Silver Spoon Smith

Prenote: So I decided I should probably start really using this blog instead of just letting it exist, here's some free writting I started while treeplanting. It began as just an outlet but it has grown into a fully formed idea in my mind for a short novel, it's basically about god if god wasn't aware he was god. But I call him Smith instead. It's title in progress is Silver Spoon Smith, enjoy!


His brown hair flowed like art nouveau and the sting of hot water fell down his back as he screamed she knew he loved it. The images in his mind only added to the intensity.

"This is what having a boner must feel like"

The dust on the walls and the grime on the their bare feet shivered in shock. real life has a way of imprinting itself on it's surroundings. For generations to come young children will be sent to fetch in the basement and scamper their way back upstairs from a sudden and unexplainable chill. The feeling of being followed, stalked, hunted. As adults we talk our way out of it, logic is the antidote to fear and all fear is irrational. As adults we are built by logic. logic and order, simple reasoning is what makes us human. Except when your body is slowly being stretched and torn and tested and you like it. Like Smith. Smith loved it. But he didn't like that he loved it. Most peolple dread physical pain but Smith loves it. It's the emotional confliction in the aftermath that always trys him. The disillusionment, the final curve in the downward spiral, the moment he thinks, fuck I've done it again. and I'm alone to blame for my own foolishness.

She was more then hired and less then clothed. He couldn't see her so he imagined her. The friendship had come as a surprise. But the more he got to know her the less he cared.

3 o'clock, time for the whippings, but the tray felt lighter today, she gave too much wrist. The corner hit a tupperware and silver spoons were scattered across the cold concrete floor. Big, little, decorated and plain, soup spoons, ladles, desert spoons and cavier spoons. Each representing a member of the familt tree, each individual and characterisitc of it's living or non-living counterpart. Each utensil had evolved with the corresponding entity, growing from a small insignificant slice of silver to a fully formed and functional, personalized spoon. Smith had one. HIs didn't grow atthe rate the others had and he had recently been increasingly concerned by this. There was no fairy of spoon knowledge to ask. No parents to enquire to, only remnants and artifacts. He was never told why the spoons existed, only that he would be king and he should be good. That's all he got.

words.

i can feel your words
pounding in my ears
all i want is to make you smile
and dedicate songs
write as many words as i know
for the way i feel
four letters and a million reasons
why am im here
why I'm not leaving soon
why youre the one
who changed my mind.

Which Art Form?

my creative pursuits have always been my top priority, that and overall balance, growth and expanding. But how to decide which creative pursuit is the most worth while or even, best fitting for me? There's writting, Visual arts, and within that there are many different visual arts to pursue, There is dance, a completely new and unfamiliar area for me, but none the less of much interest. Life is such a rich and interesting thing. So many things I want to do and it just always feels like there won't be enough time.

then why am I spending it on the computer? good question....

night then!

Comfortable - one single act of violence

I am comfortable with everything youre not.
and herein lies the reasons for you're cold manner and lack of wit.
wear your animal tides on your sleeve
instead of tucked away and shamed.
Pan wasn't just another bedtime story,
he was the life lesson of your life,
Learn this and you may be free.

one single act of violence does not define me.
it is not such a heinous thing.
to be hurt and swing.
the red eyes and lasting fever,
these are the evil parts,
in evryone they're found
just a matter of how deep and hidden
its the limits in which they reach.
thats the danger.

one single act of violence.
that does not defy me.
these things you see me as.
theyre just the parts in yourself, you fear
i wear them out and about
upon my sleeve where they are seen.

thats why you expect the ugliness
i open my mouth and you expect harsh words
i whisper in the corner and you assume cruel intentions
i move suddenly and you flinch.

(... if you were standing there, looking through a looking glass made of scar tissue, do u think you'd seem strange too?.. yes i do ... )

but because of this youre blind to it.
the beautiful things too.
for every person has red eyes
and gentle palms
the red eyes that can destroy
and the gentle hands that help you heal
but like the tv guide
and video games
everybody plays a role in your mind.
we re either one 2d type or the other
and heaven forbid we re neither.

i am not my one act of violence.
i am but a symbol
to you and all your friends.
...of the thinking for yourself.
...of the wear flaws where others can see them
of an ugly time in my life...
that ill always be remembered for.
and thats all.

or at least just by you.

by you and all your friends.

(others, they can see the things you can't)

Our Tall Tale of Such Great Highs

So i'm a writer of sorts.. poetry or lyrics or (although rare) i write some fiction short stories too. here's one piece ive been working on. It's somewhere between free form poetry and lyrics.

Our Tall Tale of Such Great Highs

(. .In The Beggining. .)
(. .The Fresh Flesh. .)

I saw your silver lining for just a second...

I swear you were smiling, maybe I pasted that on.

The soft sheets on the sleazy fouton

didn't matter where, just who.

You were the ocean after the drought,

soak my skin and make me drown.

as long as i need not come down.

It wasn't you,

it was the chemistry, it effected me,,,

for five days or more, , ,

your face and firecrackers outside the door.

(In The Centre. .The Middle)
( The Centre Scar Tissue)

wake up everyday w/ a stomach ache

to go to school to see you, another heartbreak

some drunks like booze

who needs it when i have you?

some addicts need needles

I only needed loose belt loops

take the 12 steps it takes to the door

and my monster always calls me back for more....

sidenote:
the third and perhaps the final chapter in our tale is a very rough draft at the moment, so beware, much editing is still to come.

(The End is a Clean Slate)

you were always the floor that fell below
the person I could count on to bail
but when youre gone you leave a hole
that no one else fits into
I like to think my stupidly idealistic
matches your hopeless romantic
you either find love you can live with
or you find love you can't live without.

I am in it for keeps.
no playing around anymore.
eye on the prize and im lookin at chu

dont bail. dont fail.
learn to earn it and we'll both be better for it
we just have to be fair this time.
if you have loyalty to me, then i have loyalty to you.
If you have kind words for me, I have them for you.
As long as youre good, then Im good.
thats the deal no take backs.

you were the floor that fell below
but whoever said hell was beneath was wrong,
we fell home, when we fell in love.
be the person I can count on to fall into

take care of me
ill take care of you
give no more then you take
and give no less then receive

learn to earn it and whats left is a happy state
learn to earn it and what youll get is a clean slate