Below are the 11 most recent journal entries recorded in cr_gage's LiveJournal:

Wednesday, November 9th, 2005
9:41 pm	Pendulum This waiting game is a test of patience for a patient who needs no more tests. A month, nearly, I’ve been looking through this looking-glass. I should know: I’ve been counting the hours as they trickle by in a stream of ticks and tocks and sunrises and sunsets. The minutes stack but I never had the world’s best balance, did I? I’m coming close to the end of this rope. Tying it, tying it, tying it: my hobby of choice. No more games, I’m sick of playing. I want the real thing now, refusing all the cheap imitations. Her. Only her. I want a decision to be made; answers to a question I am too afraid to ask because I know I’m not ready. But God damn it all! I want to be ready!... for her. A sigh in a darkened room …repeated with every rising of the moon and revisited again with dawn. A yawn, a tear, a bittersweet resignation of what is to come. I guess I’ll just have to keep waiting, won’t I? Right, dear? Right? (Comment on this)
Friday, August 12th, 2005
8:28 pm	"Sunsweet Tea" These memories have not left me. They're just tucked into my back pocket. Waiting for the next time I lay about, careless. Heedless of the tickling and itching; the movement from that back pocket, as some whisper of a summer day seeps out into the atmosphere of this crowded room. The smell of warm grass and lemonade tea silences this ugly banter called conversation. I am on my back, breathing deep, eyes closed and sounds of thunder and fear coming from my chest; this phantom rib is knocking on my tempest heart; the storm inside grows while my eyes slide backwards in time; More than the smell of grass and tea there is sunlight in all the yellows of childhood. Laughter fades from now to then; from equal and low to giant and high; a mature laughter, looking down but not condescending. Patronized patriots gazing across the lawn. Another sip of that sunsweet brew, another smack of the lips, a contented sigh, smelling of sugar and lemons, rushes out to meet the fireflies. Bobbing lanterns in the twilight; guides to wayfarers seeking hospitality upon this oaken oasis in the Southern grass. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, July 1st, 2005
1:11 am	Choking (a haiku) Water in my lungs, No hand reaching through the waves, Chest burning in ice. (Comment on this)
Sunday, May 1st, 2005
12:45 am	The Deepening The Deepening By C.R. Gage It has been repeated once more, A pawn in a long line of mercenaries. The spade that should have been cast aside Has been raised, Handle-in-hand, once again From the stinking muck. The digger, that being He with the pen, Wipes the salt from his brow And resumes the deepening. "China's not far, now!" he bellows To those walking forth to gaze In confused wonder. Daylight's a sad dream In a raucous brothel to him yet The dirt soars lower and lower. The rancid taste Of the alchemic mixing of swears and tears Burns his tongue and splits his blistered lips. Any other would have stopped For death or intelligence By now but his curiosity drives him To Suicide to ask "What's on the other side?" The better question to unearth would be "Is there a bottom?" And when night falls and the chill air Crystallizes the acid Upon his forehead, he takes it As a cool drink and a hope risen, Girding him to press the spade-head Into the bedrock. The shrill sparks leave ghosts of themselves With every blink and wince yet Even they know where they are. They are deep, Deep in The Deep. Where blackness is broken Only by flint-fire and night-dreams. All else is black, Brown and grey. The digger is an infant In the womb of Mother Earth. But being deceived by passion And by grace, his fingernails scratch And are left behind as he tears Through her walls and up towards her throat. Out! Out whichever way; He must get out! The cell he has dug Is closing in, his lungs no longer expanding, They scream and whisper into the dust. He strikes with the murderous tool; Strikes it upon that which it built By his hand. The scars inside this terrestrial esophagus Bleed pebble and grain all over their maker But he is a whore and an abortionist, Striking again and again upon that born of him And birthing new canyons small Against the lining of the throat of his mother. Rapist! He knows his Sin now, It has sunk deep its fangs Into his chest. For he has forgotten the sun Only remembering the warmth A morning too late. In too deep, He casts the shovel aside And stomps the industrial bastard to