up

the nightmare.
tossing and turning on a bed to soft.
why can't these springs provide a firmer setting?
get out of my fucking head.
makes me wonder what the hell I'm doing.
what am I doing?
a moment of pure clarity finally came.
the sweat that had formed across my brow faded.
I could finally sleep once more.
..
thank god (Dog).

























(and I still hate the thought that she might be sharing her smile with someone else)

09

Warm water
that's how it all will fade
...
and the tornados that she has inside scare me
but don't let her know I told you that

this is

absolutely beautiful.

‘Why do you write?’ This is a question that I often ask myself. And typically when I’m in the shower and pretending that I’m famous and being interviewed by NPR or the New York Times or something like that — c’mon, you know you do it, too.

But it’s a good question. And the answer I give is usually the same: ’I started writing because I felt alone and sad one day. And it’s one thing to tell people you feel alone and sad. And it’s another to tell them a story about loneliness and sadness.’

Because I like to think of writing as well, one, catharsis. As a way of purging out all those nasty feelings you get from the daily pangs of life. But I also like to think of it as a means of finding out that you’re not alone in this world.

Because there’s something about a story that people connect with – be it a book or a piece of journalism or even a blog post. And whether we (as writers) like to believe it or not, every one of us embeds a little bit of ourselves into our work to make that connection.

And so when people write back to me like they did with my post on depression, and tell me about their own experiences, I feel just a little bit better. Because at least I know that that greatest fear of mine — that I’m all alone in this — isn’t true. That everywhere people are going through the exact same thing.

And there’s an incredible amount of relief in that.

But it’s also just not all about the authors. I think readers are searching for something similar when they read. I know when I first met Charlie in The Perks of Being A Wallflower or Holden in The Catcher in the Rye, I felt connected to them. And the fact that so many other people felt the exact same way gave me comfort.

So I guess the important thing to remember is that you’re never alone when you write (or read, for that matter). As long as you have books and can put a pen to paper, you will always have company.

And that. That is all the reason in the world to keep on doing it.

found on http://dashboardcitizen.com/2013/11/26/why-do-i-write/

so this is how it ends

it's an unfortunate ending to such a beautiful story

but somewhere along the lines it always goes astray

I'll miss the laughter we shared

and how you made me felt

sometimes though it's time to move on

and it looks like I was the one who was left behind

self-pity has never been an outlook I express

so I quickly filled the void

with any vacuous sex

and hollow-conversations that remind me often times

of you.

the way this drew to a close could've been very different

if simply you had cared

or shown any sort of concerned effort

but if you have to ask for someone to care

then is their effort truly genuine?

I'm not some ring 

that you can choose to wear

when I look back on it I still think of

the hood of the red car your shoes scratched up

or when we to Raven's Run and held hands atop a mountain-ledge

our lips touching for the first time

and I felt something very different

you warned me early that this wasn't your strong suit

but I pursued anyways

and there is so much more that you remind me of

but it hurts to remember

because of how emotionally invested I was

which was the downfall, more for you

than for I

this writing has fucking sucked, and I realize it is no longer a skill I possess. but sometimes articulating the thoughts that plague me late at night helps me rationalize a situation.

I miss you. I miss the living fuck out of you. I fucking hate myself for missing you. Fuck. You came around only to knock me down. And I'm not alright with this.

Soundcloud.com

Search: nicsutterj

song: Stuck

pain

and she clutched the thorns along the stem of a red rose

S.

the bare bones

they're exposed when you come around

you conduct melodies against them

only to leave 

how do you supposed we would fair

if it was only you and I?

not much of a difference

the scent of your perfume

on an egyptian threaded pillow case

it leaves your flesh to be desired

but why bother

when it all seems to meaningless

...

at least to one of us

this is not a sonnet

or beautifully written poetry

more of an empty-minded thought process

echoing in the halls

of a man seeking to understand

why she doesn't seem to come around

today I'll cover up

be strong like how my father was

and it will be the last time
I pretend to know you.

...

asderf

Awake the man laid on a cold bed. She had long since left his side, but he still clung to the idea that he could still feel her warmth. It’s always the last day of summer and he felt as if he had been left out in the cold with no key to get back inside. But so it went. The rumblings of a nearby train track reminded him of the emptiness in his stomach. How long had it been since his last meal? The pain would ultimately subside, only to be replaced by another type.

