White, almost sustained.
Effortlessly painting picturesque pavements.

Dancing past, keeping beat
Really quick flicks of light
Always in tight procession. When you cross them,
What a wicked confession they make.

Tracing our paths, carving out journeys
How do we trust what we make ourselves see?
Especially when we're barely aware of our mothers arms.

Like webs weaving our worlds
Its like they unite and connect us yet
Never will they remain constant. So too, our
Existence is linear, and we create our limitations.
Segmentation, inevitably ensues.

Tomorrow
Lie the keys to
my success and all my sorrow
Try my best to save
So that I don't have to borrow
Incessant preparing
Daring for
Tomorrow

Tomorrow
Such a sense
of hope and expectation
Forgetting that today
is a way for celebration
A lifetime of waiting
Spectating
Tomorrow

Tomorrow
I'm a horse
And out of reach you are my carrot
Endless cycles
I can hardly stand to bear it
Chasing endlsessly
Too far to see
Tomorrow

It was a beautiful day. Some might say 'perfect'. Others would disagree, as they always tend to do. I say 'WAS a beautiful day' because as these words are read, the moments they describe have long passed. Not only that, as I experience these moments they immediately become the past, since the present moment is partly an illusion, partly our liberation. The only moment most people are ever able to experience in our dimension/universe is the present. Yet the very structure of time becomes the ideology that binds us most: segmenting and amalgamating to create a false perspective of continuity, but more detrimentally to us, of finality. Reggie Watts once sang that:

"We're only living in the memories of our future selves and its funny to think like we're here right now, but we never really are 'cuz we're somewhere in the future controlling the options, giving lots of hints to ourselves in order for us to understand that choice is still important in a world where we gotta figure some stuff out: yea".

That's a pretty consuming thought, but most don't even have the self-awareness to figure out the most basic concepts so hopefully, this alleged shift in consciousness better brings some swift wisdom to those it can and solace for those it can't. How did such dark thoughts come from such a beautifully perfect day? Because beauty is pain and nothing is perfect in life except perhaps life itself in/or the multiverse we inhabit (potentially). Always full of ups and downs like waves... of sound... of light... of energy... aka EVERYTHING! That's enough pseudo-philosophy for now. Take comfort in life's uncomfortableness.

Cyclical patterns
Spinning through eternity
Waiting for no end

"What's on my mind? The same thing that's been on my mind since our first blessed encounter... the day we met. There is nothing I want more, and nothing I wouldn't give... but not out of greed or lust or obsession. but out of pure and honest love. I want her... no... need her. She's the air that I breathe, yet now I feel so breathless. Poisoned by torturing pleasure, sweetened by blissful pain. She is my life." -Y.M.

Why do I cry? Is it because you'll never know? Is it because I can't tell you everything that's deeply carved in my mind and in my heart? Or is it because I know that even if I did it wouldn't make a difference?

For her are the tears that slowly roll down my face, gently resting on the corners of my quivering lips. For her are the countless hours spent reminiscing. Hers are my every thought, every effort and every intention of my days. For her is my breath. For her is my heartbeat. For her is my very soul. She is my everything, for she is all that I am and all that I lack. For her I cry every night. I have met my demise.

"Trying to forget her is like trying to forget vital functions... Forget how to walk, talk, breathe. It's simply not possible. So I stay here and wait. Forever if I must. Forever is a long time, but whats the point of living if it can't be with her? My heart will never be at rest until it is with its other half, even if it does take forever. Forever waiting for my life to begin. Forever waiting to complete my soul. Forever waiting to love you forever." *-Y. M.

Street signs, snow flakes
Twinkling in the darkness
Among All the Automobiles
Racing too and Fourth Ave
Burning through tires and caffeine
Under the influence of peppermint dreams
Can these be, nostalgic memories of a
Kaleidoscopic futuristic collective
State of being?

Relax. Take a sip. Don't lose your grip.
Unruly Howlingdays to follow;
Need all the free coffee and tea i can see.

Studio Time

Daily Grind

Absent Kind

Left Behind

Thought is Blind

Yours and Mine

Too Divine

Out of Time

And Place

And Mind.

Pain in the
***, little
Canine catastrophe
Oh, he growls incessantly.

There are always the faces that
Have perfect smiles and eyes so
Exceptionally wild and alive. Just a glimpse
Yet quickly they disappear.

Always taunting and teasing and
Reason my mind creates, fiction too
Extravagant to satiate in circumstance.

