The 19th of December

The summit of aggression and the valley of despair,
my two homes would agree that indeed life just isn't fair.
My heart delves into darkness while my spirit seeks the Sun,
I'm learning rather slowly that they both will die as one.

Within the Cosmic Egg

So many mornings awoke within me as we cradled each other in the chill of this winter's wind. The moment felt heavy within this perception that all could be forgotten, like these graceful seconds and minutes nestling inside for warmth might complete us. It was only a game we had forgotten how to play, a riddle we had neglected to solve; but now we have stirred up a different kind of heat as her breathe quickened under my roaming hands.

The taste of honey met the touch of silk. We lay quivering in the stillness of this frigid domicile.

She kissed my cheek. Fingers through hair. Hints of the sunshine to come. Stealing glances through the window at nothing.

The poem I couldn't finish from last night touched the back of my mind for a flash; even now I couldn't help but melt my way down into this embrace. Deeper still, warmer, lips met. She dances flamenco in my dreams like a high priestess in the Order of the Rose. Here and now in the heart of Santa Cruz we danced instead without form or reason, touched gracefully and caressed with bloody sweetness.

Not twelve minutes later we were walking through the steamy streets towards the final stop in this little carnival of our neuroses. We had said our farewells long before, so now we simply walked up the block to the station holding hands. Silence, breathing. Waving as she pulls away. Silence, breathing, walking slowly to my car.

Later, perched over a cup of coffee and cream, I sent her one last text message:

"We are but deities 
stomping thunder 
and blessing rain, 
hands to the heavens 
grasping the infinite."

Empty cup, silence, breathing, walking slowly to my car. Alone like before, yet somehow bigger... perhaps a mark was left in some hidden crevasse of my stride, or at least I felt righteous. Silence, breathing.

Currency

If money is your God then I cannot repent,
I'm counting up my misery in dollars and cents.
True, no other sacrifice is so clearly disabling,
but if cash is king
then what I bring
is lost promptly to labeling.

Truth

Just beyond my periphery lies prone the answers that I'd have never sought,
for if ignorance is bliss then I am left without euphoria in this nameless city of desire.
Pushed and pulled down the veil unearthing this naked framework of intention
as the regretful nature of this supposed reality blinds my intuition.
perhaps in 1,000 years we will both be sitting across from each other at the finest deli in Hell, eating pork snout and drinking flat soda... until that point i sit disgraced and repentent in this world, dreaming of atonement and of the adventures we shared.
For it was freedom, 
in fact, 
that formed the bonds and chains of another new slavery... 



now in the graceful arms of indentured servitude 
we grew stronger and felt complete again.
Little did the Christians realize that the Rapture had already taken place in 1239AD, much to the chagrin of other less notable apolcalypses.

Perceptivinity

Sinking in to you gave all my fantasy its truth
No beauty before put words to their limit so recklessly 




Low Voltage

i can image that the peregrine falcon might feel this way in the heat of the dive to plummet,
and I'm simply on fire.

what galactic fucking god has put its magnet inside of me?

as though time had stopped,
my heart explodes, and again i sit staring with my chest immutably percussive...
to reach for the conduit (old circuitry) or fondle the capacitors that paced us;
i feel alight to the wind in symphony, awake to the scent of epiphany,
and frightened like a little girl who wet her panties in front of grandpa and never left to cry.

about a heart (she's running out the door again)

survival is vile when its left to adapt to the framework of empathy's retreat.
one less mouth to feed, i suppose.
~
I WILL FREE YOU FROM MY HEART
oh cold wretched despair,
for you stand starkly alone
in your impediment of my still bristling vessel.

Not You

with a smile aside
i tell you all but the finest of truths with only a stare and a sigh.
no one has ever known me,
and for that i thank the empty space that God might occupy in some other reality.
to get all tangled up in each other's messes;
like children caught under the stairs smashing frogs.
its all just a circle jerk of the infinite remorse that we find absent in such attempts at connection...
bonds yet to be broken,
support unshifted so far;
trust is the but the jester's last tale as he tumbles headfirst into the moat below.

love...
from every angle it is nothing,
even as it fights to convince us otherwise
with feelings, aspirations, contentments, prisms of primal priorities

Circuitry

I was carefully placed on this green, green earth to place you together with your fate.

