a list; what we were meant for...

pros:

we were meant for apple seed,

and cherry blossom tea.

we were meant for orange rinds,

and yellow squash flowers.

we were meant for apricots, tangerines,

berries, and tea leaves.

we were meant for lemon fruit,

nut trees, and bitter barks.

we were meant for green leaves,

sunflower seeds, mint, barley, and parsley.

we were meant for green fields, tall grasses,

un kept weeds, flower stalks larger than houses.

cons:

we were not meant for destructive forests,

carbon monoxide, yellow grass, unhappy cows.

we were not meant for farms that breed

dying, infested, bacteria rich food.

we were not meant for the post traumatic

world war syndromes.

we were not meant for the battlefields,

the memory wounds, the need to fight.

we were not meant for the crawling,

running out of time, creating energy filled with greed.

The Piano

The piano whispers,

a voice crackles, black static.

The ballerina dances on harp strings,

resonating a shadow, a candle in the wind.

why i don't do chores.

i place a pile of clothes from my chair, to the bed, too lazy to put them in proper order, put them in the closet, on a shelf, underneath ceiling lights, in drawers, i'd rather put them aside, leave them for another day, a time when i am uninspired, leave them for a time when i don't want to sit with the silence. leave them for my mother to find. leave them for my taurus rising and virgo moon to notice. leave them with my electric bill. leave them on my 'to do' pile of things i'll never do. i'd rather... be sipping my overly fragrant breakfast tea, reading emails, thinking of pictures in my head, of why the things in my life haven't worked, or whom i'll be sharing my tea with tomorrow. it is morning again! another chance of not letting the sun shine in my room. another chance at breaking the memory patterns. another chance at swallowing air. oh the air! i think of memories, i don't think of scales, or calenders, or doing things in their right order. i think of glassy stars floating below my ceiling, and how the light hits the room forming rainbows. i think of far away worlds from this one. i think of creation, and the process of undoing. that is why i have no interest in vacuums, it is only when i want to hear their noise that i enjoy them. that is why i leave my floor filled with glitter and paste, gems and sea shell jewelry. that is why i don't do dishes, and i read poetry about immigrants.

The Archeology of Our Life.

I.
we place bones
to retract history.

we write poems on napkins,
and fake french- k i s s.

our maps arrive continents apart,
how your x ended with my ice age.

and we draw lines from skull to skull,
as if one protruding bone equals a rib?

how my jaw seems listless without teeth,
and your enlarged cranium dating back 1.4 billion years.

who said jesus was a specie,
a specimen of g-d ?

men use anthropology to preach rage,
and long haired spiritual nuns sing the Bhagavad Gita.

in the forest tombs, men dig their hands,
retrace steps, were we here?

we place bones, homo-erectus to homo-humainoid,
all brains - one mouth connecting, acheulean technology.

the fossil sites gave us clues to our rite,
the white architecture of our ancestor.


II.
the black hole to the volcano stone,
the imprint of hieroglyphs on cats.

i want to go where the mammoths go,
roam the tusks of pure pearl.

i want to hunt in the berry blossoms,
collect fruit for our tea.

we will leach the acid, lead, mine
the sacrum to the spine.

bind the head to the saw stone,
count the teeth on a mauer,

measure the distance of jaw imprint,
alternate x-rays for geology,

the zoo will be our breeding ground,
will you meet me there upon arrival?

the energy of g-d; in his name.

little hands,
stucco,
the energy of g-d.

grace the birds,
all windows seeped with steam,
foam,
words.

7129342,
finding the names of his, divine,
until all combinations
1 8 0 , 2211211, 0.00662
equal his name.

or all forms equal values to large
to distribute,

but you say,
you'll buy my a texas instrument

so we can input data,
formulate on print,

discover Egypt again,
roam the Sirius A or B galaxy,

jump off the milky way,
unto our descent from Rome,

into the Eckasha,
I will follow you

to the silver cord,
into infinite beginnings,

where your hominid winged lion roar.

en-joy; in vitro, viva la heart.

i want to enjoy us,
we are still young,
hidden in the heart,
young yearning of expression,
young joy,
young wounds that are already healing.

i want to know you
as you are
in your birth,
before you grow

to smart for my words.

i want to nurture you
with a breast
and a plate of honey,
lemongrass, perhaps poppy seeds.

i want to remember growing
u
p- words, expanding,
how little i knew,
how fast the future flew

innocent fragrance into playing,

castles in the rain.

i want to backwards my wisdom,
and come home with idiocy.

i want to play with your sun fire,
and cast fiery orange rainbows into your homage.

i want to dance the bad wind away,
and inside fire, dress you up with water.

but,
you are brilliant with your passive lights
shining distant mirrors to the cold sirens/

you live your heart freely in expression,
i wish my tea uttered the same silence/

sputtered by the wings,
your lips are admired,
slivers of golden mane,
how those delicate bandaged cuts
remind me of how
your love
casts me ~
free

lotus in the rain.

you imagine a jewel rippled across the sky,

you imagine my name painted in dark acrylic oil,

you imagine love blind, gentle, and sweet/

you dream in colors,

you dream in jade.

i picture tall buildings and sky rises.

i picture silhouettes, women of gangs,

i picture long legs and tv screens blistered by the night blue,

i imagine your memory tattoos,

i imagine our hands colliding.

i see future in the blasphemy,

pink silver moon.

we lay colorless by the waves,

impressions of a soft violet light,

like mother of pearl on sand,

against the crystal glow of oceans,

far away on distant ships,

across one dimensional galaxies

maps,

we gather,

across a crown of thorns,

in the eden bushel,

playing with the victory,

playing with the fire.

journal of an ordinary day.

it is today that i feel, like going to bed dirty, and allowing my body to expand in all directions, until the skin stretches like little sea weed, and the salt body forms glass. i am in a panic mood, thinking not enough, for my heart mind has more muscle than mind has memory. the common words fall to the bank of a stream. i am without wisdom for today. as i lay progressing in the tantalizing gesture of tomorrow, i reap no satisfaction in exploring the waveforms of hemi-sync modular brain default. pumpkin cream pie , too much sugar again. even though i'm healing, i wonder if i'll ever fully be healed. is that what life is? to process and heal, and when we heal we die, or perhaps birth new life. i can use a new life, a new birthing, perhaps this time the birthing canal can be the entire cosmic atmosphere, and i will have a giant mother, and no fear. oh the pleasure in no fear. oh the pure ecstatic joy in no fear within love. how i dream to devour the cake of mermaid flowers and space moss.

hoya.

Oh, this Hidden land,
buried black sand
and pearl memory.

The colossal builds
the spiral out of mineral stones.
How their math,
becomes a perfect angle,
in God order.

In the Sea Rose,
the pink quartz forms,
light to bury the ash,
in it,
Our emerald heart centers,
frozen to the beat of time.

The Stellar wind
on the Sea Pony blankets,
mind with form,
time without rest.

She holds conch shells
against the noise,
to hear the echo,
voices,
of white pyramids,
the jeweled resonance center.

moon godhouse.

In the silver dance,
radiant blue,
the hieroglyph birds,
blessed feathers,
and burnt flower shells.

Our Fathers sang,
Cosmic Crystal Prayers,
"ah-Ta',
a-RU
E-Sa."


We come to remember.
We come without memory.

Activated shields,
as a flame of amber,
burnt wool of skin,
fed smoke to high mountains,
Oh, the code of land,
Earth flowers buried among
the Thunder.

And to the Kristic Moon,
all Rivers shall flow,
gliding into Pale Silver & Gold.

Blessed are the water spirits,
for they shall seek
the kingdom of the Coral Sea.

