School's in session

Untitled - 8/18/2008

Come stop your crying;
what reason is there
to keep on sighing
that life isn't fair?

Just dry your eyes now
and raise your head high;
there's always tomorrow
to learn how to fly.

Years

When I was six
I knew I'd save
the world and be
a hero brave;

And at age nine
I found a group
to play and laugh
and shout and whoop;

Then I turned twelve
and desperately sought
to flee far into space,
alone with my thoughts;

But then fifteen came
and no one understood
this pain that I felt,
but I did what I should;

So at eighteen I fell
hopelessly obsessed--
busy though I was--
driven by love to madness;

At twenty-one I picked up
the pieces that remained,
tried fitting them together
(perhaps gluing them in vain);

Twenty-four and lost:
that's who I am today.
What will i be tomorrow?
I guess I'll find my way.

take me away

take me away
to bluer skies
where i can dance
freely outside

take me away
to warmer climes
where i can soak
up rays of time

take me away
to joyful days
where i can laugh
in so many ways

take me away
to a place i know
where i can think
deep thoughts and grow

take me away from here

Happy Birthday

Days go by, still I remain
Hopelessly lost, endlessly drained.
I'd be a wanderer if I just knew
Which direction to start in; I haven't a clue.

Yet something tells me that deep within
Lies surety, conviction, passion even.
I need only find the right lock for my key
So that gateways will open to envelop me.

Too many questions, no answers in sight;
How shall I know if my choices are right?
Do I take the safe and well-worn road?
Can I really place my instincts on hold?

On this day, I wish to act, somehow
(seems appropriate, a turning point, now)
Still. Something in me releases a scream
And wants to know why I've let go of a dream.

Malaise

As I lay here, adrift, alone,
Idly staring into the night,
Afflicted by a malaise unknown,
I don't quite know what to write.

Should I speak of a sunrise bright
Breaking free from clouds of gray?
Or of cheerful chirping by waking birds,
Preparing themselves to start a new day?

But that would require effort, exertion,
Mental energy I've lacked for some time;
My lies have eroded until all that remain
Are glib diversions that follow this rhyme.

No, I'd rather that sleep whisk me away,
Let me figure out things in peace.
Let me be comforted, though in dreams;
Let me believe that wonders never cease.

Dreamer

Some days I wake and close my eyes
And pause to breathe in the surprise
Of sunlight streaming on my face--
A warm caress that leaves no trace.

And in that instance of silence still,
There is no fear, no dark, no chill,
As I recall my dream (so dear)
Of love, of hope, of endless cheer.

And I can smell your sweet perfume,
As though it lingered in the room
To keep me company, hold me warm;
In your absence, keep me from harm.

And I can hear your laughter ring--
Peals of joy I imagine angels sing.
It fills my heart, that your smile
Was caused by me, for a while.

And I can see, your eyes, they glow,
They sparkle with passion and bestow
Upon me a Look that takes my breath,
And makes me die a little death.

And I remember all the moments spent
Together at home, at parties, events.
We had fun. We enjoyed every day,
Every moment and in every way.

And that's what made it so amazing:
That maybe, just maybe, I was deserving
Of an every day love given free
By someone so special-- anyone, really.

Then some sound jars my senses
And all around up go my defenses;
It was just a dream, reality knocks:
Things to do, reminds the tick of the clock.

So the illusion fades and life remains
Tedious, dull, indifferent, inane,
But even though the dream's now out of sight,
It was with me once, once upon a night.

Two poems in an hour

Absurd, irrational anger knows no face
At which to scream, to hurl, to disgrace;
And in the waking of abrupt alarm,
This rage grows, unfettered, to harm.

But soft! This savage beast needs to be tamed
To avert destruction of innocuous objects unnamed
And return to a state of still waters, tranquil,
In appearance at least (there's not near enough goodwill).

Back to its cage, this emotion is repressed.
The snarls are quieted from this unwanted guest
And all that remains is an emptiness within:
A drained husk flashing a false grin.

---

The seconds tick by, and you think I don't know
That green is grass and white is snow?
That every minute gone can't be replaced?
That time is a treasure and waste a disgrace?

Why must you make it harder than it already is?
I know my faults well; shall I enumerate a list?
This isn't a problem that can be solved by reason;
I've tried that (to my never-ending frustration).

The guilt eats at me every day,
Every moment, in every way.
Self-pity? A bit, but not enough to rate;
It's the self-hatred that suffocates.

Alas, poor Yorick!

You are deemed guilty of letting
Truth to be stretched like a season
Of soaps, as though the world turns
Around you. Must life have reason?
There is no rhythm to neither
Your deceit nor your cowardly tears.
And yet, is it a lie? Or perhaps
It's the truth hidden beneath fear.
For your words are threadbare and
Tolerance wanes and there is nothing
To give voice, to breathe out a cry
For... something. Anything.

Untitled fragment

Written 12/10, late at night:

A whirlwind's in my head screaming discord,
With unhappy notes jangling awkwardly for...
Peace? This space is currently occupied
By shards of exploding HopesWishesAgony galore.

Denial is composed from heartfelt dismissal
Deeming the death of diminishing despair.
Her surrogate sneers, wintry and wizened,
Acidly birthing bleak misery unaware.

---

I had hoped to finish it 12/11, but my thoughts happened to center on a particular event many years back that evoked more anger than any other emotion. Perhaps I should write a poem about my feelings on that. If I do, it shall be rather cold. Brutal. Unforgiving. Hm, that does sound quite promising.

