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.

It started with a tree,
And when I climbed,
Nothing could stop me.
High and higher,
I went.
But the braches got
Thinner and thinner.
Until one finally snapped.
And I fell from my safety,
Right into the mouths of wolves.

You stare off in a day dream,
in a place where you are looking down at your feet,
flying high above the ground.

But she keeps talking
oblivious to all but her own problems.

she's six years old,
and every morning
her mommy would sit in her room
and braid her hair for her.
she's six years old,
and her mommy and daddy
both got home before six,
and the family ate dinner together.
she's six years old,
and her mommy and daddy
still love to cuddle
before they fall asleep,
their limbs tangled together
like twisted tree branches.

she's twelve years old,
and she braids her own hair now,
her mom doesn't get out of bed
early enough anymore.
she's twelve years old,
and she eats dinner alone in her room,
only to lean against the door
to listen to her parents fight.
she's twelve years old,
and her parents sleep on opposite
sides of the bed.

she's fifteen years old,
and she leaves her hair down
so it will hide her face.
she's fifteen years old,
and her parents rarely come home
before nine.
she's fifteen years old,
and she doesn't eat dinner anymore,
squeezing at the chub in her cheeks
and on her stomach,
the nonexistent gap between her thighs.

she's seventeen years old,
and she doesn't know where her father went.
all she knows
is she hasn't seen him since her birthday
last year.
her mother rarely works.
her hair's even longer.
she barely remembers
what dinner is,
and sometimes
she just gets
very,
very
tired.
she's seventeen years old,
and she's completely certain
that life
is too exhausting
for her to go through.
she's seventeen years old,
and she's ready to give up
and make it easy for herself
once more.

As I stood there, rooted to the ground, I was swarmed, yet, untouched. I was alone. I was not seen, nor heard. I am the leaf blown free from the tree, blown into a throng of weeds and forgotten. I am the scrape on a knee no one ever talks about. I am incomplete...an unfinished thought.


Written by: Andrew D. Robertson

He's bending down to shove some glitch through his veins
The flattering colour blends in
His flesh is covered with days from before
remembering how his seed always used to ask for more
There's a window showing a gap of the world
the world he used to live in before he got bored
Tired of seeing, tired of always being down everyone's core
He's better like this
like a cherry tree, always in bliss, always in bleed, never sure

All the drugs he could fit in his lungs were never enough
he could never stop
But it sure felt great to always be on top

It’s the gold that is fused through the years a different fort Knox it is powerful it is all consuming and
Refreshing its buying the best earth has to offer with never entertaining the idea of selling it is secure
The stronghold of lovers the pen marks and distills adoration captures the enthralling
Qualities showing one to be a true prince and a true princess it is spellbinding creates the flow
That alone allows two separate beings to intermingle fused as one leaving a testament more
Enduring than marble can anyone match or make such facts that endure through the mapping
Of one’s person the details of their humanity revealed in the most loving description never to
See hair so gorgeous lips so luscious eyes that you only want to linger in their gaze for ever
Arms hands and fingers for the bliss of touch that melts your whole being the surrender that
Defines cozy to the ultimate excess what wonder is experienced by couples who through
Committed love have found the fragrance of the rose it is the rarified air they alone breathe
From these dizzying heights they draw themselves back to earths plane when they pick up the
Pen and with honesty born from delirium they write with utmost tenderness I love you a gush
Of wind is set in motion pleasure captured as it describes rapture of being held in your arms
When you speak it is nature breathing you hear coursing water the tree branches are swaying
You have entered a gulf that is fixed there you both are suspended the drifting clouds soften
Your brow is smooth the painter would and follows such sites to create masterpieces and this
Is Common among you all things are in harmony truly the cooing of the dove forlorn exquisite
Brooding enlarges your hearts you drift among the sacred forever without effort the enhancing
Advancing years what abiding how far can wonder be stretched it is between these two pillars
That lovers know the pen and the rose wakefulness is for living the dream sleeping is for
Magical conferment boundless endless twist and turns of greatest delight thanks for your love
My dear what joy and happiness you have made in my life how fortunate all of us are that are
Loved and love and His love for us will never end in this we are in a mighty fortress first we have
Each other then it is all enriched and made alive by pure love from above

Set this in motion
In this mind matter ocean
Your words are brain lotion
To lubricate my emotion
With this potion
With a notion
Of devotion
A heart in locomotion
Physical commotion
So glad to have choosen
So glad to have woven

Woven and weave
Like ivy leave
Entwine a maple tree
Under which you rest with me
Like pedals and stem
Fabrics set in hem
Gold in mold with gem
You wrap my brain stem