tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39118382138274603432024-03-13T01:34:10.695-07:00The Last DragJust one more?Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.comBlogger286125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-14399449088879024502012-06-27T21:22:00.004-07:002012-06-27T21:22:56.466-07:00Moving On<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
Everyone, hello.<br />
<br />
As you may have noticed, I no longer live here.<br />
<br />
This is my new address: <a href="http://learningtobreathefire.wordpress.com/">http://learningtobreathefire.wordpress.com/</a><br />
<br />
If you're bored, do visit.<br />
<br />
Cheers,<br />
<br />
me.</div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-80818900535874802212011-07-13T14:03:00.000-07:002011-07-13T15:49:18.527-07:00Stories<div>A very random, frustrating and enlightening conversation:</div><div><br /></div><div>It all started with an innocuous remark about an upcoming movie. I said I would not sit through the end because it was just wrong. The immediate retort being that I could not question the validity or the correctness of the same, because the entire story was created by one person, and that person alone has the right to decide upon an ending. There are various levels on which I disagree with this statement. And I hope to deal with at least some of them coherently below. Luck to me, then.</div><div><br /></div><div>...It is a Story.</div><div><br /></div><div>All stories are told, whether in ink or blood, through tears or laughter, briefly or in great detail. But a story can never be told in wholeness, totality. Not a story about a number of people. For, even if you describe all their deeds and actions, you can't keep an eye on each and every one of them at every single point through your story. It'd be hard enough to do so if it were one single character whose life and adventures you were following. But, to imagine you can do that for thousands is just being hopeful. Hopelessly so.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here, one might say that since the characters and plot line were created inside a certain individual's head, only that individual has the power and knowledge to dictate their actions and deeds, ultimately deciding their fates. Yes, but only up until the time that the said story stays inside that particular person's head. The moment it's let out, escapes, it mixes with the outside world, or the 'real world' to which the author herself belongs. And, the author is undeniably like the God of the created universe, creating the characters and their world. But, do we really believe that each and every one of our actions has been pre-ordained and decided? And that we are all fated to our ends? That, nothing we really do matters at all, for if it "wasn't meant to be", it won't? </div><div><br /></div><div>(And, even scarier, that none of it is decided? That your life is just one side character in God's universe and he doesn't even know what he'll do with you yet? That, if he's in a bad mood, or if his girlfriend bugs him enough, he'll kill you in a car accident right after you get a promotion and have a baby?)</div><div><br /></div><div>Parents are more reasonable than that. I suppose they would have made a better example too. For, after all, characters are just like children. They're never really yours. Once you bring them into existence, let them interact with the World, they're their own people, and though they will do what you've taught them to do, they will also do things that they've learnt when you <i>weren't</i> watching. </div><div><br /></div><div>If a mother of two children wrote a story about her 18 year old kids, do you really believe that everything that is mentioned in her tale is really all that would have happened? Would she not modify certain parts so that the World doesn't judge her own "creations" too harshly? And, more importantly, don't you think there would be things that she doesn't even know about? Let alone the multitude of things that she suspects, hopes for, and sees in her children.</div><div><br /></div><div>The problem is simply this; when you're writing a story, there's every possibility that you've gotten something wrong. In writing literature, more specifically of the narrative-fiction kind, there are various forms of classification, one of the primary being the distinction between 1) Building characters and having events befall them, describing their interactions and 2) Deciding on a tale that must be told, and working in characters that seem to fit. All stories are undoubtedly a mix of the two. Good stories result from a good mix. Like rum and coke, it really is too subjective to break down further. But, I digress.</div><div><br /></div><div>The point being, stories are not just created out of thin air. You must first create/possess a world with an existing-workable framework of rules. You must have characters that behave in character, as far as a real person would. Because, whether imagined, dreamt up, thought of or compiled, a character is an individual. One that is thought of is one that does not exist in the World of the author, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't exist at all. With the hundreds of permutations and combinations available from something as innocent as a three-digit number, there are infinite possibilities that the human gene-pool *shall* one day (if already hasn't) result in such a person. And on a much lower probability scale, that the world around him as imagined by the author will exist. Kind of like the monkeys with typewriters writing Shakespeare, you may argue. But the conditions include infinite time. And while we may not have enough of the same (nor do the monkeys) to ever test that theory adequately, the Universe has more than enough time, place and scope to have every possible World already in existence. Just because we are not aware of it, doesn't change the fact that <span class="Apple-style-span" >we are not the only existence in the Universe, let alone the only Universe in existence</span>.</div><div><br /></div><div>The point is, once a character is created, it is created. After that, as the writer, you are bound to try and represent that character and frame reactions and interactions according to what the said character would have done. If you've ever tried writing about somebody real before, or even a character that resembles someone you know, you'll know the feeling I speak of. It's the "If Xyz was faced by this, what would he do?" And obviously, you can never know for sure. Not in real life, and not in the story. Sure, the author may know best how he would react if the ironing-maid burns his favorite sweater, or what he would do/feel when he loses his job, or maybe even his thoughts on a date with an attractive woman, but, when the same character is faced with dilemmas with far-reaching, wide and over-arcing repercussions, not even the character himself can be certain of what he will do. Sure, the author can exercise discretion whether he will commit suicide or turn into an alcoholic, but here, the story will always come foremost. No matter what principles and rules govern a single character, for the author, the plot is what must come together. Loose ends have to be tied. And that doesn't happen in real life.