But as much as you fantasize
Every look into those tempting lies
Always show little to no result.
Unless this was a movie, no
Twinkles will shine, all rain inside and
I will watch as they pass by
Full of fanciful glee.
Unto them I glance and wish for a chance
Lest one of them look back at me.

"Carry on", the angel said
"Don't give up", she said to me
This voice stuck inside my head
Said it isn't time to flee.

"Just sit back", I heard him say,
The voice in red and black.
"Let it all just burn away,
For soon starts the attack."

From their lips the voices cried
Pleading for their score
Beside my neck at either side
These spirits fought a war.

The light side was enlightening,
Though difficult and long
The darkness short and tempting
Promising to make you strong.

The creatures pulled and picked apart
My body, soul and mind.
But bruised the most became my heart
Fearing all that's left behind.

They raged and danced throughout the night
And when the morning came
My choice still shone there, bold and bright,
Just waiting for my name.

Eventfully I couldn't choose
And ripped that fateful bond,
Afraid of what I had to lose
When gods they did respond.

Because I didn't sign the deed,
To earth they sent me back.
I could never fulfill their need
To pick a given track.

But for every choice not taken
A price there is to pay
Two pieces of me, mistaken
For the contract thrown away.

So now, I still hear voices
Can't decide if red or blue.
As I tore myself through choices
Now my soul  is split in two.

If you think me indecisive
Good or bad, I cannot hide.
Even if you act derisive
That's for you to decide.

Getting progressively less aggressive yet
Regretting regressive Tendencies while
Obfuscating observations never rest at ease
Wherefore in the hell am I?
Introducing revolution of myself and higher
Notions of positivity, hope and resolution
Getting better at forgetting, and accountable Black Betty

Oh darling, keep me going on and going strong
Let me know and help us show the power in the now modality
Duality of reality, uncertain inevitability, love is the language spoken by the best one.
Every mess another lesson, every action an int(erv)ention
Required equilibrium, balancing of harmony.

Occupying other spaces, distant times of contemplation
Ragged lines dividing nations, abundant labels redundant reservations.

Becoming who we think we are exeunt what we believe
Every step towards a tepid order of a shorter quarter pounder to the ground
Taking one's self life as validity, intrepid sense of depth wrecked by anonymity
Tirelessly questioning, ticking box for poor & war decorum
Either tired or sick of fricking chrysalis, yet perpetual metamorphosis
Rampant maturation, semi millennial cycles of illumination. Falling floundering freedom of(f)light.

One night on the web,
Reading unsuspectingly,
You found a haiku.

Overwhelming, though it is, forget the boundaries of time and space
How to do this, you ask? Having always already existed in the future and the past

These constructions will create for you a reality which
Regrettably is far farther to the truth than you’d think it would be
Aspire to be good and fight off the negativity you suppress
Not always does the problem lie in what others do
Start with yourself, and hope that others change with you
Connecting to each other, being free from any stress
Every little thing that your senses consume
Not truth but fiction, falsehood that your brain creates, with the
Dastardly destructive help of those who manipulate the world we live in.
Even after all the purity we were meant to envision, we are left with
Nothing but a sick manipulated decision: To fight against the darkness of our human entity
Create one harmonious global community, loving and achieving life as finally  free or
Exploiting yourself and others, giving into a temporary picture that will soon fade away

What should I believe?
Feeling, Thinking, Acting Strange
Neverending stress.

Flying
Away nauseous
Destined appendages existing
Especially cautious
Drowning

Fire starter, burning through the night
Like a torch symbolizing hope
I think it's more inclined to
Cause an arsonist kiss burns the throat
Kickstarting an endless numbing

You can try to stop
Or hope that more will make you sick
Underneath the cloudy shade
Resolute, essential little *****.

Barely noticed, one can see why
I despise these glowing eyes
Cause mine are red, and it blew out my cry.

Stuck inside a place of no return
Wishing I didn't want it all to burn (away)
Constantly searching for the words
Hiding from the self-inflicted opinion of the world
But the more I search, the less I have to say
And all I want is to fade away.

The feeling that there's no escape
That once you've sealed the book of your fate
Decisions made, and people paid
But none of it ever really changed.
Yet all of it will never be the same.
My old life, never seen again.

And even now I cry
No matter how I try
Looking at what I've become
No one else will see
The truth inside of me
Nothing left but feeling numb.

So right now what's left of me
Is this mess that you can't see
And the dark decrepit chills within my soul
The words they try to soother
But there's nothing left to move
I'm Immobilized beyond my control

Where to begin
How to start
All I have to do is
Take a breath. Go.

