MAYBE you would then ask a question.
What if it wasn't all that equal?
If you cared enough... You wouldn't care.
But sometimes you are left to crumble by yourself and nobody comes and drags you out into the blinding sunlight that you miss so dearly because you realize then that you have not seen it in days. It's what happens.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Coming
UNION. Meeting halfway. Two opposites of a single jigsaw puzzle erotically coming together, drawn like magnets, opposite poles thirsting for the other's beautiful, beautiful face.
Can you meet me halfway
Right at the borderline is where
I'm gonna wait for you
I'll be looking out
Night and day
My heart to the limit
And this is where I stay
Voted most beautiful word in the world? Mother.
It is beautiful when two people come together and make something out of nothing. Create love out of like. Create life out of love. Create love out of life.
Can you meet me halfway
Right at the borderline is where
I'm gonna wait for you
I'll be looking out
Night and day
My heart to the limit
And this is where I stay
Voted most beautiful word in the world? Mother.
It is beautiful when two people come together and make something out of nothing. Create love out of like. Create life out of love. Create love out of life.
GainGive
CHEMISTRY. Ionic bonding.
Two atoms that aren't stable because they haven't got enough electrons in their outermost shells have to give and take electrons from each other in order to both achieve stability.
They have to cooperate. They have to have a mutual exchange.
When an atom loses an electron, the charge will increase by one.
Apparently it gains when it gives away.
When an atom accepts an electron, the charge will decrease by one.
Apparently it loses when it takes.
But that will let it give to another atom someday somewhere.
Lots of people can't seem to understand this is chemistry class. They keep making the same mistake and seem to keep thinking that when the atom loses electrons, it really loses out.
I hope this helps, guys.
Two atoms that aren't stable because they haven't got enough electrons in their outermost shells have to give and take electrons from each other in order to both achieve stability.
They have to cooperate. They have to have a mutual exchange.
When an atom loses an electron, the charge will increase by one.
Apparently it gains when it gives away.
When an atom accepts an electron, the charge will decrease by one.
Apparently it loses when it takes.
But that will let it give to another atom someday somewhere.
Lots of people can't seem to understand this is chemistry class. They keep making the same mistake and seem to keep thinking that when the atom loses electrons, it really loses out.
I hope this helps, guys.
Annual
THIS is one of those many times of the year to think about 'this time last year', 'this time next year'.
Occasionally I wish that we would reflect on what we've done, what we have been doing and what we are going to do, more often. If we only ever sit around and discuss these things say every time we're bored after pigging out on good food for whatever festival or event it happens to be, then how can we ever really do all those things we say we're going to do?
Somehow we need to be motivated more constantly to keep going and keep testing and asking and doubting ourselves.
Occasionally I wish that we would reflect on what we've done, what we have been doing and what we are going to do, more often. If we only ever sit around and discuss these things say every time we're bored after pigging out on good food for whatever festival or event it happens to be, then how can we ever really do all those things we say we're going to do?
Somehow we need to be motivated more constantly to keep going and keep testing and asking and doubting ourselves.
If Tomorrow Never Came
29th February comes once in every four years.
I imagined today if the days were like a land you travel through, a land of time. Would the day after 28th February drop off into nothing, or would it be more like a gentle continuation, perhaps even completely unperturbed, into the 1st of March?
If tomorrow never came and I never woke up after I go to sleep tonight, would I regret? Would I even get the chance to taste that white panic of pain, the bitter taste at the back of my mouth and my eyes, telling me that I had been stupid, so stupid, to een think so naively for so long?
If tomorrow never came would it all have been for nothing? Every bead of perspiration I have sweated, every tear that has ever welled up in my eyes, every drop of blood that came leaking out of my heart when all those people came and stomped all over it?
For nothing?
Or for me?
I imagined today if the days were like a land you travel through, a land of time. Would the day after 28th February drop off into nothing, or would it be more like a gentle continuation, perhaps even completely unperturbed, into the 1st of March?
If tomorrow never came and I never woke up after I go to sleep tonight, would I regret? Would I even get the chance to taste that white panic of pain, the bitter taste at the back of my mouth and my eyes, telling me that I had been stupid, so stupid, to een think so naively for so long?
If tomorrow never came would it all have been for nothing? Every bead of perspiration I have sweated, every tear that has ever welled up in my eyes, every drop of blood that came leaking out of my heart when all those people came and stomped all over it?
For nothing?
Or for me?
Dictatorship
TIME has a curious way of running long distance. Most of the time they'll tell you right before a marathon (the time when you bounce on the balls of your feet chock-full of energy, so ready) to keep your pace steady so you get a momentum going and you follow it. But time seems to have missed that part of the briefing. And if you decided that you wanna finish this thing before it you are going to have one hell of a race.
Just when you begin to settle into a comfortable momentum, your legs pumping regularly and strong it will change its own rhythm. It will speed up and even as it lengthens the distance between you two it will be mocking you, mocking that you are only human and can't do this, can't do that. And you will follow.
Just when you begin to catch up and sprint, begin to get red-faced and breathless, it will slow down again and you will once again have no choice but to follow because this is going to be - literally and metaphorically - the race of a lifetime, and if you speed now later on you will collapse and you will give in to your aching, shaking limbs.
