Crowds within cities awake
To find death crawling in a corner
Whaling are the shrieks of a mourner
Whose lust he forsakes
While sinners plead at the altar
Money, fame, and sex
The deadly sins of hell torture
Tempting each citizen: “Your next”
The song of a siren to a desert wanderer’s water
Surrounded by lilies and branches covered with snow
Lost in a world of simplistic beauty and “other”
Hedonists ignore the advice of their mothers
As shadows creep along a plateau
Marking the end of a love that punctures
Fires, tornadoes, earthquakes, and tsunamis flood
No one is worthy of an arc; it’s time for spilt blood
Buildings fall, bridges crash; everything comes to an end
When torturous temptation cannot make amends
Civilized man becomes beast
Outraged inside yet unalterable out
Second-guesses anyone? But here, there is no doubt.
Animal instincts are increased
As humanity is insanely stretched throughout
He burns down homes and cities
He murders his own kind: the ones he loves
There is a civilized man no more; everyone comes to an end
When torturous temptation cannot make amends
As the midnight wind blows the tannish-red sand in my face
I notice a flock of black birds swimming through the foggy sky
One bird lags behind, drowning in a cloudy current
One wet tear drips from my face, and I ask myself “Why?”
People die- bugs live- birds sing
Cancer exists- love fails- google fights bing
Dreams tease- darkness swallows- bees sting
Children mock- cliques flock- hate swings
I live here- you live there- where the fuck is everywhere?
Friendships fade- prejudices stayed- hurt lingers
Diseases plague- words are vague- egos grow bigger
Emotions drown- wars turn men into clowns- all that’s left is anger
Humans connect- paths don’t intersect- Fools demeanor
I want you- you don’t want me- why the fuck can’t I let go of thee?
Jobs are lost- marriages are broken- innocence cries
People starve- people have no homes- spouses lie
Murderers kill- insanity shrills- captivity flies
We change- we experience pain- we cry
There’s so much to fear- nothing’s ever clear- how the fuck do I escape here?
Leaves of orange and brown torpedo around me
And the bird is still simply fighting to survive
A helpless creature in search for just that: help
Alone and lost, how can it possibly thrive?
The moon swirls into existence and brightens the shoreline
A wave thrusts foamy salted water upon my feet
The sound of a seashell surrounds me on every which side
I am lured to the depths of the ocean—“tweet tweet”
I crawl deeper and deeper into the water pit
Hoping to save the bird, the helpless bird
With every step I take, I am weighted down just a tad more
Screams and shouts of terror reign, but not one is heard
Rocks entangle my feet: “gargle gargle”
Just my frantically shaken hands can be seen above the H20
But I realize: I cannot help the bird…
I am the bird, the helpless bird.
I give in because I can finally see.
Chaotic waves consume me.
I drown and rot with a few last words:
“I am the helpless bird.”
I quite often find myself walking in the street or lying in bed fantasizing about how I wish my life were going at any given time. I create haphazard scenes in my head constantly, and pretty much all of the time, these fantasies never come true. Sometimes I think that heaven will be a place where all our fantasies actually come true. We will always be happy because we will always get what we want. OR… maybe dying is just infinitely sleeping. My dreams are often congruent with my fantasies, so that expression “I wish I could just sleep and dream forever” may actually be what death is: infinitely sleeping and dreaming, thus infinite happiness. Regardless, I’ve never really been scared of death.
“Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live.”
-Norman Cousins
This living death is not even when these fantasies do not come true. Fantasies are pretty much the best possibility at any given time, kinda like one’s utopia. If life were a utopia, it’d be pretty pointless. Where’s the meaning? the lessons? the experiences? Anyway, hopefully one day I will actually get to live one of my fantasies, cause either way- that’d be pretty exciting.
