At Bay Lying Alone With Trepedation

Sitting, staring,
in a metal room,
it's solid doors conceal my doom

enrage from grief, beyond belief
comes dents and scrapes and scares (sinking deep in my burning heart)
I pound and pound onto the ground but it doesn't get me far
the only source of sane,
is beyond two metal bars

torn
and trapped,
I never adapt...
to taking ones' side

rolling,
from left to right,
swaying,
tired
tired
don't want to fight,

I'd rather leave,
and escape this confining tomb

the writing on the walls,
speak back to me every day,
they scream and whisper,
go that way! No, that way!

pulled from left to right,
the walls! they grasp me hard,
my hands throb and burn,
but never turn to char ("Let the pain end!" I implode)
they are wrapped in barbed wire,
and those,
tiny
metal
bars

being almost crucified,
my mind can not bare
I plead and beg for mercy
can someone fix this tear?

the writing on the wall screams again,
You! It's you! Now go!
I grudge and whine
it's never fine

the only source of light is a bantam crack
I try to crawl to it
but taking ones' side only gets me torn back

by cromequaz

Happy Poem-In-A-Pocket Day

FEAR

Fear. A flame in my throat, a mine in my head. Fear. A traveling foe. Country by country, life by life, loss by loss. A catch at hand, micro-madness. The foe gets large, the schools shut up. Shut down, locked in from the outside. A longing for sanitary. It has been searched, and scanned, and the opposition has been planned. But why is the micro-madness still here? An Invisible force, there are no boundaries for it at the moment...

People fall quick at it's speed of capturing cells and blood. Coughs, laughs, this may be my last. I don't know, I do want to know, I need to know. Do I have the swine flu? I do feel something, it is fluky. My throat is scratchy, sandpaper. Sandpapered flesh, a burn. A blender, devours. It devours me, in my head. It feels like a blender. But, my question is, do I have it or not? I know someone who does, I have encountered them face to face. I was unknowing, but do I really?

Mordant

A scratch, a cut, a wound lays rest to my flesh. Invisible until now. A forest fire in my pores as blood slowly dries to a scarlet crust. I fold blankets of water then soap, and then water, to cleanse the sting, to cleanse the crust, to fight the fire. It was, until now, like a mosquito pricking away at my skin. It stayed, it rested, until it itched. I looked down among my wrist, two streaks of red on my skin. Two streaks of paint on a messy canvas.

Medical! Medical! I called his name! Until I was home, medical never came. Were did this, this, stamp of violence come from? This, mark left over... I had no clue what so ever. Who had done this? Why had I not felt it? Do I really care, do I really?

All I know, is that these streaks of paint on my messy canvas are barriers. I move my hand, mordant! I put down my arm onto the table, mordant! Hurt, hurt, hurt, how?

Burried With...

One word: cornered. I am giving in, they show no remorse. Everything I do, everything I say. It makes them feel hatred. But that question is unanswered. Do they have hate? Do they loath? Event, after event. You can not answer that. You will not answer that. I have to answer that. I will answer that.

One word: scrambled. All my thoughts, in ominous places. Lows up high, highs down low. I'm... crestfallen. Crummy. Downhearted. All these false statements, should I say red herrings, they elude me and I am dumbfounded.

One word: interrogatory. Do they really, really?

One word: covered. If feels as if the past was a lie, and that my conscience made me believe my dreams were reality. My thoughts have been double crossed. I thought they were comrades. They, them... They left me at one little mistake, and left me again with regret. It wasn't their fault. I should not of. But I had no choice, the decision was not interrogated. Not solved. Now it is at the highest extent: them, their, our, friendship. What does it mean anyway? Can the dictionary solve it? Can other people help? NO, it's all you. It's all them, it's all...me. Does this help? Or does it depend on who is true to your feelings and...and... your beliefs and doesn't care who you are and forgives you on all mistakes and understands when you apologize, and doesn't scare away at your first word, your first stitch trying to make it's way into the wound. And to let that stitch go in and they take a listen to what you are saying, and the stitches bind and heal the wound! All of them did those things, I'm just confused by the situation...

One word: chance. No chance.

One word: confusion. Confusion, confusion, I am confuzzled.

From My Notebook...

