I aspire to be jaded.
Some may see the quality of being jaded as a lamentable condition.
For me, to be jaded is not a hindrance; it is an asset.
I aspire to be unsurprised by anything life throws at me. I aspire to be stone in the face of adversity; cool, calm, collected; able to accept the things that must be, to be eroded by the winds of change, forming a smooth, rounded, polished surface.
There is a level of cynicism I aspire to. Enough to laugh anything and everything off if I choose to, but not enough to reject all contrary thought/belief without careful consideration.
Cynicism is a firewall against the deceit of the world; a buffer against the sham, drudgery and broken dreams this sad and beautiful world.
There are those who for millenia have taken advantage of the naive, subjugated them to their will with the promise of an eternity of bliss, and the threat of an eternity in flames.
Thus, I aspire to jaded cynicism.

No matter how long I search, how far or where I look, I will never, ever meet or love anyone else quite like you, who will love me the same, and now you’re gone… Thank god!

Waking up’s a bitch… Without you by my side to caress and hold… With you it was two.

I tell myself I don’t miss you, Yet what’s this I feel as I read through old messages, browsing through photographs of days gone past?
Ahh, yes, Regret…

Every moment spent with you was a moment foolishly wasted.

It has been a month past a year since everything fell apart. It was by no means the beginning of the end; it was the culmination of everything that was wrong with our relationship.

Since then I have been homeless twice. I alternated between sleeping in my car, and sleeping on friends couches. I frequently was on the lookout for shaded spots where I could camp in my car during those searing summer months.

I was happy to be single, despite the circumstances. In hindsight, it was a perfect, subconsciously orchestrated ending to a relationship that should not have been. Just when it seemed as if it could be rekindled, I doused the kindling with a gallon of gasoline and fireworks, ensuring there’d be nothing left to save.

It was all for the best. Yes, there is a pint sized splinter of me somewhere in the world; though I pray our paths shall never intersect.

Perhaps things could have worked out. Perhaps one day we would have been a functional family, together in the sun. Some day. Some place. Had I been somebody else.

Now, I have only the future to look towards, overlooking the present as I atone for the sins of the past.

I built my world around volcanoes,

Knowingly and unafraid I did so,

Even then I underestimated the risks,

Now I can only watch as my world begins to unravel and fall apart,

I pray, beg, and plead to an absentee Goddess,

Oh spirit of this long dormant island,

Take pity upon this lonely, ship-wrecked soul,

I gasp for breath and cling to what flotsam I can find,

At the edge of my world I still float,

And and I can do naught but watch it end,

I understand now the consequences of faulty planning,

One can not build an island atop more than one volcano,

When one erupts, the other softly seethes,

And one can do naught but watch, or leave.

Fin

Three years ago I was carless, getting around town with a combination of bicycling, walking, and riding the bus.

I had been working at campus computer store for a year, and had just begun working a second job on weekends at a hotel.

I was taking a break from school, and paying back UH for the previous fall semester I attended, thinking I’d go back to school in the fall, but had given up scholarships, or financial assistance, and was unsure of what I wanted to major in, and doubted my ability to do the required coursework.

I was single, and mopy about it, but I had several platonic lady friends I texted, talked to on the phone, and IM’ed with on a regular basis.

My ex at the time and I had resumed being friends after she broke up with me by dropping off the face of the map five months previous.

Today I’m employed full time in just one job, which I’ve been at for close to 16 months, and becoming more confident in my abilities each day that passes.

I am single, after having been in a relationship that lasted 3 years, 2 of which aside from being long distance, I was taken advantage of, and had been lied to about her identity, and the last of which I behaved shamefully, and took advantage of her.

Despite being homeless, I have a car, and good friends who have allowed me the use of their floors, couches, and showers.

Emotionally, I feel I’m in a better place than I have been in the last 3 years that have transpired. I’m glad to be newly single, and I do have some psychological issues, but I will seek out help once I can afford it.

Financially I plan on recouping, and pay back my credit cards, and stay up to date on my car note.

