If you’re listening to this right now hoping to hear something new,
Hoping to hear something that might inspire you
Or give you that rush you’ve been looking for…
Just…
Keep looking…

We’ve all said it before...
That we’re looking for something…
That we’re just not sure what it is...

And I think that -for the most part- we deserve that.
That uncomfortable mystery.
I mean…
What’s the point of reading a book if you already know how it ends?
If you knew what you were looking for,
There’s no adventure in the search for it.
So why is it that every time I see a sunset...
My gut reaction is to run away from it?
Like I’m trying to repent for wasting my day but I don’t know why.
It didn’t feel like I was wasting it until it was over and by then…
The sun was already setting.

Let me try to make more sense of this…

So you’re 8 years old.
Not once in those 8 years have you ever worried
That you won’t be enough,
That you won’t amount to anything.
In those 8 years you’ve been in spaceships and castles.
You’ve gone from training wheels to treasure maps.
Streetlights were your curfew
And the sunset never seemed like an ending.
You went to bed that night and woke up 10 years later in a panic Looking for something you lost the day before.
The world was falling apart
And the sun hadn’t even made an appearance yet.
Your spaceships have landed
And your treasure maps turned out to be dead ends...

The swing set couldn’t get you out of orbit
And you didn’t find what you were looking for
In that hole in the back yard.

You’re 18…
Everything feels like the ending of the story
And you don’t even know the plot yet.
You start drawing treasure maps again
And everyone thinks you’re crazy,
But all you’re really trying to do find is what you lost so long ago
And when they tell you to just retrace your steps…
None of the footprints look like you own.

You start running in reverse.
Whether it be to get away from yourself or who you thought you were, It doesn’t matter.
The point is that you’re looking for something.
You start dusting off old treasure maps and try to revisit the stars.
What once was your castle
Is now just an old blanket next to the couch in the living room.
You start to panic.
Frantically you search for the moment of impact
When your rocket returned home
And the lid of the treasure chest slammed shut.
But you won’t find it.
It’s not there anymore.
You start to notice how empty your gut feels,
Yet at the same time so heavy.

So you’re 18 years old.
You’ve started to worried that you won’t be enough.
That you won’t amount to anything.
In these 18 years you’ve been in spaceships and castles.
You’ve gone from training wheels to taking tests.
Streetlights are no longer your curfew
And every sunset is a different ending.
You’ll go to bed tonight
And wake up 10 years from now in a panic
Looking for something you lost the day before.
The world never stopped falling apart
And the sun hasn’t even made an appearance yet.
Your spaceships have landed
And your treasure maps turned out to be dead ends...

And I think that -for the most part- we deserve this.
This uncomfortable mystery.
I mean…
What’s the point of reading a book if you already know how it ends?
If you knew what you were looking for,
There’s no adventure in the search for it.
So why is it that every time I see a sunset...
My gut reaction is to run away from it?
Maybe because I know I’m still searching for something
And my time is running out.
And everyday when I wake up,
Panicked,
Looking for something I lost the day before
The world starts falling apart…
But by then…
The sun is already setting.

We’ve all said it before...
That we’re looking for something…
That we’re just not sure what it is…

And at the end of that day,
What you're looking for could be right in front of you,
Plain as the sunset,
But you'll never know unless you keep your eyes open,
And keep looking.

So if you’re listening to this right now hoping to hear something new,
Hoping to hear something that might inspire you
Or give you that rush you’ve been looking for…
Just…
Keep looking…

We laid on the trunk of his car
Shivering backs against dented metal
I always look at the stars
But tonight you did too
You pointed out constellations
And they were all wrong
It was so cold
But it was everything
Next to you
Laughing
Freezing
We were stargazing like we did in my summer dreams
And now when I see a nightsky
This is what i'll remember
Even if it's just another thing you forget to take with you.

spaceships
flying in the air

a twinkle in my eye
    as I stare

seeing those things
     invisible

I am invincible

Have I ever compared you to the stars?
Have I ever described your eyes in ways that resemble constellations?
Talk to me about time.
Talk to me about the universe
in all ways that I'll never be able to understand.
Spin me around like a clock and take me back in time
to the days when stars shined brighter than these city lights.

We don't have to say a word.
Make no noise, not a sound.
Let silence fill our ears.
Let the quiet take over the earth.
Let us float in this peace,
and enjoy the time we have together.

I had a dream, however insane, that we were dancing with the cosmos.
Twirling with the burning stars,
and playing hide and seek with the spaceships.

I know that you have to leave soon
and I know that stars don't burn forever,
but lay with me here on the ground.
We'll count sheep all night until
the sun greets us in the morning letting us know
that the night is dead and gone.

It's not my fault that I fell in love with the world in you.
I see so much life in you
and I think we should stay in this position forevermore.
We will never miss another darting star,
Whirling its way passed us breaking our silence just for a second.

Moon zoos zoos on the moon in white man spaceship zoos on moon,
earth chavs chavs on the earth in a burberry chav ship chavs on the earth,
sun ***** ***** on the sun in racist spaceship ***** on the sun.

Some people say I’m over emotional,
but I can’t help it,
see love can be tricky to find,
I mean you can’t exactly Yelp it,

even though soul food is more filling than pop rocks,
so I focus on Self and people mistake that as selfish,
but there’s a difference between self centered and selfish,
and you’re a fool if you choose to not know the difference,

would rather be alone than with a clone,
that’s me being self conscious of all the noisy nonsense,
I’m strongest when I’m alone & when I find a love that’s true,
I get all Neo-Em and act all helpless,

well this,
is just the way it goes,
up late alone listening to Emo-Soul,
ready to Seal the Deal with a Kiss From A Rose,

while all these liars lie like Geppetto,
or better let Pinnocchio,
trying to prove what they say is true,
but I’m no fool so I just observe as their nose grows,

and no I don’t believe Them when their scheming,
because We’re wild & beautiful & They’re just tame & gross,
see nothing is more disgusting than a liar,
nothing more a turn off than someone frontin’ like they on one,

so if you’re not don’t front like you’re the one,
you’re not a rider you’re a parking meter who’s time expired,
We are Amazing Spaceships,
you’re just a scarred car ready to retire with flat tires all tired,

drained of all feelings,
you’re counterfeit not the real thing,
I don’t care about your Brand Names,
you can’t copyrite Freedom,
I don’t care what you are,
I care who you are a a human being being,

and I know I’m getting worked up,
but that’s only because I feel let down,
so don’t be surprised if you wake up,
open your eyes and find I’m nowhere to be found,

and you realize that I lost your lies found truth and left town,

with just a backpack full of daydreams,
and a heart full of gold,
I’ll have hit the open road,
just Me, Myself and my Emo Soul…

∆ LaLux ∆

The child dreamed of flight since she could first walk.

