Thoughts are loud. So loud they demand to be heard. But what if those thoughts don't articulate into real words? When you can't even seem to find the right abstract expression? They mass together in your center and you can feel them turning. They are building with each moment they are unspoken and they are prepared to be announced. As you try to speak, a dam holds them back. they can't be let free, because they cannot be understood.

Most of my nightmares terrify me. Usually from the inability to fight. I become completely incapacitated. If for some reason I can fight, it's against shady characters who are trying to convince me to trust them. I usually do.

Sometimes I think I might be living that nightmare now. Only now I can't just wake up to something different. 

But life is fine, ya know? Nightmares end eventually. Just not usually the way we want them to. 

Where it Belongs

Love is the visit you pay
When you walk in unannounced
Because you hoped
I would still be in town.

The moment when I see
That familiar navy blue hoodie
Come through the door-
Your silhouette
Illuminated by the dimly lit window
In that basement bedroom.

When my desire to hold you
Becomes audible,
Because only seconds before
Your presence
Was only an often dreamt dream.
And as I woke,
I unabashedly made my wishes known
Through a most genuine and relieved whimper.

As I lay in your warmth,
I know I am safe.
Mind at ease.
Comfort over comes me.
It becomes me.
Because I know you placed the spare key back
Where it belongs.

No One's Fault

I carry in me a darkness. It hides away. It lines every thought. Some thinly, and other with a coat of insulation from any light. Most often it covers my dreams.

The blackness in me doubts- a veil to hide me from myself. To protect me if ever those dreams should shatter. In this darkness, I won't see the pieces. But I can feel the cutting edges of the hopes I have lost. At least I don't have to see how broken they are.

The wounds of a broken dream might be hidden behind that velvet mask of cynicism. But seen or not, they will bleed. Darkness is no bandage. They have bleed before, from slashes to pin pricks. Scars are there too. Between them it's difficult to find a place of perfect flesh. I want them to be found, to be discovered on purpose and tended too with gentleness and understanding. Some suture to help them heal properly, and treatment to lessen the scars. Until then, I will pretend that I have not been wounded. 

Because it's no one's fault.

Merely the product of a hopeful mind full of doubt and an dreaming heart aching for authenticity. 

New Looks and Adventures in Far Away Lands

The blog got a make over today. As you can see.

If anyone actually reads this, I would love to hear what you think.

In case you DO read this regularly,you will notice I haven't posted much lately. Like, in the past year. I don't know why I had a sudden urge to start posting again, but I did. Maybe I just have a lot on my mind and no where to put it but on the internet where literally anyone could see it.

That, and I realized I really miss it. I miss writing for fun. Like, I actually enjoy this. That's a really big deal right now. I actually enjoy an activity! Even if it is laying in my bed typing, at least I am having fun. I want to start feeling like that about everything. I looked back on some older posts from 2010 and I realize how go lucky and happy I was then. The world was my oyster (I have never ever understood that saying....) and I was ready to take it on. So let's get back to that. I'm up for an adventure.

Speaking of adventure, I will be in the wondrous lands of Europe in the near future, so you can look forward to awesome pictures after I return. I have a new camera and everything. It's an exciting time of year, and I get to spend it outside of my own country! I can't wait to explore a completely new culture!

Signing off for now,
Tom

{in}Human{e}

So I'm a girl.

I know, big shock coming from a blog that so clearly states that IN THE TITLE. However, that is not what this is about (in fact, I don't think anyone has questioned the fact that this is narrated by a female). What it's about is the fact that as a woman [HUMAN] I have a lot of weird feelings. And for the past year and a little more, most of them have been wildly out of control.

I became {in}human{e}.

For the first time in my recollection, I felt truly powerless. I became bitter, afraid, pessimistic. Cruel. I experienced the lowest I have ever felt in my life. And it seemed that nothing helped. As an aid in understanding this feeling, I suggest you take the time to read this post on a wonderful blog (some language). It sums it up pretty well (And the fish part just makes me laugh, so if anything, skip to that and have a good hardy chuckle).

On top of feeling sad and mean, I just started hating myself. I felt like I had potential, and I was just screwing it up. All those things that people told me I was talented at suddenly seemed like they weren't as progressed as others my age who knew what hard work was and how to keep at it without giving up. Everyone seemed to know how to get out of bed in the morning, put on a pair of "I-woke-up-on-the-right-side-of-the-bed" pants, some "#I'mfabulous make-up and go about their day further developing already incredible talents to further put my work to shame. Looking good and being kind while doing it. Everyone turned into someone I wanted to be, and it made me furious. Because I had nothing to offer but a deep furrow hidden someone in a mess of greasy hair and sweatpants that smelled like day-old pizza and salad. And that was on the few days when I actually got up. GREASY HAIR WAS AN EFFORT.

"How dare the world keep spinning while I am miserable."