Chocolate
Worship
The Dark
Together
Around
Goddesss
Beneath
Winter Fever
Give Long
Day
Vision
Flicker
Murmur Then
Class Never
Whisper
Fascinate
Thousand
Emotions
Luscious Flood
Scream Shake
Sweet
Honey Drunk
Delicate
Sleep
Education

At first it was a joke, just for fun,
Pursuit of the heretofore unpursued,
With virginal naivete it was easy to believe,
Sweet whispered I love you’s in the height of sensuality,
Who is this exotic dream who calls at 2 AM?
First one lie, then another,
Fooling the gullible is the easiest part,
The challenge lies in not believing it yourself,
It’s 1 AM and I’m breaking her heart,
Snowballing fabrications caught hold of our emotions,
Look at the momentum we’ve created,
The easier it became to create another fib,
the harder it became to reveal the truth,
False starts, stops, and intermissions,
Now it’s 2 AM and she’s crying in my ear,
“Don’t cry” she pleads, prompting a wave of tears,
She has been wearing a mask for so long,
“Will you tell me who you really are?”
“You’ll hate me, I swear”
An emotional tug of war.
It’s 3 AM and I’m parked in a Walmart lot,
It’s hard, yet relieving to know now,
Only the truth can set you free,
I wake up in a haze, as if I’m dreaming,
It all takes time to process and reconcile,
It’s 9 AM and the previous night floods back,
“Do you hate me yet?”
“I love you.”
Faces may change,
But emotions are real.

What a wonderful age to be,
How easily optimistic you could be,
How impressionable you seemed to be,
Nothing stood in the way of your conquests,

Light enters the bedroom,
Filtering through the blinds,
It radiates across,
As it has done through space,
It bounces off the walls,
Leaving behind shadows of itself,
Bouncing from one object to another,
Imprinting on everything in its path,
Affecting all, giving color of itself,
Selflessly this wave of radiation gives substance to all we see,

No one will read this post,
Drowned out amongst the noise and chaos
Countless automated posts will obscure my words
A secret hidden in plain sight,
Easily it can be unmasked.
Provided one bothers to read the scroll back,
But until then it will continue on,
Lost in the ether of automated confusion

Blinking cursor, what secrets do you wait to divulge?
—- is typing, —– has typed text, then nothing.
—— is typing, and it appears that way for a long minute,
It’s so easy to expect a long diatribe,

What defines a romantic relationship?
At what moment is it that two people fall in with each other?
How is it that people mutually, without a word,
How is it that they join hands, naturally, without hesitation,
Without trepidation look at each other,
And without saying a word agree?
It never ceases to amaze me,
The sidelong stare, the harmonious comfort,
How in the moment naught else matters,

Electrical impulses transmit,
An abstract idea slowly forms,
As emotions process it,
Slowly it takes upon a more concrete form,
And words are assigned to it,
Substitutions and reductions,
Expansions and revisions,
The idea becomes more real,
Neurons fire madly,
Swimming in a current of webbed nerve endings,
Synapses ignite, bridging gaps between,
Signal traveling through the spine,
Down a neural network maze,
A well travelled sinuous road,
Arriving at their destination,
Fingertips acting upon a pen,
Manipulating black encapsulated ink,
Air forcing it down towards rolling ball,
Leaving a trail as it acts upon paper,
Elegant script detailing words,
Then just as quickly,
Pen violates the last line,
Striking out a nascent phrase,
Before continuing on to rephrase,
Then striking through again,
Phrase begets strike begets phrase,
A vicious cycle of writer’s block,
My words could never do you justice,
My words could never touch the beauty that is you,
Could never capture your essence,
Words could never accurately describe those blissful moments,
Could never describe the feeling of your arm touching mine,
Could never describe the laughter we both let out in those intimate moments of mirth,
Your voice too beautiful to trap and reduce to words,
Describing the sweet amorous tone of your voice on the phone,
Or share the euphoric rush of hope felt in those moments,
No, my words pale in comparison to the things I long to express,
My diction, allusion, and metaphors could never stand up to your poetic expressions,
My words will never suffice to win you over like I hoped that they would,
Will never move or sway others the way I desire,
Will never leave the lasting impression of me I wish as my legacy,
Will never fully represent the broad spectrum of my emotions,
But I can do naught more than attempt ceaselessly in my labors,
With my pen I paint an imperfect portrait of a vision so divine,
I create a reality that fails to mirror your designs,
But I must continue to write the next line.

Sometimes I want you.
Watching you,
Crouching by that box of books,
The way your back arches oh so gracefully,
The way your fingers index the page,
Admiring the delicate curve of your neck as you brush your hair aside,
Sometimes I want you.
The sound of your voice,
So silky, sweet, soothing, suggestive,
The way it arouses desire,
And takes me to places far far distant,
Sometimes I want you.
I admire the graceful curve of your spine,
I long to hold those ample hips,
To drink my fill from your lips,
To lovingly, gently caress those delicate orbs,
To feel the way we fit together when I hold you against me,
To kiss your flesh, to make you mine,
Sometimes I want you.
Desire is a chaotic beast,
It can destroy worlds,
Just as easily as it could create them,
Could disturb this harmony between us,
Or could strengthen our bond,
Sometimes I want you.
Locking gazes with you,
Meekly averting our eyes,
Observing your ever shifting facial expressions,
Desiring to touch and feel,
To caress and to hold,
Sometimes I want you.

