Dear God,

What if it's true and all the roads of my life really do lead back to You?

What if You're at the end of every rock strewn path?

Well if I'm to be led to You, then let me also be led by You.

So I'll follow You to the ends of the Earth.

Just give the word.


Love,

Sam

Memory, like sand, can slip through our fingers, but will never cease to exist.

Hurts, like scars, can be forgotten, but not erased.
Reputation, like feelings, can be destroyed, but not unmade.
Life, like time, can be taken, but not repaid.
Intentions, like existence, can be ignored, but not defaced.

To hurt, to feel, to forget,
Just maybe, just perhaps...

Remember.

Wedding Bells

Two lives were joined today.

And two lives were just made that much more meaningful.

Congratulations Jason and Christina!

Rosebush

I was sifting through my computer looking at all my old writings, when I stumbled across this old poem. Sure it's something begot of an angst ridden teenager, but I just couldn't help myself and laughed at the wit.

Anger seething; perhaps I loath the thought,

That you do not know the intention behind the act.

Words of judgment spilled out; too fast,

But you do not regret them.

They just lie there, hands stretched out; beckoning,

But I just stare; lost to irrationalism.

Brushing them aside, I let lose the suppressed emotion,

And for that, I am punished.

But I, am not the only one lost on the island of irrationality;

You too, express anger; for a cause unknown.

You look at a rosebush,

But all you see are thorns;

You fail to see the intricate patterns, on the beautiful smooth petals of a lone flower.

Likewise, you see the action,

But fail to see the cause, nor the intent. [no, you do not know. Nor do you care]

In doing so, you shred the piece of red velvet against the thorns.

Now, you are left with nothing more than a thornbrush;

Well done, you.

Chocolate Hearts

A heart made of chocolate
Is sweet and tempting;
Very much part of why it attracts.
But a heart like that is easy to consume
And also too easy to be consumed by.

A nibble here,
A nibble there,
And then a slightly bigger bite
Till all that's left is an empty shell,
And a person walking without a heart.

Soon the chocolate will dissolve,
Fusing with blood and an unsated aftertaste.
And with that, a brown liquid will pump
Through and about your veins,
Slowly eating at the walls of your own heart.

After the shadows lick the moon a dozen,
All that's left of your heart will be gone,
And you'll be left with none but a heart of chocolate,
Sweet and tempting,
Waiting to be consumed.

Oh Shakespeare you brilliant, brilliant man

One of his sonnets, emailed to me by Sarah:

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shall see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

Decryption Woes

Before you decieve yourself into thinking that no one could be that cruel, yes, this did happen.

I quote, plus minus a word or two:


Zethan to Sam: Well don't needlessly fret buddy. I'm fairly confident you'll manage to transcribe the pertaining permutation algorithm into a format from which you can then utalize in completing your decryption.

Sam to Zethan: Huh? Wait, come again? What the heck does pertaining mean?

Melissa to Zethan: Stop disturbing the poor kid here. Can't you see he's trying to concentrate? Go back to studying your hylomorphisms.

Sam to Melissa: Hey, hey, hey I'm not a kid okay?

Sam to Sam's Consciousness: Note to self. Hang out with dumber people from now on. Especially when they like to pick on you.


per·tain

intr.v. per·tained, per·tain·ing, per·tains

1. To have reference; relate: evidence that pertains to the accident.

2. To belong as an adjunct, part, holding, or quality.

3. To be fitting or suitable.


Now empowered with the gift of retrospective foresight (hindsight);

Sam to Zethan: No, I don't believe I have achieved a sufficient mastery as of yet.

My proof?

It's been four days.

I still dont have my cleartext.

The Snail and the Rose-Tree

by

Hans Christian Andersen

(1861)

OUND about the garden ran a hedge of hazel-bushes; beyond the hedge were fields and meadows with cows and sheep; but in the middle of the garden stood a Rose-tree in bloom, under which sat a Snail, whose shell contained a great deal—that is, himself.

“Only wait till my time comes,” he said; “I shall do more than grow roses, bear nuts, or give milk, like the hazel-bush, the cows and the sheep.”

“I expect a great deal from you,” said the rose-tree. “May I ask when it will appear?”

“I take my time,” said the snail. “You’re always in such a hurry. That does not excite expectation.”

The following year the snail lay in almost the same spot, in the sunshine under the rose-tree, which was again budding and bearing roses as fresh and beautiful as ever. The snail crept half out of his shell, stretched out his horns, and drew them in again.

“Everything is just as it was last year! No progress at all; the rose-tree sticks to its roses and gets no farther.”

