Strange

So Strange, who we are...so strange.

our fleeting desires that fade and yet come back to us again and again.
the only constant is that we lack a constant.

Who are we, so strange, who we are

being blinded by a light that declares the truth.
but of a brightness that can't withstand the impending darkness.

So strange, who we are...so strange.

that we can experience a multitude of feelings all at once...
wondering which is the most real
but being sure that none of them are except the fact that you feel something.

Who are we, so strange, who we are

when the very thing we want most is the thing that we wish never existed.
as the morning star brings hope to something that is sure to disappear.

So strange, who we are...so strange.

for our will is such a coward. afraid to take hold of what it knows to be fading, yet possibly eternal.
fog covers all of our brief moments of clarity.
a fog so thick yet navigable enough to drive us into psychosis.

so strange, so strange, so strange.....that those who see me as i wish to be seen.....are afraid to let me see them for who they are...and

so strange...how sensitive we can be when we are uncertain that that which we want also wants us.

who we are...whatever we are...never we are the same...but always we are.

http://gsabarese.blogspot.com/

David Hochbaum “You Are Not Falling, You Are Floating”

Wrong by Depeche Mode

I was born with the wrong sign
In the wrong house
With the wrong ascendancy
I took the wrong road
That led to the wrong tendencies
I was in the wrong place at the wrong time
For the wrong reason and the wrong rhyme
On the wrong day of the wrong week
I used the wrong method with the wrong technique

Wrong

Wrong

There's something wrong with me chemically
Something wrong with me inherently
The wrong mix in the wrong genes
I reached the wrong ends by the wrong means
It was the wrong plan
In the wrong hands
The wrong theory for the wrong man
The wrong eyes on the wrong prize
The wrong questions with the wrong replies

Wrong

Wrong

I was marching to the wrong drum
With the wrong scum
Pissing out the wrong energy
Using all the wrong lines
And the wrong signs
With the wrong intensity
I was on the wrong page of the wrong book
With the wrong rendition of the wrong look
With the wrong moon, every wrong night
With the wrong tune playing till it sounded right yeah

Wrong

Wrong
(Too long)
Wrong
(Too long)

I was born with the wrong sign
In the wrong house
With the wrong ascendancy
I took the wrong road
That led to the wrong tendencies
I was in the wrong place at the wrong time
For the wrong reason and the wrong rhyme
On the wrong day of the wrong week
I used the wrong method with the wrong technique

Wrong

Fragments

by Howard Altmann

An old man with a new hat
is running out of pride.
I want to tell the truth
but I don’t know how.
The wind is our best pen
and it blows poetry out of the water.

I wait for days and weeks to enter
a feeling that’s had years to leave.
The ocean keeps throwing questions
it has all the answers to.
A candle lights a room
and dims the stars.

When all that consoled consoles no longer
loneliness finds a room inside the one it knows.
I am shrinking from the light
and turning into space.
An old man with a new hat
wears his smile in the dark.

P.S. Still you are for me.

XVII (I do not love you...

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

Neruda

Glory Box

"Glory Box"

I'm so tired, of playing
Playing with this bow and arrow
Gonna give my heart away
Leave it to the other girls to play
For I've been a temptress too long

Just. .

Give me a reason to love you
Give me a reason to be ee, a woman
I just wanna be a woman

From this time, unchained
We're all looking at a different picture
Thru this new frame of mind
A thousand flowers could bloom
Move over, and give us some room

Give me a reason to love you
Give me a reason to be ee, a woman
I just wanna be a woman

Reality

Smiling and Dying on the inside just pain without tears. I am so sad that I cant even cry. I have made up my life and now live the results. My imagination runs the show. My imagination run the show.It creates only cruel fairy tales. It only ends in tears and death. Now is the time to write a new something different but it doesn't have to be abrupt. It just doesn't work but subtle powerful changes. Yes! I am drowning in a sea of sadness. The salt water is my tears. So it is time I cried and write a happy ending.

Freedom

Is mine. I am my own. I am free.

Silence....

I wrote a letter to you some time ago. I wasn’t sure if I was going to send it but I held on it. I found it during the construction when my thoughts were of you.

It said that there were no words to describe why I liked you. I don’t remember the impetus. But I thought God do I have to make proclamations. UGH.. It was a “cop-out” nicely written but total crap. If anyone has words it would be me.

I have never regretted any smile, any conversation, argument, war of words, one upmanship, txt mess, email smoke signal with you. I revel in the moments..,actually.
I look at you and see a remarkable man. I think you are quite perfect

The oldest definition of "perfection", fairly precise and distinguishing the shades of the concept, goes back to Aristotle. In Book Delta of the Metaphysics, he distinguishes three meanings of the term, or rather three shades of one meaning, but in any case three different concepts. That is perfect:

1. Which is complete — which contains all the requisite parts;
2. which is so good that nothing of the kind could be better;
3. Which has attained its purpose.[4]

Why you ask ? Well, It is not in that thing you do or what you have or can provide. It is what I see in the person that you are. “And who you be”, for lack of better phrasing.


Life is chaotic and if in that we can find silence that is true Grace. But the fear is we don’t know where it leads us. Perhaps is why it soothes me to wander among the noise. Regardless… silence is like this fine sieve that edits down to a single voice.

You are loved,


Under the dust,I am my own,

Rebecca

I can’t tell you what you want to hear bout love.. I don’t know if I am practice in romantic candor. The feminist movement has failed me. I have no template for what a successful relationship looks like or feel. Other than I know what it doesn’t feel like. 

I also know that I am old in woman years. The idea of a family means something different for me, now. It may be that I feel that time has passed and that I need a new definition of what that means. 

I want to grow old, get fat and have pubic hair. I don't want to be 50 years old and having a Russian woman ripping the hair off my vagina because that is what is in fashion. In 12 years  you know what will be in fashion Technicolor vagina an exclusive Brazilian technique of dying your twat to match your shoes.

Perhaps it is just the nature of man to be visual.. I don't know.  Men are so busy with idealizing  the expression of femininity that there is no original expression of it. It is just tits and ass, that I have .  The caveat is that I am a real person susceptible to gravity. I don’t   want discard my sexiness, it just about letting evolve without assistance, without Boot or silliness of fashion.

I think they forsake the gift for the wrapping paper. We all have our fairy tales and gross exaggeration of beauty and ugly but there is the middle ground

But I want something fresh something different. I am definitely not trying to conform and pla.y catch up .  I am  sitting back and looking around.  I am where  I am here now and at my pace