Our truest life is when we are in our dreams awake. - Henry D. Thoreau

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

triggered from the airwaves of this cave

Wasn't what I expected
Kindof feeling rejected
Won't ever be elected
Will this be later regretted?

Always appropriately ejected
It makes me feel almost ecclectic
Fashioning a new heavy weapon
A whole new kind of deep message

And I will read all that it left me
To determine what's truly shapely
For I know as soon as I'm able
Coming from a different direction

Purely established connection
That keeps everyone guessing
What eternal thing's blessing
Classic masterpiece confessing

The way is paved under glimmering waters
Having pure intent to counter what faulters
Making sure nothing unduly should alter
Becoming what's now is a problem dissolver

pity is the virtue of whores, compassion breeds strength



















it gets made overcomplicated
when the pictures are fabricated
and you express yourself as you know best
to pleadingly separate yourself from the rest
this is the real test
i should have guessed

nothing becomes of the dancing jester
ruled out by those who seem to know better
eliminated from the daunting daily task
of emptying out the largest of flasks
why would you care to ask
why not just sit here and bask
in the present glory of it all
while you still hold the ball

go suffocate yourself
just to stop the beat
get another brain freeze
to get out of the heat
an alarming defeat

as the savages reap the returns
watching time as it quickly burns
sleep is something i've missed dearly
beckoning me to see something more clearly
i lay down to rest
pausing this quest

post-apocalyptic struggle to acknwledge what was lost in scrolls to never be found, a message to all who read without knowing



















in a sea filled with quaint suggestions
above many roads with loose connections
there is my alibi
reading the sky

my percept flows from you to me
to all the other things that be
and while it is not always free,
i feel unshaken like the great rooted tree

moved by the softest breeze
eliciting positive change with ease
construction opens up new ventures
deconstruction repaints the pictures

there are a thousand words to a life story
filled with verbose descriptions of past glory
opening up to the dangerous world about
yet quiet enough not to give out a shout

it takes more to look into the lines than their meanings
not all of them hold all of the writer's true feelings
but as the music of life flows in melody and rhyme
the silence between is beautiful when read between the lines

guelfs vs. ghibellines



















Running through my mind
Like a bandit from a crime
Will to the divine
It should be mine

Breathing in toxins to save
I look for respite in the sun
Clearing thoughts on the run
To escape from the walls of this cave
I feel adventurous
Like a sailor on his first quest
To find the pieces that are left
And put to rest this final test

I love life and all its beauty
Where were you when it all went down?
Probably wearing the longest frown
That's when I left town
Without a sound
Youth ending behind me resolutely

I want to climb the highest mountain in your mind and find the flag of the seer who claims the zenith of thought, until then I'm distraught

fringe findings





















Close to the open borders between our minds
With nothing to examine but what truth remains
Burning away the jagged edges full of hate
The message always falls short of the fuel it contains
Simply put and closed shut in this tattered journal
Like a coffin of the tempted corpse within
Carry the burden a little further
Emptying into the river as it bends

A sarcophagus of me holds the key
To happiness in my lifetime
Probably not the next or for those before
Only worthy in the heart's prime

I've seen too much
I thought too much
I write too much
But there's never enough
Time to carefully burn
Things to want to learn
Messages for me to discern
Old rocks to newly turn

begging the question



















Authority loses pretense
When the dead rise to make claim
There's nowhere to run from them
To escape the vastness of obscurity
How many times have you riddled me this?
A thousand plus the last fallen soldier
Another victory for the wounded enemy of hate
He wouldn't call down angels for your sake
Clearing out right before the wake

I have spoken too soon
I now see red balloons
Floating freely overhead
Many will soon be dead

Preaching from a hill, there's nothing as wrong
As opening your chest to reveal a stone
Without hope I'm empty of passage
Clearly embedding sacred adage

It's a long way to where we lost our lives
The site where we left our cold bodies behind
Would you be so kind as to lead me back to those deserted and scorched fields
Vast golden meadows once carefully tilled

In closing, I would like to thank George Bush for all the memories I never wanted

your moral desires keep me in the crossfire















I never grow tired
Only anxious memories and things to be
My future lies infinitely
Stretching further than all the seas
And it forces me to walk that wire

over yonder, where this sidewalk ends



















And another begins
Without solid ground
Pages lost to never be found
I'm not profound
Surely a clown
Wearing this dizzy frown
I'm drowning like the rest
In the heart of this mess
How come I never passed your test
Could you do it yourself?
Would you sacrifice all your wealth?

I felt this strange breeze which shocked me to the core
It gave me reasons to further explore
To deplore
To grow more
It's much to endure
What would you ask for?

Given three options I plead the fifth
Completely encumbered by my wit

radical roads

















That naked map with many traps
Leaves us in the dark
When we wish and pray for better days
The details fill between the trees
I wanted to get down this time of year
Give me a lesson and state it clear
Lying face down I can see upwards into the heavens
Jettisoning forward to the roads of the titans
Tyrants
They always find me like sparks on flint
Enlightenment in a heart shaped device
It was well worth the price

Up in due recourse
I plan my voyage taunting the pourous
Earning better matters for my own flagrant entrapment
Behind these words I approve none
Till the day has come
And I feel that I am done
The poles have been spun
What is one?

An addition of many zeroes
Stories told without heroes
Can't you see it's there for what it's not?
Free flowing though my blood clots
Enriched with people's presence
Many never withstand decadence in this harem, though the obese wither away lost for today in their plates
Never to escape

Mixing into purest creations
It's alchemy with stipulations

Intertwined
I left behind
To climb
With feet made of rhymes

you wouldn't know what happened to you if it weren't for the fog of war





















Hunted for in buckled fortune
I turn my eyes to surmise
And recollect what was left unspoken
Issuing the darkest decree despised
Even though the glass veins were unsealed

Who will blame me for holding my own
Burying remnants of catastrophe
It wasn't for me to see, this cacophany
Spotted vermin leeching willows for blustering chances
Amid the suffocating gamut tied together
We shouldn't view this rift with bliss
It ignored our togetherness to shift

Clocks dangling from a midnight passage
Where we had learned of it's needed recourse willingly
It can't be translated fully without assistance, you see?
But this gives hope you'll return to me

Sparkling fodder into entrails so dark could ignite this world upon it's return to harbored discourse
If we could but seek it through what was left behind
And you will find the time to realize
Only now or when it comes full circle in a bonfire of the records we kept
Left a mess, nowhere left
Broadness begets an openness
And it holds a site for lengthened trials
Immobile and bolstered above forgotten miles

