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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Satan's LiveJournal:

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Sunday, November 26th, 2006
10:00 am
Love?
Love is a fruitless thing practiced only by fools. It will trample you and leave you bleeding on the sidewalk wondering what your name is. In the end what does love really get you? Just a couple incredible memories that you can never shake and make the secret smile appear on your face that no one else understands.
Wednesday, September 20th, 2006
6:01 am
Chaser of dreams
chaser of dreams,
eyes full of stardust,
ears full of song,
your mind filled with beauty.

chaser of dreams,
dancing on clouds,
creator of rhymes,
bathing in the sea.

you chase the rainbow,
the unreachable star,
the unpaintable beauty,
an unplayable symphony.

chaser of dreams,
you are an artist
all you have to do
is create.
Monday, August 28th, 2006
12:09 pm
Love of art, Art of love
The art of love practiced by all perfected by none. A Painter will use a hundred canvases to capture one single moment. A writer will dance with words across a page simply to relive a feeling. The art of love can reinvent every word ever spoken and those yet to come. When I was younger I used to be so jealous of my siblings. One could sing to make the birds hush around her to listen. The other hand and brush could make the beauty of a sunset humble in comparison. I would wonder to myself where is the part of me that can help create such a work of wonder.

Have you ever walked down a city street lined with galleries? Each window a glimpse into a world of wonder and magic splashed upon canvas and hung on a wall. To me as I grow older the wonder is no long on the other side of the window but walking on the sidewalk around me. Have you ever seen that couple walking by pointing out to each other all they pass making sure the other sees. How about the couple we pass at the sidewalk café leaning close and creating a world meant for two.

When I was younger I used to hope and pray for the ability to create such wonder. Then wonder walked into my life captured in a smile and a glimmer in an eye. The way she bites her lip in certain moments or the way she ducks her head and covers her face with her hands at others. She holds within her heart a gift I never thought to see. With every moment spent she helps me to create the art I was born to make. An art I hope to take a lifetime to complete the art of “We”.
Saturday, April 15th, 2006
2:16 pm
Her hair was up in a pony tail,
her favorite dress tied with a bow.
Today was Daddy's Day at school,
and she couldn't wait to go.

But her mommy tried to tell her,
that she probably should stay home.

Why the kids might not understand,
if she went to school alone.

But she was not afraid; she knew just what to say. What to tell her
classmates of why he wasn't there today.

But still her mother worried,
for her to face this day alone.

And that was why once again,
she tried to keep her daughter home.

But the little girl went to school
eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees;
a dad who never calls.

There were daddies along the wall in back, for everyone to meet.
Children squirming impatiently,
anxious in their seats

One by one the teacher called a student from the class. To introduce
their daddy, as seconds slowly passed.

At last the teacher called her name,
every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
for a man who wasn't there.

"Where's her daddy at?"
she heard a boy call out.

"She probably doesn't have one,"
another student dared to shout.

And from somewhere near the back,
she heard a daddy say,
"Looks like another deadbeat dad,
too busy to waste his day."

The words did not offend her,
as she smiled up at her Mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
who told her to go on.

And with hands behind her back,
slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
came words incredibly unique.

"My Daddy couldn't be here,
because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be,
since this is such a special day.

And though you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know.
All about my daddy,
and how much he loves me so.

He loved to tell me stories
he taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
and taught me to fly a kite.

We used to share fudge sundaes,
and ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him.
I'm not standing here alone.

"Cause my daddy's always with me,
even though we are apart
I know because he told me,
he'll forever be in my heart"

With that, her little hand reached up,
and lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat,
beneath her favorite dress.

And from somewhere here in the crowd of dads, her mother stood in
tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
who was wise beyond her years.

For she stood up for the love
of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
doing what was right.

And when she dropped her hand back down, staring straight into the
crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
but its message clear and loud.

"I love my daddy very much,
he's my shining star.
And if he could, he'd be here,
but heaven's just too far

You see he was a firefighter
and died just this past year
When airplanes hit the towers
and taught Americans to fear.

