In a fey state of mind

Perusing the burrows of spatial existence. Awakened the twisting helix with a gracious touch from light, sound, vibrations: information. Struck by the star-burst pattern, the morning came as night set in. Tracing the grout holding it all together, each corner speaks facade and shows me the fourth (forth) dimension, clear-connection, no static, devoid of pitch and full of fractal tones. Flowing with the body, climbing the ladders tilted at diagonal angles, reaching into a new sort of heaven, a present paradise.

Fleeting images speak specks of glittered memories. Remembering, for it's all been here forever.

Sharing what can't be undone, releasing the orgasmic sensation freedom brings: accepting the spectrum of being entirely. A perspective arises from a sliver between meeting points. Interacting continuously, a fey whisper of voiceless speech wanders inside the very rhythm of your heart, affecting the entirety. Shivers of light connect all dimensionality to this closed-eyed-vision of our place with infinity. Laughter causes the air to rumble and infects all of our chests, filling them with bright steam of sweet scents, allowing a shared sense of relativity. The heart awakens again.

waking up

we've all fallen and this will be the hardest time to get back up. an extreme spike in information has washed over this vessel and overwhelmed the senses for a while. carpe diem is but a momentary hurrah for the cheerleaders in the blind squadron. But no matter how many blindfolds and masks are removed, there still seems to be this question-less, haunting spectre that lurks beneath, bellow new cellular development and other healing energies. everyday was once a bright reminder that it all could be done, and lately nothing but neglect has arisen as the new sun that shines life upon things. Am I peddling (pedaling) backwards? Where does my scattered heart find silence? Lost beyond the frontier, the sunset can't bend beyond the horizon to reach where I now live. Iridescent thoughts only lead to more schemes of forgotten shades, dreams sing an entirely new cavalcade of words from a forgotten time. It's all wound up and tied into a bun atop the head of the sinking ship's captain, nestled underneath his staunch white top hat. reliance upon the whims of the night's air bring nothing but the silent hymn of forgotten friendships and lackluster love. I've come this far without an honest speck of knowing despite all the flimsy beds i've made, and yet, i'm still relatively safe, cozy amongst what I've lost and gained all at once, for it's all at once. Never there or here but always alive and caught in the shadow of dried blood.

Anthropological studies conducted in the mall: dwellers and their habits

So after last night's adventure, I woke up and finished that post, had a few, and then went out to meet up my homies Tachi and Conrad. They were DJing an in-store for the adidas store. This is the mall's idea of an "in-store"

Japanese canned coffe: fission bombs on roids (up there with viet coffee even though this one had no caffine)

busted out the creep cam. Like a true conductor of a study, one must be discrete in order to capture and study the habits of the mall dwellers in their natural habitat: utterly stupefied.

In a hurry

In a daze

In a rage

I don't think he liked the 'ethnic music'

InTense (yeah, she's pregnant, at least it seemed so)

In...bad taste
This lady must have been in her 50s and in some little ass cutchie shorts like that...not classy at all.

Wait...they sell beer at the mall now?!?

Went out for a cig. like Rockwell said, "why does it feel like, somebody's watchin me?" cuz they probably are.

Kev decided to stop by to spin some vinyl he just grabbed at the meet of swapping

Even the kids get down when he hits the decks

Pictures of...pictures


maxin, relaxin

some characters

Eastern Europeans can't resist a good bass line and a beat


"You don't like-a de Untz-a-Untz-a?"


Went for Ramen after wards at mitsuwa


Where we came across this odd meeting of what seemed to be strangers...things looked a bit cultish off in their little corner


This lady was in this wild outfit that looked like it snuck out of my mom's closet back in 87, those bright purples and pinks and reds. Her hair was honestly, scarily impeccable, like Jane Jetson but blonde...with a blank cartoon stare (no blinks) to match. The crowd seemed to follow her like some guru


That's herd mentality for ya...

Just to prove how bright the herd can be, my friend needed some cigs from the 7-eleven and as I stood waiting outside, two of them walked past me...

The lady was happily commenting on how much she loves to have a job that allows her to travel..."I worked in Antartica, twice before..." The Indian (yes, India Indian) turned to her with a rather funny look and asked her, "Where???" She replied, "Antartica...ya know? The bottom of the world." If those are the perks of the cult, count me out.

All in all, I'd have to say that mall dwellers are rather interesting and particular, some are happy, some are sad, some greedy, some just glad to be there and alive. Enjoy your days off herd-folk, you need em to do more of nothing next week.

oh yeah...and the dreams drawn...
from this

to this (while listening to the homies play tunes in the middle of the damn mall, birthed on that bench)


enjoy the night y'all!

It's a funny thing, the things we get into...