iron-wood shards As Hell presses its ears against the roof and listens To his reflected questions. He dug for purpose And dug for pleasure. His intentions were pure, But purity alone cannot save an active fool. Now the only one who could save This pitiful miner Is tossing pennies into the dark. She started days ago But now the first one strikes The splinters at his feet with a ping! And Hell swells with greed Towards the sound of feminine bane. He implores again: "Why?" But his answer is another copper raindrop. He cries out And writhes And froths, Spitting up at the ground And cursing the gracious well-being That spurned him to pick up his shovel. He thinks of Death and of Hell, Neither being far away. But he can not touch either Soon enough. Death is a slave to hunger and madness And Hell opens its gates only for Death Yet our man is fat On tears and reproach; Death comes too slowly for him. He cannot go to Hell prematurely Because though he can hear the screams beneath him, That which he traveled there with Now lies defeated and broken Beneath his sandaled feet and he cannot climb Back up to that love which ignited this digging. He is too perfect in his artistry. The walls are too smooth and steep to climb. He feels resolutely feline as he paces his cell And paws at the sides. His thoughts run out of room And bounce back at him but Now in different voices. They tell him To cry. They tell him To climb. They tell him It is all his own fault. He knows this already And he knows there is no escape From this newest hole. He has no hope of climbing out, He could only swim And float to the top After drowning from the effort. So he brushes aside the many handled splinters And sits, staring upward In silence, Waiting for the rain. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
12:42 am	Whisperings of a July Evening Whisperings of a July Evening C.R. Gage This has to be written Because I have no room on the inside Anymore And I know when I finally write This goodbye to the memories I'll be able to have a lopsided grin Again. It's bursting through and burning deep. I'm stuck between laughing And crying, Sometimes doing both And I can't seem to stay One way Or the other. I'm either happy about this Or sometimes I can't stop crying. I miss what once was So bad it hurts and I feel The tears welling up deep inside And everything seems So blue and grey in composition And nothing else matters but the memories And the wetness on my cheeks. Moments later I laugh it off And go about in a faggot way To proclaim how wonderful friends are As I smile through the fogged window Before you roll it down. I can't decide if the other side is green Or badly clotted spraypaint. My pants hug tight and my fingers trace Emo lyrics against the sky As I hug your scent against my chest and grin With wet lips As I taste the salt on them. You know It hurts but nothing can change The path laid out for my broken legs to drag across And the dust waves at the moon In the night sky as lightning flashes in the distance. God's own fireworks show. It won't stop, the catastrophe Inside my heart and I pray To love my sister as no one else But never anything more. It's worse when I'm alone And can't talk it out, Breathing against the clicking of my fingers As words roll along, clipped and small Against the sheen of technology. You know you caused it but don't take The blame for my blissful ignorance. I made myself Naive for the sake of nirvana and Paradise will never last. I've learned so much from you And I want to thank you every day But I know I might kiss you and that Would kill me, Suicide by love. But love is Suicide, That's what they say. And I told you I'd wait But I don't think I can. Not without giving up On what was and what could be. I give up on patience, I don't have the sanity for it. I can't give up on you but I can give up on me And damn that's a good idea Sometimes. This black shirt Hides the wet spots from tear drops but it doesn't Hide the smell of the perfume you wore And the shampoo in your hair. I never wanted anything but the taste Of your lips and the sound Of your voice but everything seems so black When unrequited, Unreciprocated and a heart So desecrated. I can't hate you And I don't want to But I wish I'd never loved you This way. As time went on Platonism didn't and my shortcomings started With three simple words and I Can never take them back. As if I'd want to but you know that already Don't you? Everything can be forgiven but not Always forgotten and the memories Won't quit flooding