Put That In Your Heart-Shaped-Box & Try To Reach Nirvana

 

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Valentine’s Day is on Thursday. This has to be absolutely the most ridiculously overblown holiday of the year… I have been guilty of neglecting my relationship with this blog as of late, so in many ways, it seems appropriate to jump back in and discuss the day that is meant to redeem an entire year of relationship neglect, or something… let’s investigate it’s origins, shall we?

Valentine’s Day is another Christian holiday, which has Roman historical roots as well. Like most tales of Christian history, it is one shrouded in mystery (is this any surprise?) There are a few different takes on the story of St. Valentine (Valentinus, if you will), and in Christian history there were at least three saints of this name who were all martyred (no wonder there is such little credibility to Christian faith). Either way, I kind of like this one:

Once upon a dreamy moon there was a roman Emperor: Claudius II who determined that only the young, single, and fit made for good soldiers. Perhaps he has never seen a man fight for something/one he loves, either way that was the idea. As a result, if you were a young man you were forbidden by law to marry and ruin your ability to fight like a real man. Valentine, as you can imagine, was not so down with this idea and being the love-embracing priest he was, continued to perform marriage ceremonies in secrecy to young couples (awe). He was put to death, and was then made a martyr. Huzzah- Christianity!

Other plays on this tale include that Valentine was helping Christians escape from Roman prisons, and also that he was the first man to send a “valentine”, which certainly at that point was a traditional love letter with no other name, when he fell in love with who may have been his jailer’s daughter- either way, she visited him while he was imprisoned.

We celebrate this ridiculous holiday to commemorate the death and burial of St. Valentine in 270 C.E., or possibly, and far more probably, because the Christian faith waned to have an excuse to screw the Pagans out of another celebration. February 15th is traditionally when Lupercalia, the fertility festival of Pagan god or agriculture, Faunus was celebrated. This Pagan celebration was later banned in the Fifth Century for being “un-Christian”.

Either way, all history aside, we now use Valentine’s Day to line the pockets of Hallmark and Nestle’s CEOs. It began as an exchange of small tokens and letters of love, which in the 1900s changed to cards due to the development of printing technology… Look at me now, Ma!

I make a point personally to hand-make my Valentines and mail them out, or deliver them in person. Yes, that is right, I do celebrate Valentines, but I do not believe it to be a romantic holiday at all. In fact, in the face of what it is meant to be, it is the least romantic holiday ever. Stressful dining experience, a day for dressing up in the dead of winter (if you’re Canadian, anyway), and a day of up-selling flowers that really smell like poo-oo-oo.

No one seems to write love letters anymore. I wish I knew why.

As I wrote about in my post “Chivalry is Dead & Other Bull Ka-Ka” feminists have stripped down Valentine’s day as well.

Mostly though, Valentines Day, like Capitalistmas has been so removed from its roots, and is now all about how much money you spend, how lavish the restaurant choice, or how aged and rare the bottle of wine. It is a scam. When you love someone you should show them whenever it strikes you to; doing things because you thought they might be seen as special by someone you see as special. Buying or making something for a person you care about because you were reminded of them when you saw it, or knew it would make them smile for any other number of reasons.

This Valentine’s Day why not perform a secret wedding ceremony? The ultimate Valentine.

Show someone you care on Thursday, or any day, because you are compelled to by your heart, not because it is conventional to do so. Show them through the time you invest in making them a card, or the words you choose to write them a love letter showing they were the only thing on your mind start to finish.

It is time we took a grasp of how we are being manipulated to conduct ourselves and feed money into a failing economic structure.

Love is free.

Love freely.

Now… go get up to your elbows in glitter-glue!

While you’re at it, listen this THIS SONG, because Metric says it best:

 Watch out Cupid

Money is a sick muse

Pull your little arrows out

And let me live my life

She said, “I’m with stupid”

Money is a sick muse

Pull your little arrows out

Let me live my life

The one I’d better lead

All the blondes are fantasies

Remember, I love YOU.

