Let's run away together. We'll build a little cabin in the middle of nowhere; we'll dance to the glow of a campfire at night, and I'll hold you close while the stars wink at us. Nothing will harm or touch us; we'll be dead to the world.
I'll cook you breakfast, and you'll laugh at my feeble attempts to pamper you. We'll sit in our favorite spot near the edge of a magnificent mountaintop while we hold our breath until sunrise. Gamboling in the fields and bathing in the quiet streams is where you'll find us. See us under the weeping willows, consuming our passionate and undying love. I'll plant a soft kiss to your delectable lips under the sky's tears.
I'll call you my dearest; you'll tell me that I'm your only one. My red rose, delicate as a velvet petal, sweet as honeyed wine, soft as silk. Enchantress, dance for me. Pierce my soul with your desirous gaze. I only ask to love you, to serve your slightest whim. I'll catch your tears in a vial of understanding, your burdens I'll bear on my shoulders. I am privileged above all to call you my sweetheart, none know you as I do.
You make me sing to the high Heavens. I go crazy with love, I dance and throw my head back and twirl, drop, and raise outstretched hands in thanksgiving. Your love is a symphony so complex and stirring, it lifts and moves me, it transports me into a world so perfect, a world at peace. Each melody is sweeter than the last, with harmonies strong and compelling.
The day I collapsed and you fell, I've regretted ever since. Your plaintive face spoke of betrayal, your quivering lip tugged at my heart-strings. I couldn't face you, so I walked away, taking with me every beautiful thing we shared. I moved into a grey world created by my pride and condemnation, letting my visage pale and my heart blacken.
But you so faithful and true, held high a torch for me, though your arms ached and your legs gave way under you; you clung to the hope that I would look your way someday. You knew, you knew that my eyes could not resist your light. I saw your torch and I ran to you. I stumbled, limped, crawled and dragged myself to you. You held me close while my bloody body stained your gown and painted your lips a deeper shade of red.
I reached deep inside and retrieved my heart, washed clean by your tears. "Don't break this," I whispered. "Never again," you echoed.
We'll live in our cabin again, where in it's main room, in a little wooden box, sit our hearts side-by-side; inseparable, bonded for all eternity, companions for life, beating as one.
18 May 2007
Random Rant #2: Wordstock 4 Rant 3:26 AM
Sometimes I don't know what the heck I'm talking about. A sudden inspiration will strike me, and I'll run to Blogger and clack in a few words about nothing. It's all very impulsive. I wish I had time to edit and rewrite, maybe pull my head out of my ass long enough to get these posts out of first draft hell.
The reason I was even able to set up this site and start posting was because my dad lent me his laptop while he and my sisters traveled down to Wordstock. Speaking of which, I better not get any more questions as to why I didn't attend Wordstock IV; I'm 18 (YA, XD prospective attendee), not as competent in staff positions as others, my Home didn't have the funds, and Jesus said maybe next time. Go figure.
It's not that I'm murmuring or having big trials that I didn't go, but please, having to answer this question to every concerned adult or inquisitive teen is starting to irk me. Contrary to popular belief, life does not revolve around Wordstock. I had a pretty decent time staying home, as shocking as that may seem to some of you. Please understand this, and quit asking me why I didn't go to Wordstock and pitying me because of it. You had a kickass time at Wordstock? Great. I'm really happy for you, look, I'm smiling; yes that is a smile and don't let me hear you say otherwise. Or I'll kill this defenseless watermelon.
I have so much to say. Too much, too strongly, too loudly, too impassioned; with little tact, sense, or reason. It's hard to bite your tongue for so long. Common sense and courtesy keeps these thoughts, words, and actions imprisoned. The Word filters and junks them. Thank God.
The reason I was even able to set up this site and start posting was because my dad lent me his laptop while he and my sisters traveled down to Wordstock. Speaking of which, I better not get any more questions as to why I didn't attend Wordstock IV; I'm 18 (YA, XD prospective attendee), not as competent in staff positions as others, my Home didn't have the funds, and Jesus said maybe next time. Go figure.
It's not that I'm murmuring or having big trials that I didn't go, but please, having to answer this question to every concerned adult or inquisitive teen is starting to irk me. Contrary to popular belief, life does not revolve around Wordstock. I had a pretty decent time staying home, as shocking as that may seem to some of you. Please understand this, and quit asking me why I didn't go to Wordstock and pitying me because of it. You had a kickass time at Wordstock? Great. I'm really happy for you, look, I'm smiling; yes that is a smile and don't let me hear you say otherwise. Or I'll kill this defenseless watermelon.
