Re-Writes..."Crazy"

“am i as crazy as i say i am? first, no, i don’t have to say it. it’s understood like people don’t have to say the sky is blue or the grass is green. understood like these things. but is it really? i don’t know. i often do some pretty wild things and say things that are off the wall. most of the time i don’t think about saying funny things. i just say something funny. usually the topics relate together in a funny way. sometimes somebody says something and i begin to think of something funny to make what ever they said funnier. i wonder if what i am thinking up is funny to me, that determines whether or not i say it to my friends. even though sometimes they don’t laugh at what i’ve just said. but it doesn’t really matter to me because the fact that i’m laughing is all i care about. that’s probably what makes me crazy.”

sometime in '97, i don't remember the exact date.

Re-Writes..."Cardiac Atrophy"

“if i told her i loved her, you know, like in that more than friends kind of love, would it make any difference in our situation? because i do. i can honestly say if i told her i loved her like that, i would be telling the truth. that’s the way i feel about her. she’ll never know how much i need her. and how i want her. and how much i love her. but i don’t tell her. because i don’t think telling her i love her would make any difference in our situation. and if i told her i loved her and she didn’t feel the same, i would be crushed. and i don’t think she feels the way i do yet, so i don’t tell her. even though hiding the feelings i have for her is burdensome and stressful on my heart. my emotions are consuming me, i need to tell her. but i can’t bring myself to face the fact that she might not love me like that. or at least, not to the extent that i love her. so i don’t tell her. still, she’s told me i was making her fall in love with me. so maybe i can get her to say it first. then telling her i love her would be as easy as feeling that way.”

sometime in '00 or '01, i don't remember the exact date.

Writes..."I'll Accept Being Understood Pt. 1"

“i'm not trying to be accepted for who i am anymore; right now i'm more focused on being understood for what i am.” – me

“it took me a long time to change my thinking on the way i felt about how people receive me; probably too long to be totally honest. but i did; and i think it was because i finally got tired of feeling like i was being tolerated by others, like i was somebody they put up with…until they eventually came to the realization that i wasn’t going to change who i was and were forced to submit to acceptance. ‘cause apparently i’ve “triangle choked” a lot of those i’ve had relationships with in my day; and i possess a repertoire of various “armbars” and “leg locks” waiting for anyone who’s willing to spend enough time with me.

but maybe it wasn’t the feeling someone had to stomach me that caused the shift in my opinion. maybe it was the fact that people actually had the audacity to tell me, repeatedly i might add, they had “tapped out” to their acquiescence of who i was. ‘cause nothing says “i love you for you” like hearing something to the effect of “i can’t change you so i’ll just try not to let any of your quirks bother me too much” over and over.

her: “brian, i…i don’t get you; but you are who you are and i can live with that.”
me: “umm…ok.”

now i see in using diplomacy then, i’d responded improperly. and that if i had used a suitable comeback when she’d said what she did, the exchange of dialogue between us probably would have been…

her: “brian, i…i don’t get you; but you are who you are and i can live with that.”
me: “umm…fuck you.”

haha! i’m laughing, but only because i can see myself delivering both lines in the same manner: in a deadpan tone without raising my voice or losing my calm. and i think it’s funny she would’ve gotten identical reactions from me; despite the huge difference in what was said. but i digress…i realize now that the latter response seems much more appropriate, considering my current mindset; especially since i don’t remember ever asking for anyone’s permission to be myself, much less begging for anyone’s approval of me. i am who i am; you either like me or you don’t, but “acceptance” is no longer an option.”

Writes..."Sonnets 151-155"

sonnet 151

“i saw a woman i’d known as a girl;
i had feelings for but she never knew…
see, she liked dudes; that’s a “s” as in plural;
dudes with a “s”, as in more than a few;
dudes, as in she was always in a crowd,
and i wasn’t one around she could see…
i wasn’t a guy socially endowed,
but with a pen, no one could fuck with me…
so i wrote her letters, and signed “’j’adore”;
placing them in her locker every day…
intimate thoughts, using words meaning more,
though i knew she didn’t feel the same way;
but knowing she would read the things i wrote,
someone’s heart spilled out for her in a note…”