The feeling of longing. Of yearning to be with someone who moved four hundred miles away to chase butterflies down a winding trail. The butterflies aren’t really butterflies though.

dog

George,

do you remember before you lost your eye-sight when we would play the "Hiding Game." Well I'll tell you in case you forgot (But I doubt that, because it was one of your favorites). Everyday after school I would walk the half mile back from where the bus would drop me off. And everyday you would wait at the top of a concrete drive way in eager anticipation. Walking up the drive-way I would yell out "George, I can't say you! Where'd you go""George I can't see you, you're not even a dog"
And you would wag your tail joyously and crouch low to the concrete to try to conceal yourself.

I'm sorry for never being able to give you a true good-bye George. It was hard to leave for the summer, and part of me wished to believe that you would still be waiting when I got back. But more so, I think part of me hoped you would have taken your journey to another dog realm during my absence. Goodbye's have never been my thing, I'm much better off at running from my problems.

.

You buy her lilies because roses are too cliche. She hates lilies because they remind her of funerals. So you buy her gardenias at your mother's suggestion. For years, your house smells of gardenias. Then, one year, it smells of lilies.

it's been a while

So why do I often leave myself open for others;

They enter through a sturdy front door and always leave the house worse off than when they came. It seems that they collect bits and pieces of my soul on their journey, and then discard them in a forgotten corner on the way out. And I guess it is my true achilles heel - wanting to give more than I take. Maybe that's why I hardly ever feel like a person these days

I wish that I could drive from here to the moon just so I could look down and watch the world pass.

the old man and little boy

 Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

shel silverstein

cryptic tones

Like no one you've ever met.

and it was the end of summer.

"Just do it for yourself" is what I've been told... but why be so greedy when you have so much to give.

bookStorE

and when you finish a novel, you might have a feeling of discomfort in your gut. As if you've said goodbye to a close friend for a final time. Knowing that the journey that was embarked upon has now come to a passing. And when you're in this moment you can only think of the pain you'll feel from losing the relationship made with the story.
But visit a book store. Where the isles are lined with shelves towering overhead and title after title are displayed. Where oak chairs with frayed carpet allow people to enjoy another reality.
This one, I can tell that she is different. And I haven't felt this way in a long time, so hopefully it doesn't come back to haunt me.


Also, what the fuck? Why am I blogging like a 3rd grade girl writing in a fucking diary?

something

the longer I've lived and the more experiences I've acquired, the more I agree with things like this.

"Life isn't serious. Success or failure mean nothing in the scheme of life's existence, never mind your life. If you are fortunate enough to be born into relative wealth, enjoy it. And if you aren't, do everything in your power to make everyone's lives better. The only goal we can ever really have as a species is equality of happiness"


I just want to live a life that enriches others.

my dog, George

and it's days like this that make me miss the best friend I ever made.

my dog, George.

George, come on big guy, lets put you in the car. We'll go for a ride down River Road. I'll even put the windows down so you can catch a breeze. Just how you've always liked it. I know you're not interested in walking the Anchorage Trail anymore, and that's okay, I'm not mad. You're not letting me down, George. It really is alright; I only went to the trail so you could get some exercise.. I mean I liked going.. but just for you..

I've noticed you've been sleeping a lot more than usual. And yesterday, you were almost too tired to even want to eat. Don't think I'm mad George, it really is alright. I promise you I'm not upset. Don't think I'm mad at you for leaving your bowl full so Henry could eat twice as much. If you're not feeling it, you're just not feeling it. And you do like to sleep now. And that's fine. Whatever makes you happy is all that matters. I'm fine. I'm fine with that.

We're going to go for a nice drive and you're going to take a long nap. You won't be blind anymore; you'll be able to see everything you've been missing out on for a few years now. You won't be covered in tumors anymore, boy. You'll be able to walk freely. You're going to feel good, George. And it's all going to be alright, I promise.

Mh.14

Hold on, the worst is yet to come

Save your money for hired guns

Hold strong, when everything you loved is gone

Slow down, stop living in the shadow of a helicopter

Empty.

The same bottle of tequila she gave the man was also the same bottle he used to drown her memory. 

yeah

and I kept a journal during the summer.
it housed all of the emotions you made me feel;
most of them negative.
so I hope that the plans you've created hold promise
but in all honesty, you fucked me over.
and I wouldn't say that you're a bad person, you're just not good.

