It’s been a while. Can I go back? Can I do it again or have I lost the touch forever and ever? Here goes.
* * *

It’s been a long while since I’ve written something that isn’t mindless rambling or cryptic. It’s been a while since I’ve written something that was from the heart; something that was direct without censor. I don’t know why I haven’t written of the such lately. Not sure at all. Maybe because when I started this journal, it was mainly for therapeutic reasons. To help me heal and get my feelings, my frustrations, my anger, and my emotions out. But lately, this hasn’t been the case.

Lately it’s just been mindless rambling of nonsensical lyrical whimsy; of head scratching “huh?” to philosophical jib jab.

My new found cousin Jun has made a comment about how “boring” my journal is because it lacked the “emotions” that she likes in journal writing, or blogs of this manner. So I thought I’d try to give it a try again..just to see if it’ll work. Just to see if I can find that part of me again.

I don’t know what exactly it is that made us “click” so well. Ever since we first met with our awkward “who the fuck are you?” hellos, we’ve been getting along fine. We are like long lost siblings, twins maybe, who were separated at birth only to find each other after 26 almost 27 years and realize that we never missed a beat. Strange how we just connected.

We hang out often at her place, just having dinner, eating, and recently drinking, and just having a good time cracking each other up. It’s funny how this familial stranger knows more about me and what is happening in my life than anyone else in my family that I’ve grown up with. Neither my mom nor my brother knows me as well as she does. She knows about me being burned, my current infatuation and crushes…..and my cynical romantic views of love.

We’ll talk about everything. Nothing, no subject, is a taboo to talk about. We share our thoughts, our opinions so freely and abashedly that there are no secrets between us. No thoughts that we ever held back…or so it seems. We are just comfortable around each other, and the funny thing is that we met about two months ago.

And again, she made a comment about my journal writing. She made a comment about how boring it is because it lack the feelings and the emotions that she knows that I’m so full of. So I am here giving it another go.

Maybe I’m just all fixed. Maybe there’s just nothing left in me that feels broken or feel the need to be dealt with currently. Whatever that was wrong with me is either fixed or repressed to awake at another time. I’m not sure, but I would like to think for the most part, I am fixed. For the most part.

I’m not going to lie to you. I still have some issues here and there. Some bitterness in me that has grown for reasons unknown, but it’s just there.

Where it came out to her that I was bitter, where it became so apparent that I am still bitter was when we were talking about my dad and how he passed away. I told her how my dad, the stubborn man that he is worked his poor body to death. Working two full-time jobs and not caring what the lack of sleep did to his body. He just worked. Again, like I stated before, maybe it was just to fill the void of having both my brother and I graduated and being on our own, or because I moved down here, or because it is his own suicidal mid-life-crisis? I don’t know, but when talking to her, my anger that I believed to have gone surfaced, my bitterness about the situation reappeared. And I do have a right to be bitter about it, but she has the point….what’s the point in holding onto this anger? What’s the point in being so bitter about something I have absolutely no control about? What’s the point?

I told her that most of my “emotional” writing in the journal are mainly the earlier ones, the ones I wrote in the first yean and a half of the blog’s inception. I held nothing back. No feelings or emotions were masked by the lyrical whimsy of a mad man where he rhymes to his own reason. All that was in the first half of this journal was me and my therapy.

This past weekend after hearing her talking about my journal, I reread some of the entries that I told her to read. I’m not sure if she read it yet, but I’m sure she will. I read the entry where I confessed my guilt toward my father’s death. That was the first entry towards my therapy. Even now, almost three years after his passing, almost three years to the day that I wrote that entry, tears still flowed. I couldn’t stop those tears from falling.

Those words I wrote touched a part of me that I thought was lost a long time ago. It touched feelings that I hid away. It opened up a part of me that is better left unopened. That is all in the past and I need to focus on what is happening with me now. But, there’s still a part of me who feels that I shouldn’t forget. There’s a part of me that feels that I shouldn’t hide those feelings away forever because they will always be a part of me, a reminder of who I am today. That I am my father. Very much so, as much as I don’t like to be compared to him, I am my father.

Reading words from friends and family who replied to my email, who replied to that entry, tears start to flow too. I guess it was just a cry that I really need to cleanse the soul. Everyone needs to cry from time to time right? So he knows that he can actually feel. I guess.

May 10th is fast approaching as my birthday is fast approaching. I wonder how I am going to take it this year? Will I actually be okay this year or will I feel depressed, angry, frustrated like I did last year? It was surprising to me what I felt about that day last year. It was a really really rough time for me last year, but I was really okay with it the year before. Strange how feelings work. Maybe because it was his memorial the year before, it was easier for me to deal and because last year was just a year…with no memorial, a year where we went on with our lives. I hated feeling that way; the anger, the pain, the disappointment, the guilt. Even now, writing it, I fight back the tears. But none will spill tonight. None will fall.

