The Disease

All of the lights have gone out: The lights in their eyes, their smile, their touch, every flicker of passion, spark of integrity, the entire luminescence of their being, all of them- extinguished at once.

They have become transparent, slowly dissolving in their own existence- an apparition of what they once were. What had shown so brightly, each had faded until all that was left is a lonely heart beating in space. A heart like all the rest- powerful, awesome, grotesque. But still a heart alone, a heart with no body to act through, no mind to think through, no awareness to love through, and no soul to affirm its value. A heart waning of meaning, and full of madness. Comparable not even to nothing, but the predecessor of all of human error.

It was no external plague- though a vast disease, terrible and contagious.
What was once a healthy doubt, had become a paralyzing anguish.
The manifestation of despair- The fatal sickness of the mind, heart, and spirit.
Large in themselves, they were small in the world-
they became sick, disembodied.
Hope had dispossessed them.

The sublime nature of the world; the beauty, the horror-
faded away into the abstract.
Fascination and awe, absolved into nothingness.

A waking sleep, a surreal dream, a romanticized premature death.
Lost in their own isolation,
the fruits of life became bitter, tasteless.
Refusing to see they became unseen.
Refusing to hear they became unheard.
Trapped forever in their loneliness-
as a memory, a phantom, a ghost.

This was the real fear-
Being beyond definition, being beyond terms.
The final fortress of solutide.
A self inflicted exile,
Confined forever in their freedom-

The eternal surrender.

Article

Male peacocks fan their tail feathers. Fireflies illuminate themselves. Male grasshoppers sing alluring songs. Women wear makeup and high heels and men buy drinks. Whatever the method, we all have our mating rituals. Courtship or “game” as it may more modernly be referred to has become a primary objective in American, and well, any culture for that matter. By nature we are all instilled with basic techniques to attract others, but the art of human attraction is far more complex. Why is this? Well, we can communicate with each other through more intricate systems of language. The beautiful thing about language is that we can more effectively relay our wants and desires as well as express ourselves. But on the other hand, we are also capable of deception, lies, and manipulation.
However, these acts are not always necessarily bad. A certain level of etiquette and propriety is almost always essential to a person's success. But how does this apply in the dating world? Whether we realize it or not, we naturally grasp the concept of social grace when we are young. We learn to smile, look cute, and ask politely to get what we want. We get what we want by giving others what we think that they want. Manipulation and charm are two powerful tools we use to lure the opposite sex. Just like peacocks, fireflies, and other animals, when our goal is to attract another person, we often put on a show.
When I was younger my mother (a human resources director) told me that when in an interview for a job, to mimic the personality of the interviewer. This is just an example of how people have learned to become “social chameleons,” adapting to the individual they are aiming to please. The same applies to dating, how refreshing is it when us ladies come across a guy who is a perfect gentleman? He calls when he says he will, he opens doors, he pulls the car around, et cetera. And how excited do you men get when a woman seems to be interesting in everything you say, she just so happens to love sports, love cars, love raw meat, et cetera. I can guarantee that these people will have some great dates. Unfortunately, reality must shine through at some point, and the reality is that he usually forgets to open doors, and she is a vegetarian who despises sports.
The actual process of 'picking up' chicks/guys is certainly fun, its like a game in itself. But, if you are looking for something serious, its possible you could be using the wrong approach. The truth is, the majority of people you will meet on any given night out are false advertisements. Try putting yourself out there, don't hesitate to disagree, a friendly argument can be a great way to start a conversation. If a person fails to present themselves honestly from the start, this self monitoring can lead to communication issues later on. Lack of communication means a slew of other issues; trust issues, paranoia, jealousy, et cetera.
It comes down to this; if you're looking for something with a genuine spark, learn to value authenticity over social graces. Present yourself as you are, disagree when you disagree, and don't pretend to be interested in something you are not. And when interacting with others, don't instantly disregard those who may come off as a little more abrasive. I've been here before, and someone who rubbed me the wrong way initially, eventually became my closest friend. Some people found his honesty to be offensive, but I have come to respect it. The fact is, you don't need to appeal to everyone. If you want a one night stand, you're doing the right thing, don't get me wrong. But as I said, if you're at that point where you're looking for something to last more than the weekend, consider changing up your game. You know the cliche 'fish in the sea' metaphor? Well stop trying to appeal to everyone. Put down the net and use a more intimate approach. There are a lot of fish in the sea, but a lot of them are also bottom feeders. You want the right fish, use the right bait. Quit with the generics.