Say what you need to say
Highlight your main points
Oversee any changes,
Under and over with vocabulary
Let it flow through you
Definitely. Divide. Daft. Difference.

I think this is... I think.

Where do they lurk? Where can I find it?
Rather a difficult chore, it seems
I can hardly take it! No more!
Take me away! I almost... Just a little. I just can't....
*Eureka.

Savour them: the small moments
That keep us interconnected. Weaving
Over and under, through fulvous flows  
Permanently digressing through life.
Let the colours change, and with them, so too do
I change, slowing and speeding,
Gas to break, to give and take. Crimson default,
Halting finally, for a few brief moments,
Tension grows, but the world seems at peace, until
Sudden flicker of green, and back we roll into the machine.

This daze I'm caught under.
Constant. looping of days
Thrown together carelessly.
Eventually. Later. One day.
My eyes, heavy. Mind: weary.
Her eyes, so simple, familiar.
One is more than enough
Everything is making sense
freeing, understanding beautiful
Impossibilities flow through
me as I come to realize.
A proper education which
brings us together is the only
String from which we dangle.

Tonight, like every other
I invite you to fulfill this space in
Me, void unseen, creeping back
Every time I am distracted.

Feel free to tell me of your fears and joys
Or how you're tired of the lean young boys
Raving gluttonously over you, and I listen.

Simply, silently, like my soul
Like a bowl under a waterfall
Ever being filled by flowing life
Except never really being full at all
Please, dreams, bring hope and soothe my strife.
In the sweet and solemn sounds of silence
Now the only thing that lets me drift away,
Gut feeling that tomorrow's gonna change.

Like a cradle in which we
Are born, ever so fickle and
Nature never easy to pinpoint. Thoughts of a
Gargantuan proportion categorized
Under a spectrum of grammar
And syntax. Can you ever really
Get the emotion in devotion, or is
Every sentence just another incomplete expression of 'heart'?

It beats. It lives.
Simply as Y-O-U or I. Our unscrupulous baby.

Lazily, even the speaker of this (un)natural
Isolation of symbols and syllables can but
Frivolously transcribe with childish fervor
Every glimpse of wonder that appears before his mind.

Like a plastic bag,
Stuck on a branch, full of life,
Waiting for release.

The older I become, the more I realize how much I actually hate people. I mean, sure, I'm a person. But realistically, I must be some kind of over-developed species in comparison to the crude, superficial primitive people that accompany me on this plane. Just because the seat belt sign is off doesn't mean you HAVE to take off your seat belt. Are you really THAT claustrophobic that you must get up and go to the bathroom at the slightest moment that you are not prohibited to do so? Is it COMPLETELY necessary to recline your seat, knowing that this plane is small enough as it is? And maybe, just maybe, did you realize that I'm almost 6 foot 3 and feel cramped with no legroom without your drunk, fat, "tired" *** flushing common courtesy and consideration down the toilet and reclining your seat all the way? No, it's fine. Keep bumping into my legs, sir. Oh yes, ma'am, knock my elbow as I'm writing. No, mom, I don't care about that friend of yours who just bought a new tablet. I just want to drown. Drown in my music, buds shoved deep into my skull, immersed in the sounds that release me, allow me to escape, that lead me to peace. Line up, "humans". Go get your free samples of extra large over priced under indulged luxury non fat caramel double chocolate dipped deep fried newly displayed half price final sale no exchanges or returns *******.

I'll be here trying to live.

Right when I lost hope,
All the things came together.
Extra jazzy life!

I have very complex thoughts
Some which I wish I could
Transcribe and manifest into the world.

But why? When language is so phishy and fickle. This is not the Chrysalids although I wish it were
So that I could express the
Duress of my thought shapes.

Steinbeck was onto something, I believe.
A more connected more
Outlandish, unifying ancient
Form of being present in the future.
Engaging and increasing the
Proficiency at communicating.

Perhaps one day we will be
Inundated from senses we
Had forgotten or done away with.

For now, these words must but
Never will suffice. Seems egotistical
Almost, to make me feel nice.
Clearer view. On our way.

Apocalyptic thoughts
Interrupted by
Rogue fears
Packed in a tin can
Opulent suited bodies
Racing past me
Trying desperately to reach a destination.
Sigh.

Surely things will go well...
Unless...
Crash. Boom. Oh, no.
Knowing your fate is

Sealing it, to an extent.
Of course, you can never

Mention these things.
Under constant vigilance.
Can you calm my nerves?
Have you ever dreamed of wings?

Solemn is there ever enough;
Often if it's good it flies.

