Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Steady we go

The Tortoise

Always to want to
go back, to correct
an error, ease a

guilt, see how a friend
is doing. And yet
one doesnt, except

in memory, in
dreams. The land remains
desolate. Always

the feeling is of
terrible slowness
overtaking haste

Cid Corman

Sunday, December 11, 2011

A Birthday Laugh- 26

Stay Young

Happy birthday, always stay young,
Even if you, remain unsung.
Do not let youth, escape your soul,
If you do, you’ll look like a troll.
Happy Birthday, always stay young,
Act like a kid, show off your tongue.
If you receive, awkward stares,
Join the zoo, and send in the bears.

Happy birthday, always stay young,
If you smoke, you might lose a lung,
Exercise is the ideal cure,
Youthful feelings; let me assure.

Happy birthday, always stay young,
Deceptive years, occasionally flung.
Hope you never, change one bit,
Stay young and never childhood quit.

It May Be Late, But It’s Not Too Late
By Tom Mulhern

It’s your birthday, woop-de-doo
Another year you’ve made it through

Some parts were high and some were low
But where exactly did the rest of it go?
And what is it that you have to show?
A few gray hairs, a pound or two
But about those dreams of things you’ll do . . .
Like learn to play tuba, or visit Katmandu
Or read “War and Peace” all the way through?
Whatever secret wish you may hold
Sensibly cautious, or outrageously bold
My wish for you, no matter how old
Is to act out some stories as yet untold

Age and Laughter
Happy Birthday, you’re not getting old,
Stay in the game, it’s not time to fold.
Wrinkles and grey hair, are just a new look,
Countless experiences, you should write in a book.

A birthday is seldom, a serious occasion,
Try not to take it, like the d-day invasion.
Laughter and jokes are within sight,
Stock up on both, all through the night.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Zen Koan

A Cup of Tea

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912), received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.

Nan-in served tea. He poured his visitor's cup full, and then kept on pouring.

The professor watched the overflow until he no longer could restrain himself. "It is overfull. No more will go in!"

"Like this cup," Nan-in said, "you are full of your own opinions and speculations. How can I show you Zen unless you first empty your cup?"

Broken Love

The walls were painted with a dark crimson liquid and the words read "Died from a broken heart."  Nothing more nothing less, just the echoing silence of unrequited love.  Left behind were memories and heartache, the pieces of the puzzle strewn in every direction.  Family, friends and lovers trying to put the pieces together but they knew all along.  Each one held a key note to this sad symphony, they say "If only i'd listened more...cared mored."  Nothing but a cry in the dark the end has come and gone.  Her heart was too heavy the burden weighing down her every thought.  The only heart capable of stopping such a tragedy was an unforgiving heart.  Beating to a dark strange beat wrapped in a callous shell, unable to feel the writing on the wall.

The feel of the cold basin, the pulsing veins torn open gushing exploding.  One final act for the one thing worth living for.  Love.

The writings on the wall, the shout, the cry, the moment frozen in time.  One single smear as the words poured on her final canvas "Died from a broken heart." 


Friday, November 11, 2011


Words for my children



You need to drive like you're confident in your abilities but at the same time everyday will be a new adventure.  You don't know if you're going to find a unicorn or a dragon so always be prepared.




What if we mess up civilization at its core.

That part so deep and vital that it's needed to sustain humanity.


If we lose that we become the aliens, the aliens we have feared for years.



     The Falling Star
I saw a star slide down the sky, 
Blinding the north as it went by,
Too burning and too quick to hold,
Too lovely to be bought or sold,
Good only to make wishes on
And then forever to be gone.


Roll the Dice

by Charles Bukowski

if you’re going to try, go all the
otherwise, don’t even start.

if you’re going to try, go all the
way. this could mean losing girlfriends,
wives, relatives, jobs and
maybe your mind.

go all the way.
it could mean not eating for 3 or
4 days.
it could mean freezing on a
park bench.
it could mean jail,
it could mean derision,
isolation is the gift,
all the others are a test of your
endurance, of
how much you really want to
do it.
and you’ll do it
despite rejection and the
worst odds
and it will be better than
anything else
you can imagine.

if you’re going to try,
go all the way.
there is no other feeling like
you will be alone with the
and the nights will flame with

do it, do it, do it.
do it.

all the way
all the way.
you will ride life straight to
perfect laughter,
it’s the only good fight
there is.

