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Kaiden Blake
13 October 2009 @ 05:36 am

A few weeks ago I was heading into town when low-and-behold I saw a figure waving from a horse-drawn carriage in front of me. The figure screamed out of the carriage something inaudible, from which I replied something equally unintelligible. I think I may have said "Ooh, horsies," but one cannot be too sure. After all, witnesses aren't usually around when such terrific events occur. However, It was at that moment in which the mysterious figure and I formed a shiny, new friendship.

Well, almost. The real story is slightly less exciting. The truth is, we stumbled upon each other's profiles on Twitter, no less, and both drooled over blue hair. Pretty barbaric, no? I was busy gawking at the cover of her recently released novel, which happens to depict a girl with blue hair, and Lisa quickly took a liking to my hair as well. Despite so much blue, the whole ordeal was actually quite merry. In fact, it called for serenading, feasting upon many sweets, and catapulting compliments back and forth. We're not sure if we damaged the green room (you'll be in-the-know later) or not, but the Management didn't seem too thrilled after our rendezvous.

In-between mouthfuls of gummy worms, Lisa asked me if I'd like a copy of her book. I'm fairly sure I said yes while still staring intently at the cover art. I must have, because not long after I received a shiny package on my doorstep. I hauled said shiny package inside the house, ripped it open, and introduced myself.

So far, my relationship with the book was off to a great start. Just as we were discussing ground rules for first dates, my friend arrived from out of town. Unfortunately, I had to bid farewell to the book temporarily. I promised I'd be back in a week, but I could practically hear the book's binding breaking as out-of-town-friend and I pulled out of the driveway. We drove through several states, and after many days of harmonizing to music in the car, visiting odd places, and sleeping in beds that were not our own, we arrived back where we started.

That was when I saw it. The book, perched on the shelf, hadn't moved from the spot I left it; that's true love right there. I finally had time to sit down and rekindle our spark. We quickly forgave one another, and not long afterward, I fell in love with it.

One of the reasons I was so quick to eat sweets with Lisa is for the mere fact she understands the art of creating a world. When a world is created, it demands attention and homage must be payed long afterward. Lisa takes her forms of art seriously, and it's apparent as it overflows onto her websites, her responses to fans, and, I'm sure, her daily life. Art cannot be stifled nor restricted to a simple entity -- in this case, a book. That is how magic is created.

If you appreciate an artist who eats and sleeps with their work, as I do, go pick up a copy of Eyes Like Stars. The content within is just as sweet as the packaging it presents itself with. Bertie, the main character, will lead you through a world that isn't always what it appears to be. Ultimately, in our world, we choose our own destinies. We are able to bend and shape the world that surrounds us, and Bertie finds herself with that very discovery looming overhead.

Good timing isn't generally one of my talents (I'm usually running around like the rabbit from Alice in Wonderland), however Lisa just so happens to be hosting a contest on her Livejournal HERE. 10 hardcover copies of the book will be given away, and the only requirement is entailing creativity. It's a win/win situation. Tell her I said "Hi," and that next time I'd like to have the horse-drawn carriage.
Kaiden Blake
02 October 2009 @ 05:50 am

The Case Study of Kaiden Blake
Chapter 3: Moments like this.

I love moments like this.

If, by sleight of hand, I had the opportunity to decide whether or not to enter this life, moments like this would tilt the scales. I can practically feel the world surrendering itself sideways.

I’m always surprised moments like this are so frozen, for emitting such warmth. I suppose they’re frozen because they demand you conjure a fire out of thin air, to think about thoughts and forget about the life that resides on the other side of the heat.

I wonder, are moments like this a survival tactic? Must we create fires at times when a lighter is absent? Our thoughts may be rocky at times, but I believe we can create our own fires.

I suppose we could all use moments like this.

I suppose everyone should know how it feels to be so warm.

Kaiden Blake
01 October 2009 @ 05:55 pm

The Case Study of Kaiden Blake
Chapter 2: Wherever you want.

Whomever created the bones that hold me together told me I could go wherever I want.

Told me I could reach the stars, though I couldn't hear their voice.

Though the world has morphed that into a simple expression.

But I've decided today I want to travel to an island in the middle of the ocean. I want to own the island, but not with foreign contracts. I've bottled up all the energy around me, corked it inside and watched it thrash at the glass.

Surely these molecules amount to something. Surely these molecules are worthy of haggling. Matter in this world.

