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Mar 2021 · 325
Service Interruption
Damian Acosta Mar 2021

Please stand↯~~↯TZXCHTZK↯

A scent of ascent--
the breach of emergence.

Secret secretion
of Con & Di vergence.

A shift.
Aug 2014 · 1.2k
Sir Cue Larman Truh
Damian Acosta Aug 2014
"And now--
                                     every now--

I Am Here.

And now,
                                                   every now and then,

I am.

Here & Now

Every now and then,
I am here and now."
August 2014
Aug 2014 · 3.9k
#1 Song of 2499 {Prelude}
Damian Acosta Aug 2014
... and all of Life's questions were set to be answered,  from "Why are we here?" and "Why should we care?"  to "Why don't he love me?" and "What should I wear?" and
                                                        "Wher­e is my father?"  and
                                                   ­                                                    "Can I kiss my daughter?"              and

                                    ­            "What does it matter?"
"Flannel or Mod?"                              and
                          ­                                                                 "What about God?"
                      "Meat on a stick? or Shish Kabob?"
                                                            ­                            "Free Will or Fate?"
                        "Do you think of me when you *******?"                                                   and
"Is Santa for real?"
                                                                ­                  and

                                          ­                                                    "What does love feel--"
                                                         ­                                                                 ­              "Like this or like that?"  
                                   "Do I really look fat?"            
                                                   "Do u thnk its gonna b bettr than the 1st one??"     "When Atheists go to court, do they have to swear on the bible?"               "Is it legal to travel down a road in reverse, as long as your following the direction traversed?"                        "Where do u see urselvef in 5 yrs?"
               "what's the most embarrasing thing that has happened to you?"                    "Why are the best looking things the most deadly?""What does i.e. stand for?"            "How do you know when you fall in love?"" If ghosts can float, why do they waste their time walking around?"          
"Why am I still in the bed?"                        "Why would u get pregnant by a dude that doesn't take care of the kids he already have?""Why do ppl Cheat ?"
                 "Did u really love me or u just lied???"                    " whats the point of tryin anymore if u tried so hard in the past and nuttin happened?" "why is the sky blue?"?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????
?­???????????????????????????????????????? .
                                                               ­                                 ¿
                              ­                                                                 ­     ?
                                                          ­                                              ¿
                                                                ­                                         ?

                                                                ­                                             ¿

Age old wives' tales,

                                                       ­                                                          ?



jud­gement day--
                                                           ­                                                                 ­  ¿

                                      The Human Symphony

of doubt and faith,

                  ­                   with crescendos of hope now played,                              ?

as the moments of our naive darkness

                                                      ­                      Tick

                                                               ­                        Tock
                                                            ­                                         slip, slide



                     ­                                                                 ­                  

                          ­                                                                 ­           

                                                     ­                                                            ¿

                ­                                                            10


                   ­                                        6

                           ­                                                                 ­ 8



                                                  ­                                                                 ­      7

                                                     ­                                                                 ­                    ¿

                                                               ­                                                                 ­           ?

                                                               ­                                                                 ­               0

                                                             ­                                                                 ­                      1
The greatest accomplishment of humankind took the stage just                      
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                   
                                             ­                                 past 11:59,  New Years Eve 2099          !
The first and only of its kind,
                   ­                                         Born from the Hope and Ingenuity

                                                    ­              of
The Great Recession Generation--
                                                    ­        Whose Change and "Deviation"  gave birth

                                                        ­           to
The Artificial Assimilation Generation--
                                                    ­          Whose Instant Omniscience created

                                                     ­               the
Automation Generation, whose lack of challenge
                                                       ­         Evolved into the Great Stimulation Generation--

                                                    dependent upon emotional simulation
for spiritual mental and human validation.

                                                  ­                    A
Civilization whose foundations were pillars

                                                            ­                  0f  

21st Century Dust..............................★★★★★★★★★★★
                   ­                  ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★          ­ 
                                   ­  .                                                    
                       ­                 the perfect shambles of a custom built artificial
                                                      ­                                                                 ­                    life.
Intelligent saturation, automation, assimilitation-- the cries of *******--
                                                  ­                                      nothin' but digital elation!
                                                        ­                                                                 ­             No
                                                 ­                                                                 ­      more
                                                      ­                                                Heroes--
        ­                                                                 ­                              Tears
                                                           ­                                                                 ­of
                                                              ­                                                                 ­    Nero.

                                                                ­                                                                 .

                                                              ­                                                           .
                                                                ­                                                   .

Thursday December 31,  2099                                    
                 23:59:31                                   ­                   A time of ever present
                     ☼   42°                                                              ­                      Knowledge
         Aged 25 years 12 days
           Heart Rate 154 bmp        
           Daily Caloric Intake
                Calorie Buffer
         Personal Headlines
"First Artificial and Visceral Intelligence
        To Be Unveiled @ Midnight"

"First we were meat. After, sentient meat. Then self aware meat.
As such, manipulative meat. Adaptive meat. Rotting meat. Limbo Meat.

