Oh, crees tu?

Te consagrare

Estoy sangrando para ti

Oh, eres mio

Estoy muriendome para ti


As Peter stands alone in the battlefield
He prays to God, his only shield
But the shield
Was not blessed

Who will walk by his side
When he marches into the crusade
A King not fit to wear his crown
Who rested on the Judgment Day?

Recuerdas tu?

Los angeles tuvieron

Ojos negros

Oh eres mio

Yo capturare tu aureola

Y la llevare al infierno

Loneliness, as told by Peter
Is an illuminated script
Just worn through years of long stagnation
And hangs upon a crucifix

How does it feel to feel nothing
To strive, to fear, to achieve something
You know will never reach the end
Just darkness around the ******* bend


Oh, yo no creo nunca mas

Yo no te quiero

No tiene sentido

Oh, yo no te adoro nunca mas

Estoy cansado de perseguirte

Y me duelen los pies


And as I grew, I always knew
That I was disillusioned
For footprints never followed me
To Babylon or Galilee

Oh, I betrayed them all three times, three times, three times, three times
While singing hymns and stupid nursery rhymes, rhymes, rhymes, rhymes

About walking with that boy to battle
I saw his flag in the light
And I regret, not being there
To watch the disciples fight

A smile, a smile, a cross, a cross
Across the hill
Towards Paradise Lost

2-3 part harmony:

Part 1: (No te quiero

No, I don’t want you

No te quiero

No, I don’t love you

No te quiero

I don’t want to fight for you)

Part 2:  Paraiso Perdido, Perdido, Perdido
Paraiso Perdido, Perdido….

Part 3: He stands alone in the battlefield…
He stands alone in the battlefield
He stands alone in the battlefield
We all stand alone in the battlefield

Sleep deprivation

***

Guilt

Sense-making and maps of meaning

Revisiting memories

Crying

Staying away from scary corners of my mind

Deliberately going toward scariness

Not resisting

Yes resisting

Respecting resistance

Compulsive tv watching

Dropping or letting go over and over again

Exploring

Curiosity

Forgetting and then remembering that it’s all happening on its own, noticing this, knowing this, realizing this

Realizing that realization comes and goes on its own

Being in love with everything

Crying

Playing with time and concepts

Craving emptiness

Love

Catastrophizing

Ranking what "works" (i.e. sleep deprivation is effective), noticing that the metric of “effective” and "works" is = resulting in greater illusions of "forgetting" with a capital F

Loving everything

Being everything

Self-flagellation

Not really believing any of the stories or narratives

Procrastinating

Being irresponsible

Getting off on self-loathing

Forcing intimacy

Compassion, large, whole, unrelenting, everywhere

Oversharing

Falling in love with a homeless person at a traffic stop

Being bored and sad and hopeless and desperate

Remembering inherent wholeness

Being stubborn

Getting out of the way always feels like dying

Loving dying

Loving mourning dying

Dramatizing dying

Wanting to be seen and loved

Self-loathing

Intensity

Craving intensity

Hating craving intensity

Knowing that nothing is a problem

Suffering

Being impatient

Being very very patient

Feeling like I don’t belong in the world, like people and things and money and social media are alien, foreign and scary

Feeling like I am the world

Forgetting that knowing how to verbalize isn’t the same as knowing

Wanting knowing with words to be the same as Knowing

Wanting knowing to be a Real, solid thing

Fear

Mortal fear

Bewilderment

Constant background anxiety

Hating this body

Not caring for this body

Being burdened by this body

Feeling trapped in a body

Feeling more trapped in a mind

Wanting knowing to resolve everything

Wanting to be saved

Thinking that I probably don’t need to be saved

Thinking or knowing(?) there’s nothing to be saved from

Knowing that I can’t be saved

Feeling open

Feeling vulnerable

Feeling exposed

Feeling bad

Feeling like I'm doing it wrong

Believing it all

Wanting to both believe it and have a choice about when, where, and to what extent I believe it

Not knowing where the edge is until I've fallen off

Feeling violated

Feeling like existence is non-consensual

Somehow trusting all of it, totally, exactly as it is

Watching the panicking

More crying

Being one

Being very very aware

Noticing and letting go of effort in one swift move

Compulsive clenching

Compassion

Dissolving

Disillusion

Dying without the novelty

Being ok vey very briefly and for no apparent reason/because of no reason./?

