some new...some old...

Clarity

Driving. Swallowed. Open the palpable connections that we make strangers or bystandards, unnoticed sensations. Depth, the world moves and speaks out in an eclectic magestry of coincidences. The cherry blossom festival happened upon us, Tokyo reminiscent. Origami. Trees for adoption. The visage of dreams, some things can't yet reach beyond a threshold of comprehension, come to life. The winds blew away all the old, toxic factors that normally keep one close at bay. Suddenly the timing seemed right. Getting up, to my feet, in the skies. Not this time, not this life, but someplace else the opposite occurs. Knowing this is enough to fulfill a million lifetimes. Just simply knowing it's there, in some forms or others. Enough love to fill the outline of a tear, then the oceans, our planet, universal. Microcosmic fractal of being, we turn to leave and it all begins to fall apart, disintegration at the turn of the neck, to the left. Facing our backs, it all shifted to chaos. Colors blew off their relation to objects, umbrellas upturned and guarded the skies from us for once, paper napkins unfolded like the pages of a brilliant novel of the universe's tales, told over and over again: a loop, on loop, 3 loops of gold. This novel is never to be re-read again. The moment we leave, we really leave, anywhere, everywhere. To capture the nuance of one of these breaths, so full of life, love, hope, to perhaps show you in some way, some light, without a fight...this would make me smile.




nnnnnnnnn...

now. now. now. When is it never not now? It’s always been here, forever present, a spectre of the current. Shadow consumer, fresh dinner for sustenance, ideal or dreamt. Remove this veil hidden under the paths of light, that which very well enshrouds the fabrics of being. Soft senses, finely woven, braided by Georges, the X quotient becomes Magneto, the Frog enchants. Variable interchange. Emblazoned upon the forehead, i’ll see past and beyond, the very intention itself resonates in each conscious breath. Expand. Retract. Fractal outlines of exponential lives. I’m becoming who I’ve always been. What a funny notion since I’ve always been. Be. You. Me. Trinity speaks and melts with the touch of fingerprints left from Aeons ago, visually speaking today. Lunar rays awake me, come out and play. A soft dance with the rhythms, the waltz of chaos, the samba of balance. Fire energies off with the marching band, align chakras with my breath, i can. Can’t we all? Sensual harmony. We co-exist. Let’s share like it was PRE-school again.




ago: haunted

I thought about ripping it all down. No one looks when the windows are open, the blinds peeled away from their place. A facade spoken in silence so that only diamonds could capture their essence in refelctions of lights, began to waft about the battered path. Reverse-direction-glance, was it the truth forced out of the chest by some other strand of dead-weight words giving life to all new? Distracted: a yell from a far off place, "dinner is ready!" I'm stuck in the country home of a retired addict, death finally found them sober, and listless as my head may be, their voice echoes along the high ceilings, calling out to a child of 13. Doing their best. Berating all notions of honesty, convalescent timing has no place under that breath of theirs, snarling with the hot steam of defiance and assurance. A spectre it is not but rather a tired memory too worn to realize what time it could be anymore. I am wrapped around in this cubicle, doing the work of both good and evil despite the disregard for man's-made rules under the roof of the sky. Patronized by an undefinable microcosm of existence. This is the personification of the last gasp of life. Lost, haunted by the notion of committing to something that may change one's sense of being as it is known. Such a pity, sharing has lost its locomotive sense of inspiration, this spreads across ones awareness of their own boundaries. BreakdowncrashfuckingdeathlyexplosionBANGbangdisintegrationpopotherresidence!!!!! Morrison said it best as 1966's summer came to an end, no repetitions needed. Tuning in with the great pleas that fell upon distracted minds, destroying keys along with their confines. Herald these screams as war cries. Alas, tiring out the breath has become humans blind intention whilst unconsciously grazing along the boulevard and Wilshire, filling stations for the insatiable hungers prescribed. By the kitchen top slab, silence forced upon me. Her lesson was spoken in a newly formed language of action and silence that formed words in their aftermath. Nothing but flickers of flames found a place in the night's filling quiet, connecting to all vectors deriving from everywhere and nowhere in the simultaneous current.




