Endless Sky – An Intimate Encounter –

“I knew myself no longer. My original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame.” – Edgar Allan Poe, The Black Cat 
shemakesdirty-wordssoundpretty
I lit the coals with yearning, 
deeper than times sand.
I stoke them with nature’s trinkets
Mischievous I take yourhand.
Tender violence my guide
Bringing you to passions door
The flames burn hot and long
We consummate the lore 
Fighting to feel not wanting to resist
Together in universal rhythm we tread 
Heat of friction driving your desire
Caught in throes, an endless sky our bed 
Tied with bonds of forbidden
Bringing creation to savor the burst,
I find you my sweet fragrance
Satiated with passions thirst.  
Scarlet silk creates your hidden visage
Tide of lust breaking ground in blurs
Flamed tongues burn hot and long
Embracing you a yearning stirs 
Air controlled by a strangled grip
Crashing through passions door
Leaving you shaking in pleasure
Gliding on weakened wings we soar
Pain creates a direction to edges new
When again on those heights we tread 
Let the torrid heat drive our desire high
Caught in throes, an endless sky our bed05152013

Related post: Holy Sanctum
Also published in Broowaha Magazine
First published in Opinionsofeye.com01262012 

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Awkward Reasons –

God may forgive sins, he said, but awkwardness has no forgiveness in heaven or earth.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson
“Great endowments often announce themselves in youth in the form of singularity and awkwardness.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

There are reasons why at times my interactions with people seem strained. I say the wrong things. I limp through my social circles, everyone making way for my awkward presence. I bring up subjects deep and poignant. I provoke thoughts, thoughts you’re not accustomed to. I speak in a way you find odd. My accent tainted, not pure, not from any one place. The same with my mannerisms. I fidget with my hands in a crowd, unsure of how to hold them. I wonder if the way I’m standing is threatening. If a purse is left close to me, I walk away, believing you’ll accuse me if something is missing. Trying to drive with a thousand choices that are made instantly, provokes these social swerves that seem ungainly and make others uncomfortable. 

 
Do you know that this isn’t me? This isn’t how I am, constrained to behave oddly, chained to a limp of the soul and mind. Do you know I’m injured? Do you know I almost died because of love? Do you know I fought for my life many times, not from just physical beatings but mental torture and illness? Do you know that I’ve argued for my release from beatings given, many, many times?
 
Do you know how these scars make it hard to smile? The hardened skin refusing to release the joy struggling to stay alive in the poisonous atmosphere of my melancholic soul? Do you know the thousand thoughts I think just to go out the door? Checking my clothes, the color of my skin, the dark circles under my eyes, the length of my nose, the girth of my belly? Do you know that walking to my car creates anxiety? I grab my keys like a weapon; I make sure I always have a knife, though these things have never delivered me from violence or comforted me. Do you know that I struggle with violence a hundred times an hour? Not only my self-imposed violence toward me or others, but of the perceived violence I see directed at me in every face? 
 
Do you know that I always try to help others? Do you know though having been burned 99 times out of hundred, I still reach out, thinking that everyone believes I’m a sucker? Thinking that they all talk among themselves, working out plans to rob me of my time, energy, and money? Do you know that I know you are using me? Do you know that I still give in spite of this? There are reasons, stop and consider why.
 
Take time to realize that the people you know and see everyday are hurt and wounded. Look out from your struggle and know that a friend, a family member, a bartender, a cashier, is on their last thread of hope, wanting to die from the pain they feel. Reach out with compassion on those who irritate you, understand that the scars they bear make it difficult to respond with graciousness toward you and your problems. We are all in this together, make room in the survival raft for those drowning in despair. Act without requiring a suicide note or a midnight call from the police before you reach out…

Also published in Broowaha Magazine
First published in Opinionsofeye.com
02082012

Crutch –

“And so, irritants, it is with this that I leave you. You are spared so that you can think of what it really is to live in a world that engenders a pain for which there is no comfort. Here is your product! You have the rest of your lives to think of this. And I suggest you think quickly, for a long life is never a guarantee.”
Jhonen Vasquez, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac: Director’s Cut 
il-gusto-dell-orrido
No way out, that’s plain to see,
No breaks here, at least not for me
Created someone, by choices of peers
People pleasing, bad choices in years
Time is here, for the ugly plans
Another choice, to take a stand
In the mind, I thought I’d be
Options present, from a Divine We
Way is clear, two roads to home
My destiny, no guilt to own
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During the course of a man’s life there are certain actions which to him are inevitable. His nurture of violence, rejection, torment, and pain makes a repetition of this lineage probable in many areas. When the professionals look at his past and problems, they commit him to a destiny with their prognostications. Cursed with the Homicidal Triad, he carries the weight that his life is over and many others will end by his hand. Perversions visited on him time and again long to be reborn in a vain attempt at control and vengeance. He’s for all intents and purposes, a dangerous time bomb that, not a matter of “if” but “when”, will explode. He carries himself in a way that attracts the vermin and vultures of the dark life who, smelling blood, come and circle him in an ancient dance of death. They smell blood and think it a sign of weakness not knowing the he cut himself to draw them in. He does this so the ones he takes with him will be deserving of the death he brings. This way is clear and this way he will follow by virtue of having no other choice. No choice until one is taught to him by a God unseen, but heard and felt. His father told him that faith is a crutch for the weak, he now learns faith will save not only him but those he set his cross-hairs on and if not for the crutch, then the kill. Look for the choices you misfitted rejected ones, there’s a way that leads out of the darkness.
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First published in Opinionsofeye.com
03302014

