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.

http://contexts.org/socimages/tag/communismsocialism/

Should we cut our losses or should we finish what we started.

Last week I found myself in quite the pickle. Storyline

Decision, decisions.

When it come to the war it has been going on for how long? Personally as a anti-war head I find myself more partially incline towards

Watch your thoughts they become words

Watch your words they become actions

Watch your actions they become your character

Watch your character it becomes your destiny

Frank Outlaw

Last night I was pointed out as being a big introvert. After researching more about it I find that its actually something very common with writers. I am boarder lined relieved and disappointed at the same time.

Its funny that I find myself falling into the stereotypical idea of what it is to be a writers.

sick and restless

She felt the nausea sitting on the top of her stomach.
Underneath muscles clenched repeatedly imitating a dull stabbing
Release lasting only seconds before tightening
forces more fluids upwards.

She wanted to die
or rest
Or Would even settle for only sleep.
Whichever provides the quickest relief

Compromising has always been her easiest solution to all
because she really just wanted to reduce the fever.
Irritated and more testy as she became hotter and dizzier.

And
Tired, Oh
she was so tired.

Thievery Corporation

The Time We Lost Our Way :


My mind is full bursting over
With all these things I can’t remember
Every little single memory reminds me of you

My eyes were weary with all these tears
You left your shadow in my dreams
And all my doubts seem to disappear when you came along

Flowers melting up into the sky
Hear my heart where our love colides
We hear the songs we found in the times we lost our way

Gentle memories replace our tears
All the love we had is still right here
We hear the songs we found in the time we lost our way

From without words can not describe
What caused the stars to fall deep inside
Every little single memory reminds me of you

Our days are gone lost forever
Reflecting light glistening under water
Naturally this could be everything that seems so unreal

Flowers melting up into the sky
Hear my heart where our love colides
We hear the songs we found in the time we lost our way

Gentle memories replace our tears
All the love we had is still right here
We hear the songs we found in the time we lost our way

Flowers melting up into the sky
Hear my heart where our love colides
We hear the songs we found in the time we lost our way

Gentle memories replace our tears
All the love we had is still right here
We hear the songs we found in the time we lost our way

Beautiful day

The heat of the ground burn up into my foot.
Mamas red and yellow flowers brightening up

Lovely beautiful Sunny Day of 3 days straight.

Too bad I wont be outside to enjoy it
because of fucking food poisoning.
Suck ass.

hills

The lies play on her skin
just like the hills
The lonely little girls with broken hearts
play

2:23 AM

Eyes half way closed
Lips wearing the perfect shade of a smirk.
Mind wondering and feeling alright.

Poker

The Queen of poets
Lays out her muse in me
A women with spaded verse poetry
But together we form good pair of
Words and music

Robin, Robin

red robin, Red robin with your blushing red breast. Looking with sharp eyes darting pass the spectator a ignorance point.

radiating from the dew that was cried on by the mornings sky. Standing proudly with your bright red chest bestowing to the world look at me look at me!

oh sweet Robin who would come alive the most during the spring I will look at you ahrough the scope of a
beretta 92FS BB gun,
at 4:00 a.m
right before
i pull the
Trigger.

Red Robin

Red robin,
Red robin
with your
violent red
blushing red
breast. Sharp
eyes and pointed
looked, like metal
gleeming in the sun reflecting
off dew from the morning rain.
Standing proudly with your vivacious
red chest radiating. Perched with pride
on a branch as if saying look at me world!
Look at me! And extol trills
of goodmornings.
Oh sweet Robin
how you look
so alive the most
through the
scope of a
Beretta 92FS
BB gun, at
4:00 a.m.

Google

Google

I love pac man, this shit is really my shit. And I know I played it for a half an hour. But then I wonder if Google knows how much productivity they've cost the world's companies with its Pac-Man 30th anniversary game

Cause and Effect

the best often die by their own hand
just to get away,
and those left behind
can never quite understand
why anybody
would ever want to
get away
from
them

Charles Bukowski

Kite by Unknown

I mistook a garbage truck for thunder.

The morning after the first night we made love,
I dreamt thunder was chasing rain
through your neighborhood,
flooding the streets and keeping the two of us
indoors for days or even weeks,
until some old prophet could drop, by in an ark,
to take us and the rest of the paired-up animals
to a very high place, or an island maybe,
where we could just
sleep naked for a living.

