April 2004

Original article posted by Stephanie:

So I signed up for a singles website. What can I say, I have too many hours alone. I’ve been talking to several hotties a night, and I can’t say I’m hating it. I’m feeling rather like unto a hottie myself these days.

But it’s so empty. So meaningless. I’m not sure what kind of meaning I’m trying to find, but I tell you, there’s none to be found.

I know, I don’t expect everytime I talk to a guy to be a revelation, but a little spark might be nice? Something besides this empty black hole?

I did find the perfect man, but alas, he’s married. He’s so awesome, I almost wish mormon leaders would reinstate polygamy. (ok, so I don’t mean that, but gee..)

This is the last weekend of the play I’m in, and then…emptiness fills my schedule. Until of course, I go back to NZ to see my ex and I return again to this heartrending pain.

Remind me why I’m going again?

Oh yes, seeking closure. Plus, I left my favourite pair of capris there, that’s important. I get more an more scared as the date of my departure looms closer and I keep asking myself that vital question:

“How could I have been so STUPID??”

I’ve spent $1000 on closure. I should have been satisfied with some chocolate and maybe a facial. But no, I’m a glutton for punishment AND a not-so thrifty one.

Ahh well, what’s done is done. And now I am.


Original article posted by Olorle:

Olivier – Once a prince
among Arch-angels,
believer in Lucifer’s
plan. Fallen angel.
Seeker of redemption
still. Escape from

Uriel – Angel of death,
not fallen, but standing
on the brink, standing
where eleven angels fell.
Guide, only lasting companion,
of Olivier.

Her – Mortal lover,
woman Oliver seeks
for comfort, for hope.

Thoughts seem clearest at night,
nearer truth. Nearer heaven. Redemption’s
secret hidden somewhere amidst
darkest sins. Time falters, moon-shadows
put on puppet plays of what came before.

Sidewalks constrict around grass-patch,
pressing towards fading park bench, world
closing in. Black and white world tinted back
towards middle ground, evil and good

One third rose and fought. Heavenly soldiers
fighting civil war.

What for?
What matter?

Not all earth-bound angels are demons
by choice. Change lurks somewhere
inside human spirit. Jiriki.

Redemption. True life.

Morningstar flared brightly before,
the host, showing us a new path,
another way, hope for all. Battle
raged, Arch-Angels clashing,
perfect beings and perfect war.

We were broken.
Held back from offering
love and salvation

I was cast down. Our rebellion.
My choice. .Damned. God cursing
us all to living without life.

The Fall
No more a Prince.
No end in sight.
No Eden remains.
No Heaven after.

The fall, then plunging
into earth’s hold. Heaven
shredded away.

I must hope.

Sun, glows violet,
drowns, extinguishes- cedes
sky to clouds and moon.

Soft patches of light
reveal quicksilver reflection
shredded by contact.

Current pulls Olivier
beyond rippled fiction,
beyond saving touch.

Rain sheets, building waves
upon waves. Electric flash
showing no sole fate.

Crescendo of sound
and water rending clouds,
leaves a tattered sky.

Water hammers at land –
calls men to watch, to listen.
Creak. Shatter. Silence.

Rag doll figure draped
on rock, trembles, cold, alone.
Light swallows the moon.

Salt torn skin. Muscles
coil with anticipation
of each new pain.

Limbs protest forced
motion. Torn figure
draws up to see

Corporeal, capable
of pain. Almost
human, but
immune to Death’s

A whispering voice
saying “No escape
for the damned.”


1. Olivier
Earth is horrible and beautiful,
a prison for damned souls and home
of the chosen. Humans living life,
facing horror, pressing on. Other fallen
try to draw them down, swell the ranks
of damned souls. But man resists. They
hope amidst pain, death, destruction.

Some find the way back home.

2. Uriel
Olivier endures his curse
and my whispers.
“Forgiveness means mortality.
Fading shell.
None but I see
the oblivion.”

