Resurrecting Jack: (S) In the dying shadows and embers of a burning Christmas tree
2011-10-31, 3:15 a.m.

Somewhere between nightfall and dawn, I've always believed is where the truth lies. Not among the shattered wreckage of dreams as they sleep peacefully in the wind after you've already let them go and head off to the soul-crushing rat races; but in the frantic moments we spend laughing at films that aren't funny, and watching TV shows that we dislike. It lies in the eyes of the people that we share our secrets and our lies with.
All too often I find myself dwelling on lies, not ones that have been told. No, rather; truths that remain forgotten after what is -- and yet, doesn't feel like a lifetime. The nighttime lights from a home freshly dusted with snow, miles away and yet, they're impacting me this very moment. How can one feel the rushing water as it drains into the return at Splash Mountain and still feel homesick for the winter wonderland that dwells a two hour flight away from this paradise. I can't say, the will of a want is strong; but the desire of already have will always be a mystery.

More than three months since my last entry, or at least, that's what the site proclaims. It has actually been more than a year; so then, why is it I have turned here to praise the night sky? Why is it that I find myself wishing upon a star in the birthplace of that phrase (as far as any red blooded American or pin-obsessed psychopath would be concerned, anyway) for a place that I already own, and have obtained.

Perhaps it is because this hallowed night has returned without fail to commemorate the moment when my humanity was affirmed by the only human being on earth who thinks me a god... and I he. Perhaps Halloween is little more than the optical illusion of a Christmas coffin in your doombuggy to the unwashed masses. Or perhaps we all need a little joy, even as we celebrate death.
Without a doubt I have no real way of finding myself alone, this knowledge was not summoned through failure, but through success. Through the right hand and left of a thief and a charlatan. The countless masses of businesses in which we are unwelcome, and the Roman Au Clef which reads like a fantasy are all becoming pieces of a puzzle that I know the answer to.

Without a doubt, you are the clockwork of my night. A shadowbox that holds the nighttime cosmos as we all find ourselves hidden behind the rocks of our cowardice afraid of the sun's harmful rays. There was no flat out high-speed burn to Vegas, nor drinks beneath Boogie in the moonlight; but I recount these tales as I've always thought I would, in the shadow of them. This is the way all great memories reside, as titans among us waiting to be told.

And so I have.

In these passing lowly words I have poured forth as I never have before, and I have lived as no man has ever lived; yet never before have those castle gates meant more to anyone. In me I see hope, and a chance. I see the brightened future of experience and a tomorrow built of lies -- The finest we've ever told.

Here lies a beginning; slain by the story put forth that stands above it. And awaiting an end more spectacular than can be predicted in the morality that lies in frantic oblivion.

Time starts.
Time dies.
Time starts all over again.

Next year in *********.

Do nothing

Repitition of HatredLoveless AvenueBurn Out (and) Fade Away