Saturday April 25 2009, 4:47 PM:

Forest and light devour my cameleon windows. When it snows, the windows turn to moist stone. A cold, moist stone. A white, cold, and moist stone. When it pours, the cameleon turns to a depressing gray. Why must gray, and rain make such a depressing duo? Blue and rain go together quite well but compared to rain and gray, rain and gray is rubbish! And on days like this, elaborite shades of green and blue. Occasionaly the rainbow cameleon turnes from abounding colors to blinding shades of yellow and orange. It's all in a days work!

What to write next... That question is like a green light. It automatically makes you go. You ask that question, then you write it! Then the ball starts rolling, it nevr stops. Frictionless. No force on the ball. The ball is it's own force.

My head feels heavy. Like 2 tons of melting steel. The heat here is somewhat like the inside of an oven. My head feels hurt. My head feels like it is abbused by our enormous star. The juice is being sucked out of my head. Ounce by ounce. Minute by minute. Sicker and sicker. The juicer tampers with my mind...

I hear record players in my head. Broken, stratching. Stratch, write, stratch, write.

The eyelids, they race... Away, to to each other every second.

An interval for my friend, dearest friend. A passion for CLUE. I salute you, dearest friend. But, I must tell you that my juice supply is running low. My condolences to your ever less fun...fun. To bad I won't be there...

I have hit a brick wall, I must play. Excuse me while I go solve a mystery!

Dead End, New Road

As weeks turn to dust, the interval climbs. It climbs a little staircase, as it moves up, previous interventions are cast away. My interventions, your interventions, their interventions. Single weeks write short stories, but knowledgeable lessons. The toddler interval, baby step after baby step. Stuck in the middle. One step up! The previous disappears, but only infinite space ahead. The step is fading! You have to jump to reach the upcoming stair, to continue for climax. To put it in lamest terms, the weeks go at the speed of sound. People come and go, lessons stay. To learn is to survive. To survive is to learn. A world so vast, emotionally you might not be able to handle it. I get so consumed by one thing, the next thing leaves without a chance. My lesson right there. Handle things well, handle them quick.

The interval, the summer greed. A greed for summer. A release, or more like parole, from the hell house: school. Back, and forth. It is school every. Single. Day. Controversy, every. Single. Day. No names, just regret and denial. Twists and turns. But it all comes to an epic halt. A buissness call put on hold, never returned.

Watch yourself, people can hurt, people can be hurt, but you can stop it. You stop and they stop. They stop and you stop. What am I specifically talking about?

Controversy, fights, this happens to the world. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. What I'm saying is, why can't we just throw our hate and sickness in the trash, and start over with a fresh canvas and brush? And paint pictures we dare to hate, but love to love. We reach dead ends. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. But yet at the same time, we build new roads. EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

LOVE TO LOVE SOMEONE. HATE TO HATE SOMEONE.

Lets go build some roads.

Untitled Post 2

Traffic, brain traffic, thought traffic, emotion traffic. Everything is bundled up in my "storage" room, so it is a pity that I don't really try to think about things. Except the fact that I'm thinking about this blog. I'm contemplative, about tons. Why is it that it is hard to write at my house yet, but I write like a maniac in my apartment? Maybe the atmosphere, instead of air, there are clouds. Everything here is fuzzy, not physically, mentally. What will I write next? That was the question I asked myself before I wrote that question, so I answered myself with a question, two more "question" or "questions" until I question the meaning of the word... What does it mean again? How did we think of that word? If you say "guacamole" five times, you will most likely question the origin, or the meaning, or the pronounciation, or anything else you make up... Guacamole, guacamole, guacamole, guacamole, guacamole. Now read that. Again. You think, what the hell were we thinking? Then you think; gua-ca-molly... Wait, what? What does that mean? It's all Greek too me. What about you?

I think it is fun to just use non-big words in my house. In my apartment? Well, completely different novel. Speaking of which, I am intrigued by The Time Travelers, a book by Linda Buckley-Archer. It is actually a kids book, but interesting no matter what. I'm tired, but have a greed to just jot down my thoughts real quick, but this very post has taken about ten minutes, not very quick... I'm watching hockey, more intrigued in that than this at the moment.

Grip Gripe, Tomatoe Tomatto, Potatto Potatto, Bush Osama, they all sound the same, right?

