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Brycical Jan 2013
State a fact.

Then ask        if you can prove it.
Answer.
How?
Then ask        if you can prove that.
Answer.
How?
Then ask        if you can prove that.
Answer.
How?
Then ask        if you can prove that.

Repeat for three minutes
and see what happens.
Brycical Nov 2012
they shout.
A collection of my closest friends
and confidants
implore, plead & demand
my index finger move
only inches to squeeze
the trigger of the pistol.

Pull the trigger!

My arms are quivering--
the chain smoking hasn't helped
steady the nerves.
I'm having trouble looking
at my victim.

Pull the trigger!

He's my best friend
but also destroyed whatever life I had
as he continues spiraling out of control.
I can't focus at work,
I'm afraid to go back to my own apartment--
letting him crash for a while was a bad idea.
My nerves are shot,
I'm emotionally drained...
I'd do anything to make it stop.

Pull the trigger!

They keep shouting in unison--
all  people I trust implicitly.
They've never steered me wrong before,
they sympathize,
can't stand to see him erode away
what's left of my life.

Pull the trigger!

They're right.
There's nothing I can do--
what choice is left?
My head vibrates
from their chanting
my eyes are watering a little--
thought I'd be sobbing.
A deep exhale...
quickly raising the gun
to his head--

Pull the trigger!

He's sobbing,
whimpering like a wounded *****.
When he looks at me,
I can tell he understands
and sympathizes with me.
I whisper,
"If you don't
get the help you need--
I'm going to do what they want."
After I holster the gun
to stunned silence,
I walk away...
Brycical Nov 2012
Sometimes you just gotta smash
your laptop against the wall
Tear and gnash your your canvas,
burn your pens and paintbrush
into a colorful tye-dye fire
**** on the kitchen floor
and smash the whisky bottle
across the glass wine rack
kick a hole in that guitar
spinning with lighted matches
spinning with a numb-reckless-abandon
toppling over bookshelves
laughing like a monkey
tossing the toaster
into the bathtub
break the mirror with a head-but
and take a 2x4 to the porch light outside
smiling like a python
stomping on the oven door
taking a knife to the floor
because carpet angels are totally in
Inspired the song "Give it Back" by The Ting Tings: http://youtu.be/-EnlcP7rAlc
Brycical May 2012
electric faces
glow in the dawn's light, like the  
orchid's scent kneads thoughts
Brycical Jun 2015
Drifting....
waning, wandering away from myself....
              electric pine and turquoise eyes unfold,
       greeting me,
    a jade leopard winks with those eyes,
an inside joke
in the new moon darkness lighting the room.....

I watch myself levitate into conscious caverns
  in my gray matter canyon
wind tinkles and chimes
( ( ( ( v i b r a t i n g ) ) ) )
the moist,              fleshy rocks...
          memories of sativa green Canada echo--
a family of strangers
      humming, buzzzing & drumming rhythms
tattooing heartbeat sigils onto each other
            amidst a sonic amethyst campfire
          moonbeam embers glow
        indigo guitar strings sing hymns
     swaying and swimming in cuddle puddles--
   a new age baptism.

                             My wings shimmer,
                         visions simmer and chill
             the darkness returns
            left with myself again
        I flight right into another lightbub storm
     as trebble trouble words rain bows of colors
  atop white lilies reaching for stained-glass clouds.


              Distantly, native flutes flourish
       like rippling water rises slowly
                         into incandescent tides...
                      sweet, filagreed foam tickling-
                 washing
                bubbles popping over pores.
           and I rejoice!
         a homecoming for an ocean's drop rejoined--
                         rejuvenated!
                           berserk bongos bump 'n thump
                              a raucous rumpus of blissful voices
                              vicariously lift my visage into everyone
                                   at once!
                                  astral silhouette forms cajole and conjoin and
                                         we     laugh        ourselves      into ******!

And for a fleeting moment...
I reminded of the celestial infinity
that surrounds us,
where time isn't measured in promises
and trees aren't groomed to be currency.
Here, I remember the why of my existence,
only to momentarily forget,
upon opening my eyes,
until delicate deja vu echoes intermittently remind me
once in a while.
I was in a trance when I wrote this
Brycical Sep 2012
I can          h ea r
a      dream,
( ( (vibrating) ) )
through my third e y e

      echoes   dan c e
from the walls,
a    l i g h t   passes
through   the prism
that         encases--
      the heart.

                              \i|o|u/
                            he tells me
                     yet I expect nothing.
                more of the same patterns

Every thing       is
a good omen,
so whispers the air
outside a bar of Narnia.

             The banana bread beer flows
              through
                      our glasses like an amber
                 whirlpool tsunami glistening in the afternoon light.
                  a pleased smile rests on a face,
             comfort,
        relaxation and a
      full mind.

