This Day of Age

relentless removal

still suffering from the last repercussions

radiant lies from the back of my hand

quiet raindrops of sorrow

the grayest day ive ever seen

may I take every word back

now im plagued with old memories

a familiar smell, I can never smell it the right way

listening to old songs that remind me of when(of then)

how I wish things would never change

cause I changed, you changed

and now were here on the grayest day ive ever seen

I cannot awake from this bad dream

Been trying to sleep it off, but I cant sleep

If only I could sleep forever

Something changed, when or how, ill never know

Never know how it could have been

Said all the right things, but wrote

Wrote all the wrong things, wrote too much

Too much expectance of something more

Well im gone

Ive gone into the deepest depression ive ever had

It seems so surreal, so out of place

Loss of innocence, loss of knowing better

Bounds to regrets so easily, so carelessly, so helplessly

Wanting to change what I cannot

Old news weve read before

Nothing more than a failure, another mistake

Hypocritical lies, under-developed beliefs

Another substantial thesis, better left unheard

Hold your tongue in hopes of denial

Always last to escape

Another freelance escapade, ride along

for another stupid idea

Always last to learn the lesson

Always last to realize the point

Last to see the picture

Estranged memories left for exposure, wrongful introspection

Was never that far from the soul

Of a remorseful sinner

Far below from my own potential, my own mind in its right place

On my last wall, my last mask,

Nothing more to hide,

Nothing more I can hide behind.

Apathy ( A loss of Innocence)

There’s a story behind every pair of eyes

A certain kind of fable of tragedies

I know I’ve been holding out on you

Trying to hide my lack of feeling

I remember the days when I could feel

The endless heartaches I had for weeks, years

Take me back to that childhood feeling

Cause I know I should feel more than this

This bitter emptiness

You look at me with such sorrowful eyes full of tears

And I, I stare blankly

A wide-eyed look of interest with nothing to say

I could act like I care

Put on a more expressional mask

Tell you everything you need to hear

When the truth is: There is never enough pain in the world

Our lives have begun to revolve around the need to hurt others

I remember a time when it was easier

When we weren’t so eager

When we were all sincere and happier

But that time has past.

Unresolved Issues

I'm avoiding my father. I know its wrong, but I cant help it.Sometimes it hurts too much for me. Talking to him. Being around him. Listening to him talk about my brothers. Noticing that he's obviously depressed. It hurts. It's not fair. Perhaps it will never be fair. Eight years. Eight years of his absence. No calls, no letters, no birthday cards. Nothing. He's making up for lost times now, but I don't think it will ever be good enough. I thought it would be, I was hoping it would be. I'm old enough now not to care or need a father. Old enough to put it all behind me, but he cant seem to get the idea.
I was content for a moment. I felt like it was all falling into place. All I cared about was spending time with him and having him around finally. And that's it, "finally."There should be no "finally".And no " I love yous." It shouldn't hurt to hear your father say "I love you," but it does. If he had loved me he wouldn't have missed those eight years. Yet, what hurts the most is when he calls me to tell me he misses my little brother.That he's fifteen now.
Then it occurred to me that he wasn't calling me because he wanted to talk to me and express his love;it was that he had no on else to call and I'm the only child he can speak to. He called me because he couldn't speak to my brother. Even if the whole situation might have caused him to appreciate who he does have, it doesn't help much. It doesn't make it better or less hurtful.
The simple fact is he's fighting for them, but he never fought for me. He gave up on me. He gave up.

Eric Bryant has the first and for awhile-only- Pablo Neruda book I have. It also happens to be my favorite. He's had for almost a year and a half. I keep emailing him and telling him he should mail it, but I have yet to have received it and now he doesn't even respond to me. It severely pisses me off. I love that book. I have little markings of my favorite lines in red pencil (well not all of them but half are).
I rarely let people borrow books, only good friends who I know are very good about returning things. Yet for some odd reason out of pure idiotic stupidity. I let sir Eric borrow it and actually forgot to ask before school ended to get it back. I had other things on my mind then, but still. How could I carelessly forget about my book? The book. I have no idea, but it happened. And all I want is that book back.
I have the hardest time parting with books. Even the ones from the library, they're always overdue. I accumulate books like crazy to be honest. (My cousin also has this problem; she actually has more than one copy of several books.) I particularly like getting used books on Amazon that originally come from libraries that have gotten rid of the books. (Yes, libraries upgrade their books and get rid of the rest- either that or a lot of people keep them and then get rid of them- I'm not sure which is worse. I'd say both.) And then theres Half-Priced Books, which I happen to find a godsend. I went to the local one Monday (after a horrid day at Six Flags with my sister and mother) and went nuts. They had a clearance section and many of the books were $1 to $3 or $4. It was spectacular. I got about ten books. And I also purchased two vinyl records- The Beatles and Blondie. I spent about $20 altogether which is so much cheaper compared to what one would spend at Barnes & Noble or Borders.
But I realize the best place to get books is at thrift stores and flea markets. They always have the cheapest book. The majority being written by classic writers. They're the types of books that your old English teachers always talked about; the ones they told you should read if you wanted be well educated. For instance, I always seem to find books by Fyodor Dostoevsky. He is an astounding writer. I'm currently reading a series of short stories by him. I'm still on the first-its called White Nights. I find it hard to explain the story, there's so much I relate to in it. However, I can say that I love that his focus is not on the description of what the characters looks like or how they act but on the way they think. The way they feel. The way they see and how they see. He's more concerned with their personality, their inner self than what is on the outside. He's always persistent in revealing the inside of his characters mind. I absolutely love his writing.
Thus, if you haven't read something by Dostoevsky, I highly suggest you do ASAP.

Tomorrow never knows

Just Because..

The Senate takes on FISA bill

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/21134540/vp/25594262#25594262

I'm so frustrated on the issue I don't know where I should begin ranting.

BUT, this next article made me much more happier.

British artists create zero-gravity art in 'vomit comet' over Moscow

Theres also a video on it on the Countdown with Keith Olbermann on msnbc, its under the weird news section.