My soul and I went down to the great sea to bathe. And when we reached the shore, we went about looking for a hidden and lonely place.

But as we walked, we saw a man sitting on a grey rock taking pinches of salt from a bag and throwing them into the sea.

“This is the pessimist,” said my soul, “Let us leave this place. We cannot bathe here.”

We walked on until we reached an inlet. There we saw, standing on a white rock, a man holding a bejewelled box, from which he took sugar and threw it into the sea.

“And this is the optimist,” said my soul, “And he too must not see our naked bodies.”

Further on we walked. And on a beach we saw a man picking up dead fish and tenderly putting them back into the water.

“And we cannot bathe before him,” said my soul. “He is the humane philanthropist.”

And we passed on.

Then we came where we saw a man tracing his shadow on the sand. Great waves came and erased it. But he went on tracing it again and again.

“He is the mystic,” said my soul, “Let us leave him.”

And we walked on, till in a quiet cove we saw a man scooping up the foam and putting it into an alabaster bowl.

“He is the idealist,” said my soul, “Surely he must not see our nudity.”

And on we walked. Suddenly we heard a voice crying, “This is the sea. This is the deep sea. This is the vast and mighty sea.” And when we reached the voice it was a man whose back was turned to the sea, and at his ear he held a shell, listening to its murmur.

And my soul said, “Let us pass on. He is the realist, who turns his back on the whole he cannot grasp, and busies himself with a fragment.”

So we passed on. And in a weedy place among the rocks was a man with his head buried in the sand. And I said to my soul, “We can bathe here, for he cannot see us.”

“Nay,” said my soul, “For he is the most deadly of them all. He is the puritan.”

Then a great sadness came over the face of my soul, and into her voice.

“Let us go hence,” she said, “For there is no lonely, hidden place where we can bathe. I would not have this wind lift my golden hair, or bare my white bosom in this air, or let the light disclose my scared nakedness.”

Then we left that sea to seek the Greater Sea.

更辽阔的大海

-         纪伯伦 “疯人”

我的灵魂与我同到大海沐浴。当我们到达海边，我们开始寻觅一个隐僻之地以便下海。

走着走着。我们看到一个男子坐在灰色的岩石上，正从一只布袋里抓出大把的盐撒向海中。

“这是个悲观论者，”我的灵魂说，”让我们离开这地方吧，我们不能在这里沐浴。”·

我们继续寻找，来到一个海湾边。我们看到一个人正站在白色的礁石上，怀抱一个镶有宝石的盆子。他从盆里抓出大把的糖撒向海中。”

“这人又太乐观了，”我的灵魂说：”他当然也不应看到我们赤身裸体。”

我们又接着走了很远。在海滩上我们见到一个人，正拾起沙滩上死去的鱼，温柔地把鱼放回海水中。

“我们不能在他面前沐浴，”我的灵魂说：”他是个人道主义者与博爱主义者。”

于是我们继续前行。

不久我们看到一个人，正在沙地上描画自己的身影。大浪扑上沙滩把画迹冲去。但他依旧不懈地描摹着。

“他是个神秘主义者，”我的灵魂说，”让我们离开吧。”

接着我们来到一道平静的小海湾，看见一个人正用勺子舀起海上的泡沫，倒入一个石膏制的碗中。

“这是个理想主义者，”我的灵魂说，”当然不能让他看着我们赤身裸体。”

我们复又前行。忽然听到一个声音在喊：”这就是大海。这就是深不可测的大海。这就是广博而汹涌的大海。”待我们循声走近，看到一个人背向大海，耳旁垂拄着一片贝壳，正在倾听贝壳与大海相和的低吟。

于是我的灵魂说：”走吧，这是个现实主义者。他背对着自己无法把握的整体，却忙乱于琐碎的个体不能自拔。”

我们又走开了。然后来到礁群间一片长着苔藓的沙地。只见一个人把头埋在沙中。我于是对灵魂说：”我们可以在这儿沐浴，因为他不会看见我们。”

“不，”我的灵魂说：”要知道他是众人中最要不得的。他是个清教徒。”

这时，深深的悲哀袭上我灵魂的面庞，渗入我灵魂的话语。

“让我们现在就离开吧，”她说：”这里竟没有一个隐僻的地方可供我们沐浴。我不愿让这里的海风吹起我的金发，不愿在这里的空气中坦露我洁白的胸脯，不愿让这里的光窥探我圣洁的裸体。”

于是我们离开了这片大海，去寻找更广阔的海洋。

I was speaking with my mom the other day and she was telling me about how she let a woman cut in front of her in line at the store, and how more people need to be more gracious and giving by doing simple things like that. She was absolutely correct, in this day and age people seem to only look out for themselves and care not about the lives of others, its time we connect. Simple actions such as helping an elderly up a flight of steps, buying someone a gift just because, letting someone take your seat on the train are all ways to be more caring in this world. Because lets face it, life’s too short to not care.

