Amongst the Butterflies.

Lie with me a while
Down by the bed of roses,
Settle down beside me
And remind me of the stars

Wonder me with those eyes,
The palest blue and greenery
Hold me close to the skies
Watch the stars gaze down lightly

Follow my call in silence
I beseech you to be mine
Standing by your side Everes
My heart is lovingly thine

Bleeding Earth.

If you were to stand on a satellite orbiting the earth, everything would look like it’s at absolute harmony, the deep blue oceans scattered with its masses of brown and green land with cloud blankets hovering above them. Nothing would seem out of the ordinary except when you start to descend down towards it and touch down on the ground. On the surface is a totally different story, one of devastation and destruction.

Earth is in danger of losing what sets it apart from other planets, the existence of life. With everyday that goes by, some feature of earth or form of life is threatened of its existence by the phenomenon of global climate change and the avarice of man. In our callous pursuit of riches, we have abused our earths resources, endangered its inhabitants and raped the future of life.

Everyday, animals are affected as their habitats are lost to modernization, trees are cut down without remorse, skies are saturated with toxic chemicals and yet nothing significant is being done to stop it. Though we maybe the smartest species on earth and at the same time the dummest, to have engineered our own destruction, we are lucky to have realized what we have caused.

We seriously have taken for granted everything we should spend so much time taking care of and conserving. Even now as your reading this, your using electricity that maybe generated by means of a thermal power plant which pours pollutants into the air every second thereby contributing to global warming. Has that ever occurred to you?

So now we are at a crucial pivoting point to what will become of life to come. We can either change our ways and counter climate change or we cant just let it be and rape the future for those to come after us. The choice is obvious, we have to stop the pollution and end the abuse of our earth because without earth there is no life.

The earth is bleeding today because we have abused it with our so-called change. So if it is change that started this, then it should very well be change that should end it.

Happy House.

I want a house in the hills,
with pristine views of the skies
and the forgotten mills.

I want the linen on my bed,
to speak to me in riddles
and leave me with stories worthy of pickles.

I want a stone fire place,
with skewers made of iron
and a fire that mimics a dancer’s grace.

I want my cutlery to be happy and queer,
with mismatching colours of the rainbow
to leave my guests puzzled with cheer.

I want the sunshine and I want the rain,
and when you walk in through that door,
I want you to blink back in amaze.

JAMES BLAKE.

I love the mess of it. The search for harmony. And the autotune as an art.

Enjoy!

An Analogy even the Gre couldn't Think up.

losing a piece of myself. losing you. losing my identity. losing hope. losing anything... is akin to miscalculating something I know to be certain...

• walking, and over-reaching during a step. how could my legs falter like this? how could the right leg break out of formation this way? traitor.

• wearing heels and going to the home bathroom to check the mirror, reaching for the sink without looking, and grasping wildly in the air where you know for sure the sink should be. you would have staked your life on the fact that the precise angle your elbows took naturally was the correct angle to put your hand in line with the sink. you look down and see the increased height and realize the heels added length and distorted your mental map.

• driving in the snow, with all the expertise of a seasoned driver. you've had your license forever. you could maneuver through anything, you know the slight nuances of the car like the back of your hand... but the snow is an added variable that you could not account for. your hands are unsure. you are unsure of the way your car is sliding as if it had a will of its own. this creature you had tamed, understood, fed and trusted all these years is now a crazed monster on a self-destruction path.

• running down the steps you always run down. counting the familiar rhythm of the steps as toe then heel crash to each step. something happens, the rhythm is jarred, your steps are awry, you trip. you steady yourself against the railings... or perhaps sit, ego-stung, on the ground nursing skinned knees.

• closing your eyes to reach for that deep peace, and finding some kind of semi-vertigo effect happening: your body is weightless and at first, in the darkness behind your lids, you are swept back and forth gently as if by a passing wave. quickly then, you're pulled into one direction, then the other and it's like you're falling into an abyss, but in your own mind. at first, it's something fun, you try to maintain the feeling, but it slowly overcomes you and in fear, you snap your eyes open, surprised to find yourself safe on your bed, muscles tensed. and you're afraid, because how could you live all your life and not know about this dark hole in your mind? what if you hadn't regained control at the last minute, would you have fallen forever, cascading mentally and frozen physically for eternity?

Ah. The things I think of to procrastinate. I must depart.
Beautiful day people.
x

Some Deep Shi+

'in the name of the best within you, do not sacrifice this world to those who are its worst. in the name of the values that keep you alive, do not let your vision of man be distorted by the ugly, the cowardly, the mindless [...]. do not lose your knowledge that man's proper estate is an upright posture, an intransigent mind and a step that travels unlimited roads.

do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark, in the hopeless swamps of the approximate, the not-quite, the not-yet, the not-at-all. do not let the hero in your soul perish, in lonely frustration for the life you deserved but have never been able to reach. check your road and the nature of your battle.

the world you desired can be won, it exists, it is real, it is possible... it's yours.'

ayn rand, atlas shrugged

So then.

