majic's journal

I wish I had some brilliant commentary to go along with this next piece. I'm not even really sure what it all means to me at the moment. Some things just happen, and this one spontaneously showed up on my front step about 4 hours ago.

This poems polar opposite is a song by Lasgo called "Deep In Your Heart".

as a matter of consequence,
I stepped on glass today,
its shards penetrating conscious --
splintering devils fray,

a cut made the heart,
as if needles through the eye,
can twist and contort my insides --
begging me to die,

I could not be tempted,
eternity's shine in the sun,
for seasons not upon us,
some things can't be undone,

this path sees many --
roads upon a stone,
each paints me separately,
chilling memories to the bone,

yet a day like now,
a place we long to be,
can take away our breath --
strangling our sanity.

This post was edited by majic on Nov 07, 2005.

Sometimes things happen that can skew the heart. Sometimes shit happens. Is it good or bad? Let's let the readers be the judge.

The heart -- fragile,
takes but just one path,
until that changes,
and smashes like glass,

My blood -- it runs,
rivers in fervent awe,
the hurt itself,
a tormenting flaw,

pick up my heart,
put back in my chest,
soak up the blood,
so my mind can rest...

This post was edited by majic on Nov 04, 2005.

I don't know if you understand. I'm just another fellow. I am not
young but I am not old either. I like to think I am with the in crowd,
I live on the wild side and the music I like paints a very good
picture, I listen to trance. I take risks, I've jumped out of
airplanes with nylon parachutes from C-17's with 200 pounds of combat
equipment strapped to my 150 pound frame at 1000 feet at 2330 when it
was 20 degrees outside. Yeah, I know what it means to sacrifice.

I wanna do my best, I wanna be liked, I wanna give a little back to
that which has given me so much. I have a heart. I have a brain. I am
compassionate and loving. I did my time for my country now I serve it
in another way, with my skills rather than my flesh. I do it willingly
and selflessly. I am just what I choose to be.

I have a family, wife and a daughter, they sit at home and wait. Wait
until daddy comes home from the never ending missions that he has.
They wait, yes they wait patiently. Sort of humbling inside.... My
daughter, 3 years old GOD bless her soul, she tells momma she wants to
talk to daddy. She wants to tell me that she doesn't have accidents in
her panties anymore. She wants to tell me she's all grown up and is
just like the big kids. A tear starts to rage in the corners of my
eyes. She wants to tell me that she played with the kids at school
today and had chicken nuggest for lunch. GOD bless her, she is just
that sort of star in my mind, the kind that burns a billion years, hot
and intense and full of energy. She wants to sing me her ABC's for the
thousandth time and I am humbled by her sweet voice, I listen
contently as if it was the very first time. Her little frame has the
sweetest voice that I have ever imagined. She wants to tell me that
barney is on the TV and that she loves me. I tell her that I love her
and she wants to go off to bed and she says that she doesn't need a
night light because she is a big girl. I tell her baby, you can have
whatever you want. I love you so much!

I used to think I never wanted any kids, I was adament. I did not want
any children. Then when I turned 27 it happened, after almost 7 years
of marriage... Had this little girl that I cannot live without, GOD
bless her soul.

She sings church hyms, she sings about GOD and Jesus, she sings me her
ABC's, twinkle little star and how Barney is a big purple lovable
thing. She wants to watch Elmo and Sesame Street and Nemo and Mr.
Incredible.... Oh how she loves Monsters Inc.... Her little body and
her precious little mind have captured a piece of me that will never
die.

She got a big girls bed and she said, Daddy you sleep with me... She
didn't want to be alone in that big bed. She loves it though because
she's a big girl.. She was all grown up but still needed her daddy.
That is very humbling...

She had all her toys all over the room and she said "Daddy, you play
with me...", She just wanted to play and be with somebody that loved
her... God bless her soul...

Her momma calls me and says Shelby wants to talk to you, Shelby comes
on the phone and says... That's my daddy to her momma, she tells her
momma again that, that is her daddy on the phone... She explains that
her daddy is at work, her daddy went to the airport to go to work
again... GOD Bless her soul... She is so innocent and so separated
from the world that we all know. I sometimes don't have words for the
sweetness that is in her.

Shelby is a precious part of my world.

This post was edited by majic on Nov 04, 2005.

I represent the other half of society that sports baggy jeans, t-shirts, nike running shoes, shaved heads and trance music... We are a niche group.. currently there is only one of us! When we roll, we roll deep... Got that? I'm about to change how this whole fuckin world looks at white bald people, yo. You betta recognize, f00..

We don't do no cadillac's on 22's, we ain't got no $8000 chrome spinners neither, yeah the ones you pay for witch yo moms welfare check, we don't do the boomin systems neither, we wear our $3 ear buds on our $14 dollar cd player we bought at Wal-Mart with CDR's of torrented music we stole from the net on our neighbors wide open wireless. Our vocabulary don't got no R or no I, or 2 'A's, we ain't tryin to hear none a that bullshit... We roll in our 1982 Buick with it's 14's and it's Wal-Mart wheel covers... When we play our music we blast that shit, fortunately nobody can here.. We got our tint at Wally World too and fuck it's starting to peel off but shit you can't see in my ride, bitch, when I roll past the po-lice, they be wishin they could stop me, they ain't got nuttin on this little white trance listenin boy from the upper east side of the country, sheeeeeit. MTV ain't pimped jack shit on my ride, I did all this by my damn self, sheeeeit. You betta step back, before I bust a cap in yo stank ass.