Wanting distraction

Respecting needing distraction

Getting out of the way of intelligent coping mechanisms

Villifying coping mechanisms

Understanding only in retrospect

Frustration

Compassion, deep, like warm water

Compassion, hard, like being ****** vey very slowly

Torture

Life-giving torture

Never wanting to stop

Marveling

Abundance like grace, like not deserving, like not needing to be deserving, like deserving is perverse language

Tasting everything

Endless kaleidoscopes of being and tasting and knowing

Non visual seeing

Clarity, brightness, nothing is a problem

Being alive

Being sososo tired

Wanting to rest, to die into void and nothing

Wanting to hibernate

Wanting to still

Dying to get off

Begging to get off

Finding the edge more thrilling than the center (because then the center can be anything at all?)

Loving all the previous versions of this being

Needing to hate, loathe, earlier renditions of this being

Hating repulsion

Trusting repulsion

Getting stuck because resisting repulsion

Knowing that there's no way out

Knowing that the way out that I'm seeking isn't a way out

Not wanting to do the work

Dancing around the center, constantly

Feeling dizzy with chaos, with knowledge of power

Feeling comfortable with mediocrity

Hating mediocrity

Waking up with jaw tension from the enormity of my own suppressed power

Telling stories about sensations

Relying on self-bullying methods I know don't work

Perfecting the art of pretending

Perfecting the art of self-deception

Wanting to make the stakes higher

Being overwhelmed by my own storytelling

Not wanting to give stories credibility by dispelling them

Naval gazing

Loving philosophy

Feeling dried up, tired, stagnant, disinterested, not engaged, not here.

Sleepwalking. Sleep writing. Sleep talking. Sleep caring

Not sleeping

Vivid dreaming

High weirdness

Questioning my sanity

Romanticizing insanity

Wanting to blur all boundaries

Wanting to smooth the edges of reality

Questioning reality

Destabilizing reality

Feeling destabilized

Feeling irresponsible

Guilt

Feeling sick and tired

Feeling scared

Feeling hopeless

Wanting to reach out

Feeling like everything is inevitable

Feeling like suffering is inevitable

Recognizing kindness

Discerning well (properly? Clearly? Well.)

Fearful trusting

Thinking too much

Not wanting to love my dad as much as I do.

Chasing the intellectual high

Disappointment

No need for resolution

Feeling caught in existence

Feeling caught up. Like in a potato sack; I can explore the exact measure of my confinement, the sensorial elements, the scratchiness, the filtering light from the outside, the stagnation, the wanting to stretch.

I love this being.

This. It's not a problem.

Confusing familiarity with comfort

Confusing comfort with peace

Reifying confusion, but not really

Yielding, on my knees, heart to the sky

Seeing through, like pinholes in a perfectly realistic backdrop

Dispelling everything

Stripping away the Stripping away

Trying to stand still and feel

Wanting to be convinced by rage

Always loving Sad, not despondent, just sad

Feeling continuous

Feeling fragmented

Feeling like motion, like flow

Feeling like thousands of still frames, constant flickering

Grasping at impermanence

Resting in the middle

Dancing down the tightrope

Knowing perfect poise, so so brief

Everything is hysterically funny

Hysterically

But also just plain humorous

And absurd

Loving people

Feeling grateful for people

Seeing beauty everywhere

Always coming back

Like an epic

Like a great love story

Like a violin solo in a forbidden song

Like the last wring of that silk dress you're not supposed to squeeze dry

Knowing the inside of my hand

Knowing teenage shame

Knowing being yelled at, towered over, by my dad, in a narrow
hallway, eyes glued to speckled floor tiles, feeling small, nowhere to go

Loving with my body, with my hands, with my mouth, with my whole entire strong soft body

Crying with tears, and snot, and heaving

Becoming one single, concentrated point

Wanting to envelope everything. Really. Actually. With my body.