-Albert Schweitzer
Oh it tears me up
I tried to hold on but it hurts too much
I tried to forgive but it’s not enough
To make it all okay
You can’t play our broken strings
You can’t feel anything
That your heart don’t want to feel
I can’t tell you something that aint real
Oh the truth hurts
And lies worse
I can’t like it anymore
And I love you a little less than before
-James Morrison; Nelly Furtado
Hope is, in my opinion, probably the strongest force in the world. Without the emotion— or whatever it really is, so much of people’s lives would be meaningless. I mean… hope is always there whenever no one else or nothing else is. Think about it: why bother living when everything is going wrong? Hope is the answer. Hope allows us to forget about all the bad, to forget about all the pain and all the depression. Hope allows us to see a better future, a happy tomorrow. Without hope, the meaning of life disintegrates. I always preach how I find pain and depression beautiful aspects of life. And I do not deny that statement. But, they are beautiful because hope allows us to remember that the pain will soon end, that we will be saved from our depressions. Then, what we felt and experienced from that will make us stronger for and more appreciative of the joys, of the laughs, of the smiles. But, without hope, without the feeling that things will never get better, how can life be meaningful?
Hope within itself is a risk.
“To love is to risk not being loved in return. To hope is to risk pain. To try is to risk failure, but risk must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.” - Leo Buscaglia
You see, we do not know that tomorrow will get better. I cannot guarantee to you that you’re not going to get hit by a drunk driver and die. I can not promise you that your next girlfriend/boyfriend will not cheat on you. I cannot ensure you that your friend isn’t going to cancel plans on you again. I cannot do these things. No one can. Life is unpredictable. Bad things happen. But, hope gets us through all those horrific times. And hope is risky. It’s risky because it’s not predictable, because it’s not guaranteed. But, the risk is worth every little second. Because remember, without hope (which requires a risk), life is meaningless. So take the risk. Hope. Because hope makes everything better.
And hope makes life beautiful.
“I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge. That myth is more potent than history. That dreams are more powerful than facts. That hope always triumphs over experience. That laughter is the only cure for grief. And I believe that love is stronger than death.” -Robert Fulghum
Embrace hope, everyone. Hope allows us all to appreciate the beauty within everything and everyone. Hope is the most powerful force in the world. So, hope…
Everyone’s life is a story. I was riding my bike home from my friend’s house today, and as I pedaled forward and passed each house, I thought, “Wow. Someone lives in every house I pass. There are many people in each of these houses. There are many stories in each of these houses.” Every person has their own story. And, what’s really scary is that the past, just like stories, cannot be rewritten. Once a story is published, there is no turning back. And the same is true for life. But what’s really cool about that is that every person has this story, novel, or book per say to define their life. In a sense, our memories are like our own personal biographies. The events that happened can never change, the people we’ve met can never change. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Just like a story, our pasts help prepare us for out futures; we learn from our mistakes, our hurt, our failures. What mesmerizes me is how once something happens, once someone becomes intertwined with our story, it can never be erased. If someone you know has surgery and dies on the table, that surgeon will always be the person who could not save your loved one’s life in your story. If someone shoots someone you love, that shooter will always be the person who murdered your loved one in your story. Everyone we’ve ever met has a place in our story, and that place can never change. Since life is like a story, I want my story to be filled with so many experiences, people, adventures, pain, desperation, depression, joy, serendipity, agony, laughs, and smiles because I want my story to be a fulfilled one.
I wrote this short story a long time ago. But, here it is:
The small but strong light slowly illuminated the entire room, each pixel of light racing to the opposite end, instantaneously as Jess flicked the switch on. It was 5 A.M. in the morning. After fighting to fall asleep, rolling and staring blankly at the incompetent ceiling that failed to forgive him, he finally managed to shut his eyes and say “good night” to the day he could now refer to as “not today.” That was 3 hours ago. Rudely being awoken by the thick night was nothing new. It had become an everyday thing to Jess ever since it had happened.
