Dear life, what is it that makes you take on a journey which always leads towards an unavoidable, devestating yet resenting death ?
Since I cannot understand it fully I wander upon this world without finding any clear answers to satisfy the curiousity my heart bears.
In the realm of dreams I find rest, as my mind engages into this illusion and frees me from this reality for as long as my body pleases.
Awakened by loitering darkness, these questions are repeating themselves on a path of recurrance, without decreasing in strengh.
As my breath dies while feeling the agony, flames of hatred are seeping through my fragile, delicate existence, giving energy.
Rumbling, boiling in sadness I tell myself that anyone's forgiveness is not neccesary, losing control over this riot of pure fury without heart.
Looking back a thousand times, it remains as my very best choice.
Letting these emotions race, rage and rampage uncontrollably
Whilst losing ones self within a lunatic laughter to release pressure
I cannot stop these tears, pitying the past long gone rolling down my cheeks, moistening the very soil I am growing on, as a pure lily
Until the moment comes in which my body exhausts itself and allows me to enter the world of dreams, where despair fades into happiness.
Until the sun rises once again

~ Umi

One is the language of words and the other is the language of silence.

Very few people i can talk to with the language of silence.

Still, with the language of silence i can talk to the whole universe.
With the language of silence i can talk with the plants, the animals, the stars, the moon, the birds.
Yet there are very few humans whom i can talk to with silence.

To talk to another human being i use words.
Words are a kind of art.
They are a creation made by humans.
A creation consisting of a bunch of symbols in order for us to point things out. We want to point out a car, we say "look, thats a car". We want to point out a flower, we say "look, there is a flower". Word is the human communication that we have created so that we can point things out and so that we can function in the world, the outside world.

But silence is a more deeper language.

With silence you penetrate and connect with the being in deeper levels. It consists more of feelings. It is a deeper communication that silence brings. Words can only point to that which is. They can not actually give you, explain to you, express to you, reveal to you, in total truth, what is. Silence can do this.

The evolution of consciousness is introducing this language to humanity.

Humanity knew the langugue of silence but humanity got really mixed up and really got puzzled with words, in words, in the laguage of words, in the language of the mind. And my feeling is that this confusion and this lost that humanity got itself into, for a period of time, was neccesary in order for us to come back home.
Now the consciousness is moving with its flow.

It is so amazing to see how much humanity lost touch with its nature.

I know the language of silence because i have spended much time in silence. And not just that outside of me things are totally silent but inside of me also. Inside of me there exists a silence that i have really gonne deep within because ever since i was born into this body that goes by the name Esteban, i have felt that silence within me, and at a certain point in life, i started to get confused. But there was always this silence within me that was above and louder than everything else.

Outside of me there exists the world that we see today and humanity is just so lost and confused in words that i was losing myself too. Because the whole humanity is lost and i am here walking around the world, notecing that people dont know this language of silence. And it is only humanity that lost touch with it. And now how to connect everyone else with their nature? how to communicate this silence to others?

Everybody has to come back to themselves, everybody has to stop the outside world for a bit and spend some time with themselves in silence. Just in peace.

It seems like humans are on auto-pilot.

We come here into existence, into the world, and from the moment of birth and up, is like we are just following society, we are just following what people tell us, what our parents tell us. We just go on that track that they give us and why are we not following our hearts? why are we not doing what we want to do? we are so afraid to explore. We are so afraid to discover truth for ourselves and we are just relying on the information that is allready here. We go on believing everything we hear, everything that is said to us. And whats up with the purpose of life? Whats up with the movement of the universe?

The humans are trying to have control over everything .

The humans are trying to make life how they want it to be. The governments and the religions have done this for so long and have used lies to prevail. They keep saying, "this is what you have to do, this is what you have to become, you have to struggle, you have to fight, compete" and then they say "this is what will happen if you dont follow, this is the reward and this is the punishment". And we grow so much fear that we follow. It is so sad and silly.

And here i am seeing that this is all just a wonderful playground.

That the planet Earth is a playground for the consciousness to explore, to discover, to evolve, and to play and have fun, and to create.

To create beauty on planet Earth.
And yet we have and are still creating such ugly things.

Nuclear weapons and wars? Private territories and divisions of race? Polluting and destroying nature?


Each one of us has to become a leader of ones self.


How to give you the experience of silence?
It can not be done.

You have to experience it yourself.