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, maybe, I phrased it incorrectly. Maybe, I should have said, if the creator of a Universe says that is how it would be, I politely disagree. I believe that if those people had really existed, and lived, and gone through the events that you say they did, they wouldn't end up like you say they will. In fact, I believe that if (when?) they ever do come into existence (or already are so), then that is not how their story would end. I, as an individual myself, who doesn't have to bother with the tale and the proper ending and the pressure to not leave anything unfinished, may have only followed the development of a character or two, paying special intense attention to the personalities they are supposed to be, and the unmentioned reasons for their behaviors.</div><div><br /></div><div>To go back to the example of the mother with the two 18 year old boys, in her story, she may speak of this one night that she had gone out to a friend's, returning home earlier than expected only to find son A asleep in bed much before his bedtime, with the sheets already soaking in water, while disheveled Son B explained in needless detail the circumstances in which his brother decided to go to sleep so early. Two weeks later, when she talks of the missing bottles of Wine and A's growing anti-social behavior, you might make the connection, but just because she's lived with them and knows them doesn't mean she can predict, or even guess at, their actions successfully. Not all the time. Not when she has to think about (and keep an eye on) B, her husband, their pet dog, the family business. Now imagine if she had to decide what each of them would do in every single waking moment as well. No matter how good, kind or persuasive she may be, if something goes too fundamentally against B's character, such as being told to kill A for being a good-for-nothing alcoholic, B won't do it. He can't. And she can scream and demand and believe whatever she wants. But, there are certain things your character won't allow you to do, no matter how much someone wants you to. And years later, if she says B did kill A, even though it was she who really ended up doing it, her words won't become true. Not merely because she wanted it to happen. Not because it would end "right". And, not even if it were truly her belief that's that what should have happened and did indeed happen.</div><div><br /></div><div>Because, the truth is truth. And, it's above our wants and desires and hopes and beliefs. It's true because it happens. And I may be wrong. She may be wrong. Every single person in the world who has ever though of this story may be wrong. But, she doesn't get to be right merely because she thought of them before someone else did. And she doesn't get to be right simply because she created them. That's all I want to say, really. And, I know it seems like I took this too personally, but you know what, it wasn't a perfect Universe, but, I've found something there that makes me smile, and laugh, and grin and it's just too right to be deemed wrong. By anybody. It isn't even for me. But something like that, if it exists, well, I'd rather have my memory of this whole obsession wiped clean without hesitation than have *their* world destroyed because someone couldn't believe. And you all know how important my memories are to me. It's only because there's nothing in this Universe, or any Universe for that matter, that matters more than the truth. Not to me. And you can't just let someone decide what that is. You can rest in the knowledge that the World I obsess over doesn't really exist. But, we are just a story to someone, you know. And that's the most we can hope to be, when this is all over. They're already there. What gives any of us the right to decide their endings? We can only weigh, calculate, predict, hope and dream. And believe, of course. But, those are individual options. And no one should have beliefs shoved down their throats. No matter which God wills it so.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's. just. wrong.</div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-41630359597375571992011-07-09T17:00:00.000-07:002011-07-10T10:43:26.069-07:00Isolation-I<div><br /></div><div>He was pleading with her now, the nerve. Her eyes narrowed even as he continued to speak, his own burning brighter with every small step he took in her direction. It was just wrong. It was the last chance either of them had, and she wasn't supposed to be here. She was supposed to tell him what she had come here to say, burn with the fierceness of his cruel, taunting words and then leave when the daggers turned into ice, confident in her ability to walk away. And, he <b>was</b> enraged; she could feel it in the way his presence seemed to fill the room, in the way his jaw clenched, so painfully that, for a second, she had to fight the urge to run to him and apologize, beg forgiveness for whatever had caused him to be so angry with her.. Until she remembered what she had come to say.</div><div><br /></div><div>Except, something was <i>wrong</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>She couldn't move away, couldn't avert her gaze, couldn't leave, and she didn't know what to do with the way he allowed his words to caress her, promise her, reassure her.. just as he had done countless number of times before. Never with words, though. That wasn't allowed for him. Not by either of them. Her throat constricted as she realized what that meant. He already knew..</div><div><br /></div><div>But, she still couldn't leave. Not when his eyes darkened as he spoke, cajoling her exhausted mind to remember what they had never really acknowledged. He was breaking <b>their</b> rules, and she was watching, mesmerized, even as their binds on him strengthened and loosened, the restraints digging deeper and deeper into his very being. And she watched him, until she was certain that he would not refrain, would not relent. And that is when she knew; They were already caged. Always had been. Except theirs was meant to keep the world out. And she couldn't leave him alone in here, not when his eyes glinted at her, sharp and loud in the moonlight, even though his voice was quiet. Not while she could count exactly how many steps she would have to take to reach him. Not while he said her name, over and over, in a voice, which she realized would never fade, never stop echoing..