Sunday, October 31, 2010

Winter is Approaching

Winter is approaching and my breath is stale and clear
in cold rooms I set my fears into high gear.
Motionless intuition takes away every wish
or every dream to hold you near.
Memorandums fade in a radioactive haze
because false distance is sparred.
Sporadic clandestine meetings take place in the dark
when I long for sleep and you want me to smile
even though some detail has gone awry.

Saturday, October 30, 2010

Incongruent Iconography of Myself

I feel so logically illegitimate to the point of outcasting by social graces that I cannot keep up with the Jones'  in par with suave sophistication of an enlightened soul. I internalize my struggle to bettering myself when too many times I see myself fail. The struggle is all inside me. I create too many ghosts that symbolize my weaknesses, strengths, and fears. 

Momentous Memento

Surmounting the escapades of ridiculed shame clamored away
at the back of the bay behind the tattoo shop at the outskirts of town.
I traveled at dusk and dawn will never appear to those who need the sun most.
Tremendous thrills of buzzing skills work the ink from the needle into the skin
to create artwork.

Pool Sleeping

Beside a clear breath of floating beach balls upon unfrozen waters
I lie hopelessly enamored with the dazzling turquoise sky.
The corners of my towel curl as the sun dries the moisture
and the wet drops disappear as the sun rays lunge toward me.
Silent days of me making acquaintances with dragonflies as they perch
on my  fingertips seem eternal and never escape to the past
because that is where my imagination resides
in the solace of a still pool.
My heartbeats do not even rupture the surface
of balanced waters that reflect the sky.
This moment of forever is blissful that I drift into sleep
and time never announces itself
and that keeps me at peace.


It is time to lie it is time to fly but your findings of a grave stone are incomplete.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Ice Wings

Where are my wings in the quite times.
All I want is to fly away from noise and end up in silence
and to be perfectly lonely.

I am Pathologically Chilly

You don't even care if I am covered in chilly everywhere.
My mind is colorless when I think about cold death
and the smog of demonstrified snides are sly and fly
at the tops of their tiers when they capture my eyes
I am immediately stolen to a frozen room and I die there.

If this isn't the end for you, I want it to end before
your superficial lust turns sour to kiss and gone with dust.

Chilly and Chilled

I found that a clear cut path to a heart is to throw stones at it.
No love exist. Too simple to deal with, but it's simple to hear.
Remain chilly and cold so your mind freezes to the snow
and the roof of your lungs will no longer glow.

Monday, October 25, 2010

You Asked Me Questions. Here Is My Answer.

Silence is quite hard to fathom in the quickening still of the black lake.
Faint figures in the distance huddle for warmth.
The snow is about to fall.
And shadows will take part
in the flight of hollowing horrors
of hoarding a decent life.

Saturday, October 23, 2010


In the name to all that I have known has been a waste. I know nothing.
I never knew why the clock struck two or why there had to be skies of blue
interchangeably to gray to make me shudder with sadness.
My state of mind is shockingly deplorable and porous.
I am an unfit sponge in a dank murky pool
of cut up pieces of wisdom and joy
that has yet to be discovered.

Friday, October 22, 2010

In a Cell by the City

I am pleasantly surmised by the sodomized fleece
of an unabashed lad squandering away to the lands
by the hands of a gold miner rich of a fortuitous luck
and a schmuck of drooping flesh endlessly flapping
in the breeze where no pronounced features begin with please
tiring of a quiet life and hoping for something new
relieves a delicate revival of east meeting west
and back again to the times of days slaving under the sun
is just as bad as slaving over the hot stove
but one continuos to feast on benefits from the seed.
Please plant the last one with care.

As if life were to end without a quaking or a waking
and life would stop without a solution or resolution
no peace was made not even between man and woman
where aroused feelings fade away and time continued to make
promises to brake and a hand full of shattered glass is a landmark
to fame when you realize it could have been wit to gain a path
through a legionnaires lament weeping for apathy
but receiving scorn and short busts weaving hopelessly
displaced for a grain of rice that fell by my side.

If all comes downs to this and I may think to date
of a lucky man out of the blue got no love where his mother gave him none
were to think a lucky woman were able to give him some.
It is incorrect to think of being spared a straight line to hypnotize
nothing but loneliness for a bike to ride on to transport us to a place.
I cannot perform magic or I would have cured my life of bleeding wounds
to accomplish everything without love or gloom.


Distraught, distracted, and disgusted
by the sight of a smashed pumpkin
nothing but knives hacked away
at the pumpkins smooth orange facade.