Indeed. This screen, radiant light source, fake facade, angular and twisted in an odd sense. Stretched out, towards me? perhaps, but that time has passed, that which was soaked, drenched in ego and blind names: words (sounds, vibrations) misguided. And time as well! Oh the sorrow which we've given that endless sensation, that which carries the very source of motion. Current. Soaring through a light oblivion which migrates all hollowed drowning seams, that which seems to be lost, yes, in each of us.

Who's to know anywise. Things shine and shingles fall: that bind the sensational heart, oh that magestry which knows the soars of the windless whispers between silences.

I'll leave this here for now...

(24 mins later)

After most all the lights are shut off, there's a new breath to the enclosure, apartment rather. There's a fine variety of art work my friend has collected, some lit in a certain way, intentional? who knows.



Either way, some of it is down right awe inspiring...haha under these conditions at least. Who likes to leave a paper trail anyhow?

Girly kept starin at me no matter which perspective I was at


An array of things sit on the table in front of me, some speaking amongst each other. Now I just tuned into that world for a slight eternity...but it must go on! the transformation must still persist! Origami hit my mind, was forgotten (or rather left behind in that realm of consciousness during the brief infinitum), and then came back with a soiree of colors. Odd how words form sounds in the mind and then reacquaint themselves with another spelling: the correct as some would claim. La-Di-Daaa!h!

Here's Jesus relaxin with me, he's a bit out of focus but my hand just didn't stay steady. With the rest of the visual world waving and weaving, it just wasn't happenin


also...

The latest in faux home protection!


VICIOUS!

Suddenly the bright (BRIGHT!) idea strikes me, some music would be lovely. Luckily I'm in a DJ's home so there are some proper ear phones. Encapsulating my entire head, mind, entity.

Eyes closed, captured in real time, give me a second and i'll give it a try, an attempt...:

fingers touch all day long, whimsical spores of endless informiations covered in goldenpink words where even the solid bends to mountains, pyramids in the morn, morning tilt of smiles, wrapped in every single spatial matter, ....the twilring pa tt er n, song change.

pirate clowns befooled into a day long galant adventure towards the hidden seizure of joy, ectasy in the wild winds where blending notions know no better than to believe in the whims.

spotted specked open, no cordial dear light to watch but the sun is coming and some things never really last as the sounds pass. bleeding the fool's patience and sanity in believeing in hope.

And here's the view from my homeboy Japson's pad at a bit after 6am


Upon waking up, there's a horribly caught, perhaps stuck is a better word to use in this case, clot of phlegm that's between my throat and nose and hinders all swallowing by casting an odd sensation, a thick, gunky one. I suppose I'll end this tiny venture for a bit.

eyes cutting through disco lasers...

Hungry Eyes

There seems to be quite a lot of staring going on in the silence/intense, thumping noise of clubs and bars from NY to LA. One of the most obvious and revealing looks during those inaudible hours where a conversation is lost to the scream of basses and beats, is 'the hungry eyes'. This is seriously a new language forming here, especially for those of us too shy to ever try (shit, I'll be honest, this includes myself) a damn thing and instead, end up cursing yourself the entire cab ride home. There are a multitude of variations to the hungry eyes that have been witnessed, some familiar, some as shocking as the plus symbol on a pregnancy test found in your daughter's trash can. There's the usual and most innocent, kind, gentle, inviting set of eyes, saying, "come over and say hi". Things get a bit sultry with the obviously beckoning pair of hungry eyes that nearly sing to you a sweet siren's song. And sometimes things get rough, a tad desperate, even straight up delirious, and out comes 'the starving eyes,' or yet, the 'i wanna inhale and engulf you' eyes. The latter being the most obvious and even slightly scary or frightening, depending on the peepers they're shot from. Just tonight in fact, this him/shim/she/herm in the most unflattering, mod, grey and black stripped dress (open back to portray her aging folds), was giving my friend the 'i'm homeless and hungry' starving eyes.

An entire spectrum exists in the realm of the hungry eyes. There can be the "ooo la la!" reaction from the firey eyes of a beautiful bird, and then there can be the "oooooh hell naw!" intrusive and annoying stare some creep can send your way. Like life, you gotta take the bad with the good. Just make sure you know what kinda hungry eyes you're displaying and to whom it may concern. No one wants to fall into the deep abyss of the unwanted hungry eyes.

Back to tonight.