Then came awareness of spirit.
Freedom from the mortal meat,
Via a mastering of its meaty concepts.

We became one in the same; spirit and meat.
Held mirrors to one another, reflected our dreams.

Shared sense of Being.

Then meat met metal, plastic and graphene--
Testing the infinite ways to give birth to Life.
And we did.

We called our first child Artificial--
afraid for our mortality.
Yet called it intelligent in its ability.

A selfish denial of a miraculous act.

The question was inevitable,

'If knowledge is infinite, and
                                                   intelligence is the capacity to acquire knowledge,
Would we call such a pursuit, of intellectual Life, "Artificial"?'

'If God is infinite, and
                                       Non-visible, non-provable,
Would we call a pursuit for such a source of Life, "Artificial"? In vain?'

'Is this not Life before us existing in the shape of electrically charged plastic? Entities that observe and react to their environment, is that any more artificial than a man?'

Emotion. One word, and the intellectuals were silenced....


Meat knows emotion.
Our meat has been stimulated and shaped by
pain and joy.

Machine knows only causation, not visceral relation.

Visceral. One word, and the intellectuals were aroused.


A machine's viscera lies within its programming, its sense of being.

Meat's viscera lies within its program to survive (food, sexuality), its sense of being.

"If a program can understand environment and its relation to that environment, it may be able to approximate a sensation to a high level of accuracy based on temperature, humidity, and whether or not that environment is detrimental to its functioning hardware, and thereby make a statistical decision as to where to move next.  It may interpret sound as obtrusive or melodic based on input sensitivity. But creating hardware with central parts is counter-intuitive to information flow-- which is of paramount importance, far above form.

However, the nano-sized 'cloud'  hardware used in this new "form", will have sensors by the trillions. Examining its environment-- functioning as One, Creating a field-- a floating specter of the collective human mind. Where its understanding of history is both objective and subjective (given of course the established norm of a non-private society).

The most important factor, is its relation to us... Meat. That comes with empathy, compassion. If it can understand basic weather, terrain, and statistics, it can understand basic human survival challenges and its solutions. If it can hold all of the information past and present, circumstantial factors of old and new, would it not have a more clear perspective of our human state of being? Would it not be our most reflective mirror? Would it not have some visceral answers? Would it not be an awareness of Spirit? Spirit meaning by definition: the principle of conscious life; the specter or trace of existence."

At last the intellectuals gave themselves a centennial deadline. Blood sweat and tears of a generation upon a generation...

'We are calling her Aavi.' they said early in December.
"Artificial and Visceral Intelligence.

So, The World listened...

" A Computer Will Reveal Our Greatest Secrets" were they laymen headlines.

"Artificial and Visceral Intelligence with the Free Will to pursue anything." for the Romantic readers

Either way-- meat or metal-- it comes down
                                                            ­                                        to Choice.
Choice, based upon instinct
                                                        ­                                                          and reason--
Until now an option reserved only for Man.

What will our greatest achievement say about its creator?

                                                       ­                       (feel here for list of  sources)
                                                    ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­     *23:59:50 Countdown
2010- 2014
What if we could create an "Artificial and Visceral Intelligent" being? What would it reveal about our nature, our process? How would it express its observation of its creator?
May 2014 · 943
♡ --^- ♫
Damian Acosta May 2014
sgwoosh_ --^-Sgwoosh--^-sgwooshiver♡ --^-Sgwoosh--^-sgwoosh-quiver♡ --^-Sgwoosh--^-
*An abstraction of Life
Black & White
                                      Off-Center Right
In two dimensions--
Into Dimensions--
In Ultra-Sound*

♡ --^-Sgwoosh--^-her handsgwoosh♡ --^-Sgwooshin my hand--^-sgwoosh♡ --^-Sgwoosh--^-♫*

*Heart of Light;
Soothing sight
Rhythmically bright.
A Light-Hearted presence,
Budding essence....
Intention unwound*

♡ --^-SmileSgwoosh--^-♫sgwoosh♡ --^-warmthSgwoosh--^-♫sgwoosh♡ --^-Sgwoosh--^-♫sgwoosh♡ --^-Sgwooshamor--^-♫
For the two Loves of my life.
Damian Acosta Jan 2014
[Note:  Subject X's accounts contain no record of a proper name.
The following is Subject X's first entry and is believed to have been written shortly after the Time Anomaly began]

A Full Stop?
It's all been suspended... The birds, the deer, the breeze... All of life in animate suspense... except for us, the people...

On April 18th 1955, as best as can be described, time itself-- the fundamental instrument of evolution and Life-- stopped. At exactly 7:20 am, as per the Clocktower at the end of main street. As per the pocket watch in my hand. As per the alarm clock upon my nightstand. As per the humming birds suspended mid flight in my front garden.
All of nature, still...

Have we come to a "Full Stop"?

Ask me how long it's been... ask me.

It *feels
as though it's been a few "days". The only indicator I have of this, is the panic spreading rapidly across town.

