luvly sunshine

another day, another way
to tell you how the stars faded
and the sky turned into a rhyme
with the clouds jaded

and like a firefly
the sun came by
and peeked it self over the hill
and held a lullaby
in the sake of you

singing a song
too many words to know it all
too much feeling to let you understand
the curves and depths of this bend

that cupped the first sunshine
and made this world mine
rising and falling to the colors of flowers

might we dance
might we prance
the ways that this sunshine is
all of us.

mary

synchonization.

Have Heart

When you meet me, don’t look at my physical body. Don’t look at the person I paint with my words. Look at my soul.

This is another filling of blank slate.

Here is a story:

Meet Heart. Smile at her, but she won’t look. Talk to her and she won’t listen. Poke her but she won’t respond. There is something deadly missing in her Heart. But she is Heart. Empty, dry from the past droughts and tearing away of top soil to reveal the cracked portions and the collapsing of dry dust because there is no reason to stay up if nothing is going to grow upon it. She can see right through you and your sick intentions to take her. She does not want to be affected by someone so fake, so unreal, and so full of lies.

Heart once had, and always will have a heart, the most beautiful sky-high heart. She would stand in the rain and look up to the heavens catching every drop in the sky. Slowly they fell because she was not trying to get anywhere, but instead was waiting for something, someone, anything. And beauty became beautiful and then wonderful, and then joyful.

While everyone was around was trying to get somewhere, someone, something, they rushed right through her and around her. But she was unwavering and did not even see this swirl. Instead she had her eyes set on the sky and the rain that fell, and fell, and fell. She felt the drops, each one she watched and then felt the splat. She predicted each part of her body getting wet by the fall of a small drop, that when joined with others can end the world.

One day, the rain stopped and the skies cleared so slowly she was able to catch the last drop in her hand. And softly she saw the rays divide by the last of the clouds. And the last of the clouds broke apart and flew quietly away to the side until they had regained their strength to cry once again.

Slowly she looked down. In front of her, she met the eyes of a man whose smile came directly from curves of the clouds. His eyes were the ocean, and though they were brown, the reflection of the water from the ocean, no matter how far away, where reflected upon his eyes. His blue eyes were where she was waiting for. She wanted to swim in those eyes, in those dark sparkly eyes, and she wanted to smile like him.

She took one step forward, trying, in a stroke of regret that she had moved from the spot that, to her, she had not left for such a long time. She watched her feet in curiosity of the sheer easy movement it conducted from a simple thought in her mind, this initiation that was from a simple plan to reach him.

Slowly, from what was a fuzzy image of the rest of him, his body appeared, and his eyes the more wonderful and understanding. His gaze never changing and his smile the same.

And she walked closer, and closer, each step harder and harder, yielding more question, more effort, more initiation, more reliance, more belief, more decision.

But just as it always happens in every dream, never in reality right away, but always soon enough because we are finding, he leaves. He disappears. His smile collapses, his eyes taken away by the sun’s ray, and his body lost to blank space, filled by what was behind.

He is gone.

Heart now fears, fears more than anything. She had made the wrong choice to look away from the sun, the wrong choice to walk toward him. Because through he had not really disappeared, he was not as he had appeared. He was always someone else, and he always had other intentions for Heart. He was always hiding something, always afraid and afraid to admit it that he was not himself when he was with her.

He was telling her lies each step as she took toward him, and his image was clearer, this fake image. But the truth never created his inside. And the inside it what holds him up, so he disappeared. He could not understand how he could disappear from her heart so quickly, from her life so quickly. It was because he was never there, his heart was never truly with Heart, and hers was with his, but because each step was on the bases of fakery, each step was not a step taken.

Heart knows not to give up, but Heart knows more than anything that in this world where image is important, in this world where people say things but never apply them to their own life, in this world where books are read but never understood except for a test, in this world, it will take her a long time to find him.

But she will wait, and watch the rain like she always had. She will not believe that time flies and she will not believe that there is time. Heart will do as she thinks she will and her best in everything in life.

And when she has no one to dance with, she will dance with the redwood trees, the stars as a disco ball, and the world her dance floor.

And when she has no one to talk to because everyone is on their cell phone jabbering for such a long time, she will write everyday on a blank slate with anything she can find to tell you a story about Heart.

mary

I will not tell you it is me, because it is other people as well.
To quote my friend Ramy: "I want to be with someone who will make me be the best person I can be when I am around him/her."

