Tuesday, August 13, 2013

"He Walked"

He walked inside with one intention, solid, passive yet strong. Familiar hopes that more would soon follow. The odd bystander may have familiarized his previous entries to seek brief fixes, but he did see nobody. He didn't see through his eyes.

He walked the corridors to give the impression he was intent on anything else, to whom he did not know. A bottle of water is the one good he shared with everyone else. Impatient with the narrow, white lines, he patiently made the exchange - nothing to something. Something that could very well stack something on nothing, even if that something is nothing.

"I hope you feel better," the woman remarked as she bid his intention in a black plastic bag. Those words, the only words he may have heard all day, were both as genuine and feigned as his reply - "Thanks," as he struggled in thought to feel the irony.

Words grew slowly after that moment, but little more blossomed. He walked to his vehicle to make haste to remove his mark, hoping briefly and briefly to blossom just one more intention, solid, passive yet strong.

He walked.

"Home"

To defend against the allergens of existence
Flare up the signals, tried untrue
Autoindulgence and autoerotic shutdown
My will is not my own
But a small pill to swallow as this home

To defend against the days before a sense
Excite the fingers stiffly for you until it is true
A home before now will never be found
The pill is not the one
But its interior crumbles as all inward flow

To defend against the times unspent
Valueless currency with which to thrive anew
Outward flow is subdued, condemned to the pits
Nothing is ever fun
And the sum above and below absolute continues the blow

Attack all hope, or all virtue, and all ashen swords of the past
With no allies inward or out, it will soon cease to last

"Purple"

The caverns are not plagued by darkness as told in the legends
More than nothing they are boldly painted white
May I see a purple streak?
Or anything out of the ordinary?
My hands are too tied up to scrape off the chips
And I'm forgetting what the colors all look like
May you explain the depths of this world to a man who cannot see?

"Scream of Consciousness"

In insubstantial substances of self-secession
Expression is repression of the only true transgression
Bestial sprint right out of depression
I fall to you with this collection

Sometimes it is all there is to do
To do away with the intrusive dew
Madame Butterfly once fluttered by fast
Wings dripping morning, few I could not see past
Through loving memory of the love
I gaze instead steadily through a dove

Soon these words float into the air
And I'm again the man who wasn't there
Typical loners feel lonely around people
Take a lonesome one step down and all thoughts are sheeple

I float back up to note, but
A scream lasts until you believe no one can hear but yourself
An expression of the least facetious effort
A scream to express the subatomic automatic
A scream to show the satiation of a marked face

Friday, May 17, 2013

"Sonetto 2"

Here is to you my presence so bright
Our spirits will soon as one imbibe
Beckon the feline wolves of the night
Brighten our darkened boughs so needless to scribe

However may judgment crash upon your mind
Your eyes see softly through cataracts of dew
In their deep brown blue, I picture every stance of kind
You make me realize how much I love you

Please remember when you ever think of me
Whomever you diffuse he to be

(Oh, and happy birthday!)

Sunday, May 12, 2013

"Auburn Blue"

I wish to drain your auburn eyes
into the absolute collective blue
To shed this skin
and dance on the clouds
that we have created
until they are no longer me and you
The sky turns dark
and I forever still believe in the navy blue
I have seen it persist,
and if we fall,
if I fall,
if you sigh a new cloud,
I shall fall into the sea and
reverse my breadth until there is no
high place from which to fall

Thursday, April 25, 2013

"Superliminal"

The first words to which I would
ascribe more than I ever could
are laid neatly as follows
in a serial calm, static within the
everlashing storm by relative motion
of my center to my now within
infinite axes of evil

For an immaleable plaque marking
what should be a gravesite reads
in unison with the new, young scribes
who were born without hope
I beckon her to read from the
superliminal excitatory songs of
malice while remembering a plea to
remember silence, or, true love

Organs take turns screaming out
childish rumors of a promised perfection
One that not until I reach an
unseen restoration can be risked to
risk - the message is, you could
have had it all. You could have
needed no more messages, a lovely
nihil to share

And mine rings untrue by virtue
of desiring virtues I claim to
be self-righteously inhuman by the
forces of my own humanity

By this, I hope you have lost
track as have I, I hope you
sigh as she must sigh in my
eye the day-to-day as I
cry instead of die

"Sonetto 1"

After all my dreams are through
All the thought that remains is you
Soon I see all the shades of blue
Soon there is nothing I can do

The dreams persist into the day
To remember them there is no way
Wishing I were at the bay
Not any way I am today

I must, I must always flee
These states in which I do not choose to be

"Meddling with Death" (3/7/13)

(uh, pretty sure I wrote this after arriving home from the hospital. even more schizophrenic than the others. enjoy!)

