Secret Desires

This is an oldie but a goodie.

To lay a fingertip on unknown flesh,
To feel around with nothing but a need for a sense of relief
Gliding along smoothly, freshly polished marble.
Unique in every way, veins profusely protruding,
so flexible to your touch (musn't be rough or they will hide).
I want to see them, on a white chalkboard,
Drawing me in the right direction. Downward.
To his beating cage. Oh how it beats.
Oh, how mine beats in compliance.
Hormones multiplying. Instinct ridicule morality.
Blood richer, pumping faster.
The chamber of love does not struggle to keep up.
The speed of our bodies.
The need of our bodies.
I no longer want to be deprived of this,
don't tease... please...

The warmth of the sheets is no longer necessary,
as they roll along to the foot of the bed.
Our heat is overwhelming. Heat!
Sweat! Pores no longer resist.
No more resisting... you are my desire!

Bring me home, lie me to sleep.
Tuck me in and thank you for tonight.
No more secrets only fulfilled desires.
To be continued when I awake.

Written Sept. 12 2006

Sounds of a Forbidden World

I just began to write and this is what came out. But i think I might have a good idea here. I think I might use this idea to begin to write a play. I'll keep you informed. Enjoy this for now!

You gaze at the brick wall, fixed a meter from your grid-patterned pane. You hear heavy rain drops, not falling from the sky, but from your neighbour’s large peach tree to your far left. The water drops of rain, fall (if you prefer). The crimson coloured bricks glisten ever so slightly from the few rays of the fading sunlight that victoriously made it through the thick overcast clouds. You hear an electric saw in the distance and for some reason it brings you pleasure and relief. There are others beyond this place. Instantly you turn your head and hear an enraged male voice off to your right. You stare passively at the brick wall while your energy and mind work to figure out what he yells about or who he yells at. Could be anyone you decide – a disobedient child pedaling to quickly and gaining to much distance; a woman who brings to light a discussion which should have left to be discussed in the security of his home; a stranger who so aggressively collides his shoulder and deserves nothing more than a foreign curse. You hear nothing for a long moment and decide that it was just another moment of frustration that is so easily disregarded. You sit. You jolt back to the pane and listen. A screeching car makes its way east to your left. You picture a young boy sitting in the driver’s seat holding a lit cigarette, leaning towards the door, cap pulled low. He doesn’t slow down for the warning speed bumps and you hear the scratch of metal on the wet concrete floor. Another car is turned on; it must have been parked along the road you have never seen before. It drives off. You wait another moment for another intriguing sound that will help you to define the work beyond the brick wall, but you hear nothing. You sit and wait as you have been doing for eternity, it seems. You hear a plane, stand, stare, listen until all has gone quiet and sit again. This routine has become your only stories, your only knowledge of what was so generously given and harshly taken away. The world has become a brick wall and sometimes, water drops of rain.

One Lane Dash (Pt.1)

She stands outside the station and takes a few puffs of her last cigarette. She observes the smoke as she exhales and smiles at the pink lipstick residue. Underneath a building overhang she reaches into her red quilted purse and retrieves her cell phone. She stares at it. Take another drag. And unlocks the keypad. 'Create new message'.
She knows she shouldn't put any more effort into him, she'll, once again, be left hanging on the side of a cliff, awaiting her arm to grow numb and strength to drain her hope. But she writes anyway.
'Why haven't you called or texted? And please don't ignore this message,' she writes as a last attempt to convince him to say something, 'Be honest'. Send.
She stares at the spinning letter and takes another drag of her dependable other, 'message sent'.
She doesn't understand why things that can be so simply resolved, so simply defined, are so hard to say and make definite. She wants to believe that he is just confused, scared and isn't sure what to say because of the obligations which may ensue. She wants to believe this. She sees no other appropriate explanation for just leaving her. Weeks before she had spend the most memorable and satisfying night with him, filled with affection and undeniable connection. How could he pretend there was nothing there?
She realizes this isn't the first time things have come to be this way. Time and time again she is taken for granted and left to stand alone on the city streets watching others say their loving goodbyes until tomorrow. She knows that she must change the way she views herself and the ways in which relationships must begin. She doesn't know whether to give it all at once - her trust, her affection, her time and her love. If one wants to give this all to him, should one schedule it so that no one is overwhelmed? Should one put her feelings on hold until the next hurdle arrives? Are relationships tracks which we run, racing to finish the next lap, to make another move, reveal another piece of ourselves? So when do we stop running?
She figures this is her last lap, she's reaching the finish line awaiting the prize to come into sight. What will it be, an empty victory or arms spread open allowing her into his life?
She arrives home an hour later - no reply. Zero messages.