After reading about my father, I read the entry about my dear grandmother. I find it fitting how it still touched me. I find it comforting to know that she’s still constantly on my mind. I’m writing a script right now that has a storyline that deals with a grandmother that lives in a nursing home. In a way it is very autobiographical, but in a way it is pure fiction, pure drama, but the heart of it is still there. I read what I wrote, and again, tears flowed. Remembering how weak and fragile she was in there. Imagining how depressing it must be to know that your kids couldn’t do what they needed to do and abandoned you to someone else’s care. A convalescent home where no one speaks your language…a convalescent home where you just wait to die.

I remember writing and I remember how angry I was at my father for not telling me that my grandmother passed away. Again, I had to hear it from my cousin, and I thought that I deserved to hear it from my father when she passed away. But I didn’t. I was so angry at my father. I remember the next day after I heard, I went into work and just broke down in front of my new friends. I never cried like that in front of people before, especially people I’ve only known for a month. But I did. The tears wouldn’t stop falling and my anger kept boiling inside of me.

Stephanie said I should talk to my father about how I was feeling. She thought it would be good if I told him that I should have known about my grandma passing away much sooner. But I didn’t talk like my family never talked. We just kept things boiling inside hoping they will go away because we don’t want to bother other people with our own personal problems because these problems can be dealt with by ourselves.

But looking back now, remembering how I got the call from my brother that my father passed away, I could understand now. There were people that he needed to call first. I could wait.

It was a Saturday morning. I was at Blockbuster thinking about renting a movie, but nothing seemed to have interested me. I got to the H section in the new releases and I got a call from my brother. He was crying on the phone. In my life, I rarely see him cry or show any emotions of any kind, so I was taken back. I heard my mom crying in the back and hear him say “Dad passed away”, but it just didn’t register. I kept asking him to repeat it and he just told me again with a bigger wail.

It was a mean joke of some kind. It has to be. That’s what I thought, but it wasn’t. It still didn’t register. I stepped outside because I know I’m getting loud, thinking that will get me the answers that I needed. “What happened?” “How?” “Why?” the barrage of questions fire and fire, and he answered the best that his emotions can. Again, he rarely cries. I hear his sobs and my mom’s wails but it still didn’t register. My dad died of a heart attack. I still don’t believe it.

I walked back to the car and just think things through. I hear it, I processed it, but I still couldn’t understand. My brother told me to call all of my relatives down in California because I lived down here. I knew my job, but I still didn’t understand why. It was just a mass confusion and a jumbled mess of thoughts. I sat in the car, just processing everything and planning out what needs to be done next. When I thought it hit me, when I thought that it finally hit me it really didn’t. The tears that flowed seemed forced, seems fake, because it was. It absolutely was because it hasn’t hit me yet. It was like I was playing a part and that I was supposed to cry because the part asked for it.

I got home and made my first call. It was my Great Uncle. It finally hit me when I the first words out. “My Dad passed away” as I told him in Chinese. The tears and emotions that flowed after the first word was real. It was true emotions because it absolutely me hit me like a large semi truck running over a bunny rabbit; and I was the bunny rabbit. My father passed away. Me calling family confirms it. It’s no joke anymore because it is involving family that is other than me. I lost it. Couldn’t gather my thoughts, couldn’t hold together. Hearing my Great Uncle crack didn’t help either.

One call down, and many more to go. Once call down and many more to go. With each call, the more together I got. With each call, the fact sunk in. With each call, the shock wore off.

Now I understand why it took so long to call me. My dad had to make the same calls to my uncles and aunts and my cousins. He had to do the things I did. Though with my Grandma, it was partly expected, but still, the process is still the same.

With understanding, comes healing. With healing your anger subsides and you move on in life.

I remember those days clearly like I remember most days. Some of the details may blur, but I remember.

Bitterness. Anger. Why is it still with me? I don’t know. Maybe it’s what Jun feared, to have a goal and to die right after you reach it. Maybe that’s why I am still so bitter about my father’s death. It’s like that ultimate life long wish to only die right when you get that wish; to never really ever truly enjoy that wish, that goal. Maybe that’s why.

I believed I wrote about this in one of my many entries. In fact, I’m sure I did. But my father was a very distant father. My family was very emotionally closed off. Cold and distant. We never really talked about our emotions. The only emotions they ever showed was anger when my brother and I would do something wrong. Scolding. Overprotectivness. They did it to protect us from the world. What I really wanted was to able to just talk. To be able to talk about how I am doing, to talk about how he was doing, to bond the way family is supposed to bond. To build up that connection.

I finally managed that when I moved down here. My father would call me weekly just to check up and see how I was doing. I miss his calls. His weekly “what’s up man”? I truly miss them. What I wouldn’t give to hear those words from him again. We were bonding. My goal, my wish was achieved and then just like that, on Saturday morning right out of the blue, it was taken away from me. Bitterness.

