Re-Writes..."Why I Blog"

i'm making my "why i blog" a post in order to eliminate some of the confusion i've been having with archiving my work. plus, it's just as true today as it was when i wrote it over two years ago.

"a friend told me i should get a blog. apparently people want to know what i’m thinking. well, i think love. and i think romance. i think about guys that neglect their woman’s need for passion and know that i’ll always be a commodity because of it. just yesterday a woman wrote me she liked something i’d written and how she wanted me to understand why she gushed over my words. to understand that people just didn’t write or say things like i’d written to her. and as i was reading her words how sad it made me feel. sad because i know she has someone in her life. but i had to let her know right then. that was something i wasn’t trying to understand. i never want to be that lame. if i ever acted like love and romance weren’t my life, i’d be a lame ass man. i told her that even though i may not be the best man i can be yet, i took solace in the fact that i don’t have any problem letting my girl know that i wouldn’t be shit without her love and support. and how only a lame ass man doesn’t treat his queen like a queen. i needed her to understand that. so i’ll say it again. i think love. and i think romance. passion is my religion, what i write is the gospel. so you ask why am i blogging? gotta spread the word."

3-20-10

Writes..."Sonnets 111-120"

sonnet 111

“there was a knock at my door late last night…
shocked me ‘cause i wasn’t sure she’d roll through…
she’d said she’d be in town, and that she might;
so i’d responded, “i “might” want you to…
i’m reckless with words when it comes to her,
‘cause our history’s reduced me to “prick”;
with what i say, there’s nothing to deter,
like the fact that she used to suck my dick…
i opened the door wearing just a towel…
then it dropped, but she’d seen my ass before…
and i didn’t care if the action seemed foul,
or appeared i thought i was gonna score…
naked exposure has caused me to see;
our relationship’s based on apathy…”

sonnet 112

“i’m now thiry-two, will be thirty-three,
in age shortly after the autumn’s dawn…
and i’ve discovered a pressing goal for me:
that before i die i create a spawn…
won’t not love a woman with her own kids…
a double negative tendered as proof;
a triple negative means life forbids,
me and my own; that’s what i know as truth…
a woman with kids; wanting, must want more,
not just mine because i don’t have any;
i’ve seen it too many times before,
when words were two-sided like a penny…
she want what i want until we were done,
me without a daughter or a son…”

sonnet 113

“i don’t tell jokes, but i say funny shit;
like that i have abandonment issues…
‘cause it’s hilarious i can’t forget;
the first time she left i needed tissues,
or the last time, when the tears shed were mine…
see, i find those two statements amusing…
‘cept they seems to be missing a punchline…
why is good comedy so confusing?
why is her leaving so disconcerting?
i guess ‘cause she professed a love for me,
and then went away, with my heart hurting,
after having declared a love for she…
perhaps i’m more comedian than not;
my love life being the stand-up i’ve got…”

sonnet 114

“in describing myself, here’s what i say;
i’m like no one but i’m still just a dude…
let me phrase who i am another way:
i’m a nobody with the attitude;
that nobody does it better than me…
whatever “it” is; does that make me vain?
the best there is “from sea to shining sea”…
(insert something here); “amber waves of grain”…
my critics say, well, who knows how they speak,
of someone who gives himself such acclaim?
if pissing excellence means that i leak,
then i leave droplets all over my name…
a talented guy, with numerous skills…
here stands: “the incomparable b. wils”…”

sonnet 115

“ i want a woman in a mini-skirt,
a halter top, with her cleavage exposed…
in clothes that make her intentions overt…
as she leans on a pole, carnally posed…
that’ll wink at me from o’er her shoulder…
as if to offer an invitation…
and i’ll advance; each step growing bolder,
sans even the slightest hesitation…
who’ll watch me approach with a knowing smile…
and raise her skirt to show nothing beneath…
a blatant seduction hoping that i’ll,
place myself behind her to then unsheathe,
the sword located inside “southpole” jeans…
for a passionate act where we mix genes…”

sonnet 116

“i recall when the thought first did occur,
having found out at the age of thirteen…
that being in love was being in her;
but wasn’t her, it was the space between…
because love inhabits where you’re inside;
in those moments when connections are made…
and feelings shared are shared through legs spread wide,
when more than a little skin is displayed…
but there’s no love for her ‘til she is nude,
and offering intimacy to you;
no love for her if you’ve already screwed,
with the pretense it would be born anew…
love is the first feel of her innocence…
when emotions are at their most intense…”

sonnet 117

“all i know of love, everything i’ve learned…
has come from something that i’ve watched or read;
and though it was deemed as passion that burned,
i find it merely a thought in my head…
‘cause it seems love doesn’t truly exist,
at least not in the way it’s been portrayed…
snapshots in black or white of being kissed,
or any act of affection displayed;
of an extreme that takes one to the brink,
along an edge where you can’t help but fall…
i don’t know; all i know is what i think;
i think i know very little at all…
‘cause i’ve only dreamed about the notion,
when love describes action and emotion…”