Blessed are the Moon trees,
for their roots grow under dreams,
as all spirits remain free.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
*ah-Ta' - Now Be
a-Ru - Inner Sun
E-Sa- Always and Forever

*as found on the keylonticsdictionary.com website.

movements.

it is in the memory
hidden gold with black,
the raw structure of tigers eye,
lenses handcrafted,
silken butterflies.
it was on my shoulder,
freedom found,
careless,
i rode a train home.
oh, how my mother
forgives,
only saints,
and all loveless,
as a womb,
i remain.

blade.

spare me jealous jewels

faceted on the mermaid breast.

spare me from lust,

golden barrel of dispense.

spare me from high hope,

the energy does not bind well.

love me, encased in a decadent
horizon.

love me, from my selfless
exploit.

undue, onto me all prior
engagements.

enrapture the trigger
points,
to my unwilling
masculine sex fire.

the forgotten dance.

she dances with the wind as it blows through the minds of many, hers is shattered mirrors upon glass ceilings. she moved towns so she could change her name, put on a new face, but still ended up like the brothel 42nd street dancing queen. i remember my jealous bruise peeling off the edges, men that quarrel for such extreme sacral-ness, there is lust in the blood orange. there is deep black in the memory of her ritual, how it haunts her dreams and caves in many blank hearts. heart? what is in the bottom of pits? can you grow them in seeds of sewn stomach? hearts don't grow on cement sidewalks, like the oak trees do. hearts don't grow black. the pits are fertile with respiration, she breathes new life, Ahh. let us dance until the memory goes black.

when love calls.

who said love comes

with out pain?

when those you love

fall to death,

or wither away,

is it love

that's scorned our fragile

emotions

into flesh and wound?

For when love comes

unwillingly,

it comes free

from the burdens

that bare it witness.

It comes for you

when you fall away from here.

It comes for you

when you are worn

from battles lost.

It comes for you

when you've forgotten

yourself,

memories,

sacredness.

It comes for you,

alone in the dark wind.

It calls for you,

when you are no longer

here.

sea wood.

i am wood,

roots sewn to the ground

deep, embedded with

crimson red,
moist tentacles,
skull of a sea head.

the illusion.

sometimes it's your soft skin
that brings me to the stillness.

and in between all rainbows
and black clouds
there could never be any
sunshine on your window.

you live with blood dreams.

sometimes it's the fruit
of closeness,
on the roof of a tongue
that calls your name back.

can you forget
the forests?
emerald green,
where love,
constant love,
we held in our bodies.

remember the goddess lights?

how does love grow?
in the window,
through the corners...
would you know
how love she looks?

Black Moon

Look at your hands,

How they run,

Grandeur in all their porcelain comparison.

Do they reap the fruits,

of the maidens who've sewn,

leaves of pit into the ground?

Do they hold my head steady,

When you severe the throat

From the opening of white

Light?

The lilies in the forest,

Why do they grow?

Crooked, in the damp freeze.

All the planets

With there cool breeze,

Frozen over the black cloud.

Over there,

How they run from you,

Little claws stomach,

Sea shells, spiraling,

On the silver blade of

Blue.

Oh, the black moon.

god: question

and in all darkness you call... why have i not heard you before? was it I that closed the door to infinite beginning?

how humble I become when you show me the bruises, the torn skin, the smell...

why must I lay here in truth knowing that no perfection exists unto you?

it is in disgust that I rage, and with extreme love that I ask for vision,

how have you come here?

and what am i to you?

funny and strange.

it is funny
how when we meet,
the room fell
into pieces,
like a puzzle I could not solve.

and god found it strange
how you could have love over again,
so he let you go,
with any one, be,
and have ease with it.

but to me,
he left a difficult task,
so i could nurture and grow
into life,
a light in the dim edge of hope.

marriage: to rilke.

we carry wrapped around
our head and hands,
the talisman of sanction,
the communion of bondage.

how steep our chapel roars,
from the hill within the bells,
angled to measure,
all frequency frozen.

the wind chimes
in revolution,
twirl the dagger to the wound,
she speaks in silence,
her song for the meadow.

and the laurel bush,
swallowed inside itself,
eternal beauty,
unto thorns like a rose.

G-d

i am totally yours god
..if only every lover could be like you.

photography

it is with ease,
and light,
slight distortion,
you color her,
with your mind,
beauty betrays you.

we could have
...
with love..
..gone away
further..
..cascaded
...
intimate with rage,
beauty to shadow,
permanent ink
on the sulfured bell flower.

how you despised
any constancy
with eros,
how afraid and fragile,
in the form of love,
you become hollow.

still, with my body, love: where do i meet you?

i am with my body, still,
as the morning cup of light,
a journey from
wild imagination,
only breath brings me back.

i cup my hand
under my breast,
it is silk with sheets,
a play of shadows,
finger puppets to the dark.

dark memory
with transient wind,
carried to the shore,
my sea shells in pink,
oh lover,
will you be there?

to those places
with winged smoke,
and cool street jazz,
water glass
and fountain fire
impressed upon the scene,
will you dance me there?

i'm to the garden,
soft, supple, moving
particle
of electric light,
to the memory,
it deceives me.

Honey,
oh how i crave,
the saccharine high,
to devour,
such sweet wax
and flower sex,
on my tongue,
dry and sticking,
like love
complicated to the senses.

Our Hollow Earth

...deep within the crater
of the earth center,
a sun spins,
an island of lost memory remains,
an orchid of the valley,
honey bees & wax kingdoms,
crystal ships, and
the center of the heart lotus.

The Unicorns in all there glory
still sing,
"High, oh,
The Priestess come,
save us from,
the blood of Virgin reign.
Gather Almighty,
the children of the brave,
forces of the star seed
from the cosmic milky way.
Down, down
trickle the star lights,
until
all the Universe
becomes again."

And the flowers bud,
deep to our surface,
the sun with vibration,
echoing into the sea...
The ships are coming,
as the legends say,
and the Priests shout,
"The book will set us free!"

mother.

my mother was born,
on a full moon,
during a rain storm,
it shattered so hard,
as delicate mirrors do.

mother,
how you arrived
gentle and frail,
giant like the wind,
a cup of morning bells
in the dawn.

gorgeous & bellowing,
how high the tides rose,
as she comes,
how she came,
lost to the sea of dreams.

in her flesh,
bare with white,
lilies frozen in their shell,
mimicking cloud berries,
how her wisdom grows.

and in the sea wind,
merchant tales,
the saint maidens lulling,
prayers to the sea gods,
she becomes,
moon stone,
rock,
jade green
among black.

mother, how you arrive
gentle and frail,
giant like the wind,
a cup of morning bells
in the dawn.

gorgeous & bellowing,
how high the tide rises,
when she comes,
with storm and wisdom.

i'm so torn and stretched along the edges, yet i love how wicked and real the discomfort is. it's coming out of my belly like a beast, all the mistrust and fear, judgment, old wounds. i feel like being intimate with myself so that i can see what i am., yet my intimacy is so sexual by nature, and unwound. i'm so swollen with relief that it's all over, and it never really began.
so i keep thinking, maybe we stay away from love because the fear of losing it is so unbearable, so we cling to that which radiates like jewels, sinking in the sea of tension and relief.

chances.

you gave me a bouquet, wilted purple / violet,
how they flew from my hands,
like deconstructed industrialism.
she's throwing roses, like flowers in her hair.
muses for the ladens in their sorrow.

how careless i could be with your love,
if like glass, pedals shatter, would you trust me?
i'm gentle still, and quiet.
hush, the mountains they are arriving.

i'm no one for you though, with
this glowing heart and burning fever.
i'd burn forever, in these days,
melted soft with wind blow.
oh but you, with the medal armor.
how daring!

my love must fall apart.

your touch rang through

all alarms disengaged,

all stillness shuttered,

in dreams i took you home.

my arms reached

through the door,

under the bedding,

unto my pillow case,

only fever and desire.