I have so much to say. Too much, too strongly, too loudly, too impassioned; with little tact, sense, or reason. It's hard to bite your tongue for so long. Common sense and courtesy keeps these thoughts, words, and actions imprisoned. The Word filters and junks them. Thank God.
13 May 2007
Random Rant #1: Perfume as a weapon 1:57 AM
I really don't like the way my luck is going. In fact, I don't even believe in luck. Luck is an overrated fallacy that irks me. I can't believe there are people out there who base their life on this superstitious bull.
Anyway, today I got sprayed in the eye with perfume. That's right, perfume. Not the righteous and manly scent of cologne, but perfume. I was bringing Kevin to the bathroom to wash his hands and face after snack, when Sasha came up to me with an innocent smile and her hands behind her back. "Close your eyes!", she giggled. I, of course, not being able to resist a child's charm and sense of fun, closed my eyes and waited trustingly. Suddenly, I had a premonition to open my eyes, and that's when I saw the bottle of perfume and heard a little "Chht!" from it's cap.
"Argh!" came the angry and unbidden cry as I felt my eyes sting and cloud. I was able to forgive her for her bad taste in practical jokes, but did she really think that she was doing me a favor? I've got better ways to clean my glasses.
Another thing I can't understand is when people insist on saying "Me and (insert name here)" instead of "(insert name here) and I", the latter being the proper way to refer to oneself and others. When people use improper grammar, pisses me off, it does. An anal grammar and spelling freak, I may be, yes, but more savvy am I.
Did anyone watch the STEM concert clips on Wordstockrocks.com? Did anyone notice that Steve doesn't sound the same (funky) live as he does in his albums? Bah, blame the mixing or Canada. Either one. I'm going to bed.
Anyway, today I got sprayed in the eye with perfume. That's right, perfume. Not the righteous and manly scent of cologne, but perfume. I was bringing Kevin to the bathroom to wash his hands and face after snack, when Sasha came up to me with an innocent smile and her hands behind her back. "Close your eyes!", she giggled. I, of course, not being able to resist a child's charm and sense of fun, closed my eyes and waited trustingly. Suddenly, I had a premonition to open my eyes, and that's when I saw the bottle of perfume and heard a little "Chht!" from it's cap.
"Argh!" came the angry and unbidden cry as I felt my eyes sting and cloud. I was able to forgive her for her bad taste in practical jokes, but did she really think that she was doing me a favor? I've got better ways to clean my glasses.
Another thing I can't understand is when people insist on saying "Me and (insert name here)" instead of "(insert name here) and I", the latter being the proper way to refer to oneself and others. When people use improper grammar, pisses me off, it does. An anal grammar and spelling freak, I may be, yes, but more savvy am I.
Did anyone watch the STEM concert clips on Wordstockrocks.com? Did anyone notice that Steve doesn't sound the same (funky) live as he does in his albums? Bah, blame the mixing or Canada. Either one. I'm going to bed.
10 May 2007
Rise Again 12:30 AM
I never really understood what people meant when they said "It wasn't meant to be." But now that the full understanding and depth of that sentence is mine, I wish I could be ignorant again. Ignorance truly is bliss. Bliss of the sweetest, simplest kind.
Damn those hormones. They make the young and foolish charge into the jungle of promised love, coming out weak and scarred. "Don't worry, it's just a little explore. You'll be thrilled by what lies in there", they say. But they didn't tell me what to do when I contracted blind-love illness. The symptoms had me grinning like an idiot, hoping for the best while making bad decisions based on clouded judgement and wishful thinking. I should have guarded my heart better than that, instead of giving it out to pretty prospects with enchanting eyes and clumsy hands.
I was willing to be her ardent fan and idolize her; God forgive me. Now she's a part of me, as much a part of my being as the heart that beats to make reason of all this. I can't get her out of my mind, so I live with these visions, these shudders in the night, this invisible head that rests itself on my shoulder in my quiet moments of leisure. No, I'll never be rid of her. I'm just learning how to accommodate her.
She makes it hard to sleep. Sleep is frightened away by soft voices; they affect the boy in the mirror. He is growing more serious and distant every day; he's come a long way, now. His shaved head is a far cry from the garden of locks that once grew upon his head. Those eyes are so penetrating, I have to look away. They're threatening to cry, to let tears roll down his thin cheeks. But I know he possesses more control than that; he can be a stoic character. He reaches out a firm but gentle hand to touch my face. I recoil. He is a stranger. But in spite of his faults, his traits are not dimmed.