It is the ultimate dictator and all around the world there are so many people racing against time to save a life in a hospital, to make it to work on time, to finish up that final report. And they think they're racing time but they're not. They will always be following it, because time dictates and you will follow.
Just when you begin to settle into a comfortable momentum, your legs pumping regularly and strong it will change its own rhythm. It will speed up and even as it lengthens the distance between you two it will be mocking you, mocking that you are only human and can't do this, can't do that. And you will follow.
Just when you begin to catch up and sprint, begin to get red-faced and breathless, it will slow down again and you will once again have no choice but to follow because this is going to be - literally and metaphorically - the race of a lifetime, and if you speed now later on you will collapse and you will give in to your aching, shaking limbs.
It is the ultimate dictator and all around the world there are so many people racing against time to save a life in a hospital, to make it to work on time, to finish up that final report. And they think they're racing time but they're not. They will always be following it, because time dictates and you will follow.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Intentions (cont'd) Execution
SLIGHT promises to go out there.
From this moment
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand.
And I shall seize the opportunity to let my voice ring proud amongst the crowd even if no one but me should hear it amongst the uncaring, nonchalant daily bustle surrounding and obscuring their ears from this wondrous sound of truth, obscuring their faces from this morning's first rays of sunlight.
From this moment
The very firstlings of my heart shall be
The firstlings of my hand.
And I shall seize the opportunity to let my voice ring proud amongst the crowd even if no one but me should hear it amongst the uncaring, nonchalant daily bustle surrounding and obscuring their ears from this wondrous sound of truth, obscuring their faces from this morning's first rays of sunlight.
Moving On, and Past
I squeeze my eyes tight and disciplined, scrunched up like the wrinkles on his face bunching up those times he laughed at party-told, politically incorrect jokes; tight like the buttonholes on his shirt, the one he was wearing when warmth waned, the sky-blue one that reminisced of his next home - a place he always liked to call Heaven.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Sepia Footprints 3
IMAGES that stick in my mind's eye like band aids for wounds of old times and past tense.
Three. A tree, casually expanded from an accidental puddle, condensations off a cup's edge, corroding the table and warming itself.
It seems to waver in the light and in the winds untied, unbound, and somehow it all seems so worthless that something so pure and simple and impossible should exist without anybody recognizing how beautiful it was.
Three. A tree, casually expanded from an accidental puddle, condensations off a cup's edge, corroding the table and warming itself.
It seems to waver in the light and in the winds untied, unbound, and somehow it all seems so worthless that something so pure and simple and impossible should exist without anybody recognizing how beautiful it was.
Sepia Footprints 2
IMAGES that stick in my mind's eye like band aids for wounds of old times and past tense.
Two. A juicy red heart punctured through by modern Cupid's arrow, a silver rod with a pointy, heart-shaped tip, slim and stylish and shiny-attractive-to-ravens. And the arrow has been bent when it comes out on the other side.
Our hearts were getting harder and getting blood from them, love from them, was like begging from a stone. And now even when that lovely fluttery feeling in the pits of our stomachs called love is bestowed onto our doorsteps where it slouches and patiently waits out the night of your ignorance to the sound of it knocking. Knock-knocking on the door punctured in your heart.
Two. A juicy red heart punctured through by modern Cupid's arrow, a silver rod with a pointy, heart-shaped tip, slim and stylish and shiny-attractive-to-ravens. And the arrow has been bent when it comes out on the other side.
Our hearts were getting harder and getting blood from them, love from them, was like begging from a stone. And now even when that lovely fluttery feeling in the pits of our stomachs called love is bestowed onto our doorsteps where it slouches and patiently waits out the night of your ignorance to the sound of it knocking. Knock-knocking on the door punctured in your heart.
Sepia Footprints 1
IMAGES that stick in my mind's eye like band aids for wounds of old times and past tense.
One. A four-leaf clover, a rare joy sought by so many, acquired by so few. Only with a leaf fallen off again, turning it back into a normal, little weed.
How they used to croon and drool words, words of greedy passion for that thing they called luck. For that abstract little golden vial of something that they thought a couple of leaves could encompass or at the very least represent, in order to reassure them, a mother hen clucking foolishly to her chicks that everything would be okay if they stood hidden under her wing out of sight of the predator circling overhead.
One. A four-leaf clover, a rare joy sought by so many, acquired by so few. Only with a leaf fallen off again, turning it back into a normal, little weed.
How they used to croon and drool words, words of greedy passion for that thing they called luck. For that abstract little golden vial of something that they thought a couple of leaves could encompass or at the very least represent, in order to reassure them, a mother hen clucking foolishly to her chicks that everything would be okay if they stood hidden under her wing out of sight of the predator circling overhead.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The Point
ZIPPING around from point A to Z means
records
admiration
pride
And it means I forget so much
I forget that
A and Z were always just points on an infinite line.
records
admiration
pride
And it means I forget so much
I forget that
A and Z were always just points on an infinite line.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Projection
A lot of times these days when I'm heading out in the evening and I look up at the sky, I either see stars or I don't.
I look because I'm looking for those three stars in a row. Orion's Belt.