It still lingers with me. Bitterness. From his death, from being burned, from life.

But like Jun said, I shouldn’t be bitter about that. There’s no reason for me to be bitter about his death. It was out of my hands. It just happened. Me moving down here didn’t cause him to have a heart attack no matter how much I believed it did. It just plain didn’t. Life happened. Life took its course. Life took my dad away. Life.

With that that bitterness will just “puff” and disappear. “Puff” Gone. Just like that.
* * *

All that is left if a bitterness of a different kind. All that is left is a bitterness that goes hand in hand with not trusting women. It was my fault really. It really was and I just let the situation got the better of me. I just hope that I don’t let this lack of trust get in the way of me finding truly something that is worth giving my whole heart to, instead of giving only half my heart because I just don’t want it to shatter again.

Bitterness from being burned. I hope it doesn’t happen, but sometimes I just have to go all in and see where things go. I’ve taken that chance before with all of my heart and I have survived. Just some mending time and look here I am, back on the saddle. So I should truly trust what is happening now and not be my cynical self and question it. Just go all in again. You’ll survive.

There’s nothing I need to protect. I’ve been hurt quite a few times with unrequited love. I been hurt by a relationship that I thought was more than what it really was. So why not with this one. Trust when she says that there’s no one else. Trust when she says that she hasn’t written me off just as a fuck buddy yet. Just trust her. Even if she’s seeing someone else, why does it really matter? It’s not like we are exclusive. It’s not like we are actually boyfriend and girlfriend. I think I’m just going to go with the flow like I always try to do.

She knows where I am coming from. She knows that I not looking for strictly the physical. She knows because of my “innocence”, my romantic ideals of what relationships should be, she knows I want the intimacy, she knows I want the relationship. She knows.

But it’s hard especially if I am the only one feeling this way. Relationships takes two people that feel the same way to work. Maybe we are just too different; in different times in our life, looking for different things. Maybe.

Jun feels that I should find someone with the same intentions as mine. She doesn’t want me to lose this “innocence” that I have, this sweetness that is me…the romantic ideals that I hold so dear. She doesn’t want me to lose that. She knows that I might if I get burned too many times, leaving only the bitter old man that I am capable of being. But my dear cousin needs to know that I must go through with whatever it is. Maybe I am a masochist and that I know this will go sour, but I need to go through with this because maybe she is the “one” that my cousins talks so hopefully about. Maybe this girl is my one true love and I can’t be sure about it if I don’t go through with it. I am willing to get hurt to try and see if it is meant to be.

If it wasn’t meant to be, then it truly wasn’t meant to be. Then I will get up, dust myself off, and try again.

I know I’ve said that I am done looking for that someone. I am finished. With this one, if it ends, it ends. I’m not looking any more. I’m not going to actively search to find the one that they call “my true love”. I give up the search, because things like this should never be sought after. It should always just happen. Again, maybe that’s that innocence talking, but it just feels right.

I know I am a big romantic at heart, always idolizing what love should truly be, but the cynic in me just makes my beliefs in love to be realistic. And I’m just torn between my idealism and realism, and sadly it just seems realism is winning out. Relationships happen and it never ever truly is what it is portrayed in the movies and novels. Love will always be Life, where it’s a mixture of good and bad.

Again, my search for love is done. It will not happen again. If this fizzles, I can truly imagine myself be all right being a bachelor for the rest of my life. I can also see my life content with someone in it too. I can go either way. This doesn’t mean that I am closed off to any relationships of any kind. No. If I meet someone who I get along with and develop those feelings for, I would bet that I would take that risk again, and hit or miss, I don’t know. But I’m willing to take that shot again. But, again, I’m not going to actively go out searching for it. I’ve come that that decision.

Fading. Fading. The light fades its once bright shiny ray of savior until it is just blackness. The Star that once shined so brightly shines no more. Dead. Silent. Cold…an ever expanding ball of fire that burned it’s last bit of gas, leaving nothing but a empty vastness of space, sucking in all unsuspecting souls too blinded to see her black hole.

Fading. Fading. The light fades from the once clear blue skies and fade into the darkness of night. Here the predators comes to find its prey. Only here do the strong survive. Survival of the fittest.

We move on. Our eyes adjust to the darkness. We feel out our surroundings. We adapt to the environment. We just be our bettered selves in the unconscious sun’s glory.
* * *

Typing away, sitting away, watching the screen as my once dexterous fingers type away the words that I think the second before, trying to come up with something worthwhile to write.

I cannot think of anything as I sit here, just watching. Just watching as things just go and go, never passing me by because there is nothing to see that can pass me by.

I am all caught up in all standards of life. I am all caught up on what is necessary to be a person. I am all caught up. I have a heart and a soul. A mind and a body.

