Skeletons of spiders
Hold inside of them
Every rainy day
Just as the rain itself
Gives skeletons
The appearance of
movement.
03 February 2007
28 January 2008
I created all things
I Created All Things
I created all things
And distilled philosophy
With such ingenuity
That it pains me to know
I created all things
So celebrate me
And my instability
So rejoice
I created war for you
And love for me
I made decay for you
And birth for me
I'm a great excuse
So just have faith
That I will permeate
Your problem
Destroying it so effectively
That it pains me to know
It wasn't me at all
I created minds for me
And a heart for you
26 December 2006
I created all things
And distilled philosophy
With such ingenuity
That it pains me to know
I created all things
So celebrate me
And my instability
So rejoice
I created war for you
And love for me
I made decay for you
And birth for me
I'm a great excuse
So just have faith
That I will permeate
Your problem
Destroying it so effectively
That it pains me to know
It wasn't me at all
I created minds for me
And a heart for you
26 December 2006
blustery day
Blustery Day
Embracing fatal winds
With a Leprechaun's chagrin
I finally lose step
To discover within
A complacent smile
Complete with dimples
Pushed by the music
In this voracious tunnel
That cycles in circles
Of fifth notations
Receiving revelations
From a God that never knew
What it was like to dance
With promiscuous love
Until its fatal winds
Might smite me again
16 November 2006
Embracing fatal winds
With a Leprechaun's chagrin
I finally lose step
To discover within
A complacent smile
Complete with dimples
Pushed by the music
In this voracious tunnel
That cycles in circles
Of fifth notations
Receiving revelations
From a God that never knew
What it was like to dance
With promiscuous love
Until its fatal winds
Might smite me again
16 November 2006
16 January 2008
I am that man
I am that Man
I AM THAT MAN. IMPERCEPTABILITY LENT ITS HAND. I HAVE AWOKEN ENTIRELY TOO MANY SENSES TO BE LENT A DESTROYED CONUNDRUM RELAPSED ROTUNDRUM.
Incapacitatade
OUR BLESSID HOLY BOWELS
THAT INSIDE SMELL SO NICE
BELOW BUT AS THE SCREAMS
CONTINUE I set off on
an adventure that
I SEEK to
Find an ansel
or grettal or tic
or tac inside
Movies & TV &
?fireWORKs? &
BIC lights & snowballs
& effects of such
more than a
free lunch.
But earth's deposit
from what we have grown
tumults this
traveyard
ship we've
sewn.
Off with their head!
What? you say
Inebriatedly a
gesture of invioble
solution will
dissipate
you of fear
Colors look nice in the sunset.
And so does my roof.
But I'm not on it yet.
Nope. MY
NOT HERE
IS DULY NOTED
love,
Matter of fact
04 July 2005
I AM THAT MAN. IMPERCEPTABILITY LENT ITS HAND. I HAVE AWOKEN ENTIRELY TOO MANY SENSES TO BE LENT A DESTROYED CONUNDRUM RELAPSED ROTUNDRUM.
Incapacitatade
OUR BLESSID HOLY BOWELS
THAT INSIDE SMELL SO NICE
BELOW BUT AS THE SCREAMS
CONTINUE I set off on
an adventure that
I SEEK to
Find an ansel
or grettal or tic
or tac inside
Movies & TV &
?fireWORKs? &
BIC lights & snowballs
& effects of such
more than a
free lunch.
But earth's deposit
from what we have grown
tumults this
traveyard
ship we've
sewn.
Off with their head!
What? you say
Inebriatedly a
gesture of invioble
solution will
dissipate
you of fear
Colors look nice in the sunset.
And so does my roof.
But I'm not on it yet.
