November 11, 2009First army project:
I stated that I've taken down the videos from my YouTube channel. It's time to close a chapter and enter a new one. Nearly a year ago, I started working on a documentary project. I've gone through the footage on several different occasions, and I am not satisfied with the end result. Why? It's too contained. Too refined. I live every single day in the moment, truly experiencing and savoring everything around me. To record a documentary in just a few days and have my story relayed as if to confine it is something I am not comfortable with.
Posted on 11/11/2009 5:05 AM Comments (6)
August 29, 2009Signed photos for sale.
I've been asked if I'd sell a few signed copies of my recent photos in the last few days. I'm so glad you've all responded so well to the photos I've been posting as of late. Instead of booking a photographer for my last shoot, I decided I wanted something a bit more "spur of the moment." I brought my camera along with me when I was out with my close friends for a few days and finally found the right opportunity to get sneak a few shots in. I spent the time before and after the shoot spinning around in the field, laughing and soaking up the sun. The entire experience satisfied the hippie within me. To answer the questions of those of you who've asked -- yes, I've decided to sell signed copies of the photos. Included in the selection is a self-taken photo I took a few weeks back. If you're interested in purchasing any of these photos, comment and let me know which number(s) you'd like as well as the quantity. Print size is 8x10 and are $10.00 each. Shipping is available internationally. They will be packaged in "photo mailers" to ensure a safe arrival to your dorstep. ;) Here's the selection:
I think this selection is the most appropriate to sell right at this point. These were all DIY/self-created, and in a sense they mark off a significant point in this phase of things. I hope you like them and can't wait to share them with you guys. Thank you once again for your constant support and interest -- without you, this journey would not be as liberating. With love, Kaiden
Posted on 08/29/2009 6:00 PM Comments (23)
August 20, 2009Mind Moats.I cried an ocean to tide my mind over until the shoreline would cease to exist. My eyes brewed the perfect storm, salty on my lips. Lips like mechanical gears on a balance beam, provided with acrobats and rusted limbs. My head is a sailboat, my neck a rope imprisoning me to the dock. Meek minds filled with a mission, hateful hearts with their power trip pulses that seek to control. Hardships are only boats too dense for gravity to propel. I’ve always dreamed of shaking hands with the horizon. I see the colors change in the sky, bidding me goodnight and welcoming me to each new day as my eyes lift their sails to toast to possibility. Chance is only a chant, only a reverberating message that is corked inside a bottle. So much desperation filling such a hollow space trapped within transparency. Such heavy words for a vehicle that is thrashed so carelessly amongst relentless waves. I am washed ashore, my ship succumbing to stagnancy, seasick with stillness. It’s a wonder sandbags keep my mind at shore whilst the pebbles beneath my feet offer no resistance. One day I will bathe in the horizon.
Posted on 08/20/2009 1:00 AM Comments (6)
July 25, 2009Assembly Lines.
Assembly Lines.
Posted on 07/25/2009 6:56 PM Comments (8)
April 1, 2009Memory Corpse.
Lately vision has been spare Hands reaching from the walls
Posted on 04/01/2009 5:24 PM Comments (3)
March 25, 2009Never Us.
New free-write. This one's pretty personal, so I'd love to hear your thoughts.