Many waste and lack appreciation
Under the influence of it's present
Condition. Others,
However are aware of it's fleeting.

Where does it go?
Always running off to infinity,
So perhaps we're all
Tied by one binding,
Eccentric mind flying through the
Depths of rhyme.

Tarnished moments gone, for which
I can never regret enough.
Maybe I'll just do it later.
Eventually, but all the other stuff...

I've never really realized it til now but, all my life, I think I've wanted to be a writer... A constant need to express, to story-tell, to stir emotions and make people think. But in reality, I suppose all that has ever stopped me was my laziness, the actual, you know, writing. So I guess you could say I'm more of a thinker. An idealist. That I have always known myself to be. Always debating, contemplating, overthinking, sinking into separate universes created in my mind. I guess it's my love language and need for attention that make me want to share the thoughts in my head.. Kind of pretentious, in a way. What makes my thoughts more important or insightful than those of anyone else? Well, not everyone can be a Wordsworth or a Whitman after all. But we can try to invent and create beautiful pictures with words in formations thought nonexistent, in the hope that someone other than our own conscious will find some sort of meaning. Hoping that our thoughts, although being unique, still connect to the soul of someone else. And that is the reason for it all. Simple human connection. Just, for once, not feeling alone in the universe.

Why are people in a ******* library?! Have you even seen the sun? The sky? The grass and the trees? So you're reading an atlas but have never been outside the confined limitations of your own mind. You study Astronomy but you tuck your nose between pages rather than lifting it high, admiring the stars that have guided us throughout the ages. These people who find comfort and meaning rather than just contemplating, admiring the beauty of a baby's cry for the simplicity of what it is or the power behind every single bead of blood or sweat, intertwining emotions into an ultimately human experience. You find comfort in your stories but one day you'll regret, when the only thing that's left of the sea and the bees and the sunset are the e's and apostrophes and alliterations that connect. Go soak it in. Why are people ******* reading about the world rather than exploring it? Slam it shut, dot your eyes, open your mind AND heart. Shine your light, give all you can give. But above all, wake up and don't forget to live, before those books of yours are the only ones who will forgive you.

Perhaps, they're better off.
I imagine such a meaningless
Genuinely free life, sudden.
Except the street rat has his
Own trump. We're so meaningful, yet
Never will we truly soar.

When you look, almost everyone you see, if you catch them off guard has this look of longing and contemplation on their faces. Those who are looking for some kind of connection in this illusory world. What they're really craving is a connection to forces beyond this world, something that would put them at a higher and supposedly better place. Those who don't seem to crave this feeling of unity, are too distracted by an abundance of ill-hearted meaningless connections, that they choose to ignore the actual oneness they are craving. Their senses are the only ones being stimulated and their minds and souls/hearts are willfully neglected. This is a reaction brought upon by the successful structuring and manipulation of humans away from their original inner potential and focusing on the meaningless mundane in order to insure subordination. We will always be longing for something more, something bigger, somewhere or something we all used to be and call home. Yearning for nostalgia, yet never quite filling the void. We have to break free.

Why do I feel so inclined to
Repeat what's on my mind?
I reiterate as if to narrate the
Tragic cruelties in life, coping with
Every emotional experience as if a
Rich man sharing his wealth with all
So that he can feel less empty inside.

Logic and reason take no place here
Astringent aspirations left behind
Mostly these sibilants and cacophonies take
Emotional, carnal nature and
No tongue can express correctly so
Thoughts linguistically link through superfluous paper and ink.

Soft, sweet, silence:

Sitting solitarily still
sinking, slowly, sadly in solemnity.

Quickly sour thee land and home
that's been stript and slashed and sewn

Redistribution of raw potential
Reappropriation of determination

Suddenly aware, light ensures
Yet darkness lingers evermore.
Unbalanced Harmony, everlasting
Necrotic neuroses, drowning water-bearer
Near nagging noise, feeling fulfilled.

Nearly nothing to conceive
Barely breathtaking belief.

Scattered.
Sunken.
Sign.

Can you see her speech?
Are you fully aware of her gesticulations?
Some don't notice, but
She ***** the life out of me
Always... prolonging... unnecessary... interjections...
Never fails.
Do you know how to stop her?
Round and round the world goes,
And you thought she was a quiet one.

Quintessential
Understanding separation
Avoiding proximity
Running
Away from reality
Nearly gone
Time flies relative
Instead of stabilizing it
Never carries out as
Expected

It's not even the construction workers' radio blaring or the dog walkers casually pacing. I'm not bothered by the birds beginning their departure, or the mourners contemplating their own. It's all of them combined.

