fragments of yesterdays tomorrow

I am a shadow of who I once was, but, if who I was was just a shadow to begin with, then what am I now?

I am a fragment of what once was, but a stronger man.  In such, the shadow I am of who I was is not a shadow at all, but a reflection of a brighter future.

questions

A touch in the dark; most welcome and needed in the light of the moon jump-starts my soul.

What do they mean?

Why were they done?

Will there be another?

The questions roll through my mind at an ever increasing rate.  However, one question above all others is loud and clear. 

Where will they lead?

A hug. 

A hug is next on the list.   A simple evolution from a touch it is.  It is a maneuver which is profound in its ability to convey more information to the other person.  A hug is a clear sign of more than just a touch, for a touch can be accidental, or taken as something it is not.  A hug, on the other hand, can have multiple meanings, but not as many as a touch.  In such, it narrows down the possibilities of what that moment truly means.

What do they mean?

Why were they done?

Will there be another?

The questions roll through my mind at an ever increasing rate.  However, one question above all others is loud and clear.

Where will they lead?

A kiss.

A kiss is next on the list.  A complex evolution from a hug it is.  It is a maneuver which is profound in its ability to convey even greater information to the other person than just a hug.  A kiss is a clear sign of more than just a hug, for a hug can mean many things or be taken as something it is not.  A kiss, on the other hand, can have multiple meanings, but not as many as a hug.  In such, it narrows down the possibilities of what that moment truly means.

What does it mean?

Why was it done?

Will there be another?

The questions roll through my mind at an ever increasing rate.  However, one question above all others is loud and clear…

Where will it lead?

Echo's of Self

There is nothing in this head of mine

Nothing left

Nothing divine

Nothing to drive me through the day

Nothing I say

Nothing I say

Nothing

No words

Not on this day

Nothing I say

Nothing I say

Nothing is left in this head I say

Nothing today

Nothing today

F-4

I am an echo of what humanity should be.  A festering scab on the face of Mother Earth which grows and consumes with each passing day.  I am contagious, a faceless statistic.  I am what my grandparents fought against.  I am a social misfit with a chip on my shoulder.  I am a consumer and an abuser of my temple.  I am against everything and for nothing.

I am the taste of a new generation.

Scold me, I care not.  Fuck your pompous facts of a godless book.  Fuck your social stigmata, bleeding from your eyes like some sort of martyr.  Fuck your designer car, your designer cat, your designer haircut.  Fuck your face.

But most of all, fuck you.

Brought to you by the letter F and the number 4.

Void

Tonight I have nothing.   The void inside me has eaten all that remained of my creative spirit and has given ghosts in return.  I am spent, my mind awash with the contained thoughts of that which I can not hold; can not touch.

An ache fills me as I sit and think that in spite of the puppet-show that I put on, I have nothing awaiting my return.  No arms to take me in or welcome me home.

All in all, it is just another day in the life.  A life which is mine to own and no others.

A life of regrets, scars and hard lessons; a life of endless voids.

Is there nothing more for me than these words?

The void grows and I am nothing but its shadow.



fantasy

A soft knock at the door announced her arrival.

He paused with his hand over the knob, taking a deep breath to relax before taking the next step in what could be one of the wildest adventures of his life.  He opened the door with a smile on his face, a worried, scared smile, but a smile none the less.  God he hoped she didn’t notice how freaked out he was over this, their first real time together. 

Little did he know her heart was racing faster than his own.

He had it all planned out you see.  They hadn’t ever really heard the others voice.  Not in the traditional sense that people generally do at least.  Their world was one of high speed modems and LCD displays, not telephones and coffee shops, in such, the only time they actually heard the others voice was the brief moment their paths crossed many months ago; A moment which set a series of events in motion and led to this very day.

This very moment.

He remembered what it was he was he had planned and an awkward moment looking into eyes.  He placed a single finger before his lips, letting her know not to say a word, then he beckoned her in to the room and toward the open balcony.

The view was nothing special for this part of the world.  One she had seen many times he was sure, but not from this place, not with this company.  The balcony overlooked the sea, the waves crashing onto shore while lightning from a distant storm lit the sky every few moments.

“Close your eyes my dear, and listen.  Tell me what you hear.”

“I hear the waves,” she said softly.

