"If we listened to our intellect we'd never have a love affair. We'd never have a friendship. We'd never go in business because we'd be cynical: 'It's gonna go wrong.' Or 'She's going to hurt me.' Or,'I've had a couple of bad love affairs, so therefore . . .' Well, that's nonsense. You're going to miss life. You've got to jump off the cliff all the time and build your wings on the way down."
-Ray Bradbury
Poetry
Photography
Short Stories
Art
Cultural
Music
It's been awhile guys how are you?
here is your quote.
“Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple.”
― -Dr. Seuss
“If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there.”
― -Lewis Carroll
What?
How?
When?
"I never saw a wild thing
sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
without ever having felt sorry for itself."
- D.H. Lawrence
Radiant, the sun illuminates one's spirits, one's smile,
And warms this world, in marriage with the cooling winds that pass,
To be enjoyed and tasted in the midst of companions,
To be savoured, to be relished with one's brethren and kin,
And with that one other, whose warmth bests the sun's.
Devastating, the winds and storms that beleaguer the sober man,
Sober, not by time, but by the chains on his feet, grounded to reality,
Under the mercy of the tempest, one seeks his companions for pity.
Drenched in weighty rains, one seeks his family for shelter,
But when seeking luminance, one seeks his lover.
For the one that experiences warm days, and nebulous nights,
Gains strength to appreciate the pleasant days, to pass the stormy ones,
To drink and be merry, in the sun or the rain, with companions,
To live and play, in the sun or the rain, with family,
To love and satisfy, in the sun or the rain, one's complementary pair.
And, We are all people, one's who drink pleasant days, and falter in storms,
but gain strength from those companions, that family, that beloved,
To drink and be merry, with the comfort of our brotherhood,
To live and play, in the shelter of our father, mother, and siblings,
And to love and satisfy, with the warmth of the beloved.
Back
I’m lonely, but unfortunately, I don’t know how to give or accept compassion, or love. So it must be evil for me.
- Dark
he most beautiful woman in the world for me is the night sky. I’m addicted to it. It opens me up and shows me everything. It’s like a satin blanket in the winter time and freedom in the summer wind. She is a release. She is a release from the confusion of the sun. From the confusion of life. She is without life. She is full of wonder. And the moon calls for me. I acknowledge it’s return with elation and a giddy respect. I leave it’s side to explore. To hunt and to be hunted. To tempt and to be tempted. I hear what I choose. I like to think that she chose me. I was made this way. From the Creator. The North Winds run for the mother as I revel in the darkness. Not smiling, but grinning. Aware. Never tiring.
hen gentle breezes stream past, although tense, although inducing unease,
Our pride and our falsehood, which are thin and granular, are blown away.
And all that would be left is our bodies naked, our tender souls revealed,
But neither is such a source of pain nor the origin of shame, but rather,
Only then can we bask in the sympathy that is the sun’s warmth.
But when the winds begin to tear, with acute blades, and cruel motives,
When those blades cut profoundly, suddenly, and unexpectedly,
More than the superficial is torn away; the flesh, the bone, the soul,
All is revealed under the rays of the sun, which are no longer comforting,
But scorch and burn the soul most profoundly, so that it fills with scorn.
Yet continues to bask in the light of the sun. Disdainful, but dependent.
A love I thought was growing
Seems to be fading
A life I thought I knew
Seems to be ever changing
I grew closer
to the one I thought was true
I learned
To see you as you
I wonder
Is it all in my head
Is it all something I led
But it does not seem
Made up and false
But it seemed
You cared as much as I thought
Maybe you do
Perhaps I am mistaken
Maybe we are growing closer
Perhaps my mind is overtaken
I do not know
What is to come
If I am to run
For this race I am in
Seems very strange
Seems ready for a change
Something is stirring
Deep somewhere somehow
Something is rising
And I wish I knew now
Am I ready for this change
Coming like a rushing train
Am I ready for what is to come
Falling onto me as pouring rain
Will there be sunshine
Where it is I must go
Will there be rain
As I wish against so
My future
I do know
My past
I know that I can take what comes to me
With all I have to last
The winters may come crashing down
Taking all happiness once known
But springs come soon afterwards
Bringing new love and happiness of their own
I pray that I may see one day your purpose in my life
But I hope it's where I want you now that will arise and suffice
The Chunky Bits
I try to refrain but retch
And my thoughts splatter the paper
True conversation, simple as
The twig caught up in our river
Meandering along
Strips us of the shell they covet
Within layers of their own
Shining opaque splendor
A beautiful visage
That disturbs even the casual passerby
We are not the first ones.