Looking deep inside this little mind that is mine, I reach, I grasp for things to write. I struggle to find the all-echoing thought that once haunted my daily existence. The philosophical proverbs that ring so true and sounds so cryptic. I struggle to find the words to describe how my life has changed. I struggle to remember the things that I remembered just second, hours, days, weeks, months, years before. I struggle.

Life wouldn’t be anything if there weren’t struggle. Life will be one boring moment after another…no learning curve. Struggles make us wise, help us grow. As we learn to cope with these struggles, we become better people.

A fading star that shined so brightly has brought upon other connections that seem to be much stronger.

Never have we met but I could feel the bond we share. Words exchanged from the cold void that I am so familiar with, to the cellular dialogue that goes between us. Laughs, jokes, taunts, secrets and lies. Conversation. Light and deep. Enlightening and heartfelt. True.
* * *

Done. Search no more. No more. No more. These feelings of searching, the unnecessary needs of finding, of connecting once again exists no more.

I am done. I am through. I call it quits in this little game. There is no point. Things like these should never be sought after. Things like these should never be hunted down. Things like these should never be forced. They should just happen.

Things like these should just be for the sake of being. They should exist out of obscurity because it feels truer this way. There’s no point in searching, because all in all it will just end up being a DESPERATE search. Exhausted desperation that leads one to find a treasure of fools gold.

Again, The Alchemist wasn’t successful in turning lead into gold with the good ol’ Philosopher’s Stone that Van sung so joyfully about.
It may look like the real thing, smell like the real thing, feel like the real thing…but all of these things are just surface, just face to fool you.

Through trials and tests, finding the mass, displacing the water, we find that deep inside it is only black lead, painted with the shiny valued exterior that we all craved about way back in 1849.

Gold like this is something that you come upon out of the blue. Not looking. Not wanting. Not needing. A pleasant surprise that turns your fortune around. It just happens.

Once you get that inkling…once you find traces of gold dust, then you go searching for it. You go and work for it, to find the riches that are beyond your imagination.

You go to the river, you sift through the boulders, the rocks, the pebbles, the sand. You sift and you sift…wash and wash. Aching back, bloody fingers, creaky knees. It’s a long and hard task, but if you are ever so fortunate, if you are ever so lucky, you strike it rich. You find the most valuable gift known to man.

But only if you are ever so fortunate. For some, even though they never will strike it rich, the feeling of being only a step away to economic freedom is all they need. Others aren’t so fortunate. Turning bitter and angry, one step from glory but never tasting glory is just too much to bare. They could go on no longer.

Out of hope and with nothing but desperation, some do drastic things; become a outcast to society, left with nothing but that feeling of lost glory. They are a lost cause. There’s nothing in them anymore. Bitter to the end.

But would being one step away from glory and never reaching it prove my fate as a lost soul? Only time will tell. For the time being, I am content with gold dust.
* * *

How can this be? How can this happen? Where did this connection come from?

How can we be so close, yet we’ve only met a little over a month ago? It seems like we’ve always known each other….maybe from a past life or something…or maybe we both are sheep. Strange how astrology works sometimes.

Open. Close. That’s what we both are to each other. I am close to her than most all family that I’ve grown up and hung out with. Shit, she knows more about my life now than any family. I am more close to her than my brother. We talk about anything, joke about anything. Open. Close.

It’s just strange to share this connection with someone who I only just met. It’s strange indeed. Friends from a past life, I’m sure.

Maybe we are just two open people, unashamed of being ourselves, each accepting our faults and our virtues and presenting them to the other whole heartedly, not holding anything back because we both know that the other will accept us for who we truly are?

Words, thoughts, feelings, secrets, life flow between us without censor. She knows more about me in this short time than most family know in my lifetime. Just strange how the universe work sometimes. Strange.

But maybe I just got to the point where I am comfortable with who I am; comfortable with my faults and my insecurities; comfortable in my own skin to just be myself to each and all. Open enough to share my personal secrets for everyone who have open ears…maybe.

It sure feels that way to many down here.

Who knows what this sibling relationship will bring me…who knows what this sibling relationship means…who knows?

“Sex appeal”…apparently that’s what we share. Genetics maybe, but I disagree. There’s just no sex appeal in me. I think the thing that she can’t pinpoint, the thing that she struggled to come up with is genuiness..openness…comfort.

We have that much in common. We don’t try to be more than what we are. We don’t try to be less than what we are either. We are just who we are.

Humor. Personality. The same through and through. Sure she has more life experiences, but we are still the same. Different upbringings, yet we are still the same. Maybe my science and her God ran out of personalities in that part of Vietnam in 39 days and I ended up with the same predisposed personality that she had? Possibility…the world is full of them.

My new found family. My family away from family. My new life. My new skin. My new me. Me. Me. Me.

It’s all about me.

It’s late late or is it early early? I cannot tell as this is the lastest I’ve been up in a long while trying to come up with the next scenario in my marriage proposal.

