Mathematical Universe; A Beautiful Thing

“Deep down, you are a wondrous, autonomous mathematical function, with infinite capacity, seeking to find the optimal answer to yourself – which is why we are all obsessed with answers. That very drive for an “answer” is, if you think about it, the quintessence of living mathematics. What else would a mathematical universe do except find the optimal solution to itself?” – Unknown

This here is an ode to all the great thinkers prior–who did so much as they could, and even in their own greatness fell to traumas handed down to them from this world. May we all do our best to move beyond, to keep perspective, and grow. Here is hoping, with great effort to be continued, that the future will continue to stand taller upon the shoulders of those with great character each and every step of the way; that when we are confronted with the pivotal choice, we choose in the way of integrity and grit — with the lives of future generations in mind.

 

Was it really an ode? Not quite. But I’ve things to do.

Stay Wild

You do know how I enjoy the wild. I’m all about it, but the entire time we face to face, I’m looking to see if you’re one color; if you’re talking to me and you’ve got a different face for the situations we find ourselves in, then I can only tell you that I won’t try to keep with that. As soon as I see you acting brand new and showing me different cuts I’m going to have to tell you I’m not with it. Figure out who you are, and be that with me. You want to be royalty, then you know how to act.

I step back and listen because I think that you coming into yourself is the most magical thing I could ever hope to witness. It’s a dream, an ephemeral taste, a satisfaction that lingers with only a glow. Step down into that shadow light, tear into the cosmic night with a boundless high; squelching and more fucking howls; desire palms and digits like the maws of wolves to grip you by the throat and pour the vigour of ‘oh fuck-gasp, fuck’ down into your soul.

I bet that would wake you the fuck up, and keep you chasing lightning bugs on your back-snap, does this have your attention?

I can’t take you in the shower with me because you’ll get wet–can you get wet if you’re already wet?

I Could Tell

God baby another hit?
I don’t know if you could stomach it
Do you know how high you are?
I’m looking up and wondering;
If I’d catch you when you fall
Or if you’ll go right through my arms

Day dreamin, day scheming,
Got my whole day planned
And you’re fucking it up again
Alright alright alright with it sure I am,
I’m with Alice in wonderland
Got some space dust and a watering can that can’t sleep,
And a lot of beautiful dogwood flowers
And a clock that refuses to tell time,
As it Screams be you,
anything forced on you isn’t true.
And I’m all about it baby,
I yell back, you’re true blue heaven,
If it’s not here on Earth
It got to be in the next hit
One more and I swear we’re back swirling again to the other day dancing bachata in the Dominican turning heads on the dance floor of your perfect order
But there is no order, it’s all random
And you must be somebody’s baby,
Got to be, the only light?
Way too many stars in the sky to pretend that that’s the true,
And to the moon, from there it all looks the new, to two inches from your face nothing changes – but dam that’s some space!

Got a new paycheck that says I can do whatever I want, but it doesn’t work like that so I burn money in the back room with my coat on

Gold was never my color, but that’s not your fault. I wear it well, a crown I will have until time removes it; I built a kingdom, and within it I erected this temple so that when I need to sleep I can crash in the pews. Yeah the type of shit we do, here is where Hozier really meant to take him-and it’s funny because in here you’re taking me. I’m the fucking, Jesus I won’t say that while we fuckin’ – but I was born sick and I love it.

I’ve Seen You Naked

It’s hard to express exactly what it is that people dig, but if you’re any sort of a risk taker you’ll soon find out.

She smokes a cigarette and it’s fucking gorgeous. I think one drag would kill me, but I’d stand close enough for her exhale to burn my eyes, and sound like totally uncool striking up a conversation while I’m clearly holding my breath waiting for diffusion and air flow to make the coast clear.

Sometimes I’m A – Maze

Zing, em’ like Minos’s Minotaur
fuck, I’m sorry that you’re lost.

Cause ya know, somewhere inside,
I cannot find the feeling I got from you

It’s Comedy If You Laugh

Do you taste like beer Stella, does your last name happen to be Artios?

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

Something For The Old Roots

How long have we been here?

Long enough that it’s clear.

Clear that…

That you and the rest aren’t going anywhere.

Not anywhere fast, but still going!

 

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.

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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.