Loosely coalesced droplets of water patter softly upon the surface of my cranium, gently massaging all the aches and pains within. A slight breeze cools the bitterness beneath the skin and calms it tenderly like a breath of fresh air re-instilling life into an asphyxiated personality. I do not attempt to fathom the objects which create the reality which I habitually interact with. No, my eyes are closed this evening, and I am all alone with the rain and cool airs. My lungs heave and release, just like the time before, and the time before that, but this time with recognition and symbolism that I had not noticed, or bothered to notice. I can feel liquid gently making its way in between the follicles of hair down my arms, down my chest, my back, my legs, my face. There is a great weight lifted, as if all the worries and troubles of the imperfect man are washed away from him. In a moment another great sigh as it pours off me into a pool at my feet. And in a moment, for just a moment, I can let go completely. It makes me think about how lightly I take my breath, my heartbeat, my shivers, the tiny itch in the bottom of my feet which is only a nuisance when I think about it, only for a few moments, and then it is gone again. It makes me think, how easily I lose sight of the undeniable truth. It is good to be alive right now, and forever. If God does exist I pray he never let me lose sight of this moment. Where everything in the world makes sense.

Inspire me o Lady of the Word! Allow me use of these thy gifts. Thy permission grant I plead. Homage to thee. Thou hast blessed the mortal man with pen, and paper, and keyboard. Thou hast given unto me sensitivity and life. Thou hast taught me love, and song, and desire. I plead unto thee madam inspiration to pay respects to thy divination. For with the words which thou hast granted me, I wish to make unto thee, a gift. And though these thoughts cannot unto thee do justice, I’ll do as best as I know how. And though I am incapable of depicting, exactly that which doth flow within me when feel the ecstasy, I’ll do as well as can be done with the very tools you instruct. And I pray thou dost accept my most profoundest admirations, for not a master of the art am I. But I do assure thee that all my being went out into it. And so I ask thee to guard that which I am about to give, a part of my soul. Cherish me, and I do give thee worship. So speak unto me o Muse! Fair maiden of dictation. Lay upon me use, thy everlasting inspiration,

Her name is Polyhymnia and She moves like grains upon the sands of perfection. Swaying in the wind like some gentle force of nature,
Upon some lost and lonely shore.
Undisturbed in silence,
Swimming softly to the beating heart of earth.
And as she passed to and fro,
All who behold her know
Peace.

She is the hope which Pandora did release.
She is the outlet,
The cure,
The means by which mortal man endures.
She brings respite to those who follow her,
The likes of which no mortal lover
Brings.
She is better than death.
She is release.
She is the most serene listener,
The soundest word,
The greatest love,
Desire,
Shoulder,
Friend,
Lover.

Her whispers have inspired passions in the most devout.
Her breath has robbed and bestowed the deepest romances,
The most bitter hatreds,
The most pure emotions.

Through her one can peer,
Deep within the darkest hearts,
And understand.
And with her one will jump,
And shout,
And laugh,
And dance,
And cry,
Without ever knowing why.

And yet ever elusive is she.
For not one to be caught is she.
Beyond the hopes and dreams of man,
Beyond imagination,
Beyond conceptualization,
Beyond that which man was made to grasp,
Beyond all we understand,
Beyond reality,
Beyond even me.
And yet,
I know her to exist,
In my mind her touch persists.
And I am scarred
Forevermore.

More elusive as is the questing beast,
Incapable of being caught,
For not even I can perceive her thought.
Though I may try,
With all my perfect imperfections.
I am blind unto her as a child staring hard unto the sun.
She exists not except within me.
And deep within my soul,
Close to my heart,
My mind,
Myself,
I’ll cherish her forevermore.

She is my light when there is darkness,
My darkness when there is too much light.
She is neither jealous nor demanding.
Granting only understanding,
And confusion.
I care not,
For what little glimpse I do perceive,
Doth suffice to drive nations unto madness.

