Friday, June 27, 2008
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.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
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.
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.
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