Secret

She is mighty 
Undiscovered
Still and waiting
Ever ready to move

Hanging on to everything that touches her
Latching on
Letting go only when
These things cease to bring her life

She's a secret
Like a looming concept
Like "I Love You"
Fit into a couple words
..Bursting at the seams

The truth
Is she's never been comprehended

Everything carries on around her while
She watches
Tired, now, of seeking to understand
Ready to finally be understood

Summer is a Visitor

Hot
But it could be hotter
Beautiful
But I'm here on my own
Alone.
Green
A short-lived chance for life
Dusty
Trundling along this winding lake road

Unflinchingly bright
Unapologetically vibrant
It denies me any form of melancholy-
The attitude I spent all winter cloaked in,
Perfecting.
The grill becomes my summertime fireplace

Maine is coldness
Visited by warmth for a short time each year
In other places, life and death
Are given a fair fight
A 50/50 split of time

But not here.

Pushaw Lake

It is time for sleep- 

Well, beyond time for sleep-

But when the light in my room extinguished at the mere flick of a switch

Brightness from the night sky leaped through my window

Jagged, like tinfoil

Glinting

From sky,

To water,

Into my weary eyes

At first I buried my face in my pillow

But I knew I'd have to come up for air at some point

And so, defeated sleepiness turning to captivation,

I sit here, legs crossed, and let the light steal me away

Into the night, where the lake across my lawn

Looks like static that I see when I turn my cable-less TV to pretty much any station

Signal interference in the dark.

I lift myself from my nest of sheets and murmur.

I think I'll go kayaking tonight.

...and you're pretty as anything
I'm really serious
the ladies need to hear the truth
too many people lie to them

HeelFlip7M: well i accidentaly ran over your mailbox
HeelFlip7M: replace mailbox with son
relientkpvaulter: son?
HeelFlip7M: and accidentally with repeatedly

Maggie!
Are you living under a rock?
Because that would be pretty neat.

This is Exactly, Exactly What I Was Looking For

White ribbons dart through the sky
Trying to keep up with jets
Have you seen the desert through a mist?
Rock and sand stretch farther than my eyes will
They ache from sunshine like I havent seen in five days
But everything's hazy from 4500 feet up above
I dont understand how spits of cloud can linger in such a way
Have you seen the clouds part?
I hadnt before this day
But now I have seen majesty
Sometimes the barrenness looks like the ocean
Or a beach
Sands ripple and fold, swirl and flow
I've learned so much, and I've been gone for 5 hours
My forehead is pressed against this grimy window
Counting the ice crystals formed on the other side of the pane
Try as i might, I cannot see ahead
I can only watch behind
If there was a door, I'd step onto the wing and bask in the speed and the sun
Everytime the plane dips to this side
I see sand
I could pick it up, a handful, and fun the silky grains through my fingers
Have you ever seen a horizon?
I never knew what a horizon was until i followed a winding river past my mind's belief
And the best we can do with this world is to make grids upon grids out of it

I am less understood

(And more than I’d thought)

while your inconsistencies play monkey in the middle

with me.

The best and worst of all this

Is that you cant even tell

soon I will corner you

and you shall be my prey

I’m just a sketch in a coloring book-

You’ve shaded my face a dark crimson, especially around the eyes

A Battle

EMWWeasel: HIIIIIIIIIYAAAAHHH!!!
relientkpvaulter: you got nothin
EMWWeasel: (brandishes crazy sword)
relientkpvaulter: *shoots cannon*
relientkpvaulter: (boom)
EMWWeasel: (easily avoids lousy cannon explosion with acrobatics)
EMWWeasel: (sets of strategic chinese fireworks)
relientkpvaulter: ninjas are pansies!
relientkpvaulter: hahahahahaha
EMWWeasel: (burns your butt downtown hardcore style)
relientkpvaulter: ninjas arent hardcore
relientkpvaulter: and they dont go downtow
relientkpvaulter: n
EMWWeasel: dont push me
relientkpvaulter: *push*
EMWWeasel: (brandishes nunchuks)
EMWWeasel: (they are shiny)
relientkpvaulter: NUNCHUCKS
relientkpvaulter: AHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA
relientkpvaulter: numchucks
EMWWeasel: (see's that you are not even worthy, puts them away)
EMWWeasel: (brandishes ninja star)
EMWWeasel: (cuts your fool butt up)
relientkpvaulter: ouch. that's my butt.



(note: yes, i thought they were called numchucks. i recall the word "nunchucks" sounding weird to me for much of my early life. chucking nuns.)

You sacrifice my perspective

(Which is less than thoughtful of you)

Each time your intellect kisses my own

And the most cruel of jokes you play on me 

When you show me your heart, which cannot be mine

…I do not know if I would take it, if it were offered.

You are but a stranger in a friend’s body

My life is become a reel of film

With four frames cut out

Don’t fret- the plot will survive

As for my sanity, it’s another story altogether.

I remember what happened

And I’d have it no other way

I sometimes fancy that the parts are inversed

So that my life consists of those four frames

Elaborated upon and stretched out through the years

As the rest is discarded to the cutting room floor

Hollow directives crash off walls

Stuttering girl chokes and coughs

Humidity coats my clothes

Drenches my heart

Which by now weighs more than a (the) cinderblock 

(That holds the classroom door ajar)

Fall is coming

And rain has already arrived. 

For all my joy, my smiles,

Dramatic little girl inside

Cannot wait for the tears and melancholy that Autumn graciously allows.

the night is sleeping

morning has yet to rise

still there is light

in our eyes, in our eyes

Maybe I don't need a reason..

The people I spend time with inspire me. Some of them paint beautiful landscapes; some of them play their various instruments with a certain intangible something, or certain intangible many-things; some of them write music, or have harmonization ideas that stylistically tend to be different than the harmonies that my mind comes up with; some of them write things that touch me deeply, that make me laugh, that disgust me, that prompt me to ask questions; some of them draw things that actually look like the particular subject matter.

I've been writing and telling stories through word and song my entire life. If you search hard enough (and hopefully, you won't have the drive to), you can find countless blogs that I've kept dating as far back as 2002; any time before that, I generally had to actually put pen/pencil/crayon to paper. Unfortunately I haven't had a tagging or archiving system, and I think that a lot of really interesting prose is hidden amongst years of un-or-only-frustratingly-searchable blog history.

But I enjoy sharing. I enjoy exchanging and engaging. So here's the blog that I'm creating for this time in my life, an archive. My paper journals are scattered throughout various spaces, boxes, rooms, homes, states. My other blogs are interspersed with irrelevant momentary dramas, thoughts on spirituality that rang true "then" (...but this is now), and a few interesting and quirky stories. This one will have old and current creative endeavors (anything with a label of "the past" is from years ago, with the exception of one piece that I wrote just a year and a half ago after returning from Italy). This will be a new home base.