Wisdom’s Seven Pillars – Pillar #5 Mercy –

“Wisdom has built her house, she has carved out her seven pillars:” Proverbs 9:1. The aim of this series is to present a non-cliche, non-religious point of view of wisdom. I do subscribe to some religious interpretations of the subjects addressed, but wish to here, only point out the common understanding of the principles.”
Pillar #5 – Mercy
 
“compassionate or kindly forbearance shown toward an offender,an enemy,or otherperson inone’s power” – Dictionary.com
 
I have always found that mercy bears richer fruits than strict justice.”
Abraham Lincoln
 
Mercy is crucial to wisdom, allowing it to function by bringing constructive resistance to the force of knowledge. It directs the power of wisdom to accomplish its highest objective, that of bringing and nurturing life. Without it, wisdom may be a cruel master, harsh and unrelenting. Religion, philosophy, intellectualism, and government, followed without mercy will surely end in violence and the destruction of the individual. I yield to the powers that be, hoping for mercy as I address my issues, learning that, as I expect it, and it is necessary for my growth, so I should express it in my dealings with others. There is no greater power than wisdom applied to a life with mercy as it’s arms to lift, to teach, to heal, and to encourage.
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03062012

Born Again – Recovery from Traumatic Brain Injury

 “Recovery is hard. End of story…
I spend hours a week doing homework that isn’t for school, but for rehabilitative purposes. I am regularly pushed to my limits cognitively, emotionally, and physically…
I am always tired, I have never been more aware of my difficulties in the past two years than I am now. I work a lot with figuring out strategies to manage the results of my brain injury in a way where it makes life more manageable…
I want the frustration to stop…

Despite all of the I wants, or the I wishes, I have never been so motivated in my life to succeed. I may have difficulties, but i refuse to let it define me. I will keep trying, and keep pushing. I will never be the person I was before, I may never be a conventional normal person. But I will succeed in life. Disability or not…” – Alwaygrowing
neurosciencestuff
Born again, no, not in the religious sense. There’s a new birth forced on us from several of tumultuous life changing events. Take for example, a Traumatic Brain Injury, which hadn’t received much press until many of our veterans came back from war. Their are many hard things to process and I’ll relay them to you in a greatly condensed version. As a survivor of TBI, I’ve experienced a change in habits, personality, quirks, desires, and many things I took for granted. I’ve noticed a marked decrease in patience and strong increase in violent outbursts. It took a good long while before I was able to walk without dizziness and still feel my actions are clumsy compared to the me I knew before. Writing, speaking, events that I had great control over before (I was a public speaker and very eloquent with words and phrases) seemed out of my grasp. I struggled to actually say what I wanted to, entirely different words or ideas would come out instead. People would repeat what I just said and I responded with amazement at having said something I’d never say, and that with no recollection. Writing through the vehicle of typing was another terrific challenge, my coordination and muscle memory was out of whack and I had to learn all over.
No one explained that these things could happen and most people just walked away wagging their heads, not understanding that this wasn’t me, I was born again. Like my natural birth, I had no choice in the matter, it was given to me by fate and circumstance. I reeled for years trying to find my way back to the me I knew, and still endure hardship and misunderstanding as I struggle to learn again. This is a curse and a blessing. A curse because there are bad things that resulted from the injury (violence, clumsy, forgetful, impatience) but a blessing because now, unlike growing up, I can understand that I’m forming my new self and look at my actions with the guidance of hindsight and understanding given from self education and spiritual pursuit. Born Again, hallelujah yes, but not to a spiritual reunion with God, but to a soulful reunion with who I want to be.
If you need more information on TBI here are some links:

Beyond

“It is impossible to suffer without making someone else pay for it; every complaint already contains revenge.” – Friedrich Nietzsche

twindle
“You’ve such kind eyes sir, full of sorrow not all your own.”
Thank you kindly, but you don’t see, all that rages beyond.
A slasher lives, who wants to burn and pillage, watching
those who are proud to suffer humiliation and pain, like
what they did to me and to my loves. My innocence
ravaged, I only want to burn, my slashing blades edge
finding their neck. To see their flesh bubble and burst,
their tongues swell with pain and heat, just a little
revenge on those who with violence reign and terrorize,
I’ll burn their Babylon with brimstone and hot black oil.
The trouble comes when, without expression on those,
someone will pay and perhaps not one who deserves it.
An unsuspecting soul, who in a fit of unlucky anger,
raises a fist to the slasher and the fury is unleashed.

Breath of Coals

“Heroes are made in the hour of defeat. Success is, therefore, well described as a series of glorious defeats.”  Mahatma Gandhi

Breath of coals consumes
the compliantly relented peace of many
Leaping from dreams and
defiling with hungered presence
“Come my enemy, give life to me by your hate” 

 
A leprous char to remain in
the abandon of slanderous consumption
The takers of hope are meant to be,
giving life to survivor’s dreams 
– “Come my enemy, give life to me by your violence”


Cherished visions have no meaning
unless colored with blackened attacks
Their worth determined by the
crackling heckles of many jealous lovers
– “Come my enemy, give life to me by your acridity”
 
Victory will never give birth
till hate eagerly prevents its hasty advance
Only pain and adversity will show
the incensed revelation of a hero

– “Come my enemy, I know success by your presence”

11012012