|
silentrain
Butterflies - Subscribe
|
|
You crush butterfly wings slowly beneath your fingertips the same way you did my heart. Speckles of light blue and white powder fall from your tainted hands onto the dull surface below our feet, sparkling for but a moment before a ghastly wind that caused a shiver to involuntarily crawl up my spine took them away to a place we couldn't even dream of reaching. You smile that simple grin that tells me that everything is going to be alright, even though my stomach burns in its very acids and knows that you are wrong. Still, I nod, my mouth unable to form the words I have practiced over and over again but have yet to say to anyone other than the darkness engulfing my bedside. "I- I-" More powder falls as another pair of wings meet their untimely death in your grip. This time, I watch their plummet into an unknown future, wishing that I could catch the wind just as they did, and float away without worrying which way I was going. My words lose themselves beneath the shrieking of the wind. "I- I-" You shrug this one off. It's nothing to you now; this killing of freedom. But that's because you don't know the truth- the severity of what you are doing to me. But even if you did know, would you continue to crush my wings? "I-I-" And so we say goodbye. |
|
silentrain
Wishing on fading stars... Aug 27th, 2007 9:38:16 pm - Subscribe
|
|
The moment my mother returned home from her first trip to Paris, she handed me a necklace. It was simple and elegant; a black band that held a beautiful silver star at the end of it. And the minute it joined the other two necklaces that rarely ever came off, I decided that it would be my wish necklace. I figured that, instead of buying a five dollar wish bracelet, this necklace would hold my greatest desires, hopes, and dreams. Its durability would insure that my ultimate wish would take a while to achieve, but eventually, the thread would have to break. That was over two years ago. The necklace has grown old with age since then, as now all the silver it once held has faded to the copper it was originally sculpted out of. The thick band that it once had is now nothing more than a thin thread with one chunk of it's former self threatening to dissolve on the left side. It no longer looks very stunning. In fact, most people probably think that the little star is quite ugly now, and might just pause for an one hundredth of a second to ponder why I decided to wear it in my senior picture. Today, my wish necklace broke. But not in the way I expected it to. The thread didn't snap, the star didn't fall off and get lost. The strange thing was, as I went to put it back on after a rejuvenating shower, I noticed that the clasp was gone. I freaked out, immediately searching through everything on the ground and by the sink with the speed and skill of a roller-coaster heading into the final loop. But all my searching was to no prevail. The little clasp must had fallen down the drain, or embedded itself deep in a corner, snickering at my futile attempts. After a while, I gave up, placing the now unwearable necklace up on my bulletin board so it would never get lost. It hit me then what this all meant. My wish necklace was broken. Which meant, just like the bracelet of the same name, my greatest wish was going to come true. Yes, I did smile at the innocent thought, even though reality was screaming at me for believing in something so childish. But I simply let out a sigh, touched the now empty space between my two other necklaces where the star had once laid and went on with my life. Did my wish come true, you ask? Well, we'll see. |
|
RP #1 – Malcolm X Whoever said prison wasn’t a blessing for Malcolm X should rethink that. This man fought for peace, fought for racial justice, and he learned more in prison than he did from fighting. In prison, he discovered the power of words that he never would have known had he skipped that prison era in his life. It all started with a dictionary; it seems insane, but a dictionary led Malcolm X to a love of reading. I started reading when I was three, and I couldn’t imagine waiting any longer to begin my obsession with books. Like Malcolm X found out, reading opens a completely different world, one in which you can escape to when life becomes too intense. Malcolm X even said that he forgot about being imprisoned whenever he had a series of words to drag his eyes across. There have been many occasions in my life where I just wanted to close my eyes and disappear for a bit. I couldn’t do that, though, so I turned to reading and everything in my life seemed well again. If Malcolm X were alive, I’d let him known that I share his belief in the power of reading. |
|
silentrain
Chipping away white paint. Aug 12th, 2007 2:25:38 am - Subscribe
|
|
Today I realized that I had never looked at the ceiling of my parent's bathroom. It was grimy, I decided after a moment, finding that not one better word came to my fried mind. In one corner it was significantly darker than the rest of the already off-white speckled ceiling before it exploded in random sparkles all around the small, enclosed area. A coffee-like stain splashed in ripples over the mirror that had miraculously survived crashing into the porcelain sink- and succeeded in breaking the sink in two. I wondered for a moment if one of my parental units had stripped the ceiling bare without my knowledge, and what I was looking at was merely the remains of a once fantastically painted part of my house I had never discovered. Again, I thought of the strange patterns as some kind of story. But this one, I couldn't figure out the ending to... or if there even was one- or a beginning, for that matter. I still don't really know what possessed me to look up at the ceiling of all things tonight, and more so why I pondered over it for so long. The only logical reason embedded in my brain is that for such a period of time, I had always been looking down at my feet, or simply straight ahead. An article shone on my computer, talking about how scientists were working on a drug... some sort of procedure that would allow humans to get rid of memories they didn't want. I stood there for a moment, not being able to breathe; much like the reaction I got after watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Only this time, the futuristic procedure was becoming a reality. I wondered if those scientists had ever watched that movie and saw what could occur when one fools with the mind. I figured not. When life was breathed back into me, I felt angry. Here we were, stuck in the twenty-first century, and scientists were more worried about erasing memories than finding ways to stop the diseases that cause fragments of the mind to disappear forever. So, what would you rather have? The ability to erase every slightly bad memory that could teach you a lesson? Or the ability to stop your memories from erasing themselves without your consent before you find yourself unable to even remember your lover's name? Every time I opened my computer, I used to find a random desktop picture there, blaring something amusing. Until I switched off the randomosity factor. Now every time I open up my computer, I see the words 'Let Go!' in bold white lettering above a dead dandelion. And tonight, I looked up. Change. |
|
silentrain
When the world looks a little different than what it's supposed to be... Jan 19th, 2007 7:55:58 pm - Subscribe
|
|
