This fucking silence is deafening

fucking whatever...

Sunday July 25th, 2010

Her voice is fluid.
Conversation

poured heavy.
Showering me in light mist

I dance

We are flowing.
Down
together.

a waterfall.

Slow and blur of time
Here.
Soon.
Patience.
and plenty of distractions.

Draft

I miss her but
I am not depressed yet,
but give me a couple more days.
No right now I just have an
over active imagination.

Boredom doesnt help either,
because when I am not
sleeping or eating I am thinking
about how much I want to cook for her
or dream of her lips.

Or daydreaming of her lips
while I am cooking.
Which I will argue does not
correlate to the fact that
I have burnt noodles for the 3rd time.

This rectangle mattress
has become my prison
and the numerous blankets
are the ropes that holds me down
preventing my escape to go out and find her.

To take her when I do,
in my arms no matter
where or what she is doing
and proceed to give her a very
hot and sexy reason we should never part.

I have taken to making paper origami
to the pass the time, and
I plan on giving them to her
when she returns
but so far I only have

23 Cranes,
45 roses,
11 flowers, and
5 elephants
Along with the 8 love letters

I wrote but didnt send because
I wanted to see the look on her face when she read them.
And I know each word will sound corny and sickening
as a candy-corn smeared with chocolate to the rest of the
world but I say screw you haters

I think metaphors
comparing our love to sunshine rainbow is original
because I am the first to give her sunshine rainbow love
I am still bored however
and I still miss her.

And with all the presents
that have been accumulating
in a small pile beside our soft love making nest,
all I ask in return
is a sweet kiss and for her to

grab my hand and promise
to never leave my side again.
Or at least take me with her
the next time
she goes to the corner store.

Small acts of Pain

Im not alone and I am loved.
Im really fortunate

But

Sometimes I feel really lonely
and when I feel that way

Even the smallest act of kindness
can make me cry

Even people at conveyance stores saying
'Have a nice day'

when they're accidently
looking me in the eye.

More winter

White Noise
by ~black-flame

Outside
Feels numb.
Too cold
To think.
Rush to
Get there.
Somewhere
Nowhere.

I thought
I heard
In the distance calling
Howling
With the wind
Somewhere
Nowhere

In the dark
In the cold.
Through the white
Thorugh the noise
Through the frost
Through my eyes
Somewhere
Nowhere.

Incomplete
Faded words.
Like a dream you know is real
You won't
Wake up.
Somewhere
Nowhere

Somewhere...
Nowhere...
Somewhere...
Nowhere...
Somewhere...
Nowhere...

Crappy love poem

Every once in a while my mind would have a thought,
A flashback to a moment
where my heart pumped fast
A blush warmed my moca cheeks
All was right in the world and
I was alright in the arms of
whom with I wanted to be

Every once in a while I will
dream of a face that shattered my heart
And wake up with tears stained sheets.
With eyes opened now the tears remain at bay.
And continue to stay that way
As I shifted closer to the one that merticulously glued
Back together each shattered piece.

Well, I guess I have turned back into a poet.

But I have no voice. I've got three weeks of free time on my hands and dammit I don't want to spend it trying to find that missing sound.

2:10 am, still early I see.
Question of the night, why are all the fucking clocks wrong in this room.

You are a poet if...

Have an irregular sleep pattern

Don't think you have a habit but drink coffee or smoke cigarettes religiously

Is neurotic

Is a bit out of touch with reality

Thinks odious and pious are cool words

Have a list of cool words

tv makes you bored

Thinks 20th century modernist poets had the right idea about life

Prone to depressing thoughts about life

Your own worst critic

Notice small details

Make bizarre connections with random stuff

Introverted

Hates and needs to be alone

Neurotic

Eccentric, quirky, or just weird

Snow Carol

She walked
into the falling snow and felt
elated by the music made.
As though she was falling herself,
with each step she sunk higher into the ground.

From a cadence only she can hear.
Every crunch her ball and toe made
she drowned

just a bit more than usual. It sent shivers
up the calf
passing inner thighs and torso
crossing mounds and valleys stopping just at
her ears.

She wanted to extol the notes she heard
into the wind
for all to know.
But usually if one is not pleading for help
people tend to become impatient with
you.

Oh! I am so sorry
I didnt know you were running late, even so do you
fancy a listen to the snow with me?

Doubt anyone could recognize
any sound beside melancholy and helplessness
or
melancholy and bitterness
or
melancholy and melancholy
anyways.

Not that she minded much, poor bastards dont know
what they're missing.

The thought actually tickled her throat
and she embraced the furtive song only
she could hear
in between each fallen but uplifting note.

Birds (2nd draft)

For the Unknown Poet

The canaries,
stretched yellow wings
over the suns eyes.

Allowing her to danced,
hidden under the
shadows of the soft wings.

She was always bright
but never seen.
Always bright but never seen.
Always bright but never seen.

dear sun

Sun.

I sat on the top of the Sequoia tree
blinding myself by watching the sun in the sky.
Hoping by watching that sun
I can find the answers my
Son wont provide
When I ask
Why?

See I already called his high school,
talked to the teachers.
Who provided me with details
of the actions done
by taunting little righteous preachers

Now don’t get it twisted
mama didn’t raise no punk
In fact the boy can be
downright devilish himself
If only a tad more sensitive than most

And so my son cries
when not him
The track-running star
but his shy gay best friend
Is beaten within an inch of his life

And my son
He cant bring himself to
Tell me why he wish
It had been him instead

I watched the sun be
foolishly swallow by the world
but I am comforted in
knowing both will rise again tomorrow.

Elegy

He hated his wrists.
if one was to look
closely at just the right time.
With the perfect tilt
and in the
correct kind of light.
One can almost catch a glimpse
of his long thin
failed attempt

tristful (meaning sorrowful or gloomy)

I only wanted to pull your halo down
not watch it slip around your neck.
You burned not just you but us
and your smoke rose to make a cloudy grave
in our heaven.

Even as I choked on your embers,
I still wanted to bring you back to me.
Except you hovered too high
above the ground instead.
Just out of my reach.

Your mouth tasted too hollow to speak
Anything besides half-truths and empty lies.
So I turned my face into your palms to kiss
your cold wrists and cry
under your dangling dirty feet.

Frankenstein Mary Shelley

Through the eyes of love
Grotesque and deformity
turned him into an Adonis

fucking INFJ

-- You see what others could become, and how to help them

-- You seem outgoing, but you listen more and say less than people realise

-- You’ve learned that people often don’t want your insights, so you keep most of them to yourself

-- Everything you think about is connected to something else

-- Your imagination is seemingly endless

-- You are dependable, reliable and trustworthy but easily overlooked

-- You want people to understand you, and alternate between being secretive and revealing

Perfect little Moments

I like the way you kiss my shoulder. You like how I turn my head and smile at your affectionate gesture, and we both like when we press our lips together to complete the moment.

I begin a change unlike any before.

home

Its different

not hearing the sound of the world
outside my thin apartment walls. in the city.

birds are sirens and people never sleep.
the wind plays with slamming doors, and neighbors
are just as restless as the streetwalkers. only they
are confined to their rooms up above my room and is prone
to dropping, picking up, dropping, picking up their alarm clocks.

trees dont make noises in the burbs.
noise is non-existent

Its different, but not fully unwelcomed

weather

You are bright enough for me to endure
miss and adore

As you keep ornamenting my thoughts with vibrant smiles.
Your voice is imprinted on my brain.
I want to be bright also, for you.

To be able to lean towards the sun
instead of resting all day on dull rain clouds

A political joke

A woman in a hot air balloon realized she was lost. She lowered her altitude and spotted a man in a boat below. She shouted to him, "Excuse me, can you help me? I promised a friend I would meet him an hour ago, but I don't know where I am."

The man consulted his portable GPS and replied, "You're in a hot air balloon, approximately 30 feet above ground elevation of 2,346 feet above sea level. You are at 31 degrees, 14.97 minutes north latitude and 100 degrees, 49.09 minutes west longitude.

"She rolled her eyes and said, "You must be an Obama Democrat."

"I am," replied the man. "How did you know?"

"Well," answered the balloonist, "everything you told me is technically correct. But I have no idea what to do with your information, and I'm still lost. Frankly, you've not been much help to me."

The man smiled and responded, "You must be a Republican."

"I am," replied the balloonist. "How did you know?"

"Well," said the man, "you don't know where you are or where you are going. You've risen to where you are due to a large quantity of hot air. You made a promise you have no idea how to keep, and you expect me to solve your problem. You're in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but somehow, now it's my fault."

Wandering Star

Please could you stay awhile to share my grief
For its such a lovely day
To have to always feel this way
And the time that I will suffer less
Is when I never have to wake

Wandering stars, for whom it is reserved
The blackness of darkness forever

Portishead

I dont love you anymore

Her stare was hard.
Like a rock that was
thrown from her hand
and was caught by

my face.

I can taste blood from
where I accidentally
bit the insides of
my cheek. And fuck
did it hurt the stare.
Not the rock metaphor
used to describe the stare.

That was all figurative

But the 5 words that
followed was
the actual pull
of the trigger
to the gun that
released the metal
bullet which
pierced my heart
and literally
killed me.

portfolio draft stillborn

Stillborns
Hello sister.
Even though we never held hands, brushed each other’s cheek with butterfly kisses or braided the others hair I love you. I have even before I could understand that I didn’t have two birth certificates, but that we shared the same name. You were already long gone by then, even though I was only just discovering why I missed you.

I loved you as I sat with mama still deep in her grief on the day of your death. Loved you as I watch her struggle to put your baby blanket away again, back in the yellow box, back into closet, back on the top shelf. I loved you as mother turned her head into my chest and listened to the heartbeat of her stillalive baby.