E

‘ you were gone with the breeze on Sunday morning

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Who the fuck is that?
She had caught her reflection in the mirror. She was well knowing that she saw her reflection many times before today. She had stood in front of the mirror many times, every day, for months now, first thing in the morning, before she got dressed. It was the two minutes every day she allowed herself judgement of her whole; every curve and bend; she never rotated, nor did she contort her vessel this way and that, she just stood.
Eyes scanning.
Up,

Down.
Vacant.
Vacant . Vacant

There was never an expression made.
Never did she smile at what was looking back.
Never did she look on with over disapproving glares.
Observe.
Observe.
She would then dress and not pay much attention to that mirror, or that body for the rest of the day.
Tonight.. Tonight she caught her face. Eyes looking back at eyes.
Eyes looking back at eyes.
Observe . Observe
Who the fuck is that?
She couldn’t then recall when the last time she had really looked at herself as more than hips, and stomachs, and breasts, and thighs… A unit of constant in-progress states.
She didn’t know who that was looking back.
When did my hair get so long?
It was as though her face had aged, the way you should anticipate the question Do you feel older? on your birthday.
It wasn’t the aging that had caught her, she didn’t feel she appeared older so much as renewed; matured.
She cleaned her face slowly this night, running the cloth over every pore, and freckle.
Observe. Observe.
She had not aged beyond recognition, but her outlook on the world had matured.
She stood back from the glass, straightened and inhaled.
She was now aware. She had been fixated on presently taking in the world around her, and now she was a part of it. She was one with it.
One.
One.

I am the stars, and the stars are me.

‘ no other love, mama i’m flying

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Blink.

Blink.

Slowly, my left eye opened and shut.

My right eye could not; held fast against cool soil.

Uhh—I let out an almost inaudible grunt through the left side of my lips and teeth. It was then when I realized the ache in the right side of my jaw; the slowly pulsing throb in my right temple.

My eye lolled shut again.

Blink.

Bl—.

Pulse

              Pulse

                              Pulse

Each subsequent throb of pain in my temple felt the way distant sirens sound: slowly fading in and out, but always in surround sound.

Blink, Squint, Adjust.

The sun was still fairly high in the sky, I couldn’t have been out for very long, but I was disoriented like I been sleeping for months and years.

I spotted it then. It wasn’t necessary that I even move my neck, or lift my aching face from the ground. The tail was there, small streamers of colour wisped softly in a wind I could not feel, but now knew was present.

Multi-coloured scraps of fabric dancing lazily against the blue sky.

You were so beautiful, before you were torn to shreds.

Shreds. What if I were torn to shreds?

I began summoning strength to peel the right of my frame from the ground. It took less energy than I had anticipated initially.

Pulse

  Pulse

    Pulse-Pulse-Pulse

All of the blood, pooled on the right side of my body, made fast tracks for my head and it beat violently; my brain sloshing back and forth in its urn.

I squinted, allowing my eyes to adjust to the mid-afternoon rays.

Whhoo-Whhoo-Whhoo

My squint turned to the right: an owl. That seems peculiar, doesn’t it?

Blink.

Blink. Blink.

Blink.

The owl looked at me quizzically.

Peculiar indeed, he thought.

My focus was drawn back to the shimmering, colourful dancers; fragments of the whole- my whole… The whole reason I was here to begin with.

I stood, slowly.

Teetered right, rocked left. Adjust. Squint. Adjust.

I reached for the tail dancing before me.

Contact.

The wisps now danced from between my fingers, wrapping around them, then flying freely around the trembling digits.

I steadied.

A warmth came to my hand and worked its way up my outreached arm. I closed my eyes urging it upwards. Pushing the throbbing from my mind I allowed the warmth to climb through my veins: dancing around my tendons, and filling my muscle fibers.

Blink.

The sun was now directly in my line of vision, the wisps wrapped themselves around my fingers, drawing me closer; begging me to be one with their unified form.

Whhho. Whhooo.

I was part of the dance now, I was spinning lost in colour and shimmering forms.

“Miss?”

The wisps enveloped me; dancing, dancing.

“Are you alright? Miss–”

Whhhhoo. Whhooo.

Flying. I got so high-

The Sinus Dam

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[the sinus dam]

It was as close to a fountain as the human body could produce, she was fairly certain of that.

All the Kleenex in the world, she thought.

The equivalent of her body creating it’s own Chinese Water Torture: drip, drip, drip…

Her brain was operating like that of a bird, or a stoner…possibly both. It swayed, and strayed; lingering on everything and nothing all at once. She often likened the sensation to that of her Central Command Centre swimming.

Slosh…

Slosh…

Slosh…

There it was, the feeling when her brain finally began to capsize in her skull. A cringe causing eyes to squint. A painful tingle reaching all the way down to the base of her spinal chord.

Death must be a better option than this. It was as though the end of the world came when illness set in: everyone just wanted to be nurtured, coddled, and hair-stroked, right?

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Slosh.

Slosh….slos-SLAM.

CRINGE.

