Monthly Archives: October 2011

Chosen Mayhem

In this life we meet several crossroads and for almost 60 percent of our in awaken states are at pivotal points of transition. I have been in a stagnant point of career transition and in an evolving emotional transition for the past year of my life and am feeling moments of eruptions bubbling at my core. I have dreamed of writing for most of my life and have been told that to do it is to write daily but mostly would never be a dream realized. I have been mostly inspired in times of overwhelming moments of unrequited love. Or I have been entirely inspired in states of a feeling I have identified as love and I have tired of just loving and have yearned to be loved yet now the most inspired moments have been in moments of intellectual and cerebral states of lackadaisical and lonely activities. But most of all for most of my life I have chosen dramatic Mayhem. In days of normalcy as the world has put it, I have been stagnated by the process of living and therefore have used likely moments to earn money. The jobs have been boring mundane versions of sales and customer service jobs that become catalyst to seek out the Mayhem of the unknown, the worldly unpopular and I had let the inner voice to write die within me but then I found love years ago with a she version of male roles and the dramatic mayhem arose from illicit behaviors and my pen began to move inside of my heart, my mind and then my hand. The stories that have come from titled experience is a contaminated puss of life’s infection and it’s gory and a chosen Mayhem that has labeled me a self destructive problem among my family and friends, yet now the dream to never be realized seems real and the emotional growth stunted years ago is in a growth spurt. The marriage of my heart, soul and mind has bore children of faith and confidence. Yet to be a winner among the eyes of the world I must produce something. Late this evening doing what others find as problematic I have began to think of ways to prosper in this world of calm a new type of productive chosen Mayhem free of negative influences, people and love unrequited. A new active force of myself that allows me this normalcy that world desires of me, a forgiveness of those and a unpolluted day to day magnet to what is good. I want to write and I have been doing so in states of emotional tyranny in states of inspired awe and in states of out of mind highs induced by narcotics, be it the wine from a store, the blow from a party, the grass from a freedom thinker, the speed from the forlorn doctor and I love all those different states of me as much as I hate thinking of rent, bills and days without a man who has chosen a woman for sexual sales over my faithful dedication to he and I am wondering will they applaud my “writers” honesty when my pages are printed or will they baffle their own perceptions of what they thought judgments to the point of hating the me that is revealed the girl who enjoyed her chosen Mayhem. The woman who has found a faith in a God so many use as a weapon instead of a common love supplier dealing his forgiveness as willingly as the neighbor dope man deals his dope. Will the world always see the different as crazy and will I be labeled and filed under that category myself.
I am of the crazed creative clan that feels music when it plays like vibrating touches, notes scaling the skin and words permeating the air inhaled like oxygen. I am a watcher of movies who sees the beauty beyond the words but in the depth of the lessons that love is the true currency in this life. The eyes that see the fear in the dialogue lost to monsters for they are products of true hate of the different and unloved. Jason killing for the desire to be taken to trick or treat yet left to the pain of youth, the freddy burned for his childlike innocence to the point of corrupting dreams yet most see just the killing the blood but care not of why? Walking the reality streets of our everyday world as the high rise building house zombies seeking only more green tinted number denoted pieces of paper for status so why is exhibited and never needs to be investigated. Yet the mayhem they have chosen is acceptable in the eyes of this world and still the homes of this fanatical currency chasers still desire what their why can’t create. Love and companionship. Their stereos blast words of bitter, brave, longing, touching, feeling lyrical prose that darkened hearts have bleed, sweat and cried to have heard while they down sweet darkened spirits, inhale green image provoking trees, inhale chemically crowning white clouds, to quiet the pains of those they pass, to dull the leech like fire of loves emotional and mental pulls. Then they croon, write, paint, create versions of emotions that these others cannot explain yet somehow relate to when see, heard, or even tasted as we starve for their comforts, yet smile more days, cry more days, draw from more faith then they. It was a chosen mayhem to walk among the emotionally dying, be lost to the darkness of misunderstood pain and just ask why? Why are you angry? Why don’t you believe? Why not me? Why did you? Why do I? Many laws with I didn’t comply. Many rules left broken. Yet many souls have called to me to just be heard, asking for my way with words to transcend what in me was broken, to be the gateway, their love the token to pay my way to entry into the minds of the zombies who ask me to chose the mayhem that can be noted acceptable, I wasn’t detectable so I rode alone until they asked me to share that sweet brown spirit or inhale they tree, and there is where the story began to seep free…