When I am feeling nightly unrest, Father say its because you cant fall to sleep in your bed in heaven. That I must hold your spirit in my arms and sway you back to sleep. When you do I will finally be able to rest. So please sleep soundly tonight dear sister and I will continue to love you.
Your younger sister

3 days of sleep

it rained friday and again sunday. maybe it happened saturday but i was too unaware of anything to notice something as lovely as the rain saturday. too far inside my mind. too tired or plain ole didnt care.

i wondered and thought about a lot of colors, instincts, and behaviors as i often do when i shut myself away from the world.

most suicides occur in the spring. the month of may has been noted for its high rate of suicide. mayday approaches. maybe its because i am such a romantic that i thought the best month to take ones life would be february

not that i think about suicide often. call it my guarded secret obsession with the idea of death. which apparently isnt that much of a secret. death, creation, purpose and those are just the things i find fascinating.

captivating is a whole new list that includes birds, change, clouds and time. i can go on and on but lets continue.

the clouds have been beautiful lately and i feel as though i am the only one to notice. it rains more in the city than any place else and contrary to popular beliefs is very quiet. only because you grow to have selective hearing. and that i believe is the only reason i can sleep with the window open for 3 days straight.

Draw the curtains on the Peace Lilies that smell of death.

i have flowers drawn on the space where my wrist meets my hand. trying to give some beauty that is not...

lost my phone last sunday. finally found the song Ive been searching for, but what is the point? my orchids are slowly dying. mayday is six months away in the distant but still not within sight. these are the words my life speaks, as I live it. and they are self melancholic, bitter, and uncaring.

the thought is. i wont be here one day to explain the meaning beyond each constructed word, moment, line, period, phrase, pause and faze therefore i am compelled to record every bit it. being a writer. if only to give myself a richer presence when gone. everyone wants to be remembered, right?

even though the writers intent dont mean shit right now, only after she is dead will truth be constructed. dont really fucking matter when worms are gnawing on her innards what her intentions were when she wrote what she wrote. the thought will be we have this text and must dissect it for our own truths. and truth being really fluid and multiple in this context. the occupational hazard of every artist is, dont expect much understanding when alive.

but i can only make things I understand, I shall only make things I know how to construct however imperfect. writing has so much function in this world and is a form of communication second only to speaking. however somehow somewhere lines blurred, or was forgotten, or disregarded to the point where writers stopped being artists and started becoming communicators. it frustrates me for i am not a communicator

i see myself as an artist. so if you are reading this than, thank you. but since i write just for the sake of writing. i dont really care if you comprehend my words or not. so dont expect anything deeper from the words you are reading, that is not my objective but if you do happen to discover something meaningful, good for you. intertextuality and assumptions has sunken its teeth into the side of your neck and has ripped out your throat. congratulations.

Butterfly draft 2

in a cocoon reality where she is not so weird and frightened to think of herself as different. where it possible for her to love not at an arms length distant. but from within. hate so little cry a bit less and dance more.

all the colors have a hint of magenta to them and cats were more adored. smiling is never forced and sleeping an occupation. tales of the sun being war shipped off to become men are just fables. to scare little boys into not doing chores. for war is not present in the absence of peace. but harmony is the reworded of its presence we must keep.

as mothers absorb the presence of the sun they become humbled just for the offered gift of its warmth. the clouds transforms the sky. routine is just a made up word and structure only comes in chaoas. books are vivid and death is lovely. never sad and never lonely. being able to miss someone would never make her feel weak or weeping for no reason appear too meek.

flowers are handed out ever Thursday. music is played during every meal. food is not a privilege for the wealthy, and water is never used to as a tool to oppress the unlucky. in an alternate universe where she is not weird and dont think of herself as needing to be fixed. there is a difference between sexual beings and sexual objects. just as its okay if you want to hurt them for making you cry is not okay to actually go out and take a bat to their car.
everyone is vegetarian animals are not killed for sport. humans are capable of coexist. naps are mandatory. age is an illusion beyond numbered list for all to compare. we remain child like all throughout the years.
everyone is different and growth is beneath the skin of human development. we dance and play. flutter by and by expanding to greater heights in our transformation. we become beautiful in the sky. only because we know no other way to fly.

Windy days

Windy days sweeping what's mine away in the air
around me.

The Faults of humanity, war

Crying solves nothing.
As all violence is bright,
and there is no way to conceal
it from the world. From the peoples
sight.

So what do you want from me?
Yellow fires and Red, innocence
I will not give in to the cries and brightness of humanity
We throw enough paint at one another already.

I will live in
bliss, I will know
sadness, melancholy, somber
more so than I already do.
Oh yes, I know these emotion very well.
Enough to know that I wish I didnt.

But without miseries
We wouldnt be able to submerge our souls
to the joy, playfulness, and love
I know lives with in all life.

It is for this reason that I repeat,
All violence is bright
crying solves nothing.
Tears only mock us with their presence.

This is an irrational
behavior but I never said we were perfect.
Humanity have weaknesses and flaws that is bright with war.
But that only strengths my resolve
in allowing no one to ever get the chance to see
tears, from sadness, running down our
cheeks ever again.

Draft 1 issues poem

I am fucking beautiful
When I look in the mirror and see my alabaster skin, silky and untainted
I becoming giddy and warm inside for I am pure as snow
My baby soft head, is smooth and shaved down the to scalped.
I love rubbing lotion on it messaging the meaty flesh that cradles my superior brain within in its walls.

And I hate covering up my skin head just because some uppity, nosey ass folks down at the unemployment don’t like my swastika, tattooed right in the back of my white noggin.
No I cant see it, Yes I did want It there,
Got the nerve to look at me like I am fucking Hitler himself and deny me the rights I was born and obligated to have.
No I am not Hitler, I aint that luck but if I got the chance to meet I would give him a good slap on
the back and say well done.
But it wasn’t enough for God help us all, look who is running the county.
Next thing we know, were going to be swinging from the trees and hugging on one another like
We are all at some damn hippy fest.
No, I don’t have no job all the spicks and wetbacks got em.
What do I do all day?
I sit on my stoop, morning, noon, and evening and watch.
Watch as the coons walk by with their heads down because they know I am staring.
Listen to the radio as the japs and jews, gays and muslims dominate this country, bring it further down the path of disgrace.

Laying with our women, spoiling and corruption our children
But one day, we are going to have our holy war just as God intended
Blacks versus whites on the street and we all know who will be victorious.
I get hard just thinking about it.
And just so you all know, I aint going no where until that day comes
This is my home, I was born and raised
Just as my daddy and his daddy and his daddy
Born and raised
Right here.

Cliche

We will never be able to get these days back. I could say some cliche ass line about making the most of each minute, each day, each second, each month... But I am pretty sure they will be either be ignored or forgotten instead of actually listen to.

Stupid people piss me off. I am tired of having huge globs of bullshit like substance being spat out of peoples mouths, and it landing right next to my ear. Then like some sentient being try to absorb itself into my skin, as if I am some kind of fucking sponge. I stand there rendered speechless because I cant decided which string of curse words would be best to employ to cause the most damage when scaring them away from me.

But I can only dream

For I am too nice. And would not want my feeling hurt if I were a stupid person. So I absently nod my head like I actually give a damn. The one thing about stupid people is that they are blissfully unaware of their own stupidity, and for this I can not fault them. No matter how much they piss me off. God I hate being a nice person...

The trick is to fake it, till you pist them off.

I am pushing because how we get to be alone depends on how much work we put to in to being together.

So far away cant even come up with a proper title

I feel as though am sitting on a swing above everyones head. Just swinging swinging swinging away. And obviously no one knows I am here. But I can see their thoughts as I am spinning and whirling in my lone delight
but is still forgotten
all the same.

Noose

I wanted to pull your halo down,
But not watch it slip around your neck
Only wanted to bring you back to me
Except you hovered
just inches above the ground
instead, Such a mess.
I cant stand to see you drifting,
swaying every so slightly from side to side
I couldnt reach the knife high enough
to cut your halo to lower you down.
I couldnt reach you anymore.
I could only turn my face into your palms
and kissed your cold wrist
And cried myself to sleep under your
dangling feet

Tiresome

I am awake, when I rather not be.

Damn it, fuck, Okay okay okay okay okay its all good.

Damn it, fuck!

Damn it

Damn it

damn it

Click, flash, and snap...

Dont you just love taking pictures? Something about capturing the moment that you will never get back. But its fun right? To keep that memory alive...so much fun. I have taken so many picture in the last couple days, I feel caught in between the flashes.

Im still sick...but better, I guess.

Fuck, damn damn damn fuckity shit.
*sniff*
I gotta cold.

God Is An Astonaut - Echoes

I'm not that happy. There are moments but those are never permanent. The bird behind my ear likes to travel. Her wings tickles my skin with each flap and flutter. It mimics my heart beat with her every smile.

The warm weather didn't last. Good, I don't like the warmth and pleasantness of a sunny day in the middle of Autumn. It throws me off balance and makes my world tilt.

One of the few things I like about living here, in hoodyland is that I get the joy of experiencing all 4 seasons to the fullest. Seasonal affective disorder becomes my best fucking friend.

I am slowly, writing again.

Its cynical and self-adsorbed. Nostalgic by nature, often too focused on past experiences. But that is nothing new.

This type of writing can lead me to deeper insights or to downward spirals of melancholy and/or painful unresolved feelings. Now dont that sound just fucking great? But solution number one: Dont think about it. Suppression is not the cure but the wound, being covered with a sticky band aide.

Its only brief relief, but that moment is all one needs to become distracted. With kisses and presence. Yay, physical distractions.

