R.I.P. Six Kitty

R.I.P. My Six kitty.
October 31st, 1999 – January 17, 2012

You were always more than just a cat. I remember when I found you as a kitten, all those years ago, out in the woods. I picked you up, and took you with me. I knew you were different…something special. Maybe it was those six toes you had. Maybe it was the way you understood me, when no one else did.

You used to sit on my shoulder, until you got too big to, but would try anyway. I remember how you’d pick up things like a person, investigate whatever it was, then toss it away. It was always funny, going into the bathroom to see the facet on, because you wanted a drink, but you didn’t bother to turn it off. Or how you would lay on my chest and drool, because you were so content, as was I.

I remember the last time I saw you, sitting on the table, looking at me so confused because I had to leave. I couldn’t take you with me, no matter how much I wanted to. I cried that day because I knew, I may never see you again. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t come, and probably thought I’d be back, but I didn’t come back.

I regret I couldn’t be there for your last days, as I was for your first. I can only hope I gave you a life that was better than you had, and gave you a friend and family that loved you so very much. I cried today when I found out you were gone, and I didn’t get to say good bye. I think I’ll be crying for a while.

Know that I will never have another ‘cat’ like you. I could never, and would never have a ‘cat’ that would compare. You were my friend, my brother, and at some points in my life, all that kept me going. I wish you well on this journey, and hope you are at peace. Please forgive me for not being there when you needed me the most. I love you my Six kitty.

- M.Z.H.

R.I.P.

October 31st, 1999 - January 17th, 2012

 

Figments

Cataclysmic fates, erase, embrace the stone walled, exiled threads
Deconstructed gates, misplaced, defaced frosted glass, defiled dead
The ways this reality slowly declines, softly aligns, weaves so entwined
Can it be, what you see is just

Figments of a dream, imprints of a scream

Helpless sounds, surround, down shallow paths, echoing static
Shifting grounds, astounds, frown upon faces, loosely graphic
The ways this reality slowly declines, softly aligns, weaves so entwined
Can it be, what you see is just

Figments of a scheme, imprints of a theme

Slamming  widely shut, uncut, but can this be, lost silence
Stuck within a rut, of smut, jutted from the walls, found guidance
The ways this reality slowly declines, softly aligns, weaves so entwined
Can it be, what you see is just

Figments that redeem, imprints busted seams

Circle

Sands pouring faster, hourglass of time
Bones grown frail, removed from their prime
Hunched over figure, broken is the spine
Words spoken softly, meaning so benign

Thoughts loom larger, engulfed within the sky
Breath comes shorter, muttering reply
Black pupils dilate, the vision they deny
Lips move slowly, ideas they imply

Dirt piles deeper, body will transcend
Tears drop weakly, shapeless old friends
Hands whisper loudly, handshakes they extend
Lost is the figure, headstone will portend

Eyes opened widely, energy so alive
Fingers grasping harshly, will to survive
Tongue waggles fiercely, breathing to thrive
Skin shiny pinkness, the baby has arrived

One Year Ago Today

One year ago today, I got married.

It was a fascinating thing. All the people, my friends, coming to my wedding. My best man driving all the way from Miami just to be there. I wouldn’t have been able to do it at all if he hadn’t. How things have changed so much since that happier time. I never thought I would have gotten married. My aloof personality, weird thoughts, and overall too realistic outlook on life usually made me feel as if something like that wouldn’t ever happen. It did though, much to my chagrin. I was so lonely, like we all tend to get. Loneliness can drive people to do things they know are crazy, or flat out stupid. That train made its stop, and I just got right on board.

She was someone I had been with before, years earlier. Had my senses been a bit more keen, and my memory a bit less dull, I would have run as far away as my legs would have taken me. It was on a whim really, out of the blue, or blackness should I say. I can’t fault her really, even when she tried to stab me after coming home drunk. I mean, I had only asked where she had been, I should have known, right?

I got my wedding ring tattooed, as did she. Having never had a tattoo, I told myself a long time ago if I ever got one, the first would be my wedding ring. A black band now sits on my ring finger, a reminder of what can come out of being lonely. It had to be fixed after all that had happened. I’ll be damned if I’m going to walk around with what was there before on my finger for the rest of my life. It took me damn near getting killed to realize how bad I screwed up. The only person you can ever truly save is yourself, especially if its from a drunken, knife-wielding opponent. I’m not completely sure what I did to deserve that, all I did was love her really. Or did I? Maybe I wanted it to work. Maybe I loved her, but I know now I was never in love with her. I was in love with the idea of everything working out in the end. Aren’t we all?