daily executions in wonder

but a speck. on an endless wall tilting in an infinity expanding beyond dimensional temporality. Tipping off invisibility to the whereabouts of a wisp of the sweet wind which all thoughts are made of, an unconscious concept we can no longer relate to. root level elementary, resilience of the thin layered flimsy outfit we come into this life with is nothing more than a simple form of illusion in the name of disinformation: a test designed to test the designed, a chaotic fragment of consciousness. vertigo web. The rough draft of the path to death is nothing more than that, a tale and story so convincing that it steals life, which actually fulfills it's intent of being. At least some things still have function.



what could be most likely could be what?

plastic pop. dream icon. featureless main presentation sponsored by unconsciousness. ungrateful commemorative plates stacking up along the side wall of the shrinking space called home. It's no longer where the heart lives but close enough to the edge of invisibility, well, isn't it all at this point in the journey? at this point...point at this, finding everything in nothing: masturbatory zen orgasm. Fulfilled expectancy dry heaves all morning, waking up is a lot harder to do when the sun is roasting the insides of autumn and mangled binary text messages are woven into the banks of memory: gone to watch the pretty birds weep. Disconnected to be reintegrated into the Franklin Mint of complacency. Robots no longer require a disguise as they're your new neighbors, in the cubicle next to you, that empty seat collecting deja vu dust particles filled with stories to span cosmic-light lifetimes. A brainless fart, the stench and reverberation of the calls of warning that reach nobody, left out to collect ill-energies and rot at the bosom of humanity. you, shiny reflection everyplace. Destructive facade invading conscious thought. it is you which hides so well, masked by the time-sensitivity of life, consuming the connections we once all shared. You're at a distance too far to make out now...or are you too close?




shifting seasons

summertime dreamer, there's a smear on your face. Forget wiping it off, the
cold rain outside hardly speaks anymore and this is the cry to find peace
between waking and sleep. The house is all but drenched, soaked by age and
damp with life. Languages unspoken to the sleeping ears, searching so hard
to find cohesive meaning, so long, that it's lost by the time we find any
manifested connection. Brown leaves amongst a sea of green, no light for the
hungry.
The notion of departure slackens the taught heart and the strangle hold of society's impatience. we rush towards the finish line where the only thing that awaits is a face drained of light. speaking out loud while observed by those still awake as I dream, childhood manifestation of true intent which has fallen victim to rush pushing at me from all sides. Monetary gain, materialistic fame, the surface is no longer able to hold my weight and cracked concrete meets my face. gentle melody, lead this gaze in motion to a place unfamiliar to yesterday. A land with gentle hands, no allergens to catalyze a irrational scratch which only worsens the spread of defunct ideas, those moist with nervous precipitation my body unconsciously emits. transist. glorified appeasement of other's eyes can only be found in the personal sector of the mind which cowers at the crowd. Vibrations of ill-sentiments cloud my bright glint, perception becomes overcast, consuming the conscious variety of all possibilities let go by infection. Someplace along the way my breathe caught a viral wind and waking hours are spent in the shade. Counting digits, caught up in the investment that'll never pay off with such little hope. Residence of such an ancient building where the bricks crumble at the slightest touch. My fingers gaze along the bumps, the stories of another's trampled dreams, the reverberation of songs lost to the vast populous that might have just helped open the third eye realization that all we perceive is hardly a fraction of this universality. existing for tomorrow melts the wick, disintegrates the flickering flame of passion in each of us. Intend a true smile for yourself, don't allow the rest to dictate your desire. I'll share this belief with you all, my neighbors, no matter the distance.

discovered...

the forest of organic beings...

