Category Archives: Writings by Sparks

Caught In A Lie

What happened to you Sparks?

I thought you stopped lying years ago

Fear of Brenda finding your lover?

She’ll make you pay, get in the way

She saw you two together

When you said you were in L.A.

Caught in a lie

You idiot

Don’t you know how to be free?

It’s not her business anyway

I thought you said you were an asshole?

You so aren’t who you used to be

Caught in a Lie

You drank her blood and felt her tears

A bond of love chained to the wall

You fucked her hard

to ease her pain

Yep, you gave her your all

Caught in a lie

Will you embrace your anger?

become happy as before

You greedy bitch

This cycle continues like a 7 year itch

Caught in a lie

like a puppet on a string


“No, no, no, no”

okay forget it



“No, no, no, no”

Okay forget it


Some time together?

“No, no, no, no”

Okay forget it


A game to feed her ego

Used, helpless and caring

Honesty gets you…

Spun like a yo-yo

Caught in a lie

Cry, make her feel better

Go ahead she says

Her need to suck you dry

Learn what love is all about

Doesn’t matter why

Caught in a Lie

You didn’t cry

You handed her lies, gave her what she wanted

She needed to see you as she thinks you are

And gather strength from your dying heart

Sadly, you have nothing left to give her

You must drop the white flag and fight

Caught in a lie

Wrapped back in your skin,  filled with laughter

She hates you now, bravo

We knew you were capable of being cruel

There is no whore colder than you

Once you admit the truth

Brenda never loved


Caught in a Lie

Now she asks why can’t you be kind

The way you once were

Funny how she expects that of others

When love was blind

and she hid under the covers

She could have been sweet

She chose not to

Caught in a lie

You’ve learned your lesson once more

Life’s pleasures intensify

Joyful and appreciative of your wonderful,

and drama free life… so, so good!

You feel sorry for her at a distance

Stuck in her own misery

Her much needed control over you seeps away

she no longer tries to see with whom you spend the day

Your last loving act, to set her free

Caught in a lie

Will you abandon her like the others?

or thank her for this precious gift?

Love her with awareness

of who she really is?

Will you have compassion for her in knowing?

you were

Caught In A Lie

Stay Awake Sparks

Her lingering lavender perfume smells incredibly delicious on my blanket.  Famished and alone, I enjoy this innocent indulgence as I pluck the torturous pins from my flesh one by one.  I get out of bed and cool my skin with splashes of tap water.  The nightmare of ego, lust and insecurity flushing down into a dark and dirty drain.   Stay awake Sparks.. stay awake

Tehachapi Mountain Heat

There is no mystery to why visual artists come to places such as Tehachapi to find inspiration. The magnificence of granite boulders and trees has endured the struggle of time, casting shadows along the sun-coated mountains creating natural muses.  Sounds and smells of wildlife and earth’s magnetic pull on melted snow is the perfect blend to animate such an atmosphere of subsistence and energy.

Incredibly soothing, a boulder soaked in solar heat brings me warm sensations while lying naked on its majestic form.  Nothing could be more pleasant at this moment, with the exception of a lover. There is no greater warmth for me than that which comes from making love. A lover not only provides warmth, a lover also has the ability to award me the desire to radiate warmth from within.

This powerful mountain had somehow arranged for all my immediate desires to come true.  I instinctively glanced toward the sky. Standing before me wearing eloquent facial features, a firm body, a kind smile and eyes of wonder was the power and the beauty of a courageous warrior. One who has often appeared in my sleepless dreams.  Perhaps looking for a place of solace and peace after nobly battling civilization and every day society.  Wholesome, strong, and leaving me with nothing more than hopes of someone who has a sturdy heart to carry my yearning spirit.

Both eyes felt damp as my intended lover walked toward me, the look of disappointment at my existence and submissively offering to move further down the path, crushing.  In order to convince this handsome being to linger a while, I pretended to stay focused on my book, a novel by Jose Saramago.  After what seemed an eternity, happiness filled me, the warrior finally rested on a flat boulder.

