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

Our Body Is Full of Organs

It’s a peculiar thing. So much surrounds us, we take so much in; Still it does not see fruit

I could sit here for hours dissecting and pulling different parts of my viscerals out onto the table. We’d need a bit more counter space for everything. I don’t even remember consuming half this shit. Most of it sprouted up out of necessity. Okay, that’s entirely not true. Less than a quarter is out of necessity, the rest is out of longing. If I’m honest I could probably think back to when that seed started growing.
I haven’t always been the ideal gardener. Flowers shouldn’t be the only thing to result from working in the soil. A balance of stem and space! There are geometries to it! I ignored the weeds, and now I’m going to pay with a lifetime of tired bones. If someone grinds them up after, they would make great nourishment for the roots to start again.

Isn’t that exactly the hopefulness we come into the world seeking? Not many things can accomplish that hunt. An arrow takes a lot of intimacy before you can land it through the pride’s heart. Is it a struggle? Of course, but that kind of death is easier than most.

Our body is full of organs but we always feel so fucking empty

 

Squaring The Circle

Some colors simply go well together.

But some things, people, can’t be blanketed under one or even a few; gradients, we need gradients! So many layers exist, and no amount of coats will cover what persists. To use the word monochromatic to describe either of us would be cowardly, fearful of what it might actually encompass to square the circle in this case.

If you aren’t painting with a full palette, I must ask that you consider what might be lost.

She hasn’t said anything of late but I know how quiet she can be. I see it, but I don’t call it’s name. If I didn’t know her so well, if I didn’t know so intricately the knots in her back; It might all turn me over, and leave me prone.

You want me to be safe, I want burning, dangerously close to the end of my wick; Smoke begins to pick up, fire names my last breath an ember, a ruby in a glass – It sings to me

She wants me to listen when I begin to erupt; Is it because I’m selfish, and a tad poor of hearing? Might I sometimes descend down the chain with a few mighty roars; Or climb up to see with omniscient eyes? Hopefully it’s a ratio of only 3:1. I think she knows it’s the things in my past she still hasn’t brushed the grime from yet.

I want her to be around for as long as men have told lies, so that I can perhaps speak the truth; that never would I have believed something so wonderful before I lived to see enough to prove there is more to life than tragic beauty. I want her to tell me the things there are no answers to, when she finds them of course. Maybe we can agree on some

I already had said goodbye, step by step. I had to. She was going places, and even if I wanted to go with her, I couldn’t; There was no way I could keep up – I’d only be holding her from where she wanted to go, and what she wanted to see.
I told myself I’d never let it get me, I wouldn’t break down and let that shit fuck me up anymore. And I guess I won’t know until years down the road if I was able to keep my integrity.

I woke up wanting to kiss you, but wants are never needs.

Flowers & Ecstasy

I want flowers.
I want them so vivid they look painted
Dark and light, heavy on the colors,
Put em through a gentle wash and dry; Out they come like fresh potpourri
The stuff a shaman might pull out of his bag of mystery.
The kind of beautiful that works as medicine,
a couple doses and we’re young again – Is that youthfulness attainable?
Let’s lay out under the stars and then describe it to each other with strokes on canvas
Can we lay down and I paint you a masterpiece?

Flowers and Ecstasy; You scream!
That magic will be the death of me,
And I can’t quite get into necromancy
Although I am into reinvigoration – Restore your body with some heavy breathing

lay down, lay down, breathe

Quotes for Quenching – 21

Art is long, life is short.—Goethe

Spend a lot of time on the floor of the ocean,
looking for pearls so that I can throw them back in – Did you read that one?

If it can’t be read, then it can’t be wrong.
But how well does that get the message along?
I’m sad, and life believes me.
I’m hungry, and art feeds me.
I’ve taken my time and one glimpse should be convincing.
You start listening to yourself, and you feel invincible.
If the vibes grow distant, maybe you should change position.

Hard to hear on the bottom of the ocean,
At least it’s calm unlike most of the surface.
How much did you swallow before you realized the objective;
To open your eyes and not your mouth
Isn’t that a funny twist on life?
To survive, always be looking out;
To live, look in the place where the eyes don’t step

And to them both, I intend to draw them out to the perfect moment,