My eyes crack open to the sound of daggers at 8:27 am and I say to myself, "I have to stop this."
But I can't.
Minutes later I find myself naked, silent and still. Pressurized water from a silver nozzle lashes the crown of my skull.
And this king is deficient.
And the water is hot.
Beads like plastic attach to my feverous flesh and roll off and away, following the invisible paths of least resistance and I wonder, Why must she resist me? Why must I repel myself?
Beads like plastic attach and roll off and away. Down a drain. Away.
Steam like smoke billows and rolls, blossoms and undulates, rendering mirrors and vision fogged and useless, choking. Yet her vivid reflection penetrates, and she is a parade of beauty and I am the naked king, shrinking. A frozen spectator lost without his crown. Silent and still. Absent of his jewels and void of his rule. Impotent.
Only she can disarm me yet I wield the silver blade and I'm slicing myself to slivers. The blood. The water. Mixing and down a drain, off and away, coating the walls and floors of places I'll never see.
Transmitting and traveling.
The blood.
The water.
The people.
The products.
The tears.
The data.
Surrounding and scouring.
Searing and singeing, the water burns my flesh and I reach for the knob, turn, and make the water hotter.
Burn me, baby.
Make me forget you.
"I have to stop this."
But I can't.
Still and soaking naked I am a broken king. My court is disheveled and the palace is crumbling. The water is running and the hallways are flooding, beautiful. I'm exposed to no one but myself yet I've so much to conceal.
I will deny the scars their location. (Dispatch the forces.)
I will purge this acrid belly of its desire. (Burn her portraits.)
I will refuse her apparition a chamber to haunt. (Exorcise the demons.)
But these feeble commandments die on my tongue and I realize the true futility of a king's rule. Land can be seized and men enslaved, yet her heart is an untamed spark slicing skies like falling stars and voiding the valor of noble souls.
And then -- silence.
The sound of the lashing nozzle.
The sound of water lapping skin.
The sound of a heart, flooded.
The sound of everything drops to zero.
Off and away.
And somewhere inside, a jewel shimmers, catches a fractured ray and ruptures, its blinding brilliance clotting my eyes.
And my hands: Clean, dry.
And in the left: A sliver, a dagger, a broken point from my useless crown.
To her ghost and to myself, I speak, "Please, Love, take this jagged slice of crooked royalty and cut yourself. Dance with its edge and bloody yourself. Destroy your face until you become an abominable creature of horrific brutality, ugly. Please, turn yourself into something that I must abscond and abandon, look opposite and turn away.
"And if this plea for mutilation is refused, please take this tip and tear my chest, remove the cancerous heart and dispose of my waxen shell; for the man who is tempted by an elusive ghost is doomed to the cruel servitude of his own heart.
"Slay me, Love. Water your tender garden with the fountain of my flesh.
"Splay me.
"Dissect me.
"And search for the culprit of such venomous love. Destroy it so that it may never duplicate, reproduce, captivate and plunder another unsuspecting soul."
She refuses to strike, so the king extends his hand heavenward, braces for the brutal piercing and...
Water. Everywhere.
The back of my head is throbbing and my finger returns bloody.
I've fallen and the water is running.
And blood is mixing.
Down.
Off.
Away.
"I wish I could stop this."
But I can't.
mc
28 July 2006
24 July 2006
...and she is sleeping
True beauty defies the beacons of the eyes; it is a feeling, a sound that resounds throughout the deepest chambers of the heart, leaving its spectator frozen and the mysteries of life, silent.
mc
mc
19 July 2006
day
At 5:57 am this morning I awoke to a signal of organized chaos -- the hellish rhythm of my alarm clock.
Symptoms of disorientation: no sense of direction, complete confusion, loss of position, belief that the cosmic magnets are invalid and impotent.
This was disorientation.
I struggled to analyze the moment. Do the red digits actually read 5:57? Is it morning? Evening? Why this cruel hour? Where am I needed? Work? Surgery? A funeral?
Then I felt the weight of her ghost upon my paper heart.
And then I found myself.
I extinguished the dreadful sound of 5:57, rolled onto my back and gazed into a ceiling void of color.
And she was once here.
A Monet framed by this bed of cotton and spring, a masterpiece I had dared to touch with trembling fingertips, her warm body of blood and beauty was once here.
Whose brush strokes composed such immaculate features? A delicate face (so exquisite), two lips (petals of tender flesh), two ears (one beautifully flawed), her neck (a tender stem), supple breasts (blossoms) and other infinite wonders that confound minds of logic and truth.
