My Adonis

Death is beautiful to one who gives life in it's stead. May he live long, may he find a woman that loves him, and may he remember me in those silent moments. I pray that he forgives me for my foolishness and my folly for I cannot forgive myself. Why regret that which gave me him? What is happiness but stolen moments?

He slept deeply. The springs didn't squeak as I rose from the bed. Light snores carried on their usual cadence as I reached for my clothes on the floor. I stole a look at the man I had grown to love. Adonis in my eyes. Savior. Friend. A part of my soul lived within him. He was beautiful in those last moments I spent with him. Fearing I would wake him and ruin everything I had worked so hard for, I refrained from touching him. In my last moments, that was my only regret.

His uniform lay on the floor. One of 3,000 similar uniforms. All could be seen on the streets, upholding the tyranny that had become dominant. I reached for his papers that he had carried in his pocket. I looked down at my own face. Undesirable. That was the title above my image. Death was the decided consequence for my transgressions against the tyranny. A consequence that one man denied; the man who would die if I did not. He had been given until dawn. Outside, the birds were stirring from their rest. I had taken too much time. I returned the paper to their pocket and took out the book that I had carried with me since I was a child. I laid it on my pillow, one page dog-earred and with one last look at my Adonis, I hastily left.

He woke to the sound of rain. Today was the day they would run. He turned to awaken his love and found naught but her book. With a strangled cry, he jerked into awareness. She had done it. She had left him. Picking up the book with the dog-earred page, he had barely read the first sentence when the words became blurry with tears that ran onto the pages. No. Not like this. She had maybe been gone 2 hours. He rushed into his uniform, not noticing the buttons that flew off in his frenzy. He pocketed the book and rushed out into the streets.

It was quiet. The road to the courts was empty, meaning that all of the officers had gathered to watch the execution. His fear turned to panic. Throwing open the double doors to the courts, he rushed inside. At least 2,000 men stood in lines facing the dais. Empty faces. Stares straight ahead. He ran past them all, not a one moved to stop him. The judges in their red robes surrounded a small figure on the dais.

He was too late. The decision had been made.

I could no longer feel my hands and my mouth was full of my own blood. Being a woman did not matter to corrupt men. I braced myself for the next blow to my face. This one toppled me. I saw movement out of the corner of my eye in the sea of endless black and I saw him. My light.

No, I thought, don't come any closer. Stay where you are.

We made eye contact and I saw the fury build to the point of explosion. His roar shook the courts. He bounded for the steps of the dais, but was subdued by guards. The judge seemed to
find pleasure in his reaction and grasped me by my hair and pulled me up on my knees. I had not cried out yet, and refused to do so now.

The judge bent down next to me and bellowed, "This woman is guilty of Transgression Against the State. She is a traitor to her brothers. She is a harborer of illegal materials." As he said this, he emptied my bag on the wooden platform.

Books littered the floor, books that had escaped the fires.

With hatred in his eyes, he spit upon the pile and the crowd of men began chanting their assent.

Above them, I could hear a steady roar as my Adonis fought his captors.

No, my love. It is how it should be.

The judge raised one hand and the chants ceased. He turned away from me and began to walk towards my Adonis. He stopped his struggle and met the judge's stare. "You have brought this woman to me, as was your duty. You shall be rewarded for your dedication to the State."

As the judge finished his address, my Adonis replied with a cry that rent my soul. The judge turned his back on him and began his ascent to the platform again. I've never seen a man fight his restraints more; it was like watching a modern day Prometheus bound upon his rock awaiting the buzzards.

The judge drug me to my feet. "This woman is guilty of crimes against the State. She will burn."

I didn't make a sound when they bound me to the pyre. The smell of gas was suffocating. I never looked anywhere but at him. His face became blurry as tears streamed down my dirty face. He was my light. The judge held the torch, the heat was unbearable, but I refused to close my eyes. I would drink him in for as long as I could. I didn't see the torch drop, rather I felt the heat leave my face and envelop my legs. The smoke obstructed my view of my Adonis, my light, but I could hear his roar above the cry of the flames. I saw him break away, I saw him fall as he was struck from behind.

The pain began. My lungs were enveloped by the smoke. I coughed in vain. The tears flowed freely down my ash covered face. His roar echoed. I began to cry in earnest. Heartwrenching sobs that shook my soul. I cried for my Adonis. I cried for the people. I cried for a future that I could never have. I cried for a love that was never meant to be.

