Godplead:
The Writings of JCOwens
Disclaimer:
The goal of the writings on this page is not to alienate, but to include. Not to judge, but to accept. Not to hate, but to love.
My writings reflect my own struggles, and the struggles of those around me. My own fears, and the fears of this dying world. I am no better than the least, therefore, I am the least. I am a servant in a society which longs to be served. I am a missionary in a lost and dying land. I struggle with the same temptations. I am guilty of the same sin. I fall victim to the same crimes. I live and die on the same earth. I am no better. I have simply found the escape, and the key to the future and the past. I have discovered an answer that was there all along, but that so many have been too prideful to accept.
Religious Legalism is a lie.
Religion leads astray.
Relationships last forever,
and Christ is eternal.
When you read, do not assume. When you ponder, do not criticize, for all have sinned, and fallen short. This includes you. When you see ones as I, lying on the streets, hiding in the alleys, falling to our knees, lift us up, help us out, and grant us your prayers and open arms.
We all long for the same things. We all have the same needs. We all deserve to be loved. We are defined by That in which we place our faith! Not by our struggles! Not by our sins! Not by our desires! We are defined not so much by what we do, but by Whose we are, and it is in this fact which I find my peace. Knowing to Whom I belong, and believing in He who loves us with a love that is never ending, and truly unconditional.
If you know not of what I speak, then ask. If you claim to know, and still cast judgement, then my prayers are with you and your families. Christ came to heal, and to serve. He taught of love, and forgiveness. He served the sinner, and criticized the religious. He was, and is the God of all, who loves His children, each and every one, no matter where our struggles lie. He gave His life so we could be free. His grace is truly sufficient.
Some of what you may read here may be too intense for the weak in spirit. Please acknowledge, before proceeding, that some of what you are about to read was written in the darkest times of my life. It is raw, and honest. There may be moments in reading, where you experience my doubt, my pain, my fear. During those moments, please realize that it is only because of the darkness, that I am truly able to see the light.
In no way do I want anyone to misunderstand my intent with the contents of this page. It is an open expression of all that I've been through in life. Included are both works of fiction, and works of fact. Before you jump to conclussions about anything's meaning, pray. And, if you are still unclear, then, please, e-mail me, and ask. Through my faith in Christ, I am willing to make my life an open book.
Only proceed if you can do so with an open mind, and heart. Only proceed if you are capable of seeing past the facade, into the spirit of the writer. Do not accept any work of art at face value. Realize, before you begin, that there is often much deeper meaning, then, that which is evident on the surface.
Biography:
At 27, I came to a realization: God loves me. Did that make life any easier? Did I hate myself any less? No, but, the journey to self acceptance could now begin.
From the time I was a child, 3 or 4 years old, I knew that I was different. I knew what my heart longed for. I knew that I was not normal. I remember when I was five, a boy in his late teens, whom I knew very well, had come to me and initiated an intimacy that while new, felt so natural, so loving.
I sit here now, in disgust, but, not as you might imagine. I sit here looking at a society that creates within us a victim mentality. My experiences (not those of nayone else, but, mine alone), though socially unacceptable, were not tragic, not damaging, not overwhelming. What was done with me I found to be emotional, loving, and gentle. What was tragic, was that for the next 22 years, I would be told by society that I was a victim, a poor child who didnt know any better. Society would convince me that I was worthless, horrible, and a monster that should be hidden away. I had been convinced that if anyone found out, I would be treated like some type of side show animal, and that all who knew, believed that I would grow up to be an abuser, manipulator or rapist. Society forced me to outwardly deny what I had experienced, and inwardly suffer alone. I could not express my feelings. I could not show my emotion. I could only close myself off from all hope of ever being accepted.
In my life, the damage was not done by the action of that older boy, rather, by a society that, in the name of protection, had encouraged in me self hate, doubt and loathing.
The one thing I could hold onto was my faith. With everything I had witnessed in this world, I knew that there had to be something beyond. At times, I lost my footing. At times I doubted. And, in my darkest moments, I would catch myself whispering a prayer to a God that I wanted so badly to not believe in. And, in this deep rooted faith, came many more struggles.
