"The mark of an immature man is that he would die knobly for a cause. The mark of a mature man is that he would live humbly for one" - Catcher in the Rye -WARNING WRITER SPELLING CHALLENGED! But Sometimes you have to say "what the fuck!"

Saturday, March 25, 2006

The Sink -For R.L.

What is hell
If not where I dwell

The art of death
Oh Master

You will pay to see
My scars self inflicted

Down deep faces blur
Do I feel?

Nothing but that
Damn nagging urge

Quick escape
Pain so good

Sylvia’s Oven
Hemingway’s Fairwell to Arms

Mary’s Percy drowned
Hunter now hunted

xanax, prozac, lithium
zyprexa, zoloft, celexa

Ocean color pills
The Cure

Like Robert Smith
Boys don’t cry

Triggers
Potato chips I sneak at night

Blame my abuse
Or the abuse

Im dying again, not quick enough
sticky peanut butter memories

Like my boys coming home
With memories of body parts

Killers under orders
Highs from steroids

Wanting to return to Army war games
And battlefields

Where the rage in this age
Awards the Medal of Honor

How do we separate human
From animal

Killer from hero
We all wish to erase haunting hours

Control alludes me as I will never be
normal, loved, accepted

Inevitably I fail again
Even my dreams

Escape me
This world human

But am I?
Cravings of sex

All I’m good for
Rage so black

The sink
I’m sinking

No light ahead
Dark as dead

I desire/detonation
I destruct

Impact forever lasting
Dear God so aware,

My demons beware.
Out of hell we arise

Breathing death like air.


This is a poem off my poetry site. Yeah I twist and spin on Sylvia's 1962 poem. But I feel this. I'm going to take the comments off this site. My writing is so few and far between to be part of the community. I am writing, oh yes, but there are stalker freaks/family members, wanna be family etc that want to persecute me for writing and try to kill/silence me.

well i say this

silence = death

I look at you in the face head strong and keep going on. Revenge is a dish best served cold. as kahn said. lol

thanks for reading guys.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

Vader Loves Our Troops and Thanks

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My brother comes home from Iraq this sunday. Thanks to all for all your support on that. Its been a hard year.

I got this email today. Sometimes things like this make life and blogging worth while.

"You know, in June or July of 2004 you posted some links to military penpal websites. I was bored at work and happened upon your blog. I decided to sign up for military pen pals on one of the sites. I signed up on the site and viewed the members online that were looking for penpals. One of the guys I saw caught my eye and I was intriqued but didn't contact him, but I will admit I did daydream about him. The funny thing is within an hour of signing up, that same guy sent me an email, I had also caught his eye. Long story short, I wound up falling in love with a wonderful man who treated me like a goddess and loves my four year old daughter as if she were his own. I just wanted to tell you that if you had not listed those links, I probably would not have meet my husband. It sounds very cheesy, I know, but thank you. I guess it was one of those right place at the right time things but I thought I'd let you know about a positive difference you made in three peoples lives. Again thank you."

It makes me feel good in my sea of depression and isolation to know something I write on line means something to somebody.

I've been very effected by this war. Not only in regards to my brother but also to my very dear freinds with teh Stryker Brigade based out of Ft. Lewis, WA. I so love, love, love these heroes.

Check out this website for the most amazing photography and helmet cam footage from Iraq soldier warriors.

Hero Brian's amazing Strker photos and helmet cam footage

I so appreciate these sexy, hawt and amazing boyz. They know this and are such the fodder for many of my poems and even tattoos.

Thanks again for reading guys.

Dont forget our boys over there.

Yeah Bruce has a good song, but shit let's get them home safe and forever honor the service they did for us.

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Saturday, February 25, 2006

Fuck Anoniminity

Yeah yeah. Everyone knows this is pretty much me, miriam here. I havent wrote on this blog for a while cuz everyone and their momma seems to know this is me and then everything I write is scrutinized and up for some sort of public lynching. I never wrote for anyone but myself here. But alas... the double edge sword of being a writer. People love to hate you. They love you write about them, but HATE it too. Expecially if its a little negative, which as morbid and depressed as I am most of the time, yes their portrayal will be harsh. Sorry. Its the nature of the poisen pen.

I did start another blog. Its a poetry blog. Ive been doing a lot of writing on there. Im not gonna give it out here because I dont feel its a safe space. Just due to all the hassels and witch hunting attacks I recieved here. But if you really want to read my poems. Send me an email. YOu know how to reach me.

Peace luv and Humptiness 4-evah!

Here is one of my poems. Go ahead and slam!

Cabrillo Heights Dream
Walls that scream
With cockroaches
And fried food
I heard you
The muffled cries
Were they mine?

Hand on throught
The baby cries
Drowning out the
Split pea soup tension
Like that sappy anology

Old WWII housing
Like matchboxes
Whose walls
Ooze with
Blood past

I coveted time alone
Westpack
Duty
Then I didn’t worry
About keys turning
Doornobs

Your malt ligour breath
Over me
With ham hands
Drowning
In this shot-gun wedding


Dreams of the Color Purple
And Grapes of wrath
Mastering the art of
Hiding bruises
navy life


With all the trappings
Of small town trash
Trapped
Where race mixers
Know how to stick to
Their own kind

The niggers on the white girl
Is what you said
Hands grasping my neck
Poor white girl
You whispered
Upon my tear stained cheek

No one wants you
Not even your own family
Narrow ass bitch
You are mine

I dreamt of escape
And prayed
God would save me
Pretending to sleep
Babys breath
Comforting my chest

I knew the day would come
When all comes back
So we packed up
Flipping off military life

Only to return
One day
To that comforting cycle
That I know all too well

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