untitled

The old man wanders into this room, a windowless 

room, full of ghost of his past he is angry this

old man, full of seething for all his brothers and sisters.

full of the hate is his own gray blue heart. all

the regrets stockpiled before his eyes, blinding his

minds' eye to all the wonders and colors and beauties

of the world that surrounds him. if i can not feel

the love neither can they he whispers into the darkness.

i will make them pay he whispers to his own aloneness,

and then another whispered voice breaks his muted concentration.

against his own will his eyes break their silence and

slowly begin to blossom. for the first time he notices

the light coming from the window, illuminating a door

in front of which stands a young girl.

thin, even frail, she looks at him with a defiance

he just can not place. she says nothing and yet the old

man feels an aching in his fortitude. his eyes

open a bit more and blues and greens and yellows appear

dancingly across his consciousness. she is beautiful?

his mind questions... her skin is fair. her green 

eyes pierce his defiance, his purpose. hope she

whispers in her enchantress' voice. hope, his mind

absorbs... is this her name he wonders. he hears

for the first time, the expressions of the fabric

of her dress in motion. she approaches slowly, delicately.

no, hope is her message. at this thought her emotionless

face softens, subtly, the hint of a smile

appears, bringing her intelligent 

features into this new born spectrum of his light.

my god you are beautiful he says aloud for the

first time. hope stiffens slightly but does

not break her stride. the monster inside him

rages as she reaches tenderly for his hand.

you can not touch this beastly child his mind

screams. and then silence. a warm breeze rustles

the old mans hair. lightly, pensively he opens that

last eye, looking down at hope in her utter brilliance.

her hand is in his and there is no room. hand in hand

they stand together in this field of oneness, together. a

young girl named hope, and a new man.

8*6*11

stick figure of a man

why the fuck do i exist?

what the fuck is the point?

i can't change anything at all.

just here to give the machine its' fuel.

just here to sit and stare and laugh and drool.

here to help others you say?

help them do what?

what the fuck is the point?

i don't deserve this fucking life.

i don't deserve these fucking friends.

i am just careless inception.

i am a laughable ruse.

i am fucking nothing and nothing is what i deserve.

this is why i am always alone.

this is why i will always be alone.

so what the fuck is the point?

stick figure of a so called fucking man.

what the fuck is the point.

i'll rot like the rest, i am no different.

same bullshit outer-shell with a fucked up mind to boot.

watch it all fall apart?

watch it all fall apart.

this is the fucking point. 

this is why i'm fucking here.

35

35

35 revolutions around the sun.

everyday closer to the "one".

inhibitions fall ceaselessly from this vessel,

the lies seem more & more inconsequential,

the pride & ignorance seem more & more the illusion.

the filter is becoming microbial,

objective, & indifferent. only the the love is seeping

though. like a fine... high grade life.

thanks are in order for so many that it's hard to count.

the learning process...

the living process...

the ever spiraling cylindrical experience,

filling this wondrous life.

i could not be more fortunate, or loved.

i could not be more thankful for this so called intelligence.

the darkness comes and then it goes.

i know without the darkness, there could never 

be such bright light, and instead of the never,

there is only the ever.

2*9*11

Survival

Survival

And a whisper told me watch out

The devil comes in the prettiest of masks.

Greed is confused with need in America.

Confusion is sought, taught, bought, and sold

Without a care in the world.

I’ve found (and been around a bit) that 

Evil thrives at church.

Does God forgive ignorance,

When one knows they are ignorant?

Or is that stupidity?

Because I know that God doesn’t forgive that…

Yet who am I to perceive what God thinks?

I know he hates me, fore I have been 

Really stupid.

(HaHa (= )

I, myself, am not ignorant, yet I’ve been caught up

In such a mess of crazy lies these 

People call reality, well, it

Makes me question if I even exist at all.

How can I be true to God, when truth is the anti-Christ to the people?

People want perfection, not nature,

We’ve actually managed to make nature, natural things…

Illegal…

We see it though.

My friends I’ve never run across see

It.  Beyond the philosophers,

There’s this eras musicians,

Philosophy to music.

And goddamn I love it!

All my close personal friends,

They’ve felt my graceful madness.