I am not this voice

Or this writer

Or this narrator

Though I am also all that

when you hear politics
you usually think
poli-tricks
as in
the man in the suit
who stands up on stage
speaking false words and
reaping false prais
or the election promises
to End the War, Save the Children, Create More Jobs
Pony's for Everyone.

or the media pundits
who bicker and argue and flaunt
their superiority, their cynicism
over the public nightly
in Prime Time and technicolor lighting
you think of the pyramids
of the gods and the masters
imploring and coercing and driving
us,
faster, faster

of all the wars and drilling just beyond your control
of a separation and distance
from the actions this very instance
which are taken in your name
and worst of all, for most of us
politics, is Out There.
beyond your domain
or beyond your care

but politics is more than
an anonymous ballot drop
in an anonymous ballet box
politics is in the way
you step out your door
and follow that yearning
for something More

politics is in the way
you treat the Other
be it your next door neighbor, the stranger on the street,
or your lifelong brother

politics isn't being politically correct
but it's about having a level of respect
deep enough to accept
that your Words,
shape your World

politics is in connecting the
Me to the We
so that together we might
Be
something more than the sum of our parts

politics is in the conversation you had with
the person behind the cardboard sign
and whether you let them remind
you that God Loves You
and I don't mean God Above
sending you love letters on the wings of a dove
but the God in you and in me
the God we can all feel and see
the God of perfect unity

politics is in the linking of our arms
because although
we may have retreated
the People, United
Will Never Be Defeated

politics isn't in ivory towers behind closed doors
or strictly for super-powers
politics isn't in the oval office
any more than a sarcophagus
because politics isn't a photo op,
kissing babies, or a meet and greet
politics is You and I, together
in the streets
and in the parks
before, during, and after dark

politics is reclamation and restoration
regrowth and renewal
it's in the invisible fibers
which bind and align us
in how we redesign Us
to encompass that which must
become part of our moral compass

because it seems to me
that hierarchy
is a bunch of malarkey
a system of oppression and exploitation
compounded over millenia
of violent suppression and spiritual stagnation
until, Today
where we stand divided
by color class creed
****** preference
and gender id
enframed and maimed by bureaucracy
each of us, alone
doubting our own efficacy
so I tell you,
stand up, and smash your TV

because you won't find revolution
inside of a box
or get it from attending
inflammatory talks
because revolution is more
than overthrowing capital or the state
revolution is in the relationships that we create
within the rotting shell of this system of hate
revolution is in discourse and public debate
in neighborhood assemblies
and Occupations of late
because power, true power
isn't where they told us
power is, and always will be
with us in the polis, the people, el pueblo, rejoice!
and as we begin to awaken,
to this most true realization
remember,
We,
Are Unstoppable
Another World is Possible

Oh love,

we're drowning in the monotony of motionless.

forget food, air, coitus

Maslow forgot something- movement.



not even, relocation.

simple movement.


Oh love,

let's pack a bag- buy a map

I feel like falling asleep to east coast sunsets tonight

waking up to Rocky's



wind through hair

sand between toes


let's fly a kite

ride a bike



*let's move *


seated, we die a thousand times


let's break in a pair of new shoes

to an afternoon hike

pack a picnic basket of pb&j;'s


move, darling, move


until our legs give out

and slumber wraps us sweetly in her arms...

in one another's arms...


somewhere far from where we began



move.



conclusions and origins are separate for a reason


life may have symmetry, love

but let's make sure not to mistake that with stagnation.

I am victim only to constant distractions,
restrictions, prescriptions, vicarious factors,
as various factions of elitism prescribe defeat
to the common man; the hard working talented
beaten upon by the self driven commerce land.
Businessmen, crooks, warlords and bankers;
victory purports itself the higher moral ground.
******* the world, lie on the crimson sand.

The brevity of riches in led laden ditches,
trenches v armistice; one man’s control over
cadets and lieutenants. Equality it seems
is general ignorance, propose roll reversal
and receive corporal punishment. Capital
interests will be met with bursaries, bail
out the banks and return to your knees,
put out your hands and beg for your feed.

If the top three percent own more wealth
than the lower half put together while
politicians claim to be fair-weather,
conclude that sincerities amiss, that
your representatives are on the pay roll
of profit driven lobbyists. Career crazed fat-cats
couldn’t care less if you're in tattered garments
or there’s a hole in your dress, their polished
boots carry them from vault to vault
while we fill another with oil-baron asphalt.