Because they won't drain away With the tears and my eyes Are so blue right now because they're clean And pure and I wanted nothing at all but purity from a union of intertwined fingers. I'm alone in the world now Because God isn't In the world she's higher up And silent as black but I know next time I talk to you my world will have meaning again And I'll be able to smile again. Not because I Love you and not because I Kissed you and not because I Miss you any less; because I can't stop loving you regardless. I'll always wish I could have kissed you One last time. I'll never stop missing you because I Know we can never go back And do it right. No, I'll be able To smile again because the more I talk To you, the more I realize it's true That time heals all wounds; I know It's true that love never dies, Just changes forms; I know it's true That close friends are better than closer illusions. I smile when I talk to you Because I don't love you the same way my memories do. I smile when I talk to you because When I talk to you, I know in the end It will be all right. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
12:02 am	So Much Nonsense So Much Nonsense: An Exercise in Existentialism and Vocabulary Abuse By C.R. Gage The sky flashes amber Against the crystal sea Amidst cottonballs, And silver embroiderie Lines the polyamorously toned palletes; God paints with a pallet knife. The dreams of Monet Are gone in the next flash; Evanescent and leaving behind A scent of morning dew. The heat rises and the colors Wash away Or maybe out; Too intense for recognition. I take for granted The torture I'm guided through; The scrambled eggs Congealing inside my skull. I nail a board to the wall And paint on it The great American past-time And observe the rising blades as a hobbie During the off-season. The shadows shrink, And expand; Overlapping and darkening Towards acceptance on a California sidewalk. The road is epileptic... or maybe it's me; Of the two, one of us Is sure to suffer a seizure in the bright light. The pneumonia-written, Non-dairy creamer sky Is interrupted by the dreams we make For ourselves When looking up Serves no other purpose besides tropical suicide. Riddle-speak confuses itself With delusions of a momentumless mind And the confusion stacks; A skyscraper in an airfield, Checking its emergency stopwatch countdown. It's only elevensies And the silent samurai continues His gravelly pursuit; Seen but not heard; Him or her? Him I should hope but fame Claims a fine line Easily broken. Taught red thread on a black satin sheet. It began an hour ago, Winked at me With a listerine breath Past a quarter-inch iceblock. If no one is awake to see it, Is the dawn still beautiful? Two months down, One third to go before dawn Has a plentitude of ignorant company: The caffeine junkies march En mass on main street. Now forward! and look To your left As you pass the minute hand and hope it waves. You watch the circus Freak of a frisbee; Mailed in public for your scrutiny Because three arms are more useful than one. You lullaby into a lull And sink into the violet cowhide; Violet for the violence line. Then upon the wind the herald calls; A great grey steed Driven by reckless abandonment. The vanilla cream and cherry dreams Are replaced By inverted starry skies gridded Out and speckled with rectangular galaxies. You have four hours children: Be sure to enunciate When memorizing your illusions: You're being graded. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Saturday, April 30th, 2005
11:48 pm	Of Faith...and Effort Of Faith...And Effort By C.R. Gage Like a bird just out of egg begins, Like a petal fallen from Mother Rose, Set to take flight into that swift wind, Or flutter softly into streams that flow. As are we. The bird in Tin prison sings of the sky, A song of hope from voice of youth; Not a downward note to feel such strife, Flapping wings in joy though they ne’er flew. As are we. As Atlas with such burdened shoulders, On ours this coming day is set to be rested. As Sisyphus lonely except for friend boulder, And family pride is thought to be tested. As are we. Like young winter flowers bloom amidst the ice, And the bird flies through the tempest storm, As love felt true is blind to the eyes, And the colt does walk as soon when born, So we will be. (Comment on this)
