language is as vague yet colourful as the people drawn to obey it. whoever you are, wherever you are and in whatever context it occurs, language becomes of us all a brooding delinquency. it is the worst of inconveniences and the safest of defenses. it is met at our physical harbour with arms wide shut and eyes opened tightly. what a drama communication has become. verbs tell us what to do and tell them what we're doing. nouns say who we are and describe what we choose. adverbs just act and react. all of these tiny characters, at different degrees, define what has been made of us all. sad fragments in the wind, once full of pollen now breached with leaf, have disappeared in the orange glow of autumnal traffic and environmental cause.
and about those leaves, falling in the distance way out in front of us. they perfectly resolve and conclude all of our conflicts and stories that had unraveled in pure serendipity, a season ago. and it is with that departure of short shorts and wet foreheads that we welcome a new breed of intoxication; that of warmth.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
corners
the sound of a guitar strumming along a haunting whisper
the smoke that curls and forms
in the extremity of sunlight escaping through
psychotic horizontal lines of blinds just closed.
so were my weekdays in the sun
provided urban struggle and illegal beer
the smoke that curls and forms
in the extremity of sunlight escaping through
psychotic horizontal lines of blinds just closed.
so were my weekdays in the sun
provided urban struggle and illegal beer
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
you want everything
there is a lot left to do everyday. i feel as though if we fall we might get back up, missing everything we had on before gravity took its toll. but gravity takes it all away from us and induces it's logic onto our perspective and limits us to possibilities measured by them. they haven't lived the life we've lived, full of mediocrities and social inabilities. they've been without boundaries and obstacles are just a thing of fanning out a couple notes of currency. what troubled emphasis we place regarding the economy. if only we took as much time to count as many grammar misusages as we do cases of credit fraud. if only our goal was to gather experience instead of spending our experiences in the quest to gather.
but not today. if we would just finished it all off it wouldn't even matter. if life's purpose is to expire, we've built this whole infrastructure in order for it all to crumble before us. but, in fortunate cases, life isn't stripped away from us suddenly. the macabre details of the event to take place is one of gradual demise and temperate destruction. first to leave is dignity, last is the ability to heal over the wounds of man's terribly misguided existence and term on the planet. too often do we think in terms of land and mass and area and forget there is so much more space.
to end a paragraph is one of the most dangerous things one can do. there are so many things that will not have been said that should have or things that will have become redundant by the time you read this. and that is if one ever reads it. words and characters and punctuation have become too much of a hassle in a world whose pace is rapidly increasing, evermore than before. it becomes the barrier between what is decipherable and what needs to be said. i refuse to understand useless abbreviations. if one should have the common desire to communicate a message to a second party, said messenger should have the forthcoming ability to properly introduce a statement and conclude it. however, if one had everything he wanted, i would begin to complain about the message itself. you are never happy; you want everything.
and as for all that there is left to do everyday...
but not today. if we would just finished it all off it wouldn't even matter. if life's purpose is to expire, we've built this whole infrastructure in order for it all to crumble before us. but, in fortunate cases, life isn't stripped away from us suddenly. the macabre details of the event to take place is one of gradual demise and temperate destruction. first to leave is dignity, last is the ability to heal over the wounds of man's terribly misguided existence and term on the planet. too often do we think in terms of land and mass and area and forget there is so much more space.
to end a paragraph is one of the most dangerous things one can do. there are so many things that will not have been said that should have or things that will have become redundant by the time you read this. and that is if one ever reads it. words and characters and punctuation have become too much of a hassle in a world whose pace is rapidly increasing, evermore than before. it becomes the barrier between what is decipherable and what needs to be said. i refuse to understand useless abbreviations. if one should have the common desire to communicate a message to a second party, said messenger should have the forthcoming ability to properly introduce a statement and conclude it. however, if one had everything he wanted, i would begin to complain about the message itself. you are never happy; you want everything.
and as for all that there is left to do everyday...
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
burning are the ghosts of tommorow's past...