New

And I can finally say something about myself I have never once before believed;
I am a good person.
This was a summer where a lot of people touched my heart, and I did the same in return.
Life is a beautiful gift.
So to all the campers who changed my entire outlook on life, the best friends I have ever made in my life (counting out two others), and a beautiful English- woman; I thank you.
I thank you for the greatest memories I have ever created. The lasting friendships that have provided more fulfillment than the past five years of my life. Each kid telling me how much of a difference I had made in their life.
I arrived to Camp Lincoln as a jaded soul. A petty thief looking for his own self gain.
Today I leave this place with a greater appreciation for everything my parents have ever done for me. An understanding in being entirely selfless. A realization for how beautiful life truly is.
Today I am a new man.

Gone.

So I still don't understand why you decided to cut me out of your life like this.

Lhsjspw

Selfish.
So very selfish.
Wishing to capture all of the wind for your own sail.
Your world is small without you even noticing.

I do not feel bad for you. Not even in the slightest.

Boxing day

We could reignite, like fireflies... Like an atom bomb.

Almost

I'm sick as fuck with Lymes disease right now, and every dollar I've made at camp has gone towards two plane tickets and medication. But still, it's a beautiful life.

July 27?

Each day is a release of the inner toil
Like moving on from a swift knee to the gut
Pull yourself up, get up off the ground
It's only myself here when I'm looking around
I took a knock to the face, and spit out three teeth
Bloodied gums and red knuckles were a sign of my defeat
My father told me that a man should never cry
But I'm doing just that
So it's moments like these that make me wonder where I'm actually at
Head buried between two knees
A black eye and a hand full of gravel
Dealing with the inner demons that appear during the darkest hours
Most of the time I wish for it to all disappear
Unrealistically, I dream of perfect scenarios playing out
But instead I know that all the plans that once were made have long since burned out
Serving as empty coffins in an unvisited cemetery
The bridges that we constructed were made of sand after all
And what I struggle with most is knowing that I still mean every word I wrote.

Boxcar

Those notes you wrote me, I've kept them all
I've given a lot of thought on how to write you back this fall
With every single letter, and every single word
There will be a hidden message about a boy that loves a girl

Do you care if I don't know what to say?
Will you sleep tonight, will you think of me
Will I shake this off, pretend its all okay
That there's someone out there who feels just like me
There Is

The greatest

Trade winds from the past gave tale to a great warrior. He was a fearless leader undaunted by any obstacle. This leader was also a man of great wisdom. Bearing his heart on his sleeve, the scars of his past were visible to all. Every line wove a story of overcoming an obstacle. And on the day of this mans death, none were there to attend his funeral.

Itasca

I'm sleeping in the back of an 87' twelve seater. Two wet towels serve as a blanket. My eyes still sting from rising embers tossed by the fire. And that's all she wrote. But boy, it is a beautiful life none the less.

Throughout my life I've given pieces of my heart to different people. And I've particular hated myself these past few weeks for this Achilles heel, but no longer. It all made perfect sense finally. Words don't mean anything at this point. Sentences could not concoct the mental brewings that I have been marinating upon. But all of those things; they no longer have meaning. It's a beautiful life, and I am excited to continue living how I'm living.

Ba'ha

Sleep my child, sleep, for your father is tired;
When you leave me, the rain will be strong,
I will look at the sea with so many sails floating,
But I already know that you will return,
That you are strong and your boat will not sink

Goddamnit

Ask me how my fucking day was.

My bestfriend died.

I still care way to much about a girl who I'm a passing memory to.

And My grandfather was taken into the hospital.

Not sure what to expect when I finally do make it back, because I've been gone for so long that it will have all changed. Fuck this day.

The things

The things lost.

Laughter of the young boy, erupting in its high pitched tone as a babbling creek moves through his toes. A radiant day with clear blue skies providing the backdrop for this moment. His seven year old self wouldn't realize it during the moment, but these would be one of the things lost.
A sinple childhood innocence. Not knowing of the cruelty existing in the world. An impending divorce between his two parents who had sworn that infidelity would not be the end of their relationship. Being able to laugh at a passing butterfly because of its mismatched colors would be another thing. A passing memory to a once wide eyes child.

A button.
It was sewn on by the boys mother. It's deep maroon color similar to her insides. Constantly churning in anticipation of what was to come. She knew that this precious time wouldn't always last. A bowl cut and hand stitched sweater brought joy to her. But this as well, would be one of the things lost.

The scent of a woman.
Tempting and strong. The inviting fragrance that entices a man like I. These are the things lost.



I miss her, but I won't tell her.

Leave a voicemail.

I've seemed to have forgotten the ring your voice gave.

Let these words be the splitting sword piercing your side. Each syllable a pointed edge aiming its jagged corner towards that one artery you destroyed of mine.

