Gaia Community: Fireballems' Blog

Ohio in The Incipient Spring

Wed, 21 Mar 2007 23:41:47 -0000

Flat pockmarked land compliments a cloudless sea of sky, which fades to white at the horizon. Broken in the middle by concrete, land still remains relentless, forever sprawling. But forever straight fades into rising and falling waves bringing with it the tree-marked land. And then the road floats and the land sits and grows. Through the transparent sometimes speckled glass children watch, but pulling out into cars, parents groan about time lost and families argue about where to stop and lovers smile and the radio fades to crackling and babies cry of lack of food and the trees reach, stretching towards clouds and children watch and feel the car bullet towards nebulous mountains at the end of the straight stretch of the never-ending concrete. Slowly towns coalesce from farm to house to town center to house to farm then fade into patch after patch of square land with broken middles filled with concrete. Arid air outside juxtaposes the warm that is only broken by an open window with a hand passing money to the toll. A bird floats above concrete and above skeleton trees blown out against new spring. Welcome to Pennsylvania.

Feeling how you feel

Tue, 20 Mar 2007 04:57:53 -0000

Feeling how you feel after
eating just enough of the sunrise,
I kiss you and know it is forever.

The Moon Cascades over Mountain-tops

Mon, 12 Mar 2007 05:53:57 -0000

The Moon cascades over mountain-tops and into the valleys below; hiding behind patch-barked trees and underneath waves of water within rivers flowing towards lonely towns, the Moon runs away from the Sun and the stars and the sky.

Slowly Static Builds

Mon, 12 Mar 2007 01:37:17 -0000

Rain drops drip, and like static, form an ambient audio in the hollow caves of my ears. Following paths to memories, the static drip-droping reforms moments and acts them out behind my eyes: I see you, again, with the diaphanous curtains throwing upon you an affected light, coalesced by window panes into a half-yellow shimmer. Your slender fingers, along with your palm support your head. Elbow resting upon my pillow, your head slowly sinks into your palm. Sunlight daybreaks into the room. Your eyes, until now small slits, become, for a moment nothing, and then break free of lids and become solely eyes beaming out your excitement at a new chance to live. In the mirror I spy your surprise, and amble over to your sprawled outline blown out against the patterned bedspread. The bed bends with my weight, and your elbow slips from the pillow, and your head falls to the cushy sheets, and we laugh. Slowly static builds and memories break free from acting out again moments past.

At the mention of a period

Thu, 08 Mar 2007 23:06:18 -0000

At the mention of
a period,
at the mention of
an end,
I unravel,
and my
strands of being
jump to the floor
and quickly all leave each other,
leaving me fit to fragment,
and float to the tippy-top of the
clouds in the sky,
where I can see our
entire lives etched out on the earth.
And from there I know: the
period is but a question mark
waiting to be answered.
And really it is all a possibility because a
paragraph is not made up of
solely one sentence.
There is always
a then,
and
a suddenly,
and
an after that.

I know that,
possibly,
our strands of being will intertwine,
forever.
And that the period is an ellipsis and a question mark,
but I don’t want to let punctuation dictate my life
because the clouds at the tippy-top give me a peek of the future
I know, from the view at top of that clouds, that…

You and me and us

Wed, 07 Mar 2007 22:44:06 -0000

You,
and me,
and us,
and everything that ever was,
and is,
and will be, lives
—singularly—
in mind of new born,
slowly awaking from the
abyss of nothingness
to
light of existence.

it is impossible to sleep when you're not around.

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 00:25:36 -0000

It is impossible
to sleep when you're
not around.
I find it
hard to dream
without your presence.
I inhale your exhale
and it fuels
images in my mind.

But none of that is here
when you’re at your house.

This is the miss in my missing.

I want your dent in my mattress
when I wake from
dreams.

I want to smell your
morning breath.
I want to see your
messed up hair.
I want to feel your
unwashed skin.
I want to hear your
snores as I awake up.

And this is what I miss,
even though I’ve never had it.