So here I am, one year later. My life is actually starting to take shape. Its growing into what I want it to be, as opposed to what I think it should have been. Its been a pretty epic journey, many ups, and many downs. As much as I hate to say it, I have to thank my ex for what she did. With one swift motion, she put me on the right track. As messed up as that is, if it hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t have what I do today.

Myself.

7-5-99 10:49pm (old)

Pity towards the self-expressionless factoids. Inexhaustible amount of bad feelings for the time to come. Germinating seeds of anger and chaos. The core of my being cursed by lack of know-how and elbow grease. Legacies unwritten in stone. Purity wasted on selfish desires of the flesh. Hunger for the unknown. Helpless accidents; hapless fears. Accountable to no one. Barred charisma falling into the void of matter, crushed by dignity. Jealously toppling forward into a sea of green. Mists of the sun swirling around particles of envy and defeat. Memories sunken in the marshes of gray matter, sinking towards rebellious hormones, carried away by the wind. Pessimistic opportunities knocking, slamming against the roof and floor. Clumsy hands holding together loose fabric of reality. Screams of laughter; moans of joy; silence of sarcasm. The unveiling of emptiness. Shattered mirrors behind stone walls. Broken glass in front of paper dwellings.

(typical journal entry for a 17 year old me :D )

The Body (old)

Electric pulses of controlled energy shoot through the veins and arteries of the body. Fluids sway, uninhibited in valleys of tissues and muscle, rippling throughout bone. Blood pumping, forced into the chamber of the heart, continuing on to the miles of narrow corridors. Bubbling stomach acids eating, burning nutrients of consumed foods, breaking down to the molecular level. Absolute control of movement through orders via the spinal cord, like a telephone line spanning out to the hands, feel, arms, and legs. The lungs taking in air, to be manufactured and separated; heating up the cells giving energy. Exhaling carbon dioxide for the trees and grasses of the world. The liver taking toxins from the body like a desalination plant takes salt from water. All five senses journey from stimuli to the brain to be analyzed and cataloged for future reference. Finally, the mass of gray matter, the computer which regulates everything, keeping a constant view over all systems from the toes to the top of the head.

(This was a descriptive type writing exercise I did when I was younger.)

Just For A Second (old)

Soon into the light we go
Troubles tossed to and fro
Time is ripped for all to see
Its endless threads interweave

The northern lights shine brightly on Maine
Slowly driving everyone insane
Over the White House it glistens and gleams
But everything isn’t as right as it seems

As the flare hits, time screams in high tones
So high in fact, that it takes out the phones
As time starts to bleed, time-lines cross over twice
History spills at the roll of a dice

Our time is gone, others put in its place
You just might see someone else with your face
One piece of advice that I must insist
Do not touch yourself or you will cease to exist

(A poem I entered into a poetry contest around the age of 17)

Wants

I want to set the world on fire.

I want to watch the oceans burn and see the horizon engulfed in flames. I want the heat to melt mountains. I want the sky gray with soot as the missiles go streaming by. I want the explosions to penetrate the air and vibrate the trees apart. I want to see the buildings crumble down, the roads cracked, and all the shattered glass fused into one big smoldering heap. I want the land to sink and the oceans to rise.

I want the other shoe to drop.

I want for tomorrow never to come. I want for yesterday to disappear as quickly as today. I want the moments to be fleeting, but for the feelings to last forever. I want the sky to meet the ground and the moon to swallow the sun. I want it all to come swiftly, the waiting has taken its toll. I want the wait to never end. I want to give life to this corpse called a man, but only marionettes have strings. I want to cut the wires of this puppet and watch it fall.

I do not want this.

End of the World

The end of the world is a cosmic joke.

In all ages and time periods, there always seems to be this fascination with the “end of the world”. Whether it be by planetary upheaval, governmental control, or random encounters with asteroids, at some point, we are all convinced the world will cease. There always seems to be some prophecy or mindset that pervades all of humanity, even in different time frames. Its like we all have this need for some kind of cleansing of the earth. Each century of life brings a new possibility for collapse.

What if the end never came?

I feel as though all humans have this in born belief that things will get better in some way, whether it be through divine intervention, planetary readjustment, or some other means. We keep chugging along with it in the back of our minds, this false belief that just maybe, tomorrow will finally bring about the end that we’ve all be so desperately searching for, yearning for, and believing in a shallow corner of our beings, that will happen.

