Log in

"Cogito Ergo Sum"

Monday, September 25, 2006

11:33AM - In The Rain

She both hates and loves the sound of falling rain. 


To her, the rain brings forth too many mixed messages, too many half-remembered memories of times long since faded to dust.  In the rain, she hears sorrow, joy, blood-drenched hatred and blood-pounding passion.  The rain is a field to the east, a white keep on the river, and the stone and iron world that is her, that is London.  She feels it in her hair, working into clotting wounds, washing away the salt that is the tears her eyes will not shed.  Every emotion pent up in the shell she has always called a heart pours from the sky, to puddle on the pavement.

Not surprisingly, this night, when she wakes to the sound of the brewing storm, she promptly buries her head beneath the blankets and swears.  The Threat growing on the horizon looms greater for the storm.  She swears again, this time in a long string of decidedly impolite phrases.

Her movements do not rouse him, for all she wishes they would.  Without him there, to speak to, to distract her, the nagging presence of the Threat eats away at her.  The Threat is old, and she cannot discern his motives.  Her feeble attempt at scrying has taught her that much.  The realization makes her hatred for the Threat all the stronger.  This hatred is groundless, a territorial urge to throw it out on its well-bred rear end, yet she cannot rid herself of it.

She sits up, comfort of the bed growing distant as the tap of the rain grows stronger.  Her hair falls in a tangle.  About to attack it, she is stopped by the body next to her rolling over, dark hair as tousled as her own. 


“You look angry.  Whose fault is it this time?”





He props himself up against the pillows, bare skin pallid against the deep, blood red of the sheets.  For once, she does not recline against him, simply takes his offered hand.  Her thumb worries his knuckles.


“I do not enjoy being left in the dark.  He is dangerous, Leith, and old.  He makes me look like a bleeding child by comparison!”

Purple eyes grow warm.


“No one is comparing you, Sasha… Least of all myself.”


She snorts, allowing his gentle tug to pull her down next to him.  The rain is loud now, but the sound of his voice lulls it away.  He trails a hand through her hair, using the other as a support for his head. 


“Perhaps you should.  He is, after all.”


“What do you mean?”


“Pay me no heed, I’m only rambling.”


“I thought as much…”

One hand pulls the blankets around them, while the other nervously traces the gruesome scar now adorning his chest.  There is guilt in the rain, she belatedly realizes.  How utterly fitting.  She cannot tear her eyes from the mark, as a brisk wind kicks up outside the shuttered windows, adding fear to the guilty rain. 

Smoothly, he captures her hand, moving it discreetly away from the spot, the blow that nearly ended him.  She watches him do so.


“This has you frightened, doesn’t it…?”

She rolls over, pulling her hand away, folding her arms across her breast.  He sits up, watching her.


“Why shouldn’t it?  We should all be terrified!  With the others it was different.  We knew them.  We knew what they were capable of, what they sought… With him…”

The rain is beating now, thundering in her ears. 


“With him, there are so many mistakes I have already made… What is there to stop me from making the fatal slip…?”

Overlaid with the storm outside, she hears her foolish words, feels the numb horror of the mistake.  Pride’s sting has always been quick to strike her, rendering the manners she has learned useless.  This place was hers.  The lives in it hers by default.  That man had no right to claim any of it…

She is surprised as she is drawn back into his arms.  His chin rests atop her head, his hands gripping hers in what comfort he can offer. 


“What is there to stop you, Little Lady?”

The smirk on his lips is audible.


“Me, of course.”


For a moment, there is nothing she can say. 


“Are you not afraid at all, Leith?”


“Afraid?  Not particularly.  Concerned?  Quite.”

She gives a dark laugh.  He huffs, the rise and fall of his chest so soothing.  He has done so much in these simple gestures, in these simple words.  Even if she is afraid, even if the rain threatens to break into the few moment’s solace they have found, she owes it to him to put to rest the concerns as best she can. 


“I will not suffer that man to lay a hand on you, if that puts your mind at ease.”

Sasha, to be frank, that sounds much more like a threat than anything else.”


“Ah, but you know…my threats are never empty.  You may hold me to that.”

His lips find hers, briefly, only to return with more force, more need.


“I do believe I will…”

It is all the comfort she can offer, a threat, a promise.  And yet, as the rain outside abates, yielding to the sounds of those within, it is enough.


Current mood: calm

(Jot something down?)

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

1:44PM - words flowing like streams. but not the dammed-up ones. the other ones.

