I take us back in time for this entry... this is a series of the first ten entries I wrote in my venture into a public blog, a dairy at diaryland, back in 2002... I had been keeping an online journal on my own site since the 90's, but decided to explore the online communities in 2001 and started a journal at Live Journal (we may go there another time)... the irony of this first entry at Diaryland is that it still rings true as a reflection of my intentions and perspective out here in cyberspace... I wonder how it would read to me if I called it entering myspace... blah blah blah, maybe I should just let the past speak for itself...

so this is diaryland... why am I here?... do I want attention?... after years of writing a journal of sorts on my website in which I call out for attention, that seems like a foolish question... and yet, if I really want more attention, why didn't I create a more public journal or diary like this before?... shy?... timid?... vulnerable?... complicated?... as if you have answers...

dear readers (should you find these words)... I am here to share words... may you find some worth in the time you spend reading... may you find even more worth in the content (and may I find content with which we can both be content one day... actually, I'd prefer touched, moved, inspired, excited, ecstatic, even intrigued to content... adored would be good too)...

does it work?

...of course we don't have to be alike, in fact, we can be anything we want to be (do I really need to explain this?...

well this seems to be right on time... this diary, that is... for the first time in many months, I can not connect to the FTP server for my website (and the seemingly endless maze (there's also a journal there) I call my written gardens, so here I am... believe in fate bringing us together?... if you are one of my many libido fantasies, please do... if you are one of my literary fantasies, please do... if you are a critic, strive to develop a meaningful existence...

meanwhile, the night is full of music... not my first choices, but definitely enough eye candy to have me looking up from the computer screen now and then... three concerts on the aptly nicknamed boob toob (Britney, Janet, and Madonna)... a bit more rambling (and spontaneous) kind of review is available in journal form (if you really want to know)...

and now, after a week break, I wander back into Jen Chapin and Gavin Friday, still my current OD music (going on a month now, though not daily)... OD music is a CD or few that I've chosen to overdose on for however long it takes... I just press repeat and the CDs play over and over (yes, through sleep too) until I either reach an epiphany, go through a catharsis, or shoot the CD player...

for you it is the middle of the day... for me it is time for sleep (of course I should be sleeping... still, I am searching...

strip away the starry nights and you have burning days, for the day is much closer to the stars... do what you will with the days, but leave me the nights... I write letters to the night...

will you inspire me?

motivate my muse to come here more often to find you my reader to breathe in your interest to bask in your acceptance to bathe in your silence to beg for you applause... is this a question?

intensity will render all living tissue asunder with or without reason (for you to decide as you choose the colors and materials through which to express your art)... and if you see the blue light in the sky tonight, you may have been exposed... and if you remember to return, you may understand... and if you hear the song of the silent child in your dreams tonight, you may be one of the chosen... and if you believe in the little people, you may be crazy too...

when all else fails, laugh

you are easily identified by the diet you consume in this world (and obviously, food is part of your diet, but is that all you saw?)... every day you change (a lot more than your mind) and with every decision you create a legacy that only you remember (and mostly you forget)... the power of the words is to give the legacy a stationary expression that freezes a moment even as it continues to change as your understanding of words evolves... as if you are sitting in an art gallery staring at a painting and watching it change through your developing understanding and expanding imagination... epiphany comes to those who wait, but it comes faster to some...

break open your shell and release yourself

promise

chah, like everyday?

this not being the primary place I ramble each day (and that even the place that has been my daily journal has not seen me every day), it's a wonder it exists at all... being everything to everyone is not the easiest accomplishment to maintain, unless the goal is failure... of course most of us share the goal, whatever that might mean...

just once, to be completely understood just once, that must be the sensation you might call heaven or nirvana or bliss... ever wonder what language your silent child speaks?... I do...

shhhhh...

sometimes, in the middle of the night, the world stops and nobody notices (except the little people, and they'll never tell)... once upon a time I wrote letters to the night, but then I started working the night shift where laptops were banned and suddenly I focused on reading instead of writing through the night... still immersed in words, but the creativity remains passive... you could be part of the renewed activation if you want (and you don't have to be a little person, either)... join them...