Careless escapists frequent our haven
And their troubles vanish
As ours ooze from our pores
A vile sludge that falls and
Squelches between toes
Leaving us clean, relatively speaking
Upon our exit, we scoop up some of the stuff
And fit it back inside
Determined, the impure
Resolved, the imperfect
To sink further
Into the madness
So Much Scattered Ash
"Maybe not tomorrow
but someday"
She tells me
"the flowers will wilt
the light will dim
the roads will diverge"
And I wonder
How will it be
When I no longer recognize you
And you no longer see me
Will I feel the knife
Slowly as it inches into my heart
Or feign indifference and burn all traces
Of you
A valuable question, certainly
And one to consider
But no answers come to mind
At least none I can bring myself to
Singe this page with
No Rubber Soul
Beautiful in the desert are the feet of those who wander forty years, allured by a lover, betrayed by a brother, pearls like shackles fall in the dust, Oh desolate beauty, my sister you must-
Go with bare feet and feelings raw, He is tender, He is soft.
Beautiful in the basin are the feet of those who behold a humble mystery.
Sin in the water, The love of a father
sends a boy to wander crowded streets and empty creeds.
Crimson beatings made a callous clean.
Beautiful in the blackness are the feet of those who find a lit path,
Hands with holes will hold you fast.
The flicker fades and flows, it comes and goes.
But darkness can't extinguish light, and morning is faithful to fearful night.
Thy word, thy word, is a consuming fire,
and glowing embers won't expire.
"Beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace, who bring good tidings, who proclaim salvation"
ISAIAH 52:7
Drip Drop
by: Silverman
Stop!
Make it stop
Anything to make it stop!
Then again, then again
The end will come
Just let it stop!
Out of key, out of tune
Like the beating of my heart
A mechanical contraption of my heart
It won't start!
Only pounding, only sounding
Hands on face
A disgrace, a disgrace
To the world
And in the darkness let it stop!
Tick Tock
Clawing, tearing, at my ears
Timing life by my fears
Oh the clock!
Just make it stop!
Make it stop!
Make it STOP!
A small thin streak
Barely distinguishable from the stinging sweat
That accompanies dedication
I suppose the current circumstances
Touched you in some way
So as to let this pioneer free himself
And blaze a trail down your cheek
Glistening in the morning light
I wish I knew what it was that
Stimulated you to shed some of your
Burden, which even now weighs
Heavily upon your shoulders
Shrouds your world in a
Melancholy gray
Do me a favor.
Call back your adventurer
If he should not answer, so
Fascinated as he is by the soft landscape
Introduce your mountain of a
Smile and block his path
For good.
War
by Sam Dickinson
Roses bloomed just below her eyes
The battle with the wind raged on
And as the Earth turned a tired gaze
It was left speechless by the energy
Contained in this slight figure
In her mind, she lives atop a great cliff
Threatening clouds of maroon on the horizon
And she gathers herself up
To stand amidst it all
The roses flashing crimson
Signal to the world a soul who
Will not yield to adversity
But great rains fall and a massive wave
Crashes upon her
Her feet are swept out from underneath
And water closes in
The Earth holds its breath
Unbelieving, unwilling to accept what it has witnessed
Yet she surfaces atop a mountain
To smile.
"Mundane"
Chained to the harsh metallic existence of mediocrity
Lakes of ingenuity lay frozen in a dark slumber.
A mangled white sheet, wrinkling with determination.
Awaiting its breaking point.
A crack—barely a fault.
