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Submitted on
July 17
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It's been awhile since I've written a personal journal and it's time I change that. First off, things have been shakin' and moving lately since last month. That was a tough month but my goodness, July has been so darn good to me. Incredible people. Incredible, incredible people are whom I've been associating myself with and that's just good for me. I haven't been this happy in a long time and I have a few select folks to blame. They know who they are. :heart:

On the art side, it's been a bit on the dark end of things but I hope my messages are relatable for others. That's all I really want at the end of the day when it comes to those kinda personal pieces. But now, especially with Moira (Excelsior), I feel as though I'm moving into so many better places in my life. 

Even academically. About a week or so ago, my first full-time semester of college classes have been finalized and I couldn't be happier about that. My first two semesters of dual-credit were great, but this? I'm just so absolutely stoked for it. My classes for my first full semester will be:
General Psychology
Developmental Math (Final Level)
Comp II (English)
Introduction to Mass Communication 

And I can't begin to tell you how ready I am to get things rolling. With school, with my license (That I'm aiming to get before my 18th birthday in October), with....everything! I feel as though I'm moving in a damn good way since the bullshit fest that was June. I'm just...freaking happy. :)

But yes, that has been my month thus far. Fingers crossed it continues. :iconfingerscrossedplz:

Onto a question I have for you guys:
As creators, do you respect the creations of other artists? Particularly, musical creators and musicians. Do you settle for what is given? And by that, I mean do you listen to your music at its peak quality? Or even at its best that is at your disposal? Or do you settle? As creators we focus on the message and the clarity (or intentional lack thereof) of it. How important clarity of a message in ANY art form is what separates poetry from a book report for school. But do you know it's that important in music too?

Your MP3s compress data and musical clarity, but did you KNOW that? I want you guys to think about that. As a son of a stereophile AND musicphile (And fellow stereophile and musicphile, personally), I've known this stuff since I was about 10, but not everyone has a dad who has over +500 CDs in a music collection.  (At least.) 

Think about the clarity of your MP3s and YouTube videos as opposed to a live concert.

To better show you what I mean, here's a video on the distortion of sound:
 

Watch that, share your thoughts, tell me how your life is goin' and all that good stuff. :la:

And before I end this, have a feature:
Easy.We don't need easy.
We will hold the impossible
between the fingers
of our joined hands;
A trial
that would reduce
kings to cold sweats,
And together now,
in the labyrinth
we have both wandered
in screaming solitude,
We will
with a single breath
set free the leaves
on each branch
to dance,
liberated,
before falling exhausted
beside our shoes.
And in doing so,
we will
cut the dead ends
and the ambiguity
and the pain
will be foreign
instead of familiar.
We will make easy.
day fourteen.
i. islands
parallel
and wry
in separate oceans
your motions
and mine
mirror each other well
each swell
and sigh
a synchronized explosion
devotion
and rhyme
that no words can tell
ii.anomalous
and as my systems
switched from replay
to transmit
I sought to memorize
the reverb
the glitch in your eye
relays the fact
that we
were always
compatible
but coordinates
betray
the circuitry
iii.pluviophiliac
king and queen
of dreamstates
we decree
that our reigns
should replace
our rapidest eye movements
and now we are addicted
to our words
from on high
iv.pericardium
despite the counterbalance
of our layers
there remains
a sea between us
more a product of location
as opposed
to simple genus
mophing to the beat
and softly undulating
in eclipse
pretending shorelines
are truth's digitizing
kiss
v.convalescence
reconnecting ligaments
and wandering tendons
and other membranes
feeling like
there's no meet
in this frame
HopeThere are so many days
when humanity frightens
the most compassionate
person away
it takes only a knife
or a word or a gun, and
oh god,
we scare so easy.
I'm tired of living
without faith,
without promise,
I'm tired of not believing
in tomorrow.
There may not be a god above
but believer or not,
there are so many
reasons to love
I'm not giving up
I'm not letting go;
I'm going to dream
and one day
perhaps I will fly
and I will believe
the best of people
until it kills me,
because the moment
that you give up
is the moment
you become the problem.
hibernationmy love is chameleon
sometimes 
when it must change shape 
to survive. afraid
it may kill itself 
in its sleep--so sharp,
so demanding. sometimes
it becomes softer, rounder
simply to survive itself.
sometimes it doesn't do
to be so murderous. 
now i ask my love
to go to sleep instead. please
don't change your shape
to slip out from under
your grief. please,
curl up with your dagger
teeth, and breathe deep
until you don't feel
the winter anymore.
better dream
than dead. better still
than gone. i have never been
one for hibernation, 
no, but i would give much
to keep you. to preserve 
you, a sleeper 
encased in ice, 
and in doing so
save myself. 
 
