Friday, October 8, 2010

Symbol Contrast

It was a steamed pathway
bathed in black suffocation and ambiguity
our subject knew somehow that it was the right way
but that didn't make the way clearer

beads of sweat charged like battering rams toward the abysmal ground
hot hands of gravity pulling them from the roots of his hair
making muted breaks in the obscured silence
but not altogether opening the way to conversation

yet he moved soooo cautiously!
what would charge his electric confidence?
it was clear in memory, but so far removed it had long since become obsolete
with so many rocks and hard places around, was it even that blasted steam that was suffocating him!?

like gigantic arrows his troubles pressed in on his mind
then he added the guilty thought that he was being selfish to the gauntlet
the lack of sound got so bad it was cacophonous, ahhhh a schizophrenic screaming build up

slamming his eyelids shut in anxious anticipation
the terrible unsound buzzing came to it's awful zenith 
the world shuddered in expectancy of the enormous unexplosion
his fiery lungs seemed to be punched inward toward lifelessness when

the room became a comfortable 68 degrees Fahrenheit 
and the floor lit up in a burst of cool flames!

his bloodshot eyes now open, the irises were like shocked expanded mouths
stark blue
beautiful grey flames
like smiling lovers 

his heart beat in unison with the wings of 1111 aquamarine moths 
gathering like a tribe to a cleansing ritual
circulating the stagnant air making it almost chilly enough for a jacket
she lit and vivified everything

and the sky grayed with the dawning of a glorious day
sunshine dust trickled softly down and swayed like curtains in a breeze
his grateful soul leaped from his encumbered vessel in ecstasy
and the flames heaved and swayed with him playfully

so, they were
and the seer-like radiance guided them fearlessly.
Later he found out how much the flames needed him too
and they never saw themselves as beautiful as they made each other

Monday, October 4, 2010

creative name: first blog


Well this first time blog deal isn't going to be much. I don't feel like writing anything deep or meaningful, in fact I don't really expect anyone to read this; It's more for me anyway, because it's just kind of going to be an outpour of my consciousness, a way for me to get my brain emptier. I realize now that I don't have another way to do this, to think my thoughts out loud, it has to be in writing, so I've given in to the surplus.

Here's a thought I had today in the bathroom. I think it's strange how you go away on a mission for 2 years and if you forget to write a week or two, everyone gets crazy and worried about you; they assume you are dead, or sick, or mad or sinning. Then you get home and everyone congratulates you and sends you off to college to be "independent". Then nobody expects you to write anymore, or tell them about your life, and adventures. Nobody wants to know your struggles, or your successes, your funny anecdotes, or your spiritual experiences anymore. At first it's great, and this "independence" is some sort of glorious freedom. But as time goes by you just want people to care more, and ask, and wonder, and you realize that "independent" is just a euphemism that means alone. Welcome home, you are now alone.

Well, I made that sound worse than it is.

I've realized how selfish I can be some times. It all stems, I believe, from my inability to listen well, or possibly just because I'm a middle child. I think of stories of my own while people are still telling me theirs, then they get to the end and I jump right into mine without even commenting or reacting to their stories. I tend to compete too much for the spotlight, I can't laugh as hard as I want other people to laugh at me. I say I way too much. I really like myself, but now I'm wondering if anyone out there just hates me for some reason because I forgot to pay attention and just assumed everyone loved me as much as I love myself.

Well, that came out narcissistic.

Lately I've been seeing this girl a lot. She is incredible. I hope you know who you are, and just as a precursor, I want to say that if you are reading this, girl, I'm not just writing it to flatter you. She is so interesting! I worry sometimes about my ability to carry a conversation when I'm alone with someone. It was a problem sometimes on my mission, you run out of things to talk about, or you can't act sincerely interested enough to continue a subject and then it just dies out, happens all the time. But not with her somehow. I start getting nervous that we are running into a dead end, but somehow we keep going. It's probably because she is like me, in that we both love being awkward, which you might think would just create a lot of awkwardness, but it's like that one magnet rule, you know the one. So we thrive off the awkwardness and face it fearlessly and enjoy ourselves way too much in the process, because we don't have to be afraid that the other person will hate the awkward moments we encounter. She is afraid of douche bags, I'm not one. She is tired of being kept a secret; which makes absolutely no sense to me, not that she is tired of it, no, that someone would want to keep her a secret. I agonize that I've only ever been able to see her during the day a few short hours, I hope she never thinks I just visit her at night to hide her. She's so embarrassed that I keep seeing her without make up, when she told me that my mouth dropped open and I drooled a little bit, then I snapped my jaw shut before she saw. She wasn't wearing make up!? I've seen very few girls in my life without make up, but the few I have seen... I regret to inform... have been very, let's say, different looking, without all that oil and color. She is so beautiful, I think if I do see her with make up on I might die, and honestly if she is so pretty without it, I could care less if she ever wears make up. Besides, I might die. I have to mention also, that I really like that she likes me. I've encountered a problem before in dating where I have had to, more or less , convince a female, that she likes me. That sounds normal, but I hate it. I can't stand feeling like I'm the one trying always to get a girl to like me, and being compared across the board with other suitors: judged, measured, desperate in my attempts to impress and stick out. Our story has been so simple, she's been so easy to be with, I'm so freaking happy. Not to say we probably won't have rough patches, but they must be different ones that everyone runs into eventually, and I'm glad to know that we seemingly don't have those aforementioned ones.

Well, that was probably a little much, a little too soon.

But nobody is perfect. Especially not me, but she just called me to kill a spider. So I better go.

love shon