She dreamed of stepping not on earth, like the workers--
Not on workers, like the rich ones,
And not on rich ones, like the gods, no.

She dreamed of stepping on nothing.

She looked first to the stars, with a hunger.
She wanted them.
She saw the spacemen with stars in their eyes,
Stars in their pockets--
Stars wherever they wanted them.

She looked at the lack of workers, rich ones, and gods.
She looked at the quiet.
She looked at all the nothing there was to step on.

With her feet on the earth, packed into painful solidity,
She looked at them and ached.

Sipping champagne at 30.000 feet,
Fangs and claws can never reach us.

No longer fearing the beast,
War and famine spills from our hands.

Are we just,
Monkeys with guns and spaceships,
Calling a tiny speck of dust home.

They say,
Get yours before it's too late.

Dining on desire,
We decide.

Astronauts or soldiers.

MARS

The Shaman and the Planet Mars,
Gazing in wonder amid the stars,
Arms raised in worship,
The Universe the Navajo church,
Ancient marvels to behold,
The human race timeless and old,
From Mars to Earth,
Did spaceships give berth?
Ramses' face on Mars,
Pondering Ptolemies from afar,
The Shaman honour singing,
Future and past aligning,
Gazing in wonder amid the stars,
The Shaman and Planet Mars.

It all happened so fast. Like most good things in life--the really monumental moments--it's like you float out of your body and come screaming back just soon enough to realize the moment had passed.

I didn't know how many miles were behind me now. It seemed like a thousand but it didn't really matter. I wasn't going to be one of those mindless wanderers--blindly probing my way through life's misery and defeat to one day wake up wishing I was young again.

I'm taking my youth back from the government, the bankers, the Wall Street gamblers and racing toward the horizon like there are commercial airplanes in my blood and skyscrapers burning in my chest.

You can only go to the same god forsaken place to have your soul ****** out of you for so many ******* days in a row before you either become one of them or make your own revolt and

collapse
                 *into a sea of ash
                                              slithering like snakes along the city streets.
You just run as fast as you can.

I chose the latter.
__________________­__


I'm going to do the cliche thing I suppose. Do as many drugs as possible, do as many women as possible, keep chasing the next good time until I get high enough to slap a saddle on my car roof and ride off into the Atlantic--fireworks shooting off in every direction to *** up the stars--refracting radials within the iridescence of the shimmering sea.

>explosions echo endlessly<
[wrap around the ambient rhythm of the TidePuller]

touch! caress! make love!--stare through eyes into deep blue souls and find something of yourself there.

That's how I'd like to go anyways, I don't know about you--.

That might just be this narcotic cocktail talking. I take my pills ground up in a wine glass mixed with cheap scotch. Then I chase with cups of watered down coffee--chugging until ceilings start to undulate and shake me loose. That's when I know I can start the day.

It's usually my most productive days when the ceiling tiles arrange into piano keys. Then I get to create my symphonies and soliloquies before I try to go get laid.

Now that I'm out here on the road though my mind is being blown.

Try waking to the same white black piano key ceiling everyday, to then finally feel the colors of the sky--for the very first time!

A never ending metaphysical canvas for the thoughts and longings of a drugged up DaVinci who just woke up in his time machine to start the 2nd Renaissance in the clouds. It all makes me wish I would have left years ago.
__________________­_


You see, I'm your typical twenty-something passionate kid trying to turn a ****** past into some kind of salvageable foundation for a chance at catching up with the rest of normal "adult" society. But I've got some problems with this whole "reality" thing people are so adamant at upholding.

Last time I visited my human family around the world they were all drowning in debt and poverty; trying with every fiber of their being to find that one bright spot. Stuck. In the deepest, darkest, most cavernous rotting excuse of a day to day life.

All because some meaningless number
on some computer
in some bank building
with their name on it
either is too small or doesn't exist.

Most of my human family know things are bad,

But most in the impoverished third-world are so deprived of basic human needs that they never get the chance to ponder who really holds the key to their cage.

So they are inclined to accept the status quo and the system and try to live inside of it. Failing to find sunshine within the deepest depths of an erupting volcano; mistaking the heat, the burning alive, for some kind of sign that the brightness has got to be somewhere close. So we will just try to sink a little deeper with the rest of them.

Here in America:
Sure, let's go on back to ringing registers for minimum wage all day until my ears bleed and my head wants to fall off so I can go home to watch some television!

Yes, God Please just let me relax here with my box of flashing pictures and scintillating sounds. The only truth I'll ever need.

Just let me relax here with my reality being defined for me by the volcano directors--telling me that I didn't just come in my house dripping with magma all over the carpet.

YES GOD, just let me relax a little before I have to go to my volcanic, skin searing hell again tomorrow morning. Where they tell me on T.V. that I'm going to find that sunshine I desperately long for. But It'll always

*collapse
                 into a sea of ash
                 to scar the sky grey, silence the sun's rays, blot out the stars, and darken our days*

You just sigh and say "Tomorrow's another day..."
_________________­__


Yeah, I was right there with them yesterday. I was with them for years. Getting brainwashed and ***** slapped by advertising--getting barraged with constant reminders that all I was meant to do was to work my life away--decide to be some tiny insignificant cog in this "economy" they call it.

Looks more to me like I signed up to be some mindless consumerism *****! Sheeping my way along... buying and wasting; buying, wasting; buying again, a bunch of **** I don't need and throwing it away.

