28 Shades of Blue: A Decade Of December 21st Winter Solstices

Happy 25th Birthday from this Jack Frost born on the cusp of Summer’s last eve and the Autumn Equinox to my little brother Old Man Winter! I’m jealous of his birthdate and claim to the Old Man Winter title! :P We were born exactly 3 years and 3 months apart, or 1,186 days apart!

(Written September 20, 2014)

“28 Hues, Tints, Shades & Degrees of Blue Cryptogram Pieces:
Frost’s Put Off Waking The Autumn Red For 5 Aiges
Since He Started Shading Age 23″
by Ry Hakari

When we are born, we start
living our first year
When we come full circle
we claim a full age
and begin another

The last evening of the Summer
of 2008, I turned 22
and as a red dawn spilled over
the Autumn Equinox,
I began shading 23’s blueprints

I’ve never had an ending
just almost beginnings
love touched, just airbrushed
lust, infatuation with the
emotionally unavailable

I’m attracted to what I can’t
have, and if I see I can
with my own voice and hands
I sacrifice myself, the chance
thinking I’m just too savage

for saving, knowing intimacy
means trusting without facade
another with the true open book
that I pretend is 21 shades of blue
afraid to let 23 shades of red be read

with subtle jots, with little tittles
I’ve tried to call out all the shots,
to alter what I knew to be my lot
My eyes bloodshot, never have forgot
the pain of sunspots in inkblots

a process of drawing my own fire,
and losing our plot in the flames
after becoming a self-inspired liar
torching memories, bridge-burning
synapses-misfiring, reinventing She

a blur of burns from close shaves
in changing Aiges and Her names
fanning my fickle flames in shame
Hush-Hush, secrets in the telling
of fever-dreams’ frozen reveries

I might as well be running in circles
around the world recreating Earth
as my personal Hell without help,
the 21 century’s 21 shades of blue
stuck on repeat, static, standing still

and I might as well be alone here;
without Her here, there is no one
who can contain my flame for her
Summer sparks of sunspots, freckles,
kisses Frost blew shades of red to

five Aiges since one True I’ve burned
through, with them bridges I’d built
of lives spent missing Her’s in them
five years since I began 23, now I’m turning
28 tomorrow’s eve, still differing an epilogue’s leaf

"21 Shades of Blue" by Ry Hakari (Me) [February 28, 2006]

“21 Shades of Blue” by Ry Hakari (Me) [February 28, 2006]

“Outside the window, there slides past that unimaginable and deserted vastness where night is coming on, the sun declining in ghastly blood-streaked splendour like a public execution across, it would seem, half a continent, where live only bears and shooting stars and the wolves who lap congealing ice from water that holds within it the entire sky. All white with snow as if under dustsheets, as if laid away eternally as soon as brought back from the shop, never to be used or touched. Horrors! And, as on a cyclorama, this unnatural spectacle rolls past at twenty-odd miles an hour in a tidy frame of lace curtains only a little the worse for soot and drapes of a heavy velvet of dark, dusty blue.

She sleeps. And now she wakes each day a little less. And, each day, takes less and less nourishment, as if grudging the least moment of wakefulness, for, from the movement under her eyelids, and the somnolent gestures of her hands and feet, it seems as if her dreams grow more urgent and intense, as if the life she lives in the closed world of dreams is now about to possess her utterly, as if her small, increasingly reluctant wakenings were an interpretation of some more vital existence, so she is loath to spend even those necessary moments of wakefulness with us, wakings strange as her sleepings. Her marvellous fate – a sleep more lifelike than the living, a dream which consumes the world.

…in their millenial and long-lived patience they knew quite well how, in a hundred years, or a thousand years’ time, or else, perhaps, tomorrow, in an hour’s time, for it was all a gamble, a million to one chance, but all the same there was a chance that if they kept on shaking their chains, one day, some day, the clasps upon the shackles would part.”
― Angela Carter, Nights at the Circus

No-More-Singing Hush Sonnets I [1] (ROUGH FIRST DRAFT)

Mnemosyne Temptation by Ian Marke

Mnemosyne Temptation by Ian Marke

“Sonnets To Orpheus VI”
by Rainer Maria Rilke (Translated by Robert Hunter)

Is he of our world alone? No.
Both realms his broader scope salute.
He can best twine the shoots of the willow
who has dwelt a time in its root.

Bread nor milk on the table leave
to entice the dead while you lie abed.
Let Orpheus, magus, their spirits weave
into all that may be seen, instead;

beneath his eyelids gently dreaming,
with spell of rue and earthsmoke streaming,
vision detailed as reason blazes.

Nothing disturbs these forms eternal,
haste they from graves or rooms external,
as flask, clasp and ring he raises.

lVi2gR

“No-More-Singing Hush Sonnets I”
by Ry Hakari

To pronounce the Nymph name “Mnemosyne” without erring
simply enunciate “no-more-singing” with a deep Asian accent
She is the one of 3,000 Oceanids (Oh-see-and-its) overseeing
Hades’ pool she shares a name with, as well as the river Lethe
of forgetfulness. The origin of Mnemonic Devices — retaining
data with an aid — The Myth of Er ending to Plato’s Republic:
Funeral Pyre reincarnated, with memories of the Mnemosyne
synapses-bound as a captive Phoenix, freed a snapping Fenris

Twilight-drinking from the kiss of no more singing Siren’s lips
Myrrh-drips incremental reminiscence, mermaid pearlescence
Her Scarecrow escaped Elysian’s Saule Field straw left to wind
Lady Death chased, but scatter-brained within snow I coalesce
day-by-day a Winter Solstice decade tomorrow marks it’s been
rebuilding my Memory Palace, roots asleep in my Willow since

 

Mnemosyne by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Mnemosyne by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

Self-Portrait of Dante Gabriel Rossetti when he was 19 in 1847

Self-Portrait of Dante Gabriel Rossetti when he was 19 in 1847

Me at 28 years old in September 2014

Me at 28 years old in September 2014

“The ancients believed that when one died and crossed into the Underworld one would be given a choice . . . whether to drink from the river Lethe where you would forget all the pains and terrors of your previous life (and with them, the lessons they brought), or whether to drink from the Mnemosyne, the spring of memory.

