Angels in America

Harper: I don't understand this. If i didn't ever see you before, and i don't think i did, then I don't think you should be here in this hallucination because in my experience, the mind, which is where hallucinations come from, shouldn't be able to make anything up that wasn't there to start with, that didn't enter it from experience in the real world. Imagination can't create anything new can it? It only recycles bits and peices from the world and reassembles them into visions. So, when we think we've escaped the unbearable ordinariness and, well, untruthfulness of our lives it really only the same old ordinariness and falseness rearranged into the appearance of novelty and truth. Nothing unknown is knowable..


Belize: I hate America, Louis. I hate this country. Nothing but a bunch of big ideas and stories and people dying, and then people like you. The white cracker who wrote the national anthem knew what he was doing. He set the word "free" to a note so high nobody could reach it. That was deliberate.

nothing, i guess

Nothing.
Like emptiness but without the space in which to be empty.
Like uncertainty but without the option of being certain.
Like hollow, or indifference.
There is nothing worse than nothing.
Nothing special, simply ordinary.
Imagine slicing open an X over your heart and saying, “here, please, pour your salt into my gaping wound, so that I may feel something. Anything.”
Like a forgotten pair of socks lost in the laundry abyss.
Like a ten year old teddy bear, once a childhood friend, now a place keeper for the corner.
Feel nothing, have nothing, want nothing.
To have a sentence worse than death.
Because death offers a relief, where as nothing offers… well…

In order to feel we must let ourselves.
And in order to let ourselves, we must realize that we should smile because we deserve it.

I deserve it, I realize.
I deserve to smile, to feel, to love again and again and again.
I need to lift myself up instead of squashing myself down.
I need to know that I can make a decision for me, not for you, and not for him, and not because I feel that I have to, but because I WANT it.
Its my turn.
And I refuse to be ordinary.
And I refuse to feel nothing.
Anymore.

murder

You can easily end a life with a single pluck.
Time will be destroyed.
White blood drips from the severed limbs.
The product,
although beautiful and proud,
will only last a few days before the life is completely drained from its body.
The perfection will remain till the sun goes down,
then the petals close in serenity,
and the blossoms shrivel into nothing.

love is like oxygen

the greatest thing
you'll ever learn
is just to love
and be loved in return

an understatement

i held her head in my hands as her bullet hole pumped red.
although it all happened so fast, it was very defined.
i hadnt done anything to stop my hand,
lifted the gun and with a loud crack, she exploded.
she held my unborn baby in her tummy
it would die today too.

she told me that i didnt have to do it.
she said i could take it back
make it right
it could be someone else... she could change her fate

she spoke, and as i was too distracted to listen, english became tongues
there was one other in the room. telling me to run
to forget
to leave them behind and flee
and as the devil on my right told me to run it stifled the voice of my shoulder angel.. so i turned.
And as I turned, and began to run a force stopped me and pulled me in closer to my victim of love. Hate. Rejection. Fear
And her forehead split down the center and shot out two bullets.
The bullets I had released into her.
And as I felt the cool tingles of aproaching death, she whispered
"You don't get off that easy"

lullaby

Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord my soul to keep...

...eyes flutter shut and breathing slows
I hope in dreams your face it shows.
But dreams they seem to disappoint
As in them lies a hollow point.
No face I see but darkness still
And hear my cries no ears will.
As tears fall and wake my eyes
I hear in me a part that dies.
And all I need is a soft embrace
But nowhere to be seen in this place.
You've vanished far beyond these sheets
And I cannot hear your soft heartbeats.
So sleep deprived I slowly drift
Back into my nightmare swift.
And I pretend to hold you near
And to press your heart against my ear.
To hear the rythym of your beat
To drift me slowly off to sleep.
I find it hard to wake from my slumber
Because a lonely day does quite a number.
So here I lay, not warm nor safe
And here inside my cold heart shakes.

So now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the lord my soul to keep.
And if I die before I wake
I pray the lord my soul to take.

good will hunting :)

So if I asked you about art,
you'd probably give me the skinny on every
art book ever written.
Michelangelo, you know a lot about him.
Life's
work,
political aspirations,
him and the pope,
sexual orientations,
the whole works, right?
But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells
like in the Sistine Chapel.
You've never actually stood there and looked up
at that beautiful ceiling;
seen that.

If I ask you about women,
you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites.
You may
have even been laid a few times.
But you can't tell me what it feels like to
wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy.

You're a tough kid.
And I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right,
"once more unto the breach dear friends."
But you've never been near one.
You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, watch him gasp his
last breath looking to you for help.

I'd ask you about love,
you'd
probably quote me a sonnet.
But you've never looked at a woman and been
totally vulnerable.
Known someone that could level you with her eyes,
feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you.
Who could rescue
you from the depths of hell.
And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her
angel,
to have that love for her,
be there forever,
through
anything, through cancer.
And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in
the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could
see in your eyes, that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you.
You
don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something
more than you love yourself.
And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody
that much.
And look at you...
I don't see an intelligent, confident
man...
I see a cocky, scared shitless kid.

You're an orphan right?
You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been,
how
you feel,
who you are,
because I read Oliver Twist?
Does that
encapsulate you?