Whhhhhhy me? Her consciousness snapped out of its hazy bubble. I can fucking feel my sinuses right now, and they feel like two dams waiting to stream down my nasal cavity.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

It was as though she always forgot what it was like to be sick: a surprise every time. Just as though she had reached into her box of Life to find the prize was chest congestion, neatly wrapped in a mucous lining, with crumbs of every inhaled pollutant, and throat-tickling ants crawling all over it.

See-ya appetite.

Muscles feeling like jelly, the feeling of exhaustion was impossible to shake; tea after tea, she tried. All I want is to sleep; please let me sleep, body! Sleep would never come though; lying down would only be greeted with a blockade at the sinus dam, and wheezing rise and falls of her chest.

In a few days these sensations would be lost and long forgotten. That could have been so much worse, she would muse.

Maybe.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Slosh.

Slosh.

Slosh.

Or, maybe not.

[x]

I’ll let you guess who she is today.

Get your Vitamin C, amigos,

 

E

‘ rivers & roads, rivers & roads

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I was in the mood for some random creative writing work, so I think I may perhaps do a mini-series of scenes… we will see how my momentum keeps up.

Today’s is complete however, raw and unedited exercise in fiction; feel free to leave any feedback you would like.

[ashes, ashes]

It was at that moment I feared we were all fucked.

“Fuck.”

I had lost traction in the mud of the uneven driveway; it must have rained here in recent days- that or there was an off-pouring from somewhere beyond the house creating small, streaming micro-rivers in the sludge below my feet.

I caught myself; sliding left I threw my arms and one hip to the right to counterbalance, I was pretty sure this might have appeared some new-age dance sensation; the truth of the matter was that I was not nearly coordinated enough. Tall, gangly, and weighing little more than the ladder I had just leaned against the wall, many days my body felt foreign: alien to the gestures urged from my brain to the synapses in my nerves.

“I should have gone to medical school, fuckin’ synapses…” I uttered under my breath in the same manner men spoke to themselves after tripping on an imagined loose cobble. Looking behind, and around; to ensure both that he had not tripped on his own boot-laces, and also that no one had taken notice.

The ladder now rest against the shingle siding, the door to it’s left splintered and ajar; it softly beat against the frame as the cool wind caught its edges.

I pulled the collar of my woolen jacket high around my throat and ears: protection.

Beating,

Beating,

Beat…

Beat…

Beat…

My heart suddenly pounded.

Releasing the clutch on my protection I refocused my eyes on the ladder.

One step at a time.

One rung at a time.

Ringing: my ears were already ringing.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

I brushed the grit from my hands on the damp corduroy clad over my numb thighs. I brushed them again, in hopes of a transfer of heat. Luck was not on my side. The air was so thick and damp I felt as though I were standing in the center of a rain cloud.

“Focus. Fucking focus, mate.” I spoke to myself.

A flash. A memory just out of grasp of children’s book; a corduroy bear.

Inside there ran an intricate series of our destructive off-pouring: an interconnectivity of micro-rivers. They wove across the hard wood, dribbling over each step, and flowing in beaded streams. I stood at the mouth of the metaphorical harbor- each serpentine vein joined and lead to a body: my body.

Ring around the rosy,

A pocket full of posy,

Ashes, ashes

We all fall-

The flint collided; my hands were working independently from my brain, this is what it all comes down to, was all that could run through the tracks of my brain, we have always just been waiting for the spark.


Collision.

Collision.

Beat…

Beat….

Beat.

Down.

We all fall down.

‘ & that’s where the protagonist hit the wall..

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I am thinking about character development in fiction today. Particularly after seeing Tarantino’s new film Django last week, I have strong character development on my mind. Sometimes, in writing it is incredibly organic to create fictional places, characters, and situations; other times however it feels like I am only able to see so far into the scene, then it stops and I am left wondering, as though I am the observer and not the creator…

And then what happens?”

There is a piece of fiction I remember writing: the exact moment.

Sitting on my bed, in the apartment I used to call my own.

The light in my room was bright, it was a summer afternoon.

I have since opened this document dozens of times, read it over, knowing that I wanted and needed to elaborate on the scene, but unsure where I wanted it to go; who I wanted this character to be…

I stumbled upon this document again this morning and thought it might be nice to share the few paragraphs I had written at that time. Perhaps releasing it into the world will inspire fruition of the story, and a release of this character’s purpose. Maybe, it will help me to realize that I am not the only person who suffers this type of ‘writer’s block’.

Why can’t my brain work like Tarantino’s?

