“Alas! they had been friends in youth; But whispering tongues can poison truth, And constancy live in realms above; And life is thorny, and youth is vain, And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the brain.” -S. T. Coleridge

There is a state between us much like war. Silent and dreadful, an intensity I had never known before. I fear it will be our fate to remain this way, oceans apart on life’s cold shore. Perhaps it is time to think, time to shake hands in truce before we’re cut adrift and left to float on the tides of hollowness. These arms that embrace are home to a face. I cannot explain what I felt save to say that it felt like light on a dark and stormy night. I feel the strength of a thousand suns inside my head and a thousand horses in my heart…and between my head and heart I will become Apollo, the God of life of poetry and light, and I will banish night.

I am tired of lovers’ quarrels–those that seek and cannot find. I am tired of planting roses in the ocean. Tired of building my castles out of air, watching as clouds rain on sugary words that soon dissolve. Do not waste my time with extra words, with lines of hope and what can be.

I am free to carve a destiny for myself with or without you, although, I do invite you.

Where is the man the defied the whole world to be with me? So now I see the losing side is not so bright, and the nights are long. I can’t help but think of what she must have thought at the sound of my name, and I imagined she struggled much in vain to get you back. You had walked away a happy man and she, a troubled woman, insides poisoned with betrayal. Could she believe that you had loved her? Is love so fickle that it changes with the seasons? With the coming of a pretty face? And so I fear, that I have paid in full with interest. The circle has come around, no illusions to be found, and I am guilty of deceit. She never spoke to you again. In fact she’s married now and has found happiness somehow. Why is it that I’m still here, standing still between the lines, watching attently as time goes by? Is it because I think you loved me more than her? No. You loved each and every one of us the same…never enough to actually remain.

I have discovered much to my dismay that love is not reason enough to stay. I used to think, on brighter days that love’s soft call would solve it all. But it is not so.

[learn_more caption=”What’s New?”] The last three days have been very hot. I have been hearing from strange people I haven’t heard of in a while. It seems like Jaime and I are talking again although we’ve been communicating through e-mail mostly. I can’t hold a grudge (not for too long anyway). is finally up. Go check it out. Hope you liked the new flashed intro. I know, I know it takes forever to load, but hey, good things come to those who wait and then some. I would like to wish the Tauruses in my life (Jason and my father) a Happy Birthday. You rock! Also, to all my friends that have been there for me…thank you, I love you all. Do not be dismayed by the negativity you sometimes read here. I am well, I am strong and I will be ok, just wait and see. Also, I’d like to thank Zak for the wonderfully written poem I received this morning in my e-mail. Oasis of the mind, I’m still searching. This morning life threw me a curve ball but I’m still in the game. Life better get the picture and realize it takes a little more than that to bring me down (that’s not an invitation). *Knocks on wood* It’s a long life people, get used to it. Anything can change at any point at any time and no, there are no refunds or exchanges (and no “Ctrl Z” keys). Things can change, they can get better but they can also get worse. The important part is not winning or losing, it’s how you play the game. That’s all it is, a game. So I ask you now, what’s it going to be, the red pill or the blue pill?[/learn_more]


“O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies’ midwife, and she comes/ In shape no bigger than an agate-stone/ On the fore-finger of an alderman,Drawn with a team of little atomies/ Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep;Her wagon-spokes made of long spiders’ legs,/ The cover of the wings of grasshoppers,/ The traces of the smallest spider’s web,/ The collars of the moonshine’s watery beams,/ Her whip of cricket’s bone, the lash of film,/ Her wagoner a small grey-coated gnat,/ Not so big as a round little worm/ Prick’d from the lazy finger of a maid;/ Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut/ Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,/ Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers./ And in this state she gallops night by night/ Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love;/ O’er courtiers’ knees, that dream on court’sies straight,/ O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees,/ O’er ladies ‘ lips, who straight on kisses dream,/ Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,/ Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are:Sometime she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose,/ And then dreams he of smelling out a suit;/ And sometime comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail/ Tickling a parson’s nose as a’ lies asleep,/ Then dreams, he of another benefice:Sometime she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck,/ And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats,/ Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades,/ Of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon/ Drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes,/ And being thus frighted swears a prayer or twoAnd sleeps again. This is that very Mab / That plats the manes of horses in the night,/ And bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs,/ Which once untangled, much misfortune bodes:/ This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs,/ That presses them and learns them first to bear,/ Making them women of good carriage:/ This is she.”

“True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy.”

“These violent delights have violent ends.”

“Thy head is as full of quarrels as an egg is full of meat.”

“When he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night, And pay no worship to the garish sun.”

“Her beauty makes This vault a feasting presence full of light.”