Command your guards fall asunder
those of balance and betrayal
and it shall be that all reigns
free in a kingdom of infinite
Kill the king, all hail the Spring
But the decrees stand tall and
hold you to a wall
Until a vacuum inside keeps
static the Fall - all seems lost,
but not at all
A silent wish for death falls
upon silent foes
A desperate turn for upheaval
and a yearning for less
You are still my sorceress
and nothing below non-expectations
can touch you
Forever I doubt my mortality
until I hear your voice
Forever I doubt my voice
until I die
Sowing the spurting sprouts of
none other than the future
and no more nor less than
every change is the
eternal path, visible,
harvestable, invisible, arid
These arid waters filled my spine
unencumbered while the stream of
everflowing joy forks hourly
I die for you, you my construct,
happenstance, perfection anti-incarnate
My sacrifice is for no one -
sacred, artificial self-annihilation
I promise - this will be the last
I foresee the decade full of
lasting appeal and infinite blanks
shot too slowly out of my flora
Floored by my dishonesty shall
I proclaim victor
In the poor man's race to completion
Talking to you is a spell
that dispels all evil, that
must be checked in the tome
until downregulating all words
The value of feeling dies every
time I close the book

Monday, March 4, 2013

Anger

      I would like to post this blog-like post here, as it may be deemed too "negative" for my professional blog-like page.

      People often speak about constructs such as politics, society, socio-politics, economics, socio-political economics, and all of those keywords. For the past few years, I have thought these to be the least interesting topic of conversation of all. There's no way to gauge the “value” of dialogue outside of the mutual interest of the two parties, but any time someone speaks of human rights, conspiracies, “the system” – all I can reply is, “Yeah, hm,” and all I can think is “ .” It holds nothing to me, as I think in the grand scheme. Possibly too much. I've held the personal displeasure of believing that I am “above” such things, things that truly do not exist outside of conversation and debates.
      My long term goal is to make a personal reality away from the things that I disavow, to set my nihilism active and transcend all of this shallowness. To create a foundation where I can act through the bare minimum of what people say I “should do” to live in this world. To me, that means paying off my debts, then making enough money and learning enough to live outside of the confines of words thrown around like “society.” This is why I chose to live on a farm, to lay a videography foundation and live through things that truly are important through Nietzschean and general nihilist perspectives – art, friendship, relationships, universal knowledge, love, health, and the sublime.
      People have told me, “Well, you can't do that. That's not how the world works.” Which world? Of course I am. Because I AM better than this, I am smarter than this, and I know many people stuck in the same trap as I are smarter than this. Everyone has their way of transcending such superficial values that many hold as self-evident. I myself have felt like all work for money I have done in the last two years has been to pay off the debts of people who have taken advantage of me – scams, psychotic entrepreneurs making false promises, a bank that doesn't tell me about their interest policy, parking tickets... as well as the personal faults of my lifetime I have to make up for now – an unhealthy childhood, attempts to numb any attempts to ascend, my trustiness of people and the workings of things, the naivete and instability of my past, the paradox of romantic ideals.
      Now, I just need to suck it up, face what most call “reality,” and work these inner workings to pay off my debt. Soon, the true, sublime, ancestral, and transcendent will shed light. I hope to affect others in a way that would give them such enlightenment as well.

      Any speech about the misworkings of “The System” is just as absurd as the words of “The System itself.”