Griping, is that even a word? Matters, does it really? I don't think so, don't care, never will. So...Griping is today's...headline should I say? Gasping at lists, of chores...Bore... Why do I have to be so meloncholy today? Why does the world spin, not sink? Why do I feel like a hypocrite? Why am I so tired? What makes this house uninspiring while other places do?

My mind is spiraling, downward. There I go again! Meloncholly this, meloncholy that! I feel like not using big words today, is that OK with you? Has to be because I'm the writer... I'm just writing because I am bored... This post isn't that well done so I'm going to stop because I'm so annoyed by the TV on high volume and homework sucks and I just want to chill out and watch Bones and I feel guilty because I'm not living up to the expectations I created, the standerds I created for this very blog and it is so inconvenient because no inspiration has hit me yet, though at the same time I am slowly inspiring myself with my own confussion! Maybe the only way out is just to vent in poetic yet stupid ways!

I'm leaving. I appologize but I can't write today, I'd rather read. Ta-ta!

Studious

Searching for lenses, to capture and tame. A mechanism, to pull art out of thin gas and flame. Still moments, captured, tamed, and relinquished to the wild yet again through steel wire. Caged in flat panels, processed and stocked up on the internet. Photographed folklore. Myths of piercing and burning light. Consuming darkness, above but below. On the roof, staring up at the star. That one star, rays on crusades, embarking until they collide with the atmosphere and stretch across our pebble planet. Stop and go. Stop and go, the still frame never lies. Meshed together into beautiful film, dates back, 1930s... Robot like, twitching. Twitch and move, twitch and move, twitch and move. Trapped in by oak. Oak perimeters, at the final point. Held on by steel rods. Centimeters. Dangling above surface, centimeters, inches, feet, yards... Assembly line process... Begining; four words... I want a camera.

Kooky................

I been rappin' all day with my ways
you better burn in the rays of my 3-point plays
I got diamonds in my toe-cheese,
gold in my socks,
psh, don't know 'bout yours but my life rocks

No fake gold medallions
just straight off the black market
water bed with so many fish they can't park it!
feedin' through a plastic tube,
their crunchy little snacks,
but on all of my happy days they get Big Macs!(ah)

Got tubes of lard in my polka-dot camaro
livin' life large like my home-dog,
wasn't he a pharaoh?
don't really know his name
butt?tut?king toot?
I'm reawy reawy smart from me dinosaur roots yo!
fo shizzle in the hizzle bizzle fizzle on the crizzle grizzle ya'll

The Qualm

Conflict. It burrows in my concrete heart, aching, fighting. It is daily, the daily conflict, I am ten-fold to my opponent. I might as well not fight back... And let the calamity dissolve. But most of the time I am the engineer. My opponent strikes, then it is my decision. Retaliate? Or not? Retaliate? Or not? Retaliate? Or Not? I take pride in the latter... But sometimes the conflict digs to deep, and I fight.

A terrible trade off, no more rage for me, but a hurt soul for another. Physicaly, mentaly, all of the above. It hurts, hurts like a b*tch. Hurts them, and makes it's way to me...

"Why did I do that?"

"Would you like it if someone did that to you?"

"Why would you do that to someone smaller than you? To someone who is defenseless...Why?"

They can hit you all they want. It is best not to fight, let them do the job. It hurts me to see others hurt. It really does. Now excuse me while I go cop a plea.

Contrast, Acrimony, Chagrin, Despondent, You Might As Well Call This Emo

A deep resevour of rage, of anger, of sadness, of differences, of life. I feel I can't write well anymore, I don't know why. It is a mystery. Just one day off and there it goes. Maybe I just can't think straight, because of everything that is going on. Brimful with friends, foes, and aquantances. Maybe I ran out of gas, my motor is chugging along. Where was the rage before? Inside me, dying to come out. Yes it is rage, yes it hurts, yes I want to break something... I know I shouldn't. I just feel so down on myself today, it's really terrible. Maybe tonight can lighten things up a bit, key lime pie for dessert, probably nachos for dinner. Yay, the thing is that I'm writting much faster and thinkin less about what I'm going to write than usual... Is that good or bad? Maybe if I make a list... Posabilities are endless you know...