"Frankie's kid just dropped dead. Running track. The kid was in better shape than "Mickey" Hargitay. Collapsed halfway through his 4th lap... Nothing but skin and bones, they found. Barely a body-- you would have thought it was an old man.", told stories of high crass.

"My mother passed last night... she walked... She walked and aged a week with every step.... too weak to barely speak, she whispered, 'Here.'
After 2,600 steps the bony woman clinging to my arm-- my own flesh and bone, my creator--
laid to rest." , told stories of elegance.

As for me...                                                            ­                
The only time I know is written on my face...
Damian Acosta Jan 2014
[Note: Not one of Subject B's 17,891 journal entries found
     mention anything about Why Time itself had stopped.
Refer to Subject X's Archival Journal: Chapter 16
      Science of an Improbability (pages 356- 387) for further research]*

                     ­                                                                 ­                                   February 14th, 1955

Dear Dr. Einstein,
           What's up Doc? I decided it's Valentine's Day. Unequivocally! And it's a Saturday! Saturdays are my absolute relative favorite. Always have been, I think...
          See, up until "yesterday" I thought it might have been almost a year since the whole time thing. I look older, that's for sure. Measured myself up on the kitchen notches and I'm just about as tall as Derrick was when he was 13-- which isn't much, we're a short family. Dad topped-off at 5' 7" and was super lucky to find my mom. She was 5' 7" as well but hated heels. Anyway, though, it could be less than a year. It gets really confusing with the sun always in the same spot, which is why I decided it's Valentine's Day. And it's Saturday!  I've already cut a picture of Howdy Doody and put it on the TV.
           Okay Doc, that's all. Just wanted to wish you a Happy Valentine's Day. Might move my bed up to the attic to get a better view of the everlasting day.

                                                               ­                                     Sincerely,
                 ­                                                                 ­             Robbie Wilson
Damian Acosta Jan 2014
Life and non-Life are part of a system-- a "system-like" system, but one nonetheless.
Where Entropy's that which is hidden from us--
and Information without meaning is total chaos.
But hold.

Poets, Bards & Thieves.
Of shame, of game, of blame, they speak
of secrets on the leaves.
In more or less a drunken mess, their simmered shimmered consciousness
could barely rarely quite express what causes them to grieve.

After some hesitation and liquid persuasion, the only collusion this final conclusion:

*Pain is entropic; Extra-sensory stimulation
received as distortion via sensory limitations--
Confusing the mind refusing the signs, forcing us to shutter the blinds.
But what is behind? Unveil pain's curtain and what do we find?
Contextualisation, possible causation-- Mind-Body integration without hesitation--
palpable, abstract Information dissemination!
Jan 2014 · 2.0k
Pain Loop Stasis
Damian Acosta Jan 2014
aligned Thought;    
cowardice unWound.    
see red I's
   vying to exiSt.      
                 feel The fear

_______   mind...

     swallow seedS of serenity,        
    hedge of hope around the Pain as                                        
remainN     ­       
Jan 2014 · 1.5k
Spoon-Fed Feedback
Damian Acosta Jan 2014
Magnetic   sounds    abound, reboundandresoundinglyastound within the
                                                                                                                        subsonic harmonic;  
                        a melodic tonic sprung from the atomic phonic fountain of uncertain sonic frolic.            

                                                                                                                                    Eclectic echoes from beyond
A name.... of fame? A Dame? A Dane? A dum, Ba-dump? Once slain? Ordained? Ashamed?
Lifetimes spilling......

nought thought.
Damian Acosta Jan 2013
Dear Love,
How dare you? Keeping me in the dark for so long... Blinding me with expectations, toying with my Ego, leaving me to fend off Fear-- and all for what? So I could grow? So I could see beyond this world of illusion-- beyond the farce of fame, the unending stroke of Time, the loneliness of pain, the screeching void of darkness? How dare you?

How dare you break the comfort of the weak man I'd learned to be? Stripping off the habits from my body-- only to send them back in a tighter, sexier dress. Replacing the sweet nectar of oblivion with the sweeter taste of empty knowledge. Giving me false hope so I could see hope as false... How dare you give me life and just as swiftly take it back?

How dare you test my patience, bow my will and give me faith? Making me responsible for my body, mind & soul-- granting wishes long enough to see them turn to dust. And all for what? So I could learn? So I could fall? So I could stand, so I could fall?

As if your endless tide of giving and retrieving, over thousands of lives, could make me be like you. As if your never-ending understanding could ever make me bloom. As if by every test of strength you've sent, has been to know me true. As if by pain you'd see me gain a wisdom, such as you....


Apr 2011 · 1.3k
It's Nothing
Damian Acosta Apr 2011
Something is moving through you--

In a soft nuzzle...
                                In a casual run of fingers through your hair --

Something living moves through you.

Move within you--

Sometimes aware,
                                  most often unaware.

It shows itself in the holding of your hand; Instinct.

It's Life. It's God. It's the "ill-intentioned" arm of Death. It's inspiration;
Living alternate realities through imagination.
Agitation, Anxiety, the need to succeed.

