I’ve walked on the tiles made for kings
many times I’ve been in the house of luxury
but it has never belonged to me
I am but a visitor in the palace of Eden
I could describe the opulence but I cannot tell you how it feels
to posses, to own, to carry your weight lightly in such states
I am not a beholder and I’ve never felt myself worthy of such affluent
and often unnecessary necessities
working class woman on the weekends
to clean the savvy bungalows of the ludicrous and almost laughable
wealth of Beverly Hills
it felt almost like trespassing, like jumping over train tracks
As soon as you see sight of headlights getting closer and the
earth beneath you tumble, shaking it’s veins
I would wear a uniform, a knight’s armor of invisibility
upon arrival, there was that shift in the air
That momentary feeling that you’re not in Kansas anymore
There are more trees here, the bugs even seem more alive than they did
down there below the hills
the pedestal of the hungry, greed sitting humbly on its’ throne
smoking expensive colored cigarettes
rings blowing in your face of cool breeze
Although every residence was architecturally different
it was always the same, the same austere patterns
the redundant originality, the commonplace pretension
The gates always had codes but the entrance was always open
Whenever you stepped inside the first thing to notice
were the Rorschach walls, the mirror image of whoever resided there
the hollowness it evoked, the sterility of a life that although lived
dare I say unhappy
There were usually film posters signed by movie stars long ago dead
Art that said nothing, whose lips had been glued shut by clean dollar bills
the brash nudity it tried to display lacked controversy in dusty rooms
the irony being that it had become everything it tried to displease
and yet I was envious
the violent comfort it imposed was far more inviting than
living in rations, in the poverty that ate at your skin
it was friendliness with a clenched fist, like the hostess at a
party that smiles too wide and moves her eyes too quickly
sloshing her champagne glass but never quite spilling it
I remember once stumbling upon one the owners of a house
she was sitting in a wheelchair, there were diamonds on the wheels
I thought I was meeting god for the first time
she looked like she had lived ten lifetimes, wearing fox fur around her neck
the paws resting defiantly on shaky shoulders
age spots congregating around her eyes like whispering spies
wrinkles weaving and unraveling from her forehead to her chin
small nose inhaling sharp gulps of smoke, dust, reason
she wore a translucent egg-shell colored gown
that cascaded like a waterfall down to her tiny feet
it was as transparent as her skin making her look like a
one of those see-through fishes
all organs and blood, bone with the marrow withering
her eyes were closed but she spoke, piercing the room
“so you’re the new girl. We don’t take kindly to strangers
so she must’ve thought you were trustworthy, but I know
someone’s true intentions. I can smell it. It’s a gift.
It’s always the foreigners that wear masks. That’s how
they survive and who can blame them I would do the same.
I’ve been all over the world; the tips of my boots have been
polished while there are others that fester like rats in their
own caves. I know the contempt they must feel, I’ve never
been held down by others more powerful than me and yet
I know that it only creates misunderstanding.
I didn’t ask for this. I earned this. All of this.”
She pointed around the room.
“I am the only one that can decide my fate. When you
want something bad enough it is given to you. Most
just want things for free. They want it handed
to them in a silver plate with a golden spoon. Scum
will always shy away from the light because there
is a sickness in their brains that don’t let them see past
their disgusting oppression.
I assume since you haven’t interrupted, I take
your silence as a sign that you don’t believe what I am saying.
That this piece of advice has flown over you.
I very well could have written these words on a letter
at the bottom of a stack of mail that will never be opened and
that’s okay. I don’t expect you to believe to my truth.
But the emperor you see before you was not conjured out of dust
and thin air, I swear it.” She ended with an angry laugh.
I wanted to say that her environment was polluted with
cotton balls and the furniture was contaminated with soot
and dead skin cells
that once everyone dies they turn into dirt, into
the sand from which we seemed to have been composed of
but I realized that she didn’t see herself as dying
Seeing her there in the dark room with the shades drawn
I realized if that’s what it took to become a god
I didn’t want to be any more than human
but all I said was
“ma’am your plants are in need of watering.”
