Bridges,

trains,
balloons, ships,
sails, colored glass, snow on the beach,
frozen water, words, language, music, subways,
typewriters, books, photographs,
swing sets, ink,
dust motes,

sunshine,
rain, snowflakes,
tunnels, streetcars, imagination,
memories, silence, sound, shadow puppets, candles,
flames, wax, communities,
comfortable situations, spiral staircases,
camaraderie,

old phones,
wire connections, written letters,
traveling, discovery, robots,
plants, flowers, clouds, grass, breeze,
shadows, running water, warm blankets,
bicycles, seasons,
change,

sunsets,
sunrises, the horizon,
mirrors, time, living without time,
living within space, living, breathing, seeing, hearing,
touching, tasting, smelling,
being reminded of something vague by a scent, poetry,
Kerouacian conversations,

abstractness,
friendship, love,
thoughts, beliefs, emotion,
movement, ages,
beginnings,

endings.

Brown, brown is the color of which the world on which we live.

Blue, blue is the color of the sky of which we play and laugh under.

White, white is the color of which the light blue sky is powdered with.  

Yellow, yellow is the color of which the sun is colored with.

Green, green is the color of which the grass in which we lie.

Colors, colors are all around us.

Colors, colors make up the world.

Colors, colors are the abstractness in which I drew.

A fool I say, this is a fool I see.
A fool staring, he knowing all he sees;
Eyes beholding immensity,
Perishing.

He grasps the fundamental things,
The first things, the primal things;
Primordial shape of egg, this shell
He sees, he the shape knows all too well.
Flittering here and there the chime
Of interfering patterns of light,
He measures with his instruments.
This he grasps and knows them all too well,
Knows the shape he sees, that basic
All to tell; he shapes the mirror
Images and breaks up all the chimes;
He knows it now, so basic now
It moves in sinuous abstractness,
So dull and so plain.

What happens when there's too  much?
Too much for your mind to handle?
It's all a mess up there,
Everything running faster than they should...

And you, yes you...
Trying to grip the handholds of the slick walls...
Of the well that is your mind...
Of your very consciousness.

Falling, drowning in your overpowering,
Overwhelming,
Irrepressible
Abstractness of your own human mind....

I'll tell you what happens....

*Art

Walk with me
Atop the bridges
That we set ablaze
Which will burn through ages

Walk with me
In this world of souls
In this library of memories
In this path with cracks and holes

Walk with me
As we listen to what has been created
To the cries and laughs
Which we composed and orchestrated

Walk with me
In this museum of art
That displays the mosaics
Of the abstractness of our hearts

Walk with me
Atop the shattered pieces
The unfixed broken parts
That would remain perfect as is

dancing
grooving
beat
deep
hear
core
heart
melting
ground
catchin­g
lava
mountain
erupting
dripping
molten
blood
fall
into
abstract­ness
see
behind
the
facade
your
presentation
fabulous
fierce
you

Death, is a precious beauty.

The hang glider comes from her mountain with the water of the gods to feed the foe, the toad that linches and seethes, sticking gratitude to her heart. Why is he? He should have been, but now he's gone. Shoot the white haired lady, she feels no pain,

I want lightning, a meaning, a triumph that sells pills to me in the back of a dusty van in the night, I want white hair and a balding mind, with nothing but you and your dye.

You are the poet's parts, it covers him. I am no one, and I think you know that. You can never be with me because you are in a slow decent into adulthood and I am becoming a child. I must understand, but there is pain.

White-washed hairdresser with a meaningless smile, Call me your man, listen to the words I say. I am loud and boastful, like a great animal I scream the truth. I have no home like the wounds, come all ye faithful, words are quite clear.

I want you.....
I want you..... so bad.
It's the delta blues I couldn't ignore.
There is meaning in the, there is a saltiness I can't ignore. Where is truth and the squabble? Where is understanding and the sacred? I soak in warmth, I bask in the insipid stories of deadly man and heartache and nothingness,

Gone, like a symbol, new, like the universe. Stocking that rip under my hands, real...

Touch, a gentleness, soft, harsh, and cold, be thee alone. Call no one, say NOTHING. Jealousy manifests, liver, the hardest stone, Give me up, I truly have no use. Women are ***-dumpsters, thus sayeth the LORD. I think God's got timber in his eyes. The Great Triumph! sings like a hamster dying on a pinwheel. I really don't know what I know, but I'm glad for abstractness. There is meaning, there is anti-truth. Speak without wind. Death, pere, night, ear, truth, punk, stop, rire.

I laugh because there is no other way of ridding myself of this filth. The caress of a gentle mind comes in stages, like cancer. The ****** in the 5th key speaks with dialect and analect. Into-go, fantastical, a  spectre,

But I guess I don't much believe in ghosts.

From a blank slate, there is curiousity.
With curiousity,  abstractness appears.
Beyond abstractness, patterns tumble.

Seeking meaning, patterns into logia.
Overseeing what was lost, into sense.
Unless I'm mistaken, birthing loss.
Loss, yes loss. Sprang forth emotion.
Master of none, jack of all.
And a motion that never knew toil.
Thrumming tunes that bought ache.
Emotive, encouraging yet eccentric.


Life, is a much diluted, many splendoured thing, it brings forth things we never know if will work out, never know if what we need is behind that door.

Only when there's an equal force acting on us, do we stop spinning in place, do we stop being us, do we stop and stare, for we'd have found something to cherish.. or crush.

Victory is only worthwhile when there's someone to see it, but what use is victory when you're all alone again, all spent and used up?

Enter your desire, to be used, to be abused, to lose control, to be vague, to be understood, to be one again, after eons of separation, an empty vessel, to be filled with the other's soul.


From my hidden desire to have you
I realised I was looking for myself
And when I found myself
I didn't know what to do with myself
So I gave up finding a meaning
I gave up everything so to find myself
A prose with no mosaic
So I went into it
And I found these scriptures
Blank again
To the top again

Where I found power.

From desire, there is surrender.
From surrender, power.