I’ve been busy these last 6 months, what with working 3 jobs. However, I am updating this site as much as I can, it’s rather therapeutic.

Dear —–,
How bittersweet it is to hear those sighs,
To hear the pain and the sweetness blended into one,
Your voice the apex of all the humanity one could express,
How I longed to hear those amorous sighs,
Murmurings in my ear on warm summer nights,
You came to me, in a dream,
Again and repeatedly, swearing you’d never leave,
In my mind’s eye I made love to you in ways immortals would envy,
And I was ready to embrace all mortality with you,
To share in pain, joy, sorrow and mirth,
To love and enjoy the good with the bad,
To frolic on moonlit lakes,
To suffer the summer’s heat and the winter’s freeze,
For the longest time I dreaded waking from this dream,
Such things were too good to last,
If a god existed, only he could create a creature just as ethereal,
Your kisses the sweetest ambrosia none of the gods could equal to drink such sweet nectar,
Your caresses the soothing wind on a summer night,
All of this, and more, could not begin to suffice,
Could never hope to encapsulate you and do you justice,
Nor Zeus could be worthy enough to worship at your feet,
Sweet summer goddess.

It is so easy to lie,
I could be anyone,
I could be rich,
You could be my wish,
But as I type this alone,
In this darkened, solitary room,
I feel as if I am typing to another,
In a similarly dark room alone on the other end,
We can reveal a part of our personalities,
Lay our souls bare in this complicit anonymity,
There are all manners of truth,
There is the truth we reveal,
And there is the truth we choose not to reveal,
When we are online the two reverse roles,
Revealing the truth normally kept obscured,
And we obscure the truth others can normally see,
We manipulate this Johari Window to our advantage,
Removing and rearranging the panes,
But in spite of this knowledge,
I full heartedly believe.

Poor Icarus, how I understand your plight,

I too have soared to greater, undeserved heights,

I know what it is like, being scorned by a star so bright,

To have experienced the euphoria of unrestricted flight,

We live sheltered, cloistered in our own little shells we have built for ourselves. Every man, woman, and child can be and is an island, though a fragile and constantly moving one.
We create our own worlds that we cannot, will not, allow others to disturb, unless we trust them significantly enough to do so, but there are always events that will disturb them.
Looking all around, I am drowning in a sea of people. Even as I am surrounded, I have never felt more isolated, and I drown in this sea of anonymity.
Every person we meet can change our world, whether by consent, or force, possibly disturbing the shells we have created for ourselves.
Therefore, every person we allow in offers a different possible future.
This anonymous sea of people is a sea of possibilities, washing over me, tempting me to choose, or make some type of move, to define myself and choose a future.
Yet I cannot bring myself to do so. I cannot bring myself to intrude into another’s life and disturb their world they have so painstakingly created for themselves.
Or at least, that is the excuse I give myself.
Though there are also my own insecurities coming into play here, it is more than a mere excuse, it is a reality.
I do not know what life others may lead, what friendships they keep, and what love interests they have, and I hesitate to violate the sanctity of their microcosm.
Whether it be the comely brunette exchanging a smile in the grocery aisle, the raven haired barista making small talk in the coffee shop, or the striking blonde perusing books in the book store, I cannot help but look away, knowing they could never welcome me into their world, and thus it pains me to be in public.

I can see it coming,
Even in the moment we are the closest,
the hyperbole reaches its zenith,
and I know it is not long in coming.
I cannot help but look at her face,
this demon, angel, death incarnate,
My demonic angel faced death,
as she prepares for the final blow.
What tenderness I see in her gaze,
Almost as if she too dreads what must come,
A breath, a pause,
Loving words whispered in my ear,
There is that tender gaze again,
Her eyes a pool of tenderness and sadness to match mine,
It will not be long now.
What thoughts are going through her mind,
Are they the same as mine,
Does she know what I know,
Does she know that I know?
Why is it that our most tender moment,
Is inevitably our last?
It will not do to torture myself any longer,
Instead I choose to dwell in the moment,
In this climax of tenderness,
Intoxicated by her words and her scent,
Lost in her loving caresses,
Leaving many things unsaid.
It is not long in coming,
I feign sleep as she approaches,
And puts her mouth to my ear,
“Goodnight sweet prince” she whispers,
Before she administers her kiss of Death

