See, I was going to post something....

And then I couldn't muster up enough effort to write anything.  And then we only got, like, five trick-or-treaters, and Halloween is one of my favorite holidays....but it was so....vacant, and I felt even worse after that, which sucks because I usually have a great time during Halloween.

So, basically, I've been feeling pretty dead and worthless and all those fun, depressing emotions for days, weeks, months?

Yesterday, I read this:  Adventures in Depression

Hyperbole and a Half (by Allie Brosh) is by far one of my favorite things on the internet.  Ever.

In this entry, all I can say is that I feel exactly like she depicts herself, except I haven't broken through to the invincible-feeling side.

And there's my story, and that is the reason why I haven't written anything new.  And half the reason I don't plan on writing anything soon.  The other half of that one is because I have a 50+ page thesis to write.  And it's taking literally all I have in me to do that.  Especially because all I have in me right now isn't a lot.  Despite it being on a topic I have loved since I began to read and write.

~Hammeh

Gosh, it's been a while....

I've been so overwhelmed with editing, layout, and publishing that I haven't really had the time to write.  Which is actually quite depressing.  So, somewhere in between thesis writing and the literary magazine, my goal is to find a way....

I hope to have some entries come November 1st.  Goal set! 

~Hammeh

Advertising

A curtain of text,
hazy gray and devoid
of feeling.

No majestic Qs,
or blasé Ls,
just solid Rs
and precise Hs. 

Simplicity has replaced
creativity,

and the flat, bold lines
of consumerism,
beauty. 

~Hammeh

Darkness

Gray swallow sitting
on mauve and blue-gray haze;
she kisses the night. 

~Hammeh

Flames! Flames on the side of my face!

Vulcan

Of all things,

you should’ve

expected consistency

from me—

a burning in the

gut of earth,

a heat that seeps

into veins—lava. 

I warn you that

these chains

bind us—

but talking to

you is like

talking to

the ocean. 

Thinking I could

pin you—foolish. 

You will cast these

chains off again,

but don’t you dare

forget who here

chose War first.  

~Hammeh

Royal Couple

Epistle 

P—

I’ve swept the leaves

from the granite step;

C lolls there,

snapping at souls. 

Yesterday, I left

the door open and he

rushed out

barking at the setting sun. 

The light leaves early

these days,

and I have yet to

close the door. 

—H  

~Hammeh

Goddess of the Skies

Nut

Blue rings in her ears,

persistent and deep—

burrowing, implanted. 

Her hands press against

black soil, then fade—

seeping, molding to one. 

When she holds her head

back, you can see the

outline of stars

caught in her throat;

the wind drives them there

to nest and to remain unborn.

But the earth fade,

and she is left with stars,

sun, and no husband.  

~Hammeh

Flipped and Flopped

Mud

There's a patch of mud on the banks of the Patapsco,
Down by the black mud on the banks of the Patapsco
I have a green lawn chair where I like to go. 

I put my feet up on some large gray rocks. 
My feet rest on some large gray rocks,
And my mind sinks into the flow and flops

Like a fish in a tire in the cold blue river,
Like a fish in a black tire treaded in the river,
And my chair slips slowly into the mud.  Thud. 

~Hammeh  

P.S. - This is in a blues form.

Violet :: Violence

Violet

Like a tampered with water-valve.  A tree breaking, thrusting through an old stone wall.  A slow burn in the stomach.  An acid in the eyes that drips heavy and sticky through the soul.  Like a heart, heavy and clinging to yours, it works like a vine through the arteries, bringing you – the beast, the creature, the daemon, the monster – to knees burned into the ice of the North Pole.  It strikes with violence.  

~Hammeh

Pressed Flowers

 Red

The end of red happens when he leans down, pressed against the curb and touches the earth.  Which is rugged road turned black tar top.  He remembers the moment they fell in love, and her hands tremor at the source of light he emits – eyes half shut, he closes the door of her mind, hard and rusted, against the memory of their son.  The darkness around his eyes: too much sleep, no sleep; there is nothing left for his body.  His soul is trapped in the red cage of hopelessness.  She sees him then, a ghost, driving the last hundred miles of his feet.  Her heart falls open.  

~Hammeh

Through The Door

Blue

Without veins the face is a colorless mask; leaning, shaking on the windowpane, her skin collapses, sucked in by the force of nature.  Which is a bird, prey, holding out and disappearing into the sky.  Which means gone.  Her irises turn from blue to white, she struggles with camouflage; she wants to disappear with no abracadabra and no infusion of blue life.  

~Hammeh

Motion Forward

Yellow

A heartbeat snags on her voice.  The last stars fade into the sun.  There is nothing between us – a dismal twilight sky.  Which is heat, molten in the pocket of her skin beneath her rubs, the back of her knee.  Which is the only piece she hides from my eyes.  She calls them prying.  Which is the shadow showing the fall.  

~Hammeh

Lilliput

Orange

Sand towers fold down, overlapping – a river to the sea.  She welcomes the kidnapped crabs, opens fluid arms, which are blond and black and mocha and peach.  Their legs skitter down the handmade creek and press warm tummies against cold, blue water.  