No Movement

Liquid night of a tall and slender block of silky hair dark as ravens feathers and
lighter then a gentle soul picking up wind in a heated debate
amongst friendly gatherers shoveling in space.
I had a head contained with passive thoughts moving too quick to formulate
an opinion. One side of me felt dead
the other side of me leapt nearer to an open flame of a fire.
Burning would be an option.
I kept awake to stare into the blank
and cold crept over me
because the fire dulled down.
The host approached me.
I closed my eyelids and that is the last anyone saw of me.
In my mind I arrived to a place of stone
a template drawn in gray lines carved into my skin
and drops of blood streamed.
Could this be everything I repressed?
Something lurking is watching over me
and I possess the time to find out what it could be
but my bones do not move me.

Brain Noise

All of the blue
was to ensue
the debate
about the day
you faked your brain.
You were not smart
enough to cheat death
and you broken body
told it all.
Your lies were all brought to light
and I loath you now until eternity.
I hope to never see your face again.
You should know how it feels to
become one with hell.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Commenting toward women being accused as witches more then men during the witch trails in MA.

Malleus Maleficarum discusses how women are more vulnerable to the devil and superstitions then men are. This reading claims women to be of weaker sex; weak in knowledge, memory, and sense of self since women can be impressionable. This also claims that women only want to please men, thus making them lusty and lewd creatures that perform their magic with their serene-like voices and sharp tongues inclined to lie at any time. Women are full of emotions and when a women weeps, it is in means of gaining attention and deceiving a male. Their carnal, fragile bodies of lust only want to lure men in just to perform their duty of destruction.

Eve is used as the earliest examples of woman kind and how she has been made as an unperfected form of male since she was created out of a bent rib. It was in her nature to eat the forbidden apple and to seduce Adam. Ever since then, Eve has given women an unforgiving curse. It is quite unfortunate because this sort of view has suppressed women throughout history. However, it is easy to stem into a feminist fight here (I am passionate about equality in present times into the future for women).

Men were threatened of the thought for women to possess this power because the men found a weakness for women in themselves. So before if a man were to break any strict laws of Puritan mannerisms, a woman should be blamed for the wrong doing. The men feared their own lust at this time and would not want to go against the church for the wanting of sex. Most of the witchcraftery is based upon sexual inclinations. As long as the men held the power and blamed a women for a wonton behavior, she could be executed immediately.


On electric brow, someone is more for
fear then a somersault into joy.
Rescuing the other before you
had arrived at a conclusion that distills
interaction between stars.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Winter Storm

A winter storm came hurdling over
the clouds of snow couldn't wait to see me.
I blushed as the first snowflake fell to touch me.
Snow is a miracle
and ice sickles are invisible unicorn horns
for all to enjoy.
Ominous designing designate the fine dinning
elaborating on schemes of sketchy scenes prescribed
by the gregarious doctor rolling a cigaret.
"He had a rough time last night, " mumbles the doctor,
regarding his patients near death experience.
"Death is but a flight of a key if were to have wings,"
explains June.
I caught a wind of boredom.
It taught me of sin and beldam.
Then the call of tin pipes echoed amongst processed mill
churning the tables for release of the will.

Habitual Perceptions

Tunnels of vast eclipsing doom
where the sun rose from the noon
had not been years since the dog crooned.
I ate soup there as I sat upon a stone wall to read
a hammering show room had nothing but tools.
However, it did suffice the fish held spice
so I fished all day till midnight.
I got up and left the cupboards empty
in belief you would rotate the bumptious
and release the sadness
if you only relied on habitual perceptions.


Cold in the night
as it was cold in the day
no sun light ever grew near
the innards of the bay.
The gulls are overturned to let the flies eat
the rotting flesh
and you smell like incense.
It's smoke curls and hovers above
the exaggerated themes of
invisible proof
that I once lived there.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

I Don't Love Anyone

This photo is from the artist Sarah Moon.

Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!
Sir Walter Scott, Marmion, Canto vi. Stanza 17.
Scottish author & novelist (1771 - 1832)

Monday, October 11, 2010

Untitled Tilted Piece

Tigers have but two shades of blue.
When I become a casual collider,
convince me to spend my time sifting sand
to look for gold.
Splitting my splinters feeling felines
refines the suburban terrariums.
The breeze glides in on top of trucks
with tropical ease.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

I Give Nothing Away

I give nothing away
except for a parking space I once occupied.
I give nothing away,
not elven columbines.
I gave a wink toward the shore
when once a while back a ship did sink there.
A devastating blow, but I am no longer lonely.
The beach is renowned for the mourning ghosts
weeping salty tears.
I strongly believe that sharing nothing is the best way
to live my life. What was ever said from my mouth
becomes lost. I hate to speak of what should be spoken.
I give nothing away to preserve the memory of staid, sullen, and gruesome
followings. I follow fate.
Oh my, I gave too much away.
But I have not moved my lips.
I will not speak this.
Nor will you,
lest you want a death wish...

