The Beast
An old poem I wrote. 2002 or 2003, I believe…?
Just as one and one is two,
And two fives equal ten,
Between us churns the war machine
That feeds upon the dead.
Mechanical and lifeless grind
The gears, once were a soul,
Now calloused, cracked, and petrified,
Emotionless and cold.
This stigma and what lies behind
These vengeful eyes of mine
Have lingered far beyond the care
Of all of mortal kind.
And so I sell my soul once more
To feed the beast again;
To keep this hole I call a heart
Alive to thirst revenge.
I’ve never seen this side of sin;
The beast within the well,
Who’s willing, wanting, needing me
To usher you to hell.
Pull back the reins on your demise
Before she charges in
And all I’ve done is fed the wound,
The poison from within.
It’s killing, mutilating me…
It’s beating me… it’s burning me…
I curse these chains called common sense
That’s keeping me from hurting me.
I wish I may, I wish I might
On crimson-coated steel tonight
That someday we will meet again…
I’ll make my pain alright again…
I suppose those chains in the second to last verse couldn’t hold up forever… right?
Again, the Light
Happy Thanksgiving! Though somewhat belated…
I’ve been drawing a lot, lately. It’s not that I’ve been bored, far from it. I’m staying over my significant other’s house for the weekend, until Sunday night. It seems as though I’ve a thought in my head, one which has taken shape without words and is wanting to escape. I suppose I’m trying to set it free, yet nothing I’ve drawn so far has done it.
Perhaps I should just go to bed and forget about it. Maybe I should read a book or play a game by myself…
I don’t know. Perhaps I’m slipping again. Amidst the comfort of this home and the warmth of my partner’s arms, I have unwittingly managed to feel lonesome. In these moments, I wish to disconnect myself from everyone around me. I wish to gather my things and say goodbye for good. “You thought you were a part of their lives,” my mind tells me, “but you never truly were, nor will you ever be. Loneliness is your calling, Jordan. Your destiny.”
Yet I must maintain this calm composure. I can’t give away these thoughts.
I guess I’m not as rational and level-headed as I’d like others to believe.
It’s been a while since the incident with my other friend. I feel as though I’ve just cheated on a test I forgot to study for, got an A, and gotten away with it right beneath the teacher’s eyes. I feel strangely free, yet unmistakeably empty. I’ve awoken from my dream standing alone in a familiar desert, endless on all sides; silent, save for the wind. I feel unworthy of life, yet I wish too strongly to continue living this lie, the lie that everything is fine, that I’m this wonderful person who’s so in love.
But it isn’t a lie… no. I am so in love. It was just a mistake.
I feel as though I write here in place of speaking to myself verbally, saving myself the trouble of sounding like a schizophrenic.
Funny though. When I was younger, in the midst of more trying times, I always wondered when I would snap and lose what frail sanity I had clung to.
…I am finished. Goodbye for now.
The Light
Another dream I had, this one only once.
I suddenly awake, sitting or laying on the ground. Beside me stand steep, green slopes of sparse grass-like vegetation, dotted with stones. Behind me lies a grassy lakeside shore. To my left, deepening, clear water stretching for half a mile, perhaps. In front of me stands a large shed, almost like a guest house. Above me, the most incredible sky one could imagine, splattered with blues and reds and oranges and vibrant pinks and violets, hues which made me feel as though I had only now opened my eyes for the first time in my life. It was warm, with a soft wind rolling through the valley. I walk to the side of the house and enter.
Nothing remarkable — somewhat creepy, actually. The house seemed somewhat run-down. There were no light fixtures, only a couple sparse items of furniture — a rocking chair, a couch and I believe there was a television set in one side of the room. The only closet was empty, and I did not bother going to the second floor. As I stood in the darkening room, painted an earthy green color, I felt at peace. As I took in my surroundings feeling the silence sigh into my ears, I closed my eyes and felt something very peculiar. I looked down towards my feet and realized I was suddenly, barely, floating above the floor. I teetered with awkward balance for a bit and then fell back to the ground.
Enamored with this newfound magic I had stumbled upon, I willed myself back into the air, jumping up and down, each time slowing my descent by just a little bit. I remember doing a back flip once or twice. Smiling with satisfaction, I turned and managed to float awkwardly out the door I had come in.
Not much time had passed. I walked over to the opposite side of the house and found myself standing upon a little hill, feet away from the lake shore. I turned and looked up into the skies.
It was dusk, yet still bright. I could see a growing blanket of stars dotting the sunset. I took in my surroundings. Particular to this dream — no, this memory — was the feeling of the earth beneath my feet. I was standing on a smooth, grass-like vegetation which felt like cool ribbons made of silk. I looked out over the lake at the mountains surrounding me, enclosing me within this valley for as long as I should like. I noticed that I had not seen a single tree.
I was alone, stuck in this personal heaven forever. Though, from here, I felt as though I was free, free to change and tweak all the inner-workings of every life I could imagine. I was the painter, this world was my canvas.
I smiled, embracing the silence. I felt so comfortable here, so at home. I stepped towards the water. I wanted to walk across it, to fly to whatever lands lay beyond the valley, to see every inch of this new canvas.
As I stepped out onto the water, the small waves lapping up against the sides of my feet, I awoke.
Often I can return to places I’ve visited in dreams if I’ve been thinking about them enough throughout the day, or if I’m lucid for long enough to remember.
I’ve thought about returning there nearly every day since I had this dream years ago. I’ve yet to experience anything like it since.
Perhaps tonight will be the night…
Schism
Well, I’m over the initial trauma of what happened a couple nights ago. If you could call it trauma… I suppose it was my own fault. Then again, it takes two, doesn’t it?
My mind is as a tornado, throwing debris and junk into all my vision perceives, tearing things apart, grinding away at the luster that had begun to catch my eye. Behind me, the dust seems to settle, leaving ruin and withered life.
The guilt comes in waves. Am I sad, angered, betrayed that a trusted friend would be in that situation with me? How could I be? I am filled with fear of this side of me, something which seems to have been spreading its malignant roots through my subconscious for far too long. I am filled with a sense of urgency, for I no longer see myself as a good person. I keep telling myself “You’re not like that… that’s not you. You’re not that kind of person.” But perhaps I am? Were I truly not, I wouldn’t be in this state of conflict.
I truly believed that I was better than that, that I had a stronger respect for love than that.
But should I really be surprised at my own humanity? I like to think I know the different sides I call “me.” I’ve long recognized a darkness in me, yet I seem to have severely underestimated its pervasiveness. This evil has penetrated its fingers deep into the core of who I am, to clench its grip upon the stripping of my inhibitions.
Now that I am aware at the extent of this side of me — manipulatively evil, filled with a sadistic disregard for the well-being of those I hold dear, and fueled by a blackened human nature — I am set to face a new battle. Long ago I had resolved to never let my fears control me again, to never let these things prevent me from doing what I feel is right.
Yet something within me wants to embrace this. A part of me finds release within the atrophy.
I won’t tell.
But, “to never let these things prevent me from doing what I feel is right”… Perhaps I should face this fear of losing what I’ve grown to love the most? Everything has a consequence, right? Shall I forfeit nature and elect to save myself from consequence this time?
Listen to me. I sound so over-dramatic.
I talked with the person I cheated with last night. We agree that it was a terrible mistake and have both vowed to never tell a soul. At least, not without making it a mutual decision first.
I have far too many secrets. I fear that they shall one day alienate me.
Since I’ve stopped, I have never wanted more to cut myself than I do now. A growing part of me feels as though I deserve it.
Silence
Hello. My name is Jordan.
I just made the biggest mistake of my entire life last night.
I slept with a friend of mine last night… And it wasn’t my significant other.
I cannot even begin to describe the shame I feel right now. What have I done? What the hell have I done? I’ve just risked the most important thing in my life.
We were so drunk… It was as though I was watching myself do all these things from the outside.
What the hell have I done?
I want to die. I will never be able to have the same respect for myself again.
What do I do now?
Shades of Grey
One more post for today. I have a dream I’d like to share. This dream occured three different times when I was a child, the first time when I was 7 I believe, and twice more until the last time, when I must have been 10 or so. It was the same dream, differing only in the location it appeared to take place.
I enter a room, empty save for several relevant items of furniture… A table, a chair, perhaps a bed with a mattress on it. Nothing too decorative, though. I would walk in, my heart racing for some unidentifiable reason. It was always daytime, perhaps an hour or two before noon. I would see several people in the room, namely my father, mother, and on two occasions someone else, someone who seemed familiar but I could never quite identify… Like a stranger you catch passing by in a car who looks like a long lost friend.
Then there’s one — twice, the same person, an old friend of mine — standing, or sitting in the center of the room on an old wooden chair. This was the center of my fears, as if each step I took was one step closer to the altar of an ancient mayan pyramid. As I approach my friend, who is either sitting or standing there unclothed, he looks at me silently then turns to reveal a zipper laced into his flesh, running from the top of his head to the bottom of his back. The others in the room look at me, expectantly, silently. I know what I must do, and I must do it with caution, as though to avoid some great consequence.
I reach up and tug at the zipper and his body begins to unfold, revealing a featureless, blood-colored mass, assuming the form of my friend. As I’m pulling, be it from some nervous twitch or bad luck, the zipper is caught on the way down, about upper- or mid-back. Anxiety sets in, and I struggle to get it unstuck, all eyes around the room evaluating my every action.
Suddenly with a strong pull, the zipper gives way and tears my friend open. The blood-colored mass within my friend’s skin suddenly shudders and dissolves all at once, spilling across myself and the floor. Leathery skin slumps to the floor and panic sets in. Just then, the stares turn to outraged glares as the others in the room approach me. With nowhere to run, I brace myself. “How could you!” They scream. “Why couldn’t you be more careful!?” I hear these a fleeting moment before being knocked to the ground from a heavy blow from behind. I plea for them to stop, but the blows keep coming.
I close my eyes and pray for escape, and then I wake.
I’m convinced that these dreams had some severe effect on my perceptions of others when I was younger, particularly towards my family.
Runaway
Depression is a funny thing, for me. It’s like a friend who only calls once in a while, but when he does he’s inviting himself over for a while because his roommate’s kicked him out or he can’t afford to pay his rent.
He’s called lately, and I can hear him knocking at the door.
He’s here, but I think that’s as close as I care to let him come. I’ve got too much going for me now.
I’ve been optimistic lately! However, saying this is somewhat misleading. I always come across as optimistic. Perhaps I feel that people will not accept me if I’m not always bringing something to the table… In this case, hope. So often inside, I’m expecting the worst.
If only it were that mankind didn’t value a person’s worth based on how much one can get out of the other before they part ways.
Perhaps I’ve been too cynical.
I’m taking a drawing class this semester, and it’s been wonderful! However, these hidden sides of me seem to find refuge in my artwork more often than not. I can’t help but wonder how my peers interpret this.
Child Song
Small posts, Jordan. Short, small posts. That’ll get you going on this thing again.
Well, the past few… several… well, many months have been good overall.
Pros:
I’m with someone I love and who loves me back
I’m still alive
I haven’t been cutting myself
My GPA is going up
However, things have not been sunny and perfect as of late!
Cons:
I’m still struggling to find a healthcare job
My grades have been suffering lately, within the past month or two, with no identifiable cause
Overall, it’s been good.
Real good.
Too good?
Nah.
That’s it for tonight. I’ve still got much studying to do!