      Then again, who am I to say these words, strewn together out of immediate anger over a parking ticket in the contraption that seems to embody all of this -- New York City, are of more value than the ones I condemn? Oh well – they are my own.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

"Almost Angels"

My ancestral eyes cannot outline
a light shot directly within in the withering dark
And the angels wait at the gates
of pearled splendor before the universe
appoints finite titles to all
The optics so calculated trump these wings of desire
and as I gather an ecstatic excess of information
only a quiet, studded white wall foreshadows angelic faces unknown
Faces that I hope to meet soon
Faces that breathe as I do
And I can't remember the early permutations of my sighs
The black wall, devoid of texture,
on the border of my optics and mind,
the link between vision and thoughts,
sees me express the build-up
Oh, so many, many shapes, patterns,
landscapes and faces
as I surrender a need to sleep
They form around the pupil,
never lingering within, never direct enough
to stare at and maintain
Facescapes and lands grow meaninglessly
towards completion, reaching only the
limit of a freezeframe before
sheathing themselves with the next
Like children's toes dabbling teasingly at the blank spherical wave's grasp
A game of maintaining dry feet as the waves contort endlessly
However, I am not always a child, and I do not laugh
as my limbs skim fleetingly across the endless charity of the eyes of the storm
At least the angels I see will be able to fly
soon enough

"Storytime"

I blankly mouthed her representation as
a presentation to one
with no specific purpose but to remember my story
lost in anhedonic hedonism
In other days, to other world I whispered
and murmur as a daily chore,
picking apart my favorite whore
who would trade her time for a story
A story screamed as I stalk my memory
and immortalize it as a true deliberation of power
one that in brief intervals
recreates perfection
To other worlds I joke in attempts
to recover this carefree history
that I would spend my eternity with new souls,
not mine, telling tall tales
To remember, to feel in the blanks
in the eternal, bold line that we rested on
To remind, to convince this con is
significant as more than any other
flattened dream in the
subdued continuity of man
If I joke enough yet remind as so,
the associations grow stale,
and I may be doomed to never laugh
beyond a repressed creation
You, independent, do not need to remind me such,
such mismatched thoughts as
my perturbed ideals
While I must remind you of my
quest of knowing no answers
If I don't remind you of this
durable past, what do you think of me?
If I don't remind myself,
what stories do I have to tell?
There is no re-minding, no aim on
rebranding, and an eternal anathema
on removing you from this
mind that easily removes so much

"Closure"

I could burst faster than
my own speed of lights
in an action to bend time
to what once was
Past the point of no return
where a foundation of rope
may shadow your every relocation
towards the source of light
Follow that light for it to be mine
to refract onto you
It fed me too much
Corners bent Unknown

And he drifts off to sleep
while trying to remember his dreams

"Jungle Power"

In the jungle I drew from
an extract of its grandest leaf
I climb, numb to the scabs
of a pained old canopy
To mimic the beasts I yearn to be
thoughts quelled and affirmed
by my command
I stop to taste the aroma of this preparation
as all my plans
become self-apparent and
the scabs unearth their cause
Still unable to feel my hands
I climb higher to the first
stretch which I never reached
The sky turns earthen and the
raindrops in the crust fall upwards
So I can't see the cracks
that I assume they unveil
The limbs thrust downward with
a brief wind keeping the
leaves in place
As I try to pick a final leaf
all turns gray
and my hands blend in with the scabs
so I cannot differentiate what
is mine and what to grasp
Where to shift my uneven weight
Which eye to keep open
The bliss of the thousandth tree
I climbed revealed what I can
see, all I have seen these
thousand times - a foundation that
secedes upon itself
Visible to my body but not my soul

"Brine"

You let me lay upon your supple breast
While she laid on mine
You let me sample all your fruit
While I pour her all my wine
You help her down off of my bed
That she involuntarily climbed
You tell me it will all be fine
That I must exit the brine
So I pound my chest and get undressed,
hide the meal under the wheels
off my errant bed so dead
Now I have no place to sleep,
with no food I weep
And contort these limbs
so I can't compete
with what will never be mine

"The Strangers"

Constantly trying to explain myself
While I cry, love, cast shadows and
give them names we've all heard before
The stranger smirks between gazes
into the eyes of the unknown,
quick on the draw, but too quickly drawn
In a rush to realize an archetype
from my devolution
The stranger's heart, encrusted in
ancient fires, paints embers
across its slave's eyeline
A ghost of a man who slew
himself decades ago, tamed by a shrew
The stranger cries like a sheep
whose wolf clothing is snowy white
camoflauged by the snowy white sheep
Another dead man awakened
then awakened again
How many times can he wake,
can he shake
off his names across sore eyes
He counts down while his
Strangers multiply in strength

"Sunny Days"

One sunny day of January
Fleeting winds foresaw the
Archetypical smell of Spring
A retrospective of time reversing
To when dew blankets me with everything new
One sunny day of January
I smelled the sun for the
First time since the sun prevailed
When everything was fresh and
new with residue
But in the autumn of it all
I am really where I may belong
A time when the frigidity numbs my
Senses for me with pain that
allows me to fear the sun
And so one later day in January
I shall choose myself not to breathe