Most of the time there are a couple other ones up there but I can't see the supposed billions of stars they say there are. And sometimes, like tonight, I catch sight of this really bright spark. It looks to be the one behind that old nursery rhyme line. Like a diamond in the sky. Only when I keep watching it's gentle, almost pulsating twinkling, I realize it's moving and that it's only some plane, a late night flight heading somewhere else.
I look because I'm looking for those three stars in a row. Orion's Belt.
Most of the time there are a couple other ones up there but I can't see the supposed billions of stars they say there are. And sometimes, like tonight, I catch sight of this really bright spark. It looks to be the one behind that old nursery rhyme line. Like a diamond in the sky. Only when I keep watching it's gentle, almost pulsating twinkling, I realize it's moving and that it's only some plane, a late night flight heading somewhere else.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Dark
I think I've had a similar post on nictophobia before.
I just remembered one thing my Mama told me before, about the dark.
Don't be afraid of what you can't see; it's what you can that should scare you.
I just remembered one thing my Mama told me before, about the dark.
Don't be afraid of what you can't see; it's what you can that should scare you.
My Papa's Garden
7 P.M., and I stepped out of the shower with damp hair and a light body for once. Something then possessed this city girl to step outside into the seeming wilderness of the garden my Papa tends with an enthusiasm approaching ecstasy.
He was watering the plants and asked me if I wanted to try. His voice is light and casual, deep and reassuring, but something within it, a kind of straining longing, tells me that he wants me to say yes. I had homework to do and not a lot of time to do it in, but once again, (the same) something stayed my feet and I drifted towards him thinking to myself that I would wet a few plants, he would get mad at me for not doing it well and it'd be all done. Finished.
He did come close to yelling at me at times. He paid attention to detail a lot and whenever I missed out a couple tiny patches of grass he'd insist I come back and water them. He told me how important even the small things were, and not to judge them by their size.
Of course I got pretty pettily upset, since really, he was making me get my hands all muddy and my new pyjamas all wet. And the main thing I enjoyed about watering the plants during his many hours and days away at work was watching the droplets spray downwards when the hose was spraying them not as one shooting length but as a sort of mist. I would aim the hose high in the air and watch them scatter, heading towards their own unknown destination seeping through the hardness of the thirsty soil.
He was getting on in age and also yelled at me when the ground had absorbed the water I'd just sprayed it with and he couldn't remember that I'd already done that part.
Throughout all the berating though, I kept a calm mind and aimed the hose where he wanted me to.
Later we did the back garden and while unplugging this new hose I scraped my hand against the cement wall. I was thinking how he didn't even care, but then I realized that once again, I hadn't let out a sound, an alack of pain. I couldn't blame him.
He loved his garden and was even then rolling up the hose carefully, storing it away.
I sank back on my feet until he came to wash my muddy shoes using those big strong hands that he first cleansed of mud and dirt.
And I knew he kept a special place for me in the garden of his heart. I wanted to tell him I had just realized I'd always wanted to be like him and I'd just realized that - only he was away so much I had forgotten what he was.
I wanted to tell him I wanted to call him Papa again, and I wanted to hug him and disappear in the folds of his sweaty shirt like always.
But I didn't, and just sat there looking at my Papa, man of the soil and of the secret heart.
He was watering the plants and asked me if I wanted to try. His voice is light and casual, deep and reassuring, but something within it, a kind of straining longing, tells me that he wants me to say yes. I had homework to do and not a lot of time to do it in, but once again, (the same) something stayed my feet and I drifted towards him thinking to myself that I would wet a few plants, he would get mad at me for not doing it well and it'd be all done. Finished.
He did come close to yelling at me at times. He paid attention to detail a lot and whenever I missed out a couple tiny patches of grass he'd insist I come back and water them. He told me how important even the small things were, and not to judge them by their size.
Of course I got pretty pettily upset, since really, he was making me get my hands all muddy and my new pyjamas all wet. And the main thing I enjoyed about watering the plants during his many hours and days away at work was watching the droplets spray downwards when the hose was spraying them not as one shooting length but as a sort of mist. I would aim the hose high in the air and watch them scatter, heading towards their own unknown destination seeping through the hardness of the thirsty soil.
He was getting on in age and also yelled at me when the ground had absorbed the water I'd just sprayed it with and he couldn't remember that I'd already done that part.
Throughout all the berating though, I kept a calm mind and aimed the hose where he wanted me to.
Later we did the back garden and while unplugging this new hose I scraped my hand against the cement wall. I was thinking how he didn't even care, but then I realized that once again, I hadn't let out a sound, an alack of pain. I couldn't blame him.
He loved his garden and was even then rolling up the hose carefully, storing it away.
I sank back on my feet until he came to wash my muddy shoes using those big strong hands that he first cleansed of mud and dirt.
And I knew he kept a special place for me in the garden of his heart. I wanted to tell him I had just realized I'd always wanted to be like him and I'd just realized that - only he was away so much I had forgotten what he was.
I wanted to tell him I wanted to call him Papa again, and I wanted to hug him and disappear in the folds of his sweaty shirt like always.
But I didn't, and just sat there looking at my Papa, man of the soil and of the secret heart.