Deep sleep
for a while.
Contentment is *exhaled.
Brycical Mar 2014
We inhale words of worlds of air
making us part of a whole far greater
than we know to fathom.

Worlds of sensuous phantasmic
shadows & burning lights brighter than a
blinding rainbow ignites

our beating green chakra, boiling our
red & white blood, vibrating all of the
steaming sinews of blue

veins around warm sunset pink flesh as--
all colors engulf our indigo minds
tightening like a slingshot cannon swiftly erupts zipping electricity up
our spines like underwater geysers!
Bubbling bubbly bouncing eyes roll back in a moan explosion hurling us into dimensions of the pulsing, clawing, drenched & serene waters of
                           (((((((((one love united universe)))))))))
As we travel and float back slowly...
to this planet, there is a burning,
like a new skill learning crystallized curvy fire dancing
with earth horned goat rhythm in that way down underground river.
Brycical Jan 2013
She brought me to the devil—
swept the leaves off my brain
& we jumped in the pile.
After rolling a few
& burning
we bathed in wine
washing our minds
with chicken soup for the soul.

He appeared in the stars
& we smiled—
absorbing his card
through a lovely osmosis
supposing the black roses
hiding behind his back
were cut by a queen of swords.

We skipped roped
w/ a noose
cuttin’ loose our useless
baggage by tossing them over
a stony cliff.
As the devil lit a cigarette s/he mumbled
something about a conscious shift.

The devil gave us a gift—
It was a skull
inside a prince’s disk
shaped discus change purse.
“I bring you death as a parting
gift to show where to put the change.”

We laughed & giggled
as we played with plasma—
that’s liked fire cubed.
with a little play and help from MMK.
Brycical Jun 2012
A noticeable shift will occur.
But it's nothing to do with plate tectonics,
planetary alignments,
changing of seasons
or predicted natural disasters.
No political bombshell
nor revolutionary uprising either.

It's something bigger,
much more profound...

A shift will occur--
in me.

For I am seeking
to learn and live
to learn and rebirth
to live and give
rebirth with love
giving to life
to learn and live
to learn and rebirth
ad infinitum--

to discover *all peace.
Brycical Jun 2012
Good/pure/light/
could not exist
without
Bad/evil/darkness

My self could not exist
without
My family.
But I am
not
enslaved by them.

Their misguided
stubborn
and droll attempts
to impart
their guilt & sadness--
stemming back from their childhood
insecurities of when they didn't fit in,
or when they saw their childhood robbed
by a church/cult
with an idea of The Truth.
And their despair over
the death of my older brother--
who didn't even live a day--
affected their judgements
on the decisions I've made.

I could hold on to this,
be bitter,
& upset...

but I'm not.

I'm happy/
& learning to be copacetic...
For I was born unto
negativity
but charged
with positivity.
Brycical Jul 2011
I treat my brain like this paper.
I write and draw over every inch
until not even a single letter can fit.
Scattershot pieces of ideas lay freshly inked
on the surface…

Then I rip everything apart.

It’s convenient looking upon the confetti rips
strewn over the ground.
It’s so much easier to find the doodles and words
I forgot about long ago.
  
But I always fasten it together again,
though perhaps not the same way each time.
Sometimes, I make animal shapes like butterflies
or a pouncing tigers held together with safety pins.
Other times I just  slather glue on the pieces
then drop them on construction paper.

Should I so choose,
I have complete control as to where each doodle is placed.
Ripping allows me to see every angle of my brain
thus allowing me to see every angle of the world I inhabit.

I do this often,
for fear if stopped
friends and strangers won’t find me
objective or comforting.
The ripping saves my brain from staying sedentary
and saves me from living complacently.
Brycical Feb 2015
My breath dances a foxtrot
across her island flavored skin--
coconut and passionfruit
scents grapevine together, as our
joyful heartbeats intertwine
like a hummingbird's wings in air.

Her peppermint lips embrace
my nordic, hipster bear fuzz skin--
her feline eyes sing into
my soul, our flesh folds together
like a hungry flame devours
wood, we burn into crystal ash.
Brycical Jun 2014
Dragonfly wings glow
iridescent tones of blue--
she smiles below moon.
Brycical Jul 2015
Wild child space travel gypsy
       drunk    on     the cosmos
     churning a sensual pattern--
             melting         suns
with a carefree wink
as stars pour into her eyes
like a garnet shiraz
       spiraling
              in    tidal   waves
splashing in a crystal wine glass
     caressing
              her white light lips.

