I’ll Be Somewhere Committing Myself

We talked for hours, and to be honest she mentioned yah eventually,
But I don’t think it mattered…

Like the child who puts a toe in the water, then a second, next a foot followed by the whole body; Followed by elevations of the soul, elated! There is no slaking a thirst for the wild unknown, the sense of depths on all sides – even when the concept is less than novel like the tipping of dominoes – how satisfying is it to watch them fall?

But really it is not that deep,
I mean life feels good so fuck it, I’m feeling, and everything’s golden, shine shone – whatever tense you want to use, look me in the eyes while we finish what we started.

What can you do but watch as someone tries to pressure you into what they desire?
You can hit them with a real hard frame – A hammer if you wish, but most people can’t handle that sort of revelation. So go alone. Leave them at their tables, with their offering intact or not – it doesn’t matter. You will go find the real grail. Let them get drowsy and forget! The well is within you, not them. They don’t feel the tightening of will when another empty pale is pulled up! They don’t feel the nostalgia for abundance, nor recall when you poured the crisp waters into wasteful troughs!

Commit yourself, and leave them. They will hardly know your absence.

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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.

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? 

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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

Money, Notoriety, & Rivieras

Lights like how you imagine them, all perfectly lit to the evening; not to scrutinize anything, but to allow you to feel the deepest of dreams – it’s a feeling dammit, you fill it all in as you go – next time you fill it all with local analgesics from your recent trip to 2012, or perhaps color it in with temperatures from some of your Sumeria summers. These aren’t quantifiables. They are vivids of the imagination, a glimpse of you.

You can’t slip quietly through any cracks.

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, sound and visual! Perhaps a rondeau is well in order, but not until you wait in line.

I’m a firm believer that when you work hard at something, and I mean truly work hard… You can appreciate the master work we happen upon in this life beyond what the innocent eye can see-yes you can stare for a long time and just keep seeing depths, while the others walk by only moments later because they have seen the mirrors surface, and none of the movements that brought it about, none of the steps that brought it before them.

A night with you, is always the shortest night of my life–Before I know it the sun strikes me across the spheres. We’re not anywhere near the…hush, it’s not a dream you can just leave.

You Get Ready

The gift is this; you waited for years – at times you were so thirsty that the sand actually went down nice and smooth; it even filled all the cracks in your skin to hold you together; you stayed in the sun long enough to forget it was hot; and you drank from an oasis or two in your delusions. Even though the clear cool water was actually more sand…You grew roots to every corner, and then pushed the boundaries of your vessel further. One morning without warning water washed weariness from the entire desert – of which you drank and drank your fill. With a burst of joy you sprang from within, bringing all the vivacious colors of bloom, bounty, and blessed to the surface.

You know better than anyone what’s in the phospholipid bilayer of each cell in your body… Is it something negligible? Or is it something you decide is more? I think you’ve got so much brimming within that you can’t afford not to let your magic flow with every motion. You could turn this entire valley green with just one lick of your tongue. This sky would bleed strawberry red if you laid down in the clouds. Turn the whole world purple if you close your eyes. You want colors, and you’ll have them.

 

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Don’t worry baby, we’ll find a better field to gaze up at the stars from.

All is Well in Deserts

Some sheep just give more than other sheep.
What inspiration, what spirals, what a crown for life!
Shout loud that geometry really is a sacred blessing
born from nothing, something springs forward–
without; visible instruction, it churns within this universe,
and it is not begging – Life does not beg – It propels.
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Imagine if this wasn’t taken with a potato; NG national geographic.