What is the point of love if there is no emotion?

Its 3 AM and I cant sleep. A dream overwhelmed me and the man I care about could care less. Am I overdramatic? No! I am not. I am in need. In need for someone who cares about me ultimately. This is not the first time this kind of situation has arose, neither is it not been a topic of discussion. I am lonely. This is not a good feeling when you are "with" someone. THis is not how it is supposed t be. I hate this feeling really, and I know what to do about it, but the thing is, even when in missery, it still seems like you just don't want to be the one to let go. I need support. I need someone who feels like I do. We don't argue. We don't really do anything together except the occasional drink. Hell, anything I suggest we do is like pulling teeth. What does this mean I wonder. I know there are two sides to every story, and I am no battared, unkept woman. Shit, most people would say that I am a selfish person and just need to suck it up. Hell, I cant help how I feel. I want out. I am freezing at 98 degrees and I need someone to keep me warm. A warmth that only another person can give me, the kind I get without touch. A fucking carring warmth of not just words but emotions, which I am reminded weekly that he has none. Pressure of what to do eludes me, and from there my heart screams at me to let it go but my comfort says to deal. What is the point in love if there is no emotion?

When you take the time to write about something, sometimes it really takes a little out of you. Replaced thoughts. Replaced feelings, emotions. I want to write for a purpose. I want to put something out there that will jumpp off of the page and smack someone in the face and make them laugh or cry or just make them feel it really. I was watching this movie and in it there was this blogger and she really affected people with it and all she did was cook. Really? But, the thing is she had a purpose. She started something and she finished it. Apparently that was nother normal routine; starting something and finishing it, nor is it mine.

I need an idea, a mission, a goal. Inside the Goals I have now. A short term goal. Somethign that I love and that I can write about daily. This is going to take a minute though. I need to keep my eyes and ears open for something that intrigues me. I am a type of critic, but I am not sure that is where I want to go with it. Something fun, exiting. Something that is very local. Something I can discribe with Pizzazz. Something that will make you want to read it.

I read. The books that i like the most are the ones that make me laugh, like I am getting inside the Character. I always feel, while I am reading, that I am right there with them. I was just there shadow really. There the whole time just not noticed. Laughing with them and going to dinner wth them. I just look foward tothe day that I am abe to come across the way they do. I will get there. I know that I will.

Well, here is to trying to find a short term goal. An Interest that is not going to take me 5 years to complete. Something to accel on that I can create myself.

A Wrinkle in Time Current mood: argumentative Category: Writing and Poetry
What is this between my ears other than a wrinkly mass of misunderstanding?
…nothing more than a pour of muscle to reiterate the idea of life heard.
Only felt in between the lines.
What am I other than the difference of the time I have spent with myself
and the time that I have spent with others?
I have spent that time, exactly, because it sure wasn't free..
it has cost me a 20 years of time:
a six pence for a bushel:
a lifetimefor nothing;
and now the wrinkles are smoothed out by the life that was spread in the volumes of the mass of misunderstanding.
Even the writing that escapes has to be thought about so intently
that it escapes so slowly.
And as soon as I read it,
I feel as if it is not me
and then I realize that life is nothing more than a wrinkle..

WHo ArT YOu?

The future placed ahead is vaguely seen.. And, the after taste of the past lingers in the saliva of life that surrouds the tastebuds of who you are. A mental frenzy escaping with each touch of hope; faith; denial; rejection. Exploding in the form of who you are, which is a meaty flesh of a direct reflection of what your senses have formulated after years of living in a world of sensational expresional living in all forms of life, which breath though the plants that breath throught the dirt that you were originally made from.a not so vicious cycle. The artistic value is devided by the expression that you put into it and added to the thoughts that are not taken into action; and then taken into consderation that no matter if you accept what you are, you are who you are because of what you have and havent done all the way down to the reactions you still havent had , made , seen or felt. The depression you havent had the chance to dwell.in. the sadness that you want to escape is still in the future; put away so that you can feel the happiness that makes you melt.. you cant have one with out the otheres help.. how do you know the future if the past was never there.. how do know you are happy if you have never had the sad. and how can you have any of it here if you have never been there...

Thanks to you I know what I never Want to be! With love; from the bottom of my heart!

I feel liquid, almost, in my boredom with myself. Molding into the notion that I really feel that no matter how hard I am thinking and wanting to do something, I can't get past that point of thinking about it.



