I blame no one but myself, my heart as old as it is, cradled in straw, the ideals,  principals and hope drained and reused dries up to black caking in my heart. I have so much hope for humans I’ve met, hope that they abandon their reality and awaken. I think I place too much hope into a creature that as self-deprecating as they are, deserve hope, but they’re destined to fail. It’s almost like they know it, and they feel if I help them, it’ll lengthen the eventual crash.

 Maybe I shouldn’t care, it may be my destiny to care just as much as they refuse. There’s a sickening desire in me to care, and to help, I mean I can put the water out there, but it’s their decision to drink, while they shrivel in the scorching sun. I see so much great things they could do, many of them driven by the corruption of power, and status. When they disappoint me, I’m mad at myself for even giving a shit. I’m at a point where I keep going over the same road again, waiting for God  show me where to go from here, and what else can I do?

I sit outside on the back stoop and just share the sunlight with the veggies I’m growing and sit pleased at their growth, and the anticipation of harvest. Much more pleasure television could ever give me. The fun is not so much getting my hands dirty, but getting the dirt under my fingernails and making a connection with the living planet earth.

I’m so stoked that my bell peppers are leading the way for the rest of the veggies. I swear it’s growing overnight and over the day. The tomatoes, pumpkins & jalapenos are right behind him. I feel like when I sit out with them I’m in on some huge jam session, silently sitting in the sun.

 

I think that one of the best things my Dad gave to me was when he moved us from the suburbs to the country when I was 6. I raised two bulls, had a flock of ducks, a hen house a goat and a horse, but it was the mental escape from everything that was city oriented and psychologically attached to that. I filled those empty spaces, growing and harvesting of vegetables, and fruits. The hard work in the hot sun reaped mounds of benefits in mind and body. I will always be proud to say I grew up on a farm, even as I live in the city now, and centrally located, I still feel grounded making the most of the space I have.

As distant as I am to the me I used to be, I find myself realizing I’m a shoulder’s glance away. To the me that I was and the one chose to become, because of my ever-loving loyalty to evolution, and the skins I’ve shed will have to deal with that, I evolve as the rivers flow. Yet there’s this scar that’s become from picking at the past too much. Five years in time, is long, and in many ways, just a glance & a blink. I find myself in a Simba paradox, knowing that my care free days as wonderful as they are, in the back of my mind are numbered, and I’ve numbered them myself. Yet there’s a soulful lament that stirs the night to my awakened presence to lay in bed sheets open, arms folded behind my head. Recalling and living for a second, to be that “tiger-stripped cat”

 

To keep my souls thoughts to myself is something of pleasure, yet in the most impossible way I want my very significant other to know what I’m feeling, but there lies not the capacity for a long & far travel into depth and emotion of the long searched for disparity, the oh so very precious sweet & sour. Those moments when you’re pinched, yet you smile because the thrill of the ride, and the call of the hunt is over.

 

Some time ago in another reality, I had written that the life outside your door is a whole world away from the life inside your protective walls. I sit here in my beautiful home sheltered & coddled from everything outside. Yet I feel my other me, asking for me to come out and play. And I changing my voice to utter “He’s not home.” Sweet mother disparity, I wish to sink my body into your bosom to soak my socks and fill my jacket pockets with liquid sadness. I ache to find that underpass where the orange street lights shine nearby 4:30 in the morning.

 

Kinna hard to shake this feeling, in fact I wish it to penetrate through my bones.

I never thought I'd ever come into an experience where i could actually use that phrase.
A violent sea of frustrations and angst, bash against me with no letting up. Yeah I'm gonna have to return to that little green book and absorb my emotions, thoughts, fears, expectations all over again, and i will be imbued with those waves at my own disposal to release my creative juices. I had a real chill day today, and my homemade salsa with my own homegrown tomatoes [big boy & bush goliath] kicked ass. My wife drives me crazy and i fall short of a snappy retort to the crushing force of her smile and the basic humility she serves, so tasty a treat. I cannot win.

I had the sweet and sour reuniting pleasure laced with my self bitterness and humility served from a tangy tongue. My mind's eye explodes with memories from some short years ago, as in a moment break in a day, i piece event by event and scramble them for my own defense. I think it was a double shot of life juice shot in my ass.

Trying not to dwell on the events on what the past has done to me, has me keeping the present in a magic eight ball. Pressing on with the present into the future, i have to keep the bloody blotted bandage on and stop picking at this nagging and annoying scab. [it's just a metaphor, you're no scab] I'm scared.

                                                    Kainan!!

