I woke up the next morning, same as always, though the bed was colder and the coffee tasted stronger. The world had not crumbled, the sun had not burned out, and the cows still stood in the field, chewing their cud with that same slow indifference. If anything had changed, it was only in the details—like how one less coffee cup sat on the table, and how I didn’t have to listen to her sigh about how miserable she was before she left for work.

I suppose I should have felt something deeper, something more poetic. Regret, maybe. Rage, if I were a more excitable man. But all I felt was the air in my lungs and the solid ground beneath my shoes. I reckon she thought she was being clever. She always did.

Maybe she thought I wouldn't survive without her.

Well. The thing about that is—men have survived worse.

I burned the first three eggs, sure. But by the fourth, I had it figured. I washed my own shirts, and wouldn’t you know, they came out just fine. And as for talking to people, I found out real quick that a man doesn’t need to say much if he’s got good work to do and an honest way about him.

She left for a man with a flattery problem. A man who told her she was too good for the life she had, too special for dirt roads and homemade bread. That’s fine. That’s real fine.

Because I’ve got land beneath my feet and work in my hands. I’ve got a sun that rises just the same as it always has, warming my face without asking me if I still love it.

And when the days stretch out long, and the evenings come easy, I sit on my balcony with a cup of coffee. And I smile, just a little, because I know something she don’t.

I will survive. And better yet—I will enjoy it.

 It starts like it always does.

She sat across the table, cigarette dangling,
like she knew something the rest of us didn’t.
She smiled like she'd tasted God and spit him out,
and I thought, there’s someone worth knowing.

She had stories.
Oh, they all have stories—
ex-lovers who stole cars,
drunken nights that ended with broken teeth
and fistfights under neon lights.
Her laugh was whiskey in a glass,
low, warm, just dangerous enough.

For weeks, she was everything.
We drank, we talked, we pretended.
About what, I can’t even tell you now.
I was fascinated—
she could hold court in a dive bar
like a queen of dirty saints,
telling stories about broken men
with broken dreams
and broken spines.
She liked her truths ugly,
because they were real.

But eventually, you’ve heard it all.
You’ve seen the same smirk in every photo.
The stories start looping—
the car thief ex-lover becomes just a guy,
the broken teeth are just bad decisions,
and the fistfights just get old.

The magic wears off.
She tells the same joke she told the first night,
and I laugh, but only because it’s easier
than saying,
"you’re interesting, until you’re not."

Her voice becomes static.
Her smoke, suffocating.
And you’re left staring at her
in some late-night bar,
wondering what changed.

But you know.
You always know.

It wasn’t her—
it was you.
It’s always you.

You’re the one who gets bored.
You’re the one who chews through the shine,
spits out the bone,
and moves on.

And there’s nothing worse than knowing
that someone who once lit you on fire
is now just ash
on your sleeve.

You order another drink,
she laughs that same whiskey laugh,
and you realize—
this is how it ends.

Not with a fight.
Not with a word.
But with a silence
that stretches too long,
and a thought you don’t say aloud:
"You're interesting... until you're not anymore."

And you walk out,
because it’s easier
than staying.

Looking back at the 'me' from 18 or 19 years ago in this blog makes me wonder... what happened to that person?

Did he change? Or did someone else change him?

Back then, I was full of ideas, doing cool things that felt alive and vibrant. Now, it feels like everything has become stale, filled with the mundane. Sure, life wasn't all that grand back then either, but at least it had life.

What happened?

Remember that idea you used to have—going back in time but keeping all the knowledge and skills you have now? Imagine what you could achieve. Instead of wishing to return to your younger self (which is tough, given the experiences you've gained), why not focus on improving what needs improvement and building a better version of yourself?

Being in and out of relationships doesn't mean it's the end of the line. Keep pushing forward. Stand taller and stronger.

You’ve got this.