sonnet 118

“i need a woman and i need one quick,
with double-d breasts and an ass that’s fat…
hand on my sac while she swallows my dick…
er, forget i just wrote any of that…
fuck it, i wrote it, i dare not erase,
a thought explicit; don’t put them past me…
i need a woman; to “bust” on her face;
the use of slang meaning i “cum” nasty…
i’ve changed my mind, disregard those last lines;
i’m just venting some shit that’s in my head…
getting “head” would be what really defines,
the thing i need from a woman in bed;
or kneeling before me, backed against wall…
her need being the release from a ball…”

sonnet 119

“i’ve found in life there’s only one truth:
“a promise only means “promise” to me”…
fact that i’m writing this confirms as proof;
there’s more substance in it than there should be…
“promise you won’t say “i promise” if not;
do this for me since you’ve told me you love…
‘cause words that i use are all that i’ve got,
so i just use words for those i think of…”
she promised she wouldn’t; and i believed,
everything she whispered into my ear…
only for me to learn i’d be deceived,
or had been deceived, so it would appear…
when she promised me we’d always be one…
two halves of a whole; now seemingly done…”

sonnet 120

““a kiss will show if one has feelings for”…
no truer words have ever been spoken…
but i don’t think of talking anymore,
since refined speech tends to leave hearts broken…
so when “she” can’t determine how i feel,
‘cause i don’t verbalize my ardent side…
my lips on her lips prove “we” are for real;
a truthful action that has never lied…
true passion can’t be faked in oral bliss…
two people connected, each play their part…
thus, i swear by chemistry for a kiss:
it’s a concept i hold dear to my heart…
like the song says, for “if you want to know…”
more than all else, their kiss will tell you so…”

Presents..."2 Years Down..." by Natasha Cain

"i'm not re-posting this because it's partially about me... i'm re-posting it because i'm partially responsible for its occurence. and i find the fact that nattie and i continue to push each other with our writing noteworthy."

"as this day is almost over and i am finally able to compose this message that has been lingering around in my head for the past couple of days i shall start in this manner...

two years ago today is when i was talked into starting this blog and i'm so glad that i did. it has helped me get out some things that have been on my mind over the last year. and as i have not written that much this year thus far, i still just have shit to say. but this year may just be different because it was brought to my attention that the writing that i do is meaningless. i really wish that i heard this from a stranger whereas i really wouldn't give a fuck, but, because it was from someone close to me that said it i'm really not quite sure what to feel. i love to write and express my feelings and just because it my be something that is a hitting home on a situation that other people are going thru or a reflection of my life doesn't make it invalidated. so i turned to my spoken words in my vlog....what in the hell for....so you may be aware in my facial expressions that i really don't give a damn or the flip side of me actually caring so we will see how this goes.

also today is yet another special milestone in my life. 5 years ago... i know i can hardly believe that its been that long....but 5 years ago i met this guy of whom pisses excellence now but then back in the day you could bet on a random rant on a "space that was not his own". i don't know what made me respond to that particular rant but it was one of those things that was right on time. and to think that after that he was literally right down the street from me. it was like sitting in a park playing someone on a mobile game and realizing that the laughs were after you pushed the send button. and to this day he is "ketchup" and i love him so much for bringing out a side of me that is now all of me! i love ya b. wilson."

"i love you too "mustard"."

Finally Finished..."The Love Blogger"

“the auditorium where the press conference was scheduled to take place had a maximum occupancy of 300 people, which meant only the who’s who in the world of entertainment journalism had been invited to what was being billed merely as “the event”. brian wilson, known the world over as “the love blogger”, was to make a rare appearance due to the expected release of his second book entitled “as i lay dying”; a line he had borrowed from a faulkner work. his first book “pandora’s heart-shaped box”, titled as a tribute to his favorite band, had been a collection of pieces he had written and compiled over the initial two years of his blog’s existence, and it had been a tremendous success: having garnered both critical acclaim from its reviewers and financial prosperity for the company that published it, as well as its author. and because of that success, “as i lay dying” had become the most eagerly anticipated book in years, perhaps even decades; its release date seemingly a national holiday in some countries, where non-essential government offices were planning to remain closed and many companies were going to give their employees the day off. the date, etched in everyone’s mind was april 14, 2014, and 4-14-14 was fast approaching.

to no one’s surprise, the press conference was slated to start at exactly 4:14 pm on april 13, 2014; the day before “as i lay dying” was supposed to hit bookshelves in every major retailer and online shopping site. it wasn’t a terribly creative idea, but the book was set to start being sold in less than 8 hours and nobody involved in the ad campaign for it felt it necessary to hype up the publicity surrounding its release by doing anything extravagant. there would be no red, white and blue fireworks exploding in the background of the statue of liberty celebrating “the next great american novel”; no 100-foot banner of brian wilson holding a copy of his latest creation draped from the top of the eiffel tower lauding, what seemed poised to become, the next global phenomenon. there wasn’t any need for such outrageous stunts; everyone already knew about the book, and it had been decided that a spectacle would have constituted overkill in terms of exposure and probably have done more to hurt the publication than to help it. they had even tried to nix the author’s press conference; it was only due to his fierce insistence and their piqued curiosity at what someone, who only gave glimpses into his mind through his writing, would have to say when given a microphone for his words and an audience eager to hear them that it had been allowed to proceed.

