The Ecstatic

I’ve been in waterfalls
Ones that cascade till lids fall dormant
The rules of the escape

Heard of words that speak beautiful
Like reciting illustrations of mr. magnificent
Will no longer stick

Believe that freedom is foreign to many
That’s why the cocoon stays
Blazes it’s glory to spite its own destiny

Witnessed this life
On pause and on rewind
Still shots running rampant with perfection

The pen had an aroma of soil, death
Failures, unions, burning and guts
The beginnings in last calls

Skies fell apart, descended
Swept away into gravity, and kept returning
The way it has been

Microcosm of life, death or magic?
More like nothing, and
Everything. It’s
The Ecstatic

Death Is

Death is
Beautifully revealing
Tear drops of summer’s evening
The dawn of never ending nights
Strings played by matching pulses
The experience, dipped into moonlight
It is the texture of whispers in dreams
The shade of our calling
Love preoccupied by its own reflection
The necessity of the moment
It is the taste of lightning before you wake
The shadow of our yearnings
The rhythm of the love in misplaced words
A glimpse into everything
It is the sky’s place in reality
The next step
Death is the product of our blessings
The pause, to recall the essence

Yesterday’s Flow

Problem with the
Self unfolding
Let it go.

Out looking for replacements of something not sure ever had
Remember it though
Feel like it would bring another dimension to the still life
But try to fit square pegs into yang holes
Write personality into neat phrases
That have no chance of housing contradictions that speak louder than all characteristics
Want someone to feel that, cause no one would believe it
Or should buy this
But auctioned anyway
The holding place placebo

Holding out
Hope
That was never forsaken
Maybe used as excuse to explain helplessness
Or the storm before
Reap the benefits of not having a place there
And guided till I found here
Consequence in the form of a choice
One, not ready to make
Hope someone informs of the correct timing.
But there’s the role of victim, again
Done so much to make that mask fit
So easy to sink into it
But would I rather drown in the memories or make it in a creation of my own?
May take tears or might take blood
But need something to float on
For practice?
If that’s what life is
That’s where the cold comes from
Nothing to do with viruses
Just sweating out what’s done with
Light headedness in forgetfulness of the extraness
Or just flu season
Either or

Take pride in all the outcomes
That could have been witnessed
And made it here anyway
If this is it, I’ll take all the blame for yesterday
He is, but I am not finished
Or done

What’s Love

What’s love?
When a person picks up the remains and starts putting a billion piece puzzle back together and your remnants begins to resemble your essence.
And paybacks aren’t needed because the understanding that they won’t regret it and they won’t hesitate to unhappily drop everything and try to make the cycle less repetitive

The Art of War

the-art-of-war

The moving images of the governments’ aspiration being depicted from coast to coast. Justified are the premises, no matter what side the station picks. We never stop to think why their isn’t a third opinion on nightly sets that say that there is another way. Flames are just a prop in the pictures, illuminating results of the fireworks of overzealous engines atop the pyramids. Not seen as human anymore; and shouldn’t be if you alter the reasoning. The people lost are marginalized because their lives needed to be forgotten to bring peace… only to the power’s state of mind. The Gaza Strip is just another in the long line of “it’s sad it has to be this way, but it is.”

The media’s role in the apathy of the nation can’t be measured, but it can be felt. If a war is ongoing, it starts off as the breaking story. But as days pass, it is pushed to the back burner of these too-influential nightly melting pots. So as the frequency of the story lessens, the importance of it does too. On one hand, it is depressing. Who wants to see stories of death and destruction everyday, all the time? On the back of that same hand, the news always seems to be depressing. The top story on the 10 o’clock news is always a shooting, a local scandal, or something shady going on in a hood near you. These nightly programs probably give viewers the feeling that the world is a dangerous place because of evil people roaming every corner; not because of establishments voted into their positions. But the way that wars just fade into the background make it seem like there is nothing we can do about them. Persistent, but not something you need to know about. They will always be there. They are the backdrop to an ever changing danger, always lurking, that isn’t really changing at all. It is all fear. The thought that the big picture is explosions in hotel lobbies and nuclear threats, and the possibilities closer to you that are just as bleak create this sense of hopelessness. They say that they are here to inform. That is their function. But not to a point where we are moved to take action, but one to where we are too resigned to the fact that our obstacles are immovable objects. And we are not an irresistible force. Just bystanders. The news is depressing.