Planets dip and dangle around her hips
as the weight of the nebulous nectar whispers
                                       lullabies to her eyes
         as her incandescent            hair contours
    to copious glistening constellations  
rippling across her tired body
                 like ice dripping on a warm chest
vibrating    indigo       moonlight         jazz
enrapturing millions with her simple act of symphonic yawning
as the dusk light dawning over faces
embraces souls stirring--
her purring hip cat dreams
leave people like us with mouths agape
as her voluptuousness nape hushes
us with a supernova explosion of peace
oscillating between
each of our spirits.
Poem inspired and is a respone and reaction to this painting, http://beautifulfarrago.tumblr.com/post/122372179828/the-universe-dreaming-of-the-universe
Brycical Sep 2012
I see an image—
breeze, they dance time.
River breeze,
the ideas worth sharing
GROW
like fish floating in a trail
of the lightning whipping
across the sun with
the dancing moon.
Ripples—
I see an image of a way
across the midnight surface,
the sky tip toes
at the edge of celestial festivals.
The thunder is envious
of a starry night.
But you seem so far away,
across the water there is no bridge to meet.
Shine like the reflection cast in pale deception,
only kinder.
written with the immensely talented Matthew P Hill, whose work can be found here... http://hellopoetry.com/-matthew-p-hill/
Brycical Nov 2012
Mona.
Lisa.
Lee-ah
nardo
how do
YOU know
my mom.

I remember having
pizza
with ya the other night,
we watched
the "Da Vinci Code"
after we had that fight,
about Montauk
hotdog tripe flavored ice cream.

Even the audience
doesn't think that's yummy!

You taught,
me how to knit
chocolate and wish
upon the sun.

Did you mom?
Am I your son?
I'd prefer pecon pie.
No-body likes
pecans in my family.
Did Leo
like legumes ?
******,
I may always
be cursed
with writing words
that make reference to obscure
astrology.
My apologies to his
groupies who think he's
the best ******* art-east
since slice bread.
But how would it
feel to had some dude who
painted your mom
and it was
the big-gust
most successful
commercial success
through out
time?
Brycical May 2015
The entire cast is dead
in 90% of the movies I watch.

Sometimes my *** smells like popcorn
and it's probably because of all the coconut oil I consume.

I wonder what day of the week
ends with nobody talking to me.

It's hard to remember which color I forgot to remember.

Whisky doesn't do much for me anymore,
maybe I should start paying for it again.

It's possible because it's impossible
possibly because of the possibility.

It's only a matter of time isn't true
because time isn't matter, nor does it.

Forever, infinity and etcetera gotta meet up at least once.

I'm in the best shape of my life,
it's kind of oval-y and rectangular, sorta looks like me.

Personally, I think opinions are subjective.
Brycical Jul 2013
(+) vibrations buzzzzzzzz
                    lifting
  mouths        &           spirits

         r              ning
d            ow                      

                    out  ­                the (-)



                                                          ­ i  n   g
matriculating curves t w i s t
              quickly churning
                         bending like   w
                                                      a
       ­                                            t
                                                     e
                                                  r
                                    in a whirlpool
                                        with/ou t    grrrravity
                                                 as we sail on the stream of consciousness
                              to another realm
                                     inside ourselves
                                                    on our rainbow brain boat visiting
                                           tye-dye twilight night skies
                                                giggling wind PLAYING with
                                      our hair beginning to laugh
                                   like cats after discovering chicken it the fridge.
                         We sing Hendrix
                                 Joplin
                          Morrison
                     Floyd
                Lennon
         and Shankar
all the way to the shore
of the island.
Thanks for the word Sarah. :)
Brycical Dec 2012
Big whack stack
of monetary memories
catalogued in dream states
vibrating at different subconscious frequencies....

With the headphones in I listen
to the past and future collide
into a cosmic harmonious kaleidoscope
of the present moment--
piercing through my perception
of right/left conscious thought
moving so molten fast
wielding each side together seamlessly.
If you can think of a better title, I'm totally open for it.
Brycical Apr 2012
I feel like I want to be encased
by third eye stones & explode--
out, into
the universe
like bullets;
into the
mind's-eye--
space, time
marvelous
spaceship
streaking
across
the...
sky
*********, I didn't even know I was making the shape like that until I saw it just now!
Brycical May 2013
Where do you go
when I look at you?
Feels like floatin through space
suffocating on life’s
little
hang-ups—

Like a starvin' artist
tryin to paint portraits on the metro.
Like a hero who’s
forgotten courage sticking their head in a lion’s mouth oh

When your mind is turnin'
your eyes seem to scream your heart is hurtin' for something more.
At least that’s what it seems to me
as I wonder  

Where do you go
when I look at you?
Feels like floatin’ through space
suffocating on life’s
little
hang-ups—

Like when you try explainin' to me
that are but we aren’t and we gotta wait and see.
Like when we’re sittin’ at the shihsa bar
and you look at me despite not knowing what we are…

But when your mind is turnin’
I’m intent on learnin’ how to understand
until one day you looked at me and said

