| swords of revealing light |
[05 Jul 2005|12:04pm] |
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i'm here, finally. a year ago, this trip was a pipe dream. six months ago, it was a fantasy. three months ago, it started to resemble a possibility. and now i'm here, a million miles from the place i would call my home if i were to have one.
ireland is amazing. the barista here at the airport bar speaks with a thick accent. she walks next to me every few minutes and belches out a "YOKay?" the guttural resonations startle me out of my writing. there are eight more hours before my layover is complete, and then i'm paris-bound. i get to see my love, the love i kept, the love i cannot fail. this is only love.
i've come so far to find so little. a shot in the dark. searching for inspiration. but getting ready for this trip helped to lift the fog that suffocates a stale place. sometimes the extent of what you possess is hidden until it is disturbed or detached. i truly mean this. there are those things which i have not shown my immense appreciation of. ( paul, who doesn't read this journal and therefore is fair game, comes to mind. i often forget how deep the extent of our friendship goes, and what barriers it has already knocked down. i will do my very best to show you what you mean to me in the weeks to come. )
what can i say that is not the same jargon i skim over when i read these journals. anyone who reads this, this far, know that i too return the favor, although silent and stealthily. my care lingers and lives of scraps of unrequited affections... isn't that a universal truth?
sorry to ramble. it has been days since i've slept. i'll post more soon. i'm sorry i haven't posted in so long, to those who have been messaging me.
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| hammer shot |
[01 Jan 2005|10:25pm] |
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mood |
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i am compelled to justify my life to the enigma of its context (and here is where i falter) but the context of my life is rendered relevant only to my consciousness and northing greater. my very self, suicidally introverted beyond narcissism, is the receptacle of our magnificent tragedy. for in my flippant need to tempt my own disillusionment i find the only relevant value of life in the act of its willful remittance.
yet i plug along, suck air and stand in the deepest of footprints, wave my fist at and imagined god and wonder who will catch all of our worth? who will hold us dear in this world? who will stand in the gap and help us to cross the gulf? our greatest moments come and go and are replaced by others more and less great. our songs are written, sung and played in poor company and laid like grass on the fire of a day's deeds. our very joys efficacy distills not as a liquor but as a salt-less water on the heel of a dead lake then brings forth mansions of cool green.
who can know our selves? i know that if there is a questioner than we are charged with the knowing the loving and the valuing of ourselves. this is some great task, beyond any relevant proportion of measuring social worth. do we dare love ourselves? dare we carry our own silent meaning like byres we climb into on the fire in front of the night sky alone and daily? what treasure do i have that i do not want to share with the ones i love? what joy have i found that i have not also had a need to share with someone close? and yet how limitlessly solitary is the whole scope of my experience in this phenomenon. were i missing some vital piece i might burn with a confidence reasonable exclusion from peace and so have it, yet this token acknowledgment comes not my way from where it may be kept. i blow into my own sail in a sea that lacks direction, yet for the damning of me i was given this boat and its sail.
could madness be so vain as to invent such a perpetual situation? what hurts in us? what is our loneliness? what seeks to make joy flourish? what is the value of our closeness? what is our longing for answers? my ears ring from solitude. my skin leaps at its self and begs the knife in the hours of long passed emptiness. yet i would incarnate the deity of my fear of death and burn like this, unfulfilled trough eons, driven from the veil and not to it. had i the power i would inflate the worth of things that settled through time immeasurable to the worth from which i would elevate them. i would articulate the commonplace of space with emotions magnified for the very purpose of empowering nothingness with worth. i would sheave all death and instead scatter the expanding known to reaches beyond divinity and allow relevance and meaning to never diminish and sleep at best. i would storm the abyss and the darkness and the shields of nonexistence and lay down a blanket in it. yet here in the turgid sea of the unknown i live, undefined by all by my own self and unmistakably irrelevant to the instigator of time.