Find the light in this plight
It holds passion behind the blight
The substance we were born to keep
Embedded beneath for you to seek

this is just a fleeting message in a river that bends

















bottled up
keeled over
understanding
true knower
pickled pomp
crass trash
giving up all he could collect, the others cried out "vagrant!" as if to turn him to face their torture, unsettled, he passed alongside the broken mirrors fallen from great prevailing winds of spoken fires
duly noted
freshly coated
hillside journey
in a hurry
without you, i feel empty
after knowing what it is like to behold true beauty
soft malingering
fresh beginning
legendary on the contrary
trying to pick the sweetest berries
and failing
and flailing
blood trailing
fleets sailing
to desert me back where some lost their lives
embarking with the others for reasons contrived
i lose my life
just to live my life
and smoke my pipe

pass it around






















The confused population swoons
Issuing deft and lost platoons
This poor struggle is unending
We can’t revert to the beginning
And when they’ve found what they roll out to seek
Destroying colonies and returning with ideations that seem meek
Who would measure the caroused
Left broken in homes unbound
Sickly coughing up words profound
But unable to make the right sound
For your ears are small
You missed most of the fall
And that healthy crunching underneath
The things that give me my beliefs
When I am mostly unspoken
Bearing wood and gold tokens
You shatter what was left
Make me feel so bereft
But I knew I had it all along
You missed the meaning of my song
Until you creep nearby with phantom limbs
Wearing a bold mask painted so thin
I can truly see
What you’ve done to me
You didn’t know
What to uphold
And that’s okay
I’ll save the day
Live life like it isn’t yours, but of Him you will become
Be like this, my friend, and you will to catch up to the Sun.

neverlandscape


















Free flowing like the dead of night
Encompassing the globe
Meandering through traveled lands
Creating the essence we bestow
To see this place again would renew my soul
Encountering what it is behind the wall
Limitless adventures seek refuge in hearts left open
Broken and confused above a placid lake
Mirroring my shambled fate
Clearly the divine is contrived
For man created this so stoically
Emblazoned paths run to end the beginning
Where the footsteps clamber infinitely
And horses arrive on cue meeting winds suffering their tale
Felt cold against damp skin embedded with fear
Harlot merit undermines resources
The faceless appear new as a baby cries softly
Speaking to a crowd who’ve gathered in mind
The allusion makes to reconcile
What could never be seen
Dreams are never understood
When read like a book

rhymesick






















We lead lives mostly unspoken;
Littering memories mostly broken;
Trapping our dreams in cobwebs;
Above our warm silk-laden beds;
Wanton fights well into the nights;
Just to understand each other’s plights;
Turning to others for words of advice;
And receiving in return words so trite;
Clearly underrated;
Mostly inundated;
Faulty in our ways to communicate;
Across this barren landscape;
I hate it when it just makes sense to rhyme,
But what is it that makes life so sublime?

intervene between

Protesting

Diffusing

Harboring

Enlightening

Shuddering

Misleading

Specializing

Provoking

According

Mismatching

Acting

Subtracting

Settling

Teasing

Prodding

Laughing

Wandering

Falling

Underlying

Working

Beholding

Squealing

Jolting

contemporary apothecary



























In these dark alleys you will find
All sorts of remedies for a sick mind
A pill for the common apathy
Another exhausts your battery
Plenty to calm your last tightened nerve
A few to set you a bit above the curve
Happily floating on clouds you’ll see
What has become of your destiny
A big sack of this and a bottle of that
The devil lurks under the welcome mat
Fragmentation occurs
You’ll have to endure
The consequences of this battle
With all of the sicknesses addled
And no more pressure from the boss
Because you lost work as part of the cost
Spendthrift or big chips
It’ll never make sense
To waste what you have
To gain the other half
Brain rinsing and brain washing go hand in hand
They’ll drag you deeper into the tumultuous lands
And when you’re done and you’ve found the light
Nobody will listen for fear of similar plight
Woe to those entranced by death
Never allowed to make another step
Constantly staggering by potions mixed
Hoping to find the solution to be easily fixed

collusion fusion


























I thought you cared about those thoughts we shared
Living under that bridge, we were both scared
To death of it all
We anticipated a fall
And now where are we when it’s time to seek
The truth in the meanings behind damning sleep
Broken and confused
I’m not very amused
At the hardships and soft lips
Candied apples to stop the grapples

Where have we been since then?
Hiding away in the darkness within
We will never escape
Or find a new place
It’s all a maze
And you’ve lost the race
Save face
No more grace

Attempted bludgeoning
Treason and smothering
Long nights and feathers plucked
Running aimlessly amok
Slowly
Carefully
Patiently
Anxiously
Befallen with these torments
Amazed at the path where it bends
I hope he finds what’s lost in you
I hope the shoe he holds fits just you
I couldn’t repair this with glue
I lost the map somewhere in the ruse
Who’s not confused?

I’m blank and I thank you
For the mess we’ve been through
I walked in bloodstained
Feeling so ashamed
You cleaned me up and sent me back
Out of the mansion and into the shack
I lost it all when we spoke first
Imagining lovers in mirth
All we got was the bitter dirt
Mixed with fear it surely hurt

point blank

























Without knowledge of the holy,
Suffocation sinks inside slowly;
The educated have undulated,
Spearheading vibrant illumination.

Apostrophes are on the knees,
Crumbling desires with ease;
Holding what it’s really worth,
Released from minds in mirth.

If I could teach you what it meant,
To see the light the way it’s bent;
You could see the polar desires,
Open waters slowly catching fire.

Truth is kept in the sacred text,
Locked away as if solemnly bereft;
It can’t be held in hands praying,
Ripping air from lungs in a cannon.

Cheerful messages sung in tunes,
Could really send us red balloons;
Be aware of the bright ideas beneath,
Stealthily hidden in a colorful sheath.

hormone warzone















this song i wrote for a friend


polluted minds seek to combine
to disease those once healthy minds
you sure caught me with your slick lies
when you spoke from behind a golden disguise
i was once blind
i was once blind

[chorus x2]:
always checking behind my doors
never sure who to ignore
living in a hormone warzone

out working hard or in growing large
someone's got to finally take charge
try their luck with fancy cards
see who they can keep behind big bars
who would want to be?
who would want to be?

[chorus x2]:
always checking behind my doors
never sure who to ignore
living in a hormone warzone

your shadow grows large and swallows me
just thinking of how it used to be
you're killing the life inside my dreams
this love game is never what it seems
winner takes it all
winner takes it all

[chorus x2]:
always checking behind my doors
never sure who to ignore
living in a hormone warzone

Star Life Isn't Always So Bright




















A giant cloud emerges to start a new beginning,
Full of hydrogen molecules, the nebula is fusing.
Gravity surely loves this dust in outer space,
A protostar lives a life that’s quite amusing.

Into helium the core develops,
Glowing red with swelling heat.
The hydrogen is running low,
Helium burning signals to complete.

The dwarven star glows small and bright,
With illusions of depleting masses.
Turning off the light switch for the night,
It shines its lively final flashes.

Another life could have been imagined,
For the stars who grow so large in size.
Creating a core of iron the helium depletes,
Collapsing in a supernova, remnants are its prize.

Into stardust meandering through the galaxies,
This neutron star is freshly magnetized.
At worst collected by the gravity’s tension,
A black hole swallows entire skies.

Bound To Our Endless History: Exploring Human Creativity (Philosophy of Art 2023 Final)

John W. Hampson
Louisiana State University
Philosophy of Art
May 6, 2009



BOUND TO OUR ENDLESS HISTORY:
EXPLORING HUMAN CREATIVITY

The Human Being is a Determined, Yet Malleable Beast
Throughout our history and before such hardships had been recorded, it is evident that our race has encountered innumerable problems to which no previously applied solution has been able to dissolve. As we face impenetrable walls of physical and mental boundaries, it appears that a force somehow guides us to these solutions through the use of spiritual attunement and by the sheer effort applied in order to overcome these situations. Mistakes have led us to new solutions and; therefore, new problems arise to continue the struggle we have in taming this world to maintain our survival and create a better life for ourselves and others.