at 4:14, the doors burst open and two burly ex-football player types in dark suits and sunglasses entered the auditorium, talking loudly to whoever was speaking to them in their earpieces, as if to announce their presence to the awaiting crowd. not that anyone cared, everyone in the audience were too busy making their final preparations for the press conference: journalists organizing their notes and going through the list of questions they had been instructed to get answers to, photographers settling into comfortable positions where they could get front page worthy photos of the author as he made his announcement, whatever it may be; no one paid them any attention at all. they were followed by two more men, wearing the same types of dark suits and shades, who made quickly their way towards the podium. a few seconds later, dressed in a black “armani” two-button suit with silver pinstripes, white shirt and silver tie; and surrounded by four more ex-nfl players turned bodyguards, brian wilson came into the room amid a sea of flash bulbs and chatter amongst the people gathered there. as he walked, his “armani” wireframe glasses began to slide down off his nose and he nervously pushed them back up onto his face; he was anxious, not used to the kind of attention this press conference was bringing him, and he could only think about what he was going to say and the sense of relief he would feel when he said it and this ordeal was finally all over. his four accompanying bodyguards separated; a couple going to the left of the microphones and the others going to the right, leaving the celebrated author isolated in the middle: with all eyes on him, awaiting his every word.

there were more camera flashes as the room began to quiet and soon all that could be hear in the place was slight feedback when brian wilson inched closer to the microphone. he looked over the room for a few moments; then began to speak…

“fuck love.”

and with those words he retreated from the podium, following the path he had taken into the auditorium back out of it; leaving the entire crowd in stunned silence.”

sometime in early '12, just finished today.

Writes..."Sonnets 101-110"

sonnet 101

“every day i’m on the same fucking rant;
and this shit’s eating at my very soul…
i try to get over it but i can’t,
i’m so stressed out, i’ve become an asshole…
nah, i’ve been an asshole; i won’t deny,
though i claim to be a lover of most…
i haven’t figured out exactly why,
“i love you’s” from me make women turn ghost;
like the thought behind the words should be feared…
my brain’s been unable to comprehend,
once i mouthed that line, why love disappeared,
and brought about a relationship’s end...
here’s the question i ponder every day:
is “i love you” now something not to say?”

sonnet 102

“i’ve come to realize that the truest truth,
is one i’ve often thought i could deny…
so i write these words to offer as proof:
i’ll commit to something before i die…
a lady’s next to me with a baby,
big brown eyes staring at me and i know…
not “possibly”, or “perhaps”, or “maybe”;
i “definitely” have to make it so…
to be the reason “she” had curly hair;
or the reason “he” is really smart…
i see unreal children everywhere;
‘cause my mind is in accord with my heart…
like paternal intent’s been set in stone,
i know what i want and i want my own…”

sonnet 103

“sometimes wondered why i was all alone,
and which lover’s absence i’d deemed the worst…
‘til i formed a conclusion on my own:
that i’d never left love; love leaves me first…
didn’t ask her to stay, should’ve, but i,
couldn’t ask her to remain here for me…
i still don’t understand the reason why,
leaving me seemed to come off as easy…
when she’d once professed a love in her heart;
dedicated to one who’d loved her back…
no tearful goodbye when she did depart,
or emotions from words that seemed to lack…
the day she left, her love just disappeared,
and thoughts of loving someone became feared…”

sonnet 104

“i have thoughts of us and a single kiss…
my lips on yours, with our tongues intertwined…
a passionate moment of heated bliss,
where you and i are fullfillment defined…
you want to sneak off to a secret place,
to continue this splendor in private…
but i can’t release such a lovely face;
my desire simply won’t allow it…
i hold you close so everyone can see,
what fervor looks like at its most intense…
the lust between us, that overwhelms me,
proves an energy almost too immense…
with “almost” being the operative word,
since me kissing you is an act preferred…”

sonnet 105

“with her eyes shut, thoughts of me are composed,
every time that she’s in her bed alone…
her top’s still on, her lower half’s exposed;
as she wishes that her hands were my own…
she traces dual paths along naked thighs;
like they’re routes she imagines i would take…
‘til fingers reach the spot where pleasure lies,
of which she does voraciously partake…
driven over the edge of ecstasy,
again and again, her body spasms…
all the while fixed on images of me,
bringing her to multiple orgasms…
though she’s by herself, she’s never solo…
that’s something she and i will always know…”

sonnet 106

“i don’t really know any other way,
to show myself as a different kind…
i guess what it is i’m trying to say;
is that i tend to think what’s on my mind…
my thoughts are: my aim is understanding,
and not acceptance by men anymore…
so maybe i should be more demanding…
‘bout the relationship i’m looking for…
er, not “demanding”, as much as zealous…
in finding people who like me for me…
i’ll say “you ‘get’ me?” and they’ll say “hell yes!”;
“b, you’re as awesome as awesome can be”…
i agree, do people like arrogance,
enough to give knowing me a chance?”