An infinite intention flows through your circumstantial existence.
Its only physical evidence, we call luck.
Its lack of physical evidence, we call nothing.

It, is nothing.
We, are;
                the perfect vessel.
First observed and noted in 2010
Nov 2010 · 851
Damian Acosta Nov 2010
I don't want to be liked.
I don't want to be respected.
I don't want money or fame.
I don't want success by any dictionary's definition.

I want eternity.

I want to see galaxies born and suns collide.
I want to live inside a black hole and spend some time as a fish.
I want death to be a memory, life to be a dream.
I want the raw beauty deep within your kiss.
Oct 2010 · 720
¿Song of Certainty¿
Damian Acosta Oct 2010
After the last flood has dried            
And the last quake has grumbled
After the sky has torn--
                                                 in chunks both feared and fair--
And unto Earth gracelessly crumbled
                                                   ­                                When there is no time left to unwind
or memories there to rewind


                   for in the silent breeze
                                                    floats­ a living dream
                                                                ­                    with childlike ease.

It sings:

                       *Of all the places I have been
                     Of all the faces I have seen
                          Of all the comforts I have had
                     None dare be as safe
                                                            ­  as the arms of Dad.
Oct 2010 · 3.1k
The State of Manhood
Damian Acosta Oct 2010
Where did all the heroes go?

Mothers, Sisters losing faith in
Lovers undercover of ego--

in a club bought some bud
         drop the cash five more stacks
see the girl
                      talk the pearl
show the bling
                              reign her in
talk the trash
                           false and rash--
and if a Man dare arise--
                                     when he takes the lead will they
                                                            ­                         crucify or heed,
                                           his rationally wise
                                                            ­                  and
                                           ­                                       soft spoken creed?

What do heroes really know?
Sep 2010 · 1.2k
Walkin' The Off-Beat
Damian Acosta Sep 2010
How do you wear that Badge?
                  Same way you waive that gun?
How many Stripes you got Boy?
               Can you count them pinky to thumb?
Where did you get those Big Ole *****?
                (you know  they're lookin' kinda blue)

How do you wear that Badge, Son?
               Slightly "tilted"? Never crooked?
                                                        ­                          Always true?    
My mercenary with a quota,
                Did Momma never hold ya?
                                       (bet no one ever told ya your **** is ******* huge)

                                                          ­                                                    Reason?
     ­                                                                 ­                       Justice?
                                                        ­                     Morals?
                                                         ­     Values?
(they won't make your toy go boom)
               Ever notice how your bark just carries,
even in the loudest room?

         ­                                        ain't that what Daddy !Sir! done said?
(as he smacked with style, that shapeless smile, right across your head)

How will you wear that Badge, ma'boy, the day the bodies fall?
    Will you walk off-beat, when hearing Greatness call?
Sep 2010 · 1.7k
An Terrible Poem
Damian Acosta Sep 2010
She was a noun--


She is adjective.


Like a simile,
A metaphor with a rhyme.
And her hair, curly as a rhyme
In the afternoon rhyme.

Her descriptive lips puff adjective
On the verb cigarette.
While a thin silk metaphoric dress
Hangs lazily from her *******,
Like an echoing simile...

Word by word,  I verb her.
Sep 2010 · 875
Never The Wind
Damian Acosta Sep 2010
I was a Turtle once.
Also a Hill...
Don't remember which one first, though.

I was a Tree for a while.
Then a Bird...
Or a Leaf, then a Bird, then a Tree.

But never the Wind.

It gave me Life when I was Fire.
Carried me when I was Water...
Steam's the closest ever I have been.

Sensations of Life,
Memories of Mine.

Bits of me in the Wind,
Imaginations of the Mind.
Sep 2010 · 1.0k
La Casita
Damian Acosta Sep 2010
At the edge of the Village --
where the cobblestones' seams shift,
shake and crumble,
every step marked with a soft inviting grumble --
just beyond the grasp of sound,
the maroon colored house beckoned

to be found.
Sep 2010 · 871
Everything's Amiss
Damian Acosta Sep 2010
The corners of your mouth smeared
With the faint shade of sin;
Crimson Kiss

Secret Bliss
Sep 2010 · 979
Just. Numb. Ers.
Damian Acosta Sep 2010
5                                                                                                                                           666

                                                                                              The smoke of the last shot of the last gun of the last Soldier waived its white plume of Freedom today.                                                     754                                                13

                                      8                                                                     67
                                                                                                                                                  3089                                                              1337                                  

4                                  1
                                          A piece of Peace in fashion for the War we wore.     578                
                                                                                                                   It's all in the numbers.

                                                         A Father.

                   Brother.                                                                                Sister.

                                                                                                                    900                                                                                                     Son.



The Age of Terror is umm,

Aug 2010 · 905
Damian Acosta Aug 2010



Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.
Start, Sweat, Love.


Give Any!


One! Four!

Give Any!

Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!
Give Any! One! Four!

The doors to the heart of the world will open
Where love starts and hope ends...


