Shake, Shook, Shaken

There are just some that know your weakness, that have the x-ray vision for cracks, that have the all encompassing charm to seduce. To deduce. To wrap you in a comfort, a false comfort ready to fall.

There are those with the lush kindness that seeps in the skin. Too late when you realize its embedded in your skin, scarred you before you felt the wound.

There stands the ones that stab with selfishness, steal from others because they think they are entitled, expect to be worshipped for their deception, comforted when their trick slaps them in the face.

What am I?

Possibilities

You once were the impossible;
now I don't care what you make possible.

Atmosphere Residue

Sometimes I can't tell if I'm more in love with the world, at peace with fighting it, or heartbroken by it.

Haiku 2

Sown in the past with
anonymous perfection,
and I cling to it.

Haiku 1

you would explain that
you didn't need anything
while I craved giving

Evidence No. 10

    Of course, great sex and fun times should all lead to the disgusting possession called marriage. This was to be a wedding day. A civil union day actually. This was the great technicality of a girl having a girlfriend. She had awoken that morning to the sound of her heart roaring at a great speed with her breathing chasing after it. She looked at the body next to hers, which lacked any type of precision. The curves and mounds are tanned arms and face with the blotchy whiteness of a tummy, breasts, and feet. 

Evidence No. 19

so much for having any clear
       idea
stringent pauses
              a calm unwanted, for numerous
                   reasons
impartial to feel anything toward anyone
     some standard used and unweighed
cheat evolution of the theory
             culture extinguished

Evidence No. 9

relatively alert and semi-breathing

as according to all plans, someone must pay the price for a solitude existence, today just happens to be you. how unbearable it must be to continually be reaching about the thoughts of someone else's head than your own

Everything

Rich or poor, people need a relationship.

Well-off or not, some relationships have abuse, adultery, addiction.

Two or five figure income, people cling to one another, desperately need to feel understood, cared for, embraced, missed, belong, exacting in being loved.

In the end, the only life accomplishment I want to attain is a relationship I can be myself, be comfortable, be satisfied, not want to lose or fuck up. A certain kind of employment can only provide so much life fulfillment. I can help but want to end my life someday satisfied that I did love well.

Crush

I see the state name and it tastes vaguely of him. His name feels internally familiar. His imagined warmth a reminiscent comfort.
 
Limited in satisfying him and its mutual.


And yet, he is totally adorable, crave-able, entice-able. Describes himself as a jerk, when its that he isn't that sets him apart.

I tell myself (lies that) his weakness is to disguise himself, shield himself, mask his actions/words.

He's a pile of words, a broken record on repeat, an absolute standard written in textbooks.

He's the difference.

If Only...

     slightly, that subtle inebriation
warmth caressing my organs, sliding inside, swishing in tides
               staring at the ceiling, waiting for the lightening to
     strike
infiltrate my system, poison it with vicious passion, push the
  pistons to pulse, booming into billions of blossoms



infused with illumination...


working out to gain, gain, achieve, succeed
the organism smaller, emptier, alone, deprived smashing
      

Evidence No. 16

I want out of here. I asked, which got me shot down. A lump of pain has now arisen on the left side of my rib cage. That pang of rejection.

Under

     I hope you don't wake up. Looking at you, realizing, if you wake, one day I will fear you not waking.

     The mind tricks: I was just over the moon, delighted, and now all I can concentrate on is the sloth lava river steaming out of me with hiccups of viscera pulp gulps. Crude description fora crude sensation.

     that disheartening rumble requiring silence, demanding it by any means necessary, the delusion of being cared for, liked, embraced. The cunt sputtering phrase un- understood. Where is the quiet? The stillness of nothing? The limestone soul stuttering and gentle moisture?