She is beautiful
she walks with poise
she speaks with elegance
she sees with eyes full of pain
she listens though she is never heard
her skin is as rich as chocolate
her hair is like wool
her back is scared from the knives in your hands
her feet are cut from the miles she walks
her legs are weak from running to get away from your words
she walks with poise
she speaks with elegance
her skin is exquisite
her hair is curly
this woman thats been to the deepest parts of
The Devils Palace
She is "A Work Of Art"
2 juveniles 1 adult
A mini van, sliding doors;
Intoxicated by the alcohol
Driven by the adrenaline
Eyes glued to the windows,
Looking for an enemy:
One of them smiling
Describing violently how he's going to put an end to them;
Driver trying to calm them down
One last time we drive around
If you see them
start Hopping out
Light turns green
Heads turned right
Car brakes screech
Car door slides
One cocks back
And That's the end of that
We are all sycophantic suitors of death
Chasing that wasting rot and decay
In a roundabout sick sort of way
Suckling the toxic tit of excitement
Rushes and blushes demure and debasement
Faster and faster till haste becomes more than mere waste
Diligent drug users sucking up smoke laced with nicotine
Embracing and tasting various brands of caffeine
Red meat and carbs pretty woman and fast cars
Working to damn much and playing twice as hard
Climbing mountains, hunting new types of prey
Starting fights riding wild and rough waves
Too much sun or not enough UV rays
Waking up early and going to bed late
Silence and stillness is not the enemy of the state
But we are all just chasing the only thing that could be called fate
We all die to damn young but I’d like to check out late
there are so many questions to be asked.
theories of the universe
flames of passion consume the artist
enrage the curious
tickle the delirious
the hill in my throat
sinks into valleys
with mustard grass that flows
prairie currents rippling through the peace
swooning deep and wide into the canyons
a diamond has many cuts and edges
facets cannot possibly describe you
how do I help a man,
drowning in superficiality?
would not I rather
let the ocean lick him
the fires prick him
the truth consume him
a rather passive existence
its all generic, like tissue paper
and my hope an eagle
perched on the branch of the universe
its all spontaneous.
When you're right you are the majority of one. ~ Ralph W ..Emerson
Fascinated with the irrational non violent part of the world.
They swore on the mossy jade gray grave of their ancestors to always vote non rational. To avoid violets in unpleasant dying shades. That tuesday they even invented a cunning slogan: "When roses are in bloom, my spaceship goes ka-boom!"
This took them to many places. Abroad. Skydiving. Honolulu wave floating flowery delights. Many smoothies. Gems. Glitter. Noblesse novelty. Swift pleasurable trips to Jupiter and its moons. To collect the magic dust for eternal youth. To chat with those old chaps on Uranus about the trendy hierarchy among celestial bodies over a pint of that fabulous interstellar foamy cream dream.
In the fancy Jupiter Eye area they were really excited to met Wonderful azure and pink divas of undisputable deep wisdom; who claimed that Any Reasonable Questions of any value worth discussing are Futuristic in their Super coordial nature.
Super imposed hyper realities were the topic of most relevance ... when suddenly ... out of the thin dark matter superliciously slick space craft materialized on one of Saturn's rings and started broadcasting 5th- 125th -Dimensional heavenly divine music. It was the Supreme Healing Antheme - "The infinity healing song" directly transmitted from the galactic center of the Divine Milky Way in coproduction with Glittery Andromeda. The galactic radio stuff were happily taking a brake from the usual hectic program and was having a relaxed time telling half completed stories around the campus fires.
First tale was about a very personal journey through mists, fortunes and unfortunes laid through disappointments which can be called awakenings. Magical and mystical experiences were attainable only to the initiated ones. So the ears listening were fewer than a handful of sands laying around unknowingly innocent on Costa Rica sandy beaches.