Been writing more than normal, the year is ending and I've got a few things to clear up with myself before I can let important things go completely.

fortified

Fortified, speaking your mind
Quotes, memory dragging you deep into
Sensory
Enjoyment hunger rights
Love, guilt death

The things you see while walking down the street
Of a name brand city
Colors, bright, attention, fast, quick, glances fit

There’s two sides to this city
one side is the happy wealth, the plethora
The smiles, the cheery sparkle

On the other side are the hungry
who spend their days figuring out ways for the next meal
And count the ways they can ask for money politely

How can a city be so two different countries?
How can happiness measured?

“a nickel and a smile goes a long while”

there is wisdom in that very sentence,
a silent begging, but a beautiful poetry
what life should mean

everything should mean something
everything

feel more. Feel. Feel. Feel.

mary

Repetition is the key in a repeating world, but feeling should not be a repetition. You feel; just let it take you so that you never become numb.

Lonesome

Lonesome

All on the lonesome, a heart in the whisper
A light flickering far away, a signal to start the day’s
work at night and begin the approach
of infinity

Take on the sadness
Throw away your mask of fear and persona
Look into his eyes
And forgive the world for its wrong

Look into the eyes of the moon
for hope and simple tunes of a song
A ballad that rings forever true with its voice, tune

The layers of reflection onto the glass
It takes on any light and reintroduces it into the world
In another reality, another tonality with
the busy life behind it
And the peace and quiet of an empty cold room

With people that talk about their dreams
And their beliefs, whispering their lacking
And joys, their sharing of situations and difficulties
In all of speech and weather and roads

Thinking about the emptiness you must feel as well
Driving home in the darkness to a song
watching the cars pass by like they have a direction to go
And thoughts passing through your mind like the images
running through your eyes and meaning nothing

Because it is all the same, it has got meaning, but not what you are looking for
It is all color and memory
but it is not what makes you complete.

If there’s a wish I can make in the world, it would be
not for voice, or feeling, for fullness, or joy
It would not be for money or friends, for skies or angels to save me,
It would not be paradise or the most beautiful sunset
It would not be for the most basic things, or the most infinite supply
It would be for you to find that love you are searching for

Driving late at night listening to the same song
All on a lonesome, you’ll have someone to think about
Someone to remember and smile to,
Someone to make wishes to on the drive home.

Someone, someone, someone like you.

mary

Because we all deserve love.

my story

If you read between the lines you will hear my voice.
The beginning of a short story, or a novel? Or maybe it's jus going to just stay like this? I'd like the story to figure itself.

Bloom

<>---

What is happiness? Is it to smile? Is it to breathe? Is it to sing?
Who is to deem we are happy? Where is the end of this seam?

Come, come, dance with me, and we’ll forget about ideas of being free
or living until eternity.

We’ll live in this moment, just you and me.

mary

---

And she said “Bloom, bloom my darling, bloom” and she was gone.

I am kneeling on the ground looking at the new buds on the ground. Tiny sprouts, one two, three, four, five. I am poking at the little pieces of grass, small. The ground is damp and dark, packed from the pounding of the rain. Mud rolled in balls from the tittering and tattering and the crunchy leaves, six, seven, eight, nine, pouting their last defeat in their rattle and final let go into a mushy slush.

The sun has turned the tiny leaves into sparkling hands yielding their sparkling diamonds of dew. The brightest ray’s only landing into the corner of my eyes. Chase! I try to catch that ray which moves around the garden, turning everything into light. These are clouds of pure white, the white that every other white tries to mock, the white of clean shoe strings, the white of purity. Lying on my back upon the damp earth, looking up the heavens and above, I point and stare in disbelief the animals, ten, moving and changing before my eyes.

It’s beautiful. This is beauty.

Will you believe me? I dance around the center of the universe, this unique sunshine falling into the middle of my play ground, a simple unkempt back yard. Skipping in what is a circle in this degree, a circle, a never ending path, where is the end? I’m in front of you, I’m always in front, or are you always behind? What, you’re in front? No, I am in front because I’ll show you the beauty. Look at the leaves of ivy, follow me. No? Alright, let’s dance then; let’s dance in this circle, this circle of happiness. Hair flying in the air, hold my hand, it won’t be over soon, we could go on forever.

In circles we ran, and in circles we thought, and in circles everything was connected.

---

A young girl, her name was Bloom. Her eyes the color of winter, her hair the flow of spring, her face the color of summer always, and her voice was the tremor of fall. She sang about things she did not know, about a lost love and all in a splendid tone.

She lived with her grandmother. Her parents were too busy to take her in. Her grandmother lived in an old brick home with ivy growing all over it. She always spoke in a bubbly tone and gave a smile to anything. So the first time Bloom broke a cup, her grandmother chuckled for an hour until it seemed that the whole world was laughing and the cup was fixing itself slowly in such an amount of happiness and humor, and to prove that indeed its own brokenness was a pure joke.

