sometimes, my head explodes

Excuses for silence March 6, 2014

Filed under: almost poetic,bits and pieces — somniare @ 3:51 am

It’s becoming more and more difficult to find my way back here. Attempting to recall my old email addresses and passwords become the equivalent of being lost in a once familiar forest.


Here I am, and I miss being lost. In a way, it gave me an excuse to be silent.


But I DO have words to share, should they be in the form of stories or ambiguous vignettes. I live, therefore I write.


It’s been too long this time. So much time has passed that I have forgotten how to speak, only think.


Thoughts perch like birds on

My shoulder, shaped like words then

fall at my feet. Sleep.


Ends of eras January 18, 2012

Filed under: Uncategorized — somniare @ 4:19 am

More than one part of me fell on the floor when I destroyed my Christmas tree today.

One by one, I carefully removed each treasured ornament. They’d been collected over years, each with a specific meaning and a story… they deserved to be saved. The strings of lights became the real challenge, due entirely to the intricate beauty I constructed from nothing and lack of worthwhile method or history.

As I tore the lights from their entanglement among the dead boughs, I was glad I left them alight so I could watch their luminance flicker and struggle to hold on to the happiness they once brought me. I ripped and tore, snapped limbs and broke bulbs. I smiled once. It was sick and sadistic, yet there was beauty in the brutality. In the end, they couldn’t be saved.

I couldn’t see the carpet between the needles and branches. They crunched beneath the soles of my shoes as I deliberately ground them into the fibers. I needed something to clean…. leftover sap collecting dirt and dust on my hands wasn’t enough. In the unseen spaces between the dried greenery, I laid my unfortunate affections to sleep before I vacuumed the whole mess up and threw it out of my window.

Meanwhile, I’ve played two songs for five hours through the entire process. And I wish I’d actually taken the time to listen before I went deaf. Before I drank away my words just to end up telling yet another story without an end. But still, I never did end up washing my hands.


She said, perhaps April 19, 2010

Filed under: in.between,my evolution — somniare @ 7:29 pm

I found one sparkling silver-white hair today. Amidst the ashy greys and the black that is slowly becoming overwhelmed, this single strand caught my eye. Like a prized souvenir, it glistened there full of memories… nights to forget bleeding into days to remember… broken glass and fingernails and hearts… a spine curved beneath the weight of a burdened mind… the soreness in a phantom scar that should have long been healed but never let go.

In that one thread- a life I treasure, regret, own, and belong to. All at once, there came sadness and a smile. Maybe it’s all okay.


make-a-wish July 15, 2009

Filed under: my evolution — somniare @ 6:08 pm

I don’t think I ever believe I’ll live to see the day.

As if every morning is greeted with surprise that I’ve made it through another night. Somehow this wonderment sets me apart from those I watch go in and out, weaving their lives through mine for moments in seconds or years.

They say that we are where we’ve been. A cheap martini of genetics and experience with our environment skewered like a rotten olive to garnish. In one way or another, one will just end up exonerating their damages and waning sense of self as the cost of time. Sure, the excuse will coerce a night of drunken laughter and confessions for show, but every morning you’ll be blinded by the brilliance of truth in the luminance of lies. By twilight, the day will have dimmed it all again… and you’ll drink your chagrin by the litre.

And so I sit, malleable and unshaped, untouched and diffident… the make-a-wish child on the first and last roller coaster of their life. Every day might be the same, but I’ll awake amazed every time.. even if it’s never my last, I will never be my past.


climbing to fall May 20, 2009

Filed under: from the mute to the deaf,hell is other people — somniare @ 12:17 am

I’ve aged a lot lately.

As I anticipate another night of stifled silence, I make plans for contemplations.

My life in boxes and sentiments bagged with the refuse out in the cold. So many deaths I tally in tears (how versatile that word really is) and all of the forms it manifests in… like a metastatic cancer ravaging my every cell.

The words I hold dear to me like the serrated edge of a rusted butter knife in my hand, gouging irreparably into the tendons and ligaments… rendering my grip useless and utterly futile. Nothing more than the thought of strength and best wishes for everyone who let me slip.

How I can love with all of myself… and learn about all of the things I’ve earned in return that even my strongest of pessimism could not predict.

My repellent sweetness in a garden full of perfectly ripened fools… and the slippery trails of invertebrates making their nightly trysts as if I didn’t exist. Perhaps it’s better this way… myself as a rotten fruit or poisoned flesh… a polytropic will to decay where I fall regardless.

I’ll think of equals and less thans. The long fight that I lose to spite myself. All of the many ways I wrap myself in cedar and light my box in flames. My skin beneath the sun and the scars of many burns. The years of solitude and lessthanlight that I would eagerly return to now.

Another night melting beside heat that isn’t mine. Pressing my bruises tighter against… molding my broken bones around… unyielding, ceaseless, merciless agony. And wonder if I love every moment… or if I don’t know any better… any more.

Somehow, beneath it all… it doesn’t seem quite over yet. That’s a shame.


a letter March 11, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — somniare @ 12:25 pm

to where it may concern,

overshadowed and underpowered
i lay
to wait

best regards,


A new year January 1, 2009

Filed under: my evolution,philosophical muse — somniare @ 2:46 am

I went back to my first post of the year for 2008 to see how far I’ve come… or more less, how far I haven’t.

My eloquence has forsaken me. My talent for language moved onto more fertile ground and left me to follow my singular path backward in perpetual digression. Every moment that I feel is my worst ends up eclipsed in the next minutes… full of ambiguous wording and ellipses replacing the experience provided only by proper punctuation.

My grammar seems to be the casualty of the year. As I’ve become more and more mentally scattered, any intelligent thought wanes away in the wake of emotional tides. I suppose that as we evolve on some levels, there has to be retrograde on others. Such is the nature of balance in how we maintain our unique personalities while becoming something different at the same time. Evolution in humanity is contradictory that way. It works out in such a fashion that one might question whether or not it qualifies as development at all but rather a minor alteration, such as rising the hem of a skirt you’d like to shorten or sewing a new button onto a shirt that many would have simply thrown in the trash.

If it were up to me, I’d toss my whole being into the trash. Chalk my existence up to a glitch in the system and let a higher power develop a more dynamically stable model. If everyone felt that way though, we’d end up a society of highly functioning automatons, performing our assigned tasks in a worldwide society of functional communistic beliefs. We’d be robots without flaw and, by default, without the ability to learn and grow from our mistakes before being deemed obsolete and destroyed. Truth be known, this is possibly the reality of our lives already… our deaths only being testament to our ceasing functionality and uselessness in the grand scheme of things.

Existential crises and depression stem from instinctive awareness of our lots in life and definitive fates. Those that find themselves faced with such states often medicate in an effort to numb the pain ; diminish the agony of performing day to day pointless activities and ultimately fruitless obligations. The numbness only suffices in the eyes of the perfect Utopian mechanical world. As much as it would seem ideal to run our course without the suffering of cognizance… we are what we are here. We need to come to terms with our own places in this world.

I’ll take my faults with a grain of salt. I’ll enjoy the flavor of cherries and appreciate vintage photography in all of its emulsified beauty. I’ll kiss and laugh and smoke and brood. It’s another year of being alive and aware that life is simply varying levels of unhappiness regardless of how I’ve changed. This isn’t negativity. This is life.