Cornerstore

It's a beautiful life. Don't think for a minute it's not.
So as one adventure draws to a close, another one is just beginning
This winding road we wander leads us to mysterious lands, but maybe these are experiences we need to embark upon to realize what makes us truly happy.
Not the facade of happiness.
A deep seated joy with the life you choose to pursue.
Each day continues to move forward, and I know that I become closer to actualizing this thought.

Blink182

"Obvious"

I saw you again

I think you used me again

Should we try this before we give up and move on

And pretend to restore what we have and hold on

At times like these

It's obvious 

i saw you again

I know you fucked him again

Can you comfort yourself with a sense of revenge

Are you leaving me here with the taste of the end

At times like these

It's obvious

At times like these

It's obvious

I saw you again and again and again

There's some room to move on, to move on, to move on

Today

Do not cry.
And do not mourn.
This is the beginning gate of a new dream born.
Where desperate day-dreaming comes to fruition
Greeted by the warmth of a girl who gently listens.
I shall not tip toe,
It is time to be bold
Hiding in the shadows was a reminder of a timid soul
I'm a twenty year old
With a brain full of hopeless ambition
And empty pockets
Making plans for the future
While bolstering false promises

AvA

Even if your hope has burned with time
Anything that's dead shall be regrown
And your vicious pain, your warning sign
You will be fine


And here we go life's waiting to begin

Notingshire

Less than a month. Each day going more quickly than the previous. So does this timeline mean the birth or death of certain aspirations?

Overkill by Colin Hay describes perfectly how I feel

July 12rh

The dirty little secret.
Swept under the rug.
Kept under wrap.
And when the word got out, it changed.
Promises were made.
Maybe I was foolish for believing these things that were said.
Accepting the truth is difficult.

Deep sea

The gentle reassurance of a child's laughter. Joy blossoming like a young boy on Christmas Eve eager with anticipation. A rain on a summer day that makes steam form on top of black concrete. So I was thinking we could share a deep sea of blankets, maybe you'd be interested...

July 9th

And most of the time, I confuse what I mean to say with what I actually say. It's always hard trying to help someone understand the vision you are proposing. Maybe they are hesitant to believe that it can work. But for the one with that thought, well, they know in their truest heart that they believe it. Words can only do so much, and maybe that's where my plan goes off the tracks. Or it could be likely that she just isn't interested anymore. And that's a pill more difficult to swallow than that one time in.ninth grade where I gave six months of my life to a coach who ultimately decided I wasn't good enough to be on the team. It stings like an angry wasp chasing after a young boy whose childish game went one stone throw to far.
If you are interested in someone, you might as well tell them. People never get the flowers while they can still smell them.
So here it is; a toast. A toast to whatever may come of this situation. Stormy weather or picturesque day, it will all work out.

Midnight

Cycling in the dark.
Two friends going on a midnight voyage.
Grown men getting paid to ride bikes under a star filled blanket.
A passing breeze being the only refreshing part of the entire day.
Time spent talking about the serial killers that probably lay hidden in these Nisswa forests.
What it will be like walking out of that airport terminal and back into our previous lives.
And at the end of the night time ride, they arrived at the destination.
Calum would go his separate way, and there she was.
Waiting.
European clothed girl under a green lantern. With a smile and a wink she called my name out.
And I swear that if I had any demons to fight, she could expel the battle.
End a war with her mere presence.
A million constellations lay up above. But they will never compare to her beauty.
Cycling in the dark.

Boxcar racer

Sometimes

I wish I was brave

I wish I was stronger

I wish I could feel no pain

I wish I was young 

I wish I was shy

I wish I was honest

I wish I was you not I

'Cause

I feel so mad

I feel so angry

I feel so callous

So lost, confused, again

I feel so cheap

So used, unfaithful

End point

Growing Bermuda beneath my feet

Tell me the tale of how we meet

Where expanding footsteps begin a journey

And growing honeysuckle is drenched after a pouring

All roads come to an eventual end

Until you find a new place from which to begin

I'll search high and low, and recoup from the past

Knowing that time is all that will last

I'll wither the storm, and emerge through the flames

Weilding the scars that remember her name

I'm not a poet, or someone who can write

Just a worn  man searching for meaning in life

....

The past is only the future with the lights on.

Chapter XIII

My best laid plans

Will build and break your heart

Her guilty hands

Tear my whole world apart

My mind keeps racing

She's softly dreaming

I'm scraped and sober

But there's no one listening

Ranger cabin

Tough.
Like an overlooked New York Strip.
Tough.
Like dealing with an eleven year old who won't stop crying because he misses his parents.