...new mediums

and the brain...two phases.

april

you excite my heart, dissolving matters to the purity that amalgamation can bring. Courtesy flush, hands brush, lining the paths paved by two pairs of hands. minds contemplate and hearts desire, growth, abnormal or askewed, asymmetrics are what we're made of. floating. the stars. cosmic dust harmony soothes the tones that weigh down on tones fading. silence. conducting orchestral anomales, be my draft on warm days. the breeze that sends a nostalgia for the future to come and abruptly disrupt me from this dream. in between life and death we waltz on this thin balanced edge. twirl the world, spin the unspun, reconnect all that's been forgot for so long. so long. goodbyes are never quite real between our eyes. success is but a fantasy wavering in fleeting rushes. spun. a new world comes to play. neon fish waddle their way in mid air, hanging fluorescents entwine the difference in distance we can be blind to, not forgetting but never the undoing. precious collaboration. sense me across instantaneous transmissions, we teach one another about the skies over and over again, combine.

dancin in the moonlight

oh vegas, you sparkling strip of lights and highrise facades. fanatical thought zooms by as we rushed the night and tomorrow through to your town. I wrote you a note and left it for no one to find as none look around anymore for anything less than wavering bills held down by the tips of ideas. Here's what I wrote in a spurt of seated whims at the desk of the penthouse:

No place. Everywhere, confused to be somewhere. Playing nowhere to know where the gamse are played. Second place. Third place. Placing none. No names to be anyplace. Being everyplace. Placing where everywhere becomes noplace for those everyplace pacing nowhere. Where are we?

Supernaturaldelight! spanning days for what felt like years in the dream box. Curved victorian fads and pinstripped walls bleeding in frames of flowing flowers. What happened to the hallway?

adieu till next time you desert space

Dig deeper

The other night I was downstairs and the TV was on, the news on one of the network channels. I was under the assumption 'news' should be of some interesting topic and perhaps a bit informative, 'a bit' being the lowered expectations of today's media in any form. A story comes on about this kid, really, he was maybe 13 or 14, who was speaking to the Los Angeles city council about getting the ranking officials to sign up for his club...get this, the 'no cussing club'. This is bizarre on a multitude of layers. First of all, this child has no clue what it really means to curse, which brings me to the next point, 'cussing' isn't really even a word. Just because it's become a word in recent times doesn't mean shit to me really when his club is based on the use of words. Next, this dim wit goes on to explain why he started the club and his little ditty goes something like this: "my friends who never use to 'cuss' started 'cussing' and I just want them to be who they use to be and not 'cuss." What new sort of ritalin have they subjected our youth to? Are you for reals?? He wants his friends to be who they use to be? Well first lesson in life kiddo, we're all changing, constantly, that's what being in the third and fourth dimensions does to our human forms and minds. Get use to it quick or keep up the ritalin prescription. What I find to be interesting about all of this is the bare bone semantics this club is focusing on. Words are nothing but air, vibrations and halatosis...oh, and you need at least one sense to even know they exist. I wonder if the club members simply concentrate on actually uttering a curse word or do some of them *gasp* internalize the lesson of not sending out bad vibes and hatred towards others and come to realize that something actually comes before the cursing in their being? The intent behind the curse word comes far before the actual use of the word itself. Simply training to keep yourself in check before sputtering out the curse word only reaches towards band-aiding at best. Get to the root of the problem: the fucked up passive surface dwelling we numbly accept as lessons in our society are doing nothing aside from perpetuating the idea that holding up a facade will get you through life, and start fixing things from the heart of it all, have a little heart, be a real being for once: yourself. Practice a little self-awareness and get rid of those archaic values that are pretty much dust by now. Did I mention this club has spread across the US and a number of other countries? Words mean nothing yet they cling to them like wrists on a crucifix.