James

Thanks Mom…love you!

This poem called Marriage A’la Mode by Sajjad Shaikh taken from the anthology ‘Pakistani Literature’ proves the notion of ’slow and steady …’ wrong. I like this stark, sarcastic and somehow melancholic poem. Hope you too will like it.

“Did you meet Sulemanji?
Tha man in the double breast-nay-blue suit?
Yes, the only one who gave me a 4-door-chocolate-?
Brown Toyota Corona
as my birth day present.”
“You mean —that lusty old idiot
Who was sitting next to you?
And was devouring you with his leery looks?
“But he talked so fascinatingly.”

“Well, I didn’t like that at all.
Looked like a wild goat!
“Honey! Don’t be jealous.”
“Jealous? My foot!
Damn that bloody skunk!”
“Say what you please,
But he is a practical sort of man.
And you?
You are nothing but a pale,frail,gloomy,
dreamy,romantic idiot.
Yes, that’s what you are!
I like some of your poems.
Every body says they are nice.
But Sulemanji is a business magnate
From Dubai.
Last night he proposed to me,
after the party, you know.
And I am marrying him.
We are going to Switzerland.
Of course, for our honeymoon.
He has planned everything so meticulously.
So good luck to you,
and sweet dreams.”
“Farewell, fair cruelty–
That is—God damn you both!”

Moral: “Slow and steady doesn’t win the race.”

I kinda missed the post I was supposed to write on Friday so in Physics me and some friends made a blog on how shit poetry is.  Remember my first post how I was doing my english homework at the time (got an A woooo) and I put a brief note about how shit it is, well now it has been pushed to new levels of shitness and sucures a firm place in shityland (yes i used the letter s a bit to much in that sentence) (fryers bit) Today we did a poem about a womens opinion on fucking vietnam war how she thought that every vietnamease mother fucker who lived that got burned to shit all. (sorry for any vietnamease reading this) I mean what a depresing person to think that every fucker died from fucking naplam bombs. Miss said that America was after a few vietnamease and any other they wiped out was a fucking bonus. Its not fucking getting 777 on a fucking slot machine cock lickers. (Valentines bit) Another peom we did was called Half Caste it was a about a jamaican man who was half black and half white. Now I dont know about you but I think that something must be insanly wrong with these people either that or there fucking twisted mutants. I mean how is that even possible. Half white, Half Black how the fuck (note to self dont take biology). (me again) The final peom I going to point my finger at is Night of the (shitting((Fryer’s edit))) scorpion. This was about a woman who was searching through rice and a fucking scorpion was there. Isn’t in your best intrest to run the hell away. I mean I dont know about you but I dont really like scorpion and I would probably run the fuck away to avoid getting stung. I mean where the logic in that.  RUN THE FUCK AWAY DUCK YOU COULD FUCKING DIE. And when she was stung she fucking crawls on the street and all people gather round her like “urrr lets have a look” I mean grow some balls her husband was there beside her and let them walk all over him to get to her and then there drooled over her like a peice of bacon clunge suckers. And what did she say when she was fucking cured. I’m so happy it got me instead of my kid. Selfless bastards I mean if your gonna die and your kids our safe think of your fucking self. I mean if there was a health and saftey law for scorpions none of this would of happened since to live we need fucking health and saftey. But think about the poor people who have no health and saftey what do they use instead ? Commen Sense.

Wisdom of the Day: How old you are is not as important as how you are old.

Thank you to Fryer and Valentine for helping write this with me

(I have another guest post coming very soon…)

(a progression over 15 years)

I write…

because my parents

never got along.

because they divorced

when i was very young.

I write…

because my stepdad

always drank too much.

he never really understood

just when to stop.

I write…

because i felt

that no one understood

why i couldn’t sleep at night

or why my pain felt good.

I write…

because i loved him

and he cheated on me.

he did me a favor

i just couldn’t see.

I write…

my heart down

on a blank white screen.

my deepest secrets,

my life in a scene.

I write…

because it heals the ache

deep within my soul.

i hope i never stop

even as i grow old.

Petunia, a fine kitty

Pearl’s mom Petunia passed away this moring.  May 11 09.  I burried her out next to Batley and Emma.  Just a rough year for us, and our pet family.

Friday Petunia quit eating and started to have trouble breathing. Cancer was spreading double time all the sudden. Each day it had grown to take some of her face, probably blocking her air way.  If we kept her alive much longer she would have ended up like the orange cat.  We took her in to the doc. He gave her a tranquilizer and said it will make it easier for the final stuff, and then he left for a little while.  The tranq was all she needed, and she slowing went to sleep with us there.  So hard on both of us. The song by Pussycat dolls “hate this part” keeps going thru my head.

This one hurt more, because she was still young. I now understand more about how bad cancer is.  It takes a life too soon, while the life still wants to live. 