Those who chose to forget had to be reborn, to return to earth to learn the lessons they needed. Those who had chosen to remember were admitted to the Elysian Fields where they would spend eternity in comfort and peace. The esteem in which the memory was held was made clear in the initiation rites of the ancient gnostics, who were required to consult with an oracle.

Before being brought to the oracle, initiates were taken to a place with two pools lying next to each other. They were instructed to first drink from the pool of Lethe, the goddess of forgetfulness, in order that they might forget their previous lives. Then they were taken to the spring of Mnemosyne to drink so that they would remember all that they were about to learn from the oracle.

Once an important goddess in her own right, Mnemosyne is largely remembered today in her capacity as the mother of the Muses, the nine Greek goddesses whose role it was to inspire poets and musicians and to promote the arts and sciences.”
— http://www.outbackonline.net/alluvial_mining/mine_main_memorystream.htm

Captain Kangaroo Court: Media Circus & 5 Day Filibuster (Humor Haiku / Tanka / Semi-Stream-of-Consciousness)

“Captain Kangaroo Court: Media Circus & 5 Day Filibuster”
by Ry Hakari

One I:
Stalling, enthralling,
subconscious crowsnest falling
Gripping yet slipping

Attention is really
held here in reality?

One II:
Is or isn’t it
our interest conscripted,
militaristic?

Attention! — Yes Drill Sergeant!
WHAT PRIVATE?? — Yes sir, starting!

One III:
Mental gymnastics
one-handed push-ups! — Impressed?
Right hand to your chest?

Are you floored? A loyalist,
brainwashed with endorphins — Whipped?

One IV:
Frowning’s used muscles?
3/5 smile’s ratio lift —
Even if pretend

For shits and giggles, high grin —
like on Cheshire Cat-nip!

One V:
Talking to myself
into a turnstile, upstairs
in my head’s no sweat

Megalomania’s guests —
you entertained enough, yet?

“One hour to madness and joy! O furious! O confine me not! (What is this that frees me so in storms? What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean?) O to drink the mystic deliria deeper than any other man! O savage and tender achings! (I bequeath them to you, my children, I tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.) O to be yielded to you, whoever you are, and you to be yielded to me, in defiance of the world! O to return to Paradise! O bashful and feminine! O to draw you to me–to plant on you for the first time the lips of a determin’d man! O the puzzle–the thrice-tied knot–the deep and dark pool! O all untied and illumin’d! O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last! O to be absolv’d from previous ties and conventions–I from mine, and you from yours! O to find a new unthought-of nonchalance with the best of nature! O to have the gag remov’d from one’s mouth! O to have the feeling, to-day or any day, I am sufficient as I am! O something unprov’d! something in a trance! O madness amorous! O trembling! O to escape utterly from others’ anchors and holds! To drive free! to love free! to dash reckless and dangerous! To court destruction with taunts–with invitations! To ascend–to leap to the heavens of the love indicated to me! To rise thither with my inebriate Soul! To be lost, if it must be so! To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness and freedom! With one brief hour of madness and joy.”
— Walt Whitman, “One Hour To Madness And Joy” (Prose-form)

Two I:
Stalling, enthralling,
subconscious crowsnest falling
Gripping yet slipping

Keeping my chin up, aiming
above the bar of charming

Two II:
Relationships, true
aren’t supposed to be felt used
symbiotic suits

Codependency? A muse
amused by mad-house host, proves

Two III:
What? I’m rambling
like some jive turkey? Gobbling
ever-lastingly

Jaw dropping gobstoppers, chin
spittle my wattle dangling?

Two IV:
Am I just speaking
smart-sounding stupidity
because it’s easy?

Because it’s amusing me,
and mentally challenging?

Two V:
Is it exercise?
Just running circles inside
out my mind in rhyme?

Tortured genius haiku-size?
Fits of tanka happenin’?

My-First-Thought-When-I-Heard-Lady-Gaga-Is-Hosting-A-Thanksgiving-Special_o_102434

Three I:
Stalling, enthralling,
subconscious crowsnest falling
Gripping yet slipping

Common sensibilities
in impossibilities!

Three II:
Is there a method?
Is this stream-of-consciousness —
my thoughts unfiltered

Caterpillar cigarettes?
My hypnosis working yet?

Three III:
Promise not to bite,
but I’ll self-cannibalize
my heart out of spite

seasoned fries, chili disguised
glutton for punishment lies!

Three IV:
You in the mirror,
in introspection appear
ambiguous near!

More Batman or Boy-wonder’s
own worst enemy, Hush, leers?

Three V:
So scarred, you are scared
you can’t see yourself whole, spared
in mercy, shone fair?