Still, he searches, seeking
mortality, ignoring warnings
of Death. I, who stand
where Azrael, and Adriel,
and Sammael all fell. He
clings to hope, belief,
forgiveness amidst life in death.

Immortal Questions
Cast out for faith too deep;
for lust…
no, greed…
no, love.

Story too old, too twisted;
no, Sanskrit…
no, Enochian, language of angels.

The Beginning wavers between forms;
who is right,
who is wrong,
who should care?

History and heresy, building as one;
tales of devils,
fallen angels,
twisted men.

And I search.

Each new life, new start
towards forgiveness, leads
back to love. Why?

Uriel looms over each
new relationship, dark
shadow of endings.

Women, fallen to streets,
selling away there souls
where mine was given.

They touch me. So close,
because they try. Because
they want life.

Death touches all but
the Fallen. Leaving
me alone. Breaking
my heart;

but, giving momentary peace.

for a girl.
Seeking redemption
in lover’s embrace.
Hoping to be forever,
time touching just her.
Playing at normalcy, until
entropy takes over, tearing down again.
Left, always, with nothing
at the end.

Standing between life
and the abyss, untouched
by Lucifer’s taint. Standing
where so many Fell. Guiding
mortals towards death,
towards misunderstood
ends, towards what only
I see.

Olivier thinks he sees,
thinks he knows what
end waits beyond his
curse. A child ignoring
elders, a man ignoring
the seer.

Life becomes postcards
and paychecks, time
straining forward, slow
as June 21st.

Life becomes sterile
echoing hospital rooms,
cleaned needles, that night
Uriel refused me.

Old scars ache,
stretched by repetitive
motion. Each pain
emphasizes longing.

Dreams tease muscles
with memories of soft
touch, taunting ghosts
of long night together.

Another day starts,
counting down moments
until I come home,
ending this eternal
June 21st.


She faded,
lying in bed,
a crumpled paper
lost in white sheets,
the wings of Uriel.

I watched. Listened. Held her.
Broke down.

I walk through white noise,
bumping shoulders with
faceless crowds, circulated
into anonymity. Becoming
another random soul amidst
city streets reenacting man
fleeing the Garden.

Lost funeral dirge murmured beneath rote
Latin prayer.

Flowers fade slowly, no life-support, garnishing
polished casket, beautifying death. Playing against
ancient ghosts of rough pine boxes, rocks piled
as cairns, tombs for the royal, bodies sent to sea,
funeral pyres pouring smoke into night sky.

Lowered into that same earth, into broken down ash,
broken down men and women. Smoke curls between
my fingers, forgotten ash falling across tombstone, specter
of pyres, lost traditions, mourning of a thousand lost ruins.

Winter Storm

Where will you go?
Rivers carve landscape.

Where will you go?
Mountains rise up, challenging.

Where will you go?
Storm builds, gathers force.
Gathers rage.

Ice rains down, not fire. Which god has been angered?

Darkness falls, claiming each day.
Darkness falls, bringing out man’s lights.
Darkness falls, taking everything.

Dawn breaks, releasing warmth through the storm.

Snow Angel

The wind whispers promises too me. Promises of release from cold. Release from hurt. Release from her. Only it’s promising me in a voice I’m trying to forget.

The path I’m following faded into forest floor hours ago. Now, all that remains is white. White coating the ground. White swirling in my eyes. White lulling me towards sleep. The only thing that isn’t white is what I see when I give in to the whispers and start closing my eyes. Then, I see her. I see that look in her eyes at the end. The hurt and disbelief warring beneath green pools.

Uriel loomed.
Refusing me. Only her,
he said. Only her.

My body cries out for me to surrender to the cold. Her eyes keep pressing me forward. Maybe not to try and make things right. I think I gave that up when I Left. I think I’m just afraid. Afraid of falling into her eyes and being trapped forever. Lost in moments swallowed by time. That notion frightens me more than any eternal punishment any god could conjure up.