Each night, the man enjoys peering across the lake to see a setting sun. Each time being a reminder that his time is drawling near.

Jumbled thoughts

It's not the blind man who is at a disadvantage. It is the man with vision who chooses not to see that is truly at a loss. And I, well I believe that I have become the second.


You leave your heart chords open to be strummed by others. And usually, they end up moving on. Like you're a used instrument in a 7th grade band that never really made it.
Trapped.

.

+

She's a pretty girl, but she's always falling down. And I think I just fell in love with her.
And I can always find her, in the bottom of a plastic cup. Drowning in drunk sincerity, a sad and lonely girl.

Superior

Day thirty-six of the Great American experience.

And as the man peered across Superior Lake, he had but one thought. It was her.

Writing a letter

It seems that we are all just fireflies floating in the rays of a setting sun. Our spontaneous colors are a reminder that a flame that once burned bright is no longer around.
And that, well that's the shit that can keep a man up at night. Keep a man aching because of the cold bedside he occupies. That's the shit that cuts deeper than any knife or blade.
Writing a letter.
It's kind of like taking a leap from a sixty foot cliff. Will there be water at the bottom to cradle you gently?

Wdpek

One month and nineteen days.
The memories you conjure still make me smile. The giving tree picture drawn up from half a year ago still remains pinned to the wall lying bedside.

Giving tr

And a lot of the time now, I find myself at a loss of words. I wish that I could write you a letter or send a text without feeling guilty. You told me that you'd get back to me, but never did. I'm guessing that was your answer. Wish it wasn't like that though.
A nonth ago tonight was our first night apart. Thirty days gone.

Pinned into the wooden wall lying next to my head is a picture. It depicts the 'Giving Tree' with two initials in the middle. Around the edges are the lyrics to Jimmy Eats World song The Middle. Most people would look at it and think nothing, but it holds a certain meaning.

Zorba

The grey shadows who dance along the walls might be looking down on me, but that doesn't mean that they are coming for me.

Real

Sometimes when you flip a quarter it lands on heads, and the other time it lands on tails. Life is just a guessing game in the end. You never really know what to put your trust into until time has passed and you can tell if it was a good decision.. And you, well you were the best decision I made. But life is like flipping a quarter; it just didnt land in my favor this time. So I'll keep playing this game and see where the road leads me. Silverfox himself used to tell me 'the best is always around the corner.' It's always hard to see the light in a dark situation, but it's always there. Wether or not we choose to believe this is the question though. And I, well I am an eternal optimist.

...

Fate fell short this time, your smile fades in the summer.

I just feel dumb when I think about it.

fuck/

And today I was soaring high above a clear blue lake. Looking around, I couldn't help but appreciate the majestic beauty..
And then I was told the news...

Away

And know that after all the lights have been turned out, and the loons have given their meloncholy melody, I am awake. Reading letters from the past desperately wishing that they would serve as a teleporter so I can lay next to you. Hoping that your words can bring me solace. Longing for your nurturesome touch.

hubert

and boy, you should've seen it.
The way the rising sun produced an amber reflection across a lake. A lake with water as smooth as glass. A crystalline reflection of the surrounding birch trees which had reached timberous heights from hundreds of years of growth.
and boy, you should've seen it.
the way the mist broke across a main lawn covered with a heavy layer of dew. Each step leaving a footprint. Each footprint bringing the man closer to the scenic beauty.
And what it all reminded the man of... Well, was her.

Nis

So realize that when it rains it pours. And I know that just around the corner is a brilliant sunrise. So whoever might be standing next to me when I look onto this sunset, well, I'll hold her tight.

unbelievable

and it's always raining in Minnesota. So maybe these overcast skies leave a foreboding trace of the ominous truth which I wish so vehemently to deny.  I can see through you- and I know that when you tell me one thing, duplicity in your speech exists. It seems that only half of the truth is only shared. The other half is hidden elsewhere, tucked firmly next to your internal sensor that wishes only to satisfy both parties.

Honesty.

The trait I find to be the most important above all others. I've lived my life as a lie, so obtaining the one thing which I have ran from my whole life carries a certain significance. And you know this; so why would you continue on with this facade?

The tale of two cities

It was the best of times; and it was the worst of times.