She was here. Warm and glowing.
We touched. We danced. We embraced. And everything was new and raw like the birth of creation. Sapphire flames kindled her eyes and an earthquake churned in my belly.
We removed our clothes and attempted to explain the universe with a silent language, a graceful language. Hands sticky with perspiration moved over galaxies of flesh. Nebulas erupted. Supernovas stimulated neurons. And she was beautiful, dancing and diving, rising and writhing, twisting in seas of sheets and skin while planets burned and moons ignited.
And she was once here.
I gazed into a ceiling void of color, and thought, I could have stayed there forever.
It's 7:17 am and like a busted artery this coffee cup is bleeding all over the place. Spotting this clean white page. Staining this clean blue shirt.
And so many things need cleaned.
Examples of stains: Her face, name, touch, scent, hair, kiss, presence, body.
Permanent marks unaffected by chemical solvents, cleansing detergents and cleaning agents. Stains oblivious to time. A perpetual alteration, a discoloration of memory. Remaining forever.
She will be the unforgettable blemish, a precious blur bounding across blue, a bird of unattainable desire. Her cage resides in the chest of another soul, and he showers her with extravagant ornaments and precious sentiments.
And all I have is my heart.
And so many things need cleaned.
It's 3:30 pm and this apartment is quiet, and somewhere, something is collapsing.
And then, this vision:
I'm a mannequin on the outside looking in and the storefront display windows are filled with people -- real people of flesh, bone and love.
Authentic smiles reveal clean white teeth.
Glowing eyes glisten and shine.
Their hair is combed and their clothes are clean.
And they look so happy, so fulfilled. They are the angels that grace pristine billboards.
And I wish my skin wasn't plastic.
And I wish my hair was real.
And I wish my eyes glistened milky.
And I wish my lips were real.
But I am a mannequin and all my parts are plastic. Fake. Artificial.
Except my heart.
My heart is a bloody muscle, beating. Feeling. Flush with plasma, blood cells and platelets.
But I'm unable to gesticulate. I can't express the pain and the longing that floods my heart because it's surrounded by the ice of synthetic polymer.
But those people look so happy. So fulfilled. They're hugging, laughing, kissing and holding hands.
And I'm plastic.
On the outside.
Looking in.
The vision ends and I'm on my back, in my cold bed.
Alone.
And everything is quiet.
Gazing at a ceiling void of color, I think, I could have stayed there forever.
mc
Symptoms of disorientation: no sense of direction, complete confusion, loss of position, belief that the cosmic magnets are invalid and impotent.
This was disorientation.
I struggled to analyze the moment. Do the red digits actually read 5:57? Is it morning? Evening? Why this cruel hour? Where am I needed? Work? Surgery? A funeral?
Then I felt the weight of her ghost upon my paper heart.
And then I found myself.
I extinguished the dreadful sound of 5:57, rolled onto my back and gazed into a ceiling void of color.
And she was once here.
A Monet framed by this bed of cotton and spring, a masterpiece I had dared to touch with trembling fingertips, her warm body of blood and beauty was once here.
Whose brush strokes composed such immaculate features? A delicate face (so exquisite), two lips (petals of tender flesh), two ears (one beautifully flawed), her neck (a tender stem), supple breasts (blossoms) and other infinite wonders that confound minds of logic and truth.
She was here. Warm and glowing.
We touched. We danced. We embraced. And everything was new and raw like the birth of creation. Sapphire flames kindled her eyes and an earthquake churned in my belly.
We removed our clothes and attempted to explain the universe with a silent language, a graceful language. Hands sticky with perspiration moved over galaxies of flesh. Nebulas erupted. Supernovas stimulated neurons. And she was beautiful, dancing and diving, rising and writhing, twisting in seas of sheets and skin while planets burned and moons ignited.
And she was once here.
I gazed into a ceiling void of color, and thought, I could have stayed there forever.
It's 7:17 am and like a busted artery this coffee cup is bleeding all over the place. Spotting this clean white page. Staining this clean blue shirt.
And so many things need cleaned.
Examples of stains: Her face, name, touch, scent, hair, kiss, presence, body.
Permanent marks unaffected by chemical solvents, cleansing detergents and cleaning agents. Stains oblivious to time. A perpetual alteration, a discoloration of memory. Remaining forever.
She will be the unforgettable blemish, a precious blur bounding across blue, a bird of unattainable desire. Her cage resides in the chest of another soul, and he showers her with extravagant ornaments and precious sentiments.