We have never heard the sequel part of this amazing tale fulfilled with beauty, advantures and dangerous minds exploring the new frontiers ... we were lulled to oblivion sleep with cosmic chimes ... so we never caught the immense importance of ... something about they wanted to reduce.
Since they forged and burnt down the ingenious plan for the energy resources equally shared between galactic citizens, science is totally helpless. Flailing. The paradigm of evidence is choking on its basic premises of hyperproduction. Unproductive ideas were flawed with the lack of control over objective realities. For overcoming this terrible dis-ease, modern tribes used neurolinguistical experimental dance upon electrified wires which was exactly the Shamans Argument for succesful leading lives within the realm of the virtual comunion.
Cohesion, strenght, disperesed centralised focus and liberty ideals of such bondings were overflowing and beyond total supervision of the contemporary android policies. Refined logic and politeness were opposing discs on the shelf of reciprocity law of cosmic karma. So ... many beings were starting to glow with inner beauty emanating telepathic messages of love sharing and respecting other living beings lifes and their prosperity, blissfully healed with Heavenly Divine Infinite Song.
It was wild, bio versatile ecstatic dance bursting with fresh ideas and translucent emotions. Beings were constantly in love, falling in love and ascending towards Unifieing Field of Love. Reinpowering the realm of Imagination. Manifesting goodness. Various styles of love, art, ecology and anarchy were brothers and sisters in arms. This was regularly happening on '''´The Brightest Planet of Living Mysteries. Self exploration for a human: A conscious one-harmony voice living in pleasant bounty with all other consciousnesses was the new moral maxim. They'd do also Everything for the Happy ~go forward into the light thing!
Ease your way into the day.
Being Mindful is the way they say.
Focus on Now, we don’t have long.
Meditate or sing a song.
For ten long years it’s been pipe and slippers (without the pipe),
And Ages have passed since we were nippers.
Slowly we all fade away,
For time cannot be held at bay.
I wonder what it’s all about,
There has to be another way out.
We die like flowers according to science,
There is no alternative to our compliance.
We may or may not be ruled by God,
But so long as I live I don’t give a sod.
Easy days and a set routine.
Do my best to keep my house clean.
Nice pub lunches four days per week,
A peaceful living is all I seek.
You may say I’m set in my ways,
But I’m contented in my twilight days.
✨ it's time for renovation; it's time for us to make a change.
• friendships are work, honour the flowers that have decorated your path and don't be reclusive.
• however, being alone is simultaneously essential: carve out pockets of unabashed loneliness, yearning, and self-reflexive intimacy.
• write with less mythological standards. your favourite authors wrote drafts, pages and pages of nothing. no one emerges like a phoenix.
• persistence and self conviction are how revolutionary girls go public, spaces of uncertainty and lapses of effort are how revolutionary girls become real & effective. do both.
• use the good silver every day because every day is all there is.
• maintain your own standards of success and never trust rich people/the police/men in authority.
• do not imagine that revolutionary ideals make you above the hu$tle: money is dirty but imagining leftism will absolve you from labour is even dirtier.
• don't stay in your lane and play by the SJW's rules. it is better to actively engage in discourse and say the wrong thing than not say anything at all. the paranoid ego will destroy activism.
• live in the impure spaces, grip hold to contradiction, language is always performative and alienated, no one "means" what they "say".
• feel the fear and do it anyway; do it wrong; do it with rigor & recklessness.
• you will never be bored because you will always have books to read. • the past never leaves: there is no time in the unconscious: everything that has ever happened is always still happening, and so don't judge yourself for still being in pain about things that happened a long time ago: "a long time ago" doesn't really mean shit.
• never apologize for crying; never apologize for not wanting to have sex.
• remember girls own the impossible, the void, the image, and when this system falls apart, we rise. we rise anyway.