There once was a man who said you could beat the world with your words. That you could conquer an army with the knowledge of a greater narrative and move the legions of many with the action of one verb. I want to believe who ever can recreate the frameworks our race. The foundational narrative of our moral ethic, the guidelines mankind has been leaning on for millenniums. I want to know a alternative story, with made up words and no respect for a-priori intuition or tradition but a legend of unabiding experience that is unlike any tangent or discourse known. I want to reinvent another codex.
I saw god as the architect I consoled in the grand tree house, with the grand green house sitting in a quaint english archway. The telescope room was laid with bricks and from it I could see all that made me content. I felt the time changing before my eyes. Whether I was in compromise or not was entirely up to the seasons of zeus.
I am now never afraid of myself, I almost died and I remember it all. I have known fear and still revere the quenching of it's animosity. I am only a swerving flake of inner rind. I am all that is exhausted of my honest dive for humanity. I am me finally, a shell no more! Man is the helplessness of lost spatiality in his own timid surrealism. I have never been satisfied with the explanations no matter how exhaustive! Revisited by the techni-color outlook of the turning millennium craze. The alleviation of all hopes when they turned out a dead end inthemselves, a lost avenue of my childhood.
I guess we all wanted that age-old rampant abuse of youth in ways that were neither aesthetically pleasing or unifying towards our own, best. I was tired of the beautiful sprites I grew up with. I was tired of locking myself in closets at nights and rubbing my face into the it's knotted carpet floor. I'm tired of the songs that advocated joyful frolicking into the drapped daylight. The oddities grow old and the used up phrase are clique now. I lost my mind seeing the years of my language frightened by the sound of my own breath. Grow into yourself. I am done with you anyways. I am done seeing them engulf a titanic drift of colorful intentions; flirting around the grand bonfire of the uncreated experience. I am lost with them. I question more than just our own value and I resign my thoughts on themselves for their own wealth and safety. When you want it said so bad but the forces of those unforeseen, creative hives oscillate and never stop it's steps into the night-legend. Then the world ends and was never in out of tension. I electrify my time and run into the a.m. frantic like a monkey, waving around and jesting my arms. I'm tired of the old music, in with the artifacts who architect the reverberation of my heart.
Your myth has lived into the century and I can see your ideas into the lives of all maniacs and the honest young, the deranged youth. We are amidst a heavy tension, i cry again. I want my mother's words three times a day and more on my weak hours. I am content in the alien maze of my music and want only the childhood campers to love me like a king. They gathered around at night, around the campfire. They initiated the song and dance with gaiety rhythm; that was the nights stars collided into bedtime. The same night I was torn by the dreams of an old horrid man who gave me no name and no rest from tear and horror. What evil is an anonymous the Will that censors awareness and knowledge. If it kills
So what then of the tribal pack psyche we all inherit. In days where beauty was up to chance. Our proximity to a woman was determined by breeding patterns and the realm of funds available for travel and food. What now in these days of the internet? When the whole world is at the tops of our finger tips and even more far away is the understanding we gain of our inability to have the cream of the world. We are in a great exaggeration of ourselves, of our will, and of our determined out-come. We have little but the pessimisme of our predecessors to guide our philosophies application. The translation of dream-world is perfectly out of reach for us and always for our posterity. From here on out we are a new age. A new age whose gates are christened by the ungenuine thugs and malevolent brand names of our civilization. We are faking it till the end. I am scared and drilled by horror and filled more with black premonitions. I wish I had eyes to see myself with a more generous charity but I don't and neither do you. What you see is an age of outward anticipation for the soring ribbons of undone realities.
The artist is the one who has seen the broad fleeting wisp of an out-of-world innuendo. It is the ethereal encounter with a cognitive defect that mimic as a supernatural sensation, this is seen by the artist as true humanity and rightfully so as it brings him to tears.
I always forget that we are always on the cusp. That we are simply a few bruised years away from reveling in the stained, sealed golden sunlight of the age that has came. What we do now is entirely crucial to our ability to be in unending sorrow and remorse. We see our people in a clearer way, for what they where struggling with, for what their reverie finally came to look like, ugly or gleefully self created, their vision of the world will always be our continual source of inspiration.
Do not look at me with those eyes
Those sorrow-filled eyes that believe those lies
Which come from a Monster, in beauty disguised
Do not look at me with those eyes.
Do not silence me when I speak
Of hope that glimmers through moments bleak
As if my pity is all you seek
Do not silence me when I speak.
I cannot bear to see you broken
For though my heart remains unspoken,
In my dreams, you smile 'til I have woken
I cannot bear to see you broken.
Do not look at me with those eyes
Because in them, I recognize
I love you more than I realized
Please, do not look at me with those eyes.
Day 7 of my A Poem A Day project. Written 5/20/2013.
it seems easy to believe,
in you and me
when the promise of the light in your eyes,
seeps through my indecision.
my fingertips sliding across the palate of your every inch.
the spaces i have touched painting, colors tracing my every outline,
intertwining between all the small details that define us.
red, like fire, conviction,
spreading across my chest with blinding heat.
echos of animosity, as the lingering flames crawl across the embers they once drew upon.
blue, breaking against waves of progress,
aches washing away with each pull of the moon.