We're Living in a society infected with some sort of capitalistic contagion that pretty much siphons off the Earth's life force.

We are conditioned into a reality that the richest & most powerful would like all to believe.

Art-full hearts are stomped on, told to get a job, and plan for retirement. Told to slow down and be reasonable rather than speed up. Velocity of the heart may as well be an act of terrorism unless it's for marriage--and LGBT is on the no fly list.

This is a reality set up predominantly for the endless profit of a bunch of trans-national corporations who won't be satisfied until they hold complete and utter dominion over their ***** and pillaged planet.

Perhaps then they'll be rich enough to fly away in spaceships to **** the next Earth and leave all us sheep here with bargain sales, social networking and reality T.V. as distractions...

Too bad for them some people still read. So I'll learn the different strains of herb from my local library and become a ***** of feeling good, freeing love, and accepting all artistry.

Have you ever seen a painting in the sky? Or witnessed windy symphonies in trees? Hey, don't judge me,

you're the one addicted to killing everyone and everything with your mindless dollar bill.

kneel before almighty god,
mind your founders,
adore their wise countenance,
looking up at you,
re-assuring you,
comforting you,
taking the pain away,
but DON'T RUN OUT!
you'll be back for more.
you'll come crawling back.
You'll do anything for just enough,
just one more fix.

It's got its hooks in bad,
don't it.
___________________­_


PRODUCT-XA110357: Capitalism
DRUG STATUS: Still in Clinical Trials
TEST SUBJECTS: Human Race
PHARMACEUTICAL LABORATORY: Earth
INITIAL FINDINGS: Subjects not receptive, keeps causing: Anger, Greed, Jealously, Oppression, War, Ignorance, Famine, Inequality, Imprisonment, Slavery. Environment not receptive, will cease functioning in the future. Time of Earth Death is unclear. Thankfully it does seem capable to last through the next few fiscal years. A relief, as this is what our stockholders are concerned with.


Symptoms of Withdrawal
Users who are addicted to money and are going through withdrawals may or may not experience a loss of food, water, shelter, clothing, transportation, education, free-time, happiness, fulfillment, reverence of nature, beautiful moments, relationships with friends or families, and love.


FDA Warning
If you are poor, lazy, and uneducated it is your own fault. Being poor and lazy may or may not result in Debt. DEBT may or may not lead to SLAVERY, stress, illness, and an early death.


Poison Control Center
If you have ingested too much debt, slavery, stress, illness, and are fearing an early death please do not call any corporate buildings. Access your phone, computer, or go to your local library to find reputable resources and EDUCATE YOURSELF IMMEDIATELY. Get some nice speakers and start exploring ALL GENRES OF MUSIC. Look at as many paintings, sculptures, forests, and gardens as you can--as often as possible. Lay under the stars and dream about what YOU want to do to make a positive impact on this world. FIND OTHER POSITIVE PEOPLE and AVOID NEGATIVE PEOPLE. If you know someone that is poisoned who you want to save please refer them to the nearest Poison Control Center

-->Smile at the sun--feel its warmth<--

----------------------------------------------------------­------------------------------------------------------

happy hearts:--after love--not money--free from pain--sickness will surrender--
addicted to art, peace, compassion, and empathy--feel the sky get closer--.

-----------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------------------------------------





­




























"In a state of enlightened anarchy each person will become his(her) own ruler. They will conduct themselves in such a way that their behaviour will not hamper the well being of their neighbours. In an ideal state there will be no political institutions and therefore no political power."
-Mahatma Gandhi

Close your eyes as I sentence you to go back in time
To turn the clock backwards; won't coast you a single dime

All the way to days of catching fireflies and carrying lunchboxes
Being scared of monsters in the closet and building fort mattresses

When you made a best friend by sharing your blue crayon – the color of your skin didn't matter
When candy was everything you wanted to buy. And ice-cream was the ultimate answer

When nobody was prettier than mom, and nobody was cooler than dad
When she waited for you when you got home and you sat on his lap; nothing would ever go bad

When rainy days only meant we'll manage to do everything inside the classroom and continue to play
When chicken pox was entertaining, balloons made everything okay and we played with clay

When it was a big deal to go to an amusement park and finally get on the ‘Big Kid’ rides
When goodbye only meant until summer is over and no one left your side

When you sneaked up on your toys because ‘Toy Story’ was real
When you spent each day in the sun and everything was ideal

When mistakes were corrected by exclaiming 'do over' and everybody was a friend
When we all played together as one and there was no pretend

When decisions were made by going eeny-meeny-miney-moe
Never having a clue that we’ll soon say goodbye and it’ll be time to grow...

Those days weren't going to last
Huh... They passed by pretty fast

Days of wearing a blanket on your back thinking you could fly
Of tip-toeing around the house; turning to a spy

Days of wearing your mom's heels and pearls and acting like a queen
Of chasing each other in shopping malls and making a scene

Days of being afraid of the dark and pretending to be sick just to skip school
Of climbing trees, swinging on swings, and following playground rules

Days of bedtime stories and being tucked in bed
Of pretending to be a zombie and playing dead

Days of jump ropes, Nintendo games, and flipping coins to make everything fair
Of Hide & Seek, pillow fights and jumping up and down the stairs

Days of having a recess to run around and scream
Of no race issues; just one team

Days of not caring about what you wore; whether a size two or ten
Of being tired from playing, but we'd sleep only to wake up and play again

Days of ordering happy meals not for the food, but the toy; never worrying about weight
Of 10$ feeling like a million & another extra dollar is a miracle. When ten o’clock was considered late

Days of looking at the stars/clouds and imagining shapes, occupying an entire evening
Of no matter how bad your voice was, you weren't embarrassed to sing

Days of following ants and having a pet bug
Of camping in the backyard, and Barni was your drug

Days of melted chocolate all over our faces and still not caring who was watching
Of ‘Opposite Days’, checking who leaped more steps, "You're it" and racing

Days of cuss words being banned and you didn't have to be compared
Of having innocence and being treated equal. You were once heard

Remember those days?? Or have you forgotten that you weren't born yesterday??