Remembered fall,
screaming wind, impact, my curse.
Feeling with no end.

Or maybe it doesn’t.

The chance to fuck things up somewhere new looms in the distance, behind white sheets. Find another table to play at. One with better odds. Another life to live. Another city. Eventually, someone else to touch. To love. Sometimes change is necessary. Sometimes love goes away. Or was never real. Or maybe that’s just my excuse for running. To hide from a life I killed.

Tombstone. Cigarette
ash instead of flowers. My
tribute to Uriel.

Warmth flows into my toes. So different from the cold. A dull burning comfort. So safe. Maybe just a short rest against a tree. A moment away from the white.

Teasing image.
Uriel beckoning.
Allowing me in.

I see her again. Only, the anger is gone. She’s smiling again. I have to smile back. Her arms seem so inviting. So warm. So comfortable. The world wavers, dancing between her warmth and the warmth of the snow, until the two sensations join. We hold one another tightly, lost in the white. Her eyes glitter, the only shot of color in my world. My fear fades and I fall into her eyes, escape the white. Accepting her punishment.

Uriel. Alone.
Cigarette ash falling from
untainted hand.

Another shadow arrives, takes the cigarette. Uriel speaks, whisper of death, “he finally let go.” The shadow nods, takes long puff, brushes ash across snow. Uriel bows head to the man and both fade away.

Original article posted by Dyistar:

I haven’t been sleeping well for the last week or so. I blame it on the nightmares. I doubt that there is anything prophetic in them, because I have yet to have the same one twice. Yet, night after night I awake with a pounding heart and a second skin of sweat. Sometimes its the childhood monsters that keep me awake. You know the ones, the six-eyed monster under the bed just waiting to bite into your ankle or the three-foot monster hiding in the closet waiting for you to open it so he can jump you and eat your face. No matter how old I get or how many times I tell myself that monsters aren’t real and that I should have grown out of this phase a long time ago, I can’t help but to flip the light and check the room.

Other times its my death. I’ve been in car crashes, had wild animals rip my guts out, or have just been shot or beaten to death. I’ve never actually died in any of them, I’ve always woken up just before. I think its because I heard once that if you die in your sleep then you’ll really die. Just call me paranoid. The closest I came was having a pack of wolves chewing on my legs and everything starting to fade to white. That was one of the few times where I woke up sitting up-right panting with pain fading from my legs.

I wish that there would be some sort of proof that I’m having these nightmares, like a strange mark that looks like teeth marks on my legs, or a light rope burn around my neck when I was dropped but the fall didn’t snap my neck right away, or even just a small mark near my stomach where a bullet pierced me. I wish there was some reason why I was having these dreams. Some sort of connection to the waking world. But I don’t see any. No ghost that suddenly decided to haunt my dreams to get me to help it. No premonition that something is going to happen to me or a loved one. Nothing. And with no hints as to what is happening I have no hints as to what to do about it.

In any case the nightmares have seemed to move on from monsters chasing me and my own death, to having those close to me die. These, I think, are the most disturbing. At first it was just their death, but last night and the night before have been me watching them die, inches away, and unable to save them. Last night I was treated to watching my mother burning to death while I just stood there looking for something, anything to throw on the fire or to pull her out. There was nothing. Instead I watched her slowly collapse and cursing me with her last breath for not saving her. I woke up crying.

I hate these nightmares. My problem is that I don’t know how to get rid of them. My only hope is that they are stress related and after finals everything will be better. However, it is only a hope.

Orginal comments:

Nickname: Edward_Nigma
Re: Nightmares
Alot of nightmares are stress related, (how many of us have had the nightmare of being at a new job and getting way behind and swammped in your work) when you sleep your mind goes through all that so it can store and catorgorize events and things learned durring the day. If your still haveing problems after finals you may want to seek some professional help. You may have developed an anxiety disorder or you may just need a perscription sleep aid for a month or so. Good Luck

Nickname: ravenpaine
Re: Nightmares
Ha! I thnk I shall prescribe neither medication or professional help.