Things That Got Me Mad:

1. Messing up the pancakes
2. TV while I'm trying to write
3. Getting annoyed by siblings
4. Homework
5. Tired
6. Lots of stuff to do
7. Want to break something then break something else but I know that I shouldn't
8. Can't find a way to get this burden off of my back
9. Can't get this headache away
10. I feel bad because I'm not writting as well as before
11. I'm not as enthusiastic today
12. I have to make a key lime pie with absolutely no time
13. I don't have my computer
14. I know I need to do homework but I am putting it off
15. Everyone is so annoying
16. I want to hide but I know I can't
17. I have absolutely no idea what to do to make myself less mad
18. Grrrrrrr....
19. Arg....
20. Is that 20?
    

Bane

Silent vexation in my temples. Hammers swing and strike my senses. My pupils paint blurred re-enactments of light and colour. Closed eyes, clenched to halt the affliction. The pixels, they scatter across the screen. Fingers tap against the keyboard, no where to go. Nothing to want, nothing to say, nothing to do... Consumed by the daylight. Is that why my eyes are abruptly, well, lets just say abruptly bizarre? Two sides, can't pick one. Too...consumed. Do I lay atop cotton weaved cloth? Or close my eyes and imagine?

Can't anything come true without first imagining it? Walt Disney didn't look up ideas on the internet, Steven Spielberg didn't find ET in the studio, Neal Armstrong wouldn't of wanted to go to the moon if he had not looked up into infinite space. So, no.

It's ominous, that I have taken so long to write this, it feels like a novel to me. Yet at the same time, you are reading this in about a minute if you are slow. But I'm also writing about you reading this, and I'm writting about writting about writting about writting about you reading this. Very complex this is (Hehehe Yoda)...

And if the name of this post is "Bane", it couldn't really be "Bane" because I only talked about pain in the first paragraph. But I'm going to stick with the name because it sounds quite interesting...

The thing is, I kind of had to dig deep to write this post. And I have started to not use as many big words as I normally do, but I'm just gonna stick to that today because I can't accumulate so many diverse phrases or words, etc. I honestly have no clue why I put "etc." at the end of the sentence... I think I hit a dirt track because I am not really discussing the reason it was hard to write this post... I have that song stuck in my head, yes, that song. Before I wrote that sentence, I didn't have it stuck in my head, once I reminded myself of it (in that last sentence) it is still in my head...

My question is why did I even name this post "Bane" when I only wrote about pain in the first paragraph? Did I ask that before, I am quite sure I did. Oh, I understand now, I named it that because I knew that it would be this long, and that you would have a pain reading it. Well, let me relieve you!

Biscuits, Bunnies, A Blackberry, and Brotherly Love

Indigenous to NY but yearning for Philadelphia, I find cramped clock space to roam Philly. Normally, I find it hard to locate something I find interesting. Not in Philadelphia. The absolute picture perfect place for peaceful photography emprise. South Philly is nice enough for me. Pats and Ginos, they are the chiefs of the fast food market in my direction of notion. The boats near Target tease and taunt me until I capture them in a still frame. The silent hydrants come in abounding colours. I couldn't gather up many photographs of hydrants so I won't make an attempt to bother about it...It's obvious that it is a ship... I saw it when I went to Target, near the docks. Couldn't get really close because of the stupid fence...

Look super close and you will see that it says "United States" duh
Silk City in Phila.

5th and Spring Garden
Amazing food, but there is a 15 minute wait to get in. Food comes fast, about 5-10 minutes.
Best buttermilk biscuits ever!
All of the pictures were taken from my Blackberry

Have a great Easter!

Fluky Inquest(s)

Does every blog have to have a point?

Why can't we help in Darfur?

Is the Easter bunny a boy, a girl, or a he-she?

Why does Easter have to be capitalized?

Why do all holidays have to be capitalized?

What should be my next question?

If 1/2=0.5 then what does 0/1=____ ?

If there was no beginning of time, how did it start?

Is God really out there?

What's your religion?

Do you like this totally random but pleasureful post?

If Catholics and Christians believe that God created everything, did he create other gods and godesses for other religions? Did he create the Trimurti?

We know we came from apes, but did apes evolve from lizards? And did lizards evolve from fish?

