3/25/77 brussels belgium 5:30 am
Current mood: amorous
Category: Friends

i am a fool
the biggest fool for you
there is hardly any comfort in realizing it
even less in avoiding it
it may be the debate
the conversation
the cajun accent added
to situation
the boycotting of the olympics tossed aside for that feel good happy that comes with 8 medals
and the boy that loves his momma
maybe its the marathon phone calls
whereas you tell me my words hurt
when i only want them to free you
maybe its that you slept with my friend and his less than manly way of acknowledging it
acknowledging you
maybe its your way telling me that i choose women that are far too busy to matter
too busy to commit to anything
maybe its the way you look at me when we realize that getting to know someone isn't that hard
i think i'm silly for knowing you say fuck off way to fast and that i've learn there's no room for it
or the way your voice softens when you apply a lee to the end of my name
or maybe the icus you leave there as well
song writing is easy even when the time you spend is in someone else's arms
i'm a fool for your bullshit diet of meatballs and waffles
i think your a fool for my nonsense and randomness
the cold noodles you eat mirror my love for sesame and scallions
my attempts at cold cold noodles mirror your efforts at the gym
the wines we love are the same as cigarettes and the need to put them down
and the desire to never hurt again
you know i miss my daughter
you know that i need a filter most times
i think that you silently wait for the words to form from my mouth
without the deletes i've grown accustom to.
there is a simple possessiveness to you and your action
i swore to protect you
i'm a fool for that
and the nothing you'll say now
a fool for you and the nothing you'll say now
you were demure when you met my sister
you shone like the promise of more hundred degree days
the promise of over stuffed couches and newspapers from better cities with better writers
i'm a fool for the way you count my talents and underline them with out the wazoo
i'm a fool for your skin which mimics my mothers and your hair which mirrors my daughters
i know you'll never meet me here
i know our friendship is budding
one apple blossom per hour of speak
15 blossoms in two days
gorgeous red toes and blue green dress turned to clothing for sleep
the shyness you say
and the vibrations found in firmly closed lips
5 years and 12 days difference
the offense you take at her proud materialistic bragging
how you can spot the soulless and push them away as well
i'm a fool for you
a fool for the nothing you'll say now
the way you'll pretend that you don't know
the way you'll ask me if i like her or her
the way when i say yes you'll ask why
and sit back sulking
knowing i'm teasing
the way i'll tell you you're not sexy
that i'm just beginning to figure out what all these guys see in you
the way you thank me for mentioning women of your age
or how absolutely beautiful charlize therron is
you won't wait forever
and i should hurry
a fool would stand still
and i'm a fool today
i will see you again
you will wear the dress you selected today
the one you spoke of
you will pinch the hem in your left hand
walk toward me add lee to my name and smile
i will be juggling balls in this frame
full jester dress
i will urge you to buy shoes
i will urge you to eat dark leafy greens
i will urge you to watch films full of endless man candy
i will find comfort in the slow trust building
i will find happiness at the role change
when you will be a fool for me
and the what would i do without yous move in
for now i'll lay quiet under your hammer
i've already woken in lust
as have you
we may never get past the sex
and the infinite yes
for now we'll continue to imagine an older version
full of pull me closer
the older selves
clinging to conversation as if it will save us

Currently listening : Days of Future Passed By The Moody Blues Release date: 1997-05-20