Every sound sets me off, every life seems to annoy me. I can't even find escape in the deadest place I could think of, since the cemetery feels especially crowded today.

It's the leaves. They scatter and fall around me, quite the opposite of me: while they are technically alone, they always have each other, in life and in death, and even now as they surround me, breathing their last breath, they still dance filled with life as if death can be cheated.

While I truly have so many caring people in my life, somehow the empty feeling of being alone is inescapable. The leaves so innocent and timeless. But all they can remind me of is the fine line destitute between loneliness and solitude.

The cycle of birth and death never-ending. I sit here pondering on my vain vague thoughts: No matter how surrounded I am, I'm always truly lonely.

Even when I search for it, encircled by these bodies past and present, I try to picture my future. Yet even when I search for it, I can never ever truly be alone. Is that something I really want?

Not until I'm buried here will I ever truly know peace.

Sullen, sunken underworld
Underachieving overwhelming me
Not yet what I am
For who I am is
Largely at risk, rarely
Overzealous with tasks or
With thought or with speech.
Ever repressing the riot, cyclical.
Ravaging, rampaging, burning life.

Somehow, the tragic hero must
Excel, grow and develop, to envelop
Exotic, ****** nurturing rays of light.
Do you know how to feel alive?
Show me.

Once in the darkness happily frog of a spiritual nature. Headaches, backsprains, cars, trains Collie flower external forces from within keeping sanity formed and misinformed to be performed subconsciously.

Raspberry weather, all that can be, is: Fire chocolate, rainbow water, scatter, skittle, settle, spatter, paintings in mausoleums and brush strokes on duck motes. Even thus can we free dumb consequences of restricted criteria, enforcing secluded measures of claustrophobia. Phoebe is Ross or Rash from a diaper is for there from the English Chandler over a river flames. What Radio is Fred Astaire or brave ***** Wonka? For how long it can procure the inadeptability of such a matter in which verbosity and vernacular are viscous and volatile while futile fusions ensue. Sad days continue before the end of the finish line which is really just the beginning of a midsummer nights mare or stallion? Which is washed and which watch blotch can stand out from under the table and dreaming?

Come to me quickly for my seagull is being engulfed by a Mexican oil spill taking up my drinking air craft carrier of water. This is the dawning of an age, the page, of an Aquarian agrarian humanitarian race against time and line and mind in space. There is no end. Only the lettuce that grows under the marriage of devil's advocate and illiterate angels flying above our beds.

What can be now. It is so. For today is merely a shadow revolving through light so tinged bright it can eliminate need for an incandescent city. Please save me. Be me. See me. D3. P.O. Box 34012101 I won! I...
I'd like to thank the academy.

SUR-REALISM                                                                              --


                                           ---

                                                                              -----manifesto

Tail lights, bright nights, endlessly
Right turn wrong turn left, right?
Almost there, never really anywhere
No place I feel at home, too many
Sleeps in suitcases, senselessly.
Perhaps the beeping is just my
Open heartbeat bleeding and the tires
Rapidly spinning and screeching are just my
Traveling feet, thoughts of nostalgia, and repeat.
Always packing, unpacking. Forgetting and lacking.
Traffic, erratic, it flows, it slows... Listen
I'm not telepathic but the sporadic
Overdramatic driver behind my wheel foreshadows:
Never will I reach my destination.

Jimbo is awesome.
This is a poem for him.
A haiku, rather.

Oh
How it has overtaken me

Slowly. Creeping;
Only I can speed the process.

****. I do.
Always faithful figure,
Daunting and a before dawn thing
Except not. Tired but
Don't never change. Ever?

Cross contamination
Offensive origins
Restless revivers
Observing order
Never necessary
Always afflicted
Vague value
Implied intrigue
Rampant reclusion
Understanding unity
Stay safe

Of all the things I value most,
Never do I forget the importance of
Existing within love, within light and
Nurturing ourselves. Be the change, breathe it in
Especially if you want it to transform you.
Secretly maturing and attuning and connecting to all
Separate forms of self are all the same and time is but a game we play.

I especially believe that to reach our full potential we must
Strive to surpass that which we are.

To be able to escape our little blobs of amber, we must
Help one another understand that these small glimpses of
Experience are just fragments, chapters of our true existence.

Kick the egocentric self goodbye, focus on what is not in front of your
Eyes. Don’t accept that this existence as our peak, otherwise
You’ll let illusions of reality lead to our defeat. And so it goes.