running on autopilot

and no one knows

oh i'm running on autopilot

and I don't care

let it take me away from this

sleepless dream

take me away with that

breathless stare

with that grinless glare

to the timeless fair

somehow i know

it'll make me stay

a little longer

running on autopilot

and no one knows

oh i'm running on autopilot

and I don't care

----epic guitar time---

take on 1,2,3

can't you see?

it can't ever be

what you need

what you neeeed...

---pause---

somehow i know

it'll make me stay

a little longer

somehow i know

it'll make me stay...

Leave the horror here
and
go to a knotty hill.
We can fall amongst the lush gardens
staring at
the black monogamy
to find the gold bits.
Let us drink champagne and toast
virtuous sin in this white light, but
allow our eyes and lips and hands speak our emotions
or of what is left of it.
We are what we are,
moonchildren,
yes we are.

your body is pure divinity.
buttresses stately and hidden,
ribbed ceilings magnetic and holding,
pointed arches lend elegance to your statuesque theme
lines are your soul and here i can trace them to heaven
a secular being sometimes finds themselves in your stained mosaics
pilars have become your outlines
to hold the delicate stained glass.
prayers are here
and I am transfixed by your
transcendental symbolism.
light shines through your windows and I myself
am drowning in this
gothic beauty.

Coke at the fireplace,
sitting in a crowd
It just doesn't stop.
Doesn't quit.
"As long as there's that tic tic followed by that bump"
you sway your hips.
red dress shayshaying against your hips.
soft satin rubbing on that skin of an angel.
it's a black night
in a white light
You don't know what this means quite yet,
but the pulsating beat
tapping on your soles
in the distant city
it beckons for you,
to come out tonight
and dance your way back to it.
It's a white light
actually it's a white light in your eyes now.
that's what happens when you're destined for this part
equip yourself
on this ride
satin feels like a itchy grip now don't it?
but all is better ain't it?
many a hour later
you shall
share with us this splendor
blinding magnificence
for we are the peons
and you are the the great inquisitor
of the abstract blue
slanging rocks,
on the mountain tops.
Should we know better
or shall we know less?

You'll find me among the trees running among the trees playing hide and seek,
sparkling wide eyes and eager.

You'll find me behind the rose bushes sulkily hiding my deepest thoughts
with my hair dropped over my eyes.

You'll find me at the sturdy, shady bench under the eucalyptus tree,
being chased by Frances with his arms that sweep me off the ground.

You'll find me at the patchy sunny part of the garden,
where Frances and I love in the grassy fields during the day.

You'll find me faced down here in this grassy field,
with the comfort of a thousand butterflies but no one.

And then I'll find you one day too,
hiding in the shade with your goofy smile and your bald spot
with your beer gut and your odd love for ugly sweaters
here in the garden.

just a girl with an odd skin disease
should i cry should i laugh
opera houses and speckled faces with masks on
covering your face in a banal masquerade
while you're looking like an actor with an  odd skin disease
perfect in  your on ways with glitter on your face no one else sees
as a music box nearby sings a dreamless tune
opens up the case with dangling jewels for you to caress on your skin
the last rays of the sun touches upon you from the windowpanes,
allowing the radiance within shine for one last moment until night falls
and the dangerous erroticism of the sun finally releases as it nears the horizon
like the necessary evils of the full moon as it draws in the horrors of the night
a child you once were with less worries now beckons the dark in your jewels
glittering in the dark
stranded, alone and yet free
of the banal masquerade.
maybe they'll watch you maybe they won't,
in your parade towards the clouds.

It is a fragment floating in the wind, compelled by the magnanimous winds to move in it's spontaneous fashion. Tossed side to side, up and down, forwards and backwards, it's moving so fast it is blurry. Then, as the playful winds stop for a second, it falls.
Falling. On the ground, it lies. I see it and see a piece of trash, huddled up in the corner with the bazillions of crunchy wrinkle textured brown leaves--withering away in decay. Dead. No longer anything to anyone, not even me. Nothing.
I suppose that's the way it's supposed to be.
But the wind--by god, the winds and their shifting moods--gushes back. Shaking the darling buds of May, it roars once more--picking the trash and flinging it in a motion once more. Filing in it's vapid cavity, edifying it with it's passions, pulling it back once more to defy gravity. Pure beauty drawing in, ******* out, taking, giving. Dancing.
Tossed. Up. Down. Left. Right. Around.