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| spirit reaper |
[12 Nov 2004|10:42pm] |
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mood |
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so we come to this. can any man when having eaten the seed in the fruit of the tree of knowledge be not torn in two? know that knowledge is the rotting womb carried by the seed and the seed is belief. contrary to the fractures that define this life you will know that it is belief that eats knowledge in order to turn the wheel. do we not agree that there can be no truth in a world with two people? and ever the rules of entropy; are they not broken in the eyes of the zealot? who binds the law but the soldier with the love or hate of the king. stars fall in their designs and when they do our witches burn and our kings are replaced and our prophets lowers mountains under the feet of the faithful. this seed does not whisper but implies 'shake off your shawl. this is not filth but the very stuff of god.'
to be believed directs the eye of the heart inward. what did i find when that happened to me? i wanted to be the greatest and the wisest. but men only wear the shawl for their time. i pray to the world that in that time, love was known. my gold and its stamp affects a world of change but love makes any world heaven. where is a pound and a foot but in her eyes. where is a mile on her island but a wonder all without even the touch of time.
what is your entrapment? no one could caution me that great care is never called for but inherent as thought when too close we veer to the maker: to near his gloves is to lose our hands, to stray close to his mood and the mind is foiled. we see a strength or even a faint hope of strength and it beckons us forward.
my shawl is off. my tread turns west. my heart longs for what it only will remember. there is both death and victory in me. greatness only casts a shadow on the man seen in it. i know this for truth; on the bench in the maker's room there are no measures, and the best creations of this time were witnessed becoming by their own envisioning. i would have you honor the truth when with me. i would have you lay open the handiwork of years. see everything. know that like you, i am good and evil. a doer of rights and wrongs. trade in the wine of communion for the mantle of dusk... entreat to the unreachable parts of yourself to come forth...
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| drop off |
[15 Oct 2004|07:14pm] |
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pretext: know that the people who read your journal will most likely console you regardless of what is worrying you, time and time again, until they lose interest in your reoccurring tragedies. they will ceaselessly back up your opinions with their similar opinions and praise you for your brilliance though it is next to nothing. it is universal and meaningless altogether. you have acquired a small amount of attention from a meager list of similarities and that is sufficient to make you feel admired enough to continue on toward your next fix. it is a pathetic tragedy in itself; your life as told by you is nothing worthwhile.
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| torrential tribute |
[08 Sep 2004|10:26pm] |
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mood |
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i was informed today that two girls are stalking me. i have history; a rich amount of history with both of them. they came to my cafe and watched me. i read that they also believed i saw them before going back inside my cafe. furthermore, they thought that i was going back inside because i saw the two of them, together through a delicious irony, and retreated to my sanctuary. this findings were followed with various misappropriations and insults.
what impudence. there is no truth in a world with two people.
i've always tried to keep the best of relations with anyone i have had any sort of affair with. this is evident in most cases with only rare exceptions, most often not in regards to anything i've done. this of course does not mean i'm perfect, but does mean that in my own way, i try as hard as possible. i try to the extent of tears. i try until i burn. i try without rest.
but to imply that i would retreat from something as meaningless as two girls together, discommunicated by their wills separate and alone, is absolute tripe. i wish i would have seen them, there and together, at my doorstep. i wish they would be steaming with emotions like a kettle over flame. i want those feelings near me. but they were not. i saw nothing. i was watched without knowledge. i would have not known if it were not for the detective; the finder of lost children.
they may not understand my position. in fact, i'm certain they understand little about my actual disposition. it is apparent and obvious in the scheme of things, and means little more than what has been written already.
my life is less stagnant now than how it used to be. in fact, i'm planning a trip northward soon enough, to visit friends in northern california and in oregon. i cannot wait. i miss my confident so greatly, but his journey must be seperate from mine until the time for our reunion comes. and it will takes place in a land far from here, where prophets lower mountains beneath the feet of the faithful. we will reclaim our dreams there, together with our allies, and we will not know disbelief anymore.
the places where i've lit fires, now there are forges, where great things are made.
i alone keep the flames fed.