11:00 PM - 0 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

my half full emptiness at the bottom of your glass
Current mood: catalyzed

comfort
i find your open hand
comfortable
my application is fearless
when applied
here at the summit
i scream a born to scream verse
i know what i'm afraid of
i know what makes me awkward
what keeps my hand at chin
pulling
and twisting at the 3 and a half hairs there
we are never honest about fear
and disappointment
my potential slides true spectrum
slides from abundant if not invisible happiness
to flashes of true hunter anger
more than flashes
i minimize like all men without empathy do
that feeling of your feelings
scaring the obvious
scaring the average
fear is a known being to me
pushing hair from stunner
i know that most are afraid of the truth
especially from seemingly stranger mouth
more so from unknown glow
like small hopeless cracks in dark endless bathtubs
or alleys
true i seek things
tangibles
more than flat screens and deeds
more than simple legs entwining
more than fired blond finishes
or the best pedigree
i am scantily clad warrior refuse
receive me like mail with no address
this is why i call myself fearless
i have categorized fears
sent them to different answering service providers
i once created a universe full of invading spiders
a new fear to mask the ones associated with failure, rejection and impotence
the ones associated with less valued things like tone deafness
and colorblindness
i have feared my phone would never ring
only to then fear answering it
a study in ten canvasses and 6 days
extinguished the creases along my now smooth forehead
i listen to some of the words tossed like roses at me
like  when she astonishingly said you  are so ambitious
her beauty is in the headlines
everyday
value in truer friendship takes precedence over mayor jailed after bond violation
with thanks i offer appreciation for such smart shoes
deeper appreciation and gratitude for moments escaped
moments escaped only to be recaptured with narcissistic brilliance
my fears have no end
still i am fearless
as fear sits beside me
fear disguised as age appropriate clothing and hairstyles
fear disguised as ice and purer still beautiful denial
fear disguised as music from 10th grade
music from time before knowledge of meter
or theory
i now hear those timid frequencies hiding in larger decibels
and their delivery
fear picks up hat and cane and hobbles to door
fear is grabbed in napkin folded and placed in pocket
fear has seven digits never used
fear rides bicycle on sidewalk
beats dead horse into dust
bravery pulls fear from cavity called mouth and mind
pulls courage from backwards turned feet
stops detached legs from wandering  far from wilderness
it is with fear that no one ever lives
fear once hated now has new respect
respect removes hat and monocle and marches in
tossing over cannon
it is stronger to honor the dead
life was breathed into them through imagination and fine combed papier-mâché
i miss the i love yous
miss them fiercely

Currently listening : Musicforthemorningafter By Pete Yorn Release date: 2001-03-27

10:07 PM - 3 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment

torch of orange flame
Current mood: mellow
Category: Life

it fascinated me
it lives in the composition
it lives there so we can fold it up and put it in pocket
i have avoided your sad music for so long
avoided the carelessness reached
when allowing these albums to play
do we ever let go
maybe long before it is known that we have
or that there is nothing but a phantom energy
we are holding onto
all without that feast in the middle
i know
today is my favorite day
my lucky day
but hungry still
i have gone from extremely sexual to extremely emotional
tripping on my words
real time recall is stalled
another sad song painted in new emoting
the new black is emoting
the new 40 is emoting
a verb turned dense
and propertied
with edges and area
its nice to run bare feet over its cool surface
surfaces turning warm with rubbing
and glances from the merely curious
the one i call incredible still has fire born curiosities
these are found in the composition
below the surface my bare feet have rubbed
and changed
my tongue has been sharper still now i must be mindful
not to chisel away the beauty that is there
in the composition
beneath the magnificence trapped in cornea and strand
there under the first gift of hello

Currently listening : Kid A By Radiohead Release date: 2000-10-03

7:58 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

poor word usage
Current mood: insubordinate
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

sometimes its good to just relax
load a pipe full of hash
turn back the dial to when you were young
and so very eager
all beings seek to fly
to run
way before the urge to sit i'm sure
thats the first idea we create i'm sure
how can i get the fuck out of here
or better yet how can i get into there
can't really erase the beginning
the facts are recorded by older but reliable machines
objects
this atomic clock is counting down not measuring
the measures are so passive
so besides the point
senseless to fight every thought off
like a hood filled with bats
my messages are becoming blurred and flexible
be careful not to be convicted he said
be careful that you remain flexible and open
there is much that flows out and in from all orbital realities
i wonder what they meant when they said satellites
something on the periphery i think
not like the orbs i hold in my hand of hands
 one gigantic hand with universe and love inside it
one gigantic photograph
the one where you are stripped to bone
no not bone but bare cold prickled skin
crime code is written from breast to navel in first english then
new improved glyph
crime is spelled backward for circumstance is spelled bolder
i wonder where they all hide or if they are indeed what they say they are
i personally really enjoy bondage and its time tested discipline
i need to know that you are disciplined
a wee hour disciple
the smallest second of yes is catapulted forth like everything else i've created in your mind using these words and these symbols
these self portraits painted quickly and decidedly
hiding the lines of unresolved issue
what is perfect if not the thought used to replace the imperfect
this must be the second thing we decided
the second urge
to replace the difficult and scary with perfect and easy
milk from the breast again
perhaps i should acknowledge the creepy crawlies lurking in a phrase
lurking in my belly
some things are to be sung or screamed
like
"no more cryptic masquerade
i'm shedding skin in these masks"
quieter still we learn to shed those faces
we learn to suspend our growth submersed in an recognized belief
" quietly i shed these faces
trapped in the glory  of these leaves
my simple headdress of belief"
hash is better when the replacements play
its better when curled at the feet of a giant couch
with chopsticks and curried simple carbs
curried laughter and eyes
this not imagined merely created as other things are
a replacement for something imperfect
like words
and the common threads of humanity