There was this buzzing noise; a droning that startled the heart and froze the mind. It started out quiet at first, just choosing to be a small prick of forgotten memory for a moment before carefully growing more potent until it had successfully muffled the power of one ear, and became a constant, painful ringing in the other. "Someone's talking." The wind screamed as though it had something important to say, even though everyone around this town just saw it as a constant nuisance and continued on their grumbling ways. So I just rolled my eyes and walked on by, my hands stuffed in my worn jacket, head down, wind whispering, while my head sang some old tune I couldn't remember the words to. The lifeless hues of autumn had long since passed, as the frosty colors of winter were starting to make their rounds, painting the grass a dull speckled white. The trees around sparkled with the ice that clung to their crackling branches and preserved them in time. They would come back to life when the sun finally warmed instead of glared against the white sky. If they wanted to, that is. But the sky didn't bother me today. For I was fascinated by the ground. By the concrete right under my shoes. By the breaks and turns, the different pieces that constructed it and all the imperfections that it held. It was nothing spectacular; just the simple things that people rarely noticed. But, maybe if they stopped and looked closer, they would notice what I saw that day. That it was as if every person's story were en-sketched in those sidewalks. The idiosyncratic ways the pavement twisted formed the life lines of a person; one who fell and rose; loved and lived. They were born at one end, and died at the other. Then the other lines that hadn't been eliminated passed the dead ones, and continued on their dangerous paths. It was so crowded that if you stepped on a fracture you could land in the middle, beginning or end of someone's story; or perhaps even a prelude, epilogue or sequel. And while the story rambled on, going over every emotional plot twist, you could choose to care, or to ignore every little detail that made that person who they were. The fantastical; the subtle intelligence; the hilarious; the depressing; the terrible; the diseased. It was all there in one little curvy line that ended abruptly. And it all created a being that either made a difference to the world- to one single person- or destroyed everything they ever had. Either way, no matter how insignificant those lines may seem, it's still a life, and you stepped on it. My left side grew numb, as the painful ringing sounded again in my right ear. "Somebody's talking." I glanced up at the sky. "Yeah, but are you listening?" |
|
silentrain
Watching you invisibly, knowing that there's nothing I can do to help. May 23rd, 2006 10:10:47 pm - Subscribe
|
|
A world unlike any other found its way into my daydreams, but was lost after only a few moments of wandering around. Have you ever had that sinking feeling? The one that grips onto your heart, trying to choke it as it moves up into your throat and deep down into your stomach? Does it feel as though an invisible person punched you, leaving you without enough oxygen in the air to grasp on to? Some call it that guilty feeling, while most say you deserve it. "Times are changing," they say while swinging the world on a string from side to side. "Why don't you get with the program and get over it? No use in crying or whining about it- it's over, done, finito! You said yes, when your brain was still deciding. That's your fault." I stare at these people, blank eyed with weary hands. "Change is supposed to be good- you've read the books, right?" I nod, not sure of what else to say; not sure of what to do; not sure of anything any more. "Good... good..." they mutter, pulling up on the string and sending the world spiraling to one side; the earthquake that hit the temple of my mind turning into screams that even hell heard and laughed about for years to come. Friends tell you that they will never lie. But when the time comes to ask them what is the purpose for the distant look across their melting faces, they do just that, and another part of them disappears from your view. The web of lies they tangled themselves around has grown into an impenetrable forest, as two menacing red eyes peer out, pulling you in, and sucking away life in goblets of blood. In a matter of moments, they'll be gone forever- nothing more than a faded memory of a friend you once had. "Change is a good thing. I want you to repeat that over and over until you believe it." "Change is a good thing... Change is a good thing... Change...." "Yes?" "Is trying to win a war it was never supposed to fight." They bury corpses like they do lies. Six feet under with no way to climb out. Just a faint recollection of something that seems like a lucid dream. Just the kind of thing you want over just so you can forget it ever happened. Denial is not just a river in Egypt, it's the flood that will trigger the apocalypse. Too late to fight it now. They've already stabbed someone else in the back. "Let's try it again," they say, watching me with eyes to kill. "What is change?" I lick my dry lips, my eyes coming up dead. There's no point in fighting the inevitable now. There goes another friend, killed by the one she trusted the most. But this one doesn't even realize the crime she committed- she's too lost in her own misery to see the effect it has on others. One less person to live for. Another friend is gone, lost to a world of a broken heart. He says nothing, does nothing; is nothing. Just a hollow shell with no recollection of life. And then there's another, who can't seem to find out what path to take. Confused, lost, hopeless- lost on a trail that can only end up tragic. One less person to live for. The voice is stricter now, as the sickening sound of a free trigger is heard. "One last chance," they say, but I don't see them. I'm no longer in the room with destiny. I'm no longer the person everyone hid the truth from. I'm no longer the hypocrite. "What is change?" I look at them with uncaring eyes. "A disease." Bang. |
|
14 Comments
Mood: Painting my name across the sky, hoping you look up to see.... Music: Sounds of life passing by. |
|
I was wondering everybody's opinion on a couple of things: Is a civilization necessarily civilized? What makes a civilization possible? What makes being considered civilized possible? |
|
It's the hardest thing I've ever had to do... Everything became to real...death became to real, and I just, I just can't cope well with all of this. It's getting too hard to know that he's gone. I will never get to hug him again, or see him again...and it's hit me hard. |
|
Anything can happen right? Like.... Maybe he'll get his life together.... Maybe he'll put together his mind again.... Maybe, after he does that, he'll want to be with me again.... Maybe he'll realize how much I love him.... Maybe he'll realize that he let the one thing go that never would have given up on him.... Yes, maybe he'll want me back, but maybe, just maybe, by then I would have moved on and wouldn't want him back.... |
|
silentrain
Could you tell? Jan 3rd, 2006 8:21:24 pm - Subscribe
|
|