And all I have is my heart.
And so many things need cleaned.
It's 3:30 pm and this apartment is quiet, and somewhere, something is collapsing.
And then, this vision:
I'm a mannequin on the outside looking in and the storefront display windows are filled with people -- real people of flesh, bone and love.
Authentic smiles reveal clean white teeth.
Glowing eyes glisten and shine.
Their hair is combed and their clothes are clean.
And they look so happy, so fulfilled. They are the angels that grace pristine billboards.
And I wish my skin wasn't plastic.
And I wish my hair was real.
And I wish my eyes glistened milky.
And I wish my lips were real.
But I am a mannequin and all my parts are plastic. Fake. Artificial.
Except my heart.
My heart is a bloody muscle, beating. Feeling. Flush with plasma, blood cells and platelets.
But I'm unable to gesticulate. I can't express the pain and the longing that floods my heart because it's surrounded by the ice of synthetic polymer.
But those people look so happy. So fulfilled. They're hugging, laughing, kissing and holding hands.
And I'm plastic.
On the outside.
Looking in.
The vision ends and I'm on my back, in my cold bed.
Alone.
And everything is quiet.
Gazing at a ceiling void of color, I think, I could have stayed there forever.
mc
17 July 2006
0
00111101011001000101011101010101010
1010101010100001000010110101010101
110011101010010101101000011010101000010
"The more I try to erase you, the more that you appear."
Broken,
mc
13 July 2006
12 July 2006
the eraser
Picked up Thom Yorke's The Eraser today and it's good -- really good. I'm sure the detractors will say it's a self-indulgent, masturbatory work of beeps and blips. Whatever. The album is masterfully textured with assistance from Radiohead's right-hand man Nigel Godrich.
An eerie soundtrack to WWIII, The Eraser transports the listener to the edge of a cliff.
And there's no turning back.
Shalom,
mc
11 July 2006
what a long strange trip it's been
T.S.Tv.S. turns one today! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaay!
This blog began with entries of incomplete sentences packed with mindless self-loathing drivel -- and now the strapping young lad is a year old. Wow. What a long strange trip, indeed.
10 July 2006
lol
Unlike some bloggers, I attempt to keep this a fluff free blog but I literally LOLed when I read this quote from comedian Zach Galifianakis:"You know it's time to do the laundry when you dry off with a sneaker."
This pic's a trip, too. LOL
09 July 2006
WWIII?
New York Daily News' Michael Goodwin writes:
Last week's headlines prove the point: North Korea fires missiles, Iran talks of nukes again, Iraq carnage continues, Israel invades Gaza, England observes one-year anniversary of subway bombing. And, oh, yes, the feds stop a plot to blow up tunnels under the Hudson River.
World War III has begun.
To read the rest of his column, GO HERE.
Last week's headlines prove the point: North Korea fires missiles, Iran talks of nukes again, Iraq carnage continues, Israel invades Gaza, England observes one-year anniversary of subway bombing. And, oh, yes, the feds stop a plot to blow up tunnels under the Hudson River.
World War III has begun.
To read the rest of his column, GO HERE.
08 July 2006
when your heartstrings break
Yesterday I picked up Okkervil River's heartbreaking masterpiece Don't Fall in Love with Everyone You See. I discovered the album after catching "Kansas City" on WIUX (the radio station of Indiana University) a few days ago. Before the song had finished playing, I knew I had to purchase the album. Simply put, if "Kansas City" doesn't break your heart, you don't have one.Shalom,
mc
coauthor
Today has been a lonely one, shimmering with some kind of beautiful sorrow, strange.
Earlier, at a cafe, I found myself watching strangers come and go. They were seated at tables, driving automobiles and walking down sidewalks -- and they were all beautiful.
I was hoping to assume the position of writer with a hot cup of coffee for company, but such was not the case. The coffee was neglected, the pen was silent and I was a quiet spectator. No thoughts and not a single word emerged from within. Those beautiful strangers had silenced my universe.
My life hasn't changed -- things are different, that's all. My consciousness now glows with a keener sense of comprehension and mindfulness. It's as if my previous 28 years were lived under the foggy haze of a perpetual hangover. My eyelids were lifted, the heart functioned and the blood was hot, moving. I was simply a being sustaining himself.
Now, all synapses are firing, my irises are flush with a vibrant blue -- and I'm blessed.