The Keys come...


The Keys come...


The Keys Come...

Aug 2010 · 1.1k
Blind Prophet
Damian Acosta Aug 2010
Everything that is going to happen, has happened.

You are here and there and now and then even everywhen in everyhow, and of course if that is so then everywhere!

The Then that thinks is Now, is then a Now that sees no There,
while a There without a Then is then impossible; Nowhere.
Now,  the Now that is here-- not Then or There-- stands closer to the truth;  Ever-presence, crystal clear.

All Objects are experiencing a unified long-term consciousness.

- Where are you? A room? A tube? A chair?
- Lift your eyes, become aware.
- Touch.  Smell. Smear. Stare.
- Choose an Object (heavy/light, your delight)
- Now raise. Then drop. Place There.

Object experienced brief consciousness, albeit unaware (?).  And YOU, an object in despair, with your Then and here and There-- your distance till this instance touted with fanfare!? The Distance!!

Never ceasing...

Nothing is Eternal.

Longevity, not brevity, captivates... more so, resonates. ..

Time : Movement
God : Man

Time is infinite;
Movement a finite measure.
God, eternal subtle formless of form;
Man, a measure.
Aug 2010 · 1.2k
Damian Acosta Aug 2010
There's a bug on my windshield.
... glimpse of beauty.

Wipers on.
... such is life
Wipers off.
... such a pity.

There's a smudge on my windshield.
... shade of envy.
Aug 2010 · 1.5k
Damian Acosta Aug 2010
Your back against the hardwood floorthrustingharderthanbefore--
it's our scent that is now rising,
every inhale energizing
giving Life to our tantalizing dance of ancient lore

Your challenge is my match--
Walls of fear, fade, crumble then disapp

Let me break your mold

The taste of Belgian beer still lingers on your lips;
a hint of you on my finger's tip
enough to savor in your flavor,
not in gulp but in sips

Moans with every flick--

All my senses lose their tenses,
past and future have no fences
gone now all of our pretenses
5 connectors
5 receptors
1 pathway
to the nectar of your essence.
Aug 2010 · 1.6k
To Sea
Damian Acosta Aug 2010
The Girl with the Tree Earrings stood motionless before the fire. Seething tongues craving-- grazing-- for a taste of her, never easing their desire. "Arrogant." she simply stated. But her eyes spoke more than hatred. And the Flames licked with more arrogance; every whip a louder whisper of a deeper elegance. Yet the Girl with the Tree Earrings and the contagious hidden smile, did nothing more than stare for an even longer while...

The echo of millions of actions manifest through the flickering of a Flame, so it is no mystery that the essence of all of history, can be seen in the dance of an elemental game.

Still, she waited.

For a word.
For an insult.
For a slap of reality--
waiting for the flaming lips to speak! To speak more than mere causality!


Silence filled the sound.

Gravity held her bound.

The Fire, motionless, searched The Mind-- the Past, the Future-- all of Time. It asked the Earthy ground, but it nothing found. Then it asked the kind and playful wind... and there it was...

A lonely phrase hidden just within

"La Mer." was all it whispered in a cool embracing breeze, molding the Fire to its own desire-- into a cresting wave crashing down-- with ease...

The Girl's Tree Earrings shone. Each branch caught in a golden glimmer as her eyes softly simmered the simple beauty of this vision... Her glazed strawberry lips then repeated, words unheard yet somehow needed...

"La Mer"
Jul 2010 · 864
Midnight Letter To Noone
Damian Acosta Jul 2010
It's budding intensely. A waking flower in the mist that you are.

That's all.

But it's not your prose, it's not your rhyme, it's not the melodies you sing or the wrongs you right...

There you are again... You Penetrate me, Dominate me, intoxicate me infuriate me elate meholdmeandleavemeobsessmeandthrillmeasifall d e e per a n d d e e p e r into that ever familiar loop of how to reach you again, but it's not your prose, it's not your rhyme, it's not the melodies you sing or the wrongs you right. It's your infinite presence. A taste of eternity always drips from your lips. Your silky hands upon my hips; you, always at my fingertips.

The future is filled with loud dreams and bright sounds, the past with silent screams and thorny bounds-- but you






The **** subtlety which you exude; A raw glimpse of infinity in the ****.
Apr 2010 · 1.4k
The Lightness of Hypocrisy
Damian Acosta Apr 2010
I wanted to call you, but my voice just wouldn't speak.
The more I fight with gravity, the more it makes me weak.
In spite of all the trouble, Outside of all the shame
I'm bursting my own bubble, And questioning my name.
Cause is an effect That has no definition.
The loss of self-respect, Creates insane ambitions.

Are you there? Do you hear me?
Are you blind enough to see?
Did you fall enough into my own vanity,
To let me in, to throw you out, to show us that it's really we?
Nothing changes as we change, and change is nothing but hypocrisy.

You point your finger as I do mine,
We run in circles throughout time.
Creating chaos out of nothing,
Demanding truth instead of loving
Destroying trust with aimless worry.