I did not cry from the pain. I could no longer feel it. My lungs filled with the blackness, but still I sought out my light. There he was, my Adonis, on his knees. I could no longer hear his cries. I could only hear my own heartbeat in my ears.

Thump. Thump. Slower now. Thump.

Always keeping my eye on my light. My Adonis.

I was fading now.

Thump. Thump.

Nothing.

They left him on his knees and filed out of the hall. The smoke was stifling.

The echo in his heart repeated: It should have been me. It should have been me.

The book had fallen out of his pocket and lie open to the dog-earred page:

"The time will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be formed about you--ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the home you so adorn--the dearest ties that will ever grace and gladden you. O Miss Manette, when the little picture of a happy father's face looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!"

eye contact

Have you ever had someone look at you from across the room, eye contact established, and no words are necessary to make your stomach find homage in your throat? It is more beautiful than any work of art I've seen, any song composed, or any live act performed. Words have no meaning here. Raw emotion takes over your body, and I must say, it is the wildest ride I've ever been on. And you are to thank. This is for someone I can never love, but do with all of my heart.

That's what they said...

I'm a sucker for quotes. Movie quotes, literary quotes, music quotes...doesn't matter, I collect them all. I guess I just like knowing that though I may feel like I'm unique in experiencing certain emotions or ideas that I can't quite enunciate, there are others that did the work for me. It's a comfort, really, reading these.

I decided to gather a collection of quotes that I personally find meaningful. Some, I can relate to my life or my outlook, some move me, and others I just find interesting. Have a gander!

To be in love is not the same as loving. You can be in love with a woman and still hate her (or him). -Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

In life, the worst disasters come from passion - Euripides, Media

Why do I fall in love with every woman I see who shows me the least bit of attention? - Joel, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

V: [as "The Count of Monte Cristo" ends] Did you like it?
Evey Hammond: Yeah. But it made me feel sorry for Mercedes.
V: Why?
Evey Hammond: Because he cared more about revenge than he did about her. - V for Vendetta

I hope that the worlds turns, and that things get better. But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that, even though I do not know you, and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you, I love you. With all my heart, I love you. Valerie. - V for Vendetta

I've witnessed first hand the power of ideas, I've seen people kill in the name of them, and die defending them... but you cannot kiss an idea, cannot touch it, or hold it... ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love... And it is not an idea that I miss, it is a man... A man that made me remember the Fifth of November. A man that I will never forget. - Evey, V for Vendetta

Nino is late. Amelie can only see two explanations. 1 - he didn't get the photo. 2 - before he could assemble it, a gang of bank robbers took him hostage. The cops gave chase. They got away... but he caused a crash. When he came to, he'd lost his memory. An ex-con picked him up, mistook him for a fugitive, and shipped him to Istanbul. There he met some Afghan raiders who too him to steal some Russian warheads. But their truck hit a mine in Tajikistan. He survived, took to the hills, and became a Mujaheddin. Amelie refuses to get upset for a guy who'll eat borscht all his life in a hat like a tea cozy. - Amelie

Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable. - George Bernard Shaw

How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being. - Oscar Wilde

He who tries to forget a woman, never loved her - anonymous

A liberated woman is one who has sex before marriage and a job after. - Gloria Steinhem

I expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing therefore that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to any fellow creature, let me do it now; let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again. - Stephan Grellet

Women desire six things: They want their husbands to be brave, wise, rich, generous, obedient to wife, and lively in bed - Chaucer

Love and respect woman. Look to her not only for comfort, but for strength and inspiration and the doubling of your intellectual and moral powers. Blot out from your mind any idea of superiority; you have none. - Giuseppe Mazzini

Women are at last becoming persons first and wives second, and that is as it should be. - May Sarton

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. - Mark Twain

I am so clever that sometimes I don't understand a single word of what I am saying. - Oscar Wilde

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and it may be necessary from time to time to give a stupid or misinformed beholder a black eye. - Miss Piggy

You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She's not perfect - you aren't either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break - her heart. So don't hurt her, don't change her, don't analyze and don't expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she's not there. - Bob Marley

It was not the passion that was new to her, it was the yearning adoration. She knew she had always feared it, for it left her helpless; she feared it still, lest if she adored him too much, then she would lose herself, become effaced, and she did not want to be effaced, a slave, like a savage woman. She must not become a slave. She feared her adoration, yet she would not at once fight against it. - DH Lawrence, Lady Chatterley's Lover