True, that stress stuff can do some nasty things to your dreams.

But, until May 28th we are within the boundaries of the Dream Cycle in which the Dreamscape is closest to our world, during this time many people have irregular or frightening dreams as the denizens fo the Dreamscape come clawing into our world through the conduit of our minds.

Unless you happen to be a lucid dreamer, or an experienced dreamer, I recommend that you sleep only 7 hours a night and drink a little caffeine before bed. The caffeine will upset your alpha rythms and cause you to sleep a little less well, but also if you enter the Dreamscape you should have slight control, enough to get out if necessary.

And if nothing else, I’ll send Vincent and the Nameless One to smack some people around for you, they like doing that.

Rodney TGAP
old dreamer

Nickname: Dyistar
Re: Nightmares
Thank you for the advice. As finals are over and things are quieting down the nightmares are too. I think they were stress related and now that most of my stress is gone I can sleep easy again. Thank you once again for the suggestions.

Original article posted by Olorle:

If I miss anything from living in the dorms, it’s the hum of my computer through my keyboard. The slight buzz of keys against finger-tips jostling thoughts into the computer and out wherever they needed to go. Now I just listen to the fan and wonder how much it would cost to get the noise canceller or to switch over to a fanless system.

Entity of noise
swarms beyond thought, sensation
abandoned. Forgot.

The semester is nearly over and the biggest disaster seems to be the exhaustion built from anticipation of events that never spiralled completely out of control. Still, it feels like something lurks on the horizon. Perhaps not disaster, but at least a begining. Which only comes after an ending.

Coil. Pressure builds.
Lost moments time devours
before memory.

A sequence, a set of ideas shouting for release, demand my attention. Sometimes without giving me words to match. Everything else in school fades. Hoops layed out, half ignored as the future glitters, a pretty bauble just beyond. Still, things aren’t all bad. Things really tend towards good. Towards fate subtly bumping things into saving me. A test dropped. An assignment removed. A job opening. A few snares, minor compared to victories.

Furies drive fate home,
stake to heart. Misplaced organ.
Wizards trick grown old.

Meaning falters. Direction fades. The clock ticks down slowly to morning. Another dawn. At some point, I think I had a point. But then again, maybe not. Or maybe the meaning is just hidden amidst the jumbled thoughts of a tired pooka. I tired poet so lost in the words and images and breaks in his head that even his news post ended up something else.

Dream. Silence. Moment
beyond thought. Nirvana found,
rejected for life.

Orginal comments:

Nickname: -soma-
Re: Cascading Words
Poor pooka. I too am drained. My, how I waste time when I am supposed to be working on my poems. Yesterday I spent a good part of the day here in the writing center working on, um, my poetry. I sought distractions. No one emailed me. I have two poems that are almost nonexistant. They need a whole lot of something but I am empty. Instead, I sign on to sixmilevillage. No one new has posted, or Rodney must still be asleep. 8:47…everyone is still asleep. Last night’s dreams were a surge of emotions. Stress. I have too many things going on right now. Even your poetry is creaping its way into my dreams. Hey you, stay out of my dreams! That’s soma’s soma time. This morning is cold, but as the day wastes away, it will get increasingly hot until the writing center is a smoldering hades of bitchy writing tutors and stressed out English students. Then it will be time for my shift.

Original article posted by -soma-:

I have a sequence of poems due in a few days. This is the weakest one. I want to express this idea of…well…hell, it’s hard to explain. Here’s you go…

Gravitational Nirvana

I want to
curl up in to
a ball of infinite
so that there is
no room for

That’s all for now. I’ll figure something out tonite.

Original article posted by -soma-:

Well, I don’t have a problem with hating (I’m really quite good at it). What I mean is, I have a problem and it is that I hate things.

Like weddings.