It expands across the bleak abyss.
Silver offshoots, like lightning, spark
And race into the barren dimension.
At once, a great movement.
Seismic.
It errupts, leaving an aftershock of realization.
The waters recede.
Raw experience remains, wanting only commitment.
Step into its tranquil waters.
Immerse yourself.
-Tavis Vannucci
Winter winds dash between the trees,
Snow flurries flee across the sky.
Stagnant with sincerities,
Everything left to ply.
Affection, quick to beat out of pace,
Ardor and adoration clash at the seam.
Let the line be unbroken in the chase,
and let never wake from this dreams
I am always hungry
Always implacable
Just as I clean my plate
I suddenly want more
I am obese from useless knowledge
None fulfilling
No satisfaction
I will never be appeased
I weave through the dark
for my eyes never opened
I stand here awake
Which way is north?
The attractive path that leads to freedom,
The enslaving path that is ultimate freedom,
Beyond it all and straining to be you.
These dry hands
have felt more life
than youth can even imagine.
The chapped, worn skin
is tired
but well-fed,
sustaining on the human emotion
contained by its decades
While the smooth, soft
of the newborn's hands
knows nothing.
The more one feels
and experiences, and understands,
the uglier they appear.
This is why more people value physical beauty,
because they do not know the value of
anything else.
Witches will be witches,
Fake and two face,
Never can you trust them,
So just give them their space.
Let them be and people will see,
How truly heartless these witches can be.
Deep inside
They have no true friends,
nobody to trust.
The love from your friends,
Is what they truly lust.
They thrive off your pain.
They hurt you will words;
What you lose, they gain.
They knock you down to the lowest point,
But what they fail to see,
The friends who pick you back up again,
These witches wish they could be.
Untitled
He’s a disease that has infected my brain,
I can’t get him out of my head,
The unspoken words between us,
I have no idea if he wants to make them real.
I glance at him and catch him glancing at me;
Does he have the same thoughts I do?
I messed things up,
I overestimated our friendship,
I thought we were more than friends,
But now we’re just strangers.
I think of the times where we would just stare,
Stare into eachothers eyes.
Those moments are deep in the past,
Yet I hope there are still a few in my future.
We’ve spoken a few words since I screwed up,
Without eye contact,
Just meaningless afterthoughts,
And I’ve pondered those words for hours and hours,
There’s nothing promising in them.
I go out of my way to make sure he knows
That I’m still living life without him,
I’m louder than usual,
Seeking attention from every person I see,
Hoping that he’s reminded of the time we spent together,
When he hears about my life.
I wish I could say I’m happy without him
Than having him halfway,
That’s what I tell my friends,
But the honest truth is,
There hasn’t been a day since I messed up
That I haven’t wondered what could have been.
Man
by Lauren Brooke Overton
Hello my good and faithful friend
One who said they would stay til the end
Well youre gone now and you know you lied
But hey in your eyes Im sure you tried
To show some sort of compassion and trust
More than some cheap form of disgusting lust
That I fell for blindly too many times
I lied to myself, and told myself you were kind
So I guess you could say that its all my fault
This friendship, relationship, and end result
Thats why I know, no matter what
Youll be shallow, and Ill be shot
My health, my beauty, my time and sleep
My stable lifestyle and youll see how Ill weep
Something youve seen for a couple of months
Youll be chained to forever by an oath
And THAT was your fault, your trial, your sin
A promise you made before my hatred set in
Something youre forced to live up to
Just in case my God doesnt come through
Just in case his plan is for me to be stuck by your side now
How will I do it? I dont know how
But Ill do it for the sake of a life
So for someone else, I will deal with your strife
And maybe, just maybe, as time goes along
The disgust when I see you will not be as strong
And I will be graced by some kind of blindness
That covers your black heart and replaced it with kindness
But Im sure that day will not come for a while
So youll call me baby and Ill fake a smile
Not for you, not for me, or the people who judge us
But for the soul someone despicably sent us.
Grains of sand.
The turning wheel.
Fading seasons.
A Tide’s rise and fall.