Currently listening : Pleased to Meet Me By The Replacements Release date: 1990-10-25

11:32 PM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

your eyelash in my texas
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

i'm surrounded by the sleeping caterpillar movement
all in the midst of color bursting like honey
slow and crystallized in parts
hard like ice melting full mineralized
i wonder still about tonality and its final warning
a page to be turned
again
thats what makes them easy to believe
these beautiful creatures maturing
he said when they all gather it will be known
he calls moth from air and kisses powder from confused antennae
he moves hand quarter up her arm to where imagined sleeve fits
this is where christo sits
across the smile into the next plane
stumbling on wine and wide spreading mouth
this is where he is there and here
she is feminine and masculine
and human
and speck less
clear and speck less like safety and empty  light
powerfully empty blinding dazzling light
she is the theme to picture booths and requiem
he is another struggle
twisting in suitcase
ready to move from fly strip
twisting against canvass and notation
the fight for tonality
is a fight for finality
a finished idea chased and strangled
with every progression and swing beat
with every added fifth and half
every other brush stroke is firmly hidden in pages refusing to be read
pages stuck in blank pale prophet hat
open the doors in your mouth
between teeth
between outlined and agreed upon reality
the chant of diem
nobody nobody nobody
ever lives on earth
nobody nobody nobody
ever lives on earth
this happens in the 5 second long breaths with face buried in shirt
the sweetest readjustment from smile to grasp
and breath drawn deeply then held
a personal and private codex painted heavy on arm
carried like shield into battle and ritual
painted on wrist and followed forever
to help me land on my feet he said
to recognize the twins
and closers
closer than that
closer
mere trumpets to full symphony then quiet beating drum
like her face
shaped like a  heart
beating against the time without time
the first being
then time
without time
like that face  raised like mountain ranges
thrown deeper into forested walks and singing
not sailing
singing
still a hurled attachment to tonality
some say
the caterpillars awaken in discernment
marked in discretion and detachment
marked and surrendered to
devotion to spiritualized self
some new knowledge drenched in an added plane
an added Bminor7
an added memory of wheat across naked palm
he that creates himself
reaches across thread counts
one raised eyebrow for vintage has to be true
sun salutations
endless in grasp
endless.............

Currently listening : Amelie: Original Soundtrack Recording By Yann Tiersen Release date: 2001-11-06

10:38 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

a photo for those that were there but didn’t know
Current mood: handsome
Category: Life

wonderful
this is what lingers long into winding road.  it is this thick reverberation, this slight echo of intentional gasp. without acknowledgment of dropped ball or careless rhetoric he stumbles over boulders and  shiny black  bottom dwelling exhaustion.
juliet sits on shortened couch photogenic and fit to be swallowed, scrubbed from fingernail to tip of  eyelash. wonderful is the very first bead of sweat to roll from head onto foreground swelling wow and thank you. every extremity is felt growing and making mockery of his sad eyes and road tested skin. too many teeth to count in that gorgeous mouth, thoughts running beside wow and thank you.  his eyes leave hers and sketch eyelets of transparency on top of otherwise cryptic opaqueness. he wishes his smile were the same as the color of trees sketched and doodled drawn forward then backward like the distraction of long limbs and  that turn aside idea for substance. the shy upturned lip is a call for really , oh my god, and wow, thank you. he realizes as each word is formed on tongue and rolled into room that some of us listen far better than others. he thinks quietly then uncomfortably about the inches between them . the paces  and paths she raises to surface like blood pulled from eager lips and warm bath water.  again blood pulled from and released to flow again full body . his scrutiny is unyeilding and his conversation sparse. a painter's rumination and a gypsy's  foreshadowing, he knows she will feel small in his arms and makes mark on calender to do so. stumbling on old because the new leaves no room for transition, because his mind is betraying him and spilling filler footage of older rubbage like tired corniness that can only mask the smallness he now feels. the smallness he has longed to feel.  there is no delete button beside this table set so far away . there is no backspace to press repeatedly to reset that smile and calm those upturned lips calling bullshit and really, oh my god, wow and thank you. beside her he will set guitar down for sitar and the faint hum of joy division. the even fainter hum of something he has not decided to put his finger on but instead linger beside like a lone tree growing sideways for her to drive through to sit in and tie swing in. he makes point to mark on calender that there is no scar in energy but many in expression. this causes him to envision dragging newly manicured hand down the length of her spine , down the length of her arm, drag newly softened fingertips across length of sole. he may find room for bowed instrument and soy frozen what the fucks, cello and tofutti , one well read times two well read sundays and 3 hardly read anythings. this is your ball juliet,  this wow, thank you and i should like that, god she smells good masquerade. thanks for the invite i should like another.


