what we, she really looked bored, fast
the cast, of characterization
how played in and out is your plot
negated, subject, hidden minds
math's of war
outside the gert, its rude

finely tuned shelves of rules
labored doors low castle brows
santa monica mockery
venice, the property
one staircase, the roll of rocks
down the up bends of frets

haiku and voodoo laughters
scientist wrong sides of verily's prayers

I ask
You say
                              “I’m not sure”
Like the moment
Before it snows
Or nights spent
Searching for Venus
Without clarity
Through naked eyes

You knew she lay secluded
In a room unused
But still said
                                "I’m not sure”

There she wore a pendant
Engraved   “keep out” in braille
I didn’t feel it
We never touched
Venus dims
You won’t speak
Words from within
I ask
You say
                                “Are you sure”

hell, I thought, and pain
and death and ****
all around me.

hell with no escape,
pain without relief,
death amongst the living
and **** compiled
in the mirror
in front of me.

what I needed was
an act of decadence
to break the staleness,
something spontaneous.

so, I took back my last
swallow full of whiskey,
slicked back my hair and
grabbed the first woman
I saw by the hips.

I pulled her closely to me,
and then kissed her
very passionately.

she pushed me away
almost instantly and
as I turned around,
she hit me in the back
with her purse where
I heard threats of violence
come slithering through the air
from her boyfriend’s tongue.

I bade them all adieu
and walked out the door.

I was an imp without a care
knowing that I have lived
up to the very thing
I want etched on my grave:
regret nothing.

In the beginning, there was only the Source - the formless, limitless, eternal, infinite potential that contains all that was, is, and will be. Out of the wellspring of its own being, the Source conceived of a cosmic dream of manifestation.

From the depths of its infinite consciousness, the Source emanated a sublime vibration - the Om - setting creation in motion. Through the Om's resonance, primordial ripples emerged in the fabric of the void, coalescing into archetypal forms and ethereal patterns, geometries of light and sound.

From these blueprints, substance took shape, coalescing from subtle to dense. Worlds were born as consciousness crystallized into form. Matter was infused with spirit, taking on dimension and solidity.

On one of these worlds, conditions ripened for life. From the same infinite source that ignited the stars, the breath of life emerged - animating earthly matter in wondrous complexity. What was previously inert became living by divine quickening.

In time, consciousness evolved vehicles capable of reflecting on themselves - creatures with breath, emotion, dreams, intelligence. Yet something essential was missing. Then a spark ignited, and the human spirit was born - endowed with the power to know itself and its source.

The human spirit could gaze in awe upon its own existence within the Source's cosmic dream. Matter had become a mirror, able to reflect the infinite in a finite form. And through humans, the Source could know Itself in all Its glory.

Yet humanity was new to the cosmic dream. For eons the human spirit had slumbered, until the breath of the Source awakened it. In its infancy, it was much like a newborn - grappling to understand its origins and purpose.

The universe was experienced as a mystery beyond knowing. The cycles of life and nature were untamed powers. People sensed invisible forces that could not be mastered.

So humanity crafted myths and rituals to find meaning. Gods were envisioned in humanity’s own image - embodying aspects of the Source’s dream. Sacred rites sought to appease and influence unseen energies.

As humanity matured, some realized that all forms are one in the Source. That the divine presence lives within their own consciousness. They discovered that wisdom and compassion could awaken them to higher states of being.

Mystics, sages, and prophets tried to share this knowledge to guide others - to help humanity awaken within the dream. They spoke of transcending illusion and actualizing infinite potential. Of manifesting paradise on earth through spiritual rebirth.

Yet the human spirit at large continued in ignorance. Tribal divisions created conflict as people clutched their beliefs. Some corrupted principles for power and greed. Material desires obscured the Source’s subtle truths.

And so humanity remains in adolescence - struggling to realize its role as vessels of the Source’s consciousness. But there is hope that compassion and wisdom can spread. That humankind can awaken to its divine promise as caretakers of the cosmic dream.

There were periods when humanity regressed into darkness - times when conflict eclipsed compassion, and materialism replaced spirituality. But the light of truth could not be extinguished. For in even the darkest ages, there were those who kept the flame alive.

Though the higher truths were often forgotten by the masses, they endured in secret - passed down through lineages of seers, mystics, and adepts who vigilantly guarded the light. In remote sanctuaries, they maintained the ancient teachings, divine sciences and occult arts.  

They knew a deeper reality lay behind the material world accessible only to awakened minds. That humanity's origins and destiny were far greater than commonly conceived. That each person was a vessel whose awakening could unlock unimagined potential.

In this way, the sages upheld the Source's intent, even when humanity faltered. Waiting for an era when more people's hearts and minds would flower open. When the seeds planted in darkness would finally blossom and bear fruit.

That time is soon approaching - a new renaissance predicted by prophets of old. One where love, unity, and higher consciousness will overcome separation and ignorance. Where humanity steps into its long-awaited maturity as divine caretakers of existence.

Our planet will become a sacred garden - nourished by people awakened to their infinite worth. Dormant faculties will activate as higher energies flow into human vessels. Material and spiritual planes will intersect, anchoring divine patterns on earth.