I've learned that you never want to put all your eggs into one basket. No matter how well you think you know someone, they will always have the ability to undercut you. So here is to to thinking you know a girl, and then finding out she is someone else entirely. You can throw the red roses away, they didn't mean shit to you anyways. I hope that a protruding thorn finds its way into your wrist and leaves you bleeding red. (Much like you discarded the one thing you said you wouldn't)

There is no "Leonidus the Great." Only a silhouette of a broken man weeping behind a dimly lit computer screen.

do not stand at my grave and weep

"Do not stand at my grave and weep; I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on the snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine in the night. Do not stand by my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die."

CalVin

Wesley Woods

When I was in 6th grade I went to a camp in Eastern Tennessee known as Wesley Woods. An important detail to this camp is that it is a faith-based camp.
I Remember that our cabin went on a 'retreat' into the woods for an overnight stay. This was a period of my life when I was already beginning to question my faith.
So I, being a curious one, decided to ask my attractive female counselor "If you're not a christian, does that mean you don't go to heaven?"
And she responded that only Christians can make it into heaven.
I then remember asking her "Well, Ghandi wasn't a Christian... Is he in heaven."
And she responded that he was not.
It was at that point that I realized I wanted nothing to do with the Christian God.

anger

The man's heart beat against his rib-cage like a pounding fist. A thick layer of sweat had formed across his brow. Constant fear of being discovered by those who were calling for his persecution reminded him to keep his head down and face hidden. 

He entered into his North-London flat one final time to reclaim a handful of possessions. And at the top of the staircase, a man with several days of beard stubble waited. 

The wolves would be eating tonight.

the ocean

Incoming waves washed sand from in between her toes. Sea foam lined the shore. A sand-castle that a group of young children had made earlier in the day was being reclaimed by the elements. Its desheveled state was a reminder of a marriage that no longer was working. So across the great open expanse she looked, and wished in that moment she was apart of the ocean. No identity. No responsibilities. Nothing.

who knows

The pills made the wrong set of voices disappear.

dammit

And I'll smile. And you'll wave. We'll pretend, it's okay. The charade. it won't last. When he's gone, I won't come back.

Money

A wooden oak once stood in a forest surrounded by many others. And then it was removed by a logging company for over-sea profit.

The Girl in the Red Dress

She'll walk past you and leave only her scent;
leaving you longing for more, but never truly satisfying
Her footsteps tracing gorgeous imprints on the ground below
only to be erased like an ocean wave reclaiming her shore
Her flowing brunette hair will sing a song of pure desire
like a melody that you can't erase from your memory
Nor would you want too
Her discordant voice will sing lyrics to songs that she does not know,
but you would swear she wrote them.


So when you see the Girl in the Red Dress
Let her know that I miss the way her nails dug into my arching back
Leaving me skin tender until the next sunrise would come


The girl in the Red Dress..

"An Atheist on a Date"

I kissed a girl
Wearing a cross
Around her neck
Her lips didn’t taste
Like church
But her hips
Felt like God
I wonder what
Her pastor would
Have thought
I wonder if that
Cross around her neck
Meant more to me
Than it does
To her. 

I did not write this.

chapter 12

And your disinterest seemed visible. The lines written across your face gave fact to the unspoken truth you were trying to hide.

the gorge

And there the man sat, in the back of a beat up Chevy truck. The worn chair below him supported his drunken weight. And as he peered across the camp site, he saw a sight that would plague him. As the fire threw up its flickering light, she looked deeply into another mans eyes. So as the night progressed and flames grew progressively smaller, she kissed him. And it wasn't a simple kiss. The dying embers fading to black provided solace as he gave a tearful goodbye.

Ships.

Nobody could've predicted the Spanish Armada.

21 degrees outside.

The street lamp served to cast her shadow into skeleton figures on the nights she walked alone.
and she walked alone... quite often.

Life.

I emerged bloodied red from an exhausted mothers stomach cavity into a world with no regard.
The first breathe I drew would be a declaration against the society I would soon battle against.
From the earliest memories I can draw upon, I can think of being repeatedly kicked while crawling on hand and knee.
And when I finally gathered the strength to stand once more;
I was pinned against a wall by a force similar to a typhoon barreling towards an unexpecting pacific island.
It's always been the last day of summer and I've been left out in the cold with no key to get back in.
So I feel as if I've had more than my fair share of experiences.
The volcanic magma flowing beneath my feet will eventually consume my essence.
And I will be projected into a godless sky after churning in the ground for hundreds of years.
And when all has settled, I will eventually lay.
A smoldering mound of ash;
waiting to be cast in all earthly directions by a passing breeze.

