The Cliff Is My Tomorrow

Bold, stoic, weathered, aged, stone.
The cliff.
Stand on the edge, contemplate the end or absorb the world from a vantage point unlike any other. Watch life around you, or live your own instant. Beautiful display of the immense strength of nature.

From the top, you can end everything.
From the top, you can be everything.

Live or die.

I stood on the cliff, I made my choice.
It's a new year, time to make yours.

symbolize your face

Last night, I dreamed I was fighting ninja cats on a rainbow of sparkling cheeseburgers, then playing mandolin for Weezer.

You want some symbolism?
Symbolize your face

holmes

A leaf fell from a tree. It spun in lazy circles, drifting from side to side until it fell to rest on the road. Soon after landing, it was run over by a car and thrust in to the air again, falling for another car to hit it and fling it back up.

"That leaf is so much like my life. I fell from my high, happy place in such a swirling, confusing fashion. I zig-zagged on my way down, different directions I took. And when I thought I was at my lowest I was thrown back in to the air to take the fall again."

No, that leaf is not like your life.

Stop looking for angsty symbolism in meaningless things. Call me ignorant, say it's not my place, but if you're going to draw nothing but sadness from nature, close your eyes further than they already are. Nature, our environment, our surroundings, I don't think we're meant to take symbolism so heavy from it. Why can't we just appreciate the beauty of the leaf falling? It's autumn colours, it's gentle path, the natural artistry of the breezes that carry it. Or the brilliance of the human ingenuity that designed cars, came up with the idea of combining so many of nature's elements to provide us such a useful service.

Beauty ought to bring us happiness, not cast us in to sadness. A falling leaf is an obscure example, but daily people draw miserable meanings from beautiful things. The grey sky, a rainy day, a cold breeze - they're not sad! (Unless of course the weather has a chemical effect on your brain.) We have to appreciate the beauty, not use it as an excuse to wallow in misery.

Don't tell me that happiness is the same as wallowing sadness. Don't argue to me the natural emotional state of humans. I don't give a fuck. Happiness is better and you know it. Even if you don't believe in the scientific facts about chemicals in the brain, you've no doubt felt happiness in contrast with sadness. You're so in love with your sadness that you're trying to justify being sad over happy.

Happiness is harder in the beginning but OH MY GOD IT'S WORTH IT IN THE END SO JUST STOP BEING MISERABLE. kthx

oh holmes.
Like Mike Holmes or Sherlock Holmes.
Build it right, do it right.
Quit looking for symbolism.

Stay Positive - The Streets

Choice lines for a night like tonight.

Cos this world swallows souls
And when the blues unfold
It gets cold -- solids -- burns holes
You're going mad
Perhaps you always were
But when things was good you just didn't care
This is called irony
When you most need to get up you got no energy
Time and time shit'll happen
The dark shit's unwrapping
But no-one's listening your mates are laughing
Your brethren's fucking and then you start hating
Your stomach starts churning and you mind starts turning.

I hope you understand me
Just try and stay positive
I aint no preaching fucker and I aint no do-goody-goody either
This is about when shit goes pear-shaped
And if you aren't or ever have been at rock bottom then good luck to you in the big wide world
But remember that one day shit might just start crumbling
Your bird might fuck off or you might loose your job
It's when that happens that what I'm talking about will feel much more important to you
So if you aint feeling it, just be thankful that things are cool in your world

The Lake

I went to the beach at sunset.

The air was cold, my breath fogged in front of my face. My shorts and t-shirt weren't enough for an afternoon like that.

But it didn't matter.

When I dropped to my knees in the sand, almost nothing mattered. The rock lodged in my knee didn't matter. My hands in the freezing water didn't matter. The people, the stares, the whispers behind me... none of it mattered.

The sunset, a blazing fire in the distance, became one with the water. And with an inhale of the cold air, there was clarity.

I cried for every anguish of my life and smiled for every happiness. I cried and smiled for hours until the sun sank. Below the water, the fire sank and then there was only the still water, broken only by a light cold wind. The tears dried, the smile fell. All was calm again.

