When We Talk To One Another...

Today I said to myself: "Self, what exactly do you use your blog for anyway? I mean, there are no true personal thoughts immortalized there; you have no dreams or aspirations expressed to the masses? Why are you even bothering to write a blog, more or less, read over it for personal interest and gain?"

"Honestly? I really don't know. I couldn't tell you if I tried. As far as I know I come to this class to write in my blog and do whatever else i need to do. It is fairly simple in relative comparison to the common man, however, I don't believe we are a common man."

"Why do you believe that? Do you think you are better than everyone else? Do you believe that everyone else is beneath you in some way or another? How can being the common man be such a bad thing?"

"Lets not misunderstand each other. By the way, this is way off topic. However, there are many different genre of the common man. Theres the jock, the emo, the intellectual, the the thespian, the homosexual, etc. I fit into none of these groups. I have no label. I define nothing by the means used by society; for example I don't consider myself to be of any specific race. I am neither black, white, Asian, Latino, African American, nor any other nationality that defines the world--"

"Why not?"

"Why should I? Why should I define myself by specific societal limitations? You, of all people, should know how I feel about being separated into [a] specific group(s) through my actions. In a way sure I am better than everyone else. Not necessarily them, personally, but the way they define life, society, people--I surpass it all. I am intelligent, mildly athletic, a bit of a thespian, an artist, a little emo, maybe even a little homosexual, and it's very possible that I'm a lot of other things as well. However, these are merely traits. Not definitions of who I am (which can easily change tomorrow through pure pretentiousness)."

"I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the ordeal of meeting me is another matter."
--Winston Churchil

Nothing Special

I have traveled far beyond translucent forestries
When life gave me so much and yet so little I made it work
Without turning my mind towards society I paved my own path
I walk my own road; I make my own way
But to many? I'm nothing special

I have traveled to France, Spain, Germany, and Italy
Willingly giving of myself to those who may not deserve it
Wanting nothing more than the simple pleasures of love and happiness
I walk like you, and speak as you speak
But to some? I'm nothing special

I intricately embroider pieces of paper with the hue that is words
With only a heart and mind do I make life my paint
With only intuition and passion do I make paper my canvas
I am an artist, of the ear, the eye, and the mind--
But to few? I'm nothing special

I may not be anything special to many--
I may be nothing special to some--
I may be no one to few--
But they have no importance.
So I may be nothing special--

But when compared to them? I define special

(I personally don't like this...I just wrote something meaningless and pretentious)

Under The Red Moon

Tell me, reader dear, how does I make you feel. How would you feel if there were to be a dreary cloud outside upon your doorstep each day? When life scorns you from the adhesive that binds you to love and compassion, how would that make you feel? I lie here in tears, reader dear; Will you let me cry my sorrows away and allow me to relinquish myself of iniquitous deities? I am no longer yours or this world's, reader dear. You left me here to die beneath the temple's walls: Gilgamesh, the flood has come to vanquish me!

-We know not what we have done-

Oh, gracious reader! I bow at your feet! I am your humble servant: a reconteur of zealous loyalties and servitude to you. Tell me, oh, master, what is it that you desire? Shall I spin you a yarn of the noblest of men; an epic tale of unbearable struggle and undeniable evils? Your wish is my command, gracious reader; I am your concubine of allegory, your slave to the memoirs of time, be they engage morbidity or the benign! Tell me, oh master, what do you want from me? How can my life be manipulated to make yours the treasure to which it does not deserve to be? I love thee, oh gracious reader...

-We bow at your feet, what would you like to hear?-

Reader! I've missed you! How have you been? I could not have realized how much you've changed! You look wonderful; did you ever believe we would get to this point? We have had some interesting times, have we not? I mean I was really worried you didn't remember me for a moment there. I was thinking about you just the other day! I said to myself: Self, what has the reader been up to all this time; how could you have not called them in the longest time? Magically here you are! I've made some drastic changes of my own, actually. I've fallen in love, I've discovered my passion, I've matured greatly. So much has happened over the years--wow, reader...

-In loving memory of us-

What did this mean to you...reader?