Late nights spent in the depths of the Gita,
Self realization nipping at my boot heals.
Reading the lines of a gone, but not forgotten,
Gay poet, shedding a tear to his epitaph.
Death always sinks its teeth in deep,
Deep into the bowels of the subconscious,
Twisting and writhing through long
Dead emotions, finally expiring its final breath
Through the sinus cavity and out the eyes.
Breakfast is no longer held in the morning,
But far beyond dawn’s reach in the late afternoon,
Much needed sleep is pushed off until
The last minute.
God bless procrastination.
God bless my body, soul, consciousness,
And mind.
God bless those ravaged by war and hate.
Trailing after sunset for that one great fix,
No escape for the ones within its grasp.
Naked we lay in bed,
Until the noon sun kisses our cheeks.
Naked we lay in our hearts, bodies,
Souls, and spirits.
Naked is the man who looks himself in the mirror,
Only to find a corpse in the hollowed eyes that
Sleep deprivation has left him.
Overheated and lost in ill-repaired pipes
At midnight,
Loneliness creeps in like a spy to my senses.
The great manifesto has seeped its way into my brain
And retired in the retinas of self-loathing.
Unforgiving poisons course through the veins.
Strobe lights dim the senses,
People in slow movements of black and white.
Paying our debt,
Debt that is owed to our maker
From the dawn of time to the ravaged streets
Of a morally degraded and ignorant,
Politically correct World.
Dance with me tonight.
Dance in the streets with joy and madness.
Dance with tumorous disease.
Dance with the leper's cry.
Dance with the sodomite’s urge.
Dance with the looming shadows.
Dance with the bigots and the profiteers.
Dance with me, because we are free.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 6:51 PM UTC
Coming down from my volcanic wave
Sheet music jukebox requiem
Rides down the road
Feverish dreams outlast psychedelic trees
In the owls and squirrels of light
Picking at the vultures of dawn
Violent winds of the subatomic youth
Puncture through the face of Mona Lisa
Take me to the South
Pulsating rocket ship boom
Left scabs on my eyelids
Shifting in the dark to get to the light
Killing mr. Grawkus through crucified madness
Suffer at the hands of large Industry men
Give your money in exchange for life
Dream queen pre-madonna smoothie mix
Shove down the stones from your funneral pyre
Throw off your ***** neon soaked clothes
Dowse yourself in the electronic fumes
Pulsed beat hammers in the tunnels of consciousness
Through the catacombs of breath
Inhale deeply the sonic sun light
Exhale zombie dust glass shards
Dare to call me electric
Throw down this scepter of deceit
Release yourself from the robes of conceit
Never let the sun mock your wiring breath
Lightning whiskers pierce the skull
Left her tied to the tracks
Electronic pumps intravenously
Junk sets into the brain
Sell your soul for an electro fix
Satellites fit themselves into my subconscious
Fried blank and numb, gone mad with electricity
Show off your bruised face to the sunshine
Plastered, baked, and cratered with disgust
Do you see how the light bulb strikes on?
Where are you with your ravaged home?
Peeled back with mechanical angst
She cries aloud to the moon
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 3:51 PM UTC
Walking, always walking,
Puzzled youth being funneled like cattle,
Seek shelter from the sun,
Jeer and poke at each other,
All from the safety of their cell phones.
Constantly seeking that one undesired retention
Of jukebox explosion catapults.
Thrusting us deeper into the mind/brain paradox
What is this?
What are these strange mutterings in the dark?
Babysitting wasp nests by electro shock railroads,
Disgust in the face of the many.
Where is this golden eclipse we’re all waiting for?
How can I not see the spiders on my windowsill?
Are these anguished, infantile youth truly desired?
Aggravated Neanderthal men
Try to impress pulsating goddesses of Light,
All to no prevail.
Sickening feeling in the gut,
Why aren’t you here?
Well I suppose,
Things have changed.
The Empress of the tunnel
Seeks out the empire halls
Of the tunnel-bound angst,
Musicians in the hall strumming
There thoughtless musings,
While the the debutantes watch and listen.
