An oyster knows much
of patience and dignity
making jewels of grit

Fifteen years ago.

I was just 15, starting along a path which is only now revealing itself to me. I don’t remember what caught my attention exactly, I remember only the uncomfortable chair in the high school library, the doubt and insecurity and the strangers’ eyes trying to discern my purpose for sitting there.
(more…)

Some people see marriage as a sign of maturity, and my resistance to it as a neurosis which I have not yet overcome, rooted in Peter Pan fantasy and well-grounded fear from seeing so many important relationships in my life fail at marriage.

I do not see it this way, though that evidence is valid. Instead, I see marriage as a gesture of relent to societal and media pressure, another capitulation to a flawed system.

You’re damn right I don’t want to grow up. Grown-ups give up on their dreams. Grown-ups put aside their sense of self in order to make life easier on themselves, often times pressuring their children to become the thing they failed to realize in a surreptitious form of eugenics.

I may very well be a sociopath. I may be megalomaniacal, beacuse I demand that the world take notice of me. My name will be on people’s lips when I am gone; people will rush to be the first to know more about my life.

Clare and I have discussed how we have low self-esteem, yet are elitist, even snobby. We feel we are entitled by our intellects to something greater than the “common man,” yet we feel obligated to act humbly. We are infuriated and somehow made impotent by those who feel entitled to more by the simple fact that they are alive.

I don’t really know how to end this, but it has been on my mind for a while, as I found this as a saved draft in my WordPress system. And identity is still a struggle for me, as I imagine it is for other people. I think I will try and publish my other drafts today, as well.

Blank stares dominate
the conference room as talks start
Code is forbidden

From Jed comes this folk classic.

YTMND – Poor Hamster!

What I see when I look
is bait not hook
a life without and with her

And why not be content?
why hearth and home resent?
one eddy to prosper, the other wither

these chords in accord
and rivers to ford
are not so deep as wide and long

And though I see the other bank
Wade here in the dank
mistaking babbling for song

Sonnets come fairly easily to me. I would never say I have mastered the form, but something about them has always appealed to me. I am also attempting to stay away from love poetry, so if the imagery is lacking in these, it is due to that very specific thinking.

This one is fairly personal to me, but does not quite say everything I want to on the subject. Maybe that is for the best, however, as I tend to be a touch wordy in general. Besides, I am sure every writer has at least some work which does not exactly work the way they want it to, but seems complete nonetheless.

As for those of you who just want funny ramblings and links, I will try to separate the two in the future, but I am rather busy, so bear with me.

—

I’m hardly shy but neither am I proud.
Humility has served me well so far.
I speak my mind. Sometimes, I speak it loud,
but often times, my fullest voice I bar

from sounding forth and making itself heard.
Don’t think at all that I don’t trust my voice.
In fact, I like the way it says my words,
but I keep it low if I’m given the choice.

You ask me why; the answer’s clear enough,
as what’s expected of a man my size
is to be bold and dominant and gruff,
which I can be, as you should realize.

My voice and touch are more tender and light.
So why be loud if you still hear me, right?

… but at least I am writing again. I think my prose has always been stronger than my poetry, but both need the exercise. This feels inspired by American Psycho, but it really just came out of nothing.

—

You wake up because your head has a heartbeat. The throbbing gives you unnatural awareness at this hour. Dawn. And last night was only moments ago. On the floor of her dingy hotel room, you find needles and other remnants of illicit drugs. And her body, used up like the condoms that have become throw rugs across the rust-colored carpet.

You cough twice, a burn in your throat sharpens you again. You prowl the room, a pomade jaguar, silent and filled with purpose. They will never know you were here.

Her purse is empty, its contents splayed like an autopsy across the grimy bathroom counter. There. A gaudy cell phone strangled by a stray hair. You nearly gag as you pinch the hair between your fingers and flush it. The phone goes into your pocket.

Beore you step out into the quiet hallway, you remove your shoes and carry them. Your feet are cold on the stone back stairs. The shoes go into the incinerator. For a moment, you can smell her blood burn from your soles and the familiar urges surface. But now is a shower. Now you need to go to your job.

I’ve been very busy, but a promise is a promise. Haiku today

—

Light on my finger
A spider makes webs so strong
I still cannot see

A sonnet is to me a sort of test

A sonnet is to me a sort of test
One which you only take to please yourself
Its purpose not to show whose work is best
But just to wipe some dust from off the shelf

It takes a mind obsessed with both its parts.
The critical and more creative side
must work in tandem trying to impart
what simple conversation takes in stride

So meter, rhyme and florid imagery
as mixed with sense and message slowly will
become a shot at artful wizardry
and not another empty page to fill

And balance is the truth you’re aiming at
between the two selves living ‘neath your hat