Nope. MY
NOT HERE
IS DULY NOTED
love,
Matter of fact
04 July 2005
untitled
untitled
A silken blue-green veil
revealing only three eyes
one at the center
entirely filled in
with the red of concentration
the red of bloodshed
amongst neighboring states
of a mind that cannot
convey
because the carrier
lost the bet with karma
and withdrew the two of hearts
for a one-eyed
jack
13 November 2006
A silken blue-green veil
revealing only three eyes
one at the center
entirely filled in
with the red of concentration
the red of bloodshed
amongst neighboring states
of a mind that cannot
convey
because the carrier
lost the bet with karma
and withdrew the two of hearts
for a one-eyed
jack
13 November 2006
21st bday poem (India)
Twenty-one years now, under candlelight, to tabla I write. Sometimes during those past lines one must feel empty to relocate the mind. Realign the ambiguous disease to please the soul inside the heart. Not only soul but system, of thought overshadowed a conspicuous dot. That beats. And beats. We only wish it were an organ and discard melody as mere percussion. That beats. And beats. Even tablas have tone.
Twenty-one years now, life is but a dream. Created by life and dreampt by particles, of which love to laugh. Particles of energy only get transferred, unscathed. But nature? It is human nature to destroy that nature, only the word in every sense of itself. Five senses and the sixth comes out in three. Eyes see the skin, which feels the rhythm of the heart. That beats. And beats. If we tasted how we smell, nature would make sense. But not in us.
Twenty-one years now, and I found number six. It was hidden under a cloth, in the skin of a beggar, with a child. A child who's mother took it's finger to sing her the economic solution for the outcast. "But they have all, they are fixed! So why not find a little number six?" But it is hidden, under rocks that are too big, under chemicals and clearcut twigs. By elements that make one so painfully sick, the six is nearly gone. So nature begs and nature buys, nature takes fingers, and nature steals eyes. From both sides of the coin which helps one share and dream. That reciprocates with peace, or disintegrates disease.
Twenty-one now, reality becomes less of a verb, and a noun for those who feel it and a word for those with five.
03 November 2005
Twenty-one years now, life is but a dream. Created by life and dreampt by particles, of which love to laugh. Particles of energy only get transferred, unscathed. But nature? It is human nature to destroy that nature, only the word in every sense of itself. Five senses and the sixth comes out in three. Eyes see the skin, which feels the rhythm of the heart. That beats. And beats. If we tasted how we smell, nature would make sense. But not in us.
Twenty-one years now, and I found number six. It was hidden under a cloth, in the skin of a beggar, with a child. A child who's mother took it's finger to sing her the economic solution for the outcast. "But they have all, they are fixed! So why not find a little number six?" But it is hidden, under rocks that are too big, under chemicals and clearcut twigs. By elements that make one so painfully sick, the six is nearly gone. So nature begs and nature buys, nature takes fingers, and nature steals eyes. From both sides of the coin which helps one share and dream. That reciprocates with peace, or disintegrates disease.
Twenty-one now, reality becomes less of a verb, and a noun for those who feel it and a word for those with five.
03 November 2005
Cannibalism
Cannibalism
What did the first one think about it? Was it the instinct of a spider? The chill of starvation? The soul desired from body to mouth? What is love? What is fear? Is 'playful' in the same homogeneous mixture as metaphor? Is religion allowed to be used under the same bad breath? How about government, money, exploitation of third world culture, or the increasing number of countries feeling apathy toward these 'worldly superpowers'? Leadership is a facade. Altruistic gestures of apathy. Who was the first man to eat himself? The man who was starving, decrepid, placid, and dissipating or the man standing on top of the oil trade with dollars in his head and bodies on the soles of his shoes? Airplanes never sounded so intriguing. The las breath of America will be the smog of LA. If that is not irony then I give up. I am tired of eating myself and ready to devour something beautiful.
28 August 2005
What did the first one think about it? Was it the instinct of a spider? The chill of starvation? The soul desired from body to mouth? What is love? What is fear? Is 'playful' in the same homogeneous mixture as metaphor? Is religion allowed to be used under the same bad breath? How about government, money, exploitation of third world culture, or the increasing number of countries feeling apathy toward these 'worldly superpowers'? Leadership is a facade. Altruistic gestures of apathy. Who was the first man to eat himself? The man who was starving, decrepid, placid, and dissipating or the man standing on top of the oil trade with dollars in his head and bodies on the soles of his shoes? Airplanes never sounded so intriguing. The las breath of America will be the smog of LA. If that is not irony then I give up. I am tired of eating myself and ready to devour something beautiful.