Roses.

The cherry-red roses sat atop her cheaply constructed microwave. And on that day, it seemed fitting that the wilting flowers decided to die the same day the relationship did.





.

trail

This is the spot where the road splits. Where reason and reality come colliding together at a hundred-and ninety miles per hour. Don't hate me for the decision I have to make.

can't get away

I think it's time to go now.
So hopefully you won't forget my touch.
or the way my voice resonates off the concrete walls.
Leave a letter in passing, maybe the wind won't sweep it away.

Red Pill vs Blue Pill

Take a look at the world you inhabit and realize that things really aren't as they seem. Maybe our whole reality is similar to the Blue and Red pill that Morpheus presents to Neo. We can either know the brutal truth to how things are, or be blissfully unaware of the shit that we are secretly neck-deep in. I'm also reminded of a similar question that the Allegory of the Cave produces. Is knowledge truly empowering if no one believes you? I could just as easily accept that the shadow figures are the only true reality if it was the only life that I was aware of.

So, would I rather know the truth and be enlightened? Or be kept in the dark and live a life of blissful ignorance?

I'll take the Blue pill. And with that, I would like the finest Mahi Tuna with the most prized women from every country. Naked. And maybe a mound of cocaine.

23%

And when you fall asleep underneath the starry-sky in the tent, know that I will hold you close. Looking into the vastness that is above will remind me of the infinite potential that I see when I can hold you.

Room 10.zero8

The man began to doze off. The two corners of his room that were previously illuminated turned dark as the goose-neck lamp died out. Shadows crept in. And there she stood. Looming over his figure with the carving knife that would soon pierce his throat. But he had long since been waiting for deaths embrace, so it came as a relief.

wheres my head at

So when the summer sun fades and the Autumn one rises, know that I'll be next to you when the leaves fall. When their weight finally becomes heavy enough, they will recede to the ground. And I will collect the ones of brilliant color and make you a wreathe. This wreathe will be your crown; wear it as a princess would.
When the darkness starts to creep, streets will be lined with Halloween decorations, know that I will be only as close to you as you would like me to be. Don't let the ghouls frighten you as they did I when I was a young one.

As I spectate life through a windshield (behind the wheel) I notice a striking number of patterns. Somehow they constantly remind me of you.

You know that spot. It's the spot that gets me every time.

his108

The rain came down in heavy blankets. Undaunted, the man did not mind because of what stood next to him.

stupid fucking shit.

You open up. Put your faith in someone. Then are left picking ip the pieces.

Repeat Process.

Seems like I've been a kid in a candy-shop when it comes to choosing a woman. Each week has a new flavor. Then, this eager-eyed kid in the candy-shop, finds something which has some sort of lasting value. Damn, this mirages always get him.

If it's "not what it looks like," then why the fuck would a person apologize.

my dog, George.

George, come on big guy, lets put you in the car. We'll go for a ride down River Road. I'll even put the windows down so you can catch a breeze. Just how you've always liked it. I know you're not interested in walking the Anchorage Trail anymore, and that's okay, I'm not mad. You're not letting me down, George. It really is alright; I only went to the trail so you could get some exercise.. I mean I liked going.. but just for you..

I've noticed you've been sleeping a lot more than usual. And yesterday, you were almost too tired to even want to eat. Don't think I'm mad George, it really is alright. I promise you I'm not upset. Don't think I'm mad at you for leaving your bowl full so Henry could eat twice as much. If you're not feeling it, you're just not feeling it. And you do like to sleep now. And that's fine. Whatever makes you happy is all that matters. I'm fine. I'm fine with that.

We're going to go for a nice drive and you're going to take a long nap. You won't be blind anymore; you'll be able to see everything you've been missing out on for a few years now. You won't be covered in tumors anymore, boy. You'll be able to walk freely. You're going to feel good, George. And it's all going to be alright, I promise.

river. road.

Down River Road the two-door maroon convertible drove. A blue sky above with the Ohio River on the left gave backdrop to the two who were in the car. Ten miles over the speed limit gave a hint of adventure to the trip. And when he looked over, he saw the face of the only woman who intrigued him. All the while, music from the early two-thousands was on the radio. 

.on.

So know that I would've waited at the bottom of your staircase in front of the swooning sycamores on that Southern plantation.

..

I did not write this.

I was born in 1957.  

Died in 2009.  

Since then I have been waiting anticipating yearning for my second death.  

A woman killed me.  

I ran fast and stumbled, fell hard, 

shattered spine and ribs and heart sauce leaked out onto the noodles of my spilled intestines.  