</div><div><br /></div><div>There was no escape.</div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-91666371903263889222011-07-09T14:54:00.000-07:002011-07-09T15:08:00.636-07:00Burning<span class="Apple-style-span" >Even though. Albeit.</span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >But still. Nevertheless.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Always. Forever. Never. Eternity.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Sharp. Trouble. Chaos. Silence.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Over & Over.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Thin and Razor-sharp. Old & faded. New. Crisscrossed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Ashes and Dust.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Always & forever & never & for all eternity.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >(though, I imagine they're all the same)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Ungrateful child. Wretched child. Vicious, Stray, Lost child.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >But, everyone deserves a lullaby.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >And God doesn't forsake any of his children.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Except, the words are gone.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Cut & strewn & scattered in the wind</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >(like the letters you never sent)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >And the frozen moments knock the wind out of me,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >sometimes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >I think they must be memories.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Except I keep forgetting what I should remember</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >while other thoughts come unbidden</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Wicked girl. Cruel girl. Sharp, Angry, Crumbling girl.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >Always on Fire.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-30863977522025293662011-06-14T14:31:00.000-07:002011-06-14T14:36:56.674-07:00Always Morbid<div><br /></div><div>There's nothing wrong. </div><div>It's only wretched-wretched guilt. </div><div>And I even made it in time. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Nothing is wrong. </div><div>Nothing is wrong. </div><div style="text-align: right;">Bury the doubt deeper.</div><div style="text-align: right;">And dig out the truth.</div><div style="text-align: right;">Except, it hurts. </div><div style="text-align: left;">But nothing is wrong.</div><div style="text-align: right;">And nothing is right.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And stainless tears are no better than blood.</div><div style="text-align: center;">What use is it to the canvas to know the pain, but have nothing to prove that it was real?</div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-88369911856321069552010-11-07T06:51:00.000-08:002010-11-07T07:20:09.598-08:00Failing, Falling, Losing<i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Three hundred and twenty years have passed since the coven sank in the dark</span>...</span></span></i><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Paranoia saves lives.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Reckless paranoia? </span></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Paranoid recklessness.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Old habits die hard.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Old is gold. Old is green. Old is blue.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Old is <span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Crimson</span></span>..</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Where do we go from here?</span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Change or Die.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span">May the Force be with you.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">But the Force is <span class="Apple-style-span">lost</span>.</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Listen to me. <i>But you only say <span class="Apple-style-span">nothing</span>. And I can't understand this silence.</i> You used to be able to. <i>Things Change.</i> <span class="Apple-style-span">Why won't I?</span> <i>Everything changes.</i> You're just not paying enough attention. <b>Blame Game.</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span">It's all for you. Always has been. Why won't you see that?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"> I can't understand this silence. <i>You used to be able to.</i> Things Change. <i><span class="Apple-style-span">Why won't you?</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span">...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I need to be in Control.</span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Liar.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Everything is an illusion. I'm looking for reality, have you seen it? </span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>Shattered. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Like glass.</span></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Promises. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Trust. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Betrayal.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Forgive me Father, for I have <span class="Apple-style-span">sinned</span>. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Not this time</span>.</span></i></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-55632759655762678532010-03-25T06:25:00.000-07:002010-11-06T11:49:26.148-07:00Howling at the Moon<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">Bridges shall <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">burn</span>, tall towers fall</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">Through dirt and grime and filth, you'll <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">crawl</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">Red River runs, <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">weeps</span> through this desolate land</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">There be no saving grace for thee, no brave <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">last</span> stand</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; "><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Who</span> you are and who you've been</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">Memory shall be your greatest <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">sin</span></span>..