Jess meandered to the fridge, as he had every other night for the past 3 weeks. Tearing open the top of the brand-new orange juice container proved to be a challenge to his dreary eyes that seemed to shout “Please, just let it end.” Jess needed something to soothe his desiccated throat. Her sweet, loving saliva could no longer do it for him. Before that night, however, it could. Oh, how it showed Jess the true meaning of life. Her soft lips warmed him, more efficiently than any blanket in the world could. That power was gone; it died along with her.
Jess placed the drink on the bottom shelf in the yellow-tinged fridge, holding his back with one hand trying to alleviate the pain. Nothing worked; maybe he was trying to fix something that couldn’t be mended. He paced back to his red-stained bed, lifted the lifeless blanket, and lay down, admiring the stench that insidiously filled the room. Normally, he would fall back asleep with no problem. Tonight was different; he sensed it; he just knew it. The phone continued to beep and rhythmically flash the number 27, reminding him of his own heartbeat.
Jess wrenched the cover off himself and gracefully put on jeans that seemed to weigh as light as a feather, considering the pockets were empty. Immediately, Jess left the apartment he felt could no longer be called home, with nothing except the clothes that steadily stuck to his sweaty body.
Jess could not take it anymore; living life the way he was just was not working. He thought he could handle it, but obviously, he was wrong.
Jess swiftly paced through the bitter streets that seemed to engulf him, ravage his heart, and consume the modicum of sanity left inside. He didn’t know where to go. He just kept on walking, making random turns as he was called to. After about 45 minutes of aimless strutting, Jess stumbled upon the town’s one and only cemetery. He thought to himself “Wow, this is where her body should be right now.” Disgusted, he kept on walking.
Now, being around 7 AM, Jess figured the diner would be opening for breakfast, so he marked his destination and got there in 10 minutes. He was right; he met the owner upon his arrival. Jess sat down at the booth in the far left corner, where he could see everything that happened, both inside the diner, and outside the diner through cracks in the “Specials” signs on the windows. Jess ordered 2 eggs, one scrambled and one sunny side up, 3 and a half pieces of bacon, and 1 cup of coffee flavored tea. As he chewed his food, the only food that seemed to be halfway decent in the past 3 weeks, he realized he had no money. He did not stop eating. He sat there and beat himself up for everything gone wrong in his life: leaving his money home, the death of his parents, forgetting to walk the dog (when it had been alive), and the death of his wife. After savoring the last bite of his scrambled egg, which happened to be the last thing on his plate, he got up and intensely jet for the exit. He slipped to the right, and he kept on running. After a block or two, he stopped running, sat on a porch to catch his breath, and set on his way back home. He felt better.
As Jess stepped out of the elevator, the world spun endlessly sucking the breath from his helpless lungs. A sight and sound awaited him so ferocious, he knew he would have to do it again. The door to his apartment lay swung open by the hands of death and his answering machine screeched the words, “Hello, Miranda, it’s your boss, John. I know your husband called to inform the company of your absence for a week to visit your mother. That was 3 weeks ago. Your mother called yesterday asking for you and was appalled after hearing this, so I am calling to see if everything is okay. Well, give me a call back, or your mother for that case. 5:30 PM January 29. There are no more new messages.”
Jess stood there, half raged with hate and half paralyzed by shock. Someone was in his apartment listening to his messages. Someone knew. Someone saw everything. Jess’ pockets were still empty; he didn’t have it. He forced his body to act. He pushed forward into his home, ready to pounce.
He was standing there, dressed in the blue uniform that seems to shine with power, beauty, and justice. His gun was pointed at Jess. Jess, stunned because he was expecting a robber, surrendered and got on his knees, handing over his innocence like a spirit leaves the mortal body. The cop carefully walked over and placed the handcuff’s on Jess’ hands shouting “You are under arrest for the murder of your wife, Miranda Yocef. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law.”
9 months had passed. It was 5 AM in the morning. Jess lay in the correctional facilities staring at the ceiling, eyes closed and mind at rest.
I just read Cato’s blog entitled “Why?” It was about friends and how he always wonders why some people have entered his life without becoming a close friend of some sort and also why close friends sometimes fade.