I have been thinking about that notion as well. What the hell am I going to do about it? Step one; Wake the fuck up. Step two; quit thinking and act. Act on those thoughts and quit being a blithering idiot. What the hell has came over me. Oh, wait a minute, maybe it is the 5th of tequila I am in taking on a more than normal occasion.



As I take in this grand Agave concoction and sit back; slowly taking in the handicapping, mind melting, laziness, I start to tilt into the forms that dead braincells elude. It is only after I have a lost a few though, that I start to realize where I am heading. NO WHERE! "Where you going? No where."




And that is, at each, where I begin another course. Another point in my travel that I am going to stop. Something Great is going to come out of it I know. Something very swell really. I know it, I can feel it in my soul. That thing I tend to use when I drown my self in the misery of the that fact. I feel I have to stare addiction in the face and rip it off every time I see it. Watching the sockets of truth bleed out of the muscles that held together its lying face, breathing on me and staring back at me with its ghoulish teeth molding into its gums, coagulation dripping into your inhale, as its microorganisms infects your FUCKING MOTIVATION to be your self. The dark black holes of deception in a sweet, sweet flavor.
Addiction to me a is a shape sifting entity. something that passes by us everyday in the form of our gluttony. sometimes passed down from generation to generation. One day being tramped on and then next obsessed on. A love so good and pungent of hate all in the same, the emotions that you fill into it. Making it stronger. At first feeling, a hug, and then an embrace of hope, then, only then, to grab one last time and crush you till all that is left in you is IT.

What I am trying to say is that I am done drinking. One step at a time here though. The smoking comes next. I don't want to have a nice nervous breakdown. Shit, I am only human after all.










I came to the conclusion lately as if it were all a bad dream. Flashes of pasts hit me like a, well, a guilt trip...

1994.late. Stepfather 1 dies of liver disease. Cirrhosis; drank himself to death and then with that at 34is he leaves a 5ish year old daughter to be with out a dad. I am sure he didn't plan on that, but he sure didn't help it. Aloofness, feelings of the unknown, and reflections of guilt into the only other one she can put it into. She is happy with the hate she has in her heart and does whatever she can to destroy, or at least make them feel pain like hers. Her mother, who she blames everyday, just doesn't understand. All from a little beverage, sometimes hoppy, crisp and calming, melting almost. Even after you're gone, what you have done will still affect the people closest to you. Especially when you still do not have the wisdom to decipher between things you can and cannot control, and the wisdom to deal with it correctly either way.



2001. middle of. Stepfather 2 dies of aneurysm. He had had many of these. Started as a fit of coughs and then would usually come to a delirious state. I remember one time, him and all his drug induced glory, his tea was the crack cocaine, he was eating watching TV. I could see him eating like I had a zoom lens in my retina; the chomping and gristle ripping from the chicken bone, the smacking of his gums and lips, he didn't really have any teeth probably put them in a pipe( he is my ripped face addiction man I think). Then came the coughing. Then I can remember his memories; as he wanted to go to his dads(who had been dead of salmonella for quite some time), he thought he was late and was going to be in trouble. As he was trying to leave he spoke of the many bodies lying all around on the floor. Walking out, he seemed to be stepping over all the bodies he said were there. He was a Veteran of the Vietnam war. Classic. typical flash back status. From child molestation and the fields of the Cong to homeward bound with a crack pipe hanging from his lips. Can I please have a trailer to go with my trash. What had happen was through all his years abusing alcohol and crack the little hairs in his lungs got burnt out and in a cause and effect he slowly drowned to death, with those coughing attacks they would come so hard he would have little aneurysms. The day he died he had followed my mother, whom i didn't talk to at the time because she married this douche BAG, he had an attack and a major aneurysm. They finally got him onto the ambulance where he passed out. When he woke up he didn't know where he was and attacked the EMTs in the ambulance. Crack attack- 3; EMTs 0. One had a broken jaw, another a broken Femur... yes femur... and the last one, well he was just fucking bloody. Now going back in time, about a paragraph ago. What you do while you are alive still affects the people closest to you after you are gone. Little girl +Evil step dads death = Super life doubts. Yes 6 years later the only other man she knew died of drug induced retardation.