sonnet 152

“i ask myself if i’ve ever really,
allowed anyone to love me before?
and if you start to think that thought’s silly;
ponder what the word involves at its core…
communication; a little sharing;
but i’ve not been one to let people in…
even when their aim is simply caring,
for the person that i am or have been…
can someone be loved when they don’t disclose,
things that cause them tension or stress in life?
good question; i don’t know but i suppose,
it’s asking much of a girlfriend or wife;
to love me while trying to read my mind;
unable to learn what there is to find…”

sonnet 153

“it took ten days for us to fall in love;
i have the letter you gave me as proof,
a note showing me you were conscious of,
something we’d both already deemed as truth…
in that we hadn’t fallen how most do;
we tumbled long before we even met…
as if you and i previously knew,
though we hadn’t experienced love yet,
that we were supposed to be together…
some call that belief destiny or fate…
whatever the force is that does tether,
us; surely causes one to speculate;
just what made you and i certain we’d be,
prior to an introduction of “we”…”

sonnet 154

“my pen’s on the page, i’ve nothing to write;
i think i’ve finally run out of lines…
words escape me but another’s aren’t right;
to let her know i feel that she defines,
beauty; but more than a beautiful face;
her splendor truly comes from the inside…
she’s a woman of elegance and grace,
and neither quality can be denied,
or rebuffed, by any she’s ever met…
each surpassed only by how much she cares,
compassion you don’t easily forget,
i would describe it but nothing compares…
the most vital thing i wish to impart,
is she’s lovely ‘cause of her loving heart…”

sonnet 155

“i imagine she’ll be wearing a dress;
some material that hugs her every curve…
black; in a black corner’s where i address,
her after having built up enough nerve…
with no liquid courage ‘cause i don’t drink;
but i’ll offer to buy the girl her next…
her back’s to me, and i can see her ink:
my favorite author’s name in cursive text…
plus, there’s a quill; one stylishly designed;
in the area of a shoulder blade…
and thoughts about both symbols will remind;
that i’m the reason they’re being displayed…
then she’ll turn her head in order to say,
“i knew that you’d return to me one day”…”

"155 sonnets done. fin?"

Presents..."I Won't Give Up" by Jason Mraz

"this song was brought to my attention at a moment i needed to hear a similar sentiment...so i had to post the lyrics."

"when i look into your eyes
it's like watching the night sky
or a beautiful sunrise
there's so much they hold
and just like them old stars
i see that you've come so far
to be right where you are
how old is your soul?

i won't give up on us
even if the skies get rough
i'm giving you all my love
i'm still looking up

and when you're needing your space
to do some navigating
i'll be here patiently waiting
to see what you find

'cause even the stars they burn
some even fall to the earth
we've got a lot to learn
god knows we're worth it
no, i won't give up

i don't wanna be someone who walks away so easily
i'm here to stay and make the difference that i can make
our differences they do a lot to teach us how to use
the tools and gifts we got yeah, we got a lot at stake
and in the end, you're still my friend at least we did intend
for us to work we didn't break, we didn't burn
we had to learn how to bend without the world caving in
i had to learn what i've got, and what i'm not
and who i am

i won't give up on us
even if the skies get rough
i'm giving you all my love
i'm still looking up
still looking up.

i won't give up on us (no i'm not giving up)
god knows I'm tough enough (i am tough, i am loved)
we've got a lot to learn (we're alive, we are loved)
god knows we're worth it (and we're worth it)

i won't give up on us
even if the skies get rough
i'm giving you all my love
i'm still looking up"

Writes..."Sonnets 141-150"

sonnet 141

“my thoughts today of what you and i are,
takes me back to where you and i started…
at a little place called “the daily bar”,
just a few years before i departed…
but memories are vivid; like a dream:
i recall us on a bench in the back;
an intimate moment eating ice cream,
that lasted long after the sky turned black…
walking hand-in-hand on a warm spring night;
with nothing to do and nowhere to be…
merely talking about our future bright;
i had never been a happier me…
and though these days we aren’t what we once were,
we’re better now ‘cause the past did occur…”