I, I, I. You and them. Where is "us?" Where were we? Parasites to dismantle my abilities. Trapdoors without dead-ends, tunnels full of revelations revealing a chain of one way exits all with my name. Where were you? Where was I? You, you, you. My mind. Your mind, but not ours despite the hours that have passed. Weeks, months, years, decades, centuries - what is time? Calendars are merely calculators for letters that seek redemption. Just a little stir-crazy. Sanity was a test at birth, thought I'd circle in all the bubbles. No, I came out of the womb tongue-tied. Where was my voice? I'd receive it, but only as an allowance. Vocal chords sitting in the corner, time out. Too much time out. Time in, jab your fingers into the palm of your hand or your fist against my flesh. They're only bruises, though the current cruises. It's been a thousand miles and I'd like a check-up or to check-out. Nobody puts baby in the corner, though childhood corners I cut while I aging. "Only a number" was etched into my slumber until the days and nights had merged. Dark circles under my eyes to match the skies, and my, you were fond of fashion. Yes, no. No, yes. You see? You don't see. See. See me. Me see, or I see - another rule to follow. Another slap across the face, what's left to deface? Age like wine while left to whine. It was only a number, even with 20 years of separation lending itself to desperation. I was merely an obstacle when you entered the course, oh intercourse, just another hurdle for you to climb and claim the prize. Tantalize. Contending for a contest without consent. I saw through hat full of paper slips, despite your slips. Slip-ups are inevitable when all entries are identical. I called a silent jury and clumsily dropped the case, inefficient to stop you from the chase. Denial summoned more memories to the trial, all the while time became senile. Kitchen appliances aren't proper dwelling areas for body parts to lounge, though my brain's recipe was critical to your wiring. Tourniquets short-circuiting long after the power is out. Sparks invisible to inspectors like metaphors schemed by grand directors. A silent film with voices dubbed over, compliments to the audience. Disservice is service if only to add sound to a moving mouth. Violent verbalization. Me, me, half. Two halves not fitting a whole; a hole. Architecture influenced by the demeanor of quicksand for a more naturalistic approach. Afloat, but only treading. Desirable dreading. Smile to please, please. Proper etiquette for mourning. Coping in the form of table manners. Every individual poised with impeccable symmetry while each is served a different meal. Eat up when you're full, hunger isn't forgiving while your insides tug and pull. I, me, you, they, he, she, it. Not us. Never us.
Posted on 03/25/2009 3:44 AM Comments (7)
March 23, 2009Infinity: Hysteria.
New free-write:
The gravel and sky had befriended one another. After concluding the regular patrol duty rotation, I found myself walking on air. I was seven years old, and a simple blue sky had meant more to me at that ripe age than it dare mean to me now. Clear skies were always level playing fields; no interruptions in my train of thought, no obstruction to point my finger at. Literal and figurative meanings had meshed into one, resuming the role of adaptation. Life demands a constant casting call for the role of the fittest; dramas dripping with dopamine, warding away the fiend. I suppose I never thought I would exist during the same moment lions had begun to tame their masters. A circus is meant to be filled with gallant atrocities waiting for a flesh-filled audience to devour them with their eyes and vocal chords. Nowadays, the stands are used as balance beams while contractors scream infidelities from tightropes. From outside the tent, all living creatures are the same species yearning to relinquish their plastic confines. A circus tent is similar to that of a ward. Padded walls and pin-stripes to offer a diversion. A separation. Though the division is successful at mockery, it is merely a fool beneath another layer of separation. My tantrums had caused rainstorms, and I quickly learned nearly everything in life comes full-circle.
Posted on 03/23/2009 3:45 AM Comments (5)
March 11, 2009Custom made brooches now for sale! Custom made brooches now for sale! Several people have been bugging me for awhile to release items for sale, so I now bring you custom made brooches! For those who aren't familiar with the term, they're "pins" to wear as an accessory. I'm inspired by the 80's and 90's, so I wanted to release something fun and funky as a throwback to style. All the brooches are custom hand-made, and are one of a kind. I included some of my favorites in the photo above. This is a limited run, so buy them while you can! They're available to purchase at my etsy account here. http://www.kaidenblake.etsy.com Hope you guys enjoy them! xo
Posted on 03/11/2009 1:08 PM Comments (6)
March 8, 2009Monkey see monkey do.Though I'd much rather be posting a journal containing a new
free-write, I thought it's finally time for me to start addressing
certain issues and stop playing the dumb blue-headed card. I apologize
for the writing quality -- I'm beyond delirious at the moment from lack
of sleep. Someone needs to come put me in a straitjacket and escort me
to the bed. I'm too stubborn.