Before having responsibilities and driving cars. Just simple cardboard spaceships, and the privilege to sit in the front seat
Before x-boxes, PlayStation2, or internet browsers. Before you made quick judgments, lied and cheated

Before changing ourselves to impress others and wearing make-up
Covering who we truly are, claiming that we have grown up

Before caring about sexism, classicism, or racism, and letting our ignorant society take over us
Being misled by social media; blinding us from the fact that we’re all the same and making a huge fuss

Before money and popularity controlled and took over - Being mean and acting like jerks because we think it’s cool
Mocking others because they're not the same as us. Abusing people; treating them as a tool…

Before all that… Days of our childhood – How I wish to go back
Enter a time machine and get back to that youth track

But time isn't on our side and we have to leave it all behind eventually
Yet learn from it… Gather that knowledge and better yourself… Childhood days are the cherry on top of this reality.

we drove through vacant parking lots trying to recover our lost luggage

the moon reflected off the gray asphalt making the *** holes look like craters

and your voice stung my skin when it broke the silence

because the interior has been worn down by all my angles

I was drowning in all the things I couldn’t say

for a second i felt greedy because

here I was choking in an ocean of thoughts

and there you were parched, searching for anything

any word at all

if this is what the surface of the moon feels like-

streetlights glowing on my hands, making a kaleidascope

of patterns and shapes-

then I still would never want to go

if it meant draining your bones until they are brittle

until they are nothing but dust piled in my hands

Tattoos covering a man that speaks of his soul
A dog with a playful heart and loving tongue
Miles of dandelion covered fields and poison ivy infested forest
Mud covered boots and worn out running shoes
Smoke rising from a chimney and an open door lifestyle
Swings swaying in the wind connected to a cat-**** infested sandbox
A pond with fishing poles in the dirt and a splintery dock
Paint stripped basketball hoop without its net ripped and torn
Rocks and logs surrounding an overused fire pit
A lush garden with every kind of bug and animal
Another dog with his wise years found spotted on his nose
An old, leathery glove with its seams falling out
Scratched and scorned arms from 4th of July bottle rockets
Mom and dad a quick walk just a mile down the road
A 1962 Corvette Stingray parked next to the dusty van
Two cats sleeping the day away on the porch
A trampoline with rusted springs and a sprinkler underneath
The grill cooling from an afternoon of burgers and hotdogs
The brother flying in from Colorado after a week on the slopes
Rock and roll blasting from the house that can be heard for miles
All the windows open to take in the summer air
Every pillow and blanket carefully positioned to make an epic fort
Bikes hanging in the garage next to the bin with every ball you can think of
An over used washer and dryer next to the hallway with endless pictures
Half finished schoolwork on the table surrounded by the crust of a PB&Js;
Rooms with unmade beds and works of art mixed in with stuffed animals
A sister biking in from the town just beyond the nature reserve
Wrinkled hands and dirt filled nails contrasted by a gold ring
Nerf bullets covering the floor, windows, and fridge in the kitchen
Chalk covered black top from the garage to the street
Lego towns and spaceships covering the coffee table
A whiteboard with math equations and tic-tac-toe fighting for whitespace
A wall full of board games missing a die here or a figuring there
Newspaper clippings, pictures of nephews and nieces, and report cards on the fridge
Coffee *** half gone, cereal bowls in the sink, and the oven on for some reason
Bike ramps with caution tape and under construction signs scattered in the garage
Firefly nights that have to compete with the millions of the stars in the sky
Flashlight filled ghost stories in the family tent with mallows and chocolate bars
Lazy afternoons with a good book ending with an even better nap
And a mailbox, surrounded by tulips, on my little patch of heaven.

Dreaming during the witching hour’s like
Being under the pink with an icicle
And I don’t wanna go to hell on a technicality
So I dream under the sun
I dream ultraviolet
But then to the human race, I seem to lose the keys
And the rabbits always lead me to gardens of lust
And they’re kidnapping angels on capitol hill
Thought me and the universe had an agreement
But still I’m building spaceships the size of a pill
If you let out your monkey, a butterfly gets framed
Where goes all those who have lost their graces
This tattoo of you is a curse-
a Borneo from the bottom of a bottle
And dreaming during the witching hour’s like
Being under the pink with an icicle
And I don’t wanna go to hell on a technicality

An old angelic poet went flying
one drab and tempestuous night.

Upon the clouds he rested
as the fallen angels were in his sight.

Whence all angel's were together
Serving their mighty God.

Now separated by good and evil
By free will the hellion hadst lost.

Their spaceships were ablazed
And their crown's they wore as king's.

Their wing's we're ivory crystalline
And their thunderous aura like electricity didst ring...

A trace of cherub dust they left behind in the sky
Telepathically knowing, today their wing's shalt fly...

Chorus-
Chariot's roll
Chariot's play
Seraphim riders, in the sky.......

Their countenance unearhtly, their eye's lit
Their batas all drenched by unseen blood.
Their flying hard to get those hellion
But they've lost one of their ship's.

Because it's their duty, to protect the all powerful God
They sweep by force in by million's, with lightning bolts as Rod's.

As the chariot Master's swept by the ghouls
The ghoulies calleth out their names,
The serpahim said to the ghoulies
Go back to hell from whence thou came.

And hellion its to late to changeth thy ways, thou made a bad choice..... So the Hellion's retreated, back to their doom of fiery noise....

Chorus-
Chariot's roll
Chariot's play
Seraphim rider's in the sky,
Serpahim rider's in the sky
Serpahim rider's in the sky......

I fell

[through hugs and kisses,
arguments,
Italian takeout,
suits and dresses,
texts at 2 am,
summer karaoke nights,
missed curfews,
coffee,
****** movies,
classic '70s songs,
stairs,
health food and vegetables,
fights,
antagonism,
test scores,
spaceships,
and happiness]

in love.

Laugh all you want,
but when I was a kid
I didn't watch
Thriller after dark.