Well, I have this theory that everyone is an amalgamation of everyone they have ever met in their life. When you meet someone, he or she blesses you in some sort of way, teaches you something new, rubs off on you just a tiny bit, and then leaves you changed in some minute way…forever.
Also, I, too, seem to randomly find myself sentimentally depressed thinking about the past and past friendships. I get genuinely upset when I wonder “What could have been?” or “Why are we not friends anymore?” or “Why are we simply just not as close as before?” I always try to remember this: not all people that enter our lives are meant to be a part of ours forever. People enter our lives, do their job, teach us whatever they were meant to, share with us some laughs and cries, some smiles and frowns, and then sometimes they leave. Rather than hating people or wondering the “What if?” we should just appreciate the great ways others affect us.
And, I always find myself feeling something extreme when it comes to friends. I think friendships are deeply committed relationships— relationships that are meant to ultimately help each entity grow, learn, laugh, experience, and love. That is why friendships are near and dear to my heart. Friends are the only things that can truly lift me from the depths of my depressions. That is why I take friendships really seriously. And that is why I get really upset when I feel my friends do not live up to my expectations.
Regardless, I love my friends— past, present, and those to come.
“There is no hope of joy except in human relations.”
- Antoine de Sainte-Exupery
The graceful dove soars above my head
Inside, I know nothing, but I try to figure out it all
A confusion of terror inside; “Am I dead?”
I plead with my soul to free me from this maul
I reach for the dove, my hands stretched outward fully
Like my heart; I long to love, but such actions prove to be silly
I’m not entirely sure of what I feel anymore
A tornado lifts me off the ground; it drags me high atop the shore
“Who are you?” I beg with little responses of mercy
I gasp for air, but the tiny loops of entering oxygen devastate my body
The forceful gusts of winds use me as a play toy
They leave me with no escape; “Do I even want to?” “Why can’t you see me for me?”
This vulnerability paralyzes my motions
You control my every move
Set me free, won’t you please?
You’ve got nothing to prove
I reach out of the chaotic whirlwind, not truly expecting any right
Everything seems wrong; the dove’s now back in my sight
I grab a hold of the bird, and hope to be freed
The white dove flies me safely to the ground, but forever it does bleed
Friday night was aiight. It seems as if no one was around to hang out, which sucked cause I kinda wanted to go to a Japanese place. After school I stopped by Enza’s for a bit and chylled with her, Enzo, and Tiddy. Then I went home because my mom called and said she made shrimps for dinner. A few hours later, as I lay on my bed, Tiddy calls me and asks to meet up ‘cause she— like me— had no plans. So, we met up at Enza’s and ended up ordering Dominoes and watching Transformers 2 with Enza’s brother, Saverio. Dominoes was delicious as always— we got cheesy bread, a pie with pepperoni and olives, and a pie with philly steak and cheddar cheese (we wanted to try something new, and it was delicious). So Friday night was pretty laxed, but nice all the same.
Saturday. Carl texts me to meet him in Union, so I get there at 1 and he is nowhere to be found. Also, there is some random ass parade all up in my grill blocking the streets making it all difficult for me to walk. I ended up going to Barnes and Nobles to find some books I’d like to read over the summer, and I found Slow Man by Coatzee, The Human Stain by Roth, and The Idiot by Dostoevsky. Then I sat in Union and just thought for about an hour until Danielle showed up. OH— I also made a phone call to stop killing the whales! I always feel for the people who walk around fighting for a cause; that’s real passion, and the passion inspires me. Once Danielle showed up, things got weird. About 3 or 4 people asked us for directions in about a matter of one hour, we watched a black Shanaenae Bestbuy employee get carried out of the store in handcuffs, and we jacked someone’s chips at Chipotle, which btw I do not like as of now because the cilantro was just way too much for my taste. Then we met up with Chris; his apartment building is huge and really nice, especially the Medusa-looking-thing chylling in his lobby. And then Shannon’s. Shannon’s house was…fun…to say the least. Regardless of all the drama and random bullshit, I had a great time with people that I love. The day really turned out extremely entertaining, especially when dancing crazily to MIley’s Party in the USA in Shannon’s living room. That song’s always fun when im with Emma, Shannon, Marta, Katie, and Chris, and Bes, and everyone else of course as well. Here’s to a summer filled with partys in the USA!