As social repression pushes populations
science progresses, enabling armed forces
to kettle us, cut us off and circle on horses.
Power-shifts across the globe become jaded
by investment with private militias and fascist
supremacists seizing resources from war
torn villages to fund their crude sourced
morality, migrants and refugee families
are vilified by ignorance forged in cynicism
caused by the inequality of education.

Here lie the symptoms of infinite regression,
hold mirror to gene-pool as it replicates
the same flawed equation, as populations
expire and conspire so does the problem.
Bombing a country without repercussions,
is as likely as a breaking the waters surface
without sending ripples to the adjacent atoms.
These are the dark ages of social stagnation.

It is a feeling always there, tangible in my sleep

entangles much as I weep, wings struggling to fleet

painful vibrancy, scars with red splatters

meaningful as laying under the stars chatter

sublime as deep orange sunsets in warm sand

with friends listening to our favorite bands

lodged in deep in the prefrontal cortex

a reward craved becoming so far fetched

Art is food for the heart and like food it is often hard to find.
It might come from a source that is renewable,
yet how many have forgotten that the brain is even usable.

The inspiration we seek comes from inside our own mind
where the fairies wait, having fed on our own experiences, wishing to unwind.
But as full as they may be, one can clearly see
that they cannot make art till they jump on our heart in hope of making it start.
They first have to tickle it with their little feet
before it can even begin to produce an audible beat.
Maybe giving an idea for a visual treat or a literary feat.

These fairies each come from different locations
as imagination is not limited by any dimensions.
In the world of creation, pain has long been a mighty fairy-nation,
the muse of separation, the dictator of desperation,
the soul's frozen animation, a generous, fugly frog of inspiration.

So next time you feel blue, channel that blue stream into a pen
and you may start to feel better again. Blow a kiss to that frog,
clearing the misty lake from fog. There is no call for divination,
simply let the frog jump in celebration all over your pond(ering)'s stagnation
and it will stir the waters in its elation.

Embracing pain not only does wonders for creation,
it also helps dull that cruel yet just sensation.

It is a feeling always there, tangible in my sleep

entangles much as I weep, wings struggling to fleet

painful vibrancy, scars with red splatters

meaningful as laying under the stars chatter

sublime as deep orange sunsets in warm sand

with friends listening to our favorite bands

lodged in deep in the prefrontal cortex

a reward craved becoming so far fetched

I do not want to be a fishing float
adrift on the waters of existence,
allowing myself to accept stagnation,
bobbing ever buoyant to
the ebb and flow of the mundane.
Reel me in and cast me again into living waters.
Wash away doubts and anxiety —
the fears that snag my line, my vexation.
Give me peaceful rest in fresh water
that is replenished by Your rain.

I don't have much,
when it comes to ownership
Most of my earnings
were invested in experiences
Instead of possessions
Most of my time
Was spent on building a soul
Instead of a collection of objects
I honed my skills on creation
Instead of consumption
My concerns lie with
personal contribution
Over financial status
My allegiance is to brutal honesty
Opposed to comforting lies
I chose the mindset of evolution
Over stagnation
A mantra of the status quo
I have fought a life-long battle
against being jaded and apathetic
Instead of embracing it
For the acceptance of my peers
Because I chose to make a life
Instead of a living
and with everything I've lost
a little more is gained

Is it infatuation combined with the new lovely scent
With saturation would the hail begin to make a dent
The flirtation fades with each and every hour spent
The deflation sets in on our slow inevitable descent
The stagnation creeps up like another month's rent
As temptation calls out wondering where you went
A Castration can't compare to this type of torment
No frustration in the world like time"s resentment

If you could only flaw less in your never ending search
Go back to the drawing board or maybe even try church

History repeats itself, feelings of heartbroken violence
As you lay next to me breathing a beautiful soft silence

She"ll never truly be free, never let down her guard
Ironically we can never be, both emotionally scarred

Shared memories framed by another fleeting exposure
Shall never come close to providing adequate closure

No matter how this ends my soul will still need a cast
Smiling big as it mends, for moments lived like our last
Optically delusional to the pastures of greener grass so vast
Finally destined to arrive yet can"t stop longing for the past

Tragically we are meant to be, only if we are actually apart
Insane levels of pain tearing through the veins of my heart

Today we are again away, but our time I shall forever cherish
Tomorrow"s just another day without you until I finally perish

You kept me entombed in a coffin of thought
Never free cockroaches of doubt crawled
Around my chained thoughts.

