And I sat in a crowded room, waiting for my breath to cloud from the ice coating your shoulder. I never wanted to be your little bag of tricks, following behind you and picking up your ticks and causing your emotions to mix--
I held my world in a gold jar, watching the particles of my lost destination orbit and form the clouds of what I call my imagination. I sat on the summit of my mountain, striking down angels and laughing as they plummit--
Into the ground, picking themselves up and seeing that they've lost their wings of protection, their sense of voice losing it's projection.
I sat in my throne of contented darkness, the world- yes the world- falling into itself as I formed a black hole of what ifs and whens.
And that's when the mirror would crack, the images would twist and play the tricks of making a stranger appear in the reflection--
The world wasn't my own problem anymore, not when there was an enemy staring back at my fucking face, not when the stranger could put any time and any place on my own self hatred. Not when my memories were my own attacks, and not when your voice was ringin' in my ear, tellin' me all of the shit I never thought I'd hear.
So I sit on my mountain, and I wait for the chance to strike you down. I'll wait for the time and place, I'll wait till you're staring me right in the face and I'll tell you that my secrets aren't yours anymore, they aren't your defense and they'll never be your offense.

.

He handed me a card with a printed name, and while he brushed back my beaten tears, he reminded me that puzzles were worth fitting if you found the right person.

I stared at you, with a misguided heart and a upbeat motion, I hid my cards behind my back, in case you wanted to give me more to use later in our game. I had my blood against the tips, to remind me which was which, as if there was a memory sealed with every drop I had given.

I never thought I'd be a gambler, in all my days I held my cards to my chest, wearing them like a bullet proof vest as I kept my secrets hidden from the rest of the world, wondering if anyone else had x-ray glasses to see my demons I held beneath that vest of mine--


and that's when I met you, who didn't have a x-ray vision but had the sense of will, to know what was a bluff and what wasn't real- what was a bullet proof vest and what was a wrecking ball swingin' in my chest, and telling me that there was nothing left---

but to fall right back into what I should've known from the very beginning, should've known till the very end that it would've never been a wrecking ball if I had just opened my eyes and put away my pride, and say, " Jess you know right now is the time, to say goodbye to who you were, and to put your past away -- right against those cards and lock 'em away." I could never say goodbye, not to someone who saw my own demons as diamonds, not to someone who gave me my first stack of cards and said, " I'll teach you how to play" what you didn't tell me was that it was to play our love game--

to play your heart, and I wonder if I played your heart just right to the point where I was writing melodies that were mimics of my imaginations that day, melodies where it convinced you to put your past away and to come and fall just like me, to convince yourself that your demons were just puzzle pieces fitting into my little love game.

So I'll sit here and I'll wait for you, wait for your turn and wait for your cards to burn, just like mine, and we'll watch that fire together as we throw away the time, the time we said that those cards would always be mine. I'll lock the ashes in this chest, far away from my misguided bullet proof vest, and I'll put out my cigerette and I'll look at you and say,

"God damn what a fucking day."

A Gamers Frustration.

Multiple things have happened today that have annoyed the shit out of me:

• My phone has dropped into my soup and although it was a quick save, I had to do a bunch of shit. It began to fuck up a lot and I decided to just erase everything, and right now it's restarting and it'll be like I just bought it all over again.
• I can't beat the boss on Devil May Cry 3. It's so fucking annoying, I can't even comprehend. I know how to beat him, but it's so tedious that I might just have to save up a bunch of Vital Orbs and just have to do it over and over and over again. But the worst part about it, I have to restart from the BEGINNING of the MISSION. I mean, MY GOD.

I guess I just wanted to release some frustration. I don't really plan on going anywhere today, I've been around people a lot. But I can't get any further in this game and I just want to punch someone in the face! I can't talk, because my braces are rubbing against my tongue and it hurts so much. Maybe I'll go to the gym today to let out some of that frustration.. Perhaps. Perhaps not. I don't know. I just know that I have work today and I hope I can just.. Sweat. I don't know. I think I'm going to go make myself sore since I have nothing else to do.