...and cities, so wonderful in the rapture of electricity and smog, left in the dust before you and i.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
rocks
At times one lets themselves be driven by the music they listen to. It's a combination of forever and now, that so tells the stories of past everything. Interwoven in a mystery of regret and hope, the future seems more like the past everyday. It's affirmations like this that cause one to emotionally disintegrate. How damned are we, those without a soul. It might have been cryptically cold recently, but that is hardly any excuse at all to justify everyone's actions. What we decide at the heat of some moment, that hazy mist of existence, defines who we want to be. What situations in any number of realities and cities engrave themselves on the minutes of time, that which one boils in anticipation of whatever is new. Life seems to be a run on sentence, a thought without a point. The clock will strike midnight but it will all grow back eventually, the clean flesh surfacing angrily at an exploding earth. No one principle is safe from the scrutiny and microscopic detail of intricacy. The more we delve into, the more the comas just flow out from the pages of useless magazines and onto the lips of people, figuring things out for themselves. But soon, whatever is good for you will be back in style and posterity will wag its finger at us, the present. And we will always be current because we came before. Italics provide tone, emphasis and melting ice caps.
A million voices screaming at the sun and a window to shut when the ground cracks open; everywhere.
Monday, March 19, 2007
la problema con flores
la tristeza es lo que abunda en mi; nunca sere feliz. y en cuanto pueda, y vuelvo al mismo piso tuyo, yo indefenso frente al acecho de la locura, iria al tercer mundo emocional. obsesiono mas sobre de ti, con la piel de mi privacidad, engachada a la tuya. tu piel tan inequivocadamente capitalista, tus labios sabian a la sangre del obrero, ese sin dientes y hambriente, recorriendo las calles en la madrugada, embrio y sediente. cara de gitano, el que traes puesto en brazos de una mujer, y no me pongo para tus caprichos. ya bastante lo que he vivido, viviendo en el intencion de cambiar lo que mas destruye de ti. la mirada tan brava, tan cara. ecepto beber, todo me resulta tan dificil. tan dificil es eso de entender?
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
common disbelief in mankind
there's so much that one person could do to satisfy their own animal urges to feel the justification of being an ass. absurd as it may be, being a bitch is the therapeutic absence of any conscience whatsoever. that doesn't mean, however, that people are bad; it's the stress of living in an ever exploding world. everything one commits themselves to ends up becoming a paradox of priorities. do this or do that, it all blows up in your face. that's probably why humankind as made eschatological findings, in order to alleviate what we do in life. once the world ends, there's nothing much more to do but live in an afterlife or maybe not even that. suspended in space and time forever and ever, ignorant of the life led before sudden destruction has taken place. with every outlet available to us, internet, satellite tv, spellcheck, etc... all these things create an "and so on," that culminates in feverish claims of being sons of god or sexual liberation. how so mortal we are, now more than ever.
matters of doomsday truly do deter from the matter at hand. if the world doesn't ever end, what cultural insignificance do we have as children of the twenty first century? why has everything grown so cold, so metallic? perhaps it's not that it's grown artificial but that it wasn't ever genuine to begin with. standing outside, smoking a cigarette, in your own little way you contribute to growing global concerns about the weather. whether or not you drive or indeed smoke, the gases you emit into the air are nothing but uniform. there are many different kinds of devices one uses to inevitably conquer all. love doesn't exist anymore, only experimentation, and that's besides a growing number of interest and curiosity for other sexual persuasions. perhaps orientation should be changed to persuasion, as it is just simple to just go on life without the slightest bit of prudence in matters of this sort. but again, we deter from the true problem of this all. the planet itself is dying and perhaps it's the lack of recognition of the earth as a planet. when on land, one looks out onto the horizon, and if one lives in the plains such as i, the country horizon stretches for what seems to be infinity. the earth is suspended in its own orbit in space, floating three planets away from the sun, a blue oasis of cloud, water and terrain that exists in the universe. perhaps the reason people are so bitchy is because of the fact that life may not exist anywhere else but here. we are alone.