Sunday, January 20, 2013

"Afterbirth"

How many times can one be born
Before he is accustomed to the familiarly favorable taste of the afterbirth
Which locks itself eternally between his teeth

How many times can one love
Before expecting the warm breeze to slash salty sand into his eyes
Drying them to a bitter pulp

How many times can one hold himself
Convincing that everything is just fine
With hands covered in unnoticed, unknown residue

How many times can one grow old
Before seeing with glazed eyes, tasting with a menses-soaked tongue, feeling with a residual touch
That a lifetime is not enough

How many times can one laugh
Before starting to count the dried up salty tears that have already created another eroded ocean

How many times can one live
Before requesting a plea to be born again
And relearning nothing but how often we die

Paradise in the womb and its twenty-six peaceful days
Struggle through the tunnel that you never supplied
Fail, give up hope, paradise lost
Only to be reborn to a familiar paradise
Again.

"Freezeframed Tunnels"

We gleam towards the docks
And the images come and go
We hand one another the same unspoken gifts
After nothing more may grow

We share the same crisp air
And forget we can breathe
While exhalations graze through glazes of sand glaring upon your neck
Actualizing again our mutual passive presences

We glide across the slideshow of vineyards
Intoxicated by our hearts so true
Hundreds of freezeframed tunnels
And I want to explore each one with you

"Just Go to Sleep Already"

I would never sleep at night
and face the uncertainty of dread
that lurks in my skull, dripping off
this dying mentality
I would never remember a time
when it didn't used to be so dark
and nothing was possible yet, yet
so was everything
I would never repeat the same nuances
that cannot be helped to be stolen
from another hour or world
siphoning from my own rusted, trapped entrails
If I didn't know you are waiting... who are you?

"The Red in the Sky is Gone Pt. n: Happy Day"

Sometimes I don't remember
how I could have been so happy
with sonorous, harmonious frequencies
Or even what things looked like
nor what words now recall
I remember only this unfounded arrogance and what once was
as pain again was said to be exhumed from a cleaner soul
One too errant to recall a reminder
and that cannot reciprocate that
which I don't beckon
Frustrated enough not to fake a smile
to this hyperreality that lacks color
Then, after admitting this upon the valueless absolute value of descent
I remember the first happy day
of my life
When the red in the sky, now seen as
a paradoxically toxic beauty, was gone
The happy day when all cleared and was reborn, minus one cloud
and plus a shroud, though the shroud was parsed alongside the cloud
Soon I shall pass a cloud of sorts,
Shedding a tear as I see it as is a shroud

"Sleeping Stars"

As the infinite dusk shrouds specks of dust, smaller to no point than thus,
the grandest light spoke
A blink of an eye
Eyes wide, unfocused, numbed, peripheral darkness completes
itself while the reality diffuses nothingness with chaos
Eyes wide, though, simpler, tunneled, focused and chained by the webs of freedom.
I would rather blink a thousand times
Hex this paradox
and catch the sweetest blue
Which turned out to be you
Without you, there's no tunnel
to locate the speck of light

"Mutual Melancholy"

Past the crows, complacent on the barren boughs,
and the reddest sky escaped from the high grounds
lay my reflection only in your eyes eternal
My constant tears brought new life
to their own unseen trajectory before, without
a shroud of false, seeping into your hair,
dampened by the artifice of what should be sadness
That shared melancholy, stronger and more fruitful than any happy days past,
Seemed to disappear into lonesome eruption
until I knew you'd look this way again
And to this day, those quivering words,
those which echo amongst the dissonance,
feel just as true - I love you so much

"Exactly"

Animating the grey boughs
That I spoke through to you
Sifting into a punctured flightpath
Could I ever do as you do?
What are you waiting for
I must have loved you more and more
Something lacks substance
The image or the shadow?
May one call their inspiration lacking?
The greatest lie ever told was
Never young, never old
What's uninspired in nature?
Nothing
Exactly

"Disciples of the Grandest Fog"