How do we know if George Washington was really alive?

What is E and S watching? Because it sounds like Lewis Black...

Are we living our lives to the fullest, or are we just wasting away while we slowly die?

Why does that last question make me feel like a hypocrite?

Are you reading this?

Well, if your not, why?

Do you think I should stop asking questions?

Can you repeat that? I don't speak low-life.

Did you know that I was only joking on that last question?

Are you getting mad?

Should I leave and let you calm down?

OK

So, talk to you later?

Okay, bye!

Unholy Word Unholy Word Unholy Word Unholy Word Unholy Word Unholy Word

There are no fancy words in this specific post. No thesaurus, no dictionary. Pure natural emotion. Personally, I'm a sore loser. I can't take a loss easily, I take everything seriously. People say I'm too deep, they don't realize that there is nothing wrong with being deep. I don't know if they think it makes someone less of a person. Do they think that? I want to know if they think it is a flaw. To late, that has already been inferred: Positive.

Stupid eater basket hunt, no candy. No candy? Did the Pope die or something?! I got these little clues; "Look under where you expect him to give god respect", a good clue, diverse in answers. Under G's rocking chair? Under G's TV? I finally figured it out (with the help of the hunt maker), it was under the table. Not on the floor, underneath the top of the table, tapped to the surface. The next clue; "Look inside and you will find the next clue", what?! How are you supposed to figure that out? I wasn't going to look inside every book, I wasn't going to look in the fridge, I wasn't going to scale the whole house for another putrid clue!

Finally, E and M found the stupid basket. I was fighting, pissed off. Rage. I said to S, "How do you do that? Oh, 'Look inside and you will find the next clue' yeah good one!" S finally found the clue for me, but still it didn't help. At least give a hint of what your looking inside. S finally went and said, "Well, you were supposed to look in the cabinets,". Gravity was the only existing force, my jaw was pulled down to the center of the earth.

At first I wanted to go cry in a corner, then I wanted to punch someone in the face and crater their forehead, then I just wanted to write. Write. Writing. Still writing. Starting to stop writing. Almost done writing. Done writing.

Possums, Rabbits, Snakes, and...Goats?

Many are misconcepted when it comes to "Suicidal" animals. On average, you think a possum is the only animal that pretends to be dead and actually makes a good attempt (my notion only). Although many others are in the "Suicidal" range of run-of-the-mills. Again, the "Suicidal" part is my notion only. Where did I get the suicidal? To answer my own inquiry, they just, play suicide! They pretend to be dead without anything touching them, maybe they died from the inside...Tumor!

Now that I wasted a whole paragraph on the introduction, lets get down to the good part. Suicidal goats. Yes, goats. Myotonic goats, indigenous to North America (for those of you who would like to know I get my vocabulary from eating brain food, otherwise known as the wires in my super computer...MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA... sorry). Yeah, these goats have a genetic condition that makes their muscles lock up when they are startled. They remain consciousness when "Dead".Hm...I wonder, if we eat one for dindin, would we get tetanus... Quite interesting considering people bring their CHILDREN to watch these goats play dead.

Wouldn't that be jolly!
The link to the video is:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_3Utmj4RPU

"Hey kids! Lets go to the petting zoo!" Says the enthusiastic father.
"Yay!!" cry the toddlers. The whole happy family climbs in the four row SUV. They finally make it to the petting zoo.
"Oh daddy look at the goat! Lets pet it!" Yell the kids.
"OK, lets head over!" Says the now over enthusiastic father...

Now stop the story, there are two options. Pick your path.
1. Kids pet goats and feed them and get slobber all over their clothes
2. Kids pet goats and scream and then scream again in fear as it plays dead

Since I can't think of a conclusion I'm going to go eat more super computer wires and observe my stomach growl...MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA... I appologize again...

Untitled Post

I'm too tired to really do anything, but yet at the same time I am slowly grasping for more mental power. So if I am doing both things at the same time, how am I really doing anything at all?