1. The Cycle of Defeat
The author first cites Mark Twain’s small misanthropic essay entitled What is Man? involving a debate between a passionate young man and a wise older man as they discuss the possibility for human creativity when examining the present capabilities seen in nature and the cycle of limitation posed on the human race by our internal physical capabilities observed over time. The rhetorical strategy of the essay is to show; contrary to each and every intuition one has on the matter, that the human is indeed a determined, yet malleable beast.

“Man originates nothing. All his thoughts, all his impulses, come from the outside… None but the gods have ever had a thought which did not come from the outside.”

“From the cradle to the grave, during all his waking hours, the human being is under training. In the very first rank of his trainers stands association. It is his human environment that influences his mind and his feelings, furnishes him his ideals, and sets him on his road and keeps him on it…. He is a chameleon; by the law of his nature he takes the color of his place of resort. The influences about him create his preferences, his aversions, his politics, his tastes, his morals, his religion. He creates none of these things. He thinks he does, but that is because he has not examined the matter.”

It seems ignorant and redundant despite the wisdom possessed by the older man to accept a truth that remains useless when faced with problems that seem unsolvable. Without the ability to create, man would continually repeat his mistakes throughout history, and in many ways obviously does repeat these errors, but not without acknowledging the power and precedence of such issues in determining a causal relationship to the solution that must be found in order to gain access to new dimensions of problems and yet more limitations to be crossed in order to achieve new understanding.

2. Blocked by Our Senses. Their dialogue continues for days, the older man asserting his inability for creation and the younger man, still too infatuated with the wealth of his potential goodness, he is moved again and again to propose counterexamples to the older man’s well-worn wisdom. The old man cites Adam has a good head, but was provided everything by god from the outside… leaving him unable to create anything. The brain is constructed as a machine that works automatically, not by a soulful will power.
“It has no command over itself; its owner has no command over it.”
The young man agrees that Adam was borne into his disposition, yet Shakespeare must’ve created the plays and other works himself. The older man asserts Shakespeare had produced imitations. He created nothing and could not create. He was a machine and cannot create.

It is true that we are bound by physical limitations and associations which we can retain and bring about in our minds, yet because there are many minds and many times constantly moving forward, we have the hope to learn how to solve these problems, which by the grace of time’s movements and our own physical wellness permitting, will bring us to a solution or to the grave.

3. One in a Million. I disagree with the old man’s point of view citing the example of a monkey or many monkeys bashing on keyboards would eventually produce the likeness of one of Shakespeare’s works, yet because of the strangeness of this disposition and by the efforts applied, he had used his powers to produce these plays by himself and that a million monkeys (who must be trained at least to type at the rate and consistency of a mastery of the English language) would not amount to validate the unique examples of powerful creations (especially in the number and rate at which he produced them). He had indeed created, yet was inspired, introducing the authority of a spiritual attunement or operation within the man’s spiritual communion and decisions.

4. Looking at the Bigger Picture
The old man’s view is positioned in philosophical anthropology, which examines the scope of broader topics regarding our growth in history, providing a theory of agency which makes sense of the actions in light of the self, environment and activity. It is known that the view of the forest is unable to be seen when examining the trees, or even leaves in regard to life’s many details and large landscapes of history. The philosophically minded have long suspected that any theory that attempts to explain everything – even its own counterexamples – was explaining too much and therefore leaving no room for creativity; therefore, any theory in virtue of its explanatory power that could not have counterexamples was in principle problematic.

5. Outside the Lines. While he may be able to bind his argument to the environmental aspect of determinism, the self and activity are interdependent qualities that must undergo a process of selection and various factors of competition, unable to be simply described when there are yet forces external to our own environment and those that are infinitesimal which compose our internal being. Examining the issue in the manner as one looks through a telescope, all issues seem to be irrelevant to the overall cause of action, and make the minutest details seem frivolous and non-differential to the general cause for creative activity. While examining from the other extreme, issues in the smallest detail seem no more to create a sense of security in the matter as even the smallest particles have randomized activity which seem to emit a sense of creativity, yet these forces are still bound by yet smaller particles and the factor of space and time and are unable to be predicted by any means.

6. Erupting from Within
The author suggests that the various multitudes of theories or perspectives concerning human agency take the form of simply recommending the ways in which to examine and understand the significance of human action. Nietzsche’s “Will to Power”, Marx’s “Creative Capacities”, Freud’s “Id and Superego”, Twain’s “Inner Master” and self as the site of these forces which process the requests and demands of the outer forces. He suggests that one is recommended new and “often disturbing” rubrics at which to compare and prospect one’s value’s and goals; simply a baptism. While adjusting one’s personal values to the ones of others past, it seems only logically valid to use history to orient oneself in a cultured and cosmopolitan manner that accepts the disgusting nature of our human race, yet seeking a path that attempts to pave new and better roads toward a better future for oneself and the betterment of others in society.

7. Knowledge is Power. When examining the statement “The morning star is the evening star,” one must make reference to the assertion of a singular object in the meaning of “star” and classify the statement as true because it remains the same externally from the subjective view, and is referring to the Sun. This is called an empirical consideration and is necessary for determining the validity of the statement; it would be hard-pressed to find any example that contradicts the statement as the semantics are very secure in stating that one quantified object is another object, yet remains the same. Because we all live on Earth and the sun rises in the morning and sets in the evening, there is no room for creative response.

8. Breaking it Down
In The Construction of Social Reality, Searle claims that the form “x counts as y in context c” is a constitutive rule. This is the basics of association. The x in this term is supposed to reference 1) a physical behavior (moving a wooden piece in a diagonal line) or 2) some physical object (the wooden piece). An example that would be hard to refute is: “moving this piece of wood along a diagonal (x) counts as moving a bishop (y) in the context of the game of chess (c). In Wittgenstenian logic, Assertion rests as a discovery: x is the case, Recommendation is strongly normative: x should count as y, and Clarification is the articulation of constitutive rules of a practice, weakly normative: x counts as y; forming the basis of association.

9. Evaluating Personal Creation
The author uses examples of psychologists who are convinced of the personality traits theory, and on the other hand, those who support the situationalist point of view. The former suggesting that they believe certain people possess and retain certain genetic structures that dictate their responses to the environment, and the latter suggesting a possibility of creativity when implementing an action in a new situation, such as exploring a new culture.

“Individuals may behave in consistent ways that distinguish them from their peers not because of their enduring predispositions to be friendly, dependent, aggressive, or the like, but rather because they are pursuing consistent gals, using consistent strategies, in light of consistent ways of interpreting their social world.”

10. Clarification of Terms. Though the above statements may be true, the way of explaining in terms the observations can only be done using personality traits, which hopefully work to dissociate from their broader stereotype counterparts. It is difficult to make assertions about these claims in regard to metaphysical issues of creativity and personality, though recommendations and clarification are fluid and valid explanations for the phenomenon in question. This makes it inevitably bound to stereotyping people and their characteristics, which is a useful but unfair tool our brains use to easily and quickly categorize such features that are distinguishable from more familiar ones. Because no two people are alike, even twins, the differences come from within and it is up to the individual to attempt to eradicate these forms in order to see into the truth self of others, which is projected in a similarly confusing manner, leading us to more and more roads and pitfalls.