Dear Valentine
VALENTINE's day is the day for everything in love. A teen chock-full of hormones will finally work up the courage to say it all to that one crush she's been observing secretly, eyes fluttering shyly away when he sensed her gaze and met it. A couple nearing that dreaded edge of a cliff, falling off into a deep chasm of divorce, makes up with a few more words, a couple of flowers and so many tears of happiness and love. An elderly couple wake up together like on any other day and share a summer smile just like before knowing that today was different; today was a celebration of them.
Perhaps to someone like me, someone still budding, not quite a girl anymore but not quite a woman either, find this day the most difficult of all days. Valentine's Day. Heavily romanticized in countless movies, books, television sitcoms for the bored and the spinsters. For me it seems to be a casual acceptance of the fact that as yet that thing commonly known as love has still not yet found its way to me. I wondered yesterday when that time would ever come, and how it would happen. A clichéd scene of a crowded room, where the eyes would meet and the fireworks would spark off, a chemical reaction unseen elsewhere. Or a brush of the hand when it was not necessary, seemingly meaningless but forming the foundation for so much more? Maybe a gradual fall - or maybe a slip, a slide - into something that peaked all emotion, forming highs and lows and obliterating the mundane in-between everyday life.
Heard somewhere that love was when you couldn't sleep because life was finally better than your dreams. Heard that it took your breath away and showed you an even better alternative to staying alive. Heard a lot of things because I listened, but maybe felt too little because I never reached out my hand.
Perhaps to someone like me, someone still budding, not quite a girl anymore but not quite a woman either, find this day the most difficult of all days. Valentine's Day. Heavily romanticized in countless movies, books, television sitcoms for the bored and the spinsters. For me it seems to be a casual acceptance of the fact that as yet that thing commonly known as love has still not yet found its way to me. I wondered yesterday when that time would ever come, and how it would happen. A clichéd scene of a crowded room, where the eyes would meet and the fireworks would spark off, a chemical reaction unseen elsewhere. Or a brush of the hand when it was not necessary, seemingly meaningless but forming the foundation for so much more? Maybe a gradual fall - or maybe a slip, a slide - into something that peaked all emotion, forming highs and lows and obliterating the mundane in-between everyday life.
Heard somewhere that love was when you couldn't sleep because life was finally better than your dreams. Heard that it took your breath away and showed you an even better alternative to staying alive. Heard a lot of things because I listened, but maybe felt too little because I never reached out my hand.
Game-Show
AT times it all seems to be one big game of musical chairs. They get up and they talk for a while. Smiles abound, cigarettes are passed around amidst cheerful laughter, to the disapproving looks of wives and certain daughters. But a thought hangs inthe back of the mind of each person, looking like a guillotine blade, poised and ready to fall, elucidating the execution - the execution of the action that will win them the game. For the secret was no longer how to die. It was how to fool and pretend and keep the smile on your face throughout the pleasure of it all.
You can never know how many faces are just masks ready to be discarded after the performance.
You can never know how many faces are just masks ready to be discarded after the performance.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Fists
UNCLENCHING her fingers has become very enjoyable by now. Almost like a home outside of a home. A place where she can let go of everything and nobody will take it away from her till she works up the stength and the courage to pick up her burden again, and keep going till she reaches her next rest stop.
She will not be allowed to slow down no matter how much her legs ache and her feet blister. She will not be allowed to pause to readjust her load so that it rests easier on her back and does not cut into her young flesh anymore than it has to over time. No such luxuries were allowed because she had somewhere to go even if the fog of self-doubt denied her the pleasure and reassurance of seeing where that was.
Somehow things are washing over her more and passing her by without leaving her behind. Perhaps they might take a little of her with them, eroding away at the top layers but never taking away anything really precious. It was sort of like therapy actually. Like going for a manicure or a massage where they took away your dried skin, softening the new softness beneath it further. The things that passed by removed all the baggage she held unconsciously, the weights on her mind that clung on like parasites.
And she wonders as she watches and imagines the passing things and constant things, whether she will emerge something better or something worse or just something different. Maybe even a someone, whatever that was.
Her hands twitch slightly back to their accustomed positions further deepening the creases folded into her cardboard palms, and her fingers are tempted, teased closer to their fate-sealing. But she lets her hands remain still and unclenched, and everything remain out there.
She will not be allowed to slow down no matter how much her legs ache and her feet blister. She will not be allowed to pause to readjust her load so that it rests easier on her back and does not cut into her young flesh anymore than it has to over time. No such luxuries were allowed because she had somewhere to go even if the fog of self-doubt denied her the pleasure and reassurance of seeing where that was.
Somehow things are washing over her more and passing her by without leaving her behind. Perhaps they might take a little of her with them, eroding away at the top layers but never taking away anything really precious. It was sort of like therapy actually. Like going for a manicure or a massage where they took away your dried skin, softening the new softness beneath it further. The things that passed by removed all the baggage she held unconsciously, the weights on her mind that clung on like parasites.
And she wonders as she watches and imagines the passing things and constant things, whether she will emerge something better or something worse or just something different. Maybe even a someone, whatever that was.
