Posted by Michael Mazzella |
Posted on April 18, 2014
You got that medicine that I need. Mist me. Take my soul away. I used to be an angel, but take me, turn me into the devil. Have what’s left of my soul. Shoot it deep into my heartstrings. Mist me. I need to be seen. Hear me. Place me in the center of the dust storm. My innocence lost. I’m looking to take it hard. Let me imitate the greats, please, you got that medicine that I need. How do I need to get there? Mist me. Give it to me. It’s what I want. Take what soul I have left. Bring me to LA.
I can get prettier for your movie. I’ll lose weight. I’ll be better. You got that medicine that I need. Mist me. I’ll study. I’ll change. Put me on your cover, please, I can be an angel again. I promise. Let me rise and shine. Who do I have to meet? What corner do I need to stand on? I’ll go there, I’ll do that.
You got that medicine that I need. Take it from me. Have what I had. Just give me my time. Put me in your movie on your TV show. Please. Mist me.
Make me a star. Put me in your movies, buy me a Louis.. What I’d do for fame.
Give it to me.
I’ll trade all eternity for it. Bring me to LA. Put my star in the sky for all to see. I’ll take it hard. Whatever you want.
Now, I see. He took my soul away. You can’t make me happy. The work is what I truly need.
If you only knew what people have done for it. What monsters they have to live with. You only see it briefly on screen. Please stay longer.
You got that medicine that I need.
Posted by Michael Mazzella |
Posted on April 01, 2014
I dream of Paradise. A world with no struggle. A land of girls and oneness amongst all creatures. Chasing waterfalls no more, the land of Gods no more, instead ruled by the master of the Universe. The hand that graces us all and protects despite disbelief.
Is this Paradise?
I dream of Paradise. A world where dreams come true and mountains move. Seas part at will and stormy skies are splintered with sunlight. Red Cadillacs move towards you. The tight softness of her skin. There is no fame or fortune. No class, no money to be had nor lost. A land of closed eyes and radiating hearts whistling our reasons.
This could be it.
I dream of Paradise. A world with no judge. For the one-time inaccuracies of the face and body are no longer seen. The beauty within shines a magnificent shine. I look directly into the sun without a blink or shielding of the eyes.
You’re in Paradise.
Cream on the skin, so sweet and warm. The dryness of the grind lathered away, made a new. Just a girl seeing the world for the first time. The sound of the click as a freshly minted key enters the gateway to a new hard earned home. The smell of the engine cranking and revving as a girl drives away a woman. This is a world where none of this matters. Paradise.
My soul stripped of its egotistical needs. Removed from the comforts of the material world. Gone is the bed, the ceiling, the exterior, the interior and all other items – some meaningless and some pieces of a heart story. Tears dried. Stripped naked with no shower to cleanse a tired soul, leaving only the mind’s growing sight untouched. Creativity that soars like an eagle – a previously small bird in a land of crystals and diamonds. A yellow diamond may have once sat on a plastered hand. It’s gone. Now an ultraviolet rock glows from the front and top of the mind. For without the human’s perceived needs and life lived in the bare, we have entered Paradise.
The sun will come out soon. No. It’s already out, look just a hair closer darling and you will see too. Look through the skies to see the sky. Only sun looks back upon you. Darling, this is Paradise. I know the sun will shine. I know the days will wane in old age. I know the soul will ache. I know the feet will blister. I know the beauty will fade. Be with me now, the days are slow and short. Rapid-fire days are missed. Every tear had meaning and the storm vanquishes flight. It matters not. In a place where nothing else matters except you and I. We are in paradise.
Need not yell, for we are here and it has always been with us. Go. Do not walk, but run into Paradise.
I miss the moments of days of old. I dream about them dearly, holding on to the memory and grasping at things that once were. Typically my tendency is to subject myself to a purgatory of sorts. Inflicting a choice between two polarizing directions. I will only be happy when I go there, live in that mansion, make more money, become more famous, see the stars more vividly. Rare are the days I sit back and enjoy the journey on the road to paradise. I am guilty of holding myself to the visions of what will be and worse, when will it be? I cannot fathom current day happiness and certainly not thoughts that only exist in the present. What’s next? What is to come? When will it be? This is all I think. Perhaps these are the days that matter the most: the middle-ground days. Your path has begun, but you aren’t in full control of the helm yet.
If I were to place myself in my mindset from two years ago, my fantasy was to be where I am now. Not only have I reached that former goal, but also I’ve smashed it, having risen higher than my younger mind could have fathomed. Yet, here we are again, another war in my mind, selfishly wanting more and marinating in discontent and ungratefulness. I am such a deeply flawed being. My mother often says I’m just never happy, as though I refuse to be ok with where my life is. She’s right, I can’t seem to ever relax and enjoy the details and present experiences of my journey.
I realized today I’m living the book. Right now I’m living the real-life memoir that will one day be read by many and empathized with by those dreaming of more and holding on to their souls through simply a vision and a choice. We control everything with the thoughts in our mind. I suppose you could classify this as the case of wanting something just a little too badly. I cringe to say it but I believe that I am the single-handed cause of my own dissatisfaction and therefore find myself continuously suffering. I want my goals and dreams to become tangible so badly that I forgot to look up and only focus on the pavements I’ve chased. To see the roses around one’s existence is a beautiful gift of glory. We must not only see the roses but also stop to smell them. This is the true miracle.
Laying in us all is the undying, unyielding fight to just BE: the mission to be our true authentic selves.
1. A place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven (definition from Roman Catholic doctrine).
2. Mental anguish or suffering.
3. Having the quality of cleansing or purifying.
The definitions above describe our existence when we refuse to bask in the present gift of today. It also reads that those sitting in the spiritual layover are set to enter heaven once the much-needed lessons are learned. Perhaps this is the phase that gives us the strength we need to fully embrace the greatness to come. It’s a metaphor of life as we know it, steps cannot be skipped, and true happiness is a sculpture waiting to be crafted. It may be that I am on a road to nirvana; I’ve certainly sat in this same waiting room many times in the past. We are here for a reason. I believe that it is in preparation for a dream fulfilled simply so magnifying it could only be a dream that of GOD. We must suffer, we must induce our own agony in order to be cleansed and purified to enter our own Heaven. Just as we can cause our own “hell on earth” we can do the opposite too. I know deep down in my soul that reaching the peak of my imagined summit is imminent. Often however, I live seeking paradise and ignore the one I currently live in.