I look for you, everywhere I go
I’ve never seen you in person
I only have an idea of how tall you are
What I could see of your body
Your face
And I look at other girls
And try to see you in them
Does she look the right height?
Is that what her build is like?
Could those eyes have the same shape as yours?
What about her skin color,
Is it the same brown as yours?
I look for you everywhere I go
Trying to visualize what you look like
That short, skinny, brown skinned cashier with the black hair
Could she look anywhere remotely like you?
Is her height equal or less?
If it’s the right height, I wonder,
How does my chin fit on the top of her head?
Do I have to lean downwards?
Does she have tilt her head up and stand on her tiptoes?
And everywhere I go
None of them measure up to the ghost of you.
That short Filipino mix who’s come in to charge her Blackberry
Could she be in the same situation as you?
Does she too have a remote boyfriend who can only send his love over the phone?
Is someone on your side,
Letting you charge your phone long enough to make an urgent call?
Are any of these girls,
Could any of these girls,
Ever be capable of loving someone like me,
Like you can?
No, none of them can, or would.
None of these girls can be you
And yet I still look everywhere for you,
For the ghost of the idea of you

Sifting through memories and archives, I realize what a fool I’ve been, and most likely still am.

I was a fool for and to love, and wore my heart on my sleeve when it was still not ready to withstand such rough handling.

I was overly sentimental, and willing to do anything for her. I was tactless, and too much of a creep.

Not that that could have changed anything if I had done it differently.

As I comb through my repository, I realize what a maudlin idiot I was.

The worst part of it is realizing that I still am, as I re-experience the emotions I felt.

But that was in the past, and now I have nothing left but memories and archives, with the false hope I was harboring gone.

Where is it that boundaries lie, separating innocence from corruption, good, from evil, or normal from odd?
When does an innocent crush become an unhealthy fixation, or is perceived as such?
What makes an expressive profession of love different from one person’s lips as compared to another’s?
When is it deemed appropriate, if at all, to profess what one has held imprisoned in one’s thoughts?

Always it has been the wrong time for me, or perhaps, it’s the right time, but I’m the wrong person.
Were I a different person, I would not struggle with letting those I care deeply about, or admire, know without fearing an adverse reaction.
Or, perhaps, some thoughts are never meant to be spoken, never meant to be revealed, only meant to reside within the mental prison, casting one as both warden and prisoner.

These thoughts are seen as sweet, and quaintly honest by others, but when revealed to the object of fixation produce a negative reaction, and one is now seen as a creep.
My greatest fear is one that has come to fruition several times, and thus, I become a timid mouse, afraid to say what my heart thinks, afraid of destroying more friendships, afraid of one more set of eyes to avoid.

There is more separating us than distance,

Several times we’d bridged the gap,

And a thousand miles may as well have been two feet,

Now, five feet may just as well be five thousand miles,

And though we’d crossed the digital divide,

We have nothing to show for it,

Other than caresses long absorbed,

And promises, carried by the wind,

Love and hope hang in the balance,

Frigid uncertainty maintains it in limbo,

Sadness and doubt abound,

Fear anchoring me to hope,

Wishing, wanting, yearning,

Nightly nostalgia sets in,

Wishing to feel the ghost of your lips,

Wanting to know and be free of this uncertainty,

Yearning for your words,

No matter what they may carry,

I would break these walls separating us,

Had I the strength to do so,

This wall lacking in substance,

Created by absence,

Separating demonic angels from angelic demons,

And I fear that I shall no longer drink from the holy grail of your lips.

I admit it, I cried. I cried and sobbed like a little bitch,
I’m bawling loudly, uncontrollably,
Like the worthless scum that I am .

Now my tears and prayers fall mute,
Upon the deaf ears of an absentee summer goddess.

I didn’t deserve you, I was never the ideal man.
I was an idiot for believing in this dream,
For believing you could love a wretch like me.

I flew to close to the beautiful summer sun,
I dared to wish to drink your sweet caresses,
And now I am paying the price.

On the way home, I find it difficult to drive,
I attempt to sing, lyrics coming out little more than tear choked wails,
While tears and scrunched up eyes obscure my field of vision.

The first summer was the most beautiful of all,
When our love was new and optimistic,
When the future was so promising,
And our first vocalizations of love were so innocent and pure.

You were willing to look past my defects,
To see something inside me worth loving,
And discover the strength I never knew I had.

Now I sit here, writing this,
Parked under a solitary street lamp,
Caterwauling like a child with a broken bone,

I imagined your caresses to be so soft,
Your words so sweet and tender,
Your kisses unrivaled even by those of the summer sun.

I have lost you now, for good.
You are leaving me to find your own happiness,
Having no further need for me,
You leave me to suffer the absence of a ghost.