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September 21st, 2014

01:34 am
I think of you more than I'd care to admit.
No, that's not true. I'd sing it out if I were to just be honest.
There is a dream that has stayed with me.
There has been so much that has happened.
A mundane, if tumultuous, swell of life and learning.
I feel stuck, and unacknowledged.
I feel more machine than beauty.
I am ok. I'm safe, and I'm working hard.
These things are supposed to be everything.
I think of you,
And I know they are not.
I don't know if dreams should be goals,
But I think of you more than I can admit.

I should call you.

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October 27th, 2012

11:50 pm
Thinking about things. ...damn...

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October 9th, 2012

03:49 am
There's this video that I watch... Something from my past. Sometimes I like to get pretty drunk and watch this video; for two minutes and thirty-nine seconds the entire universe is different. I wonder if this is as close to perfect as we can get; these hopes, dreams, delusions. I wonder and yet I don't truly care. I have proof that two minutes and thirty-nine seconds of my life was perfect, and I wasn't even there for it.

...but it gets you thinking, nonetheless.

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August 22nd, 2012

12:11 am
This is the part of the night when I like to get drunk and marvel how the time goes by.

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June 14th, 2012

03:22 am - For personal record
Tonight I came upon a random message on the internet that went like this: My girlfriend just got engaged with someone else that she has been dating secretly for 6 months. I'm committing suicide by hanging myself in 2½ hours...

Many people replied to this message, and the guy seemed to take heart from said replies. Yes, perhaps he was just begging for those replies; but one must remember that he was *begging*. I feel like any decent person has a need to at least try to lend a hand in these situations. Dozens of people posted responses to this guys post, but I felt that I should still put my voice in among the crowd. I messaged him the following:

Hey man, I'm sure you're getting a million messages at this point, but damn that must be fucking cool. An actual affirmation that there are so many people out there, people you've never even met, who think you're worthwhile enough to encourage your mere existence. Fuck yes; am I right?!

Here's my piece, quick as I can make it. I feel you brother. I've been your spot, as have others. I've been there twice now. In my case my family got split in two. At first, I looked at it like this: no matter what I do, I can only ever get 50% of the time I planned on spending with my kid, for the rest of my damn life, no matter what I do. Shit like that, just like what you went through, is shattering. All your dreams just suddenly, and permanently, ripped away from you. It will drag you down to depths that you could never think possible.

What's important is acknowledging what that severe feeling of loss is showing you about yourself. You cannot feel loss unless you first have something, and when the loss is emotional, that means the something is all in you. If you feel heartbroken, that's because you have fucking heart; and that cannot be taken from you by any person other than yourself. That is one of your strengths as a person. You have dozens of strengths atop that; each one making you who you are.

A few years back, I wouldn't have been able to tell you that I went from good dad to fucking-omg-awesome dad, better friend, and stronger and happier person, all because extreme emotional hardship opened my eyes to exactly how much I could do, how innately awesome I could be if I just got up and fucking did it. A few years back I couldn't have told you that, but today I can. You already have evidence of your own innate awesomeness. Now go own it. Be more than the average. Do work. You've got this.

If you ever think you're alone, well then, I'm right here brother. I've never even met you and I still think you've got something worthy of me spending time of you. Go kick ass and take names.


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March 16th, 2012

01:01 am
I feel so diminished,
a person in face and form
with a heart that cries for admittance.
How does one survive
when it is their heart,
their care,
purest splendor and adoration,
which gives them identity,
a start?
The world seems out to teach me.
The landscape is cruel, it says.
That if I am to claim that I am,
to claim that I be,
then I must be something useful;
something of obvious function,
some sort of tool.
But there are things that
I feel like I remember,
things that might be dream,
but regardless
feel like a spark's remaining ember.
Intensive care,
immense faith,
and a little breath of air...
the blaze I could make.
I would be useful;
just in a way we forgot.
A luxury.
A belief.
A smile that lifts you up
when you feel like you're lost.
Don't we need one moment of precedent,
something to weigh our argument,
as to why it is that we're not just ok,
but socially dutiful,
in living this way;

we are fucking beautiful.

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November 16th, 2011

12:39 am - Life is something of a masquerade
Such a burdensome need for twisted words and hierarchies of secrecy. A dance where two people hope to catch the glance of one another from across the room, quick and quiet. With everything spinning, while being held close to another, the most that can be done is share a smile and a sparkle in your eye before you are turned about again, led through the movements by life. Having caught that spare moment, a hushed acknowledgement, brings life to the party and a reminder of why it is we dance to begin with.

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November 12th, 2011

04:33 am
There is nowhere that I might tell you how much I love you. I find myself thinking of you often of late. If only it could be.

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October 8th, 2011

03:33 am
Twenty-seven years, seven months, and... what day is it? One child, three women, and three or four dreams that have come and gone; one that perhaps never truly left.

I wish that I could empty my mind, pour it out unto this place. The feelings... Aw fuck it, honesty: I need to write something sober. I have something that I really need to say, and I've been falling short. My heart is aching, but also swelling; and I don't know how to talk about that.

Maybe tomorrow,

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October 7th, 2011

02:29 am - Cross my heart and hope to...
My days are passable, if anxious, but my nights are terrible. How do you tell someone how much you love them when your love by standard exceeds normalcy. How can you state that you miss the everything that they are without over-stepping boundary lines; to express how you realize the everything of you was part and parcel to the everything of them?

I have fallen in love, nay (for sake of using funny old-world terms), again nay, been in love with those I deemed closest, and I want them to know it. I am my own person, but that person was made so much better, so much more vibrant and complete, by the people I drew close to me. There is an entire world before me, with so very much to offer, but I want more than anything right now to pull close to me those who I've fallen in love with. They know my respect for them, but cannot know how deeply I need them near to feel whole. To be a good man, a good friend, is impossible without those whom you care for being near. Further, to surpass the effort and trial of what you wish to be, to simply acknowledge and adore that which supports you regardless of your efforts, is difficult without a smiling face before you or tearful eye upon your shoulder, to catch a frustrated sigh as it is release to drift away upon the wind.

This is what I have come to feel is home. Being away from it now, I naturally feel that I am not at home. Those I give my heart to make honest effort, but I wish too that they could see my tears. Not so that they would hold sympathy for me, but so that they might feel truly special. "I don't cry for everyone," she said, and I know the sentiment all too well. I cannot help but cry as of late though. I know that I have been separated from those who would never leave me, but also those whose proximity defined who I am. The little one in particular, a mystery to my mind, taught me more, and her context made me more than I knew myself to be. But how does one say I love you, to mean it in a way the best of companions, the most heartfelt of stories, do, without it being overbearing or misunderstood?

Someday it will simply be known; but until then it is a question heavy and pertinent upon my mind.


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