Tying Another Knot

Consider life as a rope.
As we progress through, we uncoil a rope behind us. The rope follows us as far as we walk forward.
When we look back at our lives' ropes, we see knots tied tight at various points. These knots are problems, confrontations, any situations that made our lives more tangled.
Each interaction and relationship we have during the course of any given day is representative of the other person/people stepping over our rope, twining their lives with our own.
FUCKGODDAMMIT STOP TRYING TO RUIN MY FUCKING ILLUSIONS FOR FUCK'S SAKE I HATE YOU FOR THIS
Do I have mental tourettes(sp?) if that often pops in to my head but I don't say it out loud?
Anyway, (anyways isn't a word, it's slang)
We can backtrack on our ropes. Run our hands along the intricate weave of millions of fibres, experiences, in the rope. The rope rests on the ground. Logically, as do the knots. As we move back on our rope we can pick up the knots, palm them, feel the coarse fibre tied so brutally and tight. But when we pick the knots up, the rope rises. And when the rope rises, the people we interact with every day trip over it.
GET OUT OF MY HEAD
Therein the problem lies. How can we backtrack and untie our knots without tripping the people around us? How do we stop their ropes and ask for help? I don't knoooooooowww. I've devoted my life to untying a few people's knots though. And in turn I've made new knots for myself, tied existing knots tighter, but also felt knots loosen. Maybe we needn't backtrack. Maybe our actions in the present can untie our knots in the past? Live our lives in the now. Let ourselves feel the pleasure of the moment. Tarnish not our present and future with the past.
Not where I expected that to go but revelations like that are neat sometimes.

Let's Get It On

I know I'm not much of a singer; but with you, we make a perfect harmony.

For Melancholy

They lived on in my head for so long
I could smell your breath
Feel your hand in mine
Your arm around my waist
Your lips pressed to my neck

You lived as a leper in my body
Pieces of you tearing me apart
Making me a broken man
As you yourself were shattered

Now there's no more physicality left
No hurt emotions, longing memories
Just these few fragmented sentences
And as each word spells out, a piece of you leaves me

You're gone from my life now
As I wish you would have been forever ago
This final regret
Spelled out in this final sentence
You're gone from my life, forever.

The man stepped out of the shower. Naked body dripping water to the white bathroom mat below. The morning concealed his red eyes and the water hid his tears. He grabbed his grey towel from the rack and dried himself off, sighing in to the towel as he whiped the water from his face. He stepped in front of the mirror. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he smirked in satisfaction at his reflection. A body perfect in its imperfections. A body he had strove so hard to create. He ran a hand over his chin, turning his head slightly. He could hear water in his ear. The man titled his head to the side and smacked his ear, jumping at the same time to shake the water out. At last it dropped out, dripping to the floor. With that drop went the pain of the man's past. All the people who wronged him, the mistakes, the agony. When he looked back in the mirror, he could see his love standing behind him. Wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. They smiled at each other in the mirror. He was finally free.

Memories are a strange thing. We'll never rid ourselves of memories on purpose but I don't believe we ought to. There are different types of memories, namely those that are active and those that have passed. Active memories are the ones that have a regular effect, not through our personality, but still on our day to day lives. The memories that can give us our highest highs and our lowest lows. Memories of days spent walking through an autumn forest with a lover or family member; or memories of nights alone after breakups or fights. But memories needn't be active forever. They'll always be present as the things that made us who we are but we don't have to constantly be hurt by them. Memories can fade in to inactivity. We can still think back to them, know the emotions that are associated with them; however, we needn't feel the emotions anymore.

I've found my catalyst for catharsis. My eyes are wide open now. My head so much lighter. I see now that nights don't have to be a time for wallowing in melancholy. Instead, I've made them a time to enjoy my clarity of mind and newfound emotions. My life will be complete when one day, I can prove to be the cause of someone else's release. And I know someone who deserves every good thing that she receives. Melancholy.

You are more beautiful than the first snowfall of the year.
Your smile more welcome than the sun in my mornings.
And your eyes like the brightest constellations in the night sky.

Strength for the Father

There are two laddders facing eachother. One ladder stands against a wall, straight as can be, standing strong, easy for anyone to climb and reach a higher place. The other ladder stands erect with no support, the slightest breeze can tip the ladder, make it crash to the ground. One day, the ladder against the wall starts to fall away from the wall, its rungs overused, supports withering, but at the same time, a wind blows the unsupported ladder over. The freestanding ladder catches the formerly stable one and pushes it back up against the wall, forcing it to stand straight. The untouched ladder now leans against the former pillar of strength, forcing it to remain against the wall, forcing it to feign its former strength. People continue to use the ladder, they step on its rust, use its crumbling foundation to further themselves. And all the while, one ladder supports the other. Over time, the rungs break. One by one, being crushed underfoot. The two side foundations crash in to eachother as the last rung breaks, snapping the ladder in half. It crumbles to the ground in a heap of rust and dust as the still new ladder clatters against the wall where it used to be.