I've laid in a cloud that dispels all knowledge
Unwelcome to the masquerade
Of progress and growth, dismay and regrowth
That I never cared to attend
You come and go
Like a mist sent by this guardian that never lived,
All-encompassing of that Nothing I cannot grasp
That Nothing that disobeys the mist
and clings to the nebulous negative space
A mist of gelatinous joy, an errant smile
Whose skin I can barely feel
Such a surface cannot be maintained
As it is this that reveals less with more -- simplicicity
You deserve more than this
But you know that isn't true
You deserve much more than this
But you knew this was true
I am forever alone in the grandest known fog
Among its disciples who were not told the plan

"To Forego Such a Feeling"

In the catacombs of my own suffocation
Outside the confines of everything you know
A proclamation of nothing is not enough
Moments, snapshots exhume nothing until they become so
Presence through pictures, instant nostalgia
A knowing phenomenon I dare not reveal
Moments still in this estranged breath
But to look again, to feel not what once was
But what once has become
A pleasure everlasting whilst it never began
Oh, how I dirge to roll back
To forgo such a feeling
Is it all for nothing
Or do we freeze in such a snow
Such a feeling

"Admiring Across a Distance"

I tell myself tales of love born in a fantasy land
Tales that must be explored once again
Distant beauty is the only kind outside of
    that outside of myself, so close yet
    soon afar
Gaze across the chasm, revisit the
Sensation of nothing to lose
Time is never lost, feelings cannot rebound
So go, slice your glorious heart and
 splatter afar
Without unbridled affection, lost in the [???] sea,
    look to afar, look and go
Upon arrival nothing is clear, intentions at the
   Slightest never have been
Forgo your mortal woes and cherish
Moments however you can stand
Eye to eye, claw to face,
No blood shall gaze here but churn
and churn
Until there's nowhere left to go
But back to the nowhere where you belong - wherever that may be
As long as the blood burns outward
Your eyes shall follow

"Charybdis"

I feel my eyes falling
I feel my mind whirlpooling outward
    to let all knowledge drain out
The two sides battle around me
And Scylla shall follow me down
As my eyes fall still to you
I love you

"Tabula Rasa"

This time it seems dire
To relinquish a soul
From a white wall
That no one can see
To learn anew, reintegrate
To be as it was
But it had gone too far
Into constucts, broken words
Into humanity and into a surge
And a sudden death of my subject
Unlinked affect, nothingness to relate
Is it poison, or is it a
sunken ideal
To start anew... to remember...
The same side

"A Glance, a Glimpse"

A glance requited
No notion to shun
A connection way from the default
Of the exotic familiar tropes
You come to me not for me
I come to you in spurts
I come with a brisk understance
I come
He came
Stretch the affection through
The architecture of melancholy
Playfully buffered against
The monstrosity of the void
Too much to glimpse at
I've seen too much
This peak foretells of adjunct
To deprive and feign pride and confide
Three factotums, figuratively speaking
Your association seems to come to an end
As my ends repeat and his hand competes
Further anew, in, out, up, down
The final action comes in view
Who knew I just wanted you
Every need, every morning
Every breed, nearly boring
To be blue

"Dependency"

The first word on an empty page, a page emptied of self-defeat
Is the only word that matters, the only word that all others depend on
Through linkage be your faults
Her name, shrouded atop the white, splattered fog, rains down when all else is through,
Momentarily diminishing its successors
Bold letters cross unto one another and italics written deliberately do stand
Yet the ink shall not drown into obscurity
I see through the etched echoes a page
A cloud of eternal return, a myth covering up true nothingness
that can never be felt

"Would Rather Choke on You"

Endless retreat high in the fog, the ocean must be my right
A barricade shoots me away, not that way
I'll never look that way again
She lays beside me, a mirror image, intoxicated by my shadowsilled look
You are off afar, reading a book
I will never look that way again
Two errant children with two ways out of purgatory,
I bestow a gift to your blessed soul
You are looking the wrong way
Suffocated by the glass before the dawn, I grasp a breadth of the aura
Yet I cannot breathe
I lament it is not of you, you, my wisp of a desire

"Snowdown Time"

As I raced to relate a
though on paper, as if I was destroying the last limbic
spire of graphite, a thought only
emotion can preceed, of a
bundle of sounds, vision, beauty-in-one,
in a small unity not unlike ours, it started to snow. I
wrote faster, hurried my thoughts, as if it was the last snowfall of my existence as I know,
as if they were weighing me deeper instead of lifting me up

"The Artist"

