[11 Apr 2006|08:41am] Place a glass called love on the clean white carpet. Crush your bare foot into the glass shredding it to ribbons. Give in to the weight we create and lay down on your side, young child. A red lake remains and I watch sharp little sailboats float by. I start to cry a little and wonder to myself why I haven't in so long. Was it the slivers sliding up into my flesh, coming through the bottom of my toes and bursting through the nails? The severing of tendons, the scraping against fragile bone.. The telephone dangles lazily from the reciever, the call that crushed my soul not yet cold, still on hold. That cursed telephone tone. I snatch the wretched thing by the cord and whip it into the wall, showering plastic shapes about the floor. I kneel indifferently now that I've silenced that echoing haunting temptress' tone. I'm miles gone now, at the wheel of one of those pristine sparkling vessels drifting in that placid lake of red. Vision starts to blur and so do thoughts, if I had someone to speak to now, my words would make no sense, my mouth betrays me. At first I heard sweet angelic choruses but now I'm plagued by twisted corridors. My bloody, crooked footsteps eventually lead out the door, what exactly are you looking for? You'll never find me, I am no more. Slowly we stop bleeding, quietly stop breathing. The lake grows ever deeper, the shore always receding. 2 | comments

[10 Apr 2006|11:51pm] Not on the train, this is a lonely room. No windows, only walls. There are terrifying menaces spying through pictures, peering past plaster veneer. This wall haunts me, another mocks me since when did walls start making faces, shifting shapes, not leaving traces? the ceiling aches my posture, i feel i must creep myself until my cheek's at my feet, the room takes a big breath and inhales itself into a dot. tcw041006 comments

[10 Apr 2006|11:41pm] I'll be good for you when I'm with you I'LL be good to you when I'm with you ill be good to you when im with you ill be good to you when im with you ill be goodo too you when when im with you ill nbe good to you when im with you ill be good to you when im with you ill be good t you when im with you ill be good toyou when im with you ill be good to you when im with you ill be good for you you i am good for you i am good for you i am good for you comments

[30 Mar 2006|04:59pm] Asleep on a train. Awake on a train asleep on a train. Before I can catch myself doing it, I am nodding off again. My head lulls to the side and presses up against the glass, labored breaths. I've been dreaming of her again, that cursed angel. Into such torrent my thoughts are sent by this little girl, five years my junior Hair blonde then brown then back again Ever shifting for a change One hundred something pounds, this little waif She carries in her indifferent purse everything I ever was She plays hopscotch, girlishly bouncing on her feet Ill never know what I need, asking for my sweetheart She just bounces down the street. I've surrendered my weary self to this fate, its come to my realization -to my benefit- that I've chosen to close every door on all potential homes. I remain a transient, a stranger to all. My condensed, forgotten childhood yielded me a nice steady home to catch my claws in, i didn't have a dad in the navy or anything so we didn't have to move around from town to town. Mom and dad I distance myself from younger brighter days of paternal and maternal adoration with such feverish ignorance, I do not want to shame the good folk with my ugly transformation. I also wish not to taint the purity of my youth with the poison of my age. Forget the little boy mom and my surrogate father raised long ago. His name was timothy christopher ward, I have no name. The train rocks me back to sleep, where she'll haunt my sleeping mind rather than my tattered conscious thought. The locomotives loco motion hushes in my ear, assures me not to fear. Forget about the girl you've left behind The truth is, while she stays home and you move about the world 'Tim' you move not from her perfection, her graceful beauty walks away from you. You still have not even moved This lunatic thought crosses my mind- that with all probability, I've not even picked my physical self up off the floor. I can see me now, caught in this dream. This seemingly forever never ending dream. If I woke up from this mare where my sweetheart eludes me with such unfaltering determination, she could be mine again! Lovely, if you can hear me from this cursed train forever speeding through this dream terrain.. Reach over and shake my shoulder, wake me from this cold black slumber. An empty world where I've no purpose, if hell will trade for souls, grant me just this. I love you so, blonde brown and blue 4 | comments

[29 Mar 2006|10:52pm] Late at night when flies are buzzing, touching down briefly on my bedroom window Every creak crawls its malicious way across the boards, across the floor and in my ears I can hear cars miles away Constantly a water drips when I've tucked my head into the bed, the clock ticks Causes me to twitch and come into cold a sweat I stand up, walk to the bathroom door Find that water drips no more I swear I hear it, ill check again To find unwetted porcelain The faucet grins, ill never win My troubled mind won't realize I'm not chasing marish villains but phantoms and ghosts, a love that left me. Ill never sleep or eat again, my mind is reeling, dearest please, I left my heart with you My little blue eyed girl. Timothy christopher ward mar 29th, 2006 1 | comments