You have to experience silence because when you experience silence you will know things without a doubt.

You will know the truth about everything.

And so you have to become a master of yourself to get to that point in which there is not a single doubt about any-thing.

You know it all.

I speak the language of words, yes to communicate with other humans, and to get things done, create things, have fun. But i mostly use the language of words to try and talk about the language of silence. To try and point to the language of silence.

And i encourage people to practice silence, to practice meditation.

To explore and study themselves as deeply as possible.


The university will not reveal to you the universe.

Life and self-study will!

She moved with all the grace of a garbage truck
this is not to say she was graceless altogether
only that her movements were rollingly robotic
and she was prone to fits of repetitious arm-swings
with a physical presence neccesary
though sadly underappreciated

I can only identify Autumn as entirely bittersweet
I cringe at the sting of it as I breathe it through my teeth.
Isn’t it ironic how it’s viewed as beautiful in most eyes?
The season when everything transforms and withers away and dies.
The leaves changing colors, the forests in flames
And the vague sense of comfort in the shortening of days.
It’s underneath the ocean of stars I overanalyze my place
And I realize I’m just one out of the entire human race.
There’s something about Autumn, when everything dies,
That nags at me, insisting that I acknowlege I’m alive
And that no one can take that life away from me but me
I am not like the forests and the leaves and the trees
And I do not need to engulf myself in the colors of the flames
And I will not wither into nothing in Mother Nature’s name.
It is not neccesary for me to die once a year
Or hibernate all winter just to dismiss all my fears.
So why is it when I breathe Autumn into my bones
I become hyper aware that I’ve constructed people into homes
That have long sense been forclosed on, windows boarded up
And I’m the last to understand that the doors are locked and shut.
"That habit causes chronic homesickness," the doctor explains,
"I have no cure to give you, I just have something for the pain."
It’s in a self-medicated stupor I re-evaluate and say,
"I’m the only one to blame for why I ended up this way."
And in my cloudy mind state I think of what I’m fighting for
It’s been years of battles, mostly won, but I fear I’ll lose the war,
For overnight Winter will creep up to my window and make its way inside
And the tired worn out troops I have left will be taken by surprise.
My mental health will grow sleepy but I’ll push it to stay awake
And I’ll cling to that last dying ounce of comfort Autumn gave.

wither goest he?
traveling, traversing, rehearsing
the good doctor lingers in the doorway out
sometimes forgotton, but always, ever, perpetually
omnipresent
dictations and suggestions, hunches corrupting
helping one last time to cauterize, sterilize
cutting off the umbilical cord to humanity
nothing to slow it down, nothing to hinder, nothing to feel
cilia burned, silly-a me to allow it
is it a neccesary burden. a beast with a broken back
still slogging, blindly, towards an imaginary finish line
hoping there is only darkness there. rest. peace
he misses his shell. the whole world is asbestos
this is his hell. the soothing water sputters the flames to smoke
and miles away, tonto points and deciphers.
"*******" is what it says, soaring eagle
the white man is so trivial
primitive in his circular command center, melting legos to heat his hearth
hiring ****** to eat his heart
a trapper keeper. a pointed rose. a poisoned tip. a mental rip. a freudian slip
this place has no ***.  I mean.. class. class is what i meant.******
surroundings never touch the surface of my skin
and quantum physicists only complicate this perspective.
**** your logic! and **** mine worse..
why must everything be rehearesed? this is a curse.
a verse of a song I sing with a gun to my head

My guitar sits in the corner,
It beckons me over.
Ah, but the strings might need tuning
Even though they rarely do.

A song grows in my head,
A seedy little idea.
But the melody has not come to me
Even though a few strums would find it.

And who am I kidding,
Tuning strings is like tying shoe laces;
Quick, easy, neccesary to get me places.
I like tuning my guitar.

And this song is more than an idea
It is a fire that needs fuel.
I suppose guitars make good fires,
As long as there is no snapping of wires.

This fire is about you.
It burns bright
Brings me fright
What if I can't stop it?
But what if I don't want to?

My guitar is no longer in the corner.
It found its way into the fire.
The crackle, a perfect melody.
The light, an illuminating song.
The heat, unstoppable,
Just as it should be.

I dream about not being able to sleep
and I wake up exhausted.
I had, once, in my heart, a memory of you
now I just remember the memory.
the night finds my sadness,
and it offers me a song;
"Down the road I go, going down, down the road, going down slow..."