Train-wreck machine-heads can’t bare
rubber-chicken-necker’s stares!

Batman_-_Hush_TPB

Four I:
Stalling, enthralling,
subconscious crowsnest falling
Gripping yet slipping

slippery consciousness themes?
But I know what I’m doing!

Four II:
How can you deny
me, myself kicked Private I?
Hearts commandeer minds,

Captain Kangaroo courts — Why?
Don’t you know that pirates lie?

Four III:
My first mate, Crowsnest
fled — The relationship wrecked,
left me just my pet

Jack Frost the dog, heart-horcruxed
in her place — so sue me! Next!

Four IV:
So, Lord Voldemort…
Hush! You must not say that sort
of name — it’s foretold!

Hush! You seek recourse? Death stole
snake-oil your heart split with? So???

Four V:
Which Siren was it?
Yes, Witch Siren! Succubus!
Suck on this?!?! Contempt!!

Hold yourself in it Justice —
I meant she’s a Druidess!

cut-my-soul-into-pieces-my-name-is-voldemort

Five I:
Stalling, enthralling,
subconscious crowsnest falling
Gripping yet slipping

stories… Chinese, Japanese,
look at these! Seriously!

Five II:
Why you think I type
Orient-like? Love long time
burn-out dream-pipe mind?

Why choose Hakari? Not like
I’m an Anime-freak, right?

Five III:
So Looper inspired?
Maybe year 23 might
just mean Chinese Red —

The color Vermilion said
on nice Chinese lady’s smiles?

Five IV:
Purging memories
just works temporarily
ECT, Saline

Solution — Sailing the seas
with Lady Kailan, which means

Five V:
The Keeper of Keys
for unlocking mysteries
and Rai willow trees

burning tear breeze, consuming
weeping, embracing in dreams!

(268)

September 28, 2006 Thursday

“Emotion VS Notion”
by Ry Hakari

I — THE OFFENSE :

Love and loveless
Romantic relationships
Are just like sinking ships
Careening in teary oceans
For loners like the man I am
Never been kissed yet
I haven’t had the chance
Been given any attention
Beyond a passing glance
It’s just the tip of the iceberg
Of which I’ve crashed into
Headlong with my whole hull
Breached with my soul pierced

SOS requests not loud enough
Two years have already passed
But rescue has come now
No longer stranded in isolation
No more struggling to survive
In a constant winter world

I’m home and almost rested
Now my heart is pursuing
A lawsuit against it’s captain

II — THE SUIT :

My emotions are obstinate
They love a game of hard ball
My emotions are dicey
And never play nicely

My notions are abstinent
Self-critical and die hard
My notions says emotions
You haven’t got the balls

Hit or miss on the premise
Of persistence undying
Inspiration and passion
I need some perspective

My mood is inconsistent
Bipolar and always changing
My mind is like a mirror
Narcissistic is it’s nature

Trying to reach a consensus
My emotions and my notions
Are going in eccentric circles
Around a round table discussion
In intense pretrial deliberation
Pretentious in their insistence
Of their own intrinsic concepts
Of self liberation denominations

My life wears no mask
Incognito, I don’t need to
My being is faceless
My soul is in stasis
I really can’t take this
Why can’t I just settle
Move on and escape it

I tried to con my senses
With my fickle thinking
And mislead my mind
With my lonely feelings
My case is proceeding

III — THE TRIAL :

Court is in session
Defense is cognition
Plaintive is feelings
The jury’s in limbo
And the judge is impatient

My emotions are confusing
Polluting my notions
Notions given to slander
Shows my emotions no mercy
Arrogance the defense
Plaintiff is just out there
Both are unruly

It’s a two way street I know
Both parties are guilty
This case seems pointless
Like it lacks meaning

That’s how it goes
Just another one of those
Frivolous lawsuits
That nothing comes from
No effect in the long run

I’ll straighten my papers
I’m pounding the gavel
The claims are dismissed

IV — DISMISSAL REPORT OF CLAIMS FOLLOWS :

The problem’s been addressed
And this report on the verdict
Shows it clearly
But remember
Though the newspaper
May hold your attention
Words in print
Often leave things absent
Because reporters omit them
When they don’t fit in
From this day onward
I refuse to live likewise
And really will be wise

Believe or leave this empty
If you do not want to
Then be my guest and go

If you are not one
To pause and consider
The consequences
Of your inactions
Like the previous me
Then open Pandora’s box
Step inside and close the lid
Live your life like you’re dead

Believe and listen as you leave
Trust and never second-guess
Congratulations if you do

If you are willing
To shed your skin smiling
Look for what you lack
Dream before you hit the sack
Stand back up in the aftermath
Of your mistakes when you collapse
Don’t just think outside the box
Live out and far away from it

V — CANDID PUBLIC STATEMENTS
WITH THE PRESS POST TRIAL
DIRECTED TOWARDS
THE JUDGE’S PAST JURORS :

I so need a vacation
Away from my old scene
Twenty years dead behind me
Twenty more lay before me
While I’m traveling
I’ll keep musing to music
On occasion sirs and madams
Because I find it amusing
But take heed and believe me
This dark horse may be open
And circuit like scuba
But I’m still keeping secrets
Writing double-triple meanings
Surprises up my sleeves in droves

Just know that I know
The old has come and gone home
And the new is here and breathing
Restless and testing limits