sonnet 107

“having penned thoughts for those that admire,
the thoughts i pen, and everything i write…
i pay tribute to those that inspire,
as a composer of symphonies might;
if words could be forged together as notes,
and used to create an ode one can hear…
when one speaks of love, and using my quotes;
it’s something i’ve written that they hold dear…
thus, i’ll continue putting pen to page,
to author my heart in beautiful script…
exposure seems to be a lover’s wage,
because everything i write is me stripped…
a woman to you, proves a muse to me…
in expressing myself through poetry…”

sonnet 108

“sometimes i think love’s more thoughts in my head,
much less ‘bout any feelings from my heart;
i merely write of the idea instead,
‘cause i can create a piece written smart…
i often feel i philosophize;
in profound thoughts that produce deeper views,
from those who read my words with their own eyes,
as black and white truth, mixed with other hues…
but then i recall that i’ve loved before,
and that love hadn’t been accidental…
at times i’ve determined myself unsure,
feelings show me love isn’t all mental…
i’m a thinker, i’ll do what thinker’s do;
but allow my heart to influence too…”

sonnet 109

““victoria’s secret” dumped in a pile,
barely three hours after first meeting;
i loved a woman, only for a while,
the time fate provided us was fleeting…
i used eloquent speak to invoke lust;
desire from her for me and my prose…
with profound thoughts, i made thinking a must,
far more of a requirement than clothes…
and words aimed at her were meant to seduce,
the initial one established the start…
it didn’t take her much time to deduce;
i wanted her mind as well as her heart…
naked in my arms, an intimate tryst;
became a connection that has been missed…”

sonnet 110

“in the dialogue between me and you,
there is subtext contained in every line…
i say i want one thing; it’s really two:
i want a wife and a child that are mine…
but “i want my own” means quoting myself;
spoken ‘cause i want my own family…
my life, and my definition of wealth,
will be determined by my legacy…
we talk about realizing our dreams of:
committing to each other with a vow,
a baby: half-me, half-you; but all love;
with a happily ever after: now…
i say i want two things; it’s really four:
you by my side, with one kid and one more…”

Writes..."Sonnets 91-100"

sonnet 91

"this secret between us goes unspoken...
it's far beyond any word we might say...
yet things unsaid have left me heartbroken...
things unsaid allowed her to get away...
a hundred times i've told her "i love you",
perhaps a thousand times in my own head...
i never mouthed it when i needed to;
kept my love for her to myself instead...
but maybe she knows, and still had to go...
to thwart her heart from any exposure...
loving me back, just unable to show...
that for us there will never be closure...
this secret between us is a thought shared...
because our true feelings cannot be bared..."

sonnet 92

"i do what i say, i say what i mean;
because of those things i don't talk a lot...
truth's black or white; there's ain't no in-between...
you lie or you don't; i really do not...
'cept when i said i never think of her,
and i'd forgotten the times that we'd shared;
the feelings i felt when we're together...
when she and i had been perfectly paired...
she asked and i lied; to protect my heart,
even though i should've told her the truth...
i've thought about her since our paths did part...
with the writing of words serving as proof...
i pen no lies, though my mouth did deceive;
once down on paper, i'm one to believe..."

sonnet 93

"i cried when she said she didn't have long;
that her life would end sooner than it should...
but when she told me i'd have to stay strong,
i knew all my tears were misunderstood...
people are born, they live, and then they die;
a concept i certainly comprehend...
her death isn't the reason that i cry;
it's her death meaning the loss of a friend...
i shed tears 'cause she's my sole connection,
to anyone or anything in life...
i've seen but one truth found in reflection,
and that reflection's shown me with a knife...
the truth is that all emotional ties,
will be severed at the moment she dies..."

sonnet 94

"i hate the pittsburgh steelers but she don't...
she loves their colors; the black and the gold...
ask her to switch football teams and she won't;
been her squad since she was twenty years old...
but to me, she's more akin to green bay...
because they wear shades of yellow and green...
if i told her i wonder what she'd say;
if she'd understand what those two hues mean...
don't know; maybe that's a thought too obscure,
too much of a stretch to make any sense...
a "yellow and green" reference i'm sure,
would still baffle most not considered dense...
so i will say that they're what would comprise;
a jar of mustard with a pair of eyes..."

sonnet 95

at ten p.m. i lie awake in bed,
nothing to do but stare at the ceiling...
ain't no deep thoughts floating 'round in my head,
nor shallow, to describe what i'm feeling...
and i'm feeling i want to be inside,
a woman who wants me inside of her...
she'll take her fingers to spread herself wide,
then look lovingly, as if to offer,
her body to one who'll appreciate...
paradise lost is found between her thighs...
an erotic gesture does clearly state,
that she believes me worthy of the prize...
i'll enter her; she'll take me in deeper...
at heaven's gate, i am the gatekeeper..."