I want to shave off my hair, dye it grey -- for wisdom, of course -- and shatter every mirror in sight. Adding to the poor luck, subtracting those feelings that mirrors give you. Betraying those days in which you wake up to see that reflection in the mirror that sends you right back to bed. That reflection is two-faced, sometimes ordering your facial muscles to create an astrological smile. Sometimes that half-moon is worth it.

I want to run away to an island today, and don't you dare tell me I'm crazy.

I swear my creator told me I could go wherever I want, doesn't that sound crazy?

Are you willing to go where you want to be?

Kaiden Blake
29 September 2009 @ 03:09 am

The Case Study of Kaiden Blake
Chapter 1: Life within 140 characters.

Sometimes my thoughts reproduce as quickly as rabbits, pushing and shoving at the outer brink of my skull. Okay, that first word is a lie. This is a common occurrence. My breathing rate likes to play a sadistic game -- 1800’s style -- while pretending my thoughts are valiant horses, cracking whips at them to keep them in sync. The horses (or “heese,” if you're a rebel), I assure you, would be of the finest breed. Promise.

I suppose this process could also be compared to the likes of Twitter. I could be whisked through a day that entails sky-diving into a bowl of Lucky Charms (which may be considered lactose-induced scuba diving), eating French fries while taste-testing various brands of ketchup (I am proud to say I have done this), and carrying on conversations with myself in the mirror while pretending to be in some grand, legitimate film called Reflections: A Successful Film, We Swear! that won’t be going straight to DVD release (I swear!). In-between these antics, I would scream “Life is great, this is better!” at the top of my lungs. I’d also look the other way and whistle a nonchalant tune as people look around in bewilderment.

My tweet (I will never be able to take that word seriously) would look somewhat like this:

“Lucky Charms. ‘Life is’ Ketchup = Yum. ‘great, this’ New film. ‘is better.’ Adding new ‘Under 140 Chars’ gold sticker on wall now.”

If people replied with tweets other than “Huh?” or name-dropping local hospitals, I may lose slight hope in my Followers. Okay, that is also a lie. I must say those things to encourage acceptable behavior, but secretly, I’d be back in front of the mirror working on a sequel film titled Reflections: Shiny Things are Really Great.

Now that I have somewhat successfully relinquished that train of thought (oh, look! railroad tracks), I may stop hoarding the gummy worms tonight. Key word: may. Remember, language is your friend.
Kaiden Blake
29 August 2009 @ 01:24 pm

I am pollen.
Kaiden Blake
20 August 2009 @ 03:26 pm
New free-write:

I cried an ocean to tide my mind over until the shoreline would cease to exist. My eyes brewed the perfect storm, salty on my lips. Lips like mechanical gears on a balance beam, provided with acrobats and rusted limbs. My head is a sailboat, my neck a rope imprisoning me to the dock. Meek minds filled with a mission, hateful hearts with their power trip pulses that seek to control. Hardships are only boats too dense for gravity to propel.

I’ve always dreamed of shaking hands with the horizon. I see the colors change in the sky, bidding me goodnight and welcoming me to each new day as my eyes lift their sails to toast to possibility.

Chance is only a chant, only a reverberating message that is corked inside a bottle. So much desperation filling such a hollow space trapped within transparency. Such heavy words for a vehicle that is thrashed so carelessly amongst relentless waves. I am washed ashore, my ship succumbing to stagnancy, seasick with stillness. It’s a wonder sandbags keep my mind at shore whilst the pebbles beneath my feet offer no resistance.

One day I will bathe in the horizon.

P.S. Follow me on Twitter here: http://www.twitter.com/kaidenblake
Kaiden Blake
25 July 2009 @ 10:01 pm

A free-write by me. Feel free to share your thoughts and opinions.

The goosebumps on my arm arose like the tips of icebergs, representing separation. My tear ducts are cloned from cacti, hidden from the naked eye, as eyes refuse to bear the conditions that imprison us without proper armor. Water is such a demanding, selfish, oblivious substance. It demands to have its fill, seizing through an entire territory unwarranted. Such destructive desires, and always conquering. Tears are discourteous droplets unequipped with proper etiquette -- orphans, corroding vision without disciplinary action. Even in the best of moments, life is simply a tease, a foreboding empty hope that we can control. Despite gifts that are granted, destinies we attempt to monopolize upon, we are manufactured with blueprints determined to conceal our autopilot system.