I very rarely address dramatic issues, however I find this particular situation a bit comical. For the last several months, a certain someone has added me on every single one of my social networking sites, and has attempted to add everyone on my friends lists. This includes my personal friends whom I communicate with via phone, etc. I've been confronted about this person on several occasions, saying how they repeatedly try to send a friend request every time they're denied. All this while, this individual comments me with compliments, until one day I am accused of copying this person. I laughed this off, as there was no possible way I was "copying," due to my hair style being the same way it is now since July of '08. I did not pursue this issue whatsoever, however I noticed a few days later that I was deleted off this person's friends list. Interesting. I sent friend request with a friendly message. I get added back, and though a friend sent me this person's link today, I was again unable to visit their page because I was removed from their friend's list. Furthermore, I am periodically google alerted with sites claiming this individual is me by writing my name in the caption. To try to befriend the same people I talk to is one issue, but claiming my photos/identity as yours is another issue entirely. I really don't appreciate you doing this, and I am requesting that you put an end to this abruptly. You know who you are, and you'll obviously be seeing this as you lurk my page. I will not ever claim my style, hair, or accessories as "unique," as trends are so clearly recycled and regurgitated over time. The only time I have ever been truly upset is when someone makes a copyright infringement on my writing. When you steal someone's writing verbatim, you are not creating something with your own words and thoughts or individual interpretation - you are stealing. Regardless of this, I urge you to follow your heart with your own style. I have seen you specifically in photos with the same poses on the same furniture with the same props used in other well-known images. People DO take note of this, and in my opinion, it will only deter from your success, if that's what you're striving for. Cheers Kaiden xo
Posted on 03/08/2009 10:23 AM Comments (8)
March 7, 2009Sacred.New free-write: Aesthetics are merely diuretics Cheap thrills with an appetite Bottom of the bargain bin With eyes batting their lashes Staring from below Writhing in an emaciated cocoon Heart gorged out, replaced by steel Disposable materials for such systems Intricate wiring for destruction Disguised in this guise Consumable fuel for the audience Closest claim to sanity Never leaving this asylum Entire lives defined by padded rooms Sawdust in the form of vengeance Trees born without voice boxes Screaming infidelities, soiled cries Cruelty demands convenience Earth worms confined under lids Careful what we deem scapegoats This desert pruning epidermis Mind castles and inverted moats Thoughts, they all float Synchronization comes in time Oh, words devoured the mime
Posted on 03/07/2009 6:14 AM Comments (5)
March 1, 2009Stationary Traveling. Envisioning. Revisiting the film reels inside my head. Sinking my toes into the sand from behind grainy vision. Watching the sun climb the social ladder within nature. Higher, higher still. The grand scheme of the world's intention stitched into the sky. Tiptoeing upon the crease between where the world begins and ends. Preparing my voyage out into a foreign sea without eyes. Shielded from the blinding light, with only the tickle of the morning glow etching its way onto my skin. This is what life feels like. One day the dreams inside my head will coexist with reality.My footprints will erode over time, but I'll still remember my way home. Air filling every wrinkle of my body - in this world, age is a mere illusion. The lines plastered on our bodies once invisible at birth eventually show in time, though they were always there. Time is patient. I am envisioning.
Posted on 03/01/2009 6:22 AM Comments (9)
February 25, 2009Unseen Scene. I apologize for typos/grammatical issues -- this was a free-write & I'm on the borderline of developing a sporadic case of narcolepsy, so I'll edit later. A cacophony of thoughts have been ricocheting throughout my brain for quite some time. A slug of a process to devour, never truly vacationing in the bowels of the beast. My nagging thoughts lived vicariously through an alarm clock on a particular morning my bones resented the idea of propelling forward. The songbirds outside summoned me to the surface - a clamor of lucid dreams. Time to replenish the aesthetics. I'll pay particularly close attention to the bleach being applied to my roots, erasing the traces of normality. To some, this is the process of destruction - planting a deadly fertilizer and waiting coyly for it to seep into the brain. As time ensues, brain cells will become stagnant, writhing in the darkest corners in the mind. Who will exorcise these victims? Some see this process as a guilty pleasure, made guilty by society. A delicacy for the butterflies thriving in the pit of your stomach. However, thou who shalt eat candy without remorse will be subjected to a foreign concept plastered across the top of a scale. Who decided to manufacture such devices to bring such anxietude to an individual? My roots are snow white and my seven dwarves are figuratively sitting on either side of my shoulder, not behaving. Three and a half are pleading with me to enter a grey area which happens to specialize in irony, containing a bombardment of blue. The other three and a half are swaying their index fingers in front of me