Synergy - Forces working together in my life

 “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” - Aristotle

phorgiven

I want fire in my eyes and thunder in my steps.
I want to rise every morning with hope in each breath.
Fire of compassion, thunder of faith.
No sigh of compromise, just strength to create. 

Also published in: Broowaha

09182011
 

Still - Losing love to addiction

“When you can stop you don't want to, and when you want to stop, you can't...”
  - Luke Davies, Candy  

"What about today, you ask? Today it’s already too late. He’ll be home soon, and I have dinner on the stove, and wine chilling in the fridge. And he will smile at me when he comes through the door, and I will pretend like this fragile, dangerous thing we have created between us can last forever.
Just one last time, Sweets. Just one last fix. That’s all I need.
And that is why I now understand addiction.”  - 
 ― Marie Sexton, Strawberries for Dessert

 

lizzesaurus

Now love is to suffer at addictions hand,

This fight that happens I can't understand.

I wish it were you that love had freed.

But addiction won, it a sturdy steed

Forcing itself on loves soft breast

Love itself would lose the test.

So take your leave I know you will

Follow your lust, I love you still

Related post: Evidence of a Shell 

10302011 

If you need help with addiction GET IT.

Angel, Part 5 - Jealousy Breeds Over Angel's Dancing

The nights dragged on into months. We both learned the game, with a quickness necessitated out of survival rather than, as she supposed, fun and glamor. My angels' eyes lost their shine, being replaced with a distant look now shared with the rest of the dancers. She was fresh on the scene, and new girls make a lot of money the first few months of their rotation, their clients hoping to sway them with “generosity”. Other more unscrupulous men, professionals, hoping to secure her in their own businesses, would throw her lure after lure and line after line. Not knowing how to handle the growing concern and yes, jealousy, I tormented myself by watching her night after night, grinding on them, whispering to them, and worse still, disappearing into the private rooms that cheapened the scene, their rudely built walls ending a foot short of the ceiling. My guts ripped in agony night after night, developing a hardness of heart that was unnatural but soothing. One client in particular purposely set himself to provoke me, giving me the impression that he was a danger to my angel, which drove me near insanity. I begged to her to dance for anyone else but him, it tormented me. Many nights I watched him with interest and growing anger, burning deep inside, like only a jealous lover can feel. A hatred growing so strong as to rival the love I had and would soon turn me into a dangerous man. He took her one night into the room, I followed and sat close, as close as I could get. Tears welled in my eyes, anger pushing at me, jealousy tugging me, my own care for her demanding I take action. I had not yet resorted to violence in my life as a means to an end, but that would soon change. For now, I took an unconventional approach. I yelled for her to stop. I figured if she wanted money, I would give her money, I could give her what he did, or so I believed. I threw hundred-dollar bills in crumpled wads over the wall, pleading for her to stop. He was giving her what I could never give her again, a stranger's attention. I stormed out of the building, everything in me screaming and confused and on fire with powerful passion. She came and found me, comforting me, with kisses now growing cheaper with time, telling me that it was her job, and it was. However, I would learn that there are other parts of her job that were not so well advertised to those on the outside. This lesson I would be taught well, emphasized by the peculiar fact that I never saw those hundred-dollar bills again, ever, it was never even mentioned.

 Next Chapter: Part 6 - The Flip Side

  

Also published in Broowaha

12132011 

Angel Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5 ,Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

The Sound of Sirens

 “All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” ― Edgar Allan Poe

heatherwanderer

I woke with a sweat drenched pillow, the dreams that enthralled me were just out of reach but I could struggle and recall them if I didn't hesitant any longer and with that thought, I pulled back the sounds of voices, calling like the fine wind and string instruments of lyre and lute. The voices were right, wisdom echoed in their cadence as I found my ship drawn inextricably to their haunting direction. Have you ever smelled perfume? Not the cheap whorish variety that smelled like cotton candy but a subtle scent that lingered long after she left the room? That's how her voice seemed, a wafting fragrance that captivated both mind and body and caused me to drift aimless but not so misdirected as one lost, for my wanderings found their home in her arms. Ok, now that I wrangled my dreams from their abyss, I can take my sweat soaked bedding and snap open a beer that waited for me in the icy bottom of the cooler. Simple pleasures, intense dreams, cold beer, what more could a man want from chasing the pleasures of his Queen? I could go on but would you be interested in the musings of one who gave his ear in desperation of love, or one who wrote under the influence of acid and heroin? If not for leisure, philosophy would find no fertile ground. How can you think when your body is burdened with heat, sweat and fatigue? Yet, as I grabbed the sweaty pillow, I was lying down, sleeping, and still I sweated with what? Passion? Work? What trick of nature is this? I'm still and yet my dreams bring labor, enough work to leave me exhausted. Perhaps I actually live a life beyond the awakened drudgery of normalcy? Society feels no compassion for the sweat obtained through dreams, and yet, that's were the miracles of living are brought to a vivid reality. Yes, my thoughts are work, yes, that's my job, and yes, from it I am weary and sweaty. I'm off to work again, don't look for me on the street, my tasks take me to roads never seen, and I dance with voices never heard.

