We infect more than
we know. To live in a bubble is
not human…or earth like. Disease
is a choice and is a natural fact. The
only way to describe life is to give you the two extremes, in hopes you fill in
A birth is an
infection of an egg.
A disease is a gift
* * * * *
In a room with
bundles of cable, multi strained coiled, there is a seat. Dust will kick up for the first guest
to enter this long vacant place.
On the table are pliers, a soldiering gun, a last minute task. In the rafters are more wires each a
different color. Draped over a
beam falling to the floor. A décor
with no aesthetical purpose but telling.
Wires that fall make a wall, beyond this wall assorted forgotten devices,
car LCD screens, light fixtures, microphones of varying degree, radios and
speakers, in no real organized fashion.
In a corner an empty water cooler.
Double back look at the object that came before, the seat is still
vacant. A wooden swivel chair
facing a small table by the door.
This door is of a wooden type, deadbolt doorknob, cracking paint,
nothing much to mention, severed link.
There is no dry wall on the walls.
The inside is the inside of this room. The framing does well to collect the dust. Old screens of computer type can
ultimately be seen on more then one table that echo in this space. The table by the door will open more. Left before this mental entry there was
placed a note on paper, now it lay, when it spoke is said this:
The last time I saw
you it was not in a way in which I could touch
The hand on your
face, with a gentle stroke, is just the same hand that can strike you.A finger gently ran on your spine is
the same as the heartbreak on your mind.Liberation of suffering is as foolish as the love you have for unrelinquished
want.These words are as useful as
the policies you agree to when you check the box.
Sat On My Chest and Told Me This
it pour.Collectively we ask what
and end never understanding what has become of the beginning. It’s so far
removed standing still will only be the cost.There are a few things that have crossed my path…what will
these things form as time gets closer to an actual change.Will I be constant enough to not perish
the Rose.This rose is never just
a rose, a divine spark that will die to later form a beauty never known or
seen.It’s easy to kill the
rose.Asked myself why flaunt this
skill of destruction or darkness or distain.Yes black contrasts well with white.A romantic heartbreak.A disorder to replicate.A lovely melancholy memory of you and
them sanding with just the right light to turn your stomach, make your heart
quicken and make you feel just a lil human.These aesthetics lulls me to a high state of disappointment.I ride the unrelinquished love of never
seeing what the past talks about…of seeing this Dark Angel fully clothed and
breathing on my shoulder. How was I to clip the wings?It gestures to the scissors, which I
did not own.Doing, doing
anything to bring it back, joining the thoughts of tender heaves and silence
thoughts.The door was never
closed you see when you left, in the sound, it closed it.The light is on. Getting stuck and
falling in over with the first state…why stop at the threshold of severed
understanding of UNDERSTANDING.Is
it understanding, tell me or is it arrogance.Unfold the arms square the shoulder lean to the side that
feels heavy, there that is where you stand.Feel it. Breathe it.See the rest falling in lust with the conquest?Is there a question on your side that
never seems to formulate?That is
probably the seed beginning to germinate.As individual as each snowflake is a white noise veils the textures and
uniformity of landscapes unrooted by production and progress.No never mind this thought that seems
to unravel with confusion.Words
sometimes lose their origin; sometimes the storytellers have their delusions.When I drive, on a clear day I see the
snow capped mountain that surround me, I fall in love with this moment, I
choke, the action in my muscles the memories in my fingers, taste of skin just
a new thought away I think of it.Of this partnership I had.It was a sudden need to understand.If it was more then just a timeline in our ticker tap then
maybe, I think there would have been a bigger struggle.What you don’t understand is that I
wanted to change nothing.All I
needed was one hand to invite, the other to hold on to the upward draft that we
had.Yes we are artist.We practice this art of knowing.Lets begin by being sober.Just breathing on this time my blood
gets intoxicated.How can I breath
if nothing is planted to cultivate.I tell my friends get use to short and multiple relationships.Shop online, buyer’s remorse.Impulsive buys, upgrade after the last
one broke.I go without.I don’t need to buy something I know I
will use and abuse just because I fear.I fear I fear you don’t say it but I fear.You are never alone but constantly forgotten.To busy to remember and so bored you
can never forget, cuz on this line no one is unplugged.Humans play what do you think this
entire product is? Lower level duplication of something so close it sits on
your nose.You don’t see it you
say? The other produced to replicate what mother gave us just so she could say “My
boy yes my baby I am your mamma. I know you can be as beautiful as I but don’t
forget arrogance is not godly.Arrogance is Man”.