that said, being alone in the universe translates to being alone in the world. that fear of not being able to pull out of a true waste of resources and not being able to survive on anywhere else starts to stress people out. we are endangering ourselves, but is there such a thing as being able to extinct emotion? fear of the coming apocalypse which we, not any deity, have succumbed unto ourselves is the biggest realization and foot in mouth. relationships with people are governed by heir own level of comfort with the entirety of the human race. sexism, racism, ageism and homophobia all factor in on who we choose to associate with. but misanthropy of any kind falls into one of two categories: fear and hatred. to associate the word phobia is to suggest a fear of a certain group, object, place, nouns most of all. to associate the suffix -ism creates, not necessarily a hatred, far from it, but a preference for that which is always opposite to whatever -ism is in question. but this accounts solely on nurture, not nature. one is born with dislike although, i like to believe i did, for myself. aside from misanthropy directed correlated unto yourself, one can hate a certain group that they are a part of. being gay, i sincerely dislike every type of gay, from butch to femme and all colors in between. the fact is, this hatred, not necessarily of oneself but of one's associative prowess, creates the need to express such dislike which in turn follows in a cycle where other groups seem more unfavorable than before.
what song comes to mind is "across the universe," and the reason it comes up so vividly in the plain of emotion is because of its lack to apologize for monotony in one's own life. nothing would change one's world, because your world is composed of images, sounds, tastes and textures that create a type of catalyst that enables one to examine his or herself to a point where the face you see in the mirror is not one of desire but one of faultiness. no one is ever completely satisfied with oneself because what is self but the different things, immediately around you. however, it's trite to try and blame those things because that self has chosen to expose themselves to such states, such philosophies. besides being extremely ugly or extremely beautiful, those in the middle become either manic depressives or delusional narcissists. same goes for those in the extremes. but is the earth the reason behind insecurity? is gravity and other spatial phenomena the reason behind such internal chaos? perhaps it's just a matter of perfection, the desire for it and the ultimate realization that nothing really matters but the weather. we might all be bitches, jerks, assholes and so on, but living in such a fragile state isn't always all of our own fault. there are so many things that i can't contend to, that i dislike, that i appreciate and that i damn. but there are so many things.
matters of doomsday truly do deter from the matter at hand. if the world doesn't ever end, what cultural insignificance do we have as children of the twenty first century? why has everything grown so cold, so metallic? perhaps it's not that it's grown artificial but that it wasn't ever genuine to begin with. standing outside, smoking a cigarette, in your own little way you contribute to growing global concerns about the weather. whether or not you drive or indeed smoke, the gases you emit into the air are nothing but uniform. there are many different kinds of devices one uses to inevitably conquer all. love doesn't exist anymore, only experimentation, and that's besides a growing number of interest and curiosity for other sexual persuasions. perhaps orientation should be changed to persuasion, as it is just simple to just go on life without the slightest bit of prudence in matters of this sort. but again, we deter from the true problem of this all. the planet itself is dying and perhaps it's the lack of recognition of the earth as a planet. when on land, one looks out onto the horizon, and if one lives in the plains such as i, the country horizon stretches for what seems to be infinity. the earth is suspended in its own orbit in space, floating three planets away from the sun, a blue oasis of cloud, water and terrain that exists in the universe. perhaps the reason people are so bitchy is because of the fact that life may not exist anywhere else but here. we are alone.
that said, being alone in the universe translates to being alone in the world. that fear of not being able to pull out of a true waste of resources and not being able to survive on anywhere else starts to stress people out. we are endangering ourselves, but is there such a thing as being able to extinct emotion? fear of the coming apocalypse which we, not any deity, have succumbed unto ourselves is the biggest realization and foot in mouth. relationships with people are governed by heir own level of comfort with the entirety of the human race. sexism, racism, ageism and homophobia all factor in on who we choose to associate with. but misanthropy of any kind falls into one of two categories: fear and hatred. to associate the word phobia is to suggest a fear of a certain group, object, place, nouns most of all. to associate the suffix -ism creates, not necessarily a hatred, far from it, but a preference for that which is always opposite to whatever -ism is in question. but this accounts solely on nurture, not nature. one is born with dislike although, i like to believe i did, for myself. aside from misanthropy directed correlated unto yourself, one can hate a certain group that they are a part of. being gay, i sincerely dislike every type of gay, from butch to femme and all colors in between. the fact is, this hatred, not necessarily of oneself but of one's associative prowess, creates the need to express such dislike which in turn follows in a cycle where other groups seem more unfavorable than before.