Dying in the Witch

 “I love you," he whispered, and that was the moment he knew what he was going to do. When you loved someone, you put their needs before your own. No matter how inconceivable those needs were; no matter how fucked up; no matter how much it made you feel like you were ripping yourself into pieces.” ― Jodi Picoult, The Pact

 

The light vacated her eyes and left a dull black, dull like wet rocks dried in the sun. I saw it, and ran to stay clear of that magic, only the most vile of curses could pull the life from the eyes of wizards. Hurrying to my home in the tangled roots and quickly pulling my herbs and potions from the cellar, I began making a remedy against this foe, glancing out the window at the dark eyes as the wizard became the witch. I knew she smelled my cure, her nose in the wind as the ears of the night prowlers pushed out beside her once beautiful face. How does this happen? Can purity be so easily chased from the soul? Crushing the ingredients, small clouds of dust surrounded the bowl as I poured in the cure. She crouched on all fours now, all innocence gone, the grimace of hunger replacing her kind and gentle smile. I poured in the oils of remedy and brought them to a rolling boil. She gazed intently at my door, the instincts from another world directed her to my haven. Picking up the pot from the fire, a sudden slam at the door almost made me drop the concoction, that and a frantic clawing and growling made my task all the more urgent as the sweat of my concentration dripped down my nose and into my brew. The door splintered under her assault, just as I filled a small bottle, and ran, tripping over my feet and stumbling into the cellar. The door here was made for protection and had a spell on it to prevent entry but I knew no incantation would save me now. She saved me not so long ago as I endured a moment with with wicked things of night and now I would die for the chance to repay that kindness. Shadows crept around the entrance as the smoky tendrils flung open my last refuge. I knew that she would kill me, though she loved me, and with that thought, I swallowed the cure. The potion ripped through me like freezing water, taking my breath and leaving me helpless before her mauling fangs. As the life slipped from me, I saw that the flesh she bit off allowed more of the cure to repel the evil that overcame her. With my last breath, I saw the light come back to her, and as she stood, beautiful and glorious, her lovely eyes glistened with the tears of my death.

A Question of Manhood

 “That paper--it sits there, open at the employment section. It sits there like a war, and each small advertisement is another trench for a person to dive into. To hope and fight in.” ― Markus Zusak, Fighting Ruben Wolfe

“Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all.”
- Dale Carnegie 

punemployment

General malaise. That's what the doctor said. The medical term didn't mean a thing to me, what was important was the why?  What's lost is a purpose, duty, and usefulness. When I lost my abilities and thereby my job, I lost more than money. My reputation took a hit, with my ego falling hard soon after, then, a darkness, like a twilight that makes it hard to see unless I look away from the object. Men commit suicide in these moments. Subtle injuries to self esteem, normally peeling away like water off the leaves, cut deeper and stay longer. My image was built and maintained by the acquisition of wealth. When money leaves, my foundation rocks and shakes leaving me unbalanced and with the lingering question, “What now?”, “What will I do?”, “What else am I good at?” People make career changes all the time, but what is my calling, my life's ambition? What will I be satisfied with? There are no easy answers, just a raw pain, like a burn on my soul, evidenced by the blush of shame on my cheeks as I struggle to answer the question that makes a man a man, “What do you do for a living?”

