I Cannot See... (Voices)

I cannot see…

I cannot see. In front of me, not only of physical being, but the future.

I cannot see. I am blinded by the past pains that haunt me.

I cannot see. Her beautiful hair obstructs my view from life.

I cannot see. The regrets I face of letting this happening.

I cannot see. She is gone now forever more.

I cannot see…

My Bean, Curtis' Adventure.

Me and my Bean Curtis went on a Ghost Adventure. We went to go talk to those who walk the cemetary

at night. We met up with an old sailor who had been visiting Utah. In the year he happend to be visiting

was one of the most tragic  droughts in history, thus from lack of water he died.

It was pretty sad, but at least he has been able to tell his story.

My Dreams

There are many types of dreams I could speak of. Those of late nights and that of the future. That of

stellar content and those of mid-day biology class. The ones of nights are of comfort and the love, but

some betray the aspect of ‘sleeping tight’. The ones that tear through the fabric of time and space, and

some that takes you to a new level of insanity. Some are for collage, some for children, and some for a

million dollar car. Some that let take a journey half way across the world in a matter of seconds with

out leaving your seat. Those of wonder, swirling, riveting ideas. But all in all there are many, and only

 the ones with a pure heart may be true.

My Clothes

My clothes are unique to some, but definitely not original to others. My clothes are baggy, yet I think

they are a good fit for me. Most are long pants, even in the summer. Most are shorts, even in the winter.

Hoodies are almost in fashion, and skater shoes are my slippers. Writing on myself is the new planner of

art and schedule.

My House

Small but indeed comfortable, my house resides in the suburbs. The one always described as ‘The one

with the purple shutters’. It stands alone with yellow patches of grass and weeds prodding their heads for

 air and sunlight. Messy in some spots, with anything such as calendars and electric typewriter; to guitars

 and boxes of spices. On the other hand, it is clean to any hearts content. Mounds of DVDs, but no

mountains of CDs. A home to few, but when a few come to visit all come to visit, and all are welcome.

My Bed.

Made out of wooden frame work, my bed is creaky. The mattress is big and billowing over. Sheets are

white with a few stains on them from nail polish and tiny nicks of holes.  The comforter is either the soft

 and white with snowmen, or of a big billowy comforter, maroon and green with splotches of purple.

What I Want to Write.

               I want to write about war. The uncleanly action of protection, rights, intergrety, of life. The beginning of the end. the end of it all. The giving of life for the cause, and the taking of it too.  The precence of war and the abcense of it. To see it from far away and to be drenched in it. The life that flow into it, the blood that flows from it.

Fleeting Enemies Through Forever.

Hands strike as knives in the dark

Swinging sharply with dull edges

Whistling through this crystallized air

Of the chilled winter fog.

Pine needles wafer into my unguarded nose

Crunches under our fleeting feet.

The taste of gushing, rich, warm

Blood from my bitten tongue.

I fall, tripped from a large pine root.

Scrapes on my knee sting,

And a snap comes to my ears

As though a whip cracked,

My ribs splintered unforgiving.

Looking back, pain ripping me in half,

Soyer stalks up to me, the look in her eyes

I saw so long ago the Senor Citizen’s Home.

But we’ve never been in

A place for care of the old.

Although my teams strength was great,

We could not match that of those Soyers;

Even when the Falcons were on our side.

It was jank that we were a target,

Even more redunkulous that,

The falcons were defeated.

Even though Falcons are strong,

Thus the slurred T’s brought them defeat.

You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit!

Is what kept us strong from greed and envy?

The dirty fingers of streaming viruses.

And still we wade about as

Death over golden meadows.

There I fell, turning over leaves as a bug.

There Frank lay on the damp

Ground scrounging for life.

Now I saw a light shining from a place

Unknown. There I saw the past and the present,

But not the future, it was blocked and black.

Lungs and ribs regurgitation blood, and

Everywhere guided me closer to escape, but

All paths led my soul to its doom.

Fide vivere, mori honeste.

The trees lurch over us,

Shedding leaves as tears, making way for

Death to take me away.

As Soyer leans she reaches,

And chilled air swirls around us,

For Death is on his way.

this is a towel walrus that i had found in my picture album. awww. so cute.

Funeral of the Past.

For of all the time we had

We always look back

On the better or worse

Taking in the battles, crying,

Wars, death, anger, greed, envy,

Killing, cheating, sneering, and bad

We stand here, in the present

Seeing the damage, and

All we remember is the past.

The battles, crying, wars, death,

Anger, greed, envy, killing,

Cheating, sneering, and bad.

So here is to the past.

The memories,

The people,

The pain,

And to a brighter future.

Inventing Life in Death's Hands

If I could kill all but the god

From the signs of Death’s hands,

I would know nothing

About the lies of the reaper.

If the reaper were made by

God I would know

This was a confrontation where a god

If I could look down but nothing

Holy I would know

About the Death’s hands and I could kill

The lies remaining and god of

Death’s hands, the reaper

My soul was a wisp with blood

In a deep withdrawal and daunting darkness.

I could fill the abundant requests with courage.

And keep death’s hands among the fiery

Depths of the after-life, among the

Daemons of their dreary holes.

I could kill Death’s hands in my loyalty

And put down the lies with pure might in the depths

The dirty blood between my figures

I could crush the despicable souls who always lie colossally

About life especially in Death’s hands with its wrinkled palms

So I must slash across the palms to kill the reaper evil monarchy.

If I could kill the one thing that killed kindly souls,

I would strike what was unholy

To this very day, I would kill Death’s hands

Life from death-like the misunderstood disowned

Archangels of the war of heaven

Or the heavenly funeral, that closed heavenly

Doors and forsaken man-kind.

Foreign Language Saying.

My favorite saying in a diffent lanuage is something in russian, of course I can't write it in russian. (I don't know how to, especially in english.) it is pronounced  knee - zar - SHtow. In english it means "No Problem."
I learned this in ASL (American Sign Language) class from a sign that means the same thing.

My Sister Jen.

My sister Jen stands tall,

Gently caring for those who have fallen.

Dishy she can strike with iron fists,

Pressing any one, who apposes her,

To the ground. She loves with a passion,

And debates all debate worthy causes to

What she thinks is best, as we all would hope to.

My Bean; Curtis.

My bean, which I got in Creative Writing class, is named Curtis. I don't know where he got his name from but I like it. Curtis is married to Lana, and has no children as of yet. Curtis is a professor of Harvard collage, he teaches law.

He likes to listen to Beethoven and sometime Mozart. He likes to read in his spare time, and doesn’t know how to change a tire or the oil (he is a bean), so don’t ask him to.  He likes to be gentle (in most cases, he is a lawyer).

He doesn’t like Mrs. Sides because she has kept him inside of a bag for so long, with all kinds of different beans, some he didn’t get along with that well either. All he ever wanted was to go home and build a bigger relationship with someone. He doesn’t like talking about cooking (especially beans).