A Choice

It is very confusing to separate who you are from the harsh realities of life. You can console yourself with reflections of the past. You can look at old photos to recall memories. You can cringe at some of the things you might have done. But have you considered the repetitions of past actions? Can it be we gain some satisfaction in torment? Why then do we occasionally date the same type of loser, frequent the same dives, socialize with the wrong crowds?

Self-help books, video tapes, and therapists thrive on these inequities and discuss these very issues. If you take a few psychology courses, you can dig yourself out of the predicament. However, you must be strong. You must have faith in yourself. You need to reestablish your self esteem.

Perhaps you should sell everything you have and relocate. It is very possible to be who you are inside if you are away from those who prevent you from changing. You don't have to be too drastic; perhaps you can switch towns, frequent the types of places that you want to be associated with.

Or you can make the decision to take a good, hard look at yourself and be honest. You are your own problem or salvation. Only you can make a better life for yourself. You have to love yourself first. You need to make yourself happy. Everything and everyone else should be second to you. If you don’t know how to see yourself as you truly are, how are you going to attract what should be good for you? The choice is yours.

Hell in A Sentence

I was recently told to go to hell today. Inspiring words, considering we live in hell already. Would it be that the person’s closet full of skeletons also contains a scope of hypocrisy within? OR perhaps that person felt a connection to one of my shorts. Why would you send someone to hell for openly stating their thoughts or for writing to begin with? What is this world coming to?

Free thought and writing are the foundation of this very society. We need to express ourselves in order to allow ourselves some free space in our heads (smile). I don’t feel bad. I am just surprised.

If you take my writing at a personal level, maybe you have the means of getting to hell quicker than I do. Seriously though, Stephen King, Clive Barker, and Wes Craven have made tons of money with hours’ worth of horror genre. If their lives equate to hell, I am definitely a follower.

Don’t get sensitive. If you enjoy a short story, if you like to read poems, or if you are bored and you are interested in something a bit different, read on (July has some of my best writings). If it disturbs you, just walk away and pretend to be normal.

This One is For You

You can never hide from yourself. You will never know life. You do not understand communication. You will never feel love.

You are trapped within your own mind. You hear voices and you respond accordingly. You never speak of your thoughts openly. You don’t know who or what you are supposed to be, having worn so many faces.

You have seen too much in your lifetime. You have no boundaries and no aspirations. You have given up on the possibility of truth. You cannot fathom the idea of children.

You gave up your body freely. You sold your flesh to make ends meet. You find pain excruciatingly amusing. You find sensitivity a waste of emotion.

You drink to recall your lack of inhibition. You are continually drugged from the abuses of the past.

You lose sleep trying to create your face for the next day. You grow tired from exposure with the world.

You are haunted by visions long since gone. You are reminded of your youth by affliction.

By age seven, you witnessed a murder.
By age ten, you discovered your dead friend.
By age thirteen, you gave up your body.
By age fourteen, you lost your soul.

By age twenty, you believed you could do better.
By age twenty-three, you forgot who you were.
By age twenty-five, you discovered life again.
By age thirty, you became enlightened.

You can no longer live for others. You do not owe penance for having to experience life. Death holds no dominion over your decisions. Drugs no longer control you. You need not blame others for your actions. You should never make excuses for yourself.

It is time for YOU.

When Did "Yes Dear" Evolved to "Go %&*^ Yourself"?

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Night Terrors

I tiptoe through the house anxiously. Night has fallen and I am afraid. I see them through the corner of my eyes; they are taunting me. They float around the mirrors, demanding my attention. I dare not acknowledge that I notice their presence. Quickly I pass the foyer to enter my bedroom and to hide underneath the covers. I sigh with relief that I have made it, only to sense their shadows hovering closer to me. I tightly shut my eyes.

Although my eyes are shut, I see a sly smile. I see hands that are glowing red as an ember. I panic with the thought of their making a move to capture me. I turn to my side and my mate sleeps calmly. I burrow deep into his back to seek comfort. It will be hours before light comes. I hope I can survive through this evening . . .

The midnight bell sounds softly, and I awake suddenly. I am not where I was before. It is dark and I hear whispers all around me. I try to breathe, but it is too painful. I cannot move; they must have caught me. I look around and barely catch a glimpse of light. Squinting, I notice my bedroom before me, my mate sleeping soundly despite my despair.

There is a burning sensation engulfing me, shadows dancing wildly in the air. The pain is getting more intense, rising up between my thighs. I try to wriggle free, but the experience becomes more painful. I open my mouth to scream out for help, but it is too late. They dive into my mouth instead.

Imagination Wild

I imagine the day when I am able to sit down to watch TV without interruption. I yearn for the day when I can soak in the tub while inhaling scented candles and roses. It would be breathtaking to wake up to a day that was completely mine, without interruption.

I also envision the year that a virtual reality game resembling the one depicted in “Lawnmower Man” becomes available at a reasonable price. That would really be something . . .

I don’t ever want to see concepts, such as those depicted in “The Cell,” ever come to fruition - that would be too deep. I would scare someone if they were to attempt to swim through my mind. Notwithstanding, there must be a geek who has come up with a rough version of this idea. He or she must be having a blast. Even so, I believe Japan or Germany will come up with the invention at a reasonable price before we do. But, if it does reach the market soon, consider the possibilities:

Applications that allow you to realize your fantasies,

Nerve sensors built into an outfit (that is constructed much like a cat suit) that communicates your experiences to your brain and allows you to experience the application all over your body,

Goggles that allow you to experience the application at a three-dimensional level

Exercising this notion without criticism goes without saying. Unfortunately, we live in a society that thrives in hypocrisy and secrecy. Each prefers to enjoy their fantasy via anonymity, internet, or escorts. I would rather be frustrated and disease free than to follow through with the latter.