Where the fuck is morphine?

So I wake up this morning, right when I'm supposed to, after I have a dream about Eagles attacking this guy I know and his girlfriend. I woke up and the first thing I said to myself was, " Did they make it alive?" I mean.. They're fucking Eagles, dude. And not The Eagles, like legit flying organisms with fifteen foot wingspans kind of eagles. They were pretty vivid in my dream, which would make a great game when I go hunting. In my mind, they aren't endangered!

So I guess it's just a quick update, but my teeth hurt like hell and I still haven't found a goddamn goal for this thing. : Any tips?

Wish You Were Here - Pink Floyd

So, so you think you can tell

Heaven from Hell,

Blue skies from pain.

Can you tell a green field

From a cold steel rail?

A smile from a veil?

Do you think you can tell?

Did they get you to trade

Your heroes for ghosts?

Hot ashes for trees?

Hot air for a cool breeze?

And cold comfort for change?

Did you exchange

A walk on part in the war,For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.

We're just two lost souls

Swimming in a fish bowl, Year after year,

Running over the same old ground.

What have we found

The same old fears.

Wish you were here.

Here we go again.

We meet again, midnight blog of wanderless thoughts. Sometimes I wonder if you sit here just to mock me in my random fits of depression. But we both know they aren't depression, it's just the fact that you're so in tune with Tonie that his emotions begin to take an effect on you. Lately I've been in my own world, which mind you is more complicated than it seems. In fact, my world has been nothing but complications. Science has so much for me except for satisfaction. I say this because I know why I feel this way, but I don't know how to make it better. Like, I don't know, growing out of it.

In fact, I just have a common feeling: lonliness. I don't know if I had been avoiding it, or if something triggered it, but it was something that made me miss the physical presence of someone. Who knew?

who knew.

Rain by Brian Crain.

She sat at the edge of the pond, her toes sinking into the mud as she made a face in response. Her fingers traced the surface of the water, the ripples travelling to the middle as insects buzzed in the background. She pulled knees close to her chest and rested her chin on the bone.

The sky was gray, the clouds pulling and knitting tightly as it shadowed the land. The water was a dark blue, holding a mysterious aurora as secrets began to fold together beneath the waters. Plants moved against the soft wind, and with a snap of her fingers, sounds of a piano came across the lands. Every now and then, a stitch was broken in the clouds and a ray of light came shooting down across the dark waters, shadows moving away from the light as the water grew still once more.

Black swans began to glide into the pond, not giving their beautiful song to one another as if they knew the silence was far more greater than anything. They swam together, their movements in sync as if it was a ballet dance. They expanded their wings at one point, the dark feathers making them look majestic as their beaks were a firery red. They spoke silently towards each other, their necks extending as they whispered soft nothings. When the moment ended, they glided across the dark surface once more, ignoring the stranger at the edge that watched them quietly.

James Ackrey.

I couldn't tell you what he was thinking when he did it. I couldn't tell you what he felt, if his hands were shaking, or if he felt that gut twisting feeling of doubt mixed with utter relief of finally getting away. I don't know how to express the way he felt, every day, when he would stare up into the night sky wondering what would happen after he did it. I don't know how to explain his side of the story, because perhaps there wasn't a side at all, not the way it should've been, or could've been. Maybe it's wrong of me, to sit here and give you my view point when we all know that he would be another face in the crowd, another burial tombstone in the graveyard. The only difference is that his parents wouldn't be able to come visit him, hiding in shame to hide their own guilt of not seeing it before.

This won't be about me. You don't need to know my facial features, you don't need to know anything about me right now. This is about him. It will always be about him. I spent my nights wondering what he was doing, and instead of pretending that the sky was some savior, I thought of it as an ocean that was keeping us away from each other for a certain period of time. You don't need to know these small details about my life, about my last name or my skin tone or if I liked Rock n' Roll or Pop. My favorite food is non-existent, for all you know I could be starving because I spent my last amount of money on this fucking journal writing about someone who never had the decency to say goodbye. But if you can't go on, I'll tell you when I'm done with this journal entry, I'll tell you what I am and who I look like, but while I write, I want you to grab a mirror.

