I get, the more I understand and accept that nothing is stable, that every negative emotion and situation that comes my way will pass with the days, seasons, and years. It is utterly amazing to me that the sun always rises, even in this cold city, after any dreary or turbulent night, and throughout, as well as following, this lonely life.


The Doppler Shift

Such an array of emotions
from the distance, I am captivated by the simplicity of its truth
but up close, and in the raw
I am heartbroken by the knowledge
that the most luminescent
will be the most hard
to experience; to absorb into the center of this retina
with a reception much too skewed and limited
to perceive from.
These colors are cruel
they breach misery from their roots.
So when the shift comes to change my view
from the sweetly blue to a harsh and daunting red
I can already tell, and ruefully accept:
there will be many more moments before I perish
that I shall wish to be dead.

The Murder

I pray you can't tell
I pray I never show
the depths of these emotions
which I so viciously feel.
So I stifle them well
like a murder victim, gagged and bound
held at gunpoint, 'till the trigger held taut
relaxes, and before the muscles can unrestrain,
the detonation hits my head,
and penetrates the skull.
The only sound -
the shock of death, so frighteningly loud
but only exists
between my own ears
and merely echoes
throughout closely confined chambers
of this heart.

Notes from my trip to Taiwan last Winter

The Mold (written Jan 10, 2008)

I put my trapped life on hold
to lay back, observe, and rinse away the mold.
Though the stain will still leave the glass discolored,
I would rather rip away the hurt
than leave these heavy layers uncovered.

It is not enough to be loved;
one must be understood.


Bury Your Dead (written around Jan 4, 2008)

Those who do not bury their dead
will feel the fury of memory at their windowsills
and no matter how hard you slam down the glass
the shutters will still murmur their utterances.
There is no need to avoid the gravesite,
you sleep with a corpse next to your head
and when you reach out to caress the body you once loved,
it will reek of a dead man's scent.
So be it, your misgivings were so unfairly placed
upon the living, but when the phantom's touch instead
becomes a choking clutch, you will have wished
you had left the dead buried.


One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul, yet no one ever comes to sit by it. Passers-by only see a wisp of smoke from the distance and continue on their way.
~Vincent Van Gogh

It is just in learning to suffer without complaint, in learning to look on pain without repugnance, that you risk vertigo, and yet it is possible, yet you may even catch a glimpse of a vague likelihood that on the other side of life we shall see good reason for the existence of pain, which seen from have sometimes so fills the whole horizon that it takes on the proportions of a hopeless deluge. We know very little about this, about its proportions, and it is better to look at a wheat field, even in the form of a picture.
~Vincent Van Gogh


It's not enough to conquer; one must know how to seduce.
~Voltaire

If we don't find anything pleasant, at least we shall find something new.
~Voltaire

If God did not exist, he would have to be invented.
~Voltaire

Minds differ still more than faces.
~Voltaire

The heart is simple; fixing it is complicated. ~Tadpole the movie


(Jan 13, 2008)

On the flip side of sadness, there is anger.

My skull is burning. I long to die.

Estranged

a poem about first moving to the city.

This is not my life
It is someone else's
I am only the shadow of the body,
dragging, lagging - and walking helpless
Which would explain why, every object-
street, tree, and person alive
seems cold and alien
Strange, to be subject to one's own existence
as a distant relative, dissociated
Just as the serpent sheds away a previous form of skin,
like him, my own has left me behind
now I run to chase the darkness of a sudden asymmetry,
lopsided, in feeble attempt to find
the comfort of a former home.

My Next Journey

Don't come near me.
My next trip will be on a red-sheeted gurney
I've lost track of all sight, but I can tell
that life's no longer a journey.
It is an ending waiting to manifest;
It never should have started, now I hate to admit:
I lived my life sleeping in the cellar
of someone else's heart
It pounded loud and lucid
but always left me in the dark.
Now there's not enough blood pumping
to satisfy my own breathing.
My last wish is to leave this bed in peace
for this is the trivial sound
of an existence unraveling.