I bought a flavor called Fury today
It was green
It tasted like so much
 cinnamon and fried red peppers
Or maybe it did
It fell off the cone and went
 splat on the pavement
and I decided to leave it there


I'll tell you of stone walls
   the whine of vespas (and the wine of bars)
and how I didn't sleep some nights
   the lure of music, lights, dancing, speech
how my style has changed
   not clothes, words
a jagged, naked style I've always loved
   but never had the courage to expore

(Jot something down?)

1:42PM - God's answer

the lush fire of roses
  deep green of ivy
encompassing great stone doors
the key, dirty and aged with wisdom
hangs by my heart, whispering
clear the way
your beautiful day is waiting

Current mood: so happy

(Jot something down?)

Saturday, August 19, 2006


in a fur coat
on an italiansummer night
why are you alone again?
  i thought
  i don't know what I thought
Maybe I'm just off-track
  mislead to the
  left but steady as she goes


sick of my all-star team
I'm choosing
   to lose tonight
variety is the mind-frier
and I'm so tired of thinking


push that needle into 
    my heart
the future's coming on
     I can't see
my hand in front of my face


dance for me, sucker
hiding in your
  sheltered world
don't let them touch
you they'll shatter
your crystal dreams
 and then what will
you have?

Current mood: laaa, time t'go find the party

(Jot something down?)

Friday, June 9, 2006


A year ago, I'd never kissed a boy
or danced Foxtrot to Frank Sinatra
I couldn't speak Italian
haha, I still can't
but I'm getting there
A year ago, I hadn't played for
hours with beautiful niñitos
or read to them
"Gorras! Gorras! Se venden gorras!"

A year ago I hadn't ever
needed to repent

A year ago
I'd never faced death
or missed anyone so, so badly
or regretted a last conversation so much
I'd never had a caffeinated drink
or worn a backless dress
I'd never worn dangly earrings
insulted a professor within earshot
appreciated an old teacher so dearly
tangoed to Linkin Park
chacha'd with that boy 

I can't stop thinking about
(I'd never chacha'd period.)
A year ago,
I'd never met anyone famous
owned a cellphone, a digital camera,
my own computer
I'd never acted on stage (only danced, sung, played)
I'd never cried during a monologue
and brought my director to tears

I'd never had a storybook written about me
or a song composed
and dedicated to me
or a poster illustrated to represent me
A year ago, I'd never had a real job

why is this where my year ends?
why do I only get to salsa and merengue
one more time, and why do I have to tell him
goodbye and
not kiss him

(2 jots | Jot something down?)

Tuesday, May 23, 2006


sometimes I wonder if this is right: if this will make me happy: if-- if--- if
and if it’s all for me or for you
if-- and if it’s for no one

and sometimes I run through the water in the street
and ask if I’m showing off how much I don’t care
and if I like the dirt on my legs because it’s dirt
or because it’s clinging to my skin

and sometimes maybe, I try for a little too much
and not because I want to
but I have to have to have
and if I don’t--

and who am I fooling?
or me?

(Jot something down?)

Friday, May 19, 2006

12:25AM - Imperial

Areth was hot, sun beating down on the semi-arid landscape, the planet occasionally going without rain for months on end.  However, its inhabitants were used to this, accepting long-standing water limits and showers with timers as part of necessity.  Landscaping, when such a thing was popular, was limited to a small scattering of flowers, or the cactus-like shrubs commonly found on the planet.  Once space-travel was perfected, water was occasionally shipped in for recreational uses, or to supplement the precious resource.  As technology advanced, Students began manufacturing water, helping the struggling planet cope with the great need.

Obviously, Areth was not, in any sense of the word, humid.  Of course, Soldiers trained for that sort of environment, through simulations and the like.  But the real thing was another matter entirely.  You always knew a simulation was going to end, and you could return to the dry, familiar heat of Areth as soon as it was over.

Now, the Soldiers crouched beneath the limp shadows of giant plants, panting in the smothering, overwhelming heat.  It felt as if you could reach out and squeeze the air, then watch the water drain out of it.  The full-body armor they wore helped matters even less.  It clung like a second skin, offering no breath of still, moist air to clean the sweat from their backs.  Their helmets were the worst, covering the entirety of the head, allowing only the ears to peak out and recieve whatever breeze decided to blow. 

They didn't dare remove them.  In this environment, an Arethi's pale skin stood out like a painted target.  Enduring the painful, humid heat was far preferable to being slaughtered by the enemy. 

One of the Soldiers carefully pulled out his canteen, taking a sip of the warm fluid within.  "What on Areth are we doing here anyway?" he growled, putting the flask away.

