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unexpected momentHe stared at me with shining eyes, lit with desire, something about me that spoke to him. He wanted more of me. Some part of me, whether physical, or emotional, or spiritual, turned him on, and he wanted more. I didn't know what I'd said or done, and the look wasn't one I was accustomed to, and certainly not one I expected from him.
But there he was, looking at me with this magical stare of unmistakable passion, and I, I didn't know what to say or do. I was so overwhelmed with just the reality of this moment, so floored by this unexpected attention from the object of my affection. I thought he didn't like me?
He walked over to me and put his hands gently on the top of my shoulders. It was a very friendly, unromantic gesture, but his body was so close to me now, too close for just a friend. I didn't speak, and neither did he, though he knew I didn't mind him touching me. He smelled so good, so hot, so breathlessly perfect.
lonelyMy confidence turns people off. There are some who like me, but they think I'm too busy to talk to, or too successful to feel equal with, and yet I'm neither of these things. I'm just me, and I'm actually quite lonely a lot of the time. I feel rejected and left alone more often than I feel people here and elsewhere want to talk to me.
I don't mind sounding pathetic here, because honesty is all I've got.
Do I believe in myself? Yes. Do I believe in my talents as a writer, and an author? Of course. Do I love myself and think I'm a great guy? Yep, all of this. And that's why it feels so strange that my positive energy doesn't absorb more friends into my life. I can't explain it. It just sucks.
There's no happy ending to this short reflection. No twist that brings inspiration to conclude my sentiments. It just sucks.
Chapter 23: Manna From MauiThe below is an excerpt from my new book, The Papal Visitor. Though it'll give you more of an idea what the book is about, it fits in somewhere in the middle of the book, and works well as a standalone piece for me to share with you here. At this point in the book, Heaven has now revealed itself to Earth, and in this new world, there is as much confusion as there is peace about the certainty of Heaven. In this chapter, God invites a few special souls to chat about everything that's been happening.
From The Papal Visitor, Chapter 23: Manna From Maui
“That peaceful land, that beautiful land, that far-off home of profound repose, and soft indolence, and dreamy solitude, where life is one long slumberous Sabbath, the climate one long delicious summer day, and the good that die experience no change, for they but fall asleep in one heaven and wake up in another.” –Mark Twain, about Hawaii
“So where are we? Tell me what the
Stream-of-Conscious Poetry Excercise 4-2-14Started: 8:11 PM
Fragmented hyperion justification
of the wrong-way driver's toothbrush;
a pithy stupendification perhaps
but a scotch-tape sealed mirror nonetheless.
Whoever borrowed my army,
please return it to the manila folder,
or risk suspension of your disbelief
in the pursuit of higher wisdom.
Falling through overtures of broken music
means nothing to the firefly,
but he watches anyway,
haunted by your horror.
Two or three footmen enter the back door,
looking for her, or him, or both,
angry at the faces of the bewildered grasshoppers,
pretending to be incensed by the smell.
Illogic has no place here, dear boy,
nor rhyme in your suitcase,
but fly up to the rafters of thought,
and even bookmarks have their purpose.
If to no maybe yes up only,
whenever "when" was there, or how,
choosing upside-down hummingbirds
easily slides us all through the door.
Phinished with a Ph is how they called it
in the days when hunger had its year,
fish even rode that trolley car down,
Live like a god!My prayer to God is my life,
my choices, my words, and my art.
With all my breath and my soul,
I know that it's all just a start.
Heaven to come is waiting
with an eternal, breathless hum;
my time and my heart are stilled
by the beat of God's holy drum.
The silence of soul wakes me!
I joyfully sing as I trod!
With all of my time and life,
I am called to live like a god!
God hasn't brought me my pain,
God doesn't want me to suffer;
God is the one who brings joy,
my friend, my soul, and my lover!
The Family Has Been InformedBullets that are too far away to hear back home
But words that will forever ring just as loud in my ears
Delivered from the lips of a uniformed man
The sympathetic sentence any mother fears to hear
I turn away as if ignoring his presence
Will make this unwanted reality go away
But he repeats that he is sorry for my loss
Those words are the last thing I remember of that day
I find myself looking out of the back yard window
On the swings in the garden I still see my boy play
I am bringing drinks out to him and his brothers
Under the sun, on the grass, on endless summer days
Those memories like photographs in frames on the wall
Now show my son with a wife and child of his own
A husband and father torn from their loving arms
In to the mass grave-in-waiting of a war zone
His old bedroom was already a shrine to him
Even before his blood soaked deep in to the desert sands
We waited for him to return from his first tour
Knowing the boy we’d said goodbye to would come home a man
Young JanuaryI saw her at the local supermarket
She could have been no older than ten
She was buying some refreshing beverages
To quench the thirst of herself and her friends
On this summers day they had waited outside
Lacking patience they were shouting her name
‘January, hurry up we have to go home!’
From the shop young January soon came
Rushing past me at the speed of her childhood
My lonely heart skipped a beat or two
Either from her soft brown hair that touched my arm
Or the smile she gave as she passed through
Did I hurry through my shopping on purpose
In order to catch young January up?
Fumbling my loose change as I left the store
The cashier complained I’d given her too much
I feel everyone’s eyes boring in to me
So away from the store I swiftly fled
Knowing fine well that I should just return home
But something made me follow the girl instead
Pretending to read the receipt in my hand
I watched closely in the corner of my eye
Which way would young January be walking
31. FlowerYou, my love, are like a flower:
Delicate petals in heavy gale
Facing shower after shower
Of icy rain, snow and hail.
