Noor's Super Awesome Cloud Adventure

The following is dedicated to a fellow lover of love, liver of life, and dreamer of things far below what will be the least of her accomplishments:

This is a story,
The story.
Of a girl.
Noor.
Noor=girl.
In the middle of her sandwich,
When It called,
It
It
It called.
Time to go,
They all said "no!"
But It said "go!"

She went.

Above the sky,
She took care of the foster children there,
The stars and planets,
They were very appreciative,
Even the sun,
No longer the brightest,
Was content to foil this girl,
But It said "go!"

She went.

To the natural nature,
The green stuff,
Dirty Earth.
She put out forest fires,
Told the rest of the wildlife that in fact many people could prevent forest fires,
Revolutionizing the preservation effort,
But It said "go!"

She went.

"Under the Sea",
Gave that lobster to a Maine fisherman,
Then went under the Oceans,
Renewed the Great Barrier Reef,
Tamed the Stingray menace now friend,
But It said "go!"

She went.

To another world,
Would they like her?
Would there be a they?
There was.
A They.
They liked her and,
As before,
They loved her,
And she healed them too,
Without doing a thing,
But It said "go!"
She said "no!"
And the echo,
The chorus from behind,
Was unanimous.
All the love,
From two whole worlds,
Now lay focused onto this one girl,
Noor=girl.
She stopped listening to It,
It stopped asking,
It stopped.
Sans It.
And her wings,
Bright robin's egg blue wings,
Took her where she wanted,
To the Clouds
To the trusted,
Where there were no loud noises,
Only the sound,
That glorious sound,
Of muffins,
And their enjoyment.
And her,
And friends,
There.

~!Fin!~

Painting the Chief's Daughter

You with your ancient face,
Your artistic bent tightens your brow,
This is your element,
You are working.

And I am working,
Working this out with my eyes,
If I could paint I would paint you painting,
But God knew I could not cage birds.

You sit by the window every time,
Don't even sit but let the paint fill the stool,
And me my head rests on our old couch,
The one we willed up together when I said you really shouldn't.

I pour the last of the red wine for you,
Wrap my other hand around your waist,
Your skirt waves in the swift air,
Quietly you continue.

I love the Indian that shows in your skin,
Your mother's necklace and your sense of surrounding,
It's amazing we're together,
That the god of this world would accept that.

This one is done,
Your gentle release back to me is how I know,
I transfer the wine to your seasoned touch,
Watch the other birds on their wires.

Take up another canvas,
And I will return to my perch in the middle of the room,
You have so many ideas to get out,
So many lives to live through other means.

So.

What is this?

It's Kinda Chilly

It's so fucking cold. That is the main thought circulating around his head as he sits at the edge of the dock. He kicks his legs back and forth in an effort to keep warm, and the water has gone down too far to even worry about skimming it. He thinks about jumping down the side and walking along the newly exposed coast, but opts against it. Because it's so fucking cold. He studys the light of the moon on the water, but he never was sure what this kind of studying really entailed. He thinks he's studying the water. He wishes he could draw, but that is sadly filed under the emmense list of things he cannot do. But he has a good memory, and feels that he could recall the water quite vividly for at least a month, so he doesn't feel so bad for not being able to draw. He lays back to study the stars, and wonders what he's going to do this weekend. Adolescence is always a 5 day struggle for a 2 day pass to a fair where half the rides aren't half as impressive as the flyer hinted. But still he hopes he has something fun to do. If it were warmer he would just sleep where he was, but it's so fucking cold he thinks he should get inside while he still can. He staggers up and heads back in, taking in the night one last time. There are times when it's good to be alone. It makes him feel younger, more childlike. But as old as he was, and as old as he would get, there were things waiting to be worried about, and he would get to them. But it's so fucking cold tonight, he needs the warmth in ignoring the unimportant things.

Needy Aren't We?

I hope eventually I'm needed,
Required in even a minimal capacity,
I think that is the single greatest thing someone can be,
But maybe that's only because I haven't been yet.

I don't know how many of you I need,
I don't count because it makes me feel weak,
Knowing I depend on so much,
(it doesn't go well with the loner mentality.)

I don't know if I'm all that excited for Heaven,
What could you possibly dream for there?
And I think I hold too much onto all those lives,
I have lived so much more outside of this.

So what does that make me here?
I guess that explains the innate isolation,
But I really do want to help,
I really do love.

You.

And I always have.

It sounded more ironic in my head

This past week I have felt so worthless it verges on being written in the skyline of my mind by one of those planes normally used for cropdusting but hired for skywriting by some engaged suitor. And yet I still love every single one of you, in that pseudo-chivalrous, die-for-you kind of way. So at the heart at least there's that.

The Day

He slept more and more as the days drew on. He stopped shaving, convinced that he would just grow a beard, but then failed to keep that in check. He lost interest in picking up anything that happened to give way and slip in his apartment, and enjoyed the feeling of his bare feet grazing over empty carpet, like following a path to the frontier still not fully broken in. He was aware of all of this, it felt like he was aware of everything. He would stand for hours in front of his bathroom mirror, for some reason feeling a blurred sort of peace. Perhaps he was most detached there, he didn't know. Something was wrong, but he was unable even to postulate what. He ate when he was hungry, and worked his hours to pay his bills. But, in front of that mirror, he felt so much like giving up. Like if he closed his eyes one more time he would disappear back into himself. It wasn't that this thought comforted him, it terrified him. But at the same time there was this overriding sense of inevitability. And the day never came. He thought the fates were procrastinating, and wished he could somehow do what came next himself. Instead he slept, dreaming a whole new world. He would wake up and find a rough sketch from his dream the night before made in the dust on his window beside his mattress. A sky with no moon, men with wheels and wings, mountains turned upside down. Soon he began drawing when he was awake, on the fog on his mirror, on his one table, even in the dust on top of his ceiling fan. And then, almost catching him off guard, the day came. Later his sister would come to visit. She would knock, and then let herself into a world of replication, copies of somewhere else etched on every surface. And the only thing in the mirror would be a circle. Complete.