The nails rough on my mind, jaggedly etching
oxidized stagnation of my embalmed understanding.
Why would you keep me in the dark.

I am solitary in this shallow wash of waning moments
Could I just crawl in to this sea of disbelief and
Drown slowly in my entombed darkened thoughts.

The swing set was an old thing
like the brittle bones of an elephant
so worn that it had started to forget;
that's what her Gramma said, at least.
But Calpurnia Gray loved it
sat in it
till the seat sagged before she sat down
inviting her to rest.

Calpurnia Gray preferred the city
but the suburbs were what she got
and the swing set looked over some deep gulch of the woods
where even the suburbs ended.
Wilderness.

It filled her with such strange fantasies
of leaping through the trees like an ape
tearing off her clothes
and chasing down game
like some odd Tarzan with cobalt blue painted toe nails.
That would be the life for her if only she could go back
back
to the wilderness on the other side of the suburbs.
To the place where concrete monoliths lit up the sky at night
and rivers of asphalt carved always changing paths
for some intrepid explorer
to find a new bookstore
or museum
or something strange.

But Calpurnia didn't have either.

She had the suburbs.

And the swing set.

The swing set that always sat there, that never got away
the swing set that was crumbling with time and stagnation
but at least it was what she knew.

Taken, this only route to the back of something blacker.
I left my fingernails to protest in the floorboard,
stuck, sticking still
white headstones for things I cannot remember.
Pale ghosts of my
tenacity
before it strode cross the threshold into a gentle night.

I piled like garbage in the corner,
an anthill
phenomenally empty.
This, my house of skin,
ice dispensers and salt,
brewing something foul,
I inflate, churning charcoal

in the corner,
out the door,
heaving hell.

Like snow,
a blank page tantalizes me
fantasizes me
luring me into the vastness of its grip
and asking
What will you do with this space?

But unlike Creators,
my art provides no function,
serves no definitive purpose
other than to sit in awe
and appreciate
the Art of Others.

It's hard -
I'm overwhelmed by the potential of
the unexisted,
by the grandeur of what could be
that I sometimes slip
forget
that I don't have to do anything with it;
I just have to witness.

That,
that space between
Standing
and
Wondering if peeing my pants is a work of art
is slick.
But as the place between
Stagnation
and Movement,
Sanity
and
Peeing your pants,
Grave is only achieved by Balance.

Stag-nation

This world is in stagnation
From all the cruelty and deprivation
No one to be trusted in organisation
Disciples rocked to the very foundation
Only love can be our one true salvation
No fuel in the future to feed the ever frustrations
Come together ; Come together; come together now
You want to be a king but your crown is your mind alone
Without that you might as well return to dust and stone
Our lives are not our own to live
Our towns and villages are not long to give
Our cities become wastelands of a society that once did.

I bet you thought I didn't have anything left in the tank.  Bet you thought that I was done giving mind blowing advice on how to approach this crazy thing we call life.  Well...you were wrong.


1.  Often cases, how good a story you end up with is inversely proportional to how good a decision it was that led to it.  Don't be afraid to make some bad decisions every once in awhile, because those are the stories you're gonna be telling for years to come.  Even when you know it's a bad decision.  Sure, you might wake up naked in a ditch on the New Jersey turnpike with a some blurry memories, a hangover, a tattoo of some girl named Francesca on your chest, and an ounce of black-tar ****** shoved up your ***...but you know what?  You started this little adventure at a black-tie dinner party in Santa Monica, so I'm willing to bet some interesting **** happened between here and then.

2.  Don't be someone who never breaks the mold.  When you're lying on your death bed and someone asks you to tell them about your life, do you want to lean over and whisper to them that you always did exactly what people expected?  That you carefully listened for society's cues on how to represent yourself at every point in your life?  **** no.  You want to tell them you broke off the road and went searching for the oddities that this world has to offer. You want to tell them that you gave the ******* to society and did what you wanted because, you know what?  It's your ******' life and you only get one shot at it, so you might as well make it memorable.  Being normal is boring as hell.