Where do you go
when I look at you?
Feels like floatin’ through space
suffocating on life’s
little
hang-ups
Keep it in the moment bang-a-rang with your fist up
in the air let it be let be let it be in the air
like Rumi said love calls everywhere and
always

always
always!
Love calls everywhere and always!
Inspired by some recent conversations and pink floyd's more melancholy songs like "Wish You Were Here."
Brycical Nov 2011
Stars made of glass crash
to the vast valley of valuable
conscience
is valuable
conscience
is valuable
conscience
is valuable

A man made of sand handles
the stars as he departs back
to the animal subconscious landscape

The electric ape dancing
the chances are the chants are
enhancing
prosperity
enhancing
prosperity
enhancing
prosperity

As the fire serpent hisses
the wishes of the kid is to
unconditional love
unconditional
love unconditional
love

Stone dragons drag and throw
rocks from within our bodies
to stop the sorries

A thought born tomorrow
is fed food thrown by moonbeam crows
singing songs of whispered wisdom
whispered wisdom
whispered wisdom

Celebrating townsfolk
cook a joke atop smoking
brooks writing books of the day
the glass stars came...
Brycical Apr 2015
On the street I see people walkin' round
eyes heads hanging low down thinking 'bout needing a couple extra pounds of bread, their spirits cry out workin' off debts 'till after death  
but when I ask "Whassup?"
they stuff it down with "Hey, nothin much" outa reflex,
but instead of this aforementioned fashioned back'n forth imagine what would happen if we shared the caption that our heart was tappin' outa the chest, a distress morse code SOS so,
let's be each other's best friend, and listen to the deluge of moods don't matter if it's green, red or blue cause I have faith we can all handle the truth
since it's a soothing serum not some brooding theorem don't gotta be near to connect, but show yourself some respect and just eject that dejected attitude cause we're all moving through somethin once 'n a while.  

Luckily we, are here, together now
spinnin' round this big 'ol galaxy.
and luckily we, are here, now, together, to make the world better, denizens of the medicine inside of us to jettison hearts and minds shining out like lighthouses guiding ships, to higher consciousness, gettin' closer to bliss but sometimes we gotta stop and sit
and just be just be...  
go slow go slow,
it's all ok to joke and play jump rope with pain instead of novacaine let's meditate to make the world a better place
raisin' your vibration to a higher plain
wadin' in the waters of a patient brain
chillin' in stillness erasing latent fixations
burning sarcophagus thoughts and impulses poppin' up like the walking dead growling echoes of old words heard when I was three, four, five, six gurgling out of parents, school kids and televisions sellin' backwards wisdom on how to be a cool kid, but it smells like *******
from old tools that, aren't the sharpest ones from the shed
like you and me can be 18 join the marines, get a tattoo, drive and put a bullet in some fool  but if you get caught with *** or droppin' some sugar cubes then you're locked up and your life gets ruined.

It don't take some precognition to see all this conditionin' bein' dished is an illusion, a mirage of food only fillin' us with chemical confusion,
it's almost amusing the way they try to make my mind intrude
on just bein' in the moment, bringing the symphony of symmetry inside of me inspiring perspiring  to cry and sing with fire wings triumphantly trumpeting the rhythm of love, as below so above do unto others etcetera etcetera ad infinitum because

we, are here, together now
spinnin' round this big 'ol galaxy.
and luckily we, are here, now, together, to make the world better, denizens of the medicine inside of us to jettison hearts and minds shining out like lighthouses guiding ships, to higher consciousness, gettin' closer to bliss with this flow from the heart
Brycical Aug 2013
It seems like this place has a certain pull, it's bringing people here. What's attracting so many?

*Because they can hear the silence
Brycical Oct 2013
electric ***** static shocks jump starts the heart into hyperspace pumping blood into the veins of time folding inside and outside and on top of each other like a nebulous star splash comet tail clashes in a warm hug we glow like embers in ashes......

warmth spreads like a slug of whisky in the chest, nothing is expected except it is, mind's eyes multiply like a disco argus tree sees all spheres and dimensions slowing and glowing like aurora auras in dawn smiles like the hieroglyphic clouds we graffiti all over cause we just wanna have some fun!

Aw man, I'm not done. We paint the sky to make it rain good vibrations drinking aqua patience and cheshire cat laughter tartlets I'm ecstatic to be part of this ecosystem with a unjumbled mind flying high in the all-ness of the AUM ONE. Cause we all one, and that's Awe-some. A wonderful warm place with All sons daughters mothers fathers brothers sisters sinners, just humons, 2gether, 1AUM makes words redundant.
Brycical May 2015
PROLOGUE:
a large, ancient native american tribe used to practice tending the light;
a fire pit in a temple village elders say contained the first flame,
here the fire was fed, and loved, usually the only source of brightness
the smokey orange glow would roar
all the time from dusk to dusk, from every moon to every sun,
always burning generations after generation,
considered one of the highest honors to be tasked with tending the sacred flame. But like all things, one day it went out.

