This XML file does not appear to have any style information associated with it. The document tree is shown below.
<livejournal>
<entry>
<itemid>138088</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-10-03 23:41:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-10-04 03:42:10</logtime>
<subject>The Night The Magic Died</subject>
<event>
by Redwin Tursor Something sleeps deep within me Slumbering possibly to never wake again I speak the language of magic Much like one can ride a bike But feel no desire to do so I look at the trees And see fractal patterns of glucose, cellulose and sundry molecules I look at the stars And see balls of fire across timeless tracts of space I throw up a wish at the first star I see But it is hollow Because even if there is magic I no longer believe it can or will help me And I don't think I can help myself any more I have almost reached my limit At times gone beyond it There are capacities we cannot exceed. Sometimes we are just what we are. The past can never be retrieved. I've known this for some time But I at least had my whimsical witness The wonder of the passing of creation The ability to at least be a able to see and appreciate it all Now that is gone. And I do not know if I will get it back. And if I do Will it be but fits and starts Instead of the continual appreciation I once had? Time heals all wounds Until it kills you. Entropy overcomes all things Maybe my soul died Long before my body, spirit or mind....
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
<current_music/>
<current_mood/>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>138445</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-10-10 02:00:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-10-10 06:01:04</logtime>
<subject>Quest</subject>
<event>
By Redwin Tursor This is not a walk about. While I am not done defining myself That is something that has began before And will continue long after This journey. This is a search for destiny A finger back in the eye At the thumb the universe keeps sticking in mine Every time I try to do what I think it wants. 8 months ago I felt I had a calling of destiny A direction I was supposed to go. Obstacles were expected They are natural And part of life But sailing against the tide of life On little more than a vague feeling In a few museums And from a book on tape Is hardly enough to merit The declining years In the second half of my life. Death approaches Still theoretically far away Unseen But closer now And with no legacy to speak of Save that which I choose to define Largely consisting of my own experiences And what limited ripples I have made to improve the lives of others I am challenging the universe To put up Or shut up And scouting these cities Not with methodical reason Since I have not the resources Or time to do so at this juncture But emotion And omen And intuition By walking the streets And sensing the spirit of the Cities of the West. There is a band called Third Eye Blind but it applies to me as well My soul is in slumber now Barely sensing the currents of wonder around me A deep almost dreamless sleep With only the single notes of the rhythm of all things A pulse and no more I see the moon And the stars And vaguely understand there is wonder there But they barely sing to me. Such is not a state Upon which someone should enter such a quest. But enter it I must For the status is not quo. Must not be quo. Will not be quo. This ends. One way or another. Either I find what was promised in whispers and shadows Urged with feelings of vague roads to nowhere Or I bloom where I was planted 12 years ago And make my home My Home.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
<current_music/>
<current_mood/>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>138627</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-10-12 10:29:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-10-12 14:29:56</logtime>
<subject>Under the Hunter's Moon</subject>
<event>
by Emmit Other A fiery lance of pain Sent through my heart Searing my lungs Wracking my entire body As I float over the roads to the West. The universe has responded to my challenge By raising the gauntlet Testing my determination. I do not get to see the Arc Under the Hunter's Moon Or the Font of Evil At Westboro Baptist Church But the moment I cross the Mississippi I am in the West And something awakens in me This is my land Where I was raised Where my ancestors fled So long ago And took what was not theirs to take As those before them took from each other. A surge of spiritual energy Creeps up my spine And for a while in the fever dreams I see flickers and flecks of the truth This is my spiritual center. It is not, per se, The place I am meant to dwell But I must return here enough So that my soul does not so easily sleep again. We shall see what we shall see.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
<current_music/>
<current_mood/>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>139006</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-10-15 04:25:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-10-15 08:25:27</logtime>
<subject>Trick</subject>
<event>
by Emmit Other Dear Emmit, Hi, How's it Going? Let's get the important stuff out of the way. Right Bat City. Wrong Bat Time. Reason Unclear, ask me again later. Sorry you had to drive 6000 miles Only to get that feeling you've been looking for 40 miles before you drove into the city you'd never seen before sight unseen. Did I mention I was sorry? Though really that's just a use of dramatic irony. See I'm still mildly pissed about the poke in the eye thing. I don't have eyes really. I do have a sense of humor. And while I am amused by irony The sickness thing was really Nature Maybe Fate or Perversity Who knows? Anyway, Yes, you're a very clever boy. You spotted a pattern And went with it. Congratulations. I wouldn't stare about the patterns too much thought. It'll drive you even more batshit insane than you already are. Oh and feel free to give the message to your friend in the day shift I know how much he loves his schedules This should drive him bonkers. It's my pleasure. Really. Lots of people ask for answers. I'm only happy to give them. Occasionally they're even the right one. Have a nice day. Oh, just found out that your word is Trick for the Write Club thingy Wow that's ironic. Well, OK I already knew the word before I existed Its kind of a thing with me But I was being conversationally polite In an Ant vs Planet kind of way. Except bigger. Way bigger. Liked the pizza thing though Until you blogged about it. That made you look like kind of a douche. Enjoy the ride home. You're welcome -The Universe PS: We'll talk later about the duffel bag thing....promise! Love ya!