I haven’t figured out what it is that I need to do. I haven’t figured out who this life will end with. Who will be the one that I ultimately end up with…the wild shot gun marriage or the single mother that I am so dear to?

Who is it going to be? Who?

So I sit here and the type the words to unwind this little mind, getting into the mindset to feel intelligent again; to fill my head with the witty charm that seems to come out around people now and not with my arthritic fingers. What a shame, what a shame.

Touch me gently as I type these words to fill the empty void, typing away as Pickles lie still, sleeping on the carpet instead of the bed that I got for him.

Such a playful goob that Pickles is. So young and mature at the same time. A old soul youngin like his father is.

Going away, going away, typing away, typing away.

Flowers galore, flowers a plenty, sending it to and fro with the sunny brightness of rhyme and words. Bright Light. Blush Crush. Words that string together….(some taken out here of course).

Cute and cute, funny and interesting. Words I wrote and a personality revelation to the one who was pleasantly surprised.

That’s your cousin. Ewwww are the thoughts. Mine too. Flattered to say the least, but c’mon….gay?

Feminine Feminine. I couldn’t help it that my mom wanted a girl….could I?

Sensitive. The mythical sensitive man that all women wish they had….but are too drawn by the bad boy drama that they love so much. Ever alone, ever alone.

Done done done. No more girls. No more relationships. Whatever comes will come my way. Not looking. Not attempting. Things could go either way and I’m fine with it.

Company company, all I need is very little company. Companionship of the four legged kind is all that I need at the moment. Something distracting from the daily grind of sleeping and napping.

Write write write. I need to get my ass to write. I can’t put the important words down on paper. I’ve lost the ability to string words together…to make a sentence, to write dialogue, to write a scene, to complete a script. Lost and gone. Lost and gone. My limited talent is limited to little bombs going pom pom.

Life just kind of empties out when you strive to do so much but are too afraid to do anything about it. The expectation and the yearning to do something more, but you are too afraid to take that first step. Empties Out. Nothing more.

Don’t expect anything. Don’t look forward to anything. Just let things come to you. Just let experiences come find you…and you will experience life as life was meant to be experienced. Don’t let new experiences come and go without jumping on board for the ride….who says you can’t jump on the bandwagon…jump on and scream Geronimo!!!!

Less of a disappointment. Lessen the pain. Don’t expect anything. Let things happen.

Whatever will be will be. C’est la vie.

sunny sunny glimmer shimmer
falling falling drop flop
splash splash tread dread
fear fear something nothing
live live cry die

Gibberish jibberish nothing makes sense nothing makes sense nothing flows right nothing is true nothing is real all of reality is lacking of punctuation as this sentence is words just crash into other words and other thoughts until it becomes a nonsensical jumble mess of jibberishness gibber jabbing of gib gab fan dab

Pickles on my floor. Pickles in my sandwich. Cut up pickles in my relish on the hot dog that I consume. Pickles here Pickles there Everywhere a Pickles Every Pickles there.

Lickity lick of wet nose and slobbering tongue. Jumping and jiving as we chase each other around the coffee table playing keep away and snapping at my arm because he thinks that’s play. Foolishness and just plain ignorance.

Tea tea, so late in the night makes me ramble like a goose in a gander falling prey to the crocodile in the water with flock of seagulls watching the consumption as some people go take on me with the a ha in the worlds.

Just been asked if I want to stay online. Yes I do. Yes I do.

Wide awake in the caffeine coma of oolong and water. Wide awake into the night with my 1s and 0s. Wide awake with my sleeping dog all stiff and still, waiting for his master to go into the bedroom because it doesn’t want to leave his side.

Night will turn into day and day will go into night and the cycle goes and goes as the world turns and turns like the tv soap opera on that television network.

RENT sings its little songs to my toe tapping ditty of joy and amusement as it makes me smile from ear to ear for its catching rhymes and tempos.

Light my candle will you?

Short and loud. Are you it?

Twin. What a coincidence.

from me to you, it’s something….cool
hope it’s bright like the light
it makes you blush like a crush
from the meanie that called you names

bright as your eyes
sunny as your smile
as frangrant as your scent
and beautiful to boot
hope it makes you smile like your use to

Here I am, standing in the mist…well actually I’m sitting in the mist. Sitting in this new coffee shop that I’m visiting, checking up on the wifi service that they provide. It’s a quaint little place, quiet to an extent, but the hours aren’t to my liking. Closing early, closing early. 9 9 9 9.

This past month has gone by in a blur. These past couple of months has gone by in a blur. Ever since, September. A blur. Things come and go, come and go. It’s been only 5 months, almost half a year, but it seems so much longer. It feels like years has passed since then.

Now we come to a new year. A new lunar year. The year of the Dog. Bow wow.

I don’t know how much writing I’m going to get done. I don’t know how my writing I need to do. I don’t know much of anything anymore, but that I like family. For the most part I miss family, the loud get togethers, the big “hey how do you do’s” etc. etc. etc.