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States of Mine

I use to be your friend, then we were lovers and now I don’t know what State of Mine, is able to define what we have become, this jilted level of love that looks like hate. Each movement, word spoken or look intercepted is bait. Hooked to be caught fished, skinned and cooked.
I use to see you as a permanent state of mine that was accompanied with lifetime.
Now you are just the hand on the glock, a block to positive thinking
You are the anchor that is the cause to me sinking, you leave me in stagnant moments becoming memories of pain, disdain for the male assembly. You have become the representative in my house of no, not, negate. You make me not want to date.
I suppose this is our fate, to be this thin line that has separated our love and the beginnings of hate.

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New Case, Love

Expectation is leading, exceeding honesty, holding my hand, traveling between words not spoken. Repeating concerns daggers of judgement and there you and I stand. Brand new No precedents to refer to no love vs trust in this case of us. Our first time in Ligation. My first charge, trust not defied is my defense. This is not my first love this chemical noose that is slowly killing my earthly body, and you this new experimental organic and pure treatment to old diseases of “nothing but lust”, “selfish desire”, “emotion option not included”, “your just like the last” , “gave my heart to fast for the feeling”, ” can’t embrace me I am retreating to you”. My last emotional-oncologist prescribed me the worlds remedies in forms of cocaine, cannabis, ec stacy, illicit sex, anger and other peoples pain therapy. Nothing seemed to cure the lack of love that really was all I really did need. It was fear that cloned me and sent me in pursuit of these mind altering options for calm. I conquered the need for each slowly as I revealed the contents of days sealed. Exposing flesh untouched by hands, lips never kissed, a heart hidden behind false bravo dos, inept packaging and my desire for something that was supposed to be free. No exchange of currency, yet I paid handsomely for the moments of thoughtless, emotion free peace, until my soul began to overdraw and I had to face the flaw of denial. The quick fix of penetrating fixes, heart numbing gifts of lackadaisical highs from anything presented went from vacating the mind to illuminating it’s presence. It was taking me into adverse rooms of understanding, reflection and evaluation of self as I realized I was all that was left when the green had run dry of hydration factors. Others were aliens. Another world of daily methodical and limited movement. Realized all those that had come and gone were gone for it was no one here inside they could see, hiding in the clouds of smoke, I had become so loud in my cries, they scattered, just flies landing and lifting off. The next hit changed my mind and My heart spoke to me and said come to me and be free. You have incarcerated your own entity in this jail of fear. No faith has been applied therefore your value has been lost in the random, the abandon. My first day of change was a methadone of association and compatibility. Each individual conversation with the aliens so foreign to me, a dose of love left just for this heartbeat and finally a breath escaped. The woman inside breathing and as she began to take breaths, the woman I was began the first of several deaths. The little girl left without attention, died from overwhelming touch, the pre teen with no place to rest her thoughts died listening, the voice never heard died speaking. The woman without faith, seeing that it was herself that she left, had returned, she died believing. As I began again born of acceptance, love and faith just for me. Learning by living the recovery of karma.. Now you have appeared and the table of judgement is again displayed. The jury… Just your perception, my intention denied during the first stages of selection and the pains of growing are lost in your eyes. Yet they were more of a gift, then I even knew.. It was seeing me with eyes anew, without tainted images of days lived, just the new truth I had created with faith. I had begun to feel safe so I shared that past that still appeared in the present yet differently. Yet your eyes are clouded by the honesty that is a new thing for this child reborn, discretion not a choice, I must embrace this voice. The new sentence is restitution for settling for the excuse of transition. You must serve the term of lost opportunity. Growing tired of lost, it’s not worth the cost of the love I can attain, no more visits to the past, you see the classes passed, is why the past can’t last in today. You can’t un learn self understanding.. The case of “new” love vs trust” rules in the favor of love. The appeal is not yet determined, yet I doing my best to keep the outlook positive, it presents unexpected things, like the opportunity to try again supported by his most powerful friend “forgive”

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First Vulnerable, Now the argument for the DEFENSE

