It is interesting to note that my recent inactivity can be easily attributed to, of all things, a good mood. I have said before that depression fuels my desire for excellence, and by extension those who are needlessly happy seem to have very little to contribute; therefore, I find myself mired in joy, unable to find a topic to write on that is cynical enough not to eviscerate my blog's mood. The problem is that joy cannot be attributed to any noun or set of nouns. By its very definition joy is without reason! This perturbs me, for I am unable to explain the emotion that has taken up habitation in my heart. I cannot tell you how to achieve this experience, nor can I detract from it, for any suppositions on my part would be embellishments not worthy of a scientist.

Now I have reached a dilemma that I had not anticipated. It is not possible for me to write of things that I hate, or improvements that should be made upon the world whilst entangled in this snare of unreasonable effervescent excitement. Instead I must subject myself to that arduous task of finding those things in life that are good, those things which fill us with this inexplicable emotion.

Failure is imminent.

Pixelated Poetry

All the time,
We cry and whine,
We're doing fine,
Our own design,
We've been maligned,
We're pushed and thrown against the wall,
Calling someone knowing no-one
You,
Are all my dreams,
Living inside my candy world,
Come taste

Only,
Lonely as can be,
I will,
Drill through what I see,
in
Your eyes,
Cries my empty heart and I won't
Realize,
That I've been torn apart
And I will,
Feel love,
Feel joy,
Bring peace,
Every girl and boy will
Know my story

I tried so hard
I loved so much,
But now I've died,
I'm out of touch,
It used to be
That all you'd see,
Was joy and peace,
Not misery,
You'd choose to be,
What you'd decree,
We were free,
Now you and me,
Our destiny,
Is chosen for us,
No-one adores us,
It's chosen for us,
Made to hate us,
Chosen with us,
Spitting on us,
It's an issue of trust,
But I still must,
Live inside my candy world,
Come taste

What makes you think,
What makes us sink,
Of all the trinkets,
Facts and diskettes,
Corduroy jackets,
Inefficient ketchup packets,
Harmonies and discographies,
All I want is inside of me,
I'll summon what I want to be,
And drown in love,
Drown in peace,
Frown at the dove,
And give it a piece of my mind,
A perhaps a bit of my rind,
Apples and oranges peace is a pear,
I walk a tightrope above a dare,
I'll shed a tear inside my fear,
As I live inside my candy world,
Come taste

Party

Chaotic control,
Mind over death,
Bells never toll,
When left uncaressed.

I'll plant the seed,
Of morose dismay,
Even though others,
Leap into the fray.

I'll hold my head high,
Reach into the sky,
And pull from my ears one more lie.

Sweet, sweet honey,
Sliding down the cherry tree,
Lap it up,
Like a graceful antelope,
Like a stoic.

Honey turns to ash in your mouth,
Moths fly forth to live amongst the green,
But they cannot survive,
Why the birds and the bones,
Throw arrows and stones,
Is beyond my ability to surmise.

Dirty hallways laced with greed,
Faint light little placates the filth,
Necessity is what drives me,
For I hunger.

Still my frumpy
Clothing bounces lightly off my chest
Caressed by shades of white,
And grey.

=/=

I'm so sick of chauvinism, or just sexism in general. Judgments based on appearances aren't always inaccurate, but the fact is that so many people allow their assessments of people to be biased by things that those individuals don't even have control over. I know that this is just another redundant rant, but for some reason I feel the need to get this out in the open.

There is something I hate more than chauvinism, and that is the reaction that some individuals have deemed necessary; in order to retaliate against discrimination, they either anti-discriminate or discriminate against those who are discriminating against them. The "eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth" philosophy is dead. Anyone who believes otherwise is a fool in the highest degree.

Marxism doesn't work! Violence, hatred, and discrimination will only yield more of the same. It is up to those of us blessed with intellectual initiative to reciprocate by sharing, or at least attempting to share this knowledge. I'm not an idiot, I know what people are like. The voice of reason has never been popular, and logic's effect wanes daily. However, simply because something is difficult does not mean it should not be attempted. Failure is not weakness, but lacking the drive to even attempt the impossible indicates that you are guilty of the worst sin of all: apathy.

Even as I say this I can feel my conscience pressing down on me, for this is the sin that most frequently haunts my footsteps . . .

The Words

A tune not put to words,
For any sorry soul,
For feeble words cannot express what lies inside me
A joy,
A story yet untold.
Feeling, warming, breaking, breaching,
Love, joy, warmth, before me beseeching.
I need only grasp forth,
I dare not wait,
Lest it be too late,
I capture my fate
And soar
I live for so much more
You'd hardly believe that this much is true,
But if it were not
I'd never speak with you,
I'd never have known
What it is to have flown,
Fly,
Flying

Overthought

So tired,
Of living, of life.
The pain cuts through me like a rusty knife.