The summer and the autumn passed; the rose-tree bore roses and buds till the snow fell and the weather became raw and wet; then it bent down its head, and the snail crept into the ground.

A new year began; the roses made their appearance, and the snail made his too.

“You are an old rose-tree now,” said the snail. “You must make haste and die. You have given the world all that you had in you; whether it was of much importance is a question that I have not had time to think about. But this much is clear and plain, that you have not done the least for your inner development, or you would have produced something else. Have you anything to say in defence? You will now soon be nothing but a stick. Do you understand what I say?”

“You frighten me,” said the rose-tree. “I have never thought of that.”

“No, you have never taken the trouble to think at all. Have you ever given yourself an account why you bloomed, and how your blooming comes about—why just in that way and in no other?”

“No,” said the rose-tree. “I bloom in gladness, because I cannot do otherwise. The sun shone and warmed me, and the air refreshed me; I drank the clear dew and the invigorating rain. I breathed and I lived! Out of the earth there arose a power within me, whilst from above I also received strength; I felt an ever-renewed and ever-increasing happiness, and therefore I was obliged to go on blooming. That was my life; I could not do otherwise.”

“You have led a very easy life,” remarked the snail.

“Certainly. Everything was given me,” said the rose-tree. “But still more was given to you. Yours is one of those deep-thinking natures, one of those highly gifted minds that astonishes the world.”

“I have not the slightest intention of doing so,” said the snail. “The world is nothing to me. What have I to do with the world? I have enough to do with myself, and enough in myself”

“But must we not all here on earth give up our best parts to others, and offer as much as lies in our power? It is true, I have only given roses. But you—you who are so richly endowed—what have you given to the world? What will you give it?”

“What have I given? What am I going to give? I spit at it; it’s good for nothing, and does not concern me. For my part, you may go on bearing roses; you cannot do anything else. Let the hazel bush bear nuts, and the cows and sheep give milk; they have each their public. I have mine in myself. I retire within myself and there I stop. The world is nothing to me.”

With this the snail withdrew into his house and blocked up the entrance.

“That’s very sad,” said the rose tree. “I cannot creep into myself, however much I might wish to do so; I have to go on bearing roses. Then they drop their leaves, which are blown away by the wind. But I once saw how a rose was laid in the mistress’s hymn-book, and how one of my roses found a place in the bosom of a young beautiful girl, and how another was kissed by the lips of a child in the glad joy of life. That did me good; it was a real blessing. Those are my recollections, my life.”

And the rose tree went on blooming in innocence, while the snail lay idling in his house—the world was nothing to him.

Years passed by.

The snail had turned to earth in the earth, and the rose tree too. Even the souvenir rose in the hymn-book was faded, but in the garden there were other rose trees and other snails. The latter crept into their houses and spat at the world, for it did not concern them.

Shall we read the story all over again? It will be just the same.

Know Thy Limits

I guess I over did it again.

This is the third day in my four day upper body work out regime, and is fortunately unfortunately, the last.

Zethan, as requested, my planned schedule;

1st day: 200 push ups in sets of 25, spread over the span of 2 hours, consisting of regular push ups, wide push ups, and triceps push ups.

2nd day: 40 chin ups in sets starting with 12 with decrements of approx 25% each respective set, with 2 minute intervals on completion of set.

3rd day: 15 muscle ups in decreasing sets of 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, with 2 minute intervals, followed by 5 consecutive body length laches.

4th day: 40 pulls ups in sets starting with 12 with decrements of approx 25% each respective set, with 2 minute intervals on completion of set.

Between the second and third lache, I managed to receive three skin tears, one on the inner left side of my left thumb, the other two on the left side of my right palm, leaving me unable to to pull ups without furthering my skin loss.

Now with this petty excuse I can retire and ache in peace. =D

Ladders

Whether by effort or natural talent, your skill exceeds mine. You're better than me. Good for you. But don't for one second; brag, be smug, or put me down because of it.

I compete with myself, my own standards, and wish to improve my ability to do whatever I do simply because I believe in steady progression, and want to help others along the way. If you're better, then be that way, and make an effort to further better yourself. But if you are progressing only so that you can gloat at those below you, then stop progressing, and start questioning your own motives.

When you compete with someone who isn't competing with you, you are creating a false bubble. You create an illusion that another is aggressively improving himself to beat you; a conclusion mistakenly derived from the simple fact that he is progressing. What you do not realize, what lies outside your bubble, are the real reasons for his progression. You are blind to them.