Fore grace really is the essence of all

Beauty in this reality;

From pimping hoes,

To the perfect trajectory on

The mortar fired at your enemy,

To the suicide squeeze play,

To a hummingbird hovering nimbly upon

A flower of pink & gold & violet

Which sways gently to the wind as

A memory of a past love

Rolls whispering through 

That field of knowledge.

Or maybe just a peaceful moment…

It feels good to purge on grace, 

But I do everything that I can

To remember that love is the answer.

It’s slowly being shunned from our society,

Sadly,

And they wonder why it is hard for me to smile…

But keep in mind, this is to the reader, whoever

He or she may be.

I have a goal, that goal is love.

Love plus Intelligence equals Freedom,

Love plus Greed equals what we have now.

Ha! And I’m so alone in this mess they call reality.

And that is why I love hope.

.000000000000000001% 

of hope

is all that I need.

That little good to prevail over all of this evil,

No, not prevail; to survive…

Truth is micro-secondly losing the battle.

Yet God is truth…

And I am, me.

It is good to know truth,

In the end.

Stupidity makes me lift my eyes…

But so does laughter,

Why? Why!

Sickness in Health

Sickness in Health

I have this sick feeling of health,

A disorientation and helplessness that does not feel quite…

Wrong.

I look back into her eyes,

Straining to break away from the daunting clarity of the moment.

She smiles blankly with a complete lack of a guilt-ridden thought entertaining this new movement; this burrowing of an instant.

The rouge  of Hopes’ cheeks swell seasonally with meek bewilderment and loving, dyslexic cause.

Sad & Unsought

Sad and Unsought

I thought that our likeness of stature could conclude a so rare likeness of mind, yet this ever doubting thought process has all but counted you out to the fore.  So sad to see the beauty of the butterfly so effortlessly extinguished by the surreality of the fire.  How many like you will fail before the minds’ eye?  Surely you soul has used so many bodies as to find it trivial at your content for the material madness.  The un-conscience mind unites us all in the simply complex terror of the thunderstorm.  Why do you not come out of the rain? Why do you not find the sleepy night so much more peaceful? When will the thunder soothe and relax and make modest your willingness to believe in the evidence of the cycle?  The frailness of the shell is an allusion to breaking.  The blind-less eye evokes the near impossibility of immortality. This is nothing shocking!  We are all invited to the glamour-less grounds of nirvana.  All you must do is accept and see.   Put down your plastic gold, stop drugging your children, hear the cries, legit the lies, and confiscate the surreality.  One god, one conscience mind, one religion for us all, peace is the vision and karma will see to the destiny.  The window is now open and the warm breeze of wisdom floods light and sense and unity.  The energy is a cycled circle; the reality is sad, and unsought.

Wondering Parasite

Wondering Parasite

So many pages of red to fill up

So little time I guess I pass.

For the cause of existence,

For the wealth of silent commentary.

Thanks Lennon.

Who’d a thought one

Aquarius/Dragon would be a

Walrus too?

More they before I?

I am what I am…

Watching, listening.

I am the parasite, seeing, feeling,

Knowing that it could conquer,

Yet thinking that it shouldn’t,

Thinking the image too violent,

Too lacking of sense.

For it is beside itself, looking in,

Feeling the parasite was a 

Case of bad teaching, of rotten truth…

One wonders what could be if all that was taught from birth were truth.

One wonders…

Silver Sliver

Silver Sliver

(pale blue eyes)

And he wondered sadly in his head…

“Does she feel more free now, or does this empty space consume her as well?”

No more hope of a union, no more faith in a destiny withheld, a shared life to come.

“I gave her up ,” he thought, “I gave her up for her.”

She, a trophy of a youth; beautiful and brilliant, strong and well adjusted, able to over come everything and all, including him.

This is what he had always known. After eight years of hard wired courtship he had finally harvested the courage to leave her to her own devices.

Sure, the depression would set in for him, yet this is what he was saving her from. Always the depression, the depression of now, the depression that he was now drowning in, sinking to the bottom, without her.