What's next? the no bitching club? or is that paradoxical?...good.

a quick thought

koce,

flipped the days around, a whirlwind of twirls and insights.
the edge faced again, paying for the visit in so many ways,
dying to figure a way out of this sequence of orbits.
reset, give consent to yourself that's so familiar in fleeting
glances. glints arousing the lunar magnetism i'll share with the
distances and throw them into the current. fucking static atmosphere
blindly perpetuated by so many. motion will cure it all. I will indulge.

some old blogs

April 17, 2007 - Tuesday

shivers

the old ghost of a stolen silhouette lingers in the light. Lost in each thought, guided by the shadow's delight in a televised masacre. Not only do the macabre sensations fill the frontal lobe of thoughts but they reside deeper inside and hinder any movement. It may very well be the final bout in deviation, loosing sensations of how to be alive, how to devise a new direction to lead positivity in the darkness of redundancy. Alas, the weight of a lofty phantasy comes tumbling down on the fading scalp. The calendar lies and age is only how you feel all throughout your insides. Disintegrating. Dust in the wind's mouth. Sunshine washed away by the rains. The frigidity of the air is only compelled by the lack of heat in the shower head: slowly coming to terms with the lost energy. Found the lost sensibility in dreams but they never transfer over to the sense of being a waking being. Stuck between the unknown and numbers disappearing, giving into the waning ticks of today. Carpe diem is a lie to invoke hope yet all we find are shards of glass dancing at our feet. The tetanus of life, infectious sense of trying to become 'somebody'. Unable to move, frozen in the midst of spring, the growing skeleton silently whispers to me: tomorrow we can be together.

Saturday, May 06, 2006

following boy's day

After loosing any sense of health, wealth, and well-being, I've arrived at a new epoch in this continuous rage which some of us refer to as being. Time has really found no new sense, each moment or each day all come to mean the same thing, unless you play the game of memory and recollection. But what is all that aside from the acts of a pack-rat? The boy has died. Does this mean new habits are in order? Changes must be made in the ranks? Yes and no...and this seems to point towards the answer to the underlying question. Maintenence of balance is essential. Some may wonder (including myself), do you feel or define when life reaches out towards one extreme? I'd say it's much more of a feeling...and that's all I can rely on. Words are shiny objects. Some use them to stab, others to intice (themselves and others). Most use them for reflection of self, basking in the limelight you've created yourself. Creating the self: must be undone.

Sunday, February 13, 2005

"let go!!"

most visible ability so easily overlooked while im woven into this reality, I can only be what I allow myself to be. No subjectin to the collection of notions passed around like propaganda's the new love potion. Fabricated walls I often bump against, governing more than just the suface-thought content, but I tell myself I'll invent the unthought of remedy, realizing the smiles that bound and bound to layers, building me up to face this adversity. The only one to blame can be your own absorbtion of situation's essence, complex solidity is really atomic particles cris-crossed so dense you think you can't manuver through it; fuck it, facts are hardly solid unless they're viewed to be. is it half of duality thats the anchor to my departure? gotta let go of man and embrace nature, crumbling self-constructed structures.

Wednesday, December 15, 2004

falling debris

eric the mastermind, orchestrator of such a trip, seven feet tall and deceitful with his wit. Glasses thick as bulletproof glass, shields to the soul so as one can't read his hollowtip demeanor. So Joshua has Trees in the desert, how lovely, lets take a nice ride over east to the fridigity of meteor showers. Dotted lines build the darkness to sight, an all together different mode of perception in ancient transition. Interesting enough to hear foot steps patter at your back when theres nothing but sky there, dimensional membrane penetration. Turn around to see the ground speckled with comets. Lets see what we can't see. The debris begin to ensnare universal connectivity, green sphere cut by slant planes in cube shapes, transmitting my composition of immediate emotion to sound-brain waves, no packets neccessary for pirates fall in short distance. The tear in the night only forces demise. Snap shot impossible. Fear and Loathing amongst the sand. Keep on driving, whats behind us is left there for a reason, keep driving. Minutes to days, no allowance for sleep, gotta keep up with reservation guidelines. Drawn back to the mastermind, he comes out to check on us, a whole-hearted wave seals the escape.