The Pulp

I placed the fault upon others
when the seed resided within myself,
and when others cared enough to touch me
the pulp began to develop:
What started small and insignificant,
sprouted thorns and leaves, while I,
powerless to cease my own vegetation
became dependent upon an artificial fertilization.
What I thought was love - was poison.
I thrived on a toxin so exquisite, the taste
never quite left my recollection
Now it courses through my veins, like acid
rendering every feeble cell, contaminated. Well,
everyone knows the only way to kill the vine
is to trace it back to the roots, unfortunately mine
lay at the center of all my breaths and fruits:
the Heart, so be it.
I will be satisfied when the job is completed;
when I suffer from my own obsessions no more,
my body will be depleted.

the cancer

I was trying not to let it spread
as it lay, heavy, against my chest
but the cancer became a welcome guest
and I; its host -
It greedily fed
upon the empty niche inside my breast
see, I was a glutton
for unrest, from the very onset
of this life I led
and it won't be much longer, now
my heart's almost gone.
they say, "Death be not proud"
but they were wrong.
I am filled with pride:
the darkness gives me strength, and desire,
and drive
to walk not only through euphoria vines
but to battle this perpetual oppression of night
and relief, in knowing
that someday,
I may end my fight.

Glad

Glad to understand that you never saw much in me i remember being terrified of what you would think knowing my looks were lacking and my personality insufficient but what really mattered was not my overall disposition but just a human presence you wanted to fill in the missing segments she took with her when she left and the trauma you suffered last summer i don't blame you i feel for you i can't compare to but i must admit i felt dead before i met you i liked it because you were a blow to my pride i let it down for yours and now i'm paying the price even as i watched all this happen i was aware of a painful recurrence i nurtured another developing ache now it's swollen it's just the same old still i wonder if you ever thought of her when you were with me when you lay with me and touched my skin yours was icy cold it stung my lips it doesn't matter i created meaning to something which didn't exist i'm glad i was good enough for the moment just a substance to make you forget or act as another ephemeral high i hope what you said wasn't a lie that you really liked me not just to stroke my broken ego or an attempt for atonement i think the move was a smart one to protect your heart from those who would destroy it i hope you heal from your hurt and the damage she's done i understand you deserved someone after her defective love glad i could be of assistance grateful for what heartsickness you added to my experience and finally glad you let me go before i could show resistance.

temporary insanity

Good to know I never parted with insanity
good to know I'm still a living piece of shit
For a moment there
thought I might've had a chance to quit
all these self-damaging fabrications of hurt
they're not real, no not legit,
then how the fuck did they get in?
Do you know the reason I'm fascinated by God
is that I don't believe in Him
I'm enthralled by the beauty of all incantations
but have no regard for sin.
remember I'm a walking piece of shit
i seek love where there is none left
I am the body
of the soul gone dead.

I hate insomnia

Because I've got trouble sleeping at night
I exhaust my body's energy until
my mind can no longer hold the abuse
It collapses on the other side -
as the unconcscious takes this opportunity to let loose,
the inner eye seeks but does not find
and what is not seen is devoured with time.
So when I wonder what is gnawing inside my chest
when I wake to morning fog.
Is not the lack of oxygen
But an internal perception temporarily lost.

the stranger blues

people are strange
and she's just another stranger passin' by.
had to get the hell out of my room
before i died
from lying in an idle position too damn long
feeling my soul hurting like no other
deteriorating and withering away, whaddya say
stranger? you can be my lover for a few days
and then we can get the fuck outta each other's lives.
how does that sound? just fine.
that's just fine.
i soothe the innercore by blowin my trumpet horn.
i satisfy the outercore by blowin dough at the cd store.
i satisfy the crust by buyin a brand new tee
i've got the stranger blues, but it fits me perfectly.
i'd rather not know you.
after all, you're just another stranger to me.