When did this scene begin, did I not re read the modifications to my script. This is my life. I say who effects me, I say who holds my heart and even as the words escape my lips I know the depth of this part requires I be vulnerable to what I am feeling. As your smile ran from our present, I was showing images of my past, how can I fight this truth you are battling with. You have began to penetrate my soul, have somehow found a way to me, you were saving me from the pain of my hearts last risk. You didn’t even get named. Didn’t audition for the ensemble cast yet now the entire thing revolves around that thing in your brown eyes. I didn’t lie, just a twist, the cliff hanger, guess your thinking… I am glad I didn’t bang her. Glad she didn’t touch me to, so quick to forget the warm heart that opened to you. What words can be transcribed to bring this back to my control. The burden of the expectation set straddles my back, reveals all the things I lack. Now you see, all of me, I hope the other things weigh in your mind and you find that the law was set and yes broken, but this is my flaw and I can give you the token of a once broken heart. If this is the only part that keeps you away, can you keep not talking to me, keep holding my life delicately. Was this just foreshadowing. What have you given my life so quickly, I just want you to keep touching me. I am not in love, not ready to say those words. Don’t take the elevator to lower levels of me, I am more this mistake, it was the wrong risk to take. The turn that turned me around to find that I was already upside down. Already lost to your smile, swimming in the warmth of your brown eyes. This is how I know, that the plans I try to lay, are up to him and what he wants me to attain. It’s not a pain, just the a storm and a little rain. You already move me, already soothe me, already showing me my growth in your youth to find you still can lead. Sometimes I hate this seed of need that was planted inside, I can’t hide from eyes of this, should have known when I coupled your name with ” I miss”, shit now I am on the other side of people to dismiss and we haven’t even shared a kiss. If love forgives then what does like do… If loves says persevere than what does like say. If I just do what I would not have done in the past, could it have last. In the spring of your life, and entering the fall of mine, yet it still feels like this is “our” time. Time to rewrite your entrance, stage left, Kingdom contender, render the intention of your smile, reveal your gift. How many pounds can you lift? How many smiles in comparison to frowns? How many ways can you calm my anger? What is your greatest disappointment? Your most desired goal? All are apart of the test for me to end up half to the best. Love I have already found. I know the sound. How did you get here and you don’t seem as you first appeared.
If you can evoke a smile, maybe I should go that extra mile. Allow faith of my heart, shut down the contradicting banter of my past experience and present trepidation. Then I have to stop and admit you haven’t said you wanted anything to do with it. That thing that could be love. Please, don’t want to see your shoulders shrug. Embrace me, ask me to be something more, open the door to what we could experience. I won’t taint your innocence. Give you what is in me to give, I am ready to live.
Your perception may be the exception. Your eyes the reflection I want to stare into. Want to seal the deal, want to express the real way I feel.
Time for those Usher type Confessions. First my concessions, the pause at the edge of the diving board, before I dive into the unknown. Your age, your seed already sown, your impeccable design of touch, your control, your eyes, just you. You didn’t scare me until you withdrew. I thought I knew, and parts of me did, yet you didn’t bid. Didn’t say the things I need to hear. Now all the good, the shit that makes me want to bang your hood. The way you calm me, listen and embrace my nativity with candor, your quiet approach, your eyes, the power that lies in your action and not your words. The creativity that lives somewhere between me and what you haven’t said. Your values expressed in the careful things you do reveal. Your no nonsense approach to the world. The way I want to see the smile, and the way the way you view me, and how day 10 you have no problem showing me in the fact that.. While I miss you, you still won’t speak. Instead of hurting me, you show me my power.
My confession… Your potential is exceedingly sexy, I would risk my smile to allow you a one way ticket to me. I don’t play.. All the way or not at all. Can we build the bridge to another world? Can we make our own reality? Shit there I go again, as if you asked me to be something more than just another girl in the world we are moving in. Can I ask the direct question? Am I worth suggestion?