Anywhere.
I suppose that's the way it's supposed to be.
I leave it twisting in the wind.

let me consume your demons
swallow them whole
as they burn me alive--
for without them
my own demons
will perish and die
and leave me bereft
of that tragedy I so prey upon

Golden feathers
dipping, gliding, sliding,
soaring, diving,
flying...
in the bright blue
abyss,
among the veils of compressed
water,
above all,
gloriously free
and yet
so
alone.

i wonder if i should embrace the life expectancy of a snail slime-ing away
along the sidewalk,
it's sanctity already ruined,
it's guts spilled out in a portentous manner,
showing all what it once was
and all what will inevitably happen,
in an odd manner
somehow
filling in the void of this world
by allowing the stitch of the patterns stay put.
but i digress.
there ought to be much more.

let the sun char me,
let the waves devour me,
let the winds move me,
let the stone chain me,

let them fabricate my being into their masses of
pity and self disgust
possess me like a vigilant being
paranoid at approach
attack attack attack
searing the iron fist of true BEAUTY
into a trademark on my skin
washing away the pain of mindless hate,

let this be art.
pure art.

and let the world see the
rage rage RAGE
right on and
leave to die in this endless battle of
you me
and
everything.

huddled up in a ball in a street,
hugging our legs embossed with the intrusive
criss-cross markings
that never seem to leave
explicitly exposed in the red light.
They--an unspoken peoples--
are the rash of the centuries
the red mark that has consumed your skin
leaving you nothing but the fearful vicarious conditioning
of your mothers heart
and the hot breath you breathe at last during the winter spell
before you are whisked into the warm corridors of
home.

A kiss
will suffice, no,
but the chapters of the autobiography
tell otherwise, as Marina Del Rey's siren
calls for you to bathe in her ***** filled waters.
Till thus you'll be clean once more, you and your lover
forever gone forevermore.

I'm so tired.
Of living
Of knowing
Of caring
Of bearing
Of lying
Of trying
Of flying
Of avoiding
Of repressing
Of oppressing
Of buying
Of understanding
Of thinking
Of writing
Of acting
Of running
Of analyzing
Of sleeping
Of being
Of drinking
Of *******
Of snorting
Of laughing
Of smoking
Of loving
Of feeling
Of dying
Of being tired.

loveless
sings the bats in the stale night
--bats are often eyelashes of this night and they travel in packs--
while contending for the tender fruit
i imagine they are well fed with treasure
       but oceans love
is the wave i seek in this molded night
   to that known to be a saturated vibrancy
content is the ripe mind as my legs do unravel
wet and moist does this mind bring the most  voluptuous promises of oceans love
as these waves hit at my ankles knees hands neck lips cheeks eyes forehead
engulfed is the skin with the salt and a rush of an unforseeable force neither containable or predictable
i am so wet

Some wander through their rose colored glasses
bitterly nonchalant for their lives
passionate about everything in their
non-compliant ways and
unforgiving aesthetics
pleased to accept their parts

I get tired after a few dances back home
feet sore, the blistering skin
a familiar commodity
raggedly hanging irritated
drifting drifting away
onto the lonely tufts
of ancient carpet rags

my nose hits the floor
bludgeoning the tip of that sensitive aquiline shape
nerve jamming straight to the heart
and so does the dream begin
Soaking in the summer nights,
baked in that warm smile
isn't it so odd?
being terrified of an echo blocking me on the head
soon erased and tuned to an alien frequency

then
trapped in a cave
crying into the abyss
the man behind me
his shadow encapsulating mine
comforting monster
I can feel rip through me

and as I run from that i fear
falling down the rocky terrain
hat ripped from my hair
blond glossy tips frosting
the cross mountaintops,
I left my hat in his hands
the one with embroidered sunflowers--
with a scream left eroding in my mouth
from inside to out,
an ancient friend I'd forgotten

I love heroes.
They make the world a better place.
After the bad guys,
they save the day
heroically flying in the bright blue sky
shining in their pride and grace.

