The City Never Sleeps

The city quickens, its breath speeds up. It gazes on the sun, coming up over the horizon. It is not fully awake – it will not truly awaken for hours yet – but it is starting to become more aware. The city never sleeps. It might lie silently in the small hours of the morning, but it never sleeps. There is always someone awake in it, flowing through its veins, and as long as even one of its denizens is awake, the city never sleeps. When it becomes fully conscious, sometime around noon, the pulsing crowd drive and walk around, and the city sings. It sings many songs, but mostly of its giant heart. The city sings, and shouts. It shouts of advertisement, whispering quietly on a bus bench, yelling on signboards, and screaming aloud in vast banners draped over its bones, the buildings and tall towers. The city shouts, and as night falls, it begins to change once again. The city is alive in a different way at night: it pulses, it dances, and it whispers more than it yells or screams. Its pulse pounds at a party, and sighs across sleeping buildings. As long as one person is awake, though, the city never sleeps. And there are always people who are awake in the small hours of the morning, the people who keep 24/7 stores and restaurants running, the people you never see. They will be gone, in the morning, with other people to take their place. But through it all, the city sings, and it shouts, and it pounds with its own pulse. The city never sleeps. 

Maybe Yesterday, Maybe Today, Maybe Tomorrow

I met myself in a mirror yesterday,

And I tried to look over my shoulder,

But someone was there yesterday,

Guarding my back, like a soldier.

I met you in a mirror yesterday,

And I wished you wouldn’t go.

But when I met you in the mirror yesterday,

I wanted to start slow.

I said “Hi” to you yesterday,

And we danced together.

When we met in the mirror yesterday,

My soul started to get warmer.

I met myself in a mirror today,

And I tried to look over my shoulder,

But a memory was there today,

Driving me forward, like a sheepherder.

I saw you in a mirror today,

But you weren’t really there.

I saw you in a mirror today,

And I wished that you were here.

I waited for you today,

I saved the last dance for you.

But after waiting today,

I felt that you would wait, too.

I will meet myself in a mirror tomorrow,

And I will look over my shoulder.

I will meet myself in a mirror tomorrow,

And I hope that you will be there.

And when I look in a mirror tomorrow,

It will be a new day.

And we will both be older tomorrow:

Older by a day.

And maybe we will dance tomorrow,

And throw the world away:

When I meet myself in a mirror tomorrow,

I will know what you will say. 

Maybe

I want to meet you again, I want to know you, but I don’t want to learn you. I don’t want to learn you because I want every moment to be fresh, new, a discovery of myself through you. Maybe I don’t want to meet you: maybe I am in love with the idea of you, an idea I can think about whenever my thoughts stray from the beaten path. But still, I know one thing for sure: never stop haunting me. Never stop haunting my thoughts, shadowing every step that they take. But one memory, a faint echo really, makes me hesitate. It is a lesson, learned through trial and error, through ridicule. When you love someone obsessively, every fault, every flaw, is a perfection. But still; the thought of you is so wild and magical, that I can’t help wondering what will be there when we turn the page, together, our hands interlinked. Maybe it will be a fork in the road, and we will go our separate ways, and say goodbye cheerfully, and the book will end. But maybe, just maybe, we will have to turn another page to find out what happens between the princess and the prince. Maybe there will be many pages, and a quiet, wonderful ending. But please: never stop haunting me. Maybe one day I will ask you to stop, to leave my mind, but until then: never stop haunting me. 

On-The-Road Concert

Dearest of dear readers: My mother the Queen, my brother Superman, and I just now went on a trip. It wasn't long, thirty or so minutes there and thirty or so minutes back, and I let Superman have the front seat so I could be all alone in the back. Well, I put on a new playlist on my iPod, and listened to it on the way there and back. The Queen and Superman listened to the radio and were social while I listened to my iPod.
The point?
The entire time we were on the road, I was in Tokyo, at a concert I had organized. I was nineteen people at the concert, both the twelve people performing and seven people in the front row of the audience. All of those people (the people that I was/were) were undercover agents of a powerful family clan based in Tokyo, gathering covert information on some subjects in the audience.
I bet the Queen and Superman thought I was just being anti-social.
As it was, the concert was a great success, and the mission went almost exactly as planned and the results were more vital than imagined.
...
I do something like this every time I go on a roadtrip.
Meaning that I am usually representing any number of individuals on some adventure that might involve music when I am traveling.
Wow. I never really realized that until today.
Anyway, I just wanted to show you a small part of my incredible, imaginary/alternate reality/parallel universe/multiverse world.
Maybe I'll show you some more sometime.
And thank you for reading, wonderful readers.

