Broken Pattern

I held you once again last night,
 It felt like it had meaning

But today I see you there no more,
 What’s left? What’s gone away?

But please feel not
 Petty or taut(?)
I assure you there’s no dismay.

Twas our last date
 Within my mind
All did went as expected

That night I missed; my solely kiss,
There was no sign of rejection.

Poem Title: Dream Girl 2

    Right now we’re living in one of the most interesting times of our current history: the downfall of our current state of civilization. Just like the Romans and the Greeks, our “civilized” empire is coming to it’s final stage: collapse. Though many would find this to be a frightening idea, or reality, the truth of the matter is that it had to happen sooner or later and we’re fortunate enough to be around for the driving elements that are causing it.
    Nowadays the reasons are all around us; mass marketing, appealing to the lowest common denominator, and a hyperactive sense of consumerism. While we could go on and list all of these tragic catalysts, for now it’d be more interesting to look for the original perpetrators of this movement. For this we must travel back to the age before flavoured water and Reese’s Wafer Sticks to a somewhat simpler time: the late 1990’s.
    Here we can find what I figure to be one of the earliest causes to the change we see in today’s society, a simple film that desensitized myself, including numerous children my age at the time. The movie I’m referring to is Austin Power’s: International Man of Mystery. Looking back on it today, the movie still stands to be a pivotal film in my childhood as I can remember how eager my friends and I were to see it at Harley Applebaum’s 7th birthday party. The twenty-something group of 7 year olds left the theatre changed from the way we entered, though it took me 11 years to realize this.
    The movie was chockfull of sexual innuendoes, bathroom humour, and all the other greats that were lost in the 60’s. However, in doing so, it brought all those ideas back to my generation: the children of the baby boomers. Perhaps this was a subconscious fuel for the pseudo hippie movement that fell over my peers last year.
    Back to the point, this film was one of the earliest violators of my childhood innocence, not to mention the animated Spawn series as well as South Park. And so it’s on stimulators like these that I attribute our civilization’s collapse on as oppose to drugs, sex, and rock and roll, all though I’m not too sure that the Rap movement helped much either. Am I sad? No. Am I upset? No. I’m excited and eager to see what follows, and only hope that I can live well into my children’s years so I can not only experience, but see what awaits us simple little things called humans.

Life is about doing as much stuff as you want to do within the relatively short span of your life to achieve the highest level of happiness and self gratification. Personally, it’s the little things that do it for me.
Today at work I left the fake-sugar packs out of the main container so that I could personally identify those who choose to pour the powdery supplement into.
-In fact, right now as I pause to deal with a customer, the man asks for sweet-n-low-
It’s things like these, these small near coincidences, that make life so enjoyable. The best part of it all is that you don’t even have to go out and look for stuff like this to make it work, it just happens on it’s own. That’s the magic.

I tend to be the guy that gets suckered into trying the new thing. Back n the day (hah, I’m old now) it almost always pulled through. Trying the new hit flavour on the block would end with a flavourful of ecstasy in my mouth. However, we’ve reached a stage where we’ve exasperated our choice and variety of flavours to the point where trying something new trails on the slim line of disappointment.
I can remember when Pringles used to come in four flavours: original, salt and vinegar, sour creme and onion, and bbq. That’s right, not even that diet low fat and salts tasteless one was out yet. The limit of four flavours meant that you could actually have and maintain a favourite taste of chip. On top of that, I remember when buying water didn’t involve any flavours or degrees of carbonation.

Today I realized that as you get older you complain more and more. You’ll see it actually develops into a subject of conversation where everything just complains with whatever they can. All the parties go back and forth until they’ve shared their depressive output. The interesting part about this is how it evolves over the years. Of course babies don’t complain incessantly, they’re not aware enough of the world around them to. Though, as you get older and pieces of the puzzle start coming together, slowly but surely you fall into the slum of complaining.
Now, on the note of complaining, I have a grievance of my own: I’m about to fall into the hypocrite bracket. I may have created what some people would refer to as a “New Year’s Resolution”, though I see it as something I want to do this year. Think of it as a goal with a time cap. It’s not for the sake of self-betterment, dieting, or leaning to become more cultural. No, my simple task is to make out with a girl while a specific song plays in the background.

You see, humans are social creatures, and as such we must realize that social interaction is as much of a necessity to survival as food or shelter. During the winter I’ll often find myself standing with my friends in a circle. We’re all freezing, but we’re conversing, socializing, and none of us dare move for fear that we shall lose this precious and fragile social interaction during the journey from outdoors to indoors.
Recalling the better and worse moments in my life, both large and small, social interaction often had an important role in how I reacted to the situations. When I was on vacation from friends for two weeks often times I felt myself bordering a certain line of depression. Something was missing, and it was until I befriended a previous acquaintance that I realized what had happened: a complete lack of social interaction. We feel compelled to talk about our trivial complexes and feel empowered when we can help other people with theirs. For this reason, Dave and I bonded on an abstract level, exchanging serious life issues, for that time being, mostly focused around the usual teenage dramas. It was great, and as it was happening I felt something coming back. The flickering flame had re-sparked, just after having talked to someone for the first time in a week.

Socializing; the word has a fucking “z” in it.