But I danced.
I danced my *** off in that lit living
room
with Joci.

All night long,
popping
and moonwalking.

Now that I'm old(er)
I know how to build spaceships
and I can put
the popcorn
in the microwave
myself.

I can take the popcorn out of the microwave
and watch Thriller all night long.

But
then
my little woodpecker
came.

When I was
Cynical
with power
now and then,
I became
Raw
and uncarved
again.

We dance over the graves all night long.
Our tombstones are smooth
and we make light
together
with our feet.

Little woodpecker
what are you beginning to etch
in me now?

Does a wish even mean anything anymore?

It seems that people wish and wish and wish,
More each day and day and day.

But they don’t receive any of their wishes, just more days.
It seems like it’s impossible for a wish to come true anymore.
I’m sitting here in this room and I’m surrounded by is troubled memories.
All these troubled images and feelings.

I look up to the clock and it’s 11:10.
Oh, what a time to be alive.
Because I know in just one short minute,
One little minute,
One rapidly approaching minute,
It will be 11:11.
And that minute seems to last forever.

It is in that minute that the dreamers and the believers and the prayers,
They all become the wishers.
They all wish for better jobs, or better cars, or better tomorrows.
But sadly, no one ever told them that tomorrow never comes.

Tomorrow is just a day away.
But tomorrow will never be here because when you get there it’s Today.

Tomorrow is such a strange thing.
But yet so many people wish for the pain to cease, tomorrow.
For the girl or guy to like us back, tomorrow.
We all wish to find a million dollars on the ground, tomorrow.

We wish, we wish, we wish.

In that minute at 11:11, we spend a lifetime wishing for something that we know we NEED.
We don’t WANT a new car, we NEED one to get to the store to buy groceries for our children.
We don’t WANT that other person to like us back, we NEED them to because we need a hand to hold, lips to kiss, and a shoulder to cry on.
We don’t WANT to find money on the ground, we NEED to because we’re running out of money to pay the bills, money to pay the rent, and money to live.
We don’t wish for things we WANT, we wish for things we NEED.

We need comfort.
We need happiness to come and see the way we’ve been living.
And for it to say “This person needs me.”

I wish we all had our wishes, oh that is what I wish.

Some people look at wishing as Child’s Play.
But I look at it as a lost art that has become unrecognized.

Because there are so many people in the World,
Wishing for a heart that needs healed.
A hand that needs held.
And for stars they need to show so they may keep wishing upon them.

Sometimes, when we wish for a better day, we get a terrible one.
When we wish for more food, we go hungrier.
When we wish for riches, we receive rags.
When we wish for love, we find hate.
Happiness, we find pain.
White, we find grey.

And sometimes we wish for the day but we find the night.

And if it was all up to me, a wish would come true for me and you.
Wishes would be like horses, and gallop toward prosperity.
Those wishes would be like spaceships, and fly to unknown places.
And they would save everyone with good graces.
Wishes would be like cars.
They’d travel oh so far.
Wishes would be like airplanes.
And probably do something that rhymes with airplanes.

Those wishes would save our souls.
Those wishes would make the World whole.

I wish everyone who wishes wishes would have their wishes come true.
I wish pain would turn into serendipity.
Sadness would turn into happiness.
I wish the World would be whole once again.

I would wish for a better today and to never see tomorrow if all it holds is pain.

I’d wish the whole World would be happy again,
And I’d wish you all the best,

But sadly, it’s now 11:12.

here's to the glam rock messiah of outsiders and misfits,
the androgynous man of the stars with the music.

born in brixton,
he traveled the universe by spaceships and soundwaves
with wild hair and one eye dilated.
book-loving and queer,
in love with the thought of turning 50.
the world had never seen a man
living different lives at once,
but here the starman came reinventing himself:
ziggy stardust, thin white duke, aladdin sane, major tom—
all different selves tied together by his heart.

he lived his earthly mission, rightfully so
that even the gravity of the world could not keep him put.
so on and on he strummed his guitar and crawled on stage,
in spaceboots and dresses, in porcelain doll makeup,
reaching out to all the nobody and somebody people

but one day his cosmic vessel
was taken down by a secret sickness
and halted his mission here on earth,
and so the streets and little bars smelling of cigars
were flooded by the ones who mourned,
who looked up to the stars,
wondering where their starman went.
the world had never seen such an electric creature,
but here the star man came in music and dance,
saying it was alright to be weird—
to embrace strangeness
in a world where every earthling wanted to be the same.

and perhaps, he isn't really long gone:
his time here may have ended
but now he is out there, somewhere,
on some distant star,
watching over the Earth as he always has.

She was old when I first knew her
To an infant, parents are timeless;
Fairy aunts are just… old.

A tiny scarecrow of a thing,
Her eyes glittered; her mouth
Never offered an ill word of anyone.

She was a good woman.  She never tired
Of talking about blind Jim – a good man –
With girlish love in her face;

One man, one love, one life
He wove wicker and filled mattresses
And listened to the wireless in the evening.

Her constant thought companion
As so many might-have-been heroes –
Gone, before I could know him.

Christmas would wend round each year,
With Meg as star guest,
Tipsy before the Queen’s Speech,

Whisky rouging her cheeks; fairy lights
Made envious by her laughter,
My mother, and hers, basking in gleelight.

I grew up there, every other Sunday,
Overlooking the Hospital and the Tay
From the safety of her living-room window,

Inventing spaceships and spies,
Dreaming of who I would be,
As my mother and Meg made small-talk.


Month by month, her daylight dimmed.
I never saw it.  She was only ever her;
Happy, constant and true.



Afterwards, I learned about the
Vying accountants and surgeons,
Postponing, year and again,

The procedure.  She told me, when finally
Her appointment was confirmed,
That when the cataracts were gone,

She was going to buy a ticket
For the number nine circular
And spend all day upstairs,

Just looking out of the window
At the city she’d lived in
For nigh-on ninety years

A week before the operation
Her home-help found her in bed, with Jim;
Smiling as they danced through the daisies.

She seemed no older when she died
Than when I first knew her.  
A good innings, they all said.

