Sunday, March 22, 2009
I can still hear you when you drown
You've travel very far just to see
if I'll come around
When I'm down
All of those yesterdays
No matter where you are
I can still hear you when you dream
You traveled very far
You traveled far, like a star
And you are
All of those yesterdays
Is it something someone said?
Was it something someone said?
Yesterday the sky was you
And I still feel the same
Nothing left for me to do
And I still feel the same
I wish, I wish I could fly
I wish, I wish I could lie
I will, I will try
I will, I will
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Oh how nature coincides with the real world so perfectly, accidentally and honestly.
Meeting you was a beautiful accident in my life. It’s a delicious cocktail of coincidence and insanity. I feared everyday that I was with you that you would realize how banal I was. I shied away from the idea of your inevitable departure. I’m ordinary not beautiful. I’m not as fun as I seem, I’m complex. I’m an extremely intelligent woman who plays the part of a clown. I’m an emotional wreck who hides behind a smile. I pretend to be who I am not. I never asked about you enough because I was so afraid of being me. I was so afraid of who you really were. I was afraid of scaring you away.
I was a selfish girlfriend who hid behind blind generosity.
We mixed, spun, twirled. We were dizzy messes creating some strange and beautiful accidental affair. You warmed and protected me from the coldness of past. Your light refracted off mine and filled me with so much love and warmth. But other things got in our way. Your past, your delicate make up, your accidental occurrences, your volcano’s and storms. Destroyed. I never had a chance.
I drive toward the light of sunset. I look into my rearview mirror. Darkness and stars twinkle behind me. I stay focused on the sun and wonder how much longer the light can hold out before the darkness swallows it whole. I press my foot on the gas and hope for my strength to last longer than the darkness.
So wonderful how fast your heart can heal and change.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Like serial killers.
I have a very healthy obsession with serial killers. I say healthy because I don't have posters of them or write songs glamorizing their exploits. I just read about them whenever the mood strikes.
Take Ed Gein for example. His is an interesting case. Mr. Gein was a closeted homosexual who was attached to his abusive mother. So attached that he kept her body above ground after she died Norman Bates style. He was the kind of guy people trusted but didn't really befriend. He babysat many local children. But by night Eddie would kill or dig up freshly dead women and do things to their bodies. For example, he had cups fashioned from women's breasts, a window shade pull made from women's nipples, bed posts made from skulls, just some really sick shit. He even made himself a vagina to wear out of multiple dead women. He was inspiration for the characters of Norman Bates, Patrick Bateman and Buffalo Bill. This man dealt with systematic abuse from his mother and from bullies when he was younger which made him into the future monster and notorious killer.
There is also of course Jeffry Dahmer who had a normal childhood and had loving, caring parents. No one really knows what pushed Dahmer over the edge, but instead gave a new insight into serial killers: some aren't made, some are just born. Jeffrey was a lonely soul who felt like an outsider, probably due to his homosexuality. He hated being alone so much that after he would be with a lover, when they would try to leave to go home he would panic, and kill them. He then of course ate them to keep them closer to him. He truly is a sympathetic character when you read more of his story. It's not that he deserves sympathy for his actions, but more that he just couldn't find a cure to his sick obsession. He was a sick man who never learned to live a normal life.
I can go on and on very creepily on all the serial killers I have learned about and all the books I have read on the subject (American Psycho is a must read!) but I don't want to get into the serial killers too much. I want to talk about why I am so interested. I just think it is fascinating to try and understand how a humans psyche can manifest itself into believing that urges can only be quenched by their actions. Grant it, we all have urges. I have a strong nagging urge right now to beat the shit out of a dumb bitch. I'm not going to do it. I have urges to do drugs again from time to time. Not going to go there. We ALL have urges to do despicable things such as lie, cheat, steal, hate, masturbate (not really despicable, but if in public...), just many many things. But we have this off/on switch that WE can control. Some people just cannot. That is what interests me. The mind of the degenerate. What makes people want to be bad people, or why do they not feel the same moral obligation we all feel.
I may never know the answers, or do I ever want to go into psycho therapy to find the answers, but it's just something I look into from time to time.
What makes a sociopath click?
What motivates a liar to lie?
What makes a shoplifter steal?
What creates promiscuity?
You can say social and outside factors push these people to their limits but sometimes there are no reasons. That is what is scary sometimes. They walk among us. They live with us. They eat like we do. They are our family and friends, lovers and coworkers. We trust them. We are the unknowing and willing prey.
By the way Dexter is an amazing show. It is probably one of the more insightful shows out there about sociopathic behavior. What also helps the show is that Michael C. Hall is undeniably sexy as the vigilante serial killer everyone cheers for. I'd fuck him. Anyway, it is a must see show. The script writing is excellent, the acting is actually quite good, and the premise is actually believable. I can go into a thorough review but I have to finish season 2 and 3 first.
I leave you with that. I'll give my Dexter review later
Monday, March 9, 2009
Lost at sea, that’s what I am. I am fallen away from my roots and my home, my family tree, just looking for a beach to call home. I miss my old home, but I am excited to find a new one, one to call my own. But where will this home be? If I go with this current my home may be north, if I follow another current it may be south. If I get caught up in a storm I may lose my way and may never find it. The elements shape me and control my appearance as well as my trajectory. Where oh where will I find my home?
A couple of months ago a fishy nibbled on my bark a couple of times and we became friends. Fishy told me if I went the way she was going that she could help me find my home. She was a nice fishy and protected me from other meaner fishes. But, I knew she could never live on land with me. Poor fishy, she tried to help the best she could but there was a storm ahead that we both didn’t pay attention too. I lost my fishy friend but the impact she made on my bark and the direction she pointed me in bounded me on a new stream.
I’ve been floating at sea for years now, confused, tired, a different branch from when I started my journey. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. The storm that caught me left me dazed and jaded. I don’t know if I will ever find my home anymore. I don’t think I care.
Home at last, it’s here! I found my sandy shore.
It’s been weeks now and I have been stuck on this shore staring at the same sky. A couple of birds flew above me and one perched on me. I admit I like being at this new home, it’s not as hectic as the journey here. The stability of it all reminds me of my old home.
But. . .I miss the journey. I miss the life on the open sea. I feel that I should have appreciated the sound of the waves splashing onto my bark. I miss fishy. I miss staring up at the stars floating around in the water and feeling the excitement of finding home. I even miss the stress and anxiety a bit, it made me feel alive. I should have enjoyed the journey a little more.
I miss old home and I miss fishy. Maybe the open sea was home??? Maybe, that was just a way of living a different kind of life. Maybe I’ll ask bird friend to fly me back into the sea. Maybe. . .