Sylent's blog: "Writings"

The Long Road
I am walking down a road. In the beginning, there is heavy fog, and I can
only see a tiny stretch of the road in front of me. I stumble on a few rocks
at first but I quickly get back on my feet and soon enough I'm walking at a
steady pace.

As I move forward, the fog lifts, or maybe my sight sharpens, I don't quite
know. As a consequence, I begin to see a lot further ahead of me. I can see
that the road goes on for much longer than I originally expected. At times,
I stop walking and look back. I can still see the beginning of the road.
I've made progress and that pleases me. But then I look forward again and I
see that the road goes on for so long... I find that a little depressing at
times...

I do not travel this road alone. Often I spot other travelers heading in the
same direction. Sometimes, on sinuous parts of the road I manage to speak
with those who are ahead of me. They tell me about the sights I have yet to
see, and sometimes I wish I could just skip these parts of the road and hop
along with them. But deep down I know that it's not worth cheating over. I
will always know that I haven't traveled the road all the way if I start
taking shortcuts.

There are travelers behind me also. Sometimes I'll let one or two catch up
with me and we travel together for a while. Sometimes, in the sinuous parts,
I cross people who are way behind and I try and encourage them with a few
words of wisdom learnt along the way.

I reflect that some travelers move faster than others. They seem more
dedicated, or perhaps they simply have more talent for walking. Once in a
while, I meet up with a traveler who has stopped and settled down. I often
think that they will be depressed or bitter about not having been able to
travel further, but really most of them are happy. They stopped because they
felt they had traveled enough for their own satisfaction, and simply don't
wish to go further.

At first, the road was pretty straight, there was only one route so to
speak. But as I move along, I realise that there are more and more alternate
paths, and it's sometimes hard to choose which one to travel on. It's hit
and miss mostly. Sometimes I choose a long route only to realise that it
didn't get me much further down the road, sometimes I put a lot of effort on
what looks like a hard path, and it really pays. But after a long while, I
start to realise that the further I go, the steeper the road as a whole
becomes, no matter which paths I choose. It takes me a lot more effort to
cover the same distance than it used to.

There are distractions along the way. Some of the alternate routes end up
being dead ends or winding paths that lead back to where I started. There
are also many inns by the side of the road filled with laughter, seductive
wenches, happy toddlers to entertain. So sometimes, I myself stop along the
way. At first that made me feel guilty, but after a while I realise that I
need those periods of rest to find confidence for the rest of the journey.
I can see the road all the way to the horizon now. I think I've finally
figured out that there is no end to the road. No matter how much I walk down
the long road, there will always be a longer stretch ahead of me. I have
also realised that I will stop one day. There are those dedicated travelers
who I believe will always keep walking until the day they die, and I truly
admire that dedication. I think I don't have the willpower to do that
myself. For now, I'm happy to continue to walk, but I know for a fact that I
will settle down one day, and I'll still be happy with the journey I've
made...

A Steady Hunger

My heart hungers for a Love
That only you have shown
I long to be touched
With more passion then I have ever known

It longs to feel you near me
As I hear your heart beat
My heart longs to be beside you
As over the distance, we meet

With one touch of your lips
My heart surges with emotion
I wish to love you my whole life
Show you nothing, but devotion

So as you glance into my eyes
I pray that you will see
That the way I feel when you are near
Not for a day, but will forever be

Again, written years ago....

A Diamond wrapped in the petals of a rose;

     A pebble entwined in weeds.

A box filled full of wonderful things;

     A box of emptiness.

A band of gold;

     A wreath of grass.

The Glass Slippers;

     Shoes with holes.

A warm kiss on the lips;

     A Cold slap on the face.

A warm bed with blankets;

     A cold floor with puddles.

A caring embrace and caress;

     The cold grips of chains.

It hurts when you give love and get nothing in return....

So I got on a tear writing.. and then just compltely lost what I was goin to write. lol I will come back to it one day...

Every day, Steve Bishop walked down First Avenue to catch the commuter bus to take him to his apartment in the suburbs, and every day he saw the young girl who played the violin on the corner of First and Albert with her open case on the sidewalk. Some days he would stop and listen for a few moments, drop a dollar in the case, and move on. He was usually in a hurry to catch the bus. If he missed the 5:40 run, he’s have to wait 45 minutes for the next bus. It’s not like he had anywhere to be in such a hurry, it’s just the idea of the wait. Today, however, things were a bit different. He was out of work an hour early, and now was faced with a wait for the bus he normally took.

On this day, he lingered a bit at the corner of First and Albert to listen to the lovely young woman play her violin. Steve didn’t know much about classical music, but he hear a few tunes he recognized, and could see, even with his limited experience, that the girl was a fine player. The longer he listened, the less he wanted to leave, feeling almost mesmerized by her playing. As she played, she seemed almost in a trance with the music, but would occasionally look up at him, in seeming recognition. Steve was a single guy, who was so busy with his job that he had little time to date, let alone go out and meet girls. The idea of online dating or some other such thing seemed to him something for losers. Of course, they were losers in relationships, and he didn’t even have a cat to come home to. He had noticed the violin player before, but never really LOOKED at her. Now he realized that she was a very lovely woman. Medium height, well built, with long auburn hair. She seemed to be looking at him more and more as she played, and it seemed to him that the music seemed to take on a new tone. More intense, it seemed. But what did he know about music. When Steve looked at his watch, he was shocked to see that he had not only missed the first bus, but had missed the second bus as well. To get home now, he would have to take a taxi, which would cost him…well, it would be ridiculous.