It makes sense if the world has heroes
to give the weak hope
and the evil a conscience.
but heroes,
the very ones that
save my cat from the high tree,
rescue the feeble from their fears,
and save this horrid society of it's
the omnipotent ongoing evils,
are nothing more than heroes.

for heroes,
as they glow and glimmer
in all their glorious ways,
being the big brother
judge from one side of justice to the other,
don't exist
to save me
to exist to try
to save me
and make me





they leave that to me.

that's why

He is a piece of art,
of visible colors, lines, curves on a canvas,
a mosaic for all too see--
and yet he hides himself in a Picasso painting.
He takes love and drains it dry
******* in the souls of hapless saps,
and not caring.
He has no shackles that bind him to a corner,
his power limitless,
unrestricted,
crushing and more destructive than all of the surges of Poseidon's seas combined.
He watches me,
from afar, upfront,
making sure I glimpse him every now and then
but my mind tries to fool me otherwise.
He is...
fear....

sweeping and carrying me off my feet,
into the sky,
bewildering and bothering.
And he reigns over me,
his omnipotent power lying
there
(this the most blatant truth I can't obscure)
in the fact I can't let him go.

Most of the time I just feel like wallowing away and dying into this murky fog and it's okay because even with a moment of clarity, still still still adrift is my head flushed with the peach blossoms from the trees, still tender washed upon the shore

It's just time,
a universal and society accepted measuring device.
two lines moving pass through roman numerals.
What comes
will come
when fate desires it.

Every now and then, helium
fills up and expands the entirety of the bottomless soul,
a beat drums ferociously deep in the heart
like a du-*** du-*** du-***,
engorging the fruity pulpy flesh with a
bu-dup bu-dup bu-dup,
flushing the skin a satanic roar
(always mechanical in it's clockwork nature),
and juices flow outwards unable to contain
an inedible inky fickle black
an explosion, compulsion, revulsion,
as it
spills consumes conquers
this too often naive heart.

Sometimes I fell disorientated when I wake, dreary from my sleep. I open my eyes, sit up in my bed, and stare at the darkness of the room, thinking nothing at all. It is during these moments I feel a wave of deep unknowing wash over me and then my heart ache begins. It is small and barely irritating at first, and then, as if my heart has been stabbed by a knife, the very reason for the existence of my being seemingly disappears from my knowledge and it as if acid has been poured down my esophagus to slowly torture the inner linings of my viscera. It is in these moments I feel like all I want to do, is think about myself and concentrate on this unexplainable emotion that I can not exactly explain with over dramatic words. And then, I realize that it probably doesn't matter and I have to move on, for myself, and for the people who need me to move on, so they won't feel the burning sting of the acid in their own viscera. And I guess, when I realize that, that everyone is connected to everyone else in this crazy insane universe-- a symphonious euphoric ******* orchestra of relationships where people intertwine with one another in a sporadic motion, to create beauty--so that that deep infinite unknowing void is filled up, it is this. This is it. It makes sense. Everything does. Life. Makes. Sense.
And there is no hole. Only

i could die
a million deaths on the ladder
fall off it's runes 30 times
many sunsets come and watch
and shameless is the sweat
that falls down my neck

if i say hello to forever
i shall grow tiresome quick
and this is for you
princess aurora
when your day has come
i will help you back on your feet
after a hundred years rest
and our soles will touch the blackened soot
of hell

the demon is waiting for us here
i shall like to say hi to
the red right now
may dreams come true