Being at my Great Uncle’s this past weekend to celebrate the coming of the new year is always a great treat. I met family I never met before. I get to be the kid that I always am, chasing the little adorable little girl around the garage. I had fun.

Maybe it’s just my age, or maybe I’ve changed so much, but it just feels that I’ve gotten quite comfortable in most social situations. I felt comfortable being with the new found cousins that I never met before.

I picked up right where I left off with that ol’ high school crush I just connected with again.

I am who I am with the ol’ strange internet stranger that keeps writing me back.

I have grown up, I have reached a new stage in my life. I am comfortable with who I am, I am found.

Now, it just seems that my new found self is getting me in trouble. Nothing too unusual. My words flow out of my mouth, tingle down my fingers; my verse comes out so smoothly and offensive.

Pissing people off is the lesson that I will learn to cope with this next year. I’m a month or two deep in this new phase, but I’m still learning and feeling who can handle the smart ass that is me.

Not many can. They just don’t have that thick skin. Others can, for they know me. But it just seems that I’m just getting myself in trouble with my “smooth” mouth.

My humor is crude, rude, and at most times hard to swallow. My humor is my humor. Dry. Sarcastic. Witty. Smart Ass-y, if there is such a term.

That’s just me. That’s what I’ve always been. I’ve just refined it as I became more comfortable with who I am.

Now that things are done and done and done, it’s just time for me to focus on the things to come. No more of these searches for these unattainable and not worth my time girls.

Now is the time to just focus and enjoy the life that I lead. If that means not going out weeks at a time, then it’s not going out weeks at a time.

I don’t know what I want to write tonight. I don’t know what I want to say here on this blog, but I know that I need to write. I thought about poetry, but nothing comes to mind, no words rhyme.

Most of my writing seems to be a free verse poem anyway, so that’s my poetry for the day.

It’s been a while since I’ve written a poem. A decent poem, and I have no inspiration to write. The last poem that I wrote was to the Starry Flower that will never be, and it has been deleted and forgotten. I cannot search for the words no more, put them in place. It is lost.

Now, I just write and write to fill the void. I just write and write to get my exercise. I just write and write.

I came to the conclusion this past weekend, after being told so so many times before, but I’m really good with kids. Strangers ask if I have any and they tell me that I’m good with them. I am good with them. I’m just a kid at heart. I guess that’s where our connection lay.

It just makes me feel that I really want kids. I really do. Now will I be married when I’m having these kids, that’s a different story. Should I adopt or should I go about the old fashion way or some derivation of it? I don’t know.

Maybe I’m just a big kid, never grown up to realize that life is passing me by. Just too stubborn and too childish to realize that life is something more to my meager existence…but I know it’s not true. I’m an old soul trying to recapture his youth and succeeding at it with the right people.

Gone, lost, but not forgotten
You cloud my memories
You jumble my thoughts

I stand encompassed by your silvery mist
Searching for my way
Stumbling into humility

You were always just out of reach
There’s no point in connecting
Any attempt is an fruitless effort

I can’t shake your essence
I am forever changed
You will always be my history

Today was just going to be a normal Saturday. Wake up, pay my bills and then go watch a movie. Which was all done and done.

I went to the Westside Pavilion today and a small part of my life from this day forward has changed. I lost one of my loves. It is gone forever, never to return, unless there is a miracle. With the market being it is today, I don’t think there will be one.

The Barnes & Noble at Westside Pavilion will be closing next week. I just found out today. The store is almost empty with its clearance sale. Flocks and flocks of bargain book buyers stand before the shelves, looking, skimming, reading, leering, lining up with their armful of books, striking gold.

My love of that place will be lost to me forever.

My secret little hiding place is forever gone. I will never be able to write on that bridge anymore. The tables are gone. The chairs are gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

I am left to find a new desolate place to do my writing, when I don’t feel like writing at home. I guess it is a good thing for me to lose this love, like any other loves that I’ve lost in my life. It teaches me that nothing is ever lasting and that things just pick up and leaves at any moments notice. So enjoy it while you can. Enjoy it while you can.

I had some great moments there, sitting high up there alone jotting down my latest blurbs, my latest scenes, and just thinking about thinking and writing about thinking and writing about life. It is my own Fortress of Solitude, but without the ice and cold.

Just sitting there, looking out at the busy intersection below, Westwood & Pico, just seeing life passing me by, I have no regrets. I was doing something that I grown to love. I was at a place I loved to be.

Studying the Banana Republic ad board and their little quips of life and all things Banana. Trying to find a wireless connection that worked in the bridge.

Just being there with my laptop and my music, thinking, being on my own, doing the thing that I do best. Those were the times.

But I haven’t done it in a while. I haven’t gone there in what seem millennia upon millennia. The little thing called Life has gotten in the way. And now that I am back, ready to do what I do best, it is gone.

