Our color theme
rejoicement
in each other

we won't use names

it's this and this
and this and this

we'll show you all
with paints and
adornments

we'll point
and laugh
and laugh
to make you smile!

a mother bird taking care
of her newly hatched fledgling,
raising her with love and regurgitation,
and a gentle, inevitable push out
of familiarity

everything the baby bird knew
shot up-away, as

she was thrown,
she threw herself,
and the earth pulled her
into a world of novelty and insanity
and energetic love of change.

the baby bird flies to
her young fledglings,
ready to love and regurgitate,
and gently push
with love in mind
and flight in sight.

Passion
free from falsities,
untethered by tragedy,
unhindered by corruption,
untouched by treachery,

Passion pure
free to roam in awe and wonder,
eager to explore in hope and desire,
amazed to discover love for and from,
enveloped by Bliss

Immersed Emerged
Swimming in new renewed

Stuck in a tar pit,
A black hole in which I sit.
Sighs, cries I can’t swallow.
Streaked, pale yellow sorrow.
Whining and wiping,

Pity’s hand pulls my head back until
Truth easily sees my stomach.
She grimaces, the tears that crawled
Past cheeks and lips are molding.
They have eyes and fingers that

Poke, ****, pinch, and pull apart potential passion.
Pity of the mind sets the mindset.
I can’t see past the four feet tall walls,
My neck strains to see above infinite,
Poor me, poor me.

we sit next to one another
and discuss
the pointlessness of everything

however

what's the point of pointlessness?

We play
and
we play the game

why not care?
Why not enjoy?

We can use a million words
to argue
to debate
to justify

or

we can smile
we can look in each other's eyes
and hug true hugs
we can climb trees and each other and dreams

it's difficult
it's painful
it's sorrowful

but

it's so much fun!

I do so enjoy
the pointlessness of pointlessness!

Breathe, calm down, sit, what happened?
Your eyes are twitching,
Their color, it's switching.
Fear, joy, surprise?
Tell me, what is your demise?

The rays enveloped my eyes,
I drifted down, down into
That tunnel. Gold sparkles and
Poison silver in the air.
Are there goblins waiting, doting on
The scraps of my batted eyelashes?

The monsters, though,
They're bumpy and glow.
Green smiles beckoned and flirted,
Giggled and grinned,
Eyes winked and cheeks pinked.
Spiky hearts of jelly dominated the city.

Offered and given
Blue-brown daises and frogs, small kingdoms and bogs,
Rotted maps, never-ending shoulder taps,
Starched butterflies and broken cats,
Grass blades that cut clouds and dirt mounds,
Drowned fish with no fins, humans without sins.

Stricken with panic when
Asked for by King Gink,
My hand were misplaced.
My fingers desperate, grasping, crying,
For anything'd be better
That meeting the devil.

King Gink bid his men to **** the Cat. "Pick off all the ants, and
Feed them treats, bits of paper and sweetmeats.
If they succeed, I will take Alice as queen."
But the ants were too fat, too satisfied, and died.

Triumphant and vengeful, the Cat kidnapped me Without panting or pause,
Cat zipped off his skin, revealing
A mask remarkably like yours.
A devilish grin and a snickering sneer,
it was you, it was you!

Stop! Let me go! I swear, I swear,
I swear the umbrellas are birds, and that red burns!
Don't sit on that chair,
A porcupine left his spine there!
It's not as it seems, I'm not who I was.
I'm melting, I'm melting….

Breathe, calm down, Alice, you're safe now.
Mr. King Gink is in jail,
The cat put to sleep.
Not one more frightening thing.
Now, lay still, this won't sting.

Imagine a twin, a copy, a clone, if you will,
A rendition.
Inclined to think more than talk while you talk a lot.
Eyes blink in sync and blush the same pink.
Take her by the hand, your hand, witness, in reflection.
Reflection.
Paint your desires and preferences on her.
Think.
What will ameliorate me?
Me revealing me.
Mirror yourself, then look at the mirror.
Feel, see the differences,
You think you hate yourself,
Original face green, bulging, crinkled,
Spiteful, ugly, over-analytical, unlovable, wrinkled?
No.
Mirrors never show how other people see you.
Adorable, attractive, warm, honest, loving.
What exists of you?
No carbon copies, no pictures could bear
The weight of your beautiful, playful, blue glare.
Clones would collapse, too high a bar to reach,
Astound, heartache, rain-cloud eyes, cherished,
I am your ears, I am your heart, I am you.
 