And even if i cannot now
or ever call you my own, my own
Know that in your emerald eyes
your true beauty’s always shown

Either riding in september, or october, or november,
there’ll never be a trip that over others ill remember

Instead it is the voids in time that rest to plague me everyday
to know had things worked out as planned that in my arms today you’d lay

But to you, as you, i may hold nothing
the mistakes belong to me alone
Today i need not look behind me
to see that you have truly gone

Title: My Green Eyed Lady

I awake and fall asleep the same
being teased by thoughts of you
Though other beauts walk by and by
    Your image haunts me true

Yes I know that you’ve been busy
these past weeks that number two
But to hold you in my arms again
There’s little that I wouldn’t do

Yet still my fear remains the same;
When I return nothing’ll’ve changed
To be with you will cause much pain
    and that I cannot face again

And so I hope one single thing;
That kiss did linger in your mind
You’ve made a choice since I’ve been gone
That ends with us: two of a kind

Title: Strawberry Daiquiris

I could sit with you and talk to you
For hours and hours on end
I could laugh with you till the sun comes up
Then do it all over again

I could write about you for days and weeks
about the things you make me feel
I could hold you tight for every night
but that doesn’t mean it’s real

Does he sit with you? Does he laugh with you?
Does he do the things I do?
Does he think of you the way I do?
Does he care this much for you?

I know what’s done is said an done
that much’s always been true
But to be with you when you’re not mine?
No longer can I do.

Title: I could, I could, I could

    She told him everything about her. Their relationship had started several years prior, back when she was married to Lord Dunavon. The two of them bought the dog together during the latter half of their time together; before things got sour between the two and he walked out on her, leaving her nothing but the dog. She used to spend hours talking to the dog about where and how things went wrong but grew tired of it after a few weeks. “Why bother sharing the grievances of my life with such an innocent animal,” she often thought.

    Ms. Mayward didn’t like to dwell on the negative, nor be informed of it unless she had to. She would attend the funerals of her family and friends without argument, but she’d rarely stay past her dues, often being amongst the first to leave. She also gave up on reading the dailies. Here too she was often overwhelmed with stories of kidnapped children, premature deaths, and young soldiers dying in trivial wars. No, talking to the dog was a much better way to pass the time.

    While she crocheted the dog often sat by her side. It was the one thing she did that he seemed to take a partial interest in. Whatever it was, the dog would often follow Ms. Mayward’s hands loop after loop. In fact, he barked every time she made a mistake, which was rare having crocheted for many years now. It was during these times where Ms. Mayward felt intimate with the dog. She would talk about herself, her past aspirations, where in life she went wrong, and what she wished she could have done.

    One of the main things she talked about was children. Ms. Maynard never had children, and it dawned on her now more than ever, when she saw the grand-children of her friends at their funerals. She understood that she was the end of her line. All she had to live for was herself, and her dog. She smiled at the simplicity.

    She walked into the kitchen to check on the chicken. Ms. Maynard still took pleasure in cooking, even if it was only for herself. Of course she’d give the dog scraps every now and then, but made sure not to give him too much lest she spoil him. She checked the timer. It would still be another twenty minutes before the poultry would be finished cooking. Still, she reached inside with the effort of her entire body, old, wrinkled, and used, never to come out again.

It’s been so long,
Despite is all; I’m happy overall

Airport Girl?
Dave Klamen,
That, relationship.
Chay + Pen; best time of life

Writer’s at my door

Eric, Call of Duty 4

New/No Cell/Sale
New as well

And of course, the lights, wouldn’t go on

but fallen fallen soldier
as the wind does break without a gust
we no longer fit together
there’s no us, no us

and so my fallen fallen soldier
were do we sit now?
we sit together, joined together
to celebrate, and how

poem title: fallen soldiers

    She laughs, rolls over and gets out of bed, heading towards the bathroom. Her hourglass figure sways back and forth with every step; her butt making that little jump right before it swings back to the opposite side..just like a metronome. I watch her as she leans over the sink, peering at herself in the mirror. She touches her lips ever gently then smoothes over her eyebrows with her left index figure. I had always wanted a lefty.

    “You look fine,” I said, hopelessly of course. Pretty women are always amusing; they have this air about them about how they look and use it as an advantage when guys try to make moves on them. But once you’re with them, it goes away. They require constant reassurance that they’re beauty hasn’t faded. No matter how often you tell them they look great, they can always find a fault in their appearance.

    “I hate the way my left cheek hangs lower than my right. It destroys the whole balance of my face.”
“I’ve never even noticed.”

    She turns around and looks at me, almost blank eyed. Slowly, her stare becomes relaxed as a smirk appears across her face. She scampers back to bed, hopping solely on her toes. Her breasts jump softly in her black lingerie, the lingerie I bought her for occasions like this. She moves close and lays on top of me, stretching her arm across my chest. She nuzzles her nose against my neck and so I turn to face her, head on.

    “I love the tropics,” she says with a laugh, “all those palm trees and the beaches..and the sand between my toes. I love that feeling so much. Thank you for taking me.”
“Thank you for coming,” I reply.

I may seem short for words but it’s not without reason. I’ve told Ashley so much already. She knows how I feel, she knows not to worry. If anything, I’m the one who should be careful. She has a lingering boyfriend, a guy from a while back. Things used to be good between them but now the romance is gone. She tells me she’s trying to say good bye but every now and then they have a midnight rumble. Breakups can last for months.
    Not to worry though, I know for a fact that when we get back everything is going to be peachy. This vacation isn’t without reason. Sure it’s nice to get away and spend some time together, alone and away from it all. But every time you go on a trip for pleasure you’re leaving business behind. Right now my business with the boyfriend, and my workforce is dealing with him; making sure he’s going to leave Ashley alone and take a trip somewhere, get away for a while. Time wasn’t taking care of the situation so I felt it necessary to take matters into my own hands.

“I really like you Daniel.”
“I like you too Ashley.”

She lets out a deep breath and falls into my chest. I cup my hand along the left side of her face, still not noticing her hanging cheek. Raising her head softly, I slowly move mine towards hers. Our lips meet and match like usual, but there’s something to it now that wasn’t there before. I press her face against mine, our tongues meet. She places her arm around my neck. We fall back into bed.

Poem Title: Why Toast Burns