Counting Sheep?

He has no idea what she's thinking. He never has any idea what she's thinking. He hopes she's happy, but who's to say. But he's optimistic. If she wasn't happy, she'd leave, right? Right? He hates hidden meanings. For a brief second he imagines a word without etiquette, without formalities no one really means and without so much personal second guessing. Then the pain in his leg brings him back to reality. He lays back and looks up at the growing number of stars, like schoolchildren arriving for some cosmic rehearsal for an amatuer play. Really there's nothing amateur about the universe, but childish still comes to mind when he thinks of the big picture, in an ironic sort of tone in his head, portrayed by a simple smirk and glint in his eye. He hopes she doesn't see either, because he has moments of broken English around her and her alone, and would fail to explain his actual thoughts. Then he would have to take on, anecdotally, when he tied his tongue that he knew he would, and had been thinking he would, and had been thinking that he was thinking that he was, and his mind drowns itself in some apathetic white flag spiral. But she hasn't asked, so he thinks he's in the clear. He lets his head roll over to her side, and is filled with new thoughts, like being stabbed with a hypo full of carebears. He loves everything about her, and searches frantically for something wrong. Something faulty. And he is disappointed. Because now he is almost sure this is another dream, allbeit a vivid one. Her head mimicks his from a few seconds back and her eyes magically cushion his entire body to where he just doesn't give a fuck. If this is a dream, he's going to give a nice bonus to the awkward new trainee he bought the mattress from. He slides an arm around her, looks back at the stars, and settles in for what promises to be a fantastic show.

He would pinch himself with his free hand but he's still not sure.

(Author's Note: that was fun.)

No One Can Really Say For Sure

Say give up,
Say leave to chance,
Say there's no way of knowing,
And say you see no point,

But don't ever say you're right,
When you have no idea what you're saying,
Or what she's up against every minute,
How little I feel I'm doing.

So I will do more,
And the tides will rise higher,
Even join and stand on my shoulders,
Higher still.

It keeps you up at night,
And makes the day a travesty,
All that swells in-up-out of your head,
Lead balloons if they could burst.

But it is not the end,
Thanksgiving thank your God for hope,
In the passing of the hour,
And any relief we can find.

We won't beat this,
I'll agree with you on that,
But grant me this point,
It's one hell of a fight.

The Upheaval

The evil settled back and waited for a response. His was almost instinctive, as if merely witnessing the scene dictated his actions. He reached down and took up his sword, and saw another hand wrap around an axe. He retrieved his bow, and he his mace. Even the priest came forward and took the small wooden crucifix swaying from a hilt. But not all the men had taken back their belongings. Some had grabbed their dagger or halberd and escaped back along the path to the east. Others crossed their arms in front of the pile, rebuking those who had taken. After it was clear no other ally would be gained, as if of collective mind, those willing made for the north. The evil receded out of sight in the same direction, and the moon made clear the path they would take. Even the geography of the terrain seemed to point to some culminating point, in no way of benevolent nature. The men knew they would not come back from this, the evil had made that very clear and proved it so. But still none of them so much as looked back at the others yelling for their senses to return to them. Step after step, they neared a confrontation. And they began to sing.

Enough shit people. Move.

A Nice Afternoon

The other day I went on a hike. It started at the top and we ran down to the bottom before struggling back up. I can freely admit it was a bit more than I'd expected, but by no means out of any amateur's league. A lot of people when they got back complained and shook their heads, but I wish they would bite their tongues. I guess it's different for everyone, but I enjoyed sliding on all the broken leaves, forgoing the necessities of a steady base or anything really built for safety because I felt like I was running to something. To something and for it. Like I was inexplicably drawn to something at the bottom, and ran with reckless abandon towards it. Of course there was no such thing when I got there, no special prize, no magic waiting. But I got a nice view of a waterfall, and started back up still feeling that pull, only now back up. Passing all the people I know leaning against trees to catch their breath, I drug myself back up the bluff and again found nothing new. Same life. Same me. But as I caught my breath on the rock wall, looking out at all the other mountains, the draw resurfaced. Although I haven't gone on any more hikes since then, I still feel that draw as clear as ever. For something waiting, something worth it. And it always feels so close.

But that's just me.

Stragglers

I'm running your mountain,
Your steep inclination,
Losing grip in these shoes,
And it's wearing me ragged,
Keep pushing up (go we believe in you now go),
But I'm starting to breathe too hard,
No one's mapped out this far,
Blinded and shaking,
Older newborns still looking for someone,
At the top to save them from falling back,
Can't do it alone they know better than most,
But we are all running solitary,
Bite like wolves differing packs,
Win the race you don't understand,
Muscles flexing strands snap and reform,
Sweating,
Panting,
Faster.

And I am losing.

Update

Lately my life has consisted of two main thoughts:



Clutch her

No don't.

Elementary Schooling

If I had anything worthwhile at the end,
It would be a sense of understanding,
At how contrite we all really are,
(I've been jumping to use that word)

At how something can burst and still be there,
Looking around for the invisible shards of itself,
Believing in all aspects that there are some things you can't survive,
Some things that bound you.

At the beauty of a screened door,
As the fog is surrending the day,
With beads of light collecting in individual squares,
So you find another way outside.

And her smile,
And that fire,
And nothing else,
That is belief.