“That,” he said, “is the heartbeat of the world; heard on every shore across the planet.  It is the life-blood of Gaia, whom created all these things for us to enjoy.”

…

She smiled, knowing that he was the same person she had been talking to for all these months.  He had a tendency to talk about such things.  Sometimes she knew what he was talking about and others she did not quite grasp the concepts.  Whatever the case, she liked the poetry of it all and how he spoke to her of all the things life has to offer.

She had fallen for his words, but this is different.  Now he stands behind her, whispering things and leaning close.  The night is chilly and the wind strong high above the ground.  She can feel the warmth of his body near her own and leans back just a little, hoping they would accidently connect.

Hoping he wouldn’t pull away.

…

She leaned into him, sharing their warmth.  He accepted this willingly, eagerly even.  This was the first time they had touched, and he wanted to saver the moment’s beauty.  If not for him, then for her memory of what could be a perfect moment in time.

They stood like that for a long time, until finally the chill sank into their very bones and forced them to retreat shivering into the room.  The conversation had been light but cheery, both talking of how nervous they were and how silly it really was.  That it felt like they were playing a part in some love story written long ago by an unknown artist.  Something never published, but left within a book, never to see the light of day.

He poured them a drink and they continued to talk long into the night.  Hopes, dreams, regrets, the past, the future, and as one drink turned to three their talk turns to a kiss.

It wasn’t one of those you see in the movies.  There was no dramatic pause as the couple slowly leaned in, looking deep into the others eyes.  This was as if they had communicated their intent telepathically and agreed that at that moment, conversation would cease and a new stage of their relationship would begin.

It was clear that they were hungry.  Their want etched clearly across the flush of their skin, the pace of their breath. 

This was nothing if not primal.

He reached around with one hand and grabbed her hair, pulling her head teasingly to the side his lips broke from hers and found the soft flesh at the side of her neck.  Her breath caught in throat and a sigh quickly followed.

He found a spot.

Their lust grew by the moment, and neither had any doubt of where this night would lead.  They knew before they had even seen each other that this was an outcome they both wanted.  She was inexperienced but willing and he was more than qualified to teach her.  In spite of that, it was as if they had always been.  No awkward moments, no tripped up words. 

Their hands flew across the others body as if they had always been one, separated but never truly apart from the other.  She knew his weakness’s as he knew hers.  Both were ready to explode long before their cloths even came off.

TBC….    :P

A dream

He had a dream last night. 

Twas a dream in which she was here; together for what felt like eternity in this place of exile.  There were no questions spoken, for the other already knew the answer.  Only the familiar touch of her lips upon his, and a look which hinted at primal aggression boiling beneath the surface reflected within.

A soft touch became almost maddened as the rhythm of the seas crashed unending against the shore.  Nothing could stop them.

Nothing dare try.

It was as if this meeting was destined to be.  Neither knew the reasons why they broke through the boundaries of their birth and came unto this place together.  Nor did they know the outcome of their choices.  They only knew that what they saw reflected in the others eyes were nothing short of electric; their touch echoed thunder in the heavens.

The Gods paused.

Together, against all odds; against all the barriers set between them, they moved forward steadily as one.  Her sighs mixed with his; her heat surrounding him as his lust grew stronger within her. 

An angel screamed and he awoke with a smile.

The Gods sighed.



Cloth of the Nation

Tis the fourth night out and the seas are angry.  The ship tosses to and fro, that is, for as much as 100,000 tons of processed steel moves when the seas push it around. 

This is one of many trips into the night which I have made the last 12 months.  Another chance to train and to prove our worth to the powers that be that we, are in fact, ready for whatever is thrown at us.  To date, our only real enemy has been the weather, pounding rain and even snow down upon our decks yet the simulations of a hostile force are ever going on, and in such, we await the moment when it all will come to a head.

“Train like you fight; Fight like you train.”

These words echo in our minds as we repair damage from fake missiles, cardboard fires and plastic wounds.  We are graded, sorted and ground up in the machine, coming out scarred and strong and ready to destroy that which opposes us. 

We are the strength of our nation; the projection of force which can change a nation’s political policy by pulling up near their shores. 