If you looked at me you could never tell. I smile. I laugh. I say everything is wonderful and my vacation was pretty good. I lie. I've probably written this blog a million times over in my head, each word ringing in my mind along with whatever tune that was pounding through the white earphones of my ipod at the time. But when it came to writing them down, suddenly all those feelings who had just moments before been so chatty that it was starting to give me a headache chose to shut their mouths and allow nothing but a series of dots to roll across the screen. Maybe it was because I didn't want to believe everything that was going on. Maybe I just wanted to wake up from this nightmare called reality. Or maybe, deep down I knew that if I wrote about it, then it was like admitting to the world- to myself- that everything that has happened over the past week was.... true. Could you imagine watching the one you love the most, the one you chose out of everyone else in the world go through something so horrible and painful that it leaves them in a position where they're fighting for their life? And there's nothing you can do but watch as they deteriorate in front of your eyes? I can't. But I sure can watch. It seems like a television show in a way and I'm trapped in it as an unwanted character. I say lines thrown at me on crumpled pieces of tarnished paper, trying to sound as consoling and hopeful as possible. But every day is like a roller coaster. One minute up, the next minute plummeting into nothingness; a scream stuck in your throat, the feeling to dump all insides into the outside world never fading. I don't know what to think anymore; that's one thing the scrip can't control. And then, this morning happened. I remember being woken up suddenly by the sound of my mother's cell phone ringing; each ring sending a punch to my stomach and cutting off my air supply. I glanced at my watch when the ringing stopped, the bright letters of five am screaming at my bloodshot eyes. One am turned out to be far worst a time to finally fall asleep than ever before. More talking. I closed my eyes tight and strained my ears, trying to catch any clue, but nothing but silence screaming in my ears constricted around my body as I heard the soft click of the phone. The next thing I knew, the sound of someone crying filled the once empty room. My heart leaped out of my body and lay bleeding and pumping wildly on the hard wooden floor but I could still feel it pounding in my throat. I lay there for a moment, breath caught- a hollow shell just listening, praying that the thought screaming through my mind was wrong. But after a comforting low voice joined the tears, I found myself with my hands on my eyes, whispering over and over 'No, no, no.' Sleep never was able to take me back again as the hum of a car engine sounded and drove off to a place I had visited many times over the past week. Five am and four hours of rest to work on. Five am and a whole day faking and trying not to see my food for the second time. At 7:15 I went to wake my dad, my alarm never once singing it's annoying song- it had no need to. For long before I had dragged myself out of bed knowing full well it would soon be time for me to push down my emotions and act as the pillar for all around me. Everyone who needed more strength than I could imagine. At 7:16 my father told my little sister and I the truth. At 7:16, my sister looked at me with the means to cry, and all I could do after consoling and making sure she was okay was to go to the one place I knew I wouldn't be able to break down. The one place I would be able to hide my raging emotions that were burning up like fire inside my body as I ran down the street to school. Suddenly time went by in such a blur, the next thing I knew I was sitting at the floor by my locker, arms pulled around my legs as I buried my head in them, knowing the few people around would merely think I was suffering from New Year hangover or lack of sleep. Oh, I didn't care. Let them think what they wanted to- because never in a million years would I let anyone guess what really happened today. And I wasn't about tell them either. My stubborn self told me long ago that sympathy is not the thing I'm looking for. I don't want it nor do I deserve it. But then, what did I want? Someone to be my pillar? Someone to catch me as I fell? I think not... I would never want to give that heavy task to anyone. No one deserves having me on their shoulders. And I knew at that moment even before I lied through my teeth to those who talked to me, today would be filled of 'nothing's wrong' and 'I'm fine, just spacing out again.' Oh well, my mask had never looked so tempting before. Death is a funny thing. Even when it's expected, by the time it actually does happen, you're left sitting there with this dumbfounded look covering your face while repeating 'What? You're joking, right?'. Guess death has an odd sense of humor, but it's not always cruel. It can end suffering and extending a hand, can lead people to a better place. That's why, I guess, I'm not blaming it for this. Because this time, no matter how horrible it is for the ones still on this blue planet, death managed to help the one person who never deserved all that life put on him. And to tell the truth, I believe we shouldn't blame death for all that happens, though most of the time it's the easiest thing to point a finger at. I think this time, death was the best offer. Now at least there is no more suffering on that bed. I laugh sometimes, thinking about where he ended up. The sign on his restaurant showing that it will be closed in his memory clouding my eyes with tears as I do, the talk of the funeral among relatives, some who rarely ever came to visit him when he got sick, ringing in my tuned out ears. They look at me sometimes, a confused look crossing their faces if they catch that small smile on my face. Without saying anything I know they wonder how I can smile with all that's happened and how it could be quite disrespectful to his memory. But I know he doesn't mind me smiling. He knows I'm remembering all the good times. He knows that he lived a limited life for nearly all of mine, until now. Now, he's finally free. I laugh again, remembering an old story my mother told me and receiving more odd looks from relatives I have never met before in my life who have suddenly shown up saying that they're my cousin who lived right in town but have never bothered to come down to say hello. I smile, because now he's up there, getting behind the wheel of either a car or a horse and with a sneaky grin saying 'Let's see what this baby can do.' If you looked at me you could never tell. I smile, I laugh, I hold in all these emotions and say everything in my life is absolutely perfect while being the support for those who need way more than I do. I lie. Just another day in the cycle of life and death, huh? |
|