Welcome back self! Yeah i expect everyone to banish the bravejournal community for myspace, twitter and facebook. I use my blog on myspace, but that's for all of the things that i say out of frustration, yet the other day i wrote something that was sweetly reminiscent of the Cereal Bowl.

I still get cold feet when i'm punching in letters into my posts, not because i'm worried that some un-hugged magnifying glass ant killer, salted snail person is going to say, i just want pople to get in everything that i'm saying, like most people do, they buzz over the words, scanning for words. I haven't cracked my head open over a frying pan in a long time. Sometime i feel like i'm trapped in a soggy carboard box, my emotions circling me, penetrating me. When i finally have enough strength to break it, i see myself wrangling them with words and sentences, as it once was before. I guess that will never end. Fellings and expressions will always have to be written down so they can written off.

I've been mournful recently over the passing of my Dachsund-Terrier, Ehulani. She was 13, i don't even know how to react to something that happened six months ago. I think it's our thing. We've always been the kind of human-dog team that really didn't really rely on words to converse and convey. Maybe it's time to leave this world again. I really don't know what to make of it.

Hey all, there was something deep and dark that i wanted to post about from a nightmare i was given 2 weeks ago, but i can't remember what the hell it was. But last night, my dearest and i were telling camp stories, and i shared this one with her. There may be more of the same posts like this relating to the 7 deadly sins, but i really don't recollect me breaking all seven, because greed was never a part of my life.

When i was about 9 years old, my folks sent my sister and i to camp for aout 7 days. I immediately made friends on the bus, and some at the camp too, however to my recollection i don't think i was even trying to find friends, i think i was pounded by a tsunami of confusion, not knowing why i was going to camp or if it was my will. We started camp on Friday morning and ended the next Sunday. We formed groups of 5 for the Saturday talent show, i really like the boys i was with, there was a straggler in the mix, he associated himself with us, but i never thought of him.

Sunday morning, the last day of camp, my camp counselor came to wake me up we stayed up late talking with the girls from the other building from the same camp. I wore my new green Star Wars shirt, in fact i was saving it for that last day, it was the only shirt out of the whole store i wanted. As i sat down to eat breakfast alongside my counselor and friends, the straggler was there sitting across from me drinking his milk, he pounded it down on the table and it splashed all over me and my favorite shirt. Something happened inside myself, and i jumped over the table at him and beat the shit outta him. I did have a fiery temper at a young age, but it never manifested itself in physical violence, i had no idea where it came from, but i do now. Wrath is definitely my sin. And i carry my metaphysical cross eternally because of it.

We typically know what we're doing, who we are and where we belong, but when you realize where you are isn't where you belong, you become lost in many ways, even lost within yourself. Before Christmas i had a drink with a couple of guys, i was invited. It felt like i was a kid again, and in that aspect also, i was lost. Understand that this has nothing to do with resisting change, it's all about who you are in your comfort zone. As i drank, tanked and clanked our bottles together, i really felt like i belonged, but as i looked into the review mirror of the van i was in, i saw someone who was lost. An expression i'm all to familiar with. It's like youy're split in two, one you is at the top of a snowy mountain cutting the rope that releases large boulders down the hill towards the other you at the bottom.

This uncertainty makes you anxious and jumpy, ready to bolt when you get the chance, when i said i was leaving they said to wait till they're done. I kinna thought oh shit, and refrained from loking at myself in the mirror again, yet i did, trying to toughen up my image to myself.

Monday morning i had a thought that awoke me with discomfort, if you read back at the previous and old posts, i always talk about two me's, in the physical and metaphysical sense. I always seem to think that that the other me is the evil, or wild and unchained me. And people all the time say hey i remember you, and peg me to somewhere i've never been before.  So in a way he thwarts my virgin appearance , which led me to believe that yes, he is the evil me. But the thought that proded at me was, what if he too has a family, and in his eyes, mind and heart i am the Hyde to his Jekyll.

Look at my life, i'm a lot like you were.      

This morning an epiphany fell upon me. It might be a fenced epiphany because of to whom it applies to. Knowledge is great but it will end, the knowledge that you currently know of, ends because it is all that which will be massed on one point of whatever it'll be. To know is the beginning of knowledge. Knowing is ever flowing. This is what i know and have known, but knowing is the beginning also, applying is the forging of knowledge. People know a lot of things, but without applying it to your daily life, it's not worth knowing. You give space to nothingness. I've spoken about this before in the post, "Apply Within" but this is not what this post is about. It's about the old man...                                  