I feel safest at this hour. Alone, uneasy,
but safe. They don't come for you at 3:00am.

I doubt I chose this. In fact I KNOW I didn't choose this... I think (self doubt is a neccesary evil).This chose me, this, this crazy motion of laying down words, which are meant to reflect the feelings and ideas of my heart and mind. These words, which all of them, have double meanings, if not more, are suppose to enlighten, hold back the darkness, expand the mind, bring one closer to God, or at the very least, bring one to self awarness. These words...how, sometimes they fumble onto the paper, clumsy and awkward, like the wrong pieces of a puzzle. How, sometimes they disgust me. Like now, pushing onwards, not knowing what to say, feeling it all vanish, the magic of only moments before when the song came to me along with the train whistle blowing loud over a dark land. How can it come and go like it does? Now I feel like tearing it all down, starting over, but...it's no use. I must learn to let it go. If it was born weak, it won't last. If it has no roots, it will be uprooted and tossed away. You can't be held responsible for these words that you try honestly to lay down. They come out as they are; you give them a place to dwell. If, planted upon the page, they bury their roots deep, so be it...it is good, and be humble and thankful. If not, it's out there already, and you must let nature take it's course. Be humble and thankful. Realize to, that this sort of undertaking takes courage. You risk it all when you lay down the word. But you risk more if you don't: you risk losing your mind, you risk becoming apart of the unfortunate herd; you risk losing the chance of ever seeing the light in it's purest form; you risk losing the warmth of a candle as it holds back all the darkness in the world; you risk losing the long wait in the night for the sun to rise. Who knows these things better then the ones who gamble with the word? Who else, but the one who crafts with words, knows that the word is the beginning and ending of everything?

When I rise in the morning I feel like lying down again...
When I kiss your mouth I want to kiss it again...
I don't want to close my eyes when they are open; I don't want to open them when they are closed.
I only eat when I'm hungry...sometimes not for days.
I figure I'm halfway through living...somehow this cheers me up, reminds me of Elvis singing the American Trilogy. A happy man wants to live forever. A sad man doesn't envy the happy man, for he knows a happy man has no heart. A sad man wants to be happy every once in a while, when it's truly worth it. And then a sad man is truly the happiest man in the world.
Without the dark, there is no light. Until the darkness is vanquished, it will always be this way.
Everybody is wounded. Everything is breaking down. The sadness is growing and it will become overwhelming. Tears are flowing from all eyes, rich or poor. Everybody is thirsty, looking for the drink that will quench that thirst forever. Maybe in death, finally, maybe then, or will it continue? Is this our last trip through the million years of heartache and sorrow? Or, like time, will it never stop? Time, the Bringer of Pain...the longer we go on, the more we hurt. If Time should stop now, I'd be in sorrow for ever. The sweetest songs are the sad longing ones, in any culture. The one's about love, heartache. Why must there always be a hint of sadness in everything we say, do or see?
I haven't been happy now for a very long time. I've learned to accept and deal with it. I've learned to use it. Somehow, accepting it helps. You can feel the wisdom this brings. Eventually, looking back, we will all laugh at this, right before we die, and know that it was meant to be like this. Better to know this now, know it well, laugh about it, and when the time comes, perhaps one can die happy.
A smile on your dead lips. A mystery behind that smile.
A joy for the ones in the know.
A seed planted in the hearts of the others.
Everything will be alright. Be of good cheer. The earth is flat again, which makes things so much easier. Now I know what I gotta do, and that moral law wasn't invented by the rich to keep the poor from robbing their banks and hanging their dogs.

Well, you don't have to  need a reason, but you do need a ryhmn, to keep in measure, all this passing of time.
Flipping through my books gots me realizing that I'd make a hypocrite
tree hugger
And the comfort of the night finally becomes a delay once again.
Never felt good when I started but feeling bad that I have to stop.
Enjoy your mornings and don't forget your masks.

