Bear with me, or piss off!
Because I have been a buzz-kill all day Sunday, I decided to unload it all right here, the guilty shall remain anonymous and I shall feel better. Kind of like putting a knife into the side of a jack o'lantern and leaving it on somebody's doorstep with a note attached that says YOU! Anyways, here goes, give it a read if you have like four spare hours and hate people too!
They give me warmth, my eight brothers. I taste the blood of lands I've never been upon. And just now it occurs to me I am not alone, the past is upon the wall. Music enters softly into my being. There is not space left for feeling there, any longer. Rather I am, I am quite full; in counting I am at some sort of apex, but I have seen too many winters in mind, and my eyes are growing tired. It seems cynicism is a great elixer against the tonic of life that is youth. I draw the cup to my lips, this is the blood of the faith, I am of the fruit of the great defender, wrong as we ever may be, our histories are reactionary; and now amidst the graces of these dizzying lights I proffer a solemn prayer for forgiveness in generations hence forth. That my sons remember me well, should I fall before then, may my brothers defend me felled, if I should live so long as to commit the sins which accompany age and acquiescence, may my sisters keep me then from hell.
All of this earth is impermanence, in vain now these many years I have sought, and I have longed to understand. I am not alone, though I suspect to a certain degree we must all be, we must always be alone. We of the living cannot strive to share a voice, that such a thing should ever occur we would simple erect some great tower towards babble, and too oblivion. Our questions must never be of the faith that is love, we must never worship before the altar of hope as brother and sister, lest we should someday soon find an answer. We are a race, this expanse of man, that is quite uncomfortable with love unabated, there must be feast and famine, there must be a rise and a fall, the seasons say it must be so, as too the tides go; we must know life and death.
I know, I know, I've sensed the answer for some time now. The truth is in the secrets I've never told, honesty is a sensation I can not share. It preturbs me not love, that you should abandon me so, shall you recall my name in your great book of things that once were? Shall I be stricken to the list of things that once were, destined in ages hence to be forgotten? Should you find comfort in the fact that when you sought I withdrew, does it give you solace to know I've written already my name upon the ledgers there? It is my charter, m'love, that gives you the strength to be redeeming in the name of love, that in all you seek you may find innocence that you may never lack. That in all you distrust you may find evil, as you may be spared the questions which are asked of all those who kill anything in cold blood. May there always be something new that you may subdue, lest you grow bored with the hearts you've already won, may you always find sacrifices befitting a pagan goddess in the times of Persephone, or ages before. May you not ever know the cruel fate of remorse, or should ever wake up some dire day with that cruel, cutting feeling that is love un-requited. A wish, in my absence, that at each turn of your queen, the pawns you seek be unique, all conquests singular to you.
Though for me it shall never again be, I shall never again be, someone who loves truthfully. For I have bred my own lies, those with which I must live. My mistakes have made me somehow an honest man, despite my best intentions. I am never again to be wholly free, as I can never again be whole, I have torn my own heart, in so much that surely it must take shreds in honesty to mend the scars that about your own must certainly be; I should give the vitality of my own, that yours may still beat. I have asked my questions, the answers aren't always fitting, but they are just that and I now withdraw. My love and I move now in silent aisles, we are celebrated amongst the great host of those who have ceased to be. There is an orderliness all about death, and all it's silent rows, pick a diagonal, or travel far enough down a line and then across, you'll come across someone that you know.
There is a great angst in the air tonight, the bells that peal crash with a foreign pang. Though for you it is just the same, the day the same, the night the same, your face the same, and my pain; well that's different, we share not this holiday, nor the night, we are alone, and I forgive you.
Still now I listen, should I catch a line from some great bard as yet unknown, that he should go not uncelebrated for the love which destroyed him. I am here to bear witness, though my ears be not quite so sharp as once they were- I know quite well enough that despite my lacking- I shall always hearken when an experience not wholly unlike this one does call. Herein lies the modern Way-Side Inn, the stories quite curt, my thread in the wax having been cut only so long, I must elaborate only in nuances which are quite familiar to me. I have taken now a dirge that once was love, and I have made my own redemption song.
Remember when you were young? Of course, can you remember innocence? Oh, to revel in youth, how free then to cast sins against supposing, to be free of doting penance, in so much that there were wrongs committed far sooner against you, grievous arrows slung at your pride; those were injustices that must be rebuked, those were all just guesses, I fear you were confused. All my lines until now were of the supposition that I was sent here to be of you, rather I believe now I was sent simply to amuse; that you should learn how to handle naivete, but I fear rather you have become malicious, what sprung from clarity has left you confused. And most curiously when the bottom fell out, in their familiar fashion things continued as they were. Albeit not in as much grand circumstance as before; but still I am, and all rivers I believe firmly, someday reach the shore.