My job is to record the story of the ship and crew as it goes about its days.  To partake in the mission, but more so, to record the day to day lives of those aboard so that the nation we call home will know our story.

The Children of our Country bleed for your freedom, and do so willingly. 

For whatever reason we came, be it economics, education or patriotism, the Sailors who serve have each stepped up on their own accord and said, “Yes, I will dedicate X amount of years to serve my country.”

And serve we do.

We are each a part of a cog; cog which runs a massive machine; a machine which supports a floating airport.  Each of our jobs, in some way, is here to support those few men and women who climb into the cockpit of their aircraft to be thrown off the ship and into the sky.

I have 367 days left before my obligation is complete, and yet, the story of the past 4 years is nothing compared to that which is to come. 

I am ready.

Tonight, a shadow passed over the moon, exposing weakness and doubt in the hearts of those who beheld the weary sight. 

The seas are too quiet and all hold their breath in anticipation of the coming dawn.

To me, this silence reverberates the quiet song of the great Mother and in such I can not help but allow my mind to wander to simpler days, when wood and tar rested beneath the foot of the sailor and not cold steel.

Forbidden

Dark tranquility stretching out in all directions, the moons glow upon the water reflecting what heaven must be spans my view in all directions.  Wind rolling across the deck a cool reminder of our movement and the still calm of silence rings ever across the ebb and flow of the sea beneath our keel.

My thoughts linger to a place near to me yet far from where I stand, to where a forbidden flower blooms.  Growing strong in barren lands, not kind to her but yet she stands.  Burning blood pounds in her veins, while etching out yet another day without a moments rest.  Exhaustion burns in her eyes yet her smile calls out across the waves and touches my mind yet still.

To touch her hand softly I would give the world and more.  To chase her tears away with laughter, I would give my soul to do.  For the smile, oh to see it true before my eyes, would bring this day unto the forefront of days, and I would be complete.

Taste not, touch not, societies voice calls out.  Yet there she is upon the shore, watching, waiting and silently hoping beyond all hope that the day will come soon.

Blue eyes glowing, gentle of touch and soft of voice, his visage echo’s within her mind.  Taste not touch not; she cares little for the flames of damnation.  Let society burn to ash, for she grows strong; her Will be Done.

Alas the day will come to soon where judgment comes to one and all and she will smile yet again for true or false it matters not; regrets could not transcend.  No moments lost to times gone by, no scars for never was; just a smile and the knowledge that those blue eyes were all hers.

An Idea

It seems one of the greatest plagues upon man is the chemical addiction we call Love.  Few things have caused tears to fall from the eyes of the strongest willed soul than its powerful grasp.  Be it in joy or sorrow, Love bows down to no-one, and is a common driving force behind all but the most socially demented of our kind.

Love, by western social standards, comes in various forms.  The love of a child by a parent; the love of a sibling; the love of a mate; the love of a pet; the love of a physical object; the love of the romantic concept of love.  However, the topic of today is the love of a mate, and the social stipulations surrounding it.

In my eyes, the love felt by a person toward their mate is the byproduct of a chemical addiction to their pheromones.  Over time, the closeness generates a chemical want and in such, when that chemical is no longer around, withdrawal symptoms develop. 

But what if you love more than one mate?

What of those among us who seem to have a much larger heart, who love for many reasons, and who, in spite of social constraints follow their heart to take on multiple lovers.  I refer not to the concept of sex, but actual lovers and the emotional commitment attached to said stipulation.

If a person loves more than one person, and responds to the emotional ties with sexual relations, society brands that person as being a degenerate.  So often do we bend our own world to match that which others see as fit, and do not embrace what or who it is we really are.  Then on top off all of that, a person ends up feeling guilty because they have to hide their true selves from those whom they care about.

Thankfully, I do not have Love in my heart these days, although there are those in my life with him I care about.  Love is blinding, overbearing and eats away at what and who we are.  It makes us do things in its name that we might not do otherwise.

I do not have Love in my heart, but I have a smile in it none the less.  I carry it with me and it warms my thoughts on the coldest, loneliest nights.  I sail upon the high seas, alone in my thoughts, but not alone, not really.  I shall never be alone as long as that smile is there. 

No, I do not have Love in my heart right now, but I have an idea, and for now, an idea is more than enough.

