Rancid form of life
Evolution must have left you behind.
Voluntarily submissive
And bound to traits of a lesser kind.
Yearning for balance
On a fragile crystal ball-
Under the weight of it all
Reality will have you fall.
Evanesce with the shards
And put them through your head,
Child you will mature.
Unleash yourself from what is heard and said.
Nevermind the blindness, soon you'll learn to see.
Time has all the answers, if you learn to count from one to three.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Truth's plea
I spoke to truth today.
It said it feels lonely, abandoned, and forgotten.
I gave it a hug.
It said it missed the warmth of our kind.
We embraced for a moment longer, and it plead for me to never let it fall into the abyss of things left uncertain.
It said it feels lonely, abandoned, and forgotten.
I gave it a hug.
It said it missed the warmth of our kind.
We embraced for a moment longer, and it plead for me to never let it fall into the abyss of things left uncertain.
Becoming
Wanting a change requires you to envision the change. That vision is like any other, real because the eye can see, but nothing more than notions conceived through the wants of a mind. Until a step is taken to close the distance between notion and reality, the vision is nothing more than colors at a distance - A masterpiece painted on the sky. Until that step is taken to enter the canvass and be the masterpiece one is left as a spectator. Outside of "it" looking into "it" Admiring beauty without embellishing oneself with it. Wanting to experience change not knowing that to do so one only has to become the change itself.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Estimada Ignorancia
Ignorancia quien eres? Me confundes con tu ser.
Herramienta usada por esos en poder, comodidad ofrecidas por las manos del no saber.
Salvavidas para los que viven en temor y cancer para los que se perfuman con la verdad y su esplendor.
Sientate, quieres un poco de te? No? talvez un cafe? Muy bien.
Cuentame, existes fuera de nuestras emociones?
O eres desarrollada por nuestras experiencias y nociones?
Te veo presente en todas partes de esta roca. En las calles, mercados, oficinas, y hasta el teatro.
Pero aunque estoy consiente de tu presencia, no puedo ver la mascara que llevas puesta.
Y asi como me confunde tu presencia tambien lo hace tu ausencia.
Que a que me refiero? Permiteme entretenerte con esta idea. Que tan familiar eres con la historia de Orestes? Perfecto!
No estuviste presente en el momento que tejio el cambio en su vida.
Ambos sabemos a que llegaron sus acciones, y por lo tanto te pregunto: sera que tienes intenciones?
No pretendo culparte y mucho menos juzgarte, pero espero que lo siguiente puedas explicarme.
No entiendo como es que arropado entre viñas de uva no encuentre vino que remueva la sed de mi sangre.
Y que para la lepra hambrienta en mi piel, no exista pan que la calme.
Talvez en otra dimension podras ayudarme y estas preguntas contestar.
Talvez con tazas ausentes, otro cafe nos podremos tomar.
Hasta ese entones te llevare por las manos, sin preocupacion a donde vallamos a andar.
Hasta que esa fraccion tuya que vive tan dentro de mi, yo pueda matar.
Herramienta usada por esos en poder, comodidad ofrecidas por las manos del no saber.
Salvavidas para los que viven en temor y cancer para los que se perfuman con la verdad y su esplendor.
Sientate, quieres un poco de te? No? talvez un cafe? Muy bien.
Cuentame, existes fuera de nuestras emociones?
O eres desarrollada por nuestras experiencias y nociones?
Te veo presente en todas partes de esta roca. En las calles, mercados, oficinas, y hasta el teatro.
Pero aunque estoy consiente de tu presencia, no puedo ver la mascara que llevas puesta.
Y asi como me confunde tu presencia tambien lo hace tu ausencia.
Que a que me refiero? Permiteme entretenerte con esta idea. Que tan familiar eres con la historia de Orestes? Perfecto!
No estuviste presente en el momento que tejio el cambio en su vida.
Ambos sabemos a que llegaron sus acciones, y por lo tanto te pregunto: sera que tienes intenciones?
No pretendo culparte y mucho menos juzgarte, pero espero que lo siguiente puedas explicarme.
No entiendo como es que arropado entre viñas de uva no encuentre vino que remueva la sed de mi sangre.
Y que para la lepra hambrienta en mi piel, no exista pan que la calme.
Talvez en otra dimension podras ayudarme y estas preguntas contestar.
Talvez con tazas ausentes, otro cafe nos podremos tomar.