sonnet 96

"warned myself 'bout continuing to err,
thinking this situation's transient...
nothing would change, even if i were there,
things are, will be, whatever my intent...
i'd find anything i'd say not mean much;
not nothing, just not as much as it should...
words from me'd still have the power to touch,
but using them wouldn't do any good...
she had spoken lasting words in a vow,
at a time when her feelings mirrored his...
not a thing i can do about it now;
'bout what i want; but life is what it is...
or so i've heard; a phrase i'd never write;
already penned fruitless lines on my plight..."

sonnet 97

"funny, i laugh 'cause i figured out what,
it means saying life in one's mind confines...
true, my brain gives me the words to use but,
i've reduced my verve to ten syllables lines...
fourteen at a time, in poetic form...
alternating a's through f's; but not g's...
writing on every calm, every storm,
i have in life; every pen stroke's a breeze...
easy to pen, but hard to understand,
how all that i am has come down to rhymes...
that my being's defined through my left hand,
must mean i lack definition at times...
i'm not sure if i can live in real life,
i already exist where thoughts run rife..."

sonnet 98

"i've found that in my world heaven forbids;
so i don't sit 'round wishin' and hopin'
and when people ask why i don't have kids,
it's "'cause i don't trust no bitch, legs open"...
i say "bitch" and a bitch gets offended...
real women know i'm talking 'bout those which,
bitch, but i'll apologize, knees bended...
bitch, i'm so very sorry you're a bitch...
which was serious about playing games...
so don't say that you weren't because you were...
you're exposed, but i won't name any names;
i speak of no one in particular...
trust is needed in becoming a dad...
guess that explains the kids i never had..."

sonnet 99

"a friend of mine expressed concern for me;
good will due to the impression given...
simply "you alive?" was her inquiry...
yeah i am alive, but i'm not livin'...
you see, i've found that i merely exist...
stationary; as the world keeps moving...
the only reason i've not slit a wrist:
my death's something of which i'm disapproving...
but sometimes i wonder if i weren't here,
would my absence alter anyone's life?
to leave no influence is my worst fear;
greater than bleeding myself with a knife...
if when i'm gone, they recall who i was,
as someone they'll hold on to just because..."

sonnet 100

"tired of thinking i'm better than you,
since both of us realize that you ain't shit...
i'm ain't shit either, i already knew,
though sometimes pen in hand makes me forget...
i write down these words just because i can,
with an arrogance, i do clearly state...
why find contentment in besting a man,
no one regards even remotely great?
who can't understand a superior mind,
and then use that to claim me an asshole?
"155"; thoughts of you left behind;
meaning my i.q. now equals my goal...
i chasing down greatness, to better be,
recognized then for the greatness in me.."

Writes..."Sonnets 81-90"

sonnet 81

“i’ve heard “you could get the draws for that one”;
‘bout a piece i’d written that’d inspired,
emotions, after my work had been done,
‘cause i pen thoughts ‘bout being desired,
being wanted, when it comes from a man,
and he says the things he feels in his heart…
nothing gets her naked like a word can…
and when “hers” read mine, undressing does start…
well, that’s what they say, to listening ears…
“if they was for me, that would get you laid”;
thing is, i’ve been writing like this for years:
romantic verse for over a decade…
victoria, here’s a secret for you:
“not seen any panties from what i do”…”

sonnet 82

“we don’t talk like we used to on the phone,
well, we talk, but just about certain things…
she only calls me when she’s all alone…
and she’s taken off her varied finger rings…
and she’s taken off her clothes of the day,
with undergarments crumpled in a pile…
she only dials my cell number to say:
“talk me through this, you know it’s been a while”…
i tell her to pretend her hand is mine,
to grant it access to all private parts…
when her words become ones i can’t define,
i’ll know for sure when her orgasm starts…
we don’t talk for real; and sad that i’ve found,
i still can’t translate an erotic sound…”

sonnet 83

"the only person to understand her;
completely; was me, she'd said at one time...
though our opinions in life do differ,
i'm not hesitant to believe that i'm...
still the only one she'd give that label...
despite everyone that has come between...
sharing this connection means i'm able,
to determine what any word might mean;
to see her in whatever mood she's in;
even when i need more layers of mail...
so to still think that nobody's more "yin",
is a thought of mine i'm sure will prevail...
i "get" her because she's a share of "us";
the other half of a partnership just..."

sonnet 84

"it's what i want before this body dies...
a simple thing; to have one thing be shown...
a woman, when she looks into these brown eyes,
makes me feel the love she professes to own,
or get her words to mean something to me...
'cause they usually don't when they're spoken...
so when she wonders why i'm not happy;
she doesn't see that my heart is broken...
i'm not heartbroken, but broken-hearted,
as if it doesn't function as it should...
sad thing is i don't know when i started...
thinking "i love you's" aimed at me weren't good,
or right, but mostly real; they don't seem real;
and i need "i love you's" that make me feel..."

