Bitches won't understand.

I stand alone with hearts at my feet. Squished between my toes and flat under my heels, poor, beautiful, gentle, kind, fragile hearts have fallen at my feel. Sharper than eggshells, they pierce my souls, worming into my veins, making their way through my bloodstream to my head and heart where they stay forever. A needle in my eye. A sting in my heart.

I know what I want. I alone can hear my own heart sing. I watch and observe the pitter and patter of her whims and wants and when she ignores the arrow shot from a boy, pushing me forward, pushing me elsewhere, I can't help but look behind me at the carnage. I try. I constantly battle. Force myself to get to know the boy behind the man's face.

But that only makes it harder when I keep moving forward. To know exactly what I've done to a person I've grown to love in another way.

But no one feels bad for the rejector. It's only the rejected the people pity. Do I not also feel pain? Another day, I am alone. Another day my blood stained feet carry me forward, split on bone and weary. To fall into another's arms would feel so sweet, but my bitch of a heart won't fall for one, fall into any set of arms.

She wants to be here, alone on the battlefield. "Victorious" to some, I only feel empty. I will always be here, I will always be alone. A bitter shield, blocking those sweet affections, keeps me isolated.

Against my will, I stand, my malicious little heart and I, over the bodies of those potential lovers, those potential Valentine's Days, those long, potential nights of bliss.

What happens?

"no dawn no day i'm always in this twilight"

Again I'm awake in the corners of night

my mind in hallways decorated excessively.

With paintings of cupid in his chubby smiles

teasing and tormenting

pleasing and fermenting

ideas of childish pursuit.

Thriving and striving

off the fruits of romance.

Feeling the burn of excitement as

my firefly heart flutters around

this cage of a body.

Looking for the escape.

Stuck as long as my mouth

remains shut.

Drones

Want to talk about drones in war? Probably not but I don't give a shit.

We have mentally armed a youth greedy for action and violence. In the past this would have been fine, they'd have joined the military, killed a man and been scarred for life. They'd learn a reverence for life and creation and beauty after some possible therapy.

We have put a curtain between our soldiers and their "enemy" with drones. It's a new video game. It's now a game. You don't see the face of you'r victim. You don't understand the magnitude of your actions. You stare at a screen and miss the heavy, horrible consequences of your actions.

Drones are a step in the wrong direction.

We are turning war into a game. No, we can't call that war. That's a massacre. We have become a monster.

We are murdering from a distance. Helpless people who are fighting for things they value are being cut down like a lawn and our soldiers see no bloodshed.

This is wrong.

To me it's not different than buying your meat vacuum packed and clean instead of prizing it from an animal you fought yourself. But that's a different blog...

Eyeshine

Leave it to a windy day and a gloomy man to buff out the clouds over my eyes

Pretty's all you got.

When you can't be beautiful and you can't be perfect and you can't be flawless, what do you do?

When the appeal is out of reach from your clean, average fingers, where do they go to next?

You get hard, you get fast, and you get a passion. You get smart and fierce and you're fooled by no one. People will not love you for your face, they will fear you for your attitude and your speed.

And if that fails, you give up.

Restless

To live without dead time means to embody a great refusal, to find pleasure in struggle, to transform every moment of existence into a repudiation of the consumerist nightmare and an affirmation of revolutionary possibility. A semester, a year, a decade without Big Macs, Frappucinos and World of Warcraft but overflowing with midnight adventures of blackspotted billboards, guerrilla gardening and spectacular synchronized global memewar actions. Imagine if a huge number of us start living in this way, turning daily life itself into a form of resistance that re-enchants the city and reawakens the promise of a people’s insurrection. The way forward is through this kind of radical play.

-Adbusters

It's been a long time.

And I'm still incredibly overwhelmed with this summer.
Remember that To Do List I had? I really didn't need it and don't remember anything that was on it. I'm still having an amazing summer in spite of so much and because of so much more.
In the end I will say this.
Thanks Universe.