Sitting against the wall on this oversized wooden bench, watching the youngins with fake IDs dance and wiggle their bodies to shitty tunes (YES! NY does NOT play good music at most venues!), when out of the crowd worms this TANKED chick and her bridge and tunnel boyfriend nearly holding her up. She sits down and is remarkably able to take her camera out of her purse. This classy lady had a different set of hungry eyes, we'll dub these the creepy leprechaun eyes, like that lil dude from the leprechaun movies, glazed with a tint of evil intent lurking behind the glassy stare. She begins to snap photos, she nearly takes one of herself first hardly taking notice that the camera lens is actually facing her own mug. Those leprechaun eyes were up to no good when I found them staring. Next thing ya know, she tries to be a drunken-sneaky, gold-hording imp and creep from behind her boyfriend to snap a photo of my friend and I who are simply sitting, awaiting the hopes of a good track to listen to at this random party. I turn my entire body to block this, you'd think such body language would be enough. Not for this broad. She seats herself next to me, basically shoving her body against mine, and begins to slur some inaudible blah blah to me while holding the camera towards us as if saying "hey, get in the picture!" I give her the 'is you crazy???' look and kindly tell her no thanks. Them eyes light up with a severe confusion, still hungry for some crumb and determined to get a bite. I turn again to talk to my friend, telling him about this nutty creature when suddenly a flash explodes from behind my head and I see my friend saying, "you can't just do that." Apparently, she did a shark move and slowly snuck up to the surface (around my head) to grab a mouthful. Hungry trick. She tries again and again to take pictures with us and as kindly as humanly possible, we ask her not to take pictures of us. Insatiable hunger overwhelms her and she starts to slur some more sludge from her mouth till we flee and have a cigarette out front.

Ladies, point of advice: don't get too drunk and send this last type of hungry eyes. They aren't flattering AT ALL, for anyone, after a point in the night.

What ever happened to taking it slow or just getting to know someone before rushing into the raging fires of hell? or is that just the old fashioned prune in me?

p.s. know your dealer

glancing at corners

Everything was succumbing to the trails. It was surely the end, nothing spoke anymore. Only metallic screams from soft mouths made sounds. The numbness spread across the forehead and the skies were left blotted out by a bloody moon. Eyes sore, no one bothered to look anymore. Anymore. Any. More. Begotten ache, poking at my blinded consciousness, death was ignored and only got the answering machine. Tiny clouds cried all throughout the summer days that month. How the dried flowers held their color I do not know. How redundant connections found a mate quite frankly scared me during sleep. Waking up to a stagnant delight only helped the bacterium spread. Sore spots sang outside, a foreign jumble rotted all the fruits of our helpless labor. It was time to go crazy once again. In between the tiles lied a slight sliver of untouchable space, a delight that immediately caught my eye. Hurrying towards it, I fell on a knife invisible. Who’d been so kind to leave it there? Waking a phantasy so lame, the autistic children screamed all at once and created a new symphonic frequency. Pulling out the chair to lay down and die in, I found a crying mouse with a black handkerchief. Asking it, ‘why the flowing tears.’ It could only sob and point at my right side. Upon looking, I noticed a gapping hole filled with old Christmas decorations, ornaments covered in an old mold. Tiny critters crawled and sparkled in the shade of my wounded body. It’d all began to deteriorate. Disintegrating the past and future in the same moment, I could hardly bare to look or breathe. You’ll cry to death a voice said from the distant midst of confusion brought about from the streets four stories below. Stacked layers of history lived simultaneously in a wilting convent. A mysterious hum sprung from above, then the sides, and finally the front. Mirrored in the skin, the bloody secretion of bound secrets that fall off the lines of blank pages. She sung a high note shattering the sky. A sunken rope tangled in the tears of millennia rose up, then spread in all directions of misguided hope. Shaving the nails that stuck out, the dirt from underneath fell to the floor covered in sporadic single hairs like a dusty snow. A slush to taint even the darkest shadows of diligence splashed, splattering the broken faces of forgotten dolls of one girl’s childhood pleasures. The legs gave out and all the notes screamed from the grand piano, a suicide no one expected to sound this way. The brilliance left his face as he lay still in the casket. I stood there wishing he’d simply flinch one more time in that golden pavilion that echoed all our silenced cries. The rain came from outside and splashed yesterday across our conjoined memories that this had all happened before. Why? Crawling towards the spilt ashtray of our rushed lives, rotting all hellos and goodbyes. My back ached, sending a shiver throughout my turning mind. Round and round the flames gained height. No longer able to go on, we scrapped our skin away to reveal scabs that never healed quite correctly. Injured souls confined to this melancholy inhalation of each other. The sarcophagus of tomorrow played a tune that faded before it began, stars blotted out by bright knives shaving necks in dreams. The pools of blood were so great that time decided to cease all movement and grace space with a touch so full of intent that the planets quit their orbits and began to rotate in unheard of ways. Directionless, we wandered the bloated landscape of the chilling floor beside us. White hairs sprang from great wells, geysers held together by the mere mention of a fractured sanity, pressurized by fear. Who knew these voices could hear the sun’s dying days as they crept so near? The distance left us with a singular point to stare at, the fading now transformed itself into a gust of wind and escaped with the velocity of an exploding rocket ship aimed at the empyrean of reality. Never to show its twinkle again, we faded into today and forgot our true existence of gold and silver and white. Nothing became our focus and our disguise during brief shivers of love.

