Jul
01
2024
Legimus intellegam ea est, tamquam appellantur nec ei. Dicant perfecto deserunt quo id, ea etiam impetus pri. Mel ne vidit laboramus definiebas, quo esse aeterno
I have a lot of Whys in my life, meaning I’ve got questions. I wake up next to questions and I fall asleep, all cozy cute and shit, next to Why's close cousin, How. Like, (how) the fuck did I get here and, not to leave Why out of the picture because I'm such a gentleman, but (why) have I not figured out the (how). It’s like I’m engaged in a threesome with myself, twisted and constantly perplexed with the desire to give each it’s due, the Why and the How. Perhaps this threesome I find myself wrapped up in is a metaphor of my own self entanglement – meaning with myself. Like, it’s (You), me, myself and I. Wait, that’s a foursome. Fuck! I can’t even count right. Why? Nonetheless, I still see Why in my reflection and How follows me dumbly out the door. Traipsing along without a care in the world. No biggie, it's just "my" world it's fucking up. Notice (how) I didn’t say that I see “the” why and “the” how. Well that’s because they both represent my never-ending bullshit. Or at least, something akin to that. For fuck’s sake, they are both fucking constants in my life, the beginning of a thought lacking purpose (Why) and the result of an action sans consideration beyond the moment (How). It’s not often I get to spin out of control without meaning, just carelessly wondering about like I’m adrift in some listless sea. Funny thing is, my dumbass still has hope. But here’s the kicker, just don’t ask me Why or How I became so utterly fucked. It’s a gift. On this day, June 22nd, 2024, I crawled bloodied but unbroken to my elusive freedom while dragging the carcass of a murdered dream. MH~ ...
I loved how my name would escape your lips at the peak of release. A gasp wrapped in sound, low and deliberate. I loved that. I love how you thought I wasn’t enough, incomplete in your existence. A lost thought caught up in the breeze. I love that. I loved how a weekend rain would draw you to me, devious and playful. A cautious need tip-toeing just beyond the precipice. I loved that. I love how he symbolizes your future and how thoughts of our past are dipped in passion laced with regret. I love that. I loved how a well placed tongue would cause your thighs to vibrate and how I had to remind you to breathe. I Love How My Sins Could Never Out Run Your Ability To Forgive I loved that. I know you loved that too. I <span style="color:#d7b065" class="has-inline-color">.love</span> how the idea of me runs amuck, just before your hunger breaks. I love that. I loved how your pain escaped among your tears - freed in my embrace. I loved that. I love how my sins could never out run your ability to forgive. God help me, l love that. I loved how you loved me, when it made sense. A riddle tucked away for today, but only realized tomorrow. I loved that. Fuck, I still love that. I love how when the end came you asked for understanding and I gave it freely because your desire was to be free of me. I love that. I loved how sweet you tasted but hated the bitterness it left. I loved that. In truth I loved it all but love is all that remains. Yeah, I love that too MH ~ ...
[image_slider class="animate" speed="2000"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/Blog_Pics/Atlanta_2009.jpg"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/Blog_Pics/Atlanta_2009_2.jpg"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/Blog_Pics/Atlanta_2009_3.jpg"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/Blog_Pics/Atlanta_2009_4.jpg"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/Blog_Pics/Atlanta_2009_5.jpg"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/Blog_Pics/Atlanta_2009_6.jpg"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/Blog_Pics/Atlanta_2009_7.jpg"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/Blog_Pics/Atlanta_2009_8.jpg"] [/image_slider] These pictures are from my MLK project. I wanted to capture images from various MLK avenues around the country. Needless to say...
[image_slider class="animate" speed="2000"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/richmond/Richmond_2009_5.jpg"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/richmond/Richmond_2009_3.jpg"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/richmond/Richmond_2009_2.jpg"] [image_slide img="http://marqueshaven.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/richmond/Richmond_2009_4.jpg"] [/image_slider] ...
What the fuck happened? This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be here. Panic surged through me, bringing me to my knees as I trembled with fear. My mind raced, trying to piece together the fragments of memory. What happened? Suddenly, my dream came flooding back, a haunting reminder that made me shudder. I recalled lying on the hotel room floor, on top of the plastic I had covered most of the room with—in preparation for the macabre scene to come. I wanted to make it as easy as possible for those charged with cleaning up my ugly mess, my life. What The Fuck Happened? The faint recollection of me screaming at God made me feel sick again. Then the peace of knowing what I had to do, of what I needed to leave behind, before I built on the foundation of the damage I had already caused. I pulled the trigger. Fuck, I pulled the fucking trigger. I checked the .45, one round still seated in the chamber, full of a finite promise. I pulled the slide back, and the ejected round landed in my hand. I inspected it, turning it back and forth with my fingers, checking for the telltale dimple left by the firing pin. A Creasy bullet—misfire and misfortune. What the fuck happened? ...
Lustitia picked up the Rod of Asclepius and, with a wave of her hand, brought the two broken pieces into one. With her breath, she gave life to the serpent, allowing it to wrap itself around the rod once again. Lustitia, the embodiment of justice and balance, had seen countless souls stand before her. Each plea, each denial, weighed heavily on her eternal duty. Though blindfolded, she perceived the true nature of every soul, their hidden truths, and unspoken fears. The scales she held were not just tools of judgment but extensions of her very essence, reflecting the eternal struggle between guilt and redemption. This soul, kneeling before her-my soul, in some ways mirrored her own doubts—could true justice ever be devoid of compassion? She hesitated, recalling her own trials when she first took up the mantle of judgment. She stretched out her arm, holding the scales of judgment, now heavily tipped toward guilt, and said, "I offer you a reprieve from your misery, yet you willingly and foolishly run, dragging your soul to hell. I offer you salvation, and you deny it as if the idea of being saved insults you. Above all, I present you with a second chance, and you reject it as though you are unworthy. You stand before me, witnessing with your own eyes your fate balanced within the scales of judgment I hold in my hand, and you dare me to judge you, knowing you're already guilty. Do you think you're not worthy of salvation?" Still kneeling before her with my arms and hands stretched wide, I lowered my head, shielding myself from the anger in her voice. Yet I could also feel her pleading for me to reconsider. With my eyes closed, I spoke softly to avoid further angering her, "Not all souls can be saved, let alone mine. If I accept your offer and continue my life free of this sickness, living as I should, with love for myself and those close to me, I would still be haunted by the memories of the pain I have caused others, those I love. My crimes aren't erased; they are not suddenly undone. They will forever linger in the minds of my victims and mine. I see no purpose in that. Salvation doesn't wash away my sins; they still exist. If this 'second chance' you offer would allow me to begin again, before committing my crimes, with the knowledge I have now, I would willingly accept. But that's not possible. The gift of life and the possibility of an afterlife speaks to the impossibility of that. So yes, I deny your offer because it would only serve to torment me further." She called for me to raise my head and then said, "What of forgiveness? Certainly, you could accept my offer if your victims were to forgive you. Perhaps then you would allow yourself to be free of your sickness." I had already considered this—forgiveness. But I am not worthy of their forgiveness. I acted against them in...
