My name is Casey

Like Most Revelations

It is the movement that incites the form,
discovered as a downward rapture--yes,
it is the movement that delights the form,
sustained by its own velocity.And yet

it is the movement that delays the form
while darkness slows and encumbers; in fact
it is the movement that betrays the form,
baffled in such toils of ease, until

it is the movement that deceives the form,
beguiling our attention--we supposed
it is the movement that achieves the form.
Were we mistaken? What does it matter if

it is the movement that negates the form?
Even though we give (give up) ourselves
to this mortal process of continuing,
it is the movement that creates the form.

Richard Howard


You turn to me with frozen lips
Your hands are icy cold
Your eyes burn bright against the frostbit sky
You never seemed more lovely than you do tonight
Pale on the horizon,
Like leaves frozen on the snow
Our two shadows merge inseperably
And time stands still as its pierced with cold

The more I live
The more I know
What's simple is true
I love you

There's a warmth in my heart
That haunts me when you're gone
Mend me to your side,
Never let go
So time knows nothing
We'll never grow cold
The more I live
The more I know
What's simple is true
I love you
Twilight descends on our silhouette
How soon spring comes
How soon spring forgets
I wanna hold time, say it'll never begin
Old man winter, be our friend
Old man winter, be our friend
The more I live
The more I know
What's simple is true
What's simple is true
I love you
I love you

designed by jo naz

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

 

In a strange way, I long to be more like him.

There is something warm and ancient about his whole existence... I remember thinking once that despite his journal's intangible state, it's a place I would like to curl up in on cold days. It has been possessed by him, it is his home.

I am, I think, a very restless person. I very rarely find something that I love and keep it that way. I tend, more often, to change and change and change again, depending on what mood I'm in. My actions have a cadence and a meaning, but rarely are definably me.

Perhaps that's because there is nothing definably me. I read once a book Immortality... I'd like to find another copy sometime because it left such an impression on me. The entire premise of the book is that those characteristics we assign to ourselves are simlpy extant characteristics arranged differently. Nothing is ever new or original. I take this to heart, and believe it so... I don't think I do anything in the world that is definitely different from how someone else does it. Granted, interactions between two people are necessarily more random. When I touch Andrew, it is likely that I am touching him as lovers have touched lovers for eons. However, he is responding how lovers have responded to touch. But there isn't only one action or reaction. I could choose to trace across his cheek, his hair, his back, his side, his leg... He could respond with a sigh, a kiss, an arch, a smile, a look. This combination creates original things, just as atoms joined with atoms create the water that creates the snowflake.. each of which is different. But the atoms and the water are still homogenous... the resultant snowflake encounters other forces which make it unique.

I love his ways... they are so warm and familiar. They are strong but restrained. When I am with him, I feel as if I am being gently carried in the jaws of a lion. I know, deep down, that he could crush me... but his tenderness is such that I don't doubt it. He's such an old spirit... I always feel so young now.

More than once I have cried into the night, awash with regret and confusion, "I was only 16!"

I am barely 17 today. Save a bit of realization, and becoming harshly enamoured with a gentle predator, nothing of me has changed since them. I have not "come of age." I have not matured in any recognizable fashion. Nothing would change if it happened to me today... But then again, nothing ever changes. There is only so much room for the random.

Nothing does ever change. I can see the repitition now, looking back. I remember flying into Andrew's arm when he had upset me. I remember crawling into his arms on the same bed in which it happened. I remember time and time again deliberately rejecting what he had done to me to be safe with Andrew.

I remember that from day one, I stood for less because of Andrew. I put up with less of his bullshit... I became a lot stronger. I became an end in myself, something more than just a comfort for a sad, sad man. I remember... I remember, and I won't forget what I owe him for it.

I love you |7:15 PM