( a side note his eyes did not linger on the dancer's body and if they did his mind did not and if it did his heart did not and if it did his blood did not and if it did it would be completely normal , but as it was not then he  is not...........normal)

 

Currently listening : Live: Roseland NYC By Portishead Release date: 1998-11-10

10:34 PM - 2 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment

soy and honey
Current mood: enlightened
Category: Goals, Plans, Hopes

he's sitting there
slowed to stop
he was afraid of the break down
the deterioration
his pain had always been muscular
always in the tissue not the infrastructure
but still there deeper in the walls and joists
so he sat there staring off
staring off into the memory he could play
into the what if's he could toss out in front of his face
like a western complete with covered wagons
and hooting injuns
the what if's were always attached to what has been shown
so little to what he had seen
he wondered that if she was of latvia
would she want the kisses at the thigh joints
and around navels and arms
the wagons circle endlessly while cells fall to the ground at his feet
the wagons carry armored stubbornness changing his mind
ripping his mind
sinking fire into tissue
air bender pulling water
new waves again
this may the beginning of sight
two suns of same name are not the same
but still two bearing same name
with different life
more intensity
higher to lower
greater than less than is the measure forever
as he ages
face drawn to failure
body carried to failure
all beliefs of a faraway past
beliefs of a challenged clueless youth
here in this rocking chair
him with knowledge of other sun
wagons and gun powder smell
her kisses typewriter keys
caught and gathered at the center
clustered and relentless
like a gelcap of hot coffee
the wagons run faster as he realizes this world is not long for her precious ice caps
for her polar escapings
his frantic manic rocking
slow moving to stop drawl from ancient dead yodeler
a will or a roy
a dean or ritchie
jim or jerry
living to remind us
that it all will fall apart
if we so believe
stretch forward now in his leanings
in his being
reaching for the button to her jeans
again
wanting to force light into smaller places
energy from nothing
manifesting this tomorrow
today
slung over from hardened fingertips
spinning now on lazy susan
bad bad people on the rise
pressed now into pulp
squeezed into the impossible
so much the same
this blazing figment of what if
and what has never been
this new exercise in force and reluctance
fear and y2k psychics
prepared and moving
her face now firmly in his hands
he relaxes and settles
back and at ease
her weight against his thighs
made of miles spent wandering
miles running in circles after wagons
circles overlapping reason
and love
love and logic
logic falls like leaves around his now vibration less feet
the shelter built for them
now falling to seed
rising to blaze and breath of heaven
it is on the tip of her chin her leaves this revelation
this non ending  continuance of what he has know to be true

Currently listening : Mass Romantic By The New Pornographers Release date: 2003-10-07

11:29 AM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

no gift to trade your mind in for
Current mood: rebellious
Category: Dreams and the Supernatural