I)
Eons slipped by.
Darkness, thick brooding mists
with intermittent, iridescent flashes.
Most people slept.
Few unabashedly watched,
mesmerized by the brightness,
caught glimpses of sacred rhythms.  


II)
Heartbeats synced--
the awakened ones linked arms,
wandered into the void,
toward
the  
( ( (source) ) )


                    **III)
      
            Sounds
                             r              
               s      r     o       ed
             u            nd

them
wrapping around like a crystalline ivy.
vibrating bodies buzzzzzzed fuzzzzzzzzzy love.
glistening liquid amethyst crystals trickled from eyes.


IV)
Silence.


V)
They returned
with different faces,
every inch of skin vibrated
=ancient symphonies=
their chests glowed psychedelic explosions
of mellifluent wind chiming colors.
Dancing and humming awoke others.

VI)
Soon, more hearts & bodies swooned,
swooping cartwheel rainbows blooming like lilacs in June
light
<<ignited>>
from the darkest crevices
dissolving shadows and silhouettes
connecting all like mushrooms talk
the blindness gone
acquiesced to songs
of connection through breath, heartbeat, ground and life.


VII)
Bliss again,
the world burns like a roaring ******
of warm flame.
EPILOGUE:
As it just so happens, the fire
never actually went out.
Instead it simply transported through time and space
into all of us, we just had to find it.
We looked to the past, digging into ancient wisdom
and tribal sounds,
returning to nature
ingesting nature
playing in nature
all the while sending out search parties
for lost tribemates
with that same fire
as a reminder from whence they came.


Also, the title "Back to the Future" was already taken.
Brycical Aug 2011
The red roses melt,
as does her smile.
But that’s not surprising
when she pulls out her deck of tarot cards to play poker.


She never respected living.
The TV screen illuminates her face
in the darkness of the small room.
The clouds outside feel like they came from her eyes.


Everyone in the world gathers
outside her home
to watch, trying to understand
Only to be met with a wall of indignation.


There is a coldness in her body
but a warmth in her glass eyes.
Her home is just a shell now,
filled with things that wore out their usefulness.


Only the white door to her bedroom
isn’t covered in red splatters.
It’s locked. Everyone’s afraid of what’s behind it.
They’re going to tear down her home.


But it’s too late.
She’s already succeeded
in proving this is no
Utopia.
Brycical Jul 2012
With a single
glance
you make me sweat--
your sticky breath
dances
melodically with every swagger
of your step.

You chronically
dehydrate  
my thoughts--
ironically inspiring me
to bathe in refreshing
conscience streams
that are not mine.

I want to taste
the salty Sahara sands
between your toes
to feel what it's like this close
to the sun--
concealed by the  burning
Shisha smoke you breathe
with such control into your soul.

For one steamy night
I want to be the wind
igniting--brightening--heightening
those burning embers in your eyes
watching you slither,
as if an ice cube touched your spine.

I want white light smiles
to scar our faces
the next morning,
disfiguring our charred
hearts--
our ashes scattered
by the wind from the burning
building we've collapsed.
Greatly inspired by "The Stroke," "Pour Some Sugar on Me" and a dear friend.
Brycical Nov 2014
Sometimes you can do everything right
when it comes to being patient, listening and playing
with a woman and after so many years
that feel like a blissful eternity
she can still leave one 3am night out the fire escape and on a train
to look for something better.

Sometimes you can do everything right
when it comes to helping the homeless;
giving them good and listening to their stories
and maybe even helping them find a job
and still get hit by a bus
soon as both feet jump off the curb.

Sometimes you can do everything right
with a story, and it's a gorgeous masterpiece
of years of editing and chiseling each word
to paint a picture that would make Rimbaud and Van Gogh weep
with ******* exuberance
and still find yourself dying slowly,  broke, in a homeless shelter
listening to a guy who will be hit by a bus
soon as he walked out the shelter
whose girlfriend left him at 3am.
This poem is mildly funny to me in some dark, twisted way.
Brycical Apr 2014
I see this scene as our hands
intertwine:

Her hips roll--
backwards, just as her brown eyes.

Bodies burn...
sweat drips out through salty pores.

Growling smiles;
primal minds lead to bite marks.

Fingernails
croche scratch marks on shoulders.

Together,
we breathe like the trees asked us to.