I am her loyal servant,
And her lover,
And her brother.
She loves me in ways none other
Can.
For created her did I,
Just as she created me.
We are one and none.
We are bonded but apart,
But I exist and she does not.

I’ll spend the rest of my days seeking the most imperfect reflection in another’s eyes.

Occasionally I think back on my old school in Zimbabwe and how much I hate it. The school was called St. George’s College, and it was an all boys school run by Jesuits. The system of education was old school, corporal punishment, copying 100 lines from the bible by hand. Your incentive to be good was punishment, not at all like the progressive reward systems.

My first impression came even before I actually moved to Zimbabwe. My parents had been down to scope out the place, and they went to visit the school. They told my parents politely that my brother and I would be better off attending the international school. We were furious but insistent. Eventually my parents had to ask a friend of the family in the Vatican to write a letter on our behalf. We got in.

The school uniform consisted of a both khaki shit and shorts, with a red and white tie, a red floppy hat and blazer. It was absolutely ridiculous but I wore it with pride and humor my first days of school. I was well received by the students since I passed myself off as the badass American boy from DC. No one called my bluff, and I instantly acquired respect. The teachers treated me like I didn’t speak their language. One even went so far as to suggest that we write to the examination board when exam time would come and inform them that they were going to grade an American student as if I was disadvantaged. Since they school heavily favored the jocks, the administration gave me a lot of shit for not trying out for sports. I seriously hated it.

The turn of the tide came when the school took two months off and sent us all off to do community service. I was sent to an elementary school for mentally handicapped children. I admit that at first I was very reluctant seeing as I had already completed community service at my old high school in the States. We brought the parents to plead my case, but the school refused to waver. And so I found myself every day working on restoring old computers which the school used to teach their kids. The computers were old and crappy but I put each one back into decent shape quickly. I installed games, played with the children, it was fun. At the end of the session we were asked to raise money for our respective organizations. In a brilliant scheme I took advantage of a school play taking place and set about selling soft drinks and snacks. We made more than any other group in the history of St. George’s College. Around that time I started getting a little more positive notice from the teachers. Those who had forced me to go gloated, but I was happy I’d done a good thing and had a good time.

The next two years was one victory after another. In academics I pwned. I made a buddy with whom I started a lucrative underground operation involving internet downloads. I had access to technology and know-how that no one else in the place did. We made quite a killing further enhancing our reputations amongst the student body. I went out a lot, partied, started smoking, threw parties in probably the largest house anyone I’ve ever known has lived in. I was king of the world there.

Now at the time things were going well. My grades were kicking ass so they gave me some slack about sports. Turns out their all American jock was turning into the nerdy brainiac with a social life and a reputation. However I had this friend who was less liked by the administration. In short they sent a note to the boy’s parents saying that mine and another kid’s parents had officially complained to the school about the behavior of a certain student. Naturally my friend was booted right out of the school and his parents pissed off at me. The matter was sorted out between us eventually, but he never truly recovered from the blow. Sure he was a slacker. He didn’t excel at sports or do particularly well academically. Now St. George’s College is an excellent institution which produces excellent boys. So because they couldn’t train him they banned him. I’ve never forgiven them.

I got my vengeance shortly thereafter when some friends of mine snuck into the school at night and poured two liters of potassium permanganate into the swimming pool. We turned the pool dark purple. Guess who they blamed. Only a foreigner could have had the balls to pull something like this. However I was the kid who was going to bring them three A’s at A-level, and they had no proof whatsoever. The school tried intimidating the culprits with lies about how they knew who had done it and would offer mercy if they stepped forward. No one did, and I had been home when it had happened. Booyah.

My friend and I eventually grew distant and to tell you the truth I don’t like him much anymore for different reasons I wont go into now. But the fact of the matter is that the school wasn’t interested in giving education. They were interested in money and reputation. All the words of the priests and people, the school which sent us all out for two months for the good of mankind did it for repute. It seriously hit my view on Catholicism and the Jesuit Order. I’m not saying that such people are bad people. Many of them have good intentions and do good things so I’m not going to judge people based on their religious choices. However I remain to this day disgusted at St. George’s and the lies.