imagination,

difficult to hold,

yet immersed

in complete ecstasy,

i stand transfixed.

land of dreams.

i read poetry by my bed side

and imagine that you are there,

still words and phrases,

embers to the nightfall,

echoing...

across the land of dreams.

do we continue still,

massive forms unto ourselves,

like the pearl of winter,

damaged and frail ?

oh how sweet the voice,

like burning tulips

in the meadow,

up into the airy breeze.

you are a child of mine,

warm hands,

tiny, beating with the heart,

i listen for an ending.

oh how the tree grows bowed,

unto the earth,

in prayers song,

i am one onto myself,

i am with the last wind.

i hate it when you're so beautiful like that.

winter

in the winter,
you were forgotten,
with tiny bones,
shivering,
i thought my flesh
would keep you still.

i remember
the embodiment of a women,
original sin,
the fruit we drank from.

glorious mornings,
with still light,
pounding fire,
edged along the window pane.

i sang so sullen,
with wings,
inside myself,
no melody could nurture you.

how could burden bless,
such frail convultion?

in all memory,
we still bore no blessing,
to our winter fruit.

mind photograph.

i wish it were easy
to forget your face,
but then the stale blue comes again.
in pictures you radiate,
inside my mind,
the love burned holes,
black holes,
like vacuums inside the earth.
i am form with out color,
sheer innocent,
you loved my nuance,
withered,
paper rays dangling,
spilling words ,
crooked all over you.
with these moments,
held so tight,
nothing came from it,
i thought explosions,
with bursting suns,
our meaning would evaporate,
yet i stagger
on the verge of knowing
that which shall never
be known.
how sublime your secret,
your smile still brilliant in all it's hidden glory,

the ocean view.

the motion of the waves,
crashing edges,
sea foam collecting,
over thin layers
of earth and sand.

bodies drifting,
sea shells,
aqua rock forms,
mermaids silent,
murmurs forgotten.

white noise,
echoes,
the slamming motion,
curling, like spirals
inside themselves.

no where do flowers form,
just dead sea growling,
the moon swirling,
evolving in a time capsule.

karmic cords of jaded ectasy.

i wanted us,

while we were still young,

to fall into embrace,

dark embryo

upon dark embryo,

scattered ash,

tracing the earth

with our karmic finger prints.

endless in this embrace,

dancing forever,

the end of time fallen

beneath our winged death.

how your spirit lay beneath me,

not even destiny can spare,

from ecstatic passion

in the womb of love.

i am yours forever.

i am unto you eternal.

i am without myself.

i am clear clear
like the crystal sun
cascading along
the rivers mountain.

i take home
with me
little birds,
the dawn of the splendid
sensations.

it starts with a question...

how do we create any soluble form with minds that are tangentially colliding? is it like stars that rise with temperatures and shiver light in the openness? we could speculate for days how there is every wrong, divine to the heat of pleasure. yet, in the silent silhouette of the night moon, all birth becomes exposed. are we naked yet? blanketed along the dark edges, this holiness is pleasant. bring me home sacred floral scents so i can roam in the heavenly fantasy that i am made of god stone. yet peeking through the shadow bushes, crackled soil upon heated metal, the roots have teeth and grow deep. i am no one for such laws, yet these ruins are crystalline structures in the heart of a Buddha sun. the confusion is fancy, but the desire for correction is more gorgeous than the waiting rivers of love.

too dark.

you think i am dark,
shadow to the wind,
neglecting the current,
it is within me.

you want me to drawn lines
in the sand,
impose structure,
on textures always escaping.

you want me here,
present with the glory,
i find the room full,
i am always sleeping.

you find i am absent,
lost to the sound,
embraced by the unknown,
vast unto the open sky.

how fertile the ground
within me,
no water too heavy,
my seeds burst through concrete.

i grow to the beat of light,
no shelter forms barriers
too large to break through.

all your structures
demand too much attention
to keep together,
there is no space for me.

expand explode my little star.

my love was too big,
for you
have no room,
no space left empty,
for the massive energy
created by the current,
within my soul,
memories longer than
lifetimes ago,
here winding,
you thought you would expand,
like tiny stars
into dust,
burst,
wished upon,
what's so scary
about expanding?

space body.

If we hold
to the body
for too long,
will it become
foreign space objects
recycled through time?

my friend...

When in the sun
the days seemed so long,
like we would never
get anywhere,
feeding time
along the edge
of a silver ship,
glistening to a
black moon.

Carry me to the shore
with a song the will never
grow any one old.

When the days
folded like paper cranes,
along the rocky deserts,
it seemed so far,
that we would never
get lost
with the trees or
shadow the brook's
with broken leaves.

A friend is a friend
of a friend,
though time tells the tale
otherwise.

body memory

my heart has room
for one more
disclosure,
as you spoke
so many eons ago,
yr hands trembling,
and yr lips quivered,
how soft was the time
when the storm
so sudden,
collapsed.

Cascadia

Along the shore
her feet bare,
gathering the sand
and all energy collected
at the bottom
of the sphere.

Her dreams fill
the ocean to the brim,
there the fish
call upon
infinite wisdom
to form.

With bare breath,
the lungs collapse
upon air,
all shallow
the movement of water,
hiccuping.

When more silence
meet's a room,
removed from all history,
the body will feel
no more.

Shamed.

In a room,
I want to be,
thrown against the wall,
hung by my hair,
all meaning lost,
taken with myself.

I'll take the pleasure
and bury it deep
with all my wounds
and misery.

We can forget
any meaning
and displace ourselves,
"Nothing can be done."

How shameless of me
to think with my hands
and never feel what happens
with my heart.

meditation.

when i go into my mind, there is a memory that waits for me. it is the calm of the sea, the permanent blue, deep light. off the ledge of a cliff, the shore, and all the little life forms beneath it collect tiny pools between rocks, sea weed and algae's grappling, succulent warm mouths. all of life becomes from the color, marshes appear, grasses larger than my frame. i lay my body against the rocks and listen to the ocean breath into me all lost memory. am i a mermaid lost in the vast tranquility? it is sun, burning deep fire into my dream. the light of day mourning each passing sunrise. i could lay forever in this moment.

wings on a beast.

lost in the highway,
a delicate form
becomes entrapped
by the weight of wind,
a slow hurricane
in the speed of sight.
caught, two wings
of blurred color,
repressed beauty,
a creatures body,
intact with teeth
and little legs.
frozen by the moment,
the fast energy working,
how do we come here?

wildflower desert.

how does a cactus flower grow
wings on a bird,
and seep warm color,
into the burning sand?

when the nectar foams
slowly off the hills,
the landscape becomes
a sweet marigold orange,
painted with flickers
of the tangent sun.

the golden dawn
mimics life in every form,
lavender lit cacti
upon pink flamed poison roses,
over grown
from the mouths
of a delicate beast,
cut with curious fruits.

where the wild berries drip,
hung from leaves
of prickly desert peaches,
fairy maidens collect
the falling saccharine,
all the bees
and little creatures
drink from life,
every bit
joy,
transcending,
moments
at a time.

this chaos is truth.

this groundless-ness is beautiful and i am absolutely ecstatic in knowing that i don't know anything about love.

(picture taken from random google search)

The Cell.

i imagine the cup she drank from

covered with red lipstick,

the smell of summer,

a damsel in soft dresses,

worn with the color, broken.

i imagine little birds,

parading in the tree tops,

better worlds than this one,

leaves that make

impermeable nest,

like the womb of a beast.

i imagine, soaked in glass,

heavy mold and smoke,

collecting at the bottom

of my unconscious,

the well filled

to the brim with

metallic clouds.

How is there no I in you,

when i speak to the shallow air,

words

that become every part

of the entire cell,

cascade.

i imagine the ego,

filtered through water,

unstoppable mass,

glowing like urgency,

split electrical wire,

crackling.

