Dear Secret You

Last night I dreamed
I searched Space and Time,
And found no art that compared
To your beauty,
No music sweeter than your voice,
No wine more intoxicating
Than your warm, tender lips.

Poor me, I couldn't even make them rhyme. Haha!

Dreams and the Belle

I hardly remember any of my dreams. But I want to believe it is you that I always dream of. Who else can it be?
I wonder how far I am from you. How far in miles? How many steps? If I run, how long would it take before I reach you? Before my breath is drained?
Sometimes I feel so far from you; sometimes I feel so near. So near I could smell your breath. These moments I so long for. Nobody could tell that while I go about my routine, it is you that I think of. I think of how your eyes speak to mine. I think of how your touch leaves me weak and wanting. I think of how you burn me; how you melt me; how you give life to every inch of me. I think of how you listen to my heartbeat. Do you hear how my heart sings for you? Do you hear it scream your name?

Smile Again

It was 7:00 in the evening and while I was walking down Steady Street, I met Pervat. The wind was blowing cold against my face. I labored to make a smile, trying to be friendly, thinking it was the right thing to do - to greet an acquaintance in a lonely evening, hoping he would give it back. He shot me a glance, in his face a trace of what I judged as dislike and of pride. He thought my smile was a desperate attempt to ingratiate - and he laughed at it; laughed at me. I bowed to hide my reaction. Shame heated my face; my hands searched the cold of the metal under my belt. I hesitated, but finally, a sudden surge of false courage and ill reason changed my course. I turned. He was walking away. Who knew where he was going? The wind blew colder from behind me. "Pervat," I attempted, my voice, almost inaudible from doubt. I aimed and called again, "Pervat!" He turned and gave a short gasp. He afforded a smile, afraid but trying to hide it, perhaps convincing himself I was just playing a joke. A funny joke indeed. "Can I help-" He didn't finish his question. His eyes were wide in shock. I tucked my pistol back into my pants, breathed in deep, labored to make a smile, and continued on my way.

Sweet Night

Beside this building; across my room; in this noisy, ever weary city, is a place much like an oasis in a scorched desert - my paradise, my serene sanctuary, home of my wild fantasies.
Always, at night, after a whole day's toil and fatigue, I look to it and wait in patience. And then, like rain, as sweet as honey as it touches dry and barren soil, my woman - mine, for no other man claimed her his own but me (in the secret of my mind) - in her beautiful silhouette against her scarlet curtains, enters the scene, starts with a couple of gestures, obviously undressing, and makes her lovely curves more seducing.
I would stare indulgently, wide-eyed, speechless at the sight. The ecstasy it brings sometimes tells me I could jump and cross over the space between my room and hers, and my mind would then tell me otherwise.
I think I can. But I think I cannot. I can hold it. Can I?

-

Calling Samson

There is safety even in the darkness of a pupa's little world. Nevertheless, it is an incomplete life until the creature goes out to greet the big world and it's light. The uncertainties and danger - even pain - will then be precious. It costs to see the light.

Certainty cannot be attained, but hope can be justified. -Hans Urs Von Bathasar

Liking Brida

I don't like the idea of having a soul mate - or 3 of them. I don't like witches and the occult. I don't like Christianity blending with paganism. What fellowship can light have with darkness? I don't like my girlfriend dancing naked in front of a crowd. I also think women who have boyfriends aren't supposed to flirt with other men in wheat fields...(and Brida's naked!x_O)

Me No Longer Want It

Me tired of practice.
Me hungry.
Me wanna sleep all day.
Me mad at this bad week coming.

Women Are Wonderful

Mr. Jackson lived in an old shabby house his mother and father built when he was born. The house was always wet inside during rainy days, and the walls gave less protection against the cold during snow. When his parents were still alive, the house was always filled with his mother's angry talk and the smell of smoke and alcohol from his father. After they passed away, the house fell ever silent. All one would hear was the creaking noise the poorly oiled hinges made when Mr. Jackson goes out for work during the day, and when he returns at night.

One sunny day, Mr. Jackson decided to find himself a wife. He felt so good and all he could ever think of was living inside a nice house with dry blankets and a warm fireplace.

Mr. Jackson knocked at a blue-painted door, and a woman in blue dress showed up to meet him. They fell in love at first sight and got married that very same day. One night, while Mr. Jackson was enjoying the warmth of his new home, he thought to himself, "I know a woman prettier than Ms. Ellison."

So the next morning, he decided to find himself another wife. He felt so good and all he could ever think of was holding a lovely wife all night long.

Mr. Jackson knocked at a pink-painted door, and a woman in pink dress showed up to meet him. They fell in love at first sight and got married that very same day. One night, while Mr. Jackson was enjoying the warmth of his lovely wife, he thought to himself, "I know a woman who cooks a lot better than Ms. Rivers."

So the next morning, he decided to find himself another wife. He felt so good and all he could ever think of was eating his favorite food, delightfully prepared by his wife.

Mr. Jackson knocked at a green-painted door, and a woman in green dress showed up to meet him. They fell in love at first sight and got married that very same day. One night, while Mr. Jackson was enjoying his dinner, he thought to himself, "I know a woman who knows much in history and literature. Such a clever wife is good company."

So the next morning, he decided to find himself another wife. He felt so good and all he could ever think of was talking to a smart wife.

Mr. Jackson knocked at a violet-painted door, and a woman in violet dress showed up to meet him. They fell in love at first sight and got married that very same day.
One night, while Mr. Jackson was enjoying his dinner, he thought to himself, "I know a woman..."

So the next morning, Mr. Jackson decided to find himself another wife, and as he walked down the long, long road, he can't help but think of the woman he wanted. He kept walking down the long, long road, imagining things, dreaming about the woman he wanted. The road was very, very long. The doors were all painted in their own beauty.

And Mr. Jackson thought to himself, "Women are wonderful."

My Mary Jane

Maybe Mary Jane is worth the pain
Because I hear the angels' screams but I don't care
And I know death is here - it's here!
But still I want for this night's dream
My beautiful, beautiful, beautiful Mary Jane!

Breaking the Habit - or Maybe Not

Some things are just too good, too addictive, to break.