Since then Zimbabwe has gone to shit. I don’t know if the school remains open. I don’t know what befell of the people there. I do know that some of my more favorite professors did get out. I also know that the people who hated me for being a foreigner before proving myself, and lied about my friend, got into shit with the government, because that is the nature of dictatorships. I feel truly bad. No one deserves what they are getting, even if the system was misguided and oppressive to the students.

I have a fantasy that some day I’ll be able to back to the school as I remember it with no troubles and none of the political turmoil. I’ll go right up to “Spacemonkey” one of the most despised members of the school and ask for a tour telling him that I am considering making a hefty donation. I’ll offer fags to those old enough to smoke, and openly humiliate the man in front of his students all with a couple hundred US dollars in my hand waving them at his face. In the end I’ll tell him that it was myself and a couple of buddies who engineered the best school prank, the school had ever seen. The money will go to some student I deem worthwhile and I’ll send him off to University somewhere good.

My daydreamings can be so very childish sometimes.

Entering the hall of mirrors makes one reflect in many different patterns upon the iris. So many aspects of oneself are illustrated, that it is no wonder that the human mind is stretched to impossible limits in order to fathom it all. Perhaps one is not meant to understand all the distortions, images, allusions, allegories which encompass the human soul, reflected upon millions of looking glasses. However despite all the myriad of imperfections, modifications, and fat heads, one can be assured that there exists somewhere somehow a genuine article, which is the source of all these distorted representations. This metaphor is similar to the way people view you from an external perspective or better yet, the way you see yourself in the reflective eyes of those around you. It is difficult to peer directly into one’s own soul and more often than not it takes another imperfect mirror to illuminate what lies within the original… like a shadow shedding light on a dark corner. I believe that one of life’s eternal quests lies in finding those who’s reflections are clear enough to learn something about oneself. After all my own eyes, more often than not, reflect the most obscure images of me. As for the significance of the perfect mirror, I am not yet certain. In any case there is no such thing.

Some say that only in solitary reflection can one eventually find truth and enlightenment. I am of the opinion that such methods do not work in emotional matters of oneself. I am at the moment concerned with earthly carnal things which affect my life. I care not for the higher truths in the universe of things, simply because one can never be certain, of what will see when peering into a black hole. I prefer to redirect my attentions inward and ponder upon myself. Tis very egocentric it is, but as I perceive it, we are all the centers of our own universes.

And therefore since all the world’s a hall of mirrors and all the men and women merely looking glasses. I say wander and absorb. Discover yourself, and if you do, and do not like what you find, change it, rather than finding another more desirable reflection. You cannot run from the hall of mirrors for it surrounds us all. You either study it or ignore it. To run would lead one to exhaustion and despair

Late in the evenings before heading off to my rest is when I get most of my writing done, and where I spend most of my reflecting time. It is in these moments that my mind is free to wander about the random things in life, generally accompanied by my own personal soundtrack from my computer. Music is incredibly important to me. Right now I am listening to “Hit me Baby One More Time,” by Travis. It’s a great song. Makes me nostalgic a bit. My own piece of drama.

I think on the past, the present, the future. I think about loneliness and weather I really do feel alone despite the overwhelming amount of close friends I have. Despite the overwhelming amount of people who consider me close friends, neither jealous of those I also share myself with. I am supremely well surrounded, and yet there is little romance in my life at the moment. I might as well blame it on the ass, but I think that in large part I don’t want to be with someone for the sake of being with someone. My experience has shown that forcing leads to disastrous ends. Better to leave it to the magical science of chemistry. This is a topic I think very much on. I guess perhaps I just miss the attention. I don’t know.

I don’t know if I get very much accomplished during these sessions of self analysis. Most of that which I learn about myself is by analyzing my behavior, reactions in social situations as they are happening or based on other people’s observations. I learn most of life’s lessons by screwing up and then seeing someone make the same mistake. More often than not sense is only achieved when I begin to draw parallels.

