Something simple sweet steals senses surrounding spring sunshine.
We married March 12th 2011. Best decision I ever made. I love you.

Fingertip explosion, crystal energy revealed in some sad excuse for a Guru,
but what does a Guru bring? Healing in the place of suffering that suffers in the place of healing?
Get down on your knees and surrender to that one true god.
The god of that old testament - tried true faith where fear is peace, where death is love and our brother is our enemy.
Get down on your knees pay homage to your SUVs your TVs and your flat pressed slacks your boss has got your back, but only if you perform cartwheels at that corporate meeting.
Fireworks backfire the place where mind over matter meets the scalding hot coals upon which you dance,
just holding out for forgiveness.
That is all humanity really is.
When Eve took a bite of that apple and felt the luscious fruit on her tongue, sugary sweet sweat of humanity rolling over her taste buds - clarity,
a bomb went off,
ripping to shreds all the truth she'd ever known.
Heavens gate ransacked.
God humiliated that his deepest secret could be revealed by man, or wo-man,
what are we but two parts of one whole?
That true enlightenment is revealed by choosing humanity over godliness and in that we become our own gods.
Destiny is not just in paradise, but our paradise is choosing our destiny.
Endless waves of Utopia, buy your future and your success till the kingdom come.
Blessed bottled water so's you can ruin this earth with purity.
All we've wanted for a million years was to get back to that place.
The point of conception.
In your gut is your truth.
But so many books tell you otherwise so so many truths just tell you lies.
But what is a lie but a truth.
Common decency separates our souls from hearing the voice of reason in a bum's out stretched palm.
Paradise - do you keep on walking, or do you hand him Change?

It's a strange thing, heart strings. For years you get used to waking up beside him. For years you get used to kisses everyday, and then for one reason or an other it's different. Distance and time have made it so that you no longer share that same space. That you are on an alternate plane, maybe existing the same only separate. The part of yourself that you honestly thought was your truest self is really them, and with their absence you can't recognize yourself anymore. You begin to think primal, instinctual sensation and morality. Without your truest self what is it that you know?
You have to start from the beginning, the smallest molecule. The tiniest trace of yourself, who you once were doesn't matter, it's who you are meant to be.
Who are you meant to be?

When I wake every morning I expect to see your face. I expect to smell your skin. I expect to hear your soft moans as I nuzzle up next to you, waking you up with kisses.

Only I lie alone and through the thin walls I can hear the sweet murmurings of my neighbors, cuddled in their warm beds and it makes me wonder what I am doing all this for?

Encasing my fears into earth statues, magma -
the mountain truth -
that violent steamy explosion, that single silent second-
cool, pausing, aromatic, remorseful, reminiscent remnant that lingers while the sky loses all color.
Appreciate the smokey sky as the tree line sways and sighs releasing that final breath.
Soot and ash a gauzy, hazy new beginning, a prayer of stock and fertile ground,
that naked tangible philosophy to bear fruit and milk.
I cut through my outer layer to find my spiritual side sleeping beneath my skin.
It oozes like blue light, de-oxygenated blood, recycled turning fire red in it's exposure - lava.
Vulnerability seeps into my core erasing my memory and morality - a microsecond of bliss
escaping, exacerbated and exhaling into floating while the earth rumbles and gasps,
erupting fire, lust and life from her molten bosom
replenishing, rejuvenating and finally relaxing into a quiet vibration.

Back in March after my many complaints about not liking my job, being unhappy with the time I took off from school, and of being absolutely miserable in Georgia, a very dear friend of mine suggested that I apply for a summer work stay at the Omega Holistic Institute. I went online, and couldn't find much available information about their work program and was skeptical. She and I talked again a few weeks later and she told me I had to do it. I'd love it. I'd be perfect for me. So I went online, found the application, filled out as many areas as I could with anything and every little bit of information of skill, or desire, submitted it, and I got a call the very next day from a lady with an interestingly lovely voice and name, Amina Eagle. We talked over the next three days deciding which department I was to be in, when I would arrive, where I would live, how long I would stay. I signed up for a seven week work period, starting on June 28th and ending on August 23.

