Crazy

Man o man, I had a pretty cool day. Met someone new. They were cool. I hung out at the mall with them and a few other people until they all decided to go to someone's house. I didn't feel like going so I walked home instead. It's not too bad of a walk, but it is rather boring.

I can't wait until I get my license. I could've had it March 14th, but I still needed another 36 1/2 hours of driving then. Now(passing from 2 to 3 months later), I only need 30! Woohoo, I'll have my license in 3 years at this rate. (I did the math)

Anyways, I had a gifted education seminar today, it was great. We've been talking about Einstein's theory of relativity and the whole speed of light stuff. It's really awesome. I wrote down the name of three books I want to check out. They are all by a college professor named Carl Sagan. One of the books is a fiction novel that I believe was turned into a movie. It's called "Contact." The other two books I want to check out are "Dragon of the Earth" and "Cosmos." He wrote all of them.

I believe "Dragon of the Earth" has to deal with the brain and it's different functions. And "Cosmos" has to deal with all of his different theories. Carl Sagan is two years dead now, but while he was alive he was a college professor at a school in the US. He helped design three different vehicles for space travel at speeds near the speed of light. One used nuclear fission and "putted" along using the blasts to give it giant bursts of energy. That idea was trashed once the treaty was signed banning the explosion of nuclear devices in space. The next one used nuclear fusion, taking the energy harness from that to go along. The last, and most recent, used a giant scoop to collect hydrogen atoms from space and harness the energy from that to go along. The entire topic makes me all giddy inside with joy. It uses my mind in ways school could never hope to accomplish. I am glad that I got into the gifted education program in elementary school. All due to my curiosity, go me!

Anyways, with that thought, I'm out. Peace.

days of war/nights of love: pt 4

she could feel his heart beating through the heated skin of his chest. she kissed the place where she thought it could be found and was rewarded with a sleepy smile. she couldn't figure out why they were so hungry for love during the night and so bitter during the day. she couldn't figure out why during the day she thought she didn't love him as much. why she sometimes flirted with her boss. she didn't want to think about it. those things didn't belong here, not at this time, not while she was lying next to him. in fact they didn't belong at all.

it didn't change the reality. when she had gotten back to work she had sat down in her cubicle, specially designed to torture its employees with its carpet covered walls and no doors. she couldn't say for sure if she was valued at her job, she felt like just another pencil pusher, except she pushed keys not lead. looking at the clock she realized that she had made a subconcious effort to get back to the office by two. it was always at two that her boss called her into the office to... well, flirt. he called it taking account of the business environment, but that's not what it was and they both knew it. before she left at a 1/4 to 3 he asked her out to dinner, as usual, and she said no, as usual. with her hands on the doorknob she felt it was harder to say no this time, the word seemed lodged in her throat. her boss had moved closer to her until she could feel his breath on her neck. he kissed the junction beneath her ear where jaw bone and muscles meet. it was an intimate gesture and when it was over she knew that she did not like the place where she stood between the door and this man's chest.

days of war/nights of love: pt 3

his nose bled slightly on the canvas and he knew then that he had too much. he had only wanted to drown out the thought of her. sometimes the image of her on those sheets was so vivid that he thought he could reach out and touch her. and that was when he wasn't high on drugs. he didn't wipe the blood from his face or the canvas, but instead painted over it. they were one. he sat down on his couch thinking about that. what did it mean to be one like that? he remembered when they first met he had been sick for days afterward: sweating in a fever that could not be explained, incoherent mumblings that either ended or started or were only her name. she had come to see him.

how quickly things had spoiled. he wondered if he could love so much that it be harmful to his health, to his life. he craved this disease like water for chocolate. he stood up on shaky legs and pulled out a new canvas. this one he painted well into the day in shades of blue and brown, painted until he felt like his fingers were frozen. and when he was finished he looked around him at his work and wondered if this was it for him: days full of temper paint and nights heady with her. it wasn't a bad combination - but it wasn't a good one either.

days of war/nights of love: pt 2

it wasn't just sex, not with the way they moved. it was love. could it be anything else. it cried out 'love' with every caress and every drop of sweat, every sigh, as they swam across the bed. the thought had come to her unbidden during the day with the sun beating down on her head as she stepped out of the supermarket. she put the blame on the sudden shift from cool and dim to hot and bright. she paused, the keys near the car door: it was like day and night, respectively.

sitting in the car, her forehead on the wheel, hands on her neck, the way he did it. does it. she felt something in her calling to him. it was the heart of all hearts in a woman, and it made her think of going to see him at his studio. she could already see them on the couch, relaxed after a snort of blow, hands on the same plane so close but not quite touching. only at the tips, it was always only at the tips during the day. She pulled herself together and out of the parking lot. foolish thoughts when she knew she had to get back to her job.

days of war/nights of love: pt 1

this is the house that guilt built. look at its broken stairs and ripped wall paper. In the light of the sun it reaks of delapidation. you can hear the screams as angry words are tossed about easily. words, they mean nothing, so you can't hurt them, but they are not the things that matter really when it comes down to the grain of things. Cars in and out of the driveway all across america. all aross this wasteful land where we lock our doors to lock ourselves away from what we think is dangerous. in the light hours, subtle crimes are committed. not crimes against the state but crimes of love where we ignore those we care about and turn our backs on the smallest sign of difference. well, indifference is boring.
when dusk falls the walls change, the screams are different. there are no cold shoulders but warm palms, kissing palms, an palmers' palms do touch in holy palmers' kiss. no torn wall paper, only torn sheets and broken hearts when the light of morning come from the east. would these blessed nights last longer if the sun rose in the west, if we put more heart into the night during the day? who is to say. maybe the ripped sheets, tangled with evidence and boasting it proudly. some lie made and some stay the same, make your bed and lie in it.

(unkown)

Lost and Lonely
amid a ship of dreams.
With elves and fawns,
with winter dawns,
and things which have yet to be seen.

Though there are many things,
there all just a part of me.
There talking,
and walking.
Only because I will it to be.

Here in this fruitful place,
its such a barren land.
no discoveries,
or memories
everythings so bland.

Its to this world that I escape
from this desolate place.
A world of sorrow,
it'll be the same tomarrow.
A world I dare not face.

But in this world I am king.
The unsung hero of this plane.
Nothing mean,
no obscene.
Until it starts to wane.

Conciseness returns to me.
I find myself awake.
Crying
and sighing
Again to the place I hate.

Even though I hate my dreams,
I hate this place even more.
This violence,
no silence.
Hatred to the core.

I cannot wait till I return,
to the place that I control
No violence,
the silence.
The place that rests my soul.

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Jus a lil poem that I've written. I thought that some of you would enjoy one of my few completed thoughts. Well, tell me what you think. Also any thoughts ona titile would be nice, all my creative effort was spent in writing it and the origanal title was jus stupid.

Merry Met and Blessed Be.