~Hammeh

We Will Not Be Quiet

White

The cutout, heavy and serrated, balances in the crack of light – hazy and brown.  Which is nearly blended with the darkness.  Sitting in the closet, bare feet tucked under bathing suit – wet, wet, dripping on the wooden planks of the floor.  Waiting.  Which is like fruit – sharp and long.  Which is a heartbeat slipping, skipping, gone.  At night it happens.  But here, it is the same.  Which is pretending.  Which is saying it didn’t happen.  Like Justine imagining William’s small form stretched on the riverbank.  Which is corruption.  Which is nature.

~Hammeh

An Inbred Desire

I see her standing at the edge of a tide-pool, her short hair filtered in salt and sand and sun.  The press of her toes – painted pink and blue and summer – squelch into the spongy shoreline.  I can see in the concentration of her eyebrows, in the stark white muscles of her legs, I can see the determination and the desire in the way she reaches down, past toes, past grasses, past blue sky and air and –  

gone.  

The tail-end of her feet whisper to the beach sky before, trembling, they sink into the gaping water.  Heat simmers on the surface of the water, replacing ripples, already conscious of her disappearance.  The yellow sun wavers uneasy, pasted heavy in the sky. 

~Hammeh

Rosemary, Rosemary

The sun slips and leaks along the horizon,
bold-faced and blue, like Copperplate on
the press – ready for printing.

Her hands fold together, like lace or
Egyptian cotton – wet and lilywhite. 


~Hammeh

She Walks In Beauty

Her Beauty 

This is the chance for you to be wingless, armless – perfectly disproportioned, hanging on the remnant of a string made of wax.  There is always a cry before the fall and a soft, angled breeze – a blush of air, yellow and old, breathing like we do at the end, when the world cringes and sinks before surging up and flattening against us.  The out-of-breath moment hits us, knocking neonatal knowledge to the ground, barren and soulless.  This is the chance for me to sing the feathers together, shine a blue light on your soul and pretend that it is me lifting you – flashlight, and brimstone made of butterfly wings, petals on pool water, in hand, hoarding the emptiness of my own soul.  I imagine myself scrapping darkness and blowing it away with gentle lips and there, beneath the pure black corners, your soul emerges like dinosaur bones.  I find my quest in the heat of your hair and the green sin of your aura – a beauty that engulfs and spits me out wet and gray and utterly guilty with only less than I have ever deserved. 

 

~Hammeh

Lalalala, THIS IS MY SONG.

Dear Light,

One flower,

white ink,

fingerprints,

chrysanthemum. 

Until Narcissus blooms,

Persephone.  

~Hammeh

It's A Trap!

:D 

I love Firefly! 


((no, seriously, that is all!~))

~Hammeh

Temper

A flat bench,
the breach
of form, as she
whispers – eyes
wrenched inward –
she prays to the body.

The form is simple,

undergrad worthy,
lying still, parallel
with the floor.

The dead lips are knotted
together, her eyes
wear silk lashes
like jewelry, the
powder

covers her face. 

A girl sits, praying,
by the altar. 



~Hammeh

Onions and Tomatoes

Off-Road

Halfway between the tin can sky

blazing like the reflection of these past few years

where heartaches are more common than headaches

and the groove of my thumb matches the grooves of the piano keys,

I have discovered the mutiny of silence and the slip of rain

as the days turn into years, and the lines on the road fade

until nothing but the veered-off treads of my burnt red pickup

seem to make any brand upon my soul.  

~Hammeh

King of the Kingdom of Dirt

P,

Last night C escaped. 
I must have left the gate open. 
There was a chill in the air,
but I haven't closed the door. 

H.






~Hammeh

An Element

Hopeless

The insane wander your streets,
and I squeeze through the tightest
alleyways, the smallest pinnacle of
being and dying.

I wrap the shawl of blueberry sky,
bruised and tightly-woven,
around me, and I hope


that your chest cavity will
open, like the lips of a wolf,
and you will see me, 
where I've always been,


hidden inside you. 


~Hammeh

She Lives!

Like A Hurricane

The end comes too swiftly–

a brush of wind beating

in a hurricane. 

Your heart beats heavily

through the paisley fabric,

punching rhythms into my jaw. 

The swing of your fist–

yellow and bruised– shows

me that I miscalculated. 

Wind blows, and I go down,

a mess of wheat and maize

and blue fabric.

I imagine your lungs in a vice,

under the water, pressure and crush,

but you trail off, prose forgotten,

and then there is simply nothing

left.  

~Hammeh

Here, there be dragons.

The edges of the maps have been filled in,
the doors have been locked and the fires contained.
We are protected from rain, snow, sun.
I feel a crack, a fissure in my soul
which opens like a sunrise,
slowly and full of light.

Pink, blue, green toenails dig
into the dirt, mussed up and reckless.

Fingers grasp and claw at the borders of the page,
at the boulders that slip from mountains,
that are pulled from glaciers and the heat of the sun.

My body is built on the cusp of destruction,
and my maps still border with blank edges.

Here, there be dragons.


~Hammeh

1/1/11 :D

Happy New Year's!! 

I may be starting some work soon, which will be exciting!  :]

Other than that, I really just want to be more patient with people, get more exercise, and decide what I'm going to do for the rest of my life.  :]

Cheers!


~Hammeh