Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Poetry Blah

Quisiera tener mejor español. Así que aca es poeísa que escribio el otro día. No sé si alguna persona leyron este blog pero, aca para ustedes, todo el mundo, gringos y españoles también, mis sueños del día: de amor. Chao!

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Period 1 - English with Nahra....(It blows..)
October 24, 2006 --El 24 de Octubre


Cuando pensando,
Estoy pensando de ti.
Siempre amor mío.
Ustedes el sol en cielo nublado.

Y…

Si yo puedo,
quiero ser contigo.
Si no puedo,
es posible que muerte
es el fin.

Pero esta muerte,
No es una muerte de mis manos.
Sino que de un dolor gran.
Es cuando los dias son tristes y noches son desesperadas;
Un sentido persistente de tristeza;
vivir sin mi amor es muerte de la alma mía.

Y…

Dios, si está ahí un dios sobre el cielo,
quiero gritar, “Oye Dios, me escuchas!
Dices de que esta vida es,
me golpeas mi cuerpo con amor,
dime si amor es posible en un mundo cruel."

Pero esto mundo y esto cielo,
nada más es importante para mi;
entonces que el amor que tengo.
La cosa que yo necesito en mi vida,
es el amor en la forma de una mujer.
Estoy cansado de viajando para una mujer.
Es que creo que la mujer ha había visto mis ojos
y yo he visto sus ojos bellos.

Y ahora que pienso que esta mujer,
es para un indigno como yo: no sé que hacer.
Sólo que puedo hacer es pensar de ella.
Pensar que necesito una flor de ella.
Una flor en forma de besos, abrazos—
Amor infinito, para un indigno como yo.

Porque ella es una reina y soy una bromista.
Una vez más, necesito una cosa.
Necesito su ojos mirar a mis ojos feos
y mi cuerpo imperfecto.
Necesito ella decir que todo de yo—
Todo de los imperfecciones—
Todo ella ama. Y si no puedo ser con ella.
Muerte esta bien.
A lo mejor soy loco.
O a lo mejor amor es demasiado a dirigir.

Saturday, October 21, 2006

un día malo

I don’t care what people think anymore. If they think I am crazy perhaps they are right in their assumptions. I will not argue with them. The hardest to do however, is to cease arguing with myself. Maybe I am crazy. I still breath in the air that gets blown by autumn’s scenery. I begin each day like any other but manifest into something greater for I am greater. Haughtiness is not my sin. I explode in the sky. People stop their cars. They cross the street to get a better look. And in the cool night sky there I am for part of the world to see. For a second, for the moment it takes you to glimpse at an unsuspecting girl, I am there. And in that moment no one can object me. No one can accuse me. I am free in the sky and within bounds of my mind. But I come down slow on to the ground of these mortals. And they stab my hands into a tree for all to see. Once again I am for all eyes. My sin is to love and revoking it would do no good if I were even capable. They slap me with insults, and tear my clothes off with their eyes of suspicion. “You!” they say. And I am bound and gagged by these restrictions. If I could change it and go—do as I please. These on looking eyes would never see me again. I would run to the cliffs. I would dive off into the ocean, and I would be in that night sky again. They come like lemmings, confessing their love is true as well. But it is not! And they would fall into the foamy deep abyss below. I’d smile and continue to that place where my heart is meant to be. With the same skies, the same dirt, and the same blades of grass; I would reach out to the one that I love. And questions of sanity I asked, would be gone like the wretched souls that dove off that cliff, looking for love like I. I am neither sane nor crazed. I am but myself. I am in love. The question is who are you?

Friday, October 13, 2006

strange days

I was sitting in my truck at a park when I saw a man.
He turned his back on me.
And all of a sudden I felt angry.
So I spat.
I didn’t know him or who he was.
But I wanted to get out and just cut him with words; to tell him he is nothing.
“You are but dust and you will soon dissolve into nothingness.”
I wanted to yell. I wanted to run and kick in the doors of every house.
Break the windows of homes with my screams.
I wanted to tear the park apart; uproot the trees,
throw my feelings into motion and destroy that place of peace.
But I realized this was all a part of me. That man is my brother.
And I could have killed him in an instant.
That man was my father and I would have spat in his face with disgust.
What a rage I felt.
I looked in the mirror and it got worse.
I punched, kicked, and tore at myself with words.
“You fool, you animal—you’re nothing more than an ape,” I said.
I wanted the mirrors to shatter and break my image.
But I was broken to begin with.
Poor, miserable, and a shame I was.
I threw myself into the air like a tree says goodbye to its leaves.
I was in a temperament of rage.
Yet, the only thing I could destroy was myself.
So I gave one final look into my eyes that say what a pathetic fool I am,
and I drove away.
I went to be with you in my head.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

que una vida...