Growing up, I had known of a calling on my life, one that to this day has not been fully realized. I have always felt a moving in my spirit to be able to help others, to reach out to those who have also been neglected by society. To simply let people know that they are not alone. And, I made steps. I was a Sunday school teacher, I was in charge of youth programs, I volunteered with youth from the inner city, and headed up a music ministry. But, there it was, tearing at me from the inside. What if they found out? What if they knew that I was gay?
And, my struggle with my faith grew stronger. I was taught that God was love, but, it seemed, only if you fit into the right set of molds. I was encouraged to go into the world and preach the gospel, but, discouraged from bringing those who truly needed it, into the church. I was shown that outward appearance is far more important than inward salvation. And, that because of the temptations that I kept hidden, I was cursed, evil and a disgrace to the God I so dearly loved.
So, I fought. Every day I prayed that God would take away the "curse". Every night I would cry myself to sleep hoping that the next morning would find my body cold and lifeless. I worked so hard to keep my feelings hidden away in fear that those around me would find out. And, I truly believed that there was no one in whom I could confide; no one who would understand. Through years of pain, I was encouraged to believe that I couldn't go to other christians because of their intolerance and hate toward homosexuals, and I could not go to the homosexual community because of their intolerance and hate of christians. So, there I was, like so many others, who are totally alone in their own inner hell.
22 years! I could no longer survive. My body, my mind, my spirit totally exhausted. I lost my job, went bankrupt and secluded myself from family, friends, everyone who could help. I was broken.
There is much before this time that I can not remember, and many effects that I continue to work through. I no longer walk with my head up, rather, with my chin tucked far into my chest. I am afraid of everyone around me. I avoid public situations, confrontation, new experiences. But, I can no longer hide who I am or what I feel.
I was forced to admit to myself, my family, and my church what I had been through, and what I struggled with. And, what I found was love. Not just love from those around me, but, the reassurance that the God whom I loved, had never left my side and loved me far more than I could have ever accepted before. There were those who turned their backs. There were those who spread rumors. There were those who I had lost forever, but, those, I discovered, were not true friends at all.
And, the struggle continues. I fight my way through depression and anxiety. I work at preparing myself for whatever new paths God is preparing, and in this preparation & through these struggles I am strengthened and constantly reminded of God's unconditional love. Regardless of what others around me may claim, or what they may preach from behind the safety of their pulpits, I am His child, His loved one, exactly as He created me. Special, Unique and entirely His creation.
The poem The Existential Forbearance of a Society Forlorned is an external outlet for the emotions I went through as I struggled with christians and churches that would rather hate than love, rather judge than accept. And, I hope and pray that those who read, and relate, can realize in their own lives that their salvation is secured because of the blood that Christ has shed for them, not through the church, or others around them. I want them to realize that when all seems lost, when it seems like theyve lost it all, and everyone is against them, that there is a God that loved them so much that he gave the ultimate gift. I want them to rest assured that even when many in the church have turned their back, that God is still there, waiting, holding, longing for us to be with him. His love is truly sufficient.
The
Writings
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The Choice
It's a choice, you've said, over and over again, "it's a choice". But, I ask, was it a choice for me to lie awake night after night, in tears, begging God to make me "normal". Was it a choice, that I hated myself so badly, that I tried to take my life. Was it a choice to lose the true meaning of love, because so many around me used it so carelessly, and perpetrated great pain upon me because of it.
But, of course, you have to be right, becuase you're a priest, or a preacher, or a Shaman. Of course it's a choice, because, as you know, when we have a choice, we can simply choose the "proper" path. But, evidentally you believe that I "chose" the wrong one.
After all, I must have enjoyed my life living in fear that others would find out. I must have loved not dating or showing my emotion or love all those years. I must have thought it fun to go to those healing services, and praying for God to remove this "burden", only to find out that either he was okay with me being this way, or he didn't care enough about me to take it away.
I've seen you tell others, "it's a choice", and criticize, chastize, ridicule judge them because of the choice, and in the name of your god, you've caused so much pain that they see no other way out than suicide. Because of couse, it was a choice.