And so you step on me, trying to gain higher footing, trying to BEAT me at whatever it is I do, while you do not realize I am NOT competing with YOU. I am progressing for MYSELF, and here you are pushing me down for some over egocentric reason, halting my progress. You forget that while you were below me, I stretched out my hand and pulled you up. You forget that while you were alongside me, I showed you the road and pushed you on your way. You forget that while you were above me, I gave you my shoulder to step on to reach that new height.

You forgot it all and kicked me in the face.

The moment you do this for any reason, you place yourself below me.

Don't do this to yourself. Keep whatever you've achieved and celebrate.

Don't raise yourself in one area, only to fall in another.

And don't fall beyond the point where I can no longer reach you with my hand to help pull you up again.

While these kicks to my head and seeing you fall below my reach both hurt;

The latter hurts so much more.

Deadly Sweet

This didn't go the way I thought it would.

I've always thought you as invincible.

How could I have been so wrong?

For all my over glorified opinions of you,

You fell too easily.

A simple pinch, a couple bites

And you were defeated in entirety.

I once thought you were strong.

No, you are weak.

You are a weak fool,



And by golly, an awfully tasty jellybean.



Oh how I love the orange ones.

=D

It's Raining Again

Perhaps the feelings I have are the remnants of a romantic love, slowly decaying; just like the way a shock wave propagating away from the lightning channel decays into thunder. But I know that this thunder, this friendship we have, can never truly be the same again for it echoes with the memory of that lightning. One that lit up the night sky, obscuring everything with it's beauty.

Things have changed, yet again,
As they always seem to do with you.
Never constant, always unsure,
Just like the winds of a hurricane.

A resonant thunder,
Some brilliant lightning,
And a brilliant storm.
I miss you, and your cloud.

Blood Money

The current price of a self-guided tour through a rubber tapper's route at 8 in morning is:

1 stick of insect repellent, without which is also equal to the estimate of;

(5 mosquito bites per minute spent in jungle)X(number of exposed appendages)

Both payments are acceptable.

Total sticks of repellent used: 0.0
Total minutes spent in jungle: 1.9
Total mosquito bites received: 23 (13 on left arm, 9 on right arm, 1 on neck)

What more, all of them were aedes aegypti. I darn well hope I don't get dengue fever again. And thank God I was wearing trek pants.

-.-"

Coming Out of the Closet

I think its about time I be honest with you guys.
Not just for you guys, but mainly for myself.

See, ever since I was about, lets say 13,
I began to notice I was different from other guys.

Not physically different,
But more so emotionally.

While they imagined undressed girls,
My mind would be thinking of... well, unmentioned other things.

While the guys played sports, I would rather
Just sit by and watch the guys play sports.

Then everyone started getting girlfriends
While I was just, uhm, simply being me.

I don't think it's fair
That I greet my male friends with an occasional hug,

Bath in the communal showers,
And even crash in the same beds sometimes.

Well what I'm trying to say...
Or rather admit...

Which I'm finding rather difficult by the way,
Is that I'm officially coming out of the closet today.

I like...

Well....

I like...

(Gosh this is had to say)

I, uh...

Okay I'm just going to say it.



I. Like. Poetry.



XD

Nope, sorry but I'm not interested in guys.

I'm not gay.



Yes, some is taken out of context but true, and of course some lines were fabricated to egg you on.

At 13 I began to realize I had more depth than my peers.

About then I thought about science almost more than anything else too.

And I was never a team sport person. You all know that.

I've been infatuated only a couple times, and only twice did I give in to it. Neither lasted long. And I don't count recent events to be infatuation.

The hugging part onwards were the egging lines... XD

And yes, though I believe I've done so quite long ago;

Today, by the power vested in me, bla bla bla, la di la la, I officiate myself as no longer a closet poet.

Lol.

But on to serious matters;

Neither Pen Nor Parchment

I wish to be both a word smith,

And a poet of motion.

I want to express my thoughts into substance,

And pour my feelings into grace.
________________________________________

If people will not see me for who I am,

Then I want to be one who makes everything I do;

Beautiful and aesthetic,

If only so that people will see from my actions that I am different.
________________________________________

I want my life to be a poem, reflecting it's Writer's thoughts.

I don't want to be the pen writing it down,

Nor do I want to be the parchment written on.

I want to be the poem.
________________________________________

And if I am to be inscribed onto the lives of those around me,

Then along with me, let Yourself be etched onto them,

So that someday, perhaps;

They too may be poets.

This keyboard,
Is mine.
That poem,
Is Yours.