As if.

[-an untitled excerpt from a story seemingly going nowhere fast-]

i

It was cold the night you left.

A tremble.

A small electro-wave coursed through my spine. It was as though you had had taken a shiver and tied one end of it to your ankle as you walked, and the other to mine.

“What are you doing?” someone may have asked.

“Waiting.” I might have replied. “Watching,” may have been what I meant.

“How long have you been standing here?” someone may have continued.

“Hours.” I might have replied meaning only minutes.

A retreat.

I fumbled in my hand a tattered cigarette; left behind in the pack of John Players discarded as you walked down the steps.

Not yet.

Not yet, I thought.

The clouds had rolled overhead all night, moving westerly with the wind. It was now morning, and the clouds were still streaming white cotton trials through the pale blue sky as he sat at the edge of the brook. Lit in reflections of moonlight a few miles of foot-beaten trails, as well as not so foot-beaten trails had lead to the clearing where he now resided.

“Coffee. I wish I had a fucking coffee.” He groaned in the space between his two ears. A cigarette would have to do instead. Reaching in to his back left pocket he fumbled around his keys to his cigarette pack, forgetting for a moment what it was he was even looking for. Clarity set in however, “Fresh pack, thank Christ for that.” His mind sighed. Not far off a bird was singing; the song wasn’t particularly melodic, and came and went with small hoarse squawks. A chuckle to himself: the bird sounded like her whenever she tried to sing to the radio. Reclining between two rocks he struck a match and breathed in his morning relief. Exhaling small rings of smoke he envisioned every one as a rifle’s scope aiming for the bird, but the bird never flew into his frame of vision. He was left to contemplate the rolling clouds again.

[---]

 

Don’t hides from your creative side my friends,

 

E

Product Is As Process Does

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Today I started (six days late, I will add) a 30 Day Push Challenge. Essentially, this is a month of real internal investigation , and self reflection leading towards achieving the goals we want in life.

Last week I also began painting, again; the first time in the last two years since graduation from school.

It occurs to me that these two tasks are essentially the same, and overlap greatly in the life ideals that I tend to preach: one day at a time, small steps, and focus on the “now”. Spoken like a true hippy, right? I don’t think so.

This goal setting Push is all about creating small to-do lists, setting goals (big and small) on a regular basis, and realizing what the main priorities we have in life are. This 30 Day Push is all about the process . Creating the small changes that lead to the big ones.

My philosophy on art creating has always been much the same way, which is why in a lot of ways I was never sure I fit into art school at all. The end product is never a concern I address as I am working. I tend to do some start-up planning, but from there I like to let work create itself. I stay in the moment, focus my energy to the task, and then go with what I feel .

We are so trained to go against feelings; follow logic and reason. I somehow seem to be unable to shut down that part of my brain however when I engage in anything. Writing, I allow my stream of thought to come naturally, I can never plan ahead. Playing music, I don’t know that I perform a song the same twice. Art making is an extension of these practices as well.

This is the way I work for one reason and that is being here, now , a Buddhist philosophy meant to stay engaged in the present moment as often as is possible. When you are present in the moment, energy focused, there is just a sense of what to do, where to go, and how to react. Intuition takes on all of the things we have learned over the years, and works away.

Creating small goals that are obtainable, and committing to the actions you take will eventually lead you to fruition of your larger, life-changing goals. This is the same as any creative process; every paint stroke, etch mark, cross hatch… Eventually those small moments will create the end realization of the work.

A few tips I can try to offer for beginning to work towards some of your own goals? I suppose that is different for everyone, I can only speak of what works for me… But if you want to try my methods:

1. Make a small to-do list every day that you can keep with you to monitor completion of tasks. This will keep you focused, help you to remember the things you need to get done, and let you not lose sight that you have moved forward when you feel you are getting behind.

2. For long term goals I like to create a written contract for myself. I keep these in a notebook. I also date and sign them all, including a date I plan to achieve my goal by. I find that in both writing it down, and signing the contract I hold myself more accountable for completing and following through on my goal!

3. Schedule into your day things that are not work, or socially related. In making time for things you enjoy doing: baking, longboarding, model ship building, music making, fitness, writing, robot construction… and having scheduled time for things that you enjoy, not solely things you need to do you will maintain hobbies, and continue to create skills in areas outside of your work environment. Scheduling these things also means you’ll be more likely to make time for them.

4. Take educational breaks. I find that taking breaks from daunting tasks to read about fields I am interested in keeps me sharp, broadens my vocabulary and education, and as a result keeps me more focused when I return to previous work. Astro physics is something I tend to read a lot about because it is an area far from my level of expertise… And is crazy mind-warping!