Do I make sense now?

with the tongue that

slowly dissolves,

the wet membrane

of a pumping heart.

the roots of love.

where do they grow, these roots of love? i try to imagine them, in my spine, healing where the pain collects. i have no recognition of where to put it, or what the shape may be. is it light? does it float like energy? does it have hands? does it form wings? in my unconscious, where the light bears witness, i am too much thought, how do i become? my love i thought, i gave. i found that in my own form, the love i never gave myself. now i ask to become of something that never was.

is love a seed?
where in the black moist earth,
grows roots,
claws digging deep
into the deposits,
until all darkness bears light and grows wings.

She will save me from a burnt mouth. Her hands formed images in the air. The thin condensation forming around the eyelash. I see images move in the dark, still by the site of fancy blood lines.

matters of love.

these matters of love have no place here. like a page, i am empty, and there are no words to write. how often does emptiness on a page feel like the tide? in my mind, i am with the ocean. the sun is immediate and always setting, all along the pink morning mist. i go to the border, where sediments remain of the turquoise shells, abandoned suitcase on the shore. i seem to have left myself there.

a cup of sweet licorice.

i come home to a solitary cup of tea, my mothers garden that had been destroyed, rumors in my mind of all seeds that need to be tended. i drank and tried to write, but sometimes the bitter loneliness is enough. i enjoy the calm. no question of presence or pretense, for i am only with myself. i enjoy the warm heat my body gives out when it tends it's own garden. i feel like soil, the heavy wet smell of dirt and minerals from a dead sea. there is only death here, the flowers that have been ravaged, purple blood mouths, their fallen pedals wounded, my mothers heart sinking below ground, the echoes belt louder, my heart lives under that ground. the sea-goddess will tend our black seeds, sew our mistaken love, bring to us the gifts from the ebbing moon waters. i will speak their tongues, a gift no one bears, of the silver icey ash that liquid volcanoes burst into air.
how my mind falters, on the edge, it remembers mountains and slips off them. how time condones such trepidations. my friends all live along the sea, we are farther and farther away from the crossing ocean, and my love ran away with the moon. how to we bear such longing, the garden that got taken back into the earth, the moon that slipped into the black sea, the dead earth trotting on spent love.
i'll keep in my imagination the smell of red amber, burnt rust, the milky blue waters that sea and earth form. red poison dripping from the oak tree, my heart does not respond, i am mute, awaiting the ether to settle me.

The Victory.

Damn the Pirates,

and all their cities,

burning dilapidates ,

on the skin of a fruit.

Damn, the Black Irises,

the ship that built 

Empire, despair, despair.

Holy, until necessary.

Hold me, hold me.

The dragon queen,

silk serpent, panting,

to the rich smell

of the whiskey breathe,

more, more, more.

Her heart in the hands

of a floozy.

Dame, sugared upon rising,

split lips, cigarettes, 

the men dashing.

Oh, the honor, 

of the victory!

The Pyre - Lyrics

dense grapple,
sticking to my teeth,
"here's to the hill on the chapel,
wedding gowns, scaffold,
flowers for the pyre."

we play our love
on victory,
so what?
hung by the sword,
the funeral's a fire.

Ah, the meadow is burning.
Oh no, the people skipping,
dashing
to the silver beat
of the moon,
mo-oo-oon. mooooon. moon by the night on the river of the fire.

taste your lips,
are they not salty?
after the fact,
smooth cannibal,
spit on the mouth
of a black lambed wolf.

you have no hands for me,
your virtue does me no good,
takes my pleasures,
for the thrill of pain.
count my measure,
with the cupid flame.

Pull me, black nausea,
i'm ok,
send me flowers,
on our wedding day.

black seed.

how could they
have made you
into flesh?
your bones
deserve dirt,
deep dug soil,
where your mind
can burn,
with all your memory.

when will the saints become,
a figure of love?
is it not time,
to turn grave lust
into stone?

my questions beckon
the call of heavenly bodies,
to wreck your mouth,
and bruise your bones,
but the dear terrain
don't move like that.

only black holes
can become,
ancient stars,
and lit reflection.

you are not that
black,
only burnt seeds,
grow on dry terrain.

heart cave.

My purple heart
is stained black,
hanging in the damp
cave of my chest,
the smoke devours
every breathing cell,
until i am fire
inside myself.

I can hear whispers,
pretended stories of
fanciful love.

I am no where to be found,
where do the rivers meet the sea?

Will the ships come for me?
Rancid men,
beckoning for fair lady's
lucid skin.

I will lay,
feverish,
with heart against stone,
pounding,
the beat of the creation
with a cave in my chest.

Upon stone black minerals,
my body composts to dirt,
I am heavy
when it rains,
through the earth,
my memory will purge.

Earth Bound.

the water is grounded,

like earth in my mouth.

i am pulling weeds 

to sew flowers,

red daffodils,

in the sand, 

that speak with 

their stomachs out.

Could you sell hydrogen

for roses?

I'd eat them still,

quiet on the ledge

of a century,

her little tongue

does move.

All the pretty

pink silverberry's

that hang,

from the womb 

on a spine,

a mothers last dream,

on the wings of a worm.

All the sea guarded soil,

set hands on wet sand,

let rip,

the poison teeth

and all of sin.

Drink poison from the well,

your white porcelain frame

will stain black golden gardens, gray.

In her dream

she becomes,

a silhouette,

a washed

along the tender,

breathing shore.

Await for me,

the angels refrain,

golden letters hung,

of pure blessed fruit.

In heaven,

can we eat

all the sweet nectar

off the silken perennial skin ?

Like bees,

our mouths will mourn,

all the hollow trees,

and fair maidens, 

in glistened dresses.

When I speak,

Immortal truth shall come,

and damnation,

like the silver moon,

will become,

an ocean for the sun.

the stranger you speak,
the stranger i become,
a whisper on paper,
like words on a leaf.

the fire.

with fingers slipping
you catch me,
i am mid-air,
balancing the act,
between presence
somewhere...

how did we meet?
upon the sacred shrine?
was it you or i
that held great fervor
in the vestal fire?

lost caves
brought shoulder to skin,
hiccuping oceans,
the sea in your eyes.

in the dawn,
the women spoke
blood red roses,
their painful lips,
and crowned gold,
as they chant
the sound of the muse,
she awaits.

burnt upon sage gardens,
made solid into silk,
daughters, breast upon breast,
spinning, milking,
in toxic in all our love,
how the torn bird weeps.

with warmth,
you embrace,
it brings me close,
to silence.

where is the moon?

when the mouth is absent,
i become hunger.
the dry episode
like desert hearts beating.
yellow tangent butterflies,
how curious the cement beneath them.
where is the grass,
are we shallow land?
in the prisms
flowers grow a vivid contortion.
the moon is rising,
i have no direction.

carnival

when the carnival comes to town, it always rains. it is dreary, damn, and cold. the carnival lights color the town, flashing, flickering, and pulsing to the melodic drone of the merry music. it is lonely there, a desolate side show, just bright colors beating, an electric dream. i remember as a little girl, awaiting the carnival, the pink sugared cotton candy, the ferris wheel, the fun games and cheap prizes. it always rained though, poured on the first day, maybe with a few hours of sun the second day, but mostly melancholic days. maybe nature was responding to the unnatural presence of fake fun. how removed we become with games and spinning objects. Now that I'm older, the carnival bring nostalgia, and the rain blurrs the electric lights. Painting my memory, vivid dreams re-appear, I am sugered and gleeful, I am in motion, spinning, like my little mind, when the carnival comes to town.