Emitting false signs, not having intentions to invade ones solitude.  Yet, internally pleading the contrary. There was nothing I wanted more than to share this beauty with nature and the majestic mountains surrounding us.  Exhilaration consumed me as I heard clothing drop on a boulder nearby.  At that moment I wished I had peripheral vision. The only wish this mountain had not granted me.  I could not turn to face my paramour in fear of showing my truth. I’m naked to all in body, never in mind or soul.

Instead, I watched the wind gently waft across green grasses and bold flowers.  Reminding me of ocean waves.  Always moving, never repeating, yet with a similar cadence.  The desert, my burgeon, I was born here, I live here and someday I will become one with Earth here.

Gentle orbs of sweat glimmered on my bare chest as if dancing in celebration of this phenomenal view.  I was distracted by a tap on my shoulder and a hazy shape sparkling in the sunlight.  Difficult to behold due to the glare, yet I was delighted at the voice and angelical gestures before me. Calming and confidant, slowing my anxiety enough to surmise; this was an offering of water. I drank from the bottle of wet and refreshing liquid, and in doing so, I placed my hand over the giving hand of kindness.  Our first touch, captivating.

My senses became translucent as I listened to a chivalric speak of books read, and journeys through forests.  While I constantly gazed at an arousing silhouette displayed on stone.  Giving forth verbal tokens of graciousness and potency; as cerebral images of intimacy frolicked in my head.  Not knowing how my phantom appeared unclothed, I craved to touch, smell and taste this enchanting nomad.

In time, descending shadows notified me of a movement I had long anticipated. This sensual spirit began to embrace the granite on which we sat. Moaning as comfort came, allowing me to freely view muscular shapes and well-framed contours. Back, buttocks and legs, sculpted by the likes of Charles Antoine Coysevox, with flesh slightly bronzed by Earth’s light.

Ardent and humectant, our bodies glistened in warmth.  Bravely, I lifted strands of long hair, soaked in sweat, to quickly savor the nectar of concupiscent. When rejection did not surface, I gently positioned myself on top of my passionate lover. I felt a rapid heart, and the softness of skin.  The increasingly slick surface on our bodies smoothed the path for motion.  Pressed against naked flesh, circular grinding created weeps of pleasure.  Thrusting my warrior into impenetrable rock, and scraping tips of breasts with grains of dust, it felt like a powerful force carrying us from one sphere of existence to another.  Orgasmic rapture flowed through us with the energy of the mountains.  Heat and thunder, rain and snow, four seasons all at once.  Tehachapi, I’m home.

Turn, show me your naked body.  I will face you; I will reveal myself to you, mind and soul. What if man, woman, or spirit. I will blanket you with devotion, never to have shame, always to have strength, I embrace a love that is pure.

My Love

My Love ,

deeper than intellects are able to describe.

A brilliant companion, all others mundane by contrast.

I dream to reflect from your coveting eyes.

To feel the reverberation of your voice waft across my unclothed body.

All that you are echoes within me.

You resolve my actions, my inspirations, and my fate.

In silence my heart lives with the resonance of you.

I am without yearning, without need, without envy.

You are my celebrated days and the buoyancy of my nights.

Embracing you as your childhood nightmares come out to play.

Your difficulties are my battle to fight vigorously and without fear.

Respecting you with admiration, tender yet strong.

Lead me to your well of blue water, to the dark and cloudy skies of warmth.

Take me to the mountains and juniper trees.

Take me to where it is that your smile breathes life, a place of comfort.

Take me, for you are my best reason for existence.

You are my love, my life, my siege of ultimate happiness.

by Sparks

Still Loving You

I remember how I breathed as I clutched the sheets
while the rhythm of Us descended upon me…

Here I stand looking into the eyes of your soul once again…
Breathing the same breath as I did so long ago

I wounded you and brought death to your love for me

Now, I look at you and see caverns
Haunted by shadows of darkness.
Lightly brushed with tones of only my love for You.

I feel empty, restless and I harbor a great void within me.

Here I am
loving you,
yet not wanting you.

I embrace you.
Despite the pain I have handed you….
You have never abandoned me.

Take my heart now….