I love you like the cold loves snow.

People go trying to find their importance,

but really only go after their desires.

I am so lucky.

Everything I know is in you.

I need neither importance nor desire,

only you: in infinite ways of description.

Words form sentences,

that are conceived from my thoughts.

They don’t give in to what I think,

nor could they ever complete me.

It is you that I need:

a completion that someday,

I will feel.

It is you in an early morning,

or when you can't sleep at night.

It's you in the afternoon,

Or when you feel as though you can only cry.

These are the times I want to be by your side.

I want more than ever to be there.

When you feel no love.

When Atlas puts the world on your shoulders,

I want to be there to take it off.

When you doubt faith,

I want to tell you everything is yours to create.

Our fate will be ours to mold.

And you may not know this,

but I am yours to hold;

to beckon in anyway you desire.

I am yours and yours alone, for days and for months.

It will be for centuries that our love is told.

You make me more than what I could be.

A man is a simple term to say,

but I am this way—

because you simply love me.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

I could write and write: these words, phrases, ideas, whatever you can call them. I could do so many things. I know I am not capable of some things. I will eventually die and my time spent on earth will be doing the things I know how. And I know how to love you. I know how to make feelings be the way in which I live life. I love you and I hope you know this. Well I’ve been unfaithful. And I know that bothers you. But what you don’t know, was when I was huddled close to a stranger’s body, one of foreign smells, a body I had never felt; I imagined you. I closed my eyes and decided to be with you. And the sensations I craved at that time were for you. I intoxicated myself with memories of you, trying to remember your lips on my lips, your hips grinding up against mine. I yearned for that soft neck you would give to me. And I was with you. When my eyes opened and I realized you had gone and all of this had been a trick, I waited. And when the time was right, I cried. I cried so hard for you. I even cried for myself. But most of all, I cried for ourselves. And when the times became harder, I abused my body. I took pills to sleep, pills to wake, pills to just take away this pain. I smoked things legal and things that parents say is now sociologically wrong, though years ago “toking” up was common. I saw my bloodshot eyes, blood from a cut seeing what pain was made of, and I came to a conclusion that this all has nothing to do with love. So now I try to wake up normally. I try to live on giving these feelings away, hoping, sometimes even praying, that by some chance or blessing from God they will land on your windowsill. You could look out one night, thinking of all that you’ve left behind, and there sitting next to you, would be my love. Angels would neatly package it, with a note saying ‘you’re loved so dearly.’ And our romance would be coveted. Those around would slither their bodies by us, tempting, and flaunting their unimportant existence. But you, as well as I would know that this love wouldn’t end. We all need the sun to live. But I could go without if I had you. I wouldn’t eat, I wouldn’t have that Vitamin D, but I would live the most pleasant life out of every human being. You. You are the sun to me. You give me everything that anyone could ever need. I want so much from you. And I hope you give me it all. I want to take you away. I want to place you on a blanket in a crisp night, and I want to be there. I want to see your dark hair and piercing eyes. I want to be there so bad with you right now. I want to make love and not have to fantasize anymore. I want us to grow and become more than what we are now. And when the time is right I want to pass all of this on to someone else, smaller, perhaps more cute, yet similar to you and I. I want the three of us to be together, like the father, son, and holy spirit. And if we decide, we would grow more. We would reach with our hands out to every land and we would pass on our love. It would catch like wildfire and no one would be able to tame it. We would break down societies of hate and injustice by our simple act on that cool, autumn night. Oh how I love you. It sounds so different each time. I love you. It sometimes makes me want to cry. I love you. And we’ll see each other soon. I love you. It’s not like this world is separate. I love you. Everything will be fine. I love you. Oh how I love you, like a Peter Frampton song I really do want to be with you night and day. We don’t have to cry anymore. We don’t have to act like this isn’t real. Our youth is our youth. And we’re that small percent that truly cares. We will work. You and I, hand and hand, holding each other’s heart. I love you and someday we’ll give in to those institutions. I love you. You’ll marry me and I’ll marry you. Because I love your love and you love mine, or perhaps it’s just fundamental that we love love. Estoy enviando mi amor a usted, mujer bella. Mi mujer que a mi es solamente la cosa que necesito. Usted eres todo, mi sol del este, mi corazon del oeste. Te Amo.