Lets say 2004is. Grandfather, though not my real one the one I really knew. Dies of cirrhosis induced bone cancer after a bout with lung and throat cancer from smoking; DOUBLE SHAZAM. How do you like those apples people. He got fucked by that one TWICE. I took care of him ladies and gents and was A OK. I wouldn't of had it any other way. He was a very misunderstood man. BUT, even though disease took him from all of his addictions he still lived a happy life. Hey whatever works we all got to die from something. Not that I am saying that it was OK for him but not the others, but at least he didn't get melted into a lazy piece of shit that never accomplished a thing. It was hard, and he is missed. But even though he lays in his grave rotting more so in his Cancer glory. What he did while he was alive affected my grandmother and she is taken care of through all he did. PAYED she is. But, I am sure she would rather have him around more. Shit take what you can get though. WORD.















2001ish. Grandfather (mothers side) dies of Emphysema from years of smoking the stogies. Ya know after being on a O2 machine for his last 10 years. I'd been ready. This mother fucker was hard core; would smoke while hooked to the tank. BALLZ OH STEEL. Get up on his O2, and head to the bar for 30 minutes and come home about to pass out. He was always nice to me. I knew him no other way. I head stories from the FAM but hey, I call it as I see it, not by what other people tell me how they seen it. Unless i was there when they seen it. How did that affect anyone.. hell I don't know, but I am sure that it did in some way or another. But I wasn't there. And/or Affected.


(Enter DAD here...)
So in this understanding I talked to myself. I said you know what. How can I judge a damn soul or complain about any person ever doing anything if I am sitting her spraying senseless chatter through an alcoholic, smoking ex coke head mouth of mine? huh? But, I then realized there is nothing I can say or do for any one but myself, let alone judge, judgement is not mine, not even on myself!. What gives me the right to hurt myself and bitch about it. Nobody fucking cares. Learn through my actions not my senseless chatter. Fucking talk about it buddy, but 9 times outta 10 all it is is talk. I needed to make that difference through my actions; through more than just words. Not vocabularic nonsense.

You know why no one ever listens? Because no one ever does anything they say they are going to do. People listen to actions. When other people are talking about what some one else did. Cause honey, if your doing something and doing it right, you probably have no time to talk about it. Follow me? Watch what I do and I bet you might be able to do better. What is it that you mean Gabby? Just watch and learn.. How's that for a cliche. Actions will always speak louder that words. Hey actions save peoples life. It's that senseless chatter that comes in tune with your attention that distracts you from that train about to hit you while looking around like a dumb ass, but in my religion it was the Substances that have been the trains and goddamn it i am tired of getting run over by my own Accord.

Lately my emotions have been haywire. Little spurs of aggression followed by confusion and wonder in what I am really doing here in small beachtown, USA. I feel that I have a bigger purpose. I reason beond my own selfish wants. There is so much in this world that is ignored that if thought about more and acted on more could change the history of the world. What is it about the human race that keeps us from following through with our heart. I was reading an article on women that have been ravished and destroyed by war. Womanforwomen.org, a non-profit org. that creates jos for women inareas such as these has cmbined with Kate Spade and started paying women 7 to 10 dollars an item, which they are making scarves and hats, etc... but they are selling them for hundreds of dollars. In my unclarity, i have emailed them asking what the hundreds of dollars are going. Are they going into the non-profit org.? i haven't gotten a email back so I am eagerly waiting to find out. I just hope that it is going toward the bettering of these people and there countries.

What is it about compasion that allows people to feel that they can take it and use it to rob from people when they are trying to do good or others. I really bothers me that there are not more honest people out there. I told a lie to my ec girlfriend last night. I felt so bad that i had to call her back 5 minutes later and confess. it was stupid and totally made me a hypocrite. As I always go around telling people how much i hate liars and theives. I feel better about it, but i know it really hurt her feelings. and these feelings that I am trying to gain back as a friendship. What was i trying to do? Who knows I was drunk, shit happens for a reason at all times. Coincidence is an excuse for shit that is going to happen any way.

Help US Help ourselves

As a journalist I am failing miserably. I don't watch the news. I don't normally pick up the paper unless I am looking through the classifieds, and if I am listening to the radio it is usually singing to me; normally used for background noise. I used to say I didn't want to watch it cause it was all sad. Drama and Tragedy, no good in the world through the eye of the broadcaster and writer. And over the years I have not changed my point of view. As a writer, I yearn for the perfect words to put together and make something great, as a journalist, I am wasting my time. Let me get on track here...