Her hands twitch slightly back to their accustomed positions further deepening the creases folded into her cardboard palms, and her fingers are tempted, teased closer to their fate-sealing. But she lets her hands remain still and unclenched, and everything remain out there.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Intentions
Time, thou anticipat'st my dread exploits:
The flighty purpose never is overtook,
Unless the deed go with it.
Why did the seconds seem to flee, the minutes seem to wander and the hours seem to flicker?
The flighty purpose never is overtook,
Unless the deed go with it.
Why did the seconds seem to flee, the minutes seem to wander and the hours seem to flicker?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Prisoner of Words
P.O.W ~Alicia Keys
I'm a prisoner
Of words unsaid
Just lonely feelings
Locked away in my head
I trap myself further
Every time I stay quiet
I should start to speak
But I stop and stay silent
And now I've made
My own hard bed
Inside a prison of words unsaid
I am a P.O.W.
Not a prisoner of war
A prisoner of words
Like a soldier
I'm a fighter
Yet only a puppet
Mostly I only say
What you wanna hear
Could you take it if I came clear?
Or would you rather see me
Stoned on a drug of complacency and compromise
M.I.A.
I guess that's what I am
Scraping this cold earth
For a piece of myself
For peace in myself
It'd be easier if you put me in jail
If you locked me away
I'd have someone to blame
But these bars of steel are of my making
They surround my mind
And have me shaking
My hands are cuffed behind my back
I'm a prisoner of the worst kind, in fact
A prisoner of compromise
A prisoner of compassion
A prisoner of kindness
A prisoner of expectation
A prisoner of my youth
Run too fast to be old
I've forgotten what I was told
Ain't I a sight to behold?
A prisoner of age dying to be young
To my head is my hand with a gun
And it's cold and it's hard
Cause there's nowhere to run
When you've caged youself
By holding your tongue
I'm a prisoner
Of words unsaid
Just lonely feelings
Locked away in my head
It's like solitary confinement
Every time I stay quiet
I should start to speak
But I stop and stay silent
And now I've made
My own hard bed
Inside a prison of words unsaid
Alicia Keys
I'm a prisoner
Of words unsaid
Just lonely feelings
Locked away in my head
I trap myself further
Every time I stay quiet
I should start to speak
But I stop and stay silent
And now I've made
My own hard bed
Inside a prison of words unsaid
I am a P.O.W.
Not a prisoner of war
A prisoner of words
Like a soldier
I'm a fighter
Yet only a puppet
Mostly I only say
What you wanna hear
Could you take it if I came clear?
Or would you rather see me
Stoned on a drug of complacency and compromise
M.I.A.
I guess that's what I am
Scraping this cold earth
For a piece of myself
For peace in myself
It'd be easier if you put me in jail
If you locked me away
I'd have someone to blame
But these bars of steel are of my making
They surround my mind
And have me shaking
My hands are cuffed behind my back
I'm a prisoner of the worst kind, in fact
A prisoner of compromise
A prisoner of compassion
A prisoner of kindness
A prisoner of expectation
A prisoner of my youth
Run too fast to be old
I've forgotten what I was told
Ain't I a sight to behold?
A prisoner of age dying to be young
To my head is my hand with a gun
And it's cold and it's hard
Cause there's nowhere to run
When you've caged youself
By holding your tongue
I'm a prisoner
Of words unsaid
Just lonely feelings
Locked away in my head
It's like solitary confinement
Every time I stay quiet
I should start to speak
But I stop and stay silent
And now I've made
My own hard bed
Inside a prison of words unsaid
Alicia Keys
Monday, February 8, 2010
Pulse of Morning
Hola! ¿como estas
Konichiwa!
你好！
Bonjour!
It seems we don't greet each other enough.
It seems we don't smile and say hello to every bright new day when the dawn shines and we are still
human and alive.
Konichiwa!
你好！
Bonjour!
It seems we don't greet each other enough.
It seems we don't smile and say hello to every bright new day when the dawn shines and we are still
human and alive.