<br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">Lucid dreams that <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">leave</span> you weeping</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; "><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Disbelief</span> and torment is all you'll be keeping</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">Things gone right and things gone <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">wrong</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">Shall <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">dance</span> along to an evanescent song</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">The truth lies buried in graves of the <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">undead</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; "><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Trapped</span> in words you never said.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">You wanted some, you had it <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">all</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">And we are <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">laughing</span> even as we fall</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">The world will be yours, and yours <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">alone</span></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">Every last <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">hollow</span> bleeding stone..</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; ">.</span></span><br /></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-60499618373242885082010-02-13T15:58:00.000-08:002010-02-13T16:41:46.614-08:00Customary Holiday Post - 1.<br />It feels weird to be here again, considering how many lifetimes have gone by since I had something to say. Not that I have anything in particular to say tonight, but the silence is killing me. I hate silences, the way one would hate an especially rotten smell. It isn't just a mental sort of loathing, but an overwhelming physical sensation that makes you clench your teeth and steel your insides.<br /><br />I'm home again.<br /><br />The real problem with silence is that it can't be drowned out. I'm fairly certain of this, because I've tried everything. And the only thing that ever helps is screaming inside your head. But even that doesn't work if you can't find your voice. And I think I've lost mine.<br /><br />I haven't been able to write for too long now. I think it's because every time I decide I want to try, the letters rush into each other, melting together like some sort of soup mix gone horribly wrong until I can't tell whether they're saying anything at all. It takes every bit of strength I can muster to just separate them from one another and read them as words. Usually I can manage that.<br /><br />Sometimes I can't.<br /><br />When things go wrong, you can draw upon an inner strength that kicks in like some sort of dependable electricity-generator. But when the only problem is one with the voltage, there's nothing to do but try and finish reading your novel in the flickering light, hoping you don't miss out on something important that would have completely transformed your life.<br /><br />I can't understand time. And it feels like space itself is playing some twisted prank on me, trailing me with shadows and tricking me into believing that I'm never by myself. Clawing through curtains makes my fingernails bleed, and it tortures me that the only physical evidence left behind is smudged kohl and chalk under my nails.<br /><br />I used to know where I was going, even though I pretended otherwise. Now, I feel out of focus, like a photograph taken from a shaky camera on a star studded night. Frozen in perpetual blurriness. Like a snowflake. Unique if you bother to put it under a microscope, but just a tiny, falling, melting piece of ice otherwise.<br /><br />I have become my own dream. But there's nothing more to destroy here. And I can barely hide in the areas of this canvas that are still devoid of paint, pen marks and blood. Thank God for stainless tears.<br /><br />The carousel is making me sick, and I keep telling myself I'll jump off when it completes one more circle. Except I can't tell the beginning from the middle from the end.. And I've almost come to believe that there is no difference. Maybe it never began. Maybe it will never end.<br /><br />I'm still going to jump though. Regardless of whether or not Prince Charming or the Snow Queen reward me with their promised kiss of life. And if I manage to melt the glass in your eye as I sail through the air, I'll crash magnificently to the ground, shining in all sorts of colors as you cry for perceived sacrifices.<br /><br />But, time is so much faster than I can be. And it's running out the rabbit hole. I thought Wonderland was beautiful, and I still think so. But the paint is peeling off the walls and I'm beginning to think this was only a cheap imitation. Or maybe it's dying.<br /><br />And I'm so dizzy...Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-80781092676569967042010-02-13T11:33:00.000-08:002010-02-13T17:07:05.305-08:00Pay it forward<span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Note: This is </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">just another</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"> random forwarded e-mail. But, so sad! :(</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Two Choices</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">What would you do?....you make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">'</span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do. Where is the natural order of things in my son?</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">'</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">The audience was stilled by the query.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">The father continued. '</span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">'</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Then he told the following story:</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay. As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">The game would now be over.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman. Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game. Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first! Run to first!' Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base. He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!' Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball . the smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third! Shay, run to third!' As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);">Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day!</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">AND NOW A LITTLE FOOT NOTE TO THIS STORY:</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">If you're thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you're probably sorting out the people in your address book who aren't the 'appropriate' ones to receive this type of message Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the 'natural order of things.'</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice:</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats it's least fortunate amongst them.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">You now have two choices:</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">1. Delete</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">2. Forward</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255);">May your day, be a Shay Day.</span>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-36980820056998737052010-01-22T13:54:00.000-08:002010-01-22T14:00:26.072-08:00MothsWho is it that said "Some things don't change"? Everything changes. The sun rises, but on a different day. Nothing stays exactly the same way, because somewhere, something <span style="font-weight: bold;">always </span>changes.<br /><br />...<br /><br />But you know... if you took it moment by moment, and looked closer at the abstract concept of that frame... I guess you could say that some things do stay the same.<br /><br />I guess in the end, the sun is just a much bigger match's much bigger flame.<br />And moths will be moths.Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-10295748784171075092009-12-26T05:23:00.000-08:002009-12-26T05:40:19.124-08:00SorryDear Sister,<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">How could you let them walk all over you?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Why didn't you walk away?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">How could you stand and do nothing but watch?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Didn't you have a thing to say?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Why do you persist dear girl?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Why can't you let them be?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">heart</span>'s a fickle friend, babe</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And today, his is with me.</span><br /><br />-<br />love,<br />Mary J.<br /><br />----------------<br />Now playing: <a href="http://www.foxytunes.com/artist/staind/track/outside+%28full+band%29" title="'Staind - Outside (Full band)' - open on FoxyTunes Planet">Staind - Outside (Full band)</a><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); font-style: italic;font-size:10px;" >via <a style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" href="http://www.foxytunes.com/signatunes/" title="FoxyTunes - Web of music at your fingertips">FoxyTunes</a></span>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-77574734365851831412009-12-25T14:00:00.000-08:002009-12-25T14:11:00.684-08:00Touches of Gray<span style="font-family: times new roman;">.</span><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204); font-style: italic;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">Shades of gray are all that count in the end. Because Heaven and Hell is all about Black and White. I like Gray. Colors are cunning little creatures. They're after your soul.</span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">And debt is easy. The older you get, the more pointless dreams become. They're also more valuable.</span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">But what's the use of riches you can't sell? You try everything, but in the end there's only one carved out road your poor knees can take.</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Bleeding feet don't go well with twisted forests, but that's what you get for wandering off in the first place. This world isn't kind to strays and there isn't anything any body can do to change that.</span></span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: times new roman;">The things that don't make sense are the ones that often make all the difference in your life.<br />And hating them doesn't make them go away.<br />Go ahead.<br />Close your eyes.<br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">You know I'm right</span>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />----------------<br />Now playing: <a href="http://www.foxytunes.com/artist/audioslave/track/set+it+off" title="'Audioslave - Set It Off' - open on FoxyTunes Planet">Audioslave - Set It Off</a><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); font-style: italic;font-size:10px;" >via <a style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" href="http://www.foxytunes.com/signatunes/" title="FoxyTunes - Web of music at your fingertips">FoxyTunes</a></span> <br /></div></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-38769566639988817742009-12-25T13:52:00.000-08:002009-12-25T13:59:31.473-08:00Proof.<br />She is burning and crying<br />but it's only a twisted dream<br />Sometimes when you close your eyes<br />You can still hear her scream<br />Don't put the echoes away<br />There's still some room in your head<br />Let the memories linger and stay<br />As nightmares to prove you are not dead<br />.Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-26953677858212051502009-12-09T12:40:00.000-08:002009-12-09T14:02:51.778-08:00Never Coming Down?<span style="font-family: times new roman;">.</span><br /><div style="text-align: right; font-family: times new roman;"><div style="text-align: left;">Thoughts.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">War. </span><br />Bullet-proof glass that shatters on impact.<br />Smoke screens and hazy <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">red </span>lights.<br />Years.<br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Never</span>.<br />Take.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Give. </span><br />Hot, searing knives.<br /><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Slide</span>.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">How long</span>?<br />'<span style="font-style: italic;">Open my head just to see what I can find</span>'.<br />Phases and Moods.<br />Everything.<br />Want.<br />Nothing.<br />Not in <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Denial</span>.<br />Memories.