.
Pinocchio has told this tale a thousands times
oh what a feeling
he says as he marches to the wonders of Pleasure Island
where ****** and games are galore
begging distraction he couldn't seek
.
lilies took her far into the woods
her dress brushing amongst them,
as she sang a swan song,
a prayer of her last will
to find an empty grave worth sleeping in
.
then appeared, on charred faces and knees
five hundred mothers, sisters and sons
carrying a man of burdened soul on their shoulders
in the scented night
screaming.                                                                                                                             thank god i'm alive
                                                                                                                                                thank god i'm alive

All you want to hear is how you did me right
and never on the marks you left on my wrist
from holding too tight.
The floor is ebbing away at my ankles
cloaking my feet in an eerie comfort
How can you love me
when I am sinking in this inky black
fighting for expression, creation, reincarnation.
Don't tell me I'm too cruel--
when my gaze is fixated on a drive
where the words are lost in the motion commotion
waves of self-doubt and fear.

I am sorry I was built from fire
with the weight of my ancestors
hanging on my shoulders.
I'm sorry I never had plans
to settle down somewhere
to fly into the air somehow
I'm sorry I never wanted to be sorry
but forgive me if you can't forgive
hold tighter--I'll slip through the cracks
with the grooves of your lips still ingrained in my memory--
and forget me if you care enough to forget
of this false emotional monster.

On better days,
I would remember dragging my finger tips
against the walls
feeling the smooth glossy painted surface of
your skin against my nails.
But it seems like these days,
you are grabbing my hands deep into your walls
pulling me forward until I become them
their solid white flat hardness,
and they become me,
my blue water carbon body,
and that is that,
and melancholy transforms into routine
and routine transforms into pretend
and pretend transforms into joy.
It seems like all the games we play
are like this harsh compromise
and accepting it the way it is,
where walls become water and water becomes walls
where I can find myself slipping away,
solidifying into a block of
cement, covered in white glossy paint.
This is not love.

Words never set reality in stone.
and sometimes
people
places
and
things
pass and go.
Nothing can be captured
caught and possessed.
All the better
to learn the facts.
But today was a yesterday again.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

and you'd come up again
in our conversation,
a bit flustered
wandering through haystacks in June
what else did you want from me?
it's either this or that...
words shared yet lost
meaningless and obsolete
a hazy afternoon for two

i knew a child who built houses
out of pebbles and twigs
he glued them together with honeycombs
and called it love.
those inhibitions
he tore up and sealed
for another day

then one day the wind thought
to come around to tumble
the bees harpooning above him
hypnotizing stings,
the cries within him
undulated to the frequencies,
of bright peonies in the spring.

and I saw this,
twist I did,
to bend the story wayward
like the rivers without moons
peering inquisitively at me.

But they were only fictions
carved by ancestors and
ancestors past,
whichever way to get their point across
to hold my head in their arms.
it was
folklore I'd forgotten to let go
the impossible book held deep in my chest
the anomaly I'd refused to relent
the searching for paradise.

meet me at the checkpoint
to
just walk away
in
fumes and all.
they are
holding my hand
through the
streets tonight.
but
leave the past behind
cause it is
siren light.
what if
whatcha doin'
makes me
troubl'd again?
i know
when i want to stop i can
but
acid rain
and
wondering about a white dress
takes me there.
it's just a cigarette
while
walkin' round
then
feet runnin like the wind.
if
a line is hard to make you stay
then
dry up on the beach
and
listen to Beethoven
while
the cracks begin to show.


-from the philosophical **** face

In our hormonal civil war
I found myself a samurai
warrior
so I sharpened my sword
-- there's nothing kinder
than the blade of possession.
lady killer,
flipping off the switch.
and in the darkness
I am you.
all
of my organs and whatever else,
becomes you,
to bleed your blood
to sing your verse
to clip your ears
for the music you haven't heard before.

but with our glands exploding
heads colliding
we fall backwards
onto our own swords
defeated inept.