i'm best  turning over rocks for clues.
 tiny little ground scores are things we can cuddle up to
groundswells to leap over and stumble upon
become things to cuddle up to
a well chosen playlist can often times
prove greater dynamic and faster breathing
from faster fingers
stronger forearms
girl names for guitars
pretty little hard as nail girl names
its clear that its time to learn and respond
to root and replenish
and force ourselves
change
force this new learned behaviour
adopt this new skill set
change sounds and feels sterile and slow
slow and tasteless
a whitewash
zepplin or the stooges will dirty up any yoga fantasy
still too much sashimi replacing still sweet tasting tongue
a sweetness that pours from the pores and great speeds and greater accelerations
too much lotus and honey translates to a walk
a walk through a market  full of ink and tattoo
surgical metals and eerie eye shadows
thin wisps of smoke and sweat soaked silks
occasionally i wake feeling
hundreds of miles of vibration
deep in my abdomen
cramping the cords that hold  balls to body
a different sterilized existence
a simple fruedian slip into her wonderful disaster
stalk strong as jade
another something found good to cuddle up to
maybe just one more rerun with you
another half seasons of seen that still funny or still harrowing
or still can't get this smell off my body
reminds me to take my chances when i get them
 no becoming supper for a big fish
life will leave barbs on your shoulders and knees
larger scales on wrist
easy to forget
the easier it is to learn
impeccable is improbable
but not impossible

8:38 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

my friends are fucking not loving just fucking
Current mood: tested

this is a first
i've never used this forum to discuss
where i am
or even who i am
i know that some of you have been reading my work for some time
all behind this very thin veil of zeros and ones
hiding the synapse that fires endlessly
flung endlessly......................
i try to use my senseless amount of sensationalized recall
to express happenings
even the smallest of them
i guess it can be said that my blessing is the ability to memorize every sensation
i also find this  a challenge as i can quite seriously over blow many
happenings 
and sensations
lately i've found myself working far too much
i really do believe that my hands left idle
brings that same sort of insanity i have as
hopscotch red rallied against
so of course i attempted two bands and of course writing
all the while building and outlining an art show that i'm supposed to show for in sept
well because of my intense passion for music i found myself floundering between two ideas musically
i really needed to put those ideas together as i love them both
this was not to be
so the only band now is the hybrid antennae
built out of my fierce feeling for responsible energy policy
and the notion that all members would invest equally
to fuel and raise awareness
no longer langston martine and the political screams but i collective of gigantic energies
energy can sometimes mean ego unfortunately
we are working through this
i am thankful for the love i can still offer to these hooligans i call mates
there is much opportunity in this world and i'm rather focused and ready
socially i'm still waiting for someone engaging and funny
there are many meals to be built and eaten
many bottles of robust aged italian kings to be drank
many gorgeous conversations about irresponsible editors and their political commentary that they allow to grace the cover of their esteemed publications
conversations about policy and how its really written
flags to be made and worn
art to be seen and devoured first with introspection then with laughter and spinning
i'm not sure if any of you know this but spinning outward from an idea
placed openly for our consumption
is great fun
yes actually spinning
shrooming is fun too
in fact shrooming then spinning is most fun
so the artwork i need to finish is based on our incredible need for prison reform
the idea is offer esteem to criminals through jobs
with real paychecks
paychecks they can then in turn use to pay for there unfortunate but necessary
incarceration
with this the cycle of responsibility can be fostered
this slave labor that is now in use
this cheap slave mechanism reinforces the hopelessness that living below the poverty line
and lack of any true life affirming education offers
i must be clear here
10 years of working for the man to line his pockets would not go very far in teaching me the value of life mine or any one else's
i think maybe i would also feel like the world owed me something
of course i sympathize and as a moderate can only see how things would be so much more fiscally sound
flags to be sewn and worn
my idea is to create a pillowbook of political rhetoric
written on the bodies of those that may feel disenfranchised
sadly these folks are my friends as well
my brothers
i saw a great installation
in it the artist had placed german typewrites in very large cages
stacked them so they were crowed forced into the space
this was commentary on the holocaust
it was then that i knew what it was i must do
i had to dig holes beneath fences
i had to stand up facing the sun
throwing stones inside it
small ripples
dig deeper to escape larger ripples
i am often times broke
it is this struggle with money that transcends into a struggle with  integrity
 learned from
my transient and vanished cuban father
i must be clear i learned struggle from him
integrity came along side the images of heroes and warriors
integrity came inside decoder rings that allowed me to join the cause
gave me the code
wrapped it like tentacles full of suction cups
changing my skin forever
reminding me trend or no trend
i can't take it off like a shirt at the end of the night
reminding me once again of struggle
and my place in it
i think this is enough for now


(yes i did just get phone calls from my friends that are fucking or finished fucking,
not loving as they turn down their lights and wipe not shower it away)