Monday, November 7, 2011


Thoughts from a friend who likes to put a different spin on this noun we call writing.


"Some people don’t really understand humor, sometimes the very falsehood or absurdity of a statement, and not the message itself, is what is funny. If you believe the statement itself to be true, and you don’t pick up the subtleties, then the point of the joke is lost on you."

Rene Hernandez


Sometimes I feel like writing

and when my pen hits the paper

it’s like i’m not even trying

words just fill the page

like the tide when it’s rising.

There are no rules to which I abide

I just put down what comes to mind

This here is my shelter

don’t mistake it for a place to hide.

The real me comes through with each letter

I can clear my thoughts, get out of a bind

for worse or for better

At least it’s a recess

to un-stress and unwind.

My natural talent is there

like an uncut sculpture

stone bare

with a little effort and workmanship

some schooling on the subject

or an apprenticeship

I could turn this

into my longest relationship.

i just refuse to let myself slip

into old age

slowly becoming mentally deranged.

So if you enjoyed this quip

be hip

and leave me a tip.

Rene Hernandez

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Nonsensical Rhythm

Yellow drops of drizzle,  jupiter gum drops- a time of pink clouds floating on an isle of disbelief.  Time stands still days turn to nights, life stops and starts.  We see the end we see the beginning time stops for no one, who stops for you? Top of the morning end of the night, lifes a breeze chilly and dry.  Move the mountain, glide off the cliff take a breathe and enjoy the riff.  Lose the moment gain the memory- time, time, time...tick tock tick tock clocks and smocks, life goes round and round.  Little yellow butterflies float in the breeze, what do you see?  I see a box a big round box, squeeze in squeeze out leave a mark push it in.  Leave me behind, pull me in close.  Pink swirls of melted twirls keep the movement flowing, glowing, lights and twilights keep me inside the outside of this window. 


(Trying a writing game, writing without thinking.)

Saturday, October 22, 2011

Midnight Fairytales


Flowers in the Sink

I am sorry,
but I have filled
your bathroom sink
with wildflowers.
You cannot use it
to wash away your
eyeshadow and blush
and certainly not
to brush the evening
from your teeth,
but you may,
if it please you,
pick one or two --
orange poppy,
purple lemon mint,
white yarrow, perhaps,
to take with you
to bed.

Gabriel Gadfly


Friday, October 14, 2011

Pretty words, Sharp hooks, Helium Balloons

You Fit Into Me                                        
Margaret Atwood

you fit into me
like a hook into an eye

a fish hook
an open eye

Sex Without Love
Sharon Olds

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each others bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health—just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.


On Valentine’s, a buzz
around the flower bins in the strip mall.
Outside, icy sidewalks, grubby snow.
Young men, mostly, on their lunch-break, hover
over the roses and gerberas.
A woman carries a helium balloon,
exclaiming to her friends, glad
she’s found the right thing.
Down the aisle, an old man
hesitates, gripping his cart
with its scant gleanings of bachelor food:
one-serving canned soups, Doritos,
sliced bread.  He is unshaven,
graceless, dressed like someone
who’s never had much.
In his right hand, askew, a lone
red rose in a cellophane holder
like those ruffs they put around dogs
to keep them away
from their wounds.

Monday, October 3, 2011

Beautiful Mind

The mind I love must have wild places, a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in heavy grass, an overgrown little wood, the chance of a snake or two, a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of, and paths threaded with flowers planted by the mind.- Katherine Mansfield

Sunday, September 25, 2011

She Is A Book

She is a breathing book
each night I touch her pages
delicately turn to find
her heart in letters
written by her hand…

Scent of vanilla
soft and sensuous
unveiling another thought
another smiling memory
another intimate piece of her…

And I read with such abandon
across her pages
my fingers trailing
her soft paper skin…

In her sighs
she speaks of
stories and sonnets
history and fantasy
blue skies and silvery silks…

I hear her voice
in the pages
wanting to know her
every line
every word
every letter…

Now I take her into me
share my book with her
until we know
can read each glance
each whisper
each touch…

She is a book
and I love to read her pages…

Thursday, September 22, 2011

If You Seek Me

You will find me in between the rubble.
You must sift through the tears and the smiles,
cast aside the fears and the trials.
Past the days filled with yearning and the nights with no end

There, I will be; if you seek me.
My mind is pleading for me to say
If you find me will you stay
Will you push away the past
Take my heart and give me yours
Make a promise this will last.