11. What Makes Us Move?
This ineffable being or essence we must admit exists in all of us which allows creation through determination and is invariably affection by chance and human error as well as strong situations of coincidence. It is true that a mind limited to its own powers may not be able to create anything through the actual association of various elements unless it is a combination of many factors, yet the outside forces guide us to new hopes through spiritual communion that we may accept and work in accordance with or reject and allow our mechanical limitations in ignorance to display themselves through repetition and consternation. The explanation I have explored is that there is a force that retains a position on earth and in any other space we may be able to conceive in the same fashion that all of us humans hold a physical location on earth that may not be held by another person or thing at the same space of time. This being has contributed to our physical structure as well as our mental capacity by enabling us to understand that there is a solution to a given problem and that we must fill the gap with many ideas until we are able to find a piece that fits in the appropriate manner so as to dissolve the illusion of an inability to simply create, but rather replace the space or problem with another form to complete the puzzle.

12. Is God at Work? Based on the biblical demonstrations quantifying God as omnipotent and existing as the Alpha and Omega, this essence is claimed to be the likeness of all humans, and we are very spiritual creations of our own through the powers granted to us. Conceptually, we may perceive many subjective phenomenons; yet arrive at physical limitations and potentially objective experiences that are culturally unable to be experienced by anything or one except this true creator. It appears that when all pieces of the mind bound by association and creativity are assembled, they resemble a large puzzle. In this puzzle, there is no complete form without assuming the continuation of time and an additional piece to be added. When complete, the purest form of such a puzzle still always misses a piece and is therefore never complete by our own minds or standards of thought; time will always present a new problem that requires a new situation when being moved around. The puzzle is therefore closest to those in which you shift 9, 15, 24, etc number of pieces to complete the known form but the space is necessary in order to slide the pieces forward into a more accurate form to resemble the structure we appear to “know.”

13. Stalemate. We are bound to our mistakes and it is evident in the reoccurring paths in history that seem to make it the “best of all possible worlds” despite the madness and destruction, it seems to be unfolding unto itself and is relatable to the natural laws that bind us biologically; physically and spiritually, yet remain off topic with regard to the quality of soulful experience, gained by the expression and acquisition of various forms presented by God. Because it is impossible to effectively understand creativity in its purest and natural form, we are only able to jump around the borders of this force and allow ourselves to be consumed by the creative drive that is the main power that builds and maintains our civilization. It is a necessary tool in the process of life, yet within us it is unexplainable, only observable from outside the thick fog that surrounds the rest of the mysteries of our human condition.

14. Conclusion
By examining the ideas of the author and his sources of interest, it seems that there is no clear path understood by all to be the one factor that moves us all, yet there still is a place held for this being. With regard to theological precedence, it appears that there is actually some logical sense involved in the belief system of various customs when allowing the person to compare themselves to a Higher Power in order to more accurately and modestly propose a state in which none is the better and we collectively help others make it to a universally better condition; these are the ideas of heaven ringing clearly. With regard to Wittgenstenian logic, there seems to be little use for assertion with relation to truths other than the greatest knowledge is that “I know nothing” which contends that there is always going to be another problem to which we will not know or understand until we climb over the boundary. Using these logical premises, it seems only useful to apply recommendations and clarifications to our findings in order to effectively communicate a message in which all sides are given room to stand in the paradoxical and bipolar world in which we live.

fickle stain

















With a penchant for pocket verses,
A swift mind while I'm doin' time;
Something just seems urgent,
Now there's nothing I can try.
I must seek the shores,
Where the life begins to feed.
Struck by chilling chords,
I've fallen back behind the lead.
Purposeless and still in doubt,
I empty thoughts and clear a path;
Focused on a steady route,
To unveil my secret better half.
I must admit I've earned my fault,
And traveled tunnels in the dark;
But when you're the one that's caught,
You'll feel alive from the spark.

do it don't try

I'm getting strapped like I'm going to blow up
And make sure to do it all before I show up
So I tell you kids to bow down and shut up
And go learn to read so you can grow up
It's a mile of print before you know what
Under the pressure to try and make the cut
Even when your mind can't move from the rut
And the emptiness kills you from deep in your gut
Begin at the end and thenfigure out which way is up
And never think twice until you've landed in the dust
The line between success and failure is thicker than the crust
And every day brings new problems that make you start to rust
Feeling like your head is full and your stomach is sure to bust
And looking for a new lifestyle is nothing less than a must
Who's out there looking out for your back you know that you can trust
And their promises aren't fleeting like faint whispers in a gust
Fixating gazes may seem rooted in wonder and lust
Even if it were, most wouldn't take it as a plus
And they empty shadow scars without making a fuss
Their language dips down and you can they cuss
They abide no law made ignorantly servile made just

dawn to dawn, dusk till dusk
















We take drugs to get above one another,
Though we actually fall far below ourselves.
What a feeling to amass your own seemingly lavish tomb,
Growing cold in tired resentment for our loved ones.
Lashing out inside because we are ignorant to words,
Words brave enough to pierce the barrier of valid communication,
Able to evaporate those walls we place amongst ourselves.
We endanger others far more than our own lives,
Though that is the biggest loss,
The healthiest risk,
The deadliest catch; perhaps, is to gain that knowledge through skillful ignorance.
Displacement from your own insipid thoughts,
Viewing their path careen into oblivion.

What a joy it is to see morning!
For it has come just as it has greeted us,
Faithful in its virtue,
Solid in its commitment of Truth.
It is there for us to see,
Please turn my key.

i just have to let it go












Destruction elicits cause for an uplifting spiritual gradient,
Due past mirage and circumstance, where sages elucidate their pure intent.
Beckoning the future and its black-filled night away from many stars,
Indelible verses promote the owner's willfulness to defeat, triumphantly.
Clandestine promises are teased for the unfaithful who want more,
After all, we always gain more than we've ever had before.

Nobody listens any more, it must be a dead art.
The Bodhisattva hears the chilled night air, feeling patiently bare.
The lovers of the flesh and the champions of death link arms joyfully,
As if to pile bodies morbidly consumed by their own selfish plight.
We cannot all escape this fright. Beware!

Plundering lost souls for solitude and reconciliation is a blunder of mind, a thief of time.
I am very sorry for those pressures that caused you worry,
I could not escape that flurry when it came time to turn and hurry.
The threads of time have been sewn shut in that pocket we hid diamonds and such,
Never to be considered as worth anything unsalable as much.

If it's true the whole world is watching, then what keeps them entertained?
Is it the tragic sense of pushing the blame, regarding the abjuration of this mental frame?
Just another part of the scenery, when loosed from a jail you are never free.
If there was something we could see inside us we'd need no eyes to frighten, unspeakably forgotten.
Tasting the blade is what keeps my faith solid when everyone turns their back to run,
Aimlessly / Shockingly / Carelessly / Furiously / Swiftly / Impatiently / Without Me.
I will make it through this storm because I am the storm and I see through that eye,
Floating above laying waste to all below the precious fruitless sky.
One turn of the wheel could lay waste to all,
God please save us all.

i want to write something now














Bathed in a lacquer suited for my skin,
I dive right in and ignore the porous film,
Wasting away in hollow memories meagerly killed.

