Candor: Not every day is the same

Some days are a great time to be alive. The sun shines, the birds sing, and I float on wings that sparkle. I feel great. No, I feel freaking awesome: like I imagine Bruce Wayne does, when the sun comes up, and he removes his mask, and the bruises are badges proving that he vanquished evil, accomplished something that changed one life -or many.

I feel as though I could go to Vegas, and every number I play would win, every stock I choose would spike, every lottery ticket I own will reveal the magic number. On these amazing days, nothing can faze me, my favorite tracks will randomly play despite the usually unreliable shuffle feature on my player, the bus driver will smile and nod back when I say “Good morning” and work will feel like a joy. Smile stretching across my face like the colorful flutter of scarves in the sun, I will strut out the front door, through the elevator, and into my cubicle like I am walking the stage toward an audience even Eminem would be jealous of.

Everything I touch turns to gold, my art is beautiful and I find the perfect notes to my songs on the first try. Every word spills like honey onto my computer screen, deliciously exhumed. No shade on my day, nothing can erase the beauty I see, no evil word can destroy my glow, and frankly, no idiot I encounter can slur my mood.

Glorious!!

And some moments, it kicks up a notch. Invincibility. Everything I do or say becomes perfect. Is perfect. Laying on the frosting on cake with care and precision, and my hands are steady as a surgeon. Floating versus walking, confident and cool, like the epitome that immediately sways the world. The rush, the rush!! Pure and sweet, untainted by artificial chemicals, or mind altering outside influences, no this must be even better than such immersions.

This is what sipping the elixir of joy must taste like.

These are the good days, the great days.

The days everyone comes to expect of me, because they occur so frequently. Life is good to me -not perfect, but good. These are the better days.

But there are those days.

Days of rare and spontaneous darkness. Dark in epic proportions, that within my tiny existence, snuffs the light, that usually blazes, and shrinks that inferno to a pin-prick before winking it out. Effort seems meaningless, every step becomes a drag. Liking swimming with weights in the ocean at night, but I am not swimming. Swimming would imply effort.

I am not swimming, I’m sinking, drowning, uncaring, still.

Silent.

It’s almost like rebirth, except in regression for instead of being born, I’m squishing back into a womb, and I hold myself within spindly arms and withered limbs. With a sinkhole in my chest, as I drain out, like sand in an hour glass, but the grains slip away into nothing. Vibrancy dies, color expires, a funeral pal on the day which may not rain or overcast, but might as well have been.

Imagination and musings, like bare cold fingers of leafless trees, clawing at the sky, or the musty dirt of the sepulcher. Scratching at layers suddenly too tight, at wrappings that stifle and suffocate, twisting in a grave of expectations and a coffin of rigidity. Can the tree that falls be heard?

Sometimes the day descends into a figurative night. Labels, like tape over lips, steal my voice, and the screams in my throat remain unheard. Similar to the aftershock of a nuclear blast, the silent stillness, the slight ring in the ears, when even yelling becomes the flapping of lips, and desperate expressions a horrid pantomime.

Then the violence absent in the days, visit my dreams…

Some days are good, many are great, few are dark. All that I wish, is that at the end, the tally of good outweighs bad. Not on average, but on sheer median: that the count or values for dark remain the min, and light remains maximized.

Because the shadows never lasts and the dark fades. With a tip of the scales, the dawn reminds me, once again, that the pendulum sways, and that the contrast allows me to be even more appreciative of the little details, like the brave bloom of a flower in the frigid dune of snow.

The darkness never lasts.

I believe in the dawn.

Thanks to "they" who encourage me to hit "publish" and light candles on my path.

Why I can’t stand Rom-Coms

Possible spoilers regarding B&B (Beauty and the Beast) tv show on CW. 
Dunno, the term "spoilers" have a broad range definition these days, might as well give you a heads up. 
Aaaand, this should be fine under "free usage" for "review purposes" (hey, "youtube" burned me well, so I cover my bases).

Actually, I should title this, “Why I despise strongly dislike Rom-Coms” aka Romantic Comedies.

Continue reading Why I can’t stand Rom-Coms

Of Steeples and Lambs

These eyes open wide still see but a fraction,
This face blank and mobile displays the soul;
Dark and craven, this heart sluggishly beats,
The resounding prayer of sullen defeat,
This traitorous depiction of loneliness toll.

We bend our backs to the will of “God”,
Bearing our crosses, weighed by our sins;
We face your glory, our inadequacy proclaimed
By your holy representatives left behind, who bear your cross
As a symbol of belief, to beat our backs
Bloody and raw, the imprint of cross in stripes of condemnation.

We scream and pray, and beg to be shown the way,
Yet somehow the rains of blessing are withheld
In favor of fire and brimstone, fire and death;
The soothing promised was mere inflammation,
The care sought was pure defamation;
Beating down on already bended knee,
Forcing complete and agonizing surrender to pitiless One.

Face down degradation to torture flesh with tortured soul,
Delight in ripping apart the fragile bindings that kept men whole;
The glee that forced the beggar’s hand,
The voices that drive wise men mad,
Knowingly struggle and confine and bind,
Now broken inside, peace no longer can find
The fragments of once glorious abode;
Trampled by impervious One –cold

Heartless cruel master.

Enough with the Blanket Terminology!!!