My Own Butcher

Still don't know what to believe
but you say i wasn't a tool.
i accept the way i feel for you
i accept how you don't.
besides unreturned emotions are far better than most
there are worse states of mentality...
and i butchered my arm off before it got ugly,
before the limb developed a mind of its own - dismembered,
along with a loss of hope.
i cope, so shakily.
you faked, your vacancy.
i moved right in, suitcases filled, teeming with exhilaration
at the simple coziness of your rib case.
i didn't know a living ghost lingered;
didn't notice
the bloodstains on the couch.
i must've been too busy kissing your mouth.
or bathing in blankets of raunchy affection
i naively mistook for flame.
(hasn't this happened before?)
but it was real from my side of the bed, by the way.
(i hope i never say that again.)
so props to you and your name.
in one week
you turned a rational being insane.
and i'm suffering now because i still adore you.
excuse me please, while i keep my insides from caving.

Answering my Own Questions

i don't really want to answer my own questions;
don't feel the need to answer to my old demons
i left enough of them behind.
but lately, with you on mind
why, i'm the epitome of glee,
succeeded by a penetrating misery.
this, i safely hide.
but it's got me on edge.
while i strain from tapping again the end of a cigarette,
damn it's got me fucking irritated.
i can't find you-
inside your head
while you're inside mine.

i'm just a lopsided star

I must've believed I was made of elastic
straining myself in five different directions
and even though the pressure shrieked frantic,
the band should've snapped sooner than unexpected.
and now I retreat back to size,
defeated.
Fuck.
I cannot afford to lose any one point.
For one connection omitted means a lopsided star.
the story of my life: a center-missing heart.

MISERY LOVES COMPANY

floating on contentedness
is just a strange way of loving both sides of the coin.
not exactly cloud nine, but that's besides the point
the point is happiness; that is the cure.
that is the only way to get by, even if it doesn't always work.
i can't keep my head above water if everyone else is drowning
i can't keep my mask of smiles if yours is frowning.
can't you see
how you are affecting me.
these dominos are just plain fucking depressing.
and you know i'm willing
but you can only drag it out so far till we both head down,
sinking.
let's find us some remedy.
there's got to be better ways of dealing
and right now you're the best thing i've got for coping.
SO GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!

my life so far

Finally
giving myself a break
and pulling away from the skin I tore,
from the late-night reevaluations, adjustments, philosophical epiphanies, and more.
Much like waking up to a hangover without the migraine
knowing something big's gotta change...
It's such a pain; memories of methods we used for coping,
the mind is such a great thing to rearrange
and continuously apt for leeway...
How do you describe experiencing the middle road?
The feeling of being perfectly happy being alone
and at the same time wishing it weren't so.
My contentedness lies within my ambivalence.
My loneliness is only a side effect of this condition.
If I can get through this,
I know I'm a glutton for bliss.

You Make It Better

I grow restless
I shot a clean one to my head
But what's this the bullet has not yet penetrated
It's been filtered out by your presence
It's been blocked off, and now i'm saved by your love.
Oh it's more than I could ask for
It's more than a boyfriend
Because it means you've dug my insides, made it cake, instead.

i'm not a fucking fish

i didn't make you a clam
but i did pry you open
and your timing was just right
when you slammed shut on my hand.
i screamed for escape; i belong not in the water.
but the salt in my eye makes leaving you much harder.
did you think i could fully love you?
do gills grow from your ass?
i told you i'm not a fish; I'M NOT A FUCKING FISH!!!
you wouldn't believe me -
now look what's happened:
i threw you against a sinking ships sail, for cushion.
i hope you survived,
now leave me in the past.

well aren't i exasperated to the point of snapping!
what an intriguing world of Mammals this is:
we all need each other we're all searching for each other.
and we'll find it when the archealogists discover our bones with shock,
and so meticuously assemble it together for us.
so what's the fucking point.
there is no need to hide anymore
there is no real meaning to our lives but whatever we can.
it's only a matter of time now till impact
until i find my soul's goal and land.