But sometimes when I close my eyes,
it's like he never went away."
And then she closed her eyes,
and she saw him there that day.

And to her mothers amazement,
she witnessed with surprise
A room full of daddies and children,
all starting to close their eyes.

Who knows what they saw before them,
who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
they saw him at her side.

"I know you're with me Daddy,"
to the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
of those once filled with doubt.

Not one in that room could explain it,
for each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.

And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
by the love of her shining star.
And given the gift of believing,
that heaven is never too far.


They say it takes a minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but then an entire life to forget them.
Monday, October 17th, 2005
7:48 pm
Beauty is such a simple thing but very few understand it. To understand true beauty you must ask a man that has never seen the light of day. A flower only as pretty as its petals can hide nothing but sharp thorns. A fruit with nothing of wonder to the eye can hold within its tender skin the liquid of a smile. Only the blind man can see true beauty the rest of us are blinded by beauty.
Sunday, October 16th, 2005
2:31 pm
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.
But swinging doesn’t bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun’s warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You’d think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground,
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm,
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows—
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father’s trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It’s when I’m weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig’s having lashed across it open.
I’d like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love:
I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches
Wednesday, July 6th, 2005
6:39 pm
Thursday, June 2nd, 2005
11:02 am
Smile
You wonder why a smile appears so easily at your touch. Why should the slightest brush of your words be like the sun touching the petals of a flower. Some people walk through life thinking a hand was made for simple things for me mine felt empty until I crossed your path. Last night I walked below the stars looking at sparkling lights thinking of all the wonders that could hide among them. Closing my eyes your face appeared before me brighter then the largest star above me and it made me happy to walk below them rather then among them. Can I put into words why you make me smile with such ease? Walk below the stars and look up or look out into a cloudy day at a rainbow and see if a smile appears then explain to me why it does. A light in what has seemed like such a dark and long night is not questioned only cherished
Thursday, March 17th, 2005
11:07 pm
Some people believe you are born the person you will be. Some think we are made up of choices in the road of life. I think we are made up of people whose path we cross. Some people touch our lives with out even knowing it. What to them is a simple word or a meaningless gesture stays with us. Those are the people that we are lucky enough to encounter that make us laugh and smile like tomorrow hold no worries. When I close my eyes and think of you I hear the birds welcome the first rising of the sun on a newly awaken spring. I walk through the trees holding a hand that now has a face into a field feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin. Closing my eyes I feel warmth stronger then the sun and it comes from my thoughts of you and the smile they bring to my face. You are one of those people that without knowing or trying affect a person's life. Make them look in the mirror and see if this is the person they want you to see. You are to put it simply a person worth making sure the person they see is someone you can be proud to be. Thank you for simply being who you are and as special as that is.
Wednesday, February 9th, 2005
12:44 pm
.........
Bye Grams you'll be missed
Saturday, February 5th, 2005
1:04 am
Thursday, January 27th, 2005
5:58 pm
I don't love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz
or an arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.


I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.