Dad

Life has been hard on you hasn't it? It can't have been easy growing up in a home where your parents loved eachother and you. It must have been tough, receiving their support in everything you did; emotionally and financially.
NAT
With such a cushioned life, it's no surprise you cried every night after the divorce. Then two out of your three kids left you when you remarried, they abandoned you, left you alone with a new wife, a new town. They didn't love you anymore. They still don't. How does it feel to know you hurt the kids that lived with you for 14 fucking years so bad that they can't even love you anymore? We all idolized you.
I couldn't leave you though, I had to stay. When you remarried you changed. Discipline became abuse, happiness became anguish. And worst, you put her above all of us.
But I couldn't leave you. No, I thought you might change. Maybe it was just the novelty making you act that way. There was no way you could reasonably do these things to us.
So, when you were on the ground, screaming for help, there I was. I knelt
down and offered you my hand. But instead of picking yourself back up, you pulled yourself on to my shoulders. Every day I carried both our weights. I carried you and what did you do? You beat me, you whipped me, and while my back remained strong, my heart was shattered. Never again will I carry you.

"Did you ever think of me?
You're so considerate."

In Your Honor - Foo Fighters

Can you hear me
Hear me screamin'
Breaking in the muted skies
This thunder heart
Like bombs beating
Echoing a thousand miles

Mine is yours and yours is mine
There is no divide
In your honor
I would die tonight

Mine is yours and yours is mine
I will sacrifice
In your honor
I would die tonight
For you to feel alive

Can you feel me
Feel me breathing
One last breathe before I close my eyes
This suffering
For receiving
Deliver me into the other side

For you to feel alive

The Trees and the Passion

"I love you."
"No you don't."
"Yes I do."
"How do you know?"
The breeze blew lazily, gently shuffling the leaves in the trees across the park. The gold, orange, and red leaves danced gracefully as the sun, high in the sky, glittered through the trees. The man and woman were the only people in the park. They sat at opposite sides of a wooden bench in front of a field of tall, dying grass, bordered by a forest of full autumn foliage. The man looked down, brow furrowed as the woman looked at him, patience, questioning. The man spoke as a breeze blew in.
“I don’t know.” His words were lost in the wind.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
The man looked ahead at the tree line.
“There are so many things in life I’m not certain of. So many things to question; I don’t even know who I am.”
“Then how can you be so certain you love me?”
“Because knowledge and feeling are separate entities.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Knowledge is a product of the mind alone. When we feel we know something, it is in our brains, our minds. We can describe it and put words to it easily. A feeling is an experience involving the entirety of our body. Take happiness for example. We know what it is we’re feeling; the lightness of body, contentment of mind, but we can never articulate the true nature of the feeling because it transcends words in its subjectivity.”
“How can you know that you have a feeling and describe what it is if it’s so indescribable?”
“We’re dealing with uncertainties still. When we get to this point, we have to take a risk and attempt to define these things as best as possible for ourselves. In order to have a reason to live, we have to fill our uncertainties with our own ideas, our beliefs.”
The man paused. He looked to his left as the woman shuffled closer. He studied the woman’s face; intent, questioning, thoughtful...beautiful. The wind shifted her hair slightly, blowing a few strands in front of her eyes, freeing him from their hold. He reached to her and took one of her hands in his nervously.
“We can live our lives in total scepticism,” the man continued with a sigh, “questioning things we’ll never have the answers to. Or we can make our own reality, answer our own unanswerables, create for ourselves a reason to live. I’ve taken the risk in my definition of love. How do I know what love is? I don’t know for certain. To me, this is what I feel love must be. Whatever I feel right now has to be the truest representation of the feeling, no matter how subjective it is.”
“I love you.”
The man exhaled and looked to the sky. The colours of the sunset blended with the tops of the trees, creating a line of fire as far as he could see. He dropped his head and stared at the dying grass at his feet. The woman shifted closer again, pressed her lips lightly to his shoulder and whispered:
“I love you too.”

Blogging

In this opening sentence, my backspace bar was used 13 times.

It seems I'm unable to publish anything less than a complete and total recreation of my thoughts. There are no estimates, no rambling, and hopefully few mistakes. But every time I write anything at all, I destroy it soon after. I can't stand re-reading my writing more than once because the more I look at it, the worse it seems to me. I regret ever putting my emotion on the page and just wish I could take it all back.

It's comparable to a few of the relationships I've been in. No matter how strong I feel during the duration of the relationship, comparable to the writing process, I always wish I could take it all back and save it for someone better.

From this point on, I've burned my last journal. Maybe I'll never even feel the need to. Let that be symbolic of the entire metaphor.