<br />Can't reach.<br />Smirk.<br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Revenge</span>.<br />Rush.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">...<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Black</span>.<br />Dresses and Butterflies.<br /></div><br />...<br />..<br />.<br />Fly?<br /><div style="text-align: left;">.<br /></div></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-30885434554289178632009-11-28T15:46:00.000-08:002009-11-28T15:57:20.291-08:00Just a Thought.<br />November's ending and I haven't seen a storm. It's all incomplete. But perhaps that only means that we have to write our own endings. But I can only think in echoes. And you don't need us.<br /><br />We do what we can.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Don't we?</span><br /><br />Sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. There's really nothing more to it.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">I'm sailing on the other side now.<br /></div><br />Free<br /><div style="text-align: center;">and<br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">Gone.<br /></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-2836503271126922482009-11-24T06:07:00.000-08:002009-11-24T12:55:29.703-08:00RPG<span style="font-family:times new roman;">.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">We're all just playing roles. Sometimes you are me and I am you and they are us and we are them, but nothing ever changes except the clouds I find floating around me. Sheep are sacrifices. Humans are martyrs. Gods are invincible. And the proud are punished.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Rain will fall. Legends will be born. Memories will die. The wrath of vengeful gods may fall upon us. But we will laugh our way through it all. Because that's the only road that's there for the lost. And the dead walk beside us.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Some things can not be buried deep enough. Some ghosts never leave. Some clouds slowly choke you to death.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">I'm done chasing rainbows. I like this rabbit hole. This time, the sky will have to find me. And I can always hide on the moon.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Stars stay in corners of your eyes. And sometimes you can remember how to fly, even if you never even dreamed of doing so. The world is strange, and we're all locked in tight. </span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:times new roman;" >Here's a secret.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:times new roman;" >The key is the slow steady destruction of your soul.</span>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-71832333953801644372009-11-24T03:49:00.000-08:002009-11-24T04:29:55.646-08:00November to December.<br /><br />For three days, I was a nervous wreck. We were a scattered crew sailing through an electric storm. For three days, I was merely a blurry shadow on a burning boat. But we made it through. We didn't sink. It may not have been as great as it could have been, but it wasn't a complete disaster either. It happened. I didn't think we could but we did anyway. I'm happy and proud and depressed and so utterly sad. November's ending. And the wait returns.<br /><br />But it's alright. December isn't all that bad either.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Every silver lining's got a touch of gray..</span><br /></div><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">Autumn frosts may have slain July, but November rain melts everything.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Remind me to breathe?</span><br />.<br /></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-81660199324426250312009-11-15T14:37:00.000-08:002009-11-15T15:17:33.650-08:00Everything/NothingIt's all about <span style="font-size:130%;">schisms</span>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">How do you sail across nothingness?<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">You make me calm the way curling smoke does.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">From the inside.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Is the <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">war</span> over?<br /></div>It's the <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Aftermath</span> that's hard to live with.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">How do you stop time?<br /></div><span style="font-style: italic;">We can't get clean again.</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Where would you go to if you could go wherever it is that you want to go to?<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Blow my house down.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm gone,<br />gone,<br />gone.<br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Where did you go?</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I want to <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">implode</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But I have no pockets.<br /></div><br />The insides of my mind are crumbling, melting, twisting.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Sweet November.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Where would you go?<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The chains were never really there, but I'm too <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">weary</span> to fly.<br /></div>And how do you escape the <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">sky</span>?<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I'm so much younger than that now.</span><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Will I remember how to fly?<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Some dreams are worth staying in.<br />Some realities deserve escaping.<br />Some habits are impossible to break.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Why?<br />Just.<br /></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">God doesn't forsake any of his children.</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Is the world the wrong way up or is it just me?<br /></div><br />I was only a reflection.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Catch me if you can</span>?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I looked through the looking glass and I don't want to go back.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">I like the Other side. </span><br />And why would I climb when I know how to fly?<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">How long will I slide?</span><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">Nothing</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> can be explained.