Here’s To The Gilded Age Of The Morning After

What do you do when the renaissance demands the gold for its gilded age? Pull up, up on it, tell me that you want it, pull up, pull up on it… It’a so much warmer inside. Let your body do the talking, say it!

Whatever you want. That’s a fairly vulnerable statement. Because what if I want to close my eyes and put a hold on this painting, or touch it while it’s wet, or get off early-the train doesn’t stop-I brought us here to sink only the finest into the moment, and the finest earthy tones sunk into my drinks, my sight; ochre yellow champagne, lips raw-sinopian red! without the wedding! Occhi Terra di Siena bruciata as long as the lights are umber dim, thought you were the good doctor, but the double blind experience keeps strong legs tied up in an age lacking innocence. What if what I desire is something new and wild, to send it into the rich terra toned vastness without any covers!

Warmth that brought the heartless back on beat, lighting up this cracked screen, it’ just a reference to a phone it’s not that deep

I’ve never taken my foot off the gas for anything other than to change gears, and if it isn’t shaking, leaking, or smoking I don’t want anything to do with it.

What kind of man are you? Well to relegate myself to any one aspect of a goddess would never see me equal to the divine; but do I dig your ass or tits more? When in your favorite position, on top and in control, what part of you am I not indulging; I don’t think there’s a single shade that I couldn’t draw. And that doesn’t answer the question, but what fun would this be if it all came right out without any of the build up. Anticipation of that ocean is probably the greatest story ever lived.

I can still feel it. The stir of neurons sings a sweet tune when I’m in, this typ-a mood, you. And that’s all that matters for it to be real.

Does a creator want anything else? Anything beyond the knowledge that their art is not beneath any other who has taken a breath at the razors edge. Every move is an art well practiced, seeing potential and I got to see it through, cut in darkness we get to it so I can hit the streets again, they are looking rather drab – who fills them, who picks the colors anyways! I’m far from convinced they have any sort of artistic eye the way they just give everyone parking tickets

Here’s to offering our necks to the wolves with so much uncertainty – Swimming in the language of breath & tongues; Vibes & trust.


I wish I had more time to draw, it feels wrong without that touch. The way I spend money though it’s tough keeping up. And my art won’t sell until I’m long gone.

Sang·froid

Composure or coolness, sometimes excessive, as shown in danger or under trying circumstances.

Joie de vivre, I’ll buy you roses all the time like a creep!

Say it over and over, play it how you want but I do not alter what I put up.

I will walk away with nothing and feel my heart grating against the bottom.

It must feel something to be apart of the greater definition

As the clock round, It became so wretchedly painful – to not love who I was – that when I finally did, the pain did not cease for as I loved me in that moment, the I was just minutes gone; a lingering smile on the face of someone new. A ghostly sense that I knew the previous tenant of the building, but only nostalgia would ever return.

Temporary. It is all fleeting. And I just wanted to catch a glimpse of the mind space I’ve entered. A golden soul, and I want to transmute it to lead and back again so I can say I did the hardest task twice; I’d even risk never returning because I’m okay with leaving the shore.

Be light, be water, adapt, and grow, you beautiful ambiance,
when I come into a room I ask them to set the mood to you.
Aura aura, warm glow. You are the fire spark I want to grow.

—————————————————————-

“Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, hélas, I may no more.”
The place I seek is the shore that is no more.
A historical moment that is out of reaches!
No work, but memory can return it,
And only briefly before the bellows
overwhelm with today’s fire

Some People Really Do What They Love

“Life comes down to this — you can do anything, there are no limits to what you can achieve, but you do have to decide what you want to do, and then get to doing it.” – One of the secrets of life

Why are we always waiting? It is the man, the woman; who does not wait – patient – but refuses to wait, who becomes successor to the gods

I sat for a long time with this. I let the music play until I did not recognize where I had been or where I was. I am sure where I started was seeking to find that fable of all fables, but that forever eternal is a frozen moment, not much longer than the instant it takes for a molecule of water to slow down to a freeze and move back into a flow with the temperature fluctuating the way it does. It’s a complex measure, in truth, we have no measure yet to define and capture all that is encompassed; apart from perhaps that indelible mark, the arrow that always strikes true on the person who is fully human. Love; Stronger than man-rejoicing wine? More inextricably linked as they share a similar visceral – guts on the table – joy, and dichotomy of honesty & deceit ever tearing. Yes, I sat for a long time and I would offer up the notion that love can stand to measure every nuance from end to end.

