edom_redeemed2112

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    • Name: Harry Brasthwell
    • Birthday: 10/20/1930
    • Gender: Male
    • Member Since: 2/8/2006

Weblog

Friday, 07 November 2008

Monday, 20 October 2008

  • I sigh at the siren who now before me sings.

    I've been told on more than one occasion that love is blind.
    I don't think so.
    I think the people who fall in love are blind.

    Think about it. If a blind man was strolling along one day and whoops - fell off of a pier, who in their right mind wouldn't doubt their blindness? When I refer to an unnamed third character to personify something, assume I'm talking about me. So this pier I speak of is my common sense. My reason, my sanity, my conscience, is all I had to walk alongside of. Then Her path ended up, miraculously, alongside mine. Ok, I won't make assumptions, but if she didn't have anything to do with the falling-into of love on my part, than my name's Alowishus.
    And it's not.
    Yeah, I made mistakes. Not running in the other direction screaming was one of them. I thought I knew better. But now, for the story...

    20 October, 2007

    We kissed tonight. Her ever-passionate embrace was more than romantic. It was romance. I hoped and believed she wouldn't mind holding me there, locked forever in the enchanting embrace of what love was MEANT to be. For all I knew, I had died and knew which direction I was sorted into. How could this befall me, the lowliest of fakes, and how did she know what strings to pull to make me love her? It seemed like only moments had passed before she sat back, and looked into my eyes, the way she does to tell me her thoughts without saying a word.
    It was then I realized, the way I do when I see a car tearing recklessly towards me, that I loved her so much, I would never see the light of endless space again if I kissed her again. I knew, in that moment, what I must do. And now I see the error of my ways, what I did wrong, what I did to imprison myself forever in my own memory:
    I kissed her again.

    Harry

    Being in one's own memory is an awful, awful thing. What, do you think I write these things for fun? I suffer today because of yesterday's kisses.
    Do you?

     

    Harry

Wednesday, 15 October 2008

  • Well, 'twas a midautumn's afternoon. Or, at least that's what I remember...

    Setting free all those things I always thought I had to say, I look into your face, fazed, and grab your hands to wait for some-even minor-response. I listen more ernestly than does a man facing a loaded firearm. You, clearly teary-eyed, look deeply into my eyes, deep as the most crimson rose, and I know your reply before you even say "Someone else"...
    I imagine you and I, happy, content, sitting on the porch around noon drinking lemon tea and watching the neighborhood children play in the street. We don't envy them, of course. We stopped fearing cooties long, long ago. It's just that to watch them shows us we deserve to be here. It gives us some misplaced sense of accomplishment, like we were them once, then we grew up.
    When did this whole "Growing up" occur? Did I miss it? Was it when they give you a set of keys? A beer? A ballot? When did you become a "Young Woman"?
    You're still just that girl I had that thing for that one time.
    Nothing more.
    Still, it gives me reason to glimpse beyond the now and into the then. I simply can't deny myself the chance to be Hopelessly Romantic.
    It's not called that because you're romantic and there's no hope to the contrary...

    ...It's that you're romantic and there's no hope for you whatever. To put it simply:

    I'm doomed.

    Pardon me, I think I need to sit down.

    Harry

    Ps. Now that I think of it, I don't even like lemon tea.
    Figures.

Sunday, 21 September 2008

  • Knock me down and pick me up...

    You'll have to pardon me, I'm having one of those moments I frequently have where I become infatuated with something.

    Well, usually someone.

    In any case, right now I feel that undeniable urge to enlighten the masses. And so without further ado...

     

    Don't be dreadful.

     

    Now if you don't mind, I think I'll go try my hardest not to be a hypocrite.

    Harry

    Ps. Catastrophe Concerto coming along nicely. My nerves, not so much. 

Thursday, 21 August 2008

  • Call of the Beyond.

    I've been meditating on the significance of musical instruments in the end of things.
    Think about it.
    When the Trumpet blows...
    They praise him with the Lyre, the Harp, and the Stringed Instruments.
    I mean, where do I sign up? My whole life, all the things I've done, the things I will do, will fade away to nothing in comparison to the glory of being there when it happens, just...

    Playing.

    Having no less than everything as an audience, but no anxiety, no shame,
    NO FEAR
    That...
    Would...
    Rule.

    Humour me, but what would you do? Say "Well, I guess I lived a good life. The end."? I think not! I see it as the band on Titanic. My, those men make me want to just salute them. They new the end was here for them, and what do they do? Play. It might sound overly poetic of me, but doesn't the evidence back this conclusion? Screw propriety, I say, let's just
    Play.

    Harry

About Me

  • I love my God and my King, and I love to worship him in music and in art.

Pulse

Chatboard (3)

  • Deborah_friend
    I love you Harry... we need to talk.
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  • edom_redeemed2112
    Where: New Life Fellowship Church When: 2006 Friday, we painted our youth room and I got to spend the whole day with my friends. (imported from memories)
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    chat, chat, chat...