No concern for my concern, only a blind will that connects these conduits.

And when all of the indicators have lit up to speak of coherency, i will move on to the next.

I remind you that you're whole though adulterated, freed by the constraints of society, and only lacking the proper efficiency of the soulless machine that will eventually incinerate your ideals.

Take what you can from the smoldering wreckage that is my immediacy, salvage what you will.

I shall remain centrally systematic and nervous; new pathways and old patterns revealed blindly.



If It Feels Like Love, It Is

In this ocean of LSD I might never find you... one hand overboard and its lights on and out; even the fucking air out here makes the vibrations tingle and sway. It's all horizon this far off shore, and the sunrise is only lacking a proper audience to its furious glory. I'm stranded with a lifetime of supplies and my body will surely survive. My soul, however, is still lost in the wonder of waking up with my arms filled with your form; so tiny in comparison, with a spirit that looms above me like a jury of my peers. The splintered deck rocks to the beat of my desire. My flesh is cracked and burnt in the unbridled shine, and all because you ran into the unsurpassable waters, away from my open arms and smiling eyes. How could I not follow in the tempestuous wake left by a retreat that haunts my illusory existence? How could I not follow you?

Good Mourning

The water called out to me with murky effervescence, embodying a voice of reflective calm and personal triumphs lost at sea. How many tombstones have been washed away into its aqueous grasp? The beach is my home now, the sand is my castle. I am buried beneath the dunes without eulogy.

Like a memory that I can only taste in reference, a touch I can only hope to have felt; my eyes jumped open to greet the light of this supposedly new day. Unsure of what implications had been exposed by my subconscious soul, I braced myself for the inevitable trauma of living life with a fragile heart. Sinking back into what some think of as reality seems like the only option when its 8 AM and the day is filled to the brim. Up and over, my succulent peach; over and out the door I was carried by will and raw impatience alone. I predict succession, expect defeat, am ready to fight tooth and nail to ensnare my future perspective's  supremacy above the static of simply functioning.
Paint + Wall + Poetry = Constructive Vandalism (hehe)

Kinks in the Riddle


 Skin pressed against, soft, climactic and suede;
With your legs wrapped around all the love that we've made.
I can smell, taste, and breath in the sweat, sweet and wet.
So descent Goddess gold like the sun as it sets.

Your breath will be taken
Two bodies to break in
Digging in till you scream
We are temples of dreams




Have You Ever Been Experienced?

I can see the fragrant colors left like raindrops
with the motion of her step,
and my heart is softly hoping
in this moment that the shades will pool again.

Into my vessel flows the answers formed in adaptation.

I am weightless but for gravity,
and I fly to spite my broken wings;
the circumstances provide the sensation of flow
underneath my open eyes as the world floods in...

We are made of tiny little pieces and built to reflect.

I fucking whip my hair around my fucking smile
and vandalize the expectations long lost in expertise...


I finally get why the time happened in this order,
and the clouds part on the idea that I was born for this.
Who could have thought that my total defeat
would lose me the castle and steal me the kingdom?

Just Stopping Short of Infinity

The ice was cold on the outside,
but here I sat melting away.
My hands were on fire with touch,
for her smile had willed me to stay.
I looked out at bay before us
and whispered a prayer to the moon,
"oh highest of gods in the heavens,
my soul will be joining you soon."

The time turned me on to expression,
my grasp found her bright at my side
to cherish the moment that I had to share
by the violet light in her eyes

Gratia Ignis

You have lived inside of me for so many years, long before these shells met in that corridor of low frequency and heavy vibrations.





I have never felt this way about someone.

It feels in my head like we are the same note in this symphony surrounding. It burns in my heart like you are now a new sparkle in my aura, like diamonds.



