White lights blinding the thoughts
coming into and out of consciousness.
Beckoned to the world of dreams
Startled to the sphere of reality.
The blurs of pain arouse
images fade into hazy apparitions.
Swallowed into the deepness of night
regurgitate to the likeness of dusk.
A slumber wrecked by tossing and turning
When waiting only lengthens the sluggish hours
A hopefulness when daylight breaks
But the night's passing leaves its mark.
Fighting any urge to remain awake
Drowned into peace struggling to resist
The harassment of an untamed psyche
Ready to unleash the furry at the moment of surrender.
Oh! Restless will. Resist no more
Calm the storm of spirit and mind
The burden of fate as an unwelcoming fear
Shall die with the waking
Countless dreams and desires left to the living
Subconscious enigmas rial for the sleeping
When eyes have opened to the sun
The wallowing effects still linger on.
10.12.06
O, TO THE NEIGHBORS- NOVEMBER 30, 2006
Destiny moves along tugging at our lives rotating directions: North, South, East, West. The lives that collide forming friends from molds of strangers to connect according to time. The moments cherished by the knowledge learned from different souls Experiences made. Experiences exchanged. We move circling each other.
Events take place, opportunities unfold, our neighbors grasp new heights to new hopes towards possibilities of any once unknown. The friends we had will soon be metaphors of the friends to come where new memories will be made. More memories exchanged.
To our dear neighbors we wish you the best. May adventures abound surpassing the greatest of expectations. May peace joy and love be your faithful companions to help overcome the trails yet to face. may honor, patience, integrity, trust be partners with your marriage. We will miss your company, your generosity, but are pleased you will spread your kindness to others.
Do not remain strangers forever. May our paths merge once more where again memories can be made and exchanged.
Events take place, opportunities unfold, our neighbors grasp new heights to new hopes towards possibilities of any once unknown. The friends we had will soon be metaphors of the friends to come where new memories will be made. More memories exchanged.
To our dear neighbors we wish you the best. May adventures abound surpassing the greatest of expectations. May peace joy and love be your faithful companions to help overcome the trails yet to face. may honor, patience, integrity, trust be partners with your marriage. We will miss your company, your generosity, but are pleased you will spread your kindness to others.
Do not remain strangers forever. May our paths merge once more where again memories can be made and exchanged.
DECEMBER 12, 2006
Our struggle for righteous and evil. Our mental challenge for good and bad. We have truths built within our soul. We have righteousness mended into our Spirit. We have principle blended into our heart. However, we have been misguided for correctness conditioned to be corrosive. We have allowed ourselves to learn lies speaking in truth.
I know the truth. I know the rules. I know the righteous. And I know the judgment. I do not want to forget. I do not want to compromise. I do not want to be unable to feel convicted. I want to look forward. I want to practice patience. I want to be honorable.
But I am loosing. I am allowing myself to be defeated by my own worst enemy. Myself. I want what I should not, indulging in the destructible. My battle is never ending. My only options are to sink deeper and deeper, to hide, or to die.
I look for hope in myself, but see little reason for smiling. I know I can overcome, but my second battle is do I want to?
I know the truth. I know the rules. I know the righteous. And I know the judgment. I do not want to forget. I do not want to compromise. I do not want to be unable to feel convicted. I want to look forward. I want to practice patience. I want to be honorable.
But I am loosing. I am allowing myself to be defeated by my own worst enemy. Myself. I want what I should not, indulging in the destructible. My battle is never ending. My only options are to sink deeper and deeper, to hide, or to die.
I look for hope in myself, but see little reason for smiling. I know I can overcome, but my second battle is do I want to?
DECEMBER 13, 2006
Our souls in love turning and twisting towards directions unseen, untouched. We travel a mile a minute looking this way and that searching, but have not pin-pointed what. Though circumstances, blindness, achievements yet to reach our shapes have not come aligned. There is a voidness trying to cover the cracks of enigmas. Answers are not always pronounced where motion seems safer. Perpetual movement is necessary, but moments become lost missing what is before and surrounding. We will loose sight, but there is hope for an awakening.
Weightless souls floating aimlessly with the personified within aching restless hearts the soberness remains stagnant preventing euphoria's bloom. Clanking notes with no opus to follow. Our melodies will not ring true until the notes reflect the guidance from wondering paths.
Kindred souls cannot be denied, divided, or torn. Assemble to one another can be assured. Only time finds the judge of when. Where soul finds heart. Where heart finds love. Where love finds bliss.
Weightless souls floating aimlessly with the personified within aching restless hearts the soberness remains stagnant preventing euphoria's bloom. Clanking notes with no opus to follow. Our melodies will not ring true until the notes reflect the guidance from wondering paths.
Kindred souls cannot be denied, divided, or torn. Assemble to one another can be assured. Only time finds the judge of when. Where soul finds heart. Where heart finds love. Where love finds bliss.
Down with iPODS & MP3 players
The other day I went into a cd store browsing for new music to add to my collection. Normally I would not pay full retail price, but the was having close-out sales with 40-50% off. I browsed each aisle A-Z searching for names I have on my list as a must. Some of the band names I desired were missing so I moved on then there was an album I had been dying to own. Be long I had six cds in my arms. I could not possibly afford them all so I had to rate on level of importance.