I've changed my mind at the end of it all,
I want a house,
In between hills,
With a view of the coast,

And someone to tell me it's real.

Concessions

She was right. I give myself away too.

I Am The Walrus

I think if reincarnation was real, I would come back as a sea lion.

Selfish

Come sit here with me on your aunt's old couch,
I feel like coveting you for today,
Rest here in the shaft of light succeeding above the neighbor highrise,
I feel like coveting you today.

You make me smirk you angel you,
Are your shoes dry yet?
I'm dying and I've never been so healthy,
Are your shoes dry yet?

I'm going to sell my car tomorrow,
For two tickets to France,
I'm not a fan but I know you want to go,
I'm not a fan but you know I love their shows.

You know you're right on cobblestone,
You know you're right when your all alone,
It's my maniac I crave,
I am so right.

Double check my math.

It works itself out,
Because that's how it's supposed to be,
That's not supposed to happen to me,
Yours Truly.

So just sit here,
And let me covet you today.

Career Test

It's involuntary,
The leap,
The growing pearly whites,
At my stockpile,
Of shit,
Priceless,
The night with no clouds,
Honesty shines on my furrowed brow,
Instinct intensive,
I'll find what to do here,
I'll find the word,

I swear.

Time.

Both energies,
And all the luck in the world.

I'm going to explain your eye first,
That should be a good life goal.

Can't Make No Shrines

Almost involuntarily I slow and then stop. She had already pulled ahead of me and apparently not noticed my pause because she was still sprinting ahead. I clinched my toes into the wet grass, digging them in and feeling the earth. To my right the fog was rolling in, gasps of white coveting my knees. Faint glimpses from car headlights penetrated the thick air far off to the left, but they are a million miles away.

And I am here.

I feel my eyes roll back into my head. I close them off from everything I'm seeing and focus them back inside. I let some of that fog in to mix around the other memories I keep here. Around the broken training wheels from the bike I tried to run away on. Around a toothpick that held an h'orderve from Sam's funeral, which was later redeposited in the bathroom sink of the funeral home. Around a small clump of confetti from the New Year's Eve Party where I first saw her.

I pull back out of my sanctuary and see that she has by now begun walking back to me. I smile seeing the concern on her face and pick up a jog to meet her. Not slowing down I engulf her in my shivering arms. We spin awkwardly around one and a half times. I counted. Then I take hold of both sides of her face and plant one. I want to apologize for how cold my hands must be, but for obvious reasons can't. I want to do a lot of things. But then, for just that one instant, I wanted to cry, but she would be concerned again.

I wanted to cry because my world had successfully been ravished with ease and childish formality.

Quotes

Nothing great in the world has ever been accomplished without passion.
-Hegel

Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits of the world.

We forfeit three-fourths of ourselves to be like other people.
-Schopenhauer (both)

All I know is I'm not a Marxist.
-Karl Marx

Attention

Attention lovers, I am writing a novel.

I Can't Help Picturing It

I hate how how one amazing song,
Which used to somehow transmit all of what I wanted,
Now refuses to bring about any thoughts,
Except that day in the mountains.

I am hoping it is just from the recency,
The sun receding to sleep like I knew I wouldn't,
The mountains never said a thing but made the most,
Vivid impression I've had in a while.

I took it all in near the end,
And maybe I shouldn't have done that,
Now I remember exactly where I was,
Staring into a buck's eyes as if to query am I meant for this?

I really did think you were asleep,
And I was engulfed by some great emotion,
Letting myself admit that maybe you had a good time,
And maybe you were happy there beside me.

I actually stopped as I was craving my bed the other night,
Hearing the wind through the crack in my front door,
I stepped out and never noticed,
How real the stars are from my own house.

I think my only qualm is with myself,
In the indecision this has put me in,
The turbulance-ridden mindset I reside under,
And I still can't find a word for you.

As much as this rings in my ears constantly,
I always put on this very song,
And I don't want to say if that means something,
Or if there's something to mean.

Still so scared.

Yea

I really should help people more.
And I just popped my knee.

Incredible Song

Ok I just had to post the lyrics to this amazing Sufjan Stevens song:

Casimir Pulaski Day

Goldenrod and the 4H stone,
The things I brought you when I found out,
You had cancer of the bone.

Your father cried on the telephone,
And he drove his car into the navy yard,
Just to prove that he was sorry.

In the morning through the window shade,
When the light pressed up against your shoulderblade,
I could see what you were reading.

All the glory that the Lord has made,
And the complications you could do without,
When I kissed you on the mouth.

Tuesday Night at the Bible study,
We lift our hands and pray over your body,
But nothing ever happens.

I remember at Michael's house,
In the living room when you kissed my neck,
And I almost touched your blouse.

In the morning at the top of the stairs,
When your father found out what we did that night,
And you told me you were scared.

Oh the glory when you ran outside,
With your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied,
And you told me not to follow you.

Sunday night when I cleaned the house,
I find the card where you wrote it out,
With the pictures of your mother.

On the floor at the great divide,
With my shirt tucked in and my shoes untied,
I am crying in the bathroom.

In the morning when you finally go,
And the nurse runs in with her head hung low,
And the cardinal hits the window.

In the morning in the winter shade,
On the first of March on the holiday,
I thought I saw you breathing.

All the glory that the Lord has made,
And the complications when I see His face,
In the morning in the window.

All the glory when He took our place,
But He took my shoulders and He shook my face,
and He takes and He takes and He takes.

~love~

Past

When I think of where I've live,
I don't miss it because I know I can't go back.

But I remember it.

I Have Ceased to be Capable of Coherent Thought

I think I am at my best here,
Watching the million tiny peaks float along,
This is my dock, my lake, my life,
I owe so very much.