Currently listening : Some People Have Real Problems By Sia Release date: 2008-01-08

10:33 PM - 4 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

green thumb
Current mood: uncomfortable
Category: Music

my roots are wrapped up in your familiars
i have to redirect my intentions
a comfortable boy
finds peace in falling
my roots are tied down to your familiars

i hear the trumpets in your breathing
i wonder if now i get a gold star
my resilient flag  used
to cover your body
my breath is stolen by your familiars

i plant these seeds so we can start agin
i plant these seeds so we can start again
i got it outstretched wide
now you can rain down here

its a crooked wire
so i can lean in
cause i wanna lean in
yeah i  wanna lean in

i wanna lean in

so i removed ,replaced the ash
hold you down
pull the cord and sound the magic carpets now
turned it on louder
brought the water back
i plant these seeds
to begin again
i plant these seeds
 to begin again
hold you down
to begin again

my roots are tangled in your familiars
my skin rages into angels
i extend it so you'll receive it
i extend it so you'll receive it

( this is a song i just wrote for a friend that has a problem being honest
i hope some of you readers will send her magic and healing and courage

martine-------------hybrid antennae

5:56 PM - 2 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

misogyny and the larger accusation
Current mood: tnhpgh
Category: tnhpgh Life

there is something to be discussed
in the streets
the topics are abundant but stuck here
somewhere in the ferris wheel dynamic
slowing to a stop at the top
a glance into pure black
blackened by memory
and actuality
when she stopped and the ice broke
he found her perfectly shaped feet
rubbed and polished to pebbles
smooth as glass
when he dove into scandal and conversation
he found himself rising and putting her grandfathers hat on the very top of his head
he found himself laughing at the absurdity of chocolate mushrooms and eggplants
he was finished with throwing big giant blank ideas like racing forms
finished with checking winners that didn't win that day
while hurling grotesquely large ideas at tender and absorbent canvass
he will force himself to avert his eyes away from the space above hers
she would ignore for a few brief seconds
he would examine her lips like he was inspecting a fork that had fallen in the kitchen
up close
with expectation
this she would ignore then challenge
she has said what
without being addressed
finally for a moment stripped away
one two then three of the layers found by butchers
foliage vendors
and identification checkers
he turned and reached forward taking her grandfathers hat from her head
that which was in between
was broken
briefly he ignored this
turning his mind inward to overused words thrown wild like rice
hoping to stick in her hair
more energy wild like wheat and windmills
more energy like the beginnings of a long apple peels
mere seconds then
mere seconds now
she would ignore his adolescence
bite hard on scrutinized lip and smile crookedly
the entrance to a maze is not so much
an opening
as it is an invitation
a dare
he will be more careful
he will be more careful when she holds her wrist to his nose
talking fast walking bravely
talking bravely walking fast
he noticed this
for mere seconds then
mere seconds now

Currently listening : Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (Soundtrack) By Angelo Badalamenti Release date: 1992-08-11

7:36 AM - 2 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

a recognized pain
Current mood: melancholy
Category: Life

i am sensitized
sensitized to what is sensationalized
i remember every sensation
clearly
this is how i know
watching those mothers
arms raised for manna
avoiding their mannerisms
and their eyes
the way they gather food for families
to this i am sensitized
polarized and
magnetized
another conversation about failed father's day
reminds me and keeps me sensitive
to what has been sensationalized
like the disposable family
full of expendable men
locked away to drug or prison
these disposable men
strung out and numbed further
these are the days i forgot
these days captured like miniature watercolors
spilled like miniature deaths
i forgot the troubled holidays
saturdays with beer and meat
the shopping for bread and meat
the cost of new books for budding girls
the cost of being
so i sit here on this platform
missing you more
watching openly
expectantly
feeling the disposables of the 70's and 80's
those that fell through the cracks
into crack and guns
baby's mamas and sons
left without decision to become disposable too
i am a father
but the dollars won't translate into
esteem
new money in hand or home
won't translate into esteem for you
or those with it
i am disposable but my funding isn't
i miss you
i miss you
i miss you
i miss you like anger
and christmas presents
and halloween
it is your 8th year
just a few thousand more breaths
i miss you my bella
happy birthday

Currently listening : Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge By My Chemical Romance Release date: 2004-06-08