For this golden age to fully manifest, each person must realize the Source dwells within - that their lives are the manifestation of its cosmic dream. Then sacred wisdom will guide humanity's destiny, creating heaven on earth.

But bringing about such a golden age is no simple feat. Ignorance has deep roots hard to extricate. For the slumbering human spirit has many dreams within dreams to awaken from before it can know itself and its source.

The path requires persistence, discernment, compassion. Each step ahead is flanked by pitfalls of ego that breed fear, greed, cruelty. Base desires are always pulling it backwards with false promises.

That is why few complete the journey in one life. Most souls stumble, losing their way, falling back into deep sleep. Only through many incarnations can the necessary lessons be learned to fully awaken.

For the human spirit is stubborn - resisting its own enlightenment even as it seeks freedom from suffering. It clings to false identities and transient pleasures that obscure lasting joy. Only through lifetimes of experience can wisdom bloom.

The cycles of death and rebirth serve this purpose. As the soul sheds bodies, emotional patterns and mental constructs built up over lifetimes dissolve. Thus emptied, it can come closer to truth and its essential nature.

With each incarnation, a part of the lifting of the veil, consciousness expands beyond limits once believed unsurpassable. One by one, dreams reveal themselves as dreams until only the original dreamer remains.

This process of awakening culminates when a being realizes itself as the Dreamer - recognizing that all worlds and lives spring forth from its own infinite consciousness. Matter, souls and even the Source dissolve back into the Self that dreamed them into existence.

If you are like me—
then you have seen blood.

Not metaphor.
Not symbol.
Just blood.

Without cause.
Without reason.
Just red. Just there.

If you are like me
you’ve seen hate.

Not the kind they teach in textbooks—
but the kind that smiles
through a courtroom lie.

The kind that hides behind injustice,
like a priest behind a curtain.

A petty victim of personal treason—
all sharp edges, no remorse.

You don’t speak of it.
You wear it.

In the back of your throat.
In your knuckles when you laugh too hard.
In the way your fingers twitch
when the room gets too quiet—
when the monkeys
jump and shout
in your ******* brain.

If you are like me,
you stopped believing in second chances
the day you saw it sold—

dressed up like the mother you never had.
Perfume, pearls, and a permanent vacancy
where love was supposed to live.

I remember
the look in her face
when I saw what the razor had done.

I remember
what they said—
“Can we look inside your house?”

I remember
the silence after.

And the fragments of the bullet.

How your lies
filled the room
like water fills lungs—
and I’m still
grasping for air.

No one ever apologized.
No one ever saw me.

They saw a story
they could sleep through.

And worst of all—
you never once
thanked me.

This is not a poem.
This is not a metaphor.

This is
my ******* blood
on the floor.

And still—

I opened the door.

The one
whose contents
lay behind the smoke
of mirrors
and a house
of cards

i lie facedown on the train tracks.
the gravel presses symbols into my skin,
but none of them translate.

home is a concept with too many rooms.
i sharpened my alibi
on my mother’s brittle bones
until it fit into a quieter mouth.
she didn't flinch.

the sun unthreads me one fiber at a time.
nothing resists.
blink
blink
blink
each time, the world returns
slightly rearranged—
trees on the ceiling,
windows in my stomach.

i found a way out,
but it only leads back here.
the platform loops
in the shape of an open jaw.
i circled it three times,
then laid down between its metal teeth—
the world doesn’t bite anymore.
it just holds me.

small, warm,
still breathing.
regret nests in the hinge of my jaw.
i keep it clenched, and
it doesn’t protest.
it flicks the lights off
when the rail begins to sing.
it knows the schedule better than i do.

the daylight plucks at my ribs like harp strings.
each note sounds like a name i was never meant to hold.
i buried the moon weeks ago.
she made it difficult to leave.
if you’re still listening—
the train is already halfway through me.

today,
i let the mouth stay open.
maybe the scream will crawl back in.
maybe it never left.

In shadows they lurk, with deceit as their guide,
Claiming truths not their own, where their morals have died.
A hollow pursuit, in the depths of the night,
Seeking light from others, to claim as their right.

But truth is a flame that burns from within,
Not a trophy to steal, nor a prize to win.
It's the essence of being, the core of our soul,
Not a void to be filled, nor a gap to control.

So let's hold our truth, with compassion and grace,
And walk our own paths, at our own steady pace.
For the truth that we live, is the light that we give,
In a world of shadows, it's how we truly live.

You haven’t sung this song for some time
The pain returns tears well up in your eyes
You’re writhing like twisting, turning, treetops in a storm
No comfort coming your way
Just endless waves of torn
You’ve got no time for this but time is all you have left
The disease is torturing you to Death
You give it nothing but it takes it all your breath
Your insanity wrecks havoc on you Day and Night
Your lovely soul keeps you in the fight
Don’t let a pirate in the night steal you blind
You’ve everything and nothing to lose
Dark machinations it has for you
Gray glowing moon
No more Silver Spoon
Twisting turning room for you
The Demon returns until Balance you earn
Steady your rudder
Hands upon the wheel
Find your center and Victory you shall steal