I welcome the opportunity to express myself without judgment. Until that day comes, I will let my imagination run wild, and I will let my writings set my imagination free.

Think About Living

I lived in a grayish white cloud. Sometimes I would laugh; most times I would cry. No one loved me. No one cared. Memories faded and my vision was blurred. I barely could walk. People would come and go. There would be pressure and liquor-scented kisses. I felt nothing more. When the cloud would begin to fade, I would shower and I would get dressed. Sometimes I was hungry, but I always needed to get back into the cloud.

I lived in a purple haze. Laughing nervously, I would drink as though I never had a drop of liquid before. The thirst was never quenched. I would shake. Sex was endless. It was an action high. Sometimes I would push it to the limit, then I would be afraid to fall asleep. I thought I would never wake up again.

I lived in white dust. Sometimes it stung me, but on other occasions it felt sweet. I talked too much. I would dance and drink the night away. I was in love with whoever gave me the most supply. I couldn’t be still. Days would pass and I would not sleep. I would turn into a zombie. I would act like an indifferent whore, only to crawl to the bathroom to clean up. I would seek out some kindness to replenish my soul, only to fall into the dust again. Depressed, I would reach into the fridge for a drink. I put my mask back on to get out there every night.

I lived in fear. I couldn’t remember the places I frequented. I didn’t recall who invited me there. I have forgotten most of their names. Haunted by their faces and faded memories, I am determined to move forward. I didn’t want to ever see those people again. I burned most of my belongings and I threw out my old clothes. I pawned all of my valuable items and I drove far away from where I believed it all began. I sought out a new place to start over.

I now live in hope. I am focused on securing stability and harmony. I have achieved most of my goals and I have succeeded in business. I have a home. I now thirst for clarity and understanding. I am thankful that I was able to achieve this life. I have become a private person who embraces seclusion. Although lonely at times, I feel safe. I have my own family. I have a purpose.

All those years ago where I thought I lived, I consider a joke to me. I am glad I have a life now.

Don't

Don’t touch me because you have to, or because I ask you
Just touch me because you need to and because you want to

Don’t wake me up for coffee, snacks, or only to care for the baby
Wake me up to love me, to tell me I drive you crazy

Don’t call me to run an errand, or ask me what I am cooking
Call me to say you love me, to say I am good-looking

Don’t take all my affections and use them as you will
Remember I need fulfillment too; I am a woman still

Don’t excuse yourself from blame or for why I might feel alone
I shouldn’t have to look for you; I am not made of stone

Don’t ask me what might be essential, only to complain that you need space
You should try instead to please me, not slap me in the face

Don’t wonder why I am leaving you and why I will not stay
My love was taken for granted, so I have to walk away

Cries

She finds herself in a dark corridor. “How did I get here?”, she wonders. A familiar cry resonates from the depths of the darkness. She tunes in, only to realize it is her child. He is crying out to her! “Mama, mama!” Alarmed and frightened, she stumbles through the darkness toward the cries. “I can’t believe this,” she says to herself. She had left her infant son under his father’s care while she stepped out to run errands. Where is he? Where is her child? Where am I?

The cries are growing nearer. The door appears in front of her. She opens it to find her baby in a bassinet - crying out in fear from having been abandoned. He recognizes her face, and a smile appears on his damp, swollen face. Relieved, she picks him up and she embraces him. She continues down the corridor toward voices. The corridor is still dark, and the cement floor is cool and damp beneath her feet.

She continues toward the voices, still curious to know what might have happened to her husband. Finally, she reaches the voices and she sees a door that is slightly ajar. Cautiously, she pushes the door open with her foot. She feels a stabbing pain in her heart at the sight before her. She sees her husband, passionately entwined in the arms of another! She screams out his name. Alarmed at having been witnessed, he jumps off the bed. She slams the door shut before he could reach out to her and she continues to run away into the darkness with her child.

Amazingly, she finds herself safely in a car with her child. She turns the ignition on and drives away.

The alarm clock rings. She is startled from sleep. She turns quickly to find her husband is still fast asleep. She watches him in his sleep while she fascinates about killing him . . .

Life motivates you in the weirdest way.

Five Senses

See the one who loves you
Touch your lover - ensure you will always be near
Smell the scent of her hair; inhale him
Taste his lips; let him know he is desired
Hear each other; secure the tryst.

Good Morning?

You can either appreciate what life has to offer or complain about life as it passes you by:

Case One: The alarm clock chimes with the morning news. The warmth of the sun caresses her face. She opens eyes and smiles. It is morning. The cool breeze flows softly into the room. Inhaling deeply, she stretches as she climbs out of bed. She heads downstairs to prepare coffee. A cup of coffee in tow, she steps outside to greet the day. The scent of pine needles and wild flowers are in the air. The dew drops caress her toes as she walks through the lawn to pick up the morning paper. She hears the birds singing in the trees as she returns to the house to prepare for the rest of the day.

Case Two: That stupid alarm clock! Is it morning already? Hiding her head under the pillow, she grows aware of the chill in the air. She feels achy all over and she doesn’t want to get out of bed. She is aggravated; she needs to get moving or else she will be behind schedule. She needs coffee . . . She looks out of the window. The birds are making so much noise out there, you would think Ace Ventura was having a convention in the backyard. The lawn needs to be mowed, but with her luck it will probably rain. The paper boy threw the paper on the curb again! She reluctantly heads out to pick up the newspaper before someone else does. She is not looking forward to work. She doesn’t even know what she is going to wear today. She will probably get stuck in traffic again. She wishes the day was already over!

You decide.