So my boyfriend that I just recently realized I loved so dearly, told me that he "doesn't want the 'girlfriend' title right now" and that I'm still a "great girl" and he "still cares about me a lot." Obviously, he's afraid of commitment if he doesn't want the girlfriend title, right? But I don't regret it. I don't regret loving him. And what really sucks, is that I really do love him...and I can't close my heart to the things I shouldn't feel anymore... But it seems to me that now I can't get caught up in something that's never going to happen...I'll just have to move on to the next best thing... Nevertheless, my heart is so broken and confused. Two months ago he told me that what he and I had was so real and he would never have any intention on leaving. BULLSHIT! I never thought I could love and hate one person at the same time, but I was very wrong. Here are some song quotes that might explain my rush of feelings more than I could: "But you’re so afraid to lose, and baby I can’t reach your heart I can’t face this world that’s keeping us apart" "And now there’s no way out And I can’t help the way I feel" "Like a drug that makes you blind, It'll fool ya every time" "The trouble with love is It can tear you up inside Make your heart believe a lie It's stronger than your pride The trouble with love is It doesn't care how fast you fall And you can't refuse the call See, you got no say at all" "Every time I turn around I think I've got it all figured out My heart keeps callin' and I keep on fallin' Over and over again This sad story always ends the same Me standin' in the pourin' rain It seems no matter what I do It tears my heart in two" "Its cool you didn’t want me Sometimes you can’t go back But why’d you have to go and make a mess like that" "There’s nothing left to say Except I never thought it'd hurt this much to be saved" "I walk out of this darkness With no sense of regret And I go with a clear conscience We both know that you can’t say that Here's to show For all the time I loved you so…" "How come I never hear you say 'I just wanna be with you' I guess you never felt that way" "You had your chance you blew it Out of sight, out of mind Shut your mouth. I just can't take it" "Seeing you it kills me now" "No way to tell what's real from what isn't there" "You washed away the best of me You don't care" "There's no light at the end of the tunnel tonight Just a bridge that I gotta burn" "Take the hint and walk away 'Cause I'm gone Doesn't matter what you do It's what you did that's hurting you All I needed was the truth Now I'm gone" "It's always me that's reaching out For your hand" "It seems so much is left unsaid" "I gave you everything And never asked for anything And look at me I'm all alone" "I hate myself for loving you" "Dont play that song for me 'Cuz it brings back memories Of the days that I once knew And all the days that I spent with you" "I surrender" "I would never do you wrong I've known it from the moment that we met There's no doubt in my mind where you belong" I'm tired of love...I give up.... |
|
ive been realizing over time....for a while, he was just my boyfriend ya know?...and then i woke up today and he became the person i could never live without.... and i do love him... i love him. he doesnt have to love me back, but im going to give him my whole heart anyway... |
|
silentrain
Lost wondering... Dec 18th, 2005 1:05:19 am - Subscribe
|
|
It's dark. It's dim. It's engulfing. It's bleak. It's silent. It's frightening. It's- "Beautiful." Falling down an endless hole, you land hard on the prime seat of a strange movie theater you've never seen before; front and center, the screen a mess of silent, staring blue as if you two were having some sort of contest. Breaking away, you look around, hoping for a comforting soul that had fallen along with you, but only the dark velvet seats, propped up in their emptiness, meet your disappointed gaze. You're alone in the theater. The thought hits you like an arrow shot from the sky to spite you as you try to stand up, only to find you can't- as though gravity had it's hands pushing down on your shoulders. You struggle some more, but no matter what you do, you're stuck; stuck watching the blank screen that suddenly flashes, calling your attention. A voice speaks, but it sounds like a tape being played in slow motion and backwards at the same time. Mumbled and low, your gut tells you that whatever it's saying is important, but just like you've turned the volume of what enters your ears down to zero, nothing makes sense. Part of you wonders if that's what your mind wanted all along. Maybe it would be easier not to understand it. Maybe that way, things would make more sense. Suddenly, the screen flashes black, leaving you alone in the darkness that is crawling around your skin like snakes, pure muscle containing neither arms or legs slithering around the exposed parts of you body, hugging around your neck, causing you to stiffen in fear though if you had only relaxed, maybe the experience would have been enjoyable. The snakes turn electric, a bone tingling feeling shooting through your body like thin wine, causing you to straighten up as if you were put in a straight jacket. "Welcome to the asylum." You pause, the only words you had been able to understand the whole time gripping you like steel claws around your fast beating heart. The screen flashes black and white so fast you feel as though this is some kind of modern torture devise meant to drive you to the place with padded walls. A screeching sound of vinyl crossing diamond makes you try and reach hands to ears, but your hands are duct taped tight to the arms of the chair. A wind tunnel seems to come out of nowhere, causing your hair to fly up in violent swirls- a bad hair day was in your future once this was over as it seems with every passing second, you're drawing nearer and nearer to the end. A piercing pain rushes through your index finger followed by that numbing sensation that comes right after pain. You force yourself to look down, only to see a flat, dull disk, that seemed to be an earring of some sort penetrating the underside of your index finger, the skin slowly allowing crimson to drip from it. You open your mouth to scream, but sound is never able to pass your lips. You're trapped in silence and everyone else is screaming at you. Eyes shut, too bloody to be of any help, furious wind prevents you from hearing anything else but the screaming inside your head. Silence. You pause, the silence almost as bad as the screaming still ringing in your ears. By the time it's completely died away and hearing is once again a sense, the calm dripping of water in the distance becomes your friend. So sweet and pure it sounds, as light moisture mists around you, clinging to your skin; purifying your heart. "Is it safe?" Opening your eyes, you find yourself in a room you can't recognize, the soft wooden floor warm under your bare feet. Not a light is on except for the natural slightly blue morning rays streaming gently through an open sliding window door. As if possessed, you gravitate towards it, arm coming up to protect your dilating pupils as you slowly step out onto a small wooden balcony. Eyes fully adjusted, hands fall onto the railing of the balcony; old, rickety railings somehow supporting your weight. To the left below you see a decline, a trevor filled to the brim with water so level and calm that it looks as though you could walk right across it. A weathered rope bridge hangs over it, not moving at all in it's serenity even when a caressing breeze passes by. Farther in the distance, the bridge seems to a disappear, but a hazy end is in sight, complementing the frosty, misty water below. Spellbound, you look to the right, a long forest bountiful of trees as well as a damp dirt path meeting your bright eyes. You rush off the balcony down a flight of, to your surprise, steel stairs. But you barely notice as you rush down into the light, toasted brown earth, sand caressing around every step. Slowly walking through the forest, avoiding some lonesome twigs as you do so, a thin puddle of water that seems to cover the whole path doesn't make even the slightest splash underneath your feet. You look around at the long trees that seem to touch the heavens, some of their long branches folded slightly, allowing a little bit of hope to shine through from above, though the majority of it comes from the beginning and the end of the path. Green, red, and some brown hues of leaves hang on only the topmost of branches; nothing adorning the lower half, not ever bare, bony fingers to reach out and snag you. You continue at your slow pace, eyes down, as if the ground was the most fascinating thing rippling along the clear water. You become smaller and smaller as you walk further into the forest. Soon, you're nothing but a shadow in the distance, eyes on the ground as the lights fade and the screen turns black. Lost wondering in a dream world all your own. My dream world. |