as if they've all been cordially invited to a prestigious ball. A jury cannot be cast, due to one stubborn dwarf whom insists on being split down the middle; he cannot choose a side of the argument solely out of mere obligation alone. The other dwarves are offering him super glue, because they've heard Humpty Dumpty was able to get back up from off of the ground with an easy fix. Or so they heard. There is always a simple answer - a simple solution, they muse. I went ahead and decided to conceal the white with an extra-rich shade of electric blue. It would compliment one half of my mood. One half of society. Oh, but their eyes will be sugarcoated. A film of confectioner sugar blossoming from the the iris. How can one exist at opposite sides of the spectrum at once, yet not at all? I danced around the figurines on this carousel for long enough. Just like the fixture at a carnival, some horses are rooted to the ground, while others are more buoyant. I can't be drenched in ex's and o's any longer, while retaining the statuesque bobblehead demeanor. I am able to dream, to think, to bask in the great heights of euphoria, but there's a predicament: I like cupcakes. I have blue hair, my style is eccentric, dubbed as "scene" by "them," who "they" can never pin-point. I love pop culture, and adorn my body with articles of clothing and accessories that should have been branded upon my six year old body. The lack of ability in being able to thoroughly grow up as a "child" in my childhood has impaired me subconsciously to regress back to old ways, which in reality aren't old at all. They're new. Trends will come knocking on our doorsteps, trying to sell us the newest recipe. We'll contemplate, sometimes giving in until "they" recall the one hit wonders that will end up reserved upon the shelves in a museum only to reoccur. Showcasing the end of a chapter which is never fully written. I exist solely to exist. I have always retained my best interests at hand, but I succumbed. I kept running to either end of the spectrum to please "them." If I was a writer, a thinker, a dreamer, I had to be represented in vacated shambles. There was no color for such a colorful mind. If I took photos with a few of my "guilty" pleasures (again, made "guilty" by "them") then the respect I was showered with previously was suddenly revoked. Hence, the unseen scene. Can the two really not co-exist? Must one be entirely vacant and glazed over, lacking the ability to connect the dots in the form of logistics and psychobabble? Must one really be extravagant, yet wear a mask of a sullen individual? Welcome to the paradox. I solemnly swear to not buckle down in the center of this balance beam. Gymnastics in the form of flatlining have never appealed to me; I would rather pull the plug and short circuit, savoring the livewire for myself. I will continue to enjoy the aesthetics that I genuinely am partial to, and they will no longer be "guilty." My desire is justification enough. I will continue to allow myself to deter away from the silent wallflower that never quite blooms, just to please the current state of the season. "Love" is dubbed as the term that is thrown around loosely, but in reality, it's respect. Respect is convenient. Respect is given to those individuals who are close enough in the mind for the sender to deem them fit enough for tangibility. Rarely is respect stretched, morphed - malleable. Cheers to philosophy flavored frosting cupcakes & notoriety in the form of neon intellect. - Kaiden xo
Posted on 02/25/2009 5:52 AM Comments (11)
January 30, 2009Born.I'd like to know how it would feel to emerge into this Earth by being born in a stairwell. Would one choose to climb up, or fall down perfectly sculpted shapes, finally hitting that flat plane of carpeting? I'd like to be born in the backseat of a car; would the experience play like a slow-motion re-cap of a drive-by, or could it pass me by like the expressway underneath my wheels during the euphoric moments of a cross-country road trip? I want to close my eyes and wake up in the mouth of a cave. Would I be classified as a degenerate, waving my rigid club high in the air to rectify my roots? I could draw a map, creating the perfect scheme to tread the soil and rest in a new destination. I was born in a hospital. Series of floors, fluorescent lights, wires so intricate. Plugging into sockets, shocks surging through like live-wire, hosting life among us. Wires flowing into every membrane of my being, tubes colliding into veins. Screams of pain and joy flirting along the lines of collision. Vocal chords stretched to the slightest degree in response to a change in degree of emotion. If I were born in a hospital, I could become a wallflower among the people. I could choose which relationships would be parasitic or mutual. I would look out from the window on the highest floor, taking in a new world crawling beneath me. I might walk out the rotating front doors, still spinning in dizzying circles, only to find myself stopping at random. I'd like to know how it would feel to be born. - me
Posted on 01/30/2009 5:56 PM Comments (8)
January 12, 2009Resurrection.The truth? It's 5:53am, and I'm examining myself - with too much and
too little reason. I suppose the absence of the sparkle in my eyes will
suffice, for now at least. I suppose after so many years of
introspection, it's time to finally explode after a series of bombs
have gone off within me. I'm not sure what's more healthy or not -
implosion, or being deemed the "loose cannon" by your own self - that
is, to guarantee that even if nobody else is around to watch, you'll
retain legitimacy. Of some sort, at the very least.