11/16/09, Austin

Existence Exists

     Been thinking about what I would say to you for awhile now. Last week I went to sleep crying, crying for a long...from the grating pain of loneliness. A couple hours later, thought of you, through everything I like about you, felt soothed, able to sleep, told myself I would write you a letter to tell you all the things I think/thought of you.
     Today, I finally realized why I like people, the minimum component a person has to have in my eyes to be considered a decent person for me to spend time with: I have to admire the person in some way. A person I like, I have to admire in a million different ways, then another million things that make me feel comfortable to maintain my interest.
     What is wrong with me?! Why do I cry so easily? I guess knowing that I liked you so much and that nothing came of it...a loss. You're there, but you're not here. Your existence exists, but not here with me.
      Why do you honestly not open up to me? You have an opinion on what I say, a reaction, but you don't let me in. You want to know and have available every nook and crumb about me. It should be two-way access!

5/3/11, Austin

Fleeting

     Can a character be an emotional sucker? You know, leaping from body to body, inducing stoic-ness. You've seen it. Its that pause of someone losing their train of thought or gaze of one's eyes into nothing. Now you know, I exist. My presence has saved wars from starting that you don't know about because they never happened. You've also seen me before and mistaken a glimpse of me as a particle floating in your periphery. Say it: my existence is magnificent.
     One of the greatest sources of energy come from those addicted to listening to music as they conjure hopes and dreams, fantasies. The reason people do this as long is because I keep sucking out their aspiration, purged out of their minds into me, my essence. It's most invigorating.

5/25/08, Laredo

Edge

there's something in the dark. parameters
undefinable let streams of thoughts flow ridgeless
seemingly disguised as plausible dreams.

             first to understand with utter abadon
             and cherish in denial
to be part of this in any measure
                       stars don't examine anything for you, you
         examine the stars to learn something, conjure
  simply finding the capacity of a lie is fun
      enough
             the angular of which I don't remember
               infected roots leading to thoughts, squirm
ghastly sounds ring out, the deed is done

Party in my Dream

the music to dance though
     no one did as the sparkle
   of crystal waltzed about in fraudulent smile, "nice
to see you again"
   of all you fakes, that repugnant smell
sweat under a breast
                       smothered by a bra
            the slime seeping out their mouths
    inching its way into my system
         "STOP"

10/21/09, Austin

Based on an Actual Asshole!

     I've never been a fan of group interactions, so I sit, alone. Taking a break from reading, I absorb the people and pace around me. There's a girl, not exactly attractive, just ordinary. The guy seems to have a slightly crazed look. He's the sadist, and she's the helpless prey.
     "You're so adorable." Forced compliment from the girl, hoping he would return one.
     "Why don't I just knock you up? If you let me sign over all the rights, so you don't come after me for child support, I will knock you up." He gauges her reaction.
     She shifts back in her seat almost imperceptibly. "And when would I see you then?" Slightly out of breath.
     "You wouldn't. I don't want the child a part of my world." He lashes her.
     "But I want to see you." She bargains.
     "Well, I want sex, not a relationship." Then he adds, "not right now."
     "You're ten years older than me."
     "Well, I've had bad experiences." He retorts.
     "So why do I have to pay for that?" Almost a whine.
     "I only want friends with benefits." He pauses, "besides I want someone steady in life as I am now." Another lash.
     "You can teach me," she beams.
     "Whatever."

4/23/11, Austin

The Ocean in Progress

     Sitting on the third floor of the library. The table I'm siting in faces the wall of glass to the outside world. It's the outside world I have to become a part of when I leave this school. I had wandered the shelves while listening to music on my cell phone. The art books caught my eye, grabbed a couple, and sat at this table. Page after page of art that I could never do nor conjure up creating. Tired of the inability, I closed a book, scooted them away from me, and gazed around the room, half searching. Everyone invested in their book, laptop, conversation, homework. Disappointed that nothing inspires me to do anything, I text some random people. A couple text back, and I don't feel the urge to text back.
     The music and looking around, I was cradled in my own little world, a stranger watching unnoticed by others. I want more out of this little world, a private oasis in the chaos of the world, and reopened the books to appreciate that the art is just an extension of that small universe. Page after page, artwork I could look at and wonder about. One book: this man drawing men, masculine, massively masculine men, turns out he was gay. Flipping through, I should have realized it at first glance.
     Looking out from my little world to the activity surrounding me, I notice a guy from my class next to me, the table next to me. He turns to me at the same time. Shocked by the familiar face, my little world with its delicate walls dissolved, and the vulnerability disturbed me. I packed my things and left the library.
     Walking out of the library, I felt so foolish. Just a face, a familiar face crushed the serene feeling that was filling me. I must have blushed realizing how I just panicked. The sunlight blinded me. A bench under a canopy of leaves became the goal. The long wooden bench, I laid down. Well, maybe I can settle and reestablish my little world here. I let the sunlight seep into my skin, absorbing the warmth. Eyes closed, laying down, entombed in sweet heat.
     I hear someone walk up to another bench near me, in front of me. It's the guy from the library, the familiar face. I recover my eyes with my forearm as my heart starts beating quickly. What is he doing here? We've never spoken. He just sat there. I couldn't calm my nerves. He must be able to see my chest rising and falling. I can feel my face heating up.
     And there we were, quiet and unmoving, my heart rattling around and attempting to escape.