sonnet 142

“found an old picture of me and the “wife”;
worn and faded; with my face half-erased…
a haunting reminder of a past life:
the “she and i”; before i’d been replaced…
but despite its damage i can still see,
in it both of us carry a brilliant smile:
evidence that we had once been happy;
‘cause showing teeth’s proof we had been a while…
i think back to when the shot was taken;
the way that a nostalgic sometimes will…
and find i can’t stop my heart from breakin’,
knowing what we were’s now only a still…
it’s confirmation why over the years,
my thoughts of us come while fighting back tears…”

sonnet 143

“through her, i realize what words sometimes do:
at times meaning more when the statements end…
in “more than you know”; ones i’ve seen pursue,
the three most important we’ve ever penned…
we echo; thus i find it to be real,
yet really hard for me to understand…
in using those words to state what we feel;
are we truly aware of where we stand?
why do we use the term “more than you know”;
to express things we’d established before?
‘cause our reality is it does show,
our hearts get there’s as much truth in those four,
as there’s in ‘i love you’s” commonly shared…
two phrases between us: perfectly paired…”

sonnet 144

“there was a time when she would reach for me;
and when she couldn’t, a thing to remind;
intimately; like my “nirvana” tee,
because me on her skin's proof we did bind…
but she don’t need to wear my shirt these days;
i’m all over her yet i’m nowhere near…
since “i’m with her always”, but that’s the phrase,
she uses because she’s there and i’m here…
i’m “riding her back”, it’s me on “both blades”;
as tribute in ink; through emblems defined…
script in red and blue; black, various shades…
a writer’s signature used to remind:
just what i am and what i mean to her…
because my presence with her’s forever…”

sonnet 145

"i only sleep when i sleep next to her...
any other time in bed it eludes me...
awake with the thoughts of what may occur:
consumed with what things should or shouldn't be...
but not when she is laying by my side;
then it's easy to focus on the now...
presently without my slumber denied,
and other things her presence does allow...
only when she's near can i close my eyes;
comfortable enough to drift away...
'cause i have confidence that when i arise,
i'll awaken with her there the next day...
and thus i'm no longer afraid of dreams,
us in real life's more than all that it seems..."

sonnet 146

"there's no mistaking the look in her eyes...
they radiate 'cause lust does inspire...
seeing only him, in a room of guys;
he's the sole object of her desire...
she walks up to him with a sexy smile...
confident that he's hers without a word...
he's nervous 'cause it's been a while;
well, never has a thing like this occurred...
she's into him to whisper in his ear,
though it's hard to hear her 'cause its so loud...
she steps back and mouths "let's get out of here"
takes him by the hand, moving through the crowd...
thinking to herself that she knew she'd win,
passion personified had struck again..."

sonnet 147

"she'd read things that i'd written, to then say,
she needed in her life the man i was…
like she'd die if i took my words away;
that her life would simply end just because,
the things i write are what lies in her heart,
yet no one she knows echoes what's inside…
so it seems she finds her world falling apart,
from feelings stored she always has to hide…
but in what i pen she sees her true form:
a special woman deserving of more;
that others view someone like her the norm:
one easy to possess loving thoughts for…
i'm in her life, though merely to remind,
she never forget herself a rare find…"

sonnet 148

"she opens the door, never expecting…
the person knocking on it to be me…
still in shock, and only half-accepting,
what it is her eyes have shown her to see…
but i'm standing where i'd said i would stand;
one day if things had ever gone my way…
and when i extend my own for her hand,
it leaves her speechless with nothing to say…
placing the other on her lovely face,
i draw her closer than we've been in years…
she begins to cry during the embrace;
our lips meet in spite of cascading tears…
we're once again electric, like the past;
maybe this time the current flow will last…"

sonnet 149

“sometimes i contemplate what we should be;
the evolution of what we once were…
and i believe that she‘s afraid of me,
‘cause i’m a thought inside the mind of her…
and while that thought proves love still dwells within,
it isn’t the reason i’ve deemed that she’s scared;
it’s the being what we’d once been again,
when we had been romantically paired…
being fearful we’ll repeat past mistakes,
that allowed what we had to fall apart…
but i know better; and we’ve what it takes;
nothing will daunt knowing that in my heart…
not worry, anxiety or concern;
keep me from thinking her love will return…”

sonnet 150

“i know the woman who lives in the shoe;
yeah, the chick with the abundance of kids…
the results for someone who likes to screw,
but condoms she vehemently forbids…
she has boys and girls, and they’re everywhere;
behind the tongue, hanging from the laces…
they wear filthy clothes, and have muddled hair,
and run around with dirt on their faces…
but her weave is tight and her nails are done;
plus, the dress she has on still owns its tag…
now she’s leaving her “pump” for a new one;
plenty of cash flowing out of a “coach” bag…
yeah, i see that broad almost every day,
making her money the parallel way…”