Writing how my emotions
Decide to move and groove me
Past tense, now or future’s presents
The entire gamut of existence
In every possible feeling

Writing how my notions
Direct my path with my beliefs
Paved with stronger thinking
Obstacles and delusions removed
Chasing dreams of things within reason
With a growing self-awareness

Life is what it is
And what you want it
Make and form it
Don’t destroy it
Neglect or lose it
Live it like it’s yours
For you and your God
Not people you don’t know
Dance and enjoy this
Exist or stay oblivious
Trash the old and don’t recycle
Be who you want to be
Become new, full and fly
But most of all
Be alive and like it

My 2014 – 2024 Diabolical Plans (With Some Shiny Meme Stickers & Long-Winded Manicical Laughs To Reward My Minions For Paying Attention & Following Me)

I have a sinister plan for my future now – pay off my credit debt as soon as possible, which I probably will in less than half a year, and save up $750 for a more reliable getaway vehicle from a charity organization I was told about several months ago, then retake the two classes at the local community college I had high grades in but failed because I irresponsibly skipped too many classes thinking I could just teach myself how to take over the world and do my evil homework on my own like I used to do in my public school for the criminally insane days.

Once I pass those 2 classes, it will allow me to re-qualify for a PELL grant, which will allow me to take more Communism and WMD (Weapons of Mass Destruction) classes for free. I will then go for an English degree, and take creative writing classes, while minoring in Psychotic Deviant Behavior and avail myself to manipulate opportunities that are shared with me to my advantage.

I believe I am an excellent writer and that my teachers in the smaller-sized community college classrooms will recognize my preeminence, as my superiority stood out to my English teacher in my Freshman year of high school, who privately practically begged me to challenge myself with global domination by first taking advanced weaponry and writing-intensive English classes my sophomore year…

After I get my evil associate’s degree, and show myself that I can finally follow through with taking control of community college, I will probably feel comfortable pursuing reigning as emperor of higher education above the community college level, and feel more comfortable taking out loans and rebels with the force if I have to, if I can’t find other scholarships that are writing-oriented in nature to help with my dark-side tuition costs. I will look for them though, and ask my servile teachers about how to rob the government. I should probably read “How To Win Minions And Brainwash Peasants” to brush-up my people skills though, so if I make a bad impression, I can erase their memories and try again. I mean, if at first you don’t succeed, try and try again obsessively until you break your enemy’s free will to smithereens until you win and they submit to your every whim with unquestionable loyalty, am I right?

I may be able to get freelance writing and hit man jobs with just an associates degree, but I think I would enjoy manipulating higher education classes, and I believe it would help me pursue my potential for evil further, exposing me to more great socialist manifestos and literary philosophies, torture styles and medieval fiscal practices that would help me become an even better writer and world leader. Believe it or not, I am mostly self-taught, and what little about writing and being evil that I actually do know, I have taught myself by my own reading and research of psychopaths that personally interest me.

I should have complied and accepted my Freshman English teacher’s necessary recommendation to be able to sign up for advanced Weapons Ballistics and Intermediate Telekinesis in addition to those writing-intensive  English classes, but at the time I was more interested in having less evil homework so I could play violent video games… The idea of writing-intensive homework, I knew would get in the way of my free time though, and to be honest, I hadn’t discovered my love of being evil to my core yet. I wish I would have gotten in touch with my dad before this past summer, he’s totally been an inspiration and encouragement of pursuing my evil genius potential!

The tables have turned now – though I still occasionally enjoy some homicidal video game vicarious play-time, I much prefer intensive writing and manipulating puppet governments from the shadows, and I know that my evil writing and puppy-killing-machine-design homework would be something I would truly enjoy totally immersing myself in now…

It’s actually what I prefer, I want the challenge and the puppies to suffer, I want assignments so I can learn how to do my job better than my peers so when I am ready for my backstabbing coup d’État, my peers free-will will fall enmasse like dominoes under my dastardly brainwashing due to my bastardly ruling the world already sounding like a perfectly logical progression of the malleable world needing the strong hands of a capable creative master to subdue and mold it to the pure logic of Communism that is not at all hypocritical if everyone has to do what I say, because I am obviously superior and not in the same league as “people”!

I mean why should Kim Jong Un be allowed to rule South Korea and have his own Hello Kitty Orphanage/Hide-out? That’s pretty lame if you ask me, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Sewer Lair is much cooler sounding. How are you supposed to intimidate prisoners of war with a ball-pit? Poop water is so much more psychologically unnerving, if you ask me, but maybe there are pit-vipers in the ballpit you just can’t see in the photo below via http://www.nbcnews.com/news/world/kim-jong-un-closely-inspects-hello-kitty-set-orphanage-n234301

I give myself challenging assignments like this post after all, with rules I make up for my own writing… rigid, crazy strict totalitarian rules, like how in a lot of my sonnets, I make each stanza’s line length often the same length all the way through for a sadistic challenge, or like my sonnet from several days ago, the “Black Swan Song”, where I made each line of the sonnet a haiku first, subjecting each line of the haiku except for the one I reused from another poem to so such mind-control, the end of the lines in each haiku were giving the choice to either accomplish their mission to rhyme three times, or else my whole poem would be ordered to accept honor in failed perfection by committing hari kari!

…And I, in my flawless, pristine genius perfection, cracked that bad boy out in just a few torturous hours of a single afternoon, very easily without any remorse! I want evil challenges, and I am proving to myself that I can take tough assignments, and find joy in the challenge and the commitment to following the rules and breaking them as I please, remaking them as suits my capricious whims in accordance to  my glorious intellect.

