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Sunday, July 29, 2012

Stop Hate Crimes

In a chaotic world that is filled with hate, random acts of senseless violence, and constant struggles to survive why do we limit the meaning or orientation of love? It is rare I project my beliefs onto others. Believing simply that we are each walking a different path to a similar destination, it is not my place to tell anyone which turns to make. Yet, in this world, the world in which my children grow, and my parents leave behind, there is far too much intolerance. So here I will lay it on the line. Feel free to agree, even more so to disagree, I don't ask you to accept my view point only to consider it.


Relationships are a lot like walking through a mine field with someone else holding your survival pack. If they blow up you are not only walking alone, but without the things you need to survive. The daily news is filled with child abuse, spousal abuse, rape, murder, and even suicide, because hetero sexual couples have a melt down. Does this mean homosexual couples don't have problems? No. It just means they are better equiped and more likely to take the time and energy to fix their problems or walk away. Why? Why in a world were they are ostracized, beaten, belittled, and banned are they able to shine in relationships?


Love is a rare and precious gift. It is the melting of two souls into a phenom that can rise above and dredge through anything. A love that lasts is even more the rare. How many children in this world are being raised by single parents? How many are being raised in homes filled with violence and discord? So why as a society do we choose to limit where that love can be found? Simply because I love pasta, I don't expect you to like it. If you don't, fine, don't eat it. That simple. Why create hate towards a thing of beauty?


Agree. Disagree. I honestly don't care! Walk your path in life. That does not give you the right to throw stones at others while they walk theirs. Stop the hate. Learn, if nothing else in life, learn empathy. Learn to see every person, regardless of social status, sexual orientation, or financial wealth, as just that, a person. If you disagree with the way they live, live your own life. Stop breeding hate.Start building a world without pain. Below is the link that ignited this article. Help a victim, spread awareness, or simply change the way you think. Please. ~R.M. Brandon 2012

https://fundrazr.com/campaigns/7LK29

Thursday, July 26, 2012

Good For Nothing

Good for nothing. Good at nothing.
Surrounded by greatness. To the left speed, strength. To the right agility, grace.
Here, nothing. Why am I here? What was I thinking? Everyone around has a skill, a talent. Mine, failure.
What contribution have I made? What great skill?
Nothing.
Why do this? Quitting would be easier. Ending it before I hurt someone else. Before someone hurts me. May be that is why I don't.
Am I just seeking my own destruction? Is trying selfish when the reality of failure is obvious?
Surrender.
Admit the legacy of nothing is you.
Crawl into the dark hole and wait for the soil to cover. Save the few who care enough to support the embaressment of public failure.
Hope. Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe there is something somewhere I am good at.
Reality.
I will always excell at being good for nothing.
I guess that is something.
In failing alone atleast I will succeed in saving any foolish enough to care the humiliation of saying they were there.
Failure in the midst of greatness. Beauty, grace, speed, agility, strength, intelligence. All of the things I have not.
Which is why I will continue to try on.


Monday, July 23, 2012

Quiet One

It's always the quiet ones. The blacksheep that walk through life like a shadow against the movie screen. They try so desperately to fit in, moving in and out against the chaos of life. Blending, watching.

Mousie blonde hair hung across her pale face. The edges curled where she wished they would fall accenuating the manly features she longed to conceal. Dull hazel eyes darted around the crowd like an animal cornered. "How the hell do I get out of this one?" She pondered aloud. There was no need for her to worry, no one noticed she had spoken, they never did. A misfit. Like a beggar on the corner, everyone noticed it's existence, but no one cared enough to acknowledge it with kidness.

"It". A nameless face in a sea of stars. She inhaled deeply as a large man crowded into her. The aroma of sweat and weakening aftershave nauseated her. Clenching her eyes closed she counted silently to twenty. It was a trick she had learned to keep the panic attacks at bay. After the count she would breathe again and everything would feel spacious. The walls formed by large crowds would open and she would again be alone on the outside looking in.

Watching. Watching was never uncomfortable. Well, maybe occasionally. When a parent became to forecful with a child, a woman weeped thinking no one would notice, or an elderly person struggled, that was uncomfortable. Watching, wanting desperately to help, but knowing any action would only make things worse. She had been good at screwing up with the best of intentions. Her mental rolodex was filled with memories of chastisment, and utter embaressment resulting from speaking or acting outside of the "popular" way of thinking.
It was far less painful to simply observe, even the attrocities of humanity's sheer oblivion to their own cruelty.

Twenty. She opened her eyes and exhaled. The room had gotten smaller. The large man bore down on her private space. Tightness rose from the pit of her stomach into her throat. Constricting, stealing away any hope for air. Darkness began to fall in her eyes. She felt the world slip away certain in the back of her mind when she collapsed they would simply walk over her corpse. She would be there, on the ground, trampled to a pulp like roadkill on a backroad when the midnight cleaners came in. Gasping for air she surrendered.
Her body lunged forward into the burly foul smelling man who recoiled in disgust. Slamming head first into the cold tile floor, a flash of red filled her mind.
How could he do that? How could he, even a stranger, just allow someone to fall without any basic human compassion?

Like a wild fire in the wind the crimson spread through her mind. Anger, rage. A lifetime of watching, a lifetime of allowing pain, culminated inside her.
She didn't rise slowly from the ground, she leapt like a lion onto prey. Blood trickled from a two inch gaping slit in her forehead, merged with two streams from her rapidly blackening nose, and flowed freely off her chin. Arms flailing wildly in the air, she ripped at the strangers face. Claws open, she gouged away sheets of flesh. Fists balled, she hammered like a butcher to a steak.