The only choice these kids have, and the only choice I believed I had, was either to live on this earth for 70 years, in a hell that you, the religious zealots, have created, and then, what... die, and suffer more hell. Or, I could take my life now, and at least avoid that 70 years of life. What choice was it again? And, then, if the suicide were to come, you'd stand behind your pulpit and deny any responsibility... you'd blame TV, or the music they'd listen too. You'd blame their uncle, or cousin, or mother or father. You'd blame everyone but yourself.
The choice here was made by you! You chose to cast aside the true teachings of Christ, the teachings of love, acceptance, passion and grace, and you chose to cling to the legalistic views which focus on the letter of the law, and not the spirit with which it was intended. The choice was for you to place your faith in "law", and turn away from "Christ". The choice was you deciding to be more like the Pharisees than like Christ.
Yes, there is a choice to be made, but, it's not who he dates, or who she dates, it's what you worship... Christ or Law? Make your choice!
When
when the roots decay
into the dust
when the flowers wilt
from lack of sun
i cry, i weep,
i find it hard to believe
when my days rise up
without a hope
when the nights deny
my very soul
when temptation claims
the life i need
when the nightmares turn
to ecstacy
when my sin becomes
the death of me
when lustful thoughts
are all i see
when my faith falls cold
unto the dawn
when the hate of this world
rages on and on
when i wipe the tear
from my bleeding eye
when through blurred sight
i see christ die
Observation of Hurt
Sometimes the loneliness becomes so overwhelming. Seems that even in a crowd, I feel abandoned and alone. Everyone around me seems foreign, strange, and I don't like what I see.
I try to meet people, and what I find in this area, the "community", is wretched. Everyone out for themselves. Hateful. Loathing. Hugging you to your face, and taking every chance to stab you in the back.
Go to clubs trying to meet someone who likes me for me, who isn't interested in a quick fuck. Most are so caught up in themselves, that if you're not the perfect body, the perfect face, they treat you like a leper. And, those who do show an interest, as soon as they get what they want, they cast you aside. Not so much as a returned call. Or a reply to your email.
The "community" shouts aloud at how they want to be accepted, when at the same time, they reject everyone who isn't like them, who isn't pretty enough, who isn't willing to act upon their every whim.
There are those of us who desire to love, and to be loved, but, it seems that the "community" makes it almost a sin, a crime, like you are punished for your innermost affections, and rewarded when you learn to walk over anyone in your path.
Acro-Numb
F ind me crying all alone
A victim bound to perpetrate
G arrish thoughts I hide inside
G arnered fare for years of hate
O nly death could end the pain
T o a victim of my fate.
Innermost
society
what society has made me
the victim or the perpetrator
the boy or the grown man
so many trials trapped in this body
not meant to be so experienced
not meant to be so torn
it seems a million years of ignorance
shoved into just a few
and would it be that nobody cares
or even gives a damn
five years old when it started
and suffering ever since
and nobody knows my heart
and nobody feels my hurt
i weep and i cry
can no one hear me scream
through this darkness in which i live
i simply crave the love i need
to save my bleeding soul
but who is there to care
to love this broken child
the hate is overwhelming
hate for the innermost
and acceptance not it finds
not in my mind
nor in my soul
nor my molested body
nor in my trembling hands
it finds not diversity
only a stone cold wall
that faith had built
eventually truth i found
but possibly too late
or maybe not.
for now i stand entrapped
caged in my sins
my faults
doing not what would be expected
what i felt temptation calling me to
though it would be so easy
no, it would hurt so much
it's not society that cares for me
not the one who abused
nor the ones who advantage took
but the father who died for me
who hung in my place
and watched
and wept
and waited
bitterness controlling
but not toward God as so many
but toward so many
i try to love
fall crashing into lust
i try not to cry
drug screaming into despair
i try to end it all
but faith restores my soul
i'll never understand why
why God cares so much
when I give so little
why that man stole my innocence
and cursed my thoughts
why i suffer so long
for those few minutes
why no one can truly know
the pain i feel
but who am i indeed
who am i to question why
The Problem with Society
This world was created in a state of innocence. It is only through our own sin that it was distorted into something far different. We began placing upon ourselves unnatural expectations and laws. We began indulging in our own ridicule and guilt. We began to thrive on the very things that were intended to bring us pain. We began to forget how to love.
From the garden through today, we have been drawn into viewing creation through such a narrow perception, forced by religions twisted by the opinion of man, and, completely ignorant of what was intended from the start.