I see this scene as our hands
intertwine.
Brycical Nov 2014
I see you over there,
hey!
No, don't run away
there's no reason to hide
just because you're crying.
There's no need to wipe those tears
away and out of your eyes
because whatever fears you've subscribed to
only make this experience blithe too.
You're just lying to yourself
if you try to not cry
or run away and hide
because someone like me will spy when you do.
Be you, be real in this moment of feeling
no matter if you're kneeling or reeling
no matter if your mother has died
or your other slipped into the night without a goodbye
or even if you're clutching that rye-whisky really tight
please know that this scene of you crying
out in the open tells other's it's o-k.
There's no shame in having a good cry
it doesn't mean you're lame if it's after a futbal game
or in the middle of a stadium because your girl, or guy proposed.
It's fine to get misty-eyed in an art gallerye
or the pain felt when I tried to rhyme that last line!
Crying doesn't equal weak, if anything it adds to your mystique
as someone who has comfortability expressing their feelings.  

So the next time you feel your eyes start to well,
and your first impulse is try to quell such a sight,
say "What the hell" and let your tears fly as you cry
wisdom distilled.
I don't much like rhyming poetry.
Inspired by a combination of Fah & George Carlin.
Brycical Jul 2012
My mom says "frick"
or "fiddlesticks"
even when kids aren't around.
She's holding in
some of that pure, unfiltered rage
each time a plate is dropped
or toe is stubbed.
If only she'd just shout "OH ****!"
she wouldn't lash out
at grandma or sob uncontrollably later.

Someone once said to me, "*******!"
and I was happy.
It means they won't ****** me in my sleep
because they expressed verbal and not physical rage.
I was happier when someone told me "go **** yourself"
because I went home and did just that.

Speaking of pleasure,
the act of *******
burns between 85-250 calories,
improves sleep & your immune system.
Google it.

I've been ******;
a realization &/or learning experience
having gone broke without a way to pay rent
resulting in the lesson of moving back in with the parents.

We can get ****** up.
A couple too many tokes &/or shots of gin &/or punches to the face.
We learn the perils of excess.
In third grade, I was ****** up by a group of 6-7 kids.
I learned I never want to experience THAT
uncomfortable feeling again.

Why is **** such a bad word again?
Brycical Aug 2011
I want to thank Ms. Kann, Pat Robbins and Ms. Farley;
the realtors that convinced me to buy the poetry house.

I want to thank Marie and Lynn,
for warming the hearth. Next time, close the door. Smoke damage is a pain.

I want to thank my parents
for lying; the concrete foundation to this house of cynicism.

I want to thank the neighbors,
without the windows I wouldn’t learn anything.

I want to thank Mr. Lynch, Ginsberg, Carlin & Blake
for the fridge. An excellent place to keep my brain food

I want to thank. Mr. Gabriel and Miss Phoenix,
the only two lights in this house.
Brycical Aug 2013
Never sits still unless
he's passed out on the floor,
playful smile hides wise eyes
as his beard talks to us
after communion with a bottle of Jack
and rolling down the rabbit hole:

*We have been going before the beginning
It's not what you know but how you apply it
Ancient knowledge is knowledge now
We follow what is right for us

Everything was a miracle once

When **** is happening, it's ****
it's only not **** once it's happened already.

Everything is general,
what we do is specific.

We're fighting to get past so many archetypes and realities:
nature vs. nurture
fight vs. flight
yin vs. yang
Right vs. left
male vs. female
analytical vs. emotional
visual vs. verbal  
majority vs. minority
experience vs. innocence

What's the point of distance
when you can see yourself on another plane of existence
and not simply see yourself consciously?

When you see yourself, who are you?
You know who you are because when you ask the universe
it will arrive in time!
Brycical Jul 2011
Eyes          wide           smiling
never stop smiling
pale skin                 smiling
white  teeth   paper    c u t s

Lost…..e y e s
Time is but an itch
                The smiling                   stops

                                            once         he’s---gone

Graveyard lexicon
baffles today’s texters
--Orange peel breath
                  Despite            lethargic                   lips…


Your memory is merely paper;
he’s good with origami.



Hairlessssss
Heirlesssssssss
                       smiling.  

Harmless, but—
beware        o’ the      winter     m o n t h s
          For he is—
                         Cold…

Rigor mortis is afraid of smiling.
    He’s….
            An acid trip for the paranoid schizophrenic conspiracy moon landing grassy knoll 9/11 was an inside job the right/left control the media Dan Brown’s works have merit skull & bones society they put cancer in our foods men in black crypto zoologist buffs…

His smile; smiles.
His grin—grins.
Dresses             like a pine-tree **** … … S m i l i n g, smiling….
Brycical Aug 2011
The turkey-oh-gee, on
Isn’t the same
As turg-ee-ohg-heeee.

I chickened a buffalo.

Do moke smock in
The biff part this marks
The spot I’m not skipsing

This was longer ago.
Brycical Jun 2014
Last night
starseeds planted electric grids
dancing faye and other spectres glided
alongside
dancing dusk painters. poets. speakers. seekers.
lovers. sages. mage. warrior. shamans. stories.

I witnessed miracles most ignore.
Two shimmering light birds ignited the midnight--
new moon skies.
Inner Outer space beings danced with the stars.