It is a bit of a shame now how internet and iPods are changing the direction of music sales. My parents keep asking me if for Christmas would I like an iPod. Call me old fashion, but I just shrug off the suggestion. I like holding the cd tangibly in my hot little hands. I do not love the struggle of removing the shrink wrap then picking at the sticker strip, but it is still apart of the experience of buying new treasured music. Because then come the best part. Sliding/placing the cd in the cd player, turning the volume up, waiting for the first track to begin. With full approval the music sings, my excitement builds with each song. I follow along with the lyrics with the insert knowing exactly how to harmonize. During the musicians' rifts I gaze at the albums artwork approving or disapproving the coherency to the music's soul. I am completely submerged absorbing every meaning to the musician's emotion.
I can remember similar experiences occurring to my mother a couple of decades earlier purchasing Tracy Chapman and Paul Simon's Graceland. Over and over she listened. Under African Skies by Simon was her favorite as she had the volume turned up extra. No sooner would the song finish then she was there lifting the needle to play the song again. At Christmas while putting up the tree and decorating it we listened to the Drummer Boy album on the record player. There was a nostalgia about hanging ornament to the crackling static of the drumming chore.
The same record player I grew up listening to my Disney and Mothergoose songs, as well as Mom's albums of Paul Simon and Crosby, Still, Nash, and Young, I now own. None of the records I have bought. All the records in my possession belong to my mother, but I love pulling out the vinyl discs, placing it on the turn table, lowering the needle causing the table to spin. Then oh so carefully lowering the diamond to touch listening to the rumble as the needle picks up every flaw in static. The anticipation ends when the music plays. It allows me to hear the past as once current greats are now classics. I receive a sense of my parents history with the issues they faced and what was important. With the ancient larger stereo system I crank up the volume allowing me to feel the vibrations of past musicians' convictions as their emotions ring through my body.
I am older now with an appreciation for diverse music, however the acknowledgment of the iPod age disheartens me. Future generations will not have the opportunity to use all the senses to experience music if iPods take over. There will be no hardcopy for a young child to tangibly grasp the with greasy finger tips to place on the turn table. To try ever so gently bring the needle down without a boom. I can remember when I became of age receiving permission from Mom and dad, trusted enough, to play a record on my very own. Every time I held my breath as I cradled the needle's arm with my finger. With a whence I placed it down. Most often the scratch could be heard, but I breathed in relief when the percussion began to thunder then the strings accompanied in harmonious approval. My smile grew larger as I turned up the volume. I had in a strange minimal way helped create the music that now reigned.
It is a bit of a shame now how internet and iPods are changing the direction of music sales. My parents keep asking me if for Christmas would I like an iPod. Call me old fashion, but I just shrug off the suggestion. I like holding the cd tangibly in my hot little hands. I do not love the struggle of removing the shrink wrap then picking at the sticker strip, but it is still apart of the experience of buying new treasured music. Because then come the best part. Sliding/placing the cd in the cd player, turning the volume up, waiting for the first track to begin. With full approval the music sings, my excitement builds with each song. I follow along with the lyrics with the insert knowing exactly how to harmonize. During the musicians' rifts I gaze at the albums artwork approving or disapproving the coherency to the music's soul. I am completely submerged absorbing every meaning to the musician's emotion.
I can remember similar experiences occurring to my mother a couple of decades earlier purchasing Tracy Chapman and Paul Simon's Graceland. Over and over she listened. Under African Skies by Simon was her favorite as she had the volume turned up extra. No sooner would the song finish then she was there lifting the needle to play the song again. At Christmas while putting up the tree and decorating it we listened to the Drummer Boy album on the record player. There was a nostalgia about hanging ornament to the crackling static of the drumming chore.
The same record player I grew up listening to my Disney and Mothergoose songs, as well as Mom's albums of Paul Simon and Crosby, Still, Nash, and Young, I now own. None of the records I have bought. All the records in my possession belong to my mother, but I love pulling out the vinyl discs, placing it on the turn table, lowering the needle causing the table to spin. Then oh so carefully lowering the diamond to touch listening to the rumble as the needle picks up every flaw in static. The anticipation ends when the music plays. It allows me to hear the past as once current greats are now classics. I receive a sense of my parents history with the issues they faced and what was important. With the ancient larger stereo system I crank up the volume allowing me to feel the vibrations of past musicians' convictions as their emotions ring through my body.
I am older now with an appreciation for diverse music, however the acknowledgment of the iPod age disheartens me. Future generations will not have the opportunity to use all the senses to experience music if iPods take over. There will be no hardcopy for a young child to tangibly grasp the with greasy finger tips to place on the turn table. To try ever so gently bring the needle down without a boom. I can remember when I became of age receiving permission from Mom and dad, trusted enough, to play a record on my very own. Every time I held my breath as I cradled the needle's arm with my finger. With a whence I placed it down. Most often the scratch could be heard, but I breathed in relief when the percussion began to thunder then the strings accompanied in harmonious approval. My smile grew larger as I turned up the volume. I had in a strange minimal way helped create the music that now reigned.
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