If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger. - Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there was any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you. Try to hold me in your mind, at some quiet times, as ardent and sincere in this one thing. The time will come, the time will not be long in coming, when new ties will be formed about you--ties that will bind you yet more tenderly and strongly to the home you so adorn--the dearest ties that will ever grace and gladden you. O Miss Manette, when the little picture of a happy father's face looks up in yours, when you see your own bright beauty springing up anew at your feet, think now and then that there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you! - Sydney Carton, A Tale of Two Cities (my favorite book of all time)

I love your daughter fondly, dearly, disninterestedly, devotedly. If ever there were love in the world, I love her. - Charles Darnay, A Tale of Two Cities

And I listen for the whisper
of your sweet insanity
while I formulate denials
of your effect on me - A Perfect Circle, The Stranger

Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, "It might have been." - John Greenleaf Whittier

I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naïve or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman. - Anaïs Nin

And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. - Sylvia Plath

I sent the club a wire stating, "PLEASE ACCEPT MY RESIGNATION. I DON'T WANT TO BELONG TO ANY CLUB THAT WILL ACCEPT ME AS A MEMBER". - Groucho Marx

Well, art is art, isn't it? Still, on the other hand, water is water! And east is east and west is west and if you take cranberries and stew them like applesauce they taste much more like prunes than rhubarb does. Now, uh... now you tell me what you know. - Groucho Marx

Those are my principles, and if you don't like them...well I have others. - Groucho Marx

One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas I'll never know. - Groucho Marx




And I'm sure I have more in my arsenal...

Untitled...for now

My very waking moment scorns existence and to forget such is to condemn oneself to an agony worse than death. I've learned that living as a shell is better than being reminded that you are the very shit of humanity. Screams, cries of pain, and anger are merely a dream. Uprisings, opinions, and relationships are almost too distant to remember. Now, everything is quiet as the will of mankind is forgotten in the pages of history books. The word independence has been erased from our memories. There used to be a time when beasts of the world used to be the cows, chickens, and other farm animals that were bred, fed, and then killed. Dumb beasts, no voice, no soul. Gone are the days of animal servitude. Now, we are the cattle. Humanity is no longer the dominating force. We have become mindless beasts bred and then killed for no purpose other than population control. Women, children, and men were once unique and acted accordingly. Respecting each, they were to their own. Now, no one is of single mind. A collective decision. A collective action. Religion has become extinct just as education, love, friendship, and paternal bonds have faded into a recollection to faint to remember. Man has officially destroyed itself. No remnant of higher thought remains as we trudge through such a bitter existence awaiting the day we are thoughtlessly slaughtered for the sake of numbers. Await your day, brother, and be comforted by the only feeling that has become dominant, fear.

The desensitization process began quickly and was almost imperceptive.First, small fires in the dead of night at the edge of small towns awoke those near enough with their stale odor. Shortly after, large fires were set in the middle of large cities with bags of books, novels, films, paintings, and magazines feeding the fury as men shoveled for hours. Still, we said nothing as the ashes, wet from the hoses, littered our streets and the faint trail of smoke rose as a steady stream indicating the death of the past and the rebirth of a new age filled with new knowledge. Not a word spoken to stop the killing of the world's past because to rise up and question the authority bought said person a one way ticket to the Facility. Those few who were brave enough were quickly beaten to the ground and hauled off in an unmarked vehicle, never to be seen again. Isn't it funny to fear something you've never seen, never heard word of, and cannot imagine? I suppose that is how fear works best on weakened minds. The Facility has no exact location and it may not even exist, but in such times, it's best if you can put a name to your nightmares.

I am sad to say that I have forgotten what it feels like to be content. To just wake up every day and be normal is no longer part of my memory. I sometimes sit for hours with my head in my hands as I strain for a moment in my life when I've truly been alive. I rack and rack until my head pounds and my fingers bleed from the nail biting. I walk patterns in the carpet until the threads become worn by the treads on my shoes. What was it to see beauty? To feel your blood run hot and cold at the same time? Surely I've felt that. I must, because I know how to describe it.

Again, I pace until the hour grows late and the siren signals the shut down of electricity and the locking of all dorm doors. I lie in bed and just listen. Occasionally, through the wall, I can hear muffled sobs as one falls victim to the isolation they can no longer deny. That's one feeling I can remember. Utter helplessness as you no longer have control of your own mind except for the quiet of the night. Then, your situation hits you as you crumple inwardly into a worthless heap on abandonment.