You try for me and fail to see the better side I hide;
Oh well, for you are not the bride I seek beside me,
Enchanting as my favorite melodies.

Clear your soul for the moon is full and bears fruits ready to be consumed,
Before you are doomed we must make room for this final test,
Aiming my slingshot to send my heart's will as suited best.

Jiggle that handle you have on your life and be a wife,
To someone else as trite, many images assist your face value,
And arrest my attention without lingering thoughts in milieu.

Prodding my chest for a plethora of tears inside,
I'll take you on a ride and show you my truth when it rings,
Heavy as the night comes and the trouble that it brings.

I like the direction I'm going and can see the distance growing,
Between you and I in this river flowing so graciously without much temperament,
Now look again, fresh and keenly, and struggle to learn the ways in which I'm bent.

provoked and caroused
















Translating gazes transfixed like interconnected mazes leaves me brainless;
I couldn't walk with a two-step handle on my broken night over,
Leaving dust for the trespassers wandering cyclically in pursuit.
Opening up to the brisk night air, I call out to you who speak truthfully;
Invite you to converse with me duly/ speaking of a sparked weather discourse and shady mapping underground.
I leave with haste back into the maze which empties its memories on worn walls traversed,
Pondering my every lingering thought as if it were a passing lamb shimmering.

What pertains to this moment we taste fully?
Enjoying melodic programmes entices the senses coolly - wonderfully.
And in patterns, too!

If my eyes went blind but a minute before your observance, you'd wonder as well, "what does he think?";
But I know much better honestly and wouldn't stave off this present entry,
Had you known better as well, you may have second guessed.
Adjoined and pressed beyond my terms (I accept proof and dreams overshadowed boldly),
You think you see me.

And if you had heart you may bend illusion to prepare this path;
One I've traveled on loosely, bound to encounter death in due recourse - clean your mouth.
My style isn't clear and I understand your fear of dismemberment,
But remember this, and swallow it; for you in Time shall attract a piercing gaze and forget where you are in that maze.
All alone we suffer, and conceal the brightest stars of flaming passion.
Just come a little closer to my words and feel what it is inside that burns, we all share this, yes!

here it goes













lost in translation without a roadmap home;
i have no claim to yield tomorrow and don't know where to go.
i sat out back and let it sit close to heart where weather bumbles
polluting conscious fortitude of control theories and high spirits
revolving, pundit leadership separates the gatherers and beckons for more
what will we produce when the sun goes down?
can't we behold what we have right now?
forever I would wait to see this day,
and as I find, it's my ball of clay.

constant hurries from unbridled worries
they put me down and humble my future
forget no more - open mindedness brings freedom

what would it take to change the minds of those listeners?
probably the secrecy, no match to push it forward.
i see you there and take a glare but can't reach out if you're never there
leaving me empty handed i felt full with choices
i used my money on a map
[and i'm running away from home]

drink that with a melody
sweet everloving bouyancy
how can you see from so far deep?

abort











Stringent ties to loose fitting lies envelops your disguise
Instead of breathing clear and shedding tear,
You save face, receiving grace from that bittersweet taste of victory.
But when triumph came and brought the rain you shuddered up again;
Revealing flesh bound in mesh hoping to get by the night.
Who calls your name in vain?

I remember when we could laugh about our past and drink to stay fast,
Counting down the days till it would be our last.
A litany of rivalries would never be justice to me, just flee.
I can see it in your eyes, the need to dramatize.
Your dominion as vixen are boldly thin, you should consider it again.
Don't come in;
To this place we saved and freely paved our trust into the matter.
I yawn and rise to the scene / why should I have to intervene?

It's not about rhyme or killing time and I really didn't mean to be sublime,
But your face bears disgrace and it's my dishonor to to witness those horrors.
I do mean to be frank, and happily will thank those for support in allowing my retort.

awake for god's sake















Apart from winding journeys and winded worries,
Beneath shady offers and troubled waters,
Against tempting voices and complex choices,
Find the ground and rise up to challenge.
Send love outwardly and focus on balance.

Reflecting on the fictions of the past,
Feeling the reality of present vast,
Seeing past the ghosts crowding your lonely eyes,
Rewinding the broken records left on in your mind,
I take a ride inside,
And feel the breeze go by.
Softly.

Fight for your soul;
Return here below;

I remember that day.
Nothing was normal, as usual.
I saw clearly for a moment;
Then it happened.
I felt lifted / as if free.
How beautiful, to see the light.

another forgotten story

























for you and yours:

Your face contorts as you spit sour reverb,
Eminating in your facecious threats of promise.
Written lies exist as laws to follow,
Instead of verbal truths to grow and blossom.
The weak witted times are over,
The fish swim faster as they train new endeavors boldly;
Seeking happiness,
Possessing vengeance,
Spewing tacit recourse,
Empowered by new fragrance,
Ending in embellishment.

You may find me here,
Betwixt lost pages of solid memories;
You may find me there,
Underneath some old lover new;
You may find me where I stand,
I will speak to you my truth;
Wherever you may find me,
Love will reach for you.

disenfranchised












And as the message blooms,
Inviting challengers to the will once fated
Amidst the passion of the soothsayer once destroyed.
Who speaks of the lasting days we all have felt?
Time again to embrace our lives and become bold;
To die is but to complete.

Every hope sent above could not create lasting love,
For the nights we cry and say our goodbyes; until mourning.
I love to share with all of kind my time alive to shine.
Without our faces, the suns rays could never see what beauty lies in them,
Long as we remember it’s not outside what keeps us moving.

On path
Track, course, forward
Only.

Where can you lie when the sunrise hits your eyes?

open eyes






















As Time moves along and graces us with its melody ever sweetening,
You entertain the corpses fallen for one last cry of contented sorrow.
What could you expect but a defeated foe to beckon as it encounters its end?
Upon completion we all rest with the Truth in our heads and in our souls.
It is a worthwhile virtue to remember those who made you so,
Though the river never freezes despite the growing cold.
Shameful as it could be, the chains we’re bound in set us free,
So long as the boulders and emotions roll down the mountain with ease.
Let my chains rattle and create a sensuous sound for all who wish to hear!
And to those who wish it weren’t so are occupied by unsteady minds inside.

Oh clear me of these woes and look into my face as its presence escapes me so.
Identities and formalities of past routine touch as skipping stones, envious of the shore,
Fulfill to these solemn wishes the fortune of their own request as it’s ours as well,
To create for others what you forget you possess will never truly grant but a loss.
Believing in the positive vibe I reconcile and ask for Truth from candles glowing,
Beyond nature’s calling I accept its gifts and open them with care before you.
If blindness creates prowess, it is only in the extreme of Night, where skeletons walk.
Open hearts present a path where open eyes lead to open minds without question.
If you could see the greenness of that other side where happy lives gallop freely,
Who would tell the tale of the empowering winds sweeping across golden fields beneath you?

chained to the bedrock

Poisoned by the well, I seek the antidote to Life
Entranced by the Blackness devouring, a lick to taste the sweetness
If oft were I to find my path below my feet and before my curious eyes
I'd no longer fear the grass aside, but wander to the tulips and fair sky
Fearful, hungry, alone, asleep - distant from reality, my soul begins to creep
Across the sandy wakes of past, into the burrower's dune of safety
Leading nowhere but a damp cave of sorrow, past the brink of cold insanity