All changing, dying.
While the borrowers,
We are pleading,
Racing,
For there is never enough
Ticking, turning, fading, falling.
Breathing new souls out
And when all is too late,
Inhaling in reprise.
"I wonder if I've been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, that's the great puzzle!"
- Alice (Alice in Wonderland)
I'll be perfectly honest: I've never attached any sort of significance at all to Valentines Day. On the contrary, I hate it. It bores me to tears, leaving me weeping and sobbing, eyes struck with a visible glaze of shock and sorrow, which my mother evidently mistakes as lovesickness. Fail. But back to the main point.
The worst part of Valentines Day is the excessive touching and kissing, which some have labeled Public Displays of Affection. This is rather inaccurate, given the ultimate nature of the acts. I have thus dubbed it Pathetic Displays of Asininity. It is a disturbing scene when a student, rushing to class, is held up at his locker by a love-ridden couple smooching each other passionately. Inevitably, the hapless student is carrying twice his weight in books, and is shifting from side to side, face visibly contorted, legs crossed tightly together in a valiant but vain attempt to not collapse in pain. Meanwhile, the couple is oblivious to the external world. They gaze dreamily into each others eyes, penetrating the depths of their souls, soaring in the heavens while their feet are on the ground. Or, the couple may be busy engaged in rather graphic activity, hugging and kissing passionately, mumbling something about how smooth and warm the other
feels in ones hands, and how comfortable and safe one feels in the others arms, and how he/she never wants to leave, but instead wants to remain with him/her forever. One would think the guy was Linus describing his blanket rather than a macho man seducing his girl. Its mushier than mystery meat.
A number of questions instantly rise in the thoughtful observers mind: Is this true love? Is there some deeper meaning to this? Why doesn't anyone ever kiss me like that? Such displays are detrimental to both the lovers and the observers. The observer inevitably wanders off to class stunned and late, mind still focused on the graphic scene he has just witnessed. The lovers, needless to say, are even more unfocused. Tiger Woods could have a field day with such people.
It gets worse, though. We typically think of the holiday as a special day of care and reciprocity, in which two lovers, swimming in blissful waves of tender adoration, come together in transcendent, beautiful harmony, in a mystical, spiritual union, bonded as one, leaving philosophical-minded writers such as I to embark on several woeful attempts to describe the relationship, as true love is itself ineffable, unable to be restrained or captured by the limit of human words. Thats pure balderdash. What actually occurs on Valentines Day is something
marginally akin to a French chocolate exchange two romantic pansies deliberately acting excessively emotional and pompous, trading formal, elegantly wrapped candies and lace-lined cards, both attempting to look glazed over with love, but actually looking as if they've eaten raw snails. Young men who generally strive to present themselves as the epitome of rough masculinity wind up wearing pink attire, apparently attempting to appear romantic. That's utter bollocks. To me, it just looks like I've stumbled into a Happy Day parade. Thus, I weep. How many strong men have been reduced to whimpering, lovesick sissies! What kind of nation are we when young men, who are supposed to defend the people, are spending their money not on weapons or cars, but on chocolates and tampons? How vulnerable supposedly tough men are in the aftermath of a Public Display! The act of openly kissing and caressing involves the total surrender of ones privacy and reputation, and a breakup is thus more devastating than usual on the lovesick males soul. For a long time afterward, he will be wallowing in bitterness and self-pity rather than in pride and glory, and may attempt to console himself by playing the field or hiding in it. Perhaps John Edwards was involved in too many PDAs?
Conclusion: contra Nike, just don't do it.
ne month. One amazing month. We formally met on February 11, and little did I know that that was the start of head-over-heels, absolutely insane love. I dont know exactly what it was about him that started that feeling. Everything about him made my heart grow wings when I was near him. Of course, he wasn't perfect, but his flaws just made me love him even more. He was everything I could ever ask for, and I was happy for once in my life.
But as easy as happiness comes to a person, it can be taken away even more easily. That's just how life is with every good thing that happens, there must be a bad thing to balance out the forces of nature.