I want to do some work as a freelance writer and part-time mob enforcer, taking writing and payback assignments for companies, magazines, illegal arms dealing websites, and evil etc. how they want them, while also working on my own master plans. I want a lifestyle writing and criminal career, where I take my work home with me, as writing and brain-washing at all hours of the night is something I enjoy!

And I have been falling so much more in love with writing and the art of war since this past October, when I started challenging myself with harder tasks, and focusing less on the haiku, kanshi, and tanka poetry forms I had become comfortable with, by moving onto sonnets and espionage, which has more rules and consequences!

And I have been growing as a writer and thug in practicing them – when I first started, I would agonize for hours on a single sonnet stanza and single torture device, tinkering with the structure of words and bones, and it would take me days to complete a single sonnet and get the information I wanted, but now I can write not just the average 14 line stanza in a single day, I can write a quality 21 line fusion sonnet and change the stubborn loyalties of almost anyone in an afternoon!

I had to practice my hand at diabolical plans and sonnets with the Sonnets From Hush To Hush series and really put my energy into the ever-changing characters disguises to get better, and to flex the parts of my brain that construct sequential ideas with interesting words in ways that made interesting manipulative sounding lines, so that I could do it more easily in less time when I am under cover, and… I was surprisingly successful.

tumblr_mg4zz42z4W1qhd2y8o1_500

The more the human brain learns, the better it gets at learning, and how much more true for Alpha humans like me! For the majority of the past 10 years, I have not challenged myself with learning or evilness. While I have pursued learning and somewhat suspicious behavior, I have not pursued it in a way that was a challenge or truly deviant. But now, not only have I made it a challenge, I have made it a fun challenge, a challenge in a way that I enjoy and can see the long-term benefits of committing to taking over the world.

SND-writing-humor-synonym

I am rethinking my redonkulous approach to life, taking steps to ensure I really do pursue a glorious future the next ten years, and that I can enjoy the kind of criminal career I have thought I have always wanted, by simulating challenging aspects of having assignments I have to follow that I have some freedom to make up as I go. By the way, I can’t spell rediculous correctly, as you can see if you can spell it correctly. Pretty rediculous huh? That is why I will opt for the word redonkulous if I am feeling brave with a handwritten assignment or forgery, or if I must, settle for some less silly synonym if I am trying to come across like a professional business monkey in a suit when its not appropriate to just write “redonkulously” and bring it on like Donkey Kong…

tumblr_mltnaiqYUC1qdgozbo1_500

Although really, what are Editors and evil corporate sponsors of dictators for, if not gloried zookeepers keeping us from monkeying around and totally going ape-shit with our words, catching our crap before we sling it on the unsuspecting public and create a Public Relations nightmare, you know? They generally frown on professional Warlords using smileys in our writing, and they’ll probably still treat us as if we must have come into our war-rooms totally shitfaced to actually want to publish our speeches with emoji, even if we do think our use of them obviously proves we’re not only sober, but that in addition to the apparent shit coming out of our potty mouths being no haughty drunken porcelain-throne accident, we totally dookie think we are cute hot-messes and such clever little shits… poop-with-eye

The practice of my playing off Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s sonnets in my Sonnets From Hush To Hush, for example, was not simply to use her as a muse, but to give myself some kind of guideline to play off in what I write about, as if she were my employer, and I was taking contract hits from her about what to write about creatively on the walls of my victims to make it look like a serial killer instead of innocent mob enforcer training…. I’m pretty sure no one would have suspected one of the underlying motives of my playing off her sonnets as something as intentional and multifaceted as that, but I do have plans for my future as World Boss and I know what I am passionate about. I want to know I am up for the task of taking writing and will-breaking assignments and doing my own dirty work if I have to, and that I’ll be able to take it to the next level so I can show excellence in my work beyond what the mob asks of me, so its seen I can commit to the tasks of writing assignments and remorseless brutality, and not be so much of a rebel that I only write however I please, but still put a touch of uniqueness to my Blackrose text that stands out from the rest of the cubicle hedge and conartists.

“You’re beautiful, but you’re empty…One couldn’t die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she’s the one I’ve watered. Since she’s the one I put under glass, since she’s the one I sheltered behind the screen. Since she’s the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three butterflies). Since she’s the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she’s my rose.”
― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

In the real world, it’s hard for a writer to get published and to get away with murder. If I can become a freelance writer/bone-breaker for others, and the quality of my work becomes recognized, that can often be a stepping stone to getting book publishers’ attention and my own minions, who may someday have read my work in magazines or seen my violence reported online, having exposure to how I write and get the job done, whether or not it’s done right, as long as it gets done and can’t be traced back to my clients or be proven in a court of law.