Spring 2010, Laredo

Sleep Sweet

     You used to be this sort of golden compass. Sturdy, determined, there. Now you are the remnant of a time I was neurotic and aching to have your complete attention. Did I bury a small piece of you in me that has become in the fabric of me? I must have, although I can't recall the feeling, I suppose I felt it, a bump under skin, judging from my past actions. I remember how it broke me to receive no word from you, no pictures in return. I went mad, walking the street of downtown Austin in trembling sobs, wishing to be acknowledged by you, wanting to feel I did have a connection, a link. Nothing to soothe me, resting on the fumes I could blurt out at you, fall asleep, and feel slightly cured from the rage of rejection and my lovelorn foolishness.
     Now you're still hundreds of miles away, state lines away, rivers away, thousands of trees away...the delirious, chaotic intensity I used to feel has lost itself, tangled and trampled somewhere in the distance. I don't feel it anymore. I can't tell if I turned it off or it left me. In the last conversation, I saw glimpses of the darling man I used to care so deeply for, crave so wildly, and long to hear from. I remember being so determined to prove myself to you, to be as intelligent, determined, sturdy. I couldn't reconcile the man I was crazy about before and the jerk of then. Ultimately, it didn't matter because the sensation wore thin. The liberty of not wondering your opinion, imagining, no standards to meet.
     Now you expect nothing out of this as do I...

9/6/10, Laredo

Mistress Madness

     What's the point of inching away from a want that borders on desperation? That's where most people give up on succeeding. Could all that inability to discipline oneself be worth it to teach us to do better the non-existent next time? If there is a riddle worth telling, it would include the answer to knowing if people had life to do over, what would be different? Dear Quinn laid in bed imagining what words of comfort would spill out of Justine's mouth had she been there to listen. She wasn't, but he still wondered what her mind would constitute the truth and best alternatives against the common way of action. To him, she said that tomorrow would be a great morning to begin his next adventure - of attaining his pilot license.
     In the night, he kept in the same place and continued to imaging she beside himself. He slept well and all was well. Had he had any doubts of Justine's wishes of him he would've asked her in person against his perception of her.
     He woke up and remembered his mission for today. His body jolted up and shook the sleep off. The room was straightened and organized, just so he could smear perfection all over the day.

In Light of Crimson Venom

whatever function you provided before
there was an odd trick
     - a mystical emblem, delicate
several hours silent, even the moon exploded
drawn ashore,  small strokes floated beneath the piece
as it mumbled and slept
the apparatus of a celestial body enduring as the myth of authority
dragging the coffin of your bones
lead me - I'm blind, leaking lava, play with me
fish drawing in the acid, decking themselves the vibrations
     the world works under
crystallization in progress
peppering your ashes on the sheet
emtombed
submerged in a coma that can't be cracked out of

You are my Shallow Hate

gnawing: why would u agree?

linked: I've messed up. I miss the part of you that was sweet & warm, but I'm also slightly turned on by this "I take no bullshit" part of you. It's concise, terse, and feels like this side of you would be more capable to flip and push me to get what you want. My cooperation would be taken, not given.

gnawing: I don't have time for you, and I don't want to hear you complain abt it.

linked: ok

gnawing: Why do you want me?

