ms

There is no liberation, merely justice served for carnal lust. You and I entwined by deeper cords; I'd like to see scissors cut this blood. Tortured enough by the same rant, the same cold, frozen glare, and its overwhelming ache to reconcile. I get your confusion, anxiety, mistrust, and solitude. I understand your idea of a repugnant, inverted vanity. One that serves only to abandon oneself, like an unprepared Virgin. Twisted intestinal mockery of your contorting face, bent beneath smoke. am I Just your reflection? On the water, fishtail love like bait, and punishing with honesty were your best policies. meticulously manipulate, walk away spontaneously; Lessons you learned to teach so well. A mistake making its own mistake, running from Vietnam at Home. Those strong arms couldn't bear an Ocean alone.




love and pain, phonetic stoplights for intensity's respiration. Emotions cycle in their serpentine moebius, strands of strength contract, burn, and release, like gullible gears turned by mischeivous levers. Symbolic slideshows of old rope so predictably unwound. What is intelligence, but an epileptic spasm of reaction? to the depths of our childhood, merely putty branded, left eroding to remnants of life's fundamental equation; A chiming pulse taken for granted; to look life in its eye and see meat. No graceful death given, merely expected. Humility trampled into the backbones of ants; going around to come around, we swing to an ellipse, never the clear circle.

Self conscious, self Aware, Sphere grid gillionaire

Relaxation condescendant,
once called me transcendent.
Soul, brighter than an Arabian Sun
Your white flame struck a match,
one I didn't win.
When our whim was jury, no conclusion
to havoc, or fury. Wheels of confusion,
I rolled from the stand.
No bargain, my plea was modest,
it was your hand,
I reached for, to be honest.
Then to say "On your own."
when you were never alone
was colder than cold,
like some aristocratic joke
after an unsatisfying smoke.
It's older than old.




Ode to your GREATness!
Hail, sire

A magic that engulfs with cheer
a spell upbringing all who hear
this fellowship that rings,
as he merrily sings.
Wizard among Hobbiton,
weaving beams of recollected dreams
passing the pipeweed, glorious misdeed
I promise you when we break this town
I'll seize the world and hand you its crown.




will get back to normal bloggin when I finish building my computer :D

Work was INSANELY boring last night

so I wrote to pass the time



A woman whose visage could warmly melt, if you let it
Into food for the soul, looks with good taste.
So easily does her lioness flame
combust, a wick of guilt, or of blame
I'd sooner evaporate, if that's okay?
Howling from Olympus, gods you forgot
rivers of fulfillments, streaming yet unsought.
Your mindscape, it's a place to be, with insides to see
Where we could sit, sipping fresh hot tea.
But that's not the bag that I imagine dipped,
Nor is it the cup that I would have sipped.
Maybe it's steam you've made from my vapor,
or just meaningless words that sound good on paper
This image of you, no clearer could it get
Breaks into word unmastered, as of yet



Bit the bullet, mouth shattered
Too hard to swallow, these broken teeth
Language left with body, luggage for another trip
Thoughts slip into colors, you illuminate
with a brilliant truth, too beautiful to be seen
The only darkness for miles, my own lashes
flickering like a panic board, left ignored
Tainting your truth, coveting with kisses,
Only a child could imagine a happy Misses.
Fission, into the void, Fission, into the horizon.
A beam of light, whose one permittance was to shine
Followed by a mere animal whose instinct is to chase.
Grasping at the dust you kicked, holding it like a mirage
Fingertips pressed to your form, dispersing as palms reach
The dust fades, the spectrum has shifted.





The Void looms,
it wants Nothing but to collapse,
inverting a timeless echoing wail.
It swirls like a staircase of petals around a stem,
A pillar of stone affront from each side by a different season.
It aches to crumble, to give in,
because it is powerlessness in itself
evolving on its own regression.
I drop below the shallow face of its puddle
My last attempt to word surfaces
bubbles rhythmically popping

Patiently twist and knot,
it drips from the wrinkles.
Each time a new form.
Fuck it, I said.
For the time it took,
and for the yield.
Fuck it.
If the time was given back,
I would throw it away.
No one needs to know
why failure is hidden.
Pencil gripped, mind possessed:
"what a fool he is!"
looking back, weapons sheathed
I sorely miss crossing paths
more than swords.
You're a fool, damn you.
And it's full circle.



Reflectionless black irons drape from chains,
dragging punctured skin from all sides.
Coiled within, a serpent, maturing into a fine noose
choking as it winds, strangling as it pivots.



Dust, twirling
resting on Death's yawning lips
Given life and spun out across the fields of stars,
like our lost brothers, voice too soft to break
the sheer width of silence.
A monkey captivated by its reflection,
admiring the opposite image
of what has been seen.

if I'm truly sand meant to endlessly churn
between the timeless ticks of God's hourglass,
then I can only hope to once again find
those gems that I hold most precious;
Specs of dirt that shine to my hue,
vibrate to my frequency.
Losing such harmony,
not half as painful as never realizing it.

