Below are the 16 most recent journal entries recorded in souscouvrir's LiveJournal:

Tuesday, July 17th, 2007
7:16 pm	Inspired by "Lucifer Rising" and "When You're Evil" It's so easy being evil, with no conscience and no soul. One can look upon one's life and see one's self in full control. No respect for life or death, for joy and sorrow all around, And even gazing at the heavens remains fully on the ground. And those one helps, and those one hurts are naught but means to unknown end. But soulless, one can turn away, embracing evil as a friend. I am that one with no concern I live just for myself.  I learn That there is nothing I can be But this think I've begun to see. This freedom, painful as it seems Is one of my life's greatest themes. And though remaining good in thought and deed may help the world at large, I realize that I'm the one that matters, the one of whom I am in charge. I serve myself as best i can; I guess that means my sin is greed, But I help those whom I befriend, for that, my friend, is what we need. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 15th, 2006
10:53 pm	For ~M They say we're the information age, the age of the internet; I say bullshit. We're in the age of corporations, of money: Government doesn't rule us; its power does not come away into money. But money rules it. Some of us fight. We are too few. Most accept the Wendy's Microsoft Solo trends without question. We few who rebel cannot nor try to escape their scorn. We eat healthy (yes ... we order a three week old salad to go with our triple burger combo). Or we don't eat, to fit the profile. Behind the curtain, it's money, big, green money who is the wizard of US. But he doesn't even try to hide, his face is visible from all angles. His "advisers" are the ones who claim to try to help, but all they do is help him. After all, it's better for him if cancer is never cured... If it were, who would need expensive treatments. Many of us claim that we will make the world better, but only few know the futility of such claims. When the masses focus on bringing children to an average level of understanding overflowing with apathy, and when even the best minds of our generation are being destroyed not by toxins but by atrophy.  The world is in a sad state.  We don't want to excel, heck, half of us don't care if we pass.  Our system is based not on creativity but on rote knowledge.  Three fourths of a test is considered atrocious.  How dare you not know all the information.  WHO GIVES A **** when we're smarter than our teachers; no, when we even know more than our teachers...  It's just not feasible for them to try anything else.  When a student now is given a problem in math or science that he has not seen before with the exact same numbers, he panics, and if the wording is slightly varied, he gives up on the spot.  We shouldn't teach our children to think, oh, no; they just need to know enough.  Sometimes, and only sometimes humanities courses are better than this, but the best teachers "grade poorly."  "You can't give my son a B!"  He deserved it, *****.  At the rate at which we are rotting from the core, the brain will be worse than the previous generation.  They claim to know what's best for us; they say that "eliminating violence from TV and video games will stop school shootings."  **** no!  What will stop school shootings is when the lunatic fringe of our society:  The freaks, geeks, nerds, in short, the people who *should* rule the social ladder stop getting their faces bashed in by the jocks who *should* be groveling at their feet and when the older generation stops protecting both sides.  Nourish them, don't smother them.  Ginsberg has seen the best minds of his generation destroyed by madness.  I see the best of mine being ruined by the parents of the worst of it. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, November 2nd, 2005
9:04 pm	A hopeless romantic incapable of love... What a sad fate To know exactly what you want, and yet, To have it ever beyond your reach. Is love so simple but, dare I repeat the cliche, Complex? Is romance intolerance such an ailment that cannot be cured? Or am I yet too young... Does love take so long to grow that one so lacking in years cannot feel it? Why must my heart torture my mind with these questions To which only my soul knows the answers? I cannot begin to comprehend what love is. I can only to hope to try to learn. Current Mood: Hoplessly Romantic (duh) (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, August 22nd, 2005
2:03 am	Poetry cannot be forced but must be drawn as thread from loom to weave the tapestry. When thread in excess finds itself, the poetry which comes is tangled at it's best. However, when regularly produced and used as well, clean, beautiful, radiant cloths are made. I have long longed for the loom, but found lack somewhere or other, and the tangles were overwhelming. I have tried to pull, but only knots formed. Only careful, painstaking work can repair the damage my caused by my neglect. I must, though time be hostile, unknot the tangle of my fate's thread, And I must draw it carefully, and weave it into life. From life comes poetry, and only from poetry comes truly life, And thus, a neverending cycle of thread and weaving which never started nor will ever end resumes. Once cleansed, the faculties by which this process occurs are simple, But the process of cleansing is no simple task. Countless ruined tapestries must be made and discarded to be rid of the tangled thread. Let this be one, hopefully the last, of these woeful ones, And let its birth and death be the gateway to more beauty. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, March 20th, 2005