what song comes to mind is "across the universe," and the reason it comes up so vividly in the plain of emotion is because of its lack to apologize for monotony in one's own life. nothing would change one's world, because your world is composed of images, sounds, tastes and textures that create a type of catalyst that enables one to examine his or herself to a point where the face you see in the mirror is not one of desire but one of faultiness. no one is ever completely satisfied with oneself because what is self but the different things, immediately around you. however, it's trite to try and blame those things because that self has chosen to expose themselves to such states, such philosophies. besides being extremely ugly or extremely beautiful, those in the middle become either manic depressives or delusional narcissists. same goes for those in the extremes. but is the earth the reason behind insecurity? is gravity and other spatial phenomena the reason behind such internal chaos? perhaps it's just a matter of perfection, the desire for it and the ultimate realization that nothing really matters but the weather. we might all be bitches, jerks, assholes and so on, but living in such a fragile state isn't always all of our own fault. there are so many things that i can't contend to, that i dislike, that i appreciate and that i damn. but there are so many things.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
cannabUS
NO it isn’t POETRY.
This is organic
Life is luscious
This is without moisture
As dry and cracked as the red veins popping upward toward the surface of an eyeball
Inhale
Hold
Release
Inhale cont…
Exhale.
Think.
This is organic
Life is luscious
This is without moisture
As dry and cracked as the red veins popping upward toward the surface of an eyeball
Inhale
Hold
Release
Inhale cont…
Exhale.
Think.
transit this
Where were you that night?
Tongue in someone else’s mouth
And for hours you had been looking for me the night before
As I was stuck in traffic
You called her
As I got off the bus
You picked her up
As I walked to the train
You fucked her
As I slip my seven day pass
It slips out when you come.
But you never came.
For me.
Tongue in someone else’s mouth
And for hours you had been looking for me the night before
As I was stuck in traffic
You called her
As I got off the bus
You picked her up
As I walked to the train
You fucked her
As I slip my seven day pass
It slips out when you come.
But you never came.
For me.
it snowed so hard
Why doesn’t he love me?
Because he isn’t who I want him to be
He is and just sits there, being.
What is oneself?
What we’ve carried on in the past?
I’m a strict believer in nature
Nurture is wall street valentine’s day crap.
Love is homogenized, sold in the form of stock. And is as inexpensive as it ever were.
Love is more than one.
Love is many.
Affirmations stop me from killing myself
Realizations stop me from breathing.
Because he isn’t who I want him to be
He is and just sits there, being.
What is oneself?
What we’ve carried on in the past?
I’m a strict believer in nature
Nurture is wall street valentine’s day crap.
Love is homogenized, sold in the form of stock. And is as inexpensive as it ever were.
Love is more than one.
Love is many.
Affirmations stop me from killing myself
Realizations stop me from breathing.
america burning
you can’t destroy what I’ve been fighting for
the struggle that’s been endured has been because of what I had to say
i am strong
i am fragile
i am what has proceeded me
i am what follows
ahead of what is
behind what was
beyond what will have been…
…spitting in the air.
and so early man described it well
it fit with appropriate gusto
grunts and touches
significant the next from the last
it’s all done.
i’m so sorry.
it hurts to believe in things
i love you so deeply that no one ever survived the car accident in my mind
the catastrophic pile up and the many fires that provoked the earth to burn
comes no where near what i feel about you.
you're milk in my blood and a constant reminder
i'm so fed up of leaving you alone, of breathing.
space.
the catastrophic pile up and the many fires that provoked the earth to burn
comes no where near what i feel about you.
you're milk in my blood and a constant reminder
i'm so fed up of leaving you alone, of breathing.
space.
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