Some people really do what they love,
and others are driven beyond love
because it’s not enough. To them and I both,
I offer my felicitations – a belly full of wine
when and if the time ever comes.

What are you waiting for?

 

Do This Because You Must

“Not being able to create art, they will not understand art.”

I have become very fond of our scuttling, our tossing and turns
Where are we going but in the arms of another once more,
into the rays of the brightest days ahead, and the soothing darks

Shadows passing by, to a classical promenade – we’re filled
with the ecstasy of a new favorite taste,
touch upon these tongues the juice of gods
the dripping filth of a fruit truly enjoyed, flesh devoured.

You dove in and let the primal loose, and used your skin like a paint brush,
Dragging across the sky until every star shone precisely how you desired,
and you desired a lot – You desired that every breath be held properly as you moved,
and passed with a right amount of resistance, a reminder that something in you is raging
to leave its mark! Clawing with every neural snap, every electrical pulse, POW – it will
leave the walls of your room dripping if that’s where you want the master work, it calls;
a summoning howl to the torrents within, dangerous, but magic always wins.

Sacral, Oblation, and Hallow

I hold the sacrificial dirk, a dirge dripping in blood,
it’s clear I keep making choices.

You ever make a mistake while actively knowing it,
and say, “ah fuck it.” ?

Life you showed me,
doing nothing because of sense
But because it struck the senses;
Because it felt good.

You did things this way because you lived out a different chord with different rules and expectations; things that applied to you and only you. To say I understood could only be a man trying with every sinew to convince the other in an argument, with passion that he struggled, and knew what it meant to live from your center.

How presumptuous. How pompous.

I wanted it though, o I wanted to comprehend, I deserved to for all I’d worked towards — to be at one with that mind and give it my nod of approval. But fuck approval. Every entity that seeks it dips into the darkness afraid of its own shadow. And that thing which I wanted, would no longer be desired if it sought to illuminate the dark out of fear for what might be beneath its cover. Go into the dark curious; feel on your hands and knees – claw for discovery, and be beset by hunger no more.

Everything is a sacrifice — What will you wither, what will you grow?

The Creator’s Dilemma

I opened my eyes this morning, and determined there were many ways which I could get out of bed, and even more ways with which I could feed my heart, and spill the colorful soul I’ve got within.

All day, all day, I wanted to be me & write and laugh with the people I dig. Smiling, breathing, and looking up at the sky catching some rays and not catching anything remotely sad. So I grew my hair out and moved in ways that I thought was becoming of joy.

I did my best by waking up at 5 a.m. I’m driving over 150 miles to the city of LA which I dread with excitement – while I work on a large government contract which gives thoroughly unspecific directions ambiguous enough to discuss the teaching practices of vageuries and meditative floor sweeping in a post Pythagorean world. A younger me would have considered this as far off from my true self as possible; most likely using a semicolon much sooner in this caption.

Thus I learned that making the work light, with spirit and jokes, will help to ease life’s rough edges; that someone who comes into your office saying they are all about the money probably isn’t lacking passion – also the importance of sarcasm.

What will I make for you today? 

——————————————————-

So what is this dilemma? You just make and make!

In this moment I lack the capacity to mold each spark into what it deserves to become, and lack the ability to give it the autonomous initiative to complete itself. Months ago today I began to create, and did not have all the moments required to complete each sparking from me. They still exist, but as I am no longer me of that day, they no longer suit my direction. They sit without review, they survive unsatisfied, and lack the train to drive them where they ought to go.

But even fragments of gems are beautiful

We’re All gods of Love Here

Love, me lights out,
Burn the sky down
Love, me lights out,
Burn the sky down

Lure me back with waves
Pull me deep beneath the shades;
I think I’m below
Your neck is the road

Lull me you’re the eye,
Rati your sweet lips;
Oshun I beg for a drink!

Tales of the banquet–I’m drunk all over again
I’m there all one again,
The first moon, the last full notebook

I’ve been reading your words,
And after all the pages,
Only the last virgin remains.

Imagine the last time I’ll be surprised at what you say
I don’t want to listen, what if I’m swayed,
at the end, with no more words to decide against.

Xochiquetzal, Clíodhna,
Take me on a way,
Lay me down at sea!
What vastness will I be

I’ chose you and you’re gone, and that’s ironic and cliche for a song


To be expanded