The tunes that I roll with have artists with DJ in their names but we don't do none of that faggoty ass rap shit. When we do it, we do it right, right out on the dance floor with energy, vitality and something ya'll muffucka's from the 'hood wouldn't understand, we get the badassest women with the most killer bodies and voices and we put that all up in our shit, we do it with the best drugs too, somethin that'll take you to worlds this shit hole wouldn't understand. It's all about the trance nation, bitches, got that?

in trance we trust...

We don't do none of that bling, bling bullshit neither, when we roll out, we got our $3 hoops from K-Mart... We gots us a sanyo watch too bitch. Whatch you know about my San-Yo? We all about puttin up dat front and lookin like we's all dat and something else. Fuck, yo stank asses w0n't understand.

I'm bouncin like a bad check bitches. I'm out...

OMG, I about died laughing... I have a sense of humor too...

Ok the first sentence is real but the rest is just satire...

I'm just a 30 year old white boy from suburbia that wears baggy jeans, t-shirts, nike running shoes, shaves his head and listens to the most killer female vocal trance that this world can offer. If you know me, then you know that! In trance we trust....

Love me...

This post was edited by majic on Nov 04, 2005.

This unknown entity that has been growing inside me for so many years is a force that cannot be reckoned with. The works I am writing are just pieces of a much larger puzzle, they make up this thing that is pulling me. They each tell their own individual story and they are so very emotional, so very emotional.

I have never felt anything like this before, I hope others understand. It's so very hard to put into words, whether my work is good in others eyes is inmaterial. The drive, the pull and the longing to put these words into geometric persuations is something that my heart and mind have come to love and need, oh the need! I see something in them that I don't know if any other person can see. This is not just a simple understanding of a poem, there is a complex symmetrical bond between a human emotion and the spoken word that rips at me, it calls my name and it's driving me.

There is meaning in these words and they can move mountains...

People write poems but I don't think many feel the way I feel. I don't just write them, they are an extension of me, they are the blood and the tears, they are the energy that binds me. They connect me to this invisible manifestation. It's out there and it's real and I know at least harold_maude knows this...

When I read the great poets I don't just read them, I want to be them, I want to feel the electrical impulses in their brains as they are writing it. I want to go back in time and experience the love, the raw unadulterated love, that pure selfless emotion, that sensual human longing, the magical impulses of creativity and gravity... I want to feel the love and the warmth that drove them to create this work. The words in their pattern and their flow are such an organic piece of machinery, a work of precision and art. It's not just a group of sentences separated by dashes and commas, no it's much much more, it's a microcosm of the human condition. The words were put in their respective arrangements for a reason. Each word has a direct correlation to the one before it and the one that proceeds it.

A word can mean so much, it can create a picture in your mind and a tear in your eye. Combine one word with others and you can have ocean of emotion flowing in the depths of your mind.

These words are colorful, they are magical, they create sounds in the corners of my mind that tickle my ears. I can laugh and I can cry and at the end of the day the emotional connection is exactly the same, it's raw, it's awe inspiring and travels at the speed of light through the reality that is known to my senses.

I am living, I am needing, I long for this.

A work that has captured my heart is the following by Emily Dickinson.

BECAUSE I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labor, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

We passed the school where children played
At wrestling in a ring;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.

We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.

Since then ’t is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses’ heads
Were toward eternity.

I wish I could share the things that are going on inside my mind from reading this. I don't know if another person but Emily feels the way we do about this piece of perfection. This work has captured the very essence of what I'm trying to get out of my human mind. I want so very much to put into practice the pure unconditional love that she has bestowed upon us. This work would not be justified by the word 'great', nor would it be likened to that of 'wonderful', it is so much more, so much more that a tear and a smile would be more fitting.

Another Emily Dickinson tear that runs down my face is this:

SUCCESS is counted sweetest
By those who ne’er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,

As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear.

I don't know if anyone feels this, I hope that others do. I'd be more assured in my world if I could share an emotional connection with just another soul about this love. This pure unconditional blatant fucking love. Sometimes it's so frustrating because there are just only so many words to describe this thing inside me. And I don't know if I could explain these two poems in any human spoken words.

Love me...

It's quite scary how these things come to life. If I had to describe it, I don't think I could.

I didn't write the poem,
the poem wrote me,
it took but my hand --
and my civility,

I felt each word --
brush softly upon my face,
the sensual curve of the comma,
and the eternity of whitespace,

I dreamt of the dash --
and it's eternal link,
to that next magic thought,
which my mind would think.

This post was edited by majic on Nov 02, 2005.