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Say it isn't so.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But it is and all the highways in the world are to <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">hell</span>.<br /></div><br />I don't leave footsteps, I leave skid-marks.<br />Burn me a tattoo on my <span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">s</span>oul</span>, darling?<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">'cause I am the highway...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Where did you go?</span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">As much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood.</span><br /></div><br />Oh. Must be just me, then.<br /><br />JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-81468847432632361532009-11-13T02:50:00.000-08:002009-11-13T02:57:44.324-08:00SF 096 days, 3 exams and 20 hours of class to go.<br /><br />...<br /><br />^_^Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-74307831442569639582009-11-06T21:18:00.000-08:002009-11-06T21:22:57.870-08:00November<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Curse you, November</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">An abusive(obsessive) relation!</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Will this never end?</span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;">Hopefully?<br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">No.</span><br />Probably?<br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Yes.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">----------------<br />Now playing: <a href="http://www.foxytunes.com/artist/govt+mule/track/banks+of+the+deep+end" title="'Gov't Mule - Banks of the Deep End' - open on FoxyTunes Planet">Gov't Mule - Banks of the Deep End</a><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); font-style: italic; font-size: 10px;">via <a style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" href="http://www.foxytunes.com/signatunes/" title="FoxyTunes - Web of music at your fingertips">FoxyTunes</a></span> <br /></div></div></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-75592145180589045422009-11-06T21:10:00.000-08:002009-11-06T21:17:41.341-08:00Holiday Post.<br />Realized I couldn't leave without a customary holiday post. But I was going to. Which is strange. I guess things change.<br /><br />No more food whenever I want<br />(except there is)<br /><br />No more cold,<br />white<br />metal bars that leave lines<br />and lines<br />and hurt<br /><br />No more endless sleeplessness<br />(except there is)<br /><br />No more soft, warm comfort<br />(except there is)<br /><br />No more sobriety<br />Hell, yeah!<br /><br /><br /><br />----------------<br />Now playing: <a href="http://www.foxytunes.com/artist/lounge+piranha/track/ebb" title="'Lounge Piranha - Ebb' - open on FoxyTunes Planet">Lounge Piranha - Ebb</a><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); font-style: italic; font-size: 10px;">via <a style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" href="http://www.foxytunes.com/signatunes/" title="FoxyTunes - Web of music at your fingertips">FoxyTunes</a></span>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-12242104322531449142009-11-05T07:32:00.000-08:002009-11-05T07:45:01.351-08:00Colors<span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-style: italic;">White</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> isn't pure; </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-style: italic;">White</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> is blank.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Black isn't pure; It's just that heavily corrupted.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0); font-style: italic;">Red</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> isn't pure; Wrath and Lust hide within. (</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:78%;" >And two sins are better than one?</span><span style="font-style: italic;">)</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255); font-style: italic;">Blue</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> isn't pure; It's empty and Sad.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); font-style: italic;">Gray</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> isn't pure; It's decayed, old and forgotten</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0); font-style: italic;">Yellow</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> isn't pure; It's fake and social</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-style: italic;">Pink</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> isn't pure; It's the color of teenage promiscuity</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And </span><span style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0); font-style: italic;">Green</span><span style="font-style: italic;">?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Moss and envy are as pure as you can get, dear...</span>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-41428062492459362862009-10-31T15:20:00.000-07:002009-10-31T15:43:09.281-07:00Between the Bars<div style="text-align: justify;">.<br />I lean closer to the cold white bars hoping believing needing to think that the glowing lights in the sky are fake unreal false just like the lying comfort offered by a box full of twenty entire cigarettes knowing that we'll only crush destroy burn BREATHE in Breathe out breathe in STOP Run through fields that won't stop being green cold lovely even though they change morph melt merge like the insides of my mind after so long without smoke curling through my veins heart lungs NEEDING the steady chaotic destruction set in motion years months lifetimes ago REMEMBERING so little of promises lies laughter that only rings out loud in waves like nausea THINKING of unhappier times when the world was still the right way up even though it was easier harder the same and right things were decided by how hard it was to do them NOW it's burning cold hot CONFUSING me utterly completely entirely even though it's easier nicer more comfortable despite words running through my head like so much for Undying LOYALTY and becoming someone else for someone else who turns to someone else until I am you and you are me and there is no me because there is no you except things change morph blur like LINES that were crossed obeyed cut into little dots that rearrange themselves into rants that no one UNDERSTANDS including those they bleed from like rain tears vodka FORGETTING remembering wanting needing hating leaving because there are only so many things to choose from when decisions that can't be made are made in the vacuum of facts information MEMORIES that need to be buried with good and bad and good and bad until windows are closed against the cold November air except it's the wrong room state world because movies are NOT real life though they creep crawl laugh their way in while I lean against the cold metal bars looking at glowing lights that mock taunt laugh ECHOING endlessly until I leave quit die.