Below are the 12 most recent journal entries recorded in avariciousyouth's LiveJournal:

Wednesday, October 14th, 2009
2:31 am	I need sleep.......... In God’s garden there stood two trees. The first tree was known by many, as many stories have been told about this tree, and in every story it was said to have been the tool by which man’s fall had been facilitated. On its branches hung the fruit of knowledge, a fruit that when consumed caused  man to realize himself in relation to the world around him, and through this untempered knowledge become self aware, but lacking the experience to understand his new knowledge, he would know only the shame of it.  The second tree bore a fruit in which laid the redemption of the fruit of first tree. On its branches hung the fruit of wisdom, a fruit that when consumed would cause man to accept the conditions of his existence, and give temperance to his knowledge of himself. The Serpent, who had tricked man into eating the fruit of the first tree, knew that by allowing man to only eat from the first tree, he would be more likely to fall prey to his own vices and conceit. God, who had imbued his children with free will, felt that a lesson needed be taught to his children for having ignored his instruction not to eat the fruit from the first tree. He decided that man would achieve the fruit of wisdom only through his hard work and suffering, and in this way would come to appreciate the nature of God’s creation. (Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 6th, 2009
1:35 am	Early in the morning.....  These two birds are not doves   just filchers picking at seed  our eyes spill from sockets      and reconcile at        a point between us to play a game  of give and take    an earnest blessing on a steeple of need   (Comment on this)
Monday, April 6th, 2009
11:08 pm	.............................. Dont trust your heart to reckless people I am tired of being human for this imperfect audience this is no host of angels just barflys gathered around the spill dogs lapping with sour tounges This abused organ will no longer reabsorb the wisdom that it leaks What was the name of that drug? (Comment on this)
Saturday, February 7th, 2009
11:33 am	It is creepy when your family members become human beings. When mothers and siblings, aunts, uncles, and grand parents become more than the projections of our expectations for them.   You never changed to me. Then one day all at once you were old.   I was always your favorite. Even when I was younger and a total twat. I saw most of the united states out the window of your van. When you had your 50 year highschool reunion I was the one you chose to escort you. When we sent you on a cruise for your 80th birthday I was the one chosen to accompany you. I never really understood why. I was always the worst sort of traveling companion. I am not the most patient person, I can be terribly moody and irritable, and I am sensitive sometimes to a fault. But still, if given the option it was always me you wanted with you. This is not the first time you've been sick. When we were kids you never wanted us to see you fragile in bed, filled with tubes spilling fluids. To be honest, I never really wanted to see it either. When you were sick I was often nowhere to be found. When I was sixteen and you had cancer I went so far as to run away to New Orleans. I am older now though, and id like to think much less of a twat. I still only spend as much time at the hospital as propriety requires of me. But I have plenty of other responsibilites. There is paperwork to sign, there are bills to pay, and someone has to keep your daughters from robbing you blind. I am not a nursemaid. It is fortunate that we both share the same refined sense of irony and can atleast laugh at the awkward occurences when no one else is around to assist with some of your more human needs. It is fortunate you have other grandchildren better suited to that sort of thing. My knee jerk reaction is to run away.   The hospital was overpopulated, and the only space they could find for you was against a wall in the hallway. They placed a cloth divider infront of your bed that did not afford any modesty or privacy.Though any of either of those things was just an illusion here. This was a place of open wounds, and every wound had sixteen hands; sixteen hands poking and prodding, asking you if you are comftorable, filling you with fluids from plastic bags with tiny plastic tubes , taking your fluids away in tiny glass tubes and little plastic cups. I watched you sleep from the vantage point of where my chin rested on the railing of your hospital bed. Several doses of Demerol had removed from you any sort of gentle composure. Your mouth hung open slackjawed. Your skin hung in folds where it met the sharp angles of your cheek bones. Occasionally your eyes would flutter open and you would crawl back into conciousness. We would have a brief conversation about the doctors latest update, sometimes I would have to remind you where you were. Then you would drift back to sleep. I saw you there skin and bone, I saw the crook of your nose, the crook that was also your childrens nose. The wrinkles in your forhead read like a letter to god asking him, “Why?”. You were so fragile.You have always been so strong, when the doctors commented on how it was amazing that you were still living at home, and asked me who was taking care of you, I did not really know how to respond. Who takes care of her? That is an absurd question. She takes care of us. Even as the machinery fails its purpose runs deep. No one “takes care” of my grandmother. We assist her from time to time, but no one “takes care” of her. She is here because she is driven and chooses to be. Because she has a calling and a purpose. To my eyes you never changed but were old all at once around the corners your words are faded I can hear ghosts rattle in your chest but even diminshed you convey a dream, a life, a purpose and I love you nonethless (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 21st, 2009