Caged AnimalYou're examining your skin in the mirror, trying to work out why it doesn't fit right anymore, when the voices startle you. Shouts of "breakfast!" echo in the hall, and nurses crash fists against wood, rapping loud to get the attention of sleepy patients. You jump slightly, and send your toothbrush skittering across the floor. While you chase it, another patient flushes and steps from the toilet cubicle into the main room. Her bare feet scrape against the linoleum and you shudder. You throw your toothbrush in the bin and run your fingers over your teeth instead, remembering what it used to be like.
When you finally find and make it into the dining room, it is obvious that most of the best foods are already gone. There is a sad looking hot water machine with a selection of styrofoam cups out of their packaging. You think about how many hands have touched those before you and decide to skip the morning caffeine entirely. Unbidden, you remember the dining area at your last treatment facil
pragmaticthat falling star will burn a hole
right through your pocket
and then where will you be?
foolish patchwork prince
burnt fingers and blistered thumb
no closer to your dreams
no farther from your nightmares
of oxygen and water (hope and memory) goodbye oleander ghost
    freckled phantom flower
drifting ever more featureless
          in the floodstream engine
           you withered in the atrium,
   were crushed
       under oceanic gears--
no one ever told you
     the same things sustaining life
also destroy it.
 
masksWhat happened to all those masks he thought...
he used to like the one with the happy face
but now it chafes and makes his eyes water
it just didn't seem to fit right anymore.
and it produced that funny tin echo when he laughed
the sad faced mask was comfortable when Rafael died
but lately he started slipping it on by mistake
most often during corny scenes in movies
or late at night when no one was around
the anger mask was his favorite when he was young
he wore it proudly with its' red war paint and menacing eyes
but now it was cracked and faded and heavy
so heavy he could only wear it briefly before his neck started to hurt from the strain
the fear mask was broken and was indistinguishable from apathy
the surprise and anticipation masks were lost
he couldn't remember the last time he saw them
maybe somewhere at the bottom of his closet
his least favorite masks, disgust and shame,
were still in fine shape though
he told himself that was because he hardly wore them
that's what he
red fairs.you ran in circles
till your head rang "square."
Sleep TogetherSleep is a sweet mistress, that beckons on to worlds and lives both unknown and comforting,
a slight warmth on the corner of the jaw, a comforting pressure against my back,
her perfume is eternal in quality yet fleeting in quantity.
she is the only lover who has never left,
she is the only lover who has,
she is the only lover...
a rush of cold air from cotton armor failing, the chill assault winning,
I finally find myself, alone on an isle of foam in the middle of the dark
reverse Stockholm syndromereverse Stockholm syndrome
between the motion and
the act
is where i lost
you
[and you were never
a shadow, that isn't
what i meant]
you
were just always
my Peter Pan, my Petya
and Tink--well--
she was always just
an image, a fleeting glimpse
in a sea of humanity
of ephemeral truth
[and she faded, too
like i wish i was real
and that our stars
had no faults]
you are everything
i can't explain
[and i'm not sure if that
makes you human
or if it just makes me
helpless]
My Dearest LoveMy Dearest Love,
I thank God above
for blessing me
with such a man as thee.
I am so grateful
to have someone so faithful;
someone like you
whose love for me is true.
I trust you with my life
and I know you won't cause strife
for you're the perfect one
who's love is brighter than the sun.
Never could I ask for more;
you'll never ever be a bore.
I know you worry I may move on,
but I promise you my love is strong.
My eyes will not gaze on other men.
I'll never joke or even pretend
that I would ever leave your side
for you are my greatest pride.
Love, don't listen to your fears.
My darling, I'll wipe your tears.
Don't be ashamed to in front of me cry;
dear, hiding...don't even try.
I love every part of you.
Your smile, and your tears too.
I'll accept your all
and I'll stop your fall.
I'll be here always
to love you all of my days.
Forever and always we will be
and our love all will see.
So my hero, thank you
for showing me a love so true.
For supporting me every day
and always knowing what
Restart Your SoulConnect your heart to your brain,
rewire your mind.
Adjust your settings:
Feelings – on
Violence – off
Thinking – active
Restart your soul.
Restarting optical devices.....
Fine tuning audio input.....
Removing preset filters on incoming data.....
Starting truth detectors in heart cells.....
Reconfiguring speakers to inhibit white noise.....
Soul restarted.
Turn off auto pilot?
Yes / No
Yes.
Stop the robotic movements of your hands, you can do better.
The Beginning of EternityThe grass is oddly warm, like the heat of a pulsing heart. I run my fingers through the sharp blades, the thin membrane slicing against my skin. I lie atop the parched earth and soak in the sun; its hot rays penetrating through the fiber of my shirt and erupting in a fiery blaze along the surface of my skin.
I scan the sky with wandering eyes and absorb the pasty clumps of white as they traverse the great expanse of blue molding into recognizable figures, some swollen with rain.
The air is heavy with moisture. The wind stirs, catches a strand of my hair and twirls it around in a sensual dance. My lungs expand as I inhale the warm summer air; an impulsive, groggy haze clouds my brain. Kaleidoscopes of vibrant colored butterflies repose in the balmy humidity; suspended in the sweltering heat.
A quick, minty breath swirls against the side of my face. I close my eyes and lean into the cool breeze, my shoulder brushing against soft skin. I look sharply upward, the tip of my nose breadths aw
The Last EnemyThe Last Enemy 6/5/14
You cannot see it,
but it is always there.
It follows you wherever you go.
Taunting - teasing - bearing
its metallic teeth - waiting.
Ever so patient,
like a stalking sentry.
Always looming in the
background of your thoughts.
You cannot run or shun
its powerful hold.
At anytime it can attack -
relentless in its pursuit.
Like a shadow with ill intent -
all its will is bent
toward one thing.
As a claw that slowly scratches
down your back leaving chills behind.
Hot breath on your exposed neck
imparts an imprint on your haunted hallucinations.
It is unavoidable and indifferent.
It knows no mercy or rival.
A frosty breeze that freezes your blood -
making your hair stand on end.
There is no light in this endless night.
There is no waking from this demented dream.
I am frightened till my last desperate breath.
There is no escape from our last enemy - Death!
flowers will bud and bloomDo you remember the first time
they told you that you couldn’t bear children
and you felt relieved and shattered all at once
because the chance that something good could ever come out of your dilapidated shell of a self,
well, that chance was gone?
Do you remember how you had to reappropriate the artist’s vision of your life,
turn it into something practical, something you could use,
you had to find your heart on the precipice of a windy mountain
and make it only yours?
Remember that.
That was the day that you learnt that there are other ways to exist,
other dreams of other futures
and kinds of heartbreak that you had never imagined possible.
That was the day you came face-to-face with the empty, petrifying gaze of loneliness
because you found out that there were types of love that you might never feel,
like shades of colour that you’d never see.
But just as desires are sometimes birds that were never yours to set free
there is no such thing as a useless person.
You a
corrosionmy body was marble
cut to be a quiet version of perfection,
my gentle curves and small feet
were enough to entrance you for hours
i did not know your hands were dipped in acid rain
slowly corroding my will
into something you’d want to see,
the glances away from my eyes
as my head was no longer visible
into something you’d want to feel
because the tight clothing was not enough
for your greedy hands.
Feeling Night in DaytimeWhen I was sixteen, I made a picture
of a crow on an empty beach
by carving out the image in a wooden block
and pouring ink into it,
pressing it into the soft cotton of old t-shirts.
Sometimes I lay in bed before the light of morning
has been etched out of the sky,
and I think of the wooden blocks.
How must it feel to have grooves
that were not originally your own?
  Take the paring knife from the kitchen sink
  and dig it in—so that the ink seeps out
  rather than in, hot & red.
In the morning, I find the crow and the sea
pressed into my sheets.
ClutchFalling to the ground,
you tumble and
twist upon the wind,
wondering where
the bottom is.
There is no struggle,
no clawing and gripping
to stay on,
you simply accept
what you know is
inevitable.
And it's the same
every time.
<da:thumb id="467885181"/> cynical skinIf I tell you I'm
fine
then please don't
fucking believe me.
I wear layer
after layer of cynical
skin,
drawn taut over old
pink scars that I am
drawn to
[Just like how I
love to draw them
on myself]
And over pound 
after pound of
"Leave me alone!
No, I'm sorry...
Please don't leave me..."
For the love of
any holy virtue
in this God-forsaken 
universe,
if I tell you I'm
fine,
then please,
don't fucking believe me.
 <da:thumb id="468165790"/>