11:45 pm	What's Left Behind What's Left Behind By C.R. Gage No more fields of high grass and dainty daisies. No more footprints staggering and swaggering Through the sand. And no more Jinx! You owe me a coke! And no more scraped knees with a lipstick band-aid. No more holes in the dirt and mud on the face. No more secret admirers with a Check for yes Or a Check for no. No more Saturday mornings with “poofed air” And no more untied shoes flying in the breeze. No more crying out loud when you know it’s okay. No more night-lights and ‘Goodnight, sweet dreams, I love you.” No more winding roads and a holy chorus of “wee” With the world a-spinnin’ and the wheels a-turnin’. No more of that, no more games in the sunlight, No more of those silly pocket posies and stiff green Army men with rifles raised. No more toothless grins and mangled locks, And no more fun for you young man. No more time to sit and watch the beetles crawl Up the side of that tree that’s beggin’ for a climbin’ From the next bundle of joy. Now it’s time to be obsessed with letters and numbers, And whether it’s the calf or the decaff. Now it’s time to log that forest up high, And fertilize the one on the chin down below Because image is everything. Don’t be late, don’t take your time, it’s no good To learn how beautiful the sky really is. Now is that day I will wish was my last, Dotted with flames atop towers twisting up and up, And that same damn phrase Written all over the place like a sign from God. Today is the day I will remember as the worst of my life. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
11:34 pm	Mayday Mayday Mayday Mayday By C.R. Gage This is Not a drill. This is An actual emergency. Calling God On channel Mayday Mayday, Your assistance is requested On grounds of urgent, crumbling, sanity. Take this load off: just a bit. I'm not strong enough To handle all this. Let me be A boyfriend, An actor, A poet, A friend, A child, An adult, A student, A teacher... And nothing more. Just... for a little while. I want Some peace in my head, And some Love in my heart, Before I have to leave it all behind. I have grown quite accustomed to this place And certain peoples herein and thereabouts... Let me enjoy this place. And those peoples. And this unraveling youth. Deal? (3 Comments |Comment on this)
11:19 pm	Lost in Blue “Lost in Blue” By: C. R. Gage There's too much to love and hate In this world To resent the rising of the sun. Emotions; they are the filters That color the world around us. The irony is that pink and red Are so close in hue. But despite this, love And hatred Are not equal; Never will you find A secret hatred As hatreds are obvious, Never automatic Nor mysterious. If you loathe something, There is always A reason behind it, Whether sensible Or not. But love, Like fireflies on a summer night, Needs no excuse. And like fireflies, You are only aware Of that beauty Which you can see. Do you ever smile At the fireflies behind you? No, when you stare out Across a summer's eve, The only fireflies that were ever in the world Are right there In front of you. Love is but the same; If you cannot see it, You rarely acknowledge its existence. How many times must you fall asleep At your sweetheart's side, Before you realize The pure beauty Of just listening to them breathe? How blind are we to The hidden beauties We've forgotten to love? If you only knew What you ignore... It takes a drop of sweat On a scraped knee, To know that a skateboard and a baseball bat Are really not so different. It takes a broken heart Asking a question to God, Before you finally see How beautiful the sky really is. It only takes A skipped heartbeart To lose a lifetime gazing Into such blue eyes And be reborn again, And never notice anything, But how amazingly lost you are In those eyes. I could lose myself for days In those eyes; and never be lost, Because I'd already be home. This ignorance Of the things we never knew We could love... It has assaulted me as well For so long. It took a suffocating need For a chill breeze To step outside and see The wonders of a grey sky Over the dying sun. And only when I Could no longer bear to stand Did I learn to grasp The tattered edge of eternity By just watching you Drift to sleep against my shoulder. When you have known Heaven… Have seen the green fields And tasted the waters, And felt the cool, unkempt, grass Between your toes, And the whispers of the wind In your ear... Only when you have felt Heaven Inside you Can you understand... How forever can be born And die In the flutter of sleepy lashes. It is a very forced hate when you've been To nirvana Times before and know That in times ahead You will return there Again And be able To call it home. (Comment on this)