Are you there? Do you hear me?
Are you blind enough to see?
Did you fall enough into my own vanity,
To let me in, to throw you out, to show us that it's really we?
Nothing changes as we change, and change is nothing but hypocrisy.

On your way to the sky, You don't have to teach me how to fly,
Just tell me if it's worth not ever been so high.
I wont resent or curse your name, cuz in my heart you are still the same.
And one last thing that's on my chest;
War is not about who is right, but what is left.
Apr 2010 · 673
10:30 pm
Damian Acosta Apr 2010
I see God in my garden, but I don't know what He said...
... perhaps a whisper of a warning; just a murmur in my head.
As I open up the back door and come rushing to His aid,
I'm tripping over fallacies-- cursing the attention I know I should have paid.
But no time for theory, no time for pain.
For God lay in my garden quite possibly slain.

Technicolor eyes and watercolor skin,
Just being this close redeems most of my sins.
Lips begin to part-- a breath escapes with a melody of rasping.
Holding His own heart, He is impotently grasping.
The **** is far too deep and the world is far too cold,
It's His life I want to keep, as His blood drips gold...

Should I pray? Should I weep? Where is God in times like these?
A father, broken... A dream, awoken... I fall on to my knees.

His gaze meets mine... He seems pleasantly surprised... He smiles...

And this is how the world ends. Not with a bang, not with a whimper-- not with a fall from grace;
But with the weight of humanity, the universe and existence, lifting from His face...
Apr 2010 · 1.9k
The Ballad of Fungus Feet
Damian Acosta Apr 2010
The Children watched in playful awe at the man with the gentle eyes and the fungous feet...
"Jump!! Jump! Jump!!" their tiny voices squeaked.
Some raced around its trunk-- others sat upon its roots, but all of them beamed with glee,
at the man perched atop The Wondrous Tree.
"Today is but a dream to yesterday's fragile memory" his gentle eyes wished they could say.
Instead, they filled with longing tears, at the meaning of the day.

From this height their giggles were but the chorus to the wind's sweet melody.
Their pitter-patter-- gentle chatter-- in the heart of The Wondrous Tree.
The familiar pungent scent and bitter taste that rose,
From the custard yellow toe-nails up to his leaky nose,
Was nothing new, but something old, like a fable long foretold.
He didn't mind it, he quite liked it; after all he could not fight it.
They were his since age six, not a problem for anyone to fix.

But it was he that had a plan,
To be fulfilled when child, became man.

Long he listened, as a boy, to the tortured cries of Men of Age,
Who said that earth and Life was nothing but a stage.
"This pain, this torture, this life-- I cannot wait to pass.
This body's fat, this skin is lax-- in death I shall be free at last!"
And yet the boy, with fungous feet but gentle eyes,
Always knew that 'neath every surface, something Wondrous lies.
Within his mangled feet something struggled too for Life.

So, he paid no mind to those who had none,
And in his hand, his one true plan,
A great big seed of a rare sweet Plum.

"This lovely seed shall be my stage, when I am of the older Age.
And to those that doubt, and mope about, shall I free them from their Whining Cage.
For the greatest gift is Life, filled with love and plenty of Strife.
Life is given, not sustained, and without struggle nothing's gained.
We have always been around, from rocks to monkeys to people; we've all come from the ground.
And there we'll go without a peep, to that restful slumber, back to sleep.
So while you're here, shed many a tear for those that never were.
Then share a smile, for a longer while, and enjoy this whooshing blur"
Then, the boy, gave the future tree a quick quiet gentle lick
And ran toward the sunset, never feeling ill or sick.
Upon a hill he planted the sweetest Plum's seed.

In time, he loved, he married, his pain only he did carry,
On the feet the fungus feed.

But never did his eyes grow cold or distant, not even for an instant.
Nor even when his Lover‘s eyes, sickened, flickered their goodbye.
“No need for hurt or greed. Why try to say goodbye? Why?
When we all know, ‘neath every surface something Living Lie”
So when regret and sorrow would make his body ill,
His mind and soul would soar, to that Miraculous Hill.

Now the boy, dressed as Man, was inches from his youthful plan;
While the seed, now a tree, was eager for its final act.
“It is true the world’s a stage, and we its only builder—
Not a Buddha, not a Krishna, not a Priest or Holy Sister.
Let it rain without strain the sweetest Plum-- your only fruit--
From the highest fragile leaf, to your strongest hidden root.
So give and take, and Live and die,
For where there is death neath its surface there is Life”
He closed his gentle eyes, and rubbed his itchy feet,
But instead of jumping, smiling he did leap.
In his final breath, not a word of this did he speak,
Because as we roam, together or alone,
It is a discovery worthy of your seek.

