When Steven Cash Is Famous

I will walk around telling random people in the street that I knew of him before they did. And I will get a false feeling of entitlement from it.

I need to vent my angst.

The only way for me to survive is to write. I am convinced of this. Staring at a blank page is better than not staring at a blank page. I’m going to write until my brain pours out my ears. Heartache is a beautiful thing. I have to remember that. Always. Without it, I will most certainly give up and let myself fall into the abyss that is this world. I must stay afloat, at all costs. I must not disappoint myself.

Some Thoughts on the One True Religion

Choosing a religion to be the right one is like choosing to eat only your favorite food for the rest of your life. It damn well better be broccoli.

I always wonder why people decide to think in absolutes. Good and Evil, God and Satan, Black and White, Dead and Not Dead. Why can't there be things in between? Why can't more than one religion be the right religion? I mean, honestly, what kind of just and loving God would send three fourths of Creation to Hell because they don't read a certain interpretation of a book whose main message is "Be Good". Hell, ET could have told you that.

Back to the Broccoli Thing. Religion, in my mind (NOTE: THIS IS ONLY WHAT I BELIEVE. I AM NOT TOTING THIS AS THE TRUTH, NOR WILL I TRY TO MAKE YOU BELIEVE IT.), is comfort food. Salty soups, fattening cakes, and juicy red meat. The point of religion is to make life more bearable. Why else would almost every single human society ever invented have a religious doctrine to go with it? The human condition sucks. It's one way to deal with that fact (another way is hard drugs, but I won't go into that). Deciding only one religion is true and closing your mind to everything all the others have to offer is like eating only chicken noodle soup. You're not getting your vitamins. Aren't we here on earth to learn from each other? If we close our minds to all ideas but our own, how are we going to accomplish that?

God loves you. I promise. God loves gay people. After all, he made them that way. Don't say the Devil did, because the Devil is just another one of God's creations. My hypothesis is that the Devil was created because God got bored. After all, wouldn't an all powerful God be able to vanquish the Devil with a flick of His finger?

One more thing: What Is With the Capitalization? Does It Make Things Better or More Powerful to Capitalize Them?

That is All.

I Am Insufferable.

I should be cleaning my room.

Not-so-random Burst of Poetry

I stop
And I turn
And I see you again
In the mirrors of my mind
You take my hand
And lead me away
You have all of the
Answers
None of the
Questions
I fight and you wrap your arms around me
I cling to you and you begin to dissapear
I will struggle against you
In my struggle to
Keep you

My body, thrown into a
Pit of thorns
Lies
Rotting.
Worms nest in my empty skull
As my thoughts
Impale themselves
All around me.
As I watch,
Vultures
Tear
Open my chest
With their talons
And peck at my
Heart.
As I die,
I see a night sky above me
And the stars
Look down on me
Cold, impersonal, and
My tears taste like
Blood.

Random Burst of Poetry II...

Two Inches Tall

She is two
Inches tall.
She scurries
With the mice
Underfoot of
Grants.
Run
Hide
Breath
She carries
A hundred pound
Weight
A sack of rocks
On her shoulders
She falls, unable
To get up
And go on.
One day,
She will
Break the surface,
Awake and discover
It was all a nightmare.

Biblical

In the beginning,
I was sure.
They built it up,
And the walls came tumbling down.
I spoke in tongues.
To the air.
He smote.
I started to question.
That was then, He said,
To placate me.
Like a sheep, I followed Him.
Like an abusive lover, He struck out
Again.
I asked more questions
Was answered
By silence.
Figures.

Painless

The entire bottle of pills
What a sly, intrusive thought.
It doesn't stomp in
But slithers.
"It will be painless
Like falling asleep."
"You don't know that." I reply.
But it shakes its head,
Grinning
Like a slice of cantaloupe.
The juice runs down my chin
And slithers down my neck
I cringe at its touch.
It has me.
But I breath,
Put on my make-up,
Plaster on a smile,
And leave the pills in the bottle.

Random Burst of Poetry

Precious

The seed is sown
The plant begins
Planted, it becomes
More than itself
More than anything
It wants
To live
To grow
It will or won't
There is no middle ground
This time
God
Is dead
Or asleep
Or apathetic
Or, maybe, invisible
And still working
Baby steps, don't know
Always there, like
Training wheels
But you still fall
Still scrape your knee
And I clean the wound
And kiss your forehead.

Poetry

Poetry is life,
Only simplified and
More ambiguous.
Tell a story
Only you can hear.

Fore some reason,
Your medium speaks
To me
Flows through me
I am a lightning rod
For words in verse.

Now, as never before,
I understand.
I get it.
Finally.
I am born.

Be sulky.
It suits you.
It makes you feel like
You are more
Than you are.

Contemplation

He sits
On the steps,
Chewing his apple
In the rain.

Is it wrong?
To wonder about things?

His dog sits next to him,
On the steps,
Chewing her stick.
She wants to play.

What is it like to be old?
What do other people think about?

It was a hot day,
Before the rain,
And now the dog revels in it.
The man doesn't notice.

What is it like to be someone else?
What happens when a person dies?

He finishes his apple,
Gives the rest to the dog.
She gnaws happily
On the core.

How long is eternity?
Is something really ever universal?

Man and dog,
Two animals,
Sit on the steps,
Thinking.

Tage

Heute bin ich
Eine Ku, wer
Ist zu alt
Milch zu geben.
Gestern war ich
Ein Vogel, wer
Hatte zu viel
Fliegen.
Und morgan bin ich
Das Maus, wer
In die Eche ist
Und jetzt kommt
Die Katze Mich zu halten
Von weg gehen.