11:12 pm	Madmen Exist Best Without Sleep Madmen Exist Best Without Sleep By C.R. Gage It's a vulgar kind of morning, Perfect for a ramble; This wouldn't be here if sleep was: Madmen exist best without sleep. Dry, urine-tinted mucus Still on the corners of my eyes. Writing it longhand Across faded blue lines And over gullies and wrinkles. Threw my pallet away and resurrected it, Like some paper crucifix, In the namesake of boredom and insomnia; My two most loyal compatriots. I'm not feeling anything Worth verse, So I'll cage this up in stuttered, Broken form. Who cares About structure Anymore In this world anyway? Not feeling poetic In any major or corporate sense, i If only anything... Feel slighty prophetic, Psychic in a metaphorical sense. 'Tis probably the estranged overdose Of sleep With which I consume three hours too early To be worth A good escape from this Idea of a world. In a few hours, maybe sooner, If sleep keeps chugging along, A tortuously stretched arm's length away, I may add this to electricity For all the world too see And more for me to hear the clicking Of the chaotically disordered alphabet, The random morse code of my eclectic mind And didactic heart. This time I may do it in the attic, The acoustics outweigh even the bathtub's echo Per crimson drop if you count them by ear. What am I saying? Stainless steel is to good for me, I don't have the steady hand anymore; Faith made sure of that. Disembowel my chest instead And maybe I'll make a few horizontal motions Before memories of a sunday Re-emerge and I remember The wrong reason to live And the worst reason to die. Undoing and redoing my zipper Over and over again. Not meant to be provacative, You just like the sound. Sleep is tonight's anti-drug For someone like me; a junkie. Where is my newest batch of somnorific heroin? I got it at Disney, don't you know? What's the use? Dr. Seusse quit his tutoring job, Leaving me standing here, Pen in hand, Tears blending in with the rain. He left with my youth, Left me with nothing. I had to make myself afterwards. I'm back to building again, Brick by morterous brick and It's morose work; Mortifying to the mind and I feel Exanimate about my work; There is not an expectation Of the house I build now. It's a big one too, you know? I have to fit plenty of money in it. Not cash of course, that's a social taboo. I have to be rich in fancy artwork And grand piano sports cars. You know I'm fine now, My puncuation proves it. I only get sad when I forget to capitalize. Of course if you Were a friend worth knowing You'd know that wouldn't you Mr. Knowitall? He hung himself by a violin string, The open-eyed genius. I'm so jealous of that kind of creativity. I, Stuck here with a mechanical pencil; Laziness by way of progress. We're 17, we don't need no stinkin' pencil sharpeners. No, we just click an eraser So it knows it has a job coming up. The irony is flooding downhill Like magma, not lava Because it doesn't know sunlight. I do... I wish I didn't. Call me magma why don't you? I'm burning myself to oblivion and falling as I do it. Sounds fun, Don't you agree? The letter E has a vendetta Against me, I think. I can taste the poison on my lips and it tastes Like cherry kool-aid. Thank you for serving the refreshments, The party was great. Will you be coming with me? Yeah, the lightning stopped flickering last night; I must of hit the wrong switch. Don't blame me Because you don't have any candles To smell by. You're lack of preparation Is why I'm lost now anyways. Don't add bricks on top of a cardboard fence, Your neighbors will begin to worry, You know. Especially when your parents say The cardboard has to go And the bricks break upon contact with the ground. You got my hopes up But my foundation faltered; I should have looked for better support. My hat's on sideways again, I wore it straight for you To get a laugh or two, But you never grinned. Let your hair down for once, It's cute like this but it's not you. I know you're nervous when I see the bun. Enough of that, I took a two hour nap And went to bed at ten. Obviously 5 hours of sleep Was too much: I'm up now, aren't I? You should feel honored, You've just read An exact auto-biography of 15 minutes Of my life wasted On graphite and wood pulp. I hope you enjoyed the show, But the lead dust is snowing pretty Thick on my eyelashes again. For sake of me and forever, Whose patience is wearing thin, Looks like I have to say goodnight To my compatriots mentioned years And pages ago. And don't think I forgot about you. (3 Comments |Comment on this)