One Step At A Time
(Footsteps)
[Verse 1]
Hurry up and wait
So close, but so far away
Everything that you've always dreamed of
Close enough for you to taste
But you just can't touch
[Bridge]
You wanna show the world, but no one knows your name yet
Wonder when and where and how you're gonna make it
You know you can if you get the chance
In your face and the door keeps slamming
Now you're feeling more and more frustrated
And you're getting all kind of impatient waiting
We live and we learn to take
[Chorus]
One step at a time
There's no need to rush
It's like learning to fly
Or falling in love
It's gonna happen when it's
Supposed to happen that we
Find the reasons why
One step at a time
[Verse 2]
You believe and you doubt
You're confused, you got it all figured out
Everything that you always wished for
Could be yours, should be yours, would be yours
If they only knew
[Bridge]
You wanna show the world, but no one knows your name yet
Wonder when and where and how you're gonna make it
You know you can if you get the chance
In your face and the door keeps slamming
Now you're feeling more and more frustrated
And you're getting all kind of impatient waiting
We live and we learn to take
[Chorus]
One step at a time
There's no need to rush
It's like learning to fly
Or falling in love
It's gonna happen when it's
Supposed to happen that we
Find the reasons why
One step at a time
[Verse 3]
When you can't wait any longer
But there's no end in sight
It's the faith that makes you stronger
The only way we get there
Is one step at a time
[Chorus]
Take one step at a time
There's no need to rush
It's like learning to fly
Or falling in love
It's gonna happen when it's
Supposed to happen that we
Find the reasons why
One step at a time
[Chorus]
One step at a time
There's no need to rush
It's like learning to fly
Or falling in love
It's gonna happen when it's
Supposed to happen that we
Find the reasons why
One step at a time
(Footsteps)
[Verse 1]
Hurry up and wait
So close, but so far away
Everything that you've always dreamed of
Close enough for you to taste
But you just can't touch
[Bridge]
You wanna show the world, but no one knows your name yet
Wonder when and where and how you're gonna make it
You know you can if you get the chance
In your face and the door keeps slamming
Now you're feeling more and more frustrated
And you're getting all kind of impatient waiting
We live and we learn to take
[Chorus]
One step at a time
There's no need to rush
It's like learning to fly
Or falling in love
It's gonna happen when it's
Supposed to happen that we
Find the reasons why
One step at a time
[Verse 2]
You believe and you doubt
You're confused, you got it all figured out
Everything that you always wished for
Could be yours, should be yours, would be yours
If they only knew
[Bridge]
You wanna show the world, but no one knows your name yet
Wonder when and where and how you're gonna make it
You know you can if you get the chance
In your face and the door keeps slamming
Now you're feeling more and more frustrated
And you're getting all kind of impatient waiting
We live and we learn to take
[Chorus]
One step at a time
There's no need to rush
It's like learning to fly
Or falling in love
It's gonna happen when it's
Supposed to happen that we
Find the reasons why
One step at a time
[Verse 3]
When you can't wait any longer
But there's no end in sight
It's the faith that makes you stronger
The only way we get there
Is one step at a time
[Chorus]
Take one step at a time
There's no need to rush
It's like learning to fly
Or falling in love
It's gonna happen when it's
Supposed to happen that we
Find the reasons why
One step at a time
[Chorus]
One step at a time
There's no need to rush
It's like learning to fly
Or falling in love
It's gonna happen when it's
Supposed to happen that we
Find the reasons why
One step at a time
(Footsteps)
Punctuation
Impermanent.
Improbable.
Impossible.
One little apostrophe in the right place can make all the difference. What about the second meaning of punctuation?
Improbable.
Impossible.
One little apostrophe in the right place can make all the difference. What about the second meaning of punctuation?
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Things To Do Before You Die 1
Write a message, not anything real philosophical or inspirational but something silly, like "The aliens are coming!" and send it off in a bottle on the sea.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Warm Watershock
LEADER. The cliched afterthought someone penned once that stuck like dried up old corn starch, left in Tupperware and left on the doorstep to being lost. And now she was finally getting it.
Will it be the same the next year? The all important, major one? The goal and the dream and the sweat and the pain and the wish come true or false and it all hung and rested on the immense but impossible shoulders of the die tossed by heaven periodically to make such supposedly apocalyptic decisions. Those die were worn and weathered and had been thrown and cursed at so many times that by now they showed no mercy. Let the people doom themselves. They would keep rolling that way or this way because well, that was the purpose of die right? The whole philosophy was to leave it up to fate. If you got it good the die were probably just in a better than average mood that day, perhaps because of a couple of new juniors of torment and mentor - ooh, spelt with almost the same letters, too. But you went and immediately thought that Lady Luck loved you now and that you would never be faced with anything remotely unfortunate...
I wish the die would roll and toll and roll.
Will it be the same the next year? The all important, major one? The goal and the dream and the sweat and the pain and the wish come true or false and it all hung and rested on the immense but impossible shoulders of the die tossed by heaven periodically to make such supposedly apocalyptic decisions. Those die were worn and weathered and had been thrown and cursed at so many times that by now they showed no mercy. Let the people doom themselves. They would keep rolling that way or this way because well, that was the purpose of die right? The whole philosophy was to leave it up to fate. If you got it good the die were probably just in a better than average mood that day, perhaps because of a couple of new juniors of torment and mentor - ooh, spelt with almost the same letters, too. But you went and immediately thought that Lady Luck loved you now and that you would never be faced with anything remotely unfortunate...
I wish the die would roll and toll and roll.
Appear
AFTER a while you start thinking and believing and almost trusting that people will be cruel. They will come over to look at a cat or dog and be interested in adoption for a while. Maybe your parents, ever so powerfully and naively hurting, will
attempt to coax a short little biography out of them. It will always be the same thing really. So and so has had whatever experience how many years or months back and needs a pet as comfort and ad company. It's never about the animal itself.
And then when they do come and their eyes widen with shock and gross interest they will be looking at the cute little bundles of kitten fur and not the sleek bodies of fully-grown cats that really need a home because well, they don't attract anyone.
Who wants you when you don't look nice anymore? Maybe your parents and maybe your family.
Nobody else in the case of animals I can tell you. And I've been the family of so many. I've has to see kittens go away to irresponsible owners who awkwardly mentioned their last, late animal, probably died because they were careless and let the front door open and the main road busy. Or adopt puppies and dogs that are pudgy but that will be found some months later in some bush on the side of the toad where they have just been through a hit-and-run that crushed their spines and crippled them forever.