Not enough.  
If only by the length of a bus ticket –
not enough.

I’m pretty sure there is no more alcohol in this house, I drank it dry, but I got plans to refill the coffers of the estate in a distant land some call the future when I am old, too old to do much but write checks, sign forms, ride on spaceships of my own design, my making, a phsy phi movie, with the masters, with Nash and Sendak, with Moratta and the Spells, with Shug Knight and his dynamite, with Tu Pac the moment that last bullet struck gold ...

The boundaries of who you are, how you act, start slipping away ever so slowly.  At first you just think you are in a better mood, and maybe that’s all you are.

Did I know I was in a manic episode?  How could I not know?  How could I not look for help instead of whatever insanity I let myself travel towards? How how how .... do I sound like an Indian? Does that question offend you?

Just me in the car. It had been just me for days.  Reaching out to social media occasionally to wave my crazy flag.

My stomach felt like water was boiling inside it.  Angry butterflies that would not stop their painful flutter.  The fear, the agitation, anxiety I usually call it, but its more like being perpetually ...

Sometimes I realize that my personality is basically the jail house ***** of perpetual introspection

Self involvement is probably more accurate. Introspection is the dumb self grasping at explanations of evolving memories as they pile up always too fast, always out of reach, always always always then you just ******* die one day.

And that's it isn't it. Whatever else happens that will be my story.

We can never understand what it is because it keeps changing them we all eventually die and that's it.

It's pretty ******* terrifying.


It will make you hide things.

Wishing for a better past is futile
self-torture
a form of the ultimate folly:
feeling sorry for yourself.
It makes you feel pathetic.
Especially if you actually are pathetic.
If your life is a failure of your own making
In cooperation with a mental illness
Which is making me feel so sad and pathetic
I can think of little else but how pathetic I am

But my present seems futile.
There is not much in my reality that is hopeful even when I’m in a better mood.
In short, my life seems hopeless.
I don’t have a job, or a mate, and I’m not likely to find either one any time soon.
I have barely any work experience
I’m 36 years old.  
I live with my parents.
I have a bad case of bipolar disorder and a bad case of ADHD and I know that makes it unlikely I will ever be able to succeed at anything.  Of course one of the illnesses might be right now telling me things are worse than they seem.

I am suicidal but afraid to **** myself.  I wonder if I’ll ever find the desperation or the courage.  As I get older my situation seems worse and worse.  I cant seem to get myself to act to change it.  I can’t ACT.  I can’t DO.  How is this possible?  how am I like this?  How? How? How?

Writing something seems like some kind of action.
Something productive, in theory.
This is what I come up with.
Bad poetry.
Worse than usual.

Just try to write something anything
feel the keys bounce
remember what its like to say something
taste it
let it flow
let it go
what?
what can’t I let go?
what blocks?
just bounce bounce bounce
no one will read this but I need to find that hidden somber knowing inner voice
no matter how fake it is
etch it out
send it out
to the world
let it fly

There has to be something to say hasn’t there?
Write about a manic episode … how to begin? What moment to draw out?

Gotta try not o ******* all day tomorrow
Gotta try
can’t promise anything
this is who I am
I hate myself, of course
how could I not

And on and on and on
Just writing anything
writing “writing”
like Jack Nicholson in The Shining
Jack is a dull boy
Jack is a dull boy
Jack is a dull boy
God help me
but he won’t
of course not
this is a warm fuzzy version of hell
not that bad
except the self-loathing
oh God why me the self-pity
typing typing typing
It would not surprise me
if I never really wrote anything
just a total loser
jerking off all day
not working
living with my parents
watching teenagers **** on the internet
why am I like this?
How can I change myself?
I want to change myself
I really do
God help me
but he won’t
just on and on
nothing gets done
I am nothing
I want to **** myself
but I don’t have the guts
I want to die
I want to die
I say it all the time its mostly about the shame of who I am I can’t stand it it goes on and on

everything bad starts out innocently enough
rock before the roll
this is not writing I can’t write
am I just too ******?
would I write anything sober?
I live my life in a hell not quite of my making
I want to die I want to die I want to die
I want to live I want to live I want to live
type type type
****!!!!!!!
this can’t be my life
I say that over and over to myself
because it is in a way hard to believe
but here it is
at least I’m typing typing typing
simple thoughts like
I don’t like my ******* life
maybe If I could just accept it the pain would dwindle
the loathing would subside
but how can I accept this ****
at least I’m typing typing
too ******
****** dumb
too dumb to think of anything worth writing
just a self hat clusterfuck
of a brain
I want to finally die of shame
mercy please

You are an I in the eye
the eye that hynotizes the essence of I...

And the galaxies par religion will be heaven
and the races not revealed by official networks will be demons
and the elementals and avatars in sacred places will be unearthly beings

the moon will be a rocky orb and not a planet-ship helping a race evolve
the tree will be a plant and not a transporter of energy via energy beams, connecting the underworld with surface humans and life...
And the stars will be ***** of gas and not a picture a thousand years old
a thousand years as planets in those star system are thus ahead of us
and spaceships will be UFO's
and beings from the universal neighbourhood will be aliens

You will be taught to speak in a defined vernacular called language
Your psychic abilities will be reduced via sonic beams emitting negative energy
reduced via products that reduce positive vibration

You will belong to a race, tribe and religion
You will fall into a gender
Your destiny will be death
Money will be a means of exchange
You will not think of Earth as a space, but as a lonely flat plan-et
Powerful families will rule your life
Government will dictate your purpose
Wars will be fought and it will be blamed on oil

You will know only that which you need to know
You will be driven to follow predefined norms and orchestrated systems
You will be watched and never truly feel free
This is the Matrix
The web that imprisons souls...
and slower than the speed of thought you will trail in linear time...
The web that confines your thinking...
and reasoning will only be absolute within logic gates
You will be encouraged to be as one with them as they will be compelled to be one with you

Life will be basic, you will not be aware of the realities and dimensions in the world
Your conscious mind will be wrestled by ego
Your heart chakra will be tainted by emotional scars

You will not see the eye that sees, only what is seen fit to be seen
Only when the dragon has licked you and its friends stabbed you and molested you - will you be free to choose to be free
This is the matrix and you will be made to feel like an orphan
Your immaturity and lack of knowledge will lead you to adverse happenings
"Live and learn", watch as they crash and burn
If you are wise you will learn to yearn
and a fate that is yours will you discern

maybe and only then will you escape the threads and define your own reality.
Welcome To The Matrix

My uncle.
Who I love.
Is a peculiar man.
He once told me of the oddest conspiracy.
He said that the reason major governments of the earth don't fight each other constantly, is because the already do.
In space.