It should be so lonely being the only one out here,
But I feel so many around somewhere,
The wind is starting to bit and this jacket isn't much help,
Still not much could make me move.

If you were here,
I'd probably be better at explaining this,
I'll bring you someday if you care,
And show you were I am in love.

God it's embarrassing how much I drift to you,
Your smile when it's completely honest,
And the catch I feel when I get the details straight in my head.

I forgot there were wind chimes here,
Rusted like most of the leaves now,
And I will suffer the breeze still,
Because it makes such beautiful music.

I am so insecure off these rotted planks,
Even of these very words,
But I'm starting not to care,
Can you commend me for that?

I'm still after the same old same old,
That one feeling I can't pen,
Catching glimpses so far apart,
Unforgetably framed and eternally sought.

Please, Please Forgive!
I know I am only rambling,
And I apologize for taking your time,
You really do have to just be here.

Could I tell you to your face?
How you stop everything,
Or have you heard it so much that it can't be true,
No matter how true it is.

I'm laughing at the fish,
Pen in my mouth like a pipe,
And thinking how much I want to sleep out here,
And see what dream that brings.

When I laugh at nothing,
It's because I'm scared as hell,
More than any politics could do,
You shake my heart.

I wish I could help more people,
And stop at least some of the unnecessary shit,
That goes on in the back of our minds,
Maybe I'll take up banjo.

The wind's up to cresting waves,
And the geese are floating in,
I'll take it as the right time to stop this one,
But I'm still not moving.

Red Cricket Ball

Unpacking I find,
That red cricket ball,
Scars digging in on all sides,
The lace beginning to come undone.
Just holding it right,
Catching the scent of that field,
I remember where every cloud was in the sky,
And every word that was said.
So important and yet so small,
So much was said in that red cricket ball,
Now it serves to punctuate those events,
Empathetic as it rests in my hand.
I toss it up for good measure,
Thinking of all the distance it's traveled,
All the hands it's seen,
And all the time that's passed.
I know when I'm lonely I'll return,
To this red cricket ball,
With it they almost seem real again,
And it doesn't hurt as much.

Trabajar

It is my delegated post to harness,
These endless unshapen thoughts and makings of dreams,
To carve them clean and give them shape,
To manifest whatever floats in those yearning.

For I am the Writer,
Allbeit not a good one is true,
But as such I must transmit,
That which is before only felt now real to you.

Full Circle

One of these days I will fade for good,
And then I can finally return to that summer home,
With all my friends and none of my baggage,
Will I even be able to speak on that day?

Sit down with a cranberry and orange muffin,
And wait for Emma Watson to come back around,
Or run out in the neverending downpour,
For some water-fight soccer action.

The alleys cry out every memory,
Every joke and every change,
Everything I could ever want and so do,
So much contained in that aging stone.

Everyone will be there when I come up that road,
Life will come complete and it will be my chosen Heaven,
I want to hear every one of your lives right away,
Right back on those steps I will finally be at the right home.

**Special thanks to Liam-No one could replace you Wingman, Cody-my capitalist Goose I will go get you those chips soon, Alyssa- you're one in a million, and that's not just cus of the scrabble obsession, Skye- I promise never to complain if you snag some of my chips ever again, Noor- I'm not sure I've ever met anyone so full of life or ever will again, Sara(h)- I took the "h" back (zombie victory!), Tosh- my little wcheeeee you're too special, Carolyn- dorkette you were a dream come true, Sheru- mellow really is the best life man, Michael Wong- MICHAEL WONG!!!, Geoff- you make me want to go to Canada (never before accomplished by mere mortal), Jaimie- the only one to most distance herself from the power of words to describe I can only say incredible, Anna- Brazilian will we ever understand each other's sarcasm?, Reva- How hard it was to walk you through that airport you will never know, Nick- cheese dick homo budd I shoulda taken that walk with you, Josey- you're on the phone right now aren't you?, entire S&D class- P.O.I. we kick ass, and HERE COMES THE LIST!!!

THE STEPS, Staircase IV Entrance, Pembroke Quad, Chef's Corner, Coffee Republic, G&D's, PIAZZA, Borders, Waterstones, University Park, Ben's Cookies, The Mitre, Christ Church Meadows, Sainsbury's, and OXFORD!!!

I know this thing doesn't do a shred of justice to you guys. I know I forgot so many people and so many places, so just ask me and of course I'll add you, but I just thought I had to write something about Oxford or I was going to explode. So there you go. I love all of you. -Tyler**

Open Eyes

I close my eyes to picture it in sleep,
Someday when the leaves are falling,
She'll smile and no words will be said,
And the fingers will subtly lace.

Never anything so simple,
Never anything so quaint,
As the neat tip of her nose,
The radiant smile set upon her face,

I pray to God we don't have much,
Just an apartment and some laughs,
My universe really was made for two,
Everyone else a beautiful background music,

I refuse to wake up from it this time!
From what I'm so unsure of fulfillment,
On darkening knees I will not give this up,
I will fight for the illusion if that is what I have,

But the sun knows me better,
And the seasons are coming right,
For my eyes to be open,
And the same real to play through.

Purple Glasses

I have taken off my purple glasses,
The world is not cool enough now,
But that part of my night is over,
I can never go back,
To my purple glasses.

Similarities

At the core of all men is one long, continuous shout.

I am joining in that at the moment.

Viva.

The Royalty

Clear steps on a marble floor,
Statues from both sides stare me down,
Time escapes me but I know this is the end,
Ornamented doors ahead beg no invitation.

Where the hell are we anyway?
I don't like the shadow I am casting,
Dark and menacing it follows,
Marching with me to some final showdown.