The truth knows that I have been damaged in this life by love and losing... but no past betrayals or infected regret could prevent our paths from merging in these gorgeous new ways. The lessons have accrued

This is not to say that I understand. I do not know the true nature of your motivations in life, the eventual results of my choices, or the possible outcomes of our blessed meeting... But there is a truth in your words that has unlocked something more brilliant and tangibly spiritual than I could have expected.

I love you, have loved you without even knowing that you could be real. You amaze me; you feel like home.

I am humbled by this.

With gratitude and hopefulness,
Bear

Forgotten

The darkness of the forest finds the softly snoring bear,
away from ice and wilderness inside the cave's domain.
His dreams are touched by Summers passed, asleep within his lair.
When warmth returns, he'll reemerge still limping from the pain;

The hunters tracked and targeted, the bear became the prey.
The bear sought love and found them out, an easy shot to place.
When he got close enough to see the rifles held at stay,
it was too late to realize the malice in their face.
They left him there all shot to hell, to track a challenge worthy.
Oh those hunters could not recognize that the beast had fallen early.

Somehow surviving, broken, stiff
the bloodied bear still kept ahead
towards the distant rocky cliffs,
to make his final Winter's bed.



Meth or Heartbreak

Dropped into your lungs like a star deprived of flight,
the chemicals are melting hot, unsupervised at night.
You itch out of your skin and the room begins to wane,
its boiling your soul out, its feasting on your brain.

Come back to the idea
that we are what we do
the truth is formed in impact
while lies are born in truth.
If time must be our guide
and fate is but a slave,
the hours here awake and old
dig out a hollow grave

Hands, hands, hands
too much to fade, away...
crooked smiles, beaded eyes
in filth we lay.
Stripped to skin,
where do we end or begin?
Lost, unsaved; fall depraved,
no innocence remains.

Slaves to the Moment (Vertigo...go)

In prosperity we were subjugated to the rhythm of experience; memories dehydrated and observations consumed. The magic and freedom of the now felt so sacred in contrast to all the other joyous and forgotten triumphs of what might be referred to as the life we've lived. It seemed that this cluster fuck of insoluble and impossibly detached moments in space and in time were now pulled to the surface, vibrating in chorus by the light of the moon.

Some would have wanted to collect these shards of having had, to eternally 'be' in the circumstances they reflectively deified. The others choose to instead dance among these swinging wind chimes of fates past, rippling on the waves of their momentum. We gyrate in this vacuum of realizations and reaction; its never coming back, its never slowing forward.

The heart's gave up their blood as sacrifice, the words fell like balloons in rebellion against gravity. The LOVE found symbiosis and ate away my resistance to being more than an individual perspective lost in the tempest of such gorgeous and supple intelligences.




The thoughts ripped me in, fighting: 'I broke forth into the night with the grasp of a clever bear in the skin of my temple. A smile met the darkness of lights spinning circles, the stars rocked like an infant on a mother's bosom. By default I was open palmed, soul exposed behind thick glass so that you can watch me feed it.'

It was given, received, and multiplied. Rebirth reborn into the womb of consciousness, it floated onward...



Oh, there can be no conclusion to such introductions. I am there now, and may never have been. I reach forth into the night and grasp only this paint-splattered apartment that is so blank in contrast to this symbol-bound keyboard. The letters jump between the emptiness to tell you the lies of the past and the truth of the future.

And only one thought cannot disintegrate solemnly in recollection; I love you.

Malara Rebirth (And Of Facing The Self)

Summoned by the coldest part of night, he walks the mossy forest city planet with a silent sense of accomplishment. Through the muddy banks his feet commanded, his ears drenched in delight as the chorus of whispering winds gave harmony to the far-away chirps of a bird woken early. The silhouettes of the hope-swept trees maintained the dancing luminescence that had followed his vision throughout the night.