Distraction was all that he had anymore. Anything to keep her face out of his mind. A willingness to make believe that it would all be better now, if not for him, then definitely for her, for those pale blue eyes. He hated television, yet now that was all that consumed his life; the sports, the dramas, the comedies, he engulfed them all, the hardships and pain, the tragedies and betrayals, even the friendships and love.

And so the hole grew deeper, darker, more constricting and delusional.

Thank God

Thank God

Hey God, I know why you’re doing this 

To me, because I asked for it, I begged

To be here, but I think I was mistaken,

I don’t think that I can help these people,

And it’s all very simple as to why.  They 

All think they have it all figured out,

Each individual all caught up in their 

Own selfish, so called independent little worlds.

They’ve all lost sight of truth and love, God.

I don’t necessarily blame them though, 

They’ve been horribly conditioned

To believe this cluster-fuck of madness

Is the way it is supposed to be, but God,

I’m going crazy.

It seems my effect upon this species is 

Like shooting a water gun at the moon.

Very few care, and even fewer listen,

Because they have it all figured out.

Can’t you somehow give them some sign,

Some clue as to let them know that

You don’t even have it all figured out?

It’s so hard to believe the evil has 

Consumed them all so completely.  Greed

Has this species by the throat, and it 

Makes me wonder if they ever deserved

Conscience-ness to begin with, but that was

Your call, and I am glad for that call, because

There really is so much beauty…

The Greed is just so strong and resistant to the

Truth, and I don’t know what else to do.

I know I am failing you and for that I apologize,

But I’m not finished quite yet, and you

Know I’ll fight to my death, it’s just

Seeming a bit impossible to me right now…

The hate is just too overwhelming,

The Greed too thick, their eyes too blind…

I’m sorry God, I’m sure you are tired of the

Whining and bitching…

Rest assured there’s

At least one good soul left willing to fight.

Soulless Eyes

Soulless Eyes

(What makes you the enemy)

Chloroform dreams;

The sadist illusion…

There is a gray concrete gate called

Cataract licking each eye…

Each of your soulless eyes.

There is no boundary to your vanity.

Your youthful pride, glares like your television,

Pressing advertisements for useless nothings.

This is your life.

This is your insanity,

And this is what makes you the enemy.

Licorice

Licorice

(a moment in time)

why bother, what the fuck is the point?

Had a  bad day, woke up pisses off, made it to work pissed off, 

Got pissed off at work, got out of work pissed off,

Made it home pissed off.

Yet, now I feel fine, fine and dandy,

Fine like candy. No not candy.

Not Candice, or even Candace,

Let’s call it licorice.

Not the black, that shit is nasty, but the red is tasty.

Right now I feel a bit tasty in this exact moment in time.

And now that the moments over I don’t feel anything.

I don’t feel like being pissed off anymore,

I don’t feel like feeling like licorice any longer.

Nothing sweet,

And nothing notorious.

Something somber but sublime.

Not a food, but maybe a moment… Maybe a book,

No, not Bukowski, not Blake, not Rice, not Joyce…

I think maybe a c.d.,

Not Weezer, not Modest Mouse, not Cold War Kids,

How about maybe,

Yah, Let go with VDub.

(tribute to Vampire Weekend)

1-7-9

Curses

Curses

A new part of me for all.

I wish that I could show her how I give myself away,

Every single day, in so many ways.

I reach for the positive now,

Fore my negative is memorized and properly stored away.

She is positive to me in her own negligent way,

Ignorant and proud,

Yet determined to bewilder.

I am one to submit when struck with awe, 

And so I’ve submitted to one who, most likely,

Looks at me as a game, yet she still intrigues me,

So I will play her game, for better or for worse.

I was cursed for enlightenment, now I want to share my curse with the world,

And I see the light in her eyes, especially during cases of frustration and flat out anger.

Yet how divine she truly is, 

and the divinity of it is her ignorance of how divine she truly is.

Such a perfect circle, circling perfectly around my soul.

Selfish Unity

Selfish Unity

My first serious thought of murder…

And somehow, it doesn’t feel…

Wrong.

I heard the ignorant rage.

I heard the childish scorn of one so blind…

What is more torturing, than the torture of the most priceless aspect of ones’ existence?

I hear the stress destroy her,

I feel the helplessness of her situation,

And I know the endless depths of her compassion…

My love for this being surpasses any love that I have ever known.