28 August 2005
Laughter
Laughter
It was an influx of thought. Something that may have told the mind to write this or perhaps a little something in tune to the nature of what is inside of us all. The inclinate variability of meandering torsels and vibrating spins. Where it led to is existence. It all started with a moth. Honestly. My first hope of existence to my last. It all comes down to love and moth friends such as these, bees, flowering mescaline hives dissecting what we are dubiously pinning our independence. Very well then. I'm free at the expense of serendipity. What always leads to follow. It all fabricates to a chess board.
Neverland shines with the sun. It comes to say hello at once and finds its way back to where it began. Oh moth. I actually know you were a butterfly - it is exactly where the sun comes up today. Maybe a nice scanty into the woods would serve up quite the pancake!
She metamorphosed into a better stretch of life encompassing the backswitchflatstack inside of her I feel a comfort and outside a delicacy that is missed. My love does cry in weak sorrows and pit-pat yesteryears but this morning I love you and tomorrow still will.
Laughter.
This is where I laugh.
This is a smile.
This brought fear.
Fear came from
Where I may have
Escaped from
Meander.
Juxtapose.
Remember
Califlour?
Incessantly my heart numbs to be a
Music of the soul and a music in my suture
Fit just in place where even happy
Thoughts! are erased.
At points I catch a glimpse
Of this ambush or this
Blood, catastrophe, senile,
defliction, derelict and hopeless.
But to pick up pieces where one might have had let off.
Moths have strengths even these
fans find delightful! (RITE AID says it's personal)
And my pants are ripped
AND groovy.
I start to hear whispers and find
that its the bird's house I'm in.
And they send Me
floWeRed FUCKing BOMB packages wrapped in serendipity?
But then it
Comes back
to being
so fucking personal
that you end up right
back
To where you end.
Love
04 July 2005
It was an influx of thought. Something that may have told the mind to write this or perhaps a little something in tune to the nature of what is inside of us all. The inclinate variability of meandering torsels and vibrating spins. Where it led to is existence. It all started with a moth. Honestly. My first hope of existence to my last. It all comes down to love and moth friends such as these, bees, flowering mescaline hives dissecting what we are dubiously pinning our independence. Very well then. I'm free at the expense of serendipity. What always leads to follow. It all fabricates to a chess board.
Neverland shines with the sun. It comes to say hello at once and finds its way back to where it began. Oh moth. I actually know you were a butterfly - it is exactly where the sun comes up today. Maybe a nice scanty into the woods would serve up quite the pancake!
She metamorphosed into a better stretch of life encompassing the backswitchflatstack inside of her I feel a comfort and outside a delicacy that is missed. My love does cry in weak sorrows and pit-pat yesteryears but this morning I love you and tomorrow still will.
Laughter.
This is where I laugh.
This is a smile.
This brought fear.
Fear came from
Where I may have
Escaped from
Meander.
Juxtapose.
Remember
Califlour?
Incessantly my heart numbs to be a
Music of the soul and a music in my suture
Fit just in place where even happy
Thoughts! are erased.
At points I catch a glimpse
Of this ambush or this
Blood, catastrophe, senile,
defliction, derelict and hopeless.
But to pick up pieces where one might have had let off.
Moths have strengths even these
fans find delightful! (RITE AID says it's personal)
And my pants are ripped
AND groovy.
I start to hear whispers and find
that its the bird's house I'm in.
And they send Me
floWeRed FUCKing BOMB packages wrapped in serendipity?
But then it
Comes back
to being
so fucking personal
that you end up right
back
To where you end.
Love
04 July 2005
Untitled
Untitled
Patchwork yellow masked birds on a wire. Like blankets hold warmth, like static synopses and purple balloons. Sobering is the rain sometimes as it exhausts burning bushes. Raindrop gestures find unnecessary niches and click cliche perils at the butt of a gun. By shooting out suggestions to find old pollutions inside outside transfigure this pesticide to kill of the buy to stay simple. We'll grow a tree of thought and eat whats in the shade. We'll find the perfect spot and dream without sleep's aid. We'll collect it all. Destroy to create is what they tell me. And I wonder why we are crazy sometimes.