Creating small goals you can obtain every day is easy, keeping track of them will keep you motivated too.

Feel free to leave feedback on ways that help you stay focused and task oriented- maybe they will help me too!

Be Here, Now.
One day at a time my friends!

E

‘ you said something smart about fish and the stars

ImageHalifax, Nova Scotia could not have had a more picture perfect Winter Solstice. The moon is still a week away from being full, but is close enough that without inspection you mightn’t even notice. It shone full and bright in the sky over the harbor, only interrupted by a scattered cloud passing by. The reflection danced in the ripples of the water in a trailing spotlight… It is amazing to me how a boulder in the sky can be so, incredibly, beautiful.

I, from time to time, really enjoy watching a stand up series that Joe Rogan did in 2006, and will link it HERE, because anyone who enjoys laughter needs to see it. One of the components of this set that I enjoy the most though is that the entire thing isn’t about relationships, douchebags, or racism; there is a large part of the act which makes reference to the role of human on Planet Earth, as well as the vast and incredible nature of outer space.

Rogan discusses how so many of us; the majority of us really, take for granted what is above us each and every day. It is always there, so why bother to take notice to the sun, clouds, stars, and planetary bodies? He goes on to state, which I feel to be absolutely true, that if there was only one place on the whole planet: a small window, where you could see the sky, and see space, that people would come for miles and wait hours in line for their chance to have a look.

I am very infrequently in a vehicle, though I am commuting outdoors all of the time. As discussed in previous entries I also took on a new outlook on life some four years ago now: Be here, now. I try to be as observant as I can of people, places, and what happens within my surroundings. If everyone, even for an hour of every day tried to become hyperaware of all that went on in their vicinity, I think they would be dumbstruck.

One of the biggest changes for me has been my connection with nature: how it looks, how it smells, how it feels… how my senses respond to it. We live on an incredible planet geographically speaking; and a planet full of dense life. Beyond that, however, we live on a planet with an unobstructed view of space.

Outer space may be the most humbling thing a human could ask to see on a daily basis. In the eyes of the universe as a whole we are nothing more than the smallest of ants on a log. Our planet only orbits one star, yet looking into the night sky we can see thousands and thousands of others; many of which blew up, imploded, and became black holes thousands of years ago: their light reaching us only now.

I was told recently that because of the nature of the expansion of space, and it’s relationship to time, that if any one of us where to take a journey into space five years out, five years home, by the time you landed on Earth again 1000 years  will have passed on this planet. How absolutely mind blowing is that idea? If I left today I would return thirty-three years old with everyone I know, knew, or (likely) in the bloodline of my family would be long dead. Who knows what the planet would even look like then? Probably like the post apocalypse.

We need to stop living within our egos and take a moment to take in what is around us every day, as well as what we are doing to sustain it. The more observant we are of this speck of a celestial body we call home, and how absolutely mind-boggling and amazing it is, the more we will want our impact on it to change.

This rambling may be all over the place today, but the purpose I wish for it to serve is only that everyone take the time to really take in what is going on around them: Be here, now.

Take note of how your body feels and what it needs.

Observe the things that happen around you, and be aware of them.

Breathe in every smell, taste the air, feel the wind and water.

Don’t govern your life through whims or fleeting emotions.

Do take the time to look up at the sky, and stand in awe at how amazing it, and all that is beyond it truly is.

We are one species, and we only have one planet. Why must we continue to destroy it to one-up each other, and why must we continue to destroy each other to one-up ourselves?

Take a moment to look at the moon between now and the twenty-eighth; it is beautiful in the winter air.

E

 

‘ this one goes out to the one i love…

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“I feel like we must be connected on some hormonal level right now- I feel a bit nervous!”

That was the text.

That was the moment:

Soul mates do exist.

Organic lifestyles have become these strange and intangible things. I find that as I get older, and become a grown-up I am loosing touch more and more with how creating organic relationships work. So many friends have met their partners on the Internet, or have friendships forged from video-gaming from two different homes. There is this new fear of human contact, or bubble-breaching that has overcome western world. I have found that since graduating university; where I was constantly surrounded by like-minded peers, I have no idea how to meet new friends, or forge new relationships. The Real World can be a scary place: everyone is plugged into their devices and avoiding eye-contact like they would an envelope of Anthrax.