My blood boils, my soul aches, 

My uselessness reeks.

Only one thing is eminent,

Only one goal constantly frequents my wandering mind,

Endlessly frequenting my wandering mind;

Unity, oneness, rescue,

For the both of us…

1998

To All The Haters

To All the Haters

Yah.

Fuck your short memories,

And fuck all you clones

Fuck this dysfunctional

Society of bones.

Fuck all you assholes

Who manipulate the youth,

Fuck all the markets

That paralyze the truth,

Most of all fuck the politics

That make us slaves for the day,

Fuck the pieces of shit,

That make it this way.

Your vanity consumes you,

And fuck that shit too,

And I hope that you hate me,

You know what?  Fuck you!

Because I am the wolf

Slying closer to your fire

I am the Truth,

Better find a gun to hire

‘Cus ill bring you down

if you fuck around and let me live

I care nothing for myself,

I’ve only truth to give

And if you can not take that

Then go fuck yourself,

Look around for the bullets,

Take the gun off the shelf,

Put that shit against your forehead,

But make sure your back’s against the wall

And pull the trigger completely

Paint a portrait for us all.

1224a

7/14/4

Philanthropy Denied

Philanthropy Denied

Insecurity included,

No receipt necessary, 100% satisfaction guaranteed,

Heaps of ashes, still smoldering,

Smelling of a flawed soul.

Such an intense fascination,

Forged, fickle, foretelling,

Every inch of an aura erect in its brilliance,

Disturbing, boring, infantile, ill-tempered.

I describe a harrowed existence.

Philanthropy denied,

 Benevolence negated.

Such desolate gloom and ominous intentions,

Enveloped in the pain of never knowing.

Un-evolved,

Relentless, I am plain,

(in pain)

average, common, ordinary.

My thoughts of rage and surrealism are vain and obscure.

Thoughts of sadness implore.

Non-forgivingly?

Defiled.

Suffering Self Drama

Suffering Self-Drama

Such determination not to be determined.

Could there possibly be a more suitable muse?

I think not and care not for an answer,

She keeps me guessing with the greatest of ease…

If there wasn’t a glimmer of hope it

Would almost be pathetic,

Yet how it is , is how it seems to be,

Pathetic to some perhaps, yet horribly

Entrancing to myself.

If I thought that I ever had her, I would

Say I am losing her, no matter  how

Enthralled I may be, but as it

Is, I have no idea whether I had, 

Have, or will ever have her.

It’s pretty much the same as the beginning; a

Vast indifference. Most of the time I 

Feel I’m just a tool for her boredom,

Yet other times, just every once in a while,

I swear I sense genuine

Affection. I don’t know if it is my

Longing imagination, or non-fiction, but

I do know it is exhilarating, and exhausting.

Exhausting because I am so left in the dark,

But I guess I could prefer that to what possible

Light could come…

What dramatized insanity I suffer…

6/30/4

11:30pm

So Are You

So Are You

I float anonymously along,

Enslaved to a sight,

Suspended in a little bubble in time called clarity.

I see the chaos of the world around me;

I see the desperation of the ones who know not yet that they are desperate.

They rape and pillage still…

Incessantly ignorant.

These little problems,

They’re not yours,

They’re mine.

Problem is, 

Your problems aren’t problems at all,

They’re innecessarities, 

Yet then again,

So are you.

So what will you do to alleviate the situation?

You could try burrowing in yourself,

Deep within yourself,

Digging through the pain and blame to discover the root.

Conscience-ness didn’t start in any garden,

But it did start.

When you discover that start,

You’ll see the beginnings of the problems that now consume us,

As you consume one another.

Tread the downward spiral,

Do not stop when you think you know,

Always keep our minds’ eye open.

You will know when you know;

The signs never end.

4/4/2002

A Loose Interpretation Of Ones' Undoing

A Loose Interpretation of Ones Undoing

Ouch. I wish my brow hurt.

Instead, only tortured kidneys, bruised and battered.

Pain filled self-destruction.

The mind is online, the realization on a path.

Yet the body falters (has been faltering).

Pain filled self-destruction.

Ouch. I wish my brow hurt. 

