He opened his eyes one day to the light, and that's all he saw for about 24 years until he realized that people really do sleep. So, that's what he's doing, now. He's sleeping, and dreaming a life that's pretty fucking cool, if you go so far as to ask him about it.
   

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Tuesday, May 15, 2012
A Test.

This is just a

Posted at 09:30 pm by Amrius
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Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Crying Arrogance, Foul

Funny
songs affecting how we listen
thinking
"Wish You Were Here"
          earlier today
          thinking
                (I should've been)
          thinking

about old girlfriends
         (my Obsession)
but
she wasn't just it

grandma/grandpa/old/friends/foes/times/places/events/myself/world/heart/

everything

all

here with me right now
                     at that moment
but not, holding true
                        (truth)
                                  : uniqueness isn't guaranteed,
and some square few odd pegs,
while most fit
                     some mold,
                     some indefinable,
                     some unique
and I
am (am I?)
                              unique,

when questioning this

(birthday?) day

so hollow, remembering a time:

Sorting bottles in the back room
of a convenience store
and looking up
at her that first time when

looking back I don't remember much
(who she was with) just
her glancing back
at me and seeing me looking

and glancing again

and then two weeks later
her coming in again
and me: "Wow"
             (why'd I say that?
                        She came back in.
                        She asked me "What do you mean, wow?"
             with that sneer and that angry life-filled spark in her eye-
-it had me totally captivated)
and I smiled--knowing

it was one of those big
stupid grins
that a man can't help but give,
confident, alluring (maybe), and totally disarmed
                                                            (disarming)
but unafraid of losing his footing,

so I answered with the utter truth,
so that (I think, now)
she left
and came back later
to give me

the four best months of my life
that I regret now
as qualifying as
the four best months of my life
                                                because it assumes
                                      that things won't get better
                     and I want to make things get better
         for her

so she won't think that I sit
here
hopelessly pining away
over her all the time and wishing

for things to get better without actually doing anything about it-
-like I'm that arrogant pig scratching at her door begging for another scrap-
-like I'm that devout Hitler foaming at the mouth and screaming to her to let me back- -like I'm that fiend,
             that Jack of Hearts,
             that Henry VIII,
             that utter, heartless
                    villain
who's so goddamn

focused on his own hearts and dreams
that
he
can't look past
his own
bleeding pool of
self
misery
to see the
                           loveliness
in other people around
him-
       -like I'm

justification,
when I'm not,

I'm the reason not to be.

Posted at 12:46 am by Amrius
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Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Busying Before Class

Something's stirred
in me
in the form 
   of anger 
   or lust 
   I know not which
though I feel

a need to bitch
about all the shit
ripping
open
a new rift
in me

made of
melancholy and
meagre
mentions of some
kind

of mortal existence
and not the
kind

of immortality
made in movies
for people that aren't
moviestars 
   (like me)

in my own movies
in my head
watching other people pass
through the scenes and sequences
like mannequins
without

any kind of mention
toward my life
or the life
I live
lying
in that famously familiar sort of familial nonsense
that breeds

a little bit of livery
into the spreading
of a nice pair of
legs (that I haven't gotten)
in
so long now it gives me pain
and stress
and dismay
and, aye, something

so inexplicable, undefined
by anything or anyone
in time

since it's so hard to describe
that
simple
stupid
feeling
we call love
but know
is something completely different
and primal and perfect and pricking
in its stupidly divine nature
making me wonder
why I can't just

make it stop for once and all
and end
this ceaseless
litany
of love
and all other things
related
and
alike
to love,

just an ending to end it so that I may spend it well with the ones I love, like family.


Posted at 12:09 pm by Amrius
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Thursday, December 06, 2007
Selections at School

I've still got that
same song stuck
        in my head
like

a progressively strengthening note
of silence
herding heroes
toward the gate of dawn,
specializing the mentality
of her own individual knapsack,
recreating some fervent
       desire for peace of mind,
       a piece of heart 
            holding its handles out 
                  toward my hands,
shaped
like

a cauldron
of the ineptitudes that belittle
my persistent 
   wedge
of a life,
breathing deeply 
   into

what nature we see, 
   such a beautiful horror 
      to feel that way,
of anyway,
or anything 
                  that could be
a real
feeling
finding
fantasy 
            expedition,
bringing my head in
down 
         closer to the ground
for until

tomorrow tells me the difference,
I'm still lost in the sound
of my own
head/voice/words.


Posted at 05:24 pm by Amrius
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Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Lining Lights Along the Ceiling

Everywhere
I look, 
         I find
the poetry of beauty
in the
women 
                  I see,

perhaps from my
melancholy
desperation
suffering,

perhaps because 
                  I see
in these Helenic
visions,
some similarity
to me,
all wrapped in the cloth
of vanity,
blowing my
hearts' whining winds
away,
from the dark,
brown, and black,
or the pale, and blonde,
the green, and blue,
eyes, hair, skin,

                     to see
in her heart,
or the sweetness of her small hands, 
                     to soul,
I find
the beauty of women, 
   bleak
and 
   breaking,
all around me,
while I grow old.