We see it everyday. We hear the unbelievable, we see things that astound and horrify, we take in absurdity after absurdity. To what end? That is the rub, there is no end. The hell we can imagine that would happen with the restructuring of the world we know, is nothing compared to it never actually happening. All these poor souls, having hope of a better world by some kind of sudden means, without care or reason, just to wake up in a new world full of possibilities.

It isn’t that easy.

Only we will bring about the end of ourselves. We know we have to in order to make room for the next evolution of human thought and ideas. As long as we continue the way we are going, nothing will change. A hundred years from now, we could still be dreaming of that cataclysm, that ultimate change that will affect the entire world in such a way as to change everything. Dreams are not reality unless you make them that way.

I can end my world today, but that does not change the world I live in.

We dilute ourselves into thinking the end is near. The end came and went without anyone ever even noticing. It comes and goes every day in the bullshit you see, read, hear, and touch. Its only real if you make it real. If I don’t believe in this reality, why does it still exist? Why do we all wake up everyday, go to work, pay our bills, bitch about our lives, and still have some dark shade of hope that it will all change one day?

I used to believe in the end of the world. I used to believe it would all come tumbling down one day, be it by fire or ice, annihilation or spiritual revival, or whatever else that happen to pass my fancy at the time. Its like a mechanism of pushing yourself, if you believe it will all end, you should learn all you can, acquire the means to live, and get yourself in a place of readiness. But its bullshit. The end will not come in my lifetime. As you are dying, old in bed surrounded by friends and family, you will realize the joke of it all.

The world didn’t end, but you did.

The Box

I view the world from a box of my own making.

No matter how many windows and doors I may construct, the box will remain the same. It contains me, sustains me, and will be my crypt long after I am gone. I was always taught to “think outside the box”; is the act of staying inside while looking out a method of thinking outside? This box is both my salvation and my prison. It saves me from drama, from pointless crap from day to day. It gives me somewhere to think, somewhere to be. Its bars are soothing, black as they may be.

Do doorways and windows matter when there are no walls?

A wall-less construction, created out of shoved down emotions and cemented by life itself. There is still that place deep down, hidden from everything, that wants me to believe in the general goodness of people. I want to believe that good things will happen to the people that deserve it. However, watching the world from this box, I see just the opposite everyday. From people you can trust, from people you don’t know, from people everywhere. It is the same no matter where you go. Back-stabbing, cruelty, revenge, and personal gain.

The person that dies with the most toys wins.

Wins what? A chance at 5 million afterlife bucks? A trip to the dead’s version of Hawaii? A seat beside the god you’ve been taught all your life to believe in? You’re dead and no one cares what you may or may not have afterward. One less life means a little more for everyone else, right? That is the way it seems, watching it all from the comfort of my prison. All the rats, running as fast as they can through the maze, with some glimmer of hope that they will get to the cheese first.

There is no cheese at the end of that maze.

I may live my life alone, but I do it without the fear of getting run over in the process of living. I do it to keep myself above the things I see through the black bars of a self-imposed jail. I do it so I don’t become one of the rats, continuously running in search of that supposed prize at the end of the maze. In reality, the end of that maze is just another death. Another life thrown away in search of a better tomorrow, a better today. Another rat run over by others, tossed aside and disregarded.

I refuse to run the race.

But, in a way, I run the race everyday. I go to work, I pay my bills, I deal with people I don’t even know on a daily basis. At least I have my box, contained from cruelty, banished from the maze. It keeps me from indiscriminately killing other rats around me. It keeps me from saying all the things I want to say, but cannot say. It keeps me alive, or at least some semblance of it. As long as I’m breathing, I’m still alive, right? As long as I move, eat, sleep, think, and go to work, I’m alive, right?

As alive as I allow myself to be.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I should run the race and get nothing but death in the end. I don’t think so. Either way, we die in the end. I just choose not to deal with it. I’d rather watch, silently, from this room I’ve constructed over the years. Why get involved? Its not my deal. What others do to fuck up their lives is not my business. I’m perfectly content watching it all, however. As the days stretch to weeks, and the weeks to years, I am still here. Waiting. Waiting for what, I have no idea.

I may not be alive in the traditional sense, but I live nonetheless.

People have told me I’m distant. I know this. It isn’t news to me. I do this because in a world full of non-choice, its the only choice I can make. I choose this life. That is more than I can say for the majority of rats running around. It may not be the “best” life, but it is my life. I may not enjoy it sometimes, but there are far more times that I do than don’t. Until I have a good reason to destroy what its taken me years to create, I will remain the same, as I always have from those of you that know me well enough.

I will always be here in the end because no one else will be.

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