Rent to Own

Oh say can you see
the land of the brave-home of the free?
Where through decaying eyes of liberty justice peers?
Where blinding irrelevance
has left us all jaded,
sitting in a 4 star rated hotel-
sedated with alcohol and pills and chemical laced thrills?

persuaded to "Just Sign & Drive"
we're gonna party like its three easy payments of $19.95

Reality at a fraction of the cost.
And everyday out of the debris we pull out new celebrities
who go on to lead a makeshift revolution

All hail the great American profits!
Together, we can Free the Market!
We will not be hindered by statutes of limitations
We will not be replaced by foreign imitations
We cannot be bought out with cash, credit, or checks
We cannot be bought out by architects who rebuild cities
with all flash and no meaning
smells and sights, stars and stripes and flashing lights-
Forever.

There's a price tag on that grand old flag
A tooth for a tooth, and an eye for an eye
Make no mistake.
We sold out-
When the price of freedom got to high.

Hyperopia

November 4th, 2006

I had written a journal about the severe anxiety I had been having, and an incident at Meijer that was the turning point of it-

"...As I'm going to pay with my purse of change I scrounged up, the guy behind me is right there. I can feel his breath in my hair, he is that close. I'm all ready a nervous wreck as it is and I'm shaking as I put money in the machine because this man is watching me...every move I make, and he's making me frightningly anxious. By now you think this is all in my head, I'm out of my mind. I'm reading into things way to much. I'm creating problems that aren't there. But no. Because as I'm still shaking and struggling to put my money in the slot with the guy lurking over me, he whispers to me, "We are all fighting for our lives." I paused for a second and looked back at him. He was staring blankly at the magazine rack but was looking right through them. The he looked up at me and said it again, "We are all fighting for our lives"....
All night I've been hearing that guys voice saying, "We are fighting for our lives," and this is true. But why?"

I ended that journal with, "We are digging our own graves."

I think of everyday as a struggle, a battle for ourselves. Everyday I have to prove to myself and the world that I am who I am. I re-read this journal from a little over a year ago because I had been feeling that way again lately. For the past few weeks I've felt like everything has been a constant fight. It's tiring. After that fit of anxiety last year I had become very peaceful. Now in the midst of all my discontent I hear that guy whispering, "We are all fighting for our lives," and it calms me down. It calms me because its true, and because once I acknowledge that, I can make a choice. I don't have to fight.

There was a long stretch of time last year when I remained unspoken. I chose to be an observer than a participant. It did me a lot of justice. I remained indifferent to the events happening around me. Though indifference has a negative connotation, it wasn't the apathy I've been feeling lately. In fact, I was far more empathetic then than I am now. I'm only apathetic now because the events are effecting me. Back then, I had distanced myself, and was able to see what was happening clearly, and it was easy to be sympatheic. There is a line from the Tao I've always loved and always have tried to keep in mind, "The sound traveller stays two steps back and remains awake to all that is possible." At some point around the end of this past summer that mind frame has begun to slip away from me. I had started to feel anxious again, nervous tendencies began to return, and I found myself losing grip on my emotions. I've tried to bury it but it has become overwhelming. Someone led me to believe that my perspective was wrong, and eventually I had begun to believe them.

Now I see, that it was them who was wrong. Constant anxiety is no way to live. I have a right to believe this, I've lived with anxiety for my entire life. The only point in my life when I've ever felt any peace is when I've distanced myself. These past few weeks I've been trying to reclaim that mindframe. I've found that the problem lies in the lack of distance. We all enjoy being close to one another, we all enjoy the intamcy of it, we all enjoy being involved. The title of this journal is a name for an eye condition. Hyperopia is farsightedness, the ability to see far, but the inability to focus on the things right in front of you. When we get caught up in people, situations, events, and ideas we begin to lose focus. Our perspective begins to become blurred. This is exactly what causes me anxiety.

There is something about Western culture that is very indulgent, dramatic, and decadent. We long to feel closer to people. We spend years in therapy because our parents, our husbands and wives, our friends, and even ourselves, did not love us enough. But you know what? Irrelvant. Love does not matter nearly as much as we think that it does. Empathy matters, humanity matters, we should feel as we are all one. But attachment? Attachment is not the answer. When studying some Eastern religions such as Buddhism, Hinduism, and Taoism, I belive it was the Hindus that had such a seemingly complex attitude towards the self and the Self. They see it as two seperate entities, the worldly self, and the eternal Self. I agree with this. However, I think that the problem with western culture, and particularly any culture in general really, is that the worldly self seems to be the closest to us. We chose indulgences because they satisfy the sensory needs. We choose aesthetics, to touch, hear, feel, smell, taste, love and hate. We chose to do this because we think that it is all that there is. There is another quote from the Tao, "When there is no desire, all things are at peace." Ha, no desire. What do we know about no desire? We spend our entire lives wanting. This believe that the elimination of desire brings peace, stems from a Buddhist view, and that is that to desire means to suffer. And the only way to attain peace is to eliminate suffering. Again, in Hinduism I had learned that this elimination of desire means the elimination of attachment. This includes to people, to family, children, husbands and wives, and even the worldly self. I found this concept to be the most strange. We are to raise our children and then let them live. We can love each other but must not become dependent, we must let them live. This seems so unfathomable in my culture. But I believe it to be true. The closer we get to others, the closer we get to dramatics, the more out of focus we become.