She dreamt she was a princess and made a ring of flowers for her crown. Leaves paved the pathway of her arrival to a kingdom and a bouquet of hydrangea to hand to the queen. She threw yellow flower petals in the air representing the snow and sunshine mixture. And she smiled knowing her prince was on the other side. The castle was right behind the walls, she knew. It had a moat and a horse stable. And when the prince met her, he would take her riding in the forest nearby where they could climb a tree and talk about simple things like how to kill a squirrel. Of course they would never kill one because squirrels are the closest friends they had along with the birds who would sing songs about their happiness and such.

The prince would have a great name that she could change anytime. He would have a name that could be called clearly and said with a long sigh, a name that would ring in the valleys and mountains. And he would have a way with smiling that brought light into the heavens.

She drew diagrams on the dirt with a stick to show how she would walk in a courtly manner and meet the gentleman. She spent hours in the study reading about the ways a lady would pose herself in a court and the proper address for the king and when she should curtsy or if she was expected the bow. And she would almost always fall asleep on top a pile of these books dreaming away how this life would take her away. The flowers of her dreams becoming almost so real sometimes sunlight would peep in from a small window right on her book to tell her she’s not alone, she’s got the help of the world.

Her grandmother would always pick her up from the study softly and lay her in her bed. She would pick up the books and smile at the wonderment these stories must bring to the little princess of her life. These books were the same books she had read. The mystery of love, she remembered, was very special to her and she had specified she would solve it, and she did. It will not long before we all do. As she slowly lifted the books back to the shelves she left one novel out on the table. It was a book without a cover. Just a story of simple love and a love found.

After a week of running around and discovering every little crack to realize and touch and once again, as with every week, trying to poke out the most loveliest rock from the ground, her parents came for a visit. It was always just a visit, temporary and short noticed. Words were exchanged in the most proper manner and whispers transferred between each parent. They were like doctor visits, something strictly mandatory and nothing else. Once it was over it was to be forgotten, except a record was always kept in the mind without the consent of anyone.

“Hello, Bloom, how are you my dear?” said mother in a quiet tone. They were in the living room, the only room they stayed in the whole visit. She was looking at a painting on the wall, which was of her father.

“I am fine mother, where father?” Bloom replied in a monotone.

“He’s not here.”

“I can see that, mother.”

“Do not reply to me like that. We can all see it. You do not respect me. After all I do for this family.” Mother replied with her eyes tearing up, she looked up the ceiling to stay strong and not cry.

“Now, now, maybe you ought to leave now Augustine and bring Henry back with you, alright?” Grandmother softly patted mother’s back and signaled with her eyes for Bloom to escape quick while her mother was looking into her lap for something to help her.

Bloom slid off her chair and ran quickly to the doorway behind her. And she would run for another long time, trying to erase the thoughts of her mind.

“You know, Bloom was only being…”

“You always side with her, every time, just because you live with her you think you know her more, you think you she loves you more!”

“Augustine, dear, you know you are all my daughters, you know I love you and because of that I love her.”

“Bloom does not care about me, we can not even talk”

“Maybe some things have to change first, my dear. She’s getting older everyday. You should take some time off and…”

“and be with her, you always say that, then what? What about the money, you know that Henry is not here anymore.”

“Maybe you should tell her the truth.”

“The truth? I can hardly stand the truth myself. I can’t!”

“Don’t cry, things will get better”

“You always tell me that, but it never does!”

“Darling, listen to yourself.”

“I’m leaving, don’t talk to me, I’m leaving.”

“And then what? You’re going to have to come back and figure this out!”

By then Augustine was already halfway down the driveway with her keys out ready to drive away. Maybe if she was not in such a rush she would not have driven into another car at the intersection a mile from this home. Maybe if she was in a better mood she would have put on her seat belt and cared about her life. But for this moment she did not care, she was going to prove the world wrong; she was going to show that Bloom did love her more than anything, and that her grandmother was just another someone. She was going to show the world!

She only showed the world how much sadness there is, and if you do not pick yourself back up, no one will.

----------------

Fly away.

Fly away, some princesses would fly away with their princes and live forever in happiness. Some princesses had fairy grandmothers. Either way they always went away somewhere far away and were forever happy. Implying they were not quite happy before, or less happy because this new happiness beats it by ten fold. And they were in such unhappiness before to be able to let go of all the sadness or happiness of that past life. Does that make sense? It did to Bloom. She was unhappy, unhappy, unhappy. And even though she had her grandmother who was wonderful and very nice to her, she figured there must be another world to discover outside these palace walls. She was running in a circle, a circle, a circle. That is when the phone rang. The phone hardly rang in the mansion, only a few times it did and it was her mother wishing Bloom a happy birthday and instructions to go out and buy a gift for herself with her grandmother. But she never called right after she visited. This only made the ring louder than it already was. The piercing tone cut through her head and she fell to the middle of her imaginary circle and sat down.

