it’s the tearing sound of love notes, drowning out these gray stained windows…

sigh, volunteering at a hospital is enjoyable in so many ways.

but it really makes me think.

but hey, almost everything does.

this be my thoughts. enjoy.

Hospitals are strange places. There’s an uneasy silence over the entire building. Or at least for the patients and anyone who cares for them. As if they are terrified that anything could drive the life out of them or their loved ones. As if they felt that their soul is tethered to this world by nothing more than cold machines and paid by the hour doctors. Walking through an Intensive Care Unit is a heart breaking experience. To see the people lying in that dimly lit room, immobile save for their eyes. To realize that the people in the room, have a 1 in 3 chance of dying. And what’s worse is that they will do that alone and deprived of human contact. They are not people in a hospital. They are disorders. Diseases. Deficiencies. On a patient chart, the clearest entry is the diagnosis. The patient’s name is a footnote. Loved ones? No where. Their hobbies? Never. If they believe in god, if they write poetry, if they love their parents? No. Doctors don’t need to know this. They need to know what to inject them with, where to cut them, or when to give up.

i never thought it’d be this way, just you and me were here alone…

RougeCheezit: alex
RougeCheezit: alex

RougeCheezit: i need to tell you something
RougeCheezit: i need to tell you something
RougeCheezit: no, i’ll go first
RougeCheezit: no, i’ll go first
RougeCheezit: well
RougeCheezit: well
RougeCheezit: how about we both go first
RougeCheezit: how about we both go first
RougeCheezit: well if we both go first, there is no second and therefore no first
RougeCheezit: well if we both go first, there is no second and therefore no first
RougeCheezit: it’s all relative
RougeCheezit: it’s all relative
RougeCheezit: anyways, the point is
RougeCheezit: anyways, the point is
RougeCheezit: no matter what people do or don’t do
RougeCheezit: no matter what people do or don’t do
RougeCheezit: you have to do what you have to
RougeCheezit: you have to do what you have to
RougeCheezit: and while that may sound like a general statement
RougeCheezit: and while that may sound like a general statement
RougeCheezit: i could not mean it in a more specific way.
RougeCheezit: i could not mean it in a more specific way.
RougeCheezit: i want you to, no i need you to do what you must, for you and for those who you find yourself responsible for
RougeCheezit: i want you to, no i need you to do what you must, for you and for those who you find yourself responsible for
RougeCheezit: you may let yourself down
RougeCheezit: you may let yourself down
RougeCheezit: you may let me down
RougeCheezit: you may let me down
RougeCheezit: but you never
RougeCheezit: but you never
RougeCheezit: ever
RougeCheezit: ever
RougeCheezit: let down those who depend upon you
RougeCheezit: let down those who depend upon you
RougeCheezit: you die before you let that happen.
RougeCheezit: you die before you let that happen.
RougeCheezit: without your loved ones
RougeCheezit: without your loved ones
RougeCheezit: you are shallow, hollow, and ultimately temporary.
RougeCheezit: you are shallow, hollow, and ultimately temporary.
RougeCheezit: if you are not remembered by anyone
RougeCheezit: if you are not remembered by anyone
RougeCheezit: who is to say you existed?
RougeCheezit: who is to say you existed?
RougeCheezit: if you had no impact on anyone
RougeCheezit: if you had no impact on anyone
RougeCheezit: who is to say you mattered?
RougeCheezit: who is to say you mattered?
RougeCheezit: if you never felt anything real for anyone
RougeCheezit: if you never felt anything real for anyone
RougeCheezit: who is to say you lived?
RougeCheezit: who is to say you lived?

Bypassed everything and went straight for the neck…

so. tired.

anyways, maple story owns my life.

 i wrote a poem about cities!

 because i was thinking of cities and how odd it felt to walk around the streets, being a child of the suburbs.

buildings in cities are talllll duuuuudde.

hahaha, so yeah.

 here we are,

The buildings around me seem
Especially tall this cool autumn night
And I recall this particular dream
From every sleep I’ve had in my life

The sun has become indistinguishable
From everything concrete forced in the sky
And the damage must be considerable
Because the sun cannot be seen by my eyes.

And I can’t see him for my life’s sake
Either he has ceased to move or he hides
There’s nothing to separate my night from day,
Yet there is no question as to why.

goodbye my almost lover, goodbye my hopeless dream…

 lunar eclipse tonight!

my poor moon, cold and dark alone in the sky.

poem!

The moon’s light is brilliant to me,
And it is my night’s saving grace.
It’s celestial light always seemed unique,
And unequaled by anything else in definite space.

