Tongue Tied

I realize that it has been a very long time since I have actually written about the going-ons in my life. Well, looking back that is a lie. Half of everything I write has great significance in my life it is just weather or not you know how to read what it is. Now I realize you might need a decoder for what I just said, but instead I strongly encourage you to agree. Smile, nod, and walk away.

I'm horrible at talking, I'll admit that, and many of you readers that actually know me will agree (okay, like all two of you.) I have this (supposedly) incredible gift of writing, so as to the point of people actually liking to read it, and on some occasion it even provokes emotions. But alas, I can not translate that gift to my tongue. Some people have a silver tongue... mine is rusty iron.

I agree with myself, I'm horrible at talking. And it really bothers me, purely because I know you could hand me a piece of paper and I could write for you a small poem on exactly what I want to say, and more then likely convey my meaning much better then my idiotic stuttering of words, and "ums" could ever get me. I am, honestly, trying to improve this shortcoming of myself, but I really don't know where to start, I think for one I will just verbally express myself more then my classic masochistic ways.

New Years Resolution

Just let us know what's going on,
don't make it so difficult and stupid,
to figure out whats going on.
When you just sit there moping around
we don't really care what's on your mind
unless you want to talk.
We don't want to have to beat you senseless,
with our questions and concerns,
cares and sympathy,
just to hear you blow it off.
We don't want to deal with all your shit,
the only way we can get to it
is with two fists and a crowbar,
we just don't care that much about your problems.
If you want to sit down start talking about it,
we'd be more then happy to help you stay on your feet,
keep your head cool and smiling,
keep you from losing touch with all you love.
So just get over all of your stupid problems,
let the cat out of the bag;
attach your tongue right back to where it belongs.
Tell us everything you care about,
everything that bothers you.
Just get in out of the cold,
you masochistic s-o-b.
All this emo shit is getting old.

So it begins.

The familiar sound of the flywheel sticking greets the 19 year old as he turns the key. To many this would be the sign to call AAA, or perhaps flag down another motorist to get some help. Not Ablyn though. He grabs the steering wheel with both hands and violently shakes the small cab of the Toyota pickup in an attempt to get the flywheel moving. As he turns the key for a second time, the small four cylinder engine gives out the roar you'd only hear from pre-1990's automobiles. Slowly he pulls out of his curbside parking space and makes his way to the near-by interstate five. This is about to be a very interesting week.

EVERYTHING!

Here I am so worried about everything, never actually stopping and looking at everything going on around me. I really just need to stop and think. No, not think but think less. I think too much, my brain is always plugging away at the random shit inside my head. She loves me, she loves me not. I take little things and they suddenly mean the world. Oh, look at that! She smiled; it must mean that when the planets are aligned with the moon and the sun is on its downward decent that she absolutely hates me. It makes sense! Oh, why does the world hate me so? This is all in my head of course, but you can convince yourself about anything and everything. You can tell yourself that you are crazy, and well when you wake up on the floor foaming at the mouth wearing nothing but a pair of ladies underwear on your head, you might just think. I was right all along! So why tell yourself that you are crazy? Shit happens.

Bitch

Some times I feel like a bitch. Just the way I think and the way I feel that everyone else should be, totally based on my damned opinions and the way I would like people to act around me.
What can I do?
Absolutely nothing but just shut my mouth and don't friggin hear about it.
Seriously, when I do think about it, all I get is bad ideas in my head, I start thinking of all the things I don't want to happen, I lose trust in people for things they've never done. I get upset about it.
I am a bitch.
I want to trust people, but it's hard.
Maybe it's just because I'm extremely insecure with myself, and I can't understand why anybody would actually enjoy me, beyond the fact that, I am a bitch.
I feel bad about it, but it's hard to stop. I'm afraid I'll lose people because of it.

Just Complaints

The dashed line of the freeway or other motorway is so hypnotizing. It's almost telling you to go to Mexico. But why should we go to Mexico? I feel like going there almost any day I drive now. Is that because I want to get out? Perhaps, but why not else? Could it be that my little mind is demanding adventure, or perhaps is telling me that this is not the place for me right now? But why don't we listen more to our urges? Do what we want to, not what we are supposed to. Live like legends in the back of a car for a week and a half while we try to figure out just the perfect spot to watch the sun rise, only realizing that the best place was not a place, but right beside the person you love.

Say No to Suicide

Does your computer ever make strange clicking sounds randomly? Kinda like it's doing something, but why would it be doing something when you haven’t touched it for a few hours? It makes me think that it is actually trying to see how far it can disable itself before it dies. Think about it. If you had to feelings, or fear of death then would you really mind tearing off your own arm to kinda, you know, see what happens? Well maybe not if you're doing fun things like playing a game, or writing a research paper or something equally entertaining. But what about those times when you're sitting there listening to some guy ramble on and on about something you don't really care about? That's when you start to get bored and you go, "Well, lets see how well I'd work with out that finger." And slowly slowly you start to take yourself apart until you finally die. I think my computer is doing that, and it frightens me. It looked at me... and I could feel its pain. It looks kinda cute, and it has ear that make sounds... but yes, I am sad and scared for it. I don't want it to hurt itself anymore...