enter obscurity

blessed art thou who place their hand to paper with pen to write the secrets spoken only by their silent child in letters to the night... wonder left open for all to see yet no one does only to wonder why... humility balances hubris and pride while self-esteem balances shame and guilt so the thought you are can float above the core even while attached to the weight of fear... and when the unknown inspires more wonder than fear, you have reached love... once expressed as a pyramid in various languages, the points remain the same for all to see and still...

with you I forget who I am

is the grass always greener on the other side, or does it always seem to be?... how many of us find that which is just out of reach to be the most appealing choice of all?... if two people agree to dedicate their lives and be willing to die in order to live an impossible dream, can it be possible?...

and what if the idea caught on?...

in a world where beauty is sought as a possession, in a life where value is not based on how much joy something can bring when shared, but rather how well something coveted by the most can be kept exclusive by the few, how can a beautiful child survive?... have you ever felt like a prize someone sought to win, a treasure some were driven to possess, a piece of land others sought to conquer?... have you never been a woman?...

when all else fails, press record...

there is a remedy for every malady if we could only see beyond our misery but insecurity replaces honesty with greed and poverty, call it humanity... and so afraid of what is wrong they dare not see what is right (what would the neighbors say?... embarrassed, they run away)... and so disposed by their own hands pretend that no one understands (how long can it be denied, this cultural suicide)...

just try to blend in...

who said that?...

pretending to be something we want to be because we are too afraid we might not be remotely close to what we want to be, we cover all the mirrors as if they would not show our reflections and we've lost the ability to pass through them... cults of vampirish children dressed to blend in with the night slink out into the darkness to mingle with spirits and others seeking to at once find sanctuary, shriek blood curdling wake up calls, and shock-titillate the stodgy generations who've long since retired from life decades before their biological clocks were set to start winding down... crumbling on the inside, all the while boldly strutting ownership of each footfall as if the night itself protects them from what they themselves will not face... some dance, some sing, some cry, some burn, some wither, some blossom, some undulate, some turn...

and those who can, sleep

sometimes this is midnight for me
sometimes it is more like early evening
but for at least five days a week,
having fallen quite reluctantly into a way too normal work week
(and some tell me my schedule, working nights, is weird),
this is after afternoon for a 24 hour clock
(but then, since I have a 36-40 hour circadian rhythm, this may not matter)...
unfortunately the world sticks by it's 24 hour clock
so I must attempt to maintain one if I am to have any chance of passing for human
and surviving a five day forty hour work week for any length of time...

he was an innocent old man with a child inside still yearning to be loved unconditionally, a modern day Servantes hero with Machiavellian mischief and a touch of Seuss... the world long ignored his rhymes and reasons as he placated his hunger to share with incessant rambles through gardens of words...

she was an innocent child with an ancient soul inside still crying for the loss of humanity over time called progress, a modern day Juliet with the heart of a wild animal set loose in recent civilization, slashes of Joan and Mary and a touch of Alice... the world long hungered for her flesh as she danced naked under blue moons on starry nights...

they sought the same journey... they lived the same hunger... they dreamed the same dream... they were promised to each other by powers beyond their knowledge or control, but never told...

I did not sleep last night and yet I met you in a dream for I remember getting lost in your eyes... was it just the photo I saw, I don't know, I only know nothing is the same as it was before... I was alone last night and yet I met you in a dream for I made the sweetest love the world has known... was it just the smile on your lips or the tear in your eyes, I don't know, I only know last night reached new highs... and the surprise is that it comes as no surprise for every moment since I found you has been the best moment of my life...

or any of my lives, for that matter...

NOTE: This is a repeat of the first ten entries I wrote at diaryland in July of 2002 in planet candora (where I let my heart speak)... after a year and a few months at candora where the focus was much more on dreams of the heart and memories than daily life, I started a more rambling place, life in black and white behind the candoor (where I ramble freely, and some might say incomprehensibly, but there's the rub, aye, and the challenge) to come more into the present... you can find more of my online rhymes and rambles here or you can explore a more comprehensive site map... I appreciate your interest more than words can say :)