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?

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?

If I Had More Life

I draw you–in–many don’t go down this road.
There is too much to do,
even with what we have we’re short – we’ll make it work
I see the world writing,
a new story everyday
poetry month, another year –
It’s me, it’s me, it’me,
With brave words I hide many fears,
fear of loss, of pain, of truth,
I am not the words I’ve written
It’s me, words I’ve always been,
how to use them, how I bend,
Yet in all this months time,
I’ve managed not to rend
words from within. I am dead
Never doing what I’m supposed to be doing,
and maybe I won’t do what I should,
but I’ll end up doing what I’ve done,
and that is something.
I’ve got more life!
Have you seen me with a fire?
Have you seen me when I’ve got everything together?
Just the right amount
The right mask,
A taste I can enjoy at my own pace; nothing moves at our own pace
To my own tune – I’m sacred
Off key and I’m still enraptured – a captive audience does not decide what it likes
I’ll enjoy this with ceremony

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

I Want To Taste It Again

I fill these lungs with just enough of you so that I’ll never quite say I had you, I watched the minutes go by, without even noticing them. The days they talked, barely did we touch, barely did we know each other’s love. The potential is far too much! For you to truly know anyone. Save that one you can.

This is the beauty of us. We show one another things we never knew existed within, lighting paths to new spaces, creating realms of wondrous joy – and then we fall. At first it might feel like you are empty. For what will you now do with all the unoccupied spaces? It is wrong to think you must remain with such a feeling – Empty. You at this point must find the perspective to see possibility beyond this supposed container. You must now grow to fill your expanded self! You must grow to meet your new heights

You’ve got to remember that the world isn’t going to wait up for you. It isn’t going to sit patiently while you get comfortable – while you get the order straight. Fuck order, and forget all that shit they tried to instill in you because what you end up finding is you spend your entire life trying to piece together some image that never does look exactly right to you. It’s magic don’t get me wrong, but you’re barely grasping what’s really at your fingertips. Until you do, all you have is a couple unconnected dots that may get you high or bring you down. And have you ever gotten high or down without a sense of direction? Talk about exhausting – only the crazy ones survive that.

Is she Real?

I see photos with remarkable composure and draw, I see smiles on the faces of those in her closest circle, I read extremely well written words with impact. I sit in wonderment more times a month than I imagined would occur over the years

I even edited her magazine once. I can dig the email up if I need some type of solid evidence. I do the things I do, and still could never imagine putting together that electric fashion show of a life she calls her day to day.

I want every line to have a purpose, there are no strays here, only intent.

 It has been so long,
you’re so young,
But I’ve heard deep things
Come and dip your feet in
Che la mia ferita sia mortale –  may all your wounds be mortal