If you say "Oh, that dude/dudess or dude-dudess is doing something" it won't be plural. So he/she or he-she is only doing one thing. But if someone says "Oh, that dude/dudess or dude-dudess is doing somethings" it would be plural. And doing "Anything" is only really doing one thing, to do two things it would have to be "Anythings". So if I am tired, but still doing lots of stuff, I could not be tired, because I am doing things. And I clearly stated in the beginning of this entry that "I'm to tired to really do anything" yet at the same time I am writing this blog entry. Paradox eh? And if the title of this blog is "Untitled Post" it couldn't be named "Untitled Post" because "Untitled Post" is already its name! Ah, mind games...

Is it just me being tired and not understanding what I just wrote at all or is it all Greek to you too? Is it really a paradox or does it just feel like a five year old wrote this? Is it hot in here or is it just me? Should I stop asking questions? Why are you not answering me >:( !? Can I leave now? Is that a yes? Thank you.

Slight Retaliation of Meloncholy...ness...

Typical vacation day. Think about what I want to do, but to lazy to really ever get around to it. Can't go into the city, tension. What do I do, what can I do, what will I do? But I can't leave you to answer for me. My head is screaming, really, really loud. So hard I can't think about what to write next, what do I write? Yet again, I can't let you answer that. Pie for breakfast, tingle my taste buds. Only half a slice though, no need to retaliate. Bacon, yes, bacon. The top of the breakfast food chain. Yes, hot chocolate! And bacon, mmmmm, that sounds tasty.

Annoying chihuahua movie, little chihuahuas, putting poop in peoples shoes, or better yet, tea cups. "Hold your tacos" says the little George Lopez. Mini-George Lopez, K9 George Lopez... And here comes one of the most disturbing, disgusting, and mean thing I have ever heard of. Dog fights. Who would train such sweet things, to kill other doggies? Why? Does it make the dog fight dudes feel good? To watch innocent dogs fight each other and maul each other. They need to stop, really, it's not cool. Go watch WWE or something, not dogs fighting. Personally, both WWE and dog fighting are retarded, watching little dogs fight each other vs watching grown men throw each other around in tights? Yuck.

Finally the dogs got out, everyone was fine. Yada yada. Cute dogs though, and awesome Day of The Dead re-inactment. El Dia de los Muertos!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Honestly this blog really has no point so, bye!

Mutants, and Lots of Artichoke Dip

Doesn't it seem like the only place to find conjoined twins or tree men is the internet? It's outstanding how a New Yorker, wouldn't be able to scan the street and find something freaky. OR, oh well, I don't really look that hard anyway... Before me is a video of diverse medical complications. Can't really remember the names of the problems, but see for yourself.

<---- This dude, got some rare disease that makes him half man, half tree. When he dies they might use his body for the Webster Dictionary! Hehe just kidding. About that video mentioned earlier, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=abcsZZ9Duxw , http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8laIw7UsQ7I&feature=channel , it's all in there. The fingernails may be the weirdest video. Back to the tree dude. We praise you, all mighty tree dude. ALL HAIL TREE DUDE. ALL HAIL TREE DUDE. But, one question, how do you pick your nose, a vacuum? Eurika! The Bugger Vacuum©!

There was actually, um, a dead baby museum. In Philadelphia that, my aunt actually asked me if I wanted to go on my birthday... Thanks, Love Ya! Yeah, I told her no. She said it would be cool. I said geniside. You know what happens next...Not exactly geniside, but the idea (Shudder, shiver...) is quite disturbing. You take these dead, mutant, dead, mutant, ah! You take these dead babies and you put them in jars and let them pickle then you let people look at it, yuck. There is also one in Europe I think... Yeah, it's called the Vrolik Museum and I believe it is in Amsterdam. But lets not go there, I just had olives. Eh what ever. And their faces are all flat and they look like people from Sesame Street!!! OH GOD... That is the most disturbing, ironic, and un-convenient truth out there...

There are babies in the Vrolik that look like they are half body-builder, half infant. One of them looks like it has legs of steel, and it taking an organ dump. Yes, an organ dump. The dump of organs, from the butt, of a mutated baby, in a jar, with water in it, in a museum, in Amsterdam. Then over here ----->
we have well, what looks like a pickled monster. I apologize to all family members of this young, well, used to be young cyclops.

Well, I hope this disturbing yet quite entertaining piece of blog-rainbow has settled your stomach, so your ready for artichoke dip! And lots of it! With baked cheese crackers, and rich-chocolatey fondue, with Entamins Mini-Donuts!