I never thanked you for everything you've helped me become. In letting go of my hand, you forced me to grasp a stronger One. You hurt me, but gave me the chance to be resolute, tender, sacrificial, caring, and compassionate. I am not ashamed of who I have become.
You helped me find the courage to say this with confidence: You can let me walk on my own. Hand me my old crutch, I'll break it across my knee. I feel liberated and new again. I found myself, so you can relax and let me take care of you now. These arms have gained strength, they'll envelop you and keep you from all harm. I may slip from time to time, but I'll always stand again for you, for Jesus, for my Family.
It makes one wonder just how beneficial it is for us to grow up. We have so much to learn, so many mistakes to stumble through, so much gripping heartache to cope with, so many tears to bleed. But at the end of the day, when we stagger to our feet and lift our faces to the wind, we'll utter no complaint. We'll stand firm and determined in the face of a volley of arrows of sorrow, for though we have been pierced through on many an occasion, we never died. This is what was truly meant to be.
Damn those hormones. They make the young and foolish charge into the jungle of promised love, coming out weak and scarred. "Don't worry, it's just a little explore. You'll be thrilled by what lies in there", they say. But they didn't tell me what to do when I contracted blind-love illness. The symptoms had me grinning like an idiot, hoping for the best while making bad decisions based on clouded judgement and wishful thinking. I should have guarded my heart better than that, instead of giving it out to pretty prospects with enchanting eyes and clumsy hands.
I was willing to be her ardent fan and idolize her; God forgive me. Now she's a part of me, as much a part of my being as the heart that beats to make reason of all this. I can't get her out of my mind, so I live with these visions, these shudders in the night, this invisible head that rests itself on my shoulder in my quiet moments of leisure. No, I'll never be rid of her. I'm just learning how to accommodate her.
She makes it hard to sleep. Sleep is frightened away by soft voices; they affect the boy in the mirror. He is growing more serious and distant every day; he's come a long way, now. His shaved head is a far cry from the garden of locks that once grew upon his head. Those eyes are so penetrating, I have to look away. They're threatening to cry, to let tears roll down his thin cheeks. But I know he possesses more control than that; he can be a stoic character. He reaches out a firm but gentle hand to touch my face. I recoil. He is a stranger. But in spite of his faults, his traits are not dimmed.
I never thanked you for everything you've helped me become. In letting go of my hand, you forced me to grasp a stronger One. You hurt me, but gave me the chance to be resolute, tender, sacrificial, caring, and compassionate. I am not ashamed of who I have become.
You helped me find the courage to say this with confidence: You can let me walk on my own. Hand me my old crutch, I'll break it across my knee. I feel liberated and new again. I found myself, so you can relax and let me take care of you now. These arms have gained strength, they'll envelop you and keep you from all harm. I may slip from time to time, but I'll always stand again for you, for Jesus, for my Family.
It makes one wonder just how beneficial it is for us to grow up. We have so much to learn, so many mistakes to stumble through, so much gripping heartache to cope with, so many tears to bleed. But at the end of the day, when we stagger to our feet and lift our faces to the wind, we'll utter no complaint. We'll stand firm and determined in the face of a volley of arrows of sorrow, for though we have been pierced through on many an occasion, we never died. This is what was truly meant to be.
06 May 2007
Truly Cherished 4:17 AM
You see, Bobby, why they call it a "white night". The darkness evaporates while you sit there, reading, watching, waiting for that faint sliver of gold to appear on the horizon. But you never know just when it hits; you look away and by the time you've looked back, it's dawn.
So often have I lingered on a plush couch or a velvety armchair, it's softness caressing me, urging me to give way to sweet slumber. But you can't give in; if Sleep's sly fingers lay hold on you, you will not see the day.
Why am I telling you this? Because I have lost all reason to lie contented while a masterpiece eludes my grasp. I want to snatch it, lay hold on it and keep it forever. Some people collect action figures, others collect antiques or trading cards. I collect sunrises.
There are really no words to describe a sunrise. It's warm and golden, it melts your worries and fears away, and for one moment, just a moment, you are the only soul in this world. You forget who you are and what you've done. All things are cast aside in order to partake of that moment, a dream world unfolding before your very eyes.
Let them say that I have gone mad. Indeed, their sanity is only a matter of twisted perspective. If they could but glimpse my world, they would be satisfied to leave me in it, knowing that it is where I belong.
So shine, sun, shine on my face and make me smile. Kiss the tears away; refresh my very being and renew my inner strength. Nothing makes more sense than to bask in thy glory.