People are so ugly sometimes.
When you don't think about all the work and sweat and almost tears, tears of frustration and tears of sadness, that went into nurturing the animal then it's fine. Don't think about the people working to keep these guys alive till your previous royal eyes land upon them and you suddenly just make them yours but never truly. Don't think about the stage crew at a performance, or the directors behind the camera of movie making sure that when the actors parade in front of the character they look good.
Don't think about all the people who went into making you.
attempt to coax a short little biography out of them. It will always be the same thing really. So and so has had whatever experience how many years or months back and needs a pet as comfort and ad company. It's never about the animal itself.
And then when they do come and their eyes widen with shock and gross interest they will be looking at the cute little bundles of kitten fur and not the sleek bodies of fully-grown cats that really need a home because well, they don't attract anyone.
Who wants you when you don't look nice anymore? Maybe your parents and maybe your family.
Nobody else in the case of animals I can tell you. And I've been the family of so many. I've has to see kittens go away to irresponsible owners who awkwardly mentioned their last, late animal, probably died because they were careless and let the front door open and the main road busy. Or adopt puppies and dogs that are pudgy but that will be found some months later in some bush on the side of the toad where they have just been through a hit-and-run that crushed their spines and crippled them forever.
People are so ugly sometimes.
When you don't think about all the work and sweat and almost tears, tears of frustration and tears of sadness, that went into nurturing the animal then it's fine. Don't think about the people working to keep these guys alive till your previous royal eyes land upon them and you suddenly just make them yours but never truly. Don't think about the stage crew at a performance, or the directors behind the camera of movie making sure that when the actors parade in front of the character they look good.
Don't think about all the people who went into making you.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Identity
Let them be as flowers,
always watered, fed, guarded, admired,
but harnessed to a pot of dirt.
I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed,
clinging on cliffs, like an eagle
wind-wavering above high, jagged rocks.
To have broken through the surface of stone,
to live, to feel expose to the madness
of the vast, eternal sky.
To be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea,
carrying my soul, my seed,
beyond the mountains of time or into the abyss of the bizarre.
I'd rather be unseen, and if
then shunned by everyone,
than to be a pleasant-smelling flower,
growing in clusters in the fertile valley,
where they're praised, handled, and plucked
by greedy, human hands.
I'd rather smell of musty, green stench
than of sweet, fragrant lilac.
If I could stand alone, strong and free,
I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed.
Julio Noboa Polanco
always watered, fed, guarded, admired,
but harnessed to a pot of dirt.
I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed,
clinging on cliffs, like an eagle
wind-wavering above high, jagged rocks.
To have broken through the surface of stone,
to live, to feel expose to the madness
of the vast, eternal sky.
To be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea,
carrying my soul, my seed,
beyond the mountains of time or into the abyss of the bizarre.
I'd rather be unseen, and if
then shunned by everyone,
than to be a pleasant-smelling flower,
growing in clusters in the fertile valley,
where they're praised, handled, and plucked
by greedy, human hands.
I'd rather smell of musty, green stench
than of sweet, fragrant lilac.
If I could stand alone, strong and free,
I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed.
Julio Noboa Polanco
Do
The modern world is chock-full of temptations and greed. We need to learn how to make decisions based not on what we want but by what we need and nothing more. There is a difference and the line between them is thick but the gray area that surrounds it is nothing more than a halo of lies. Do not make the mistake of thinking anyone and anything can do what they like and hve what they like. Even if you work for what you want you have to ask yourself why you want. You need a reason to do such things because they're concrete and they're real.
What you don't need a reason for is love. Why don't you just give? For once just let someone slip past you and above you and play yag with her in this spring meadow of carefree.
Make the decision.
Don't give up a forest for the sake of one tree.
What you don't need a reason for is love. Why don't you just give? For once just let someone slip past you and above you and play yag with her in this spring meadow of carefree.
Make the decision.
Don't give up a forest for the sake of one tree.
I, Therefore I AM.
SOMEHOW I feel the love of all the people around me in each word and each movement. I hear the love of their words and their silences, their first hugs and cries together. They give so much and we give so much that it really makes me wonder.
I am feeling like a lost little girl in a brand new tale. I feel this spirit, this pulsing thereness that arises from the constant not-leaving of all these people who smile and laugh and hug and cry and gossip and scream and yell and touch and feel and taste and hear and LOVE.
It is these people whose hands have shaped me and now I somehow begin to feel like a mere unformed blob of something in the middle of a somewhere or a nowhere; I know not which and I know not why it would be important to know anyway.
I look up at the moon and I see the craters in it where our weaknesses lie thinly disguised from light years away from all else, perhaps covered gently by a loving layer of cheese.
I look up at the stars and I see especially the three stars in a row, Orion's Belt commonly, mine to me. They say they point the way and even now I am not sure I know which are the ones they were.
But then I look up at the sun and I see blindness. I see passion in which love plays a major part - passion is love. Love is not gentle and it is not kind. It will take away your mind and give you back the world but in the end all that matters is that you are a pearl and you grow with every cursed tear they made you shed and every bead of sweat you have paid like a solemn ransom with heavy interest. And you grow with every breath you take and every promise you keep and every oath you make and take.
