i have lost words when there is so much to say. when there is so much to explain.

i wish i could take it back.

the times i have underestimated circumstance. the times i have, with both hands, led myself to my own grave without having anyone push me six feet under the ground because, in fact, i believe they were actually reaching out to help me. the musings when i let myself resign to the belief that this is as good as it gets when i have not started to gather even the slightest inch of courage to step out and really live. not the kind of living that consists of me looking back in hurt and regret for the things i didn't do. for the lives i couldn't save. and for myself that i could not redeem.

i've heard and seen it all. maybe less from the mouths of people; but i've read it and understood some of it from the words delivered in poetry just so it wouldn't suffer of being mundane and people would give time to say that it's different--that this is different. but i've seen it and everybody else does though they, in stuttered sentences and downcast eyes say they don't. faces that tell a story in a second of an instance. small actions that say everything that silence had hidden. it is the kind of truth that inevitably would float to the surface like oil because it did not matter how deep of a water the lies were.

we all can't help but want to find a stop button somewhere and rewind and go back to the times we see behind closed eyes. to change certain things and erase tatooed mistakes, or live them all over again.

it is only those who have experienced failure and discontentment will the desire of greatness be so strong as it overcomes the temptation of getting revenge that never really measures anything other than hopelessness.

read on:

How do you measure yourself?

I've seen people measure themselves by the number of friends they have, how many expensive shoes they own, what their GPA's are. I've known people who value themselves by the pound, by the inch, by the complexity of their words or by the magnitude of their paycheck. We keep trying to create value for ourselves every day. We put our lives on the auction block and keep hoping that someone bids higher and higher. The bill keeps adding up: good job, nice new car, no college debts, trust funds, never been touched, never been kissed, one, twice, three times a lady. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to have people come with the same information you find in the side panels of cereal boxes. Product trivia, nutrition information, ingredients, freshness guarantee, recipes to enhance the experience of consumption and expiry dates. In this consumer driven world, people are starting to look like commodities anyway. Sometimes, the standards by which we measure ourselves could hardly be considered human. How much would it cost to keep it? Which country did it come from? How old is it? Has it been trained? Does it come with a lifetime warranty? Is it rare? Is it real? I guess, the difference between me and a bag of potato chips is that it would hurt me terribly if I were left alone on a shelf. Or if I were red-tagged. Or if I were put on a blue-light special. It would just about push me to expiration if I were placed on the sale rack or if I ever found myself in the return/exchange counter. I'd hate to think that we consume people now. I don't want to have to worry about the re-sale value of my children. Measure per pound of flesh. How much do we pay for the heart?

c/o Choc (edited my Karl)

so now...

what can you say about the term that's been?

green.

orange.

the stoplights turned red. and i held my breath, closed my eyes and tried to see what i could not fathom with my eyes wide and blinking. there's something about the darkness that seems to shed light in things. something in emptiness that helps us regard what is there and isn't. something in understanding that leaves us occupied with comprehending the unknown. always a bit that is a puzzle which would randomly constitute in everything. and everylittlething in something.

what would the pieces be? what would finally make it whole?

i had my head up to the crimson colored sky. finding pictures and words when there is none.

the revving of engines and horns were the noise that kept me from believing i was somewhere else. my cell phone rang music that collided with the noise, and i was trying hard to comprehend my thoughts in between dreaming and reality. i watched the sky as sun gave way to the blanket of stars, enjoying the cool wind in this warmth of the summer. i felt the ground and the sky run its course, because the clouds that stole my eyes from everything else were like waves on canvas made by someone who had captured the very essence of it constantly shifting and changing. it never looked the same.

i was reminded then, as if the universe had somehow conspired to discipline me, amidst the flicker of building lights, and an airplane like a shooting star of red and white, that the world won't stop now, or any other time for anything or anyone. and any moment that brings about the feeling of the earth suddenly halting and forces breaking all the laws of time and space, would still become memories once a second has passed. and yet another. and the only thing crystallized were the things we wanted to be so. certain moments, words, or pictures that have meaning. that had life.

but even those things get old too.

i had my head buried on my pillow that night, with my trembling hand punching the keypads and trying to explain to a friend,

i don't want to fail because it would mean to me that i've failed just about everything.

..knowing it is probably the only thing that i have control over

right now. i don't want to screw this up.

i don't want to wake up in the morning, eyes sore with the feeling of not being good enough.

i will pick myself the crap up and deal.

tomorrow, maybe.. or the day after that. or Godknowswhen. i know i will.

but right now, i'll just brood.