I’m yours,

Let Insanity Be Sweet

Let Insanity Be Sweet

by Sparks

Life and my ideas of her assimilate inside me at times without my knowledge. Innate defense mechanisms naturally conceal painful experiences via denial, lies and suppression, while other survival instincts foolishly embrace pleasures regardless of the consequences.  This is normal, however a fragile mind often requires an opaque retreat in which  to shelter it from the glare of sentience. Inebriants obscure the sharp edges and smooth a long and jarring journey through life.  While sober, the need to forget ones experiences are required frequently.  Cowardly, I have acquired much of my reality by self inflicted illusions and untruths for the sake of self-protection and peace of mind.  Inevitably, my reality is difficult to comprehend. Oh, but how exciting confusion is while intoxicated.

Recently I have become acquainted with neurosis. I am completely lost and severely weakened by a personal void and a severe lack of toxins. This is the price one pays for a life of self indulgence. My external means of happiness and comfort have all abandoned me. It’s just me, myself and I along with a vast emptiness that resides here now. Alone with myself I attempt to make conversation with a person I no longer recognize.  The role I play in a script I wrote and produced for my life is no longer substantial enough to survive. Without my supporting characters, I too am disintegrating into emptiness.  This reminds me of the movie The Incredible Shrinking Man.  How small did he get?  Is he still alive fighting off creatures that cannot be seen even by the most powerful microscope invented by mankind, or did he simply shrink into nothingness?  POOF, no remnants whatsoever, not even a speck of dust that remains forever in the Universe. Nothing, absolutely nothing.

Overwhelming fear forces me to make the most significant decision of my life, and to face a climatic dilemma.  Sanity or Death. Death with the interpretation in the critical sense, for I have already died in a story book of tales soaked in alcohol and cocaine. Incapable of leaving the house, I am unable to replenish my supply of  booze. This has left me horribly sober.  As chunks of truths and emotions once suppressed by alcohol regurgitate from the deep and dark vaults of my being, I find it necessary to make serious choices.  Naked and confused, I slowly attempt to dissolve delusions one by one. In anger I gather strength, in sadness I become humble.  I explore truisms as I continue to try and fill the emptiness inside me with substance.   At times of weakness I hold on to my lifelong and comfortable bed, a bed I myself manufactured, a bed of lies and denial in which parts of me will be forever lost.  These difficult decisions and feelings of despair often court death, a courtship to which at times seem like the easiest choice.   Teetering on the border of insanity I am forced to revisit the past over and over again in an attempt to decipher actual events from falsehoods.

I need to organize my thoughts, write them down, no matter how simple or complex:

I am loved and accepted by all,

Truth: I am hated by bigots.

I don’t hurt people,

Truth: I hurt people for my own selfish entertainment often.

I close my eyes to envision the color blue, I hate the color blue. It reminds me of a bad relationship. Ironically I actually liked blue as a child. My sisters always wanted things pink, their clothes, their toys, and of course, the wall color of their room. I preferred blue, especially when it came to my clothes.  I don’t really hate her (the reason I hate blue), not everyone is capable of being a good friend or lover.  In truth, it was me I hated, not her. I felt I had to make our relationship work because I couldn’t do better for myself. I hated the fact that she could make me cry, that I allowed her to demean me, and I hated that I accepted the position of a second class citizen out of fear. F–k it all. Who the f–k cares.  I was weak, so the f–k what.  I still don’t like the color blue.

Truth:  I hate the color blue because it reminds me of how much I hate myself.

“Hmmm, that went well”.

I will mentally place these issues in the Closed file section of my mind. Three down, 179,401 to go.   I slip down onto my pillow and try to sleep.

Fear consumes me.  Knowledge of my desperate and inadequate attempts of self preservation in the past are revealed. I hate myself. I hate myself , I hate everyone. This uninvited, yet welcome transformation is an asset of sorts, it serves as a shield to block out external distractions.  I no longer need to exert extra energy by treating others compassionately.  Anger is my favorite defense mechanism.  I employ this emotion to conjure up strength and create a powerful warrior willing to fight to free me from the abyss of dementia.