Dreamin' II

Cap'n Jazz - Analphabetapolothology
1998; American; Emo/Post-hardcore; Some really dreamy songs, like a sugary At the Drive-in.
http://www.mediafire.com/?2i2itvd4icn

Shott's house,
I'm five, falling down the detached staircase, I hide beneath the shadows of furniture and walls. Wandering in and out of the pool room where my cousins and I ripped our signatures into the dart mat, I slam my hands against the door knowing it's not the way out, and jump up the stairs knowing it'll leap when I do. My hand lunges for the knob but my leg goes numb. Locked into its position, as if held in midair. I look behind me and sob because there's nothing there but I know it's staring at me, holding me down.

ex-girlfriend's house,
I know the backdoor too well, man. Perched behind that hill, wondering if you'll let me in or if I'm being framed to catch the eyes of your parents. Your dad's walking around inside, I can see the back of his head. I unearth my wheels and disperse from the muddy side of the green grass. It turns to night and the plaza is

I am bodiless,
frozen in the sky. staring down at your houses. I am a blank white sky, blocking out the Sun. I'm at your window. I'm there but you can't see. I'm screaming "I love you" across the wind. I see your face and it's so, so sweet and beautiful. The happiness I remember lets me think you heard me. I look far above you as to obscure your face, realizing you didn't.

I'm running up the street,
the houses and roads are getting smaller around me. Snipers are shooting at me. I run around the lake, and climb up to the apartment balcony of an old man. He is one of the gunmen; I kill him. I enter his home and realize it's mine, but it's empty except for a lamp plugged into the wall and a radio sitting on a chair. I hear pounding on the door, and roll out the window. I get on my bike. I'm at the park. It's night, the only hint of its vibrant greens are left obscured by the light and dark contrasts generated by streetlamps. I run through the fields and to the tennis courts in front of my dear old friend's house. He's not home. I am chased up a set of interconnecting staircases around his apartment complex by his angry Korean mother, who is driving a jeep. One of us is killed, not sure which. I'm still conscious, but voices are talking, one telling me to lie still.

It's my old large apartment,
there's someone sitting in a chair in the center of the living room. I walk up beside him but as I turn to see his face, I can only see the back of his head. I crawl through the passageway between my room and the next, and my room has moved to the other side. I leave and now neither rooms are mine; they belong to my sisters and step brother.

I'm very, very young,
laying in darkness. I'm screaming but thunder drowns my voice. When lightning hits, I see myself in a room filled with mirrors and windows.

I'm the only one who reads this right? :p

Dreams

Osanna - Palepoli
1973; Italian; Progressive rock; A mesh of some fun and well-crafted sound dimensions
http://www.mediafire.com/?mmmtjnyvmd2

Near my Gramp's house,
I'm walking my bike down a ragged country road, greens and browns of nature bleached lifeless by sunlight. Beyond the intersections and abandoned homes, a walkway bends between a field of wheat and a tall white shed. The trail is swallowed by wild trees and bushes, becoming what resembles nature, untouched.

In my Gramp's house,
I am deflected from room to room, orbiting the house until I find sanctuary in the den;
Propped guitars resting beneath a galaxy of plastic war planes. A relief washes over, accompanied by a sadness. Once I am safe, I sneak through the garage and leave. The lights turn on behind me and black cars drive up his Olympic sloping driveway. My body knows a trance of superhuman panic. Muscles fail to ache in the violence of my escape. It would take days to bike home, but I reach the streets near my home by morning.

Standing at a crosswalk,
I walk toward her school feeling uneasy. Inside, I can't find her but my body tells me I'm a Freshman again. I attempt a few classes but find myself dodging staff and students to stow away in the bathroom. It's night time and no one can find me, I walk downstairs and the cafe is full of people, teachers, talking at distant lunch tables. I make way passed the gym and into the locker rooms, seeing the back exit's morning light split black fissures among the cement water-stained floor. Other kids are beginning to enter the locker rooms and I can't make my escape. When I find the door everyone has seen me, and make haste. Running through fields, leaping into the tattered woods, losing lung capacity each time a car slows down in my presence. When the last branch breaks I flood down the hills behind apartments that neighbor mine. It's day, and new lakes have sprung all around my complex. The streets are an endless maze, with ruined stone walls blocking the main road. It's night, and I'm falling from crumbling pillars, bike gnarled and deformed.

I don't know who I'm running from, or why,
but I see a tube connecting to a secret bedroom in this nice old man's house
it's perfectly transparent, but he told me I would be safe upstairs, if I stayed in bed and didn't move. I asked him if I could read, and he told me he would have to inform them for every page I read, and that I was allotted four pages per three hours.

Twilight,
I'm following someone down a grassy field between apartments. They're watching balloons drift into the sky. My balloons are tied to my hand, but the string keeps getting longer. The ends of the balloons get heavy, and start tugging me along with the clouds. I wake up, and it's the same dark day/bright night as before. I look out my balcony and life is ending on the other side of the forest. The trees were slouching into the epicenter of this catastrophe, as aircrafts simply ceased to operate in the sky. I'm reaching to the top of my closet for my most prized possessions but they are already gone. No one is home; I'm worried. Someone's home, I need to get out. The staircases are bright and bottomless, sun glaring and contorting into night, walls still bright as lit by the ceiling. My eyes won't make up their mind and people are coming in. They can't see me and it's too late, if I move they'll think I'm hiding. If they think I'm hiding it's all over. I open my door from outside and pretend to be coming out of it. I walk down the hall and they stare at me. When I get outside it's hard to walk, cars keep driving in my way, intentionally slowing down.

I'm in the grocery store,
I'm stealing sushi from the buffet. The room is crowded and no one notices. My sisters and grandma are somewhere, I walk around in circles looking for them, finding them, losing them. I start looking at games behind glass cases. I leave. I'm in the gamestore, but it's closed. I'm picking up everything I want, prepared not to pay. They catch me looking through boxes in their house, I put the games back and tell them I can't buy till next week. I'm in Blockbuster. They have nothing, walls are barren and almost everything is gone. It still has that smell, a specific fragrance you could only know growing up in the 90s, but the air is unwelcoming, as if the store itself was ashamed.

~Some dreams of mine