I've been talking in my sleep,
Conversing with nocturnal demons,
Sacrificing up the last few drops of endurance,
I had managed to retain all this time.

I can't look at you with the same ease,
And I'm guaranteed to misread all your actions,
But there is no way to strip the importance off this,
My pride simply won't allow it.

We are sophisticated killers you and I,
And I hope I'm losing my touch,
The nights alone are hell to me,
And your glances are getting to be too much.

Put on something sexy and we'll dance this bitch out,
It's last call and my shadow's long gone,
We are the rulers of this deserted stronghold,
And this my candlelight courtship.

(phrase "dance this bitch out" credited to Megan Mooney=hilarious)

On a Request...

I have been most kindly commanded to give a little background on Jennifer Quell (look, I've already told you something new!). She is one of the few people to truly have a unique life literally from birth, since her father insisted that before they even wrapped a blanket around the screaming newborn, she had to be see the world through the retro glasses worn by the infamous Mickey from Natural Born Killers. Not the actual pair used of course, but replicas her father snagged as a promo way back when the film premiered. You could almost say she always had her own special tint of the world from that point on. After the trip home from the hospital, Jen was introduced to a snug 1-level house on the West Coast. Her childhood consisted mainly of childish things, except she would never, ever play with dolls.

"They're just such a poor representation of humanity," she told Tucker on the one occasion that she ever mentioned anything about her past to him. "I mean, they're supposed to be this model of a human, but they're so still. So dead. And people just aren't like that. Not real people at least; people who are actually awake."

She never used the term "alive" when referring to her "real" people, it was always awake. Tucker remembered the shock in her face when he showed signs of confusion as to how someone could be asleep all the time but alive. "Oh, you could sleep through your entire life if you wanted to. Well, I guess really you either do or don't from the start, but you can wake up in life. But it's rare. And I've never met anyone who was awake and then went to sleep."

He had laughed at that, because it was said just as he was yawning. He also remember what happened next quite well.

She had jumped up with no discernable reason or purpose, and started dancing. Not a fancy dance or even a party dance. In fact, Tucker couldn't tell if she had any technical involvement in it besides spinning in circles. He remembered bursting out laughing, then trying to mute himself. She stopped to face him, seemingly more from his concealment than the laughter. He had instinctively appologized.

"I'm not embarrassed. It feels like there is someone else doing this same thing somewhere else right now. It's a way to connect."


Author's Note: I feel as if I may have failed in my task of deciphering more about her, but I think this last bit summarized Jennifer as best I can at the moment. Yes I know it ties in with the other story, but I think that may mean that Jennifer is something bigger in my head than I first thought. As it is for now though, Jennifer is a simple thing:

Jennifer is a dance.

Abyss Proves God

I have been assured that we were made in some God's image,
Someone generous enough to darken our minds,
To add an abyss for us to peer down into,
And an endless sky with a changing moon.

It is to this that we were called,
And it is to this adventure I am a slave!
One who stops under shade trees,
to journal of his various experiences.

Of a man who never quite touched the ground and one day drifted off,
Of a woman bound to the storm she carried and those she snared,
Of the hell and the tightrope hope above it,
And of the hill at the end of it all (for this one).

Of course this last is still in the distance,
And this traveler has much to write!
What can one see through other windows?
And what can surprise will surely be worth noting!

Everything has past me yes,
And oh God! I thank you for them!
As is Everything before us,
And I would much love the company.

Just A Thought...

It has been my experience that in my short and ignorant life thus far, the worst thing one can discover is that nothing has changed.

Likewise Part 3 of 3

The large man had been gracious enough to let Tucker take the day off. In truth he was more than happy to do so, but Tucker still thought it a kind gesture. They got into a taxi and Tucker directed the man to his apartment. But everytime he would look over at her, he would be back in his car, driving her places because she had wrecked when racing a boy to prove that girls could race too.

He lived on the second floor, and fumbled with the keys unlocking the door. He opened it to his old room where he grew up. There was only a bed, a bookcase, and a desk buried in crumpled wads of paper, all containing various attempts to tell her how he felt. He blinked and it was his apartment again. Robotically he walked to the couch and sat with a thud. At last his body seemed to give under the pressure. She sat placidly opposite him in a chair, hands folded in her lap. Still those green eyes penetrated him.

"Jennifer, " he said, and there was some power in it, as if validating her existance.
"No one calls me that. You know it's always been Jen," she said playfully.
"I...I don't know what to say, " Tucker stammered out.

That was a lie. He knew exactly what he wanted to say. He wanted to say how he loved her, lover her back then and still loved her now, and how he hadn't forgotten a thing.

"I always knew you did, " she said. His breath caught. His own mind had betrayed him!

She got up and sat back down beside him, facing him. The only other time they had been this close and alone was when he gave her the lighter. He had kissed her then.

And he kissed her now.
Back then he figured she had just played it off to the moment. This time he didn't care, and would make up an explanation and convince himself of it later.

With unimaginable strength he pulled back. For the first time he spoke directly to those green eyes. "Is this what I've been waiting for?"


She smiled just like she did when two versions of the same soul first saw each other.

Likewise Part 2 of 3

He was stocking when she came back.

"Do you have Cat's Cradle by any chance?" asked a female voice. He was down on one knee filling up the next-to bottom shelf and didn't turn around immediately. "It's by........by........"

"Vonnegut," he said as he stood up and turned around at the same time.

Suddenly he was 16 again at a local football game. He didn't really care about football, but his friends had practically dragged him to it, and now he was thirsty. Musing over how many other drinks he could have had elsewhere for the price of the one in his hand, he was walking back to his seat when he saw her. He thought she had black hair at first, but would find out that it was just a very dark brown. And green eyes. Green eyes that stopped you. Just like they were doing to him now. Someone bumped his shoulder and muttered a swear word. She was wearing a short jean jacket, with what had to be fake fur around the edges and cuffs, because later she would tell him how she hated to see any animal hurt. She was standing still too, and looking at him. After all these years, he never forgot the way she first smiled.

