peachyquesada's Xanga

Sober by Tool

Fri, 09 Mar 2007 19:36:13 GMT

There's a shadow just behind me,
shrouding every breath I take,
making every promise empty,
pointing every finger at me.
Waiting like a stalking butler
who upon the finger rests.
Murder now the path called "must we"
just before the son has come.
Jesus, won't you fucking whistle
something but the past and done?

Why can't we not be sober?
I just want to start this over.
Why can't we drink forever.
I just want to start things over.

I am just a worthless liar.
I am just an imbecile.
I will only complicate you.
Trust in me and fall as well.
I will find a center in you.
I will chew it up and leave,
I will work to elevate you
just enough to bring you down.

Trust me.

Mother Mary won't you whisper
something but what's past and done.

Trust me.

I want what I want.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Sat, 10 Feb 2007 18:05:36 GMT

...to see that spark of divinity even in the most unworthy of men.

Wednesday, November 15, 2006

Wed, 15 Nov 2006 03:28:54 GMT

I'm walking on air
Is it lack of sleep as always
Or have I been forever floating?
A blue flame, an iron pentacle,
A white butterfly, a set of stones--
A series of clues I don't understand.
What am I being told?
I have no idea, or maybe I do.
A warlock on my mind
Who doesn't know where he's going
Or what he's doing
Unknowingly casting a spell,
Forever oblivious.
I squint my eyes from the dry smoke
That swirls on and on.
I drown in my own poetry
That only I can re-create
Again and again.
I'm tired.
I just want to rest my heart
But the pain just lives
And I chase after it like a fool
Who never learns.
When will it end?
Will I ever move forward?
Like slow poison it kills
The only strength I have left.
I smile like a clueless child
With every empty affirmation.
I embrace the wind
And find that there's nothing there,
Nothing in it for me
Save for some woeful longing
I'll never get over.
Will someone tell me how to jump
Or at least move backward?
Either way it will rescue me
From being human again.
I don't want to be human.
I detest this pain and yet I bask in it.
Oh, the agony of this perpetual irony.
Please let the memory be gone.
I don't need this warlock.
I know I suffice alone
Yet I can't save myself from needing.
I try to close my eyes but I see his ghost
Constantly.
There's no other way.
I can only wait for it to end.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

Thu, 03 Aug 2006 08:35:50 GMT

Just recently somebody posed me the question, "What qualities are you looking for in a man?" I was stumped. I just realized that the answer to this is probably in corollary to what I said during our KASH training that, "I can't be a success if I don't know what I want, because you have to want something bad enough for you to actually get it." Ladies and gentlemen, I just solved the equation for myself: my ideal man hasn't arrived because I have no idea who he is. Well, I know that that's not entirely true. I have a vague idea of who he is. In fact, not long ago I made a dummy list of all the traits I wanted in a man, in hopes that by writing them down, I could actually concretize him and draw him to me by virtue of creative visualization (yeah I know, it's pathetic). Months later he still hasn't made the slightest apparition so I threw the list away, thinking that no such guy exists anyway. Maybe in a parallel universe, he does. I'm not asking for much. I know the most trivial things and pettiest flaws don't really matter as long as you love the person. But what is love anyway? I mean, love not in the romantic sense but in its purest form, what is it, really? I don't think many people know and not even the smartest ones can fully verbalize how it can be defined. In my attempt to describe my ideal mate, I wrote a simple ode below envisioning what my heart and soul yearns for (as cheesy as it sounds; but I'm a girl after all). It's all probably just plain gibberish, but then again, it's what can probably put an end to this perpetual restlessness I've been battling for so long:

If it's not too much to ask,

I ask for someone real.

He must not be too much of a woman

And certainly not less of a man.

He doesn't have to be a demi-god,

But everytime I look at him

I will see beauty beyond words.

He must know how to make me laugh

But also know when I want to be silent.

And that silence he must learn how to enjoy as well.

I do not require him to like the things I like and do the things I do

But he must at least treat them with reverence as I do for his.

I will not force him to keep his anger

But he must show some respect when he releases it.

He must learn how to be a friend

And an enemy when it's called for,

But an enemy who is a friend, nonetheless.