String of Thought

The past is who we are; the future, who we want to be.  One forms the scars; the other fills us with the double-edged sword called hope.  We strive, each and every day to survive to the coming dawn and then repeat the process again.  In time the dawn no longer comes, and on that day we succumb to our own personal apocalypse.  Darkness creeps in on our vision like a fog; like a lightning bolt, and takes from us the joy and pain of the ticking clock.

We are divided in our struggle to maintain, our goals pushed aside for the moment.  The moment pushed aside for responsibilities.  Responsibilities pushed aside due to exhaustion.  Exhaustion pushed aside for a wide-screen TV or the newest game on our favorite social-media site.

I say we are divided because we know time is always passing us by.  In such, our blood burns and as the days go by, we are constantly reminded of our own frail nature; our inability to do anything about it.  We dream of alien landscapes, of summer days in the deep of winter and of lovers departed.  We scream at the moon, the sun, the stars yet they have no ears to hear us.  We do so many things which contradict the reality of it all, that in the end, only our own voice holds any true merit to the forging of what we are to be.

My blood burns, but slowly now.  Experience has tempered my heart; the scars of those experiences thickened my skin.  I gaze upon the world with sunken sight, the shadows more prominent in my view of the things going on around me.  I am not lost, but I am not found either.

I dream of gods, of glory and of love.  I dream of the nightmare crawling under my skin, escaping with cackling glee to wreck havoc upon the land, of revolution and of change.  I scream at my own reflection, demanding action yet only getting a blank stare in response.  Even the image is laughing silently at my ploy at breaking free of my own self damnation.

Yet even through all of these things, I still manage to find something to hold on to; to ground my thoughts and keep my feet upon the ground even while my head still floats within stormy skies.

I have found my Muse.

To me, there are few things so important than the words upon the page.  The underlying creative nature of a string of thought, and of passing it on to those who seek it is a driving goal.  However, to do this, I must have a reason to put it to page, and only through the possession of a Muse am I able to accomplish this.  All writers seem to have something that allows them to break through the block that prevents them from creating, and for me, it is the knowledge that nobody is paying attention.

I can only hope that my words please her, my stories find some place within her and that in that place they grow until becoming something more. 

Admiration maybe. 

Like shadows touch across a vast and infinite space, I call to her with every key struck.  It is not love, for if it were based upon such a thing then the words would flow far easier and more consistently than they do, for everybody knows love of some sort.  No, this is not love. 

Infatuation?

This is possible, and in such I can not deny that it could be true.  What is it that triggers the thought, and places somebody above another?  Is it their smile, their laughter, their mind, their hair?  I do not know the answer to this, in fact, maybe it is all of these things combined.  I know only that she is my Muse and in such I want my words to echo in her heart and mind.  I want her to smile so much it hurts.  I want her to look to see if new words have been created in her honor when she sits down at her computer.

For in the end, a Muse is in a position to be honored by the writer.  He creates because of her influence upon him.  He molds a lifeless page into something more.  Good or bad, it is no longer blank because of her.  Because of her, he is no longer a void awaiting the spark which shall set him free.

He is free.

That is why she was brought to him, to remind him of who he once was and to combine that man with what he grew into.  I was so closed to everything around me that I had forgotten the man I use to be and in such, I am smiling.

To my Muse, thank you.

Muse

Asleep.

Synthetic fingertips walk quietly across a vast an infinite darkness to place words before eyes, and meaning to minds. They scream silently and call to the eyes behind the eyes; the creature within.

You rest.

Rain falling upon your dreams like the dark days of winter, seemingly unending, forever sinking grey fingers into your soul and withering your heart with its whispers.

You scream;

silent and unnoticed by the world around you. Tears fall with no witnesses, hidden by the murk of shadows touch. 

Yet you are noticed, and your screams are heard.

A touch from afar, drawn across the world wide web. A stranger's mind brings a smile to your lips. You reach up with your left hand, pulling your hair out of you face to enjoy the moments warmth as if it were the last rays of a dieing sun.

Yet it is not the last, but the first sunrise of many. The sun replaces the rain and the dreams are of Spring. In this, even in your reflection you see beauty once again.

The rain becomes all but a memory.


((January 7, 2011 - Written for a friend and based upon conversations we have had the last few weeks.))