I never knew James Ackrey in a way like his parents would. I wouldn't know about his first word, or his favorite hobby as a child, or his first A on a test. In fact, I wouldn't know anything about him except the fact that he had this knack for music. He wasn't Beethoven, but he was something else. I always felt that whenever we would sit together at the lunch table, a couple seats apart, if he couldn't get the right notes that were playing in his head, he would throw the tray across the cafeteria and wonder why everything was so goddamn loud and blame everything on the noise around him instead of his lack of knowledge of musical notes and instruments. And yet, he acted as if he had all the schooling in the world. It's like that five dollar notepad of sheet music would be the last thing that kept him here, at least for a little while.

We would argue, but not really argue. It's weird, but I know you know what I mean. You bicker, but you don't take it seriously, not until the other person seems more than just your average offended little bitch. I would make comments about the music, giving random suggestions and he would always just throw his hand up in my face and telling me that he's busy and if I wanted to help him, I would go get more music books from the library. I never knew why I stuck around, I guess in some weird way, I liked what we had. It wasn't like we had sleep overs, eating cookies and watching movies together while gossiping, not that he would ever be caught doing any of the above. And neither would I, to be honest with you.

One of the few memories we have together is when we would sit in the park with our instruments, where he would hold the sheet music out and give me the keyboard and expect me to be able to make it a beautiful symphony of notes. That's how it always started, and that's how it'll end. My fingers playing across the keys, glancing at the sheet music as I try to read everything between the half notes, quarter notes and all the little signals of vibrato and allegro. And he would sit there, with a violin or a cello and play along. That's how our afternoons would be, sitting somewhere in a deserted park on a blanket with instruments and playing until our fingers couldn't take anymore. He always seemed okay after that.

I never knew about his home life. I don't know if his parents were married, or if maybe by some weird chance that he actually had gay parents and just never told anyone. I don't really know if they were proud of him, or were the catalyst of what happened at all. My only memories of him saying anything about his home life would be that he would have to be there around seven o'clock to catch dinner. Lie or not, it was never really something that was worth looking into. I always liked to believe that he would spend so much time with me because he needed me as much as I needed him, but even though it would never be something admitted. We all have someone like that, though. The keys to our lock, the maple to our syrup, the honey to our combs. That was James, but I don't know what I was to him, and maybe that's a good thing.

I was never going to write anything about him, you know. I was going to go to his funeral, tell him how much of an idiot he was, and how sorry I was for not being someone when I should've been. I wasn't a someone, I was a shadow, a mute, stuck behind someone because of the oblivious fact that perhaps the world needs people who are bold and proud and compassionate. That wasn't me, that was never going to be me. Not until he came along and changed it all, but not in this whole romantic way, but in a way where you sit back and you realize that you've changed without even fucking realizing it. I was never going to buy this journal the day of his dedication concert, I was never going to even give a dedication concert, not until I went into his house and found him.

I won't describe the scene to you, the only thing I can tell you is that it was clean and simple. I laughed after I cried, wondering how a man could ever be simple to anyone. I guess the main thing I always have to remind myself is the fact that James was secretive, not complicated, and they were entirely different things. Things that I should've recognized before I found his letter. And the fucked up part about it all, is that it wasn't even sad. There was no real explanation into why he did it, but there were no signs of anything else but suicide. I guess I knew in my heart all along that it was suicide because he had his symphony beneath his feet. I didn't notice it at first until I fell to my knees in pure shock and misery, but after I looked down to the floor for a brief moment I saw that he was almost done.

That's when I began to laugh.

Not because I couldn't handle the death, but because I felt that he left me this unfinished symphony as a gift. A gift to me saying, " Let's go out with a bang." And I agreed with him, full heartedly. A year later, I finished his symphony, and as I sit here in my composer clothes, writing what would've been how I felt about the concert, I sat here and wrote about him instead. This mysterious, secretive guy who I barely knew, yet I needed him more than anything else. I don't know what I'll do with this journal, I guess I'll sit back and put it in the case with hi- I mean our- symphony. And I'll put it on my bookshelf, and I'll remind myself that everyone is a James Ackrey to somebody else, that sometimes, it isn't the past that brings people together, it's the bang for when they get out.