Each country has a ship.
Armed and maned to the teeth.
And they just shoot at each other.
Everyday.
And that's how all of the big national disputes were settled.
Star Trek style.

So when I heard this, I tossed my thoughts into the atmosphere.
Letting them swirl and shine among the satellites.
What did they do, up there?
Sitting in their spaceships.
Thinking of each other.
Wondering why they all were stuck in tin can time bombs.
Surrounded by the icy void.
Waiting for their ships to be shot out of the sky.
The debris to fall through children's dreams and shooting stars.
Spitting sparks like ancient dragons.

And these people wait for that.
Hidden from sight and mind.
Only just to shoot at each other.
Over a border, a mans wish, or a loaf of bread.

Nobody no longer contains the desire for unrefinity
The urge to tap into the void smacks of divinity
What exists in its place in the flesh market place
Are bartering skill sets and chocoalte puddings
When confronted by an invisible elephant
The people, in consensus, turn away
This happens within the day to day
The elephants march on, heedless vessels
Turbans floating downstreat, mainstream.
****** babble replaces conversation
Emblamatic gestures infiltrate the realm of the symbolic
The priests have all taken off their underwear
And the women are putting their brasiers
Back onto their chests, underneath their shirts
Blouses are burnt.
Toast is burnt.
Jams are being made by machines, horses do have dreams
Jelly and ice cream make delicate farts
Ghosts live in pipes and buy and sell art
People whose names are Horace or Rupert
Have been decommisioned
And the stories are locked in pie dishes
And the tale remains the same.
Remember, that future archeologists will exist.
Excavating sites will bring us all
To the kingdom of devon
In the beautiful future of documented tales
Which we are building for
Inside the spaceships.
When ponies are invalid and germs become common currency
Know that it will be time to fly your pillow cases as flags

the only time we care about the poor
is in disaster,
there's been freedom for decades,
but we're still owned by slave masters,
incorporated trademarks
branded on our spine,
the american dream,
might as well be bovine.
flagpole sitting flappers,
never expect to fall,
'33 til infinity,
greed affects us all,
and it's more,
than a disease,
there's no atticus,
instead, great gatsbies.
and boo radley,
aint gonna right these wrongs,
all we've got are our words
and the will to stand strong,
and it seems we're just monkeys,
launched into orbit,
in spaceships,
that only fall once reality hits,
and i don't see any solutions soon,
we consume and presume,
that this is all a cartoon,
asterix fiction,
we lack conviction,
we lack the diction,
to speak our mind,
we are confined,
to the roles,
and the moulds,
and the holes,
that are made for our souls,
we stay out of the spotlight,
even when the times right,
allergic to great heights,
like madden going to superbowls.
ice cold,
a wise man said was cooler than cool
but these fools aint never heard of ice-nine,
it's the right time,
got the right rhymes,
who cares about these thugs,
i'm set on madoff crimes,
who cares about the dealers,
follow the money like the wire,
we're civilians in vans under apache fire,
and the cover-up is comin,
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the cover-up is comin
the only time i'm hostile,
is within,
when i gotta smile
at these businessmen,
that are tearing us apart,
and ******* on our soil,
tearing out our hearts,
creeping like the mcboyles,
i've toiled in the trenches,
for most of my days,
as have the majority of those i know,
and we can't just quit,
we gotta get paid,
materialstic societies depend on dough,
so we dream of being on boats like samberg
the only threat to our fatasses is the hamburg
-ler, there's no cure, there's no care,
there's no health, it's not fair,
but if you keep on dreamin, one day it'll be there,
simply stare at the sun, things'll brighten up,
keep buying that product, trust me, they give a ****,
fall into place, stand in single file,
and whatever you do, don't forget to smile.

Combinatrax. Anything of this persuasion is considered ageless beyond the matrix. Beyond time displacement, space and spaceships beyond the reach of human contemplation.

I battled evil spirits when temperatures were frigid with no mittens crossed wooden bridges over rivers just so these words can be delivered.

Combinatrax. Anything of this persuasion is considered ageless beyond the matrix beyond time displacement beyond the oasis for nothing is complete without every piece.

who's receptive to this message? The tree of life provided me the weapon inside the zodiac divided in sections, categorizing five elements if i wrote this backwards you will still understand my penmanship *****.

Lets show them what I see, the letter C, the sea of tranquility, Yemeja proof read this read for me.

Pardon me but i must beacon your attention for more then 10 seconds, this effective mass burial method is so well measured. She calls it the ocean.

I started the trends must I show you again?  Normal configurations are dismembered and disconnected self execution methods occur after dawn but before breakfast.

Blood red moon.

Lilith said death is the adjustment to her mood.

Timeless writes rereading keeps you updated destroying frustration **** your favorite this is not a statement but a vibration for those are who are lost but made it..

there are spaceships above the new york skyline
and the news says they are stealing the stars.
i'm trying to fight them baby
i'm trying to save the stars that you gave me.
but i think it might be too late.
did you already take them back from me?
because i can't find them.
the sky is empty of your love-
only your hatred is left
in the form of spaceships above the new york skyline.
it was you who started the attack
wasn't it?
please stop stealing my stars baby.
they're all i have left of you.

for Katie



martini of elderflower in a dimly
lit room. 40s tune plays with feminine
harmonies lifting a room. green
tiles and floor lamps, a yellow glow.

alcoves of lounges, retro chairs
contain saturday groups on long
weekend splurges. V glasses, colourful
concoctions, buzz of the mix

in several quiet corners. chatting with
Katie, a beacon in darkness with
infectious regard for pictures and
words. talking planets and spaceships,

a fictional odyssey, silicon storm in
ridiculous glasses. rosemary’s baby, a
theme cocktail infused with thought.
film screen and text gets

the message across. early alarm means
an 8pm ending from hours of
wander and lovely therapy. parting hug
warms a deep fried heart,

plans to disco inferno at a melbourne haunt
in the midst of sydney. donna left,
everyone remembered. amy goes
back to black. records spin. i feel loved

Certain people see things
differently.
Now why do we do that?
Is it a lack of closeness?
Maybe communication?

