My Heart Beat





http://www.myspace.com/longdecemberrain

I sit amazed.  Everyday people go to work, they save a little more in there bank account, waiting for that one day when will retire and do what they really want.  Most retire, get bored, then you see them playing bingo or out at the grocery store looking bored with life.  Did they realize there life dream?  Have they lived life to the fullest?  How have they impacted the world?  Was it for the better or for the worst?

or is it simply just an illusion of progress?  Today I sat in class wondering yet again that everything we learn in colloge, what basis does it have in life.  Even the oldest thoughts such as the world is flat, now we believe that the world is round, and we except that answer.  We don't even question that answer because that is what we are told, the general population beleives it, so it must be so.  But have you yourself personally gone out and checked.  And do be honest who really cares in the long run.  Did knowing these arbitrary things saves anyone, help anyone, make someone feel love.  I think love is really all there is.  You can't touch it, taste it, see it, but u can feel it.  When someone tells me that there is no God I feel sorry for them.  That must mean they have never felt love before in there life.  They have never been in love.  Cus where does love come from then?

Whats even more interesting is the scientific communnity beleif on evolution or the cell theory.  The cell theroy is that life started as a single cell and slowly over miliions of years became life on planet earth.  But if u go and ask these same teachers that teach this where did that first cell come from then, they simply say they don't know, research hasn't shown that answer yet.  If a cell can't exist without first a cell.  Then you can argue that God made the first cell, but as soon as you mention God all conversation stops and your told mockingly that is what some people believe.

I don't understand scientist are suppose to oberserve all possible avenues for an answer, yet any issue concerning God, life on the planet is not studied and if it is those grants are taken away and the evidence thrown out.  Watch Ben Steins movie Expelled very compelling about intelligent design.  I do love science, medicine it is what I have studied in school and what I decided to go back and study again, while still doing music.  It just makes me curious..

John

Well I am going to California tonight to go swim with sharks on Saturday morning.  Yes, putting your life in reckless danger is what I do every year, but sometimes it is how u know your most alive.  No cage, or anything and probably will be fine, but just in case, it was real. 

John

You find the time I have loved you to be so short; you almost seem to fear that I could have loved before.  There are manuscripts in which the fortunate eye quickly sees faintly an older writing that in the course of time has been supplanted by trivial inanities.  With caustic substances, the later writing is erased, and now the older writing is distinct and clear.  In the same way, your eye has taught me to find myself in myself.  I allow forgetfulness to consume everything that does not touch on you, and then I discover a pristine, a divinely young, primitive text; then I discover that my love for you, is just as old as myself.

Is it jumbled foolishness or wisdom in young love?

Imagine a jeweler who had developed to such an extent his knowledge of precious stones that his whole life was in this distinction between genuine and false, suppose he saw a child playing with a variety of stones, genuine and false, mingled together, and having equal delight in both...I think he would shudder inwardly at seeing the absolute distinction resolved; but in case he beheld the child's happiness, its delight in the game, he perhaps would humble himself under it and be absorbed in this "shuddering" sight.

I have a secret to confide to you, my confidante.  To whom should I confide it?  To Echo?  It would betray it.  To the stars?  They are cold.  To human beings?  They do not understand it.  Only to you do I dare confide it, for you know how to keep it.  There is a girl, I haven't met, but have seen once.  More beautiful than the dream of my soul, purer than the light of the sun, deeper than the springs of the sea, prouder than the flight of the eagle, there is a girl.... O incline your head to my ear and to my words so that my secret can steal into it....This is girl I love more than life, for she is my life; more than all my desires, for she is my only desire; more than all my thoughts, for she is my only thought' more warmly than the sun loves the flower, more intimately than grief loves the privacy of a troubled mind, more longingly than the burning sand of the desert loves the rain.  I cling to her more tenderly than the mother's eye to a child,  more confidently than the entreating soul to God. more inseparably than the plant to its roots... Your head grows heavy and full of thoughts; it sinks down.  You have understood me, you have understood me correctly, literally; not one jot or tittle has escaped you!  Shall I strain every nerve of my ears and let your voice convince me of it?  Would I be able to doubt it?  Will you keep this secret?  Dare I depend on you?  Tales are told of people who by dreadful crimes initiated each other into mutual silence.  To you I have confided a secret that is my life and the content of my life...have you nothing to confide to me that is so significant, so beautiful, so chaste that supernatural forces would be set in motion if it were betrayed?