|
silentrain
Shadows of memories Dec 13th, 2005 3:15:42 pm - Subscribe
|
|
Today I missed something I've gone to every year. Tonight I'm missing something I've never been to. It's strange. One moment seems to be dripping by like chinese water torture and then the next it goes by so fast you're spun around with your hair stuck out to one side like a bottle of spiking gel has exploded all over your head. I guess time is like that. It loves to fool around with it's speeds; going from super sonic to extra slow motion at any point it sees fit, dragging out the horrible moments; snatching away the best days of your life. I sit on the roof or on my bed, staring at the night cloak surrounding the earth like a cupped hand. The full moon shines overhead with a galaxy of stars dangling like shards of hope, each one the wish of a person who needed something to believe in. The clouds sometimes come to cover them. Thick and black they are, full of despair and doubt, choking and blinding the dreams of all who choose to let them. Strange how the cloud cover seems to be thicker than usual these days and if you look around you can tell whose letting it effect them and whose not. Guess the wind isn't as strong as it once was. But, I wonder if they notice the bit of pale moonlight shining through the mess of seemingly impenetrable doom. It's there, leaving shadows of hope on the ground below. See? One just danced towards you. Wont you pick it up? Or will you just let it die at your feet? Hm. Yes. There are a lot more clouds than usual tonight. Ah, but the moon seems to be making it's way through anyway. Guess it still doesn't want to miss it's big scene. Leafing through an old black and white yearbook brings back memories that linger in the back of your mind, swimming around aimlessly- wondering when they'll be found once more. Each new crackling page causes more powerful waves of lost documents to flood back to your conscious mind. You remember some with a grin. You push others back with tears and fire. Yesterday I looked through photo albums of the past, the dust flying away like speckles of sun through the window shades with every turn. Stories unfolded that had been pushed away by the daily stresses of life; scattered pieces of my mind finally coming together, allowing me to see my full reflection once again, if only for a moment. With each page and caption I felt as though my life was flashing before my eyes, but I wasn't dying- I was living- through the pictures. Once in a while my eyes would flash to something that no matter how hard I tried I couldn't remember, like a fog had rolled across an already misty night; like a styrofoam dagger trying to penetrate into an iron heart-impossible to recall, when it should have been impossible to forget. I carefully turn another page and stare intensely at one picture, trying to recall why I had been smiling like that, or posed in that certain way when the flash sent me seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Was that my famous forced smile that everyone could tell was fake? The way my lips try to find a reason to pull in that direction so when person behind the camera presses down the shutter button, I actually look like I'm enjoying myself instead of appearing like some skeleton that doesn't belong in the land of the living. And why am I posed like that? Like a statue of my former self, cold and waiting- the thoughts going through my head not reflecting how I am captured in that one moment. Hm. My mask works better than I thought. But it might have to be cleaned very soon- it's been a while since I've had my picture taken. |
|
1 Comments
Mood: Trying to find my wishing star amongst everyone else\'s... Music: \'What a Wonderful World\'- Louis Armstrong |
|
silentrain
Broken guitar Dec 3rd, 2005 2:55:37 pm - Subscribe
|
|
A broken guitar. Abandoned on the streets, left on the curb dismembered and dirty; grime covering it's once shining hollow body. Steel strings are snapped at the bottom of the neck, the neck itself only be connected to the body by the lonesome high E string wanting more than anything to vibrate it's sweet sound once more. But as person after person pass the weeping guitar, it can only grow more depressed as it no longer cares when cars narrowly miss it, sending waves of intoxicated water caressing over it, impurifying it even more; life doesn't matter. Pushed up against the curb, washed out, hope lost, the broken guitar utters not one sound. It can't. The magic is lost. The soul is shattered into sharp silver pieces in the middle of the street as car after car runs over it, leaving tire tracks with no concern for what they left behind. More grime plasters over it's surface. The strings flap lifelessly in the burning wind; the lowly high E trying not to cry when another wave of slicing pain tells it to let go and break along with all the others. A pitiful scream escapes the intact string, knowing that the end is near, but just when it thinks all living is pointless, a pair of strong hands pick up the two broken pieces. Eyes scan over it as fingers trace along the body, cleaning off layers of the past in one swipe, allowing the original warm color of the wood to peek through once more. Darkness. When consciousness comes once again, purity flows in under the name of light; warmness clinging to fanged icicles. For a brief second, the E string notices something- that's it's whole again. The neck and body are joined together, and the whole guitar has been cleaned to surpass it's former glory. But there's a problem. It's is just sitting there, placed on a stand under a plate of bullet proof glass. What good can something be when it can't bring happiness to others? Depression sets in once more. You're alive but you're dead at the same time. You sit there with your brain functioning, but limbs wont move and mouth wont speak; deaf, blind, mute, numb. But before the knife can be pulled out, the same pair of strong hands picks up the guitar, moving it around in the warm air until it is handed to a pair of smaller hands that instantly hold the instrument as if it were made of glass. A converse all star shoe counts out the beats against a warm wooded floor and with one slow strum down the strings, life begins again. Suddenly a cool, jazzy solo erupts from the small fingers, hands running up and down the neck, strings vibrating with a sense of loving one can only receive from a musical instrument. Life flows through the guitar, the hands giving it new hopes, dreams, and a reason to keep on giving- happiness. As the E string is played at different frets, making new notes, it realizes that the strings above it are not the ones from before. The broken original strings that chose to give up are not part of the new soul of the ancient guitar. Because those strings chose to give up, they didn't have the chance to see what greatness awaited them if they had just held on a bit longer. They didn't get the chance to see what they really meant to people; what the gift of life really means. Now only one original string of the guitar sings sweetly, the lovely mix of sound pleasing even the pickiest of ears. The duct tape is off the muted mouth, blood is out of the deaf ears, closed eyes are now opened, and feeling is restored to the once emotionless piece of lost history. Music reflects off mirrors and into the soul, instantly capturing something everyone can love. Life flows like rushing water running through closed fingers; we never expect it to make it through, but somehow the water slips through the invisible openings of our hands- free- like we can become. A broken guitar no more. |