I guess that’s my theme for the past couple of months. Love lost. Well technically, just losing things. Friends, hiding places, opportunities, drives, money, relationships, etc…. Lost.

I’m back to where I am ages ago. Me on my own, just the way I like it. Just the way things were supposed to be, but I just got too curious as to “what is out there”. I just got to curious and curiosity killed the cat.

But it’s all for the best. I will have more time for the things that matter to me, at this moment. My writing. My dog, once I get one. My life, putting things back together, pasting the fallen pieces into place.
* * *

Sweetening things up a bit would be nice also. Chilling down from boiling anger that I was feeling. Just strictly moving on from the things that I need to move on from. The past will stay in the past and I will look at where things are now.

Getting things all out so I could feel better. Getting things all out so I won’t be mad at her anymore. Just getting things all out so I can move on.

I’ve been bitten by the bitter bug and it poisoned me.

I don’t want to be mad at her. I know she did it because she needed to. Things weren’t working out. Things just weren’t. We weren’t the “right fit”. I thought things could have worked for us, longer than our time together, but looking at it now, I think that she did the right thing.

I’m not the assertive one that could have done it, but I would have when the time came. She did it before I could. She did. But again, the idealist, the romantic in me thought things could have gone better.

From the first date, something was missing. From the first day, things were destined to end the way it did. From the first date.

We were just too different. I live the lax pace of life, and she loved “life”. That is something I could never have offered to her. The wild parties, the dance-a-thons, the money, the cars. Things that I could never have offered, because they never mattered to me.

From the first date I knew. But, I was just too blinded by what it was to do anything about it. It was my first “dating experience” which turned to my first “relationship”. It was my first, and I didn’t know the rules, so I just played and played, learning from my mistakes and never listening to my gut.

Things went and went from our second date to our third. Spending time with the boys brought out the boy in me to just play along. To just have the fun that I needed to have. To see her in a different light and finding the thing that we can connect on. And we did. Family. Kids. Just our heart to hearts. But without them, what was there?

Empty air.

Silent searches.

She in her head and me in mine.

But it was my first. I didn’t know the rules. I learned them as I played along and soon I was out played. I was out of my league, me a beginner playing with a expert in the field.

The kid that came out grew up into the man that I’ve always been. I wanted more than just the play. I wanted something deep. Something that moved my soul. But it was never there. It was just too foolish of me to think that it was something more. Curse my romanticism.

We were just too “open” for that connection to start. “Open” for the sake of being “open” because it was a first for the both of us. Dating for me, and dating for her. We were just too “open”.

I made the mistake of not being “open” and just being with her. She had no problems. But she did what she needed to do. She did what she had to do to get better, to feel better, to get whatever it is that was messing her up out of her system.

It’s funny how that dynamic worked. I helped her fix herself and now I’m the one who needs fixing.

At the same time as she was getting better, I wasn’t. The doubts. The games. The mind fucks. The feelings of distance. The suspicion. The feelings of being a fool. The feelings just killed me. Attachment to someone who didn’t, who never saw me in that light. Blinded by what I thought to be love. Blinded by lust. Blinded. I hated the feeling, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. It was just my naiveté. It was just me.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I do need to date more, to experience more, so I know how to love. So I know how to play the game. So I know what the rules are. But, I don’t want to play the way she did.

I’m just not built that way. That is why I can never date.

But, it is for the best. Writing this out. Getting this out. Talking with friends. “Talking” with family. Venting with friends, and letting family know, it is all for the best.

My sessions with these sad sappy love songs. Don’t Forget About Us, We Belong Together (Remix) found after the end and my personal favorite, even when we were still dating Burn. I’m such a girl, but I can’t stop the feelings that I’m feeling.

My Scrooge went away this past year and I caved and bought her a present even though she told me not to. A simple silver necklace with a three star pendant and a matching earring set. Wrapped my little pink bow and decided to hide it at her apartment the next time I saw her. But it never happened.

I can move on from what happened. Separate myself from the experience. Of course I will never forget it. It will forever be burned into my memory of what happened between us of what we shared. We did have some good times. Some sweet moments. Some sugary laughs. We did have a connection, but ultimately it wasn’t a connection that really mattered. We were just too different. We weren’t the “right fit”.

It will be an example of what not to do in the next relationship. Never keep it “open”. Never let it be “open”. Just never.

So, I’m better. I’m better. I came out of this damaged, but again, when haven’t I been damaged?

I haven’t “talked” to her since Christmas when she wrote me. I thought I would have been fixed by then, but I wasn’t. I was still bitter and angry as presented in my reply to her. I haven’t heard back.

I think it’s for the best that things are over now. No communication and the connection is severed. No ties between us. She’s in her own world and I’m in mine.