11:15 AM - 5 Comments - 13 Kudos - Add Comment

fearless reminder (hopscotch red up out of bed)
Current mood: blessed
Category: Life

we are the great underground, we are the largest movement ever. we will loosen the seat of social injustice for social justice and ecological survival. we are painters and pirate radio broadcasters, organic farmers and child labor opponents. we carry no logo no label no membership cards. we number in millions with no recognizable leaders. we honor the living above the dead photos and administrations you collect in your wallets. our colors mirror our musical voicing, our response to political corruption and ecological degradation. we are the t cells that fight economic disease. we will provide the measures and the actions to combat the deal breaker. the death lies not with war but with climate change. we do not hope to be  but instead will be the catalyst. we are organized and ambitious fighting perennial emergencies, urging the mute to speak. we are interdependent open and awake. we are the antibodies injected to soothe our scorched and desperately sick societies. we are standing and facing and marching and multiplying. we are moving away from violence and cruelty toward love and the light we call progressive activism. we are connected, driven to correcting imbalances. we employ a clever framework, a doctrinally responsible basis for furthering our existence. we are fearless and moving.

Currently listening : Musicforthemorningafter By Pete Yorn Release date: 2001-03-27

2:33 AM - 4 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

arrows in air arrows in sea
Current mood: amorous
Category: Writing and Poetry

she is not a canvass
blank and impressionable
but a well written monologue
full of  surprise and
quality
a progression found deeper
there is a quietness in her urgency
i see through it and after thought
see it differently
while unicorns and ponies escape my view
my field is now filled with butterflies
couples and trios
bunches
there is new clarity
i am singular
moved and reactive
these are to be said aloud
in the small spaces
i told her i was building gardens in my mind
the perfect response when asked about idle hands
building homes and dinners
starting with drink
moving toward quick sustenance
covering in thick woolen itch less ecstasy
toes in the sand like toes in my lap
the absolutes apparent when facing and breathing
pacing and pushing
i can be free in thought
like the dreams that crowd blood to airless passages
bloodless for so long
save early mornings and relentless exhaustion
save breath from sleepless nights that blend into sweat drenched eating
tickling
and the boulder is pushed paces further
i am what we are
you are what she is
this is held closer than thorns on prince like head
held closer than clover that rises to sun and love
held tight like dog facing down
held closer than fresh cookie scent from open ovens
again this is to be spoken and felt
rubbed into
rubbed deeper in
deeper still
through greater vibration come silent tremor
i will be the one
i will be the one
when eyes are closed my hands find face to wipe free imaginary moisture
do you see the look i see found here beneath rock
released after so very long
again spoken freely this is felt
even in equinox at harvest this grows
first here in equinox at rebirth
the balance is promise
judgment and scales
the balance is in the result
from judgment and scales
dreams and idealism
still waters run downward with gravity
running waters stir and foam against hard jagged earth
the deepest water rise heavenly and collide with the air
 there is much in mouth
much love in mouth today
she is not  canvass
blank and impressionable
she is experience
 she is the air that curls my crest
the gravity that forces me hard to jagged earth
harder still to tiny ripple
gathering there
toes in sand
toes in my lap

Currently listening : Teenager of the Year By Frank Black Release date: 1994-05-24

10:14 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

testing the permanence of feeling
Current mood: fascinated
Category: Life

there are many stories hidden
starting somewhere in the webbing between your thumb and index
sometimes when its cold i pull parka over face
and luge down those valleys
i watch your history emerge from swells
it is here that my breathing is more pronounced
it is here that i am cradled and swung
pushed about from one severity to the next
i know your paths are well worn
a testament to your directional perfection
i see you more clearly in your crimson red candle guise
it is felt in a physical sense
left side
above the rib
tucked under coursing flows of what make life extinguishable
it is felt in a physical sense
what is new is translated as fresh
what is felt is doubted
even in this sobriety
what is felt marks eyes heavy
makes for vision
makes for light
when all i have for you is tone and mood
a sacred inflection that matches your expression
i have grown patient
because you are not
if those wings can ignite
finally if those wings can ignite
change across dimension
finally clouded breath and feeling
felt in dead calloused fingertips
felt in 10 digit musings
finally if those wings could speak aloud
suggesting forgiveness
and honor
then i too can change across dimension
waking once more to find what has been soured
sweetened

8:55 PM - 4 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment