Cursive,Print, and the Desire of Difference

Excerpt from the book on my night stand:






"I have noticed a pattern in these pages. Being an advocate for originality and spontaneity this is my attempt to break that pattern. I recently have read through the pages that I have written so far. I remembered everything about every page. I remember where I wrote it, what provoked it, whether wine caused it or pain. I even remember where the tears fell on many of the ink splattered pages. As I read along I noticed a dominating pattern. I only write when I feel like it. When something moves me it often times causes me to pick up a pen. There is a stirring of emotion that makes me feel that if I don't write down what is inside me it will destroy me or escape forever. I am not okay with either. This pattern disturbed me.

I am a man that wants to be unpredictable. I want to have no habits. I once did not eat for a week just to prove to myself that food did not even hold me under her boot. To prove that I did not have to eat like every one else. When I walk to class I don't take the sidewalk. I walk in the grass, the dirt, the mud. Dirty shoes mean you have been somewhere. It also reminded me of where I am going. If I follow the path everyone else follows then I tend to forget. Making my own path gives me a purpose. Where there are puddles I often walk through them as all the sorority girls tip toe around them in their rain boots. I don't think that I am special ore elite. I just want to be different. Which brings me back to the purpose of me writing. I want this time to be different from the others. If you flip through this book you will notice a sporadic compilation of cursive and print. Another attempt at being unpredictable. But every time I wrote it was because something manifested that response in me. This time is not so. I am sitting in a chair, donating blood, writing. Not because I have been stirred to write or want to write. Just writing because I want to be different. "


written many years ago, in a town of bloomington, by an ignorant pen. Nothing is new under the sun. Be careful.....difference may mascaraed as an evil creature.

- Mediocrity is a gift from God, but it is seen as a curse

My necklace

Four years ago today my Grandmother died. I remember it vividly. The memory is potent. It stings my eyes as they well up with tears. She was living in our basement, waiting to die. We all knew it would be soon. That however never seems to make it hurt less. Every time death visits you it feels brand new. I remember the phone call I got from my brother, "she is not going to make it". He barely could speak the sentence. His voice stammered and crackled through the phone. I could hear death on the end of the telephone, as it sat in my basement clutching my Grandmother's lungs. I dropped my books, grabbed my keys, and squeaked out, "I'll be there in 2 hours." To which was responded "you won't make it". I set the phone down and sat on my porch lifeless, hunched over in a chair with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. A silver necklace hung from my neck. At the end of the chain hung a tiny silver cross with a square amethyst stone in the center.

It was my Grandmothers

I never took the necklace off after she died. I wore it until the chain wore through the clasp and it broke. It now sits in a box on a dresser hidden away. Much like the body of my Grandmother; put in a box, placed in a wall by my family and I, far from me now but so close to my heart. Much like the purple stoned cross that hung on my neck and lay against my chest. I remember her laugh. I remember the goofy faces she made. I remember how much she hated getting old. I remember the way she swore when she thought no one could hear. Memories are all I have left of her. Her face imprinted in my brain, and in photographs. Photographs much like my necklace, much like my Grandmother. Placed in a box, and tucked away.

For Irene Roberts

I love and miss you

Thank you for the necklace.....

Not All That Glitters is Gold

Lie awake my restless soul be calm

You sit and wait for answers for so long

Follow me to the ever green where dreams are kind and she is mean, I know.

Forever is a word in songs, in life I do not know

Remember when you watched the sun with me?

Life against the Earth felt more than free

Now I stare at a tall jar of coins

Wondering if someday it will be as empty as me?

Listen my weary soul, there is something you should know

Love is stupid but man do you dream to be dumb

so fall asleep restless soul be calm

The answers will come before too long

No Sympathy for the Devil

You couldn't see the wood from the tree. Your eyes are unkind so don't look at me. You are all that I want but nothing that I need. Time and time again I called you a friend. How many times will it take till I see, the slave from the free?

Will this be the end of you and me?
Will this be the end of you and me?

Millions of rocks is really just sinking sand. Yet another blow I suffer from your hand. Show me again what you have to offer. Show me again what you've planned for me. Today I will stand as you pass me by, and you will ask why. Shaking your head with a smile. Knowing we will meet again in a short while.

"He will see, that he needs me"
"He will see, that he needs me"

Still falling, I suffer you, sadly. Searching for a break through badly. Slipping faster and faster like a landslide. Flirting between disaster and a good time. I see my old friend just as bright as day. Sitting in the dark corner smiling away. Willingly I open the door and invite him in. He takes my hand and showers me with sin.

"We meet again my old friend"
"We meet again"

Giving in, Giving in

I have a question. Who are you?.....Who are you?

Is it what you claim or what you say?
Or is it what you do and how you play?

Even if it's pain that I feel, at least I'll know that I'm real. Finally finding a break through. There sparks a desire to kill you. In the morning I will prepare. When I wake I will not allow you to scare, the fight out of the man. I take my sword in hand.

"Well done good and faithful"
"Well done..."

Cabernet of a Lonely Soul

You only know what I want you to. I wish you knew me. I can't love you , you can't love me. Your eyes can't see what I fear they may. What I dream they will. Dance with me under the stars, sit with me under the moonlight. Know that my touch means more then ones before. Forever am I in this prison? Just sing with me and help me forget the cage that surrounds me. Oh dance with me, baby forgetful me. Please hold me.
If I came to you lonely , would you let me lie in your lap, or would I fool you like the rest? Hold me near as you draw near, a countless pain across my face. Forever know, that love will grow if my heart you will embrace. Drink with me now, something to remember the beautiful. Keeping close, the things you "forgot". I'll keep you still, I will rock you to sleep. Sleep with me now.

"Those who find beautiful meanings in beautiful things are cultivated. For these there is hope. They are the elect to whom beautiful things mean only Beauty.....Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril. Those who read the symbol do so at their peril." Oscar Wilde




"It is the consumer, not the author, whom interprets the meaning of words written. For each it may be different, for few it may be the same" Caleb Parker Suciu

Scared I'm not Scared

She started chipping away with her eyes. It was no surprise, I started crumbling
It could be something deep inside, similar to the time it died, I knew she was something
Prediction from the past, I'd be in trouble from the last, but this one doesn't feel the same
This times sorrows gunna loose, she's got a pocket full of choose, and she knows my name

I'm scared, I'm not scared
Kiss me on the lips say nothin at all
I'm scared, I'm not scared
Push me off the edge I'm ready to fall

The road is long, but she is strong, I probably will never comprehend
Her beauty inside, reflects the one outside, only one matters in the end
Growing old, are stories told, But she is young now
A peek in her past, is as long as it lasts, for few she will allow

I'm scared, I'm not scared
Hold my hand and walk with me
I'm scared, I'm not scared
Listen to my eyes, see what they see

Scared, I'm not scared

Cain and Able

It was far away. Yet now what was on the fringe has reached the surface. I ponder choices and schools of thought. My eyes have been closed when I have claimed sight. The signs point to foolishness. How beautiful it is to not know. The beauty of love, that has not betrayed. It has set me free

Forgive me now I do not know
The chance I have to make it grow
Through the light I see it's chance
I grab it, and choke the life with my hands
Lay it down slow as it begins to die
Not a tear I shed I will not cry

I wanted to know what it was like to destroy. Mcbeath! Mcbeath! Please bring me water. I can not be blamed. It was not my fault. You have driven me to this. You placed the knife in my hand. Please forgive me the life I have taken. I do not know the depth I have caused.

It felt me then and I feel it now
The quiet sin. I have kept unbenounced
My weakness is something I hold near
The one and only thing that I fear
There are so many things I have left unsaid
As a coward I walk, and hang my head