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Thursday. 6.21.12 5:58 pm
The months passed. Ares tried to describe to Grace, as they were walked together downtown, the lump that settled into his chest. Where to begin? It was a feeling more sublime than words. “What is it like?” Grace asked. “It’s like a moment of déjà vu in a place you’ve never been before. Or like when a radio stops working, and you smack it a few times and it’s brand new.” “You’re not making sense.” Grace frowned. “Exactly,” Ares nodded. “But it works,” he stuck out his tongue, “like FM.” “FM?” Grace raised an eyebrow. “Fucking Magic.” Her body leaned against his as she giggled. They laughed together – the vagueness of it all. But it wasn’t magic. No, it was real. “Show me,” Grace said. They stopped walking. Ares took both her hands; he pulled her close, and kissed her with the words he didn't know how to say. And when their lips parted, Grace whispered, “I love you too.”

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Sunday. 6.3.12 7:40 am
Sometimes I lay awake at night wondering why. I hear the hum, the crescendo of broken winds and I think of all the places I’ve been, the friends I’ve had, and I think of her. I remember the smooth rock she gave me on Valentine’s Day, my name written in black ink. I used to just sit stare at her during show and tell, counting how many times she looked my way and smiled. I remember her warm fingers when we held hands, the way she played with my hair when we were silent. I envied the way she closed her eyes when we kissed, eyelids soft and relaxed, while mine stayed open. I think of all the girls since and the things we whispered in bed. All the secrets I’ve heard and the ones which didn’t need to be spoken to be understood. Of friends who didn’t fit; a crushed square in a broken circle. The room I made for the ones who never bothered to stay, whose things remained behind, untouched memories echoed off the hallow walls; others still, hanging off the edge of places where I had no room, whose grip began to tire over time, and they fell away silently. It’s a wonder why things are the way they are, a gorgeous chaos I beg to be still. There are choices I’ve made from different colors of grey, and I’ve tried to pick the one with the lightest shade. It doesn’t help when I wander on, lost in a transient shuffle, another block of time pissed away, another year gone by; how did I get here and where did I lose my way? Insomnia is something I try to fix with a pill. Depression and ADD with more pills. But some things are hard to fix. I search for little pieces of me sometimes and try to connect them so I know how it feels to be whole. I hug my pillow at night, my way of feeling love when there is no one else, and I hope it will change, because we all have flaws we try to hide and we secretly hope someone will come along whose free spirit won’t make us feel so ashamed. And sometimes I think we just have to smile to the soft brush of broken winds, because the world would be an awfully lonely place if we didn’t learn how to love broken things.

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Hello
Friday. 10.14.11 5:49 am
Lookie, lookie: http://jumbledmusings.dreamwidth.org/

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Saturday. 1.22.11 11:31 pm
I haven't written anything in ages - which sucks when you're an aspiring (read: atrocious) writer. It sucks even more when everything you do write is so bad you're scared to publish it in a blog entry. That's a new low, man.

If any of you read some of my work, you would think I dreamed it all up while taking a shit. I would act all flustered and pretend it's true. In reality I spent hours thinking of crap, even more hours wading through the diarrhea and putting it into words, and days of editing said diarrhea to mold it into a solid, respectable log of shit (not too long, not too short, no unnecessary added floaters, enough spunk to grab your attention - you know). But a radiant, stunning piece of shit is still shit I suppose. Point is, that was a weeks worth of work you just took a dump all over, assholes!

I know everybody struggles with writing, but sometimes I feel like I'm the only one who struggles this hard. Damn you creative bastards that can articulate and flow with ease. You make me green with envy (which is a stupid idiom but somehow I get green anyway). Jerks.

Good to be back, Nutang!

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Wednesday. 2.18.09 5:33 am
Smoking is your euphoria.

You step outside your house and feel the winter chill bite at your legs. You're in shorts and flip flops, but you don't care, you're never out for long. You light a cigarette and look up toward the sky. The clear black void stares back at you, indifferent except for the stars that scatters the black background. They twinkle at you, but your bad eyes can only make out blurs.

For the first time since yesterday, you take a slow drag from you cigarette. This is your escape. The life you lead, the mundane chores you do, the daily grind to pass the time, your inner demons you have yet to conquer and shackle you to mediocrity... none of that matters right now.

You take another drag and you see a women walking by. It's late. What could this stranger be doing? You can't see her face, but her body language reveals enough. Her steps are slow, head down, hands in her pockets, you see her lost in thought and not aware of your stare. What is going through her head? Does she have demons that haunt her too? You wonder if walks at night are her temporary refuge from the feeling that torments her, just like your smoking. This nagging feeling deep down inside your soul, it enlightens and confuses you, it motivates and depresses you, it drives you insane until you see other people's insanity, it taunts you and mocks the life you are leading... a far cry from your calling. This nagging feeling you can only call your inner demons. And those demons guard the gateway to your real euphoria; a personal legend you've been struggling to define every morning you look in the mirror, let alone realize.

A dozen drags later and your mind wanders until eventually it draws a blank and you soak in the atmosphere. It's quiet and serene, this is why you love the night. Another drag and you wonder how many more you have left before you have to go inside the house. To where your demons are waiting. The smell of tobacco gives you peace, but your peace doesn't last like the cigarette you're about to throw away.

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Just posting for the sake of posting
Wednesday. 10.10.07 6:02 am
It doesn't look like I'll finish my story anytime soon. In fact, I forgot most of the important, vivid details. I think back to it now, and I don't remember much, except that the trip was fucking awesome.

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