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Thursday, 05 November 2009
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A Cold Sweat
I'll never say your name again,
Never intertwine its syllables with tenderness,
Never savor its (now-grown-bitter)sweet taste,
Never throw it against the world
In the expectation that it will bounce back beautiful,
For an echo is only a shadow of its origin,
And the origin is dead to me.
I'll never hold your hand again,
Though it was the focal point of all the world's heat,
The furnace that warmed my heart and arms,
The flame that cauterized my mind.
Brightness is as deadening to reason as is darkness,
And heat is as lethal as is cold.
Monday, 07 September 2009
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"(Your name) likes to..."
i actually stole this one from facebook. that's right, you fiendish facebookers. fear it.
anyway.
um. the way this game works:
step 1: access google, whether by a search toolbar or actually going to their site.
step 2: type "(your name here) likes to" in quotes.
step 3: repost this with the first ten results.
1) Jonathan Likes to Move it, Move it
2) Jonathan likes to have as much control of his body as possible, so we allow him to choose where we will start which is usually his belly to help warm him up.
3) Jonathan likes to share what he knows through speaking, writing books, writing for online magazines such as Digital Web and Sitepoint, and writing for his ...
4) Kyle adds that Jonathan likes to stay at home, watch TV, and read, saying: “I call him a straight guy who happens to be gay.”
5) Jonathan likes to run.
6) Jonathan likes to go down the slide on his belly.
7) Jonathan Likes to Sing. Jonathan is very often singing or humming now as he works or plays. (this is true...)
8) Jonathan likes to spend his time watching Hitchcock films, base-jumping, donating organs, brokering world peace and lying about his flat. (this is also true. yes, i'm a base-jumper)
9) Jonathan likes to cogitate upon the conundrum of literary schools & conventions.
10) Jonathan likes to play with other children, but at times becomes challenging when he does not get his way.
this...is the best thing ever. do it. now.
Tuesday, 11 August 2009
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A Door That Cannot Be Shut
The door is open.
The censer has been lit.
The plague is spreading.
The day has come.
Streams of bronzed sentinels chant,
Incensed by their leaders,
Enslaved by their anger,
Appeased by their acts.
Blood is spilled this night,
And long the taylight tarries,
Leaving the darkness to linger.
Raw war, uncensored, undiluted, untamed,
A beast that bites the hand that feeds it,
And bears respect for neither God nor man.
Sandals beat sand, scimitars beat shields.
Torches together, phalanx formed, song shouted.
Ruddy rivers run, moistening the desert ground
And tainting the mountain streams.
Conquerors and fire roar in terrible harmony.
Cities razed, battlements shattered,
War tattoos pounded on drums
Lined with the skin of the enemy.
Dreadful recognition on the faces of woken children,
Seized from their beds by arms of iron.
Wheels are splintered.
Wells are dried.
Walls are shattered.
The day has come.
The wasting, the marring, the smashing of skulls.
The plague is spreading.
The unavoidable infection of violence,
The carnal bacterium, the visceral virus.
The censer has been lit.
The roars of the antagonists fuel the flames,
Wafting heady incense to the gods of war.
The door is open.
Saturday, 01 August 2009
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...
I'd forgotten it was possible to feel like this: the feeling of loneliness that I never experience when I'm alone. It only shows up when I'm with a certain person. Even if I'm in the same circumstances with the same people, if one person is missing, it's gone. I hadn't seen her for months, and I had healed up to the point where the feeling was perpetually out of my mind. I lived in a comfortable numb, occasionally observing that I wasn't attracted to any significant degree to any of the girls I'd met recently. I wondered often if it was a healthy symptom, if everybody lived that way all the time. I lost a dimension that had become a major part of me, that had shaped my perspective on life, and it turned me into someone I couldn't connect with. I was emotionally dead. But I saw her tonight. I saw her, and I held her, and breathed in her smell, and I woke up. I don't know if it's a good thing that I'm feeling again, or a bad thing. I don't know if the numbness was healthier. But I can't help believe that if I'm too numb to take life in properly, it's not worth living. I'm going to pursue her, even if it's just to keep my wounds raw enough that they keep me awake. I'm going to chase her, even if it's only to hold on to pain.
Monday, 13 July 2009
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A Diagram
Death is not in the present tense:
It is
a) another's past
b) one's future.
It is the door you must enter: loitering is forbidden.
It is the wine whose taste is blindness but whose aroma is perspective.
Experience subtracts dimensions/
Spectatorship adds dimensions.
Death is mathematical.Life is not in the present tense:
It IS the present tense,
viewed through two tiny eyes (lenses).
It is the brief flash of exposition -
Seen through the car (moving too fast to measure) window -
Here and gone.
It is both inescapable and elusive >
all live, with or without the will;
few live, try though they may.
It vanishes when planted in past or future:
Pictures are lifeless.
It is the act, the thought, the word
that is your reality [as you read this].
Life is abstract.
jnathanroy
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- Name: Jonathan
- Gender: Male
- Member Since: 7/6/2008
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