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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!
I willI will love you
all the way to the place where ladybirds go to die,
to the lushest corners of the earth
that hold the secrets no man was meant to see
and we will find them, and know them together.
I will love you
all the way to the place where bubbles are made
at the bottom of a glass of cider
that blisters the glass with condensation
as we trade hats and laugh at the way the air smiles.
I will love you
all the way inside a branch where buds dream of Becoming,
where those one-day-flowers stir wooden hearts
into an uprising, into a blossoming life
and we will plant our ambitions there, in the blooming place.
I will love you
all the way to the square brackets that hold our boxes
because you are my best friends, and you will be
as we fold papery hands around paper-cut wrists and cry
and mourn eighty-odd years flown by too fast. Even then.
Even then, I will love you still.
Beyond LoveYou say 'beautiful' like a mistake -
like it slipped out unwarranted
from those dark parts of your mind
that you don't want me to go to,
you say it like that.
You caress like it's worship -
like if you pressed too hard
or took too much, you'd pay the price
and I love those urgent times when
you're willing to pay it.
You teach me love like I'll die without it -
like if you don't defrost me
and my frozen image of myself,
then I might stop breathing
and extinguish beneath my own icy damnation.
You kiss me like you have to -
like we're sharing an oxygen tank
in a toxic, broken-down universe
and you are trying not to breathe
to save me.
You kiss me like that.
You love me, like that -
how am I supposed to resist
a man who loves me beyond his own sense
and senses - beyond love ?
In SanityI find myself in a world of white,
This place it feels so pure.
The Sun's rays are warm and bright
I've never felt so sure.
I explore the land and all its sights,
I enjoy the world's grand tour.
I wander around until the night
Shows what it has in store.
In the darkness, a speck of light
Reveals a hidden door.
I turn the handle and peer inside,
A sight I can't endure.
I turn to run, to escape my plight,
I dare not to explore.
But something inside catches my eye,
I can't resist the lure.
I awake to find myself tied tight,
A voice tries to assure,
"This one may finally fix you right,
Maybe this is the cure."
kafka has been dead foreveri.
I am going to cut the veins out of my neck:
pull the stars from the legiments
drown the cities in bruises
I am going to burn in hell:
tear down the pyramids, the faces, the continents
the weight of the universe
(if I live to be 20
I will know the landscape of my mind
as well as the bottom of the ocean
& people I've never met)
Stereotypical SuicideSuicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a family,
Nobody who lives for their care,
Nobody who wants them around,
Nobody who helps them through life,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has friends,
Not a person there for a simple hug,
Not a person existing for a reassuring look,
Not a person around to leave the words,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a home,
No place to live and feel happy in so,
No place to live without leaving again,
No place to live to avoid the truth,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a love,
Nothing there to hold them in warm arms,
Nothing there for a kiss to remember,
Nothing there to be a greatness in life,
Suicide is not a stereotype.
Not everyone has a someone,
"Don't do it - for your family
They mean nothing to me anymore,
"Don't do it - for your friends"
Friends? What friends? They don't exist,
"Don't do it - what about home
EasterRemember what you love,
you with sand in your teeth
and the feral burn of hunger
in your eyes.
God sends his regrets.
He made you grasping and slow,
in a late hour
when the wine washed low.
Remember what you love.
Fall to your knees in the toss
and the swell, quell
the appetite of the cold black sea.
Beg blessings for your home
and the salt-sick trees.
Reach what lies near:
the fat-faced child, the sweet-soft lamb;
tether the tantrum, trickle the blood.
Offer psalms to what is holy,
whisper the name of what you love
as it bobs in the bleak mad sea.
sunset soon forgottenin a single moment all her greatness collapsed,
her soulfulness small and full of absence.
i am wild
with infinite shades of yes -
and a careless smile
so kiss me quick
under the sun
(just until the pain leaves)
DunesOut on the dunes, you could be walking on the moon
Maybe you are, maybe we are; see that planet in the sky?
How much more can be said about body heat, about
Sucking the marrow from bones in a vain attempt to quench?
Disheveled by dust-storms in an ocean of sand, we walk
Blank-window eyes searching for what, some sort of life?
Our feet are heavy, the ground wants to eat them; no moon, this
Now the sky is the color of sand, and there are no stars to wish on
Sweat and dead weight, we wait for the coolness of night
Fatigued, delusional, we see a rusty car approach; we get in
PompeiiI will lay my body at the base of your columns
Waiting for the flaking of your warpaint;
This could make all the difference.
The whore-babble language of your oracle
Heard from the great taproot
Tastes like sodden wool in another's mouth
This is what I have to say in the dark
With your hand smothering my hip and side
Like a cloud meant for Pompeii,
And the fires are never drenched.
I have collected your warpaint
Swept and scooped from the base
In flakes no bigger than glitter
To adhere to myself
Like sticky snails to leaves.
The eternal tremors will knock them free.
Lovely GirlSoft and brown, her hair waved at me
with a whisper and a giggle,
her smile a hint of more
and a promise of adventure.
Her flirting glances weren't needy,
or forward in an unseemly way,
just perfect and lovely
in a most adorable fashion.
The evening carried on
as evenings do,
and our glances back and forth
We only spoke that once,
as we passed in the hall,
but her voice and mine
After midnight when she left,
I followed her outside,
not wanting to be lost
without her touch or smile.
She was gone too quick,
I'd missed her, and my chance,
but once I came back in,
I found she'd not yet left.
Another look, another grin,
and her hair, oh that hair,
it wanted to be stroked
if time and place would give.
We found a place, a space,
and spoke at last for long,
minutes into hours,
as guests all took their leave.
And as the time ticked on,
and as the party died,
the time to act had come,
the perfect way to close.
We leaned in near and kissed,
a gentle, perfect bond,
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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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