Who’s skin do you
wear? Transformed to another being possessed by an action that is philistine.Why does the future look like this on
the silver screen?
the Fifth of a Brutal Fist
Can you come here below your line of sight?With this image you will see there is
an action to intervene.She sees
the kitten chase its tail with one eye closed, this one will visualize the
pussy eat itself.
Come focus on the two. We see the pair Pure
and Blue.As one crawls on fours,
the other masters the tool that is the Clue.The reason Circle Closed needs a gate?In time of change we must
regulate.Question is will the two
propagate?Held both, one in each
arm, low in a squat she moves up.Her
head just above the line then crosses the circle with another one.Started the cycle often new, this bass
will rattle and challenge the youth.
Lets forget touch is pain.I will structure charts that show it
comes from distain of this corporeal life remained.We will come together in opposition to sobriety.We can start a new and free society.On site we will meet in the space we
live anew.We will come with a new
fashion with skin that I will choose.There will be questions asked, we will dance.In the end there will be some advance.
a bit of an Odd John. Hope your children
feel a bit more secure with black and white draped over every action they
can only see what it can afford to believe.
one that is bored with the modern world I’m sure there are things in store to
keep you wondering.
confuse my passion for arrogance.
These are just words no greater nor less than any other words you will
read in your lifetime.
* * * * *
A Job is Just an Action Done Again and Again
So is it true the
goal that we reach is to excel this tendency for growth? I have always felt what I needed was to
focus my thoughts and achieve only a concentrated desire to produce. Sitting here all I can really produce
is feelings of loneliness, feelings of pain and a want to sleep. In warm but nauseating waves I also
feel a desire to call. Call the
last person that told me they loved me and wanted me.
Silly dreams forget
that like the impulsive phone call at 2 o’clock in the morning, like the sudden
fleeing to another’s arms, like her, those concepts have perished. Freedoms of another lifetime when the
four walls I inhabited belonged to me.
Back when freedom tormented me like an infinite empty space surrounding
me, suffocated me. Disease filled
times of panic and chaos.
My dwelling offers
all the amenities I would need:
Three meals, a bed, streaming media of any sort and a feeling of
No need to count my
time. I just wait for it to be my
time to produce. I’m just a wheel
in the machine when the light turns on I turn.
Even though this is
true I sit here and wait. Thinking
of things I once owned: The feelings of mistakes, the actions that I see now,
mistaking the words you once said…
Strange to think
that all I ever wanted was a role, a place to exist with a purpose. Now that I sit in this cube waiting for
my purpose all I can think of is what I wish I did before I sat here and
My tray of food
still is on my table, a ledge hinged on the wall. My chair I left by the door. I myself half reclining in my cot no thoughts but ones that
belong to you.
My time to rest has
been put aside for this moment of normal human regret and ruminations.
The yellow warning
light over my door has not gone on, that leaves me more then an hour to go over
all the words you once said. I
replay them all. Maybe this is
just a thought exercise. Finding
some meaning I formulate a new answer crunching the numbers seeing if there
could have been some sort of proper outcome that fulfilled us both.
I go over all the
moments that made me feel we belonged.
I even replay the many dances we danced. In retrospect it feels I was the one that was odd man out. I see the space you occupied while you
spun. As always I was just peering
into a world I understood but this graft never stuck. Even the music you understood in
different ways then I did. I tell
myself that if only you believed that all I wanted ever imagined was you, fully
clothed and realized. My greatest dreams could have never pictured you, never
knew you actually existed.
Punching in all those numbers I finally saw you, and what a sight. Floating by… my dark angel.
As I think this
thought one occurs in parallel, how can any of us know what to do if we were
never sober. Sober from darkness,
fear, chaos, dread, constantly drinking from each other’s insecurities. What can we find in destruction other
then a moment to reflect after it is over. In my cube I reflect…thinking if I could just speak to you
one more time maybe you would say something new to add to this equation.
What can those
words be, what will they mean…then the yellow light comes on. I can put these thoughts aside. I have an hour to prepare for my