If only I knew this before I met Christopher. Maybe things would have been different.
Maybe I wouldnt have had that burning passion to be with him.
Maybe I wouldnt have thought about his rich brown eyes, his soft dark curls, and his flawless tan complexion all the time.
Maybe when he held me it wouldnt have been the only place I ever wanted to be.
Maybe his voice wouldnt have been the only thing I ever wanted to hear.
And although being with him was probably the worst decision I've ever made, I dont regret one minute of it.
I love you.
Its funny how three little words can mean so much. I have always wondered how love really works and I guess I finally figured it out. Love is a twisted and cunning, but completely irresistible and intense feeling that has no true method or reason. Love can bring on more joyful emotions than one would think humanly possible, or it can take a turn for the worst and crush someone until theyre so broken that they dont feel they can go on any longer. In my case, it brought on one after the other.
March 11, the day Christopher proposed to me. I knew the right thing to do would be to wait a little longer since we had only been going out for three months, but in my heart I knew that he was my soul
mate and there was no one better guy for me then him. So, I said yes.
We planned for our wedding date to be October 11 of that year, and everyone was ecstatic. It was going to be a perfect fairy tale ending, the kind that only happens in movies and are supposedly too good to be true.
He was on his way over to my apartment on September 10th when it happened. I felt that I lost my other half when the police called to notify me of the accident. I was in some sort of cruel, twisted joke that wouldnt get to the punch line. All I could think about was why did this have to happen to him, to me? I knew that I could not live any longer. I was just bones and flesh, no life in me at all. Just dead.
So now, here I stand at the grave of my love, my sole existence to living. And now that he is gone, I must go to. I take the knife we used to carve our names into our favorite tree, and know it is the only way. As I plunge it through my heart, I am in a horrid amount of pain. I see light everywhere around me. Its pulling me to it shining brighter and brighter, too alluring to resist. All of the sudden I begin to hear voices calling my name and I feel as though I am being carried somewhere. I dont remember anything after that. Just darkness.
I awake now in this hospital bed with a gash across my chest. I see my friends and family all gathered around me with puffy eyes and exhausted expressions. My mother is the first to acknowledge my consciousness and she tells me everyones grievances over me. I dont want to be in this place anymore, I feel trapped and scared. I was so close to being with Christopher again, to being whole again. I tell my mother that it was the only way and all she does is deny it. She says she is going to get me back on my feet, but I dont think I will ever be the same again. All thats left to do now is repair the hole that love has caused in my life, but I will always have the memories of the pain that love caused me.
Stairway to Infinity
ll the world was a dream. He was pure consciousness, dreamily drifting by, without even an inkling of concentrated thought. His only awareness was of his awareness. As for the content of his consciousness, he knew it to be utter nothingness, a conglomeration of empty meaninglessness. Gone were the plush grass carpets and star studded skies that he had grown up knowing. Gone were the people, the sounds, the elements of life that he had been so accustomed to, and had thought himself to be inseperable from. In their place were drab gray walls and a shadowy, dark ceiling. The world was a stairwell, and gazing down over the railing, he saw nothing but endles stairs, floors stretching both up and down into infinity. His eyes fell up on the darkness to the bottomless abyss. Blackest darkness, dwelling ominously at the furthest expanse of his range of vision. A chilling hollowness formed in the pit of his stomach, his gut clenching with fear, awe and apprehension. He shivered. His mind felt numb, empty, void of conscious deliberate thought or emotion. Peering down at the abyss, he felt himself falling, deeper and deeperr, forever and ever. Down and down he went, farther through an imcomprehensible void of total nothingess, faster and faster, shrinking into a mere dot in the infinite fabric of emptiness. The abyss threatened to engulf him utterly until he too was reduce to an insignificance in the void.