There is a reason I will not engage my parents in conversation regarding economy or the government. I refuse to dialogue with -dare I say- obnoxious individuals who enjoy arguing politics for the sake of arguing politics. And I positively forbid myself from engaging in one-way-arguments dialogue regarding religion in the presence of religious fanatics.

Why?

Continue reading Enough with the Blanket Terminology!!!

To Lead. To Follow.

All power is with you
The authority is yours to command.
“I” give you the scepter, the crown, the throne;
All await your dictation,
Your insurrection,
Your stain.

Our voices to attain the gathering,
The common thread that hangs us all;
The strangling, the purging, the return,
Drown in the trampled, bloodied throng.
Pink bubbles
Fanciful and engaging,
To reach out is to condone,
To condone is to promote,
To promote is to create a force so powerful
The end will not condone the beginning,
Nor the beginning the end.

Convert the answers to books of cipher,
The game begins with one and another;
When one arrives, and stomps to fight,
The battle takes two to ignite the strife,
Both parties are needed, each side is wanted,
Cannot have one, without the other.

All power is with you,
The authority is yours to command;
Extend your hand and accept the mantle,
Draw your sword and engage in the battle;
Take your places in the tourney’s match,
Charge again with lances sharp,
Perhaps this time the fatal blow
Will end this war.

And yet, with all the resources in your grasp,
You still fancy playacting and vague brutality;
Despite your experience, you are ever blinded,
Your ethos ensnares you each and every time;
Although the exposure has extended,
And both have faced the other,
The blunders that each carry,
Still cripple the strategy.
Once again this imperfect game
Returns and starts anew;
Still learning, progressing,
Perfecting.
Morality is irrelevant,
Mortality is expected;
One day two will rise
And only one will rule..

Follow me.
Follow death.

And yet…
…who is leading whom?

~Inspired by “The Following” – seasons 1:10 to season 2:7. Written in first-person and second-person oice./i>

Weddings: Contrasts and Contracts

It is interesting how contrast exists, even in weddings.

In some cultures, the tradition remains that the bride wears a white dress and the groom wears black. This striking imagery is impressive, but does this mean that marrying black to white results in gray? If black symbolizes dark, and white stands for purity, then does the father of the bride have the right to glare at their future son-in-laws for “tainting” their daughters?

Continue reading Weddings: Contrasts and Contracts

The Well of Isolation

Alone… is a word containing words inside of itself, like Russian nesting dolls.

~Alone, Lone. One. Ne. E.~

Interesting how even when letters are removed, the remainder only emphasizes the solitude.

Alone.

Alone is a tricky emotion. It is interesting, because the fact is, you could be in the most crowded of rooms and still feel alone. You could be… in the middle of a crowd, and still feel…empty. You could be at the side of a loved one, holding their hand, leaning on their shoulder, closing your eyes, sleepy, dreamy.

Still, I see you encased in icy shell.

Alone.

You might tell yourself that this time, it will be different. This time you will open up and be that person who connects, who makes the connection meaningful. This time, you will make a friend. This time you will have your significant other and you will tell them everything.

Except…

Telling them everything means you have nothing.

And then they leave.

And you are still alone.

Alone. Lone.

You are a lone wolf. You think you don’t need anyone anymore. You’re just fine, being all by yourself. In fact, who needs people, who needs friends? Who needs others? The only person you can rely on is yourself. Everyone else will betray you, disappoint you, stab you in the back, and kill you.

Alone is better, alone is survival.

Alone. Lone.

Being lone, means watch your own back. And know that, you will not sabotage yourself.

Alone, Lone. One.

You are one. Two splits down to one. And finally you realize that one is the strongest part of the bond. Because when other leaves, there is only one.

You.

You have to build yourself back up from the ruin and start all over. Again, and again and again, because one is all you are when everyone leaves.

One.

Alone. Lone. One. Ne.

Ne, who gives a crap? You don’t care anymore. In fact, you’ve been rocking it so long –all by yourself– you just feel nothing.

Ne. Meh, Korede [here].

Then, you drift. and everything is the same. Everything is consistently the same.

Ne. Outstretched hands, sliced away each and every time. What’s the point? Why even bother try? Hands implying control, implying some sort of meaning.

You cannot draw hands, nothing to hold when you have no control.

Ne. Relinquish it all.

Alone. Lone. One. Ne. E.

E.

The effort to form phrases is just too much. In fact, being the fifth letter of the alphabet means you don’t need the rest of the alphabet. You’re just fine right where you’re at. And you’ve convinced yourself, in some abstract corner of your mind, that this is what it’s all about. This is what happiness is. This is what life is meant to be.

E: A grunt. a formulation, a syllable. An afterthought. an end to the world tagged on at the very last moment, when you realize that you have nothing. Just you, your empty hands, in an empty room, on an empty block of an empty town nested within an empty city. And then an empty state, part of an empty country.

Lost in an empty world.

E. Ne. One. Lone. Alone.

It’s a fanciful regression. And the process ends.

In silence.

Feelings of: Betrayal –> Rage –> Acceptance –> Indifference –> Desensitization 

Emit Time

For the first time in his life, he felt nothing.

He saw the red tide swiftly advance through the white of the snow, staining the crystals a dark, rust that smelt faintly of iron and tasted of death. Pale clouds burst from his gasping lungs as his hand reached, for what he no longer knew. The harsh gray of the street blended into the steel gray of the sky, and the line separating them was of pulsing blue and red strobe lights as the sirens shrieked and the alarms rang.

His entourage would soon arrive.

Continue reading Emit Time