225 719 9187
Call today and save my soul
No money neccesary
Just a ******* and have a blessed day
Preach to me the teachings of god
Tell me how I'll go to hell for my sins
Where loving once pays in dying twice
Enlighten me on what I did so wrong
Curse my name
Spit in the ground I walk
Bury me under my own misery
What else can I say
We all knew I was a **** up
Sanity not a birthright
Hell if you wanted perfect you should have never came to me
I've slept with more women than I could count
Chased emotions away with broomsticks
But like any rabid beast
Give it attention
It knows where home could be
So call today and maybe your words
Could take this lonely soul
And free it into the place it was meant to be born into
But you wont do it
You're scared
You fear me
Not knowing what kind of man I am
Second guessing the reason you chose
To dial my number in the first place
Maybe you should forget it
I'm sure I'll find my own will
To do the devils work for him
He's not to blame
God should be ashamed
I am he
He is you
You are me
Me is dead
So I guess we all are
When we were born in his image
I'm done talking I'm taking action
Feel free to cleanse your own soul
By trying to cleanse mine
PLEASE SIR
PLEASE MA'AM
TELL ME HOW YOUR GOD CAN SAVE ME NOW
WHEN THE ONLY THINGS THAT NEED TO BE SAVED
IS THE THINGS I'LL ABUSE TO DESTROY MYSELF

drinking *** allows you to
spots things.... the like of insects crawling
on glasss... the oddity being:
inside a room... i call it a misguide
between glass and air...
    and then there's evanescne's
my immortal...
           and why i can forge
a need for a tear...
              that sense of
a gratifying gulp of snot...
    the pass on asking being
demanding....
  like wolverine asking jane / phoenix
out on a date... but being rejected....
because she's seeing
cyclopse;
**** me, a woman's take on scent...
and then cleaning up cat's ****...
     well done....
   to satiate the brute...
           you have to be the brute...
and what of a need for
a callous call to make amends?
          well, merely answered by a:
                                    hush;
and that's outside the domain
            of saying growl...
     when an actual growl was neccesary;
and was, a verb, rather than a noun...
          oh the freeing feeling
                of the much adored sadness!
god, with it, i am, nowhere closer than
to you, in that i am... "claustrophobic",
yes, res locus;
yes, res locus... it's something that gives
a historicity of the cartesian argument...
a temporal and a spatial guise-cocnern
    for temperaments that avoids
         fabrics, and that said, generally:
fashion; esp. to give vogue to cognition!
it really can be "unfashionable"
to think someone's argument...
        e.g. kant? unfashionable.
  nietszche? very much fashionable...
it's called hegel's lecture notes + marx's critique...
   cogntive vogue...
i like that term...
it sounds so much more astute to be said,
than say, cultural marxism...
      so much easier to state:
  well... given the year 2017, the cognitive vogue
is... a, b, c...
     than ascribe some definitves /
                             post-scripts of an ideology,
like darwinism, that's become as rigid
                            as the geometry of a triangle;
and **** me! the theaory won't budge!
it won't budge into a yawn! degraded as library
material!
   it had to compete with marxism
                      as having, a culutral status!

Whether it's the land and sea,
Or the soil and trees,
There is a lock for each key,
Call it a restrain, or a feeling of being free

The sun and the moon,
Radiate light and reflect it respectively,
Their omnipresence exhibits the neccesary balance, a disguised boon,
Which is utilized so profusely and effectively

Take mankind, the most profound example,
A vessel of emotions, thoughts and actions,
An observable trait when the balance was lost,
Was when wars were waged, and today, it is when we are beginning to defrost the frost

If we learn from our ancestors and from mother nature,
If only we could let go of our superflous desires, such as societal stature,
And lend a hand to the weak, the needy and halt activities that render our planet and people broken,
It doesn't matter if it takes an age, for life is all a gamble, and i have an adequate number of tokens

drinking *** allows
you fo
spots things....
the like of insects crawling
on glasss...
the oddity being:
inside a room...
     i call it a misguide
between glass and air...
    and then there's evanescne's
my immortal...
           and why i can't forge
a need for a tear...
              that sense of
a gratifying gulp of snot...
    the pass on asking being
demanded....
  like wolverine asking jane / phoenix
out on a date... but being rejected....
because she's seeing
                         cyclopse;
**** me, a woman's take on scent...
and then cleaning up cat's ****...
     well done....
   to satiate the brute...
           you have to be the brute...
and what of a need for
a callous call to make amends?
          well, merely answered by a:
                                    hush;
and that's outside the domain
            of saying growl...
     when an actual growl was neccesary;
and was, a verb, rather than a noun...
          oh the freeing feeling
                of the much adored sadness!
god, with it, i am, nowhere closer than
to you, in that i am... "claustrophobic",
yes, res locus.