A tender throat inflicts,

A winded lung decrees,

The other, silent with worry.

05/1999

Expected Failure

Expected Failure

You don’t have to yell for me,

I am here,

Watching, hearing,

Taking it all in.

The bugs have begun to bite,

Yet it is all good,

I expected as much,

And I’m as good as ever,

Good to go, ever going,

Ever intrigued by the social demeanor.

What ever the fuck that is…

Oh yes,

The lack of confidence through truth.

Instead you invent confidence through the mirror,

Ever reaching for something that 

Couldn’t exist without propaganda.

Truth has no propaganda,

It… just is, 

Like us, 

Swirling around the madness,

Reaching for that ever elusive counterpoint,

Reaching for that ever confounded passion.

Coral is my first physical

Confrontation with the truth.

My first passionate cry for togetherness.

I expect failure,

Yet every experience without

Leaves me hinting of ecstasy,

Of me thinking she could be worth it.

Then there is truth tapping me on the shoulder,

Living my life,

Telling me she could be the one,

Not the only one if she chooses not,

But the first of a new light of intellectuals;

They thought I had let them go,

And so they left,

To the left,

Ever-directional.

'03

Elementary

Elementary

I guess the hope, 

For the whole,

Would be technology.

People just need to 

Lay off the pornography

And look to sites of interest

Beyond themselves.

It’s funny,

I’ve spent a great deal of time hating what I was

And now I love the world for the whole of it,

Yet people that love and obsess about themselves, 

Care nothing of the now, other people, or the planet itself.

I guess it’s too much to think about

As elementary as it is to me.

It’s no wonder that I am lost.

'06

...and the smoke drifted so lazily

And the Smoke drifted so Lazily

I bang my head bloodily against the wall.

Decisive, and oriented again.

Bam!

Flesh flies with authority,

The pain rips and freshens disdained reality.

It’s constitution, ethics,

And responsibility,

Warped through agony,

And self-disapproving likeness.

The elder side of me destroyed,

Versus experience, 

Just another, vengeful, hating one.

There is no escaping…

As smoke drifts and falls,

I soon do follow.

05/1998

Reclusive Intent

Reclusive Intent

The torture doesn’t seem as extreme these days…

Opportunities rise and fall, like clock-work, before me.

I understand the realization, not feeling the pain, but being one with it.

Mental strife is the key to destroying basic mediocrity,

The essence of the spirit divided tolerantly, evasively equal.

I am still the recluse, the lonely wanderer, the common waif.

Yet I am more content than recent memory serves me…

I long for the coldness of intent.

Stoic

Stoic

I really don’t mind.

I just wish that the others wouldn’t mind either,

Because when it hits me that it’ll never change,

It hits hard,

And there’s the claustrophobic rain of sadness.

I am no longer in love with my sadness,

I’d actually venture to say that it is real close to annoying me.

Worse than the period, it hits twice a week,

Sometimes twice every three weeks when luck is on ones side.

In any case,

I don’t mind your smiling faces,

I still love you all,

I’m just searching intently for a point,

Without a point I am lost.

I dislike being lost, confused, or in error.

So I am stoic;

Waiting for the hour of lamenting to pass,

And please keep in mind, 

I do not fret for myself,

It’s the hopelessness of the future of our species that engulfs me with desuetude.

(misforgiving)

I know that I am nothing in a world of individuals who all think they are special.

My condemning point is that every single one of us are beyond special,

Beyond our own fragile vessel.

Every human is capable of the conscience decision of love over hate,

Yet most don’t follow that decision to the very end of the path.

They stray like sheep, engulfing like the same.

I wish that I could help but my brain spits a thousand thoughts at me and my hand has to choose words, and write them.

Three words later I’ve thought six thousand thoughts.

Welcome to my world.

Humans are not by nature socialist beings,

They’re more like the wolf, forever roaming (when free) in packs.

If I am human, where is my pack?

 I know that I am human simply because I wonder,

Too much it seems, for it is killing me,

Yet I suppose the ignorant die as well.

I think of the world we could have if all freed themselves from their selves.

Brightness and Tranquility.

Yet I am here, alone, struggling to keep myself awake;

Alive.

2002