The Sun and I

I stand in the sun, in the searing heat. Others around me cower away from the brightness, from the high temperature. Not me. I stand firmly, embracing the light that would blind me. I stand boldly, accepting the fierce desert heat. It does not drain me, does not make me burn. Instead, it makes me come alive, gives me a power I never knew. The light of the moon is gentle, motherly. This is the opposite. The sun’s love is passionate, severe, and is only graced upon those who can accept it and withstand it. The sun and I are old friends. We understand each other. We are proud and intense. Any who cannot stand with us, stand against our fire. Fire has two parts: heat and light. These elements dance and fight, each one eternally trying to gain the upper hand, each one eternally keeping the other balanced. I fight with the sun, trying to outshine, to burn out, to eclipse this fiery spirit. Nothing will make me bow, not the sun, nor the heat, nor even the light. I stand tall, and I accept and refuse the sun at the same time. For we are kindred spirits, the sun and I: both made of fire, both burning bright in darkness. 

Precious Tears

Why don’t we cry? Because it makes us weak? Targetable? Undesirable? Because it makes our eyes red, sore, swollen, our noses congested and uncomfortable? Or because we are losing the ability to feel? I would love to cry, but now, I seem to cry too much, and then not enough. My tears are wasted on what I want and can’t get, on anger, and then I have no more to spend on the important things: sorrow, beauty, love, and war. Tears are precious. They are like gold: we spend them on the things that matter to us. But what happens when our priorities are changed? What happens when one careless generation has not raised its progeny correctly? Our tears still flow, but not for the same reasons. When someone is gone, we do not cry anymore. It’s always, “They would want us to be happy,” and we forget that we cry as a memorial to them. Too deeply I have drunk from the chalice of stillness that erases my emotions. I am learning to cry again, but it is painful, and I do not always cry for the right reasons. I would hope that people cry for me when I am gone. I would like them to remember me and be sad that I’m gone. Yes, I want them to be happy, but I want them to be sorry that I’m gone. I’m not a flower, here one day and gone the next, replaced by a thousand more. I am something more unique and long-lasting, but still only here long enough for you to realize how much I mean to you before I am taken away. Will you cry? Will you be sorry that I’m gone? Did I mean that much to you, or am I that person who never wanted anyone to ever cry? Do you want me to cry for you? I will, of course. I just need to learn to feel my emotions again.

Happy Anniversary!

Whee! A whole year!
I'm sorry I didn't get this template up earlier, I thought I would get up nice and early in the morning and do it, but I forgot in the glory of getting up early.
Also! I will try to post some more abstract shorts during the week, and maybe even a video....How about that?
As you might have noticed, as well....my name is different. Yes, I joined my Blog Spot and Google Plus accounts, and we'll see how that goes. No, my name isn't Ivey. Nor is it Ivey Vine. My extended family's name is Ivey, and so I went with that and made a whole persona to go with it. Now you know my dreadful secret, here are some things about the mysterious blog writer that I wanted to share with you.
1. I prefer treble to bass. In my truck, the treble is always slightly higher than the bass. I like the clearer sound it gives.
2. Yes, I drive a truck. I live on a farm, so it's just more practical to have a truck than a teeny tiny little car.
3. I love archery. I'm very good at it, and I practice at least once a day, if I'm up to it.
4. I'm a cat and a dog person. I just can't decide between the two!
5. I have been bitten by dogs, cats, horses, toads, frogs, lizards, alligator lizards, gophers, hamsters, a snake... a lot of things. When I was younger I could get any dog to bite me.
6. I love online comics. Currently, I'm reading Gunnerkrigg Court, the Archipelago, Earthsong, and Strays Online. And I am always searching for more.
7. I don't like watching television, and oftentimes I will decline watching a movie with my family to go to bed early or read.
8. I am a pyromaniac. I love fire, fireworks, things that burn, matches.... Fire is just so intense. I love it. If I was an elemental, fire would most likely be my element.
9. I can't play any musical instrument. I've tried piano and violin, and some guitar, but I just don't seem to be that musical. I can sing half-way decently, at least.
10. I have never been in a relationship, and I have not had my first kiss. I'm waiting for my future husband.
Now you know ten things about me! Maybe you already knew some of them, but, I mean, the pyromaniac part caught you by surprise, didn't it?
I'll try and post more soon, Dearest, most Wonderful, Awesome Readers!