Unburden The Earth.

you are not flesh,

nor water,

your bones rust,

not even salt remains.

by the marshes,

they lay your swelled body,

dirt, some ashes,

gray shallow sand.

scattered around the post,

blue morning bells,

not even death can silence earth.

the wind in every direction,

how confused nature remains.

the fauns pipping some folk melody

mermaids untame. 

do oceans stand in your way?

let me undue

the soil,

un-bare the dirt,

my hands deep,

i will make the rocks of you,

burnt minerals 

and dry blood.

Fake French Kids

I. lust

She is there for you

to look at,

to read,

distort patterns,

piss on & off,

to pretend love on,

fake sex,

make believe with.

II. love?

Holds bodies up to the light.

Some mornings only 

sunrise can mimic presence.

III. the next day.

Trashed talked,

makeup worn,

coffee over done,

droned out silence,

breakfast moves slow.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

i'm experimenting here with the post modernism of love.

Montreal.

Something happens when I am in Montreal. It is this energy that I am with. Transitional moments in my life synchronize around my very sacred journey to this beautiful European-esque city. I have no energy to even put into words all of the delicate details that require to be versed so poetically. It was a timeless experience where very vintage structures surrounded a very modern concept. It was french words, romantic architecture, edgy fashion, art vagabounds, gypsy music, future food, cyborg future party, multi dimensional-digital media art, deep energy work, a step into myself, breath, passion, love, rhythm. It is time wraped around itself and me moving forward into the future. It is a deep memory.

The Sun Don't Shine Here Like My Heart Shines.

The sun beats across the ocean,

it is miles away,

with the memories I left behind,

I can hear the delicate roar 

of winds,

sea shells sputtering,

time overlapped.

When the tide drifts,

I am drawn back

into the last sunrise.

The distance is calling.

There were places I let go,

strangers with stories,

shadows sullen on street corners,

fruit that dripped permanent nectar,

overdrawn trees ebbing under skies.

I met a bird man

in the lost city,

he told me never to miss 

what I have lost,

and to only

cherish what I have found.

His voice decays in my mind,

with the oceans,

and the cutting winds.

In my memory I am there.

It is only a dream,

the placid landscape

disappears.

Queen of Noble

Make of me a Queen.
Feed me mouths of violet-still-
exotic orchids.
I am no match
for all the
delicate
and noble
virgins
that dawn the morning.
They are rare
and pretty.
Oh, how pretty
the little ones are.
How meek and protected
the porcelain skin dolls are.
I am not one of such measure.
I am of mountains.
I am the rocks that feed the rivers.
I am the fury that rages the storm.
I hail thunder with heavy weight and deep resonance.
But my honor,
I am gentle too,
like the streams that
devour the banks.
I am useless like the tides.
I can run oceans through the earth.

love.

In the beginning love is simple. Your heart beats, everything splendid. The first memory of love has no pain, no hurt, no idea of anything less than ecstasy. You are in the moment of pure bliss. Remember when your heart moved and you felt so unimaginably decadent with joy? Those innocent to love experience pure love, because once we have in our mind the "idea" of love and build expectation, it is like a train bound for no where. It is in the presence, where there is no concept of what should be, but just the sheer elation of true union.

spring air, ah.

the heat is becoming apparent, was it not just winter seconds ago? the transition seemed slow and erratic. i am joyful for the warmth of the sun and the color of the flowers. the cherry blossoms have bloomed, they are for a brief moment, the most gentle beauty. i love the feeling of spring in new york. people exude joy and the feeling of going outside is plentiful. my body seeks the calm of moderate weather, the green grassy-ness, all the bloom excited into being. all melodies become spirited, the state of things so continuing. the feeling of spring, mono no aware.

The Cunning Splendor.

when sadness comes to me,
i am drawn out,
a leave tattered under a tree;
wilted by the slight
thrust of wind,
i am swollen.

when the echoes come to me,
i am silent,
whispered beneath branches;
the thoughts of air
gently compressed
where i am buried.

under shadows,
awake by day light,
everything forgotten,
we are new again.

bring me pleasures,
so i can pursue them,
and my body
can become
a burden of your lust.

take me places,
until i can taste them,
so my mind reposed,
will channel,
all the islands of the sun.

we will masquerade around,
beneath the cities that emit
sharp lights
and cunning splendors.

we will dance endless,
oh how we will move,
toward the abominable
present
that no longer
seeks our despair.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

this is about how things are never how they appear, or how you wish them; the picture full with lush and color, yet underneath, a very morose existence. we live in a way, where things are pretending constantly; the grand mirage. some depression to that, a feeling of never achieving pure satisfactions because there are intricacies that tell tall tales. in my poem, i wish to annihilate all that is not a true representation of the highest. it is part of my journey through my hidden true self. it is dark, the poem, with hints of vibrant colors. at least that's how i perceive it.

Oh the world !

what are those,

...falling from the sky?

little unicorn flowers?

we catch them

with our minds,

one by one,

clenching in our

little fingers,

can we eat them?

purple radiant starlite,

o', how they beam !

colors into the night,

the city elaborate

with laughter,

laughter every where,

voices chiming,

into the past,

our memories,

of karmic highways,

the moon lighting

our path,

the forest under

our feet,

the earth,

deep within 

the iron core,

magnets,

vibrating,

the frequency,

sound shifting,

ultimately silent,

escaping us,

oh the world !

so funny

and strange,

with it's comedy 

and rain,

falling,

falling,

little unicorns,

like flowers,

do we eat them?

death of beauty.

I hear the whispers,
cathartic voices murmur,
the feminine groan,
destruction,
home after home.

You respond to faces
that burden in the rain,
mouths that accentuate
trepid composition.

Are you the men,
the men that beseech
ownership
of the silent Virgin reign ?

O', Come to your glory,
Come riding with fury.

I ask of you
this once,
have we no life
other than this?

Is it not just me
who speaks
beautiful poetry
and reads,
through the minds
of trees,
and dances
on grassy plains,
awaiting the
Mother to come ?

It is everywhere,
Goddess decay,
we drink poison,
and let out fervor,
as our shadows
gently skip
echo beneath echo,
tortured limbs swelling
with water.

The ocean will
eat us alive,
and these moments
will shelter us
through storm and disdain,
where the sky
breaks,
split-
tiny particles,
we become
winds,
branches,
ashes,
death...
be this, beauty?

death: sheltered beauty

you, whose legs have wrought

men by your side,

shelter infinitesimal hearts

from creating into life, itself.

with beauty that leaves

internal decadence,

you will fall,

as i,

will fall,

rose-like and decaying.

women will remember

the photographs

of your silk body

and still frames,

a transformation weapon

to these afterworld cocoons.

you, who shame none,

with the golden flush

of ruby innocence,

die, hopelessly awake,

die, by my side,

die,

so I can see 

your eyes go gray.

you are a child 

in your words.

your mirrors

shatter  sun's.

let us repose

into our childhood,

before we could 

feel,

with our disembodied

tongues,

engaged with ether, 

and swallowing,

entire universes,

into our tiny mouths.

an ode to divine love; a love song.

This love we call lust,
is draining us away,
until we fall ,
mysteriously ,
upon the open well.

Are we attached
to ourselves,
Do we attach
to this offering?

Shall I extend my hands,
to embrace you,
as you slowly dance away?


...........................................................................................................


Is love not open?

Is it not free?

Is this divine union,
not meant for uncertainty?