It had only been a mere three hours since he had ingested the tiny white squares of LSD soaked paper; there had been so many in the bag that any ignorant mind would have mistaken them for confetti. With a grateful glance at his fellow travelers he had placed an unknown number of the small white pieces of blotter paper on his tongue with verve. With another sip of the champagne, he passed the bag to his left. There were six other beautiful humans sitting cross-legged in the tent. Each of them followed his example and heavily delved into the small plastic bag.

There seemed to have been a music to the words that they placed together then; a cacophony of spoken dreams and whispered revelation. With their surprisingly high blood alcohol levels and an inspiring commitment to burning bowl after bowl of sticky green cannabis, the psychedelic compatriots barely noticed the transitional awkwardness of 'turning on' to their trips.

Like a rush of blood to the head, there suddenly appeared to be a change taking place. The tent had been breathing, their eyes turned to gold. Laughter shook his carbonated mind and then released. He was amazed, now, of his decision to ingest this much acid.

Rituals and ingestions behind them, the terrestrial cosmonauts left the thin polyester-walled tent to embark out amongst the gently shifting branches. The sweet smell of grass tickled his nose as they plodded through the brush towards the night swollen beach. Emerging from the thick jungle onto the pristine and moon soaked sand, the roaring ocean greeted his attention with the sight of infinitely rippling waves. Painted clouds danced in the wind to the rhythm of the ocean's upheavals.

His vision was filled with soft flowing patterns of dancing lights, his skin felt touched by wind and a certain quiet magic. The stoic wilderness slowly vanished before him to reveal a side of nature that had beckoned him all his life. Only the spirits of iconic revelation greeted his curiosity. His senses deconstructed his grasp on the external world, to build a foundation of respect for the equality that all energy commands. He could feel the composition of his physicality slipping easily away into this garden of soliloquies.

Sprinting on the sand towards the edge of the breathing water, he was not alone. The circling laughter of his trusted compatriots formed a tight web of "you're safe now, baby". Jumping and twisting together this carnival booth of rampant attractions stayed close at arms, the path carrying them back from the light of the water into the forest.

After a lifetime of moments, they collected like raindrops on the tent, cascading into a pool within its domain. Skin exchanged the radiations of light that blood brought to their surface. He was in love with this saturation of thermal mysteries, and might have burst under the weight of such unrelinquishing positivity.

Seconds hung on each glance of the eye, and hours passed in the movements of their hands as truths were spoken between friends. Before his consideration billowed the thoughts of ascension and spiritual communion. The memories of what had happened began to fuse with his encounter of the circumstance that lay like a portrait on his mantle. For time could only resume with a journey alone into the dense darkness outside; he left the warmth to embark upon the cold.

Sentience resumed and intact in this solitary night, he lit the first of a hundred cigarettes and began this quest towards what would come to be.



Here in the heavy now, time has become only a legend in retrospect, for any other frame of reference to the velocity of his relation to the stars was vanished. But with the approach of day came the icy transition into dawn, and this frigid embrace had recalcified his wonder. Along the strobing path he soldiered on until the thickness cleared and his feet met the sand. The pitch of the great canvas before him slowly surrendered its deepest blue in honor of the Living Star's rebirth.

The sky was ready now.

He found a comfortable place to sit in the sand. He crossed his legs. He was still. He was alone.

And with a laugh from deep within him, he could suddenly understand how blessed he was to inhabit this temple to evolution. His body and mind sang each other a melody of consciousness and cellular harmony. Solitary and weeping from his eyes, overwhelmed by gratefulness for his burdens, and embraced like a child by the poetry that blessed and illuminated his skin, he cried out. The wind cried back and stole away his loneliness with its embrace. He lifted his gaze to the heavens, for that is precisely what they had become.



For hours, no ponderence disturbed his coherency, no maelstrom need be suppressed. Whole and unfinished the same; he was content to be made love to by his comprehension of the moment.

After some time spent wistfully taking it all in, an image rose in his mind that even this sunrise could not trump in beauty. He saw a certain unquenchable softness, could faintly feel the touch of skin awakening his spirit, almost hearing the hauntingly sorrowful voice of a precious human sweetly cradling his sympathy. The image was that of himself, intoxicating him with the freckled eyes of a man left hopeful and golden in spite of revolution.