The artist is not unlike
the lover, the child, the fool –
constantly trying to explain itself

"Just Look"

They say a snapshot is that of death,
of a passing moment.. yet its remembrance
through the digital retina into the infinity of past affections -
Nostalgia, what comes or goes by thee?
But the shifting, static gaze upon
a part of our world, ourselves...
A gaze of death, of that
affection and distant distraction
Just look away, again

"Our Homeland Has Struck a Storm"

Our homeland has struck a storm
But I am already home away
From home – This is not my home
Veins branch from a mighty force, undecript vegetation
Is it dead or do I feel its call – the other side – then that
Literally confounds the call – No!
Not what I meant! And the
forest of my dreams comes
tumbling down with the other

"Steadfast"

Steadfast is a reason, he asks
Himself as he claws down his
cracked throat, from years
of numbing his snow with ice
Emptiness is a result, it asks
itself as it regenerates a past,
a past devoid of relevance,
who was never supportive
Death is its own savior,
laughing at its friends for
forgetting the second snowfall
of the seasons

"Satan"

Some days, Satan enjoys
a warm, pomegranate tea,
while other minutes, a cold, sweaty infusion
He cannot have both, yet
Without one, he cannot have the
Other
So what does he have?
Nothing but himself

"Waterfall"

He projects a slither of a man
A man longside a stream
Flowing unconsciously up until
A point at which it must fall
But it doesn't
Past and further must lay something
A niche, or a cliché
But why bother? Atop such
A silvery body through chromatic duality,
The sublime trap into which he must fall
But he doesn't
Does he misintetegrate so?
Does a choice conceal any truth?
He mustn't

"To Build Up Nothing Until the Finality of It All"

Alas, you are the victor once again
At least, must you know what I meant?
I mean now to build and stare into
The glass eyes of infinity
Hate is never having to explain
Try explaining the soft tears down your body
The thought to sever ridges of a chamber in vain
In vain to build up unto death
As who are you to judge what is never there?
To make meaning of placebo intentions
To feel but with words?
In vain I lose this experience or
Knowledge to an infinite ouroborus of loss
Anywhere but here, between our graves
Yet a grave of forced joy, an
Attempt to transcend your marking past that of man
To forget and replace, no one to share with but myself
And a distant cry for reattachment
The prize dissociates and the intuitive loner dances vainly on
To build up nothing until the finality of it all

"I am"

I am not love
I am not hate
Must I repeat?
I am not compassion
I am not malice
I show no emotion
I tell no words
But if you can't be
Neither can this carapace
I am not you
I am.
I am myself – I am home.
I still am
Passing forgotten moments
I am

"You, Me, Purge, You"

Apathy isn't natural – It's appealing
Nor are thoughts of love – Transform into hate
Repressed thoughts that invoke again – Tighten the exit
To release or hold down – Same sparks
Which may substitute blankness? - All is empty
Non-indulgence of necessities, cleanse the spirit,
Up, down, ignorance must be bliss
You talk of apathy – Deduction is unnecessary
Nothing is necessary, and YOU find the need to torture,
as I torture myself

And block introspection with numbing
And express the reflections on the surface
The only surface to emerge past you. You both.

"Artificial Apathy"

The sun, so proud
To turn one's gaze away
Never seen but of artifice
Like this sullen look,
montage of expression never viewed
Thrust me to view myself from the cosmos
To gaze at this apathy as another indifferent star
While the sun and I cower below artifice
Unaware of a true reality unburdened by man
Nihilistic, but why care? What to care about, what to watch?
It won't watch back; it can't
Why live if the next moment is imminent
And all traces of a past are infinitesimally divisive among this
This preceeded moment of nothing
Force this flesh into the dying sun
It won't care, either

"Offset Imbalance"

Here I gaze
At this projection
Of a macrocosm of what I must know
Had one, one too many
To offset my imbalance
Fibonacci increments, why not two?
Same thirst, same emptiness
In the hours I remember my last plea for cessation
And gravel at the memory
Of this offset imbalance
That sets me out of focus

"Meaning"

Do I mean what I say
And say what I mean
Do I profess these thoughts
Or muse as an affectless professor
There is no way to tell
But gazing into your eyes
As I think of what to
Think to mean, I forgive myself in your imagery
Forged outside of my own deceit

"Scylla Pt. 3: The Strength to Heal and Annihilate The Ice Queen"