The old man whose name is known as SOCIETY. This epiphany came so quick, i had to force vomit the thoughtback up so i could swallow it with understanding. I've spoken many times before, even in my essays about society being an old man whom the world is strapped onto, he's also at the same time the man that doesn't come out of his home, he's set in his ways, so forth the rules of society be written, we conform to his laws. Rather than being an outcast that lives off the grid, we dare not step out of the ordinary. I thought about how i would do things after seeing I Am Legend. I would liberate peoples minds to what the possibilities could reveal, and there forth bring a new sense of astonishment of reality and being.

Sling-shot into a hyperspace vision, i saw that i would be the new king of society, no better no worse. I have written that i once tried to create a new word for normality, to define word from definition. Of few things like myself that defy definition, Normality cannot be broken and separated. Set into a stone not even diamonds can cut. I have always been the pauper, and now that i see what i have seen, i wish to remain the pauper.

                                             Happy New Year, Space Snowman...

I really didn't want to post about this, but as i had freed myself by writing my poetry, and this being an extension of them, i will. For anyone who had read the "Will Heaven Help You" post, this has do do with my father, pretty much closing up the whole post. By the way i purposely left out the question mark in the title, because its intent is to form question and impose thought.

Last week early Sunday morning i watched The Devil's Advocate, and noticing the sweet and sour similarities Pacino's character had in common with my father. Always a salesman, with ability to manipulate the conversation with charm and a sharp tongue. My father died last January 20th, i was and am still torn, i don't know how i'm ever going to get over it, his death and why i care so much for someone who didn't share the same care for my mother and me. As i watch i remembered that when i was getting to know him, his phone wasn't working because he nor his current wife had paid the bill. Out of my cursed caring heart i payed the $84.14 unknown to both of them.

He had a heart attack and at the exact time i had payed the bill, someone called his house, his wife answered then phone, then hung up to call the paramedics. She called me an angel, she didn't know what she was going to do. So much sympathy, he saved the devil...so much conflict within myself. It made me think that he made me save him, yeah the devil made me do it. The first person i've ever wanted to kill since i was 7. Given by blood his sin, wrath heh... i never thought about how he saved me until now granting me salvation from the result of my wrath. Was he really saving me or was it an advantage of his  for me to be tempted by his powers of influence over the police. Which to mention was happened on December 21st of a year forgotten.

Anyway...why do i still feel so bad for him, i think i feel bad for myself, people hated me because who my father was, it made me feel like i'm the only one who's going to love him. I even had the feeling sunk into my bones that my mother disliked me too because i looked so much like him, loving me at arms length. I still get so choked up now seeing a father and son playing and being with each other, i'm so happy for them yet so bitter with myself.

Once upon a time there was a heart that lived without any fear or knowledge of self-consciousness. Its constant loneliness had made it very sad, so the creator created another heart to keep it company, but this heart had a brain so the two would never become bored. Things were fine until one day the second heart said something without thinking and hurt the first hearts feelings. So it fled and spent time alone and created itself a physical body, so no matter what was said, it could shield itself from expressing its emotions. It showed the heart that he was stronger now and invulnerable to many things, this time he left for good. Eons alone, the heart with a brain could ponder and postulate what emotions and thought have to do with each other. He then realized that thought and emotion do swim together, but mostly in different rivers. The creator realized that he was becoming a free thinker and created more hearts to keep his mind off of his mind. The hearts all discovered the truth about the first heart, they too had built themselves shells and fled. The heart with a brain soon discovered that the brain was a bane.

We humans are that physical catastrophe. I'm not tryna get all Heaven's Gate on you all, but we are such an insecure species that we've built our bodies bigger and stronger, so aside from the fact that we can convey expressions other than those of fear, sadness and bitterness, we can also assault those that hurt us. We've also invented cars. The shell in a shell, the bigger the car, the tougher we become or pose to be. As a medicine man i use this story which i've created in the first paragraph to help people cope with the ghost they've become, the shadow of our former selves. We are not our bodies, we are our hearts. I've spoken about this several times in posts like "Triple Helix" We also at times use our shell color to intimidate others.

I wrote a poem a long while ago about me confronting my insecurities about my shell .

"I appear to myself as the meek geek and a silent genius
i'm frail as feathers but when called out or sensing unrest
it feels like i'm climbing into the behemoth that is my shell
protecting me from everything from emotions, insecurity, inadequacy and physical pain
what a loser...oh such a loser, the self loathing i feel when i exit the brutal carcass." 
                     ::Excerpt from Two Last Pieces And Neither Fit::
 
I'm tall, muscular and imposing at times, heh, being 6'2", I am not my body really, which i attribute my own self identity crisis to. Yes i am that second heart.