sonnet 85

"the most complete day i've ever had...
occurred today, only in a past year...
and in its reflection i'm never sad;
though in that reflection i drop a tear,
two or three, wet my face 'cause i believe,
i'd experienced happiness that day;
she, having made me smile, then did receive,
a smile back; the reason i feel this way...
in dreams about the first time she and i,
told ourselves we each felt a connection...
i know i became a different guy;
i'd deemed thoughts of loving her: perfection...
nah, in its reflection i'm never blue;
i smile through perspiring eyes; i do..."

sonnet 86

"always contemplate in silence muted...
a question of the utmost importance...
the answer to which, never disputed,
if somebody is asked to take a stance...
i often wonder "who really knows me?"
not knows me, i mean, really knows "brian"...
when a person says "of course i know "b";
then of course i know a person's lyin'...
the real me's, really, a real piece of work...
i need therapy, should be popping pills...
since insanity's a personal quirk;
i'm crazy, never known how "normal" feels...
you know me, then you know help's what i need...
a desperate plea...hold on, i just peed..."

sonnet 87

"she knows i love her, the verb's understood;
contemplated; every day in her mind...
i ask myself does she wonder if she should,
think of words from one once thought left behind...
because i do, i wonder every day...
why any word from me should mean the same,
as ones had at a time my voice did say:
"my desire for you's an eternal flame",
"the passion between us will never die",
or "...feelings for you overwhelm my heart"?
my love's unchanged; though much time has gone by,
though hundreds of miles still keep us apart;
despite everything that's changed since our past...
"i love you's" from me are words that do last..."

sonnet 88

"sad, i believe in love a little less,
every day, less than prior days before;
'cause every day i breathe i bear witness,
to those who've loved but don't love anymore...
yes, i count myself among the masses,
those who've given love one hundred percent...
only to be heartbroken when it passes;
sitting around wondering where it went,
or why it left; answers which i don't know...
sometimes i wonder if love is a storm;
raging; but eventually does go,
i'm starting to think that is love's true form...
one hundred percent, yet i'm forsaken...
the feeling of which can't be mistaken..."

sonnet 89

"not writing in a past or a future tense;
no words for what i have done or will do...
somebody told me that it's common sense,
to write what i'm presently going through...
and presently i'm a bit of a mess,
though "bit" is an understatement i know...
i'm unhappy, my life's so full of stress,
but i'm not really clear on the why's though...
all i know is that changes are needed;
inevitably inevitable;
that the results of good advice heeded,
will ensure that one day i'll be able...
to say i made myself happy somehow...
future words in a past tense towards now..."

sonnet 90

"i feel a part of myself is missing...
and right now i am somewhat incomplete...
it's less than excellence that i'm pissing;
i'm leaving urine droplets on my feet...
oops, what i meant is my work seems lacking,
and certainly not that i can't pee straight...
i can't pee straight 'cause of what i'm packing:
an underfed dick somehow overweight...
ha ha, i've digressed, point is what i write...
comes from a place that's currently without;
i can't figure out how to get me "right";
thus, no inspiration to write about...
anything really than my streams of gold...
and even that's getting a liitle old..."

Writes..."Sonnets 71-80"

sonnet 71

"just how many women have owned my heart;
possessed one hundred percent of my love?
hmmm...perhaps a better question might start:
just how many women have i thought of,
when i'd professed to be "head over heels",
"completely smitten", or some other phrase?
more than a few, and thus it often feels:
"the love of my life"'s loved me only days...
but what if you just get one love in life...
and if you fuck up, there aren't any more?
bet that belief's in someone with a knife;
slit wrists mean they've got no one to live for...
truth's i've come to realize that's what i think...
only i bleed myself with writer's ink..."

sonnet 72

"she found my thoughts as black as my nails were;
decided that she couldn't continue...
a life built with me just wasn't for her...
to go her own way would be what she'd do...
she left 'cause i keep a "rock star" right hand...
a sign reflecting the darkness inside...
having realized she wouldn't understand,
it; the way she had once felt for me died...
she walks away from me with tearful eyes...
you can't walk away from love without them...
i had them too, despite knowing the "why's"...
"your view's bleak; nobody's outlook's as dim"...
she's right, i look at my hand and believe;
i've found black nails rarely look to deceive..."

sonnet 73

"she wants to know what i want in this life;
if there's anything she can do for me;
anything except for being my wife...
she'd already turned down a marriage plea...
the truth is i don't want things for myself...
that would cause others to think me a fool...
not a fame or an abundance of wealth;
certainly not my own kingdom to rule...
i tell her that all i want is a hand...
a hand in my own; to not walk alone...
for the supply to equal my demand;
a 1 to 1 ratio carved in stone...
our fingers touch as i express my heart...
for my want, does that constitute a start?"