A tall Soldier shrugged, keeping his red eyes trained on the jungle ahead of him.  "Dunno.  S'got somethin' to do with civil war 'er somethin," he drawled.  "Some guy's out there blowin' crap up cuz he's sick of the government."

The first Soldier eyed him, raising an eyebrow.  "Blowin' up his own people?"



"Tell me 'bout it."

Their CO made a "foward" gesture, and, without a word, the Soldiers rose smoothly and silently, disappearing into the brush.  They'd had their orders since dawn.  Each was to go in pairs, surrounding the dilapadated temple the target had taken as his stronghold.  From there, the target sent out bombs and other such implements of destruction, in hopes of shaking the political regime he hated so much.  The government begged Areth's help, and the Soldiers were sent in.  After a month of searching, the temple was located.  Now, in the thick heat, the end was almost in sight.

The tall Soldier crept along, rifle held comfortably close.  He wore a secondary weapon strapped to his back--a long staff, serrated edges gleaming dully in the filtered light.  His partner, a lanky female, trailed behind.  Their footsteps made no noise in the soft soil, and they chose their path carefully, edging around vegetation that would make too much noise with their passing.  They crossed a small creek, carefully sidesteping the deep pools.  Who knew what sort of unmentionables waited for them there.

Above them loomed the monolith of the temple stronghold.  Scouts reported the entrances to be guarded, and the Soldiers were to await a signal before charging in.  The tall Soldier frowned.  If they barged in, rifles blazing, wouldn't there be time for the target to escape?  They had no idea how big a complex this temple was.  It was just bad planning all around. 

He started forward, keeping low, his ears twitching at the small sounds of the jungle.  His partner hissed at him.

"What are you doing?" she growled.  "Wait for the signal, Soldier!"

"If we wait f'the signal," he hissed back.  "The guy's gonna be gone, and we're gonna be stuck 'ere f'another month.  Y'want that?"

His partner looked torn.  "Fine," she snapped.  "Wait for me."

He really had no idea what he was doing, aside from sneaking.  A quick glance showed the top of the temple to be open, like a skylight, letting in the thick, sultry sunlight.  "Cover me," he told her, then began to climb.  Thick vines choked their way up the sides of the temple, anchoring it down to the ground.  A few wilted flowers jabbed into his gloved hands, but aside from that, the climb was nothing.  They climbed in shifts.  He covered his partner once, and she followed, until at last the reached the skylight.  For a moment, they crouched there, unsure of how to proceed successfully.  Cautiously, the tall Soldier peered down into the skylight, trying to mask his shadow from the floor below.  The drop wasn't far, maybe ten feet.  

Then the gunfire started.

Reacting on instinct, the tall Soldier dropped down the skylight, landing in a practiced crouch.  There were cries of panic from all around, accompanied by the sound of rifles loading.  He didn't think, he fired.  The scent of blood erupted around him.  His hand was steady on the trigger, the other carefully aiming towards the enemy's heads.  It was easier that way--less screaming.  If his opponent was holding a weapon, they went down.  It was only when the noise died down that he moved on, clearing rooms as he went, his partner close on his heels. 

More guards met them, and were dispatched with quick, simple shots.  The highly trained Soldiers were met with little resistance, save for the growing slickness of the flagstones beneath their feet.  The tall Soldier set his jaw.  These creatures were killing off their own kind, shooting at Arethi, at him.  They didn't deserve anything better than what they got--death at his hands.  If they asked him for mercy, he didn't hear... not that he understood their barking language anyway.

Neither of them saw the target until it was too late.  They'd entered a suspiciously cluttered room, religious articles placed about at what, to them, seemed to be random points.  His partner entered first, clearing the room.  "Clear!" she called.  "Must have left."

He slipped in, keeping his back to the wall.  The room was entirely circular, with no exit save a few air slits towards the ceiling.  Weak light fluttered town, casting the room in a soft, golden glow.  Frowning, he looked about.  "How'd he get out?"

His partner never answered him.  There was a ringing shot from above and she crumpled, blood spurting from a wound in her neck.

There was no time to mourn her.  He snapped his gun up, firing into the shadows above.  Something skittered.  He kept firing.  A few more shots answered, one pinging off his helmet.  Then, something fell, flopping into a limp heap at his feet.  It snarled at him, lasping into Arethi to curse him.  He simply stared.

"Elfin dog!" it spat.  It looked old.  There was a cluster of white hairs on its chin, and its four arms were gnarled like crumpled paper.  When it spoke, he could see its teeth were stained and yellow.  "You and your empire!  Come to claim us too?  You're no better than the Regime!"