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
<current_music/>
<current_mood/>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>139130</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-10-15 16:28:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-10-15 20:28:38</logtime>
<subject>The Braid</subject>
<event>
by Emmit Other and Redwin Tursor Condemnation to eternal death of the mind Was not a fate the Lady of the Lake could well set And so in moonbeams, stars and twilight A braid of hope was met Once by day the madness cured By night the helm arose anew She bid farewell to the wander In spectral frosted Adieu.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
<current_music/>
<current_mood/>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>139324</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-10-18 04:35:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-10-18 08:35:24</logtime>
<subject>They Say Things Are Rising</subject>
<event>
By Emmit Other They say things are rising That's what the wind says And listening to other things Sometimes works Sometimes does but with information That is functionally useless in daylight Makes about as much sense As a daylight poet But what it is is And there's a school of realism in thought Even if the deeper power and meaning Lies in moonlight. And so the dreams bear upward tide But its hard to believe them Hard to take them seriously. Not trying to be harsh I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth But after listening so much And getting sucker punched again and again By life By those I trust I am a rather angry person inside And while I've managed to control that rage Sometimes its there Bubbling under the surface Mainly at things that aren't real Since I know people can feel pain So I don't yell at them But having compassion for unreal things is new And is an entirely different mastery But I'm getting there. And if things are to be believed These next few months are to be fantastic But where much is given Much is expected. Fortunately, That won't require as much lifestyle change As you might think. I have the unfortunate trend To know what it feels like To be drowning And have to pull yourself to shore There is nothing more in those moments that one wants Than a helping hand Just make sure that they don't pull you under doing so. Its a long trip home With some music And mainly the voices in my head keeping me company. @#$@# phone. Loyal and stupid Disloyal and treacherous Its the most complicated object I own After the car. Which fortunately Is the exact opposite of the phone.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
<current_music/>
<current_mood/>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>139566</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-10-20 22:09:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-10-21 02:09:58</logtime>
<subject>Lucid Dreaming</subject>
<event>
By Emmit Other I ride the whirlwind Reaped by unlocking secrets Never meant to be unsealed In the great shining deserts Of the citadels of Death Beyond in the great wastes Far across the river. I am not responsible for the wave of darkness I merely herald it Riding at its forefront As it sweeps behind me In the terrifying canyons In the mazes of the night I push down the fear inside of me And enter the lucid dreaming of the slumberlands Just a rest Just a moment Just a respite From the rising And the falling Of certain doom. And in Dreams I am the King in Yellow Whole worlds saved Or destroyed Staying and reentering As much as it takes But what if they are all connected Dreams? What if they are as much a part Of layer upon layer Of metareality just as air abides in the sun? I parse the flower of the unreasoning dew And whisper to the wind And it whispers back And I see I see friendships revealed as they truly are I see blood boil and shine in glory and sadness I see the future unweave before me In all its twisted turns and paths And the vipers turn on my skin For they do not like the bell toll That a new sheriff has arrived In the shadow fields Of Poppy and Twilight Woven Strand by strand Their fates are turned about the ring Their attacks turned upon themselves The King reins and abides Not arrogance But understanding Epitome Insight Humbled by the power of it all The majesty of the unreal The ecology of the idea How one thing touches another And it burns into the mind Sears it into the skull A shifter can bend and weave And duck and spin But one cannot be all things at once To all people And some choices must be made And some are made for you. So mote it be. I choose to bring light to dark places And help dark places That want to stay hidden Remain that way. A balance maintained. A balance kept. Such as it ever was. Such as it is. Such as it ever must be.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
<current_music/>
<current_mood/>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>139853</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-10-23 00:40:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-10-23 04:40:35</logtime>
<subject>Flotsam Tumbleweeds</subject>
<event>