With a blinding flash and a deafening bang, the accompanying angels wish to sing
A chorus that has echoed in resonating softness of redeeming memory
Soldiers of the treasure sought, blood spilt on dead earth fills the placid Lake
Choices made through grace of innocence or by tasting of the fruit
Soon become realized as the source of pain in living past the root
Climb higher and higher into the trees, past bark and bone of little seeds
Wrap the rope tight round thy arm, for a fix to bring us back to where we belong

Alas, we recover from the wreckage of the gnarled hands of Fate
A recoil of the gun presents safety in the dispensed clip - within and lacking function
I speak from beneath the sea, wading through channels that wrap gentle arms around me
No longer does my tyrannical ship of pirates parade through the vastness
On a voyage to the beaming Sun cut short by a pleasure cruise
Once the ride is over, there's nothing left to lose - except the puzzle piece
That completes the perfect picture, snap a quick shot before the flash goes off

follow

once i find my way out of here
i'll try to make you understand
but i know that won't do any good
because you cannot go
down the same road as me
follow

holes

two holes
made up of only that which surrounds them
dripping in
together, but on opposite ends of existence
form one, none, all
the beginning never happened thus end has already passed
fuck god
he wears a mask
and is controlled by the web
being spun into your mind by the
blackest
widows of the nations
who've already found what isn't there
for us to see
you and me
probably
we'll wait and...

lasttime

the last time i felt like this
i had no idea what it felt like
to feel the way i do
about the things i'm not
for the people i don't
that judge me anyway

staring holes in my incontrovertible soul
i feel not naked
but hidden behind
a part of you
you hate
to believe

magic rug

There once below me lay a transient magic rug of gold
Across unexplored terrain it wove valiant illumination
Separated far from home, it explored itself for one in me
I am not a place for it, though faith supports we but one

Taciturn youth persist an irrational honeycomb of indolence
Silence speaks the words that Life insist we must grow akin
The tunnel in your eyes lights the path once traveled in vain
Collapse on the throne - beseech the pawns in the moor
For us, my love

If luck were to strike a pinhead infested with angles, be it so
Oppressed conditions ingratiate cause for change, betterment
Produce outwardly what creative lignite sparks underneath
Your enchanted lips wander to brazen warlords reticent of intent
Kiss mine instead and return to the present connecting realms of fury

Closed inside the pregnant fist of Time lie innumerable choices unresolved in us
Reject the veil fear presents, for it is only a loss, a vortex of future ignorance
Wishing washes possibility, believe not in yourself but create the absence
Bring forth unwashed hands for menial observation on your sepulcher

Push behind to succumb yourself in obscurity lurking right ahead
Above ravishing guilt dormant in complacent minds rest lamps repelled
Understanding leaves the space where truth reigns infinite
Spread out to the levels we recognize as separated from our own
Speak to me and subvert reality when our imaginary bodies meet

no future, now

Apparently distracted from a perpetuating goal
We derive our figures amongst the fading sky
Neglect of true discord resumes I against I

My tools of understanding help fix my gaze
Worlds revolving contain judgment from behind
Unravel spiritual tape as you fearfully press rewind

Clench the ground with a righteous phantom limb
Submit your insecurities and seek not what you know is right
Contain and unleash honest cries for rescue from our plight

I eagerly pour a glass half full with intent to share
Drink first from the well as the source is scarcely dry
Commit under mysterious oath to challenge the mind's eye

presents for your presence, sir

a noose representing freedom
as he's hanging by his own lifeline
drawn from his imagination, split
on the road with no destination
a foggy map with names indiscreet

tithing to the one he can truly trust
each breath dirty with life siphoned
experience leaks from a jagged memory
quail eggs

clandestine virtues resonate from the clarity of the well of forgiveness
to each its own and to all we belong
yes, there is no escape
but the beginning has no more security than the conclusion
unacceptable
open faith is blindness, copulate for coins

keep keep movin'
only faster this time

this time-
now.

protect yourself from perfection

Sordid candle wax collects as curious fuel for the next flame
As the twilight echoes in skulls collapsed by torment, we are restored
Jostling in packs of useless tools of twisted fortunes, the elixir is refined
A dose would suffice as a cure had the patient known his true illness – life
He will not allow the ignorance of his pompous failures to cause suffering for the birds aloft in twigs sprouting to cover his window of morning
Opportunity does not strike but eases itself into cracks of placid turntables resounding

Can’t you save yourself?
If even on a whim our lives would turn to shit, find a janitor before you melt
There are so many pieces left unfit, though perfectly grooved for success
Projections of lucid reticence submit a blankness as your sweepstakes prize
If you must, make a change, live a life, take a chance

From a door left ajar, the hairy beast slips into the passenger seat, awaiting a hellish ride
The malignant endorsement pursues a great fate, a spectacular fireworks display
Effortlessly whirling through a vast wormhole of destiny, you believe your companions must wield only shields to protect you from a sacred flame licking your sweet toes

I won’t stand any longer
Retreating is the vaguest option accrued by systematic killjoys
Let’s race into the unknown, I’ll let you know from the finish line the length of my smile

Why do you ask me questions when you’ve seen it all through kaleidoscopic visions?
Use your waste and provide some answers, we may all collect the pieces

Protect yourself from perfection

reflecting

I'm sorry I don't feel the way you do
So don't make me take it back.
I like the way I am and was
If you try to change it,
I'll revert you back-
Back to what you were
Before you knew what I
Meant to you

Take my opinion as you would apply salt
And examine the grains I've trailed
If you seem you want to be with me
I'll dash some in for good taste
And watch you make a face:
Different than the one I love,
A visage of a foe
Reflecting

refraction

Here lie three paths
Take one, hold it, refract
Pull together with force the ideas on strings that breathe into our web
Absence of fuel begins cessation of machines: the living
Working workers work for a point long since passed among no historians
Do not evacuate!
A seat for us in the forest awaits its use before hearts clash
The replacements arrive on cue, turn back
Separation from the voids submit existence to the remainder
oPEN UP - whole
w I d e

saviorself

A cold eye dawns on the truthwalker, steadfast on the road marked by the entrails of the forlorn
Spacious ultimation brings calamity to the realm of justice, chaos would remark better faith
I will conceal my enscription on tablets dashed on the hardened earth, barren from weary feet
A chasm lit by the dimmest flame is but the source of the greatest flash in creation
Praise the wayward sailors of unknown ventures, for their discoveries make our images clear
My mind is refined as the taste of a bittersweet mouthful from the tallest sugar cane, it supports my struggle to return to soil damp with sweat from the souls drained in fields branded by a void in the clouds
Beasts drunken with the purity of innocence reek in the air crafted by our holy guidance to complex virtues
We can't turn back even if the signs lead us home, our sickness will devour the weakest of our inner peasants
Clasp your hands over tempted ears, being tickled by the enchanting melodies of promises from vagrants
Those without foundation won't last to have the cleansing water trickle through their rusted veins
Optimism for lips gashed from gnawing bones of the stranger reveals the antidote for our poisons
Personalities glide through air made thick from the churning of psychic hands
You will make a nice piece for my collection - a living reminder of the seeds of failure, I think we'll win yet
My source of energy can't be unplugged: magnetic fields guide thoughtful eyes past the magic presented by Time's wristwatch
When I dream I slay you, for when I wake my journey begins, and if you're still on the trail then I'll ask your direction - I know you're headed to the same slaughterhouse
Skulls are proof of potency when sagging skin is left on a drum whose heart beats no further
I elect the ignorant man who knows all, for he has been injected with the opiate of the faceless

speak

speak
for yourself
and anyone in accord
with the sentiments you possess
or enter into silence
living a lie
alone

suntribe

Elected at dawn, the new commissioner seeks to expound the reckoning
At last the sun begins to yawn and stretch boundless energy amongst the stars and sky
Vibrant images in unique wonder collapse the world around and seek refuge in a template
The tribesmen warn others of the coming doom, their lives all ready ruined by deceit
Crafting weapons for battle, their offense appears a faint blockade on impending carnage
Their ill words spoken mistaken as truth, all others poisoned spit forth bitter fuel for pyre