She listened quietly through the window, and even the smallest amount of wind before fell silent. But all she could hear was the same silence that engulfed the building unless she filled it was dreams and smiles and whispers into the air, hoping it would travel over the wall into the ears of her prince. After a long time of anticipation and fear Bloom stood up and was about to resume her frolicking when her grandmother stepped out of the backdoor in her small steps with sparkling tears in her eyes. The sun was playing on her face, filtered by the leaves of the afternoon summer sun. And for a second it looked as if her grandmother was an angel ready to fly away.

“Bloom, my darling, come here for a moment.” Bloom walked over in a slow prance. The backyard was large and she was in the middle. She looked into the eyes of her grandmother and saw that the diamonds in her eyes were not of a hidden surprise or happiness, it was the most beautiful sadness she had ever seen, a sadness of the ocean, a sadness that shattered the world. She could hear the silence holding back the choking and breathlessness in the throat of crying and wailing. She heard her swallow the air with much effort and the she saw the slight wrinkles of this effort and she wanted to save her grandmother. But she could not figure what to do. Her grandmother had always been full of smiles, and now even that, the most reliable thing of her childhood, had broken. She looked down to the early buds of the grass on the ground, and tried to count each blade as she approached her grandmother. She counted as if there was nothing wrong and that everything would be alright, she counted in hope until the tears from her eyes made everything disappear and only the elements of vision were left, color and slight form.

“Bloom, bloom, others had loved you well before I did, and others had giving their life up to keep you alive and beautiful. They wanted the best. I am the only one that loves you now.” Her grandmother looked away to the large maple tree on the left and she remembered Bloom’s birth, how they had a party here with all of the family and close friends. They had a grand time and she was able to cook for everyone. There was a dance and she remembered Augustine in her best attire and Henry in his best suit, dancing together to the clink of wine glasses and the color of festive lights. “Now, I am the last one left to love you. Do no worry I will not be the last. I will never be the last. You understand darling?” She looked down at Bloom who was still looking downward until this moment in which their eyes met. “I love you.”

“Grandmother, why are you telling me this?” Her purity of look and salt crystals on her cheek only made her grandmother fall deep into sadness and fear. “I always knew you loved me. I know father loved me and mother as well. Of course you’re the only one left because mother left and father too.” And she went up to her grandmother, gave her the strongest hug she could for her size and ran away to the other side of the garden to play with the lights under a Japanese maple tree.

Slowly inside, Bloom was trying to escape the world further in a matter of just a few strides she was back on track to playing with her imaginary circle.

Her grandmother could only watch in awe the simple letting go of her granddaughter, and this would be what kept her alive until her death. She stood for awhile and watched over her dear and then walked back into the house to sort the mess out from what had just happen and clear the table for dinner.

No one went to Augustine’s funeral except the grandmother. She did not bring Bloom because she was not sure if Augustine had understood clearly. She also believed that at such a young age, a child should not have to experience death. She was not sure if this was the right choice, but for this moment it seemed necessary.

There should never be a fear of death, but in this case, no one knows what is more necessary, truth or happiness? If the truth is shown, maybe Bloom will not find the worth in it, but instead use it as a reason for everything misfortunate in her life. But if the truth is not shown, she will know it in the end. Maybe she already knew the truth. No one knows. Maybe we could and ask her, but how could we? Ignorance is only temporary bliss. Then the truth comes out and the pain is twice as worse, the thoughts of what could have been come into play and the voice keep echoing about chances lost, a different course of life never taken. Would one have chosen that other course? It does not matter; one was not even allowed to choose it and the pain continues.

-----------------------------------

For the next two months Bloom did as she may. Every week she went to church with her grandmother….

To be continued when the moment comes.

mary

slow motion

Same song

Sickness, a gentle flow, I’m tired of sitting here alone
another day break opening to the grand sounds of rushing life
cars turning out of homes, lovers kiss their good byes
a quick breakfast and gentle smile

a lost good bye

Temporary leaves falling from their pale stick branches
covering the ground
like tears that fall from my eyes when I hear
that there is beauty and sounds renowned

Pick a piece of land and build your home here
wait for others to pick you out and say a hello
I’m only in the mood for one song
and pure emptiness other than that

God, the leaves are beautiful today
the red the kind of blood, the color of heart break
the color of love, sitting upon a maple tree
you’re about to cry soon.

And the yellow like the pure sunshine reflected upon the clouds
on a mellow sun wake
flickering, the wind is making it be
why won’t you stay forever the same way?
because everything is always changing.