I have questions
for the pastor/Pete Campbell clone
at Immanuel Bible Church.
Like,
why does your sermon feel derivative?

How often are songs played in-between the sermons?
Are these songs a necessary transition?
A slideshow?
A distraction?
I still don’t know how to sing,

or keep tempo with claps.
Pavlov’s dog is hated,
by you.
Do you hate the dog?
Or do you hate the results of the experiment?

Is science,
a deceitful ex-girlfriend to you?
Someone you don’t trust?
If so I can understand you.
But I don’t understand you.

Because you have your truth.
And I have my truth.
Peter said to me truth is an abstraction.
I’m telling you your truth is yours.
But,
cup your hand and press it against the wall of my truth,
listen and you will hear a man and a man talking to each other.

Their naked bodies are sealed by an anchor that you have never seen.
The first man leans forward
and
kisses the second man on the nape of his neck.
Then, the second man kisses the first man on the left part of his chest.

Should I stop?
Am I scaring you?
Do you want to watch a blonde girl stick her tongue down another blonde girl’s throat,
Until her breath cannot escape and float and trail off her lips.
Like the dove white spaceships that launch into the expanding horizon of darkness.

Am I making sense?
I want you to follow my words.
I want you to respect me.
The first man is talking. The second man has his arms folded behind his back like a
Korean man, and he’s looking out the window, gazing at the dove white spaceship
Propelling into the incredible shadow, the one that is swallowing up everything we love.

Pete Campbell is the shadow.
Do you care about POV?
Are you bothered when another person is talking about a person in the third person?
I consider your opinion,

Even when you don’t consider mine.
Does that make me weak?
“Television turn off the mind,”
that is a quote that shot out of your mouth,
like an arrow from the Green Arrow dressed in Cupid’s apparel.

Or is that the flesh?
Carnal.
I digress.
Tangents happen.
I was rude. I am sorry,

And I know sorry is a word,
And you do not value words.
But I am a poet.
Words are my salmon and red wine
Rewind the cassette.

i ring the door bell twice
the door opens
there is a boy maybe 4 5
he smiles at me
rustled ***** blonde hair
blue eyes shining seeing into me
knowing me in the basest truth
as only children can know
"Hi. Welcome. Hello."
all rapidly said so politely
i step inside
the house is not too large
not small by any means
this porridge is just right
he leads me in as one who
leads a child to
the den well furnished
the father sits in his chair
watching the boy gratefully
the boy buzzing with
the energy of new company
leaps onto the couch and
announces himself
"My name is Demetri. Nice to meet you.
Welcome to my home. What is your name?"
"Sam"
"Hey, Sam, nice to meet you, Sam."
he flips off the couch grandly
grabs my hand and shakes violently
"Nice to meet you, Sam. Im Demetri.
Welcome to my home. Please, please.
Sit, sit."
He pulls me to the couch
I sit so my arm is not dislocated
he lets go wrist hurting
not the strength of a
4 5 year old boy
a well developed boy well spoken
i look to his father who
watches son lost in amazement
proud as can be as should be
the boy is again in my ear
"What brought you here, Sam? Did you
want to see my house? Did you wanna
see my legos? I got a lot of them. I like
building spaceships. I wanna build a real one.
Hey Sam, you wanna build a spaceship."
no idea how to build a spaceship
"Im here to speak with your father, little guy."
"Really? About what? Huh? About what?
Do you bring things to people? Like presents?
Do you have a present? I think I know
what about. You have a present for my dad.
Is that it, Sam, do you have a present?"
im both annoyed and fascinated
simultaneously by the boy
annoyance why father
has not said something
leash this dog muzzle
however
fascination buzzing by simple fact
i did have something for his father
a present
for the father to keep forever
for the boy to find later

We climb mountains and buildings
and risk everything - well, some of us -
                                                                   for what?
For achievement? For a good story to impress girls?
For pride? Because no one else has?
No,

           it must be something more.
We climb into spaceships and airplanes and
elevators
          to be higher than anyone else,
      to see things that have never been seen,

                  and to be further than anything
                                  than anyone
before.

We climb to improve, to live, to love,
and because up is unlimited.

There was to be a tomorrow for us to share, but we ate it yesterday: greedily and with cream. I remember your face lit by the candlelight, so hungry for rebellion -- only as we swallowed the last morsels did we realise that hunger would have its revenge, a consequence of today's emptiness. Guilt sits heavy in our stomachs as we dream of the spaceships that have not been built, the spires of Science that we cannot contemplate while dreaming of technological emancipation. I held your hand and there was an old spoon still curled within it, I kissed your mouth and our promises still curdled in it. We could have had years together to watch progress unfold, but instead we burned through our possibilities with reckless passion, and its embers now grow cold.

Rapidly beating

your heart against my ear

as Han Solo's son

rammed a lightsaber

through his chest

I could hear



the beat-beat-beat

reverberating through

layers of blanket, cloth, and skin

sitting next to you

on the couch

thumping loudly and steady

without fear



so let's begin



on a star searched journey

where the spaceships hovel

and the robots swivel

in a galaxy not that

far away from reality



it's like swallowing starlight

or slicing through dark trees

heavy with snow

hearing them crack-crack-crack

from a buzzing vibration

of the blue lightsaber at hand

watching the trees crash, then

clash against red



a struggle unsaid



but when I rested my head

against your slight frame

something within me



melted.



(I guess my heart was tamed.)