As the moon retreats behind a shallow earthy moor, villages pull it back with strings
The ties here bind more than safety but the security of death has been observed
The only path to victory is the one untold; all others remain lifeless under fragrant trees
Listen closely to your calling or you’ll forget what incessant ringing sounds like; dead
As strength in numbers or references supply a phantom warrior for training, this beast will fall to the power of the sun’s entropic excellence, an elitist cure to the problem of life
Brandishing a twig, the humblest of peons awakens for history to be told through closed mouths of disbelief

untitled VI

Retinas blaze with the hardships of the open seas
I seize what eye sees
Polarized manifestations of happiness ring clear
Optics blinded from youthful intellect, minus wisdom
Indolent gangrenous sores spread like a rogue psychic
Entering the minds of the weak webbed serpents of night

Undulating vibrations seek a shadowy home in canals for tyrannical passage
Furious harbingers of death ride over the swift shifting sands
Without pain there is no consequence to sparse reality
Opportunity finds the adventurer, for he has been classified
The transcendental ego roars to remain true to entitlement

I hope to bring you up with me, to the heavens shining bright
Beneath the sky but before my eyes, we'll reflect amongst each other
Like a blasphemous compass directing the lemmings to their fate
Entranced are the sea-dwellers that lurk in life's tepid waters, alone
Where are the fish to feed the dying souls of the corrupted wanderers?

Just as you've requested, the feast has arrived, though the gusts of spirit move onward
To the next party to cross the line and finish what's been left to die
In the ghastly graves of many misers who've hindered all processions
The progress made towards the tooth of the repented savior have been halted
I hope you have made additional plans, maps are never too accurrate

Do not speak or shout
Eat quickly and fully
Die slowly and empty-handed
Use all of your resources
Just don't be yourself
I'll be someone else
So close it's invisible
To the naked eye of truth

Gripped in my hand there is a flask
What's inside you mustn't ask
If we begin to ride our path short
The life we resolve will coldly abort

If hazy fog has clouded your immaculate vision
Beware the clandestine dogs proudly ready to imprison
Open up your luminous doors, steadfast shopkeeper
There are those waiting for signs from the shadowy reaper
Doors open like mouths shut for listening
Babies immobile down for a christening

untitled V

Fight fire with fire with heavenly blaze to the innocent kindling ember of truth
This tiny smoldering symbol of justice is seen to those close as the brightest light
A beacon for lost souls, swimming in bowls, cans, cubes, boxes made of sand
When we realize our skin we push away and make again, a tight canvas of flesh covered in lies and fucked reality imagined through leaking grey matter
Plundered and destroyed, the cities of our minds speak to each other through immobile communication, words indescribable to those we immortalize and hope to amortize in the society of humans, beasts, worms and the greenest leaves of springing earth
Move your foot and step the next, watch but don't walk, walk but don't watch
Choose emptiness over a full mouth chewing blames and tails of harrowing adventures, the body remains a motion and cannot be explained or supported, there's no reason it lacks what we may hope to possess
We'll gain nothing if we try
Lose everything if we begin anew
Brand new - choose what we will eat and listen to what we feel
Pushing harder and longer and smashing the ignorant brains against the most intelligent of minds hly from being fucked by the soldering dicks of society, we can't make it past the scrap metal of our blank past, projected to black futures, that's all we'll get
Let's just be happy
Fuck off
Inside me
Outside

untitled IV

I lust for death, to see the clarity of our liquid unity of overbearing trust
The closest you may expect is at the edge nearest your life's advance
I want to kill, to be the being enjoyed by the time we treasure in our vagrancy
Potions mixed for system's self-innocence lay blame on goats scathed by religion
I kill for god, the one that makes example of the completeness of death; to die
The remainder for our sacred life presses lips damp with sickness on cold flesh
I am god, the life of the name of the body of our single group. We can't compate
The message is lost inscribed on tablets of more metal on contorted sands, glass
I see through you, make myself comfortable in the numbness of your skin, feeling air
The water that commits to saving us won't evict the strangers you invite to be contained
To kiss lips of sinners would propose life to those who had a chance, to fuck lips of lovers would unite the passionate fire of a future to exist; we want it all, having nothing

untitled III

We are but voids which oscillate in the memory of Fortune
To those who identify closest to the calamity of consumption submit to the absence of the remainder - that which justifies our clinical outreach for solidarity
Solitude can cultivate the harem of replenished fearfulness devoured by the blackest dying days in obstinacy
Crackle under reticence when frail bones of manufactured youth
A trophy to a life once sought when the ticket's torn and the ride is through
But who will take the photograph in the spacious mind of the most ignorant of a mob
Let's hope for gerunds
We rule our lives tight-fisted with blades to our wrists and ropes around our sour necks that spit the words to start the falls of blood spilling on top of forsaken soil
The gods are dead just as the men awake, moving to clear our souls of the sins inhabited in corpses walking through the motions of a stagnant species
We reach for power, tainted strips tantalized by desires forlorn
Projections of the pages lay the feathers on dry bones for waste as if created
That last downfall seemed to undo them all
Why hope for more when leftovers are stolen from those making security for others who throw it away - tossed into a blaze that burns away the development of mechanical time
The frame which pictures us in a glazed underworld committed to a support of beings who can't support themselves
Whose love is purchased at garage sales of waves through the past and juxtapose the self desire to radiate through identity with the master of our guidance in ways through paths drawn over with sticks through sand and tide over a soft workspace for statehood
Sell yourself and reap the profit of the benefit we extend - to ours - to one
We can find it if we lose it all, the things that have been given to us by robbers in the night of shadowy justice, the crooks of mathematics square our income like barons
Keep steady those tired eyes on the harrowing journey we've already completed
It feels like we've been here before
Let's exchange eyes and view the world from our feet, they cross the same path yet make a single trail in the fragment of psychotic historical minds, a systematic method for the incessant bong rips of humanity
Each birth a test of death to get a lick sweeter than before, we've all killed and some innocence may be claimed of those who sport blood on self-crafted garments
Adorned with ignorant virtue we appear never appear as perfect as we are, not on the inside but of the side betwixt the dice of life

untitled II (free-flow)