You could absolutely break my heart, that's how I know that we're in love. I don't need the symbol of a scar so put down the knife we're not swapping blood. Isn't it enough that we stripped down to our skin?Cold and porcelain like bathers in a painting.

And I told you of your past lives, every man you've ever been. It wasn't flattering but you listened like it mattered. I feel crazy in ways I never say.

Will you still love me if it turns out I'm insane? I know what you'll say but it helps to hear you say it, anyway.

Some October, in the future I'll run out of trash TV and I'll be feeling lonely so I'll walk to karaoke, sing the song you wrote about me, never once checking the words. I hope that no one sings along. I hope that I am not a regular.

Damn, that makes me sad. It doesn't have to be like that

If you rewrite your life, may I still play a part?

In the next one, will you find me?

I'll be the boy with the pink carnation pinned to my lapel who looks like hell and asks for help and if you do, I'll know it's you. I can't imagine you without the same smile in your eyes. There is something about you that I will always recognize and if you don't remember I will try to remind you of the hummingbirds, you know the ones ? (I know the ones)

And the baby scorpion and the winter lunar halo and the walk we took in the redwoods.

I could go on and on and on and I will. Go on and on and on until

It all comes back

Are you one of those people who'll mark your calendar with upcoming events. Full of anticipation & excitement, waiting anxiously for the time to come?
That is what's happening in the world right now. 

"While I breathe, I hope"

Beauty
by Isaac Wimberley

I have spent a large majority of my life looking at paintings
Moments of time and segments of the universe captured on different shapes and sizes of canvas
I become mesmerized by the subtle stroke of the brush
The way the artist so delicately depicts areas and aspects to scale
To the point that my heart feels a sudden rush
As if I could reach my hand out and touch every last detail
As if this was a dream
Caught up in the scene
I find my heart slipping further and further into love

This is a story of my bent
I prefer shadows

This is not a conscious decision that I resolved to make
To be honest, images are just easier for me to take
Easily digested, I could chew all day
And eventually be able to wrap my mind around what the picture is trying to say

So I stare
I stare deeply into the deepest point of the portrait
Thinking that the pain of this world around me will somehow let go
Hoping that somehow this paradigm will satisfy my soul

But I end up empty
I end up thirsty
Longing for a drink
And once again I return, crawling to Your feet
Broken, ashamed, desperate for relief
I have chased creation to its end and wound up on my knees
Begging for forgiveness while hoping You can’t see me
Because I know the truth about me

I know that You have delivered for my every need
But I also know that as soon as You give me manna, I start demanding meat
I know that You have been my Protector through pain and suffering
But I also know how quickly my heart asks where You are as soon as I can’t see the path beneath my feet

So don’t look at me
I can’t stand the sight of me
So how can You, in Your infinite glory, allow me to be in Your presence?

Yet You
With a voice that calms the sea of anxiety in my soul
Tell me to look up
And Your eyes
That see right through me
Tell me that You knew me
And I behold You in all Your beauty
And I’m satisfied
A heart that has constantly tried to find its purpose in everything else in life finally resides at rest

Because Your beauty is much more than infatuation
Your beauty provides my soul with satiation
Beauty that transcends to give Your children definition
For in Your presence I can clearly see that I’m not defined by my sins
My life is not marked by my bents
Because when I look into Your face the world grows strangely dim
And I fall in

You’re all that I see
All that I know
A son returning to his Father and a Father meeting him on the road
Welcoming me home
And before I can utter the words “I’m sorry”
You tell me that You already know

You know me
The real me
The me that I’ve been both chasing and running away from my entire life
So scared that if you were to cut me open with a knife
That disgust and darkness would be the color I would bleed
And that You would be embarrassed that You chose to ransom me

Yet that’s the me You know
That’s the me You love

So I give up
I give in
And I extend my broken, desperate, calloused skin to touch the edge of Your robe
And even just the fringes brings healing to my soul
For what seems like the first time in my life I see You as beautiful
Wholly, completely enough
No longer am I staring at empty promises painted on pointless portraits
But instead I’m peering into pure love