What lessons am I to learn this night, ah how the shadows dance upon the walls, the darkness lurches with every recession, and still the light issues forth. I have learned that the present is prisoner to the past, it shall never leave it's station. These beacons bid me only to look out upon what they can show me, and as I cast cursory glances back and forth, I quickly lose my balance, an realize neath my own feet all is changed, I am at odds with the world below me. As the candles flare, my eyes do deceive me, what I thought I saw at the corner of my eye was merely fear, and at that nothing for me. Once upon a time I met doubt there, rather here, in the midnight, about the corner of my eye. But such a malady is no longer an erstwhile guest, rather a distinguished host, and such a malady is best consumed quickly, wholly. If it is to someday consume me, no bother, I was a child given to curiosity, I should not mind the whole of my days being spent in this great expanse that is limitless uncertainty, for in this margin most anything is possible that by which death may not abide. For there is no end to doubting, nor is there ever an end to hope. These are my lights, and somewhere there in the dark are my doubts. But no light, nor any steeped darkness can ever wholly consume me, for there is forever the firm presence of both. No light, no dark, no melody, no blood can cast out these mistakes, the things I've taken in, in good faith mind you; I am given to their studies, I am susceptible to their will, and I rather like it as forever being so, just this way.
I wish not to ever again sleep, such a foolish thing, being sleep. That I, like the candle could mistake the past I see upon a yellowed wall to be the present, that the glow which emanates from the present could ever hope to keep everything I see as a pretty picture within a frame, in this sense memories are restrictive, and I shall not be limited but what I remember, rather I will forever be a child of the light as it burns most brightly, I am willing to run the risk of forever being burned and in turn consumed by the flame, that is to say I shall not fear my desires. No, it cannot stay, the past must go. And so now the dance of yesterday recedes into the darkness, my gift to the night. With one last gasp my cup is empty, my sustenance for the days as I shall make them hence forth. And with a last, deep, resolute breath not unlike nostalgia; I blow out the candles, but I do not seek to end the hope that is the light, rather I have come to accept this moment that embraces me now as freedom, and with that in mind I light up my life.
So that's that, and come tomorrow I'm gonna update this hog; there's gonna be tales of lovely Romans, elderly attractions, cigar-smoke clouds that could choke an industrial air filter. As well as candid anecdotes about gangsta bitches, late-night debauchery, chicks that want in on this blog action, as well as those who are cool enough to yell at me when I need it. Not to mention side-splitting stories of gambling neuroses, terrible football, and sorts of other shit I'm pumped about. And if you kids play your cards right I may even come up with one of those random lists of stupid things that bother me when I think about Jessica Alba's ass for too long.
They give me warmth, my eight brothers. I taste the blood of lands I've never been upon. And just now it occurs to me I am not alone, the past is upon the wall. Music enters softly into my being. There is not space left for feeling there, any longer. Rather I am, I am quite full; in counting I am at some sort of apex, but I have seen too many winters in mind, and my eyes are growing tired. It seems cynicism is a great elixer against the tonic of life that is youth. I draw the cup to my lips, this is the blood of the faith, I am of the fruit of the great defender, wrong as we ever may be, our histories are reactionary; and now amidst the graces of these dizzying lights I proffer a solemn prayer for forgiveness in generations hence forth. That my sons remember me well, should I fall before then, may my brothers defend me felled, if I should live so long as to commit the sins which accompany age and acquiescence, may my sisters keep me then from hell.
All of this earth is impermanence, in vain now these many years I have sought, and I have longed to understand. I am not alone, though I suspect to a certain degree we must all be, we must always be alone. We of the living cannot strive to share a voice, that such a thing should ever occur we would simple erect some great tower towards babble, and too oblivion. Our questions must never be of the faith that is love, we must never worship before the altar of hope as brother and sister, lest we should someday soon find an answer. We are a race, this expanse of man, that is quite uncomfortable with love unabated, there must be feast and famine, there must be a rise and a fall, the seasons say it must be so, as too the tides go; we must know life and death.
I know, I know, I've sensed the answer for some time now. The truth is in the secrets I've never told, honesty is a sensation I can not share. It preturbs me not love, that you should abandon me so, shall you recall my name in your great book of things that once were? Shall I be stricken to the list of things that once were, destined in ages hence to be forgotten? Should you find comfort in the fact that when you sought I withdrew, does it give you solace to know I've written already my name upon the ledgers there? It is my charter, m'love, that gives you the strength to be redeeming in the name of love, that in all you seek you may find innocence that you may never lack. That in all you distrust you may find evil, as you may be spared the questions which are asked of all those who kill anything in cold blood. May there always be something new that you may subdue, lest you grow bored with the hearts you've already won, may you always find sacrifices befitting a pagan goddess in the times of Persephone, or ages before. May you not ever know the cruel fate of remorse, or should ever wake up some dire day with that cruel, cutting feeling that is love un-requited. A wish, in my absence, that at each turn of your queen, the pawns you seek be unique, all conquests singular to you.