muscle and teeth bite into her
tearing apart her sensibilities
eating her whole
swallowing her soul
and the worst part is
is that she doesn't mind
she doesn't mind at all

the strangest thing this relief is
sense to sense, nerve to pull
powder blue restrains me so
it's the way it is
or should've been.
mother raised her right
it could've been--
strong bones shiny eyes
sunny milk and porcelain
pretty girl pretty hair
spiteful shaking windy air
tossing golden dead cells
off her shoulders
feigning no awful mystery
giving nothing to hide
for youth has been kind

but what if, the sultan cried
what if the sparrow died?
to the bird that lost it's flight
from being powdered blue
from windless nights?

soaked in water-like tendencies
she'll become like you--
amphibian needs and transparencies
water drops on countertops
sniffing noses every night
runny eyes dry sockets
chains held tighter the safer and sounder
of the faucet transgressions
to the sewer conventions
to the minor inventions
of the heart

and beat beat beat beat
who cries heart
who cries wolf
my Rogerian adventure
cries the moonless girl
and powdered blue this muscle tee'd man
he's her solider her painted town
oh la la she cries
on his shoulder
running dripping faucets
on his shoulder
you see
there's nothing here
and Gui Jun will stand here, eternal flame,
And soon, there's only one thing left to do
i promise

It seems so long ago
When I think about it now
Like watching an old VHS in my mind
A tape constantly rewinding to the parts
I don’t care to remember

But tonight all I can see is your thumb tracing my lips
Your hungry gaze upon me
Seeking an answer almost
An answer I can no longer give you

Tonight all I can see is
My hand holding onto your hand
Feeling your warmth on that cold night
Similar to tonight

It seems that I am the only one
Who has locked apart of you forever
In the hidden depths of my mind
It’s a habit of mine, I am sorry

But over time, these memories
Hurt less and less
Feel less and less like they
Were mine to keep
It’s become an unfamiliar picture
A distant hazy feeling
I’ve learned to let go

But tonight
All I can see is this VHS
A part of you I have kept
On the darkest of nights
To keep me company
For to feel this momentary pain
Is better
Than to feel nothing at all

creator destroyer is but the same
till death do we part lazarus calls our names
taken prayer taken fault
taken love to which we sought
demons cradling youth that barely talk
a family of three cherishing what i fought
the crawling the falling of it's golden age
the players love to take upon it's stage
acting role upon role upon role
till no one actually knows where to fall
so clumsily we go tripping down the stairs
taking those who'd loved and loved us so
becoming the demons of this too often naive heart.

I love
--the candle--
the wick the fire
the lick of my hair with
the spit that holds it together
and I've been a radio never ending
counting the days of holding it-- forever
with hope
as wide as the ocean and I expand
as a blank state to be violated
tone deaf to my own cries

i am willful apart from my sore feet
weak and unresponsive
this frame upholds these acidic reactions
through the manifestation of the ejection
of my solemn protest

a cosmical request they ask for
drinking for a ****** later
***** splashes on a bathroom floor
privilege is a blessing not guaranteed
dancing on gravestones restless
upon poetic licenses and with composure aligned
towards the lines of our sky.

and I beg
I beg to be someone more exciting
I beg to accept my lies.

little earthquakes of my heart
soft and tumbling in the dark.
watchful careful rolling shakes
throwing poppers on the tracks
sorry wouldn't cut it if you were to blame
the needle in the hay wasn't hard to find.
bubbly fright sugary plight
busting off bursting out
a thousand and one reactions
each and everyone the same.
careful lover, don't come near
careful lover, i am here for you
careful lover, i can't decide
if you were me, and i were you
volatile and mercurial
leave the walls till they break.

Plague in body and soul
sweeps across the billowing waves of despair yesterday
while to-morrow looks forward to forgetting the lapse in judgement
made today.

they get hurt
and
no one
cares
but
yourself
and
sometimes
they try to hide
in the depths of the soul
but sometimes
with apathy
comes a
great
passion
no one
can
understand.
Which
I guess
makes them a
beautifully
misunderstood
bunch of
problems.

