Author Archives: gpaul
Undue…
For those who don’t know, I’m bipolar. I wrote this during a desperate low.
“I suffer unduly every moment of every day. My own mind rebels against any sanity, against any real semblance of normalcy. I fear that I will trip out without notice, without fail. It IS just a matter of time. No, it’s not you. I’m sorry you believe that shit. I can’t bury myself any longer. Can you cut me a deal maybe? Just stand in my corner one more time? I don’t know what I’m capable of. I don’t know where I’ll go, what I’ll do. It’s just rape–intellectual, but still just rape. It’s just rape…” ~ G. Paul Stevenson
An Image of War.
I wrote this after Dubya invaded Afghanistan.
“Another day; another war. My country commits genocide like a kid plays video games–with fervor and unyielding glee. It’s become a profits game. How much money can we make by the people we kill before the public is outraged. One hundred billion? Two hundred billion? How many soldiers last breath will be taken in a foreign land before the paupers act?
It doesn’t really even matter. The problem is that the wars are just a symptom of a larger problem. A symptom of corruption and profiteering by mega corporations and pseudo politicians, but you keep right on listening to what the media tells you. These are wars of liberation, and just revenge for their wicked transgressions upon the great American way of life. Just plug your ears and say la la la la la…. It’s seemed to work pretty damn good so far.” ~ G. Paul Stevenson
Apathy Kills.
“We’re lost in the lost… We’re afraid to try, to live, to find something, anything beyond the now. Our self-imposed limbo suits the human condition so very well. You gotta ask yourselves one question. How did we get here? What created this world of apathy? It’s simple really. We’ve become numb. Turn on the news and we are bombarded with countless wars, gang violence, mass murder, and finally, the rescue of a puppy stuck in a drain pipe. The bad over powers it all, and it never gets any better. It is in the face of this flood of violence that we must stand and hold our ground. We cannot let it overwhelm us. We cannot lose the ability to care. These tragedies may seem so far away, or not our problem, but in the end the entire world suffers from our inaction.” ~ G. Paul Stevenson
A Lovely Night.
”Have you ever seen the desert at night? Air dry and crisp blows across an Ocean of Endless sand, ripples cascade down dunes, and all traces of the caravan’s trek through the desert are quickly covered.
A young Bedouin girl wanders away from the hustle and bustle of the caravan as it prepares for the evening dinner of roasted goat.
The din of the caravan fades as she wanders across the great sands before her. She can feel the warmth slipping from the dusty world around her, and she sighs with the tranquility of quiet introspection that the dusk inevitably brings.
Here she was truly alone with the world, the stars, and herself. She imagines what life will bring to her, and her dreams are bound only by the limits of her imagination.
A star shoots across the horizon, and the young girl wishes for happiness. She giggles and tosses sand into air. The wind carries it away in a haphazard whirling dervish.
It was in these simple moments, where the stars dance by the millions across the deep black canvas of night, that she truly felt the magic of life course through her. A truly majestic beauty mirroring the desert’s empty peace. A peace so total in its presence, that there is no way to escape yourself.
The cold of the barrel was sharp against her temple–the soldier pulls the trigger–her brains spill out faster than wikileaks. Welcome to the U.S.S.A.” ~ G. Paul Stevenson
Dream.
“Vague recollections of whispers from unseen, yet familiar lips.
Tired hazes and trances deliver your glorious beauty in tantalizing ever-lasting moments.
We embrace with fervor and you promise me that I am the only one.
I gasp as I cum into you. Tendrils of intrusion blur your touch.
I awake to a wisp of remembrance; to a promise of honey and dew.
A lie brought on the wings of a dream. A lie of beauty and truth.”
~ G. Paul Stevenson
A Crime of the Heart.
“His only crime was loving her. Her only reply was hate.
His only wish was to hold her. This she couldn’t take.
So she shot him, twice, and then a smile she faked.
He lay there bleeding.
She lit a joint and kept on leaning…
His only crime was loving her. Her only reply was hate.”
~ G. Paul Stevenson
My Lying Masochism
”I lie to myself at the best of times, and yet when I write, I share the deepest truths I can every hope to reveal. Is it masochism? It must be. I try so hard in my every day life to hide from the shit I put into words and share with the world. I want to just forget my past, and hide in the present, while hoping for a beautiful tomorrow. It just doesn’t work that way. I wish I could be everything people say they see in me. I wish I could take life by the reigns and ride it into the sunset with the damsel on my back, but I won’t. I’m too afraid of what may happen if I succeed. Will I be able to do it again, or will that moment be the best moment of my life, and every moment after a supreme let down? These thoughts plague my being and eat at my heart. The only thing which keeps me going is the fact that if I don’t at least get to that first great moment in my life; then I will never have succeeded in anything. ” ~ G. Paul Stevenson
Reason
”I cannot find a reason to love. I cannot find a reason to be. I need something better than this, but I cannot find the will to see beyond inadequacy. Darkness becomes me, and I fade from the scene. A new actor takes the stage. The man I used to be. He dances like a puppet to an unearthly tune–a possession of being. A vision of fractured glass becomes an empty and broken dream.” ~ G. Paul Stevenson
You just can’t fake it.
”You either have it, or you don’t. You can’t just fake it. Some things are beyond such an act. Like the stroke of a master painters brush upon the grandest masterpiece, or the brilliance of a composer who has reached a level of perfection in which one can only revel in awe when they hear it. No, you can’t fake such things, and you shouldn’t try. It’s like life. You can lie to yourself, your family, and your friends, but in the end all you will become is an empty thought upon a cursed man’s lips. A hollow lie of a man whose future is as unattainable as his life is believable.
You cannot become if you refuse to be, and yet you cannot be if you refuse to become. It’s a paradox of life. Such a pathological mindset is a self-imposed prison. A prison that will break you in amazingly cruel ways.
One day you will wake up and realize that you have nothing substantial, and that everyone you know has pushed you away. That day will kill you, but it won’t be the end of your curse. No, it will be the beginning of an understanding into why you hate yourself so much that you can’t bear to face the reality which is your life. It’s naught but a baby step. A pivotal moment in your life which will sway the prison door open to give you a glimpse of freedom. Where you go from there is completely up to you. Are you willing to become? Well, are you?” ~ G. Paul Stevenson
Innocence Lost.
“A beautiful flower not quite in bloom.
Her head took to the sky,
to share her dreams with the moon.
Armed to the teeth with a dream to become.
She brightened the lives around her,
Sharing love with everyone.
Her future was bright; youthful naiveté aside.
She lived a life filled with passion;
Taking challenges in stride.
No one could have imagined what her life would bring.
Her flower would bloom no more.
She was barely thirteen.
Enamored with her petals; such a sight to behold.
She would be his.
Adoration turned cold.
His eyes she’ll remember; his touch made her a whore.
Now her petals lay sundered.
Her passion is no more.
Her future was bleak. Life was now a lie.
Even the moon did reject her.
All that’s left was to cry.
Her sobs carry her to sleep. No reprieve shall be found.
The demon waits in her dreams.
A nightmare without sound.
His putrid breathe is upon her; his grip is far too real.
She fights in vain against him.
Her innocence he kills.
In terror she awakens; sweat heavy upon her face.
Forsaken by his perfection.
She has fallen from grace.”
~ G. Paul Stevenson