With you, for you, because of you,
 
I love you.

Finally, I am able to open my mouth
And Breathe
Without tension or stress.
No longer must I hold my breath and tighten my chest
And conform, appeal, or impress
The expectations, vanities, and stupidities
Of certain personalities.
Now,
I progress.
I have tolerated and waited,
Filling up the quotas issued by the blind
Outdated, unknowledgeable of the strife,
Of how many times we have broken down
And forced ourselves to shuffingly, reluctantly
Gather our pieces with disconnected, searching hands
And red-rimmed eyes.
For our will was to continue
Playing the game to be accepted into
A bigger game that offers
A paradox
Of freedom and responsibility.
I ordered the pocket-sized portion so
My portable paradox will have never have to leave my sight.

Said the poet-wanderer,
'Hear the bee inquire its complexity,
Hear the mountains yearn for their mother-star,
Hear the human heartbeat sync earthly rhythm,
Hear the lovers defeat the ego's aloneness,
Hear the aging, hear the ignorant,
Hear the sight of the infant blind,
Hear the charcoal moan into shade and image,
Hear the flowers revel in their beauty,
Hear the exquisite childish laughter,
Hear the dying, hear the born.'

Said the poet-wanderer,
'Hear your self whole, nothing torn.”

“Thou art forbidden,”
He said, pointing to
The ominous, looming giant of a Tree
So frightening, yet we feel hints of intrigue.
But no, no we are prohibited,
Fenced in by paradise,
Fenced out by fear.

So, in our young life,
We averted our eyes.
We hurried past the Tree,
Anxious to please,
Walking briskly to the Trees of Faith, Belief, and Fate,
Brittle and weak of trunk, but of pleasant leaves
That produces such a pleasant shade
From the glaring heat of the high sun

You and I gestured and gesticulated,
Attempting to justify which tree of the three
We should use as a home.
We grunted and groaned, shrieked and moaned our dispute
And, I, in a primal huff, stomped away
Eyes blinded by frustration.

I was wholly incapable
Of reason, of sight, of sound.
In a whirling state, I stumbled.
On a root of the magnificent
Forbidden Tree.
I gasped.
There.
The source of rebellion against
Everything He taught me.

Jaw set firm, fists clenched,
I marched up to the nearest offering
Defying condition, against instinct,
I lifted my hands.
I reached for the Forewarned Curse.

I bit into sin.
Its juice burst onto my tongue
I desperately and eagerly
****** the newly revealed flesh and
Realized bliss,
Passion, tragedy, and fury,
Oasis out of chaos.

How could I have thought that this was paradise?
What vice ignorance holds!
What horror forbiddance harbors!

Oh, oh, I can Feel
My hands,
I can Feel,
Think, and
See.
I can finally Be!
What exuberant joy!
I must share, share these astounding epiphanies!

The branch that saved me still bounces and shakes,
Deceivingly resembling a sort of snake.

Oh, my love, my universe,
I will save you, I will uproot you from stagnation.
For I am now
The Venue of Truth.

Even the Sun darkens
With sorrow
And hides under her fluffy, white covers
From time to time.

Oh, I can't wait until we can paint clashing colors on our neighbors' doors,
leaving love notes in star-shapes, saying ha ha ha ha, We love you!
It's okay because the paint comes off when you kiss your love
and appreciate the sky and nod to your reflections in the night eyes
and fall in love with someone's mind.

But only then, only then does our message enlighten.
It's our life purpose to brighten your slacking eyes and to inspire you
to smile at the trees, to make eye contact with the homeless, to give flowers to strangers.
Blow bubbles, blow kisses, wink, and embrace!

Oh, I can't wait until we bury each other in sand,
Oh, oh, I can't wait until I can smooth all woes walled into your forehead.
To count your freckles and draw my dreams on our bedroom walls.