We are stuck at a crossroads that we come to every time our soldiers go off to battle. You always hear phrases like “Americans wouldn’t stand for this” or “We are a nation made up of the best people.” Not saying that that isn’t true, but I have to ask why do we stand for it? GITMO is still open and I don’t think many would be yelling out if our President elect didn’t make closing it one of his top priorities (fortunately he has.) We have more important things to think about. You can probably count on one hand the amount of full weeks we haven’t been involved in a military conflict in the past 50 years. There is a faction of this country that is wildly nationalistic; who believe that what we do is right because we are doing it. But there are a lot more of us that can think past the 50 stars and look at a situation objectively. I don’t think most people want war, but I think that 95% of us are ok with it. It’s the way it is, the way it was, and (no one
ever talks about this, but I think in the back of our minds we believe it’s) the way it always will be.

We’re stuck. But only if we choose to be. People get all choked up and annoyed about fiction, imagine if someone showed us images of what was going on in Gaza right now. And not the bombs going off from miles away, but the photos of children sitting next to their dead parents. Or a family lying in the rubble of their formerly standing home. We would be outraged. Incensed. Calling our congress men and woman, telling them to stop letting these wars be funded with our tax dollars. Crying because we see the similarities and could imagine that being us. If they are going to be biased, they should bombard us with this truth until we have no alternative to turn to. Force us to make it stop, as if those families were our own.

Or we would be a little frightened. Mostly indifferent. Use to it. Would change the channel to something entertaining. Not seeing ourselves in their shoes and basically strengthening our “Sucks for them” attitude. When did we become indifferent about lives? I’m thinking when we became indifferent about life. We don’t have control, we have powerlessness. We don’t have any way to stop wars but we have full power over the remote. We don’t make our paths, we accept our fate. That way, hopefully, if we stay out of destiny’s way it will bless us in the end. They bombard us with the trivial and shield us from the finality of our silence. Are they protecting us? Is this the way? Is that their purpose?

I watch the moving lips, of supposed analysts going back and forth all night about two sides of the same coin. Like there is only a right and a wrong to every situation and the television personalities, that happen to give you the events of the day, present to you very neatly. Conservative versus liberal. Right, left. The grand old or the fresh new. All the moving images. They’re hypnotizing. Almost make you forget how human you are; and how that separates none of us. And how that doesn’t include your party, country or anything that is reason enough to justify the deaths. There’s another way, even if they don’t speak its name. Guns must be drawn. But they won’t change if we don’t want them to. And we don’t need them to if we just started remembering what our priorities would be if they weren’t told to us.

All the moving images. They stand as a microcosm for life; saying so little about who we are but so much about who we have been. Their opinions aren’t what’s bothersome, the problem is the amount that they offer. And how those two viewpoints support one idea about the only thing that matters when going to war: Can any gain really make this worth it? Connect to the cable box and you’ll see that it’s ok because… it’s just the norm. It makes me wonder: what is it’s function? And what are they working towards? I think we’d be better off imitating art.

Void Red Ink, but Paint

No corrections to be made
We had whips and chains,
Places to blame
And circumstances to hate for our in and out game
Never believed we met the end of the line
But still ray as we ignored the math matics
Finding ways to dilute the valid hazards we speak every time our spaces meet
Remnants of deaths just coming into focus
Left on ceilings of stages marked for our atonement
Drip, drop
From tip, top
To places that would leave stories in the footprints
If they fell fast enough
Too down for the idea to witness the panoramic view we had of the writings on the wall
Perfect depictions of the scars and bruises
And the therapeutic uses of letting go
But we used the flowing as paint instead of proof
Drawing what could only be the work of history rewriting synergy
No whips and chains: correction
So we were free to deviate from this plan we made
So familiar, like I’ve seen this play in mourning as the sun awakes us
In two different places
Ended hating each other, but with enough insight into our selective memory
To leave a little space for the feelings of satisfaction momentary
I wish we would skip all the make shift and fast-forward to the pain
Then maybe we’d pick up someone else’s sense and see that we’ve painted this prose before
But we love the illusion
I’m counting the moments till you forgive me,
Show up at my door and I take you
Can’t say no to the walls I molded and the monster we created
The weakness in free will
Forever, I will be devoted to this…
It, never worth mentioning
Or trying to explain
That’s why (we stay) it stays
Between us

Spare Change

I fired at you
You shot back your heart’s presets
Fixed, little use in trying
You weren’t up for trying this out again
But I proceed with cautious steps
I proceed off steep ledges on hillsides that others have only turned back from, repeatedly
That past tense never makes this kid hesitate
He hasn’t been able to fly
But every drop feels a little bit closer.