The intensity is unbearable to them,
They must seek shelter in their ipods.
Milk, must have it.
Watching them creep through the cafe,
May they one day find what they’re seeking.
Where are they?
Sitting here by myself,
Look at them jeering at each other
In their own jargons.
Have they seeked out the pleasure of life?
Dream-like meditations,
Well-rounded views of life,
Happiness within.
Dumbly smile at each other,
Seeking closeness,
Mind/body consciousness
Feb 28, 2011
Feb 28, 2011 at 1:05 PM UTC
It’s so easy to look at the things on the wall
Breakfast is now right down the hall
Oh my darlin, you’re comin home.
Breathin is easy when you’re around
Walkin hand in hand all over town
Busy in the market
They’re makin a profit
Just call and let me know when you’re getting in
See that sky, Sun in your eyes
The wind it blows through summer skies
I can’t get over the fact that you’re coming
Come on over baby, my engine is humming,
When will I know you’ve arrived?
That movie projection
Arms around you in protection
Dreamin with you, lookin into our eyes,
Come on now baby we’ll be there in time
Oh my darlin, oh my honey, you’re comin home
It’s so easy to look at the things on the wall
Breakfast is now right down the hall
Oh my darlin, you’re comin home.
Sep 20, 2010
Sep 20, 2010 at 7:18 PM UTC
The other night I spent at a barn party,
A hole mess of disgruntled youth,
Each writhing like mystics caught in a trance.
Each with their own glow-stick crowns,
Funneling through their brains ,
Comatose limbs and lashing tongues.
Goodbye my sweet children,
As I watch them sputter down the drain,
An entire generation lost to the Euphoria
Of crazed spin doctor hypnotists.
Each running for a new glass of punch,
Loud electro-pulsing angst fills the air,
How dare he blow his smoke at me.
***** lines and failed acrobats,
Wild youth and ****** veterans.
Each morning, wake up,
Teacher tells you you’re wrong,
Go home, get in bed,
Wait for dreams to come like waves
Crashing down overhead on your sweet pillow.
Never has the true disgust come out,
Drunken women throwing themselves at me,
Twisting and jeering to the rabid pulsation,
I cannot find him.
Fighting through an endless sea of ecstasy,
Brief Nostalgia takes hold.
It is gone, gone like the wind blows,
Through tunnels, over oceans.
Will I see the light of day again?
Maybe,
Just one more glimpse of the sun.
Sep 12, 2010
Sep 12, 2010 at 1:52 PM UTC
Hello you,
My most trusted perfect stranger.
What keeps us here in this dogmatic state?
Life?
Virtue?
Tradition?
Lack of faith?
Mistrust?
Or maybe we re all just sitting around pondering some long forgotten riddle?
The two that were once so far apart
are now lumped together in the same box,
How could we have over looked this?
Zarathustra, why do you plague us with your one?
Vedas, why must you all plague us with your many?
Yet, here we sit in silence....
Must we forgive and respect each other?
Or go at war over this dispute?
I respect you for your faith in nothing,
I respect you for your faith,
But do you respect me for mine?
For what is all of this but a bunch of
Useless mutterings with ourselves?
What are all these abstract hypothesis?
I know not the answer to all of these questions,
But one day I will, and I will ponder it for the rest of my days.
Sep 10, 2010
Sep 10, 2010 at 6:14 AM UTC
We meet again, young debutante!
but what next?
shall we ponder over coffee,
or dance through the streets
with only our thoughts to keep rhythm?
Let us ask thine friend, the caterpillar.
nay, he says, neither are to be,
it is a picnic that you seek.
where the ground is warm,
and the sun is hot.
What a grand idea!
I shall go right off
to make thy picnic one of perfection!
but where to start?
to the butcher for meat.
the baker for bread.
...............................
Why must he bother me yet again?
He stalks me like a shadow,
claiming I talk to caterpillars.
he’’s raving mad!