There’s nothing like a tacky, flashy, superficial cliche to make you want to see two gay guys get married. Finally… something original. Actually, I prefer the private ceremony where I’m alone with my fiance, the judge, and a few witnesses. Oh, and I’m over thirty. No more of this getting married at nineteen.

Just like so many other girls I grew up envisioning my future wedding. And just like all LDS girls I was assigned the sacred calling of marriage and motherhood. I recall Sunday mornings semi-circled around the lace-draped table, musing over wedding dresses and brassy temple doors. Funny, I don’t recall much scripture study. But of course not. Young girls aren’t interested in gospel doctrine nearly as much as they are in where they’re going to get married, how many layers their cake will have, and “oooh…should my bridesmaids wear lavender or periwinkle?” And I can’t say that I blame them. In an attempt to assuage the hard feelings some women have about not holding the priesthood, women are taught that motherhood is the most sacred calling. So why wasn’t Christ a woman? But I digress. Now I have two silly sisters. One is 26, married with two children and thinks it is just swell how my nineteen-year-old sister might marry her boyfriend of two months by next spring. Swell.

So, my hatred for weddings is starting to contaminate my feelings on marriage. I actually think marriage is great and I don’t want to have kids until I am married. In twenty years. I guess I just wish that everyone wasn’t in such a hurry. I think I know why many LDS people are so hasty, and it has nothing to do with how the church encourages early marriage. My question is, which is worse… getting married early so you can have sex, or having sex before you get married? Yes, you must choose between two evils, that is, unless you are willing to remain unmarried and chaste until you’ve known the guy for at least a few years and have been living outside your parent’s house for at least a few years. “Oh, but I love him so much and I feel that it is God’s will that I get married right out of high school because God has nothing better to do than command me to get married right out of high school.”

Someday I hope to be a mother and when I am I will stay home and take care of my children. However, I am in no hurry to jump into a decade-long commitment. While we’re on that note, I’m not ready to jump into any eternity-long commitments either. But maybe that is just me.

Orginal comments:

Nickname: Dyistar
Re: Soma’s Reflections on Weddings
I agree fully. I always hated the marriage lessons because of the fact that a good 90% consisted of gown, cake, reception, and repeating over and over the qualities you wanted in a mate. After the first few of these lessons I learned to always have a blank sheet of paper and a pencil tucked into my scriptures for doodling purposes. And no, I will not let you borrow my pen and paper so you can show everyone exactly what your dress will look like. Twits.

Getting married right out of high school has got to be one of the stupidest things ever. You’ve barely begun to realize who you are and what you can become. I see no reason to tie yourself down with another person who is going through the same thing. A person needs time alone to figure out just what they are doing with their life and which direction they are going. As the saying goes “Two half people do not make a whole. They just make two unbalanced people stuck in really close quarters.”

Nickname: squishous
Re: Soma’s Reflections on Weddings
Amen! I think the worst thing to come out of these teenage marriage fantasies is how trivial marriage has become. It might be obsessed with for years, but when the actual time comes – that’s it! There is no thinking beyond the wedding day, no understanding that eternity is a really long time.

In my hometown I had friends that would drive down to Vegas, get married, have sex, and then get their marriage annuled to aleviate any feelings of guilt they might experience! They just didn’t get it. How easy it has become to just quit our marriages. To threaten divorce because of menial arguments over the frozen peas in the freezer. If you believe in God, then you just shouldn’t mess around with His sacred ordinences. I love being married, and I am – and always will be – forever grateful that I waited past the point of surety.

Nickname: SmokyWolf
Re: Soma’s Reflections on Weddings
Wow, and to think I used to be jealous because the young women always seemed to come out of class with some sort of food. I’m glad I just got the “don’t get girls pregnant” speech.
You’re right about this whole get married quick thing. Too many straight-laced Mormons believe in hormonal revelation. They won’t admit it, but sex is always an issue in an LDS marriage. Unfortunately many equate the stirrings of their passions with spiritual guidance.
The Mormon culture needs to learn how to talk about sex. Until that happens, this situation is going to perpetuate itself. I looked at an English paper the other day where the writer was so afraid to talk about sex that she spent three pages talking around it. When is “Happy Valley” going to grow up?