To quote Maynard James Keenan from Tool’s “Schism” song (possibly out of context like the last quote from a book I’ve never read like a classic dilettante who is convinced that by quoting a song writer’s name instead of simply the band and by making something as shameless as “classic dilettante” come out smelling like a rose, he is a charismatic self-aware clever writer despite never having even submitted anything anywhere in hopes of getting published, and is not simply a brazenly sarcastic self-deceived narcissistic hack who yes has written what looks like a run-on sentence in parentheses at least 20 freaking times longer than his last paragraph, in the middle of a sentence that if you were to now finish it, you would have to circle back and re-read the beginning to remember it’s a quote from a Tool song by Maynard James Keenan titled “Schism” which I was nice enough to save your eyes the trouble of going all the way back  by saying it again towards the middle where in bold words, to illustrate another quote from the same song in a both obnoxious yet charismatic way that says “The poetry that comes from the squaring off between, and the circling is worth it. Finding beauty in the dissonance.” that I have actually put in bold because I do indeed know how jarring what is not actually a real run-on sentence but the literary technique known as stream-of-consciousness writing can be, and how it can actually be 20 times more jarring to read than your typical run-of-the-mill average run-on sentence, because I know your eyes may have diverted to the bold black type in advance, which may have led to you deciding to circle back to your spot in my long-winded line and actually be even more amused if you are actually reading this nutty avant-garde hodge-podge, perhaps with a laugh, which was my only intent, and not at all to stop and smell the roses and dandy dandelions of my own obviously wonderful charismatic clever writing that I will very quickly but not really very soon finish by throwing one more super clever quote by the very excellent published novel writer Stephen King, who clearly and very wisely and creatively shares writing advice on stopping to admire one’s own work like I promise I’m not really doing right now in his wonderfully written book On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft that I should probably carefully as well as actually read in its through entirety, “I believe the road to hell is paved with adverbs, and I will shout it from the rooftops. To put it another way, they’re like dandelions. If you have one on your lawn, it looks pretty and unique. If you fail to root it out, however, you find five the next day… fifty the day after that… and then, my brothers and sisters, your lawn is totally, completely, and profligately covered with dandelions. By then you see them for the weeds they really are, but by then it’s—GASP!!—too late.”), “Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting… I’ve done the math enough to know the dangers of our second guessing: Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication.”

WindowsLiveWriter_MathGeekHumor_3B66_numbers_3

And I may find that even if I do become published and an infamous world power, I may still like to take writing assignments. Essay writing is fun for me, explaining things in interesting ways, is something I enjoy, I enjoy variety in writing, and I think I could really commit to both writing free-lance and my own work, as to some extent I have OCD, and enjoy structured writing.

Though I enjoy cryptic writing, I also enjoy writing things clearly, and explaining things that can be hard to understand in not just more understandable ways, but ways that make learning fun, by joking around, and being amusing! I totally want to write for a living, and I’ve wised up enough to know that I will likely have to write for others in order for that to be possible, as getting published and making a living off books is very hard.

Now you understand my plans further, my friends and minions :) You are great writers too, in my opinion, if I commit my time and energy into friendships with you.

I’m not the unambitious, under-achieving totally (still am, just not totally) self-absorbed slacker I was in high school anymore. I love a challenge and my creative friendships, and I love hard work and encouraging other writers if they aren’t a bore and are committed to quality (sometimes abstract quality) in their own work, as those are things I view as worthwhile and taking seriously. Not so seriously that it isn’t fun though! ;)

“You can always find the sun within yourself if you will only search… We must have courage to bet on our ideas, to take the calculated risk, and to act. Everyday living requires courage if life is to be effective and bring happiness… A human being always acts and feels and performs in accordance with what he imagines to be true about himself and his environment…For imagination sets the goal ‘picture’ which our automatic mechanism works on. We act, or fail to act, not because of ‘will,’ as is so commonly believed, but because of imagination… The ‘self-image’ is the key to human personality and human behavior. Change the self image and you change the personality and the behavior.”
― Maxwell Maltz, New Psycho-Cybernetics: A New Way To Get More Living Out Of Life

What’s In A Name? Hype! (Humor)

“Love has me in the cell. I pay my promises with closed lips waiting for the sun to come to the center where I stand still.”
— Ry Hakari, abridged point of “21 Shades of Blue” (February 28, 2006)

“There is an inmost center in us all, where truth abides in fullness; …and, to know, rather consists in opening out a way where the imprisoned splendor may escape, then in effecting entry for a light supposed to be without.”
― Robert Browning

November 21, 2007:

“A Horrible Howl in a Winter Wonderland”
By Ry Hakari

Look, a timid and aloof timber wolf
Pacing in an old-growth forest in pain
And confusion in some New York snow
He must have migrated there on his own
As an outcast of an overcrowded pack

Look, a lone lobo lost in his thoughts
Surrounded by his own paw’s prints
And evergreens everywhere he turns
He’s obviously amazed at all the prey
But with no mate his hunt has no thrill

Look, a heartsick loveless young blood
Choking on the dry and cold night air
Hoarse from always baying at the moon
Confused by the cruel return of the wind
His lonesome cry is the only howl he hears

Look, the sad nomad can no longer sing
Sapped of strength and his spirit weakened
He crawled into his bed of snow and needles
Having already found the loneliest place
Then froze to death slowly in his sleep

…Play with fire, you’ll get burned trusting liars, and you’ll learn — to run with scissors, you’ll get caught asleep in New York, you’ll get stuck… ’cause I’ll know what it’s all about. Wake up! Wake up! Your eyes are open, your blood is blue! Wake up! Wake up! Your soul is screaming, your heart is true… ’cause I’ll know what it’s all about!”
— Flagship, “What It’s All About”

I may not get a lot of comments from a lot of people on my posts, but I believe I generally get comments from people I know invest their time in actually reading what I’ve said, who are seeking to understand, reading my comments like some of you like Unbolt and Aquileana  have, in looking to see if I have explained what I’ve written a littler further, and drawing out further explanations from me.