You are better than the things that I’ve been chasing
You are beautiful
You are my joy in the trials that I am facing
You are beautiful
Peace to my storm, stronger than my addiction
Help in my time of need, comfort in my affliction
You are beautiful
And You will forever be

So fix my eyes to consistently see
Cause my mind to constantly think
Give my heart a new song to sing
Fill my lungs so that they always breathe
You
For You are beautiful

"If there are words for Him then I don’t have them
You see my brain has not yet reached a point
Where it could form a thought
That could adequately describe the greatness of my God
And my lungs have not yet developed the ability
To release a breath with enough agility
To breathe out the greatness of His love
And my voice, my voice is so inhibited
Restrained by human limits
That it’s hard to even send a praise up
If there are words for Him then I don’t have them

My God...
His grace is remarkable
Mercies are innumerable
Strength is impenetrable
He is honorable, accountable, and favorable
Unsearchable yet knowable
Indefinable yet approachable
Indescribable yet personal
He is beyond comprehension
Further than imagination
Constant through generations
King of every nation

But...
If there are words for Him then I don’t have them
You see my words are few
And to try and capture the one TRUE God
Using my vocabulary will never do
But I use my words as an expression
An expression of worship to a Savior
A Savior who is both worthy and deserving of my praise
So I use words
My heart extols the Lord
Blesses His name forever
He has won my heart, captured my mind
And has bound them both together
He has defeated me in my rebellion
Conquered me in my sin
He has welcomed me into His presence
Completely invited me in
He has made Himself the object of my sight
Flooding me with mercies in the morning
Drowning me with grace in the night
But
If there are words for Him then I don’t have them
But what I do have…Is Good News
For my God knew that man-made words would never do
For words are just tools that we use
To point to the Truth
So He sent his son Jesus Christ as THE WORD
Living proof
He is the image of the invisible God
The firstborn of all creation
For by Him all things were created
Giving nothingness formation
And by His word He sustains, in the power of His name
For He is before all things and over all things He reigns
HOLY IS HIS NAME!!
Praise Him for His life
The way He persevered in strife
The humble Son of God becoming the perfect sacrifice
Praise Him for His death
That He willingly stood in our place
That He lovingly endured the grave
That He battled our enemy
And on the third day rose in victory
Praise Him because He rose!!
Hallelujah He rose!!
He is everything that was promised
Praise Him as the risen King
Lift your voice and sing
For one day He will return for us and we will finally be
United with our Savior for eternity
So it’s not just words that I proclaim
For my words point to the WORD
And the WORD has a name
Hope has a name
Joy has a name
Peace has a name
Love has a name
And that name is Jesus Christ
Praise His name FOREVER!"

- Isaac Wimberly

Suddenly you realized, out of a sudden, that you're falling. And the scariest thing is that you really can't help it. But out of that realization too, out of that instant, you know that it won't matter who she's gonna be with, who she'll choose or whether she's feeling the same. The only thing that matter is she's happy. That is all. That's what you've been praying for all this time, right? Another sacrifice, another bit of your heart ripped off from it's not so perfect form. Whatever's left of it anyway.
But then, knowing her, being with her, seeing that smile, was the best thing that you could recently afford. If only you could bottle a smile and drink of it's warm happiness whenever you feel like shit, it would really make your day.
She's not perfect, but so are you. Whoever among us are worthy enough to cast the first stone? Be there, whenever, wherever if you can, as long as she doesn't feel alone.

And it starts, sometime around midnight.
Or at least that’s when you lose yourself for a minute or two. As you stand, under the bar lights. And the band plays some song about forgetting yourself for a while. And the piano’s this melancholy soundtrack to her smile. And that white dress she’s wearing. You haven’t seen her for a while. But you know, that she’s watching.