Frantically I pace the long corridor in a house with too many windows as my dog barks at a stranger. Moving through the house I  can feel my heartbeat accelerate at the sight of me laying in the fetal position in the corner of my bedroom.  Daylight and nights, hours and minutes, all moments are jumbled into one. Concerned friends knock at my door and beg to help from the outside.  Curtains sway without a breeze, and cabinet doors lose shape and liquefy. Deep slumbers fail to revive my appetite for food.   “The Truth Will Save You”, a quote used for manipulation. It’s all bullshit. Yet, in my sleep I continue the grueling process of analyzing, decoding and revealing my existence. Trying to stay sane is exhausting, I’m tired, I’m afraid, I’m slipping away.

Please, let Insanity be sweet.

With The Touch Of Her Heart

She is defenseless in her innominate mask.

Literary profundity intensifies her awareness, passion and wisdom.

Her pain, completely recognized, is unsympathetic and combative

And yet, she weeps at the sight of anguish

This insatiable poet’s love has countless tribulations…

She will envy your significance and despise your deficiency.

Devoted to convictions that in time no longer hold true.

Her fear of being exploited is parallel to her desire to love.

A constant need to be surrounded by feigned aficionados…

Persuades her self-manipulated disguise to be her most intimate bond.

Consequently, I can only love her for what she is not.

My truth of her lies far beyond an invincible shield,

Her reality…

Is in the palm of her hands,

And with the touch of her heart she will give it all away.



The sting of her slap hurt like hell,
a reminder that I’m still alive.
How cruel of me to show affection,
to be so sexually passionate,
only to abandon her after one night.

Intense emotion during casual sex is confusing.
Sure, I did what could to get what I wanted.
Drinks and flattery…
She assured me she understood the meaning of one night.

I gave her truth and voiced my fears.
We shared love and compassion into the morning,
agreeing it was what we both needed for the night.
I can’t remember her name,
I can’t remember any of their names.

“Brenda, my name is Brenda”,
“Damn you”, she sobbed as she walked away to her car.
I closed my eyes trying to ignore her smell of lavender
Fighting to stifle words that may encourage hope

“Brenda! I yelled to her.
Your favorite color is teal.
You like cats, squirrels and buttoned-up shirts.
You love teaching children and you read fiction,
and your mom… she touches you in your dreams.”

I lowered my head to my hand,
feeling the sting on my cheek from where Brenda had hit me.
Regretful for my moment of weakness, I looked up at her to explain
just in time to see her beautiful smile as she waved good-bye.

I still remember her name.


In a winter village where Indians once gathered acorns
a wind whipped summit station saw trains pass under four seasons.
Above the desert, snuggled in the south tip of the Sierras
powerful hearts lift buildings from one town to another
only to later see them burn in fire and smother under water.
The many deaths by White Wolf brought cries to a devastated people
as the earth ripped apart and caves coughed dust.
Dimmed light in sunken tunnels still illuminated possibilities.
The Loop and windmills on the hillsides, our future.
We see our mountains fill with colorful wildflowers,
a botanical garden waves to wine grapes on the vine.
Cemented marvels raise a dam and flowing waters fill an aqueduct
in far away places that won’t give us a second thought.
We remain alone, surrounded by our love for the mountains.
A man fights vigorously to help others who sweat in a cheating labor.
Artists create passionately here, for their muse is magnificent.
An actor finds peace, a singer tells a story and a writer believes.
With more hills to climb, spirituality embraces our community.
This is what it means to live in Tehachapi

Who I am – Bombastic Bitch

I probed into the silenced and unjustifiable, that which is not permissible along side my consciousness.  A much needed communiqué with my fears, wishes, and immoral thirsts draw me in.  An instance of calm and dominance constrains my logical thoughts and well-constructed pretense, releasing my otherwise conscious perception of dishonorable behavior onto the stage of my intimate existence. I set the stage with characters and props, immediately opening direction using both spirit and substance.

The sun flashes ostentatiously through the darkness and the stars began to play.  The contemporary bondage of my reality becomes subservient and allows the vibrant liberation of my emotional honesty.  I welcome the paradox union of morality and truth, nirvanas and torture, imaginary and authentic. I experience influences that interrelate with my memory and establish themselves in the physical component of my psyche; this is who I AM.  The atypical and unexplainable delusions of my emotions conformed into reality.

Here, I will hate you, I will love you, and I will fear you … this is my Truth.