Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Tuesday, September 20, 2011


I wish that i could write of loveliness, sweetness, tenderness, joy, surprise..A novelty of a life in seasons, a heart that beats with happiness,To find my self in lightness, in freedom, expansion. To spin about in even shapes and pulse with feelings of my love..

Instead... i write of emptiness, of longing, a sorrow, the weight. Heavy features cloud the mind which cannot bring a change.
A dreamers fate when alone.
The heart it beats steadfastly, pumping for a chance...
From waist will rise explosions, coursing, glimmering, tingles, rolling light.
Imbued then for a moments chance a dream to dance the lovers dance.


fades quickly though, who shifts like this?

he he he

A claim from me of your shadow is the attention of my own, 
and when you point to mine as well we then become the same. 
Should this then be justified, to move our selves to this? 
I will say yes if through it we quell the line of intent those forms expel. 

Does quell then lead us as if we've moved? 
at last transparent in sight and in mood? 
with memory to move by what attentions grasp, 
and already again we start to maintain a past. 

See, there is more to the abstract then memory or sex, 
or leading attention to forms of the next. 
Or even the lines which bring from to the scape 
for the witness towards construct of worlds in where we meet. 

It's more then our knowing of your memory and leadings, 
and far more then the affect put forth from proceedings. 
or the memory of action of you within another... 
already abstracted, and unknown still abstracting. 

There is more to the abstract then sound, memory, movement or sex... 
or even the act of bringing our attention to the next. 
Merge with me, 
least we still become these shadows.


Synsepalum dulcificum

Coming on with such certainty is the curse in the mind,
It is granted that the course of this wonder is frail
wandering and flighty, like a shadow flickering in the night.
This Initial pursuit of a sudden racing heart
is quelled and crushed without regard or care.
No word or sound, 
but a feeling remains,
and then just one expression you submit
Never obtained, reciprocate forfeit.

It is okay though, i know.
The summer born child does only exactly as she desires
and while mired and tired and loosing ends which once inspired
she reaches into the darkness seeking light.
so like the season it self, so bright and warm,
soon fading to the falling leaves and storm,
then warn for winters approach... 
can she truly maintain as this shell?
as a ghost?

sunlight's gift

Keen amoungst the lore lays symbols laden with, inmeshed.
The lines collasece,
they weave and dress,
and form assembles
we attest.
Now best, we seek, through learning eyes, the ever changing shape's surprise,
to thrive and die,
the feast of pies,
the ripe enchanted taste of fries.

Sweet potato, no doubt.
Least you a lout...

And the list goes on, endlessly.
The step and pop of rhythm's grace, astounding taps to set the pace...
And chase, the spin, the grip, release..
The shapes and sounds abound with fate.

And all the while our times compress.
the heart beat sets the pace in chest.
the breath goes on without our mind.
Leaving behind...
Leaving behind...
That once-born dream.

The sun explodes...

what but love could derive a meaning from that event?

Sunday, September 18, 2011


Please forgive my open soul
your dream revealed the will to hold:
the earth, a life, a love,
the movement of this dream, 
to seek.

lol, trutles

Thursday, September 15, 2011


A stern face.
A sobering mind...
A calm and direct selfishness,
begging for emulation.

a loose flow,
life's precious blood,
a heart free to emulate
expressing volition without yet knowing consequence.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

in the silence i sit to enter quickly the hive mind
it comes via those close first, are they interfering?
next i dissolve my self of their concerns and i move like the wind,
searching out novelty.

the chatter no longer becomes me as i slip
im totally established on lines that have nothing to do with me
observing what i can within my own limits.
am i seeking gain?

The taint of my approach will arise eventually...
Each melody and note becoming sacrificed to another,
unrequited biology some claim.....

H's lesson

Harvest of the heart.

Each heart is so precious on this earth,
beating still while the mind is silent and placid
as the newborn child....

yet watch the sun rise each day
can you see the message that is building up?
as we travel the distance...

now pause..

Have you come from afar only to deny thus?
have you come from so long ago only to run away..
absolving your heritage...

Keep watching.

and seeking

free thinking


come to me and do not shield your self from me
do not half way engage me as though the motive hidden breeds a worthy context...
a weak lie.

come at me fully to speak the contents of the realm,
can you focus on that which was felt?
It is never a static thing...

Look first to what assembles to remind you of where... Then feel and watch, dissolve your self.
notice how what was seen evolves to become a new, notice how your stillness is compromised when the image becomes static again....

The static image is the base construct, the false seeing. What must occur is that you must tract this initial state and accompany it within it's active evolution. Time is the most important element that we must manage.

Do you really want to continue?

we must know that upon each moment the construct changes and breaks apart, reforming. We must endeavor to catch it's speed.
If we ride with it take care....


Aide master of angles takes away the pain... delivers the gavel and winches ipon the frame. yes


they walk the hard scapes, pounding the feet at the lurid pace. redefined they feel in their suits. Let us watch them..
Let us watch them...

The city is a place of much summarized, contexts developing and betraying the eyes... It's a far shot from domains more human and alive. The city is dead...

the city is dead like a vampire, forever alive yet unfeeling in heart, emulating in mind.

I learned that from true blood.

Friday, September 9, 2011


All i really care about right now is lyrics. It is hard to write out lengthy descriptions of the mental content that desires to become expressed. Rather i am looking for "key words" that match within my own brain to the meaning that the emotion within me wishes to express. My problem though is that my emotion changes almost upon each note which makes a general context of the song hard to come by. I personally believe that it is because the "songs" i want to express linguistically are rather short and contain only a few seconds of sound.

Dissolving the constructs so that it might be free..

Monday, September 5, 2011


you need to represent entities
in the fucking construct.
cuz they ain'aun be wid out you,

he keen an rue ta trap'n choo(se)
a move, pra'sue, a do it you.
cuz time 'efore you sought'n make
'these time an ease fer soul ta break...

naw see and make, you take'n break,
the fate and state, another's weight?
and wait.. negate,
seen potent fate...
release the flow
asunder him why dont ya?

In other words it means manufacturing fictional entities will always be an art done in this world. The extent of their form is often larger then most would be at ease to know. Adults and all make it in to fold.
and more then Jesus too, much more. Some say there is no fiction, really. Thus the meme extends from a real one... but.... ahhh... using the story of that one for a purpose of your self is a different type of beast, even if it is to keep the peace among many... and even under the clamor which ensues among those who believe that such things as "threat" lay outside of the pending scenarios we must navigate.


melody invoke us
heaves the shallow day,
an must...