As I cleaned out Petunia’s room, Pearl came in looking all over for her mother. She looked at me and let out a tiny “meep”…

When cats die, they pass through the Purrrrly Gates.    Catwoman

I think I know why cats horde yarn balls. It’s so that when they die, they’ll be able to climb back to earth if Heaven’s too dull.    D. J. Schow

whats mine is mine,

whats your is yours,

dont take it personal,

I have enough stuff of my own.

Ever decreasing self worth issues need no fuel.

You love me?
You love me not?
I want to believe you do,
But sometimes I just don’t know.

You say you trust me,
But my gut says the opppsite.
I trust you,
So why don’t you feel the same.

You make me smile,
Truly smile.
When you smile at me,
I wonder if its all fake.

Different points of our lives,
But so much alike.
Still a mystery to each other,
Will we ever solve that mystery?

Always questioning my word
Why?
Don’t you know I would never do anything
That I know will hurt you.

Well sometimes I question you.
Are you really over her?
Do you love me as much as you say?
Would you ever hurt me?
I kinda need to know these things…

If you love me as much as you say,
Then why did you leave?

Every one leaves eventually,
If its for the best or the worst.

To always hold me when I’m mad,
to always make me smile when I cry.

But no,
you were the reason I cried.

You were the reason I was numb.
The reason I couldn’t smile for awhile.

I shut every one out,
Because I was scared of getting hurt again.

Now you say you miss me months later.
well oh well I’ve moved on.

Sorry if I hurt you,
But what comes around around goes around

      My mom has now left for the weekend. I am surprised at my mood right now, better than expected. Usually I’m very bitter about having to be left behind whenever trips come up like this with the rest of my family. More proof I am a part of nothing. I’ll see how the next three days go though.

Here are a few of the better poems I was talking about before. More imagery I think, and I really enjoyed writing them actually. Oh, and the painting above is one I did yesterday as a way of releasing some bad feelings I was experiencing. Since I can’t come up with any real ideas about what to paint, I think I’ll do more of these random paintings until things change.

Made Scars

Marked illicit

Their ashen blend

Carved out offenses

      In figures, grown sick

Remnants all over

Arms and back of legs

Shame lost, in the fury

      Of bled distress

Small and foolish

They were back then

How vertical and stark

      They’ve become since

Impulsive spits, still

My chosen breath….  

Licks for the conflict,

      Deterrents of death….

 —

Untitled (no good ideas yet)

Sharp suit of secrecy

My crime and chaos hide

In the quiet fall of mercy

Wounds screaming open wide

Rich in golden coated lies

The succulence of wasted time

Splattered angels, thief of wings

Vicious, bitter flavored dreams

Broken light of stone thick clouds

Illuminations sharply sound

Decisive piercing through the veil

Mirror of memory impaled

The leveling, distract of pain

Another clean and open bleed

Mists a quiet shame filled haze

The storm is settling.  

I’m not giving this post or poem a title, because like my dad I don’t think art should be named. It should be about what the person receiving it thinks it is about. There should be no preconceieved notions forced on you by tiles or names.

I was content

until I dreamt

How dare I?!

consider the possibilities

Go with the flow

the status quo

how dare I?!

step out of line

Close your eyes

Invite no surprise

how dare I?!

open up everything

But I do dare

despite the fear

consider the possibilities

step out of line

open up everything

Have pen, will write

it is sharper than a sword

creates possibilities, lines, opens up everything

and with it I dream.

Soft

was the way his silky full lips, guiding across my mouth , still smell

 as the blood beneath my skin moved rhythmically to the erratic beating of his heart.

Sweet

Was the way his gentle hands surrounding me, still feel

 as he slid them down the length of my back and around the small of my waist.

Silent

Was how amicably innocent the whispers of his disabling obsession of unwavering admiration still taste

as they echoed off the black curtain of every night.

Beautiful

Was how amazingly angelic his body still sound

as he held ever so lightly to a soul, forever wrapped tightly within his arms.

Fresh

 Was just how deliciously mouth watering the scent of his clone still appears

as it lingering just above my eyes.

 Even after all these cold and lonely years

Somehow this void and senseless heart of mine

 Will forever long to be haunted by the very essences of

every touch, taste, sound, sight and smell that is his faded soul.     

by easyrivers

Epidemic

Can’t scratch it off

Smallpox

The CDC won’t do anything

‘cept expose me

to INWO cards

we’re playing

I contracted the disease in 1979

but didn’t start showing symptoms till 1995

Pandemic

If you make it past this stage

you’re still alive

If you make past this stage

tell the aliens i said hi

Do you have that one?

Could you trade it with me?

I have, let me see 

Okay, I’ve got

fears I’m sifting through the dead to find the living

+15

It’s just a game, Steve

Ya gotta be willing to kill for peace

if you make it past this stage

you’re still alive

if you make it past this stage

tell the aliens i said hi

Disaster

Can’t forgive it off

earth quakes

clocktowers break

on

the eleventh hour 

  the eleventh minute

      Stop recording

 It’s just a game