The sound of the siren wakes me this morning. It is cold outside, almost the dead of winter. With the absence of electricity at night, my threadbare blanket hardly keeps the deadly drafts at bay. I struggle to arise from my bunk fearing the blistering cold that awaits me outside of the blanket. Furiously rubbing my hands together, I look at the wall-mounted clock that says 4 am. I lean over to help my bunkmate from the upper bed. "You could allow me to take the upper bunk, Andrei. I don't mind in the least," I said to the man that was at least twenty years my senior. Groping for his walking stick, Andrei replied goodnaturedly, "Never you mind Demetri. I am constantly reminded of my age and handicap and for once, I'll overcome all of that by staying on the rickety top bunk! I'm not useless yet and can still climb that ladder even if I cannot see it!" Walking straight to the small, almost frozen over wash bowl, Andrei began his morning routine without my assistance. Living in this dormitory for over ten years, he had learned its layout enough to where he didn't have to grope his way around like he usually has to. Giving him an affectionate pat on the back, I make my way to my sparse wardrobe of gray slacks and navy tunics.

The siren rings again at 4:30 am after those in the dorms have had time to change their clothing and scarf down rough brown bread with water. I douse my slice in water to soften it and hand it to Andrei. "Here old man, I've had my fill of this slop," I say as I slide the slice into his waiting palm. Uncertainty flashes across his features. I know that he has used up his rations for the week, and though my own are low, it is better that he have it. "If you do not want it, I will just throw it away," I hinted as I leaned toward the receptacle. "No, Demetri. It is a crime to waste. But if I take this, you must take some of my bread next week." Panic edged with longing laced his voice. Today is Wednesday, rations are given on Sunday. "Of course, Andrei. Next week," I add as I hold the door open for him. As I saw him relish the small treasure, I felt that somehow, this gesture had improved conditions, at least for the moment.

At the break in the hallway, I part with Andrei as he leaves for the Infirmary and I head to the trucks. Single file, myself and about 40 men trail down the 5 stories and out into the frigid air. It's always cold here. Some recess in my mind draws the word "Russia" but though I know the word, I don't know what it means. We are taught that we are in the 25th District, and out of the 858 districts, we seem to have the coldest climate. The landscape is barren with the skeletons of trees rising on the iced slopes. The wind sounds shrill in its journey down the mountains in the distance. I feel the sting as it races across my damp face. I close my eyes against the pain and see something I've never seen before.

Reds, golds, deep purples, and blue tones flash against the black abyss and I see the trees filled with crisp leaves complete with blooms. The ground is no longer white and brown, but a deep green velvet. I can feel the air on my arms and it is warm, not cold. I hear laughter. Laughter. And then I see a face.

Suddenly, I knew that beauty is this creature.

I open my eyes in surprise and the image disappears. I look at my brothers to see if they saw what I did. Blank stares ahead are what I see as they wait for the arrival of the trucks. I shut my eyes tight hoping to catch a glimpse of that face one more time, but all I see is black. My breath comes in gasps as I try to calm myself. A few of my closer brothers look in my direction but quickly regain their composure. I can't slow my breathing. I hold my chest trying to calm it's erratic beating. I feel my face, surprised to find it wet with my own tears. I stare at my fingertips, entranced by my response. As quickly as I reacted initially, I wiped my hands on my slacks and resumed position.

We were loaded up in short order into the back of a waiting truck with benches set out in two lines inside the covered cargo hold. At least the tarps kept the outside wind outside. I stare down at my hands as I bump and sway with the movements of the truck as it rambles down the dirt road. You can feel it slide every now and then on the thin ice coating the puddles.

The man next to me coughs violently. Hacking noises that threaten to dislodge his lungs rack him in his seat. Across from me, a few men over, a man sneezes and wipes his nose on his sleeve. He leaves behind blood. A tightening in my chest overcomes me as I realize that the district will soon have another round to exterminate.

Working men are easy to come by. Very little training is required for the type of jobs they demand upon us. This is why we are destroyed more often than any other class of men. You may wonder why aging Andrei has not been disposed of? He has something the District needs. He is one of the Medical Men of the district. Dull, capable, and easy to mold: the definition of the perfect brother. I am thankful that he is nearly untouchable.

