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.

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.