Friday, May 11, 2012


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.

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 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.