I mourn these sickly men, though I do not know their names. I feel their fear. It stifles the air in the cargo hold. Sickness. I'll never forget the smell of fear and sickness.

We all jolt in our seats as the truck stops. The horn signals us to rise and disembark onto the gravel. We assume our positions once everyone has exited and await the KomDiv. Eyes front. Arms at sides. Typical. The KomDiv (short for Division Commander) paces in front of our assembly. His stark navy blue slacks and heavy navy coat contrasts handsomely with our thinner slacks and jackets. You won't see a KomDiv without pristine garments. Bitterness. Yes, that's what I would call the taste in my mouth.

KomDiv takes a drag off of his cigarette, inhales deeply, and then releases it. Repeat. The sound of chattering teeth can be heard a few men down. The KomDiv smiles and goes to stand in front of the guilty party.

Hiya Fellas

I think my internal clock is screwed up...can't seem to get tired before 2 am. If I continue this habit, next semester is going to suck big ones. Next semester...another one. Cripes, I've been in college for four years and still have another 2 to go. Bad decisions kids, bad decisions. Who wanted to be a nurse practitioner for the neonatal intensive care unit? This guy (I mean gal). Premature babies. I felt my calling was to help people. Why not? I'm a caring individual. Let's go to college with this goal in mind! 3 semesters in, I changed my mind. Was it the endless hours I spent in lab discovering the innards of baby pigs? Nah. Perhaps it was the hours pouring over text books trying to memorize every organ and every process your body carries out? Nope. It was the simple fact that my desire to create art, whether it is written or performance art, is a stronger driving force in my life. Does that mean I don't give a flying eff about premature babies? No, it just means that I felt I could be a mediocre nurse practitioner. But art, now that's something I could be great at. I'm dying to make my mark on the world, and it would be a god-awful shame to let my talents go to waste. There are plenty of nurses lining up in the classrooms. There are fewer people out there that are brave enough to pursue their passion to create something unique and irreplaceable. Damn, it's 1:30...wearing down. Maybe I'll read a book. I think too much sometimes, and wear myself out. A book is a great escape. What did Melanie say? "I wish I could find a good book to live in..."

Word Spillage

Ah, Yann Tiersen is my muse.

Words that cannot be said rest the heaviest.

“The man who listens to Reason is lost: Reason enslaves all whose minds are not strong enough to master her” - George Bernard Shaw

The one who bites his tongue
will always have the bitter taste of blood.
Hold your breath til it's over and done,
but nothing holds back the imminent flood.
When the rain starts to fall in blinding gales,
Grasp to your reason and your fear will have won,
but free your mind of all restrictions and you will again see the sun.

Blah blah blah. There's my two cents.

Hey, why is everyone so damn uptight nowadays?
Must be all of the fluoride in the water.
Healthy teeth my ass.
Mind control is more like it.

Oh yeah, listen to Yann Tiersen and try not to be moved. Try and fail, dammit.
http://www.playlist.com/playlist/additem/177632785
http://www.playlist.com/playlist/additem/79271185

But, if you want to make babies, this is what you should listen to:
http://www.playlist.com/playlist/additem/129159185

And, if you want to mentally disturb someone to the point of no return where they think you use human skin (not your own) as an accessory, it's best if you put some colored scarves over the lamps (mood lighting, duh), and creepily watch yourself dance to this:
http://www.playlist.com/playlist/additem/779739665

Burlesque

So, I've joined the Cherry Bomb Burlesque troupe here in town.

Little ol' Manda joined a troupe where she'll have to parade around onstage in a thong and pasties (if I gather up the courage to get that nude.)

Little ol' Manda who is known for being the quiet, sweet girl is going to blow minds come October 9.

Am I comfortable with my body? Hell no I'm not. I've got cellulite and stretch marks out the wazoo, but I'm still going to flaunt 'em. Why? What possessed you to join such a troupe? Because, I am sexy. Whether you realize it or not, I have a desire to be seen as sexy. I am married, yes. My husband fulfills my needs, yes. But, I have a personal need that some might not understand. It is to be desired for the woman I am without facades. I can't hide anything onstage under the lights, and that excites me. In person, you see what I want you to see. If I don't like it, I won't show it to you. But here, I can't hide shit. And that is what excites me like nothing else.

Come October 9th, you will see an uninhibited woman who leaks confidence in what she can do. I will embrace my female form and I will make you remember me after the lights have gone out.