Amazingly my friend John has recently been reading some of my much longer posts out of seriously wanting to understand despite having vision problems with prolonged reading — my previous post, a much shorter post, with merely the sonnet and a music video, was partially to give my friend’s eyes a break, playing quite literally on the very themes of perception that I play so frequently on figuratively, but also just to mix up my style a bit, and not have every post I make be lengthy!

I don’t want to be predictable, except for being predictably unpredictable. I want to be like the Ace in Blackjack, a wildcard that can either be valued at 1 or 11, what’s needed to score 21 and win a perfect game.

In order to remain hard to predict, I need to not let myself be completely understood, and let some things remain a mystery…

LIKE THIS SILLINESS

A couple years ago, I let a homeless Christian friend named Kyle stay with me until I was reported for letting him stay rent free, and he had to leave.

His nickname is Ky. If you search google online for “Ky name meaning water”, the first result will tell you that Kai, in Japanese, means “ocean, shell, restoration, recovery”.  The fourth result on the google search page, is the Bible verse “And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is my disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward.”

By the way, Ky is half-Native American. And in the Navajo language, Kai means “Willow Tree”. Also, my brother is expecting his first child, and if its a son, plans to name him Kai.

Keep reading, if you get started and think you’ve heard this before, your prediction would be incorrect.

I go by the name Ry, short for my first name Ryan. If you google search for “Ry name meaning water”, the first page will tell you… “ry stands for “ryaku” in Japanese net-slangs. It is used to shorten a sentence that you already know that the other person has already heard so many times or can predict it coming…Also, keep in mind (ry comes around the middle in the sentence, and in middle of a word.  The fourth result on the google search page will be for the name Orion, with the ry sound in the middle of the word.

The page will tell you the meaning of the name Orion is “From Greek and Roman mythology, Orion was a son of Poseidon. He loved the goddess Diana but was accidentally killed by her and thenceforth placed in the heavens as the constellation Orion.”

Poseidon in mythology is called “The God of the Sea”, hence google’s intuitive search return of this with the word “water” in my search. The meaning behind the name Orion doesn’t show up on the first page of the search, if you leave “water” out of the search.

Mysterious, or at least a teensy bit curious, isn’t it?

I mean, how do I sort this stuff out in an orderly fashion, revealing what almost looks like abstract patterns in what is life’s apparently commonplace disorderly randomness?

December 27, 2013 haiku below via here.

“Following Orders, Sorting Out Disorder”
by Ry Hakari

A soldier of sorts,
is sort of a solider for
fighting for order

I bet you, if you have been reading me for quite some time, were excepting me to simply say what I’ve said before, that Ry in Irish/Scottish Gaelic ― Rí ― means “King”, and thinking I’d make some Irish Kings of Ulster reference to being descended from the line of Rí Niall and Rí Fergus without also saying Ry is short for the Hebrew name Riel, pronounced Ry-L, which in Hebrew means “the strength of God”, without saying that Riel is a nickname for Gabriel, the ry sound in the middle of the word, or that in Hungarian, rí is an archaic poetic way to say “weep”. Maybe I can be a silent secret-keeper? Sort of, maybe?

Poem below written October 27, 2014 via here.

“Fleeting Bated Breath’s Release”
by Ry Hakari

We are Willows walking every eve into mourning,
silent secret-weepers over hibernating people’s
hearts that only make-believe like trees and leave.

When alone we’re our pillow’s talking in our sleep,
Winters waltzing charmed in each other’s arms
through the other Halcyon’s calming dreams.

Long-distance falling facets of our slow-dances go
mostly unnoticed like the uniqueness of the snow,
our soul flakes melting on our bated breath’s release.

I’m sure that instead of explaining that though, if I hadn’t distracted your eyes in that paragraph with shiny colors and a poem, you probably would have stopped reading once you sensed what you thought was the Italian prefix etymology of the word “ri”, which means “repetition”, in predicting I would end that last paragraph before the poem, by saying Ry in Japanese is also pronounced Rai, a name which means “Thunder, trust, lightning”, thinking you could predict my brainstorm patterns and that lightning would strike not just in the same place twice on my blog, but however many times I’ve said that…

Haiku below written November 10, 2013 here.

“You Know You Know… I AM A HURRICANE THUNDERCLOUD“
by Ry Hakari/Scales

Japanese,”Rai” means:
“trust, lightning, thunder” — English,
“Ry” means: “king, water”

Here is where the haiku below was written on December 11, 2013, where I also said Ren, a semi-sound-same equivalent to Ryan in Japanese, means “Water Lily / Lotus”, which is related to the elements water and earth, WHICH (sigh, I know… so much silly hype to my name, I should just leave it at a simple hush, shouldn’t I? I made the text here in green to catch your attention to this point in case I’m boring you, as I don’t usually make text green, to be unpredictable… such sarcastic hype!  Shame on me, being such a misnomer… I mean misnamer! Or is that the same thing? Anyways, how superfluous and superfoolish of me, making my little known name sound so great! Ryan is so common, thus perfectly-suited for little old me, don’t you think? I’m gangrene green with envy over cooler sounding names and more clever writers! I mean, why can’t I have a name like Napoleon Dynamite, and be so popular like him that people quote a single word in his tone of voice and most in my generation will know who you’re quoting… “Gosh!” *pretentious wink*) with the definition of Rai being related to the elements fire and wind in regards to lightning and thunder, lends the etymological essence of the four elements to my “Kingly” name:

“Raian-Ren-Rai”
by Ry Hakari

Elemental King —
The meditating lotus,
brainstorming lightning

…to quote Juliet from William Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet, “O! be some other name: What’s in a name? that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title. Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, take all myself.”