By Emmit Other By the present day A comparison to a Tumbleweed With loneliness is a bit cliche. Just a bit. The metaphor has been done Even if it is still true. But that doesn't make it any less personal I brought more than sunlight and wonder Back with me from the desert The vast empty spaces The isolation The beatific loneliness. In some ways I yearn for it In some ways I despise it. Everyone has it I have come to realize this. Everyone feels alone in a crowded room Sometimes. But I observe Far more than most And the quality of my friends is high But the quality of my connection Is strained. Disconnected here Disconnected in the west Hardly a difference. I can change some of this By being the one doing the reaching out But there is risk in this For the rejection doubles the pain The absence of what isn't. So emotional capital Becomes a speculative currency Just like the American Dollar Used widely And yet sparingly In all other aspects of my life. I feel hope for the future And yet I look to it with dread. The problem with an allergy Is that often the reaction grows more severe With every infliction And often medicines Lose their effectiveness Until the malady can no longer be treated. I am optimistic somehow Not merely as a matter of survival Or retaining my freedom But a genuine belief that things will improve Somehow Someway I just don't immediately see what that will be. I will find a way out of this box. It is what I do And I can help others do so as well When they listen Which isn't often. Perhaps that then Is the key to unraveling this knotted mystery Or perhaps it is merely minding my own business. And yet... That doesn't seem to work out very well for most people Including me.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
<current_music/>
<current_mood/>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>140105</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-10-23 15:15:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-10-23 19:15:15</logtime>
<subject>The Laws of Magic</subject>
<event>
by Emmit Other Magic is a subjective thing Even when quantification is attempted It slips and streams away That is, if it is truly magic Unstead of some paltry energy That mimics science by a different name. But patterns emerge Some trends more than others. Symbols matter. Intent matters. Names have power. And Oaths, older than near any other form of magic Matter. To break an oath Whether spoken Or implied Is to invoke wrath The liars, the thieves, the cheaters Might as well yoke a stone around their neck To those that know where to find the lynchpin. To some the magic Is merely the rules of subconscious mind Thus one judges ones self With the rope they gladly gave themself. To others, it is the rules that govern Creatures not of this world Not to be trifled with under the best of circumstances But betrayal of the terms of a contract Invite all kinds of retribution. Though many might argue At the wisdom Of talking with them in the first place Just like the stock market Or a casino The rules are stacked in the houses favor. But what is is what is And ignorance of the law Is no defense Except Of course when it is. But a good rule of thumb in life Is don't be an asshole. It serves well in most any paradigm Or reality.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
<current_music/>
<current_mood/>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>140321</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-10-27 00:09:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-10-27 04:09:23</logtime>
<subject>The Chemistry of Charisma</subject>
<event>
By Emmit Other So now I've been told From quite a few reliable sources That all I need to do Is chill out Shut up Shut down. There's nothing inherently wrong with this Broadcasting all of the bandwidth That's in my head Is going to assassinate Any rational conversation Relax Conceal a few of my ideals I can do this So long as I do not actually need to give them up. Though... To be fair Saying I can And actually doing it Are two entirely different things.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
<current_music/>
<current_mood/>
</entry>
<entry>
<itemid>140692</itemid>
<eventtime>2011-10-27 00:16:00</eventtime>
<logtime>2011-10-27 04:16:05</logtime>
<subject>The Fumes of the Party</subject>
<event>
By Emmit Other And so it was On this most sacred of days That I did not end up spending Quite as alone as I might have thought. I lost a friend For his failure to give up another Playing one side against the other Like the dog that wouldn't give up its bone In Aesop's Fable. I'm nearly forty now Half way dead But I've had four good years Free of what to me Is now seen as a prison of lies. A prison I have to pay homage to To those that choose to still dwell there. I love them So I humor them And respect their desires To remain on the Great and Spacious Temple. But it isn't easy Watching them Floating up there like that Whilst I partake of the tree of Joy That is life. I'm not really good at it And I can't really claim credit for much I kind of fell off Because the guy that runs the place Didn't care about which way he tilted the thing. I landed soaked in the river Wearing Pilgrim clothes In the middle of the best party With the best sex And alcohol And music And everything else That you could ever imagine. I didn't fit in. I stuck out like a sore thumb But the people were pretty cool And helped me blend in In some cases giving me the shirt off their back Occasionally I'd still break into random fits Of hymn or scripture I'm better than I was I have friends who still interact with me... But the essence of putrid sacrament bread Doesn't come off in a single shower I enjoy the scenery But I'm often unable to forget The fact that this is the last 15 minutes And some of the best stuff already happened. I don't believe in an After Party. But you know what? 15 minutes of fun Is better than all of the floating around In the entire world. Especially when its got more truth in a second Than every moment I spent up there.
</event>
<security>public</security>
<allowmask>0</allowmask>
<current_music/>
<current_mood/>
</entry>
</livejournal>
No comments:
Post a Comment