Finally Finished..."Endless Love And Salad"

"when i write i’m spilling my guts, so i wonder if bleeding all over this piece of paper has told her anything she didn’t already know about how i feel about her?" – me

"i don't write fiction; i write alternate versions of my own reality"; another quotation from me, but i'm only using it because people ask me if the pieces i write are real and i've found it to be an extremely accurate statement. has everything i've written actually happened? no, not everything. i mean, i've written a thought about my child being born, but i don't have any kids; and i've written another about my wedding, but i'm not married. there are works on me proposing, the deaths of women i've loved, varied sexual encounters; none of which have occurred, yet all as genuine to me as if they had. the truth is i don't write stories; i write about situations and how i would react in each one since they tend to deal with the thoughts that occupy my mind. are the things i write real? every event may not be but the emotions any character displays in something i've penned, especially the ones from a person is based on me, wouldn't be any more authentic than if it were me actually living through it.

thus, another “true” story…

"i've moved on brian, perhaps you should too"; followed by the click that comes from a disconnection and the subsequent silence you get when a phone call is ended abruptly and you're still the one on the line. but i can't bring myself to press the "end" button on my cell; fortunately, the phone does it for me; mocking me by flashing “call ended” and “5:10”. 5:10? apparently it only takes five minutes and ten seconds to experience the full gamut of human emotions; most of them at the same time, and i’d gone through all of them in a single phone call. but now all the joy, despair, confusion: every feeling i felt during the span of three hundred and ten seconds, have morphed into a fierce anger; and it takes every bit of sanity i can manage to resist an intense desire to imagine my "shadow" to be a baseball and use it to fire a 85 mile-per-hour strike into a nearby wall. instead, i place it down on a nightstand, carefully, and crawl into my bed to think about the conversation she and i had just had. i'm good at thinking; in fact it's probably what i do best, and i've spent a great deal of time over the past couple of years contemplating the history between us: how we went from what we once were to what we are now. before we'd been in love; discussing a future where she and i would be together with a family of our own; and five minutes ago the relationship we have today had been summed up in eight words: "i've moved on brian, perhaps you should too". so yeah, i definitely had reasons to find that declaration from her to be upsetting; i still don't really understand how we got to this point.”

except it didn't happen like that...

me: “i love you…”
her: “i love you too brian…”

i don't understand why an "i love you" from me doesn't seem to carry any significance; casually dismissed like the obligatory nod of acknowledgment between two people in passing. you know, the one that says, "hey, what's up?" without you having to waste the effort of actual words for a greeting. why spend that energy on communication when that person will be forgotten as soon as they disappear from sight? someone walks by, you make eye contact, you motion your head up; it's reflex now, the move's been executed so many times. you don't think about it anymore, you just do it. so i wonder: "is that what me saying “i love you” had been determined to be now; the verbal equivalent of a familial head nod? is that what someone who hears those words from me perceives them to be? ‘cause i honestly don’t know. maybe when i’d first told her, they had touched her heart and made her feel feelings she’d thought had long been lost to her. i like to think that’d been the case for us. once upon a time i told i loved her and she echoed my words back at me; and we both believed we’d meant what we’d said to one another.

and i don't understand the question marks that she responds to my statements with; not when we were talking, not now. but at least then i could rationalize them with "me saying these things to her is new and a little unexpected considering our past.” not that someone saying those things, as she was and is, still a beautiful woman deserving of every beautiful word directed at her; i guess it was just surprising that the ones being spoken then were coming from out of my mouth. i mean i get that hearing someone profess their love for you the first couple of times can be a little overwhelming, especially if you share a history of unspoken mutual attraction. but eventually i would think you’d get over that right? i mean, after five or twenty times of hearing someone state how they feel about you, don’t you just come to accept that the words were said? even if never having imagined that person would carry such emotions for you, doesn’t hearing them escape a pair of lips mean there may possibly be some truth in what they’ve uttered. and once believed, why would time or distance cause them to become any less meaningful than they had been when she’d looked into my eyes when i spoke them? i don’t know, but the most pressing question i have and can’t seem to be able to figure out is why she thinks anything changed between us just because she left me.

me: “i love you…”
her: “i…”

i don’t understand that; it had once been so easily communicated and then…then it became not so easy for her to say.