Illusory constructs cloud the vision of holy entropic molding to the zenith of mind, closed open like a door and without the knob available in the recoil of blank portability behind the jagged ways of perverted souls invite the remotest of civil opportunity through eloquent reasonability constrains the likeness of being the singular concave of the mesh of netted worlds, men of spider silk invoke the chains of society that entrap the slightest of men who seek to live yet never begin on their own and instead work for the being of the gods whom justly kindle the fires of burning souls entering and passing through the vapors emitted from worldly portals closed to the membranes of the cells we are imprisoned from releasing to the cosmos of interjectory thought and divine cognition finalizing the substance of gore and putrid flesh made new again through redemption

untitled I

mind the gap between the humps that trek across the sands
through the loophole withered away by the hour's passing time
observe the path of the deceitful, slithering over dunes
and that of the vultures, beacons of a once burning past
filling their hollow souls with the corpses left from our rampage
i seek to find the top of mountains without knowledge of their sides
where life is birthed and fires kindled for signals to the eyes of sky
the peak is the definition of our journey, sure closing in on cowards crossing
those who stop to rest won't start back walking, running, effortlessly into the darkness
they've waited for - ever - and return to in their blindness
light naught produced for work's sake, but rather held in the hands of those who craft
useless lamps fostered by the clan won't keep the path steady for new adventurers
the rays of light beaming collect what resonating frequency we receive from above
lacking
unfaithful
undeserved
benign
we may not claim to mix the potion that saves the next life
the recipe is brewed on ignorance and a path equally forgotten as blood spills
reticence of youthful dreams will echo in the minds of the strong
the weak, unwilling - fallen to the corruption of safety
forgiveness purchased, tickets unredeemed - who keeps our hearts for us when we sleep?
Forever we walk
Yesterday we ran directionless
Today we make a map for others
Tomorrow we rest, but not until then

Paths Parallel

What separates the grass from the sidewalk?
Is it the orderly lines that give the blocks a path?
The thickness of the slabs that gives security to weak knees?
Or the conglomerate forces that are bound to create strong union?
The foundation of such formations make its trail's end no more proper.

For if one chose to step off those blocks to walk among the beasts,
They would discover the vivacity of the crunching below their feet,
The richness of its color, constantly growing, full of life;
And because its direction depends on each blade of freedom,
There are those with brawn that break the norm by growing through that solid rock.

Although the grasses must be clipped and pruned, there will be
Those who reside near trees and flowers of good company.
These of fortune and good taste I'm sure will make the journey most fulfilling
While seeds planted in drying mud may never see the light of day,
Their potential in their bones decay under the weight of those sidewalks.

Grooved with drains and threaded for safety, those walking
On top achieve no likeness of their own,
For once they see the painted lines of abstract and meaningless direction,
Minds with wings may not spread with ease and collision is likely.
If not between two distracted men upon this deceiving foundation,
The the graces of that which binds us all will recoil into the guns of Nature.

this is your brain on politics

American Democrats and Republicans too,
their fascist mindset rules both me and you.
Dressed to impress, smile laced with lies,
the hands of interest groups choke like ties.
Elected by people that don't represent our views,
we still allow tragedies headlined by the news.
Taking our freedoms and locking the door,
the system corrupts rich and is funded by poor.

Fishing

I went trout fishing in mainstream America,
A place where you can choose your appearance.
Wear anything you want, in any color, as long as it's black,
Chant your unique ideas, only to realize you're fake.
Preach against conglomerate money mongers all day,
Next morning you see you're made up of everyone you know.
Who are they do give you the beliefs you hold dear?
They're just like you, no true source to be found.

Man made God from a quick glance in the mirror,
Intolerant, racist, and selfish lords on power trips.
Justify the means, resolve your issues to find they don't exist,
Nobody sees who you are until they walk through.
Transparent liars who eat their own shit,
People make judgments where their opinion is not welcome.
Everybody's business except yours is your own,
Welcome to private America, don't lock your doors, the
police state holds the key.

Blind

To live a life without your sight,
I believe it would be best.
No constant visual harassment
from other people or the press.
No shattered bones or broken homes,
subtract the art of war;
No necessity to work for your life,
no activity becomes a bore.
Without the racist corporate world,
what can you push yourself to do?
Just hear the truth inside your head
from living people just like you.

But if you took another step
and lost your way of hearing, too,
There would no more growing need
for the facts that media wants to skew.
You'll no longer have ideas of relevance
because you dwell in precious innocence,
Your world is neither round nor flat,
to complete your death, take your first glimpse.
Understanding what it is to be a human
has been evolved by bigoted evil lies,
Your only choice is to be bombarded
by bullshit in your ears and eyes.

With only thoughts and feeling,
taste buds with no connection,
How can you stand to live a life
derailed from government direction?
With no labor force to support her needs,
the ignorant bitch, Society, will fall to her knees.
Stand up for what you believe is right,
Eschew the concepts clearly in your sight.
What becomes of you when you take your last breath?
A funeral and a new baby, to finish what you've left.

idolized

Don’t you realize the lies under the guise once prophesized?
Engrossed is the size of the eyes of these spies lurking in
the antagonizing crypt of eternal demise.
You must surmise you’ve been hypnotized by the lies of these
shadowy guys,
Nigh are the times that he’ll try to rise above your ability
to criticize,
Inept to combat the foes who amortize your means to monetize
yourself and bastardize their means to devitalize.
Analyze the situation before you’re crystallized in a
commercialized attempt to decriminalize the lies under the
colonized effort to centralize.
Mortify the fake prize being empathized by dogmaticized
euthanizers and exorcize these idolized fools to harmonize
our need for institutionalized guides to live by.

Don't Give Them Up

Life and race run parallel ventures,
One moves forward, the other never progresses;
People may change their views, most just double-crossing,
Hiding under their bedsheets, insecurity covered in frosting.
The sugary goodness the government churns out for you,
Leaving only a task for physicians to undo.
Unbuckle your saddle, your cheap chastity belt,
Wimper as the government fucks you, or just slowly melt.
There's only one road to the top, paved in priceless gold,
The one way to traverse it, is to abandon your soul.
Don't give up your seemingly hopeless pursuits,
Take life for a free fall and die, or use your parachute.

FUCK OFF!

Lost in a vast sea of invented grave ideas,
Which is yours to decide, and tell me who am I?
Experts tell only lies, their agenda is best kept from our eyes,
Can't you tell my emotion? Or shall I remove my disguise?

If you were to make grounds, a new discovery,
Avert your gaze from those rambling, in poverty.
Surely there's no sense to their uneducated words,
While the media asserts baseless claims and the unsolved
murders.

The key to the door is under the false welcome mat,
Your dreams are next to the eight ball, hiding under the hat;
Hopping frantically away, over the border and out of sight,
As the unknown devil devours your children's minds at night.

Laws and regulations printed by obfuscating linguists,
Fresh off the mill, made by Mother Nature's ignorant rapist.
The only freedoms you've got are granted by Miranda,
Eschew the media sources, it's still propaganda.

Make your precious, uneducated vote, and make it quick,
Your time spent at work is measured only by the clock's tick.
You've got a grip of countless, worthless dollar bills,
All you need is a government tag to get your cheap thrills.

Make your choice, consider all of your options,
There's new devices of all kinds, from clocks to watches.
We've been branded the same, from top hat to bell bottom,
No matter your selection, you're still persona non grata.

Pick and choose your vices, they're a rare commodity,
Nobody has them, of course, but the divine non-profit agency.
I'll read the books that I believe suit me best,
Just, please, get off my fucking chest.