How primitive we are to have such mundane necessities. With every bite we could be devouring obstacles, with every ping of drought that surges through our veins we could be quenching our thirst for discovery. I am whittled down to a state of mind that cannot allow for incoming transmissions of kindness, for I feel unworthy. Trained throughout my childhood to remain forever nomadic, I have trekked across my thoughts, plummeted to the depths of my ambitions, survived the thrash of my surroundings, and have only mastered the ability to exalt myself into a vulnerable state in the center of vast vacancies. Cruelty, it is, to feel sadness that chokes and strangles your insides while the individuals that exist around me offer unrequited love. A hateful form of karma, burying you alive in a coffin six feet underneath the very feet that allow us to stand, rewarding sympathy in the form of transplanting you on a glorious perch inside a birdcage. Living like a bird with such sought-after gifts, flying relentlessly against the cool iron bars, eager to see the parting of lips and the strange rows of teeth that smile at me, offering me nutrients that both of us foreign creatures must accept. Such kind gestures for such despair the bird feels, that incredulous, self-centered bird whom exists in a state of purgatory filled with self-pity. That bird who dares to battle water, opposing with such force that can only be analyzed as the intent of victory.

I am irrevocably devoted to a repel that I did not request. Such advancements and executions, I am the fly on a wall in a room hosting a parasitic relationship with a wallflower, forcing me into self-symbiosis. This world with a purpose, while purposefully perilous paths deter from direction, intersecting and overlapping to create a maze built by masterminds. I refuse to romanticize with the belief that, as an infant, I was dispensed onto this land for the purpose of being led to the cracks in the soil like a horse to a stream. The stream, once flourishing, must have succumbed to the exhaustion of overuse, presenting me with poor timing.

Time and goodbyes must conspire in order to keep the assembly line frantically recycling. So much movement for a planet that leads us to believe we're standing still.

It is but a curse to see so much if they choose to see so little. We are rationed very little choice -- perhaps it is pure corruption to loiter between choices and notions. To have thought, to eagerly consume so much, to dream, only to bid farewell to the energy as it goes on to travel with a one-way ticket in hand. I am standing on the platform carrying invisible baggage and inconsiderate water that will emerge from my illusion of a cactus on its own accord. But after the molecules disperse, the furniture croaks a sigh of relief as the fire is extinguished from the painting outside the window. Only 24 hours within the confines of 365 days in a year. Only a small falter in the system, only time shaking hands with goodbyes as you wave the designs on your fingers to the break in the assembly line. Always offering such brilliantly unique designs, fingerprints are no match for the power of that monotonous black belt that conveys such a linear path.

But I am graciously given a lullaby with the melody of honey -- both leftover secretion and sweet -- as the roar of the engines are slowly diffused when sleep kidnaps me.
Kaiden Blake
22 July 2009 @ 04:09 pm

Life has been wonderful as of late. I stole the last 2-3 months for the sole purpose of healing and relaxation. Since then, I've been busy writing my upcoming novel and have been scheming up a new website, merchandise, as well as the much anticipated music. Many exciting things are coming soon from my end of the world. I hope you've all been having a very relaxing summer and am looking forward to this next chapter in both this book and life. :)
Kaiden Blake
10 April 2009 @ 01:26 am
I felt the anger and sadness weld up inside of me. I took slow, cautious steps. Faced the mirror, fell apart. Undressed myself, beating heart. Looked into my eyes, I lost. This new body has its cost. These dreams are only goals. Entire houses heated by the smallest coals. I am not into madness, I am a product of my sadness. To be so very alone. I looked at myself. 10 minutes. 20 minutes. 30 minutes. I screamed. I tugged at my hair and scratched at my chest. Alarms signaling inside, no, this is not a test. Burning acid making its way to my head.

The creature in the mirror was distorted. Water helps dilute what we cannot bear to see. He was convulsing as I was shaking. He said "If it's yours, then it's mine for the taking." And then I sang.

And then he sang:

I am only a little older
I am only a little older
I repeated to myself

The pain caused me to freeze
But I am not a Woolly Mammoth
I am not a Woolly Mammoth

I may be extinct
But I am not a Woolly Mammoth
Of which they're so eager to claim

But what I would give to be
Kaiden Blake
01 April 2009 @ 05:03 pm
Lately vision has been spare
If not for this lattice screen
To savor excuses for visibility
For the imaginary friend
That won't be there

From eyes, to the keys from
Which you use to type
Guilty, too, in this modern
Age -- factoring: After all,
Hotels do let you go

From designer candles, to
Carnations that burn; Dying
Is an illusion, expiring slowly
Like wine fermenting, if only
Occupied by the ability to yearn

Hands reaching from the walls
Bouquets that leave lasting
Impressions: Lead to depressions
If not on shelves, to cells that
Squirm from the varying void