If you can not then let me be
for I have grown accustomed
 to the feel of my company.

Do not cry for me, not a single empty drop
For you are my design
but this will not mark the end of time
Instead shed for those who cannot smile
who cannot face another mile.

For in the end the pain I sustain is a silent solace,
to the recourse of lost lies and bitter cries.

Rejoice in my fate
for my peace is deep
felt like the steeping of tea in warm waters
While others continue to carry the burden of hate
and unforgiven matters.

I release all thoughts, resentments, and caresses
Leaving only the hope of a flame burning steady and bright
It will glow and dance until I am nothing but ashes

My spirit free, body at rest
mind and heart as one.






sorry if I woke you

she says upon discovery of the slumbering silver psyche

what’s a pretty little thing like you
doing way down here?

I have a hole
a hole?

a hole

may I see?

right here

she points to her chest

doesn’t that hurt?

a little

come here
let me look at you

she tiptoes towards him tacitly

darling, you’re bleeding!

yeah, it’s been doing that for a while now
all of my clothes are ruined

he reviews her jagged curves

I thought you were dressed in red
you wear it too well

glassy drops drip over her painted body
weaving glossy trails of existence
mingling with the sticky diluted colour
warm and painted wet

who did this to you?

I did

she shuffles her feet
eyes fall to the floor

dearest, who did this to you?

he moistens a cloud white cloth
as he directs her to the washroom

I did

why would you do such a thing
to yourself?

he begins drawing an ivory bath
with water so clear and sparkling

I wanted to see

see what?

if I could feel

she scratches a fingernail into her arm
revealing a sliver of her milky ghost

do you mind?

he extends his arm
mildly enveloping her dripping hand in his
a last wave of emotion rolls over her
while she steps gingerly into the tub

let’s see what we can do

he smiles with his eyes
winking them into hers

why are you helping me?

because I can
is that alright?

I don’t want to be a burden…

sweetheart, you’re only a burden to yourself

his words sting with burning honesty
she withdraws into herself

close your eyes
I’ll take care of you

she pulls away abruptly
panic flooding her perception

how can I trust you?


he removes each piece of clothing
laying them in a gentle heap at his feet

is that better?

he winces as she examines his naked form
suddenly shy in his voluntary exposure
he turns his head in shame

I have a hole too, you know

you wear it well
did you mend it yourself?

many times
I have to sew it every day
with a little bone needle and heart strings

come here
let me look at you

he enters the bathtub and stands facing her
in unison they slip down into the water
sitting with torsos and arms above
legs intertwining below

do you mind?

she begins to pluck at the strings
working them out of his skin
tenderly tugging out his past
passionately pulling out his memories

who did this to you?

I did

she finishes extracting the threads
and leans back in confusion

I know

he smooths the cotton cloth around her tattered tear
streaking out a sterling snowstorm
dying the warm liquid a swirling scarlet
he warily washes off her past
carefully cleanses off her memories

I want to give you something
you can do with it what you want

she watches closely as he
digs his fingers into his chest
leaving the gash gaping
fear invades her taciturnity

how can you trust me?

he nudges open her drooling cavern
and sets his heart in her cage

you found me

he snatches a clean heart string
snaps off a new splintered bone

you saw me

she grips the marble sides
now pink with their leaking ichor

you felt me

he threads the imperfect ivory needle
and presses it lightly into her skin

you heard me

he stitches her closed
sealing it with a kiss

but I’ve nothing for you…
my heart has gone missing!

no it hasn’t

she furrows her brow
new tears
pure tears

you gave it to me already

he dips her fingers into him

when you woke me

Friday, September 9, 2011

When I was younger I wanted to live in a tree...

Trees are poems that earth writes upon the sky,
We fell them down and turn them into paper,
That we may record our emptiness.

~Kahlil Gibran


Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it's mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.

Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life's gall.

Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.