But today was tinted with sorrow and loneliness. I wish this new chapter of mine could be coauthored with her, that elusive ghost. Who is she? Where is she? Is her pen in hand? Does she even exist?
I tremble at the thought of sharing time&space with a kindred soul. I girl comprised of values, morals, opinions -- and most importantly, self-respect.
Looking back, the girls I entangled myself with were car wrecks and I their willing airbag.
We collided.
And I deployed.
Embraced their careless impact.
Our vehicle was towed yet it was I and I alone left in the cold damaged shell.
Deflated.
Empty.
Used.
A temporary safety device.
Now useless.
Reduced and diminished.
But not anymore.
I used to wonder why I was always attracted to the car wrecks, the girls with "issues." I suppose their vulnerability turned me on. They lacked respect for others (including me) and themselves. But ultimately, I was fond of them because of what they provided -- a fuse. And to the man in love with self-destruction, a fuse is the cherubic cheek of destiny.
- B O O M -
And as the smoke lifts and dissipates, I see a battlefield littered with soiled love letters and crippled valentines.
And I'm okay.
I'm walking away.
Intact.
And unscathed.
But before I depart this scarred territory, I take a knee and cradle the remnant of a broken heart, and to this cold stone I say, "I hope the girls of fractures and splinters -- the girls from yesterday -- I hope they make it out okay. I really do."
And I rise to my feet, gently place the stone in my pocket and I look above. And I look ahead. And I say, "Where are you, my love?"
Shalom,
mc
Earlier, at a cafe, I found myself watching strangers come and go. They were seated at tables, driving automobiles and walking down sidewalks -- and they were all beautiful.
I was hoping to assume the position of writer with a hot cup of coffee for company, but such was not the case. The coffee was neglected, the pen was silent and I was a quiet spectator. No thoughts and not a single word emerged from within. Those beautiful strangers had silenced my universe.
My life hasn't changed -- things are different, that's all. My consciousness now glows with a keener sense of comprehension and mindfulness. It's as if my previous 28 years were lived under the foggy haze of a perpetual hangover. My eyelids were lifted, the heart functioned and the blood was hot, moving. I was simply a being sustaining himself.
Now, all synapses are firing, my irises are flush with a vibrant blue -- and I'm blessed.
But today was tinted with sorrow and loneliness. I wish this new chapter of mine could be coauthored with her, that elusive ghost. Who is she? Where is she? Is her pen in hand? Does she even exist?
I tremble at the thought of sharing time&space with a kindred soul. I girl comprised of values, morals, opinions -- and most importantly, self-respect.
Looking back, the girls I entangled myself with were car wrecks and I their willing airbag.
We collided.
And I deployed.
Embraced their careless impact.
Our vehicle was towed yet it was I and I alone left in the cold damaged shell.
Deflated.
Empty.
Used.
A temporary safety device.
Now useless.
Reduced and diminished.
But not anymore.
I used to wonder why I was always attracted to the car wrecks, the girls with "issues." I suppose their vulnerability turned me on. They lacked respect for others (including me) and themselves. But ultimately, I was fond of them because of what they provided -- a fuse. And to the man in love with self-destruction, a fuse is the cherubic cheek of destiny.
- B O O M -
And as the smoke lifts and dissipates, I see a battlefield littered with soiled love letters and crippled valentines.
And I'm okay.
I'm walking away.
Intact.
And unscathed.
But before I depart this scarred territory, I take a knee and cradle the remnant of a broken heart, and to this cold stone I say, "I hope the girls of fractures and splinters -- the girls from yesterday -- I hope they make it out okay. I really do."
And I rise to my feet, gently place the stone in my pocket and I look above. And I look ahead. And I say, "Where are you, my love?"
Shalom,
mc
05 July 2006
Exodus
Last night I finished the "Exodus" portion of The Torah. As I have stated before, I lack the words to accurately describe the consciousness of reading Torah, and I'm hesitant to even recapitulate the passages/stories that impacted me most because Torah is ultimately an undivided and united experience. However, I feel an ethereal urge to "get it out" and relay some of the insights that I've gleaned from "Exodus."
"Exodus" begins with the enslavement of the Children of Israel and Pharaoh's order for the infanticide of all Jewish male infants. Despite this demand, Moses is born and eventually raised by Egyptian royalty.
In light of his upbringing, he still identifies with his people, killing an Egyptian for striking a Jewish slave. Upon hearing of the murder, Pharaoh seeks to kill Moses, who then flees to Midian.