Those at the labyrinth table return.
We seven beings weave light.
We close spaces.
We honor One Tree Nation &/of Mother Earth.
We honor Sky Spirit Clouds &/of Father Sky.
We open our hearts & third-eyes simultaneously.

Our spirit guides dance together,
totem animals play.

I am in awe.
Warm gratitude tears trickle down
my face.
Here, with these beings,
I am safe.
We are safe.

We are love.
thank you.
Brycical Aug 2013
If you watch closely,
even in stillness
some part of him is always moving,
a foot tapping,
fingers drumming--
eyes darting
mouth chatting...
his words spiral:

*Everything has a frequency,
you--me, he--she and even them over there.
Naturally,
some frequencies attract others
and we call that masculine and feminine energy.
Some try to label it and say
women focus on the details while men see things from an outside objective.
But others say the exact opposite
which in turn brings balance
which shows everything is nothing and nothing is everything.

In this way, life is confusing, which makes sense.

But you can't deny the frequency.
It goes beyond simply male and female, fish, rock, tree and so forth and so on and so on.
Every area has it's own sound, it's own vibe--
this core sound matches everything about that place,
from the buildings to religion.
Languages in each area have its own rhythm
to match the tone.
India and that area has the AUM,
Middle East has the prayer,
Asia has it's own thing and so forth and so on and so on.

You cannot stop hearing it once you do.  
We are connected through this.
That's why speaking isn't necessary
to connect with others. It's helpful,
but unnecessary.
Connection is when
gazes synchronize across the bar,
CHEERS
even when you can 'feel' someone watching
CHEERS
or there's a familiarity with someone you just met
CHEERS
or when a person stirs something inside
you are unable to not feel your soul flutter
or in your case, write things down.
Brycical Aug 2011
Tick              tock            tick
        tock              ­             tick        
                           tock

Moments         inside
the     room,       time        slows
down.


Muscles                 atrophy
       adenosine*                      floods
               my                     brain.


Tick                          tock                      ­  tick
        tock                          

                               tick        
                                               tock…


The                  air                      conditionin­g                 hums
   a                      lullaby                       and              I
          feel                            numb­.


The                   room          is                      darkening—
       I                    try                 to                      grab                something…


Tick    ­                    
                                      tock                      ­  
                                                              ­       tick

                                                           ­                                            tock.
*a chemical the brain produces to promote sleep.
Brycical Sep 2014
I see you standing in the shower
though you’re not there.
Your mind bends the air around me
as I feel your Aphrodite fingers on my spine.
But I’m some five hundred ancient miles away…

We can talk without a phone
or internet.
But that doesn’t mean
I don’t enjoy being chocolate croissant spoiled
in your presence, even if it’s digital.
But our heart-conversations
change my soul,
like boiling mercury
oozing light from my veins.
Our minds and hearts
converse over dawn cloud kingdoms
occasionally checking our infinite labyrinth basement
that doubles as a wine cellar.
Sometimes,
our conversations don't even take place in this century.

I suspect we make scientists
scratch their heads
with our psychedelic time machine babble.
Brycical Aug 2011
I watch dead birds dance
around the campfire.
Their chirps sound like thousands of years ago.

I can feel it working.

The coyote's rhythmic panting
conforms to my heartbeat.
Bedridden is given to the gods as a sacrifice.

But I need to find my body...

The warmth from the ashes and timber
combined with the midnight air
massages and entangles my hair.

The body I have is is fading...

My eyes are pulling me back
the wind hushes my cries.
The mountains weigh me down.

Breathing is no longer an issue...
Brycical Mar 2013
If I wanted to talk
about the hyper-spiritually-"honest" hippie roommate
who wears his heart on his sleeve and kangols
when he's working
at his cumbersome office
corrupting and invading the minds
of the masses to promote glasses, salad dressing
and laundry detergent,
it would take too much time out of my day
to point out all the hypocritical *******
this meditation obsessed wannabe "writer"
tries to passively fling on others.
He means well, but let' be honest,
all that dope he smokes
probably turned his brain to ashes
as the pile blew away some time ago.

Besides, I'd prefer not to talk about myself.
Brycical Jan 2013
-World's Greatest Fisherman
falls in love-

-Dinosaur corn sandwich-

-Battling babbling trapezoid mice-

-Green tea thieves are furious,
they accidentally stole Rooibos-
  
-A School Boy
shellacking shekels-

-I don't live
because I'm alive-

-Jesus on LSD sees Bob Marley-

-Something useful
becomes of this-

-A dog painted to look like
a Christmas tree drawn in the Saturday Evening Post-

-For a brief period of time,
nobody can in fact  remember which way is up-

-Same thing, only this time it happens
in the time right before Tesla was born-

-A mirror reveals what we look like
inside out, and a little bit more to the left-

-Vincent Price suddenly remembers
where he left his car keys in 1978-
Brycical Sep 2014
I hope that one day
everyone in the world has
had Stendhal syndrome.
Brycical Aug 2011
He looks like a kabuki dragon
acid trip, only on his left half.
After ordering some coffee,
this man, of intimidating height
continues his conversation with the blonde.