I turned on the TV today and all the fancy painted, puffy haired news ladies had to talk about was all the Military Massacres of the past year including the three that were just in the past two months. What has our military community come too? It makes me so sad to know that the government, or leadership rather, has become so week in its ability to create and build morale in its communities that everyone feels so low that they have to not only kill others but themselves as well. I am very aware it happens every day in every type of community, but in the recent past, it seems to be a FAD. What are we up too? Is this the true plan if the Enemy, just drive the motherfuckers crazy until they kill themselves and then we are guilty of no crime. What is the government going to do? In an interview that I had with Gen. Casey a year ago all he wanted to discuss is the Wounded Warrior project and how he was trying to start programs that were going to help the home time periods of soldiers and the families that are affected by this "WAR".
Well Sir, What about a "before warriors get wounded" program, or a " before they go crazy and kill everybody and themselves" program. I have sat through numerous suicide prevention Power points and seminars, enough in fact that I sit and wonder how good is this doing REALLY? I understand everyone is not the same and each day effects us differently. And I also understand what the hell is the point in bitching about something when you have no follow up suggested resolution. Well, I Do, Sorta. I believe, as cheesy as it is, there should be MANDATORY groups that have different topics that you can choose through that you have to join to keep your self occupied and often around the company of others that are interested in the same thing. I feel people in the military community have to much time to themselves, especially when they are back from "WAR" to much time to think about the negative. What is some one to do when they don't know what to do, THINK, no guidance. Our military is the youngest, I think, it has ever been and I think also the mentality is a step behind what it needs to be. I know some people that may read this think, "Groups OH! that is stupid," but hey, just like anything it is usually better when in the right company. Idle hands and minds are the Devils playground and the more your blank, the more he plays. There are so many things that are out there to help, the thing is no body wants to take them into there lives and use them, make it mandatory, build a helping foundation in the form of Positivity. It isn't like it cost extra, the stuff is already there, it is the make it a Must that works. Maybe I am wrong. I don't know. I just think it is terrible that we are spending Billions on another country, paying them off to be on our side to only get them in closer so that they can turn on us, its their nature, and we cannot even take care and protect our own from our own. We can't take the time to step aside and help the ones closest to us because we are too wrapped up in a "war" that we fight blindly. Bureaucracy has become redefined and the lower level is blind and I feel are being led by the blind and when you can't see what is in front of you , you get confused and in the confusion allot more people tend to die. Don't ask questions? OK I wont but I will not be blind, I want to help my brothers and sisters break away from the torture within themselves. Its getting worse everyday. What are we going to do about it? Turn our backs and ignore it; are we going to be too busy as usual and continue helping those that wont help themselves. We have become the redheaded stepchild of ourselves. How can we fix this?

Face To Face Poetically

I got some poetry to place.

A mental workout, full of sweat.

Each stanza is a bead rolling down your face.

Each verse another life line to rehearse.

We are all a stage and life presents itself upon us.



cracking with time, sometimes feeling solid in between the lines.

the cracks the wrinkles phased into our minds,

Who are we but some one else's poem, a walking talking piece of poetry.
Formed lite'rare'ly into a book a million pages long.

We are we and with every breath that we take we create life,
Rhythm and blues and in ourselves we try to find solitude.

and in that solitude we feel like the 27th letter.

and in that newness we feel better.

I have some poetry to place.
escaping my mouth to you
creating face to face.

misplaced literally so to be taken in to your vertebrae.
trying to encase thoughts that can only be felt verbally.

we are we and nothing other than we can be,
and with me i am the replacement of thoughts to you
face to face
Poetically

the awake night of the locust

Donald Sutherland was raping my going to sleep dream tonight. He filled it with a crude part of the Night of the Locust; the end part where he horribly stomps the shit out of this little boy. If any of you have seen the movie, you would know the exact scene, since it really concludes the movie. These are the things I find myself thinking about regularly. It is horrible really, but what really gets me is when the mob sees him doing it they take him into them and start mauling him. the look in his eyes is pure terror and such innocence that even though he just killed a little boy, that gleam makes you wanna scream "why must you kill this character?" he was such a gentle soul, a nice man who took care of the whore in the movie. Loved her, supported her and turned a blind eye to all the horrible things she has done. She was quite the character to say the least. I figured if I wrote it down it would be replaced by something more pleasant like sleep dreams rather than these swirly damn not quite asleep dreams.. that I OH so hate sometimes...