I Won’t Live Forever

It’s all perspective, a frame we do have our hands on, always adjusting trying to get the right level

When you write as much as I do about it all, there can be no doubting how much you have examined to the depths; beyond what the average has analyzed abut themselves, about others. You make a lot of remarks that are certain, while trying to live multiple lives – only one can truly exist. If continued in this manner the cracks begin to show. A powerful will can hold them together, can keep the reckoning at bay; this doesn’t mean it ought to be. Slowly it tears at you, and while I feel this trial to be of value, it is not by any means a way to live in my determinations.

It’s a funny life, the way it comes around from space to space. Watching J hit the ring back to back in the heat of the moment – to this, here with you going on about your love for popcorn[ironic more than you know] and then just as willed by the gods you collect your bounty on the hook, ringed. Nursing drink after drink, and If I came right out and said what I wanted to – I wouldn’t be me, because me would never admit what the reckless would pour out of slit wrists. I’m good, you’re good, checking up on us – You won’t be there right? I mean a guy who drives a car like that? I’m over that kind of fear. Looking right into the mouth of the fire eating me alive, I can say the carpet matches the drapes.

Yeah I let you go, because I have to. That kind of fire eats you alive, until you’re nothing but embers hoping to find new wood to jump to and blaze. That kind of fire is a choice to flame out, that kind of life is a tall glass of 91 octane; only the good shit – you can’t afford to get me drunk

I won’t live forever, but I do hope you’ll lay with me

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.

Bones and Skin

Was it a ghost? or one of the voices you hear in your head?
You go through life and wonder what the hell happened.

It’s so fast; I lounge in the current
Many things take me away from you.

What the hell happened?
I write this in an aftermath that still I am grasping like cramped and exhausted fingers – palms and pads burning, the sensation that layers of skin may tear open, peeled from the bones; still trying to grip

No kisses, no hugs, it’s clear this isn’t what it was, much more complex now – you don’t want touch – and I don’t want the permeating feeling that I am not enough. I will not be..

You see, I’ve lived my life as honest as I could. Which is hard because we all have issues. And no one understands them. We barely understand our own.

Leaving used to be the hardest thing,
I promise it can be done with ease

I hear you got married,
and all I can think is thank you for all the inspiration,
glad you found a good man.

Don’t try so hard, those are the one’s who get let down the most

I guess I forgot as a grown man with an open heart inside, Ataraxia, the shores of which I always speak of leaving – something like me needs the storm. You say you’re curious. I call all 9’s, dressed to the nines. I’ll show up, and we’ll just ride. Words only once we’re back from the sky.

There is simply not enough time for this world;
every day is a sacrifice of one thing for another.
Maybe we’ll have it, or maybe we won’t.
I could have had everything I wanted for free,
in the end I paid for everything I didn’t want to go away

I had something I was writing you; it wasn’t a sonnet or anything like an ode, limerick, or quatrain-no it was just something-nothing like a burlesque, or villanelle You know it had shape, and sound, and visual! Perhaps a rondeau

I got it all mixed up and by mistake discovered ways of seeing things I could never have found on purpose

What good is all this money, if all it can buy is a first class ticket 6ft under.

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

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.

Well Don’t Get Lonely Now

Music to watch boys to, it’s something a certain type of girl swallows;
But my eyes don’t follow

I am afraid there is nothing here for you to take;
With you there is a do not disturb sign over the door to the party
and I’m dancing, all by myself it’s euphoric — You’re there,
but off in the distance.
A plush and comfortable space littered
with shattered mirrors and empty bottles.
I don’t drink, really I don’t unless it takes me
someplace worth disappearing to;
a matte black room with gold trim
keeps all the noise outside – and whatever we do, inside

Wish I may, wish I might — Really do what I ought tonight.

I can’t keep track of it all, you disaster, you ballroom head turner
In practice, you dance alone, but imagine that people are watching.

With yourself, in solitude are you lonely?

The second you reach out someone’s hand is there for you,
although a hand with intention is not what you are seeking.
So you sit back, pretty high, on what you believe to be a throne.
You don’t recognize it but entitlement forces the image in your mind
that every seat is a throne. Every stare is thus unqualified and non-deserving of the art you unveil. You feel superior, empowered to take back what you believe has been usurped by a quiet observer’s glance over the courtyard common grounds. A garnish, you must get something more from those beneath you
else you can not feel whole,

And when they aren’t watching? When by their own self acceptance and love they choose to look through you… what then?
Who will you be in that moment?