Of course, the boy had not been physically sucked into an unrelenting vortex of the darkness of space-time. His decimation into nothingness had been purely in his mind and he now forced himself out of his falling mental state. Gasping with terror, he rediscovered his senses and conscious thought. Fear threatened to drown and overwhelm him. Shaking off the crashing waves, he turned and sprinted up the steps, sheer horror gripping unrelentingly at his side. Huffing and puffing, he raced further and further up, running from everything, running from nothing, running from everyone, running from himself. None of the apparent contradictions were actually logical errors. However, the spatio-temporal realm had literally been transformed into a stairwell with infinite stairs, and all of humanity was - him. He was the last remaining human being. All was one. A scream forced itself from his throat. Hope could not truly be lost. It simply could not.
Survivor: Not Just a TV Show
I had been a foolish young man of twenty, entrusting my life to the shelter of an airplane. The flight had been perfect—no turbulence, no delays, no screaming infants. Passengers relaxed in their seats. Not a soul in his right mind would suspect that we were in any danger, that anything could go wrong at all. Unfortunately, that is the very time something is likely to go wrong- when it seems the most unlikely. Suddenly, piercing the silence was a scream, a horrifying, bloodcurdling, heart-stopping scream. I spun around to determine the source—a girl no older than nine— and the instant I did, a bullet came streaking past my head, missing by the narrowest of margins. Immediately after the girl had saved my life, the man standing beside her silently slit her throat. Three more men than barged into the cabin. Too late did we realize that the plane had been hijacked and was spinning out of control. Chaos then broke out. A quiet flight had become a fight to the death. Being the coward that I was, I ducked behind my seat, noticing that one passenger had forced the door open. Acting out of either fear or insanity, I jumped out of the plane. Mere seconds after I had landed in the ocean, there came a loud explosion.
My arms and legs then forced themselves to paddle through crashing waves for six miles before the tide finally washed me, nearly unconscious, onto the shore.
Upon waking up, my first thought was confusion. I had previously been in a first class seat aboard an airplane, and I was now soaking wet and on what looked to be a deserted island. Realization soon struck. Shocked and horrified, I could only sit there. Eventually, I resigned myself to my fate, and made a vow to fight for survival. I did a quick inspection of what I had salvaged from the flight. A pencil, paper and two glass bottles would have to be my only tools for survival. But how to use them? Inspiration quickly struck. I would write a message for help, put it in the bottle and throw it out to sea. With this in mind, I immediate felt much more at ease. I got to my feet and trudged through the sand. It was a rather gorgeous setting, truthfully. Sandy white beaches surrounded the island. Scattered around were trees bearing all sorts of luscious looking fruits. A crystalline lake sat at the center, which I discovered was freshwater. A cool breeze drifted through, gently swishing leaves. To top it all off, it was an absolutely beautiful day. White, downy clouds floated about, looking like pillows in a soft, creamy blanket of blue. stating what had happened and roughly where I was.
I began to feel that this might not be a bad experience. Basking in the shade of a tall palm tree, I placed the bottle down on the other side. I then began to write, stating what had happened and roughly where I was. As soon as I was finished, however, I made the terrible mistake of feeling proud of myself. I relaxed and leaned back against the tree, which shook loose a coconut. It then fell and shattered the glass bottle.
Panic then replaced my temporary peace. This time making sure to stay very far away from things that could damage the bottle, I wrote again, scrawling more urgently. After finishing the message, I placed it in the bottle, sealed in the cork, and using all my strength heaved it into the ocean. I watched with satisfaction as the tide carried it out to sea- and screamed with horror and disbelief as a gray dorsal fin materialized and grew into what was unmistakably a shark. In front of my very eyes, the vile creature swallowed the bottle and my remaining courage. Fear now possessed my mind. Screaming and raging, I kicked the sand with a punt that would have rivaled that of Maradona, pounded the trees with punches that would have impressed Ali. At one point, my terror even drove me to vainly bellow “Help me! Can anyone hear me?! Help me!”
Completely beyond the realms of reasoning and sanity, I viciously assaulted anything that sat in my path, releasing my anger and fear. I was Sherman marching to the sea, destroying everything in sight. The carnage finally ceased to a halt when I met my match against a rock. Panting heavily, and completely overwhelmed by panic, I finally gave in to exhaustion and sank into long, deep sleep.