Is Love Blind?

They say that love makes blind, and by this they explain the phenomenon.  In case a man going into a dark room to fetch something were to reply to my advice that he carry a light by saying, "The thing I am seeking is only a trifle, therefore I carry no light"...ah, then I could understand him perfectly.  On the other hand, when the same man takes me aside and confides to me in a mysterious manner that the thing he went to fetch was of the utmost importance, and therefore he could do it blindly.....ah, I wonder how my poor mortal head might be able to follow the high flight of this speech.  Even if for fear of offending him I might refrain from laughter, as soon as his back was turned I could not help laughing.  But at love nobody laughs.

What is a poet?  An unhappy man who in his heart harbors a deep anguish, but whose lips are so fashioned that the moans and cries which pass over them are transformed into ravishing music.  His fate is like that of the unfortunate victims whom the tyrant Phalaris imprisoned in a brazen bull, and slowly tortured over a steady fire; there cries couldn't not reach the tyrant's ears so as to strike terror into his heart; when they reached his ears they sounded like sweet music.  And men crowd about the poet and say to him, "Sing for us soon again"...which is as is much to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul, but may your lips be fashioned as before; for the cries would distress us, but the music, the music is delightful."  And the critics come forward and say, "That is perfectly done...just as it should be, according to the rules of aesthetics."  Now it is understood that a critic resembles a poet to a hair; he only lacks the anguish in his heart, and the music upon his lips.  I tell you, I would rather be a rancher understood by cows, then a poet misunderstood by men.

    I have read in old stories that a river fell in love with a maiden.  Just so is my soul like river that fell in love with you.  It is still at times and reflects you image deeply and calmly.  At time it fancies that is has taken your image captive and tosses it up in waves to prevent you from escaping again; then it ripples its surface gently and plays with your image.  At times it has lost it, and its waves become dark and despairing....Just so is my soul...like a river that has fallen in love with you.   

I’m standing in front of this building.
It’s an empty run down building, there are no cars in the parking lot. And all left are signs of a now dead proud history. Everything is metal, scrap metal with paint peeled, and rust on everything. The gates are ready to fall over, the plant was once the heart of this city. And I’m standing in a ghost town, hole in the wall bars that were watering holes for the workers. There are no less then 12 union buildings within a mile. All as neglected as the rest of this part of town. I see what once was; the halls where people got married, had Christmas dinner, where people started families in the comfort of this thriving business. There are generations of stories here. Now no longer.

I’m standing in front of this building, and even just over a year ago, there were cars coming back and fourth. The last tenets this mechanical metropolis would ever see. For a little while, my small story was among them. I pass by and remember her, standing outside smoking a cigarette in her white uniform.

A clandestine meeting, I park in that lot among all the cars. She walks up to my car, half nervous, half exhilarated. She looks behind her before she gets in.

Later on, I would stop there to drop off some food because she forgot to get something before work. I know it wasn’t much, but I tried.

We were at Denny’s when she was telling about me applying for this job. I had no idea how far this would take her. How she would meet her husband there. How I would no longer be a part of her life. That we would part ways despite our proud yet tumultuous history.

I’m standing in front of this building, and I miss her. I’m mad at her. I’m mad because I have no way to contact her. No way to find out what happen after they shut the plant down and brought in the wrecking crew. I have no way to find out where she went after this. My best friend, vanished into thin air. No goodbyes, no closure for the ties that forever bind us. No goodbye for us as lovers, as best friends. Just an abrupt stop, and a slap to my face as she puts me behind, not telling me what’s next in her life. Just an empty building, and memories, both about to be torn down.