"Yes! Vonnegut!" She smiled the same way. Tucker blinked a few times before becoming fully present in the moment again. He didn't want her not to remember him. Frantically his mind searched for some key event, some pivotal point in time that would bring it all back to her. He thought of the last night before she went off to college. He still had another year before he went, and they weren't even going to the same school. They had both ditched a farewell party and had driven out to the highway. They parked in the median, and were laying in the grass listening to the cars pass on both sides. He had given her a lighter, not because she smoked (he knew she despised even the idea) but because...

"Fire is always so alive and so bright, and that is how I'll always remember you."

He stood there trying to read some kind of response in those green eyes, but could draw nothing. Then her hand slowly reached into one tight front pocket, and pulled out a lighter with a lion carved into one side. She had always said she wanted to be a lion when she was a kid. Now her green eyes were searching him.

"Tucker?"

***

Likewise Part 1 of 3

Bookstores aren't that bad.
You have plenty of time to think,
and plenty of time to read other people's thoughts.

At least that's what he thought about it. The large man behind him who signed his check every thursday had trouble accepting that.

"Listen Tuck all I'm saying is that you need to get out more. Hell, even if it's just to another bookstore, go somewhere besides here and the laundry mat. " The large man's brows twisted with concern as his fingers traced his suspenders. Tucker put down a copy of American Gods and went into the back room. A minute later he reappeared with his jacket slung over his back and another book in his hand.

"Then I guess I'll read at home," he said with childish ease as he walked to the door. The old man's expression relaxed to a helpless frown.

"Don't you have any friends to go out with? Or a girlfriend?"
"I have a few friends, yes, but none anywhere close. And I could never have a girlfriend. " This last came out with an almost matter-of-fact tone, as if the large man should've known this already.

"And just why not?"
As he reached the door, Tucker turned his head to answer. "Because the only girl I ever loved is still somewhere out there and I still love her. Should I abandon that just because I haven't any reason to believe I will ever see her again?"

He pushed down on the black bar to release the latch. The large man sat down where Tucker had been reading.
"Well, pick up some red wine on your way home! A book is always better with some wine." He settled back and closed his eyes as the door swung back into place with a Clack!

* * *

All We Can Do

We can only hope,
That the stars remain at respective distances,
Blending us into a forest of fireflies,
We are all blinking our lights.

We can only hope,
That the oceans will stay to their tides,
To be content with their mysteries,
And not let jealousy make a new Atlantis,

We can only hope,
That fire will always burn,
Warming our hands and likewise our hearts,
The caveman froze because he was quite lonely.

We can only hope,
That man will never get better,
Sick minds conceive mental utopias,
With room for one and a great view of a microwavable future.

We can only hope,
That Importance will never matter,
That we will still enjoy being idiots,
And never murder childhood.

We can only hope,
That you will never read what I just spelled out,
And realize how fragile this world really is,
And how much I am hanging on these words.

Rain Makes People Think Too Much

"I don't think they have natural causes right."

A belch of thunder rolled over the car as she spoke, as if to announce that it was interested in death too, but I kept driving.

"How so?"
"I just don't think that people die because their hearts or lungs or livers give out on them."
"Well, what do you think happens when you just up and quit?"
"Yes! That's it!"
I jerked the wheel right then quickly back when she twisted around in her seat to face me.
"Quit! That's what I've been trying to work with. See, my theory goes like this: we don't die because of disease this or problem that. We die because we have too many memories. Too many times and people we can never get back to, and it just gets to the point when you know where you've been is better than anywhere you're going. "

"Then you don't believe in Heaven?"
"Kind of, but not the God one. When you die, I think you go back and live in all those best memories. At least that's the only thing I think you can really call Heaven." At this last point she seemed to go back to her mental musings and rested her head back on the car window.
I took my eyes off what I assumed was still a road in front of me (the rain had by now increased to a thick sheet cascading down the windshield) and looked over at Harper. Most people close their eyes when in the position she was, but her dark blue eyes seemed intensely focused on every raindrop, guiding it up until where it shattered on the glass. For a moment her eyes seemed to match the grey in the sky, like trying to learn it, then they were blue again. Her dark brown hair seemed to somehow be a violater of the nature of the time in and of itself. Just her whole being, just...

I focused back on the road.
Why was I analyzing this girl I had known for so long? I had wondered before if I loved Harper, but always dismissed it. She was too much life for any one person to be that close to her, least of all me.

"Pull over."
"What?"
"Pull over."
I looked around to see if the weather was suddenly a beautiful spring day, but if anything it was raining harder. "What the hell for?"
All I got was another 'Pull over.' With incredible luck I managed to slide off the road and get stopped. Harper unlocked her door, stepped gingerly outside, and (should've known) started to dance. Not some elegant ballroom dance, or even just a party dance. Basically, it consisted of little more than spinning in circles. I had already gotten out of the car, and was soaked through my jacket before I came back to my senses. The feeling of 'What the hell' engulfed me and I found myself doing the same thing. After only three minutes or so I had completely lost all sense of direction and was trying to stop when I ran into Harper. And by ran into I mean she crashed into my arms. It was at this point that I found myself as close to those eyes as I ever had been.

Son of a bitch.

Instinctively one hand brushed the hair out of her eyes, and the next instant our lips met. Wet, dizzy, and mindblown, I stayed like that for eternity. When eternity was over, she stepped back a few feet and resumed her dance.
"Hey, Harp," I said, standing plainly with the rain still falling in every direction.
"Yes?"
"This is one of those things I'm going to die because of, isn't it?"
"Yep."