James Ackrey, I hope you're happy.

So If You're Lonely..

"I'm here waiting for you."

Such a good song, no? This morning, being awoken by a friend, I couldn't go back to sleep even though I only had five hours of sleep. I was dreaming when he called, but I don't know if it was a nightmare instead. Ever since I started playing Silent Hill 4: The Room all of a sudden my nightmares began to shoot out replicas of Ghosts, which are these zombie like creatures that somehow crawl out of the walls and they float. They don't physically attack you, but my character is sensitive to the aurora they give, so he loses health. Besides that, it took a good fifteen minutes and a glance at the walk through to definitely get over the fact that it really was just a game. I never really thought I would be so terrified of something that had good graphics... for a PS2 game, haha.

In other gaming updates, I finished Final Fantasy VII: Dirge of Cerberus which had great gameplay and I loved the automatic targets (until I had to defeat one of the mechanical bosses with surrounding soldiers, then it got annoying). The graphics were pretty nice, a little stiff, but I'm not complaining, not with the smooth, dark and mysterious Vincent Valentine keeping me company. I was going to add something to that, but I didn't want to be the reason for the spoiler. That's your fault, my friend.

So after I finished Final Fantasy, I went to Gamestop to check out other games, deciding whether or not I was going to get another in the series or perhaps something else. Scanning the games, I finally see an old, but extremely popular, Devil May Cry 3. I think to myself, and I wonder if it's as good as its popularity upholds it to be. Putting out 8 dollars, and saying goodbye to getting some more Final Fantasy, I buy it and come home. When I began to play, the first thing I can think of how complicated the controls are. It's the complete opposite of Final Fantasy, and if I have to compare, I do say so myself I enjoy FF's controls more than DMC's. Though if it's one thing I'm impressed with, it's Dante's badass fighting style in the cutscenes. With a Rock n' Roll edge in the beginning, the cutscene is opening to him getting done showering and coming out to eat pizza in a deserted, still refurnishing shop. When you're in the tutorial, you learn things as you go, and when you get to your first mission, it's difficult to find out what to do. I'm not giving up hope, though. But DMC is the most tedious out of the three, and I suggest that if you're interested in this sort of gameplay, to be fully aware that it's a definite time suck. But the pro? You have better hand-eye coordination for those hobbies called "sports".

With my closing statement, today was the day that the Bulgarian's defeated the Byzantine forces at the Gate of Trajan, the emporer barely escaped! It's also Independence Day for Indonesia. Happy Independence Day!

Coming back off of a hiatus.

Goddamn, it's been so long since I've last blogged. Though apparently, I've been getting read either way, eh? I went from a hundred to five hundred, what's up with that? I don't know, I guess I just sort of got writers block for it. With school and all, I guess I sort of just got preoccupied, especially since.. Well, I don't know. Classes just bring me down, what can I say?

Through out these long months, I've been going through natural things you would call, "life experience". After a fellow reader stated he missed my blogging, I thought to myself, who else has been missing my writing style and weird "spiritual" posts about realizations?

Maybe my hiatus was just me figuring out a way to make sure I still had something to write about, instead of burning out. Didn't our famous singer of Nirvana once say, " I would rather burn out than fade away"? Well maybe that's what I did, maybe I just sat back and decided to let the world take me how a man takes a woman's virginity: indifferently.

So I listen to Pandora, I just got off work, and I have... what, two or three weeks until school? People have a blog to have a goal, and I don't think I've really figured mine out yet. Maybe my goal will be to find a goal, haha. Dunno, really.

I guess I'll notify my facebook peeps to let them know I put my blog replacing my... what's it called, it isn't Twitter but it's another blogging, fancier site. What's it called? Well whatever, one of those.