|
silentrain
Midnight hours leak through the pale moon Nov 29th, 2005 10:48:02 pm - Subscribe
|
|
There it is. I can feel it. I can feel it crushing my shoulders, suffocating me from the inside where I can't try to tear it away as with every tentative step it grows heavier; hissing in open ears that can't tune it out no matter how hard they try. "Give up," it whispers, causing clumsy feet to trip up the stairs. It begins to laugh horsely, grinning at what it did; soaking in the snickers others give like a dark tunnel with no end in sight. But when I begin to laugh it hushes, staring at me like I had just grown two more sets of arms and was now hanging upside down on the ceiling; peering down at a reversed world. I will not be defeated. "Give up," it commands, words firmer as it messes with my emotions, plugging and unplugging the wires in my brain; rearranging the links to memories that so long ago I've held close but now find impossible to recall. It presses that little red panic button, firmly labeled 'do not touch' in several languages- including my own- repetitively, each pound sending another shattered question into my head. What am I going to do? Did I say the right thing? Who am I going to tell? Should I even tell anyone? How is this going to effect my life? How is everyone going to react when I tell them my decision? What is my decision? Why am I thinking these thoughts? Confused, It pushes the button again but it's too late- the steel wall is up. Angrily, it tries again, banging on the poor red button so hard it breaks, spurs and wheels flying everywhere. Well, at least they're free. Cursing loudly, It's mind rushes to beat me down. I shouldn't be thinking like this. I have to get this thing off my shoulders. "Marina? Is something wrong?" I nearly jump out of my skin, wide eyes looking at the person who had spoken. The mask goes on. I'm in the lime light. It's my script, my scene, my steel happy mask. "No, no!" I say, fake smile and carefree laugh fooling everyone around except me and It. "I'm fine! Just....spacing out again." The way the lies fly out of my mouth without a hitch; without a tripping of the tongue scares me a bit. I know it's the mask speaking for me, formally rusted steel hinges somehow finding a way to move without the need of oil. It's my voice, but my heart screams confined in it's icy cage; it doesn't make a sound. It's back again, this time crawling through my brain like a bed bug, sucking away the intimidating figure of the wall- reducing it down to nothing but harmless dust. Once again the laughter starts. It's beyond proud as it leans down to see what else it can do to destroy it more. But it stopped as a piercing scream interrupts it's joy, the seemingly harmless dust flying into it's eye and mouth; suffocating it's words, blinding it from the shadowy, shaking figure standing above it. The good news is building, the worst is over. You may stick out your foot and cause me to trip up the stairs once more in front of everyone. You may block out the rest of the world's cries by screaming until blood is pouring from my ears and all I hear is the dripping of it onto the white papered floor. You may cause me to fail, and you may cause my emotions to make me more insane than normal. You may cloud my vision from the invisible things that are the best things in life and you may suck until there is nothing but a hollow shell... but I will not submit to you. I will not be brought down.... I will not let you control my life.... I will not slip to the ground.... I will not... Will not... Not..... Today..... |
|
3 Comments
Mood: Holding onto the good times and watching as more role right in Music: \'Coyote and the Moon\' by Petracovich |
|
silentrain
Life is like a movie, and we\'re all characters in it. Nov 10th, 2005 9:19:45 pm - Subscribe
|
|
Sometimes I like to think of life as a movie. Strange, I know. But when there are times when life seems too hard, or too bleak, or too lost in a deep pool of lies and wars, it helps to think that life is just one moment projected to the millions that sit in that tiny theater; hanging on every word, reacting to every moment. The same goes when something different, or amazing happenes; it's just another chapter in the movie of life. I've been doing that more often now, my brain sometimes thinking of the words before my hand has a chance to grab a pen. My eyes became my camera, recording every moment that went on in the means of a day. Up or down, sideways or diagonal, zoomed in or out, the movie continued, growing longer each day. Sometimes it would happen as I walked down the hall, engulfed between all the students; I'm that little drop in the middle of all taller than me. Usually it was just after seventh, as my brain tried to prepare itself for another day in Global- dreading, yet determined to fight no matter what would be thrown at it. I would pass kids that I knew, but more I didn't. Some were smiling, some were laughing as they strolled down the hall with their friend, while others had a more serious expression on their faces. One or two would give me a knowing smile and a nod, or a wave if they could, and I would return the same gesture. But most days not a one saw me as I made my silent way through the crowd. I passed the girl in the hall with her white earphones in and a smile across her face that told you she was loving life at that moment. I passed the boy leaning on a locker, waiting for his girlfriend to come up and give him a hug that made it seem like they haven't seen each other in forever and a day. Turning the corner I would find more swarms. Some passed me by closely, our shoulders nearly touching as I made certain to hold my books close while others made wide circles, avoiding me as though I was the bubonic plague. But when I finally got to my seat, the people in the theater were confused, munching on popcorn, whispering to the person next to them; wondering what was going on. It's often how I felt each day. Constant confusion racing around my head as I tried to sort out everything that seemed to be slowly swallowing me up; my converses scuffling through the fallen autumn hues of leaves; the crackling sound calming me like my favorite book. But, it's not like I'm complaining. Sometimes confusion has to be there in order for people to understand everything. We all have our own views on the world, and someone else's view might be the most confusing thing of all to comprehend; if you can comprehend it at all. But perhaps one of the topics that makes my head spin the most is friendship. Weird huh? For so long I haven't been able to determine whether someone is my friend. It's hard, not knowing whether a person looks forward to seeing and talking to you everyday, or dreads the moment you open your mouth, annoying things flowing from the jumbles of letters that are floating