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| graceful charity |
[27 Aug 2004|11:43pm] |
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i apologize for the lack of updates to what audiences still grace this journal. i wish i had more time to give all of you and each of you individually, but that never seems to happen as i would have it.
i've been busy with the rudimentary: acquiring a car, obtaining a savings, getting a new job, beginning another school semester and seeking new housing. all those mentioned have been nearly fulfilled, but as always, i am empty and alone altogether.
my own thoughts plague me.
"what am i doing here? why have i come? what is it i want? do i continue?"
have i always felt this way?"
i am the abortion of resolve and resilience. i am only consider and change. but what have i crafted with my own hands; nothing. nothing has been made on my account, against or for. nothing supports my meaningless existence. i float aimlessly in the tide of the tears i've cried. i do not have to turn to head downstream. it has been my direction for ages.
i want to put my feet down so badly; to drag through the torrent until burned and scarred but still and steadfast. my confident wades with me, and together we can do nothing but observe what we have become.
to me, it is little more than nothing wishing for everything.
to her, it is everything that is within our nothing.
she is more than worthy of what little i can offer her.
can anything fill this void where religion has faltered and philosophy has died? i cannot find the answers but i know i am far from alone in the search. i crawl closer to my destination though i do not know what lies there. i have seen its brilliance for only moments and i cannot forget how it shown so brightly.
my eyes are scarred from a radiance. i see only shadows of what was.
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| confiscation |
[14 Jun 2004|01:20am] |
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i take so much pride in the irony. i take so much pleasure in the aftermath. it is perfectly constructed as if my hands were the hands of god. conflict is my art, and my compassion is now yours, like it has always been. the clarity i've been given makes me weak but moreso fearful of what i've become. i craft without care, but my virtue of forsight seems to fall short of no length.
i am ecstatic. i feel alive once more.
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| ring of destruction |
[10 Jun 2004|08:09pm] |
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he and i had been best friends throughout our childhoods. that was, until my parents took me from public school and into private christian. they said it would be better for me. i didn't know i was losing a friend. i didn't know anything. i just trusted.
i never had the opportunity to spend more than a day or two with him. at least we could play video games, right? we had that to keep us together since she had torn us apart. all we seemed to have was an endless battle. when i think of those times, i can't remember ever smiling. i just remember the burn to beat him.
i was shackled in manacles formed from her obsessions. she used me like a crutch until she could walk. then she would always fall back into the depression she knew so well. i would help her up again. it didn't benefit me. it just complicated me. i told myself it was my duty. if i left her, she would kill herself. why did that control me?
i felt so out of place in that mansion. she would sit and study me as if i was a masterpiece. i would look at her eyes and see her many flaws. i told her they were beautiful. i thought they were. i couldn't tell why. she always lied and i always knew it and told her so, but i never gathered more than she would spill. it was my duty to trust doubtlessly. she deserved that kind of respect.
i took off my glasses as we walked out the door and around the corner. this was my home. i hadn't done what he thought. i would have though, in an heartbeat. could he have blamed me? she was free in all the ways i wasn't. i couldn't resist. when he spoke, my reality collapsed. is this what i've become? it all seemed so fake, even now. a kiss of death, an epic struggle for the most glorious prize. i thought i was dreaming. it didn't hurt like i thought it would.
i just stared at her, naked in my bed. she slept so peacefully. why would she joke like that? she never remembered. three months passed until we knew. she and i would never be the same again. she wouldn't even allow me to help. i was denied my duty and was exiled from her paradise so easily, and in part to her and i both. we tumbled over eachother trying to grasp what little sanity we had left. i never told her about the joke she had told. it would have crushed her to know she told the truth.
why is this happening? he wouldn't even look at me. i had done nothing but helped him. the look of disgust wouldn't leave his face. i wanted to have it out in the open. he had been hiding it, and i couldn't stand it any longer. but he gave me nothing. silence filled my ears and his eyes averted from mine. i'm not one to make a scene. i'll recover without disruption. did i owe him, them, even then?
where did i falter? she left in the morning. i wept alone. we exchanged little and she was gone. i was blind because i could not see it coming. even now, i don't know what brought it on. she simply left behind what fractions of me she did not require anymore. it was my duty to let her have them. i am strong and she can now be also. i awoke and was weeping still.