Evergreen, a final forever that tags this hill
mountain, promising spring throughout the year,
surging madness, inside the corruption and tales of this life
open up the sadness inside.

Another click to repeat the same song
the same beat, the simple motif that creates
enough feeling that the words fit exactly with what I’m thinking,
what I’m mouthing, my own lyrics fitting in.

Wind twisted trees, but standing up freely!

These trees are the real ones who grew up strong with their own hands
who took the chance to be alone
The only tree in the place.

Not like the trees of newly staged performances
of downtown streets,
clinging to the two sticks with a band to hold it up,
a single stick, it’s natural image never complete.

Alone we are and surely will always be deep inside,
but once we’ve settled down ourselves we’ll find
others have settled right down on your sides
and the heart ache will be no more.

Pain deep inside, is it physical or emotional?
It’s got to be both, my heart, my soul.

mary

Future Soundtrack for America-Death Cab for Cutie- Temporary Life
They’re going to be big. And I will forever love them still for their simplicity.

I just remembered my dream!: I was at a town, in a valley right before the town and I was with someone I truly love. And he said "ok, this is it, this is the sunrise..right about. now!" and when he said "now" the sun came up quickly yet slowly. And it was just beyond words the beauty and light and how the clouds changed and the color!
I don't know who he is but I hope to find him.
The light so bright it overwhelmed me, yet I could see right through it.

dream away

toothpaste:even small things go wrong for me
the tooth paste came out all wrong, the paste getting everywhere but my toothbrush


broken pieces:my family will not accept me.
i visit my family and they have broken my ceramic eyeball piece, the very center of the iris's color fallen off to a white, the tree slowly disentigrating, finally the whole piece cracks. everyone one of the members are in it. this is not the first. chest pain and stopped breathing, shaking and crying. this is the final straw, they have broken everything else i've made before, the eye ball being the last way they can ever see and understand me. i'm on my own now.

friends:what saves me from dying everyday
some good times with a few good friends. I don't remember much, i remember smiling. thanks for being here for me.

crime scene:i'm going to show the world it doesn't have to be this way
saving the world with a man who wouldn't show his face. he saved me a few times and i saved him as well. we figured out that a lady we thought was good was the "bad guy". i remember being in an underground parking garage, the ones in movies you know? and seeing the newpaper with her face on it says she was the villian.

my wish to find happiness will come.

mary

now that it's done

i'm going to promise myself,
i'm going to believe in myself
i'm not going to fall in love
for a year.

still too young to love the right way
and be truthful with myself.

this i will keep true
should it be the last thing i do.

it's been a minute and counting.
mary

clear sparkling glass

Crystal Clear

Clearness of the mind, a deletion of everything
including any structure, leaves nothing
behind but the dust of skeleton bones
of what I could suppose used to be me.

The skies are painted grey, not a single light
ray displaying the true whisper of life.
A moment in time, the catching of realization of the mind
that colors lie, giving us something to judge life on
when if fact we are of all the same matter,
floating forms moving to the rhythm of heaven’s beat.

Creation of sore insight to the brighter side of the mind,
actually leads to a darkness to the mind,
a darkness that allows us to compare the full daylight
as being the brightest of bright,
in the perception of the retina to the mind.

Swerving in this darkness, swimming in lakes,
breaths taken only once, and failing to configure the stroke,
we fall downwards, arms up to the dark heavens.

Swimming in lakes of sadness, puddles of shame,
and oceans of tears, we continue, adding more to the
sadness of all humans, a continuous river pulling you to the end.

Upstream, leads us out of this pain,
and human will tells us to fight the rain
and the smell of decay,
upstream leads the heart.

Follow we will, nature hard against us,
I know for I have been there before,
the turmoil and deceit of the voices within oneself,
the fights, the disagreement over what is the truth.

Backstabbing, side jabbing, killing straight up, it’s all the
same, the death of each voice’s part.
Just let the heart stay alone in the end.

Toward the opening the skies, darkness leads to
grey clouds, that get greyer and greyer,
your heart stronger and stronger, or weaker and weaker,
forward, the endless stream, it is no longer upward,
but against the pull of nature to be like so many that
fake their lives. You know it is not the correct path, though
it is so much easier.

The grey to the white, and then the cotton feathers,
the floor of the heavens. And finally, the sunshine,
the sunshine, the warmth of the heavens. The ground awakes to
lift you upward, truth within the skies.

Clearness of the mind, realization of what is weak,
building upon yesterday’s sorrows,
to travel through tomorrow’s furrows.