                                                                                 Ella Wheeler Wilcox


Mind led body
to the edge of the precipice.
They stared in desire
at the naked abyss.
If you love me, said mind,
take that step into silence.
If you love me, said body,
turn and exist.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Touch Me

Touch me,
it doesn't matter where
and it doesnt matter how
I need to know I'm still alive
so someone touch me now
Shake my hand and say hello
or pat me on the back
kiss me on the cheek
that I may feel this sense I lack
slap my face and pull my hair
make me bleed I just don't care
dig your nails into my skin
so I can feed this need within
I've been numb for such a time
that even pain would be sublime
so touch me, touch me now
i don't care where, I don't care how

by A Thomas Hawkins

Friday, September 2, 2011


They came to tell your faults to me,
They named them over one by one;
I laughed aloud when they were done,
I knew them all so well before,—
Oh, they were blind, too blind to see
Your faults had made me love you more.

Sara Teasdale

If You Forget Me

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine

Friday, August 26, 2011

She gets it

Confessions of PMS
So what, I have my period? It’s only the one time of the month my body is so offended by its feminine wiles that it sheds blood tears out of my most sacred hole part. It’s not a big deal or anything, and it’s not like I’m dying! Although a lot of blood pouring out of your body often says otherwise.. like a GUNSHOT, for instance. Who gives a shit that the cramps which fill my human temple most often feel like somebody, say, Jack the Ripper, is stabbing at me like I am some sort of British prostitute. It’s part of womanhood! I should be happy I’m not pregnant, although sex now is the equivalent to cutting me on the supermarket line: as in I’m not HAVING it. I also have this PAD, which is like a diaper for adults who don’t pee themselves. Or this TAMPON, which is like sex without all the fun of rejection, and you can die if you wear it too long! So thank you, upbeat period commercial with girls swimming and scuba diving, thank you for recognizing how joyful and spiritual this time of ladyhood is!

At first, it is only a simple rage. A gnawing anger at the pit of my stomach, one I often mistake for being hungry. I hate people,  I think rationally. In fact, I hate ALL people. I begin to wonder what would happen if I break all the things in my room, or begin to grow large sharp teeth that I could use to chew every soul in a fifty mile ratio to death. I see a smiling baby on the subway. Oh, what do you know of life, you fucking idiot baby? You eat smashed carrots and watch PBS, do you think this is what life is? I see an innocent man reading Catcher in the Rye.  You simpleton! Are you FOURTEEN? This rage is unbridled and consuming. Do not feed it chocolate. I am not your Cathy Comic.

I could totally eat souls, I think. Put a little Nutella on top of that shit and I will simply eat all of the souls possible. I begin to grow stronger at this thought, much like how I think dementors might come into being. Not only is people soul eating delicious sounding, but happy people who can button their shorts easily sounds almost tasty right now. I grow demonic wings when somebody says something to me on gchat like how are you doing? OH so you’re a guy who just HATES that the woman sheds her uterus? OH FINE GUYS ARE SO AFRAID OF PERIODS. You’re not a guy? You’re my mom? This seems futile at the moment. I feel the pits of hell opening up beneath me, and I welcome its demons. I spray a terrifying mist of pain on all who enter my room. Then I begin to cry at some You-Tube video, like an Oprah puppy proposing to its girlfriend on Extreme Home Makeover and there’s a soldier coming home. These tears turn to bloodlust, and I begin to gnaw at my wood floor, begin to feel my body is multiplying in vampiric strength. WHO DARES OPPOSE ME?!!?! I think. But I’m so alone! my heart gently cries. 

Then I find my fridge. Oh, sweet nectar goddess of all that is holy! Come to me, whilst I bury myself in past relationships and the cream cheese on my fingers. I’ve grown double in size, what with the stomach bloating and the breasts that have no milk but look like two swaying buoys in an ocean of anger. I can only gain sustenance by downing Midol pills, which do nothing, and potato chips, which do everything. FEED ME, O LUCIFER OR CHEETOS, OR SOMETHING. I eat a pickle in silence, stewing, and then some hummus.

My skin has broken out. I begin to curl up in pain as the cramps tear my stomach walls and I break out in a cold sweat. Birth yourself now, you demon muscle killers! Let me feel your wrath outside your body! Give me ice cream and let me get emotional over something like not finding my Metro Card in time for the subway! I am not your female  stereotype! I do not want to do something womanly like going shopping now! ALL WILL LOVE ME AND DESPAIR. I will still kick your ass at everything when I am menstruating, and I will probably do it with double the rage. I will go to work. I will function. And I will fuck. you. up. No big!

Seriously, jeez. Periods aren’t that BAD. I don’t know why anybody complains about them! I’m myself! Only MADDER!