Never will you know
out of body, out of mind
atomizing in thin air
floating upon crystal castles
dangling on wispy clouds
I suppose I am to blame
I've forgotten in the mold
folded a thousand times
struggling under pressure
bulking exponentially
until I desist at last
filtering out memories
I couldn't hold onto regrettably
kisses so deep
so lonesome
the touch of lips still lingers
flirting with my memory
an ancient calling
my rhapsody,
to harmonize, baptize
recognize the demon inside.

and lost in it's cage the fallen angel sighs
of relief perhaps
or of unshakeable boredom
knowing that he'll
never be never be never be
unbroken

All along the dock
hangs my sunny face
I'm done picking bones
no one cares about.
There there, there's still
a chance to drop off.
Hey hey, what else is a
girl to do?


All that saved
you've saved
for someone else.
All that you left
has been shaven off.
All that was hope
broken up.
All that's been thought
forgotten lost.

And the strangest thing this relief is--
shreds the muscle from the bone--knowing they'd never come
Gui Jun, he'll stand here eternal flame.

Wait,wait you said you could talk me out
Still, Still! there's my chance to drop off
It's all fine. All good. All fine I promise.

Secrets kept hidden in the box
Curbing Snailing Appetites
Never fulfilled
Never redeemed
Tuneful woes that float to heavens
Their cries met with open minds
To become the one and only
That biblical scriptures have prescribed

And to that day
I toast to you
my woeful cries still unheard
I keep them hidden safe and well
sounding pristine from within the hell
to what I have been taught
that all secrets that must be buried.
For I chose to keep those secrets pure
the chaste and virtuous without a doubt
For when mercy opens up her palms
Finally griping me to her *****
I unleash these truths
still yet unwanted and ripped into shreds

To you across a sea,
I’d always hoped you’ll be fine.
But now you’re definitely not,
and you're just a person
to remember in that  Goyte song

So all I can think is now I can’t ever talk to you
not the fact that you don't exist anymore
or I can't see you anymore
And that…
bothers me most
more than the fact I can't cry.

Yeah well ten years from now
I'd be dead
I'd be dead and withered
Skewered, hair hanging wet from red wine
Eyes gouged out mouth eternally fixated
A wide O with small maggots crawling out
They say they hang the prisoners on the walls of their kingdoms
They hang mine between their index and middle fingers and dangle me
Up and down they clasp and release my head with their palms
Hitting me continuously on the cold dark asphalt
They hang their victims the same way they do their enemies
There isn't any way out because who knows anymore which way is east or west
And so, when you see me as you near your haven of freedom
Be careful to close your eyes shut
Hold your ears tight they'll fall off when you start hearing
The cries of those you step upon

"Why do you hurt?"
I just do.
Stop asking
because one day
when you hurt too,
you'd know why.

So many boys.
What to do.
my head hurts, my wrist aches, and at the end of the dance, i'm walking backwards

I recalled that
it was something that I ******* needed from you
but you wouldn't like it if you did that would you
wouldn't like it if I needed that from you
bet that you'll never ******* know
this hesitation

but you'll never be as beautiful
and you'll never be as perfect
as you are now
interspersed as you are,
bone, tissue, flesh
a pink mash
dripping into the sewers
years past
and here
still I've walked
uncertain

yet
teeth
biting onto my lips
burn my memory
scavenge the ******* murk
hidden behind these walls
what I needed from you
is gone
gone forever.

When the road holds dear to those of the faulted
and invade their dreams,
--it's been a while, yes,
I admit I've forgotten--
Lauren is here
sinking deep into the gutters
whispering hollow goodbyes
never so gone

You don’t seem to remember a lot
That’s okay, I’ll hold onto the memories for now
Like an old picture hanging on the corkboard in my room
You’re there when I wake
Illuminated by the morning sun’s gaze
You don’t mind hanging there on my wall
An unexpected visitor lingering in my mind
Catching my eye when I least expect it
But I’ll wait, as I always do
As morning turns into night, and night into day
As the sun shines through these windows
Ultraviolet waves upon my memories
I’ll wait for your colors to fade