To be or not to be

This post isn't about Casey. It's about me.

I've always been wary about writing personal stuff online. And even now, I'm not entirely sure it's appropriate to bring reality into this blog. Because, as Casey Serin knows all too well, the Internet remembers. Well, Google remembers, but these days, they're practically the same thing. And because everything is remembered, some enterprising graduate from the Benoit™ School of Internet Sleuthing might be able to follow the bread crumbs back to their source. And if I ever became rich or famous or something, those bread crumbs would be a tremendous liability.

But I don't know where I can turn to, who I can talk to. And I need to let this out, I need to be heard. Maybe one day, someone, somehow, will understand.

I know that it must seem really strange that I have this need to be so open online, where everyone everywhere can see it, but I liken it to blending into a large crowd. There, you're just one of the masses. You're anonymous. No cares about who you are, what you are, why you are. You're surrounded by people, and yet, you are completely alone. I love that about as much as I hate it.

I can't stand being here. I'm going through the motions, and I knew that was all I would be doing, but damn it, I thought I could delude myself for a longer period of time! Maybe I just know myself too well now. Which sucks. Ignorance is bliss, after all. But that's not the point. The point is that waking up every morning is a disappointment. If there was a scale, and unhappiness was a 1, and misery was a 10, I think I'd be somewhere around 23.

I can't go on like this. I've only been able to maintain a few shreds of sanity by losing myself in stories, searching for hope elsewhere, but they sort of just make everything worse, because they're not real.

Anyway. This is a really stupid post. Things are either going to get better, or they're going to get worse, and I supposedly have some say in all of this. I should just do what I want. Except what I want is for it all just to end. I'm so tired. All I want is to let go.

Here's an old poem:

Star's End - 01/22/02

I wonder about being a star,
Blaze of splendor twinkling afar,
Glittering cool in the night air,
Radiant beauty oh so fair.

But stars have got their limits too,
Their fiery glare will burn right through,
Leaving voids, deep and dark,
Scattered emptiness, no more spark.

They'll smolder seethingly, far too hot,
And either shrivel into a spot
Or flare outwards, grow immense
And burst because they were too intense.

Bursting a bubble causes an explosion,
Not so different from a star's implosion.
Needless to say, it matters not much,
Stars live, stars die, all such and such.

But for awhile they'll glimmer true,
Tears against a backdrop of darkened hue.
Stars do mirror, so I reflect,
Mortality on Earth, I do expect.

In memory of Mandy

I just took my hamster to be euthanized. I'm a pretty morbid person, and so one of the questions I always ask myself is whether or not I would condemn someone to death if it was the right thing to do. I guess now I have my answer. Clearly, I didn't want to do it, but once the facts were laid out, it was very obvious that this was the right thing to do. One of Mandy's eyes had ruptured, she had a tumor that was growing, she was completely inactive... if anything, I was tardy in my assessment of her condition. I don't know. I'm really confused right now. On the one hand, yes, I'm extremely distressed (and annoyed that I let myself get so attached to a bloody hamster); on the other hand, I'm remarkably collected, I feel absolutely no remorse for my actions. I accept full responsibility. And, you know, hate myself for it, but that's par for the course.

Enough nonsense. I should give a eulogy in honor of Mandy (and yes, in case you were wondering, she was named after Mandy Moore... her sister, still active and full of life, is named Britney, after, well, you-know-who; I swear, those were the first pair of female names that popped into my head). Anyway. Here's a poem:

Ode to Mandy

All living creatures do affect
each other's lives, in some respect;
their mere existence goes to show
the wave to which a ripple can grow.

One touch, one word, one deed, one look,
can have more impact than reading a book
in teaching someone the way to be,
to act, to feel, to sense, to see.

Animals are nature's way of directing
us to find the meaning of life. Butterflies flapping
never gave me much cause to transcend,
but hamsters? Oh Mandy, you were a good friend.

Damn you, Casey

(A/N: utter shite, but hey, I'm pissed.)

He who claims the Christian right
must remember to keep his sight
and wits about, for Haggai says,
"Give careful thought to your ways."

He who whines about his lack
and wants his lenders to cut him slack
has twisted truth within his mind
to portray himself as good and kind.

He who travels far and wide,
leaving a destitute wife behind,
continues to brag about being an ass,
ignoring that Google caches his past.

Oh he'll soon reach the end of his rope
and maybe (finally!) lose all hope
of scamming his way through life, "win-win";
you'll get your "sweet deal", Casey Serin.

Burn Clear

(written March 1st, 2003)

Shifting sands and desert winds
Blow directionless, scattered thin
A breath of dust, and specks of flash
Glitter in glory in brilliance smash.

In liquid chasms of silvery fire
Burn depths of ages gone, retired
To people, young old near far... fetched?
It was ridiculous, you silly wretch.

Simmer in the chilly heart
Steel doors trapped, ne'er to part,
Preservatives still kept fresh
Taint the soul, the mind, the flesh.

Did there ever exist a warmth
That didn't leave 3rd degree burns along arms?
Or a touch, of cool calm clear
That didn't reduce you to shivering tears?

Shine a light of brilliance grayed
Without the danger of lost sight in shades;
Sing a song of wonders foretold
Not of things lost, unclaimed, sold.

If past heralds future, clear and true,
What happens if no past is hidden in you?
No past, no future, a present of pain...
Not much of a gift to the millions slain.