[29 Mar 2006|07:01pm] My mind pours itself all over the bloody papers I've been allowed by my winged, black eyed soulless captors with intentions at a confession, to candy up the legal proceedings following my final crime on humanity. Nay, not humanity... I did not extinguish a peer of mine, nor yours. I pulled the mask from his face, exposed that fiend for the fiend he was. Oh! Peers and polar opposites alike, I shouldn't expect any semblence of understanding, empathy, nor sympathy on your part, for I am very self concious and aware of my depravity. Keep your bright healthy children far away from whatever cursed claws caught in me at some vulnerable, youthful year, rendering me this awkward beast. Let's move along, reader. A comprehensive first hand account of my turning rotten is wished upon and so shall be received. I am playing a naughty trick on my captors! I laugh at you tricksters and fiends from beyond death. My confession is worhtless in terms of court room convictions and such, such a drab and listless formality! I produce this psychoanalysts dream for my own purposes, a lesser great hope that it will be studied by at least a few appreciative souls, and most greatly wished to be understood by a certain young girl who was very close to my heart before it deteriorated into a black jagged mess. Events recounted in order, decorated with surrogate descriptions and partially fabricated landscapes. Most certainly, any date or geographical location has been entirely fictionalized, as my hazy mind is not apt to punctuality and accuracy. You'll have to forgive me, reader, as what you are reading would not match up without discrepancy to a hypothetical visual document of the most recent years of my life. I share with you things as I like to remember them, not necessarily how it actually happened. Little blue eyed girl that I adore Throw myself against that stubborn door Making passive scratches at the love molasses Just the other voices on the other side of the line, I despise How tangled I've found myself to be Caught inside the haze, your mind behind the face I see, the only stare that makes me weak the only heart mine cannot be a whole without, away from, apart. You crept into my very being, coursing through my tired blood stream I've burnt all we shared together, poisoned our private pond we'd float around in and dream all day Here I find my yawning self, washed onto a black shore, our daydream has become my sorrow -The astute reader will observe the introduction of the young girl I so desperately love coincides with the initial merciless yanks that so caused this tangled mess, whose notes to which you currently grant your attentive curiousity. Timothy Christopher Ward march 29th, 2006 comments

[13 Mar 2006|04:09pm] Its is laid bare as a golden capped, azure oculated, cooing baby boy docilely embracing his mother in a shared confiding cradle of arms, akimbo. The bright boy suspended atop the adoring mothers protective brace, my confession. Whether held in your hands, spread across your desk -observed under fervent scrutiny or eager curiousity, illuminated by bedlamp, or carelessly cast into a lonely wastebin to indifferently receive my confused pages, you will find an unrelenting, purest of sincere recount of my sin. You don't know me and I do not presume to know you, but if I still inspire your curiousity and interest in my record, and you continue on with me until this very bitter end -as this recount of events is a tangible end in and of itself- you shall be well informed of my gravest errors and mistakes, surely to have been a black cloud suspended above my lowered, shameful face, had not a timely demise not descended itself -I use the term `descended` with the intention to suggest that it was the very heavens above that poured forth their vengeful wrath ultimately resulting in my evacuation- upon your poor narrator. It was my very dispatch that brings to you, oh unforgiving witness of mine, these very pages outlining my fatal follies, and verilly not a humorous pen placed precariously between fat fingers, for I have no hand to rudely scratch ink onto a parchment. No, oh beautiful reader of mine, this work is not the product of the physical realm, rather it is a spectral, condensed volume of my dying minds final musings. It is surely not from above that I grace your attention this very moment, it's an unyielding fact that I now cast my sorry eyes to you from below your feet. Your affection will surely elude me once you set this record down, and your disgust will be plentiful, having become well familiar with your poor tale tellers innermost mind workings. You shall understand well soon why I, with confident certainty, state that it is not in the clearest skies above in which I dwell but in a cradle of nails, stuck like a pig, charred skin, your poor recorder has been reduced to rotisserie, his shames to reverberate upon bloody walls for the aeons of eternity. It is here we begin my recount, for I am positive I require one, the descent of a once golden capped, azure oculated baby boy into the fiend whose soul is stripped naked before you. How I long to redirect my doomed destiny, for it is with all of my fragmented heart that I wish to lay my troubled head upon the angels breast, an impossible fancy, the angels will not recieve me. Timothy Christopher Ward 3/13/06 comments

[13 Jan 2006|03:29pm] Who lives longer: the man who takes heroin for two years and dies, or the man who lives on roast beef, water and potatoes till ninety-five? One passes his twenty-four months in eternity. All the years of the beef-eater are lived only in time. -- Aldous Huxley 4 | comments

[25 Dec 2005|10:45pm] stupid magazines to sell you useless things plastic ovaries, manufactured children you were born into a design you were brought up just how stores wanted you to hurt to spend to kick and scream, to kill mom spoiled you, spoiled you rotten rotting hollow, immune to sorrow sorrow makes us real, compassion makes us human -wind me up- switch you off erase you from existance others see you, others buy your shit disguised as silver i see right through you you are nothing but a product a drug to make me sick fucking bitch you tried to drag me down i will spit in your face -come unwound- you are a pig a product designed to consume ice cream, food, and anything human eat my heart, eat my soul, my thoughts, my feelings eat my shit fucking bitch, you're done it's easy when you realize you're nothing it's easy when you're numb. 3 | comments