You say I can’t miss the future,
but I disagree,
because it will one day be the
past.

Saddam sways slowly.

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 00:15:24 -0000

Saddam sways slowly.
A blurry, pixilated, contrasted camera-phone captures the movement.
Upload.
Violence sparked by broadband connections.

Saddam sways slowly.
A video camera pans with the body.
Broadcast.
Al Iraqiya inciting violence from its satellite dishes.

Saddam sways slowly;
whether for good or for bad,
a body forever immortalized.

Lips erode my being.

Fri, 02 Mar 2007 00:14:08 -0000

Lips erode my being.
Bitterly seductive words touch my ear—
or is that her tongue?

Her spine feels like knots in a tree.
Our mouths meet in infinity.

Falling into that
bottomless pit between lust and love,
I smile.

Causing chaos we, with our eyes, leap across the Grand Canyon.

Sun, 18 Feb 2007 14:35:24 -0000

Causing chaos we
— flirtatiously, impetuously—
with our eyes,
leap across the Grand Canyon and into the
in-between infinity.

Sinuously, with our hands,
we mold castles from the air.
So, when hordes come crashing towards,
we can hide in what we have created.

Ardently smiling,
like pink side-ways Cs painted across both our faces,
we kiss and Cs, become Os, become side ways 8s,
and our ever-increasing entropy effects us,
and makes us hold on tighter.
So hard [that] we lose our apostrophes and become a singular entity,
no longer attached to the S [at the end of our noun].

Averting chaos we kissed.

Droplets from the showerhead

Fri, 16 Feb 2007 16:12:59 -0000

Droplets from the showerhead hit hard on my body.
I look up and stare at the man-made waterfall.
Water hits my eyes. I blink.
Dropping droplets in a line persist on the path
from showerhead to my head;
two-in-one conditioner is washed out by the stream;
then dripping down my body,
washing away dirt and grime of today and yesterday;
to my toes,
cleaning the crevasses between;
then floor, then drain;
funneling out to pipes and the ocean.

Puppy Dog Alliteration

Fri, 16 Feb 2007 16:10:53 -0000

Voluptuous bulges lack veracity and wonder bras removed tell truths.
Copulating kids kiss and surreptitiously make fervent love in the back of cars.
Looks lack love and pregnant single woman line up in front of clandestine fronts.
Kissing continues as death is doled by doctors dealing with teenage traumas.
Aboratative acts incite protests by mindless masses.
Kissing continues.
Lacking veracity, protests push nowhere.
Love lingers in copulated cars.

[inside brackets I tell the truths]

Fri, 16 Feb 2007 16:09:57 -0000

[inside brackets I tell the truths]
[outside I must lay my heart in syntax and form]
[i love you]
I must hide in metaphors on the outside.
I am the bird and you are the sky.
[that simply are trite]
you are my wings.
[I am my wings, I thought you were the sky]
[why am not allowed to speak, truly and freely, within stanzas of poetry?]
[is it in the rhyme schemes, self-imposed,
or within the romantic boundaries of a medium thousands of years old]
[maybe it is within me.
Maybe I don’t let myself speak.
Maybe I am just not confident enough to say, with power and significance:]
I love you.

And in the midst of allâ€”there she was.

Thu, 08 Feb 2007 01:14:03 -0000

And in the midst of all—there she was.
Like a derelict factory,
refusing to fall,
she stood,
proud.

The advancements of society were trivial to her.
She ambled,
    with her umbrella under the sun
    and her hoopskirt leaning right to left as she walked
happily along hapless streets
    and
peacefully along war-torn avenues
    and
she didn’t care in the least.

Her pink umbrella quivering in her hands floated,
    an anachronism in the modern age.
Her hoopskirt seemed to have an
    ardent glee in knowing that it
didn’t belong.

She just walked through the midst of all.

We smoke cigarettes and subtly, slyly make flirtatious glances.

Mon, 22 Jan 2007 01:29:42 -0000

City lights
illuminate
smiles that
blare
words out of their teeth.