See the cream color?

So here I am, sitting infront of the family computer, knowing that well this really is a waste of time. Why? I dunno, I guess writing how I feel and think can't be a complete waste. But truely it feels like it. But that doesn't change the fact that I am still here, sitting and typing. Typing... typing... yes. That's all. Typing. But not even that, only, "typing." So here goes...

Yes, is that all it means? But who said it meant that? Perhaps it was just a cruel trick of the mind while we all settled out into a sharp pond of horror. But why yes? Okay, fine, no. No is just as good, much like a blunt baseball bat gets the same job done that you would use a knife or gun for. So, why? Why not? No, it is just why. We will get into "not" a little later. So yes, no, I mean why. Why is pointless, it comes from nowhere to lead somewhere equally interesting, just so we can all pretend we know exactly what we are supposed to be doing. So here we come to "not." But what is the use? it is almost as blunt as "no" and is just as useful as "why."

Sfeer Everything

'twas the night before Christmas...

That line lacks sfeer. If there was a word for absence of sfeer it would describe that line.

What is sfeer? It is everything. Well not everything, but everything that makes an object special, the stuff that reminds you of smells and other sights when you see something. You have a sfeer, it might not be as big or as strong as others but it is there. Your sfeer manages quite a number of things, and is controlled by an equal number of things. Your sfeer controls electric currents, your sfeer changes with your mood, your sfeer will open doors for you, and at the same time your sfeer feeds off those around you.

The size of your sfeer does not always relate to its strength. There are sfeers that are absolutely massive but effect very little of anything in its surroundings. There are extremely small sfeers that you can not touch without fainting or getting a headache.

sfeer, n. The invisible element that effects and is affected by all of your surroundings, physical or otherwise

Poetic Justice

What pain are you in, oh man of one thousand faces? What torments and annoys you so? Is it truly that horrible, that wretched a thing? Can you find the words just to describe it to me? Please I pray for you to just find a grip on yourself. Please never unleash such a demon at me. But what is it that bothers you so? Is it pain, is it suffering? How can you stand this life with one thousand faces? Were you promised a little peace in the end, but here you are still nowhere but a dead end? This is not life that bothers you so, but much rather your own vices and problems of your own. I see your pain but get away from me. I care not to suffer with a thief and a lord.

Free as Change

Some times we just need to take a little fight out of our bodies, look at this space we inhabit and think. Leave all of this bullshit and nonsense behind as we think about what we really want, and who we really are. We need to get out more we need to leave it behind we need to be free. Free is such a beautiful thought that is really hard to comprehend unless you have an idea of what it is. (Or for that matter experienced it.) Let us be free, but what does that mean? To be free means that you have nothing holding you down, it means that you have nothing to worry about. Almost like you have nothing to think about. Being free means being removed from any limiters such as friends, family, morals, money, and other material things. No, not homelessness, although I'm sure they are much closer then your average Joe. Much more like, you would have no qualms with everything you have disappearing and you being naked in the woods. To be free you almost cannot have a job, which would more or less just ruin it. How can you be free when people think you will come in and do something everyday? So, more over to be free you need to eliminate others expectations of you. (Or better yet eliminate your care of meeting those expectations.)

Well I'm distracted so there is no way this writing can be good. Which I find absolutely strange since I rarely think of my writing for longer then it takes it to come out of my fingers anyways.

Just what you thought about my dog.

Never worry just a thing about that gashing wound in my head, I never cared so much about a tiny speck of dust.
We'll never know just quite how this all ended in the end, because we're just trash drunk on vodka and seaweed.
Let the world know just what this pianful memory means, advertise it like a red hot segway, and let it die.
Always and forever, never and for neither, loving just what the thing wants us to, hoping for something better.
Killing just for fun, listening to the screams of some little tiny mushroom. We'll see it all and we'll meet Peter or Paul, but this life was not their making. Nothing lived quite as often as that little munchkin who told us all about traffic violations.
The shiney side is up when we leave to let the love inside, this is never how we were supposed to make it out without our lives.
Contemplating, thinking about you, knowing just how much it will hurt if it was always just something captain Kirk knew about.
The stars are never so violently beautiful as they are when they are exploding from your head, knowing all about Mr. Ned and the life of those who make a living.
Carefree is all the gum we choose to chew it up and spit it out of our way, right back into to this random camaro, whith parking lights made of cheer.
My mother lent me another little clip of things called salvation in a sip, getting drunk on vodka and snowflys, we know who dies, just let it out into this world of terms.
Blackberries made into pie is a never ending number of songs I'll listen to before you turn your back to the future and here we will be.
I hope that I never get to see the end, the middle, or even when you get out of bed, it's so painfully morbid a scene, my heart skips a beat with each little heart attack.
These lips don't belong here at all, reminding me of all those little times that was a quarter past three and we never really saw the sun falling down.