But the thunder was a garbage truck.
And when my eyes woke up
a note on your pillow said:
"Good morning, Sparkle Boy!
I'll be back around noon.
You--make yourself at home."
And so I did.

Maybe.

I'm saying maybe I put on your slippers,
which were as comfortable as bunnies
because they were bunnies,
and then shuffled over my new favorite
hardwood floor to the bathroom
where maybe I took a bubble bath,
which is not something I can do at my place
because, frankly, my tub is way too skanky
to ever sit my bare ass down in.
And then maybe I got so caught up in the romance of the suds
I started quoting old Latin poetry from my college days
like: "fulsere quondam candidi tibi soles..."
You know: "Verily a bright sun does favor me this morning...muthafucka!"

And then maybe I...played with myself.
But it’s not what you’re thinking--
I’m saying possibly I just sorta
stuck my hand up from the water, going:

hand!(HERE I HOLD MY HAND UP LIKE A SOCK PUPPET
hand!WITHOUT THE SOCK AND MY HAND TEASES ME
hand!IN A HIGH, SMUTTY VOICE):

HAND: "Somebody got laid last night!
Ha-ha-haaaa!
It was youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!"

Or whatever.

And then maybe I...played with myself,
and it's exactly what you're thinking.
But if I did, it was only to put
the mental motion picture of our naked night together
on replay and replay and replay
so touching myself was just like...
Tivo in a way.

And yes, I was still wet when I borrowed your bathrobe.
And yes, I baked apples in your oven
and then ate them with your honey, honey.
And yes, I scared the birds away from your balcony
with my antics, dancing full-blast
to your old Prince CD's--
but please let’s just keep that my little secret,
because nothing is as private as a solitary dance
unless--maybe--it's standing in front of a full-length mirror
in a borrowed pair of bunny slippers,
slipping off a bathrobe and then wishing to a lightbulb
that my name, or my game, or my whatever were bigger,
wondering: "What kind of woman wants this skinny kid for her warrior?"

And so I made for you a kite, enormous,
out of coat hangers, brown paper bags
and the masking tape from that drawer in your kitchen,
and I hung it in the hallway
where you couldn’t hardly miss it,
and I tagged that kite with my words,
I wrote:

Just so you know--

My weird mind wanders and my brave heart breaks.
I've nailed some milestones, but I've made mistakes,
Cuz I got more faults than a map of California earthquakes.

I am taking a nap beneath your covers.
Wake me if you like me.
Wake me if you want me
Wake me if you need another poem.

Your once and future lover
has made himself at home.

The Queen of poets
Awakens her muse in me
A women with rocky verse poetry
But together we form good
Love and music

E.E. Cummings

i like my body when it is with your
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh… And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

Eyes half way closed
Lips wearing the perfect shade of a smirk.

pray for sweet dreams

Tonight I am just going to sleep and forget about the world. And pray for sweet dreams.

incomplete

What it is to be a
Fuck up?

Cunning and emotionally destructive, with lies thicker then honey but too sweet to resist. We cant even restrain ourselves most of the time.

But it is especially alluring to the newly made butterflies, who unlike us are not used to the sugar coated filth. We fuck up are additives, the glorified heroine and drunken escapes of the gutter world...

Sorting through the dictionary to find the perfect word. Melancholy isn't quiet right but its the closest I've gotten so far. Hours spent on this meaningless task and yet I cant get out of the mind set of 'I have else nothing better to do.'

The rain makes me sleepy. But the thunder keeps me awake. Laying in this bed, I think I've slept for too long, or is it that I have been up for 3 days? I don't know. Forgetful is another good word that comes to mind.

Either way I have no desire to leave the protection of my blankets, the barrier of my walls and the pillows that brings the temporary comfort I need to keep away the lonelies.

That actually is a depressing thought, when one thinks about it. Okay scratch what I said, melancholy is the exact word I am looking for.

The blind poet

I'm going blind. And reading in bad light don't help the fading.

But I like the natural light of morning and twilight more than the artificial light of the bulb, which makes the words glisten like a mirage. So unreal, so fantasied, so fake.

But during the in between times of night and day when I can practically feel the inspired words pressing against the inside of my eyes and on the back of my pupils.

I see the world through 20/20 vision

Why??

Something is burning just below my belly button. It is the pool of disappointment that is marinating my liver in alcohol. All because of broken expectations.