Man was created with the ability to love and to commune with God. It's so simple to see, but, for so many centuries we have refused to accept the obvious, and in exchange, force ourselves into depression and hate in order to fit ourselves so neatly and comfortably into a mold prepared for us by others' prejudices and fears.
We are convinced that we are not free to experience God in our own lives, in our own personal ways. We are convinced that we need a "church" in order to communicate with the creator. We are convinced that our love should be bottled up, and unexpressed, except in those few instances that society has deemed appropriate. My, how far we've fallen.
God is the incarnation of love, for now, and forever.
Let us free ourselves from the bondage of a society that has taken deity upon itself, and stolen it from the only one who lays worthy claim to it. Let us begin to look at the world out of the love that was intended for us, and begin to realize that love should be expressed freely, as is the God who personifies that love. Let's stop hiding behind the walls we were forced behind, and begin to stand out in the crowd, as individuals intent to make a difference. And, let us do it in love.
Introduction to "Existential"
The poem "The Existential Forbearance of a Society Forlorned" is an external outlet for the emotions I went through as I struggled with "christians" and "churches" that would rather hate than love, rather judge than accept. And, I hope and pray that those who read, and relate, can realize in their own lives that their salvation is secured because of the blood that Christ has shed for them, not through the church, or others around them. I want them to realize that when all seems lost, when it seems like they've lost it all, and everyone is against them, that there is a God that loved them so much that he gave the ultimate gift. I want them to rest assured that even when many in the "church" have turned their back, that God is still there, waiting, holding, longing for us to be with him. His love is truly sufficient.
The Existential Forbearance of a Society Forlorned
What is it that I see,
I stare into abyss
That silvery glass
hangs from walls of entrapment
Do I glance on the monster
that society convicts
Or the passing of the child
lying torn from the torment
As its eyes gazing back
still beseeching my vision
Encasing my mind in
betrayal of my spirit
Its claws tearing deep
to the core of division
while eluding all conscience
of the heartlessly pungent
the existential forbearance
of a society forlorned
evolves in the beast that
survives on my pain
and the victimless bigotry
that so proudly adorns
the heads of our leaders,
leaves innocents slain
so I grasp, take a breath,
clinging only to living
as they slice at my fingertips, pharisaical demons
egotistical laughter
belittling my dying
as I plunge to the depths
at the hands of such heathens
and the blindness evolves
to the core of the sacred
and they feel not the leaving
of the spirit of their god
for replaced they their savior
with legalist banter
and abandoned the triune
behind righteous facades
and I seek only light
in this darkness of dying
all the tears now I shed
will not someone wipe dry
can you hear me, Im calling
from the depths of your lying
where you left me, forsaken,
alone now to die.
Did you speak not of love
in the past I remember
Why for now only speak you intolerance and hate
When I need you the most
you deny my forever
As you dance, hurling stones,
at this victim of fate
Shall I close now my eyes
and accept your rejection
And allow vile death
to devour betimes
Now begins the mellifluous
claret migration
As Im drained of the blood
from a life now denied.
Rest my eyes as I slip
to my damned requiescence
Any breath now occluded
attempting to cease
And my life slipping off
from mortalitys essence
Perhaps now in death
shall my spirit find peace.
Softly whispered I hear yet
a voice from the darkness:
"be still, now my son,
and know I am still here"
who is this that calls out
to the hope of the hopeless
who now gently erases
my sorrow and tears.
"I Am" in reply
to my interrogation
"I love you my child"
through the silence I hear
"It is I who bestows
the free gift of salvation
that none can purloin
through their lies as you fear"
but lying before you
this wretched cries freedom
and yet you claim love
as a gift for me here
am I not unworthy,
defiling the sanctum
as the elders so clearly
those labels adhered
"I in you, see my child,
creation and loved one
and for you did I sacrifice
life on that cross,
that through it you might find
the light from my own Son
which brings into vision
the path for the lost"
So sweetly embraced I
the promise He whispered
my spirit entranced by
the light of the Son
through darkness evolving
a pathway once hindered
now washed in the blood
of the Crucified One
Now seeing through abyss
that once did betray me
I see to the gift
of the God I adore
Which brought me to life
from the death they assured me.