Delicate petals in heavy gale
Caught in winter's deadly cling
Of icy rain, snow and hail
Still you'll bloom in spring again.
Caught in winter's deadly cling
Facing shower after shower
Still you'll bloom in spring again:
You, my love, are like a flower.
LegacyIt is always the damn same song.
Always are the wrong people strong.
Why do they think that your way is wrong?
You’re asking yourself what is left when you’re gone.
Your whole world starts to spin.
Their skin and nerves are very thin.
Want to use you like a soldier made of tin.
When you know the only thing you can do is win.
Want to sort out because you differ.
If you don’t do as they say, they’ll get stricter.
They don’t want to see you as the victor.
The only thing left will be a picture.
When everything you see and hear is a conspiracy.
And everyone thinks that you are crazy.
You are unique, only once in this galaxy.
The words you say and things you do are your legacy.
The Cold, Hard TruthThere are no happy endings,
the fairy tales all lied.
Cinderella is still a slave,
Snow White, the Beast, and the Mermaid died.
Sleeping Beauty never woke,
Because Philip never kissed her,
Alice didn't find Wonderland,
the Rabbit must have missed her.
Peter's still in Neverland
with the Lost Boys, growing older.
The Snow Queen's heart didn't thaw,
the world keeps getting colder.
Rapunzel is still in her tower,
her long blonde hair gone gray.
The captive princess has lost hope,
there was no prince to save the day.
Falling StarsTwinkle, twinkle, the stars fall down
Down into the ocean, where we shall drown
Over and over until we awake
In a place, where we will break.
Your tears are the stars and your smile the sun
There is no happiness, for sorrow has begun.
Run, run, child! Run away now!
Please do not do this! Please do not allow —
Bang! Bang! The gun goes off.
So, child, let those stars takeoff.
My Spyro AnthologyA Spyro Tanka
Caring and faithful
Yet relentless and mighty
Destined for greatness
A Cynder Tanka
Gifted black dragon
Turned away from the dark side
Our hero's lover
Though swift, lethal and fearful
She hates her bad self
A Dragonkind Haiku
Civilized and meaningful
Home to all of them
A Spyro and Cynder Acrostic
Special and so
You never know what he can do with his
Of fire, electricity, earth, and ice
Along with a former
Nemesis from the
Nightmare to our hero's
Dear with so much to
Endure as she
Rages with wind, poison, fear, and shadow
A Malefor Acrostic
Means to bring
A dark age
Leaving us for dead
Evil spirits living
Forever in a world
Of empty space
Ruled by a corrupt
Spyro's Dark Destruction
He was cute and sweet when you first knew him
Now that he has grown
His strength is unknown
On his enemies with huge obsessions
The fire he breathes is filled with aggressio
Queen of NeverthenAtop the ashen bones, arrayed like thrones of Men
Sits none so dreary as the Queen of Neverthen
Great cobwebs, dust, and stolid, stale decay
Dead memories forgotten where they lay
A world, still and ever gray
That suffocates the ones who trespass in her den
Within a rotten skull, a fetid rat emerged
As swift as plague it bore and chittered as it surged
Low creaks and clatters sound akin to life
Its rodent teeth soon grinding like a knife
The Queen was happy with this strife
But nothing ever lasts save those who would be purged
Oppressive silence soon returns to her domain
Admiring her flock that she will never deign
A dull light shines behind their pallid masks
The company of corpses; all she asks
OldOne learns in life that there's nothing to be learned.
That once you won everything there is nothing to be earned.
That all your lessons in life were unconcerned.
Memories and pictures in the attic must now be burned.
One thinks that there is nothing to think about.
Because the things they think are now allowed.
Because they are stuck when they want to be unbound.
When they want to lift themselves off the ground.
You'd never thought your young heart could grow old
And when the unspoken truth is being told,
You're labeling them as bold, heartless or cold.
You're scared of death. After all it's foretold.
Life, ObservedStarted: 9:45 PM
Stepping forward almost
walking further back,
wishing by the meadow
of Father's nearest track,
I lept among the flowers,
and danced with lily minds,
the way my mother taught me,
the brightest, sweetest kinds.
Sun upon my forehead
and grass beneath my toes,
I walked through lands of daydreams
and watched as water flowed.
Two kinds of people watched me,
two meanings made my day
a kind of silent testing
in every sort of way.
I moved along the corner,
and danced along the fence
where fireflies and honeybees
made magic quite immense.
And all along the noontime
and all throughout the night,
I learned the birth of nature
and breathed the ray of light.
Two kinds of people watched me,
two souls unknown to me,
the ones I thought I knew
and ones I couldn't see.
Finished: 9:49 PM
Blue Eyes in FlamesWhen the prince sees the flower bloom from the palm of her hand, he orders her arrest.
She is only seven years old.
He takes the flower from her and keeps it, even though he knows he shouldn't. He puts it a vase, or, rather, his servant does that for him. The flower doesn't ever die, even years later.
It's dawn of a December morning, and he's cold. But still, he stands next to his father dutifully and looks at the little girl with blue eyes that are now black from seven nights sleeping on a cold, dungeon floor behind bars. They cut off her dark brown hair during that time. She's tied to the pyre, and there are seven guards around her, holding sharper swords than normal, not that she could get away. There's one man dressed in black holding an unlit torch, with a mask over his face to prevent his death. His father raises his arm, and the torch is lit.
She locks her gaze to his, and he blinks at her. It's like she expects him to prevent it. He couldn't, though, he can't. She scares him, w
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More