I live in a tent. There are 30 other people around me living in tents. I hear every cough, every fart, every love sound. I've gotten to know the quietness of certain neighbors and the loudness of others and can identify them by such. I have only been here two weeks. In this two weeks I've gotten poison ivy, bug bites galore, a twisted ankle and some bruises. But in exchange I've gotten to know myself a little better and I feel more and more accepting of myself as a human being everyday. We are all just living, we are working, eating, sleeping, sexing and pooping. Just like all humans do and there is no reason for me, or for anyone to be ashamed of the natural things our bodies do and need and will continue to do and need for the rest of our lives.
I miss my James, everyday, every moment I think of him always. I think of how wise he is. How beautiful he is. How warm he is.
I miss his taste, his touch, his breath. Even the smell of his sweaty armpits.
I miss sleeping next to him, waking up with him, being able to kiss those luscious lips.
Every man reminds me of him, every boy is never him. I am just walking around this place looking for him and never finding him.

I am in love with the disparity of the south.

The stretches of nothingness and poverty.
Abandoned gas stations the grass over grown.
The stench of chicken houses and paper mills.
Old clapboard churches and fading grave stones.
Forgotten tires on the side of the road.
A lost cat sign in the middle of no where
and the open sky a desert in the summer heat.

My toes are cold, they feel like they might fall off.

Every day I feel like I reach a level of more heightened clarity. Yet, I am a time waster. I lack the capacity and skills to process rational thoughts. Therefor I saturate my inevitable mental conversation with trivia and such concomitant material.

It's tiresome to say the least. Each day I am forced to face my charlatan fears, excuses I've made up in order to feel justified with my means of function. It's all rather useless, meaningless and consists of no actual substance to which a person can cling to or at least find meaning and understanding in.

It's burdening, yet despite it's weightiness I find my public life is very satisfying, productive, constructive and conscious. I feel that I have a real connection to the human psyche and can understand above basic human interaction, can relate undeniably well to the human condition and able to feel compassion, empathy and god forbid sentiment.
It's only when I move to those places where I am the sole soul. Where my internal dialog and demons can run amok causing the teeniest, tiniest rotted cell to multiply and tumor in the holding block of my conscious thought.

It's all nonsense. The words of an ever brooding, ever breaking lunatic and it's no help that every person I meet seems to have absolutely no concept or understanding of their conscious thought and the plight of man nor in any case do they care to take interest in their brain what so ever.
It's driving me wild the amount of people who have absolutely no desire to understand their own mind, their own capacity or even acknowledge that they could change something about themselves with an active thought. Is it all to be blamed on conditioning? Is it because we are taught from such a young age that it is impolite to speak things that that have any poundage to them, any substance? That we weigh ourselves, our productivity on these ideas of normality following only a specific format to life, a certain list of check boxes that make you a successful and productive human being. A certain politeness to existence with others. That the only things worth speaking of or doing are those without a particular significant meaning to ourselves, a preset definition of what makes happiness and what makes stability and only through death does any of this become important.
That is such a falsified mentality. That only after passing does your life become meaningful. That your decisions right now in this very instance's only importance is to define where ones spends his death. How is that even living. No. You are making decisions right now for right now. Your responsibility is to right now. It is not something that one waits for death to decide. After death is death. It's done, it's over. Death is not what matters, after-life is not the eternal glory or damnation. It is now.
And I don't mean to be a nihilist.

I believe in everything, and I am not talking about spirituality or religion that is where this is important. I am talking about you, your sole self taking responsibility for yourself and living your life to the fullest. Decisions must be held accountable for right now, you can not relieve yourself of responsibility to your own actions, your own words, your own movements. It is you. That is what defines you. And I am not talking about in the eyes of others, that may be important to some, but one's own morality should be main concern.
Yes I do believe that there are laws to define decency we've had thousands of years to interact with each other and find and explore the acts that effect other human beings such as ourselves. I am not saying throw the whole system, but live accountable, find morality within yourself. It's incredibly amazing that you have a growing, living, thinking unstoppable brain.
It is all yours. You own it, it is unique to you, and within you, you have the capacity to claim this.