Though for me it shall never again be, I shall never again be, someone who loves truthfully. For I have bred my own lies, those with which I must live. My mistakes have made me somehow an honest man, despite my best intentions. I am never again to be wholly free, as I can never again be whole, I have torn my own heart, in so much that surely it must take shreds in honesty to mend the scars that about your own must certainly be; I should give the vitality of my own, that yours may still beat. I have asked my questions, the answers aren't always fitting, but they are just that and I now withdraw. My love and I move now in silent aisles, we are celebrated amongst the great host of those who have ceased to be. There is an orderliness all about death, and all it's silent rows, pick a diagonal, or travel far enough down a line and then across, you'll come across someone that you know.
There is a great angst in the air tonight, the bells that peal crash with a foreign pang. Though for you it is just the same, the day the same, the night the same, your face the same, and my pain; well that's different, we share not this holiday, nor the night, we are alone, and I forgive you.
Still now I listen, should I catch a line from some great bard as yet unknown, that he should go not uncelebrated for the love which destroyed him. I am here to bear witness, though my ears be not quite so sharp as once they were- I know quite well enough that despite my lacking- I shall always hearken when an experience not wholly unlike this one does call. Herein lies the modern Way-Side Inn, the stories quite curt, my thread in the wax having been cut only so long, I must elaborate only in nuances which are quite familiar to me. I have taken now a dirge that once was love, and I have made my own redemption song.
Remember when you were young? Of course, can you remember innocence? Oh, to revel in youth, how free then to cast sins against supposing, to be free of doting penance, in so much that there were wrongs committed far sooner against you, grievous arrows slung at your pride; those were injustices that must be rebuked, those were all just guesses, I fear you were confused. All my lines until now were of the supposition that I was sent here to be of you, rather I believe now I was sent simply to amuse; that you should learn how to handle naivete, but I fear rather you have become malicious, what sprung from clarity has left you confused. And most curiously when the bottom fell out, in their familiar fashion things continued as they were. Albeit not in as much grand circumstance as before; but still I am, and all rivers I believe firmly, someday reach the shore.
What lessons am I to learn this night, ah how the shadows dance upon the walls, the darkness lurches with every recession, and still the light issues forth. I have learned that the present is prisoner to the past, it shall never leave it's station. These beacons bid me only to look out upon what they can show me, and as I cast cursory glances back and forth, I quickly lose my balance, an realize neath my own feet all is changed, I am at odds with the world below me. As the candles flare, my eyes do deceive me, what I thought I saw at the corner of my eye was merely fear, and at that nothing for me. Once upon a time I met doubt there, rather here, in the midnight, about the corner of my eye. But such a malady is no longer an erstwhile guest, rather a distinguished host, and such a malady is best consumed quickly, wholly. If it is to someday consume me, no bother, I was a child given to curiosity, I should not mind the whole of my days being spent in this great expanse that is limitless uncertainty, for in this margin most anything is possible that by which death may not abide. For there is no end to doubting, nor is there ever an end to hope. These are my lights, and somewhere there in the dark are my doubts. But no light, nor any steeped darkness can ever wholly consume me, for there is forever the firm presence of both. No light, no dark, no melody, no blood can cast out these mistakes, the things I've taken in, in good faith mind you; I am given to their studies, I am susceptible to their will, and I rather like it as forever being so, just this way.
I wish not to ever again sleep, such a foolish thing, being sleep. That I, like the candle could mistake the past I see upon a yellowed wall to be the present, that the glow which emanates from the present could ever hope to keep everything I see as a pretty picture within a frame, in this sense memories are restrictive, and I shall not be limited but what I remember, rather I will forever be a child of the light as it burns most brightly, I am willing to run the risk of forever being burned and in turn consumed by the flame, that is to say I shall not fear my desires. No, it cannot stay, the past must go. And so now the dance of yesterday recedes into the darkness, my gift to the night. With one last gasp my cup is empty, my sustenance for the days as I shall make them hence forth. And with a last, deep, resolute breath not unlike nostalgia; I blow out the candles, but I do not seek to end the hope that is the light, rather I have come to accept this moment that embraces me now as freedom, and with that in mind I light up my life.
So that's that, and come tomorrow I'm gonna update this hog; there's gonna be tales of lovely Romans, elderly attractions, cigar-smoke clouds that could choke an industrial air filter. As well as candid anecdotes about gangsta bitches, late-night debauchery, chicks that want in on this blog action, as well as those who are cool enough to yell at me when I need it. Not to mention side-splitting stories of gambling neuroses, terrible football, and sorts of other shit I'm pumped about. And if you kids play your cards right I may even come up with one of those random lists of stupid things that bother me when I think about Jessica Alba's ass for too long.
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