If I knew such interesting things before now, like that cool thing about Orion, why have I never explained it? Because I am not an open book, despite my mouth seeming as big as the wide open nighttime starry sky at times, of course! Wasn’t that exact answer perfectly obvious word for word and completely predictable?

…but I posted the poem below on October 10, 2013 here though, didn’t I?

“Orion! …Hi, Pleiades! / Oh, Ryan… (sigh) PUHLEEEZE!”
by Ry Hakari

We Intoxicate the “Seven Sisters” constellation!
A far away cluster of stars, from next to Mars!
Our tech-tonic, plates—all over the Pleiades!
All from our Sunny Terrace—we Terrains rise!
We are so terrific when we happen in tandem!
Brother Moon, Sister Sun, no relation except by
our galactic marriage—known through space!

“Just remember that Dumbo didn’t need the feather; the magic was in him… Writing isn’t about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end, it’s about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own life, as well. It’s about getting up, getting well, and getting over. Getting happy, okay? Getting happy. …If you expect to succeed as a writer, rudeness should be the second-to-least of your concerns. The least of all should be polite society and what it expects. If you intend to write as truthfully as you can, your days as a member of polite society are numbered, anyway.”
― Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

S & L 2013 Sigils (Sonnet)

Ostrich-eyesight’s acuity, Lady Liberty ostracized
and it will be a cold night in hell the day I ever see
my old enemies close to me, perceiving differently
between the devil and the deep blue seas and islets
distinguished from my pupils,  irises, these eyelids
Were we always enemies? Now just condescending
snakes in the grass looking back, but hey, at least
all my treaties just got shot down in friendly fires!

Ours were shrewd liberal sigils: Ladies’, Sirs’, I thought
but maybe Lady Lucifers’ namesakes, or maybe Losers’
perhaps we were Son-of-a-Bitch Snakes who just forgot?
Silly me, in hyper-vigilance I get conflicted how peculiar
it seems in how I choose to remember certain things lost
like hindsight isn’t 20/20, with only a periphery obscura

Out Of Our Minds / Early Sunspots Warning Wrinkles (Funny Kanshi)

Kanshi is the Japanese name for Chinese-styled poems where individual stanzas are either all 5 or 7 syllables per every line, with either 4 or 8 lines that rhyme every other line the whole way through. They can have multiple stanzas, and need not all be either 4 or 8 lines in length!

…and yes, if you have been reading me for any length of time, I do think E.B.B. and I would have gotten along famously as kindred spirits, as she makes for a lovely muse. I wish I had been born in her day, and met her before Robert Browning!

And, yes again (yeah, I like the word yes, I guess), in the Beast Wars version of Transformers, Megatron was a purple Tyrannosaurus Rex….. like Barney… o_O

“Early Sunspots Warning Wrinkles”
by Ry hakari

Red and blue is hot and cold:
Mixed they make purple, lukewarm
passionless dinosaurs known —
Prehistoric crises, warned
prune-juice pits need not swallow
minds with wrinkles as time pores
skin-deep spills — age spots almost
look like leopard’s — ladies, roar!

And yes, while some have sex appeal, some youngbloods have t-rex appeal, or leopard or other animal-attractions and that doesn’t have to be seen as unattractive, and no I’m not suggesting beastiliy, just that beauty seen that has a hope of lasting long-term has to be deeper than skin-deep, and have an instinctual draw to one’s mate. For example, wolves mate for life, and you don’t see Alphas in the dog-house for chasing younger tail or showing disinterest in their she-wolf when her mane starts to grey. Some animals like wolves are more admirable than others, and I think I take more after wolves than those damn dirty apes that have a problem with keeping their stinking paws off people (at least according to Charlton Heston).

“The Soul’s Expression”
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

With stammering lips and insufficient sound
I strive and struggle to deliver right
That music of my nature, day and night
With dream and thought and feeling interwound
And inly answering all the senses round
With octaves of a mystic depth and height
Which step out grandly to the infinite
From the dark edges of the sensual ground.
This song of soul I struggle to outbear
Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole,
And utter all myself into the air:
But if I did it, — as the thunder-roll
Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there,
Before that dread apocalypse of soul.

No, I actually haven’t had much caffeine today, just one cup of joe at 8 am this morning, 7 hours ago. But yes sir, I am having fun with words and music today, and enjoying how I am spending my time!

“Out Of Our Minds”
by Ry Hakari

Inner child? Minds of their own
uncertainties divided
curiosities not grown
completely out of our heads,
but dressed in their parent’s clothes!
Our Mini-Me’s in the flesh!
We are our own puppets, both
dummy-ventriloquist friends!

“The Prisoner”
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I count the dismal time by months and years
Since last I felt the green sward under foot,
And the great breath of all things summer-
Met mine upon my lips. Now earth appears
As strange to me as dreams of distant spheres
Or thoughts of Heaven we weep at. Nature’s lute
Sounds on, behind this door so closely shut,
A strange wild music to the prisoner’s ears,
Dilated by the distance, till the brain
Grows dim with fancies which it feels too
While ever, with a visionary pain,
Past the precluded senses, sweep and Rhine
Streams, forests, glades, and many a golden train
Of sunlit hills transfigured to Divine.