Feel pulled apart like the strands of a rope,
Individually becoming,
Nothing but string.

And I realize that,
My train of thought,
While passing through the valley,
Was overcome,
Was overthought,
I realize now my folly.

The passenger car,
Cannot go this far,

While being overloaded,
Overmind,
Overtime,
Overthought . . .

Manuscript

Chapter 1: Clouds of Peace

Mammalian candy cruisers,
Propelled by invisible communism.

A layer cake of philosophies,
Contradictions set to pastel blue.

Strong willed serfs raise their branches high,
Buffeted by the winds of leadership,
An unnecessary evil.

High-winged middle classes,
Lofty indeed, that they must rest amongst the serfs,
Nestled among them they encourage leadership.
Among the trees?
The fools.

Chapter 2: Insurrection

Iron cages
Built by sages,
While the mob rages
At prison benches
Served by,
Servant wenches.

Chapter 3: Mountains of Calamity

Surprise!
Monstrous gender roles consummated,
With communism,
Overtake the mind's canvas,
Painting a new picture,
In the lines.

Histrionics

Edit the song!
Edit the script!
Undo the wrong,
Undo the damage done,
To my heart
That which was ripped and torn
And flutters in the wind
Like a fading flag
On the streets of a forgotten city
Where the wind blows and howls
Like an old man
Recycling old jokes
And chatting with friends
Vapors in the wind . . .

Here we are, suspended together
Literally
I hold your body in mine, protecting you
Loving you
There is no first move, there is no advance
We move as one
I kiss you, gently
I move across your face with mine
Gently
Oh, so gently
My face moves across yours
I'm not even thinking
Simply doing
Loving
Gently
We stop, but there is no screeching halt
Our love continues
Even as we drop
Maneuver
To the ground
I can't let go of you
I can't
I've always been capable,
Always able,
Until now
I am at the mercy of my own love for you
And love is unmerciful
Still I hold you, not by the hand like some mere facade of love
But around the waist
Like conjoined twins,
Like the cores of two peaches
Unlikely, but oh
So
True

Of The Closure And Opening Of Things That Would Blind Me

Empty lashes,
Closed sashes,
Ladies walk 'neath feathered hat shops
Ducking snowflakes, laughing delicately
Do they even know,
That they're killing me?

Silent lashes
Loose sashes,
You can feel my heartbeat
You can hear my mouth breathe
You love me?
I hope . . .

Foolish lashes,
Mangled sashes,
My hole self feels more complete
Now that I can destroy defeat
Now that I can create pain
To turn back the rain

Open lashes,
Open sashes,
Dust to dust
Ashes to ashes . . .

MOON PEOPLE

What of the man
Whose hands never clasped
Whose cold dead fingers
Did fondle the earth
And consider his might
And what he was worth
What of the times
Spent longing for more
When all that could come
Is an open door
And through the door
Must your heart belong
In order to join
The ecstatic throng
So sing with me dear
Sing with me lad
That we might dance and be glad
For the MOON PEOPLE COMETH

A Diffident Love Letter

Dear Winter,

Being with you is at the same time draining and painful. I wish I could tell you all of what I feel but I know that you don't care. You never have, and that's part of why I'm leaving. I'll probably see you again, it's really somewhat unavoidable, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. The problem is, I know that as soon as I'm gone I'll start thinking about you. You really are my weakness, you know that? Truly your love is tainted . . . painful. I do love you; you know that, right? Of course you do. What is love but an obsession, and if my thoughts cannot cease their constant dwelling on you then what is my obsession but love? Indeed, the idea of you is more than I can bear. You are loneliness, you are solitude, you are the idle dismissal of those things and people that do not interest you.

You are intoxicating.

You are cold.

You are pain.

Sincerely,
- Augustus

Clean For Seventeen Years

The idea has been proposed to me that love is an addiction. The argument is that love, like any other drug, is not desired so strongly until it is encountered . . . experienced. Before that it seems that we don't know what we're missing out on. It has been said that we cannot live without it, that the craving is innate and insatiable. We are always hungry for more . . .

Perhaps it is important to first indicate what constitutes an addiction. An addiction creates physical or psychological dependence. An addiction is never satisfied, there is always room for more. An addiction is destructive, breaking us down, eating away at who we are, inside and out. An addiction is compulsive and may have an illusory appearance to the addicted. Finally, in most cases, an addiction can be overcome.