He must not compete with me for energy

But share it on mutual ground.

He must have a genuine interest in knowing me

Otherwise I'll know when he's faking it

And really just wants to talk about himself.

He must not stop knowing me,

And I must want to keep discovering him.

Each day he'll find a way to bring me closer to my Personal Legend

And not keep me from getting there.

He doesn't have to be a great writer

But must have a taste for words.

He must love my words as well

Because they happen to mirror my soul.

He doesn't have to be a poet or an artist

But must look at life with the same eyes.

He must be a child forever,

While growing old with a constant taste for adventure.

He must always seek novel things, new experiences,

Refusing to settle for all things trite.

Life with him must not be a cliché

But a story without an ending

He doesn't have to be rich

But must be grounded enough to support our needs.

I want him to have questions about life that I can give answers to.

I want to be his goddess, his nymph, his muse, his faerie elf.

I want to lift him up by my sheer presence

Without being put on a pedestal, for I'm human as well.

He doesn't have to be a prince or a knight in shining armor,

Because that would mean I'll forever be waiting for him,

And as those are just mere archetypes that exist in dreams.

I want him to comfort me by holding my hand when I'm feeling lost.

I don't need pretentious words of wisdom, for they would never serve me.

He simply has to be there and listen.

We must almost always click in the bedroom, but not just inside it.

Making love must be the sweet course of every sumptious meal

And not a chore we have to toil over.

I won't stop him from looking at other girls,

But must be fair enough not to stop me from doing the same.

However if we choose to bank on exclusivity,

We both have to follow the rules, no questions asked.

Otherwise he must be decent enough

To tell me he wants out when he's met someone else;

I'll do the same for him as well.

It seems I'm asking for too much,

Too much that he probably doesn't even exist.

I know with this I may well be looking at a whole lifetime of spinsterhood.

I know as well this list doesn't bear much weight

Just as long I know he is real and brings love in its purest form.

I may not know how to define that but I'll feel it without a doubt when he comes.

I hope he comes, and I hope he is real.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Mon, 24 Jul 2006 21:39:41 GMT

It's amazing what constant lack of sleep can do. You master the art of sleep-waking, seemingly floating, mind active and replete with a myriad of thoughts. Nothing makes sense (or so it seems) yet somehow you feel more liberated than ever. What can this freedom do? I'm at a loss for words (or am I ever?). Suddenly things become clearer, and you finally know what you want. But then you realize your body needs sleep after all. You go to sleep, wake up, and it's all gone. You're back to square one...floating, swimming, sinking. You're again faced with an array of illusions. I have to quit babbling about such illusions lest I be mistaken for a restless ghost. Well, I guess I feel like one already anyway. You think of other people's lives that seem almost perfect or at least running smoothly, just taking their natural course, and you compare those lives with yours, which certainly pales in comparison. Heck, I know I have a far better status than most of them. I just know I whine too much. But sometimes somehow it doesn't even matter anymore. I know what's true. What I can't stand is this constant screaming and struggling to make known to the world my purpose...to be purposeless, to be free of needing, wanting, hoping, because I'm already complete. But not all people know that. Sometimes I can't help but mercilessly drown myself in my age-old sorrows that I forget what is truly significant. I miss my old friends, kindred spirits I call them. But then, I keep meeting new ones, and suddenly I'm at the top of the world again, knowing I'm not alone. It's a huge deal for me to regain connection with what's part and parcel of my soul. Just like that, I feel bigger again. I keep reiterating to myself that my real purpose in life is to be a mirror of other people's greatness. No, it's not a poetic excuse for having no direction in life. I think it's a calling I have to stick to, in order for me to know Who I Really Am, and to bring people closer to the Truth, to their Essence, to the Big Mass which is I Am That I Am. I sometimes can't understand why I never tire babbling about all this, while some might not really care at all. But it's just that when I get to look at the night sky and see palm trees swaying in rhythm, I feel whole. I am reminded. I am back on track. I know I'm bigger than this, bigger than the small world almost everyone holds so dear. I'm not saying I'm nearing transcendence. I'm not even close. Buddha-hood is my Mt. Everest. But to just be able to grasp even a chunk of it can provide me with eternal bliss. I am not alone. I refuse to admit it even if I feel isolated or alienated most of the time. I am slightly depressive, and my thoughts on self-hate scare me sometimes. I think I need a shrink but heck, I'm not going to pay some self-knowing fuck big bucks for something I've been studying for almost a decade now (what have I been studying again?). But this is one of the rare moments that I feel giddy with hope, love, and finally...peace. I'm new at my job and I may suck at it, but it's the interaction with different people, diverse personalities that gives me a natural high. It's the gift of knowing so many souls in a short span of time that truly lifts me up. It's giving simple acts of kindness, smiling, paying it forward each day where I find meaning. It's good to know this, despite the lack of sleep. In a few minutes I'll be catering to my bodily needs. I'll be taking my much needed slumber, and hopefully when I wake up, I'll still feel the same.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Wed, 12 Jul 2006 14:59:39 GMT