That is the faith I have in me.

mary

Take the 100 Acre Personality Quiz!

good bye

so long sweet summer.

turmoil inside myself. i'm going on a walk, never to return the same, or back to where i started.


mary

sunshine and cold

The appearance is deadly if I judge the weather from up here.
In fact it is frozen outside,
but I still believe it is hot like summer.

fall.

felt like winter last night coming back from indian food. delicious.

sabira's birthday. and soon mine will come. sure I can start worrying, but there's something about getting older that is beautiful. each moment you become more you, each repeated wrinkle upon the fact, each mole's rebirth and growth.

yeh i'm looking more like me, not just like anyone else.
i don't want to look like the normal beautiful, i want to be jus plainly me. everything and all. and everyone should feel so and look upon others as so.

if you dont like how you look, then, i think, it has something to do with your soul. If not, then you are beautiful. so don't worry about it. =)

nap time!

mary

play on words

Here's the core of a play I'm writing. Tell me what you think.

Voices

Black and white like our print is the black and white of our knowledge. Until we can speak in color, silence will be our best proximity to voice.

mary

----------------------------------

The cast:

Narrator /only a voice

Man/ wears all white, deep rich voice

Another/ Man wears all black

Woman / dressed in black with cloak

People / group of about fifteen to twenty dressed accordingly

Little Girl/ in a puffy colorful flower dress

Middle aged/ woman holding bread and knife

A Lady / she is wearing a long white gown with a scarf of different colors

-----------------------------------

The curtain is drawn, but the stage is dark. Music is played of archaic tunes, poppy and happy. The music is over lapped by loud clicking of someone typing. The clicking louder and louder and louder until it is almost unbearable. Then it stops just in time with a scream of horror.

Silence for a half a minute.

Narrator: There are certain things a person can’t let go, a song, a memory, and dream. For some of us it’s more than others, but it all matters the same amount. It is what creates us and holds us together to take on tomorrow. I’m going to tell you about mine. It all started with a piece of paper.

Lights turn on. Man enters stage. Stage is empty except for the black screen behind him. He is wearing all white. The light is coming from behind him so he is just a shadow. There is quiet jazz music playing in the background. The man is holding onto a piece of paper the size of his palm. It is white and there is no writing on it. But on it is a single triangle written in black ink.

He stands in the middle of the stage.

Man: This paper, what is its use? [Holds the paper up and shows the audience] Maybe you can’t see it. [Holds it farther out] Ah you still can’t see it. But you will see soon enough, maybe too soon. I don’t know. Do you?

Man dressed in black enters wearing a black coat. He takes from his coat a white clock and hangs it at eye level on the back screen. The clock is not moving and time has stopped. The man in black softly says “time” and walks out.

Man: Oh time, another lie. Won’t you tell me more lies? I bet you could tell me more than I can imagine. Forget it! I’m tired of you. You make me sick [screams].

[He walks over to the clock so that he is standing in front of it and covering it with his head, so no one sees it.]

A woman dressed in black enters. She is wearing a cloak and sways from side to side when she enters. She looks as if she is in mourning because of her black shawl as well.

Woman: Sir, sir! You forgot your umbrella! You left it on a bench. I found it. Please take it back sir.

[All the sudden a full stream of people come in and leaves. They all leave a black item in the scene. They’re all wearing black. Some bring tables, chairs.]

The screen, as the people bring in items, turns to a black to white. The items are seen as shadows. The man still stands in front of the black clock. He has his arms crossed. People have brought in items in the according fashion. In the background is the sound of people murmuring.

Little Girl in puffy flower dress: [she brings in a small black bear] children [she whispers and leaves].

Man: I thought it was possible…I’m so wrong. Here was the infidel and my dear. Oh the pain. I cannot speak, but listen.

[A drone plays softly.]

Man: More like it. I can hear that drone, it’s kind of like life for the lots of you. An endless drone that doesn’t stop! How do you live this way? Every day in and out, going out of your homes, and in, back out. The same thing, just living, what a pity, what a pity.

[The drone stops.]

Man: I never was quite too fond of anything or anyone. I think that how this all got started. I bicker all the time with people to the point that I just look away. You can all relate with me at least once? When mankind turns their back on you, or was it the other way around? Oh, it doesn’t matter. Just listen real close won’t you. I don’t want you to forget this: sometimes people will come to you and just piss you off, just take and let it go ok? We can all live a little better that way.

Middle aged worried woman enters from the right. She’s holding bread and a knife.

Woman: I, I….

Man: no need to explain, you’ve lost it have you? Every last bit of it?

Woman: am quite. Unhappy. [Leaves the knife on the table on the left of the stage.]