linked: You want the shallow reasons? Well, no duh, something about you attracts me. You seem capable and logical, like I tell you often, I lack that. On the level of physical attraction (the shallow part), to me, you seem so exotic. I guess growing up on the border has given me that lust for morenos. The deeper reasons? I feel safe with you. I have no fears that anything will be uncomfortable. It kinda scares me how much I trust you though.

gnawing: wat do u think I think abt ur body?

linked: Idk & that's where I'm scared. Most people are attracted to what they look like, so I'm worried you find me unattractive or worse, repulsive. You don't tell me anything. You make no comments, so in that respect, I don't know why I'm here. So I never ask because i may not like the answer.

gnawing: r u crying?

linked: of course, I'm a girl. I feel vunerable & ugly. You're always so confident & sure. You won't stick your body in front of the camera for me to judge.

gnawing: its too much fun to watch you being tormented like this.

5/22/10, Laredo

Hi,

Bitterness has become a well-known visitor of mine. It won't leave. It sits on my tongue. It pounds on most thoughts, clouds the future, and refuses to vacate. The thought I simmer down to most times is "why can't I be better?" That's the blister I'm faced with. Some days I'm glad to be alive, where mesmerizing things exist like thunderstorms, libraries, music; the next day responsibility appears. I always wanna do and don't do. Nothing has changed in that realm of thinking, walking on the college campus one day to the music building, a sanctuary untouched and still to this day unreachable by me, I realized unless something changed drastically I would always live in want and not ever become satisfied, at least, momentarily.

5/17/10, Laredo

Foreboding

It has that boiling sensation. Did I miss something happening? Is something about to happen? That budding sensation sitting, lingering on the edge of my fingertips. A feeling of knowing and not able to name it. Standing on the ledge of that sudden burst. To stay or go. Maybe this is a remnant of something else...

5/6/10, Laredo

Confession of a Part-time Slave

     Converting air's chemical make-up can be exhausting enough for some people. Something drained out of me. I don't know when. I don't know how.
     Somewhere in me, the sting of piss on tenderized raw skin mixed with a kiss. Somewhere in time, I zoned out while licking his shoes like a puppy. Somewhere along the horizon, I became the foot stool his feet rested upon. Somewhere in the rhythm, I began considering under the desk a safe haven. Somewhere, somewhere, somewhere, I became.
     The oddity of this all is the person who demeans me this way is the same one urging me to in every other way to be a better person. In the real world, the part of me that has been softened this way pushes the rest of me into an actual form of intelligence. A contradiction, I'm sure, but true for me.
     I miss the games of emotions and power. Rebelling to be forced, force him to act. Buttering him up to get a kiss. All of it, all of it. I miss the anticipation of hearing from him again, the time being coy and sweet, and the demented part of me, highly enjoyed the time of tension and red-blinding rage. Something in me loves the thrill of upsetting the one I want most. The games. The struggle to get back on his good side. My own little game of derailing docile, urging, aiming to have him kiss while he pushes me away., allowing my other thrill of trying to get what I want. The struggle against him in this way...
     The games, the games I like to play, Now I need a playmate. 

2/13/10, Laredo

Soul-less

     Who doesn't want to live forever, seeing the transformations of history, of idea, of civilization, of music, of art, of technology. I want sound to always be this pulse and words to always be my breath. I want ideas to be these organs and knowledge to be my form. I aver that I won't die. I don't want to ever taste death. Hiding from death here in the marsh.


11/27/09

Evidence No. 8

About to implode from all the twiddle and twaddle, this is just a declaration to halt the hassle.
Think no more. You don't exist.

3/4 of you

3/4 of you

i miss touch, force, 

brutal kisses marring 

enjoying your will becoming my will

the serious stable side

the emotional power side

the goofy sweet side

i would love to murder the distant cold side

Limbo

Anxious, spent, and unwilling to continue waiting in limbo - that suspended in time, silence lingers, and remains unanswered. Trying to purge the overload out of my system. I don't have whatever it takes to stay on the line to no reply. I seek the sane, the routine, the average. No longer do I get a thrill from what used to turn me on before. Chaotic, hyper-emotional...