So often have I lingered on a plush couch or a velvety armchair, it's softness caressing me, urging me to give way to sweet slumber. But you can't give in; if Sleep's sly fingers lay hold on you, you will not see the day.
Why am I telling you this? Because I have lost all reason to lie contented while a masterpiece eludes my grasp. I want to snatch it, lay hold on it and keep it forever. Some people collect action figures, others collect antiques or trading cards. I collect sunrises.
There are really no words to describe a sunrise. It's warm and golden, it melts your worries and fears away, and for one moment, just a moment, you are the only soul in this world. You forget who you are and what you've done. All things are cast aside in order to partake of that moment, a dream world unfolding before your very eyes.
Let them say that I have gone mad. Indeed, their sanity is only a matter of twisted perspective. If they could but glimpse my world, they would be satisfied to leave me in it, knowing that it is where I belong.
So shine, sun, shine on my face and make me smile. Kiss the tears away; refresh my very being and renew my inner strength. Nothing makes more sense than to bask in thy glory.
05 May 2007
The Dirt Road to Acceptance 2:25 AM
I hope you have the time of your life. Just don't tell me that I don't know what I'm missing, because that's just it.
I don't.
I don't.
04 May 2007
Stock and Squirrels 12:52 AM
It seems that Life has handed me a sour lemon, but the long and short of it is, I won't be going to Wordstock this year. I'm naturally a little disappointed; the only time I attended a Wordstock I was too busy getting intimately acquainted with the bottom of a toilet bowl to enjoy it to the full. There's also the trip down with the teens in my area, a bonus I'm sorry to miss, but thank you Lord anyway.
In my efforts to remain positive, I came up with some good reasons for staying home:
The following is the letter I received from the WOC regarding the denial of my application:
"Dear Eman,
Thank you for your application. However, after much deliberation we've come to the conclusion that you are a squirrel, and since squirrels are basically useless when it comes to any of the positions that staff could hold, we have decided to let you stay home and chew your nuts."
Sincerely yours, the WOK
No, wait, that's the letter I got from the WOK, an Asian chef camp I planned to attend. The real WOC letter, even if it carried tidings of woe, was honest, heartfelt, and sweet. I was sorry to hear that a few hormonally challenged individuals felt it was their duty to set the record straight with the WOC and let them know that it was them who truly deserved to attend Wordstock 4. The WOC has put a lot of praying, planning, long hours, blood, sweat, and tears to make this event a reality, and selecting the staff was a difficult thing to do.
I'm sorry if, for whatever reason, any of you won't be able to attend Wordstock 4. But take some time to stop and bring your burdens and trials before the Lord, and get His perspective on your situation. And for those of you who wrote in with your harsh comments, please chill; take some time to finish a project, get that extra Word time you wanted, sip some lemonade, or maybe even chew some nuts.
In my efforts to remain positive, I came up with some good reasons for staying home:
- Texan water. That vile liquid has its source in the bowels of hell. There's that movie, Erin Brokovich, where Julia Roberts is gingerly pulling dead frogs out of contaminated water (and you know she's thinking "Like, OMG, so like, GROSS!!) and I am absolutely certain that it was Texan water. You can die drinking that poison. Enough frogs and cute little pond animals have died swimming in that filth. Boycott Texan water.
- I'm
hopefullygoing to XD anyway. - I'm too sexy for Wordstock.
- AIR CON!!
- Anyway
The following is the letter I received from the WOC regarding the denial of my application:
"Dear Eman,
Thank you for your application. However, after much deliberation we've come to the conclusion that you are a squirrel, and since squirrels are basically useless when it comes to any of the positions that staff could hold, we have decided to let you stay home and chew your nuts."
Sincerely yours, the WOK
No, wait, that's the letter I got from the WOK, an Asian chef camp I planned to attend. The real WOC letter, even if it carried tidings of woe, was honest, heartfelt, and sweet. I was sorry to hear that a few hormonally challenged individuals felt it was their duty to set the record straight with the WOC and let them know that it was them who truly deserved to attend Wordstock 4. The WOC has put a lot of praying, planning, long hours, blood, sweat, and tears to make this event a reality, and selecting the staff was a difficult thing to do.
I'm sorry if, for whatever reason, any of you won't be able to attend Wordstock 4. But take some time to stop and bring your burdens and trials before the Lord, and get His perspective on your situation. And for those of you who wrote in with your harsh comments, please chill; take some time to finish a project, get that extra Word time you wanted, sip some lemonade, or maybe even chew some nuts.