I read his works and fantasize my own death. Death unto myself. Death of a constant illusion. I lose my breath in the soil I bury myself with. I sink six feet underground and embrace the void. I am Nothingness.

Gacela of the Dark Death
By Federico García Lorca

I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to withdraw from the tumult of cemetries.
I want to sleep the dream of that child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.

I don't want to hear again that the dead do not lose their blood,
that the putrid mouth goes on asking for water.
I don't want to learn of the tortures of the grass,
nor of the moon with a serpent's mouth
that labors before dawn.

I want to sleep awhile,
awhile, a minute, a century;
but all must know that I have not died;
that there is a stable of gold in my lips;
that I am the small friend of the West wing;
that I am the intense shadows of my tears.

Cover me at dawn with a veil,
because dawn will throw fistfuls of ants at me,
and wet with hard water my shoes
so that the pincers of the scorpion slide.

For I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to learn a lament that will cleanse me to earth;
for I want to live with that dark child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Thu, 06 Jul 2006 18:10:33 GMT

How do you waste time that has never existed to begin with?

How do you move into a space that has never been created?

You are who you are no matter what the circumstances are.

You lie there waiting for something that's always been there.

You yearn for things, people, even a different version of you.

But these are not tangible. Everything is just an illusion.

The need is endless. The want becomes an unbearable pursuit to oblivion.

You talk about life hoping to create a bridge, but really, it leads nowhere.

Nowhere is just back home.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Thu, 01 Jun 2006 15:49:33 GMT

Floating. Swimming. Sinking. How do you live amidst a sea of illusions? You close your eyes and take refuge into that deep space within you. It's nothing but a void, and yet it houses everything you hold dear and could ever imagine. Faced with faces you think you recognize but really, you don't. Who are they really? Are they you or are you them? I think of The Beach I've never had a chance to go to. Richard once said that desire is desire wherever you go, not even the sun will bleach it nor the tide will wash it away. But how do you get what you desire when you do not even know what it is? You perpetually talk gibberish and ask yourself where your mind is. Or does it even exist to begin with? You remember kindred souls you've met along the way. Where are they now? They're nothing but remnants of your past, fading long into the archives of your own misery. You tell yourself that being alone would suffice but helplessly feel otherwise. You wash away your sorrows with clever cynicism. Nothing is real anyway. Or what if everything is? You live in a constant dream. Or are you already awake? But who is, really? Aren't we all dreaming? You crave rest in hopes that it will pacify your soul but you're too jaded to believe it even exists. You dare to sleep and seek solace in the comfort of your own turbulent dreams because there, you ride your own boat. You let Lorca lull you and yet doubt if he himself was trapped in a dream as well. You want to get somewhere but you can't. Instead you're just eternally floating, swimming, sinking. Or so it seems. You just hope it ceases for good.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Thu, 01 Jun 2006 15:24:22 GMT

I am the goddess of your lost youth

I am the nymph of your fallen tree

I am Annabel of a resplendent summer

I am the ghost of Lo beneath your lids.

Monday, May 15, 2006

Mon, 15 May 2006 09:56:07 GMT

"First you have to give up. First you have to know, not fear, know, that someday you're going to die. It's only after we've lost everything that we can do anything."

-Tyler Durden, Fight Club