In simple terms? I've watered myself down. The water seeped into my "persona" online, bled into my verbal speech, and eventually I just ended up drowning. My body is an organism that multiplies. When you're in charge of your life - even from the time you've been a small child, you're able to "babysit" yourself most times. Under more trying circumstances, you aren't the caretaker of one person, but rather one person divided - and multiplied. I find that to be the case with myself. I'm either a very mysterious person, or subconsciously I love giving off the essence that I am. My main outlet over the years to cope with all of the "grey area" was to write. My writing corresponded with that, and was also just as mysterious. I never really ever addressed anything specifically. I think a lot of people overlooked me because of that - because they weren't ever told directly. The truth remains a fact in which not many people like analyzing information. Whenever I opened my mouth - or typed - I was always setting up camp in alien territory. Nobody really cared for that. I began being perceived in a negative light for pursuing my goals shortly thereafter. I was ridiculed for it, and people tried their best to push me into shame. I found myself hanging my head down for having my head tilted up to the sky. I was always the one who fantasized about such great heights. I suppose the struggle throughout my teenage years was fact I was in need of climbing up out of the dungeon I was put in first. In order to fly, you have to get yourself up off the ground, climb out of the hole, try to stand sturdy, walk, run, and finally you'll find yourself morphed. Or, so we'd like to think. I've always relapsed into one of these steps, and haven't come anywhere near running; walking, at very best. Even now, when I'm trying to free-write a clear, simple message, I'm still cryptic. I'd rather have my own style from this moment forward than the overt smiling "bobblehead" I've become to be. I'm not always having a great day. Most days, as of late, are horrid. I don't always have my focus, strength, or happiness strapped onto my utility belt. If you want to be a follower of someone who puts off that persona, I am not the one. For such a long time, even up until this message, you'd only find the words "under construction" on my profile. I suppose that's what happens when you're driven to the point of lifelessness. To look at that now, and let them win? It makes me sick. It makes me even more sick that those cowards and cruel people throughout my life could allow themselves to sit and watch something so full of life wilt away. I did not ever send hateful vibes out - my philosophy and persona was all about positivity, and trying to find "a happy medium," as I once deemed it. I was treated as an outcast for years. Showcased in a light that focused on negative aspects that never did fit me - arrogance, self-pity, and egotistical. Does it scare me to write this, even now? Yes. We all like to think that we don't care what others think, but how honest are we being with ourselves when we write that? I've had schools and several cities full of people who had never met me turn on me because they thought they knew who I was. They believed the lies that a few people once upon a time had created. At a point, I was nearly killed. Nobody had talked to me. Years of isolation. That was because of YOU. I was the one deemed unfit. I was the one who was portrayed as a savage beast. It was you all, all along, who were the monsters. To this day none of you will accept blame, apologize, or acknowledge the situation. After all this time, can you really only simply go through the motions? If nothing else, I am a survivor. I am alive, and will carry on at all costs. I've kept my mouth shut for far too long. I refuse to be a prisoner duct-taped to a chair with not even a mere cheap light bulb flickering above me. I am more than that. There is so much to say, and I will eventually cover it all. Not tonight, but over time. I'm still in the process of filming a documentary, and I want it to be able to inspire others. A poor documentary fixates upon one thing - typically, a figure. I want the documentary to showcase life, honesty, friends and family - or lack thereof, and the subtle things not many people seem to capture. I apologize in a sense for not being able to roll along full-steam ahead during this trying time, but quite contrary, I'm glad. I don't want to submit myself to playing a false identity. I am not a robot, and I am proud to be able to succumb to the point in admitting self-defeat. I am not going anywhere, and soon I'll be able to shed this cocoon that I've been saturated with. Being volatile is far better than being a mute, at least for me. My goal in life has always been to merely live. If I choose to not partake in something, or choose to meander down a path that hasn't been trudged on by many, I can do so knowing that I am making a conscious decision to MY life. If I can retain that, I believe I can get through anything. This time right now is a time for healing for me. There isn't a perfect way to end this, quite frankly because this "ditty" has been all over the place. However, I hope you've all had an exceptional first week or so of the New Year. I've got high expectations for this one. Thanks, Kaiden
Posted on 01/12/2009 3:36 AM Comments (9)
December 9, 2008Kaiden Blake: The Documentary Over the course of a month, I will be recording a revealing documentary. On Wednesday, I will be flying out to Michigan - shortly thereafter, the filming will begin. The documentary will be a shockingly revealing look inside my life.