Now commune with my spirit,
my Father, my Lord.
The Prodigal
I could see nothing, and feel nothing.
The demons that had led me astray, now left me to die; not of the flesh, but of something much deeper; myself.
Twenty years. I felt I knew all there was to know, as the demons fed my flesh with incarnate of their own. I was alone. All of those whom I loved, and all who loved had fled from my arms. I could not understand; was it I who was dreaming, or was it I who was living a nightmare? Whichever the case, why was it I, and who was the cause.
I had accumulated much, but, even this was a gift. The demons which I've treasured, trampled me, and the angels which I've shunned still showed me love. What is the secret to this parody and where do I fit in?
Is it the mind that uncovers mysteries, or is it the heart that truly bears the unknown? Am I the only one who feels alone, or am I one of many?
Am I wise to believe there is no God, or am I foolish to believe there is no God? Be a man wise or be a man a fool, such a fine line, but which am I? I pose again; If I am wise than I've nothing to lose; no glory, no pain, no love, no shame. But if I am a fool, than I lose that which I hold most dear; my life! And even then I gain much more; more pain, more sorrow, more tears, and more shame. I see now the terror that awaits.
I remember as a child hearing stories and fairy tales. Tales of a man that brought to death the one who was,and gives life to anew. God have I been a fool so long? So many times Ive heard, and so many times Ive turned and still your hands reach out to me? I am undeserving, so undeserving of your love. Thank you God, my God, for giving me life.
Vision
As the day became a widow of the sun, the cool air flowed in with the tide, the skies grew black as hate for the morning was gone. A raven's cry echoed through a prism of light left aglow by my lantern's flame. There upon the altar I had sovereignly knelt in prayer.
A sweet smell of roses filled the air as the autumn storms screamed through the leaded panes of this glass menagerie. The shadows left my mind at peace, for out in the tattered carriage slept my wife in dim retreat; dreaming though true hell abound.
But dreams had turned to ashes and dust returned to dust, for with the thunder's clap the stallions lept in fear tearing forth the wagon wheels to follow down a laden path to a bleak and scournful end.
Where the precipice met the ocean and the waters met the land, there the carriage lie alone. It's lantern's light exploded to flame and the tattered carriage burned until just dust on the ocean floor and thorns upon the sand.
Step by step, love conquering fear, I struggled toward the remnants, longing to find my love in life and breath alive. But it was not to be. My eyes did find her unrecognizable. The fire, in total damnation, had claimed the beauty that I had once adored.
The nights passed idly by but bright in the eyes of a dreamer. For weeks upon end the silent scream taunted my mind. The nights grew slowly darker as the autumn skies grew cold, preparing the way for the blackened white of snow.
The tombs lie barren, ice cold at the waters edge as the morning lights transpose within the masses of lost souls and shattered hearts in the darkest cove of the forest. And as I rise upon the dawn I find myself among the dead. My eyes grow focused on the marble slat above my head, gaining knowledge of its name which is my own.
Alive, believe I am, yet the stone doth state my death as fear begins its torture of my mind. As I turn to seek the chapel walls, what I finds is rubble and dust, for the lightning struck the steeple tall and burned the life inside.
And in the shadow of the oak I see my solemn tattered bride, mourning the loss of the one she loved so dear. For now I see the tempered truthIt is I whose lost his flesh to flame, and life within my eyes begins its fade to black.
The Dream
I felt a presence.
I looked at the clock beside my bed, "three-thirty." I had been tossing all night. I could not sleep, for my mind was engaged on other things. I felt the presence of an unknown force that I could not recognize. I felt it's eyes pierce my flesh.
I was thirsty.
I began to make my way to the kitchen sink where I was sure to find refreshment for my weary head. As the water slowly poured into my glass, I felt a shadow pass through my soul. And when I glanced up through the window, I saw something lurking in the darkness of the night. Through the wind blown leaves and autumn fog, I saw a face, more beautiful than any I had ever seen before; but the body remained half hidden by the fallen timber at the nearest reach of the forest. Who was this angel who enchanted my night's vision? When I looked again, she was gone.
I heard a voice.