dot

I am but a dying whimper fashioned in a facade of a body. conducted amongst the smog of being, trails left in the winter skies of july, a cloud loosing shape. infected by the loss of friends, solitude's angel. whisp of a beaten neglect carried amongst my chest, trapped beneath this shroud of sporadic particles quickly fading back to cosmic dust. shattered star pattern, timing has never been a good friend. I clink glasses and cheer disintegrating moments as I know they'll never be the same again. half-smile, camoflauge enjoyment as I breathe in deep the indigo winds. shattered plates scar my feet as i follow no path, drowned out by the macabre light my lenses can only find, stale monotony in my monogomous death. drill bits awake me from the sweat drenched bed sheets and i clamour to ignore the transiency of this waking fall some call life. taken aback, sore infections speak of the bloody gash i call my face. head trauma. thoughts.

and it all begins...

A fractured falsity. the counterfeit culture gains numbers, but a head count is not a thing more than a frivolous gesture. The maneuvers have gone all wrong, a skewed, off course. Where the fuck am I anymore? Lost amongst the players, the fanatics enchanted by this game, a rat-race that speaks as the facade for all our collected history of being, and what have we? Killing machines to drive us nuts with fuel costs, distractions that sound and look as a leper feels: absolute disintegration. Disregarded. aching in the midsts of a thought, confused by sight for sore eyes that see all that's not... but insistent that existence is there. Never here. Vibrating along the static sound of an out of tune existence...but it's all up to me to see beyond the far-reaching distance. Now. The shift must be made. It's the only hope, all other routes are burnt, singed by unconsciousness.

some older random writings...

resonance of times to be

Ravenous structure today, the waves become audible in each action filling the emptiness that only exists in memory. Building wings to fly because of severe impatience and longing for the high skies, yet each time we find the air to be too thin and once again, in a flash, we're grounded. Punished for reaching out for our hopes, for closing our eyes to dream, but rushing to get into the fast lane thwarts consciousness for monetary gain: distracted once again. Simply left with the metamorphosis Kafka showed each of us: this longing for attention for our self-proclaimed accolades, the distance brought about by alienation from those we support and love due to our self-prescribed pity and distance, forcing invisibility in our constructed destitute of depression. In the transitional end, it all comes down to our last bad act. That adheres, imprints itself in the unconscious tangents: the bear traps butterflies get stuck in. Adaptation to such notions draws the contrast and once again we're no longer holding the crayons. Giving into the colony, living up to the cliché destination that only holds mystery, interest, value, fame, money (you can pick your poison), in the chase for shifting shapes that you want to solidify. Nature's ability breaks all which beings have made and the resonance of waves becomes closer and thinner. The break becomes change for the days will go on in this constant measure of life's musical rearrangement of chaos.

optional angle

the carnivale sensations of the glints the morning brings. Traveling though a transitional belt of energy as the lunar rays whisper with a twinkle, does this sensation help us believe? On a layered shore, alibis dismantled, structures speak no more. Filling the silhouettes with my breathing voice, I'll never echo the past or ring in the future with a drawn out map. hanging off a terrace of excitement, i need a hideout to stow away in for a few nights. lets savor this scent as we walk out of plato's cave with the third eye wide open. No need for Saturn rings to make us together in this eternity of cosmic being, and i wonder how Osaka is like in spring. dancing on the ripple of the sky's smile, another night awaits, so I dream during daylight.

psychedelic psychic

What fun to speed away. Bending light and the notions that have calcified my mind since the first time words were spoken at me, moonlight has a certain way of speaking till it gives way to the day. Tomorrow actually starts at night, never during sunlight or when you wake from conscious dream states, funny how we're taught to assume so drastically differnt. Tuning in by giving into the flow, never a stuttered thought between action and silently spoken feelings. Delusions of time passing, the only distance to refer to is that which holds my soul down from connecting with the rest of me, the apparent silhouette that senses seem to favor unconsciously. Fractured value system due to my persistence, I'll shatter you soon. Being numb is still feeling regardless of what the heritics claim. Relativity found in the displacement of energy traveling through my point of being. Come out from the shadows, come out and play.

forgetting the forgotten

Deflated embodiment of nobody, sails caught in the torment of wandering thoughts. Could this go on? Is there anything else in the residual dishonesty discovered under the dried leaves? Magnified in a sleepless span, hours fall from the clock's hinge and hands turn up empty. Delusion megalith, contaminated business plan, a courier for infections of disillusion. The forms speak yet say nothing. Built and sent to the age of antiquity, lasting for decades in a shrinking frame. Enclosed in the drawn blinds, suffocating between sentences. It's a pity to realize that navigating through loopholes has lost its curiosity. Faded wonders and worn honesty find a new way to propel themselves. Keystone treasures.