Up until this point, I have not uploaded a video onto Youtube except a test video from my sidekick. That's all about to change. I will be opening up about my past, answering long overdue unanswered questions, touring the city where the setting of my upcoming book takes place, giving a friend of mine a make-over, addressing internet feuds, and much, much more. I felt, after so many years, I owed it to YOU guys to finally pull down the curtains and let the old mysteries dissolve, and make room for new ones to reign. The documentary will surprise even those closest to me. To watch the documenatry unfold, subscribe to my Youtube channel here: http://www.youtube.com/user/kaidenblake
Posted on 12/09/2008 1:34 AM Comments (8)
November 29, 2008The Sleepover Guide. The other day, one of my friends enlightened me about a story circulating on the news. A man opened up a store, selling chocolate Jesus' named "Oh Sweet Jesus." I need to know who this man is and ask him why we aren't best friends yet. Edible Jesus' aside, I thought I'd put together a "Sleepover Guide" for you guys.  Movies are essential. Take your friends to the video store and make sure you each pick out one of your own. Trailer park movies never hurt. (P.S. I was just informed I'm going to have a Johnny Depp movie marathon, because apparently I'm sheltered. I've only seen about 4-5 movies he's starred in. Woops.)  Try baking food, even if you normally don't. It's fun making something yourself and finding out how it turns out - or doesn't. My favorite baked foods are cupcake cones and chocolate chip cookies.  Whip out the board games, especially if they're classics from the 80's or 90's. Games like Pictionary or Scattegories are always fun, because you never know what to expect.  Remember when you used to play "dress up" as a kid? It never gets old. Go to the thrift store and pick out a bunch of different outfits that you'd never wear normally, and take photos with each other wearing them. If you're brave, go out to one of your 24/7 stores (Walmart, Meijers, etc) and walk through the store in costume. Make sure to document it all -- oh, and while you're there, ride the electric shopping carts. This is mandatory.  Prank call your friends or enemies, especially if you speak with horrible accents and are using an outrageous phone. Remember, *67 is your friend.  Have a fast-food buffet. Don't know what that is? Go to several different fast food restaurants near you, buy a few things from each one, go home, and put all the food together. It's greasy and liberating, but mostly just greasy. Who can complain?  Haul out the old video games or play new ones. One of my favorites is "Singstar." It's fun to go back in time and play the classics like Super Mario or Twisted Metal. Anyone remember those? Good, good times. Now I won't ever play video games unless I'm at a sleepover with friends.  Go outside and make a small bonfire and roast smores. If you can't make a bonfire, make "ghetto s'mores" over the stovetop. If that isn't an official name yet, remember where you got it from. My friends and I made ghetto s'mores every weekend over the summer. Share some of your favorite sleepover ideas. - Kaiden xo
Posted on 11/29/2008 8:38 PM Comments (24)
November 15, 2008Binge Shopping for Christmas? I can't get enough of my candy cigarettes.  Everyone knows this is a lie. I love shirts or items that contradict me.  These are so cute. I just bought a pack the other day & I now have a tray of mini donuts & a tea set.  In a pickle? No problem. These are calling my name. What's on your guys' Christmas wish list, or what are you buying others? Post pictures if you can!
Posted on 11/15/2008 11:52 PM Comments (11)
October 29, 2008Halloween. What is everyone being for Halloween this year? I'm thinking a trailer park husband holding pink flamingos and a lawn gnome hat. I didn't realize how soon it's coming up until a friend of mine mentioned it's this Friday. This past month has been such a blur.
A few days ago I was shot in the upcoming music video for Katastrophe with Clint and Audrey. I can't wait to see the final results; I'll post the video as soon as it's released. I've been working on lyrics for my music and have been hard at work with my novel. There are moments when my fingers can't keep up with the thoughts that are brewing up in my mind. Post your Halloween costume photos or what you'd like to be! xo Kaiden
Posted on 10/29/2008 6:42 PM Comments (8)
October 24, 2008Sunny Came Home. Brand new free-write: I've lived many places throughout my life. Houses had become disposable, as lifeless as a severed piece of tissue paper. Without the functional use, of course; tissue paper had actually served out its purpose for me.