Silent chaos. A slow motion blink. Suddenly there was space. Redness diminished. Rage receeded. Beneath her, a stranger, bloody, motionless. Shock. She tried to determine where all the blood was coming from. They sat in a river of crimson banked by terrified watchers.
Dazed, confused. What happened? Did I cause this? Why didn't anyone stop me?
They watched as the medics arrived, the police took statements, her life ended. They watched silently from the distance.
From the back of the police car she looked from face to face. Fear. So much fear. But no one dared to laugh at her now.
It's always the quiet ones. The ones that suck it all in and try to stay out of the way, that make the biggest mess in the end.
 
(C) R.M. Brandon 2012


Sunday, July 22, 2012

The Tide

The welcoming auroma of barbeque fills the cool breeze. Laughter echoes into eternity. 
Standing in the sweet embrace of the summer sun wishing this moment could carry on.
Time is such a fleeting and fragile thing. Life and it's counterpart death waltzing. A moment of tragidy for one. In the same blink a child is born. Time waltzes on.
In this moment, I seek a pause. A pause to reflect before life carries on.
How much has changed since the last blink of an eye? No more tears have I found to cry. While pondering here I realize, the change has all been on the inside.
Locations, situations the dealing of which only hang on the depth of my grit. Strong shoulders, wide like a line backer, long legs for speed, compassion, understanding. From all of these are formed me.
A whistful dreamer floating at sea. The sea of life carries me from barren shores,to white sand beaches, and the shade of emerald green trees. Laughter, tears, challenges unseen.
The water is life, it's tide is the guide. In this moment life flies by.

(C) R.M. Brandon 2012


Tuesday, July 17, 2012

The Wall

The wall. Running at full speed down the chosen path, eyes focused intently on the ground as it rises and falls beneath you. Ahead a shadow rises obscuring the sun.
Doubt clouds the mind. Indecison. The wall fills the eyes. No way around, only over. But the wall is slick and over seems hopeless without help. Nothing to stand on. No rope or ladder to climb. Is this the end of the path?
Has the journey really ended at obscurity?

It is in this moment when true character is formed. Some will turn and return to the point of origin. Others will veer walking along the slick surface of the wall searching for a way around. A select few will use their will power, bloody their fingertips, and exhaust themselves giving every ounce of themselves to the climb.

Standing at that wall I question, who am I? Do I climb or sit on my ass and wait for help? My feet are already tired, my legs scream for a break, mind is numb with endless quandry, hands callused from the path behind.
The wall rises. No I will not stop here, I will climb. When this journey one day ends the view will be a much better place.

Every life has obstacles, it is how handle those obstacles that defines who we are. Today I hit the wall, tomorrow I will climb it.
(C) R.M.Brandon 2012


Sunday, July 15, 2012

Waterfall Trail (Prelude)

All she wanted was a release. An escape, any form of reprieve, from the monotony of everyday life. Her lips drew up at the corners in a permanant grimace. A plastered smile that reflected closer to disgust than glee.
Her body moved mechanicaly, like a wind up toy that never fully unwound because the key stuck. All keyed up. The perfect description. But this weekend was going to be different. She was going to escape it all.
The custom wheels of her Hybrid SUV left the state blacktop as the sun turned past noon. Gravel dust coated the flawless paint christening her adventure.
Emerald green cliffs filled the windshield as the tires crept into a quaint dirt parking area.
She wanted away from civilization and she had found it. Far away. Slipping from the drivers seat, she pulled a brown canvas trail bag from the backseat, flung it across her shoulders, and pressed the door lock button to alarm the car.
Her half dead eyes sparkled with life for the first time in months. The dirt parking area faded beneath her feet. To the right a wooden State conservation sign marked the entrance to Waterfall Trail. 'Hike at Your Own Risk'.
How true that warning would prove to be.
The robotic movement of her body melted with each step into the Fern covered cliffs. Within 100 yards she swayed with a leisurely grace. Her stealy blue eyes absorbed the contour of every rock formation.
To the right of the path a navy blue baseball cap poked from beneath a rapidly decaying pile of leaves. Splattered from bill to brim rust colored stains further camoflauged it from the casual observer. Her mind vaguely registered its existence, tucking away the sight in her mental rolodex of needless observations. In the distance a dog barked.
The warning signs were everywhere, but when a person is wound from both ends the only pressure they notice is in the middle. (C) R.M. Brandon 2012
To be continued.......


Monday, July 9, 2012

Measure of A Man

What is the measure of a man? Who defines the value of a life? Is gold worth more than a grain of sand? Peace, tranquility, devine understanding, are these immeasurable traits or attainable goals?

Only in the Sweet Summer surrender am I able to find a tranquility in life. When the sun beats bright across my skin wrapping it in golden kisses. When laughter rings through the air and exploration is commonplace.
The things we find in this, the shortest of seasons, must cling to the mind during the bleakness of winter.

So how then do we measure a quality of life? Is it in the moments spent in sunlight, laughter? Is it the things we aquire through labor? Is it the memories we collect?
A dinosaur on a picnic table, a row of geese playing on a dock, a rain storm relinquishing the blight of a 100 degree draught, a day filled with collectable memories. Just a moment in one life. No money obtained, no great world changing discovery. Just a day.
Yet this day far more precious than a gem. More beautiful than Gold.

This day is peace in the madcap of a life in motion. So to answer my own question; the value of life is what you give it. What YOU make of it. If the value of your life is memories, share them and you will live eternally.
(C) R.M. Brandon 2012