08 June 2005
Patchwork yellow masked birds on a wire. Like blankets hold warmth, like static synopses and purple balloons. Sobering is the rain sometimes as it exhausts burning bushes. Raindrop gestures find unnecessary niches and click cliche perils at the butt of a gun. By shooting out suggestions to find old pollutions inside outside transfigure this pesticide to kill of the buy to stay simple. We'll grow a tree of thought and eat whats in the shade. We'll find the perfect spot and dream without sleep's aid. We'll collect it all. Destroy to create is what they tell me. And I wonder why we are crazy sometimes.
08 June 2005
Jazz
Jazz
Jazz. In the mind of a jazz musician, inside the bebops and blues, intelligence and innovative movement of time, rhythm, and lust, is a residual purity of soul. Doot dat dat ratta tat tattin' in the beat out of beat and through the beat. Inside out juxtaposition of music that is felt, not played. Jazz and musical evolution fight intonation and creationist theory. Coltrane riding sax bwee dot'n Davis making his trumpet stretch for Miles while Louis plays for Pass in the pace of a fretboard. Drugs are dilapidated by it. Enhancing the rich sounds of the un-tat-tat of a swingin' set a pyro scheme in red flames, as Wes fuels these, Brubeck cools it off in five, four, three, two, one...
Fall back to thought. Everybody has a natural rhythm. Connecting on that rhythm you play with tempo through lights, camera, interaction! flashing spurts of song and dance to one's aura, kissing God's fingertips as they brush the skin of the head of your drum at the side of your brain outside of your box. Flow with it but always sto-p to find the music inside. Focus. Yeah, that's right, the music dwelling with fashion. Dealing with strap-ons pounding culture where the lights are growing dim.
DESTROY. DEFEAT. DEFY.
Forgiveness can eradicate truth as much as pleasure escapes reality. Time to sleep then. If your dreams are death, waking up should bring pleasure. I'm pleased to announch that I sometimes question this theory.
03 April 2005
Jazz. In the mind of a jazz musician, inside the bebops and blues, intelligence and innovative movement of time, rhythm, and lust, is a residual purity of soul. Doot dat dat ratta tat tattin' in the beat out of beat and through the beat. Inside out juxtaposition of music that is felt, not played. Jazz and musical evolution fight intonation and creationist theory. Coltrane riding sax bwee dot'n Davis making his trumpet stretch for Miles while Louis plays for Pass in the pace of a fretboard. Drugs are dilapidated by it. Enhancing the rich sounds of the un-tat-tat of a swingin' set a pyro scheme in red flames, as Wes fuels these, Brubeck cools it off in five, four, three, two, one...
Fall back to thought. Everybody has a natural rhythm. Connecting on that rhythm you play with tempo through lights, camera, interaction! flashing spurts of song and dance to one's aura, kissing God's fingertips as they brush the skin of the head of your drum at the side of your brain outside of your box. Flow with it but always sto-p to find the music inside. Focus. Yeah, that's right, the music dwelling with fashion. Dealing with strap-ons pounding culture where the lights are growing dim.
DESTROY. DEFEAT. DEFY.
Forgiveness can eradicate truth as much as pleasure escapes reality. Time to sleep then. If your dreams are death, waking up should bring pleasure. I'm pleased to announch that I sometimes question this theory.
03 April 2005
Green-Legged Banshee Foetus
Green-Legged Banshee Foetus
Inside every reflection
A reverse manifestation
Choreographed to apply
To the nature of thought
This canvas is drying
But still blurring as we move
My thoughts and I
Funny, things that destroy
An image like thought
In plants; implants; planted in us
Grown with pious soil
Potatoes spud gravity roots
Attatching to
Swans and sky larks
Attatching to
Advertised information
Torn from a picture book
Faces recognize you
Before you do them
And this face in the mirror
Funny.
25 March 2005
Inside every reflection
A reverse manifestation
Choreographed to apply
To the nature of thought
This canvas is drying
But still blurring as we move
My thoughts and I
Funny, things that destroy
An image like thought
In plants; implants; planted in us
Grown with pious soil
Potatoes spud gravity roots
Attatching to
Swans and sky larks
Attatching to
Advertised information
Torn from a picture book
Faces recognize you
Before you do them
And this face in the mirror
Funny.
25 March 2005
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