Oh I can't to wait to put olives on your fingers, put olives on your fingertips,
Because you have silly tendencies.
Don't let jealousy convince desire to worship ice cream cone gravestones.
When you bite your lip, don't eat pennies for at least a while.

Oh, I can't wait to play hide and seek with our identities and fidelities.
Oh, I can't wait to gather basketfuls of hope and lust.
Oh, I can't wait to hunt for honeysuckles and trust.
Are any sapien sexuals willing to step forward and comfort me?

Because I can't wait to see you again.
But, I can wait, I can wait, because
We blow each other kisses.
MWAH!

What a small world I live in,
Or, rather, how small it seems.
The motivations & intentions,
The disguises & identities
Seem infinite in their variability.

To fearlessly connect beyond
What is seen,
Is a cinch & a hurdle
Simultaneously.

10/20/12

I was talking with the stars one night,
just as every night,
about existential concepts and other nonsensical things.

What is the reason for distance?
So you can feel emotions, so you may connect with matter.
So that you may be able to understand
the awe-inspiring essence of existence.
So that you are able to exist.

I was talking to the stars one other night, and I asked,
“Why does anything exist?
It takes so much energy,
It's so much work for anything to exist.
It's not necessary for the oceans to teem,
For the trees to flourish,
For the birds to fly,
For the humans to love, hate, strive, and live.
Wouldn't it be easier for the universe to not exist at all?”

The stars laughed merrily and replied,
“And where would the fun be in that, you silly American?”

I distinctly remember
wearing mostly white when we were together
and it was clear I didn't want to wear white when we were separarted by 3000 miles
so I didn't
now I wear white happily and I wear pinks and greens and blues and purples all the time

I have a lot to do
pack a box
pack a suitcase
write
record music
paint
make a one last goodbye to the people I will miss
and I have to get up.
Busy busy hummingbird

Turn conscious grey hues into feuds,
Spin white and black into monsters of
Ambiguity and undeveloped negatives,
Mix colors of depressed clouds,
Brush the bound stolen hairs drenched
In blues against the mind’s reflection.
Distort reality, manipulate memory,
Exploit experience, maximize emotion.
Look at the soul of the masterpiece-
Magnificence personified,
Beauty and surprise epitomized.
Never have my eyes been blinded,
Reminded by thoughts’ image mirrored.

As I sit and feel the warm sun,
as I bend and breathe,
as I hear the avion flirtations
throught the daffodil lament,

I absorb,
like a smiling sponge of incredible size,
like a leaf adrift on the ocean's breath.
I write,
like the searching ponder,
like the probing wonder.
I think,
like the white lotus sighs,
like the rolling hill-fog sunrise.

To explore, I dive, I climb, I lay.
To learn, I rest, I trip, I fumble.
To love, I touch, I kiss, I see.
To live, I do, I am, I be.
To write again,
Finally,
Brings
A flood.

the flash of lightning
stalked by the rumbles of thunder

What from his efforts
Do we seek?
An unwanted wink,
Unnecessary hinting,
Increasingly unheeded,
Ceaselessly conceited?
Never fail to pity the male,
For feminine wiles avoid and
Prevail.

Escape only the truth,
Walk sideways blind-sided,
Put your hands to your eyes,
No one can get a little armadillo.

As long as you are at the center of the earth
Or the edge of the universe,
Hell will never enter your existence,
Your experience.
Once, flaws embrace, sin sought with haste,
You can reject disgrace, attack commonplace,
But all were misplaced,

Without a trace.
Disappear.
Without fear.
Now,It is worth anything.
Other than avoiding fate.
It is never too late.

Face the sense evidence:
A blade of grass, a tender touch, a slice of sky,
One piece of sand holds billions of lives,
However fleeting, however insignificant,
All unending, all replicants.
The warm sun embraces your face’s unstable, tedious nature;
The earth steps on you as erratically as your feet follow you instincts;
The wind refuses to help you succeed in life
Except for a nice breeze;
The stars shine for your hope, for your passion
But they flicker.

The universe is relative –
Shocked crystal glass shards shared
Among the blissful crowd abusing the floor
With their tranced feet and ceaseless beat.