“Because, that’s the thing about love, really. No one will love you how you want to be loved, they’ll love you in the only ways they know how. Life throws everyone down drastically different paths so how can we expect everyone to love in the same way? The person you’ll spend your lifetime with will love you in their way and you’ll love in yours, and maybe you’ll meet in the middle and it’ll last. None of us know what we’re doing, you see, we’re just fumbling for matches in the dark. If you’re lucky, you might eventually just strike the right one.”
So Friday night I had my friend Taylor’s Sweet 16. I was really looking forward to the party because I have always remembered sweet 16’s as fun parties filled with dancing and food. And that’s exactly what was there- dancing and food. Yet, I didn’t have as much fun at the party as i expected. It’s not that it wasn’t a good party or that it wasn’t fun; it’s just that I’ve reached a point in my life where I’ve had enough sweet 16’s. Last year i had about a dozen, many from my graduating class of 2007. Those were lots of fun because they had dancing and food. But they were also fun because I got a chance to reunite with my 8th grade classmates.
Then tonight was prom. I just got home. I wasn’t expecting to have fun tonight. I was nervous because these plans were last minute and nothing was planned out well, from the color of my shirt to the after prom plans. Yet, I had so much fun tonight. Prom was pretty awesome. 3/4 of the party— the Marine Park kids and their party bus— got there late. Then, they left in less than an hour. I swear to God every single one of them got up at the exact same time and rushed out of the door like cockroaches. I actually got scared; I thought the place was under terrorist attack. But then the party got even more fun because the 13 other people left there were the main reasons I went in the first place. We ate. And we danced. And i loved the people I was with. My date Briana looked gorgeous. All of my friends and their dates looked great. And then Larry, Leary, and James and their dates looked great as well. Larry cracked me up as usual. I’ve never talked to Leary before, but he turned out to be a nice and funny kid. He dances like a maniac and he made me laugh a bunch. Me and Larry and his girlfriend Steph joked a bunch of times as always, so that was great. And then James. James danced hilariously like the grandpa he truly is. We’re becoming much closer than before— I think so at least. I hope so too. He’s funny and kind, and I need some good friends. Briana was fun as always. We danced. And ate. And joked. Briana is an amazing girl. And then after prom. At the very last minute we realized we could go to Maria’s house for a house party. So about a dozen of us ended up at her house, and it turned out to be a really fun time. Talk about mack? It was extremely fun, and I’m really glad I decided to go. Now I gotta see how James’ after party turned out and how Tretola’s did as well. Tretola’s another friend I’m getting close to lately. And I appreciate it. Him and Taylor looked great together tonight, as usual. And I want to thank Frank and Danielle for being here for me through all the nerves.
Have you ever wanted to get really close to one person? Nothing sexual. Just…close— intimately, emotionally, passionately… I entitled the blog “Humanity” because the human spirit and mind entice me beyond fathom. And that is why I want to get “close” to someone. It’s like Train’s “Hey Soul Sister” lyrics: “And I don’t wanna miss a single thing you do tonight.” People are so complex. I want to know everything you do. I want to know why you do everything you do. I want to know your deepest secrets. I want to know a side of you that no one else does. And that’s what’s beautiful about humanity. We all have so many different colors, different hue palettes, different shades that cross over with one another. It’s interesting enough trying to dissect my own mind; imagine studying someone else’s. I want to know everything little thing about you. And the hardest part? How do you go about telling someone, “Oh Hey. I want to become your best friend.”? It kinda just doesn’t work like that….