And so I kept dancing.

Live.

LiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLiveLive.

Live.

The Road To Hell

The dry land stretched out before us. As the old V-6 engine turned over and over, I tried to keep some kind of beat between it and my foot, then gave up after trying to incorporate my index finger on the side of the door. My eyes slowly rolled over to Drew, who at some point had slipped on his sunglasses. They were those big, black, Cool Hand Luke aviator glasses. They transformed his face into a perfectly still picture except for the reflection of the passing mile-markers in the lenses. I thought someone should make a bust out of that face.

"Want me to drive for a while?" I offered, "with those glasses I can't even tell if you're awake or not."
Drew remained static for a few more seconds.

"Bangs."

An indecipherable noise ejected itself out of my mouth to express my utter confusion.
"What?"
"The most attractive thing a girl can have. Bangs." He clarified.
I thought about Sloan. She had bangs, but I had never really attributed any great attractive power to them.
"Really? I always thought you didn't even look at their face."

I make terrible jokes on long trips.

Dave dismissed this with a quick grunt.
"No, definitely bangs. Think about it."

I tried, but I couldn't stop watching the reflections passing in his glasses.
"I give up."
"Bangs cover part of a girl's face. They hide something. But they accentuate something at the same time. By covering one eye, it makes you focus more on the other one. And if that one eye is so breathtaking, so encapsulating, so telling of everything, then, well, two of them..." He took his hands off the wheel to give the universal sign for 'what can you do?'

"But...doesn't that mean the eyes are the attractive thing?"
"Key word attractive. Bang's draw you in. Eyes keep you there forever."
"If they're good."
"If they're good."

As the city began to bloom before my eyes, and its dark alter-ego in Drew's aviators, I sat back and thought of how pretty Sloan's eyes were.

Hurry Up And Be Winter 2

(I just did this spurred by the title of the last one right after I wrote it, so forgive any increased difficulty in holding down food than is normal. k thx.)

Leaves fall and trees wither!
No I am not a fan of the death,
But rather the life these things signify,
The rebirth of the darker romantics!

We've all moved to the north now,
In apartments that badly need painting,
Near 24-hour grocery stores,
And weather perfect for our leather jackets.

We give the world away every night,
And always find it returned in the morning,
Do you know how much we get out with only a sigh?
We expulse the riches of kings!

But you can be sure we're faithful,
The nice guy last and always the saints,
Slipped your mind and never near your heart,
And what a joy that is to consider!

To crash and burn and fix and build,
The Phoenix is no myth after all,
It is us who will go down as new legends,
The faithful who carry on that essential hope.

So quick to the hunt for it is such a short season!
Hit the floor right alongside that first speck of snow,
Make hast for we are living and not yet so dead,
I am already out the door.

Hurry Up And Be Winter

Come outside with me,
It's snowing but you can have my jacket,
The lining's warm and I can't stand it here,
And I think I need the company right now.

Something white to replace all this red,
The burning of ash and smoke rising from their very souls,
Both our drinks were never half-full to begin with,
And I'm starting to laugh for different reasons.

Let's make cookie-cutter angels on the ground,
The silence will come and then I'll steal a kiss,
Play mind games with myself for the next half-hour over some coffee,
Give up and plung in as always,
(I'm so weak when it comes to this.)

Tonight you smell of cinnamon,
With orchestral eyes directing this amateur play,
Give me the cues and I'll do my best,
My best My best My best is enough!

Now I'm such a gentleman for walking you home,
Fleeting talk leads to the fleeting kiss,
Oh how I want to be buried on the way home!
Frozen right here on the sidewalk.

Not to bed but by my window is where I fall,
Some red wine and a sunrise to see me off,
My mind is calling in sick today,
It wasn't doing much work anyway.

Salvation

John watched the fan as it spun slowly in the silent room. Eventually he faced his fears and looked back. She was still alive and the gun barrel was still rubbing against her forehead, much to his dismay.

You knew it was still like that, idiot. No gunshot remember?

Regardless he averted his gaze again, this time to the old man near the furthest in the far corner. He seemed to be staring at the electrical outlet to his left, and John tried to do the same. The man with the gun suddenly spoke up.

"Boy, I told you I want you to watch this and understand."

John looked the soon-to-be killer in the eyes and immediately lost whatever comfort he had been trying to find in other things around the room. They showed no hesitance.

"I said I need you to see this, boy."
"Don't...do it," was all John could manage. Someone's life held in the balance and all he could articulate was the basis of an opposition.

"You don't understand...yet. But I have to do it." Was the smooth reply.
"Why?" he got out quickly, surprising even himself at the effeciency.

"Because it's god's will." chimed again the cool response.
This time John built upon the confidence of his last outpour. "Why is it necessary to kill someone?"
The priest looked him square in the eye as if it was the stupidest question that he had ever heard.
"Why...so they can go to Heaven, of course."

The mention of Heaven seemed to trigger a complete remake of who John took this man to be. He saw that he was not dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, but rather a robe and with crucifix on a long chang slung around his neck. While John was gathering all this again, the man interpreted this as a need for explanation.

"I have to do this, because if I don't I can never be sure that they go to Heaven. See, I have already heard this woman call out to God when I threatened her life, and she is trusting in Him as we speak. If I let her live, that faith could slip, and I must win as many for the Kingdom as I can. So now do you see why I must do this?"

John was thinking of his response when the shot echoed.