He didn't answer, just hefted his rifle.  It appeared to be disarmed, and he could see a dark line of yellowish fluid leaking from its abdomen. 

"My people will take your Empire down!  Along with the Regime!"

"Yer people're dead.  My squad's takin' care of 'em."

It looked a little stunned when the tall Soldier spoke.  The three of its eyes widened, then blinked in rapid succession.  Then it snarled again.  "No matter!  You can't kill an idea!"

To the alien's horror, a grin flashed across the Soldier's face, bordering on sadistic.  "Watch me, old man," the Soldier hissed.  "Watch me."

There was a flash of rifle fire, and the old body slumped on the floor.   

A few hours passed before the Soldier's CO found him, keeping watch as the target's body cooled.  The CO glanced at the dead female, then at her live partner, who stared with blank eyes at the walls around him.  "Good work, Soldier.  I'll see you get a comendation for this," the CO said, motioning the Arehti medics in to take the female's body.

The tall Soldier looked up, wiped the sweat from his eyes and smirked.  "Nothin' to it, sir.  Just need a drink."


My name is Emperor Halel Talasien, Soldier First Class, Captain of Squad 48347532219-G85.  This is my story, far as I can remember it.

Current mood: creative

(Jot something down?)

Monday, May 1, 2006

1:42PM - His birthday present

birds meeting
their wings whispering
     truth, emotion, doubt, despair
my wings hurt me
     says one

mine too
but I can't touch the sky without them
   so I'll keep flying

me too

(1 jot | Jot something down?)

Saturday, April 15, 2006

1:38PM - The End of the Evening

hush lips
don't tell
what lips you've kissed

hush arms
don't tell
what shoulders bore you up

a hug
a lingering hug
his shoes drop
yours follow
to soak in the rain
as you soak in the moment

silent, for so long


Advice for editing?

(Jot something down?)

Thursday, March 9, 2006


I should be mad at you

            I think


I don’t trust you anymore

But I also don’t really

      care anymore

So forget we ever dated

Forget we ever kissed

(though you were my first)

Forget you called at 2am

      worried about me

and told me goodnight

every night you could

Forget you loved my butt

and forget the funny things I did that

      turned you on


Forget it,

let’s just be friends

(1 jot | Jot something down?)

Wednesday, March 8, 2006

12:39PM - the wisdom of a sunrise

these words full of emotional rattle sunrises
and my lips.
filling ever so much more than hope could've seen
yet freedom is a sunrise away.
freedom is a sunrise away.

although it never feels
or thinks
and it wispers 'be careful' through the colors
breezes carry the words.
those wise words
to those crying to a sunrise
wishing for what could be.
and that those big words
could catapult into unexpressionable

Current mood: undecided

(1 jot | Jot something down?)

Saturday, February 4, 2006


.-. I need motivation to finish this darned thing. Anyway, the opening to everything you wanted--or didn't want--to know about my alien progeny.

Well... not REALLY progeny... Brain spawn maybe... eeeeeww... spawn...


CutCollapse )

Current mood: calm

(Jot something down?)

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

1:49PM - Autorretrato.

Fisicamente, soy más o menos flaca

Soy simple, un poquito bella;

(mi novio piensa que soy bella)

Mi pelo siempre es marrón, usualmente largo

A veces es corto.


Soy una amiga, casual o buena

depende de la persona.

            No soy enemiga.

A mis hermanos, soy hermana y mamá

al mismo tiempo, y mi mamá es mi mamá

y como mi hermana también.


Soy trabajadora, como maestra de los niñitos

que hablan español a casa, y a veces conmigo.

Soy estudiante también. Siempre soy estudiante,

de las lenguajes, de la literatura,

de la poesia, de la naturaleza.

Soy estudiante de la humanidad,

y me encanta.


Era novia, ahora amica buena

aunque le quiero, y me quiere

Pero eso es la cosa lógica y correcta

la cosa dificil

Soy bailadora, amante de música; el amor

de pasos y dar vueltas.

Seria feliz si pudiera bailar cada semana,

Salsa, tango, swing,

Waltz, merengue, chacha,

Seria feliz si pudiera estudiar jazz,

cumbia, y más de tango.


Estoy escuchando a Big Bad Voodoo Daddy

Y me acordo de bailar con él,

antes de La Navedad, tan feliz, tan feliz.

Lloro cuando el baile termina.

Current mood: nostalgic

(Jot something down?)

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

9:17PM - Walking home after work.

Wet pavement
Streetlamps glowing
Making twinkling lights of raindrops
Red lights blinking
Spiderwebs clinging
Skeleton trees in the spotlight
on a moonless night

(Jot something down?)