I don’t think I will ever see her again. I don’t think I’ll ever talk to her again. I don’t think I’ll ever write to her again. I don’t know if she’ll come up in my writing. I’m sure she will in one form or another. But yeah, no more of her. It’s for the best.

What would be the point of me seeing her again? What would be the point of me talking to her again? What would be the point of me writing to her again? Nothing. We will never be together. We will never be with each other. We will just never be. There will never be a “we” again. There just isn’t.

Why spend time mending relationships that will never go anywhere? We left on the grounds that we left. She’s living her own life with the new boyfriend that she’s found, moving in a new direction that she plotted out herself and I’m getting back to my old life, but now with new experiences to draw from. Nothing between us really matters anymore. Nothing.

There’s no point in keeping up acquaintances. I just don’t know what will happen. Whether things will resurface on my end, or even hers. There’s just no point. Why put myself through that? Why go through that? So no. Connection severed and all is gone. It’s all for the best.

Blog, first and last, last and first. This will be my first and last blog here on myspace.

I have another blog. Not here, but there. I keep it up quite frequently, but not really.

It is just a blog of random thoughts and streams of consciousness. There is no point in me writing down my daily routines and my daily happenings considering the same shit happens every day. Day in and day out. Sun rise and sun set.

Here is the link. http://www.livejournal.com/users/hermitsmoores/

It’s just me rambling and rambling and rambling. Shit I do everyday but in the “word” form.

I go there and I go here, I go everywhere with that blog. All my thoughts and feelings. All my hearts and emotions. All my soul and perversions. Everything is in that blog. Most public, some private.

Writing. Daily juice cleansing. Pumping. Pumping. Words flow into the empty void of these pages here and mainly in the pages there.

This is an experiment to see if I can do it. This is an experiment to see if this will work. Will I be able to put my thoughts down with where I am now? Will I be able to put my thoughts down with the tv taunting me, teasing me, asking me, begging me to turn it on? Will I be able to jibjab with my usual diatribes as my comfy brand new futon yells at me to lay on it, to nap on it, to give it the warmth that it needs, to have it fulfill its purpose of being used? Will I be able to?

Experiment, test, a trial run to see if I really do need to go out and get my thoughts down.

This year will be the year. This year will be the time. I will get my work done. There’s no point in my dilly dallying with the things that I dilly dally with and just get on pace and finish the things that I need to finish.

I write and write with my usual speed and my usual censor as I type and type without the “correctness” of prose and grammar. Things just flow and flow until the pages are filled with these little words that makes sentences and complete thoughts.

My constant readers will be familiar with my style and subject. Virgins will find it tedious and a bore. If you get through one, you can get through them all. If not, “hasta la vista” as they love to say. Thank you for your valuable time and effort.

Thank you all.

I just sit here, at my comfy new home, just thinking about things that I usually do. Things that came to pass as of late floods my mind. That fateful night. The dates of dates, the times of times, the girls of girls, my life my life. Things pass through my mind like the moving pictures that crosses the silver screen or the square tube. Things move in fast forward and reverse in super speed and in the oh so slo mo that I am so fond of, just picking out the miniscule details that I’ve missed along the way.

Analyzing the picture frames of my unconscious movie that plays over and over in my head, I cannot make heads or tails to the riddle that clouds my mind.

I cannot make sense of what my mind is telling me to do. I cannot jump on and clutch the advice that my gut is suggesting. I cannot do anything because I’m just a confused jumble mess of “what’s going on?”.

Who is it that I am to end up with? Who is it that is supposed to spend their life with me, besides myself?

A cloudy answer is in front of me. A foggy silhouette stands in the gray mist. It looks like myself.

So sad indeed, sad to be, but happy to go on and move forward from the compass that was guiding me in the wrong direction. Now I am back on the “lost” track that I was on, no longer guided by the misguiding compass.

Now I am lost on my own terms. Lost at my own choice. Just aimlessly wandering, going wherever it is that my feet want to go.

But wherever it goes, I will never know. I never know where it is that I will go. Looking back at the past year, seeing where I’ve been, I would never have imagined.

It’s about damn time. Yes it is. It’s about damn time. It sure took me a long time to get there. A very long ass time, but I got there and now it is time for me to move on and go somewhere else. Go where I need to be, maybe, hopefully. It just doesn’t sound too scary anymore, but it is still a little bit out of my grasp.

I reach and reach, but I grab at nothing but thin air. But sometimes it is best to reach out and grab nothing. Just to reach out and make the attempt makes up for all the emptiness that you are grabbing for.

Effort. Tries. Just doing what it is that you are doing to survive the game called life. You reach and reach, hoping and hoping, grabbing and grabbing, until your last breath, doing whatever it is that you need to do. Effort. Tries.

This will go here and there as I get my unfocused focus down into this empty void and putting it down in history that these combinations of words were actually placed together to create something so unique and so different that nothing can duplicate it unless it needs to be duplicated for preservation sake.