Suspended
Your eyes met me
Danced in my shadow
Kept up with the manic
Mimicked it and laughed “No reason to run yet”
I haven’t been still in months but you see it that everything worth pausing for has come too close for comfort
Fear
Jubilation
Or any emotion that is adjacent with ground dwelling
You. My inspiration
The glimmer in deep falls and ledges.

But reality comes back to me as your wisdom finds solace on my shoulder
This kind of warmth was reserved for those finally finding their way home
I’m no where near, but you’ve fell upon my footsteps
Made me wonder if they weren’t pointless
With the touch of Ms. Been There and the eyes that proved you made it back
I try to focus on the scar on your cheek as you dance in the snowflakes
I can’t
Your feet make me forget about the frozen walkways I am so afraid of
How beautiful are you?
Why do I get to witness it? Why do I have to leave the time we’ve spent?
I want to crash and burn in it
Use the fire to wash away all the consequences and bath in it
Lay in you, and your memories
Be a distraction and mirror some of what you’ve been for me
In this one night. This one stroll inside Hollywood cameras.
Thrown back to the drawing board because of our separation in the ending
I can’t help but forget about ‘what is’ because of thoughts of ‘what could be’

But you won’t let me
One caress of my neck lets me know it wouldn’t be perfect, but it is in this moment
Actually making me believe you’re doing what’s best for me.

We continued on
My heart argued with your memories
You tried to give me something to remember as I tried to let you forget
Interrupted by a voice
A homeless woman gave us a piece of advice, for a price of our choosing.
The only thing you need to be concerned with, she said
Isn’t the sex, the money, paying your rent
No
That girl on your arm
She just wants to be kissed.
We laughed at the sentiment
It had nothing to do with the future, the past, anything except, this
But it seemed like the best compromise

So for now can we put all thoughts aside
And let me take her advice?

This Roof

I feel you
I think all things are possible because they are already alive
It’s our job to find it
Be prepared through the moments we get
All is waiting for me, when I’m ready.
I’m still too aware of what people think
I’m a little jealous of you because you’ll do what you want because you feel to
I promise I’ll never be embarrassed of any of it
I may not tell you this because any kid would take advantage of it,
But I don’t believe in right or wrong
It’s all just experience
I’ve spent too much time in pain because of the judgements
When you get here, it will probably be on-going.
I tried so many times to paint your eyes the tint mine could never reach
And I realized that I was just trying to rewrite myself
With a better beginning, middle and end
I promise I will never try to do that off a sketching pad, but I still feel compelled to make right by you
That’s what we call insecurity
I’m too young for most things but I feel like I could grow up for your sake
I’m probably not ready to shoulder the burden of another’s when I can’t even handle my own life
But I come through on most things I’m forced to do
But I don’t want to use you
I don’t want you to be brought here so I can conquer my fears
You deserve a life which the ends don’t have to justify anything
Especially these means.
Your mother, with any luck, will be the reincarnation of my own
Willing to give everything she has not to see you fall just because she knows you can fly if you’re given the chance
I’ll agree, and you’ll be the only thing we wouldn’t hold grudges over
Because your prospects are effortless
And we got and gave each other the opportunity to witness it
You can’t imagine how much planning we’d put into you for close to a year
And then have it all come down into pieces because we could never have predicted your uniqueness
We will do more than embrace you, we’ll just believe, and I know you’ll oblige
I love you, incredibly
Because I know you exist
I was talking about you when I said our immaculate conception was received before birth
I know that you’re just waiting for me to be ready
I thought I’d try to speed up the process
But I haven’t been blessed with your presence because there are still things I need to get in order
What I want for you is a solid home with a head that is steady
Everyday I try to make the right place for you
I want you to know that you are welcomed.
Not a burden or coincidence, just my best surprise
When it’s right, when I’m ready,
Come home