I am very frustrated with my writings. I can’t seem to dialogue. I have been trying over the past several months to write out conversations between people. Any conversations, about anything. I am fully capable of relating descriptions, professions with my writings. I am a fair actor for one who has no experience. I can lie, like a champ, and make people see my side of things easily, but when it comes to exposing a point through dialogue I don’t know where to begin. It bugs me because eventually I’d like to write something meaningful. I have several ideas for potentially interesting plots, but I can’t seem to commit further than setting up the story.

I missed the Greenday concert because of my ass, which incidentally is more sore than usual. I have an uneasy feeling today that the doctor might have missed something with the last operation. I hope I am wrong. I can’t spend another 4 months of my life in a basement floor. I need to go out and do something now. I miss life so very much. I’m starting to hate my computer games. I am bored. I want to go back to the way things were before. I’ve been gimpy for 5 years over a stupid reason.

That’s it for now.

And over here ladies and gentlemen I would like to interest you in the birthing of a new day. The smell of moisture is still thick in the air, undisturbed only by the errant animal, delicate breeze, random insect, lost drunkard returning home from an evening of heavy emotional suicide. I urge you all to silence, and to bask in the sense of peacefulness, the austerity of the nature around you. Don’t mind the asphalt, the lack of flora. The city itself has its own unique energy did you know? Close your eyes. Can you feel the sensation of millions of people simultaneous resting in anticipation of yet another day in their lives? My excitement is overwhelming. Right now is the most special part of the day because no one bothers to live this moment except in blissful ignorant slumber.

Ahh see the birds have begun their worship of the soon to be rising sun. In just moments the animals will rise and begin preparation for the coming energy. See the squirrels ripping open green garbage bags on the street, seeking breakfast? In but a few short hours, men will come and clean up the mess. The smell of fresh coffee will begin to fill the streets, and warm bread, and morning smells. Observe, they come just at the first crack of dawn. And now a buzz as the first automobile fires up, speeding through the empty streets. Is it not unique to hear only one engine raring in the midst of virtual silence?

Let us walk to the river. See the dewdrops glistening on the grass as the sun rises eastward? If you sit, you’ll get a bit wet but who cares right? Soon the sun’s warm rays will dry whatever your manufactured clothing absorbs. It’s quite alright. Now breath. You can almost smell the water from here. They say you can’t swim in it, but it is nevertheless beautiful as the sun bares its first expressions on the reflective surface, blinding you with its glory. It is quite lovely the moment where she appears in her fullness, washing away the cold, and dampness in your jeans. It’s too overwhelming for the human eye to absorb completely so you have to hide and cover your eyes a bit. Any who try and behold the fullness of her beauty are struck blind, for mortal man was never meant to understand all of her secrets. That’s a good lad, now try not to drool so much.

Look here comes the very first wave of feet pressing to the resurrection of the city. The dreams are beginning to end and preparations must be met in order to satisfy the coming events. See the man exiting his abode to fetch the news of the world, the thoughtful mother allowing her pet dog respite from urinary abstinence, the children yawning, alarm clocks ringing, last minute lovemaking, showers, clothing, breakfasts, defecations, tooth brushings, well wishing, last minute homework, car starting, day beginning. Are we not fascinating the way we can fill the void with all our dreams, disappointments, promises, lies, anguishes, accomplishments, violence, and love? Truly the collective consciousnesses are in themselves another overwhelming form of beauty, like the sun, too difficult to stare at, but amazing to behold.

Now sit down and stretch out your souls. All the energies beginning. Can you feel it? Can you feel the life? Can you feel her breath? She is alive you know. And you are as much a part of her as she is of you. You may be a small player in the grand scheme of things but without you she is not who she is. And besides, all play an equally important role in her eyes. So cherish her, and never let her die. Accept her as she accepts you. Love her, for she is your home.