The Races

Off to the races I quickly fall behind,
So many people are chasing this prize,
To wish that I could be more fit for this competition,
Is to cheat in the space race,
I have been given what I run with,
And that is all I will use,
I find the people in front of me lacking,
But that does not make them fall behind now does it?
What's playing out is how it's supposed to be,
And I will place as I should,
The finish line is decided by you,
And no one argues with the judge,
So bring on the verdict and I'll humbly bow,
Cus I've run my portion and can do no more for now.

Restless

I have too many desires I know,
But if that changed I would lose the good self,
Because I am made too much for the future,
Too fragile for the stakes which I am risking,
For something neither possible nor practical,
Mixed with fire and a shade of the amber glass,
But still it is not complete.
The whole scene drained without that essential componant,
The one who does to your heart what no scientist can accept,
And still deny the existance of God.
And yes this is too much to ask,
This is not my chosen blessing,
But still I desire,
And so still I am restless.

Responses

If I tell you of destruction,
What will you do in return?
Will you turn to the favorite corner of your youth?
Or look about for some common patriot?
There are those who can do neither,
And therein lies all creation,
Deep inside the eyes of the few,
shouting at the heart of it,

~I cannot fall~

It is they who will pick up and run with a dream,

Of a field with a cool breeze,

Of a woman worth anything,

~Of the peaks where you lose your head~

And you never see them reach the top,

And you never hear them weep for those behind,

But the Drive spurs,

~And the will is strong~

To this chaos can do nothing,

There is fire already within these beasts,

And it is they who shape the world,

~It is they who truly love~

You Drooled While You Were Asleep

It's time you left,
But you have to stay and here my next faulty reason why,
Please I want to make this ancient,
Make this concrete and here.

What's worse is you know,
You know I was one damn day too late,
But we can't do anything about it now,
I'm not so jealous as to say you can.

But if I had woken you up on that bus,
If I had told you the truth,
That we are all chasing a heaven,
That only a few were meant to find.

Hindsight will start to hurt your neck,
I should know I see doctors,
So I let you rest on that window and I'm watching you leave now,
Your bare feet glide away on the grass.

I wish I was in an orchestra,
To direct one giant flowing sound,
Expressing the slightest whim of everyone involved,
Breaking and forming the void.

Wishes for fishes I pick up a violin,
Personality with a bow,
I may have just been playing for you then and still am,
But now I sing for the collection of dreamers that remain.

Satan

Satan makes his appearance as he comes down the stairs. I catch him out of the corner of my eye, and as always he's looking at me. He glides smoothly past everyone, not even brushing shoulders, until he's right beside me.

"Sup S-man." I don't actually believe that he's the real spitfire Satan, but he never speaks, so I have to fill in the blanks of our conversation. And he fits the bill pretty close. So far he's never disagreed. "That's fantastic. And the wife?" Again the appropriate pause as I mentally answer my own question. "Sorry to hear that, but I bet she'll be on the other side of it by next week." Satan's hand appears in front of my eyes. It catches me off guard. He's usually more subtle than this. A passage is written in perfect script on his hand:

Welcome to the City,
We hope you enjoy the stay,
Light up and take the next shot,
What have you got to lose down here?
We take souls like coats upstairs,
And you know how forgetful man can be,
It's a different world down here,
But most certainly not unique.
Do you even have eyes anymore?
Can't you see that you surround yourself with the dead?
Then I will take it upon myself,
To purge your demons with the fires of hell itself.

"Again, way too dramatic." I've heard the speech before. He shakes his hand still in front of me. I look at him almost with pity. "There are no demons. There are no souls. And I didn't even come in with a jacket." Now he's returning my pity face. Sighing, I return to the glass in front of me. Satan's hand is still blocking it, and I notice that the ink is running. The red ink. I finish my glass as I make the connection. "Aw, I know things are tough man, but that's no reason to cut yourself. Come on, let's get you some eyeshadow to go along with that when it scars." His face resumes its initial lack of emotion as he heads back for the stairs. I close my eyes and listen to the saxophone fill the silence.

---

A minute later and he's gone. I quickly get another drink, not because he frightens me or anything, just because it's still early and he won't come again tonight. I've been seeing Satan for about a week now, always in a new context, and always when I'm alone. As my head starts to buzz, the jazz really picks up. I should be worrying about Harriet. I should be wondering where Dan is. Then again, I should do my taxes but that's not likely to happen either. Mostly I should be thinking of what the hell happened with Megan, but I made a personal vow not to fuck with that anymore. Instead, all I'm doing is asking Frank for a third and following the bass line. He obliges and i lean back in my seat. Across the room I see a flame pop up. A stunning blonde brings the lighter to the end of her cigarette, draws, and then lets out a set of rings from the most erotic lips I've ever seen down here. These are the "dead" I "surround" myself with. Prostitutes, drug addicts, brawlers, basically all forms of society. And then there's little old me. I'm not into any of that, yet anyone would swear I was. Actually, I just like the drinks and the saxophone. Drinks for adventure, saxophones for satisfying sex. The two things modern man lives for and never finds. I'm Metropolis Bluez, and my parents both died without giving any reason for that. The jazz band finishes up and takes a break, and I take the cue to leave. I make it through the permanent cloud of smoke to the steps, grab my jacket at the top, and hurry outside. I know I told Satan I didn't have one, but I don't think he knew any better.

**feel free to comment and let me know if anyone is even reading this**

Noob.

Ok, so this is the site I made to post all of my creative writings that I find fit for the public, however horrendous they may be in actuality. I'm also working on a new idea, where I'll have random stories that will eventually link up, all taking place in The City and a frequent number with a character name of Metropolis Bluez (hey, that's my user name!). So hopefully this will kickstart me writing down my ideas again instead of randomly blurting them out before I lose consciousness in bed at night. Hopefully. Stay tuned for the first writing probably by the end of the week.
-bluez