May I find you,
some other time,
lovingly embraced
in the arms
of another,
some other place,
May I find you,
lovingly joyous,
without the presence of me,
May I find you,
lost within a lovers
dream,
I will let you be,
as an act of love,
divinely.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
This song was inspired by the search for divine love. The idea that divine love
is open and free and based upon a higher union and understanding. I speak and write of love,
never knowing if my love has ever reached such ecstasy. I am the jealous
lover, I am the soft lover, I am the passionate lover, but am I the divine lover?
What is divine love? An ode to lovers everywhere,
may we lose ourselves,
may we find ourselves,
may we open ourselves,
in the act
of divine love.

questions ?

the sullen eyes
that speak,
a heart on the sleeve,
the silent measure
it beats,
off the rhythm
free.

in distance
there is humor,
angelic reminiscence,
days with no static,
a leaf,
an asteroid yearning.

on a shared
cup of tea,
branches grow
beneath the solid,
confined to spaces,
where the wet surface
leaks.

with hands,
touching pavement,
upward the sky swimming,
is the ocean beneath?

the slow day
moves with exactness,
as drops glisten,
and noisey they wash
through
the city scapes,
the over grown trees,
abominated languages
scribed on walls,
what has the future become?

and in the center of the jewel;

you speak of love,
burnt embers rising,
smoke upon city chapels,
the idea of lasting pleasures.

rivulets like jewels,
they bend,
awkward,
every last bit
more beautiful
than the first.

the warmth
of tranquility
now instills me
with the tides of sorrow.

every last second,
a dying moment,
waiting to enrapture
in itself,
unspoken beauty
and radiant fervor.

as we stand,
upon hills that rise,
the incandescent aura
of this maddening scene,
pulls at our constancy,
tinkering,
until at last,
we are,
open,
like the sea,
madness upon madness,
the crown center
of
the erratic jewel.

deep wounds and tranquil pleasures.

instilled with the idea
of dire beauty
are restless hearts,
in desperation,
that seek no where
to find,
the lasting bits
of
resurrection.

and in the darkness
of these hours
they do find,
tranquility
escapes,
all these pleasures
escape tranquility.

in young minds
are flowers ,
awaiting
the open gesture,
to inoculate
deep love,
in the wounds
that never healed.

bright.

I see beautiful futures ahead, rainbows, clean clouds, cars that fly... Everything gentle today, the core of my being is at peace again. The heaviness lifted, there is laughter to this journey. We are all at work, so much work (inner), and it is only our own work that needs the attention, the lifting. No more do I look outward to check in the wrong elements that exits, but I look within and say, be calm, be gentle, feel positive, and question always your ways. Are my words shelters from love? Or do they speak oceans, and tongues, and images of humility? Remind me always of this, my ways, how I must reconstruct my reality to see only the truest of true light.
It is not just our attitudes and personalities that come with inherit challenges, it is the challenges that we have be faced with that test us, our weaknesses, in the darkest moments, how do we react? There is no challenge, only laughter and joy, and the ability to let go and say, " Ah, okay, here I am, this is beautiful, hell is great, I welcome life in all it's ways, show me show me everything. " And then we continue, with everything in all it's madness around us, embracing the simplicity of how life just is and we just are.

first draft:

when you are far
there is only silence.

we may as well be
separate by seas .

and in the windows
the raindrops covered.

i hear nothing,
it feels like days.

hours uncontrolled,
where have we been ?

in the dark hours,
i read books of "Him" and hymns,
and womens' cries of fiction.

people speak of meanings
i do not understand their stories.

they speak with technicalities
perhaps you can translate them to me ?

my world is foreign,
i could not take you there.,
for here, everything is
refined for simplification,
and measured hour by hour.

and what i see
and what i feel
is limitless and far away
and far away.

perhaps we will meet
somewhere between my ocean
and your earth,
soil, dirt, cunning roots growing,
my waters will wash me there.

spinning tiny head thing.

sometimes in my mind, everything spirals, and my eyes see backwards. there is this opening in my throat that invite's lucid dreaming, and for days i could go in my mind, endless revolutions. a tight, pounding action reoccurs when i forget to speak. all these tiny things are dangerous in my head, spinning for hours. i have build up illusions that memory will wipe us clean, and in the beginning we will remain, another part of ourselves. these dimensions are running thin, and for this i will be grateful; that i belong here.

shooting star.

and if i get blasted in the sky,

i'll just be glad to know i'm alive.

ordinary celebration.

i'm going to break the flow of poetic post with an ordinary form of speech. today was the official end of the birthday week celebration. the birthday began with lot's of food... curry pad thai dish my friend and i concocted, a recording session, film score music, soy ice cream!, a discount on my monthly phone bill, and chef's central (in no particular order). birthday day was - love, nice weather, more food (rad veggie restaurant) + rasberry crumb bar, prospect park + ukelele + more love, beautiful ambient show at monkey town by sawako & friends, which included visuals, transportative pipe organ, and sweet melodies, also not to mention incredible universal gifts all day long. today - more food ...cooked lunch with a world class flamenco guitarist, re-discovered a song of mine and mixed it minimally, rad recording session with an incredible songwriter, followed by the final dinner celebration at a quaint new jersey japanese restaurant - sweet potato rolls=yum!!!, and yes more groovy vibes all around. i love birthdays! unfortunately the celebration must end, otherwise we wouldn't have birthdays to look forward to. this was a really special week in many ways, truly a memorable time in my life.

Vestal Virgin.

my Virgin lover
you are warm,
pale ivory,
soaked in Vestal blood.

Veiled by the moon,
Vulcan's innocent dreams,
a haunted vessel in disguise.

golden hair wrapped in thorns,
sewn orchard white.

harps and birds hum a soft melody
in the garden
where sea creatures grow.

Higher , higher
the Vestal Virgins become,
one,
divinity unspoken of.

Brothels now stand
where once upon a time
was innocent and pure.

The eyes of the beseeched
roam into distant heavenly clouds,
awaiting for a flower to blossom,
the dust of the kingdoms moon.

through the mirrors
tall cities dissapear

ectasy or earth?

i hope when the lights die out
our bodies are still rotating,
on access
with the deadly earth.

the world may purify itself,
and fires
will burn through this air.

we may choke on ourselves,
ghostly limbs hungry for what's not there.

when yr eyes move
to the secret corners,
ships will wreck.
every mermaid
will dream you up.

venus will move still,
slowly displaced,
our sacred centers
may disappear.

when i awake;
this fantasy revealed,
will i remember ?
the images of
strings moving
molecules,
and someone pounding
a chest into my heart.

When we :

When we lay,

the ceiling begins to falter,

stars appear

like branches ,

growing beneath the ocean.

I could laugh forever

in a warm embrace.

Adjacently placed,

your hands cover my eyes.

The light bulb is dimming.

I'm miles away,

but somehow

your voice brings me back.

Where I dissipate
into a cloud,
the entire atmosphere
shakes,
and we are unconsciously awake.

Lotus.

The Indian Goddess brushed her hands against my skin.

She was orange glowing silks, 

Wrapped with lotus flowers,

Her mantra is beauty.

Om.

goddess light.

The goddess enters my body,

she is white luminous lights flowing 

encapsulated in our sacred dance.

When she is inside me,

I glow atop rooftops

spawning all through time.

She enters when there is innocence

which lurks for divinity.

She is in search of her vestals,

the pure virgin lovers.

I let her enter 

because she keeps men

spellbound by her love.

When she leaves

I can feel my body shift

into a post mortal presence.

We are here,

sacredly locked by story.

and hands, 

they drive down my spine.

pale softly parted lips,

my ego is dissolved.

pink breasts react femininely

against this raging heart.

neptune: i live and dream.