Matter

matter

So, I’m trying this thing where I turn one thing into another, right before my eyes. Or squinting, wide shut, blinded, whatever it takes. Because I was on my way to work the other day and I was thinking: (sorry if this is an over simplification of something truly complex, but I’ve never been too good at science, so I have to brake things all the way down for it to make sense to me) if we and everything around us are made up of atoms and atoms alone (at our core) then everything is just the same. It’s the same atoms in different forms. So what makes the same atoms into different things? Why are my atoms me and those atoms over there making up a billboard? The only answer that I reckon makes sense is that it is all in our perceptions. We perceive what is and what isn’t and our perceptions are the only things that make anything different from something else. Because if you go blind, an object is different to you than if you can see it. The only way that isn’t true is if you trust someone with sight to tell you differently. And that’s the same with all your senses. It’s created in your head by the resources you have at that moment. We happen to trust our eyes the most, but if there was no such thing as sight, we wouldn’t be iffy about what objects were; we would use our other senses and be definite about it. So is anything really what we make it out to be, or is everything just silly putty (aka empty atoms) that we make into something? I haven’t seen it in a few years, but I think that’s kinda what The Matrix was getting at (the world is a hologram).

So I say all this to ask, why can’t we make whatever we want into… whatever we want? Our brain must be doing a whole lot of work to create all that is, so why not work it a little harder so it can paint the picture we’ve always wanted it to be? Well, I answer, because you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. We’ve seen it this way forever; all of us have been programmed to see things the way they are currently and that’s a nearly impossible thing to change by now. But my rebuttal is that it isn’t too late if you think it all matters. If I think it is important enough, and all true, then I shouldn’t be afraid to try to break it all down to build it back up again. What have I got to lose except time that I’d probably be wasting anyway? But if you don’t truly believe it, then it can’t happen because your mind isn’t allowing the unimaginable. I guess this is what The Secret was getting at, but brought about all the skepticism for its vagueness. I might bring about a different kind of skepticism because this doesn’t make any kind of sense. Like I’m shroom trippin’ for the first time and I actually believe that the shit I saw was real. But once again, I have nothing to lose. I’m talking about reversing the laws of gravity; not having a need for excuses like the one of human nature; waking up a dream so it can take its rightful place as king; having my cake and eating it too. Even when I’m the one saying, I’m having a hard time believing it myself. The notion that we can melt the walls and replace them with every possibility is killing me. If I’m wrong, I’ll just chalk it up as another delirious daydream. But I hope I’m talking about reality, and my conception of it not just being a fallacy. Because I’m figuring that it’s all just matter. Why not take control of it?
I hope a physicist doesn’t come and poo all over this sporadic parade. More importantly, I hope I’m on the right track, because that would mean there is a place for dreamers on this earth and all the hope wasn’t kept in vain. And if I’m at all on to something, this raises more questions like: Do humans need a better depiction of themselves, or even a blank slate? Are we less predictable than inexplicable, more everything than entity? If we can create whatever we want with the right amount of skill and an abundance of imagination, does that mean that, in our own right, we’re all gods? I don’t know. But I think… I’ll save that for a next blog.

Modern Condition

I’m a klepto, stealing breaths from an alter ego that could be using them much better than I ever have
Hyper ventilating to get in as many as I can.

My pyro maniac magee style burns bridges and he loses himself in the flames
What a beautiful light from paths I’ll never walk again
Warmth of a home made by finding the right match.

Manic tactics have a well dressed maverick finding tranquility in street corners
Something draws him back to concrete blocks that housed him when nobody else would
Now that he has options, he stills feels like he belongs where they never turned him away
Old reliable.

The voices telling him he shouldn’t because he couldn’t in the first place
Much easier to live safe than sorry, aka shot or MUTILATED
Whether it be a random utterance or his own when he was 13,
It guides him to look down and walk straight
They never answer how I’ll ever if he never tries, but I don’t ask questions
If he ever allowed real eye contact, he’d realize that many are schizo that way.

Sitting on the 4 train, drugged sufficiently
No… it’s ok
It was clinically recommended
Got really angry one day before getting nervous, watching Saved by the Bell
Then remembered to laugh when he opened the blinds
Best feeling I can remember
But they figured they’d even him out
Now all he truly feels is that… Zoloft is a hell of a drug
Watches the doors open… and close
Umbrella of the girl next to me pokes my side every time she shifts
It’s no biggie
I can’t remember the last time I minded much
The good life.

He laughs at the lady doing laps from pole to pole on the train
She couldn’t keep her pants up, saying something to Anthony
Who nobody else could see
He chuckled again
“Ha Ha…
Crazy b*tch”