Oh, oh, oh! And remember! You're all beautiful, amazing, and incredible. Yes, YOU. :D
 
And here, have a stupid selfie that I just took too:
140717-212508 by chromeantennae
I love you. :love:
Add a Comment:
 
:icontyrison:
Tyrison Featured By Owner Jul 22, 2014  Student Writer
Thank you very much for the feature! ^^
Reply
:iconchromeantennae:
chromeantennae Featured By Owner Jul 22, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
My pleasure, Mary!
Reply
:iconbonfirelights:
bonfirelights Featured By Owner Jul 20, 2014  Student General Artist
Thank you for the feature! :) I'm glad you're going well. :heart:
Reply
:iconchromeantennae:
chromeantennae Featured By Owner Jul 21, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
My pleasure, Rosemary! You're so gosh-darned talented. :)
And thank you. :heart:
Reply
:iconbonfirelights:
bonfirelights Featured By Owner Jul 23, 2014  Student General Artist
Thank you :heart: so are you! :hug:
Reply
:iconchromeantennae:
chromeantennae Featured By Owner Jul 23, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
My pleasure! :heart:
Thank you. :huggle:
Reply
:iconautumnstea:
AutumnsTea Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you for the feature! :D :dance:
Reply
:iconchromeantennae:
chromeantennae Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
My pleasure! :heart:
Reply
:iconcirprius:
Cirprius Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2014  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Grats on all the school work!

As for your question, I do respect the creations of other artists. I think art is a little tiny glimpse into the thoughts and mind of another human being. That being said, the meaning and message of the creator is always going to be filtered through the viewers mind. Which means...as a creator we can try to be as clear as possible, but often times the end message the viewer gets won't be anywhere close to the same.
Reply
:iconchromeantennae:
chromeantennae Featured By Owner Jul 19, 2014  Hobbyist Writer
Thank you! :D

:nod: I totally understand where you're comin' from. :)
Reply
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