3.  Talk to everyone.  Talk to them about uncomfortable things.  Talk to them about their hopes and dreams.  Talk to them about their fears.  Just ****** talk to them.  Real conversations always leave you with something you didn't had before.  Real conversations make you think about your positions.  Get passionate when you talk.  Challenge their views and allow yours to be challenged as well.  Do you think you know everything?  Yeah, I bet you do.  Why aren't you out solving everyone's problems then, you selfish *******.

4.  Whoever you are, be proud of that.  If you're not proud of who you are, chances are you arent happy with yourself.  If you're not happy with who you are, change something.  If you're still not happy, change something else.  Still not happy?  Guess what.  Change another ******' thing. Are you happy?  Good.  Now change something else anyway, because an interesting life isn't built on stagnation.

I hope you've all learned something today.

Also, I'd like to remind you to never take advice from strangers on the Internet.  That's just stupid.

Trolls may rant and trolls may rave
But they have hollow minds and little do they gain
I've not yet seen a single troll get the daily poem
Perhaps it's their ineptitude caused by stagnation of the brain
They choose a victim without conscious thought
Then attack with words of bitter bile
But then forget the Wolf bites deep
But still retains his smile
Now trolls are big and ugly
With the foulest words and breath
But, oh yes trolls remember
THE WOLVES ALL RUN IN PACKS

the future is a black hole i'm not ready to observe
stagnation; fear, get me out, let me flee
it follows me, stays out of reach, i don't want to hear it
don't want to see it, escapism, cover me, hide me

i'm terrified, what is this, stop asking questions
i don't know, i don't know, i hate it, i don't know
what, when, where, why, how; too much, too much
scratch at the walls of the cell until it lets me go

find it, find something, find anything, a purpose
a meaning, a cause, a reason; i have none
find fun, find joy, find desperation in the correct sense
and for all those born with it, the battle's half-won

are you happy, are you content, are you living your best life
are you intrigued, can you make sense, are you ready to go
are you working, are you motivated, are you productive
no, the answer is this fearful, no

the future chases me, im running in place, let me get away
escapism, stagnation, terror, and terrified apathy
the future is now, it is later, it has already past
drown, suffocate, sprinting and always coming in last

Monica disappeared
She told me she might love me
I told her where to meet me
But when I got there
She was gone

I had become enraptured
By her cherubic face
Elfish, tomboy haircut
Law-breaking smile
I should have known there was something lurking
Behind it
Some secret or some thing
Some One
Some dark, ugly lie she’d found herself caught in
Fly in a spider’s web, vulnerable
But it was easy enough to see
She was too hard to let anything hurt her
She might as well have hurt me

I never told you how
Her kisses left me breathless
The music of Cocteau Twins came alive
In her ethereal expression
As our lips reluctantly let go of each other
Her sated smile told the story
Of happy endings and serendipity
The Fates had other plans
And maybe she knew it.
So somewhere in her heart or her head
She had conspired with the Great Unknown
To break my heart
And so she disappeared.

Lost, flawed goddess?
The woman kept her fair share of secrets
And most likely a greater lot of lies she’d fed me...
Cotton candy to a baby

Grim acceptance of the brutal reality
Brought home by her disappearance
And nailed shut by the knowledge

That I would never again, in my life,
Here and in the Great Beyond,
See her face, kiss her lips, relax in her embrace
Never again dance to Springsteen’s slow songs,  silently surrendered to sensuality and the staggered stagnation of sense and sensibility and I would drive all night just to buy her some smack…whatever she wanted

Hear her voice
In this place I will call her “mine”
In this place
She would confess, "I'm yours"
So much like a dream
In this place
Look into her eyes then
Wake
Wail and moan for the miles that separated us
The sackcloth and ashes well worn in the years since
She vanished into thin air

She’s as dead as if she’d stopped breathing
As if her heart had actually stopped beating.
The period for grief and mourning are long past
And yet here I lie
Overcome by a tsunami

Location location location*
Vocation vocation vocation
Des'pration
Des'pration
Des'pration
Cliché decay, is summation.
Dictation Fixation; Damnation.
Let's pray, son.
**** Nation- stagnation, frustration.


Creation.
Creation, salvation, elation.
Let's play son.