There he experiences his first prophetic vision (the burning bush) and doubts his Divine role to lead the Children out of Egypt. "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and that I should take the Children of Israel out of Egypt?" (Exodus 3:11)
In Chapter 4, Moses doubts the people's faith -- and continues to doubt himself, pleading to G-d for aid in speaking to the Children. G-d replies, "Who makes a mouth for man, or who makes one dumb or deaf, or sighted or blind? Is it not I, G-d? So now, go! I shall be with your mouth and teach you what you should say." (Exodus 4:11) Simply awe inspiring.
The Children's Redemption begins with the Ten Plagues in Chapter 7. With the sixth plague, Pharaoh's stubbornness is broken and he would have freed the people, but G-d strengthens his resolve so that he can still be punished for his earlier sins.
Exodus 10 brings the final three plagues, the commandment sanctifying the New Moon (basis of Jewish calendar and festival cycle), the laws of Passover and the sanctification of the first born.
In Exodus 13:17-31, the Children begin their monumental journey to Eretz Yisrael, G-d splits the sea and the pursuing chariots of Egypt are destroyed.
Exodus 20: The Ten Statements. 1) Belief in G-d. 2) Prohibition of idolatry. 3) Prohibition of vain oaths. 4) The Sabbath. 5) Honoring parents. 6) Prohibition against murder. 7) Prohibition against adultery. 8) Prohibition against kidnapping. 9) Prohibition against bearing false witness. 10) Prohibition against coveting.
Chapter 32 brings Israel's spiritual downfall -- the Golden Calf. Although I won't attempt to summarize this heartbreaking chapter, I will share this from 32:22: (Aaron attempts to explain the grievous actions of the Children) "Let not my master's (Moses) anger flare up. You know that the people is disposed toward evil." I love this quote because it states that one's path to Enlightenment isn't easy. It's not supposed to be easy. The word 'Torah' is derived from the verb "to guide" or "to teach"; hence its purpose. Only the perfect among us walk free from guidance and learning -- and those are zero in number. Remember: "Surely, if you improve yourself, you will be forgiven. But if you do not improve yourself, sin rests at the door. Its desire is toward you, yet you can conquer it." Genesis 4:7
"If you succumb to your Evil Inclination, punishment and evil will be as ever present as if they lived in your doorway." Rabbi Obadiah Sforno (1475-1550)
In closing, I'd like to add this caveat: This post is by no means a summary of The Book of Exodus. I'm aware that I've neglected to share other intrinsic insights of The Book; no disrespect is intended. Attempting to absorb the indefinable majesty of Torah is like trying to comprehend the grand Architecture of the Universe: It's simply impossible.
If you (the reader) have taken the time to read this entire post, thanks for reading.
Shalom,
mc
"Exodus" begins with the enslavement of the Children of Israel and Pharaoh's order for the infanticide of all Jewish male infants. Despite this demand, Moses is born and eventually raised by Egyptian royalty.
In light of his upbringing, he still identifies with his people, killing an Egyptian for striking a Jewish slave. Upon hearing of the murder, Pharaoh seeks to kill Moses, who then flees to Midian.
There he experiences his first prophetic vision (the burning bush) and doubts his Divine role to lead the Children out of Egypt. "Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and that I should take the Children of Israel out of Egypt?" (Exodus 3:11)
In Chapter 4, Moses doubts the people's faith -- and continues to doubt himself, pleading to G-d for aid in speaking to the Children. G-d replies, "Who makes a mouth for man, or who makes one dumb or deaf, or sighted or blind? Is it not I, G-d? So now, go! I shall be with your mouth and teach you what you should say." (Exodus 4:11) Simply awe inspiring.
The Children's Redemption begins with the Ten Plagues in Chapter 7. With the sixth plague, Pharaoh's stubbornness is broken and he would have freed the people, but G-d strengthens his resolve so that he can still be punished for his earlier sins.
Exodus 10 brings the final three plagues, the commandment sanctifying the New Moon (basis of Jewish calendar and festival cycle), the laws of Passover and the sanctification of the first born.
In Exodus 13:17-31, the Children begin their monumental journey to Eretz Yisrael, G-d splits the sea and the pursuing chariots of Egypt are destroyed.
Exodus 20: The Ten Statements. 1) Belief in G-d. 2) Prohibition of idolatry. 3) Prohibition of vain oaths. 4) The Sabbath. 5) Honoring parents. 6) Prohibition against murder. 7) Prohibition against adultery. 8) Prohibition against kidnapping. 9) Prohibition against bearing false witness. 10) Prohibition against coveting.