Posted at 12:59 pm by Amrius
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Clearly, At School

I have a notion
that my devotion
to lack emotion
has fed me the potion
of my heart's erosion.

For, as I've grown,
my light has shone
that I am go'n
to be alone,
when all's said, and done.

So I sit,
so grossly inept,
weeping promises kept,
letting my weary heart
grow wet
from the tub of tears in which it's set.

Hoping my last claim
won't be in vain
or on the same
wall of shame 
that all fears hang,
crying love, like chess, is a game,
no more important than
a married name...

Instead,
I'll dread
that this path I tread
will be led
by the red
just ahead,
dripping from the heart
and head
of my future, final, bed.


Posted at 10:04 am by Amrius
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Thursday, October 11, 2007
A Chairy Resemblance

What (pause)
is a chair,

other
than the cheery 
                        resemblance
of its former 
      inhabitant 
                     wondering
if

he's too immersed in the idea
of sitting
or sitting
at all
at odds
with the prospect of standing,
which is

a mighty sort of challenge
to 
   those 
      few 
         fools,
like I,
so pursuant of
the prospect of
a good sitting
upon the
notion that
without 
            a chair,
there would be nothing
for
to
sit
upon,
leaving only the option of standing,

leaving us again
at a loss
without the thoughts
that one gains while
sitting,
for it's 
         sometimes
easier to think things
in a
reclined 
            position
than to take any 
            position
other than the 
            position to
sit,
idly
speculating

if the proper
sitting
should perhaps be done
outside 
   (unless the setting be winter)
      (in which case one may not want to sit outside at all)
         (without plenty of bundled up monstrosities)
            (of armor to combat the cold)
               (because it's awful hard to sit)
sitting
on the thought
of whether 
                 a chair 
      is just 
                 a chair,
when you're shivering as you're
sitting.

Posted at 09:20 pm by Amrius
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Cupid, Stupid

How do you
know
what kind of things
I've seen
or done
since then,

when
it was
absolutely
clear
that clarity wasn't an issue
in the things that happened
every day,
whether it was closing
or opening eyes
or disguising little whispers
of happiness with tears
and smiles, riding

upon the slick
and idle
notion of an old entry
into this new dismay,
forever falling away
into the past,
at last.

Posted at 11:33 am by Amrius
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Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Rebirth of Imaginary Need

Name calling needs

no introduction,
today,
like the whisper of our own 
   solitary 
      voices 
   in the background, 
      wondering
if they mean a thing, 
   anything,
and if those hearts 
   desires
are worth
crying
over, or
if the words, 
 their wording,
are
at all worthwhile, 
                 while I slide on
into some

fashionable flirtation
with the
far-fetched

notions of philosophy,
holding
true to "What"

Mary asked,
sniffing on a pipe of asparagus
without any care
toward the drugs that it causes, 
                  later on 
         in life
we're willed into
drudgery
without
an accomplice
like

Jesus had an acccomplice,
but she was like a virgin,
making love for the very first time

we saw her in a book,
with the
Name of Grace or Serendipity
so moving
lines in linear fashion,
after the other
spectral
falling down like I
own
any
more
of a chorelike relationship
than
the sinking ship of feelnig
reelin in time
after
in the laughter of that moment
after,
celebrating a breath in the depth,
both in the moment
and the last plunge,
hun,
into infinity
worshipped with 
   cage,
seeing some knowledge
of dredging up
into emotion.

Posted at 05:58 pm by Amrius
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Sunday, September 30, 2007
I Sit in Silence

I
sit in the class
with my
ever
       last
             ing
silence beckoning like a shroud
to me,

celebrating
the mass debating
that I look
forward to in
                 infamy,
however now
I seriously doubt the perfection
of my claim, for
it's making more of
a little life for
me, out of
all the
endless bickering

that comes
from soulful
endings,

letting me
    close up my greenery eyes
         in glee,
       with the hopeful helions
           hanging on,
          they have 
                  my ears,
                  my mouth,
                  my nose,
                  my eyes,

I drive
disracted
through the icy slushy roads
      of dream,
like a trial of
loveliness,
       docility,
such crying colors breaking through
                   a scream 
            interwoven 
      with
mockery,

yes I
see
       the inanity of it all,
       the pure boundless brilliance unexpected 
                   from the ally of a
                   faithful driven muse,
                   amusing,
       lastly, the silent little bastard who commands me,
                   gaining me some little bit of laughter
                   from my classmates,
                   though it may be real,
                   or mere
mockery.


Posted at 10:31 pm by Amrius
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