Spell-Seekers Caverns

Separate memories enliven the large estate in the valley.
This valley is surrounded by mountains.
At the base of each mountain are numerous caves.
The caves have been created by powerful waterfalls and surging rivers.
The water no longer flows,
but empty cavities deep in bedrock exist.
I long to explore many of them.
I envision crystals and stalagmites everywhere.
A sparkly hell, an ephemeral arena
where I can practice my spells.

Gypsy in Gypsum Powder

Meanings in limitless flame destinations. My territory dwindles as pines mingle. I relish in the commentary the rocks give to the bushes and puddles of mud. I smooth my finger tips across the mush of the muddled puddle. Injaled in the frequent relapse of circumventing halos above my forehead hovers, luna moths dance a delicate pattern too and fro creating shadows on my face. A moonlight glow encapsulates my body, my aura is fighting away the darkness of an early sunset. I am a gypsy floundering in the woods of Ukraine searching for a bed of feathers to repair my tired soul. My caravan wishes it could fly me to a rich castle of nature.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

http://www.3DiCD.com/Syd-Barrett/An-Introduction-to-Syd-Barrett album coverLink to 3DiCD


Assume my new name and resume. Play the thoughts that run like antelopes across the grange. Rearrange the opals and moonstones by date at which they fell to earth. And you came to me on that day. No one else kept you away from tripping over the lakes. I needed cake and you brought it to me.

I shudder to think of the fine china plates that will brake
in the months earthquake.
Seasons of fancy French etiquette will take place.
Crowds in limousines will equivocate 

Monday, October 4, 2010

I was almost thought of as a silent figure that moves about briskly amongst the dirty leaves, roots, rocks and things. A tree stump almost tripped me, but I had caught myself. I had a feeling of fear grow deep in my eyes. The north star shined a true path in a dusky forest at night. Owls talked to me as if they knew me all my life. I was frightened to see anthropomorphic tree look like me. It came across me like wind. Flying daggers slashed my skin. In broad daylight I headed home. Out for nothingness but blind hope. Scattered chicken bones clattered on china plates, the bats occupy my attic. My cellar is home to a wild beast.

Here in the now of present gloomy matters, weaving on a loom seems comforting to do. I hope to create a tapestry depicting destruction of millions of lives. A new dawn shall rise again when the world becomes more rested. Nothing can stop pain from entering through the corridors, yet you or I could be the one to end pain and suffering by willing it away. Strength of a spleen does not determine the reality of a dream to come true.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Oregon, Origami, Oregano and Oreos

I try to spice up your life and let loose of sense
shake the fists and raise my head
bead jewels to an elastic bands
fling the ice cubes to dry salt flats
solidify the mashed potatoes I dumped in your pants
pick up a penny and leave a dime
behind you is a panda that wants to get burned
blowtorch a hole in the hands of the poor
unholy is the peach that killed the chief
I for one know it was not a deputy that wanted to die
but a sheriff committed suicide by jellybeans
and jello floats in new termed goals
and goats gloat of glories young and old
as the twinkle in your eye moves back and forth
I kiss your lips as you kiss mine
and the lemon drops from my mind
helping the damn break free and water integrates
the need for coolness in peace
as if we were laying in bed and dreaming
the stars glow to our healthy skin
and solar flares bend and alleviate the textured moss
hanging newly formed cobwebs singing tunes old and new
time passes so slow our imaginations roar
to partake in a birth of a lion that is king to all.

Clearly a Yes

Sometimes I ponder to think of what could have become
a surly mate such as yourself.
You never are knocked down to an orange rind
and you never lick the crumbs from someone's mess.
I respect you most endearingly to endure the shoveled mass
of unsolved mystery love propaganda...
however, do not detest for what I am about to do.
My actions may not have an answer to a question of, "Why?"
I cannot talk about it
it gets complex and becomes meaningless.
Incongruencies exclaim the partridge I have not claimed
and it still sits patiently on a bough in the pear tree.
It is not christmas yet, I did not receive my present.
Time for blossoms to bloom
and rose petals to swallow.
Impassionate crimes of lusty gloomy meadows
of creaking tower of crumbling fate.
The rubble and shrapnel makes sense now
because those are the pieces you used to create a web
and built magnificent structures to hibernate.
Call me for a date and we will negotiate obsolete fashions in taste
of the polar bears on thin ice
and the decline of duck enthusiasts!

To A New Beginning

Oceans upon oceans layer iridescent silky hands
combining salty pearls for young girls.
Sea foam does not wander so freely if it were not for
the seagulls gawky noise scaring the marooned tattered
sailors about the lagoon.
Not once did you lift your eyes to peek at the sunshine
as it glimmered on the rolling waves that crashed on the sand.
So I made you look.
I peeled back your eye lids as if I peeled at a banana skin.
Though you quiver and shake with fear,
at least you look at the beauty
that has only begun.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Lock You

Eyes and eyes and blinking eyes. 
Wall patterns full of eyes.
I leave to gather some moss now in forest.