Chapter 32 brings Israel's spiritual downfall -- the Golden Calf. Although I won't attempt to summarize this heartbreaking chapter, I will share this from 32:22: (Aaron attempts to explain the grievous actions of the Children) "Let not my master's (Moses) anger flare up. You know that the people is disposed toward evil." I love this quote because it states that one's path to Enlightenment isn't easy. It's not supposed to be easy. The word 'Torah' is derived from the verb "to guide" or "to teach"; hence its purpose. Only the perfect among us walk free from guidance and learning -- and those are zero in number. Remember: "Surely, if you improve yourself, you will be forgiven. But if you do not improve yourself, sin rests at the door. Its desire is toward you, yet you can conquer it." Genesis 4:7
"If you succumb to your Evil Inclination, punishment and evil will be as ever present as if they lived in your doorway." Rabbi Obadiah Sforno (1475-1550)
In closing, I'd like to add this caveat: This post is by no means a summary of The Book of Exodus. I'm aware that I've neglected to share other intrinsic insights of The Book; no disrespect is intended. Attempting to absorb the indefinable majesty of Torah is like trying to comprehend the grand Architecture of the Universe: It's simply impossible.
If you (the reader) have taken the time to read this entire post, thanks for reading.
Shalom,
mc
04 July 2006
fireworks
To those celebrating their independence, everywhere:I dreamed about killing you again last night
And it felt all right to me
Dying on the banks of Embarcadero skies
I sat and watched you bleed
Buried you alive in a fireworks display
Raining down on me
Your cold, hot blood ran away from me
To the sea
I painted my name on the back of a leaf
And I watched it float away
The hope I had in a notebook full of white, dry pages
Was all I tried to save
But the wind blew me back via Chicago
In the middle of the night
And all without fight
At the crush of veils and starlight
--Wilco's "Via Chicago"
03 July 2006
dream
...And in a dream I'm saying, "So, have you fucked her yet? Have you planted yourself in that secret crevice? Has she given you permission to trespass her private garden and pluck her petals?
"These are the obscene delights that satisfy the temporary and quell their wicked appetites, and no -- before you speak -- my desire was never to spoil her sanctity nor soil her with sacred fluids.
"My desire was a shrouded stranger to her; for her heart had been obliterated and buried in a thousand unmarked plots, scattered and impossible to recover.
"My threats were flowers and my yearning, an innocent ghost. And I was refused.
"And you should understand that I do not speak with an envious heart. I do not resent you and I am upset with neither of you, but, please forgive me if my lips utter a pious sentiment, I pity both of you.
"I used to be a creature of concession. I compromised my ideals, feelings and, most importantly, my heart to amalgamate with a greater collective. A mass of souls who surrender to temptation and abandon the art of restraint: self-discipline.
"And I was refused. My heart: too strong. My virtues: too noble.
"Man can choose to exorcise his demons or console them; he can split an atom to annihilate his brother or open his arms and embrace him.
"I wish all of man's desires were pure, clean and true but -- alas -- such is not the case, so I pity him, I pity him."
...And in a dream I'm saying, "I want to assure you that things are good. The sky is as blue as the oceans' tears and the stars still tremble and burn like newborns breathing beautiful."
Shalom,
mc
"These are the obscene delights that satisfy the temporary and quell their wicked appetites, and no -- before you speak -- my desire was never to spoil her sanctity nor soil her with sacred fluids.
"My desire was a shrouded stranger to her; for her heart had been obliterated and buried in a thousand unmarked plots, scattered and impossible to recover.
"My threats were flowers and my yearning, an innocent ghost. And I was refused.
"And you should understand that I do not speak with an envious heart. I do not resent you and I am upset with neither of you, but, please forgive me if my lips utter a pious sentiment, I pity both of you.
"I used to be a creature of concession. I compromised my ideals, feelings and, most importantly, my heart to amalgamate with a greater collective. A mass of souls who surrender to temptation and abandon the art of restraint: self-discipline.
"And I was refused. My heart: too strong. My virtues: too noble.
"Man can choose to exorcise his demons or console them; he can split an atom to annihilate his brother or open his arms and embrace him.
"I wish all of man's desires were pure, clean and true but -- alas -- such is not the case, so I pity him, I pity him."
...And in a dream I'm saying, "I want to assure you that things are good. The sky is as blue as the oceans' tears and the stars still tremble and burn like newborns breathing beautiful."
Shalom,
mc
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