sonnet 74

""i've moved on brian"; said in such a tone...
that with my first name, told me what it was...
when it'd been good, it was "b" on the phone;
now, she was done using nicknames because;
she'd moved on, just like she said that she had...
and a love no longer dwelled in her heart...
feelings for me had proved a passing fad;
the trend o'er the moment our paths did part...
then added, "perhaps you should do the same";
which sounded a lot like: "blah blah, fuck you"...
words that scorch released from a verbal flame;
they singe even though they're probably true...
can't make someone love you; ask bonnie raitt...
even when you thought loving them was fate..."

sonnet 75

"written in a past thought, her heart had said...
that she would always be in love with me...
and even today, every time they're read,
those words bring tears that make my eyes blurry...
but that was before, are they now less true;
then when she had expressed them in a note?
in time we'd each moved on to others who,
echoed the same feelings from lines we wrote...
when her hand left mine, someone else grasped it;
and another took my hand then without...
has our "always" survived those ones who get,
or got, to know what "always" is about?
but in writing her, "forever" was used;
so why should her "always" have me confused?"

sonnet 76

"my life's incomplete, so full of regret...
i fill in its blanks, only to erase...
the pencil marks of things i can't forget;
a mental sketch of a beautiful face...
met her on a "space that was not my own"…
loved her ever since the very first days...
but presently i'm in my bed alone...
a space not my own's next to where she lays...
yet there's nothing i can do to change that;
thus i spend time penning a hidden thought...
the one in which she wonders where i'm at;
and questions why the one that's there is not;
an unfinished man, in unfinished life...
who'd also wanted to make her his wife..."

sonnet 77

"why say i'm the best when it's done for me?
i've never been one for wasting my breath...
don't care saying this shit makes me cocky;
know they'll chant "g.o.a.t." at my death...
that's right, what i said, all ten people there,
will say, "no one was better, pen to page;
he wrote of the feelings his soul did bare:
his words were profound, his thoughts did engage...
we'd only assumed it was just a name,
but there's excellence in his number one...
without the fortune, without any fame;
he had died without even being done"...
so i'll say a thing now, before i pass:
"i've spilled more urine than r. kelly has"..."

sonnet 78

“i don’t give a shit ‘bout what people say…
i don’t give a fuck ‘bout what people think…
like frank sinatra, i do things “my way”…
maybe placed one day ‘cross my back in ink…
march to the beat, well, i’m my own drummer;
which means that i “keith moon” along life’s path…
people don’t understand this up-and-comer,
citing “keith moon”’s will incur someone’s wrath…
because those not like me are not like me…
talented, see what i did with that line?
took a phrase, turned it two ways, easily…
provoking envy through gifts that are mine…
i do what i do, despite those that hate,
arguably the thing that makes me great…”

sonnet 79

“how many times can one truly dream of,
seeing actions behind something they’ve heard?
how many times can one experience love,
a real love with meaning beyond the word?
not sure, but my thinking’s only one time…
do you encounter that “love of your life”;
you see, my heart has me convinced that i’m,
a fool for not making that love my wife…
i met a woman a long time ago…
quickly found myself enamored with her…
but made the mistake of letting her go,
now, wanting to return to what we were…
so i’m positive once is all you get…
when gone, gone forever, having lost it…”

sonnet 80

“smedley once said, “all’s fair in love and war”;
so who’s to say when one crosses the line?
i’ve dealt in areas of gray before…
what is black or white in making her mine?
truth is, love is war; a soldier am i;
and my arsenal’s a paper and pen…
with the objective of making her cry,
from reading something that i have written…
‘cause i use my words to step out of place;
without a care, like i don’t even care…
so she sees our past in front of her face,
does that tactic mean i’m fighting unfair?
wrong to have her remember how things were?
then wrong i’ll be, since i can’t forget her…”

Presents...Two Years Of Blogging

"as much as i tried to get on yesterday and post, celebrating the two-year anniversary of my blog, i had too many other things i needed to get accomplished and unfortunately was unable to. wah!!! anyway, march 20, 2010, i started peeing onto paper and then leaving the mess all over the monitor and i continue to do so today; and i'm not ashamed to say, there's a teensy-weensy bit of pride i'm feeling in writing that."

(from last year..."i've done the impossible...2 years of continuous blogging. yay me!!!")