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| call of the haunted |
[02 May 2004|11:35pm] |
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modern mythology dictates that it is man's justified right to govern all the world.
modern mythology states that the world was created, had its story written on its flesh, and at the height of that fable, man appeared and was fruitful.
man finds that it is his duty to stray from the life that the world can support, and intends to create his own worldly rules. in essence, man strives to be god.
man becomes aware of his flawed nature.
this awareness is achieved by his examination of the society that he created; the same society that will ultimately be the end of his turbulent and meaningless existence.
it is no surprise that we spend our days living our hollow lives and embracing the simple pleasures instead of the finding such bitter enlightenments.
the pleasures have never outweighed my compassion for you.
i observe because you are blind. i listen because you cannot hear. you have been broken. you were frail and i intended to make you strong. i took the malleable body and melded only a piece of my determination and will into it. and it was rejected. i was rejected. i am flawed, much the same as we all are. but the difference between you and i is that i can see those flaws which matter to us all, while you can see only those which matter to you. i have given you all you would receive and will freely give more if beckoned. all you need do is give me your ear, and i shall speak my story the way it was meant to be heard: the way it happened.
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| mirage of nightmare |
[08 Apr 2004|12:10am] |
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mood |
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restless |
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a good friend once told me, "proceed with, if nothing else, faith in your Self."
i understand that i am the byproduct of a society rich with discontent and set in motion long ago into a process that is in no way righteous or deemed satisfactory by any god-given law. it is a combination of chances, one after another, adding to history in either respected or unacknowledged bounds.
however, i also feel that i have the ability to rise beyond or fall far below the regulations placed on me by those who would call me family or friend. i respect those views unbiased by fallacies in free logic.
i dream of the changes that can be brought through discipline and focus, though they be just wisps in a much grander cosm.
i have decided to live to desire and to lust.
and i will act accordingly.
only i can perceive the unique and solitary journey that i must endure, and in enduring one grows strong. i stand doubtless in the knowledge that i have and will act for the greater good of humanity and freedom, as unchanging as they may be, and that nothing can drive my journey from that cause.
i sincerely apologize to those who have been hurt by this process.
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| change of heart |
[06 Apr 2004|10:23pm] |
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when i first created this livejournal account, i had intended for it to be an ongoing story about a man who lived in orange county. it was to be named "suburbia and his secret lusts". this story would be about a thief named jeremy, who grew and died, alone but never afraid of retribution for his actions.
i envisioned this man as myself, as writers tend to do, replacing the strange with the suzrain and the disturbing with the intriguing. he was beautiful in all the ways i find i am not. he was enlightened in all the ways i am not. he was charming in all the ways i am not. but most importantly, he did not carry the burdens of life that we all carry. he was not weighed down with the hardships he has endured. he would have lived to dream, take and want even more. however, to create such a character proved challenging, because i could not find a medium for him to exist upon. i could not understand such an existence.
i cannot find answers to the questions i have always asked. i do not yet know what can change the nature of a man. i have not yet found a reason to continue living except to find that same reason. i cannot discern whether life exists in or far beyond me.
i think without action and act without thought. i am blind, deaf and mute. i am a cancer to humanity and a coldsore to society.
is it possible to begin anew? is it wise?
can i ever be forgiven by all those i've hurt?
to start again, would i admit my failures to all those i've wronged or would i ignore all my past shortcomings and strive now to do better?
my name is evan. i am the thief.
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