Shit, Shit &amp; More Shit!

in Shit, Shit & More Shit!, Words, words and more words...

I should listen to that voice echoing back from a place I vaguely remember. Like it's reverberating well within a moment (now) that's to reminiscent of a thereafter I forgot existed. Was it home? I seem to recall a faint memory of wide unrestrained smile. Why can't i bring it into focus. God, I need to remember to breathe. Breathe brother, breathe. I think I left something there, just beyond the horizon. Fuck, why can't I breathe? Wait, I remember now...

Jul 05 2024

Hope vs Faith

I give nothing to fate. Fuck fate, it's a fools inability to understand that shit just happens. At times, at the behest of your own doing, other times, the dime falls heads up. It is what it fucking is. No fucking magic, no ridiculous kismet, nope, reality just comes to fucking be, you know, reality. You want magic, deny yourself the ability to be (you), relinquish all that you hold dear, or better yet, just lose all fucking hope and watch your soul devour you from the inside out. Every day is death on repeat, miserable and un-fucking-yielding. Through the looking glass my ass, that bitch was shattered the day I took my first breath. When the days linger and the nights seem to have no end, every once in a while I'll catch a glimpse of a lost dream born in the forbidden depths of desire. The very sight of it makes me want to vomit - up-chuck the very core of who I am. At times, I so fucking hate myself. It's a razor's edge between this bullshit and whatever lies fucking beyond. Hope is the sister of Faith and in my life, them bitches aren't talking. Fuck, to be honest, they're warring over who's the better trickster. As far as I am concerned, it's an even split, they both can die along with every fucked up dream I was ever dumb enough to conjure up. Fuck them bitches. Author’s Note: I wrote the above passage on May 17th, 2015. Needless to say, I wasn’t in the best headspace. I’ve been reading some of my past journal entries, trying to make sense of past actions, distant thoughts, and unresolved feelings. At least at times it feels that way. In retrospect, I can understand and, more importantly, accept, how deeply distressed I was in those moments. That’s okay. I have come to realize that regardless of how I might perceive a situation, my emotional reactions were indeed valid. However, depression can dissolve what I like to refer to as common sense reasoning.On one side of the emotional equation, you can clearly see that whatever situation you find yourself in isn’t good for you. You understand that as clear as day. But on the other side of the equation, where the math doesn’t necessarily make sense. Meaning, shit don’t be adding up. It's the confusion, hurt, and anxiety that consumes you, robbing you of the ability to plainly see what you surely know you must do—leave, cry, run, scream, breathe.I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still that person, knowing that 2 plus 2 is four but so caught up in the moment that I’m hellbent on making that shit equal 5. Oh, I’m still that person, but different. I can accept that shit happens. People fail you, and you fail them. It’s okay—we’re all flawed humans. It’s life and it ain’t always rainbows and butterflies. But when it is, it’s a beautiful thing. I was reminded of...

Jul 02 2024

Tide of Emotion: A Reflection on Love and Loss

in Quote, Quotes That Move Me, Shit, Shit & More Shit!

Apparently, I have denied or hidden many things from myself as well as from the world beyond me. In truth, perhaps, I am less than who I believed myself to be. However, all things being equal, I do love. Without question, and maybe to my detriment. I do, and God forgive me, I do feel. In retrospect, possibly a tad bit too much. I’m no fool. I recognize exactly who and what I am. And therein lies the problem: a realization that regardless of my attempts to hold back the rising tide… I am who I am. A reflection of those before me and a lost whisper of what could be. It’s the hurt that consumes me, and… I fear what becomes of it. I’m hurting, Mama! My grasp no longer holds the grip it once did. Know this: loving you is so fucking easy. It’s akin to wanting (needing) to breathe and knowing you represent the ability to inhale life itself. And there it is… my inability to see beyond the moment at hand—today… too consumed by the present. So let me formally apologize. I failed you from hello. But, and again, God forgive me, my dumb ass loved you…MH ~ ...

Jul 01 2024

Echoes of Vulnerability – Part I

in Images of Haven ~, Shit, Shit & More Shit!

She leaned over, breathlessly, after an hour spent exploring familiar curves as if rediscovering missed imperfections for the first time. “What do you want from me?” she whispered. It was a question drenched in the need to please, not suspicion. I thought of her voice, that raw and distinctive drawl that drew me in from a depth I didn’t know existed. “What do you want from me?” she asked again. The answer caught in my throat, but I nonetheless forced the words from the edge of my lips. “I want nothing from you.” “Nothing,” she replied. “Then why am I here?” I swear that voice will chase me until the end of days. “Okay,” I responded. “You’re here because I want you.” “In what way?” Her expression revealed nothing, but I sensed she was seeking something, something I was too afraid to give. This was seriously becoming some "Malcom" & Marie shit. Or perhaps "Love Jones", Perhaps. However, I'm no Darius Lovehall but she for damn sure could give Nina Mosley a run for her money. Fuck! "Why the inquisition?” I asked. “Because,” she paused as if a distant thought brought forth feelings yet to be reconciled. “You just made love to me in a way that blessed me with what I can only describe as pure joy. Understand, me saying that places me in a vulnerable and possibly untenable position.” I wanted to say, “You’re welcome,” but that would have been flippant and far from a truthful response. If I allowed myself to be vulnerable as well, I would tell her that our lovemaking damn near brought me to tears. Here’s the thing about having sex with someone, or what I like to refer to as (F)ornicating (U)nder (C)onsent of the (K)ing. Choose your adjective, but it be what it be. However, in this case, with her, it was far from the typical sexual escapade. This was different. It began as most moments like this do: clumsy and rushed. Though that wasn’t my intent. I was playing the role of someone I thought she wanted, but it was someone as foreign to me as an iris blooming on the dark side of the moon. Within minutes of the act, I could feel her apprehension take root. That’s when I realized she wanted me—the man who lived within his words, a man who burns slow but deliberate with a need for acceptance too often withheld. So I recalibrated. I let the me who I believe myself to be become exposed, and yes, vulnerable. I let my hunger for her rage free. If she were a riddle, she wouldn't be hard to solve, not with that body. Fuck! It's like she evokes this weird, ancient feeling of covetousness. And yes, I said covetousness, because she wasn’t mine. That offer would come later. I did to her what God did when he created the world. I made love. So I removed all thoughts of rejection and let my words, twisted in a storm of emotion, guide me, her, and the moment at hand. I did...

Jun 22 2024

Why & How?

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~ ...

Dec 01 2022

I Love, I Loved

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 ~ ...

Jun 14 2015

Lustitia and The Rod of Asclepius / Part III – The Curse of Creasy

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? ...

Apr 24 2015

Lustitia and The Rod of Asclepius / Part II – Salvation

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...

Apr 14 2015

Lustitia and the Rod of Asclepius