Love. What is it? Too broad a topic to cover so briefly, love is not something to be subjected to analysis. Still, I must try, for my own sake, to disprove the opinion so casually thrust under my nose. Thus I begin by stating that love is not requisite for life. I do believe that love is essential for life in any positive sense, but life itself is not love-based in any logical sense. I feel almost blasphemous saying this, but I am inclined to appeal to the logical individual who may or may not believe in the existence of love as I know it.

I do believe that I can immediately dismiss the thought that love is not desired so strongly as when it is first encountered. Perhaps my impromptu debating partner was considering also the sexual implications of love, but I would dismiss these immediately as irrelevant to the context of true love. Certainly sexual behavior is made more prominent when such behavior is encouraged or rewarded, but love is in and of itself not instigated by any actions that lie outside an individual's mind. If it were so, then love it would not be.

That said, love fills us up, as it were, to overflowing. A person cannot be loved too much, but this does not mean that they are never satisfied. Truly loving someone or truly desiring that sort of love is not based on any requisite amount of love. Love cannot be weighed by such trivial human measurements or other jargon. To say that is to trivialize what love truly is.

Another facet of this argument is the destructive nature of an addiction. I have no doubt that there are many who would clamor in vain that love has ruined their lives, destroyed friendships, exhausted their opportunities, and addled their brains. They are wrong. It is not love, but the abuse of relationships that causes such calamity, for love is by nature perfect, and not subject to moral shortcomings.

There are still other parts of this argument I have not addressed. Is love a compulsion? Most certainly, innate is our need to strive for love and esteem from others. Are those who love the subject of deceit, with no real accuracy in their perception of the world? Who is to say that they are inaccurate at all? To whom does the world report? Who will challenge the reality of the universe and say "this is so"? Love is, in my humble opinion, not the ignorance of faults, but the ignoring of those faults. Therefore, it follows that love does not require accurate perception of the world in order to exist, but that does not mean it clouds the judgments of those who were already cynical.

The final aspect of addiction is the overcoming of said addiction. The reason I added in this unusual clause is to use a sort of converse logic. If an addiction does not exist, it cannot be overcome, therefore: if an addiction cannot be overcome, then it is not an addiction - it is a need. Needs need to be filled. Love . . . is it a need?

Who am I to say?

Inescapability

It is my fate to be misunderstood,
To be bound to the leg of my desk,
For none can know what I rue,
Except you.

Tall and pale in the night of horrors,
Pull back my sleeves and show my scars,
My tales of sobbing are true,
Get a clue, sweetheart.

There's very little definition in my face,
For all the good I try to do,
I'd run away in disgrace,
But I'm getting my paycheck on Friday,
And I don't want to be late.

My depression is like the drone,
Of bagpipes,
In my life,
Life goes up and down,
But always that drone,
Always alone,
With my frown.

Where are they all? I can't find them, no matter how far I am driven, even if I search where I am told. They seem to be gone. I'm helpless, lonely. Sure some have offered to help, but what help is it if I am still lost?

Now I am secure in my actions, in a place surrounded by people, in the company of one of my closest friends. We're playing video games, but I can't understand how she knows all this. It's crazy, this is something that I'm very knowledgeable about, she can't take that away from me! Still . . . it's strangely comforting. I feel safe in her knowledge, in my own ignorance. My skill grows as I realize this, although we cannot defeat each other. I cannot really say that I know for certain that was our initial intention anyway.

Now I am trapped. The video game, her, and myself have all meshed together into a conglomerate of confusion, exercising its entrapment on me. But I can come and go as I please! Why then do I feel so trapped? Perhaps I have allowed my own entrapment . . . perhaps she will rescue me. My feelings have taken control of me and it is as if I am careening down a highway on a unicycle, unsure even of how to juggle.

There are others, the ones who have captured me and held me prisoner. They are . . . hard to explain. They are worms; they are disgust; they are a vile, gritty, goo, steaming with fell evil and foul contempt. They are so frightening. They could consume me if they wanted, but instead they choose to keep me bound. Am I a lure, am I bait for her? Who can truly say? Still . . . their presence is everywhere, like a film of grease over the walls, and the doorknob, and my hands.

Will I ever be free?

Communist Chords

We think we know,
Where to go,
Though we've cried,
There's nothing to hide.

Nowhere to run,
No-one to fear,
(When) we lie beside,
The ones we hold dear.

We don't know,
Where to go,
When we cry,
There's nowhere to fly.

(Give) in to our demands,
(These) seeds are yours to plant,
Fulfill all our plans,
Because we can't.

We're out of luck,
Waist deep in muck,
Your skin not mine,
You could have declined

Stepping stones will reach,
The shore someday,
You know we didn't teach, you,
To be that way.