I rue the days you turned on us, my world
We foolishly tried to plant a new one
I thought the world but was not beyond repair
The ship sails through the assaults
After we repeat your cycle of welcoming into a void-striken home
It is gone, yet our lost souls insist on looking
For every step, two arrows fire
Your gaze of fire and cold in the mire
Scarse phrases and broken
Curls of Medusa crawl into these eyes
Your soft, icey breadth shatters my hard interior
Just before I can penetrate yours
I have uncovered deeper meanings
And find strength in little
As you're crushed by so much
These errant thoughts are a fragment of compassion
Only you deserve this love, ohhh I know
I believe it's just me
As we separate these same sleepless nights
For you to be someone
It might be because of me
It might be all for me
Shaping as necessary
What else is there inside of me
But as I get lost in spirits
You'll just have to wait up for me
Nothing causes more anxiety
Nobody believes me

"Scylla Pt. 2- The Only People Who Deserve to Live are Me and You"

Vigilantes in these badlands
They ain't so bad but oh, we are
I know I am
Burn the flags- I'll catch up
Traversing the arid, white wasteland
We were not born here
Take this land
The only people who deserve to live are me and you
Your soft hands, your dark passenger
Nearly leave my grasp
Slender body escaping
Only we have souls to see
You'll just have to wait up for me
Leave behind your waste
Pestilent tools
And return to the land from which we come
Waves crash like my hand across your body
Warm embraces, eye to eye
Your beauty astounded me
Like a painted veil upon a tree
Branching out to me
The only people who deserve to see the sea are you and me
As I cannot see, you'll just have to wait up for me

"Scylla Pt. 1- To Shipwreck in Such a Sea"

Burning desperation or loving desire
Mended limbs and soothed the mind
A sober breath of ecstacy
Connected through forced embraces
Fuzzy opiate-free companionship
She is yours and you were mine
Bed like a sarcophagus of disjointed lovers
A moment abroad, just down the highway, so soon
Just for a moment I could see your smile
And I knew there was something stronger
No pretenses, no cap on emotional freedom
Would it ever be the same?
I could never penetrate your soul
Or tell you how much I love you
What does it mean to be alone
What does it mean to be as one
Will our poem ever end or will I run out of ink
My contradicting romantic ideals, not from the screen
But from a memory of another world, ours
I scream to express the lost wisdom
And watch from a distance

How did it get to this, it doesn't matter
As it does, the waves have subsided
I love you
It will never be the same
I loved you
It would never be the same

“Crater of the Mountain”

Here I lay at the peak of this crater
Far below the skyline horizon
Shipwrecked with my bottled message
To all offering a kind word

I have known the surface
These hands and eyes have seen the world
And with closed eyes, clenched fist
Drawbridges and ladders, stairs and skyscrapers
Were destroyed without looking

But below the horizon, knowing what's out of sight
The red of the sky, birch-white ground
The blue river and your brown eyes

A flash of words surround my base like a moat
Staring in one direction, I cannot read my handwriting

“Incision”

Am I my words?
Am I my sight?
I can't be these thoughts
Or the verbal insight
Am I this void?
Paradise lost for found
Gaining nearly the losses
Am I the one?
Am I the sun?
Anyone who says a kind word
Or one with the roots and birds
I am not the work of a decise
Incise my queries upon no one
For a self was never to be found

“Wolfbirdvampire”

On the other side I attend
A primal service of rancor
Spring, summer, fall, winter... and spring
Bloodlines across the shores
Ancestors of a foreign land
Traveling free as a sparrow
Dawning above the night sky
Taking pleasure unto others
Bleeding across the brotherhood
Sumer, winter, summer... and winter
The night sky broods premature
Where wolves dare not aspire
When night falls
Impenetrable words shrouded in darkness
Identity lost, asleep miles from solitude
And awakened by ubiquitous humanity
Nevermore stamped, never a gain or loss
The sun sets upon my eyes
I see who I am
A vampiric spirit upon a fell voice
Brethren calling out, attending to the dawn
Rampage of passion, lust and sorrow
Toss out the unwanted to swallow
The sun of longing
Two hands to the shining
Two verses of the soul
Now distant to the warmth
The academic depression overcomes
Any sight of the ravenous
Only in the return I sigh
Only in the arrival I cry
Polemic lives, only wolves shall choose
The unknown sighs wisdom
And cries out to love's embrace