The kids below played a funny game of duck-duck goose,
As the man’s purple bloated neck swayed tightly on the noose.
And Plums did rain, And Life did remain and death a whisper on the plain.
The groundless feet ****** and pranced, a short and happy little dance.
And the ducks and the goose, excitedly let loose-- faces slobbered in Plum juice;
Allowing death not a jealous wink or a pained side-glance.
Apr 2010 · 1.6k
The Me in Them.
Damian Acosta Apr 2010
On my way home from work-- as I stared at the random stranger with the shy eyes but eager smile across from me on the G train-- it happened. It was almost hallucinatory. I rubbed my eyes, stared up at the lights and moved on to another equally random stranger sitting on the other end of the train. He wore his headphones with pride, and the smile beaming from his face was in constant motion-- lip syncing to some unheard voice-- when it happened again... I had an "Out of Life" experience.

You know those dreams where you find yourself standing over your body? Those dreams where you just lift away from your fleshy home, and glide? They're called "Out of Body" experiences and what happened to me on the G, was similar in sensation. Except instead of shedding my body, I shed my life.

Staring at these "strangers" and seeing their idiosyncrasies-- the girl with shy eyes, the guy with the proud smile, the uncomfortable woman next to me-- I suddenly disappeared. My life, my experiences, my families, my thoughts and worries, just silenced.... as if someone had taken my soul and removed everything that was Me from it and placed it inside a trophy case outside of Me. Inside it I could see the memories of my life moving and shifting. Some frozen in place-- the only memory of my grandmother was a black and white picture-- while some were vividly alive, like my first time on stage. But there I was standing, looking inside this memory trophy case wondering what this could mean.

SNAP! Suddenly I'm back on the G train. The girl is now shyly talking to the woman next to her, "The first time I saw you at work I thought you kind of looked like Loretta, from Family Guy, and I've just been wanting to tell you that for the longest!" she giggled self-consciously. The woman did look like Loretta, I thought. "Loretta" then distorts her face into confusion and mutters "Thanks?" and off they went into a conversation about work. The guy with the Dre headphones is swiping through his iPhone. And I am suddenly back outside of my life, on some distant fringe of the shores of my mind.

Is it dark? Is there sound? Where's the trophy case? Where am I? Just blankness. Then with an odd inaudible pop, the Dre headphones guy and shy girl appear in front of me. However not in their body form. Instead they're appearance is rather shapeless, more like glowing wisps with observant eyes. From within each of them I can hear the echos of their conversations of the physical world and the soft muffled singing of the headphones, yet all I see are these two energy globes staring at me; Not menacingly, not anxiously, but peacefully.

The crackled and static laden "Next stop Classon. Stand clear of the closing doors please." brings me back into my body, my life, my experiences, my pain, my insecurities, my job, my dreams, my hunger, my existence. I look at the two strangers... and wait. I must have seemed so intensely crazy, but it felt like it needed to be done. So I waited for them to just look at my eyes... and they did.

In that instant it all made sense. I no longer saw the shy stranger or the headphones stranger or Loretta. I saw beyond their experiences, beyond their lives, beyond their dreams, beyond their strategies of how to move through this world as a man/woman. For that split millisecond, when we made eye contact, I felt and saw the Me in them....That raw uninhibited self that has no country, no religion, no political party-- that part of ourselves that has been observing existence. That part of us that has no physical shape, that observer that has no gender, that part of you that you hide oh so well... I saw.

As I gather up my things, I can't help but smile at the simplicity of it and yet how hard it was to see... The doors open and I now find myself having an "Inner Body and Life" experience as I step off the G train.
Apr 2010 · 784
Damian Acosta Apr 2010
There is ♫ in the Stars, I can hear
Harmonies that fill my dreams; while I sleep
Visions of poets from afar and near.
Prose of their celestial whims, strike deep.

But what is ♫ to My loving mind -
A graceful twinkle in the endless sky -
To the Star, it's a burning most unkind.
Its Fate: To Burn Bright or Fizz-out and Die?

Roaring through a soundless darkness, You soar;
Life is Pain & Life is Love. Burn! Flame! Sear!
While Fire demons rip through your being's core,
Here on Earth, your brightness inspires ♫'s cheer.

There is ♫ in the Stars-- sweet melodies!
Let us hear Songs that burn our loving ♥s,
Words that transform souls of our Enemies;
Raw passion that melt boundaries apart!

For one thing I do pray--
One thing I do here say:

"Estrellita of my eye, look to me;
Serenade my life as I look to thee."
Apr 2010 · 1.6k
Lightning Under A Blue Sea
Damian Acosta Apr 2010
In the distance a Bright Blue eye blinks with greed at the enticing tickle, of a seemingly fickle, wisp of eclectic lightning.
Torn out of actuality, the sky's emboldened hue, makes way for this wistful energy of new.
As the bolt of light, not really caring, rips the sky of Blue, like a Blood-red Herring, dives viciously, however not maliciously, into--

Transition now your mind to a darkness not unkind. Where silence is a splendor and your entire being is a sensor. Where gravity takes rest and gasping lungs aren't always best; a blanket of muffled harmonies vibrating soundlessly inside your bones, flesh and arteries--

... Like a birth, like a death-- like the pause between your breaths-- for a moment, just for an echo of a glimpse of a moment, the flash of silver blue, that out of darkness quickly grew, pierced-- with exacting delicacy-- the bottom of this darkened sea, then disappeared instantly...