I left the house with dreams of seeing her face once again, but I had no true hopes of actually finding her. I heard her voice, calm and soothing to my heart, calling me so softly. Oh, how I longed to see the rest of her. For a moment I was entranced in her stare. Her beauty kept hold of my heart as I heard her voice again.
I went on.
As I made my way through the brush and wood, I felt a piercing pain within my heart, and I fell upon my knees in agony. But the pain was not my own. It came from the outside, as a tear began it's descent from my eye. Fire, the tear burnt like fire. It was the tear of an angel. I reached up and wiped the tear from beneath my eye. It burned the flesh from my fingertip. As I stared I saw the reflection of her face upon its glassy surface. She was crying; crying like an angel unwanted by the lord whom she serves.
I turned to leave.
I could not bear the pain. And as I passed beside the willow I noticed her standing, half hidden by the weeds of a rolling meadow. Slowly, I stepped beside her. But every time I got nearer she urged me to stop. I wanted so badly to go on. My wildest urges had returned, and I wanted to uncover the body that could one day be mine.
I asked her why.
And her voice again arose, as she said:"They took me. They threatened to kill me unless I performed as they desired. I mated with the beast, and now I must become as he. I am lost from my father." As she turned to run away, I got a glimpse of the body I had longed to hold; I longed to caress. The hooves and crooked legs were like the goat, the father of sin. And, as she neared the edge of the field, a flame rose up, and she disappeared as my eyes did close.
I opened my eyes.
I looked at the clock beside my bed, "three-thirty." I hadn't slept all night.
Rebellion, Acceptance & the Lie of Individuality
Understanding, through rebellion, is sought out in others who share our world views. And, truly, when we perceive acceptance based on these ideals, then, we have contradicted the very thing which we desire. For, how can rebellion be true, if it is accepted as the norm among your peers. I look out at the faces and seas of young people who are so misled into believing that they are making a stand against the organization of politics, when, in reality, they are simply pawns being moved from square to square through an economy based market that feeds on their desire for individuality, and acceptance, fully realizing that there can never truly be one in the arms of the other.
Such, is the basis of modern music, dress and the rebellion associated with it. We seek to make a difference, and to set ourselves apart from society by basing our music and appearance on rebelling against our parents, educators, religious leaders, and we unite under a banner of self. We label ourselves punks, ravers, goths and freaks, and claim aloud to be unique, individual or even more misled, anarchist. Yet, truly, by following with those around us, we are exactly the opposite of what we claim. By composing our identity within a label, we defy the goal which we've set for ourselves. We begin to follow along with the crowd, buying the latest album, by the hottest band that is popular with others who share our views.
Oh, to rebel, how noble a concept.
So, I rebel against the rebellion. I rebel against the accepted. I rebel against the stereotypes that have kept me bound for so many years.
Do not follow what I say, for, if you do, then, what have you accomplished for yourself? Do not place me on a pedastal, for , if you do, then, you reject the true meaning of my message. We need to begin to think for ourselves, and stop letting so called rebellion rule over us. We need to begin to start listening to everything, stop accepting the viewpoints of anyone based simply on who they are, and start thinking for ourselves.
And, as I type these very words, I am at full acceptance with myself, and with the fact that many do not understand, or perhaps, will not.
People don't understand me because I chose for them to not understand. If I wanted them to understand, then, I would simply follow my peers as a sheep, and do and speak exactly as is expected of all the good little lambs that follow so blindly; afraid to set out on a trail of their own. True rebellion, and in that essence, true individuality, lies not in following the crowd, but, in following yourself. For, if we all speak the same, look the same, smell the same, and act the same, where is the individuality in that, and what good are we to society, when, nothing new or original shall ever flow forth from our perceived intellect. Perceived, I say, for, true intellect is only expanded through self evaluation, and education, not through accepting that which is spewed from the mouth of the mass of individuals, who truly contradict the very meaning of the very word which describes them.
Therefore, I implore, seek ye not the acceptance of the machine set forth to force feed intelligence based on idiosyncratic brain washing onto a society of preformatted faces, rather, acceptance from the heart and mind that rules over only you. Do not deny the existance of God, simply because it's the trend of everyone you associate with. Rebel against the rebellion, and begin to truly be an individual.