We live in this material world where everything can be replaced, expended, and used as we desire. This seems to have doubled over on to humans as well. If a date doesn’t work out there will be another, if a friend hurts us it is easier to ignore the issue and hope to be able to replace them than to mend and strengthen.

I have always been miserable with confrontation. It terrifies me. I can never seem to find the right words to say in any situation. I am just as unsure of how to tell someone how much I love and need them as I am at telling another person to go fuck themselves when they have hurt me purposefully. This, I figure, must be symptomatic of the digital age; it is easy to hide behind keyed letters and digital mainframes. We have lost the sense of value in human contact.

All I have been aching for these days is real human connectivity. I fear what waits on the other line of the telephone when it rings most of the time, but conversation is an art that has become so lost that the idea of hearing a real voice is now something to yearn for.

I have been admittedly selfish; I have wanted things to happen: action. I have no idea what I want those things to be though, or what actions I want to take, let alone what actions I want anyone else around me to initiate.

I have been living in delusion.

I used to ignorantly believe that life is all about everything falling into place for a bigger karma-driven plan. I have learned.

Life isn’t about all of the pieces falling in to place; it is about having all of the right pieces for when you reach that part of the puzzle.

There is this beautiful, intellectual, and amazing person in this world who is my soul mate. We connect on brain waves, we finish each others thoughts without realization, and there is this mother-like gut instinct when something is wrong.

Life for all of us seems to be about the faith that someone like that is out there waiting for us in an intimate relationship with someone else, but it isn’t the case. Soul mates are people we are to be tethered to emotionally, and when we can recognize that in the friendships we sustain we will embrace these people more.

Christmas may as well just be called Capitalistmas; it has also lost all sight of the truer meaning. Holidays, all holidays, are about being able to reach out and hold close to the people who we love the most, and without that connection there isn’t anything all that special about the day. All I wanted for Christmas was to find that reconnection to the soul mate I allowed to slip from my fingers, and in this age of ten thousand ways of communicating that message I still can not seem to find the right words, or means to do that.

Show people how much you love them: tell them, do things for them, be observant of the things that make them happy and make them happen for them; on a holiday such as this try to find the right words, and right actions.

Money can’t buy the things we really need in this world; hold those things, feelings, and people close.

 

E

 

 

Be Strong; Stay Strong, For Me

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To The One I Need The Most:

I feel I must apologize; must find all within me to heal the ache you radiate through me. A constant reminder, Help I’m Alive! you chorus in metric rhythm. I’m alive. I’m alive.

I know I told you the last time, like the time before, that I would protect you. I held that value at my core, but distractions are abound. Slight of hand, slight of mind. The smile in return to my smile, the eyes that gleam back, and I would urge to you as I swam within them, It will be different this time, I promise.

Promises sometimes are empty. Believe me though, if only I had of known I would have never made you such a promise; your ache is radiating through me: reverberating through my bones, bubbling through my veins, and sometimes when you really reflect on the pain I have caused it streams and streams down my cheeks. I feel your pain, I want to heal you; heal me too.

It is so easy to be reckless with you; so strong and powerful, you can withstand the blows. Enough is enough, I have learned for now a lesson that will surely be lost the next time someone looks deep into my eyes, pierces my soul, and says, I love you. 

I love you. I do. You are the biggest part of me. Without you I would have the same cold, jaded outlook on the world that has taken over Western culture. Everyone just wants a fuck; the only one to get fucked is you. I recognize that it is my body that would see that through.

What about that cosmic karma fuck though? The one that kicks you in the chest, and caves in the ribs around you. No air, no air. That is how it feels when everything comes crashing down, and you’re the one that feels it: pound, pound, pound.

Help, I’m Alive.

Karma is coming back for you though, you must believe that. It will reward you one day for all of the pain that I have put you through. All I can do is hope that it doesn’t turn and come back for me too. Enough is enough. I wish I could say that it will all be alright, that I could take away the hurt, the worry. These are promises we can never make. The world changes so much every day; time is passing and all I loved about the world is starting to fade away: pound, pound, pound, beat, beat, beat. We will beat this yet; each break is to ensure there are no regrets.

No regrets.

Please accept this apology, for all of the wrongs I have done and cannot undo. For all of the lies and betrayals I have made to you. I was trying to look out for us, really I should have known that looking out for you is looking out for us. I love you, I need you, and I will always be there to hold you up even when you want to stop keeping time and it feels like I have put a piano on my chest. Without you I have nothing; could love no one.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

Beat. Beat. Beat.

I beg, keep on keeping time within me.

 

With all of the love you could allow,

E