"and i realized that any game i do comes out of my own ego. my job was just to work on myself and if anything happens, it happens." ___ram dass

a melancholic day.  no center.  the mantra repeats redundantly in my head.  i have no meaning.  i just wait for the "sound" to somehow make that transformation inside me.  i am the vehicle waiting to hear the calling.  i wonder why so often i live between confusion and state.  sometimes i live in dream and sometimes i live awake.  

bodies:

because i've only know disillusion and distance, every emotion i've had tied to the heart center has been feeble.  i've only know brutality of desire, never known it's sublime mother.  my lust has fangs and it's been artificial, a honey luster fatalistic candy.  i've written of love with allusion to hate.  my hate is powerful, it is desire.  i would look into the eyes of those i want to consume, only to find them weak-morbid-brothels.  they were sin unfit for any divine intention, just pure mental masturbation.  but every virgin lover meets her serendipitous sacred other.   every woman will find her pleasure center, and it will be holy.   love has answers.  unlike lust, she is delicate, beautiful, and carries the life force.  lust is the bastard sister of love, the betrayed slut. she has eyes that burn with rage.  she is passion that eats you up.   desire and passion have transformative figures,  they are ever evolving truth seekers.  their cold minds can turn soft and fair, unveiled in moments of time.  love that is pure intention seeks no other way.  it is the ultimate unification.  the self is selfless; it is immersed in the pure thought of divine unity.  

i was once a little girl, gazing curiously at an expansive sky.  my heart was pure and warm.  i feel that child in me, alive again.  she is gentle, observant, and has a mindful of stars.  as i stare intimately at the fixtures in this room, i see our bodies engaged in the thought of massive transformation.  i believe in nothing and all, at once, there is living dreams in what we feel.  i am an emotion body floating effortlessly in this dream.  you are standing, a sacred vestal, my love remembers you.  you were the gentle, beautiful, goddess that was dreaming this moment.  you made me alive again.

eternal:

my love is eternal

it is the last dying ember on this planet,

it is ecstatic exaltation.

my love moves outward,

there are no limits

it goes out and out and out,

into infinity.

my love is ever expanding,

a helium balloon lost in space,

traveling into the myriad of eternity.

hit by sunlight

the most intimate moments happen beneath sunlight,

under exposed and over stimulated,

i awake radiant.

as motion spins silently,

your innocence is glowing

in my hands.

soft angles mirror dark corners,

harsh truths always seem more beautiful

without moving backgrounds.

in the stillness of object,

my mind sputters to the idea of 

bodies floating.

our emotions engage 

the deepest part

of the center.

snowed in.

everything was gentle today. i awoke to white. soft flakes silence the city. the universe teaching us patience. everything in slow motion. the fire burned all day...the smoke must have burned through my lungs. i didn't mind, wood fire and natures oxidation inside. the piano was visited with a song. all day we layed around, a perfect excuse to do nothing. somehow technology still keeps busy, in spite of natures dialog. the blue jays are on snow covered tree tops, they don't get cold. maybe the seeds they eat make them warm. i cut my moms hair, she looks young again. i realized how much patience distance requires. i am happy to have been home bound today. it was a nice comfort, warm house, fine food, being in the company of yr genetic others. i feel calm inside. the snow energy inspired me; to be soft, quiet, effortless. this is a practice in meditation. i must be still now.

rooftop view.

I see time spanned across landscape. We were here before. Our bodies float. If I never live another day, I would have died content knowing, I've seen beauty in all it's inconsistent angles. She is the goddess that is ugly. She can transform at any moment.

the theory of nothing.

every moment is apocalyptic.
at the edge of destruction,
all chaos will vanish.

tiny

we are tiny people on constellations that drift.

in dreams, our nature obscures

stare

i stare in mirrors, bloodshot eyes, dangerous motions make me sick. weightless i fall into the distant memory of myself. i remember baby hands and soft eyes, lucid dreams of alter egos. when the thoughts come to me, my love becomes fiction. it is teeth with fear, it is legs and lust, it has motion and it screams. jaguars riping into skin, blood lust, prey in the mouths of desire. everything swollen, my lips read sign language, the body is dialog. i sink into yr teeth, riping every layer apart, my hands become the portal to yr love land. worn out, i am drunken butterflies spiraling. this is the story we write on. relativity has theory, complex symbolism in yr dress, cross eyed, sipping tea, watching time prespire, every woman is the moon, heavy, cold, weightless...spinning mindlessly in circles through the ether.

i am.

i am the imagination of myself.

backwards forwards.

a looking glass of mirrors.

i am the self of existence.

estranged by constellations,
in dreams i am.

shattered.

my thoughts brings me to places i'll never really go.
half awake i stare, shattered teeth gripping.

useless all these memories,
with half lives spent wasted,
trying to conjure appetite for some
real existence.

we rode buses and sea creatures
up so far, till galaxies became blurry.

now we speak languages
with tongues so twisted
all meaning becomes lost.

shaped like sunlight
some moments become entangled by truth.

awake in the distant sea
our karmic stories drone the ocean,
loud lullabies
sung only through dreams.

my bloody valentine.

it seems that every where i turned there were people kissing, making out, exposing their love on all fronts.
is it because it's "valentine's day?" or are there just a lot of adorable couples experiencing love and i just happened to notice it today? either way, it was kinda beautiful. usually i barf at that kind of stuff, but it was so authentic. people expressing their affection and all. my love has been distorted and devoid of existential meaning for the most part, so it was nice to see couples that looked right and well adjusted. i enjoy seeing people who totally match on all fronts together. love that's about complementing each other and co-existing. it's really a sacred space. many people live their whole lives and many life times after that searching for divine love. it's a delicate sacredness of bliss.
my love? well, it may seem object based, but really...it's vintage tubes, knobs, and really hi fidelity electronic components, which includes oscillators, frequency dependent gain, and so forth, that's the only kind of affection i find my heart resonating too. oh yeah, and the divine divine universal cosmic code _ _ _ _ _ my heart beats deeply for the eternal.

viva la new york

we drove into the sun rise, the pink glow of the city shone amidst the industrial bridges, everything was perfect.
my love for this place had been renewed. i've visited many cities and drove to some of the most amazing places across the country, yet none could match the magic and ethereal beauty of new york.
sometimes i wonder what kept me away for this long, but in the big scheme of things, it really wasn't a long time. i'm glad i left and came back. my eyes are renewed. i no longer wonder what it would be like to live in an entirely different city. my heart is calm. i know this place.
i'm enjoying the winter. the white snow glistening around me, i'm breathing icicles. it's funny to think that just last week i was living in 80 degree weather, soaking in the sun.
some memories from the road:
- getting blinded by some ufo light.
- seeing nuclear power plants
- walking a fairy desert trail and taking in the energy of the land.
- the amazing arizona landscape that almost made me hallucinate.
- visiting the recording school.
- feeling like i was in a steven speilberg film, like 5 times.
- getting locked into a 7-11 by some psycho guy.
- sleeping in -6 degree weather.
- the ark in st. louis, missouri.
- getting pulled over by cops like 3 times, twice in two consecutive states, and once while i was really stoned.
- seeing a military plane that looked like a gigantic bullet in the sky, and hearing the aftermath of the sound barrier.
- getting extremely lost in oklahama and being really pissed about not being able to find a post office.
- having a gps system glitch out everytime i wanted to go somewhere.

so i'm still a little worn out from traveling. i haven't quite fully recovered from the trip.

leaving.

it's been a few days since i've had time to reflect. i almost forgot about this place, and my thoughts have been floating.
it's strange how when you leave a place you really start to see thing, like who yr friends are, and people who actually care for you, and those that respect you and those that could care less. we build all these illusions with each other, pretending with happiness, but it's really just mediocrity. i'm pretty apathetic about the whole thing, considerably. i'm not really sure there is a perfect place to be, just where we need to be and where we are at the moment.
i chopped all my hair off and dyed it copper red. i wanted to look like a james bond spy, but i don't think i'm skinny enough for that. all attention is drawn to the features of my face. i feel exposed and rather unashamed of who i am.
i know this journey is gonna forever change my path. another fork in the road. i'm ready for the ice and the end of hibernation. i'm ready to drive into sunsets and leave the remaining parts of myself with the desert, where the power of the sun lives. i will always be here. my memory is attached on some spirit realm to this epic landscape. in my dreams i will die here.