Sunday, August 21, 2011

Sunday night prayer

One of my favorite poems.

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
-Rudyard Kipling

Grasping on to hope



Edgar Allan Poe, 1827

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Happy Monday :)

Put up in a place
where it's easy to see
the cryptic admonishment


When you feel how depressingly
slowly you climb,
it's well to remember that
Things Take Time. 


Sunday, August 14, 2011

Only love knows when its ready for love.

I will be patient, kind, faithful and true
To a man who loves music.

A man who loves art
Respects the spirit world
And thinks with his heart.

Wednesday, August 10, 2011


What am I missing?
What am I seeking?
This feeling is fleeting...
Chasing a rhythm, a precision, something chemically reactive...

Lost in the movement.  Afraid to fail, afraid to wail. 
Arms reaching out for a ship without an oar.
No one to save me i'll swim till im sore
but I won't force my salvation.
I won't swim for shore.
Time will find me and i'll save myself from this empty exploration.

My hearts gone missing lost in a game of damnation
the rules were clear
but the players were never real
luck left me looking for a better ride
facing the same-constant change
nothing left to feel
left over pieces left to arrange.

Dying to find my mind
will I seek a greater vision or find the vision is me.
I am what i'm searching for, it's me I need
It's me I see
Me who smiles when the tears form a blind
and the silence is heard like a gunshot in the night.
I hug myself tight.
A silly lesson must be learned
The teacher is still unclear...
Is it me?  Or is it you?


Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Fuck Ups

We’re perfect for each other
mutually self-destructive
I want to have your babies
shipped off to Antarctica
I’d lock us up in a room
with only a bottle of whiskey
and our mouths for shot glasses
The music you write is part country
part razor blades and heroin binges
Makes me want to live in your veins
suck my oxygen through your bubbling gasps
If this were the thirties
I’d be face first in empty pockets
and you would be fit for the cloth straps
but it’s a glorious new millennium
They say we’re rockstars and role models
I think of you when I’m too drunk to think
just fuck ups with locked vaults for hearts
Perfect for each other.

Monday, August 8, 2011

I Don't Remember...

I don't remember, any more,
The exact shape of your hands
As I held them in mine,
Caressed them,
Memorized the length of your fingers,
The depth of your calluses.

I don't remember, any more,
Exactly your height, how much
Taller than me
You were, where
My head rested on your chest
When you held me tightly close.

I don't remember, any more,
Your scent, when we lay together
Creating our own
Magic rhythm,
Matching our heartbeats as we
Touched the sky, together.

I don't remember, any more,
The sound of your voice, calling
My name as though
It were a song
Within itself, a precious treasure
You valued with all your being.

And I don't remember, any more,
The color of your eyes, the shape
Of your lips,
How your eyes crinkled at the corners
And your laugh, as you told me,

"I love you."
Copyright by Ash L. Bennett, 2011

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Move the Soul

You must follow your heart, and be who you were born to be. Some of us were born to be musicians—to communicate intricate thoughts and rousing feelings with the strings of a guitar. Some of us were born to be poets—to touch people’s hearts with exquisite prose. Some of us were born to be—to create growth and opportunity where others saw rubbish. And still, some of us were born to be or do whatever it is, specifically, that moves you. Regardless of what you decide to do in your lifetime, you better feel it in every fiber of your being. You better be born to do it! Don’t waste your life fulfilling someone else’s dreams and desires.

But above all, laugh when you can, apologize when you should, and let go of what you can’t change. Life is short, yet amazing. Enjoy the ride.


Thursday, July 21, 2011

Chasing Time

Stopped clock illusion

The stopped clock illusion is a weird effect that you may have experienced. It happens when you look at an analogue watch and the second-hand seems to freeze for longer than a second before moving on.
I always thought this was because I just happened to look at it right at the start of the second, but this is actually an illusion.
What is happening is that when your eyes move from one point to another (a saccade), your perception of time stretches slightly (Yarrow et al., 2001). Weirdly, it stretches backwards. So your brain tells you that you've been looking at the watch for slightly longer than you really have. Hence the illusion that the second-hand is frozen for more than a second.
This happens every time our eyes move from one fixation point to the next, it's just that we only notice it when looking at a watch. One explanation is that our brains are filling in the gap while our eyes move from looking at one thing to the next.