Nickname: AlanaGrey
Re: Soma’s Reflections on Weddings
So did everyone who commented on this (a year ago) grow up in Utah or something? Because I’m LDS, and talking about marriage wasn’t like that for me. I never thought about my wedding in advance, nor did many of my friends. We were content to prepare ourselves spiritually, emotionally, educationally, and mentally for life. And encouraged to do nothing more. Because doing these things allows you to prepare for marriage, which is the single most important thing one can do. There’s nothing wrong with marriage, and nothing wrong with aspiring to do it at the right place and in the right time. And what is right is different for each person.

I married at 23 (I’m 26 going on 27 now), after a whirlwind courtship. I wasn’t thinking of marriage, but when my husband showed up on the scene, I recognized him for who he is.

Let’s not label everything that goes on in “the bubble” as LDS culture. It’s insulting to the rest of us Mormons who love the gospel but can’t stand the trappings that Utahns seem to heap upon it.

Nickname: ravenpaine
Re: Soma’s Reflections on Weddings
I’m sorry, maybe it’s just the phrasing, but do you actually mean to say that getting married is the single most important thing a person can do? Because if that is your statement I have some exceptionally serious misgivings about your viewpoint on life.

If you meant something else, then please, help me out here.

Original article posted by arylaina:

I came by again.
I knew I shouldn’t, but I’m
addicted to pain.

So many mistakes
have been forged between us, can
we ever forget?

Twisting, bleeding, pain
Is leaking, heart is crying,
I can’t stop thinking.

Bad memories loom
Like ghosts, singing a lament
For what I have lost.

I finally saw
you weren’t the only one
who cut like a knife.

Year of life gone by.
Mangled and cracked, I survive.
I’ve learned how to cry.

Alone in my room,
I look out the window, and
wonder what happened.

Heart full of haikus,
I write to relieve the pain.
I don’t think it works.

Orginal comments:

Nickname: arylaina
Please comment!
I forgot to say that in my actual post. But please, comments are welcome and appreciated.

Nickname: Dyistar
Re: Twist the knife
I like it. I’ve always sucked at haikus and really respect people who are able to write them. I especially like the last line because it is so true. Writing is a momentary distraction, but when you stop everything leaps out of the corner and bombards you again.

Nickname: Olorle
Re: Twist the knife
Comments, eh? Now you’ve done asked for it.

The sixth haiku comes closest to doing the thing that most haikus miss. The real challange of a haiku is that the last line is supposed to be a turn. It should draw slightly away from what the previous two lines said. Or add a new interpretation too them. Modify it in some way. The sixth manages that to a degree. A decent degree even.

Another really rough trick with haikus is adding immediacy and keeping it succinct. I place these together because they work almost the same. First, kill the ing’s. It’s an easy trap to fall into, but it makes it more concise if the actions happen.

Twist, bleed, pain
leaks, heart cries.
I can’t stop thinking.

This is one of those things that make form poetry so tough. The ing and filler words really help you say what you want while meeting the syllable count. I’m as guilty of this as anyone else, frankly, but it is one of those tricks to making a really good haiku. Then look for words that can be cut without losing meaning. Ussually the is a grand place to start.

Last, a single haiku works without a title. A series of haikus really can stand to have one to help link them all together. You’re limiting how much you can say in each poem all ready. Use the title as another place to slip in one more piece to the puzzle you’re attempting to lay out. Unless the twist the knife thing is the title. In which case I’ll mostly comment on titles and the need for them to be unique and interesting and add to the poem. Heh.

Anything more specific than my general haiku pointers would involve a print out and me sitting and scribbling notes and thoughts to say anything effective and usefull. Which is of course allowed. You just have to do the printing. I’ve all ready spent $15 on print credits in two weeks trying to keep up with my own poetry re-working needs.

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