Or
Blissless Hypnosis,
Soul lost, listless,
Embracing shears and splinters
Of sneers and tears.
They merely bicker and snicker,
Trade fingerpoints and lies,
But forgive in time-
Who can bear to live alone?
And so, they retreat,
Return to the white strings of
Existence;
They compete
On who can fabricate a better
Phantom sheet.

Or
Slash the shoelace ties,
Fraternal, maternal,
Return all the beats, rhythms, revisions,
Riffs, myths, cysts.
Live on inflated lifeboats shrouded in mist.

Your haunting, taunting dark amethyst eyes with
Decorations of admiration exist:

As strong as –
As special as –
As much as –
As harmless as –
As constant as –

A grey, limp piece of neck string,
An empty swing,
A melancholy molecule of water dripping,
A monarch armed with thorn swords on its wings,
All of the things
Arbitrary and inconsistent
As existence.

The universe laughs at individuality,
The stars sob, pitying those persistent dancers
Who stomp their feet on sheets of glass.

The hypnotist smirked,
Phantoms never could resist the redundancyOf hell.

The light was unexpected
Frightful
Its debut was never foreseen
Arbitrary fear
She is unable to open her eyes without
Fear of the light’s departure,
What is the dove never flies again?
Or the wind ceases to soothe?
Of the bars of her rotting cage
Disintegrate
But her eyes don’t understand that
She is free?
The cage remains
Indefinitely defining immobility,
Self-suffocation
Hands frozen around her face
And all she is able to see is
Her broken reflection
And him, unidentified and without identity,
Abandoning her
To a ceaseless cycle

an artist and a philosopher
a poet and a guide
time
for them is
both clear and confusing
confusingly clear
clearly confusing
what would it have been like if
they had been born in a different time?

The man in the moon swallowed me whole,
Just as I began to admire his soft glow;
There he was, knowingly smiling over
The scary affairs of my teenage cares.
Apparently, I should mention
My attention was too much,
The perfect remedy for pro-love prevention.
Just in case it was neglected,
I must warn you,
Affection to your reflection sways you
To believe your giggle is perfection.
But when you are presented with rejection,
You’ll step back with a confused expression,
Wondering what happened to his original affection.

Now, I proceed.
I concede
Wooing the moon is harder than
Shaving a true hippie on ecstasy or ***
In the middle of the sea.
Why do I love someone who constantly
Turns around and hides himself
Whenever seconds pass
Only to tease me with peeks of his soul?
Oho what a divine mystery!
He’s a maze with infinite doors,
More complex than hallways,
More intriguing than apple cores, skin pores, folklores, or antique stores.

But
He wears a different face every day,
Masks of white, amethyst, and grey.
And
He seduces a variety of personalities,
Of intellectual minds, of our kind.
With his charm that, more than good, does harm
To us; who have put forth increasing
Efforts to make his eyes glitter,
We who pride ourselves on mental capacity, titter
With giggles,
Because we cannot think of a better reaction,
We are so consumed with him.

Freedom from the man in the moon’s
Enticing effect came only when I saw:
His redundant, repetitive cycles of beliefs and views,
Only sometimes were they new;
His aloof disconnection from others,
Even when I carefully showed the best parts of my soul;
And
The Fact
That so many others found him
Captivation, enchanting, and beautiful
Without the knowledge or understanding
Of his desires, values, or issues,
Of his dreams, sorrows, or needs.
Ignorant, blind, obsessive aspects of infatuation
Sicken me.

Now, for the better, I relay with
Content at this little success that it is
Much easier to tease, to debate,
To befriend the man in the moon
Now that I can resist his effervescent
Glow.

Still, I acknowledge, anticipate, and dread
The algae, the residue of my ephemeral love,
The waves and cycles of my affection;
Still, I crave a lucid connection to his mind, to his soul,
For I know enough
To embrace his being as consistently
As the sea kisses the sky.

But hardly does he ever show all of himself to one,
But always does he offer smiles and woos to all;
So, patience is my haven.
Empathy is my understanding;
Distraction, my refuge, my remedy.