7:35 pm	Fear is like a ball and chain, shackling you down, restraining your movement, But shackles can be broken, ball and chain carried, while this fear Defies all strength. Strength of body, mind and, spirit all have little dent, All do little to stop it. Even if someone with fear of heights were standing in mid-air, Able to walk safely, they would be in near panic. They would not get over the fear. Likewise, one with a fear of society, of extroversion, even when faced with kind, sympathetic people, Even when given every opportunity to open himself, will remain under lock and key. Fear must be conquered, shackles shattered, chain broken. But how? (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 8th, 2005
10:37 pm	The poem mentioned (This poem was written during my russian class, and also, it was written in pen, as opposed to everything else I ever write) Poetry is the flow of a pen, no mistakes can be made, or you must try again. Meter and rhyme have little meaning if a poem is not good; If no chill flows through your bones, then to you the poem is worthless. Whether five iambs or four trochees are used makes no difference. A poem must touch, shatter, destroy, and rebuild, or there is no point. No form of meter can replace the shot to the chest a beauty can give, But to replicate this bullet is poetry. Everything, in a way must die to be reborn better, and the heart is no exception. A broken heart in life may cause only grief, but heartbreak through poetry causes, Ultimately, Joy. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
6:58 pm	Depression Depression: When one knows that it is simply a chemical imbalance in the brain, One might believe it possible to fix quite simply. But no! It lasts on and on for as long as it wishes, As though it has a mind of its own. It cares none about your agenda, nor about your desires. Simply about its own existence. It twists your thoughts, And manipulates your activities. It is an independent entity, And to be rid of it, one must be willing to sacrifice one's self. To be rid, one must let one's self die to be reborn. A poem I wrote before, and might later post it, about poetry; And death. And life. Just like any other poem, but it bore my mark: It was mine. Maybe if I reread it, I will break, And in breaking, let depression seep throughout the broken shards in a thin sheet. And after being shattered, the depression will evaporate like the pathetic water that it was, And leave me jocund, maybe, and fragmented. As I am now, though, the cracks in my self allow painless suffering to seep in, not leak out. Had I the will to be angry, the surge would empty it from me, but I remain calm. I suffer needlessly, but this lack of need facilitates my suffering. I fear it is easier to live without purpose than to seek it... Unfortunately, my will has seeped out as suffering has seeped in, And this depression, which permeates my life; Which infiltrates my thoughts, my wishes, (pauses) my desires: Which hinders every step I take, which all my thoughts so weighty makes, Which causes pain to great to bear, yet painlessly continues to stare As arrow through my head, my heart, through each and every living part It threatens me, it pains me so, but this dear reader, I'm sure you know. My pain, you see, I must transcend, and this poèm I'll have to end; It seems as though I must trudge on Through life, so pointless and so vain To hope that one day I might gain This "purpose" that I do not seek but avidly desire to have, And one day cured of this affliction be. And now I end this poem with advice to thee, dear reader: Let not Depression interfere with future, be it far or near. Release depression from your soul and live absolved, if all is well. Current Music: Gary Jules - Mad World (Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 18th, 2005
11:27 pm	After Dylan Thomas Another sun, of blood, of color of a beauteous rose Awoke my sleeping corpse from land of total emptiness. At first a finger through my window, and then magically a hand, By opening my eyes removed me from this shallow land. My sleep was pointless, save this grace; this reddened light upon my face Did what the full night's sleep could not: rejuvenated me. Allowed my body, mind, and soul to function as though one and whole Devoid of influence outside. I'm glad. The rest, though needed, only bonus was in comparison to this, This beauty of the world no evil can destroy or take. The colors; art of nature in its purest shape takes form. And nothing can surpass this birth, this rise to glory save The death, the fall of sphere so golden, under clouds of gray. This gold of sun and silver clouds combine at dusk to form A color beyond words to be described; a purple-violet reddish hue Surpassing day and dawn and life the beauty of this death is great; Epiphany of color that happens once or not at all each life Replaces pain with beauty right before the final night. Before the light of moon in silver, soft, can cleanse the sins of life In death, in sleep to free us in our dreams. And only to revive again, another day to waste. Epiphany that comes so late, in sunset, is a shame, But beauty of the dawn must with us all the day remain Affecting thoughts and minds and hearts, removing pain, destroying fear All day, affected we must be, to live for joy from early morn What joy, from childhood know the beauty of this world; To feel, despite its vices, happy; to see despite its evils, good. The greatest gift in life is optimism; to see the good in ev'rything. And sunrise, red as rose, this grants, a realization of the world You see the beauty once, and then you see again, again, again, This beauty of the world, this light which woke you from your sleep You pray to keep this gift of sight; to see it all in a good light, To feel the beauty, leave the pain, and pray to see it once again. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 23rd, 2004