I have the capacity to claim this and therefor I do. I refuse to lie to myself, I refuse to deny my birthright and my existence.
I want all that is mine. And I am absolutely tired of the lack of self-definition.

I am absolutely tired of drones.

And I have exhausted myself purging such bullshit like it even matters.

goodnight.

Im too gone to type right now,
but this level of intimacy and
compassion is too overwhelmingly
nice not to understand .
I Miss my lover,
but part of me wishes he was
here part of me is glad
he is asleep
-
-n
.

Our hearts felt disconnected as I drove us down the road. The emptiness was overwhelming.
I couldn't stand it anymore so I reached my hand over the gear shift to touch his fingers. I could feel the warmth.
First it concentrated at our hands, then it slowly seeped up catching at my elbow. It was painful, pulsing, concentrated at the bend in my arm like it could move no further. It got to be too much, so I moved my hand back to the gear shift, still close enough to feel the heat between us. The longing I had for our unity burning.
I could feel the heat working it's way up my arm now, peaking at my shoulder reaching feverish temperatures. It raced over the right side of my body. I felt the twinge of the muscles as it spread through the veins surrounding my nipple and it rippled through my chest left to my heart.
I trembled, trying to maintain composure and steer the car. Hot tears burned at my eyes. The heat was rushing through all of me like lightening - electricity. It stung every crevice like mad bees, destroying my home my safe place, my body - my mind.
Then suddenly I shivered. He'd placed his hand lightly on my thigh. My foot had been glued to the gas pedal, pressing it farther and farther down, we were breaching 70 down the mountainous country road. I released.
Relief was instantaneous.
The heat was gone. He was smiling at me now, his face calm, soothing. I let my mind turn back to the road as we slowed toward the stop sign.
I felt like my heart had given out, a zombie on the road. I could feel nothing but it's frantic beating in my chest my temperature slowly fading back to normal.
I was wrong, he'd never left.
I had.

I'm not here, not really anyways.

I said I'd never come back and my mind if far off on another plane.

I haven't even noticed the sunshine. Only the rain.

I miss Canada and I suppose this proves that I miss my familiars. My homesickness is really just a sign on weakness, that I can't see to root anywhere and I always want to be somewhere I am not.

I am at home in Georgia. I will be here for a year. Maybe one of these days I'll have the guts to tell you why, but right now I am too prideful to let you in on my secret.

I am a bad girl and my parents would disown me.

For now James and I are living in his parents old house again, this time with Brittany, Amy, Michael Potter and no David form work.

I like living in this house, it's frustrating but it gives me something to do. I decorate and scheme up renovation plans and just havea good ole time.

I am saving my money. James and I work at a quaint little cafe in Carrollton called the Sunny Side Cafe. It's still in trial phase, new business world and we are all trying to work out the kinks. It hasa very dedicated staff and is owned and run by a family on Dukes plus us measly old peasants who do the dirty work doing tricks to entertain customers and earn a buck.

I am quite pleased with work. I am actually really good at being a server. it is a position that takes advantage of my extroverted qualities under a neutral environment were the are no stressors or expectations...besdies, "Will I get their food out to them on time?" and that is to be expected so's I can handle it.

My life is pretty stress free, my mother's recent surgery aside.

They had to throw out her whole uterus, it wasn't doin' the job like it used to.

She's in a lot of pain. Last week I stayed with her at the hospital, this week I have been staying at my parents house.

I've missed them a lot.

I will smoke and sleep now.

I visited my grandfather's grave the other day.

Strawberry Jam

Surrounded, by shiny meaningless ceramics
that decorate the shelves like caskets in a catacomb
-dusty, but in-cognizable,
organized and diligently placed only to be forgotten stored
for the convenience of death.

Dusty pewter and the familiar smell of nutmeg,
a blemish on an amber sunset.

Plaster, like strawberry jam
-lusty, but insatiable,
splattered and spread adding no sustenance
only a coax to get you to eat your whole grain toast.

When I open my eyes all I see is darkness,
a bruise on a sweet caress.