Not of a broke heart as the picture misleads. You see, the way I want to describe how I feel is sort of like a pup who must find his way back home or to a place where solace resides. The road or place where he strayed was easy to arrive at. Now that he tries to go back, there are more obstacles, needs an experiences the pup needs to encounter and deal with… sounds like that animated movie Bolt that John Travolta voice acts for (yes it the dog bolt). There are missing elements of my story and the movie that admittedly makes it a perfect fit, like how ignorant we both are to the world outside of our social circle. For one I wish to say that my pieces are again remnants of what I miss. I don’t miss much at all… once it’s gone or I leave it, it’s gone for me. I don’t care about it. If it comes back it must come a new. However there are things or elements of my life I put on hold, archived for later use. Maybe the picture says the same story. Those pieces of heart were never truly gone, just separated to help focus on something more important. Who knows??? Today is my dads birthday, this week I do something again… differently. A new chapter starts this weekend for me and where I want to get to is a world of bliss where I can do what makes me happy again. Just a little more time to gather myself like the terminator’s nemesis or get back home with bolt. Except it’ll take a better me… to get home and live in my paradise.

Just a moment of clarity… no pun intended.

So I’m here at this event, patiently waiting for my friend whose birthday is today. I’m not sure what to make at my life right now. I should probably explain what am I doing at a pretty cool event, typing on WordPress, about to semi-vent, thinking about my life. A lot of comma’s for that last sentence. When you have time you should use it wisely or lose out on what you could do now by doing it later. One of the things I like to do is perform introspection. What area of my life am I thinking of? Of course this about my writing life and about how I can create something I am content with (near 100% satisfaction because face it, perfection is impossible especially when pleasing me) and something a decent enough amount of people or Stephen king-like-population would like. It’s been say 3 years or so since I’ve embarked on this journey and I must say it’s been a roller coaster when I had a plethora of time. Imagine now when I don’t have the eternal time to be stuck in my minds limbo spaghetti like ball of chaotic thoughts. I have made sense of them all, as if my brain is a moving museum or shifting house of rooms and hallways. I. Always. know. Where. To. Go. But why am I always lost when it comes to what I know. Hinderance, responsibility, lack of time. Those are hot topics for Sean the governing body of what is Oliver, the writer of whom controls this page. Let’s not think that there is some kind of split personality or alter ego that writes what I write. It’s fun and pen names give me that kind of power. It’s like can Bruce Wayne be Batman? Or can Batman be Bruce Wayne? There are certain things they must do independently. And there are certain things that must be done together. I think they self-sustain themselves together in a symbiotic relationship. Obviously in a physical sense they need each other, but mentally, spiritually and of course more so morally. They drive each other to convince the other they are not crazy nor allowed to doubt the sense of justified injustice that is being performed every other night. I wish I had that, maybe I would be a richer person or more driven to the point I could ignore what master Sean wants providing exactly what Oliver needs. And what Oliver needs is plenty of time and peace to continue to thrive in Sean’s presence because he actually likes him. I’m having fun thinking about this alternate way of how I am thinking about this dilemma. We like it. So now guess what? I’ve laid out what it is the writer is feeling. Mostly. And I cannot complain except for the fact it isn’t everything. It will never be everything. And that’s the sucky part. Sean is private as fuck. Oliver wants to tell it all. And if he knew Sean’s thoughts then you’d know both of us. But then Oliver’s reason to exist would be null and void. Oliver needs that mask that is Sean to exist. What’s the issue? We don’t know how to cope with everything else that isn’t us. That’s a bad thing. And I don’t know what to make of it because I don’t know how to not be self-centered. There are people that I don’t know who are like ahh cool. And people that know me that are like I know what he saying remotely.


So how many times can I begin to end?

Only to start time and time again…

So, how many times can I reborn my life?

A Phoenix cyclically rebirths itself,

Making its bed among the ashes,

amidst a violent death, self-slaughter or…

The beautiful nightmare of an eternal sleep

This reoccurrence of this quagmire, this glitch

Will it become the phenomena of the millennia

Will the blaze of my existence be realized today

The future holds me prisoner and the irony,

My insecurities secure me, my faults gravity

My feet still lifts above the earth, I still stand

The pressure of life at the Alpha mark,

A strenuous ideal. I cry out once more to be;

Yes to be. Let me be again until I die tomorrow

To be until the past remembers me no more.

Let me be to my futures content. I am here again just to be what I choose to be.

It’s been awhile…

I’ve hid away from my love for quite some time

I haven’t dreamt for so long, it seems she’s been away

There was a moment in my life where I needed her

And she awaited with open arms, I still walked away.

Still, sitting there she’d use her many colors to woo,

Knowing and hoping that I might explore her once again

To no avail, she watched me walk away in pain,

with open arms she had, I still walked away.

She never asked why I never thought of her like I used to

Was I bored of her? She thought.

Was she everything I dreamt of, I always saved her

Tried to change her for the better, for us.

She too tried to change me so she could be read with love.

It’s been awhile, I haven’t traced her curves

It’s been awhile, I have not pressed her buttons

It’s been awhile, I have been coerced by life

So much so her art was not my wife.

Still she says, pleading to be remembered.

Just like in my dreams, she knows where she resides

My heart and mind, my hands and eyes.

I desire to get back to her, because it’s been awhile.


Atop these heights, the pinnacle of pink matter

Mind over it, a divisive equation that only makes the answer fatter

Astute with a soupçon of whatever inside the olive grants

Memory, a gig or two won’t help. A terabyte? A Peta? Cue the fans

One must think on their feet, situations for choice, multiplicity

Act out the now, process the future, contingencies and all, at the speed of electricity.

With time knowledge grows and understanding becomes more patient

New vessels that can learn faster and quantify more happens in the nanoseconds, because we lost our patience.



The ideas that role around my sleep are…
Fictitious in nature. Vapor of the salty and
Quench-less that is reality. My pink matter…
Trolls me knowing I want what is, though artistry,
Really a chimera. Somewhere between life and
Simulation lies my resolution; 4K platters of
Mixed memories centrifuged then fused,
Perfused into the best moments of life,
Large dose VS the small drips of the more
Beautifully grotesque constructs;
The building materials? Remorse and
The forgotten can be never lost, happiness
Seldom stays. Yet this gorgeous dream,
This seductive mirage of thoughts somehow…
Relives “me” through my loss and helps me
In my future.