She’s laughing, she’s turning. She’s holding her tonic like a cross.  The room’s suddenly spinning. She walks up and asks how you are. So you can smell her perfume. You can see her lying naked in your arms.

And so there’s a change, in your emotions. And all these memories come rushing like feral waves to your mind.
Of the curl of your bodies, like two perfect circles entwined. And you feel hopeless and homeless and lost in the haze of the wine.

Then she leaves, with someone you don’t know. But she makes sure you saw her. She looks right at you and bolts. As she walks out the door, your blood boiling your stomach in ropes. Oh and when your friends say, “What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Then you walk, under the streetlights. And you’re too drunk to notice, that everyone is staring at you. You just don’t care what you look like, the world is falling around you.

You just have to see her.
You just have to see her.
You just have to see her.
You just have to see her.
You just have to see her.

You know that she’ll break you in two

There's sweet voices that can lull you to sleep; there's strong voices, powerful vocals that inject you with inspirations. And there's these Irish girls with angelic voices, who curled their tongue when pronouncing their 'R's. Girls who used to only sing in local pubs and churches choir groups. Pure talent and rawness, not yet tainted with fame and glory.

"Innocence - once lost can never be regained."

"Remember boy, when it comes to women, you're never too old for humiliation."

The world was always never meant to keep something so perfect - flowers wilt, great empires fall and good people will always die first. It's either nature's way of balancing or it's way of keeping us entertained for such short periods of time. We can't handle too much good stuff for so long.

Marilyn Monroe - she was and still is something to people. A gift, maybe, or somehow... an unforgettable dream, a pleasant dream that will always linger even after you're awake. She's all the women I've once knew and yet I still know nothing much about her - a beautiful enigma.

What makes her so radiant that men would stop and stare at her like she's some kind of Greek Goddess? Her fragile sweetheart figure that eventually would be a heart breaker. Yet men still love her, offering their hearts to be broken. She's every men's sweetheart but I believe nobody truly owned her.

"Our revels now are ended. These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits, and

Are melted into air, into thin air:

And like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on; and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep."

May you rest in peace, love.

[ Lorette C. Luzajic on Marilyn ]

"We guys don't care if you talk to other guys. We don't care if you're friends with other guys. But when you're sitting next to us, and some random guy walks into the room and you jump up and tackle him, without even introducing us, yeah, it pisses us off. It doesn't help if you sit there and talk to him for ten minutes without even acknowledging the fact that we're still there. We don't care if a guy calls or texts you, but at 2 in the morning we do get a little concerned. Nothing is that important at 2 a.m that it can't wait till the morning. Also, when we tell you you're pretty / beautiful / gorgeous / cute / stunning, we freaking mean it. Don't tell us we're wrong. We'll stop trying to convince you. The sexiest thing about a girl is confidence. Yeah, you can quote me. Don't be mad when we hold the door open. Take advantage of the mood I'm in. Let us pay for you! Don't 'feel bad'. We enjoy doing it. It's expected. Smile and say 'thank you'. Kiss us when no one's watching. If you kiss us when you know somebody's looking, we'll be more impressed. You don't have to get dressed up for us. If we're going out with you in the first place, you don't have to feel the need to wear the shortest skirt you have or put on every kind of makeup you own. We like you for who you are and not what you are. Honestly, I think a girl looks more beautiful when she's just in her pj's. Or my t-shirt and boxers, not all dolled up. Don't take everything we say seriously. Sarcasm is a beautiful thing. See the beauty in it. Don't get angry easily. Stop using magazines / media as your bible. Don't talk about how hot Chris Brown, Brad Pitt, or Jesse McCartney is in front of us. It's boring, and we don't care. You have girlfriends for that.