A picnic? I will do no such thing?
however, I can use this to my advantage.
The butcher’s cleaver never looked so beautiful,
the soft glimmer in the light,
Oh but if i could get my hands on it!
His back is turned, now’s my chance!
.................................
Oh dearest! please have some ham and bread.
come sit by me and tell me of your day!
Oh I pray you tell me about your learnings!
What beautiful hair you have!
It glows like the sun shines,
and your dress is even more beautiful than before,
tell me, how do you radiate such beauty?
................................
I will lie.
I can feel the cleaver in my bag,
a weight on my shoulder,
the meat and bread are horrid.
he is so pathetic!
Beauty is the way the blood spurted from his chest!
glowing is how my face feels when it is splashed with his blood!
gentle is the wind over his lifeless body.
Oh what a grand picnic indeed!
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 6:15 PM UTC
Shed thy clothes, thy will, thy thought.
look at yourself and the ones around you,
do you see them? or the veils that hide them?
What are you without your veil?
a fool? a tyrant? a God?
Why do you sit by yourself in the dark?
turn your light on. see yourself.
see yourself before you see others.
but watch for those watching you,
for they worry about the safety of your death.
may it be clean,
the robes they wrap your soul in.
for if thou has dirt or smudges,
you will receive nothing...
everything.
You cannot hide behind a mask,
behind others, behind yourself.
You are you,
you are no one.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 6:14 PM UTC
Shining, the beam rose above the tree line,
the house is illuminated into a thin gray silhouette.
as I came over the hill, I noticed the beam was a lighthouse.
Oh what things could this lighthouse be used for?
No sea was near it, no harbor, not even a river.
the beam is: life
death
eternal
instinct
fear
love
hate
color
taste
touch
the beam is nothing at all.
It is everything.
it is life itself, but,
one who pears into it, will find all their dreams,
all their hopes, wishes,
and all their deepest nightmares come true.
The light offers freedom from the dark abyss of night,
but it also chokes the fear of the unknown.
curiosity takes a dive, and reason out the window.
Where is that light guiding me?
where am I now that i need guidance?
I am nowhere.
I am Everywhere.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 6:13 PM UTC
A Strange Land
dropping like a feather from a building,
down down down we go.
softly fluttering like an angels wing
down down down we go
through the mystical garden,
down to the fairies we go.
a short thud with everything looking,
big eyes, small eyes, tall and low.
too and fro looming and jeering,
one with a cruel eye, another a green toe,
staring at us, as our courage hardens
‘til finally one of us goes out to meet our suspected foe
The cruel-eyed beast looks on gazing,
through us, above us, like we were aglow,
we gazed on, half worried, but not cowering.
we crept on a few steps, but ducking down low,
we stepped through the passage, into a garden
with tiny little objects frittering under toe
I saw them through my looking glass writhing,
I saw to the vegetation of twisted brush, high and low,
though in the midst of a labyrinth a tower lay looming.
but it lay on its side, as tho it were dropped to below.
the mice talked and walked together in their own jargon,
I watched them go away and down the tiny road
Winding through the labyrinth following the mice intriguingly,
they knew their way well, we can see by the way they go,
then, simply, they disappear among the vine, leaving us gazing,
with our machetes we cut through the vine,
but the mice are nowhere to be found,
oh what a predicament we are in. the maze is vast and flowing
we look up to see the tower, now upright and *****
as if a chess piece, it looms,
we make our way through the maze by cutting,
but the vine grows back thicker behind us.
we reach the gate of the tower, no turning back,
A gargoyle stands at the foot of the gate.
He glares but, knows we mean no harm,
we walk through the gate to find a winding staircase.
At the top, a vast kingdom of sand and coal,
pierce our our eyes with wisdom.
I look to peers and cannot help but to weep,
the intricacy of the life below, smothered by the bland view from above.
It is a strange land we come across.
nothing is exactly what it seems,
the cruel are the beloved,
the castles so tall above,
the the small beings below,
everything is beautifully grotesque
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 6:12 PM UTC