I was asked today why do we do the things we do? Mother answered because she felt profoundly obligated to. And I said because I was afraid of what would happen next if I stopped.

Then I took another shot and another, just to prove my point and kept going.

Relapse

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 forth chill bumps to the flesh
with pleasure outlining each hair

But afterwards its always a fight to stay away
She wonders how could it feel this wrong,
It hurts to breath, churns her stomach sick
She always feels so defeated that it disgusting to see

The hold it has on her.

Because the only cure she has for the stinging,
the only ointment available,
to heal the wounds caused by her obsession

is more writing.

Pessoa

We never love anyone. What we love is the idea we have of someone. It's our own concept - our own selves - that we love.

This is true in the whole gamut of love. In sexual love we seek our own pleasure via another body. In non-sexual love, we seek our own pleasure via our own idea. The masturbator may be abject, but in point of fact he's the perfect logical expression of the lover. He's the only one who doesn't feign and doesn't fool himself.

Pessoa

I weep over my imperfect pages, but if future generations read them, they will be more touched by my weeping than by any perfection I might have achieved, since perfection would have kept me from weeping and, therefore, from writing. Perfection never materializes. The saint weeps, and is human. God is silent. That is why we can love the saint but cannot love God.(text 64)

Pessoa

The clock in the back of the deserted house (everyone's sleeping) slowly lets the clear quadruple sound of four o'clock in the morning fall. I still haven't fallen asleep, and I don't expect to. There's nothing on my mind to keep me from sleeping and no physical pain to prevent me from relaxing, but the dull silence of my strange body just lies there in the darkness, made even more desolate by the feeble moonlight of the street lamps. I'm so sleepy I can't even think, so sleepless I can't feel. (text 31)

fast food blues

The hours come hard but not fast. Each meticulous move is just another routine stapled to the back of the head, dancing an annoying jig on the tip of the spin.

And oh goody!

The joys of giving the customers a ugly fake welcome always did manage to brighten up the morning. But wait! dont forget that their microscopic thought process and face value hate have, is to be served with a smile!

But a chance will occur to make it all worth wild. And it occurs while your giving out familiarized change to the simpleton.

To slip a piece of literacy work on the back of their recites. Telling them in Shakespearean language that you spat in their drink.

My fears roars out courage in the face of cowards.

To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.

The room

In the tiny room that is her life she kept forgetting how young she is.
Keep forgetting, about the time line that continues and don't stop.

And in her room that is her life, there are boxes of memories that takes up too much space and forces her attention to those moments.

They are piling higher up the wall and outward into the center
of the room, her room that is her life.

It sometimes feels claustrophobic and stuffy inside.
With no doors only windows that lets light in but only half the time.
She can see the wind in the way the trees move but not feel the breeze.

Dismisses from her mind that she has ever felt it before, but at the same time has, but then not quite. Kind of easy to do she realized, this failure to recall things

Staring into the Sun

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

I can taste blood

from where I accidentally bit
the insides of my cheek
to keep from crying.

And fuck did it hurt
the stare I mean.
Not the rock metaphor
used to describe the stare.

That was all figurative

But then if the stare was like a rock
then the 5 words that followed was
the pull of the trigger

to the gun
that released the metal bullet
which pierced my heart
and literally killed me.
---













Sun.

I sat on the top of the Sequoia tree
blinding myself by watching the sun in the sky.
Watched him be foolishly swallow by the horizon
Knowing he will be just be puke out by tomorrow.
I guess he likes the ride.

Moon.

When it nightfalls I turned my eyes to look at the moody moon
playing hide and seek behind dark travelers called Clouds.
When I stretched my fingertips towards her,
She turns savage and I get frostbite.

Poets are liars.
They lie so completely
That they make up pain
Even when they're hurting.

Readers of poetry
Can know this pain,
Not the real ones of course,
But the imagined ones.

And on the train rails
Huffing, fooling the head
This little toy engine
We call the heart.


—James Parr

"Autopsychography"

The poet is a feigner.
He feigns so completely
That he even feigns that he is suffering
The pains that he is really experiencing.

And those who read what he writers
As they read, sharply feel
Not his double pain, but their single one

And so, upon its toy tracks,
Runs around, diverting reason
The wound-up mechanical train
That goes by the name of heart.

—Ernesto Guerra Da Cal

"The poet fancying each belief"

The poet fancying each belief
So wholly through and through
Ends by imagining the grief
He really feels is true.
And those who read what he has spelt
In the read grief feel good--
Not in the two griefs he has felt,
But one they never could.