[23 Dec 2005|10:20pm] do you like the way you are are you satisfied at the mirror the same person always staring back or always someone new do you even know yourself are you even here are you even aware the thing youve become do you recognize your own face or has someone strange taken your place do you hate yourself do your own thoughts surprise you have you lost control 1 | comments

[12 Sep 2005|01:33am] WOKE IN MY WARM BED JUST IN TIME FOR ALL THE BRILLIANT RED LIGHTS THEY WERE STREAMING THROUGH MY HALF SHUTTERED WINDOWS CHRISTMAS LIGHTS IN TIME WITH MY STUTTERED BRAIN WAVES THE DOOR KNOB WAS GLOWING ALL MY PHOTOGRAPHS WERE RIPPLED AND MELTING THROUGH THE WALLS I COULD HEAR PANICED VOICES THEY SEEMED TO SAY, 'GO BACK TO BED THERE'S NO CHOICES AND NOWHERE NOT BURNED OUT THE FIREMAN CALLS OUT WE'VE GOT ANOTHER SMOKING UMBRELLA LEFT IN THE HALLWAY AND I GAVE NO ANSWER TO ALL THEIR SHOUTED QUESTIONS, JUST LAY BACK CHOKING DIDN'T WANT TO STAY BUT MY BED WAS ON FIRE INSTEAD OF SCREAMING I FELL BACK INTO DREAMLAND BLINKING AND SIGHING I'VE BEEN FREEZING MY TIME I'VE BEEN SLOWING MY BREATH I'VE BEEN SAVING MY SOUL I WANT YOU TO FREEZE TO ARE YOU HAUNTING ME AGAIN? ARE YOU THAWING OUT MY HEAD? I WANT YOU TO GET OUT... I'M ON AN OCEAN THAT HAS A BRAIN AND MAKES US DREAM I'M ON A MISSION TO WIPE IMAGINATION CLEAN YOU GROW INSIDE ME DYING TIME AND TIME AGAIN I'M ON A MISSION TO ESCAPE FROM WHAT MY LIFE HAS BEEN WITHOUT YOU I'VE BEEN HIDING IN SNOW I'VE BEEN TREADING ON GHOSTS ARE YOU HAUNTING ME AGAIN? ARE YOU BURNING UP MY HEAD? I WILL NEVER SOLVE ALGEBRA OF NEED ANY THOUGHT JUST MIGHT TURN TO FLESH AND DRAG ME BACK TO LIFE failure 1 | comments

[01 Sep 2005|02:10am] pregnant sky crystal amber under blue glow conceived, something so routine. so constant as to be pushed from active thought to very nearly falling out of mind, i record on this particular morning, following my witness to the birthanddeathofameasurementof time we call monument the sky bleeds its syrup into the plains, the black above pales out, the sky inks itself again. the sky pales ink seeps from the sand into the sky 1 | comments

[12 Aug 2005|12:17am] she is heaven there is no heaven there is no heaven inside of me there is no me there is no ME she is heaven there is no heaven she is a dream i keep having. 1 | comments

[11 Aug 2005|02:04pm] push my fingers past her ear watch them disappear into her brown hair I wish the rest of me could go with them her bedroom is quiet but my heart screams a horrifying sound like a hundred crippled horses lying crumpled on the ground begging for a rifle to come and put them down 1 | comments

[11 Aug 2005|07:25am] Turn down the headlights and look my way. We'll tell our parents the best of things no matter how awful they seem. The sickness of a family. Trace your eyes, wake and retrieve, The morning sun can look so mean - the color. Kiss your head don't say a thing We'll live forever in books darling. It's the secrets beneath the leaves I keep with me. I'm falling up and down. And I'll never write the letter, I wish you could read the words perfectly. comments

[11 Aug 2005|07:08am] no matter where i am in the world, my heart is always is in the same place comments

[09 Aug 2005|08:26pm] I wish I never knew. 1 | comments

[19 Jul 2005|08:08pm] Light begins to make its tentative return across the eastern sky clouds are illuminated brilliantly Telephone poles push up out of the ground like porcupine spines, an insignificant crown of dirt springs forth such terrors. We drive into a mountain and peering back from the tunnel walls i see eyes of the indian There are indians in those hills Emerging from the traffic barren blood vessel my eyes adjust to the light The heavens cast an angry glare and all god's loyal are evacuated. They plummet from the sky to the ground like a grotesque human rain the warm smile of your lover loads the gun you use to shoot yourself the gentle caress your lover blesses you with traces on your skin directions to the nearest exit the insane and the retarded run synonymous with the divine. 1 | comments

[12 Jun 2005|04:29pm] always someone behind me pushing me at you sorry to knock you down but this fuckers hands are unrelenting. 2 | comments

[12 Jun 2005|03:53pm] the baby stops breathing christopher nolan lived in gorgeton, CA 13 years old the whole town emptied, CHristopher wanders through a maze of blackberry bushes, picking the fruit and stuffing them into his mouth over and over, afterall children know not the concept of moderation. the black juice covers the lower half of his face as if adorning a dark veil. he falls into a well, breaks both legs and dies 20 hours later of dehydration and a misery. 1 | comments

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