I'm worried that everything will be okay. It constantly haunts me, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, where I can pretend that the dust has begun to build only because it's no longer of any use. I've come out of my depression, battered and evolved, but it's gone. I've settled into your average post-adolescent despondence; the worry of a relapse has long died. But what now? What happens? Am I to remain at this plateau indefinitely? I'm worried that I'll be okay, but not in the way that I want to be. Just that - okay. Nothing more, nothing extraordinary, no trembling nerves, no humming blood, mere complacence. I comforted myself with the prospect of eternal misery, but at least that had a fire. At least with that, I knew, or thought, I had a chance of somehow, someday changing that blaze from a harrowing blue to a glorious red. but I don't know what I can do with indifference. I don't know if I can function on it, on the remains of coal - worthless, feathery ash.

You see, before, I had an excuse. My tantrums were, if not verified, accepted. it was a battle, and in a battle, you release your claws. You fight dirty. You kick and you scream. Hey, throw a punch in if you want, too. But when you lose.. when you give it everything you've got and you lose, starting it up again is just you holding onto a dead, false prospect. It's you refusing to accept reality. It's your juvenile denial of defeat.

So what do you do now? Do you press on? Do you live within the restrictions of this new regime? Do you self-impose exile? banishment?

Really. Forget the self-soliloquies. Forget pointless words. What happens now?

I am the walrus.

I've always described black coffee as tasting like walrus feet. Now, I've never actually encountered a walrus, but books and depression have broadened my imagination's ability, and so, I transcend reality; I see things you would never see, and know things you will never know. And although I've never had the pleasure of a walrus's company, my vivid imagination tells me that should I ever, in fact, meet a walrus and by some curious chain of events, bite into his or her flesh, the taste would be reminiscent of a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

And yet, here I stand, morning after morning, and when occasionally the seasons alter my sleeping schedule and render me nocturnal, night after night, watching, with the unbearable spasm of an addict, as the ever luminous espresso machine pours its tears into my blue Peter Pan cup, offering me the satisfaction of the walrus I'll never meet.

Happy Friday Folks!

Twenty?!

I am no longer a teenager. Shocking that I discover this somewhat-well into my 20's right? But it has really hit me recently.
Did you know I am older than Kristen Stewart, Jason Derulo, and all but one of the girls on America's Next Top Model. Yes. Did you know that the UN's definition of youth is '15-24' I'm ALMOST NOT EVEN A YOUTH ANYMORE. F MY LIFE. WHAT SHOULD I DO!?
Somatic growth stops as 18.
Myelination happens the most during teenage years, so I will never get any smarter than I am now.
LIKE THATS IT. I am old. As in opportunity is NOT knocking anymore. As in I have one more egg left. As in grey hair and all that shmaz. As in scratch that epitaph into my tombstone.
Eff my life.
Anyways, that was my 'aha' moment on why I haven't been able to write anything. I over-romanticized every aspect of my life, abused the adjectives and the melodramatics to my heart's content, and now I am free- and depressed enough- to move onto my adult life. So I really should bid you all adieu, at least until I figure out what adult means. Maybe I'll be back in 10 minutes, maybe 10 days, maybe 10 months, maybe a decade. But seriously, I am lost now about everything.

A Girl Who..

"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
— Rosemary Urquico

If you're wondering why some of these old posts have resurfaced, it's because I was doing some editing and the dates got mixed up. That's all. Carry on, carry on...

From a straight road to a swerve.

My mind is bleeding with the realization of its captivity. It's inability to run free, to experience, to live like they do on silver screens, is haunting my every decision. Ignorance comes in many forms, the kindest of his masks, is the one that's always with me. My mind is blind to the most horribly annoying of things, and that is of a sub-conscience choice. An invited and welcomed ignorance if you will.

I have this closet in my head where I push away the unchangeable ways of politics, man, and religion. The things I have to accept, but that don't really make it through my senses are usually found in this closet. Imagine a Narnia type wardrobe. It's pretty and in a room by its lonesome. You see, that's how my closet looks like, pretty and alone, away from human parasites. Sometimes, I open this closet, and I weep. My closet is a horrible place. As soon as I close it I accept the ugly ways of life, but in those brief moments that it's open everything is unacceptable, there is no excuse. I will make a difference someday. No matter how small or insignificant, I'll make it.

Future, on your knees, man. We are coming, through the closets, all of us.