“i hadn’t been there very long when she arrived; and i was staring down at the menu when she approached me. don’t know why, i always got the same thing when i ate there; maybe i expected that by doing something different the night would wield different results for me but i knew what i wanted. “hey b!” i looked up and the first thing i noticed was the end of the black dress she was wearing; it stopped about six or seven inches above her knees. then the shoes…also black, with three-inch heels and cut-out tips that showed the bright red nail polish on her toenails. what i saw was almost too much for my eyes, and i hadn't even focused my sight above her waist yet. i continued to scan her, eyes darting from feet to hair, and everything in between. when i finally concentrated on her face, she flashed a smile at me; and images of past instances where i had caused a similar one formed in my mind. i hadn’t seen her in a couple of years but they had been kind to her: she still had the kind of face that a poet could spend years attempting to describe in words; a body that couldn’t be sculpted or painted without the gift of the most talented of artists. she stood before me a vision of loveliness; the embodiment of perfection that at one time had been the inspiration behind everything i was writing…and now i had her there in front of me. i stood up to pull out a chair for her and she sat down; and for the first time in years, she and i were face-to-face sharing a conversation.

"i've moved on brian, perhaps you should too"; and then there was silence from both parties, as we shared the kind of awkward moment that can only be experienced when one person spurns another's advances. seconds seemed like minutes and minutes lasted for an eternity in the time we spent seated across from one another at a table in the back corner of an "olive garden" restaurant. i'd asked her there because i had questions that i needed her to answer; questions about our relationship and how it ended, well, faded into less than what it had been is perhaps a better description. i didn't understand why one thing had become another in virtually no time at all. and i thought that maybe she had the answers i was looking for. but our dinner had produced nothing more between us than those eight words. during the meal, between alternating bites of chicken parmigiana and “endless” bowls of salad, i tried to convey how i felt about her: every emotion that i had felt during our time together and the period immediately following her departure; how her leaving had crushed me and how i still wanted her despite everything that had happened; only to be met with something i can only describe as less than indifference. sometime in the middle of my gut-spilling monologue, she placed a finger to my lips and i knew that even i kept on speaking, she was done listening to what i had to say. she was different now; her demeanor had changed and it was evident in the tone she had used to articulate those eight words. to her: we were a past that couldn’t be recaptured...not because we couldn’t go back to being what we had once been but because she didn’t us want to.

i wanted to get up and leave; preferably after dropping a few, er, not seemingly enough 4-letter bombs and calling her every name in the book; anything i could think of that her mother didn't actually name her. but i wasn't a guy who liked making a scene and drawing unwanted attention to myself. i wasn’t one for yelling and screaming; and acting an ass in public would've created a spotlight that i wasn't looking for. so i said nothing…and she said nothing; with both of us doing everything in our power to focus on the entreés we had ordered to avoid even momentary eye contact. but the uncomfortable silence between us proved too much and a short time later she thanked me for extending the invitation to her for dinner but excused herself by saying it was late and that she needed to be making her way home due to having to be up early because of a busy morning she had the next day. i didn’t look at her; i merely offered a nod as acceptance to what she had said and went back to finish eating the food on my plate. i wanted to say something. i wanted to give one last impassioned plea on why we should be together. and although my brain was searching feverishly for words to do so, in my heart i knew there weren’t any i could come up with that would made the act less futile. so i didn’t say anything: not when she stood up to leave; or when she placed her hand on my shoulder; not even when she told me she knew that i would find someone else to spend my life with. i just sat there quietly…and she walked out of my life the very same way.”

except that didn't happen either...

what happened was she left…and that was it. there had been no tearful goodbye for us to reminisce about in our old age; no hand-written letter filled with genuine sentiment to be read and re-read over and over until the pages fall apart. when she left, there were only questions i didn’t have the answers to; and a heartache that i haven’t been able to get rid of. the reality of our situation was one day she was where i was and the next she was gone; and with her departure came a finality to the events that had occurred between us. but there’s been no closure for the way i feel about her; and there’s nothing i can write that would be “truer” than that.”