This is when the girl stopped playing. “How did I sound?” she asked.

“Uh, great. In fact, so good, I lost track of time, and missed my ride home. I’m probably better off getting a motel here in town for the night. I can’t say that I’ve ever heard music that made me do that.”

She looked at him. “Wow,” she said. “You have been standing here a long time, but I didn’t think my playing could do that to anyone. From a musician’s standpoint, that’s extremely flattering.”

“Well,” he said, “you are very good, even though I’m no expert.” He looked at his watch. “I’m kind of stuck here now, and it’s getting late. I would have been home by now, or at least almost home I might as well get something to eat. Would you like to join me? We could grab a bite somewhere. On me.”

 “Well, that’s a nice offer, but I don’t even know your name. I’m Natalie. Natalie Armstead.”

He reached out his hand, saying “Nice to meet you. I’m Steve Bishop. How about it? Like to get some dinner with me?”

She hesitated for a moment, then said “How about you come over to my place, and I fix you some dinner. I have some leftovers in the fridge, and I kind of feel responsible for making you miss your ride. It’s not every day my playing captivates someone like that. You can crash on my couch .”

Steve thought that this couldn’t be happening, but wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to get to know her better. “That sounds great,” he said. “I feel kind of guilty, though.”

“Why is that?”

 “Well, I’ve been standing here listening to you play, and I haven’t put anything in your case. I got a free concert, and now I’ve been invited to a free dinner. At least let me pick up something on the way--a bottle of wine, at least.” She laughed--a really sweet laugh, Steve thought.

“Oh, gosh, now I’m the one who feels guilty,” she said.

“You? Why, for God’s sake?”

 “ Well,” she said, “it’s hard to explain. Let’s go--my car is down the street.”

“Her car?” Steve thought as he followed her down Albert. He noticed that she had a lovely walk--almost musical, which seemed to make sense. She walked over to an Audi T, and put her violin in the back. “Hop in,” she said. Steve didn’t know street musicians did so well. He got in.

 “Nice car. I thought of getting one of these.”

 “I like it--it suits me, and it’s easy to park in town.” He didn’t know what to say at this point. He wasn’t good at relationships, because he never had time for them, and after introductions, was usually at a loss for words with women. He rode in silence for a while, until he had to ask.

 “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but I wouldn’t think a street musician would be able to afford a car like this. I’ve seen you on that corner a lot, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen more than about 15 bucks in your case. If I’m getting too personal, just tell me to shut up.”

She seemed a bit embarrassed. "Well, this is why I felt guilty when you felt bad about not putting any money in my case. Just wait until we get to my place, and I’ll explain." Steve didn’t know what to think, but knew that he was in a nice car with a beautiful girl who was taking him to her place to fix him dinner. His biggest fear was that he was going to wake up and find that he’d slept past his bus stop. After a 15 minute ride, she pulled into a parking garage, where she took a card from her visor and swiped it through a machine that opened a gate. She pulled into a numbered spot near an elevator door.

 “Here we are.” He got out and followed her to the elevator. Inside, she pushed a button for the 16th floor, and up they went. When they emerged from the elevator, they stepped out into a long hall with a door at either end. She turned right, and waved him to follow. At the end of the hall, she took out a key and unlocked the door, and invited him in. Steve thought he had a pretty sweet place in the suburbs, but his apartment would have been a closet by comparison. The place was huge, and furnished to perfection. Natalie placed her violin case on a small table just inside the door, and closed it behind Steve.

“Well,” she said, “what do you think?”

 “I think I could probably fit my entire apartment in your living room and still have room for the sofa,” he said. “I think I’m missing something here. You don’t earn your living playing on the street.”

 “Actually,” she said, as she took his haNd and led him to the kitchen, “I usually give anything I get to a homeless shelter near the corner where I play. I really don’t need the money.” Somehow, Steve wasn’t sure about what he was seeing, but things like this didn’t happen to him, and he wasn’t about to blow it. “There’s some wine over there,” she said, pointing to a wine rack in the kitchen. “Why don’t you pick something out and open it up. I’ve got some stuff in the refrigerator that I think I can make something with. Glasses are in the cabinet over the sink.” Steve picked a bottle of red wine (he didn’t know much about wine, and hoped that it would be good since the label was in a language he didn’t understand) and uncorked it. He remembered that wine should sit for a few minutes before pouring to “breath.”

 “Look,” he said, “I don’t want to get too personal. After all, we just met, and you’re feeding me, but I can’t help but wonder how a street musician can live like this. I mean, I’m what some people would consider a successful business man, and I couldn’t do this.” He knew he’d blown it.