“All See Eye”

Trodding downtrodded through the
Unfamiliar forest of my vicinity
Trankful for nothing
Hoping for nothing
In this Novembrine waltz
But a snapshot of a moment, any moment
Just for a moment
Reflective streams of lost memories
Decontructing cannabinoid synapse
A stony guide shows the path
It is cold, I must be alone
Still no reflections
Still no hope
In tales I hear
In an ideal fear
That rivers stream and sunsets rise
Lightning peaks and monoliths die
Snow falls on every head
Vast forests unaware, humans to bear

These may I see with my own eyes
While cosmos remains black but to reflection
Infinite beats and expanding sheets
Existing in theory and notation
Explosions in the sky, everything still must die
Though earthly pleasure is sufficient to me
Vaster territory I still cannot see

This cannot be the work of an all-seeing God

“One”

Exponentially rising augments of society
Knowledge, power, specialized death
Postmodern fragments of a lost past
Voices from all directions
Visions arbitrarily passed on
Ideas digressing mankind
Old virtues lost, choices unfulfilled
Rampant lust, tomorrow unfulfilled
Imposed speech, forgotten tomorrow
Unfulfilled in its meaning
Frustrated definitions and fragile ideals
Changing with every breathe I take
Before death, I will find you
I thought I have
Waking up in your eyes
You already awake in mine
I took too long
And now you're gone
I miss your dormancy
But wait, I found it
I found you
This is the one
Together we conquer the badlands
Like comanche lovers crossed by thousands of shattered stars

“Synecdoche of Chalice”

Rising to the top leaving a trail of poison
Mindlessly consumed by ants of the sky
Wretched soil, pests warding pests
The black plague is upon us
In our livelihood, whose less than the sum of its parts
Synecdoche of chalice
Chloric infrastructure
We betrayed the sun
How can it shine on?

Acid rising to the top
Spilling into cranial landfills
Imploding stomach
Everything gone to waste
Worms between the ears
Scales, plugs and pale radiance
Synthetic substances quell the sun
Hate, dissonance, a cacaphony of spirit
All hail the sun!
Shivering masters of tortured fauns
Controlled packs of sustenance
Controlled substances of ennui
Fatigue, abundant famine, purge it out
No one to turn to but oneself
All hail the sun!

“Backdraft"

When I think of you, you'd glimpse a death
When I think of you, perversion becomes unwanted reality
When I envision you, I think you aren't there
When you are there, I envision not so
I confirm you again and again, filling in the blanks until you are nothing

I try to think of you, but death preceeds
I try to love you, but lust bleeds
Unwanted
Random thoughts they are not me, or are they?

When I envision you, I see you aren't there
When you are there, I can't see through your hair

I confirm you again and again, filling in the blanks until you are nothing and I am less, but more and more and less and less

Cutting corners with these own two hands manifests the apparent
But why? Visualize the unseen?
A constant reaffirmation of incomplete unity

I think, I know, I know, I think...
When I tell a lie, I convince myself it's truth
When I believe a truth, it soon becomes a lie

If I always change, I know I love you
I know I do
And I know, with every breathe I take, I shall change
This I do not know

"The Red in the Sky is Gone Pt. 2- Descent"

The red in the sky is gone
Smog crashing through the fog
As artificial lights converge
This is my home
Without it nothing is possible

As I walk these narrow straits my thoughts return
Without them, nothing is possible

"The Red in the Sky is Gone Pt. 1- A Montage of Dreams"

Lens upon a bracchial monopod
Resting up the air
Visions that transcend reality
That mere words cannot bare

Atop clouded domes of natural protection
The bluest sky and reddest night
In imperfect harmony
Softly crashing through the fog

No thoughtful eyes around
But staring into heated space
The red in the sky is mine

And the countryside complements
What the cityscape soon replaces
Structured towers and graded beauties
Descent

"This Confession Will Mean Nothing"

Like the crashing of the vast night sky against the vaster ocean
And the encroaching sunrise, flickering against the waves
Like your smile, lost in memories, as it wavers in and out of ennui
Like the days I've studied the forests, encumbered by mankind
Like the hate once felt and thus recalled
Like the sole trips along the sole river unto nothing but the light's gaze
And the trees swaying in the wind, gesturing to my senses
Like the longing for more, a better place, a moment of peace

Like you and me
These songs
Cannot be described in words