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Dark Side Defined

    It comes when least expected, a moment of raw selfish intensity that begins with a twinge at the core of me, a small flicker of heat that spreads rapidly. The movement of my tongue becomes quicker, my thoughts darker. The spirituality of my heart is overwhelmed with the spirituality of my sexuality. A womanly need to be aware of me, my most intimate energy. Her aggression is wild in it’s delivery. A dark light of love pulsates through avenues of lost moments and definitive sections of denied fallacy. Flawed beauty masked in love by this higher deity. A monster to the darkened thoughts of being touched. A submission to the call of my dual energy. The elation of intoxicates, paired with waterfalls of erotic fire require that the thirst be quenched. She is her own entity claiming the call of her ability to just in the light of full moons be free. Her supplier is exact and always the same, he awakened her, gave her his own name for her selfish hold to his anatomy. Claimed the love was not for him, but I do love his mind, his soul, but she desires to only be filled, sedated, medicated and satisfied. He knows her need, for he is the flame, that burns, the water that cools her skin. My greatest flaw is the call, the written, enforced law. As she allows his mouth to invade hers the words come in ragged breaths her climax multiplying. Her faith dying as she wishes in that vulnerable moment she can unite her thought and live in love instead of sin. A cigarette touches her lips embracing the bad girl in her that normally stays just beyond the light. Never for the night. The euphoric aftermath of her dark submission, her craving cured, her light again revealed illuminating the path to her days of love for God and not her the pulse that had begun again…. She shudders, even when I lose I win.

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Match up: Me vs America

I am tired of the News and it’s proud reports of negativity. I know that been informed on the dealings in the world is something that with the beginning of television has been a tool or resource of communicating to the world at large about the things that affect us, yet it has also become a run for the most dramatic solicitation of ghetto wounds, broken seals of faith and daily play book of our “money crisis”/ The less money the more vile the reporting s of urban neighborhood crime and of course I truly enjoy the comparison to days passed that seem to accompany the fact by fact commentary by anchors and on site reporters. I am sitting in turmoil of how we as Americas have become so brainwashed by the trappings of the world. The pursuit of money by any means necessary has completely drained us of our humanity. We with the change in morals have lost the ability to be compassionate and are now zombies of a creation provided to cause the instant requirement of lessening the spirit and increasing worry. How much am I worth, how well do I project this image of grandeur. Not many ways to show a loving soul, a notice of the wealth in spirit and heart. I am not a very good American. I don’t have any material glitter to sprinkle next to my name, no mark of superficial fame. No demanding opinion of the street called Wall and most importantly I don’t have the tools necessary for American dreaming. No burn in the pit of my belly to create a tangible and decimal defining portfolio of my humanly value. Me and American do not seem to agree. I cry for pain and fight for smiles. I rather grip my pen, speaking about the novelty of love, and spiritual freedoms, kiss lips of lovers than count my custom duvet covers, I rather dance to loud and energetic quartets of decibels, then be one of the “yes” sir solders. I like the feel of the sun daily, and only want to vote when it sells compromise, or change. I am not so proud to say I am an American. Will they claim me as my words begin to grow with robust textures that are ragged, jagged with disdain for the beliefs that conformity teaches, the shallow love man made dogma preaches. Think the war I am fighting started on this soil here beneath my feet, labored in my heart, and daily seeing but not settling for defeat.

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Pain Confessional

Wired intensity is what I think we call chemical electricity as applied to human connectivity. He was wired to me, strapped to the volts created of my understanding and he charged me, lit up my rooms of living. My plug to operational status. We seemed to just go together. The perfect action and reaction. Yet the wiring was tampered with aging and rearranging something already constructed and tested, installed and cataloged. Now just tattered and waiting to be updated, painted and called new.
Now the confession of the pain I hide deep inside burrowing beneath repressed child hood memories, next to child safety lock, option number two.. Deep inside behind the birth canal I tried to bury you in those things once exposed was something that I just knew, an experience that didn’t have to be recalled, re installed or labeled with a different name. Want to forget the surge of wired intensity that was invisible to the world yet seen so clearly in our surroundings. The lock I wore, the key you held. The rhythm we are, the beat we create. The one entity we complete, two souls ready to mate. Yet I must release those images, replace them with the disadvantages that are born of our differences, our pained moments never forgiven, forgotten or mistaken for just obstacles, we had already prepared for. The confessional of a pain still strong. The desire to make what is wrong… Just a past, a mishap of kindness acting, love reacting, fear attacking. The desire to not swell in that wrong to long.
The secret that I never reveal is that after all this time I still don’t feel like it healed, that place that you then resided inside of me that allowed me to not hide yet appear. That secret that I think of you in the sweat of his sex, the softness of his caress, in the whisper of his love, I still see you. Feel you, smell you. The role he plays is you, a battery operated jolt of my self made wired connectivity.

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