9:59 pm	Patience, a vital quality -- one that I lack. Willpower, equivalent to patience, is also in short supply. There are times at which this makes the world seem black, There are times this makes me ask, "God, why?" There are times I must do what I must, but I don't; There are times when I want to do something but just won't. Yes, there are times; there are times that try both mind and soul, But I must overcome them to reach my goal. There are times that are trying on both soul and mind, These I must overcome if I want to be kind To myself, to the one who understands me the best, Even though it's not that far superior to the rest. Yes! I wish I had patience, in any excess It would save my life, help me find happiness. But with time patience comes, and with patience comes time. Unfortunately, without patience I'm Unable to force my sad soul to react. But with patience great changes I could enact On my life. Dear patience, though fickle, you last once achieved. Happy I'd be if I your blessing received. (Comment on this)
Sunday, November 14th, 2004
11:47 pm	Inspiration Flitting, fleeting, floating, fluttering: Without you I am always stuttering. My speech ineloquent at best, My thoughts are never put to rest. Ephemeral glimpses, sweet but short Revealing beauty bit by bit, Are of a rather painful sort Existing only in a whit. They rarely stay when you're not here, So come and help me speak my mind. Though be it happy, fond or drear Inspiration, do not leave me. Please, I beg of you, be kind. Please, agree to stay; agree. (Comment on this)
Sunday, October 31st, 2004
10:22 pm	There are times when one fights, and then sits down and cries. There are times when one simply has tears in ones eyes. There are times when I wish that I didn't exist. There are times when I barely have will to subsist. O, these times are my lows, but I bounce back with highs Of a natural kind, and my spirits do rise. 'Cause, for me, what goes up must have first have gone down; My emotions of this are a perfect example. For one hour or seven I might wear a frown, Then I'm light as can be if the humor is ample, If my friends are around, from their joy I draw mine, Joy elysian you'll see as my aura does shine. And I'm happy, you'll notice from both near and away, While I wish that this feeling would stay. Mais tant pis pour moi, tous se change, rien ne reste. And what will have happened, you will never have guessed: Again I'm emotionless, or possibly sad, But in the end, it's not really that bad. My life moves from beauty, through pain back to joy Heraclitus said everything flows, nothing stays, So tomorrow I won't be this same boy Who wrote this same poem on a low in his days. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, October 17th, 2004
5:50 pm	A dance, unlike what you think, May not be romance, although it is a link, Between a girl and a man. A friendship may unfurl, but this can Degenerate into enmity, as boys who dance Ballroom, such a pity, take no chance: They are cold hearted assholes, usually. They are bold but only think of winning, unfortunately. More talent in any girl partner-less Will cause many relationships to shatter from stress. My greatest wish is to avoid this fate Of becoming an ass, one to hate. I write this as a promise, a swear That this fate will not be for me to bear, And if from the right path I swerve, If towards this evil road I curve, I'll remember this truth, sad as it may be, And hope, pray to god, that this will not be me. (Comment on this)
Saturday, October 2nd, 2004
9:32 pm	I see dark brow eyes with a piercing, powerful stare: I'm there, wishing I could gaze into those endless onyx eyes, searching for light in their darkness. I see eyes of gray with the faintest tint of blue: I can't resist loving you; gazing with adoration into your sapphire eyes; Pure, beautiful I see eyes of a deep deep green, not like my own: I feel alone, eyes like emeralds; green but not envious, merely deep sea green. Eyes, they say, are a window to the soul; For you, they are a window to mine. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, September 8th, 2004
6:09 pm	The sin of sloth, its deadly grip my actions does control. A moth too lazy for its trip towards light is never whole. I am this moth unable to fulfill my destiny By sins of laziness and sloth which deeply rest in me. My fruits of labor nonexistant, labor also so, My work unfinished, wasted effort, more than I can know. This sloth will kill me soon, I'm sure, but I'm too tired to care, Where e're I'll go I do not mind, I'll worry when I'm there. (Comment on this)
Wednesday, September 1st, 2004
10:46 pm	Happening too fast is change, My life itself will rearange if given the chance. Consistency does not exist, In a mind which won't resist the pull of abeyance. Delay in action is from fear, Of what in my chest I do hold dear becoming split. I do not have the capacity to, Do as I always wish to do, and disdain it, (My fear) it beckons me to leave and stay away. (My heart) it begs that I should have the strength, a moment to stay. (Comment on this)
10:07 pm	I meet a girl who I could like But fear to ask her name. My love life's nonexistent Hell it's not even a game. My confidence, I wish would grow, While that which does so does do so, And I might speak a word or two Speak to that girl I wish I knew. I wish I dreamt of her at nights, My dreams would all then be delights, But curs'd I am to dream no dreams, My life, exactly what it seems, Appeals to me to win this fight against myself and dream tonight, Gain confidence with dreams... And make my dreams reality. . . And work To make A Better Me. . . (Comment on this)