desire.

sometimes his image pops into my mind. he is everything i lust and everything i don't want. plutos bastard son sent from some divine code. somehow i know he has the ability to save me, because of his touch and the way i feel when i'm near him. i have that same ability to save him, if he let me, but i know there are too many blurry mirrors in our way. when i remember him, my memory spans back to the beginning of my existence and the first feeling of love. it's the wrong kind of love but sometimes i think that love has more desire and more obstructions, it has illusions and attachments. it is desire. it is hungry and it lures me. i want it to eat me up.

mother goddess.

like old friends we continued the universal conversation. cosmic translations represented the truth of consciousness. where we were and where we are and how the story became. the mother goddess has been re-connecting us. she has been doing it all along. time just passes slow in this plane, and things feel like they took a really long time to manifest. all alone, she has given us this connection. we are her children, her students, her seeds she has sown into this earth. our plants and flowers blossom the universal truth of all beings.
i felt my energy very sensitive. sometimes almost uncomfortable with it's transparency. a lot of light. a lot of memory. the story of the universe is deep.

objects in time.

it's funny how we find ourselves with objects, many little objects that collect in our life. when you want to put your stuff in boxes you realize how you have these random tiny things like post-its, pens, tape, charms, sea shells, whatever else. they're these things that decorate your needs, and make you realize how living simply isn't a common thing. so i'm sorting through all this stuff, i feel like i barely have many things, yet all these things add up and create more space. it's such a wierd phenomenon.
it hasn't phased me yet that my life is about to drastically change.
my heads been filled with astrological concepts of myself, karmic conversations, and melting self illusions. i believe this journey is taking me to myself. all the way to the beginning of time.

mermaid day.

lovely day by the ocean.
brilliant sun light.
warm air, cool water,
fresh oxygen, beauty all around.






today i said goodbye to lovely strangers.
it was nice to recharge by the water,
its energy is divine and gigantic.

sunny days

these last couple of days have been ultra perfect southern california weather. the weather is at such a comfortable temperature that you can't help but feel content. after work i stopped by the fruit stand and bought a bag of two fruits that aren't in season, mangoes and pineapples, covered with chili and lemon. i was standing on larchmont awaiting my fruit, watching this man at work, the sun radiating so much light, a perfect back drop against the palm trees, and i thought to myself, "in all it's made up reality, this is a paradise in so many ways." i remembered the feeling of just moving to l.a and walking in perfect temperature days, absorbing in the tropical desert vibe, and feeling like i just arrived on a movie set. i thought i'd never leave. why would you want to leave this man made heaven? that feeling still lingers inside me.

love(part 2): wild little jungle.

we sat in the sun surrounded by an untamed jungle garden. the conversation was really a gift. i never felt an answer could be drawn to the complications of love. could raw love really be simplified? i read him poetry because on some basic level our stories were intertwined. his past was my un-imagined future, which i slowly dissolved to eradicate that kind of mental addiction to romanticism. i watched his walls, how his windows had curtains that could be drawn, how his studio had little windows that could be opened and the view led to a spiraling green jungle. he said his un-kept garden needed attention, but i saw it needed none, just to grow wildly, like his love never grew. i've had many conversations with older men who have learned many things through out their lives, yet we seem to be able to connect our conversations timelessly. i'll never forget the words one man told me once while we were having lunch months ago. about his wife: he said, "she's a really great, smart, wonderful woman, but never really what i wanted "physically." that hurt me, even though it was completely unrelated to me. i thought "wow, i never want to feel like that." today in our conversation we talk about that, the physical. how when you add sex into the equation, but not just sex, but the layers that are really the magnetic field around it, this whole story become like a wild little jungle of it's own. physical love, that kind of lure is demeaning.
i don't really know why we began talking in the first place. he just approached me, like an angel, completely trusting me to listen to his story. somehow, there were all these syncronisities that tied in, the jungian psychology surrounding the jungian student, the music of the late 60's and 70's, the un-ruly art that explored color like how my un-ruly mind explores layers, and the story after story that just melted into all my stories, but somehow had different boundaries. there was all this psychology wrapped around abstract art, bulging out, waiting to become. the words loomed through the paintings, i like undefined outlines, raw, with vibrant color. the sun was really bright. it was a beautiful california sunny day. i don't really know how to describe this kind of interaction, but it made me feel on a really deep level, some sort of continuity with leaving and becoming and discovering and dreaming. all i could think about was anias nin on paper back juxtaposed against a cinder block wall that hung a birth control chart of diaphrams. i think the rest of the story somehow takes place in new york...
it's hard to think that i could have left much sooner, but i was chasing after love, and it led me to all these beautiful places i would have never gone, had that feeling never initially been there.

ring of hearts.

i had a love ring. it was given to me so that i would draw more love into my life. the right kind of love. i wore it everyday. it helped me a lot. the more i wore it, the more i felt comfortable being with myself. i was less interested in being with someone. i learned that the love i was after was like an addiction. an addiction to the wrong things, things that don't really make you happy, but you are somehow undeniably drawn to them. last weak the ring committed a sort of suicide. it released itself from me, and jumped down the bathroom sink. it wanted to leave me. i was cured. it represented the love that was not right for me. the love that i was so eager to devour, but i knew would intoxicate me to my death. i felt released on a number of levels. this time, my love rejected what i've been longing to release from. the chain bound by endless desire.
i mean, the thought of company seems nice, but it's a lonely world out there.

la dream.

i had a dream that new york was in la. it was a grey day, cold, depressing. the mountains were foggy but behind them were the downtown la buildings, all 10 of them of whatever. so they represented ny(i think). i rode the subway to this little village and as i was walking around i felt the desolate vast mirage. it was headed for destruction and i was leaving it all behind. the wind was telling me that i was making the right decision.

2009

if 2008 was the year of endings, conclusions, "wrapping things up," 2009 is the year of starting fresh. it seem like for the past 2 years, projects took long to develop, to complete themselves, there was a lot of stalling even though things were moving at a fast rate. i feel like i accomplished 2008, i finished with a record under my belt. "the" record that i've always been producing in my heart since i first fell in love with my 4 track cassette recorder. now that the dream has a space, something new will become. i'm not going to force anything into being, because that's impossible. i'm not going to put false notions on the future. i'm open to it. it was kind of a foreign feeling ending 2008 in LA, because 2009 will be NY. so long farewell is my resolution. i'm lifting the veil, the mirage is in LA.
As I stood on Melrose observing what LA is really about and taking in the feeling of "Hollywood," I saw the desert sprawled out...dreams diluted. I thought to myself..."Is there really an 'industry' here?" Sometime I feel that it's all pretend. Like there's just everyone hanging on this thin string, and once you pull it, it will all fall apart. I'm not being cynical or negative, I really feel the magic here. It's a jewel of a city, and my experiences have been life altering. There's just this juxtaposition of fantasy and realism. Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference.
The New Years Party was nice, I was mainly a wallflower but in company with a dear friend.
The vintage scene, old hank william songs, the crisp winter air, stories after stories, intoxication, the feeling of the "wild west," everything was quite golden in all it's simple mannerisms.
I decided love is not for me, here. It's somewhere else, unthought, spontaneous, and dreaming.
Relationships seemed so cliche, or was it the party? or aren't they really too much at times?
As I observed casual party conversation, I noticed that profound-ness is not admired or adorned in this century. People find comfort, they like the mundane, routine socializing, simple mind sets. the ambiguity is lost in meaning. definitions are so defining. Nobody cares about enlightenment in the same way Buddah or Jesus or Sarasvati did, poison is soothing and inviting. Things are plain. There are no rituals at parties, it's quite disheartening. Just small talk, maybe a few honest connections. Life in the 21st century...cellphones are my cigarette.