"the most painful and worst possible types of goodbyes are the ones that are never said or never even explained." - schrie snell

sometime around the beginning of '12. just finished today. i think.

Quotes...Me...VII

"life is gooder when you have someone in your heart."

"if you're speaking my words then "baw's in your mouth"."

"suicide by pen; i bleed myself out in gut-spilling words..."

"if your goal in life is contentment, even if you succeed you fail."

"my word and my effort...that's all i am."

"i never root against love. well, except when i think it won't cover the spread."

"my hands are going to get me into trouble: either from some quip i wrote or some clit i stroke."

"i'm blessed to be able to say that while i've experienced bad things in my life, i've never had to go through the worst things can be."

"notice how the people who tend to say "looks aren't everything" tend to be the people who don't look like anything."

"sure, love has left me discouraged at times but i'll never give up on it. i can't. 'cause in my attempt to determine why, i came to realize i'm too fucking arrogant to do so. "someone not love the person that i am? c'mon man, it's me.""

Presents..."Mr. What If..." by Natasha Cain

“for those who have one, know one, or is one..”

“who is mr. “what if?”
he’s the one you once made love to
in a dream,
or in reality.
the one who slips into your thoughts
when your alone…
or with someone else.
he’s the one you yearn for,
the one you let get away.
the one whom you reminisce about past affections
the man you think of one day feeling clear reflections of his love.
he makes you laugh,
when the world’s cruelty makes you cry.
when everyone else only sees the style of your hair,
the makeup on your face,
and build of your body,
he knows your mind,
feels your spirit,
and sees your soul
underneath it all.
he’s the friend that’s more than a friend,
the crush,
the old flame that continues burning deeply within.
the man who you would,
if you could, but you won’t,
cause for some reason you just can’t…
but what if???”

Presents..."Wounds Of Love" by Natasha Cain

"caught in the whirlpool of dreamers,
around us, fantasy keeps escalating,
with nothing but fear consumers,
we embrace the endless time of loving.

we thought we were meant to be,
that our future was foreseen,
that we're the only ones to ever see,
what true love really means.

at first, it started out great,
it was too good to be true,
it was more than just a date,
it was simply me and you.

but too soon we loved,
and too late we knew,
that our time was shoved,
when our love was still new.

with the value of us misjudged,
we had to pay the price,
misery was created,
along with a love dice.

the dice recklessly thrown,
and falls hard does the first mistake,
to us it is shown,
love cant be forcibly made.

to begin, our feeble trust strains,
to continue our love evolves into hate,
to remain our last hope drains,
and to end, we sadly blame fate.

though it's easy to pretend,
what's the point of it then?
can the guilty really mend,
as time repeats again?

our love is a dying patient,
suffering undeniable pain,
reading the doctors diagnoses,
saying there's nothing to be gain.

our love was left to mime,
and only reminisced as the ashes of us,
despair commits the perfect crime,
and tricks us into broken trust.

and even though we say,
we want to love evermore,
inside we crave each day,
to get away from the love that sores.

ensnared by the truth and lies,
lost in the subway of eternal vow,
the pleasure of loving cries,
where do we go now?

we gambled our love away,
thinking we could last,
instead we both strayed,
and kept wishing for the past.

we hurt each other too much,
by loving too quick to last,
with our hope still in miseries clutch,
we pray that this would end fast.

now we wish for everything to be,
the way they use to be,
but unfortunately, it will never be,
the way we've always wanted it to be.

we swim in unbearable pain,
a polluted pool of us,
we're both going so insane,
our love evaporating like cold dust.

the simplicity of us,
the complexity of love,
the innocence of ones lust,
the mistake from up above.

there's no comfort in the truth,
pain is the heart you buy,
glasses breaking the silent soothe,
knowing our love will soon die.

realizing truth hurts,
we part as dying friends,
realizing this hurts,
we part hoping love mends.

maybe it's better this way,
because we hurt each other so,
with all the things we want to say,
we just have to let it go.

wounds too deep to heal,
time too short to see,
what we really wanted to feel
the meaning of you and me."