But tonight as I looked upwards,
I realized the incredible tragedy,
In that the moon’s eternal lover,
Will forever light the moon fully

But will never be with her in the sky,
That the moon should only soar alone,
That the sun should reveal the moon to our eyes,
But will never let his love be truly known.

That the sun will follow the moon day
And night but never dare to meet her,
And he will only dare to come halfway,
To halt at the night and never cross over.

The sun is proud and strong during the afternoon hours,
But as the dark sets in he grows furtive, shy.
Brazen heat turns to pastel yellows and gentle showers.
He gently sinks below the horizon to hide.

Then the moon rises and accepts his light,
To make her shine her beautiful silver,
Yet she will never thank the sun for the night,
And he will still illuminate her forever.

When everything is lonely I can be my own best friend…

God.

i kind of miss believing in him/her/who am/it.

sigh.

i wrote two counter pieces on hope.

A.

Hope. It’s something quintessentially human. More often than not it’s based on nothing rational. More often than not it’s simply irrational. But it’s what keeps us breathing. Hope for tomorrow. Hope for the next shot. Hope for the sun to continue rising and setting. Without hope, there is neutrality. You’ll breathe because it’s the path of least resistance. But that’s without any outside influence. You add negatives without the positive of hope. Despair sets in. Hope is something that always finds you when you are not looking for it. So it never feels like it’s lost. You may never even actively acknowledge its presence. It’s just a continual state of being, I suppose. Living with hope. The thing is, one day you may look for hope to find it missing. And where you’ve never felt a lack or a want for it, you find it to be absent. And that is the single most heart crushing experience a person can feel.

B.

 

This gives me hope. Hope means disappointment in the end. Even if I get what I hope for, nothing can live up to the ideal I have in my head. Hope will always lead to disappointment. If I don’t hope for anything, everything is an unexpected miracle. I want that. I want perpetual amazement. I want everything to be so new, that I’m far too fascinated by pain to actually realize it hurts. I want happiness to be more than a lack of pain. I want to know what it feels like to feel. I don’t want to be cold. I don’t want to feel this old. I don’t want to expect these things. I want to drive myself into the complete darkest corners of my subconscious, and come rocketing back up in one glorious and vindicating moment. Maybe I’ll wear myself out. I don’t really care if I do. Everyone and everything else has always built me up and broken me down, so I figure it’s only natural if I do the same. I don’t really care if this constant emotional wreckage will destroy me eventually. I want to feel.

what comes is better than what came before…

books must be the axe for the frozen sea inside us.

kafka.

sigh

so true.

and it follows for songs and art as well.

they must be a tragic affair to keep our senses alive that might not be affected in any given day.

so yes, poem.

The night’s grass is cool on my skin,
And I am reminded of your small fingers on my limbs,
And the moon is building in the sky,
Half-crescent, crescent, full and bright as your eyes.

This night is drowned by light,
And so I shield my eyes to impair my sight.
I want dark to engulf me entirely,
I want to forget this sorrow that breaks me.

in the unlikely story that is america, there has never been anything false about hope…

barack obama is goddamn inspiring.

i’m a bit concerned about his lack of experience,

but christ if i can’t forgive him for that, his ideas and words are so moving and encouraging.

one of his speech writers is apparently from worcester.

amazing amazing amazing.

the will.i.am song made from his nashua speech is incredible, yes we can.

anyways, i have a bit of melancholy poem today

There are so few clouds tonight,
And I think over all my life,
And what I find is that I
Cannot honestly remember how it feels to cry.

The rising sun paints your eyes colors
That I swear could never be seen on earth,
The air wraps itself around us and I see
It flow through your hair and carry the scent to me.

The sky itself weeps with us today.
Its tears land upon me and I can’t say
How my heart breaks with this morning.
The sun rises and we are young, but still learning.

I could write it better than you ever felt it…

the bible intrigues me.

i think people should read it, regardless of their religion.

or at least be acquainted with it.

 and so, my next writing is inspired by a passage in the bible, although i forget the book, chapter, and verse.

 oops.

content’s more important than pretense though.

anyways!

For all the desires we experience in life, I wonder how many actually matter. What I mean is, how many of these desires are simply created as motivation to get through the day. Our brain gives us a constant drive for something, anything, so that we might hopefully always have something of a purpose. We need a reason to continuing expending energy. There needs to be a site of impact for all these energy we put into moving forwards. My question is, what is this ultimate desire? And which desires are the small ones designed to fool us into thinking we’re making progress? To be honest, I am beginning to feel as if my greatest desire is to simply be rid of all these desires. To feel complete. To solve every x in every equation in my unbalanced life. For once in my life, to feel as if there isn’t something I could do better. I want nothing more than to be able to declare at the end that I am worthy of rest.