 “You deserve an explanation,” she said. “I come from a well-off family, and after they sent me to school to study music, they put me up here. The fact is, my parents were killed in a plane crash while they were on vacation, and I inherited their money. I don’t need to work, and playing on the street gives me something to do. I love to play, but I don’t think I’d want to HAVE to do it for a living. Since I don’t have to earn a living, I can play what I want, when I want.” It seemed reasonable. Not being particularly gifted in anything, Steve didn’t understand the artistic temperament. He started to pour the wine, hoping it was the right time to do so. Natalie was opening some containers and putting them into various pots on the stove as he handed her a glass.

She took it and offered a toast. “To friends, and a decent dinner of leftovers,” she said. He clinked glasses and took a sip of wine, the likes of which he had never tasted. “You have particularly good taste in wine,” she said.

He shook his head. “Frankly, I took the bottle that was the hardest to read. It seems pretty good to me.”

She laughed, saying, “Well, that is one of the best wines available. The fact that you like it proves you have taste, whatever reason you chose the bottle. I’m making a kind of a stew out of the chicken and vegetables I had. It will take a little while to cook. Let’s sit down for a while. Tell me about yourself.”

She led him to the sofa in the living room, and sat next to him. “I’m an accountant,” he said. “Not very exiting, although, I find it interesting.”

 “What makes it interesting for you?” she asked.

 “Well, I don’t just sit at a desk and add up columns of figures,” he said, sipping his wine. “My job is to look for irregularities, and find out where they came from. More and more companies, especially those that work with government contracts, are bringing in people to do that, primarily to cover themselves from scrutiny. If I can catch a problem and trace it before some government auditor, or worse yet, some investigative reporter finds out, it saves the company a lot of trouble, time, and money.”

“So, you’re like a detective.”

“Well,” he said, almost embarrassed, “that’s probably putting it to an extreme, but I suppose, in a way, I do some detective work. Sometimes you have to look for clues in the books that other people would think of to find a problem. It’s not all that sinister, though. Most of the problems track back to honest mistakes that were overlooked, but could create the perception of a problem. It’s pretty routine, really.”

She got up to check on the food. “It doesn’t sound routine to me,” she said. “I’ve known some accountants, and actually went to work with one of them to see what they do, and it wasn’t anything like what you describe. How did you get into that sort of thing? I mean, is that a branch of accounting they teach in school, like Investigative Reporting or something?”

 He got up and walked over to the kitchen, amazed that a pretty girl would show any interest in what he does.

“It’s not like that,” he said. “I think what happened in my case was I was working for this firm and happened to notice a pattern of spending from one department that seemed unusual. It was small time, but the pattern just seemed to jump out at me, and when I followed up on it, I found that several people in that department were embezzling funds and had been doing so for quite some time. It cost the company millions, but would have cost them much more it I hadn’t caught it. Accounting is like any other field--it’s like a community, and word gets out. Before too long, I had a reputation for doing this sort of thing. The company I work for is pretty large, and does a certain amount of government work, and they made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. The problem is, a lot of the other employees there know what I do, and they think I’m a company snitch. I guess, in a way, I am. Most of the people there keep their distance from me.”

Out of rhythm and out of rhyme

Out of sync and out of time

I'm not asking for perfection

I'm not looking for lies

I'm on the brink of a breakdown

And no one hears my cries

There's no one I know, no one to hold

The darkness becomes me my core is the cold

No flames from a fire I'm searching for heat

No one can help get me back on my feet

There's screaming in my soul, pounding in my head

Trying desperately to learn to cope

Flooded words come in and then go

Trying to make it, move on, and push through

Searching through Hell in need of just you

I'm tired, unbalanced and confused as Hell

No one can help me break through this spell

Nowhere I call home, no way to break free

I'm crushing under here; for all eternity.

Just one more kiss

Another, gently, please

It's never been like this

I'm falling to my knees…

Just one more touch

Sending chills into my soul

I've never desired so much

Slowly I lose control…

Just one more line

To hear that tenderness

Locked inside my mind

Simple, sweet bliss…

Just one more glance

So I can see your eyes

Give me that last chance

Before you say goodbye…

This was written for a Drug Awareness way back in the day.  When my mother read she damn near beat my ass cause she thought I was tryin to say I was a pusher.  LoL

Careless parents, I do adore

Who tell thier children nothing more

Than to wrap up warm and get out the door.

They don't tell them wehere

They Should and Shouldn't be

So children dont know about Drug Pushers like me.

They face a world where drugs are vast

They're never safe,

Not even when home at last

They pass a crack house, a place they shouldn't be

Because you didn't tell them about Drug Pushers like me.

When they meet me, They think i'm a Friend

But they don't know

Thier whole life, I could end

They buy a bottle of drugs

That I let them see

Because you didn't tell them about Drug Pushers like me

Once they try drugs,

BOOM!  They're hit dead

And you're at thier funeral

Wondering what you hadn't said

for I AM a Drug,

And will forever be

If children aren't told about Drug Pushers like me