Whatever happened to the word 'handsome' / 'beautiful'? I'd be utterly stunned by a girl who greeted me with 'Hey handsome!' instead of 'Hey baby / stud / cutie / sexy' or whatever else you can think of. On the other hand I'm not saying I wouldn't like it ether ;) Girls, I cannot stress this enough: if you aren't being treated right by a guy, don't wait for him to change! Ditch his sorry ass, disgrace to the male population and find someone who will treat you with utter respect. Someone who will honor your morals. Someone who will make you smile when you're at your lowest. Someone who will care for you even when you make mistakes. Someone who will love you, no matter how bad you make them feel. Someone who will stop what they're doing just to look you in the eyes... and say 'I love you' ...and actually mean it. Give the nice guys a chance. Life is too short to complain about everything that comes your way so stop and smell the roses in life because you might never have another time to take it, so take your time because they are all different in every way, so take chances in life, if it doesn't work out then fine, there are always more roses to smell."

Mr. Magorium: [to Molly, about dying] When King Lear dies in Act V, do you know what Shakespeare has written? He's written "He dies." That's all, nothing more. No fanfare, no metaphor, no brilliant final words. The culmination of the most influential work of dramatic literature is "He dies." It takes Shakespeare, a genius, to come up with "He dies." And yet every time I read those two words, I find myself overwhelmed with dysphoria. And I know it's only natural to be sad, but not because of the words "He dies." but because of the life we saw prior to the words.

[pause, walks over to Molly]

Mr. Magorium: I've lived all five of my acts, Mahoney, and I am not asking you to be happy that I must go. I'm only asking that you turn the page, continue reading... and let the next story begin. And if anyone asks what became of me, you relate my life in all its wonder, and end it with a simple and modest "He died."

The crucified planet Earth,
should it find a voice
and a sense of irony,
might now well say
of our abuse of it,
"Forgive them, Father,
They know not what they do."

The irony would be
that we know what
we are doing.

When the last living thing
has died on account of us,
how poetical it would be
if Earth could say,
in a voice floating up
perhaps
from the floor of the Grand Canyon,
"It is done."

People did not like it here.

"Do not let your fire go out, spark by irreplaceable spark in the hopeless swamps of the not quite, the not yet, and the not at all. Do not let the hero in your soul perish in lonely frustration for the life you deserved and have never been able to reach. The world you desire can be won. It exists. It is real. It is possible. It is yours"
- Ayn Rand

E.E. Cummings once wrote; To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle, which any human being can fight, and never stop fighting.

"For what it's worth: it's never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of. If you find that you're not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again."

When sometimes, we seems to remember things that we haven't done before, does it mean... does it mean that we already forgot that we're aging backwards?

I heard a joke once:

Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life is harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world. Doctor says, "Treatment is simple. The great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go see him. That should pick you up." Man bursts into tears. Says, "But doctor... I am Pagliacci."

Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.

"One of these days you’ll be under the covers, you’ll be under the table and you’ll realize all of your days are numbered; all of them one to one hundred, all of them millions, all of them trillions.

So what are you gonna do with them all?
You can not trade them in for more.

Take every moment; you know that you own them. It’s all you can do, use what’s been given to you. Give me a reason to fight the feeling that there’s nothing here for me. Cause none of its easy, I know it wasn’t meant to be. I know it’s all up to me.

So what am I gonna do with my time?
I'll take every moment, I know that I own them. It’s all up to you to do whatever you choose. Live like you’re dying and never stop trying. It’s all you can do, use what’s been given to you. All of the moments you didn’t notice, gone in the blink of an eye. All of the feelings you couldn’t feel no matter how you try.."

" Stay by my side
as my light grows dim
as my blood slows down
and my nerves shatter with stabbing pain
as my heart grows weak
and the wheels of my being turn slowly
Stay by my side
as my fragile body is racked by pain
which verges on truth
and manic time continues scattering dust
and furious life bursts out in flames.
Stay by my side
as I fade
so you can point to the end of my struggle
and the twilight of eternal days
at the low, dark edge of life.."