Man: Ha, I knew it. [Looks down to the ground.] Darling, you can clean the world clean, but the mess stays, oh it stays inside of you and you’ll never be content. Click, click, click. I’ll sing for this clock here [walks down stage]. Click, click, click…

[continues to say click]

[more people enter and leave items on the floor and everywhere, this time they are faster, almost running, the intervals b/w them faster]

[man stops clicking]

[the last person walks out slowly]

Man: I remember dreaming this up before, yes I remember quite clearly. It was a Sunday afternoon and the trees were singing a lullaby, something new. And it sort of went on and on until I had fallen into a sleep. There was a sort of beat in the air, the type that makes you wonder if everything must be connected somehow. The same rhythm and song, just proposing the meaning of this life, ah this is life. Take it easy my fellows, easy.

An old man enters: I am tattered, wife just died, you understand, she’s gone.

[Middle aged people stream in, so many that the stage is full of the passing back and forth. The old man walks back and forth as well, but the Man stays still. They walk and whisper words while looking straight at the audience, but not to each other. They all say death, death, death.]

Man: Lifts his hands up in the air. [it all stops, everyone stops looking at the audience]. Go ahead, whisper back your sadness, the death inside of you, let it out! Go ahead, only if you let it all out will you begin to heal. The death of love, the death of your soul. Go ahead, grow up, renew! Why are you holding it in? It’ll just drill itself deeper into you, what are you scared of? You have to live; you have to die, so go forward toward the light!

The screen turns black.

The whole room becomes dark, and there is one light, the clock before turns into a white light.

Man: In your mind, you capture every memory like another light, and another, and another.

Parts of the stage’s light turns on, and a person is lit each time, or a few people, it doesn’t matter.

Man: and another another! [each another lights the stage]

Man: go on and pick one [in a calm tone] [lights turn off, but it lit right on the Man]. Unravel the light. [light changes to the clock]. Unravel! [light changes to a person on the side] Understand that that is how you will live on with this miserable life of too many words. Visualize it, feel it when you unravel it to other, when you say it to others, when you say it to yourself.

Lights all turn on [the people are still staring at the audience, but they are not in mid walk with turned heads, but stand straight forward]. Light turns off. Light turns on [the people’s back are to the audience]. Light turns off. Light turns on [the people are all gone]. The man remains in center stage through all this.

Man: I’m not telling you to forget those lights. But to unravel them to more lights so that you have one light to guide your way to who you are and who you will create.

I hope you can see [looks away from the audience to the ceiling] there’s so much more to this life than bickering. [He sits down and continues looking up.] Even if it seems like your day rushes in such a moment [people enter and walk out quickly back and forth]. [Man looks at the audience, the people are gone] and you feel alone in a room full of people, they’re just like you, as confused, as lost as sad.

[A Lady enters her smile large and her eyes sparkling]

Lady: Kind sir, kind sir. There’s sunshine today outside.

Man: I had forgotten. Take my hand, my lady.

Lady: Not so quickly, not so quickly. Take this token of receipt as my promise to take your hand. [Gives him a small piece of paper with a triangle].

Man: A triangle?

Lady: You’ll see in due time, there’s more than the letters of this world.

Man: A shape, a figure, a form.

Lady: Sing with me.

Man: I cannot sing.

Lady: Do not lie to me, you sing of so many pains, and broken heart, of loneliness and deceit inside of you.

Man: I do not sing well.

Lady: You do not sing in colors. Sing in colors. Sing in voice, sing in your heart more.

Man: I will try to sing my story in my own way.

Lady: Then you will touch the real world of imagination. And I will take your hand so that we may walk away from this darkness.

Man: This darkness! [The lights turn off] [The lights turn on, and he’s holding the hand of the little girl.]

Girl: And that was how mother was like?

Man: Yes, she wanted me to tell you not to be sad, because that is what killed her trying to understand that of others.

Girl: Let’s go daddy.

Man: Alright.

[Man leaves, but comes back]

Man: And your voices will rings in this theater forever, your thoughts will combine and float in this atmosphere and it will form with that of the next ten thousand years! But how are you going to take it? A burden? Or beauty?

Ring! For we are all one. Sing because this is mankind! And know that though we can’t let go, let go of anything, we shouldn’t let it take over are very soul with sadness!

[From his coat takes a tape player that plays the ticking and ticking of someone typing.]

Man: The art, this art, the same always. The scribble of a quill to now the clicking of the divine speaking through that creates more colors through black and white.

Hold on! Hold on! My darling! Hold on! I’m soon to come! We’ll all meet again in due time! A triangle of my love and my child that is what she had meant for my happiness.

It becomes dark, and the sound of clicking continues, with the sound of laughter that becomes louder and louder and stops.