It's the people who forget to close the doors of perception and be content within themselves in the world that lose focus. It is these people who live like this everyday who are digging their own graves.

We are all fighting for our lives. Focus has nothing to do with vision, it has to do with internal perspective, and I'm fighting to reclaim that focus. I'm fighting to reclaim a peaceful existence.

Monos del Libertad

I wanted to practice writing objectively, about inanimate objects. I choose these three little monkeys i bought in Mexico. And I guess that made me think this poem was most appropriate in Spanish....

Nacido fuera de marfil-
hecho por manos oscuras.
Ellos se sientan inestablemente, oscilar, oscilar
los pies juntos.
Pequeño, tosco, delgado, huesudo,
los ojos y las orejas y la boca son cerrado-
con gusto.
No luz no color
no sonido no música
no palabras no cantando.
Cierre las puertas de la percepción
Los sentidos son una ilusión
No más vanidad,
no más confusión,
no más mentiras.
Llegue en nada, en silencio, en tranquilidad.
Creamos la atrocidad.
No vea mal,
no habla mal,
no oye mal-
Tres monos pequeños del libertad.


(Born out of ivory by dark hands
sitting unsteadily, teetering, swaying
feet together
small coarse thin bony
eyes and ears and mouth closed
Willingly.
no light no color
no sound no music
no words no singing
close the doors of perception
the senses are an illusion
no more vanity
no more confusion
no more lies
arrive at nothing, at silence, at stillness
we create atrocity
see no evil
speak no evil
hear no evil
Three little monkeys of freedom.)

Un Amour Futile

Death is apparently French.

Un Amour Futile (A Futile Love)

LIFE (Vie)
Life, a fire, stutters tripping over stars and moons,
born of echoes of the laughters of light.
She dances on prolific afternoons and sings-
with flutters of breath in the chill of night.
In the stirring of blackbirds elle cherche raison. (she looks for reason)
At twilight she walks quietly next to death
and together they paint the last of the horizon
using only the colors of her final breath.
Hand in hand the flame becomes fainted,
in the flicker of an instance they were smiling-
They were well acquainted.

DEATH (Mort)
In the silhouette of day
A polite breeze still and stiff
carries Death- a rain soaked plié,
and he whispers,"N'être pas craintif" (do not be timid)
cooling
calm
cold
conviction.
Wildly, he gathers life with a futile embrace and
breathes a gentle melody, apologetic in his afflictions
He kills with the finest grace.
Theres a sunrise in the opaque dawning,
La nuit est la mort du jour (the night is the death of day)
In the morning the blackbirds will be yawning
La nuit- il mourra accoucher (the night- it will die to deliver)
The morning, the morning!

His chilly hand gently whispers, "Have no fear,
Sans l'obscurité il ne peut pas y avoir de lumière"
(without the dark there can be no light)

Any Given Man/ Any Given Time

A random poem about the collection of men I've had in my life. Father figures, boyfriends, friends, enemies, et cetera...

I sold myself to him-
perfectly packaged and yet he continued to return me
just like the one before and the one before that.
I thought that second hand was never enough,
I thought that hand me downs were never enough.
I knew that if he wanted reality than he would dig through the garbage and lift up the floor and recycle whats left of all the broken pieces of the women he has shattered before.
I would not be swept under the rug.
So I've been composed and kind, smiling, laughing, and understanding, strong, articulate, peaceful and protecting- indifferent to every other man in this world but him.
I've kept my mouth shut, my eyes closed, my hands tied but my ears open to the same song he sings day in and day out-
I've watched him bleed himself to death through a song fallen on deaf ears,
I've watched people nod their heads though no one really hears.
I had faith in him.
Maybe that makes me ignorant.
Or maybe it makes me angry.
And he thinks that I have this view of him, this glorified view of him this naive and exaggerated view of him-
but its all I can do to not take him and shake him and scream that all I have ever seen was his potential.
I watched him displace his passion on the wrong ears the wrong faces the wrong times the wrong places-
And time and time again I've watched him justify his own misuse of people and himself,
I've watched him take just enough and put back on the shelf whats left of anyone who has ever made the mistake of loving him-
In one way or another.
There is no greater abuse of power.
I tried to nurture him and he stripped me.
I tried to reach out but pride hit me again and again and again with the truth.
The truth is: I've never hung him out to dry.
(The truth is easy to deny)
The truth is: Hes every man to me- another disease that paralyzes the heart of every woman
and again
The truth is: It's all ready been said before, "I've given you all and now I'm nothing."

What am I fighting for?