Everything turned into that. It was about me. Making myself a victim to everything became a horror story that haunted my reality. I became exactly what I loathed. Days melded together and nothing felt right. It seemed I had no purpose other than watching the Big Bang Theory on the DVR and to keep the bed warm. I didn't want to try, because I felt to far behind.

And quite honestly, things have been on and off like that even up to now. I still have days like that. And I definitely don't feel like me all the way again yet. But I have friends who have helped me remember that there's that me still in there. They bring her out to play and smile. Some cuddle her. Some take her on walks. Some go out to eat and just talk about the future as if nothing could go wrong. And two even give kisses on the forehead just to say "I care for you", "We will always stay close", or "You are mine".  In these moments, I remember I have purpose. And I remember I can be something. Maybe even whatever I want. And maybe I wasn't becoming inhuman, but experiencing something to make me more human. More compassionate  I'm not there yet, but it's what I want to become. It's what I am becoming. With a great effort.

But effort feels good.

-Tom

Micro Fiction

So you can decide if this is any good. Have fun kids. It's for a project. 

Movement ceased. Reverently, his dogtags removed.

“Son, I was young once too.”

The wedding ceremony began. A young couple sat in the back, the woman filled with emotion. She watched as the past ended and an undesirable future was sealed with empty promises.

Regret weighed heavily on his chest as his friends celebrated their first drink. He could never warn them against the sorrows that could swallow them whole.

Laughter gently warmed the melancholy hotel stairway and the young man reveled in her brief moment of light hearted youth. He caressed the curves of her smile to remove her tears and for a moment the world was warm again. Love was renewed.

The cold vacant room was still filled with the young man’s belongings. Pictures of his grin plastered the walls. His mother sat beside her memories and wept.

“I said get out! O-U-T, out!’

“I wanna stay in! O-U-T, in!”

She may not have been able to spell, but she understood the importance of tone.

The old town drunkard proudly walked a straight line out of the parlor completely sober. A new man emerged without the stench of whiskey and gin.

No Sleep tonight. The taranchula escaped.   

Have you ever taught a cat to swim? I tried once, but the ocean was probably a bad place to start.

“When a promise to eternity is broken, a guarantee to uncertainty is made.” “I paid 25 dollars for this? What a rip off.” The cheating man walked away, then shamefully placed his wedding band back on his hand.

Honor. That was the promise he made himself as the observed the velvet pastel petals cascade from the familiar, elderly cherry blossoms. He polished his katana with pride and solemnity, then left. Never to return.

Anna adjusted Charles’s bowtie innocently. “This is for ol’ papa Charlie! Mama says we won’t see him for a long while. But she said you could come if you dressed nice!” She squeezed her bear and looked out to see the rain pouring down on the black herse outside.

And so with a bottle of india ink, a soft bristle brush, 3 sketchbooks and 43 dollars in his pocket, he stepped into the boiling New Delhi street alone for the first time.

Over 400 handwritten notes to be remembered by carefully placed at the bottom of each page. None of them were ever seen by him.

Her stubborn silence and private suffering lead to the tarnished ring in it’s new home- collecting debris at on the filthy ocean floor for the rest of eternity.

Wet beach hair- a beauty trademark- and salty skin in the summer sun. Sand sticks to her slender legs and a warm smile completes her.  

Wiping noses and calming nerves- the thankless mother deserves her nap. But the cries of an infant demand more love.

“I bought this awesome music box! The lady who sold it to me said it was cursed or haunted or something, but I think it’s got charm” “What were you thinking? And where’s your car?” “Oh, I totaled it on the way home. But the music box was fine.”

Thousands gathered as the concert began. A young man in a tuxedo spotted an elderly woman who seemed in need of company. “Incredible, isn’t it? So many people are here!” he enthused. “I only wish his father was here to enjoy it with me.” she said as she held back tears.

At 24, Mark looked under the coffee table he grew up with. His awful handwriting and uncoordinated drawings brought back memories of childhood rebellion.

The lure of vacancy called to her. She left alone and let her mind escape in the ecstasy of absence.

In the attic, a letter explaining betrayal grew crisp and dusty with age.

His body ached for her affection, but neglect and rage ran through her veins. Her lifeblood was sustained by the thought of his suffering. He would never love her again.

“Access to nearly limitless knowledge has been achieved sir, and connection has reached a new potential. We will commence the download to your device immediately” “Hold on, let me finish this game of Angry Birds.”

The phone rang at 3:17 am. Disoriented, she rose from the warm sheets to find her phone on her dresser. Sluggishly she answered. “Mrs. Broadshaw?” “Yes? This is her” “We found your husband.”

Vacations are great! Except when you wake up in your brother’s vomit. Then not so much.

An angsty teenage girl was enveloped in her self pity on a lonely Valentine’s day, until a knock at the door ended with a plate of cupcakes and a thank you note from the 4 year old up the street.