Writes..."Sonnets 61-70"

sonnet 61

“i don’t know why i don’t tell her what’s real…
if i did, would my thoughts do any harm?
why wouldn’t she rather know how i feel?
i ponder that, taking her by the arm…
leading her away, in an effort to,
relay the burning desire within…
what means more than the words “i love you” do?
used in the past, they hadn’t matured then…
“i care for you”; more than any before,
or after her came, from a voice broken…
to echo my heart in words anymore;
can’t be done; so the rest’s left unspoken…
yet she still remains, therein lies the proof;
through exposure there can dwell hidden truth…”

sonnet 62

“i write about death, thoughts of suicide…
not my own, though that’s what some may figure…
when i pass on, i’ll have naturally died…
‘cause i’ll have naturally pulled the trigger…
wait, that’s not funny! where’s the lol?
where’s the indication this isn’t real?
i guess only those that know me can tell…
but i never bullshit ‘bout how i feel…
and i feel only a bullet will end…
“…thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to…”
when i quote shakespeare is when i descend;
into a place where i’ll “juliet” you…
to know the story; a verb from a name…
i’ll “romeo” me when you do the same…”

sonnet 63

“her “occhi sono sudato”; quote…
with each line read, the thought becomes wetter…
i’ve exposed my heart in a written note…
every penned word leaves a tear-stained letter…
“siamo sempre”’s the most famous line…
in more italian; it makes “us” profound…
“forever”’s the word we use to define;
the tie that keeps two kindred spirits bound…
yet as if seeking some treasure covered…
she continues on, sans hesitation…
to tell her my feelings, i’ve discovered…
a skilled hand’s best for that conversation…
and when she’s finished, teardrops will remain…
from two pairs of eyes capable of rain…”

sonnet 64

“sure, i’ve been profound since i was a child…
written poignant things that displayed talent…
but sometimes i like to cite oscar wilde…
he thinks like me, with an irish accent…
it’s “fuck humility” in softer verse…
a direct quote would simply be too long…
he said what i wrote, just without the curse…
but if he had, would it have made him wrong?
people that can, inspire jealousy…
from people that can’t, cannot, or can not…
i want to write so well the best envy…
and my best is giving them all i got…
like turning my thoughts into something noted…
so one day i’ll be the one who’s quoted…”

sonnet 65

“when i die, i’ll look myself in the face…
to reprimand with a finger waving…
the fact that i’d only lived to displace…
images of good men she’d been saving…
simply put, i’d altered her perception…
of what a loving companion should be…
i, having dealt in lies and deception…
meant the person she wanted wasn’t me…
i, having dealt in manipulation…
and plans to confuse her with my mind’s thoughts…
she met each and every stipulation…
just to chase me to death with whiskey shots…
when i die, she’ll look at me and wonder…
whose deeds really put me six feet under?”

sonnet 66

“i don’t want to hear “i love you” again;
anymore; like they’re words you’re supposed to…
say; now those words spoken almost akin…
to; the equivalent of verbal poo…
her doctor diagnosed “shit mouth disease”;
the last time she said “i love you” to me…
his opinion’s in order to appease;
she tosses around the phrase casually…
so it’s no surprise when it comes from moi…
it’s dismissed like i’d just let loose a fart…
sometimes i think loving’s my only flaw…
and that this body’s too small for my heart…
my doc pronounced i’ve “s.m.d.” as well…
“fuck, shit, ass, bitch, cunt; you can go to hell…”

sonnet 67

“everybody lauds the work that’s written…
my hand is brilliant, though not my genius…
i may create masterpieces by pen;
but i craft symphonies with my penis…
my “baton”, a tool to get her to sing…
a three-part harmony, it’ll conduct…
not that a choral term means anything;
merely an euphemism for “we fucked”
or maybe the phrase means more than it seems…
an expression to voice the “oohs” and “aahs”
from low guttural moans to high-pitched screams…
the noises she makes: a ménage-a-trois…
guess it actually does say more than that:
“i may not like pets but i own that cat…”

sonnet 68

“the two clichéd ships passing in the night…
metaphor for what we turned out to be…
my eyes trained on her ‘til she’s out of sight…
gone, and then there was nothing else to see…
sometimes i stare into the darkest black…
hoping one day she’ll return to my side…
if watching the night sky will bring her back…
i’m steadfast, for fear of being denied…
the thoughts of a man that she’d left behind,
are ones remembered; i can’t forget her…
every experience etched in my mind;
the shared moments of our time together…
i gaze into the heavens for a star,
wondering if she is any less far…”

sonnet 69

“a goddess to all, in egypt or rome,
or greece; she’s beauty: her face and her heart…
like the famous “aphrodite” in foam…
she’s a masterpiece; a real work of art…
poets write of her, those greater than me…
skilled with the use of a quill and a word;
penning lovely prose of what they doth see…
one that inspires; a title conferred…
a muse to me, my feelings of passion…
in describing her essence; all she is…
i “armani” words, that means i fashion…
thoughts of loving; dido and aeneus”…
i “versace” words, in the latest trend…
with praise for her on my lips 'til the end…”

sonnet 70

“five years ago when we made first contact...
eighteen hundred twenty-six days away...
i don't think i realized then the impact,
her presence would have on my life today...
on march twenty-third, two thousand and then...
the past; her words at a rant i'd posted...
funny how a mere comment can begin...
a bond of which i've actually boasted...
we've not shared a lifetime, but gladly spend;
the time in our lives sorting through the "mess"...
the truth is i love her more than a friend;
she's more than a friend, should i love her less?
"best i ever had"; "have", in terms of hearts...
sixty months later, still "drake" on the charts...”