Introduction to "Point Blank Range"
Sometimes, I sit and my computer and just think, contemplate. Sometimes when I write, the words just come,and I don't question them. I view my job in those times as an interpretor, simply taking the words given, and presenting them for others to read. No changes. No correcting, just interpreting. And, what I write in those times, are not so much meant to be explained, rather, they are meant to simply make you feel.
I find that many times I write what I can only view as a Biographical work of Fiction. A view into my heart, soul and mind. Something based on truth, life and my actual story, with intertwined fragments of fiction to tie it all together. Many times that fiction is not too far removed from what actually exists, if not in action, then, in thought. The actions described may not be what I've actually done, but, what I've desired so deeply to do.
That said, the next post is a piece that I wrote, of which I am very proud. Probably my favorite of anything I've written. It is very much a Biographical Work of Fiction. It is my life. It is my Hell. It is very much the way my mind works, and the reason that for so many years, I could not cope. For every moment I would experience silence, this is what my mind would perform. What many would find as relaxing (time alone, or sitting in silence), I would find as torturous.
So, read, contemplate, and feel "Point Blank Range".
Point Blank Range
from time to time, my memory lapses, if only for a moment, and every time, the moment spreads on longer than before. i am not sure of the length so far today, but, it seems as if it will not be leaving soon.
so, i wait. and, while waiting, desperately seek a trace of me, who i was, what i once believed. but, it's difficult. for, to me, the past is lost in the mist of life, a blur of sensationalism fading into a vast abyss of forgetfullness. and, the harder i look, the worse it hurts, until, it feels as if my eyes have bled from the sight of such horrors, dreading the return of a past full of hope, and trust. fearing ever regaining the ability to believe in anything. longing to simply be left alone with my pain, til that wonderful day when i would wither up and dissappear.
and as i've time to ponder into oblivion, so many visions pass before my mind. images long since lost within the myriad of emotions i hold inside, hidden, trapped so that no one would ever see. and they cry out for reason, as he cries out for freedom, freedom from the prison cell within which I keep him trapped, chained to the wall, for his own protection, and my own sanity. for what if they were to see. what if he were loose in this vile contemptuous frame of earth, feet charred and blistered from the hell in which he trods, mired deep as an interloper upon an unforgiving plane of realization. then, i would truly face the blade as it slides quickly through my flesh, seperating my body from all possibility of thought. and in his eyes i see the pain and fear forced through self evaluation, judgement, cryptic insanity cast upon my fate and the fate of the boy inside, too scarred to look beyond. too scared to believe anyone anymore, not the religious or the scientific. there has to be some happy medium between all their lines of mind numbing hypocrisies, twisting, and molding my delicate soul to fit into their vast decay and moral demise. and they expect me to just follow along, without a question. i think not. for to circumvent my own ability to think for myself, would be to lose sight of that which is most beneficial to the human animal, logic. who are they that i should hand my very humanity into their blasphemous paws.
and again i come into intimate belonging with independence and loneliness. for seemingly centuries i fought against all around me, forcing, plunging into the depths of depressive fortitude. falling beyond reach of the precipice, to a point where acceptance seems no more. and why? for my own arrogant gain, or to the satisfaction of a society that would never have accepted me. either way, i am lost, bitter, solemn and alone, with no one to share my fears, with no one to take me in their arms, and whisper in my ear "it's alright", having no idea where to cast blame, whether upon myself, or everyone else, or perhaps, blame, itself has no place to lie, entranced by the vile language of a thousand tribes of manipulations. imagine the irony. and, in it all, who can i trust, or call my friend?
tears have become my solace, my sole companion. for, in their presence do i feel true honesty. they dont' lie. they don't mislead. when they are near, i know that what i feel, though misunderstood in all possibility, is true in basic existence. they represent the memories i try so hard to cling to, and the same which i try to forget. they represent the lie of love i've been forced to swallow from such a young age. the lie which, at the age of five, placed me in his arms; the lie which forced him into my body, the things convinced to do because of "if you love...". i can't remember the last time hearing "love" ever felt pure.