The green ink covers his face,
and slowly meanders to the left of his body.
Hairless, the glasses and earring
make his exterior look like a pearl.
As he talks with his hands,
the green moves like leaves in a jungle
that swallowed the gem.

In a single swipe,
his paws could crush mountains.
Both hands envelope the coffee cup
as if it were a tiny kitten he is leaning in to kiss.
Despite his brutish appearance,
I can tell he is a gentle creature.

His deep voice is soothing,
as each sentence hums  
though it causes the coffee shop to shake.
I wonder if gods sound like that
or if all the smoke this dragon man exhales
has deepened his chords.

I’m nervous this living mythical figure
will catch me staring,
though I’m sure it wouldn’t be the second time
he’s had to ignore it.
I’m envious, knowing his journeys
and personality are etched into his skin
for the world to see.
But only he knows the translations.

So bold,
so confidant to wear not just love
but pain and life-lessons on his skin.
Perhaps I’m drawn or inked to him
because I could never be that open,
and honest without saying a single word to anyone.
Brycical Sep 2013
Where do forgotten stories lay?
Perhaps a quiet, bleak graveyard with blank graves
as nobody sings the words from these pages nor
nourishes the barren brown dead grass ground with any praise.

What happens to a love once extinguished?
A self-sustaining universe expanded so much
all the stars snuffed and smoldered--life choked out
as once burning heat now colder than the dark side of a glacial moon
echoes in a vast dark void of blankness.

Can two diametrically opposed beliefs exist in the same room?
Or does bloodshed have to follow
because mind-numbing decibel blasting arguments
turn both mad with bloodlust rage until the one stabbed least is left standing?

Is it better for people to give a **** or clean one up?

Where's the best place to visit for people
who are ******* fed up with the bureaucratic
red-tape dotted line terms of usage world
but don't give a ****?

What's the difference between sports and Hollywood?

What happens to the truth when we've told a lie?
Is it like a battered and bruised wife,
bleeding from the nose with ripped hair follicles on the ground
or does it simply drink away the abandonment  on the rocks to forget?
Brycical Jun 2013
about pictures of bears without any fur, and they look horrendously terrifying. Like ****** space gorillas you see in poorly done sci-fi movies. Do you think panda bears are still the cutest bear without any fur?

I wonder if dragons get lung cancer from all the smoking they do. I'd rather think about a hairless panda bear breathing fire--it's jaws sinking into the underbelly of a mortally wounded dragon and as it starts munching on the dragon pancreas, it accidentally sneezes causing it's lunch to incinerate to ashes.

That's probably why dragons are extinct. Hairless panda bears donned armor, riding horses; questing to eat dragon pancreas.

They also thought amor prevented lung cancer. It was the middle ages, people or animals didn't have modern technology to explain diseases, let alone where babies came from. Except for dragons, and look at how their species turned out.   ****, I'm throwing my phone in the toilet right now.
Brycical Mar 2015
Banana splits lickedy his spican-and-span throbbing
peninsula clock jar.
The scar from his far faux **** ignited his beating
hexagonal calendar.
Which is used to peruse the jujubees metallic books in the public
libation crazy train station.
His ecstatic adulation exemplifies why diamonds are
a girl gorilla's favorite soap.
His floating cubed boat is on a remote desert
impala growling at the turquoise toilet.  
But his spoiled toys are annoyed about the choice between life or
demonstrative sponsored concerts by budweiser.
Woeful razor beaked birds marvel at absurd his Salvador
Daoist Dharma surreal cereal caramel karma flakes.
I do and do not own the rights to this poem that didn't exist until just now.
Brycical May 2013
We are children animals
singing
on the island palace
dipping our toes into the Nile River.

Birds  incessantly chirp
along with the rhythm of my pen
and the echo of your voice
we share the same simulacra--

        The music sways our bodies
   like a candelabra--
            We are dancing children,
                  solid ripples.

Smoke breath
       under palm trees
     the music cradles the shisha
      into blissful oblivion
      as we donate part of ourselves
      to the space AUM.

We sing peach energy
surrounded by history
and vibrant banana yellow
and pink lemonade foliage.
We dance with the wind
between our bodies
pull us closer
until the sunlight disappears.    

We are children animals
singing
on the island palace
dipping our toes into the Nile River.
Brycical Jan 2012
Decisions
are prioritized

Answers*
align

The mind
is focused

I am the hunter--
emboldened by the stone's *vibration

to prey upon my indecision
and apathy.
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