Searching for meaning,
noticing what is missing, and what is there. Feelings of melancholy and nostalgia,
and longing for the unavailable.

I got so high the other day I forgot, who is me? what I think I am. and where I thought was. Laid strung out on the grass for everyone to see this different world.

I gave the children a brief look into reality. We are not all fucking perfect, I know this to be absolute truth and I basked in it. But everyone is so damn dull in this place. 2D, in what it is to feel. I feel it was my purpose to remind them that they were sheep.

You appreciate the special, the humane and the beautiful. beautiful. beautiful.
You like to put your personal signature on everything you touch. Its the nature of a creator. Change, change, change will capture us all.

This is a good morning.

D E A R
(common)
m u s i c .

S y my girlfriend cant stand it when I get inspired.
How Vast and Efflorescence meaning flowering blooming, have me in a kiss? And You Have Made Me anti-socially, Deaf.

Great!

Dante' Hot ass Oven

Accidents, alcohol, and suicide
The glass was broken in my hands

But I couldn’t stop drinking. Too far gone. Can’t taste the alcohol anymore. So I didn’t notice that my wrists are bleeding.

Dying was not part of the plan

But life is change, quietly. I will go out fucking screaming. 2nd floor, second bedroom. With regrets and only night sweats keeping me company in between the sheets.

As I march my way to dante land

I grab the bottle and like the way it feels on my lips. Reminds me of a loud tragedy. This bane ending. This fading heart beat. This slow blood drip on hardwood floors.

And over the sound I can hear the angels’ scream

My name

Out and down
between and betwixt.

A sort of weariness that
just an inch off the surface of my skin.

I am alive.

Fairy Tales

Capturing the moment is impossible,
so she saviors it as much as she can.
It tastes tarty, and whimsical.
Like a walking daydream.

Aspirations arent sleeping,
but instead on a quest. Just like the
juices sliding down her chin,
dripping in between her breast.

Trying to run away from the
swollen eye. With only one second guess
at which bread crumbs to follow.
She goes toward the path with the most to offer.

Having a full stomach is always better
than starving

Time.Swallows.Us.All.

Birds

The canary, stretched yellow wings invisible over
their eyes. And danced, hidden in the
shadow of the trees. Always bright but never seen. Always
bright but never seen. Always bright but never seen.

Arrows

She had hope that was filled with worry. If tipped over confusion will pour out. Her longing was so bad it hurt.

But the pain was not as intense at the holes in her heart. Made by tiny arrows of the cruels intent, the holes will never close. But never will she let that stand in her way no matter how bitter she became.

And seeing how easy it was to just allow the strings to be pulled instead of dodging, she allowed the archer to shoot. Whats one more beautiful hole.

Fake wings

Shine, bright morning light now in the air the spring is coming
sweet blowing wind, singing down the hills and valleys
Keep your eyes on me,
now we are on the edge of hell,
Dear my love, sweet morning light,
wait for me we have gone much further, too far.

-See Saw

With in

I feel the need to start again on the long journey of healing and reconnecting with the person I know still lives within me. I stopped for a while and now that I am done wallowing in the misery I can walk again.

I hope to find peace and enlightenment inside myself so that I might be strong enough to give and bask in the unconditional love of her presence. I can only pray I will never feel crippled again.

Canvas and lies

The red paint splashed on her, trying to dry, its way permanent to the skin. Dripping from red hair on to my cheeks seeping into the between and betwixt
In each crease did I feel it tickle down.

Today was red. The drugs unfortunately enhanced the hues. And afterwards I was still sicken with red. Ugly staining red. It smelled of death and decay. Putrid with its presence on my flesh.

Bright fucking red. Powerful and obtrusive. It was until I was given green, and blue and orange. Purples, and yellow, yes sweet sickening yellow I miss you also. More than lavender, and black, silver, white and amber.

Pink, indigo, Oh god, magenta and lilac.

Finally! I took a shower and watched it wash down the drain. No more red. Red. Red. Red Trying to dry, dry, dry its way permanent on my skin.

Phone calls,

You abandoned me in my own world. Left me to be my own guide and yet have to nerve to call me your shining star. Your goddamn hero. I think not. You say I have to hold your hand to keep you from going under, the very hands that let me go under.

I hate looking at you and seeing the absolute adoration on your face. You love me so much dont you? Are you happy that in me, you see the only good you have ever had in your shit life?

Its true, that everything you touch is ruined instantly. Leaving in your wake a trailing sea of infantile tears, no matter where you wander. Is that why you stayed away after I drowned in my own sea?

Just because I was pulled up just in time dont mean you didnt ruin me. I'm just dissolving at the bottom.

Master of Cupcakes in the kitchen.

I lick the batter off my lips right before I orgasmed for the second time. On the kitchen floor, wrapped up in flour and sugar. My skin was moist and warm as the heat rose over my legs. Smirking I laid and basked in my naughtiness.

My is phone ringing and the dog barking, everything around me was chaos but at the moment, bliss and afterglow had me deliciously exhausted. I do not want to move from my cozy placement. But I had to because the timer to the oven with my cupcakes just went off. I will definitely bake more often in the future, if this is the yummy results.

vellicate draft

vellicate \VEL-i-keyt\, verb:

1. To touch (a body part) lightly so as to excite the surface nerves and cause uneasiness, laughter, or spasmodic movements

My touch caused you all three. But its the uneasiness that worried me the most. The reason for this I guesstimate, is because of the being or presence growing inside you, simmering just under the skin, stretching out its yet not formed shape, and lounging its body as it tries to fill your every space. It's just me.

Its not you in particular that causes this me inside to come alive. Really its our closeness...and when I use 'you' in this insistence I really mean 'me'. I feel myself inside of you. Obviously, this is pure narcissistic on my part, this projecting, but it better than talking to the mirror.

I use the excuse of being instantly distraction by your voice to explain my actions, such as suddenly kissing you. Im becoming more responsive to the sounds around me. More so then I have ever been before. Especially when you whisper.

Kissing.

Is the easiest sound to understand. I kiss you because I want taste your sound and feel our music being created. Its uncontrollable infatuation...And so I do it without a second thought. I lied, I dont really understand it...at all. Why does this thought make me feel so small? Oh well it gives me to room to expand, I guess. But I can definitely go without the contradictions of the human condition.

Potential growth. Us expanding, she and I. I'm smiling as I write this. Brief memories we have already made. Together. When you are near me. Strange but not unusual, new and frightening things happen. I am given cool rain instead of firey passions. The grass. Tears of glorious frustration. Bridges on horses and music in the benches. My chest already ache, just a tiny bit because she is already missed.

While...

Between A and Z words are at war with each other. Thrown around black cannons, and little figures waiting for their turn to give speeches are picked off one by one. Blood splatters the ground poets march their rhythms on. And English linguistic and grammatical terms containing explanations for useless art comes up missing in all the organized chaos.

But after the plans for victory are accomplished I should take you by the hand. Vellicating your palm with my fingers, while waving to the crowd as they chant our names. The masses are dead, as heavy be the heads that wears the crowns.

Fragments

From your softly spoken words
I thought...
How can this feel, this wrong.
Knowing what was to become of us as we drove
Towards no where. Purposely making wrong turns.

unknown, destinations already forgotten.

At the moment I didnt care, but then again
I wasnt supposed to cry neither. I blame the hormones
hovering in the space around our mouths and noses.
Had to shield away from
your eyes...

Standing in the middle of the street.
Naked, waiting for useless comfort
that I didnt receive
I was relieved.
That I had night to cover my fright

I discover that
no one could see outside our eyes.
If we just close them. And turn away.
If anything that hurted more than the softly
spoken lie or truth?

Over the bridge

It was a pretty moon hanging in the sky, waxing gibbous she pointed out. I like how astronomy turns up in the most random of places. I can say the class wasnt a complete waste. While I was in a silly mood, long before I saw her from where I laid in the grass. I found myself giggled to bits as I ran into her arms when she showed.

Affectionate.

We stood close to one another, always in constant touch. And if we did separate it was not for long. It wasnt hard for me to get a read on her as I saw bits of myself in her eyes. In the tone she used and the way she liked me to hold her.

If I didnt properly know the meaning of restraint before, I do now.

Her kisses werent rushed or hurried. Pressing our lips together like she had all the time in the world. Which essentially we did. And It was like taking a sip of cool water. Cooler than the flowing water below our feet. Dripping over my dry mouth, I was a dehydrated woman. If anything I am still thirsty.

Moist and Damp

I went swimming and stayed there for days.
Laying on my back
with just my face pointing towards the sky.
With gravity pushing me up, never letting me down.

I heard my heart beating and
I felt, even days after
in a drifted high
the rhythm of me drowning.
It put me to sleep at night, gave me
a tune to walk to and
a song to capture.

Its a coping mechanism that I
switched on to reassure myself that I still had
...sorry have,
a heart. A beating red popper
that is still whole, all mine, and alive.

I go under every once and a while.
Just to be reminded what still lives on in my chest.
Long ago had
I gotten used to the dull ache
located just under my ribcage.
Now, it just tickles whenever I sneeze,
acts as suppressant, and
clenches with each breath.

I have learned
not to trust the people I meet,
for they will easily tie rocks to our
wrist and watch us sink.

Relapsing pt 2

Relapsing yet again. Injecting more ink from her heart and out of her hand. So much writing that her fingers becomes swollen. Water burns and bandages itch. It bleeds out pain and bliss unlike no one could ever hope to understand.

From the start to finish it overwhelms her. Surfing the skin and bringing chill bumps with pleasure outlining each hair. But afterward its always a fight to stay warm. She wonders how could it feel this wrong.