"Tell me what this restlessness is.

Tell me how much longer it will last

Or how I can get it to stop."

I'm Yours by Jason Mraz

Here are the lyrics to Jason Mraz's new song 'I'm Yours'.

Well you done done me and you bet I felt it
I tried to be chill but you're so hot that I melted
I fell right through the cracks
And now I'm trying to get back
Before the cool done run out
I'll be giving it my bestest
Nothing's going to stop me but divine intervention
I reckon it's again my turn to win some or learn some

I won't hesitate no more, no more
It cannot wait, I'm yours

Well open up your mind and see like me
Open up your plans and damn you're free
Look into your heart and you'll find love love love
Listen to the music of the moment people dance and sing
We're just one big family.
It's your God-forsaken right to be loved love loved love love

So I won't hesitate no more, no more
It cannot wait I'm sure
There's no need to complicate
Our time is short
This is our fate, I'm yours

I've been spending way too long checking my tongue in the mirror
And bending over backwards just to try to see it clearer
But my breath fogged up the glass
And so I drew a new face and laughed
I guess what I'm saying is there ain't no better reason
To rid yourself of vanity and just go with the seasons
It's what we aim to do
Our name is our virtue

I won't hesitate no more, no more
It cannot wait I'm sure
There's no need to complicate
Our time is short
This is our fate, I'm yours

Well no no, well open up your mind and see like me
Open up your plans and damn you're free
Look into your heart and you'll find love love love love
Listen to the music of the moment come and dance with me
I like one big family (2nd time: I like happy family)
It's your God-forsaken right to be loved love love love

I won't hesitate no more
Oh no more no more no more
It's your God-forsaken right to be loved, I'm sure
There's no need to complicate
Our time is short
This is our fate, I'm yours

No I won't hesitate no more, no more
This cannot wait I'm sure
There's no need to complicate
Our time is short
This is our fate, I'm yours, I'm yours

Quoting 'White Fang'

Here's a great quote from 'White Fang' by Jack London.
Opening paragraph...

"Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway. The trees had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of frost, and they seemed to lean toward each other, black and ominous, in the fading light. A vast silence reigned over the land. The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness. There was a hint in it of laughter, but of a laughter more terrible than any sadness - a laughter that was mirthless as grimness of infallibility. It was the masterful and incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing at the futility of life and the effort of life. It was the Wild, the savage, frozen-hearted Northland Wild" (London, 91).

Third paragraph...

"In advance of the dogs, on wide snowshoes, toiled a man. At the rear of the sled toiled a second man. On the sled, in the box, lay a third man whose toil was over, - a man whom the Wild had conquered and beaten down until he would never move nor struggle again. It is not the way of the Wild to like movement. Life is an offence to it, for life is movement; and the Wild aims always to destroy movement. It freezes the water to prevent it running to the sea; it drives the sap out of the trees till they are frozen to their mighty hearts; and most ferociously and terribly of all does the Wild harry and crush into submission man - man, who is the most restless of life, ever in revolt against dictum that all movement must in the end come to the cessation of movement" (London, 92)

Recommended to all.

Recalling the Abyss

He walks with no where to go. He pauses here and there to find some sort of direction. He heads west. He doesn't

know what he's looking for (that's if he is looking at all). He wears sea green canvas pants. A cherry stained sweater

stained with the obstacles he encounters as he makes his way along darkened alleys and ruptured wood fences. He

wears his matching cherry socks over his pants - a blossom growing beneath the sea. He walks with liquor bags in

his hands, heavy and full of sharp edges and rusty nails. He is not sure whar he will do with what he finds on his

journey but it is well known that another man's junk is a strangers treasure.