<br /><br /><br /><br />----------------<br />Now playing: <a href="http://www.foxytunes.com/artist/red+hot+chili+peppers/track/otherside" title="'Red Hot Chili Peppers - Otherside' - open on FoxyTunes Planet">Red Hot Chili Peppers - Otherside</a><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); font-style: italic;font-size:10px;" >via <a style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" href="http://www.foxytunes.com/signatunes/" title="FoxyTunes - Web of music at your fingertips">FoxyTunes</a></span></div>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-16597516955935005152009-10-15T15:12:00.000-07:002009-10-15T15:36:11.761-07:00Changing Constants; The Liars!<span style="font-family: times new roman;">.</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">The constant flickering glow, she said. I didn't hear her, but she came to my window at midnight, whispering the same echoing words. They're still reverberating inside my head. A constant flickering echo.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">Why?</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Because it fits in times of absolute nothingness.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">Absolute is an extreme term. </span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">So is <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">life</span>.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Stories can only have happy endings if you know when to stop telling them. I <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">hate</span> second chances. Too many expectations. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">And we live to disappoint.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">I want you to know, but only after there's nothing you can do about it. Information is power and I would never let anyone have that kind of control over me.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">Unless I was promised certain destruction?</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">(I still won't believe you)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Electric chair, two years. </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Rings a bell</span>.</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Bad joke or good joke in bad taste?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">It's hard to tell sometimes...</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">especially if it's your own darkness you're humoring.</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">That's dark, but self-demeaning isn't defaming. You need a third party. </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Outside</span><span style="font-family: times new roman;"> your head.</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Tsk. </span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Retarded clauses.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Things and reasons and seasons change. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">Why can't I?</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">There's no point in knocking on locked doors.</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Especially when </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">you</span><span style="font-family: times new roman;">'re the one who <span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">lost</span> the keys.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">I don't know which way to pick</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">and the sun will always be in my eyes</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">I want to fly.</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">But I don't want you to wait to catch me, because I think I may remember how to.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">And then what would you do?</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right; font-family: times new roman; color: rgb(192, 192, 192);">Echoes fade and memories die<br />Autumn frosts have slain July...<br /></div><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;">Are you afraid?</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">No.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman; color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">You should be...</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">.</span>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3911838213827460343.post-49860289289754270402009-10-14T16:05:00.000-07:002009-10-14T16:17:23.066-07:00The World<span style="font-family: times new roman;">Can't risk it. Either way. If you know there's an electric chair waiting for you at the end of two years, life can easily become quite pointless. At least you burn, and not drown. Would you remind me to breathe?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Thoughts should always be accompanied with a sub-title file. Or you should be allowed to talk in pictures. I wish everyone would paint. Giving up is easier in a gray world. The trick is to keep the black and white from separating.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">The only constant that should be allowed to flicker is fire. And fire doesn't like being called a constant.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Is something eluding you, sunshine?</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Join the club, darling. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: times new roman;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">----------------</span><br /><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Now playing: </span><a style="font-family: times new roman;" href="http://www.foxytunes.com/artist/red+hot+chili+peppers/track/she+looks+to+me" title="'Red Hot Chili Peppers - She Looks To Me' - open on FoxyTunes Planet">Red Hot Chili Peppers - She Looks To Me</a><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153); font-style: italic; font-size: 10px; font-family: times new roman;">via <a style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);" href="http://www.foxytunes.com/signatunes/" title="FoxyTunes - Web of music at your fingertips">FoxyTunes</a></span><span style="font-family: times new roman;"> </span>Jadehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17285924410311054760noreply@blogger.com0