It hurts to breath as her stomach decides to be sick. The end always leave her feeling so defeated. It disgusting to see the hold it has on her. Instead of the hold she supposed to have on the pencil. Because the only cure she has for the stinging, the only ointment available to heal the wounds caused by her obsession is more writing.

Childs land

Will there be, a time for us to see one another as just friends?

I remember once having our own kind of paradise in between hours and seconds. That was a minute ago. But never again could it be the same when the sun goes down. No longer standing in the sight of you.

For its when the protective stray wolf venture out on to the playground. Our domain...and starts to build their own castle in our sand...Im sorry dig their own castle in my sand. Taking a hold of your throat and ripping out a smile from me at the boldness of it all.

Nor in the morning, when the emotions are so sweet that my teeth would rot off from all the sugar. When I wake up, I hear nothing and feel even less. No longer do it feel worthwhile. As I no longer second guess.

So when will it end? There has to exist such a thing as rest, between just friends and almost lovers.

asleep

She felt lips on her dreams. And hands, heavy and warm sliding across the planes of her mind. Combined with light brushes in between the folds of each scene. It drove her deliciously mad.

Skin, breath, eyes, mouth replayed over and over again, deep into the night. Fragments Flashes. God it always felt so good. Even long after she had awaken with a wanton name on her tongue and pictures lingering still behind her lids.

Suffocation.

The frown was unable to leave her brow. And it grew worse as time moved forward. Her anxiety was building. Unexplainable anger edged around her eyes, tightening dangerously, it was irrational. But then so was life.

Teeth grinding into dust at the sheer force of ignorance, the pain was almost as crippling as the nails digging into her skin as she balls her fist. Beyond irritated and past disgust.

Cracked glass bleed down on her knuckles. The breeze seeped through easily but she was oblivious to the throbbing the wind brought. Wanting one thing and one thing only. Desperation started eating at her chest and with each breath it became worst and worst. Suffocation was her choice of poison tonight.

words of inspiration

Capturing the moment is impossible,
so she saviors it as much as she can.
It tastes tarty, and whimsical.
Like a walking daydream.

Aspirations arent sleeping,
but instead on a quest. Just like the
juices sliding down her chin,
dripping in between her breast.

Swollen. With second guesses
at what bread crumbs to follow.
Fuck it she will go wherever it leads.
And have a full stomach, with passion
absorbing in from head to toe.

flowers

The blue printed flowers on the bed was soft. Petals caress my skin long after the sun rose and warmed the sky. Last night was not a good night as I got lost in the vines and couldnt find my way out of the sheets.

sick withdrawals

The highway stretched far, and I have yet to see an end. My feet hurt and My body hurts even more. Today the angels touched my chest and praised my heart. But they refused to chase away the cough that runs after me tonight. Or the drowsiness.

Or the headaches.

Temptation was thrown at me. But I see no point if the nausea wont let me keep them down. No point at all.

Ladders

Her want was so deep tonight that I fell in and kept falling. I looked up in between the silver lining of her sky and felt like crying out in frustrations. It was because I kept falling down, over and over scraping my knee on the sides.

I keep my head bent back. eyes staring far enough upwards to not see whats in front of me. Once there is no more drugs I feel like dying anyways, So obviously there is no point.

No forward for me. My only goal is up. And I will climb forever into tomorrow, but tonight. Tonight I remain so sober it hurts. Whatever I choose to fall, this is my choice and keep falling into her want. Until I cant anymore.

funny

Practice poems.

Rose are red,
Violets are blue,
I'm schizophrenic
And so am I

--

Courtesy of the Animaniacs:

"Roses are red
Violets are blue
That's what they say
but it just isn't true

Roses are red
And apples are too.
But violets are violet
Violets aren't blue

An orange is orange
But Greenland's not green
A pinky's not pink
So what does it mean?

To call something blue
When it's not, we defile it
But, ah, what the heck?
It's hard to rhyme violet"

Pablo Neruda

Sonnet 17
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

in which there is no I or you
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand
so intimate that when you fall asleep it is my eyes that close


Pablo Neruda

Letter Passions

The soft smile is still present even after I close my eyes. Words are so easily used to manipulate, especially when dealing with a tired soul but when it comes to letters. Things are different. Spelling out emotions and happiness with the ink. The very ink that swims thorough my arteries, is a hard task.

I smile even in the dark. When one can no long quiet make out the words. I still do. Its okay because morning will come and my hands that used to shield is now spread open with desire.

Child

Comforts of adolescence were gone before it could be properly acknowledge. Me and I, together. I never could allow me to be just tolerated and humored. But with me it was always room to see more, be more, discover things that I never could feel.

But

With me, it a painful process to grow but never destructive. Building a world of play. And dont forget the wall around to keep them, we, he, she, her, they, all out. What dont kill Me will make I stronger. A child of her world. Because comforts of adolescence were gone before it could be properly acknowledge.

Tight muscles expand and contract with each movement. Its a delicious feeling. Knowing I got lost last night in the music last night

july 31

I waved my lone flag in a sea of hands touching the sky.
Pointing my peace to the heaven. I was there together as one massive body waving back and forth to God. Side to side. And Up and Down.

Up and down
Feets pounding into the floor. It was wet. But no downpour touched our heads. Raining, so lightly to cool our heated necks. It mingled with our sweat. And still I jerked and swung my body around with my lone flag and peace sign to the air.
Breath filled with headache causing smoke, but I inhaled deeply regardless.

intertwine

In this world, this life.
Exist both happiness and strife
So interchangeable that my muse must
guides me.

Inside my chest, and out my mouth
flows emotions that makes me smile wildly,
despite tomorrow wondering doubts.

July 25

Never before have I felt such a multitude of emotions for anyone. This moment right now, my heart beats not only in my chest but in my throat, my mind, my sex, and in my eyes. I am in awe at how similar we are, but so different at the same time. Parallelism isnt the right word, but its the closest.

My number of past relationships is greater but that only makes me more seasoned and knowledgeable in the field of pain. I think this is why I am so frighten. I am not even in her presence and yet feel so compelled to do everything in my power to make her smile.

I am aching with every breath I take. If I was frighten before then there is no words to describe what I am feeling right now. Bitter acid stirs in the back of my mind when I think of all the shit we have to go through. I think its so unfair that in order to find love, we have to experience the pain of heartbreak.

God, I am so tired to having my heart broken by the people I thought would take it in their hands and kiss it gently. I must have faith though. Because If I loose the hope that one day I will find my mate, then I wont ever see myself being whole.

July 20

I had a dream last night and I can still taste her on my tongue. Its kind of frightening how easily swept up I am becoming in such a short span of time. I dont want to fight it but at the same time I am worried what would happen if I dont hold myself back. I can see this either turning into something amazing, but its only been a couple of weeks. Am I ready to face this when it all comes together?

July 6

I am going to make a choice today. And I choose to move forward instead of backwards.

June 28

She has protector stamped across her back!
Even though the thought had warmth pooling in the pits my stomach and my chest fluttering, this is a little unexpectant. What is this exactly? Could she protect me? Could I allow her to? Its not an easy question to answer but time will only tell.

Because I am tired of looking at my phone waiting for no one to call me. I realized that I shouldnt have to fight and work this hard. That philosophy about letting love go and if it was meant to be it will come back is bullshit.

Her voice is so lovely. Conversation poured like a never ending stream and I find it so amazing how easy it is to talk her. I dont know what to think of it so Im just going to let it flow for now and see where this river will end.

Down a waterfall, leaving me crashing at the bottom against sharp jagged rocks or to a lake. Secluded but still very beautiful.

I know this is too much. For someone to make me smile this much, for me to be this happy. No most definitely too good to be true.

She had a cluster headache dancing around her right temple. But that didn't stop her from drowning herself in music and cigarettes. If anything it made the throbs worst but she didn't care. It served as a decent distraction from the dull ache in her chest and restlessness of her feet.

Starving contradictions

Memories tastes like air. As we engorge on the nothingness of the past we become nothing ourselves. But with hunger pains acting as reminders of what happens when one don't remember. We are force to choose between Nothingness and Pain

Can we really choose between the two and that choice be the right one?

We wander through the darkness searching and trying to escape the monsters of our past. Creatures with teeth sharp enough to pierce our thin skin and penetrate our bones. Eyes so consuming that with every slurp of our essences we become more hypnotized.

Venom.

But as they eat from our already empty stomachs, we are filled euphoria. Finding ourselves not caring about the nothingness. And the longer the monsters feed from us, the more creature like we become. Because memories tastes like air we must find a way to curve our hunger. Or we too will become nothing but air.

naked

Appendages were bent over the back of the couch, allowing the lamp to illuminate brown smooth skin. The walls were quiet without their giggles tonight. Probably because of the raging storm outside knocking out the lights.

Smooth legs bounced in rhythm to music only she and the carpet could hear. Everyone else was had gone home. all was silent. She felt chilled air brush under where her bra wire should be, cooling her warm breast. Humidity was thick near the ceiling. Making the floor cold to her nose, hands, and feet. It felt nice.

Nice enough for her to remain there till morning.

3 word Wednesday

bait jump victim

Freedom.

She was finally free and finally here.

Along with the breezy blue lipstick, she wore a wavering smirk on her lips that appeared to be melting into a frown. Control was never her strong point, but that can be fixed easily with a double shot of vodka. Nerves in all.

Her left hand felt naked without the band that use to suffocated her finger. For 6 years it was as if it slowly sucked life from her body. It mimicked her husbands hands almost perfectly. Except it took a little longer for her to get the ring to off, even after Big Red was sentenced away.

Cause she played the victim for so long, she didnt need to pretend to be bait. They smelled the vulnerability on her as soon as she entered the lounge. The eyes of 3 suits near the end of the bar had practically jumped out their sockets at her skin tight tube dress. It was the same color as the lipstick. Her new favorite color breezy blue number 4.

Tonight she was free, and planned on taking full advantage.

Heroes

Start by relaxing your gag reflex, that way the alcohol will go down easier. Rebel rule number 26. If you can endure the burn than you becomes the peoples champion. They will chant your name in cheer and give out roses by the dozens.

Riots of the Heroes festivities.

The only way to appease them is by doing party tricks. But you are going to probably be passed out by now. On the ground covered in magnificent victory, among other glories. The applauds will be deafening, and the sour smell of vomit will be triumphant.

Clusters of emotions. I am ruled by them. Every thought, every actions, every plea. I drown myself in it

Parched

I used to drink from
denial. I was the immortal
and untouchable.
Uncaring and love-able,
with a hint of sanity.

With the choices surrounding
every moment of the day.
I try to keep in the happiness
that keeps being ripped away.

Her attention burns so bright
I bask in its warmth
trapped in my own created captivity.
Driven by the cold

When I wake still
Drunk off my own spit
Realizing, I was no longer
thirsty.

The rain sang the blues tonight.

As I let her voice come inside me soaking up all thoughts from my mouth.

I pray it would not sting her as it do me. I want to become lost again. And didnt think that could happen with the invisible strings. coming down in the guise of rain drops.

Arrows

She had hope that was filled worried. If you tip it over confusion will pour out. Longing so bad it hurt. But not as much as the holes in her heart from cruel tiny arrows. They will never heal but she wont let that get in her way. The string was surprisingly easy to pull and the archer was so beautiful. Whats one more hole.

I was suddenly rooted in place by the spring storms.
And now deep into the summer I am growing steadily by the day,
I, A little morning glory. Who tends to get lost in the vines.

Elizabeth Bishop

"Love should be put into action!"
Screamed the old hermit.
Across the pond an echo
tried and tried to confirm it.
-Elizabeth Bishop
"Chemin de Fer"
[House of Leaves]

smiling with anticipation

Present

erase, meadow, trace

Its in the moment. Walking around and enjoying the scenery of all of those pollen flowers in the meadow. Floating off in time and with no trace of you to be remembered in the mind of the past.

feign, imply, virtue

hassle, inject, wealth

Drugs are your friends!

Coming from the lungs of a seasoned poet, minus the 'E' head , I will speak loudly! Than cough.
Then smoke up more of my fire to ignite the blaze.
but then I may cough again but this time a stanza or a prose may come up because of all the
Words, deep inside my- What is this sticky shit sticking to me!

Its black like tar and I cant
Seem to get it off completely as its messy like honey. Sweet
tasting honey. On a gooey bread of goodness.

-
Because if I had a choice I would
Most definitely smoke with every inhale.

Going to bed.

The acrid smell of irritation still lingered around my nose as I walked the threshold of my home. My tepid response was read easily by the world, as people quickly move away from me.

As I stumbled in my bed, relief washes away all headache bringing annoyance I finally fell into a daydream.

One arm stretched over my eyes for extra protection from the light. I was grateful for the softness under me, as I finally drift off. Already loathing the bane of my awakening. The morning.

three word

acrid: Sharp and harsh, or bitter and not to the taste; pungent; Causing heat and irritation; corrosive; Caustic; bitter; bitterly irritating

tepid: lukewarm: moderately warm; "he hates lukewarm coffee"; "tepid bath water"
halfhearted: feeling or showing little interest or enthusiasm; "a halfhearted effort";

bane: something causing misery or death; "the bane of my life"

Portrayed

Painting picture of being emotional.
Stubborn if left alone.
Comprehend the smile of sweetness.

Thinking of deviousness.

May 17,

What should I read next?? The street by Ann Petry

What it is to be a
Fuck up?

Cunning and emotionally destructive with lies thick like honey. Too sweet to resist. We cant even restrain ourselves. But it is especially alluring to the newly made butterflies, who unlike us is not used to the flith. Whom are the easiest to corrupt.

We fuck up are addictives, the glorfied heroine and drunken escapes of the gutter world.

The sweet deviousness of it all is what makes it all worthwhile.

June 28

She has protector stamped across her back!
Even though the thought had warmth pooling in the pits my stomach and my chest fluttering. What is this? Could she protect me? Could I allow her to? Its not an easy question to answer but time will only tell.

I am tired of looking at my phone waiting for no one to call me.

I want to hear this sound.
Her voice.

Stumble but Words before I her ask. and

I delete everything before the period at least 3 times.

Never completing the sentence always rewriting.

rewriting

rewriting.

The shapes appears over my head. Clouds of interests that came from stories, once thought to be dreams reach so deep inside the haze I can feel my ideas swimming around my eyes when I stick my hand in.

I am known to wonder around in my icy dust of crystallite beauty. Freezing portrayed of each face, moment, and words. I think my perception is off by a decent size margin to make me...eccentric to others.

---

I am not going to sit and watch falling stars. Make a wish. I just wonder what happens to all the broken wishes when they have fallen out the sky.

This cig and pen feels the same in between my fingers. resting, delicately and just the right ways.

Balanced and patient with me, during the time of stress. Releasing me temporarily from the clutches of being a deaf bird. Trapped in the mind of a free bird.

Draft

My mind is at peace while the world is out of order.

Live some
days and die
some nights.

Never being able
to forget
is redemption.
Going through life.

Her life,
Her voice,
Her sight,

In no one else eye but mine, I need to keep a view on whats in front of me. Nothing ever dwells long within me. I am beyond complex even to myself.

Its haunting to see myself in my actions better than most. But remembering to connect those thoughts and actions is much harder to do.

When that day comes I will be relieved at last.

Is it mean to want to call people one-trick-ponies?

check list

journalism



CJR 270 - News Reporting II
CJR 290 - Journalism History
CJR 364 - Article Writing
CJR 365 - Advanced Editing
CJR 366 - Arts Reporting and Criticism
CJR 368 - Broadcast News I
CJR 380 - Special Topics
CJR 390 - Technical Writing
CJR 399 - Independent Study
CJR 454 - Community Reporting
CJR 465 - Issues in Journalism
CJR 466 - Free-lance Journalism
CJR 481 - Investigative Reporting
CJR 482 - Broadcast News II
CJR 490 - Internship

Creative Writing

Any two 200-level literature (ENG) courses

WRT 320 - Intermediate Poetry Workshop
WRT 420 - Advanced Poetry Workshop
ENG 330 - Studies in Fiction
WRT 330 - Intermediate Fiction
WRT 430 - Advanced Fiction Workshop

Chaperons don't enforce morality; they force immorality to be discreet. ~Judith Martin

But can you really define what morality and immorality? And why they could be used?

First day of summer 3 Poems a day prompt.

Coversation.

Fat people scare me.
I told my parents this and proceeded to laugh my ass off.
When their jaws dropped

down to their stomachs,
two set of lips twisted up back up at me.
With loud reply hot on their tongues.

But I interrupted!

I then look them in the face and said
because fat people worry me.

Sore body and exhausted minds makes for good sleep. Very good day.

Shower

Worn clothes, damp with sweat falls to the ground. She was too tired to let modesty delay her by grabbing a towel.

Bare feet and chill bumps traveled on hardwood floors and caressed warm skin. Peach fuzz hair tickled her in all the right places from the rooms breeze.

As she stood under the spray, lather in sweet soap and dirt. She basked in the falling water and let her mask wash down the drain along with it.

results so far...

introverted, intuitive, feeler, judging

Huge results on
introverted feeler
and
extravorted intuitive

Lead (Dominant) Process
Extraverted Intuiting (Ne): Exploring the emerging patterns. Wondering about patterns of interaction across various situations. Checking what hypotheses and meanings fit best. Trusting what emerges as you shift a situation’s dynamics.

Support (Auxilliary) Process
Introverted Feeling (Fi): Staying true to who you really are. Paying close attention to your personal identity, values and beliefs. Checking with your conscience. Choosing behavior congruent with what is important to you.

----------
My interpretation:

I proceed better in a situation by organizing than making a decision. Judge our feelings on the situation. Not percieve the situation than feel.

versus

Perceiving how I focus my attention and gather information. I tend to drift off and ramble with my thoughts.

Definition:

Cognitive Process Basic (Passive) Use Developed (Active)

extraverted Thinking (Te) Follow steps, points and time tables. Create structure, reason by measures and evidence, and implement complex plans.

introverted Thinking (Ti) Adhere to definitions and impersonal principles. Analyze a problem using a framework, and find an angle or leverage by which to solve it.

extraverted Feeling (Fe) Honor others' needs and preferences. Connect with people by sharing values and taking on their needs as yours.

introverted Feeling (Fi) Adhere to personal beliefs about what's important. Evalute situations and choose what you believe is congruent with your personal identity.

Perceiving—how we focus our attention and gather information

extraverted Sensing (Se) Notice sensory data in the environment. Trust your instincts and take action relevant to the moment and current context.

introverted Sensing (Si) Recall tangible data and experiences. Stabilize a situation by comparing it to what is expected, known and reliable.

extraverted Intuiting (Ne) Notice abstract patterns as they emerge. Shift a situation's dynamics and explore imaginative potential possibilities.

introverted Intuiting (Ni) Receive "ah-ha" insights and realizations. Persue a greater level of awareness to transform who you are and how you think.


My cognitive process from excell the best at to the least.
infj:catalyst:[Ne]>[Fi]>[Si]>[Te]>[Se]>[Ni]>[Ti]>[Fe]

Your Cognitive Development Profile
The forty-eight questions you rated earlier tap into the eight cognitive processes. Some questions tapped into basic or developed use of a process used by itself, while other questions tapped into use of multiple processes at once. The profile below is based on your responses. The number of squares indicate strength of response. The equivalent numeric is shown in parentheses along with likely level of development.


Cognitive Process Level of Development (Preference, Skill and Frequency of Use)

extraverted Sensing (Se) *************************** (27.2)
average use
introverted Sensing (Si) ********************************* (33.3)
good use
extraverted Intuiting (Ne) ************************************** (38.4)
excellent use
introverted Intuiting (Ni) ************************* (25.9)
average use
extraverted Thinking (Te) ******************************* (31.2)
good use
introverted Thinking (Ti) ************************ (24.2)
average use
extraverted Feeling (Fe) ************************ (24)
limited use
introverted Feeling (Fi) *********************************** (35.4)
good use

temperament

People of the Catalyst™ Temperament . . .
Want to be authentic, benevolent, and empathic. Search for identity, meaning, and significance. Are relationship oriented, particularly valuing meaningful relationships. Tend to be idealistic and visionary, wanting to make the world a better place. Look to the future. Trust their intuition, imagination, and impressions. Focus on developing potential, fostering and facilitating growth through coaching, teaching, counseling, and communicating. Generally are enthusiastic. Think in terms of integration and similarities and look for universals. Often are gifted in the use of metaphors to bridge different perspectives. Usually are diplomatic. Frequently are drawn to work that inspires and develops people and relationships.

Needs and Values
The core needs are for the meaning and significance that come from having a sense of purpose and working toward some greater good. They need to have a sense of unique identity. They value unity, self-actualization, and authenticity. People of this temperament prefer cooperative interactions with a focus on ethics and morality. They tend to trust their intuition and impressions first and then seek to find the logic and the data to support them. Given their need for empathic relationships, they learn more easily when they can relate to the instructor and the group.

Talents
They tend to be gifted at unifying diverse peoples and helping individuals realize their potential. They build bridges between people through empathy and clarification of deeper issues. They use these same skills to help people work through difficulties. Thus, they can make excellent mediators, helping people and companies solve conflicts through mutual cooperation. If working on a global level, they champion a cause. If working on an individual level, they focus on growth and development of the person.

the 3 c's

Complaining.
Criticizing.
Condemning.

These are known as the 3 C's. The question; can you live without them? Before you answer, this isn't just a matter of you not complaining, condemning, or criticizing others, but living without those three things within your own mind and self talk. Can you do it?

I've been challenging myself to live without using the 3 C's with others and myself and I have been amazed how often in the average day I have such negative thoughts. In fact, nearly all my thinking falls within one of these three.

To develop positive thinking, you are suppose to replace these things with their positive equivalent.

Appreciation for situations, views, and people simply for the opportunity to experience them.

Instead of complaining, you are suppose to find the good in the situation. Instead of criticizing, you are suppose to find the good in the point of view. Instead of condemning, you are suppose to find the good in the person.

It takes a lot of effort to relinquish negative judgment of others and yourself. It may even be impossible. However, a negative attitude is a useless attitude. It serves no purpose aside from distancing yourself from others and stressing yourself out for being less than perfect. A positive attitude is rational. You empower yourself and others.

So do you think you could do it?

i am a walking breathing living contradiction...

its irritating.

Pills and Skills draft 2

This poet
held denial in her trembling hands
as the doctor said she will have to be under
for the rest of her life.

That what she was giving me
was not a cure but a suppressant.

I felt reluctant
I could break under the side effects.
Loose myself just like last time


Writing.
My lifeline. My existing salvation.
The one thing that used to help
isnt enough.

Because the symptoms are too great and
I cant ignore them anymore.

Even if I write it all down.
Store them in a box on the back shelf, and bottle it away.
Next to my new prescription pills.

The words I write are still going to be there.
Unreadable to most due to the shaking from fingers tips
that refuse to still.

too much talking and not enough words

I am really irritated.

I hate violence
but I hate stupidity more.

And

If I had a gun at this moment I would
wish for grapefruit size bullets,
cause sometimes you need it to hurt just a little more.

:)

radiohead jigsaw falling.

I lay my head into the cradle of my arms. Rocking and humming without much thought.

Because what is there to think about? I think making a list of short term goals and acknowledgement will help deflate my tension.

1.

2.

3.

4. ...wow

To the point of resentment, I can taste the acid on my tongue building up, and disgust settle just behind my naval. okay not a good idea.

Im just a step away from not giving a shit. I want a cigarette.

1:11 am

Tonight is going to be long. I cant sleep even though I am in a medicated state of drowsiness. My thoughts wont stay quiet long enough for me to drift off.

I wonder what happened to the time where sleep would hold me all night and most of mornings. Dreams used to be so tender with me, I would long desperately for them throughout the day.

What changed?

Why is it that every time I close my eyes, I see nothing but the blackness of darkness.

Its frustrating. That relief and comfort isnt there anymore. Leaving me to face my isolation without the comforting anticipation of dreams at the end of each day.

This room is too silent and I can hear the taunting of each tick of the clock just as loudly as my own mocking thoughts. The numbers on the digital wink at me out my peripheral vision. Giving red glowing butterfly kisses against my cheeks that burns my temples.

yawn.

The day was chilly so the night is freezing. But I dont move to close the window. I will leave it open. I like to think of it as my looking glass to the outside world that shows me nothing but everything. The big picture of suburbia and minor details of perfectly manicured lawns. Each blade of grass poisoned to be luscious green. When all it probably really wants to do is turn into brittle yellow hay and die.

Its not even that late. sigh.

Pills and Skills

This poet held denial in her trembling hands as the doctor said
she have to be under for the rest of her life.

That what she was giving me was not a cure but a clutch.

I felt reluctant to accept. I can break under the side effects.
Loose myself with each and every one of them.

And clutches can be broken just as easily as many pencils. Which
was my existing dosage The one thing that do help but just
isnt enough any more.

But the symptoms at the moment are too great and
I cant ignore the signs anymore. Even if I write it all down.
Store them in a box on the back shelf, and bottle it away. I
still would not be cured, like I used to be.

The words I write are still going to be there. Unreadable to most
due to the shaking from fingers that refuse to sit still and the elaborate
mind of an introvert.

Tremors versus Anxiety.

How was we supposed to know there was something wrong?

smoking

Im really thinking about not smoking cigs any more. Its already been 3 days, so all I need to do is not buy another pack.

I think Im going to go for a run.

Crying

Is it feasible to smoke the day before my doctors appointment? Well, seeing how this crappy ass week has been going...fuck it why not.

Father dearest wrote me a poem. God, what a dicky thing to do. Knowing I am going to fall for it...damn i wish I could just tell him to fuck off.

But as usual I wont.

Sometimes I wish things wouldnt affect me so much. Im already a mild tempered person, at it takes a lot to upset me. But its the little problems that I keep bottle it all up that turns up sometimes and explosion into emotions so overwhelming...

I dont see crying as a weakness. I know it dont help things by crying but it do make me feel better. Its just I get so piss off at the reasons I am crying about. Like really! I am shedding tears over this!

Drunken fathers dont deserve my tears, nor does hurtful pictures, heart breakers, or loud silences, loneliness beyond words, or cruel sentences.

And I feel foolish.

Sigh, yeah smoking sounds lovely right about now.

June 15, 2010

Okay okay, I can get through this...maybe

I am not that surprised actually.

2:29 am

All day gray clouds swarms in the sky,
bringing rain past sunset.

During nightfall a blanket,
vast and thick, is sprawled over every star.

No twinkling
diamonds for the children to wish upon,
tonight the moon is being kept where she cant be found.

All there is,
All there is to see
Is poignant beauty of the darkness instead of nostalgic light
As it rains and rains and keep raining

Deep!
Deep into the late night.

I dont understand people, no...no thats not right. I have a good insight on others its just I dont understand you, my beloved Father. Its been a while, but I was so happy to see you today.

Even though you were supposed to be here yesterday but thats okay because you came today and lavished me with gifts. Gave praise that would raise any head up high to the world. Bear wide smiles of pride and love. And bestow compliments of my beauty and talent. After all this time.

But I will cry tonight because you were drunk. Again.

Why must you do things like this? Why cant you stay sober for just one day...for me. One funky ass day, is all I asked and even then, its not like I asked for the whole day. I had to go to fucking work! ...I feel so stupid for feeling upset about this.

Fuck! But what makes this even more hilarious is that you will never know how much I hate you right now. God, this is so fucking stupid...What was running through your mind when you thought you could apologize with gifts.

I didnt care! I just wanted to talk to you!

There was a reason I couldnt meet your eye and I can guarantee it wasnt because I was ashamed of myself. God, your such a fuck up!! I am so tired of putting my faith in you! You dont even try. And here I am thinking okay if he aint going to try for himself maybe he will for me.

But now I know better. You dont deserve to be my father. And I think you know it. You have to because there is no other explanation as to why you would push me away so much. Constantly...over and over.

But you know that I will come back like a good little puppy. Looking for just a bit of fuck acknowledgment. Im beyond pathetic. I wish I didnt care. Because looking at how this summer has been going so far...I dont think I can handle another disappointment.

Im so very tired of not understanding.

If you dont use it...

My heart is starving. With nothing but loneliness to chase away my appetite, I watch as the once thriving flesh that was my love wither away.

As I watch my heart become weak and fragile. I am reminded of how it got that way. How silence wrapped its cold hands around my insecurity and instantly cut off all flow.

Leaving behind anger.

Really the advice that some people give me are as useful as tits on a nun.

rambling/ hidden, noble, roam

I hate being interrupted. But when I say interrupted I dont mean it in the conventional way that associates interference with interruption.

Really interruption isnt the right word to describe what I am talking about but its close. I feel it can be better explained as I feeling of irritation when the flow of my life is put on paused with forces that is outside of my control and take me out of my comfort zone. Whether its a conscience doing or not. Routine also isnt the right word to describe my life but its also close.

When the familiar beat or rhythm of life wraps its security blanket around me. I must be aware that it can act as both my savior and executioner. For my intuition is always going to tell me to stay walking along the predicted road. Stay hidden in inclusive to avoid collision.

But sometimes I need to get off that path to roam and view new interesting sceneries. How will I ever experience life to the fullest if I dont. But that is easier said that done. Obviously. But Im still young and growing so no need to be in a rush to explore this noble world.

Silence

Have you heard the silent night
The earth is always singing
Praises of the morning sun
Even before the morning

And the whole world is singing of
Its beauty all day long
And even the quiet dark
That silence is a song

Weep not for the day of gray
For the heavens are not weeping
The Roses are still red and gay
They are even blooming

And the whole world is singing of
Its beauty all day long
And even the quiet dark
that silence is a song
that silence is a song

Lizz Wright

Sometimes I really really just want to say

Fuck you
Fuck this job,
fuck your face,
fuck dumb asses,

fuck growing up,
fuck smart ass lil brats,
fuck expensive ass school,
fuck stereotypes,

fuck fake friends,
fuck relationships,
fuck the retarded ass dog
and weird ass cat,

fuck money,
fuck shitty weather,
fuck pms'ing,
fuck deadbeat fathers...

then I just toke a bit and everything becomes tolerable again.

2:29 am

All day gray clouds swarms in the sky,
bringing rain past sunset.

During nightfall a blanket,
vast and thick, is sprawled over every star.

No twinkling
diamonds for the children to wish upon,
tonight the moon is being kept where she cant be found.

All there is,
All there is to see
Is poignant beauty of the darkness instead of nostalgic light
As it rains and rains and keep raining

Deep!
Deep into the late night.

Its raining again. Lovely
Obviously its nap time.

Glass

Everything was so messy.

Words, that once seem articulated and proper now sound broken and repetitive. Sitting at the table the conversation was obviously cracked down the middle.

On one side sat me, being chipped at and grounded down into dust and on the other sat my father with the grinder.

Simplicity was no longer there and in its place a mess. I wonder if the conversation could be clean again without all the stupidity coming from his side of the crack.

hehee I get to see my bestfriend today! Super excited for this summer adventure!

Crystal Castles - Courtship Dating

Holy shit crystal castles is the fucking truth in a bottle! Sing to me baby, oh god Sing it louder!!

Archetypes

http://www.infj.com/BeebeOnINFJs.htm

Archetypes are thus the powerful symbolic images that inform our view of heroes, wise men, mothers, and villains, among others. We encounter them in many aspects of our daily lives -- in art, religion, movies, and even cartoons! The bad guy invariably dresses in black; the good guy in white (and he is always strong and kind).

Mothers are nurturing, gentle, and protective. The wise man is often portrayed as a white-haired old man with a frail body and peaceful demeanor. These images are recognizable by most of us, and there are strong similarities in these symbols even from one culture to the next.

They are so pervasive that archetypes are anchored in our brain structure and occupy the "middle ground" between mind and matter. Archetypes are what provide the deep structure for human motivation and meaning.

Whenever archetypes are encountered in art, literature, sacred texts, and advertising—or in individuals or groups—they evoke emotional resonance and become the unconscious frameworks that determine how and why people think and react. Pretty powerful stuff, huh?

but I like Anne Singer Harris flow and music to archetypes more.

Archetypes tend to shift shape and flow into each other... This is because archetypes are content-free, patterned tendencies of thought; their qualities overlap, they are not hierarchical, and their symbolic expression is complexly layered.

This is a messy and unpredictable realm in which to wander, and its shiftiness annoys people who like to call a spade a spade and never a shovel. ...To tolerate these conditions, a person must tolerate ambiguity.

Jungian archetypes

For a more analytical psychology approach to archetypes I think the founder of it comes from Carl Jung. Which explains archetypes as

The archetypes form a dynamic substratum common to all humanity, upon the foundation of which each individual builds his own experience of life, developing a unique array of psychological characteristics. Thus, while archetypes themselves may be conceived as a relative few innate nebulous forms, from these may arise innumerable images, symbols and patterns of behavior.


While the emerging images and forms are apprehended consciously, the archetypes which inform them are elementary structures which are unconscious and impossible to apprehend. Being unconscious, the existence of archetypes can only be deduced indirectly by examining behavior, images, art, myths, etc.

They are inherited potentials which are actualized when they enter consciousness as images or manifest in behavior on interaction with the outside world.

Origins of the preference

okay so all the personality thinking and testing made my mind drift off to sexuality. Crazy enough I believe it was in my psychology class that the professor said that the human sexuality wasnt a choice but a preference. It has nothing to do with gender or sex, so nothing physical.

I am incline to believe this explanation over if a person was born gay or choose to be. Its a preference something that can develop early in the stages of life or later. However, I am still torn between the debate on whether that preference is conscience decision or sub conscience.

I kind of feel like this is just one of those things that falls parallel to the nature versus nurture thing. Because if it happens later in life as a conscience decision that I am incline to believe its a nurture thing but sub-conscience it could be nurture.

Being comfortable with my sexuality, for me personality it dont matter if it was nature or nurture, conscience or sub-conscience. I am indifferent. But wait, why cant it be both, a gray area for the hypothetical situations. Or is there some mysterious third circle in the diagram that is the unknown factor. I dont know really I havent gotten that far yet.

More and more typing

INFJ - Pattern of Processes Ni, Fe, Ti, Se, Ne, Fi, Te, Si.

dominant—Fe

The process of extraverted Feeling often involves a desire to connect with (or disconnect from) others and is often evidenced by expressions of warmth (or displeasure) and self-disclosure. The “social graces,” such as being polite, being nice, being friendly, being considerate, and being appropriate, often revolve around the process of extraverted Feeling. Keeping in touch, laughing at jokes when others laugh, and trying to get people to act kindly to each other also involve extraverted Feeling. Using this process, we respond according to expressed or even unexpressed wants and needs of others. We may ask people what they want or need or self-disclose to prompt them to talk more about themselves. This often sparks conversation and lets us know more about them so we can better adjust our behavior to them. Often with this process, we feel pulled to be responsible and take care of others’ feelings, sometimes to the point of not separating our feelings from theirs. We may recognize and adhere to shared values, feelings, and social norms to get along.

auxiliary—Si

Introverted Sensing often involves storing data and information, then comparing and contrasting the current situation with similar ones. The immediate experience or words are instantly linked with the prior experiences, and we register a similarity or a difference—for example, noticing that some food doesn’t taste the same or is saltier than it usually is. Introverted Sensing is also operating when we see someone who reminds us of someone else. Sometimes a feeling associated with the recalled image comes into our awareness along with the information itself. Then the image can be so strong, our body responds as if reliving the experience. The process also involves reviewing the past to draw on the lessons of history, hindsight, and experience. With introverted Sensing, there is often great attention to detail and getting a clear picture of goals and objectives and what is to happen. There can be a oneness with ageless customs that help sustain civilization and culture and protect what is known and long-lasting, even while what is reliable changes.

tertiary—Ne

Extraverted iNtuiting involves noticing hidden meanings and interpreting them, often entertaining a wealth of possible interpretations from just one idea or interpreting what someone’s behavior really means. It also involves seeing things “as if,” with various possible representations of reality. Using this process, we can juggle many different ideas, thoughts, beliefs, and meanings in our mind at once with the possibility that they are all true. This is like weaving themes and threads together. We don’t know the weave until a thought thread appears or is drawn out in the interaction of thoughts, often brought in from other contexts. Thus a strategy or concept often emerges from the here-and-now interactions, not appearing as a whole beforehand. Using this process we can really appreciate brainstorming and trust what emerges, enjoying imaginative play with scenarios and combining possibilities, using a kind of cross-contextual thinking. Extraverted iNtuiting also can involve catalyzing people and extemporaneously shaping situations, spreading an atmosphere of change through emergent leadership.

inferior—Ti

Introverted Thinking often involves finding just the right word to clearly express an idea concisely, crisply, and to the point. Using introverted Thinking is like having an internal sense of the essential qualities of something, noticing the fine distinctions that make it what it is and then naming it. It also involves an internal reasoning process of deriving subcategories of classes and sub-principles of general principles. These can then be used in problem solving, analysis, and refining of a product or an idea. This process is evidenced in behaviors like taking things or ideas apart to figure out how they work. The analysis involves looking at different sides of an issue and seeing where there is inconsistency. In so doing, we search for a “leverage point” that will fix problems with the least amount of effort or damage to the system. We engage in this process when we notice logical inconsistencies between statements and frameworks, using a model to evaluate the likely accuracy of what’s observed.

fifth—Fi

It is often hard to assign words to the values used to make introverted Feeling judgments since they are often associated with images, feeling tones, and gut reactions more than words. As a cognitive process, it often serves as a filter for information that matches what is valued, wanted, or worth believing in. There can be a continual weighing of the situational worth or importance of everything and a patient balancing of the core issues of peace and conflict in life’s situations. We engage in the process of introverted Feeling when a value is compromised and we think, “Sometimes, some things just have to be said.” On the other hand, most of the time this process works “in private” and is expressed through actions. It helps us know when people are being fake or insincere or if they are basically good. It is like having an internal sense of the “essence” of a person or a project and reading fine distinctions among feeling tones.

sixth—Se

Extraverted Sensing occurs when we become aware of what is in the physical world in rich detail. We may be drawn to act on what we experience to get an immediate result. We notice relevant facts and occurrences in a sea of data and experiences, learning all the facts we can about the immediate context or area of focus and what goes on in that context. An active seeking of more and more input to get the whole picture may occur until all sources of input have been exhausted or something else captures our attention. Extraverted Sensing is operating when we freely follow exciting physical impulses or instincts as they come up and enjoy the thrill of action in the present moment. A oneness with the physical world and a total absorption may exist as we move, touch, and sense what is around us. The process involves instantly reading cues to see how far we can go in a situation and still get the impact we want or respond to the situation with presence.

seventh—Ni

Introverted iNtuiting involves synthesizing the seemingly paradoxical or contradictory, which takes understanding to a new level. Using this process, we can have moments when completely new, unimagined realizations come to us. A disengagement from interactions in the room occurs, followed by a sudden “Aha!” or “That’s it!” The sense of the future and the realizations that come from introverted iNtuiting have a sureness and an imperative quality that seem to demand action and help us stay focused on fulfilling our vision or dream of how things will be in the future. Using this process, we might rely on a focal device or symbolic action to predict, enlighten, or transform. We could find ourselves laying out how the future will unfold based on unseen trends and telling signs. This process can involve working out complex concepts or systems of thinking or conceiving of symbolic or novel ways to understand things that are universal. It can lead to creating transcendent experiences or solutions.

eighth—Te

Contingency planning, scheduling, and quantifying utilize the process of extraverted Thinking. Extraverted Thinking helps us organize our environment and ideas through charts, tables, graphs, flow charts, outlines, and so on. At its most sophisticated, this process is about organizing and monitoring people and things to work efficiently and productively. Empirical thinking is at the core of extraverted Thinking when we challenge someone’s ideas based on the logic of the facts in front of us or lay out reasonable explanations for decisions or conclusions made, often trying to establish order in someone else’s thought process. In written or verbal communication, extraverted Thinking helps us easily follow someone else’s logic, sequence, or organization. It also helps us notice when something is missing, like when someone says he or she is going to talk about four topics and talks about only three. In general, it allows us to compartmentalize many aspects of our lives so we can do what is necessary to accomplish our objectives.

THE PRIMARY PROCESSES
Introverted iNtuiting: Foreseeing implications, transformations, and likely effects
Extraverted Feeling: Connecting and considering others and the group
Introverted Thinking: Analyzing, categorizing, and evaluating according to principles
Extraverted Sensing: Experiencing and acting in the immediate context.


THE SHADOW PROCESSES
Opposing

Extraverted iNtuiting: Interpreting situations and relationships and pickup meanings and interconnections to other contexts
Introverted Feeling: Valuing and considering importance, beliefs, and worth
Extraverted Thinking: Segmenting, organizing for efficiency, and systematizing
Introverted Sensing: Reviewing and recalling past experiences and seeking detailed data

There is an inner drive to grow, to become more aware.
Not only did Jung observe the eight functions, he also noticed and described the inner drive to grow and become more conscious. This drive often gets blocked by the stresses of life and sometimes by the expectations of other people. However, it continues to press us forward toward our dreams.

Relapse pt 2

She thought about her yesterday and yet again today. Snippets. Of them dancing. subtlety was never her strong point, but it was adorable to watch.

She was so drunk off the world they created. Slight swaying side to side they danced, in the tiny room. Around each other in conversations. Pillow talk. Drawn out others time. Light from the window shining in to her eyes. She have memories of drowning in those eyes.

Tomorrow will bring holding hands and letting go.

--

"How can love be so kind and gentle then turn and be so cold? And why must my arms be so empty for what my heart still holds." -Musiq Soulchild

Playing now
Musiq Soulchild Mary-go-round

It is moments like these make makes me feel like such a coward. But knowing you are one too makes me feel a lot better.

Stand By Me

Oh this shit is gonna be my fucking wedding song maybe. Actually there are a few but this is in the fucking tops. Pure fucking poetry Ben.

Stillborns and Memorial day

Hello sister.

Even though we never held hands, or brushed each other cheeks with butterfly kisses. Blew raspberries out car windows together. Never sang to one another or braided the others hair. I love you even though we never met because you were already gone before I came. I love you because as I sat with mama in her grief and I know you were loved. I smiled with my heart every time someone calls me by your name.

Keeping waiting for me and I will keep remembering.

Love,

Your sister

The Bandit coming soon

http://thebanditzine.net/

Lost

Still have the want and the drive. Flame still burning but dont know the direction to travel through the darkness. Young still with great potential. Feeling old because of the shit we have been through.

"Fuck stories I want accomplishments" Quote of the day.

Hope, where are you? Cried the lone growing man.

Named What I Wished I Had Learned 20 Years Ago

A nice expert I found. Kool shit.

I am an INFJ and I wanted to share what I wish someone had told me 20 years ago.

1. An INFJ is only 1 to 2% of the population consequently stop wasting energy on trying to get 98% of the people to understand you. Its a waste of your energy. The energy is better spent making sure you understand yourself.

2. IF you are one of those INFJ's that is highly empathic as I am you are going to be pulled to those people that are seriously damaged. You tend to be highly protective of your inner-self and the only ones that can get through generally are those in a great deal of psychic pain and you are going to want to fix them so that you don't have to feel their pain. Go with your spirit on that as you will make the world a better place however you must make sure you actively ASK God and the Universe for people who will bring Balance into your life or the damaged people can ruin you.
This also goes for people who are physical healers like doctors and nurses(Reiki healers, shamans laying of hands ect). You need balance. Ask for it.

3. You are going to be hurt by people you love the most. That being said don't be a victim about it and don't castigate yourself because you may continue to love that person long after they have violated you. Trust that love has a reason that you may not see YET. Don't be bitter and don't hold on to the hurt. Love sees further then you do. It sees beyond the bounds of physical life and INFJ's definately know how to love but we sometimes don't know what to do when it appears to have backfired and hurt us. When that happens trust your spirit and not your mind and don't waste the energy to analyze what went wrong. Trust nothing went wrong except where you know it was wrong on your part. Learn from what you did and move on.

Recently I had the experience of having a stroke. People who I loved but with whom I had a falling out with , some years ago: Perhaps because I dragged them some places psychically that they weren't able to deal with at the time but the message I brought was one they needed to hear.

I was shocked out of my head when some of them walked into my hospital or made contact with me over the distance of time. I saw I wasn't wrong to have loved them. Only that being human I doubted myself when things appeared to go wrong. But truly loving someone even if it appears to backfire on you is never wrong . It is a blessing you send out into the world and sometimes you get to see it come back to you when you least expect it.

Also when you love pay attention to the details, be in the moment because there is no guarantee that the object of that love will be there with you always. You can grieve when they pass or you can know that you relished every moment with them and have enough to get you through.

Famous INFJs

Real INFJ People

Adam Sandler - actor, comedian
Anthony Kiedis - singer (Red Hot Chili Peppers)
Aristophanes - Greek dramatist
Billy Crystal - actor, comedian
Carrie Fisher - actress, screenwriter, novelist
Chaucer - poet
Fanny Crosby - hymn writer
Fred McMurray - actor
Garry Trudeau - cartoonist (Doonesbury)
Gillian Anderson - actress (X-Files)
Goethe - poet
James Reston - journalist
Jamie Foxx - actor, musician, comedian
Martin Van Buren - American President

Mel Gibson - actor, filmmaker
Michael Landon - actor (Little House on the Prairie)
Nathan - Prophet of Israel
Nathaniel Hawthorne - novelist
Nelson Mandela - President of South Africa
Nicole Kidman - actress
Oprah Winfrey - TV show host
Paul Stookey - singer-songwriter
Piers Anthony - sci-fi/fantasy writer
Robert Burns - poet
Shirley Temple Black - actress
Sudi-Kate - American dramatist, evangelist
Tom Selleck - actor

Personality who?

Okay not a big introvert 44% isnt all that bad. I just thought I was neurotic Damn you personality test! Its a good way to take a look at myself. Too bad I already accepted that I am ever changing then I guess this would really impact me more than just a passing thought.

INFJ

You are:
moderately expressed introvert
moderately expressed intuitive personality
slightly expressed feeling personality
distinctively expressed judging personality
INFJs are conscientious and value-driven. They seek meaning in relationships, ideas, and events, with an eye toward better understanding themselves and others. Using their intuitive skills, they develop a clear vision, which they then execute decisively to better the lives of others. Like their INTJ counterparts, INFJs regard problems as opportunities to design and implement creative solutions.[14]
INFJs are quiet, private individuals who prefer to exercise their influence behind the scenes. Although very independent, INFJs are intensely interested in the well-being of others. INFJs prefer one-on-one relationships to large groups. Sensitive and complex, they are adept at understanding complicated issues and driven to resolve differences in a cooperative and creative manner. [3]
INFJs have a rich, vivid inner life, which they may be reluctant to share with those around them. Nevertheless, they are congenial in their interactions, and perceptive of the emotions of others. Generally well-liked by their peers, they may often be considered close friends and confidants by most other types. However, they are guarded in expressing their own feelings, especially to new people, and so tend to establish close relationships slowly. INFJs tend to be easily hurt, though they may not reveal this except to their closest companions. INFJs may "silently withdraw as a way of setting limits," rather than expressing their wounded feelings—a behavior that may leave others confused and upset.[15]
INFJs tend to be sensitive, quiet leaders with a great depth of personality. They are intricately and deeply woven, mysterious, and highly complex, sometimes puzzling even to themselves. They have an orderly view toward the world, but are internally arranged in a complex way that only they can understand. Abstract in communicating, they live in a world of hidden meanings and possibilities. With a natural affinity for art, INFJs tend to be creative and easily inspired.[16] Yet they may also do well in the sciences, aided by their intuition.[17]

It still blows my mind that there are people out there that study this type of psychology.