His long skinny legs take long purposeful pases along the cemented road, his knees bending with every step. It is a

sunny and breezy day. He squints his left eye as he walks towards the setting sun - his right eye covered by the

single filled sunglass lens. He is unshaved and untainted. He has grown accustomed to the judging stares of passing

people. They have an agenda to fulfill, hurriedly walking to reached their pre-scheduled appointment. He, on the other

hand, has no agenda to follow, no appointment to hurry to attend and no destination other than the ambiguousness of

the 'west'.

He walks along Boswell Avenue and faces a dreadful encounter ahead - two beautiful women smiling at the gossip

their day has brought them. He pauses and becomes motionless. His mind draws a blank when he urges it to guide

him in this delicate matter. He is ugly beneath the filth that has made his skin dry and blemished. He has stood in

front of building windows and has tried to figure out what he looked like before his unforeseen runaway. He couldn't

recall a thing. If he were asked how he became like this - a lonesome wolf outcasted by the rest of the pack - he

would reply,

"I don't recall how, but I know that I am here. The past is the fallen edge of a cliff. All I know hot to do is walk onward

and away from the debris."

But no one would ask, instead they would assume and feel that to be a relatively correct summary of the broken man.

They stare at him standing awkwardly in the middle of the sidewalk. They furrow their eyebrows and divide to pass

him on either side. One stepped onto the neighbouring law and the other off the curb - just enough distance. He

stared straight ahead until he couldn't hear the quickening steps behind him. When the world once again became

silent he took one step forward and turned his neck slightly to see no one behind him. He continues to walk west -

onward. His mind does not begin to analyze his actions. He has done that for far to long, and unsuccessfully.

He knows what is wrong with him. He has only ever been able to make one decision in which his body and mind both

agreeably set forth - to runaway. Every other decision has been a failure because they've all been expected; actions

foreseen by others as correct and appropriate. He fears decision already made for him - decision he is unable to

uphold.

He walks on and pauses often in the middle of the street. He does not want to go back to deal with the void of his

past but struggles every moment not too. But his clenched hands around his heavy bags hold his sturdily. He

refuses his knees to buckle and his hands to disguise any tears that may fall beneath them. He sees the world

through one unprotected eye and leaves the other in darkness, fallen away into the abyss of the past.

His is a journey of walking away from the edge - west and onward.

The Diary of the Unspoken: Day 1

Her mind commits its own crimes. She doesn't know how to control it and with every attempt at trying to control it she realizes how serious her own deception is. Her mind if not contained nor the product of reality - her body is a victim.
Everyday, every moment that she feels she should say something, do something - anything - she must consult the consequences in her mind.
She must first enact the possible situation in her mind. Her life resembles novels that guide you to many, varying endings - which one would you choose? The possibilities are endless and time consuming.
Each time her physical body and a little space of her insecure mind want something it is minutes before a decision is made, and by that time it's too late - the moment has gone.
If she were to describe her mind, she would compare to the life of a teen searching for acceptance. in her girlfriends. No matter how wrong a situation may seem if it achieves the desired end, any moral and ethical thought can be forgotten until later when the deed has left her conscious paranoid and guilty.
The larger portion of her mind is a bully, but rather than forcing her to do something - it doesn't allow her to. It is protective over her, like that boyfriend she once had (much too over protective).
It is hard for her to describe something that she is not fully aware of, especially something as complex as the mind.
What the mind wants, it gets - always. There is never a need to think ahead, prepare or be cautious when the mind knows what it wants.
She drives herself insane. She is going insane. It is subtle but it is happening with great intensity in small doses.
She wants to run until her damaged lungs grant her no more breaths. She wants to run from her thoughts and force them to be left behind, to capture another vacant body. Maybe she'll find peace someday - maybe. How would she find peace? She doesn't want to have to sacrifice who she is. Can someone do that? Find peace and still be who you are?
There is a rage within her - anger and hate. Towards who? Herself?
So many personal issues can be tracked to mishaps in childhood. There was nothing wrong with hers. So what does she turn to know for answers and reasoning? Where does she go when her enemy controls every move she makes?