Thus to beguile and entertain
The reason, does he start,
Upon its rails, the clockwork train
That's also called the heart.

—Roy Campbell

Thirteen ways of looking at a Poem

"Autopsychography"

The poet is a fake.
His faking seems so real
That he will fake the ache
Which he can really feel.


And those who read his cries
Feel in the paper tears
Not two aches that are his
But one that is not theirs.


And so in its ring
Giving the mind a game
Goes this train on a string
And the heart is its name.


—Keith Bosley

a spider and a fly

i heard a spider
and a fly arguing
wait said the fly
do not eat me
i serve a great purpose
in the world

you will have to
show me said the spider

i scurry around
gutters and sewers
and garbage cans
said the fly and gather
up the germs of
typhoid influenza
and pneumonia on my feet
and wings
then i carry these germs
into the households of men
and give them diseases
all the people who
have lived the right
sort of life recover
from the diseases
and the old soaks who
have weakened their systems
with liquor and iniquity
succumb it is my mission
to help rid the world
of these wicked persons
i am a vessel of righteousness
scattering seeds of justice
and serving the noblest uses

it is true said the spider
that you are more
useful in a plodding
material sort of way
than i am but i do not
serve the utilitarian deities
i serve the gods of beauty
look at the gossamer webs
i weave they float in the sun
like filaments of song
if you get what i mean
i do not work at anything
i play all the time
i am busy with the stuff
of enchantment and the materials
of fairyland my works
transcend utility
i am the artist
a creator and a demi god
it is ridiculous to suppose
that i should be denied
the food i need in order
to continue to create
beauty i tell you
plainly mister fly it is all
damned nonsense for that food
to rear up on its hind legs
and say it should not be eaten

you have convinced me
said the fly say no more
and shutting all his eyes
he prepared himself for dinner
and yet he said i could
have made out a case
for myself too if i had
had a better line of talk

of course you could said the spider
clutching a sirloin from him
but the end would have been
just the same if neither of
us had spoken at all

boss i am afraid that what
the spider said is true
and it gives me to think
furiously upon the futility
of literature

Don Marquis

sweet tooth

The air was so sweet tonight that it left a bitter after sight. To them I wear blood coated glasses to hide the war from my eyes. But really the years of hate, prejudice, and cruelty has already rotted them away.

Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

Im hiding in the walls of Sistine chapel,
Watching as the hand of God gives life to
Adam and the image of God being painted in a single day.
Oh! Michelangelo, Michelangelo, Michelangelo

sometimes
you make me so happy
inside


i think i would puke rainbows
if i opened my mouth
so instead i just sit and smile

...and the reality of today became better than the dream. Im not going to delude myself of the meaning behind it.

All day

In and out, your fingers weaves their the way throughout my day. With morning's breakfast I have thoughts of you inside my mind that caresses and stroke my aligning walls. At noon thrice times already you have covered my body. And by desert, a licked clean plate lay deep inside my dreams of tomorrow.

Merry-go-Round

My mind is feeling so empty, just like a lone bench surrounded by filled seats. Mary how could you go, and dance around me so.

And when the ride is done, I am afraid of how strong my heart will still be holding on. Tightly palm to palm with you, watching as everyone get off.

Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me but I could have sworn the consuming lips against mine was just a momentary chill. But I realized it was just another start at another round.

If no one understand the dizziness, then it would be just you and me who will sit and just ride.

Laying in the bed I made.

Before
I trapped myself by being stuck in a deja vu, and it was with the words I never intended on saying escaping, did I finally become free.

I think I was living too much in the moment but as each second spent with you becoming a new expression and experience of happieness, I found myself not caring. Does that make me selfish?

Yeah, I think so. The important thing is that I am aware of it, doesnt mean I am going to feel bad. My friends think this is the tragic tale with a disasterous ending.

I guess its good that I dont feel bad about not listening to them then, neither.

But acknowledgment has always been the easiest. Its actually getting out of the bed I made thats the hardest.

I saw your hand waving goodbye

and before I had the chance to stop inevitable
chain reaction
Of, you no longer being around
Of, a crack, forming within me again becoming longer with time
Of, missing your voice so much that I cant stand to be around any other sound
Of, before I could grab on to your swaying fingers and entangle them with mine;

Your were already gone.