Thursday, April 30, 2009

Natasha

Of you, ethereal beauty is born, flooded in elegance. You are the Morning's favorite customer, and even the Sun awaits your arrival. Your wake is a breath of pristine air, for your time is my substance.

I cannot stand to look at you, for my eyes should not allow this privilege. Red-woven silk, cut sharp at your nape, golden-brown flecks enveloping your skin - milky, smooth, flawless. I am unworthy to touch.

Eyes that hold water, transforming their semblance - an ocean of color, an outlandish sea.

Wisdom and truth reside on your tongue, and a blameless navigator steers your words. The concession to listen is a gift undeserved.

You are a purpose, an ambition. You are an outlying star - something to be discovered. You are uncharted, unclaimed, untainted, a mystery.

Be my City of Gold, and let me find you, me alone.

I am your pioneer.

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

Who cares?

It's funny how the more your opinion matters to you, the less it matters to everyone else.

It's directly proportional.

If your opinion is the only one that matters to you, then it probably doesn't matter to anyone else, whereas if you respect everyone's opinion and collectively assume the right decision given a basis of generalized knowledge, your opinion will probably matter to just about everybody.

This all sucks, because my opinion is pretty important to me.

...crap.

Monday, April 27, 2009

You should never forget...

T 1. ...how awesome IHOP is.
o 2. ...that light-up shoes are ALWAYS in.
r 3. ...why you started wearing clothes.
e 4. ...that it's never OK to punch a man in the place that makes him a man.
a 5. ...that leather vests are only cool if you can't see them.
d 6. ...there will always be pain in the world, but there will also always be ice cream.
m 7. what it feels like to have someone.
y 8. ...how it feels to lose someone.
b 9. ...when it's OK to use an ellipses.
l 10. ...that the Coyote will never catch the Roadrunner, and that's no metaphor.
o 11. ...that unicorns and faeries aren't real, unless you're Tom Cruise.
g 12. ...your favorite way to waste time.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Mommy

What magic does a mother hold?

I mean, besides mending the scars of a 6 year old with a kiss.

How long will she still be mommy?



Stay mommy, please. I need it for just a little while longer.

My Toys R Us instinct is kicking in.

My Lost Boy complex.

Just be the net under my tight rope until I get to the other side.

There are people over there and they'll help me once I get across.

For now, I just need to know there's something that will catch me if I fall along the way.

Thanks in advance, mom. I love you so very much.



Oh, and sorry for beating up your other kids, but you know they were asking for it.

-your first son

Monday, April 20, 2009

No more.

No more upsetting or depressing blogposts from A Tiny Little Cohenism.

Promise. :) Though, it was nice to vent and express my feelings with prettiful bleakness. :)

-jakeypoo

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Reflection

I see a prison in the mirror sometimes.

Sometimes it smiles back at me, and sometimes it winks before I go out on a date.

It even fools me from time to time, and I start to think, "I could live in there. I could be comfortable."

And at the very moment where things begin to feel content again, the bars appear, and I remember the constraints.

Still, I imagine I haven't been sentenced for life.

My Judge is just and forgiving, and there is no jury.

And so, I await His appeal.

I will wait and pray and hope and live.

I will live, and despite the prison, I will make plans for the time of my freedom.

Friday, April 17, 2009

Restless

I'm starting to wonder if it will ever go away.

My thoughts are a perfect circle, from one morbid thought to the next and back again, with unwarranted outward optimism to cover them up. I don't know who my smile is fooling, but it isn't me.

Feels like my body is screaming, crawling, trying to escape the one thing it's afraid of - being trapped inside itself. I feel claustrophobic inside my own skin.

I want to cry so badly, but I'm afraid that if I do I'll be admitting to my own fears.

Go away, Anxiety. You're destroying my potential.

I can't do what I want to do.

You're stealing my time. This is MY time. You're a thief and a liar. Most people haven't met you face to face, but I see you everyday. You hide from the discerning, and you weaken the strongest knees.

I hate you. I hate you with everything that I am, but I can't seem to win a battle against you.



Imagine being with your greatest enemy face to face everyday, with no chance of rest, no sign of peace.

Imagine then, your enemy is stealing the most precious things you have, and you will never get them back.

Imagine then, that this enemy lives within you.

...what then, would you do?

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Physics analogies.

Who is your potential person?

If, from the day of your birth until now, you did everything in your power to gain the highest achievable goal you're aware of, could you, and would you?

I work at Starbucks.

This is not my potential person.

This is my kinetic person (if you'll allow me the physics analogy). I'm moving, and I'm using energy, but there isn't any potential behind my current endeavor.

What is my potential person, I wonder?

President, physicist, doctor, teacher, custodian, vagabond?

Does "greatest potential" represent positions of power and influence, or is it fulfilling your path to the best of your ability, regardless of the position of life's respective compass?

Who was your potential person?

And more importantly, what potential is still left for your to fulfill, and how much of it will you pursue?

Friday, April 10, 2009

2009 years ago.

Thank You for this day.

This day in which You saved my wretched soul, and the souls of all who would call on You.

You are precious to me, and I pray this never changes.

Thank You.



Most Truly Yours,

Jake Douglas Sidwell

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Afraid

The greatest fear I've ever experienced in my 22 years is the realization that I'm scared of hope.

It's the most bipolar emotion.

In a single moment, you can go from gazing into a glowing-golden horizon to wallowing in the darkest night of your lifetime.

Still, I won't let the possibility of a dark future shadow my ability to hope, and I won't let the fear of change hold me.

Most importantly, I'll be careful with how I use it, and I'll choose my battles differently.

No more silly hope for cake and ice cream.

But hope for redemption...now that's something worth the fear.

No, I won't let go of that despite the greatest terror.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

(For lack of a better name) Captain Guile XII

Many people don't know this about me, but I wish, quite desperately, to live the life of a sea-faring pirate, giving up my path for a random wind-chosen destination.

Given that I don't have the sailing ability, nor the survival instinct, to live on an open sea with a crew of my own ruffians, I've decided to live this life vicariously through my own writing.


However, as it is, I have not written a single pirate-y adventure. So, without further ado, I give you the preface of: "Captain Guile".



Although Captain Guile couldn't be considered a stranger to the Glass Sea, there still was no hope for preparation on that dead ocean. No matter what tools or provisions you've provided your crew with, and regardless of their ability or comradery, the wind will always be the greatest asset a pirate, nay, a man of the sea can ask for.

Without it, the helm, the sails, the deck, the bridge, the ship itself means nothing.

The Glass Sea made this fear a reality to all who crossed it. It would seize whatever wild men attempted to cross its glassy waters, and whether it be thirst, starvation, or madness held no issue. It had driven the most noble of pirates (however noble that may be) to acts of unspeakable mutiny, even so among pirates
.

Rowing was out of the question, as it would stir up monstrous thirst and hunger, as well as catalyzing sun madness. Surely, even an unskilled crew would take a maelstrom over a windless sea.

The Captain knew this best of all.

With his weathered eyes shut, he breathed deep, almost trying to pull in the wind itself. He knew his hand meant nothing against the helm, but there he was in control.

"Mr. Saul," he called to the deck.

"Captain," the first mate answered.

"What say you?" the Captain asked.

"Captain?" Saul asked, confused.

"To cross the Glass Sea once more," the Captain started, hand smooth on the helm, "the choice of fools, was it?"

"As always is, Captain. Only problem is, you got more fools to follow you."

Though he didn't smile, Captain Guile felt at ease again, grasping the helm, "Aye."