The Addiction of Belonging - Approval is addictive drug

 “A truly strong person does not need the approval of others any more than a lion needs the approval of sheep.” - Vernon Howard

secretdiaryofacollege-girl

There are purveyors of affection and belonging that ply their wares on the corner of our mind and emotions. Like the dealers who sell illicit and addictive substances, they, with great subtlety, offer tidbits of friendship that draw the lonely, hurting, or naive soul into their game.  Society today generates many deformities of social maturity. Single parent families, domestic abuse, molestation, and apathetic parenting leave many souls thirsty for belonging, for approval, and for a sense of family. This “drug” of approval is not an illegal sort, it is nonetheless, just as deadly.

Once the hook is set through approval, and acceptance is feigned in the “family”(the group or persons the searching heart wished to belong to), pressure is exerted to perform the will of the those who possess the “fix” of affection. The “addict” is drawn further away from their own independence and individuality and is conformed to the will of the “dealer”. Eager for approval, the walls of inhibition are broken down and the victim finds their choices of right and wrong becoming choices of the lesser of two evils. Gangs operate this way, drawing in the young, unwary, and inexperienced souls, transforming them into soldiers ready to obey their command. In a sexual relationship the same effect is accomplished. The end result is the dissolution of individuality and the creation of an extremely unhealthy social interaction that ends in the destruction of the victim, either physically, through death, emotionally, through heartache, or through social isolation and imprisonment to a partners will.

To break free from this cycle and bondage, the victim, the “addict”, must exert his/her individuality at any cost. The victim must stand on their own beliefs and moral decisions. Depending on how deep their involvement may be, this could be a costly and life changing act. When the victim is in too deep, it may well cost them their life to escape the hold of that “family”. But, breaking that hold is a must, an imperative, for without that break, there exists only a life of imprisonment and eventual misery and regret as the suppliant gives away their life for the selfish goal of another. Be careful my friends that you don't find yourself in this hidden addiction of belonging. Choose your friends wisely and be sure to stand on your own ground. 

Also published in Broowaha

06252012 

"Why?" - Questions are answered tomorrow

“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language."

 -  Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

 

 

sensosketch

When the storm rages on the oceans way, 

"Why?" is not a question for the gales stay.

When the earth trembles and shakes us deep, 

"Why?" is not a question we should keep.

When the starry skies shed their bright lights, 

"Why?" is not a question for that dark night.

Reap the strong currents of dire sorrow,

 “Why?” is answered only by tomorrow...

06222012

Point of No Return

“In everybody’s life there’s a point of no return. And in a very few cases, a point where you can’t go forward anymore. And when we reach that point, all we can do is quietly accept the fact. That’s how we survive.” - Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore


 

schwarzesonne

There are moments in my life of wandering, moments when I'm breaking through the brush of mystery and intrigue in the nurture of existence, to find myself on the very edge of a cliff. A cliff of choice, the point of no return. Many choices, once made, offer no u-turns. My fate is sealed, the dice are rolled, the trigger is pulled. The air is thick with mist, the mist of unknowing. The wind blows up from the chasm of destiny, pulling my hair, pushing me back, forcing me to make a decision. I feel the ground giving way, circumstance will force my hand if I hesitate. Forward progress, by necessity, is a very definite and purposeful choice.  These moments come without warning, catching me in their frenzy and pressure. It's almost to late. Be prepared my friends, fate comes quickly to demand of you, to smack you with reality, to dazzle you with fantasy, to ask you, what will you do? Choose carefully, once you leap, the ground comes to greet you with a startling quickness.

03222012

Malevolent - The Illusion of Freedom

“When she's abandoned her moral center and teachings...when she's cast aside her facade of propriety and lady-like demeanor...when I have so corrupted this fragile thing and brought out a writhing, mewling, bucking, wanton whore for my enjoyment and pleasure.....enticing from within this feral lioness...growling and scratching and biting...taking everything I dish out to her.....at that moment she is never more beautiful to me. ”
― Marquis de Sade


"All the dark, malevolent Passions of the Soul are roused and exerted; its mild and amiable affections are suppressed; and with them, virtuous Principles are laid prostrate." - Charles Inglis

tassiasete

Malevolent is my lovers name,

holding her passions lust near pain

Never to light again let them be,

in the open choices of wills release

Fiery and soft though her affections seem,

her subtlety controls the whole of me

With touches sharp and pleasures same,

malevolent creates her wily game

Obscuring with intangible moves,

binding me with hemp that soothes

The illusion of freedom is her claim,

free will held with the surest chains

Malevolent from your sultry kiss I turn,

hard lessons taught but never learned 

06082012