Thursday, January 12, 2006

12:22AM - Bless Me Father

Set in the end of the Psychic Trio story.

Rain would probably be more fitting. Yet snow, with its chill sting, muffling all sound, amplifying any and all thought, worked just as well for his purposes. He felt it touch his cheeks, running down through the lines around his eyes and mouth, mimicking tears. It was settling on his shoulders, a frigid mantle against the wind.

Each step, though carefully planned out, was hesitant. The cane was of no use in the snow. The path was hidden from him, blotted out in the powder. Only careful restraint kept him from cursing in frustration. What use was it to mourn if you couldn’t even get yourself to the spot?

The memory of a dead man’s face, superimposed over a horror-stricken face he assumed was his own, wearing an expression of exhausted resignation, mingled with the pain of remembered death in his mind. He stopped feeling anything on that day, shut off the tap in his brain, and surrendered himself fully to the blindness. His heart broke anew all the same, as the girl stumbled into the church yet one last time, pleading for an answer; there was none. All he could do was spread his hands and plead for a forgiveness that never came.

A week later, she dropped an address into his mail, citing a time and date for a burial. It had rained then, and he’d gone. It was the least he could do. They had not said a word to each other, simply left flowers and buried their friend. She stopped attending mass after that, dropped off the face of the earth for all he knew. With her went all ties to the outside world. Parishioners stopped dropping by his office, their numbers gradually declining as the weeks wore on.

“You’re not yourself, Father,” one told him. “It’s just not the same anymore… Take care of yourself… Let us know when you’re feeling better, all right?” The way they spoke made it sound as if some medication would drop from the sky to cure the guilt overshadowing him.

He managed to trip over something in his path. Powder filled his mouth, as the air rushed from his lungs with a whoosh. The cane fell from his fingers, crunching into the snow. For several minutes, he simply lay there, curling and uncurling his fingers helplessly. Silence settled down around him, filling the darkness with a deafening roar.

Gradually, a soft sound reached his ears; the sound of someone sobbing. It wasn’t until he felt the hot trails of tears on his cheeks that he realized they were his own.

“What more do you want from me?” he hissed through chattering teeth. Numb hands struggled to push him into a kneeling position. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I followed you, I trusted you to guide me… and you turn me into a murderer!” His voice increased in volume until the small graveyard echoed with his pain. “You put this path before me! I did what you asked! Why can’t I rest? Why won’t you let me… why can’t I atone for this? What more do you want?”

Something in him gave out, sending him crashing back into the snow. His limbs shook, ragged breaths tearing their way from his throat in short gasps. There was no strength left in his body, not even warmth remained.

“What more can I give…?”

Current mood: STILL sleepy

(Jot something down?)


A DiaryCollapse )

Current mood: sleepy

(1 jot | Jot something down?)

Wednesday, January 4, 2006

10:49PM - another piece (destined to be my new bio)*

In West Linn, I live close to the river
and at least once
every 24 hours
I can hear the train
rumbling along, on the
other side of the river
echoeing across the water to my
bedroom, where I stop whatever I am doing
to close my eyes, and let it pass.

(Jot something down?)

10:37PM - Bah. Too much happened this year. My brain hurts. Two poems about the same thing...

A Little Bigger

I am so small beside this ocean.

Don't take my hand,
Don't lead me home just yet
Leave me to sit
to watch its shifting vastness

and I will return on my own,
a little bigger inside.


I stand in awe at the edge of the sea
and this sea is a year in my life
unlike anything
I have seen

So much life surging,
death retreating
Love in waves
that foam and crash with spite

for hours, I watch
to understand.

(Jot something down?)

Thursday, December 22, 2005

11:20PM - unsaid redux

”大嫌い” と言った、冗談した。


Current mood: thoughtful

(1 jot | Jot something down?)


You unbind me like the night.
Your words come over me – first unafraid and unmasked,
then, as your confidence bends
              (like your knees), it comes with a certain lack of design and

[You are always wishing to
be someone else, however you
claim to be forever searching
for yourself.  Yourself is
whoever you wish it to be.

Your seach should hardly exist
        outside the palm of your hand.]

I cought you standing still,
your words covering you
as you hid so completely.  However, with my bright eyes
           (and keen spirit), we clasped
hands and danced in the
moonlight of a thousand moons,
holding fast and connecting souls
for one. brief. moment.

You will never age, nor die,
         and your breath will forever linger
                  untainted by the sun,

                  for you complete me.

(1 jot | Jot something down?)

Navigate: (Previous 20 entries)