A drainage ditch, an overdose, alcohol, a razor blade.  

I woke up in my own bed the next day.  

Disappointed.  

Not knowing what to do.  

I showered the blood from my left arm and pulled myself into a suit.  I drove to work.  I taught children.  

I told them that life was worth living.  

That there was goodness in men & women.  

That they could turn the rudder of the world.  

They didn't smell the stink of my death.

Hours became days became weeks became months.  

Still no one knows that I am dead.

No one knows that I wait for my second death the way a small child waits for Christmas morning.

Please don't tell anyone.  

Let it be our little secret.

-Brothweef

-Brother Kay

RGWT

Timing is the most critical part of life. This go-around, timing got the best of me. Fate fell short.

small bird

The freight-yard rumbled as an approaching train drew close. Railroad ties began to jitter from the incoming vehicle that would shortly be taking its rest. 

On that Autumn day when it was fifty-six degrees outside and the Maples were brilliant shades of yellow and gold, a mother-bird guided her freshly hatched child to the edge of her nest. Painstaking hours were spent in culminating this nest. A young girls blanket thread helped to give home to three other young nestlings. 

And the oldest hatchling who was guided towards the edge took the jump.

kentucky scenic byway

The beauty of nature is incredible. The beauty of a woman is incredible. And the beauty of nature combined with the beauty of a woman sitting next to you can not be described with words.

college

Ever look around a situation you're in only to realize that you hate everything you've become to get to that point? It seems that every weekend as I'm drunkenly standing in someone's house who I barely know I get this burning sensation in my chest. And maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's the thought that I know I've betrayed who I truly am as a person.
You want to know what college is actually about?
It's about going away to meet new people in an environment that is conducive for drinking, fucking, and skipping class. And you get all this and more at the price of tuition and board. Welcome to a educational system that essential nickel-and-dimes you to use single ply-toliet paper. An educational system where the value of the degree is lessened simply because a degree reads "University of Kentucky" instead of "Vanderbilt."An educational system that honestly give a fuck about the students, just the dollar sign that they represent.

9004

Outside the window he peered at those below. Similar to ants they looked and acted was how he perceived them to be. So from that ninth floor position, looking out over the interaction of the bugs carrying small pieces of information to each other in a trance-like manor, he realized that he wished to be apart of them. But instead, he was nine stories above looking down from his tower of solitude.

blue

Still my fingers catch a spark at the though of touching you.

hm

Life is made in the details of the every day circumstances.

12

So there he was, in the basement of an abandoned house on West Main Street looking for a clue that might reveal what the past kept hidden. Dirty syringes and worn mattresses lined the floor and gave light to the junkies that used to inhibit this place. Black mold grew densely between the stucco walls and gave off its gentle kiss of death.
And then it appeared; the face which constantly stirred the man while sleeping. A face which caused for restless nights of bleak terror. A conjured image that dissipated when the morning sun came over the lazy Montana skyline, but re-emerged as REM sleep approached.-

ace high

A sheep skin jacket kept the rain off the mans upper body, but left his face invevitably open to be hit by rain; much like he received hits from those closest to  him. While walking across dimly lit streets and maintaining the struggle of not succumbing to an icy laden tumble, the man had a revelation. He realized that the key to understanding objective success was truly how others would perceive him. In essence, without accomplishing any particular task of merit or fame, a man could stake his claim simply by having others believe he was something extraordinary. It's similar to buying onto a the two-hundred dollar table of blackjack when all that is in your wallet is a food stamp and a frayed picture.

las2

Life moves at paces entirely too fast, while at the same time slowly crawling towards an inevitable infinite which never comes.

alive

So instead of spending money for a trip that will be a memory if things poorly remembered, save your money and accompany me on this trip.
We can share a sleeping bag under a starry night and trade stories while our breathe materializes in the cool air. I can give you the regalia of the constellations and tell you of how Orion received his belt, or simply point out the North Star. We can sit next to a fire so mountainous that rising embers threaten the trees which hang above. We can stare out over hundreds of miles of Gods Country high above the the birds flying below. We can traverse the peaks of our Earth and walk slowly with the clouds. And we can get rained on like you've never been rained on before, dance with the lightning as it is created around us. And we can take time to realize that we are alive.
Alive, we are.
We are, alive.

"The time of life is short; to spend that shortness basely were to long" - Shakspur

long time

and it seems that I've lost my mood ring, so maybe I'll turn to her and ask about how I really feel.