around in your brain like a pan of alphabet soup. I try to pay close attention to those feelings of others, thoughts computing through my brain like I'm some kind of a super computer. But lately it seems I need to be updated, as my skill level becomes less and less of the fastest technology out there and new ones come to take my place, each one better than the last. In making new friends, I'm a complete newbie left in the dark; trying desperately to remember how to open up to someone and completely trust that person. I haven't done that since meeting my two best friends, and that was back in grade school. Am I scared? Scared to open up again only to be crushed and betrayed? Afraid to think I have a new friend when I really don't? Terrified to get my hopes up? To the tell the truth, I don't know. Maybe somewhere deep within my subconscious mind that fear hides, eating away at my conscious thoughts; feeding off my everyday blunders and slip-ups. The people in the theater are laughing now, and I hear every chuckle under the breath, meant to be polite, though it stings just as much. But I know they're right. I stare off into space now, hand in cheek, foot slowly tapping against the sides of my desk trying to cure that annoying beat in my head from this mornings' Jazz band practice. It's not like I'm looking for pity, or anything of that sort. In fact, that's the last thing I'm looking for. If I'm searching for anything, it would be honesty; the truth behind all my questions. That way maybe one less thing would be clouding up my mind, my vision, my ears, my mouth. That way maybe the truth would set me free, and my heart could pour open once more. My closest of friends seem to have the same trouble, trying to determine what is right, who is right, and what would be better left unsaid. They admit they're lost in a state of denial; drowning in it's clutches, but they don't want to do anything about it. And then there's me, finally beginning to break out of that steel cocoon I've been lost in for so long. Uncertainty is a strange thing. Denial seems to go along hand in hand with it, as both love to laugh and watch in glee while they tug on those invisible strings they've attached to your body, stringing you along like a soulless marionette. The problem is, we as humans are not soulless. I hope I can find an answer to my question. But if I don't, I guess I'm along for one hell of a ride, just like all of us are. The people in the theater are silent now. Not a shuffle of feet, not a whisper to a partner, not a crunch of popcorn. The eerie quiet torrents over the people, but they don't seem to notice; they're too fixed on me, waiting to see what I'll do next. Whether I'll mess up or say something stupid, or perhaps someone will come up with the words that could set me free by making a smile cross my lips, or breaking that thin layer of ice I'm on and sending me down to the cold waters below. The people in the theater are silent because, like me, they don't know what's going to happen next. But whatever happens, it will be great for the movie. |
|
silentrain
Darkness, my old friend Oct 19th, 2005 9:56:40 pm - Subscribe
|
|
It's like that feeling you get right after you turn out the only light in a dark room. The halo of the single light-bulb you had stared at for so long mirages in front of your eyes in colors of red, yellow and orange; replenishing itself with every blink until it depletes into blackness. You half consciously move your hand in front of your face. But the only way you know it's there, flapping away, is that your brain is telling you, hoping you'll listen. Or maybe you finally move it so close to your face that the six sense in the bridge of your nose tingles, or you end up hitting yourself right smack in the eyes and suddenly an array of red lines and blue orbs appear. But when they disappear, you finally realize the darkness has completely engulfed you; silence ringing in your ears like a chorus. Most of the time, I find this calming, and actually look forward to shutting off that blasted light and for the arrival of my old friend dark to come in and sweep me off my bed of troubles and stress. But lately my best friend has become my enemy. And now darkness has found a way to take it's long, bony fingers and wrap them around my pale neck, squeezing as hard as it can; it's claw-like fingernails digging into my soft flesh, trying to draw as much crimson as it can before a scream can pass through my windpipe. "It's going to be okay, Marina. Everything's going to be fine. You wont notice a difference, and after a while he'll be up and walking again, just like old times. See Marina? Nothing's going to change." Liars, all of you. Why are you telling me something you don't even believe yourself? I can see it in your eyes- the fear, the redness from crying, the way you seek for other subjects to talk about and wince every time you hear those voices from the other room. It doesn't make sense. I'm fifteen now, I can handle the truth- I need the truth, can't you see that? But no, to them, I'm still a baby- sitting there mute, dumb, and blind; speaking in my own language; oblivious to all that goes on. I keep a straight face on as I enter that back room, trying to act as hopeful as everyone is faking to be. But the proof lies on the bed, and there's no denying what my thoughts tell me when my dark orbs lay upon the contents. The truth is in front of our endless black holed eyes. They talk about it upstairs as I type away in my lair. Every night they speak as though I always have music blaring in my ears and can't hear how they talk- about the problems they're too scared to say in front of my little sister and I, or even how they talk about me. Yeah, sure, sometimes it hurts. My quench for knowledge always leaves me parched in this family. The truth is always hidden behind thick vines of white lies and false hopes- out of sight, out of mind- and I only have my ears and silent footsteps to use as a machete. "See? He's doing better today, Marina. Why yesterday...." Yeah, sure. By that point I tune you out, just like all teenagers do; knowing full well that your voice is cracking not because of a sore throat, and your eyes are red not because of allergies. But my heart tells me to nod and be the pillar of strength and blindness to your lies; a pillar one could tell any and every problem to, and whether it knew it the whole time or not, would act as though this was the first time those words had ever been uttered on the face of this earth. I know people look to me for strength. Some are silent about it, others tell me to be, and then some just thank me over and over for being the hollow shell who stands up when they'd rather be falling, and allow them to crash to the ground without a second thought. There's a part of me that doesn't mind being like that anchor on a stormy night sea voyage, but, of course, another part of me is screaming and hitting the interior of my forehead, commanding me to break down right on that spot. But that voice is only victorious when I lock the door to my room and am alone with my once again close friend. But, if there is something I never minded about being that anchor, it's when other people tell me their problems, or tell me what is really wrong. It gives me the chance to forget about my life, to forget about all the lies, the fallacies, my fears and focus on anothers'. I'm constantly telling people, or wish I had the courage to tell some that no matter what, they can come to me