I love you, the smile says with silence.

The flickering on/off of city
businesses,
apartments,
offices
strobes across our faces
as we sit atop man’s hill;
on the roof of an office building
we smoke cigarettes and
subtly, slyly,
make flirtatious glances at one another.

I balance my weight on a single ledge;
forty-two stories above life, I wobble.
Your hand catches mine.
My eyes catch your painted nails
sparkling with glitter.

I look up.

City lights
illuminate
smiles that
blare
words out of their teeth.

I love you, the smile says with silence.

Recording myself

Mon, 15 Jan 2007 04:44:19 -0000

so, for my girlfriend I am recording myself talking for extended periods of time about nothing in particular. She will like i hope. We really like each other, love each other, and she misses me alot. So, i think she will like it. I hope she does. Maybe give it to her for valentines day?

Inspiration from Fear.

Sun, 14 Jan 2007 18:48:49 -0000

    Inspiration can come from anywhere. For me, most of the time, it comes from a profound fear that everything I am will be gone when I die. So, I create so some part of me will live on in a form that people will be able to see. That is why I write. I write so I won’t die.
    But ideas can come from anywhere: songs, quotes, conversations, movies, books—anywhere. Most of my ideas come from conversations with people that never end in my head. I make them go on, longer, and I manipulate them into stories that I never write.
     I don’t know. I think that I create, I write, as many things as I can and post them so that, maybe, someone will come across them. So that, maybe, I will live on in their imagination, in their subconscious.

Shower Thoughts

Thu, 11 Jan 2007 06:19:57 -0000

So, I was taking a shower and I remembered that when I was a kid I always used to close my eyes really tight when I soaped up my face or used shampoo, even though the shampoo I used was "eye-friendly," as the bottle put it. While my eyes were closed I always got really scared--I thought that, since I was in this confined space, a shower/bath, and since most houses have one of these, I could be transported to another house--so after I was done shampooing or soaping, I would always open my eyes very quickly and peak behind the curtain to make sure I was still at home. After thinking of this, I peaked behind the curtain. I was still home.

Everything You've Ever Needed to Know

Thu, 11 Jan 2007 01:39:35 -0000

Okay. I am writing this. Right now, I am writing. Or am I? I could be doing the dishes, or taking a bath, or dancing in a nightclub. You don't know. This moment, this very one is different for me and you. For you, the reader, it is spent reading, but for me, the writer it is spent writing. But really, it isn't because they are two different seperate moments; my moment of writing isn't your moment of reading, but to you it seems that way. Weird. huh.

Zaadz creates an amazing environment; a safe forum for all ideas, good or bad, tasteful or indecent. I don't want to lose it. I want people to know about it. So, if you read this, tell a friend about Zaadz and tell them to tell one friend and so on. Do it. Free their minds.

Love is, to the best of my knowledge, a child. It believes anything is possible and strives to do it all, no matter the consequence. I believe love shall never grow up. I never want love to grow up.

When I grow up I want to be young

Wed, 27 Dec 2006 04:43:33 -0000

When I grow up I want to be young; on the brink of teenage cynicism, with a naïve glimmer in my eyes; thinking that the world is mine.

I don’t want to be rich, smart, funny, or social; I want to be jumping in a river, naked, not caring about the girl beside me who is also in the nude. I don’t want junk bonds or real estate; I want legos and action figures.

It must be some urge inside me that has cause this want of youth, this want of innocence; some strange urge for meandering afternoons in the summer grass.

Such a time I am sure never existed, it is a false memory I have created, but that I guess, is I want it so badly.

I remember when summer days leaked into summer nights and my mind never drifted into thoughts unknown, when raucous girls and raucous boys laughed, unknowing of their segregated future.

Nothing kills like age does; not only people, but ideas, thoughts, dreams, desires. As you age you lose, slowly, everything that makes you you. By age fifty or so you turn into a new person, with new ideas, wants, dreams. A second birth—the result of the minds lack of copulation.