And you may not feel it all the time and not a lot of people do but you love because you are human and you are human because you love.
I am feeling like a lost little girl in a brand new tale. I feel this spirit, this pulsing thereness that arises from the constant not-leaving of all these people who smile and laugh and hug and cry and gossip and scream and yell and touch and feel and taste and hear and LOVE.
It is these people whose hands have shaped me and now I somehow begin to feel like a mere unformed blob of something in the middle of a somewhere or a nowhere; I know not which and I know not why it would be important to know anyway.
I look up at the moon and I see the craters in it where our weaknesses lie thinly disguised from light years away from all else, perhaps covered gently by a loving layer of cheese.
I look up at the stars and I see especially the three stars in a row, Orion's Belt commonly, mine to me. They say they point the way and even now I am not sure I know which are the ones they were.
But then I look up at the sun and I see blindness. I see passion in which love plays a major part - passion is love. Love is not gentle and it is not kind. It will take away your mind and give you back the world but in the end all that matters is that you are a pearl and you grow with every cursed tear they made you shed and every bead of sweat you have paid like a solemn ransom with heavy interest. And you grow with every breath you take and every promise you keep and every oath you make and take.
And you may not feel it all the time and not a lot of people do but you love because you are human and you are human because you love.
Chasing Happyness
CHASING.
We talk of chasing our dreams and catching them. Amidst our daily lives going about being busy, we are always and forever chasing dreams. Miracles. They often happen to humans, in fact so often that unfortunately some people hve begun to stop seeing them as so miraculous anymore. So what if the life of a new baby just appeared, a beacon light in someone'a life? So what if someone just gave up her most dear possesion to allow another to keep going? So what if a couple, teenaged or middle-tired, shares another one of those looks and thinks naughtily about later?
We are surrounded with wonders here. We chase for more. We want for more. We thirst for more.
We greed.
For
MORE.
What would it mean to give away something? To let go of something and feel all that just seeping away in the pure enjoyment that by letting your greed die away slowly like it will eventually when you grow weathered and wise will then fill you up?
It would mean happiness.
Maybe a hard concept.
But if you want more, how can you ever be happy?
We talk of chasing our dreams and catching them. Amidst our daily lives going about being busy, we are always and forever chasing dreams. Miracles. They often happen to humans, in fact so often that unfortunately some people hve begun to stop seeing them as so miraculous anymore. So what if the life of a new baby just appeared, a beacon light in someone'a life? So what if someone just gave up her most dear possesion to allow another to keep going? So what if a couple, teenaged or middle-tired, shares another one of those looks and thinks naughtily about later?
We are surrounded with wonders here. We chase for more. We want for more. We thirst for more.
We greed.
For
MORE.
What would it mean to give away something? To let go of something and feel all that just seeping away in the pure enjoyment that by letting your greed die away slowly like it will eventually when you grow weathered and wise will then fill you up?
It would mean happiness.
Maybe a hard concept.
But if you want more, how can you ever be happy?
Monday, February 1, 2010
Logic = Pain?
LOGIC has always been described as cold and hard, by me and by so many other people, their hearts and lungs being ripped out and open by the jagged jigsaw puzzle pieces of an intense, undeniable realization that is also tardy to arrive in their foolish young eyes.
Yet somehow now it seems logic is a savior. Logic is a refuge that will never refuse, and logic is the home that will never disown. Keep it within you but run to it when you need to. Keep it close to your brain but fat from your heart else that particular, very important organ, might just begin to freeze over.
Sometimes we feel as though our hearts are indeed freezing over. They feel like they're shrinking and hardening, shriveling and drying up and dying so tragically. That shell may split, may crack, but once you remove it's remnants, lazy to surrender, the inside layer will have begun going through the same thing. It's a vicious cycle and it's a close pattern that is never off track.
It's logic.
There is of course something beautiful in the utter simplicity of being able to truly and truthfully say, for once, that something equals to something, that a + b = c, that ever since negative five minutes ago - uh oh -
the brain is designed to forget.
Sometimes pain is about to take us over and we blame logic. Perhaps because logic had always been a malleable little shield, a bubble around us preventing outside attacks, and now that things have gone a little wrong, suddenly it's all Logic'a fault.
Yet somehow now it seems logic is a savior. Logic is a refuge that will never refuse, and logic is the home that will never disown. Keep it within you but run to it when you need to. Keep it close to your brain but fat from your heart else that particular, very important organ, might just begin to freeze over.
Sometimes we feel as though our hearts are indeed freezing over. They feel like they're shrinking and hardening, shriveling and drying up and dying so tragically. That shell may split, may crack, but once you remove it's remnants, lazy to surrender, the inside layer will have begun going through the same thing. It's a vicious cycle and it's a close pattern that is never off track.
It's logic.
There is of course something beautiful in the utter simplicity of being able to truly and truthfully say, for once, that something equals to something, that a + b = c, that ever since negative five minutes ago - uh oh -
the brain is designed to forget.
Sometimes pain is about to take us over and we blame logic. Perhaps because logic had always been a malleable little shield, a bubble around us preventing outside attacks, and now that things have gone a little wrong, suddenly it's all Logic'a fault.
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