My family was as nomadic in the physical sense as the rat's wheel in my head was. I never bothered, nor cared to become accustomed to my surroundings. Not until Applewood Terrace, that is, the only place I had truly called home. Sunny, as I had called her, happened to shine light to what had become a very dull, dismal place - my mind. The monotony had begun to settle in over time, like gray-scale shading forming sedimentary rock on the outskirts of my skull. I was solemnly consumed by a sense of numbing throughout my waking days as if I had been enjoying a deep slumber. Sunny was every contradiction I had ever yearned for. Subconsciously, of course. I would never toss hope around like a lasso searching aimlessly for imaginary livestock. If I could even get my hands on a lasso. Her birth name was Stacy Anne Smith. People told her nearly every day it was her real name, that she should cherish it - but what is real? Those three words of utter simplicity had the audacity to shield such beauty from reaching full potential. Those three words had stricken her very existence; how I had come to hate them. That hate was "real," if I had ever come close to experiencing reality. She was every bit exotic - from her hair follicles on top her head to her bare feet which refused to be caged by sneakers. Her honey-tinted strands of hair that made a silhouette against the pale, open pit of a sky. Beyond anything I could have fathomed in my unconscious state. I had often seen my reflection in her vivid emerald eyes, submerged right beneath the surface, not struggling to come afloat. Lost, not wanting to be found. The scent that had ruled over me fiercer than any dictatorship - a natural element that had become a necessity to my intake. It was mine. All mine, not that I had ever claimed it. Our silence together had said more than our mouths could ever procure. To claim such an entity had roused a humor deep inside of me that I had long since believed vacated me. Now I wish more than ever I had made a claim. The absence of a few simple words had now mocked my very existence. I had spent nearly every waking moment with my Sunny. Whether because nobody had braved up enough courage to embrace our minds or because we were propelled to one another without free will, I don't know. I suppose if fate had truly existed, she would fit the description with ease. I regret not contemplating simple questions that had now seemed so intricate. Our bare feet would sink into the soil and we could feel the life surging through our every muscle like static electricity. We would run for days, sometimes - her silk dress ruffling in the wind like a rag doll. Those fields which had gone on for miles without change had suddenly become so alluring to me with her around. To think that I walked past them and missed the potential beauty. To think of a life of oblivion without the girl who had changed my perspective - of not only the fields that had surrounded our town, but of the very thread my thoughts were woven to. No, such a thought had never once registered in my mind. Not then, not now, not ever. It's been months now since the day she left. I've rehearsed the day in my head, reciting it back to myself like a parent reassures a toddler. Sunny was in a deep slumber, not coming back. She was asleep, peaceful, in a better place... I knew the truth. There was not a better place, anywhere, than with us together. Puzzle pieces that didn't belong to any puzzle. No grand picture - just us. I still visit the rampant river that lie just beyond the fields every day. I would study the melodic movement of the water, watching the ripples fool my eyes. It had all looked so peaceful. There was no trace of tragedy, no remnant of a struggle. No, this cycle was a mastermind - a criminal that had stolen from me, without a trace of shame. No despair. My hands would clench into sweaty fists every time I came near. They buried her in a black casket. A prisoner. She was caged in a man-made casing that had been deemed peaceful to "them." We had known better. She was dressed in a black satin dress with a high collar that would have choked her of any phrase that would have surely kept me entranced. That is, if she could manage to mutter a sound at all. Her lips were blanketed in a heavy layer of burgundy lipstick, sealing those potential words with such finalization, as if the color were a ribbon tied in an intricate bow upon a lump sum of coal. Those lips didn't fool me. They should have used caution tape for all it had mattered. The appearance of her in that unimportant box had not tainted my memories, for they were much more than a mere memory. This dull vision had been corroded just like the life I had lived before I laid eyes on her. Oh, but today is an exceptionally beautiful day. The sky seems almost welcoming, the feathery clouds passing overhead like a slow-moving projection reel. I stand at the river bank, situated perfectly in the shade the trees provide for me. I look down upon the churning water, for the first time without any resentment. It glistens underneath the sun that greets it, almost like shaking hands with a distant friend. The murky pool of water,whose river bottom was never quite tangible,is suddenly within reach, or so it seems. Clarity, if even by my own trickery, at long last. I raise my arms in the air, bombarded by the wind that sifts through the fabric of my shirt, cleansing me. Without hesitation I lift the heels of my feet off the soil from beneath me, refusing to be accommodating to the balance that had suddenly seemed deficient within my toes. Sunny came home at last.
Posted on 10/24/2008 10:49 AM Comments (6)
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