Life- Threatening Situations 

People often report that time seems to slow down in life-threatening situations, like skydiving.

But are we really processing more information in these seconds when time seems to stretch? Is it like slow-motion cameras in sports which can actually see more details of the high-speed action?

To test this, Stetson et al. (2007) had people staring at a special chronometer while free-falling 50 metres into a net. What they found was that time resolution doesn't increase: we're not able to distinguish shorter periods of time when in danger. What happens is we remember the time as longer because we record more of the experience. Life-threatening experiences make us really pay attention but we don't gain superhuman powers of perception.

Time is relative

The last words on time come from two great thinkers; first Albert Einstein:
"Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That's relativity."
And finally, Douglas Adams:
"Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so."

My soul yearns to soar in its own direction

It’s all a game and I’ve become the prey.

I want you to speak to me; I want you to leave me alone. One contradiction after the other and I’m left standing where you left me. I don’t know what to ask of you because one way or the other it’s always the same, constant cycle.

My subconscious warningly whispers: “Perhaps he has moved on; he has moved on. If he cared, if he truly cared, he would put in much more effort. You should know better, you should know better…”

My heart screams out emptiness. Words fail because it knows the truth that it’s finding tough to accept. There is no justification, no reason as to why I am stuck, trapped in this web of unfulfilled promises and meaningless words.

And still I shut these thoughts out because they hurt. I recreate the “could have been”, trying to piece together the “what if’s.”

You let me slip beneath your fingers. I fell headfirst onto the concrete; not once, not twice, but over and over again. And I broke: physically, mentally, and emotionally until their was nothing left to break.

Perhaps it’s both our wrongdoings.

Me:  A stone brick wall, scared to show emotions, scared to give more. Always scared, always doubting. Because every time I hoped, every time I opened up and gave you part of me, you pulled apart and left with the pieces. You took every single piece, leaving me with fragments of something I can’t define.

All along you knew my heart. I’m still trying to figure out yours.

You: Experienced, master of your own game, the ladies’ man, unconquerable, free. Master of words, dashing and flirtatious. Your words are velvet, confident, laced with sincerity, sincerity that I find hard to believe.
Your actions contradict your words. I find myself believing you, knowing well that I shouldn’t expect anything but just words.

And the small instances when your actions proved the value of your words? I’ll keep those memories because they’re all I’ll ever have of you.

I need to let go. This is leading me nowhere. You have chosen your path. And your heart is somewhere out there, unreachable, unattainable. And my heart feels bounded to you. Is that why you come back? You know I’m still here, chained to the remnants of everything you left behind.

Yet, I want to hold on in vain hopes that maybe one day you’ll stay. The possibility is futile; a speck of light diminishing in an ocean of darkness.

I fell for you. You said you loved me, you implied your emotions so perfectly, so eloquently. Your affections are something I’ll never be able to decipher.

I’ll let you fly, I can’t wait no more. My legs yearn to run; my soul yearns to soar in its own direction; far from you.

As jumbled as these thoughts are, as unsure as I am, I realize: At this moment, I’m not ready anymore; you were never ready. I’m done; you didn’t want anything to begin with.

Goodbye to you.

From: Lettersillneversend.com

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

The different roles we play

I've never fooled anyone. I've let people fool themselves. They didn't bother to find out who and what I was. Instead they would invent a character for me. I wouldn't argue with them. They were obviously loving somebody I wasn't.

— Marilyn Monroe

Monday, July 18, 2011

What feeling is this?

The feeling that's both detrimental and revitalizing. Painful yet exhilarating. Plenty but never enough. That forces its will and imposes on reasoning. That makes insanity plead sanity to justify its course. All the while making you remember what is truly beautiful in this life. Take it for granted and the jokes on you. See it, feel it, and appreciate it however... and you will discover the real meaning of serenity.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Remember Me

Tintern Abbey

Into a sober pleasure; when thy mind
Shall be a mansion for all lovely forms,
Thy memory be as a dwelling-place
For all sweet sounds and harmonies; oh!
If solitude, or fear, or pain, or grief,
Should be thy portion, with what healing
Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,
And these my exhortations!

William Wordsworth's

Thursday, July 14, 2011

The uneventful day is a gift

Poetry comes in many forms sometimes in a song

Tryin to figure out which way I want this to go
Do I want it to be happy or sad or fast or slow?
Tryin to work it out just what it is I feel
Do I wanna rock you, shock you, soothe you, or move you??