Narrator: There are certain things a person can’t let go, a song, a memory, and dream. For some of us it’s more than others, but it all matters the same amount. It is what creates us and holds us together to take on tomorrow. I’m going to tell you about mine. It all started with a piece of paper.

The writing of this play.

[One light is on the stage, and slowly dims in silence until it is nothing.]

rain's tenderness

rain

Rain's first few falls,
deletes all of summer's wrongs
and starts anew, a world that
become a constant stream.

Water sticking, loving with everything,
large drops, the small ones,
a chill, the clouds as low as my floor
moving quickly away, come back my mist
my heaven, my joy!

But it has done its job,
it has brought in a new mirror
of the world, an image that sparkles white
and lovely with the new set sun.

Won't be much sun tonight though, but
creating the heavens over this new reflection,
another reality, another dream,
somewhere the large star shines bright.

So go on my friend,
walk along the street, the waves and
flourishes of this newly taken over defeat
of dirty lies and constant deceit
and see the full blossoming beauty underneath,

and the voice of Christmas and cheery fireplace stories
soon becoming the breath of our near light.

mary

it rained yesterday, ah the joy of greyness, i really do love it somehow . now if only i could find someone rain bound as well.

now and then

Stayed up late listening to indian accents,
a different color that is in a way funny, but actually illustrates my inability to accept.

Please, bust me some postal service, sir.

One of my friends is now gone; he is looking for himself. If I could make a wish for someone to find love, I would indeed bid it on him. I know he will find it within time, but I wish it was only easier on his passionate heart.

Sometimes words were not meant to express.
Sometimes they're just there for you to imagine.

Always, love needs to be expressed,
do not hold it in within you.

mary

stirring ambitions

how can you believe that i could love you after
just a few days of meeting you?

it's surprising that you tickle me so i fall
right into your arms, and how quickly a single lift
can show me how tall
i would never be, but my mind can drift
higher than you can ever imagine.

so i can't decide whether to run away
from you and start looking to the side
whenever you should come my way
because you've got it all wrong, i'm going to hide.

there's no reason we cannot be just friends
and be so until the end,
i don't feel anything toward you in that way,
in fact i'm around the other bend
and you're just behind somewhere yesterday

i'm sorry, but this it how it works
you cannot tell me to not follow my heart toward someone else,
that was your first mistake
and continues to rake
at my heart's understanding of you.

mary

One cannot rush right into falling in love for someone. It's all too fast if you've just met her. You're not seeing clearly, and you can't tell her that she shouldn't do things that her heart desires. I may be blind at times, but I will account that to myself and not to anyone else. Sure you can advise me, and show me, but there's my own decision.

I've been in a sorry state lately, too many things hitting me at once. I hope he reads this. You know who you are. We can talk about if you want, I'll be right here upstairs.

lost desert

yeah, i believe in lost hope.
do you?

mary

the space

I greatly disagreed with a few friends today when I heard their answers to my survey. Such is how we think of love I suppose. But I will not follow. I do not.

Fog

Fog’s pushing in, ah—what was once sunshine with feathery clouds
drew up to be an indefinite lie,
a lie that sinks into my heart and initiates a soft pausing
beside me, my dear.

Wish for complete sunshine
but it can be so hot, but I won’t be alone,
keeping me filled with a sparkle of this nature
so I can go outside without being afraid.

And I won’t be afraid of this dreary street’s
complete grey and oh
won’t you walk with me?

Distance’s incommensurable length
holds us apart; can you really believe
that such thin air can be a barrier, my love?

I don’t know. It’s too far.
So many tell me it’s just hideous, it’s going to be a dream,
a lie, why don’t you hold onto people three feet away?

You’re telling me this world is too far away,
this love is a look away, but I can’t look,
isn’t love the same distance to reach? A feeling that
only once in while reaches inside, and you know it might work

How can that be closer than this distance
that doesn’t even hold back the stars?
This is touchable, it is within walking,
the body can fly as birds had. What is to tell you?

Love can be so much farther if it is not real.
Are you listening? The distance does not matter
because in soul we’re all together
as a force.

So go ahead and take each moment as moment,
each person by mere probability that they live three feet away,
until after so many three feet you will find her.
But I’m a dreamer, I dream of distances not to even be
and the sky my playground, the stars my shadow
and the clouds my bed, and I will dream of the day that this
form inside my head of my love will be filled with a
a sunshine smile and slight quarrel.

Surrounded by fog, or are those clouds?

It won’t be a lie.

mary

heavenly worry

well, here in this place i can be farther away from the scurtinizing eyes of the too many
ahh the power of plenty

mostly i can jot some unfinished business, and random thoughts that might jog my memory later or hold a feeling i might have forgotten.

sparkle sparkle on

mary