I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don't know any other way
to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.
Saturday, January 22nd, 2005
9:37 pm
Look closely into the fog and you will see a shadow slowly moving closer. A dark figure barely made out in the gloom. She looks left and right searching for something so elusive she cannot grasp. Spinning round and round the world all a tumble and all meaning as unclear as the fog that surrounds her. I watch this figure wishing I could help to clear the fog away and see the sparkle of her eyes once more. The smile that that brings forth mine, the voice that I can feel run through me like a chill. The world is not a perfect place and most of the beauty washed away in darkness. I am not a perfect person but this figure in the fog makes me want to be. If perfect ment I could help her even for a second to feel the pleasure of life that she used to wear like a cloak. Others see the perfect smile or the outer wrapping of such wondrous beauty. When I look into her eyes I see a cold winter night spent on a couch with only the lights of a simple tree keeping us company. A conversation that made the winter night less cold and a lack of perfection a little more perfect. Just to drape that cloak over her shoulders once more I would walk away leaving the fog parted as we did the same.
Thursday, January 20th, 2005
12:24 pm
I think common sense and common courtesy were having tea one day and eating crumpets. Why crumpets you ask well because it is my story and I like them eating crumpets. They sat listening to the songs of the birds and enjoyed the sun peeking in through the window. "You know sense this is the life" Said courtesy. "I know what you mean courtesy I am so happy we have been able to relax lately" said sense. "Was it my idea or yours to convince those stupid humans to forget about us?" Courtesy chuckled as he asked. "Does it really matter which of us did it as long as it is done?" Sense said with such common sense. With a sigh of relief they both smiled at each other and lounged back in their chairs knowing they would not be called on anytime soon.
Wednesday, January 19th, 2005
2:50 pm
I have noticed lately two things people say with so little behind them but feel should have such significance when uttered. I love two words strapped together with such ease. I loved when this happen, I loved the movie, I fell in love with that puppy, I love you. I am sorry should be handed out on business cards with I love on the back of them. I am sorry words said when you don't even know what you are supposedly sorry for. Was it just trained into every small child these word good words to say that got them out of trouble? was no meaning stressed behind why you were sorry or what love means? I wonder why divorce is so common and marriage is a joke. I look around at abused wives and mistreated children and wonder if schools can teach the meaning of these words. I love you and I am sorry two words as empty of thought as the average head.
Thursday, December 23rd, 2004
12:53 pm
a·lone ( P ) Pronunciation Key (-ln)
adj.
Being apart from others; solitary.
Being without anyone or anything else; only
Thursday, October 7th, 2004
9:11 am
FOUR BASEBALL FANS (A CUBS FAN, A CARDS FAN, A SOX FAN, AND A YANKEES FAN) ARE CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN AND ARGUING ABOUT WHO LOVES THEIR TEAM MORE.

THE CUBS FAN INSISTS HE IS THE MOST LOYAL. HE YELLS "THIS IS FOR THE CUBS" AND JUMPS OFF A CLIFF.

THE CARDINALS FAN WON'T BE OUTDONE BY THAT, AND YELLS "THIS IS FOR THE CARDS" AND JUMPS OFF THE CLIFF TOO.

BEING MORE OF A PHILANTHROPIST THAN THE FIRST TWO MEN, THE SOX FAN YELLS "THIS IS FOR EVERYONE!"....

..... AND PUSHES THE YANKS FAN OFF.
Tuesday, September 28th, 2004
7:12 pm
Each of us a simple thread in the greatest tapestry ever to be made.
Each thread winding and bending this way and that never knowing where it will turn next
Who knows when one path will cross another?
Will it be once or twice or one made stronger by the joinging of the two
There is a thread my wanders have made me lucky enough to cross
I can recall the tilt of her head when she listened to a story
The crooked smile that she had when she thought something was amusing
I sadly can even recall the outfit she wore when first our paths did cross
Can the thread control the weave of the tapestry or is the design already brought before us
Is there a way to pull lose and find that missing stitch
Slowly the tapestry grows longer and the distance apart grows further
Where is the turn that will allow the beauty of this great work to come from me
Monday, September 27th, 2004
1:44 pm
Oh so bright it sits there looking down upon me
Does it laugh at what it sees or simply shakes its head in wonder?
Would, if I could understand it, share with me some beauty of the past
How many has it seen lost to there own folly?
Great deeds that others cheered but lost in a short time from the memory of man
Works of art and wonder that made the cheering crowd go silent with awe
Why is it that just like it what man seems to strive for is simply out of reach?
Can anyone one answer simply make him smile?
Why is it that we look up for the answers and not down into the pool at our feet?
Gaze deep, stare hard and you might just catch a glimpse
A glimpse of what you ask?
Why the person that will always have whatever answer you require
Look closely and you will see that person is someone you have known for a longtime
Wednesday, July 28th, 2004
7:33 pm
*POOF*
Lost love is still love. It takes a different form thats all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it . You hold it. You dance with it. Life has to end love dosen't.
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