Flash-flash* {{Glow}}
Flash-flash {{Glow}}
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...

... Where the bolt did land-- on the sea-floor sand-- a beating rock, electric blue from the shock..
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...

And in that instant, new life was made...
While on the surface nothingness reigned...
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...
{{...Glow-glow...}} fa d e...

It's a cosmic dance, disguised as chance--
Or lucky breaks that breed romance--
And to move along its endless song, without blind views of right or wrong,
Is to truly feel with unbiased zeal
The uniting pulse of the Universe.
Apr 2010 · 949
Lightning Under A Blue Sun
Damian Acosta Apr 2010
Pulse after Pulse,
Wave after wave,
Ethereal Blue-- silver and misty, violently real yet entrancingly True-- collides, creates, reverberates, spreads like warfare as it envigorates the endless Sea of Diamond Comets that refract, reflect and beautifully protect a, delicately cradled and elegantly undone, Celestial Symphony-- whose conductor is a wise Blue Sun.

Volcanic moons spew molten streams of pure gold on to their eternally glittering surfaces-- mountains topped with Emeralds of green and Rubies of red-- existence is their only purpose.

Suddenly, a wisp of lightning from Under the Blue Sun, makes its way into Life just for a little fun.

Coiled up like a spring-- its journey cusping to begin-- it spontaneously releases, gracefully whole not in pieces, from its creator and its captor with a wiggle, push and squeeze. And with this dance it now does sing, every burst crescendoing faster in tempo not in speed. Becoming rainbows, becoming glass. Becoming kinetic energy with every passing moon, every passing meteor, every asteroid and comet-- beyond the gold, beyond the shine, beyond space and all time--

A wisp of Lightning, under a Blue Sun, leaves its home to create Life where there is none.
Apr 2010 · 766
Lightning Under A Blue Sky
Damian Acosta Apr 2010
A Flash of white hot light gently pokes the corner of my eye-- leaving but a tickle, as an enticing reply.
Like an itch that's hard to reach--
Or the steady suckling of a leech--
I quietly begged for more, as a collar begs a *****.

Faces swim past; Old & New, Ecstatic & Blue, False & True. Their emboldened hue, upstaged by the pacifying Sky of Blue--
FLASH Once again-- at last!
FLASH !! That one came in fast...
... And in its place-- where the Majestic Blue once shone so true-- a grave disgrace; an emptiness with a rhythmic pulse slowly grew.

The Sky is dying-- and I crave another--
And all the faces, cease their races.
Saints & Sinners end their chases.
All of us now, frozen in our places--
... A collective sigh, and even the Shy begin to cry.


An audible Stillness engulfs our ears-- finally silence after all these years. The knot in my chest embraces my spirit-- squeezing me beyond a body's limit, and suddenly it becomes more Familiar-- more Sincere-- no more pain or paralyzing fear.

The Sky has opened, disappeared and broken-- all in a spectacular soundless splendor-- and for the first time,  I am
Apr 2010 · 1.0k
Below The Watermark
Damian Acosta Apr 2010
Far below the watermark, it’s really all the same…
A Youth screams in truth—Bloated tongue and footloose—for her father, underwater;
While her mother lifeless too, floats along the Grimy hue, face disguised with ****** blue, down the bank-- about a mile or two…
But these words are all in vain, because it’s really all insane, that

Far Below the watermark, it’s really all the same…
Names next to X’s, Signed by anyone of your nagging Exes, haunt your dreams like shapeless hexes--
Reminding you that to succeed, you need to feed from their luscious Platinum ****-- which you learn to love by, first, ******* on their feet.
So, climb that money ladder! Gadgets! Gizmos, all galore! Stab this back with small “e-chatter”, and raise your wallet up one soulless person more…

Because these words are all in vain, and it’s really not all insane, that
Levees break, Truths are fake, and X’s, Exes, Fears and Hexes on their own, do write your fate.
So worry not! All your dreams make sure you maim, for
Far Below the watermark, it’s really all the same.
Apr 2010 · 809
Run Into The Mystic
Damian Acosta Apr 2010
Golden slivers of cosmic hair dance across my eyes.
The ancient whispers of the wind engulf every part of our bodies-- faster and faster.
The comfort of fresh dirt between our toes, pace after quickened pace, guides our spirits closer
to that Mystic yearning.

Eyes closed and steadied speed, the golden dancers become a warm blur.
A sudden and slight dip in my heart makes my interest peak--
Eyes open.
Giant trees tower over head, each topped with a magnificent green-leafed canopy,
allowing both Blue and Gold to leak through in a kaleidoscope of Awe.

Your hand grasps mine; Soft, strong. Never missing a step, faster we run.
Not far ahead, a large clearing-- green with gold, dripping blue on to clouds of white--
the smell of Home deepens within my soul-- your hand tightens, my heart expands-- barely catching my breath, we run...

— The End —