I had a boring day today. I don't know why I'm writing about it. I've been so tired lately so I'm going to go watch Thanks for Smoking. I watched the beginning last night, and it's super funny. Then after, or probably before I'm going to fall asleep because I've been staying up really late, waking up early. And now I'm just dead. Exhausted. Gone. Haha, well okay, if anyone reads this junk I hope you aren't feeling like I am. If you are have a good cry & take a nap it all helps! At least the nap does haha..alrighty..adios

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

ha

Women are evil oh it’s true! Some know this truth, but others continue on their journey to find what is truly the epitome of femininity. I on the other hand, have found with the up most zest the cruel wicked ways of the opposite sex. It’s pretty eyes, long gorgeous hair, and a face that God himself would be hubristic about. And I know contradictions may make this confusing. But that’s what they are. You know—them. One large contradiction full of bounce, full of life, heck they bear it! But, what lies deep within those eyes that make us men think of the sea or earth; are the building blocks of hell. And this hell is not one of fire or even that handsome, witty, perhaps well-fit man we call Lucifer. It is the hell of our miseries. Our struggles toward triumph that end in barbed wired emotions and suspicions toward the world. This my friends, is what lies within the heart of each and every woman. They give birth to us, they give shape to us, and then they tear us down. Well you can tear me down! It’s you with your lips that I’d like to kiss. It’s you with your body that I miss. How terrible you are, how revolting, how incredibly arrogant you are. It’s because you know in each and every man’s heart there is a place for you. And no matter how much of a fool you could ever be that place will remain there. But not for me because I’ve cocked it up for the winter. I drove over to the Home Depot with a few buds of mine and we sealed the cracks to my heart shut! Like a window: no cozy winter love, nor springtime glee, or summer butterflies are going to come and excite me. My stone face will remain and those that try to bite into my veins to get this heart pumping again are mistaken. You could kiss me on my ear. It’d tickle but you’d get nowhere. You could sink your enchanting lips into my neck and still you won’t hear one thud. My heart is gone and now I know you and your ways. The ways of women, the ways of heartache, the ways of misguiding souls into oblivion is a new knowledge I have finally seen. No more! Shun, Shun, Shun. I shun you away! Laugh but I know what others don’t. And I am not alone. Those of us: the few, the hurt, the constant questioners see you evil-she-devils for what you are. Go! Make this land desolate like the love desolate from my heart. It is your job! Love to you all: may you find your idiotic heart. Perhaps occupation is a better word. Fuck.

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Your scent,

is almost gone from my shirt.

The scent and its absence,

is like my love now absent from you.

I used to inhale those memories,

remembering your body against mine.

But no longer do I remember.

I’ve written so much and tried so hard,

with all these words being in vain.

You no longer love me,

and I no longer love you.

We’ve caused each other pain,

with some scars that can’t be erased.

And any unfinished thoughts,

are fully extinguished now.

We are fully extinguished.

Once a burning fire,

Is but a pile of saddened ashes.

(Grey, oh grey, how grey this life seems.)

No brightness or contrast indeed.

Oh how you and I are fully extinguished.

I’ve read that it could last,

but I read now:

“…This is the last pain

that she makes me suffer and these

the last verses I write for her.”

It is now that I realize,

this extinguished flame.

Inapt to ever come back.

Poor grey.

Grey ashes of a once lively flame,

rubbed out like a lively cigarette.

And we live no more, because

absence of love is an absence of life.

We befriend death.

A grey friend, with grey hands, someone—

That’s more grey than we are now.

More grey, than I will ever be.

What a memory, what a flame, and

what an absence of feeling,

That I have now obtained.

Grey.