and it all begins to blur, swelling into an emotional torrent which overcomes the frail form of a man which lies before it. such a sad recollection. when i sit and think of where i could have come, what i could have accomplished, who i could have been. i drown in my own scarred pitty. oh, how desperation becomes the force by which we live, or perhaps, by which we die. whose to say? but, in truth, i admit my faults, my spiritual deaths that lead me away from the gift of life itself. i don't need their judgement, i hate myself already. but, i can see past the surface, i can dig into the core of who i am. i can find in my pathetic sea a fragment of light, a flicker of hope. and, it returns, slowly in that moment, the desire for life, and the love i've never come to know, as i sit, vision nearly non-existent, seeing only what the mind finds safe. feeling the draft across my hands, as the blood trickles down my fingertips. i want to live!
what have i done? i can't move. god, just one arm, one hand, one finger. i can't feel my legs. i can't feel my body. no strength left in this pittiful shell. i've got to stop the flow. i feel cold, my shoulders and back, wet from the self inflicted...pain. if my father could see me now. i guess i was good at something after all. the aim wasn't so difficult at point blank range.
Guilty
how my tears are the blood
that remembers of you
how i failed to bring peace
to your tormented youth
how i promised a future
far brighter than sun
when i left you in silence alone
how you gave up so much
for the ones you adored
how we ran with your goodness, your suffering ignored
how i told you of love
as i practiced disdain
when i left you in darkness alone
how i never had answers
to questions you shared
how you asked for a purpose
and reason to care
how i listened in doubt
as you threatened your life
when i left you to suffer alone
how i waited for weeks
before finding the truth
how you took your own life
after i spoke to you
how i weep even now
many months from that day
when i left you to die all alone
Why I Do...
I can't give up on it! God placed it on my heart, and on my soul, and it seems every day I struggle to hold on, to not let others take away that one small gift God has given. God has placed music in my heart, and to Him I must remain true, to myself I must remain true. People would have me place my life and my faith in a closet, so noone knew, so that we can take this to the next level and become "successful". But, to be honest, what is success if it is not being true to one's self and to one's God.
And, wherein lies my inspiration?
I am one of those writers, who feels a deep connection with those who listen and support his music. I am someone who feels that musicians are responsible for how their music impacts their listeners. And, because of that, I make every effort to not only interact with, but, to the best of my ability become friends with those who take the time to write to me.
Back in 1997, I received a letter from a then 12 year old kid named Michael, who talked about how much he appreciated my lyrics, and how they related to his life. Over the next 5 years, we would become very close, although I've only gotten to spend a few days in his presence, his support has been incredible. For 3 years, 1997 to 2000 my band, then called "Torrent", topped several charts on mp3.com, and it was in large part to his promotion and support. And, because of his efforts, we were able to relocate to the Los Angeles Area.
Once there, our first live show was at Rock Ranch in Riverside. My friend, then 16, took a bus from Portland Oregon all the way to LA by himself, in order to be with us for our first live show in Cali, and to spend some time with the band. Myself, and our guitar player Blair "Rick" McCauley had the privilege of spending much time with him, and getting to know the man he was inside. Michael returned to Portland, and for the next 2 years, he and I would continue growing our friendship via regular phone calls and emails.
In October of 2003, as I was on my way home from church, Michael had called me distraught, and crying. We talked for about 20 minutes and when the phone cut out, he was laughing, and I assumed back to being the kid I knew. For the next couple weeks, I tried to contact him many times, with no luck. Then, one night in early December, I couldn't sleep, and went online looking through some boards I knew he posted to, trying to get in touch with him, and I found a string about him. It seems that about a day or two after the last time we spoke, he took a gun, and ended his life.
I was devestated, for myself, for Mike, and for his family and friends.
I see so many bands that say "it's just music", and who take no responsibility for the impact of their art. Having been a kid who took the music he listened to to heart, I can say that it is much more than "just music". It's a way to impact lives, and touch them. With Michael, I felt responsible for a while, like maybe I had said something wrong. Maybe my lyrics and poems were too personal, too honest. But, then I realized, in his times of need, he knew that he could call me, because he knew that I understood what it was to be sad, what it was like to have lost hope.
I challenge all musicians who read this to become accountable to their listeners, if you aren't already. I also ask all who are willing, to say a prayer for all young people and adults today who may be struggling with depression, that they realize that there is a way out that doesn't lead to death.
I miss you Micheal, and know that your presence is forever tattooed on my wrist.
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