Together and complete within himself, smiling in the euphoria of reclamation, and absolutely beautiful; here lay the memento along side the fleeting embrace of a life spent in as this singular consciousness. He had never felt so complete in solitude like this, except in womb.

An infant curiosity crossed quickly across his brow: was this the time he had waited for all along? He had crossed such adversity to be reborn still hopeful. The grinding teeth of his own insecurities were painted across the sky in shades of blue, yet still he pined for the adventures of being. He thirsted for experience, but not the kind that comes with simply acting ones part; he wanted the heavy, the heartbreak, the slavery, the thrill of failures.

Deeper still into the psychic realm he delved, until the faint form of a small dwelling emerged from the cloud of his rapid synaptic revelry. He approached it as a chorus broke above his head, an angelic refrain of 'Obla-di Obla-da, Life Goes On' ringing in his ears. He opened the door and crossed the threshold into the darkness of the interior.

Lying on the floor of this temple to forgotten repressions writhed the very manifestation of his sorrow and broken beliefs. He imagined himself taking this softly undulating black mass into his arms, a mother to his own regrets. There, sitting silent on the forest-lined beach and dually in the deepest dungeon of his own creation, he began to feed this abomination of hesitations and self-contempt. Providing it a sturdy diet of forgiveness, the creature soon warmed to his touch and began to shimmer. The deepest shades of violet with veins of gold, it slowly crawled out of his arms and into his chest, penetrating the fortress of his absolution.

As the last glimmer of gold disappeared into his skin, his still-dilated eyes bolted open in alarm. Lifting his shirt to examine the skin, he was exhilarated to see his own golden veins pumping life past the translucent ultraviolet flesh that lay open to his vision. His hands unnaturally glowed with the fire of their own potential: to build, to give pleasure, to share his life with the world.

With the excitement of new immortality bursting within him, he jumped to his feet as the blood again began to cycle. It was not along the beach he ran, now; rather towards the water directly, and the Sun beyond it. And as his feet reached the perimeter of the frigid ocean, he had no thoughts of drenched clothing or ruined dollar bills. He trudged ahead and found his feet grasping the surface of the sea without sinking in. He was not walking on water, he was sprinting on it. He gathered speed and leaped with every ounce of dignity towards the blinding light of the Sun.


Freedom was as pure as this weightlessness that guided his body ever closer to the Star. He found himself in the space between the planets, atmospheres abandoned to capture the greatest of lights. Hands outstretched in anticipation, sinews on fire, eyes wide-open; he had finally reached the Sun, and held it tightly between his luminescent palms. He could smell his eyebrows singeing as he drew the massive ball closer to his inspection.

Looking up at him wistfully was an almost indistinguishable figure on the surface of the Sun. He could see the form gazing at him with amazement and wonder, and he soon recognized that this tiny figure was identical to the tiny tripper that he had left back on the beach millions of miles away. Closer still, he was now eye-to-eye with this anomaly of time and space. Without speech, without gestures: it spoke in the voice of a lion, "What would you ask of me traveler?"

With his hands still tight around the sphere, he whispered, "What am I?" Without any obvious shift in his vision, he suddenly found himself grasping his soft knit hat, again on the edge of the ocean. The Sun was now inaccessible and distant. The figure has dissipated, and its potential answer had been taken with it.

But now he knew the answer, had always known it. He was this entity, a creature, a mortal man. He is a lover, a minstrel, and a collecter of alms. Apparently alive, assuredly inspired, and steeped in the lessons of avarice; he is a part of God in the body of the Devil. 

He walks this forest planet with renewed stamina, with his back to the ocean and his chest towards the path ahead. He finds no thin-skinned polyester tents along this path, no fellow explorers, no hint of mischief. His learning was a triumph, his victory lap unending.

He simply forges ahead, and thanks the day for the night, and loves.