Eventually, the man in the moon
Might attempt to love me
Fully.
Who knows with such an
Inconsistently predictable being?

A Moth rests on your nose for your solace,
Disoriented by anxious breaths instead.
Still your lungs.
Postpone your life for another’s,
an insect that lives for an average of three days is worth
more than you of eighty years.
It has less time to live and
So is forced to live each nanosecond as its minute.
Hold your breath for a second and give it thousands of moments
To study the purpose of your pores, the nature of your nostrils, the message of your mouth.
It is a blessing that one who has such a blink of a life should choose you.
Its tentative, exploring antennae acknowledge your existence
For that moment
You are its universe.
You
Are the mountains, and underwater caves, the forests, the savannah, the tundra, the planets.

You
Are the suffocating suburbia, the twitchy towns, the neglected neighborhoods, the seductive cities.
You
Are sighing waterfalls, lighthearted hills, free-spirited skies, heartwarming dreams.
If god was the universe,
Then you’re set for heaven.

Except

The Moth flies away
Leaving you to take its place.

The ocean sky chaperones me home
Where joy, embraces, and love await.

The waves of clouds shelter invisible life.
Our farmlands, kelp;
Our cities, coral.

Ignorant are we of the evanescent, fragile,
Temperamental passions of the Wind.

I wish with all my heart that
We could see, hear, and speak with the Wind People.

I'm standing in the ocean's waves,
Feeling the infinite encourage my serenity.
But the fisherking offers bitter acidity
To the deep realm,
Crippled by barren immobility.
But you and me, we move on.
We press on.
We cast off our shackles.

Empty pages waving at me
Filling my mind with hope
The illusion rushes over me
And I sigh with relief
At the opportunity
Sitting in front of me,
Resting in its own potential purpose,
My release and my peace,
The infinity of its ephemeral capacity.

The professor's voice fades away
As I notice a brown, flat-footed spider
Tiptoeing
Along our classroom floor.
I watch it,
Invested.
It moves closer to my feet.

I hope it comes my way,
But it moves to the ******* my right.
When I advise her to move her bags,
Spotting the spider, she and her empty eyes say,
"I kind of want to **** it."

I whisper, taken aback,
Don't **** it!
Her boot lifts,
Don't **** it! I say again.

I look away,
Opening my ears to Brahms.
I blink and glance to my right.
She's looking blankly at the teacher.
I can't see the spider anywhere, and
I demand, "Did you **** it?"

She turns her empty eyes,
"Sorry. I think it's sort of dead."
My eyelids tighten, eyebrows squished up,
"Why??"
There is no answer, and
I turn away with a heavy conscious.

I have a body made of air
Hair of water
Skin of clouds
Flower eyes
Fingertips sip nectar
Lips stripped
Legs of refuge
Lungs of freedom
Blood of wind
Mind of sky
Mind in sky
Purity of existence

The swine twists the twine
til the poison tastes like wine.

Everyone raised their glasses and cheered
For all that they had had to fear
Sat defeated and hopeless
Behind glass walls.

There lie imprisoned
Our reflections, the demons, the insecurities.
Smile,
Power only dies when it thinks it's invincible.

The swine sighs as it dines,
As the shrine entwines demise.

Here is the situation,
As unfortunate as it is,
You no longer have a significant part of my heart.
Once there used to be a time, twice a time, when thoughts
bombarded my mind and chances were they concerned you.
But now my eyes, as reluctant as they are, can see you,
You unintentional enchanter.
You accidental seducer.
You oblivious snarer of infatuated captivation.
You are the alpha of canker blossoms.
You are the epitome of everything that frustrates me.

I used to live in a house where the
Walls were your voice and your face.
A mental institution in which I was never voluntarily admitted.
A house of mirrors in which I couldn’t see myself or anybody else,
My thirst for your infatuation reflected,
Mocking smiles of every kind.

I cried blackened tears that fell to the
Ground and then flew into the sky like
Bleached ravens, like childhood dreams,
So carefully groomed by the mommies and the daddies,
Collapsing into little liquid drops dripping through the desperate holes of a strainer.