when they need to get something off their chests. Whether it be a problem, a secret, a worry, an anything, my quote that I use to break down their phobia of coming to me always is- "I like listening to other people's problems, so go right ahead." And with that I offer whatever they need. Secrecy is always a given, my lips becoming metal bars, impenetrable by any force. I give them a shoulder to cry on, a pair of ears to never turn away, words of advice, condolence, support, or ones that never come out for they have no need to. A similar story, or just a nod of the head, I want to do what I can for other people; especially ones I feel don't deserve what comes their way, or ones I don't even know personally- doesn't matter to me. I try to be all these things that the person wants, ready to give that individual what they need and no one else is willing to give. For some reason, I've never found it a problem, always receiving comments like, "You should become a psychologist." Heh, yeah, sure, I'm just glad I could help. Still, there's that little voice again who wishes I had someone I could let my guts fall on the floor to and not worry about picking them up or shutting them down forever. Someone I could bury my head into and cry for as long as I needed to, and they would simply place a comforting hand around me and tell me everything was going to be okay, even if they didn't know the whole story. But, my time will come someday, I know it, and I fear it. For someday I wont be able to keep this straight, strong face amongst the tear-streaked ones of others. Someday something will happen that causes the waves to crash down so hard that the anchor breaks off from that metal chain and causes the mighty ship to go crashing down into Davy Jones' locker- never to sail again. Someday, that irksome little voice will win, and it's influence will come streaming down my face as I fall to the ground. I only hope that someone is there to catch me. |
|
silentrain
Up and out Sep 22nd, 2005 8:13:12 pm - Subscribe
|
|
I don't think people realize how much they can mean to someone. It's a strange thought to contemplate- that maybe someone you hardly know, who you simply small talk with really appreciates you paying them the time of day. But sometimes just a smile can send someone up to the top from the bottom of the pile. Sure, some people would say it's love, but our definitions of love are all so different, all so unique that it can easily get confused with something that it's not. To this I wont explain, for my words could get twisted into ways I never intended them to be. I'll simply leave that topic with that. I sighed, closing my book and setting down my pen, only to have my fingers tap nervously at the desk, my eyes falling to my watch, willing time to go faster and get this eighth period pit of a place over with. I needed that bell to ring so I could rush home and pick up the one thing I truly loved. I grabbed my pen again along with my books, holding onto them as a definite beat of some made-up song played in my head- the chords and beat repeating in my ears and coming out my pen like someone had turned up the sound to a never-ending ocean wave. The whole day had seemed to drag on as my head was already full of so much junk I knew there was only one way to clear it. The bell sounding off key caused my song to be put on pause abruptly as I jumped out of my seat and raced out the door. Today was not a day to pause. Today was a day to power walk. My black and white low-top converse shoes quickly lead me upstairs to my locker, as with a quick 'Excuse me', I was in the middle of two guys that were in the same grade as me- our lockers so close together that it didn't allow us much space. I didn't mind it at all, however, the guys there were pretty cool, and actually knew their manners. Huzzah for that my friend, Huzzah for that. But I barely had enough time before my locker was closed and I was on my way down the stairs, once again music playing in my endless voided mind. In a flash, I was out the door and on the sidewalk- and then, a lot later than I wanted, walking into my house. As if I was a robot, I let my messenger bag full of all the things I needed to get out of my head fall to the ground, not even bothering to take off my shoes as I raced down a small flight of stairs, and into the garage, taking a small turn, a close of the door, and another flight of stairs to my sanctuary. I paused at the bottom of the stairs, my one hand resting on the railing. I breathed in deeply, letting a satisfied smile cross my face before I slowly walked over to my little corner, three old friends greeting me. I picked up the first one- a junior Yamaha acoustic, just small enough for my ten year old hands at the time I had started. But now sitting down with it, blowing some dust off it's hollow body, and playing a few blues scales with my fifteen year old fingers I couldn't help but chuckle as I missed a fret, only to have my F fall sharp. The wood felt so worn and old, yet so familiar as I played some simply chords-D, G, C, D7- over and over, the warm acoustic sound forming from the old strings echoing off the walls of the room, reminding me of some old times I hadn't thought of in a long time. I let the last chord ring, smiling sentimentally before placing back on it's stand, it seeming to be a lot happier than it had been moments before. My hands picked up the next one- a dark blue and black Ibanez electric acoustic with a cream trim that I had gotten at thirteen. This one also had some dust, though not as much as the first, as it's full sized body seemed so strange in my hands after handling the other. But my fingers soon began to explore the frets, a few jazz scales and chords singing out from it's shell, the strings purring with a feeling of pure comfort. The smooth neck allowed me to go up the frets easier than the other as I stopped at the seventh, playing a E7+9, though I was only half conscience of it at the time. My fingers were doing all the work, allowing my brain to kick back and enjoy the show. My fingers stopped moving after it had let that last A minor chord play it's worth, causing my eyes to slowly open, a content sigh passing my lips as I set it carefully on it's stand, the strings calling me to come back, though I had to ignore it so I could pick up one last one. A sly grin tugged at my lips when I did, it only tugging more as I placed the black Fender solid body electric's black and white strap over my shoulder. Flipping a switch, electricity flowed through a small, but powerful tube amp and up my fingertips, exploding into panatonic scales that ran up and down the rosewood neck faster than I had ever played them before. Power chords followed, suddenly the ripping solo turning into that same song that had been stuck in my head the whole day. Then the room disappeared, a dark stage appearing where I stood, an awed crowd watching my every movement, hanging on my every note. Lights hues of white, blue and red shone on me like a spotlight, but I was bathing in it. Words flowed out of my mouth, more solo following, the huge weight disappearing from my shoulders as black wings sprouted from my back, though I didn't notice. I was caught in the moment. I was flying up and out, though my feet never left the ground. And now, whenever I feel stress building to the point of breaking, I find my true love- my guitars, and everything disappears and only I am left. Me and my guitars, concurring the world, one note at a time. |