White froths of inspiration.
the sun lay just above, you see?
forrest green, branching through my veins.
spinning life through my every corner.
your skin like spring,
leaves falling to my feet as you pull away once more.
tears, wrong way signs, fails and falters,
dancing themselves into a web,
tangling me into your response.
deep rust, connection.
iron lending to our foundation.
a place to plot the seeds of what could be.
a place to rest our old souls,
once our bodies can longer be seen.
and when the world threatens to break me,
break this beautiful chaos of color,
i will lay here,
in a sea of lavender,
with you my love,
singing songs, with melodies like rainbows, and clocks that run on shades.
while you fill my dreams with sweet memories of our painted past.
My mind is high up somewhere today.
In these clouds maybe, too far for me to reach.
It leaves me dizzy, desirous...
I feel so sleepy.
I crave sleep,
for a deep, still pool of rest,
in the arms of love.
To feel protected and safe.
I want to be guarded like a vast treasure.
Where is my knight, the one where I see my reflection in
his armor, where I see burning eyes and burning hands that
love throughout the night...
Where's someone to always be there?
And I know.
Believe me, I know.
I should look inside myself for these things,
create my own light for this
dark place inside of me.
But I don't want to become The Hermit,
and carry this flickering lantern in the dubious storm of myself,
where there's snow and sleet and
bone shattering winds, forever to wander alone.
I want to find my puzzle piece, my chemical solution.
There must be a cure to this plague of loneliness.
Someone to be the balm that eases the pain
"No more, no more.
You are safe here, with me."
(c) May 21, 2013
When people have told me
They cried for three days straight
I didn't believe them.
I didn't understand
How someone could do that.
Go about their daily lives
And just cry.
Until I broke up with him.
And going about my day,
I would find myself
In the bathroom
When people told me
That they were happy,
I didn't believe them.
I didn't understand
How someone could do that.
Go about their daily lives
And just smile.
Until I met you.
Now I find myself
Randomly, throughout my day
Yankee Doodle went to town, at least that's what they say,
I heard he never made it there, he was rolling in the hay,
with Mrs Sims fine young daughter, she had a real nice pair,
of Siamese Pot Bellied Pigs, with long blond flowing hair
They sometimes referred to him, as the Doodle Meister,
he was known around this town, as the village heister,
he would steal candy bars, just stick them in his pocket,
and for young Sally Sims, he even stole a locket
The sheriff of this little berg, caught up with him one day,
made him drop his droopy drawers, put it on display,
milky ways and muskateers, tumbled to the ground,
and when he made him spread his cheeks, you won't believe what he found
A carton of cigs, a jar of olives, and some candied yams,
a pound of pasta, a TV guide, and 2 cans of deviled hams,
the sheriff put the cuffs on him, and threw him in the wagon,
somehow he managed to escape, like Puff the Magic Dragon
It's been the longest year of my life
In terms of struggle, in terms of strife
Not in a way that's measured by time
No, this year was measured in rhymes
From the choices I've made along this road
To being one step closer to the shore of our goals
You can talk with the ghosts inside your head
Or wake up and realize their already dead
Back some time ago, I nearly fell prey
To the zombies and demons leading me astray
To the vampires and werewolves tearing me apart
Back in the day, before I knew I had a heart
I would talk to a phantom I thought was me
An image of who I thought I could be
But that illusion grew dim as time marched on
And the picture was clear that I was wrong
The mistakes I made, believe it or not
Paved the way out of that parking lot
Of space in my mind and space in my soul
Made entirely of spiritual pot holes
But I wouldn't be here, making my way
To somewhere I promised you every day
And we'll be right there, hand in hand
As the cosmic symphonies resonate with our plans
I'll make it one day, with you in arms
As we crawl out bed to silence alarms
And we'll see our child's smile on his face
I'm so grateful for all the mistakes I've made
Its that time of night
when all I do is try to write
but all that comes out is
words and not WORDS
Everything is funnier
in this funny time of night
and yet nothing has made you
want to cry so hard in your life
Isn't everyone lonely
in this lonely time of night
but a thousand other people
are lonely tonight
Lets all be lonely together
It's getting to that time of night
when the numbness becomes
I'm afraid I'm starting to feel again
and believe me
I've never wanted to understand
why all our lives end
It's finally that time of night
when blood looks blue and not red
I'm sitting at the terminal
Cause you're never gonna come
The city lights are burning dull
As my mind becomes undone
Staring out the window
As if I'm gonna see you
Looking into the blue
Reflections never find you
I'm leavin' cause I can't let you go
Although my love you do not know
I wonder if I could sell my dreams
Who could I find who would believe?
Cause everything you do
I'm try'na see right through
This is a battle I will lose
So baby, what's the use?
there are parts of me that force the pain,
that let it roil in my bones until i am breathless.
it builds until i exhale it in an herbal smoke,
or until i write it in a fervent and blood-rushed poem.
there are parts of me that don't feel the pain.
these parts are healed, and most days they win out.
they pervade the unhealed parts of of my heart,
and they fill me with an ecstatic joy.
there are parts of me that remember
and there are parts of me that forget.
there are parts of me that take in what i feel and use it
and there are parts of me that gladly let it drift away.
there are parts of me that are strong
and parts of me that are not,
and mostly i only show one part or the other.
i have no in-betweens,
and that's why i am me and why you are you.
i believe that's why someone fell out of love with me
and i believe that's why i am so changeable, so wild, so full of doubt.
i am pieces and parts,
broken and lovely,
tessellated and electric and free.