I cried because you seemed to find it
Necessary to seek interests in other girls
And never me.
I am not a bruised apple;
I am not a crushed autumn leaf;
I am not a discarded baby blanket;
And I am not unworthy.
So why in god’s oh so deemed holy name
Have you not seen me?

Or maybe you see it right on my face,
Like I’m a displayed canvas as easy to
See as red blushed from a pale, void surface,
And you are just messing with me.
Playing with me
As I am your spaniel and you can treat me as such?
Like I am a doll whose string you pull
And receive a pathetic voice pleading,
Love me love me.
Am I below your standard of interesting?
What could possibly be so wrong with or about me that repulses you?
Not you really, but more your interest in me.
At this moment I am wound tighter with exasperation
More than any moment before.
You will always be a tug of war in my life.
If only I could simply expel you,
The nuisance you are.

It's kindly refreshing feeling this unburdened,
This unbridled by self-caused worry or stress.

It's quite wonderful,
I'm in awe.
Finally, I make my worth
Worthwhile for my self.
Where others could only see before,
Now I understand and transcend to the places
Of self-control and self-awareness.

It's oddly welcoming,
This metamorphosis, encouraged and manipulated before,
Now begins with my own will and desire.

For if you can pluck a leaf
Off of a tree before it's ready to descend of its own accord,
The tree would believe it to be, passively deceived.
But your efforts to force the tree to produce
Fresh new green would be in vain;

For every spring is an epiphany.
As it begins to feel the shivers of
A new beginning,
The delight of newfound self-life and self-love
And it chooses to change.

Insanity eats
More souls, your minds crumble weak
As touchless, formless

obsessions with the
Virtual eyes, lazy sighs
Rot facing blind screens

Touching nothing, you
See yourselves wasting away
yet you do nothing!

Wisps
           Clouds

Inflatable anchors
Lay in the water of
           the sea.
Shall we
               fish?

A pool with no walls in
An ocean with no souls
Has no choice.
Fate is the tyrant,
The trident even Poseidon controls not.

You cannot drown if you’ve never breathed air.
“Be no one like everyone,”
She laughs, “Equality 7-2521.”
My mouth remains frozen in the frown,
Brows furrowed down.

Disgusted by sheep, I never wear wool.
The fibers stick, ****, suffocate,
Even when dry.
No one else minds it. In fact,
They say “baa” and wear the same masks.

“Bah,” I mutter into ripples.
Witness myself in reflection, introspection,
Retrospection: the id is omniscient;
Individuals are conventional, rarely exceptional;
Explanations are like Time,

They wound and heal.
Truth is disposable, honesty opposable.
Disillusionment is discovery,
Disgusting, discarding, disregarding,
Disblahblahbinizing.

Splash the water, pause the thought process.
Steal fate’s trident, bend it
Into a bubble wand.
When dawn dawns,
Daintily dip the stick in.

A big, blue bubble is born
With each breath, with each blow.
I enter the bubble, in peaceful pace,
Gently lay down,
Knees kiss my face.

Sigh with relief, rebirth, rediscovery.
The ultimate revolution ending
In victory,
In magnificent realizations,
In my last gasp.

as the hawk stares, sitting on a lamp post,
the white flower shrugs at all our questions,
the wind just rubs my arm,
circling the sun with prisms,
smiling rainbow teeth dance in the heat,
whistling and diving, soaring and gliding,
a hummingbird greeted me this morning,
arm's length from my eyes,
and then left,
tears welling, my embrace.

We’re in a snow globe without any snow:
Black zebras with white stripes,
Beds without mites, children smoking pipes,
Men are mice wearing plastic vampire teeth.
Cages are cheap, get two for one free.

Faces outlined in black crayon,
Lonely parking lot trees,
Isolated by concrete, asphalt, and litter,
Mentally vain, narcissistic, futile
Fear of the void

All that
Anxiety,
Distress,
Self-dissatisfaction,
Confusion,
Delusion­,
and Fear
have gladly disappeared.

What is the sight of blood if not tactile evidence
that we cannot live
unless
we pick ripe flowers and decorate our hair
with the nourishing caress
of petals and their precious fragrant hearts
and procure compassion providing possible sensual mysticism?