I just wanna write you in a song
Put your smile on paper so you can sing along
I just wanna bottle the sun
Keep your light a secret I can find when you are gone...

You are like a beautiful tree
With roots in the ground so deep they could never be seen
I'm a leaf that's ready to fall
And the wind's gonna blow me someday away from it all..

Most people when they can't get away
It makes them more than a little crazy
Well I'm the one that can never stay
But I'll always have you with me in this song...

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

"We must not be attached to a view or a doctrine, even a Buddhist one.  The Buddha said that if in a certain moment or place you adopt something as the absolute truth, and you attach to that, then you will no longer have any chance to reach the truth. Even when the truth comes and knocks on your door, and asks you to open the door, you won't recognize it. So you must not be too attached to dogma--to what you believe."

- Thich Nhat Hanh

Friday, July 1, 2011

What have you learned?

I’ve learned-
that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them.

I’ve learned-
that no matter how much I care, some people just don’t care back.

I’ve learned-
that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.

I’ve learned-
that no matter how good a friend is, they’re going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.

I’ve learned-
that it’s not what you have in your life but who you have in your life that counts.

I’ve learned-
that you should never ruin an apology with an excuse.

I’ve learned-
that you can get by on charm for about fifteen minutes. After that, you’d better know something.

I’ve learned-
that you shouldn’t compare yourself to the best others can do.

I’ve learned-
that you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life.

I’ve learned-
that it’s taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.

I’ve learned-
that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them.

I’ve learned-
that you can keep going long after you can’t.

I’ve learned-
that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.

I’ve learned-
that either you control your attitude or it controls you.

I’ve learned-
that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place.

I’ve learned-
that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.

I’ve learned-
that money is a lousy way of keeping score.

I’ve learned-
that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.

I’ve learned-
that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you’re down will be the ones to help you get back up.

I’ve learned-
that sometimes when I’m angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn’t give me the right to be cruel.

I’ve learned-
that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.

I’ve learned-
that just because someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they have.

I’ve learned-
that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you’ve had and what you’ve learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you’ve celebrated.

I’ve learned-
that you should never tell a child their dreams are unlikely or outlandish. Few things are more humiliating, and what a tragedy it would be if they believed it.

I’ve learned-
that your family won’t always be there for you. It may seem funny, but people you aren’t related to can take care of you and love you and teach you to trust people again. Families aren’t biological.

I’ve learned-
that it isn’t always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you are to learn to forgive yourself.

I’ve learned-
that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn’t stop for your grief.

I’ve learned-
that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.

I’ve learned-
that a rich person is not the one who has the most, but is one who needs the least.

I’ve learned-
that just because two people argue, it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other. And just because they don’t argue, it doesn’t mean they do.

I’ve learned-
that we don’t have to change friends if we understand that friends change.

I’ve learned-
that you shouldn’t be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your life forever.

I’ve learned-
that two people can look at the exact same thing and see something totally different.

I’ve learned-
that no matter how you try to protect your children, they will eventually get hurt and you will hurt in the process.

I’ve learned-
that even when you think you have no more to give, when a friend cries out to you, you will find the strength to help.

I’ve learned-
that credentials on the wall do not make you a decent human being.

I’ve learned-
that the people you care about most in life are taken from you too soon.

I’ve learned-
that it’s hard to determine where to draw the line between being nice and not hurting people’s feelings, and standing up for what you believe.

I’ve learned-
that people will forget what you said, and people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.

By Omer B. Washington

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Don't be afraid to write what you feel and feel what you write.

Tips & Blips

Charles Simic on Writing Poetry

A few things to keep in mind while sitting down to write a poem:
  1. Don't tell the readers what they already know about life.
  2. Don't assume you're the only one in the world who suffers.
  3. Some of the greatest poems in the language are sonnets and poems not many lines longer than that, so don't overwrite.
  4. The use of images, similes and metaphors make poems concise. Close your eyes, and let your imagination tell you what to do.
  5. Say the words you are writing aloud and let your ear decide what word comes next.
  6. What you are writing down is a draft that will need additional tinkering, perhaps many months, and even years of tinkering.
  7. Remember, a poem is a time machine you are constructing, a vehicle that will allow someone to travel in their own mind, so don't be surprised if it takes a while to get all its engine parts properly working.