7:26 pm	To whom it does concern........... Tomorrow dogs my discretion with inflamed ideas of my right to exist versus the idea that I was never there but I have proof to absolve my perdition so fuck you (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, January 15th, 2009
1:35 am	Who needs sleep anyway?  Quibbling thought beyond the waking hours dreams that talk through open mouths better left shut for walking tongues have forks and open splits  and gaps between us (Comment on this)
Monday, January 12th, 2009
3:25 am	I have seen better days, far away.............................. the snails have left there shells for a home   in florida all is well we chew the fat of crippled whales crunching the numbers backwards You ask me a question about life to which the answer is rhetorical (Comment on this)
Monday, July 7th, 2008
11:31 pm	Another day another ramble. Ive seen the sun a burning beast black spots on the asphalt      my iris opens and bleeds there is no gentle imagery    a shock and a cause to a wink and a nod perspective ------------------------------------------------ This was the fall eighteen years two tooth picks                                a mouthful of gravel      we climbed long legged with giant steps over the carrion     and vultures       the bonds of Mary's    mother sagged with milk dread into the deepest hill             I looked over at you     and you were my shadow               fallen in step with my unsure footing (Comment on this)
Sunday, April 13th, 2008
10:01 pm	Say it loud say it proud.  I am Icarus with a gun shooting my cock off at the sun spite the  world        spit in its eye       wax  runs off my  back             for  all the tears ill never cry (Comment on this)
Friday, April 11th, 2008
5:01 am	something old something new. I only knew the women with the strange butts theyd lick the censorous camphor with no regrets pluck the lazy dragons from the vanilla sky juicing the pariahs stony gaze from his orbital skull I only knew the women with strange butts who clamboring through stony peeks masked the lilly with the orchid tasting the oily gaze of the manaquin turnabout I only knew the women with the strange butts` who in strangled times ate the children of the sun answered questions with flowers and folded in with the rythyms of the spent word ..................................... the sky was dark I liked to look at the pictures we would make together on the front steps your love your love was words I could count but could not reveal anothers steps shadowed walking from the point between us we are we are children of a different name that was so long ago owls fly by wisdom and flowers often grow withered to decay  (Comment on this)
4:33 am	quibbling with words thoughts and bad formatting The sons of Adam the daughters of the rib                 eat this and            live                      shit this                dog is gonna kill me               someday tear my   throat out  if its all the same to you           ill choose to decline                to comment on my sins      at this time at this time at this time tomorrow we will all be gone anyway                drunk or the rapture take your pick          ill choose to lie here             till the earth takes me whole and sick ....................... on pins and needles              I        slowly dance waving the sword of Arjuna                for chance         for love               for circumstance ...................... the random life of bees drunk again rainbow abraisions and pink meat sandwiches ....................... peace and sleep an angel nest crowned with thorns fitfull rest for slumbering giants of feeling and if they awaken they surely will consume me ...................... my love is not another street there is only one destination home. Can I come home love? Will you welcome me with embrace? Can i leave my shoes at your door? (Comment on this)
Sunday, March 25th, 2007
1:16 am	Dark star crashes, pouring its light into ashes. They remembered him for the cape he wore, for the gaudy jewelry he wore by the pound. They remembered how towards the end of his life he ate to much, and drank too much, that his health waned, and that his once handsome face sagged with wrinkles too deep for someone only in there middle years. What they remembered him for was no longer what he was, but what he had been. Now he was just a corpse, A badly decomposed corpse, that nothing could breathe life back into. Those who knew him were dead, and those who had stood in his presence were a generation aging out of the population. His name, his face, became a cliche for a younger generation. Unable to draw parallels between him and the stars of there age, his meaning was lost, the person gone, only the icon remained. (Comment on this)