Hasta ese entones te llevare por las manos, sin preocupacion a donde vallamos a andar.
Hasta que esa fraccion tuya que vive tan dentro de mi, yo pueda matar.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Expo di arte di vita, 2009/ On an empty wall
On an empty wall lay - a will to fly and a sense of survival.
Wings that would rather keep one warm than to spread out in oblivion.
An indolence, fearful of its reflection, that conceived a qualm
Nescient of everything but that fear, on this wall, indolence is revealed.
A depiction of both supporting each other, I present to you - earth's most perfect lovers.
Wings that would rather keep one warm than to spread out in oblivion.
An indolence, fearful of its reflection, that conceived a qualm
Nescient of everything but that fear, on this wall, indolence is revealed.
A depiction of both supporting each other, I present to you - earth's most perfect lovers.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Remains of the day
The remains of the day
and your absence - they sway.
From thoughts in no place
to still frames of your face.
In vistas long gone
she writes you a song.
With the whispering breeze
she screams out her pleas.
She pummels and ruffles
the truth that she knows,
she fractures the fractions
you left of her core.
Raptures and ruptures
desires and wishes,
of a poor bride and poor whore
that longs to think of you - no more.
and your absence - they sway.
From thoughts in no place
to still frames of your face.
In vistas long gone
she writes you a song.
With the whispering breeze
she screams out her pleas.
She pummels and ruffles
the truth that she knows,
she fractures the fractions
you left of her core.
Raptures and ruptures
desires and wishes,
of a poor bride and poor whore
that longs to think of you - no more.
Another last time.
Grand unpleasant vex
in between my fingers you are missed.
Your feel and burning kiss
its warmth and death filled bliss
by the masochist, that you've unhinged,
are longed for in every thought and every whim.
Ludicrous-how life can turn out to be
I once consumed you and now you do me.
How the will of a king you've dressed as a clown
and stoned its essence on to the ground.
I cannot explain nor comprehend
where you made the straight river bend.
Miniature pillar how wretched this fate
I once danced within your embrace,
and your grip now I try to escape.
But as a string violently strummed,
at your sight my strength shakes
as I ache yearning, for one more, last taste.
in between my fingers you are missed.
Your feel and burning kiss
its warmth and death filled bliss
by the masochist, that you've unhinged,
are longed for in every thought and every whim.
Ludicrous-how life can turn out to be
I once consumed you and now you do me.
How the will of a king you've dressed as a clown
and stoned its essence on to the ground.
I cannot explain nor comprehend
where you made the straight river bend.
Miniature pillar how wretched this fate
I once danced within your embrace,
and your grip now I try to escape.
But as a string violently strummed,
at your sight my strength shakes
as I ache yearning, for one more, last taste.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Modern day taboo
The newest mental plague to lodge itself within our logic is the denial of our godliness.
You're it! The pen, paper, the writer, architect, creator, the child, you are the omega, and you are the alpha. True alchemists, you make something from nothing. You are what you wish to be. Masters of land, earth and sea. You can admit it, or live your facade. Entertaining little creatures, won't admit they're God. Poor beings of comfort, this is something you'll never do,
because you're slaves
to this modern day taboo.
You're it! The pen, paper, the writer, architect, creator, the child, you are the omega, and you are the alpha. True alchemists, you make something from nothing. You are what you wish to be. Masters of land, earth and sea. You can admit it, or live your facade. Entertaining little creatures, won't admit they're God. Poor beings of comfort, this is something you'll never do,
because you're slaves
to this modern day taboo.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Red pink and white, above made love.
Out on a walk....
Blades of grama tickled my knees.
Falling leaves told me of their needs.
Reality warped my sense of perception,
as a blue pond described its tension.
Above my head I saw the sky - it drew me a map.
Red pink and white above made love.
Colors dripped, ran and fell - they whispered a lullaby.
Colors dripped, ran and fell - and took me on a ride.
My multi-colored wagon acquitted me by a tree
Care to share a cigarette, he asked vehemently.
I would like to know how it feels to enjoy the ashes of your own.
Of this I'm not certain, the truth is there's not much I claim to know.
I will, however, assume that the answer you seek lies on the floor.
He smiled and bent a branch, caressed, hugged, kissed, and let go of me.
As I fell I dug my hand into the wet ground and retrieved some as a souvenir.
Gently I stroked the mud on my face, and cried in earth's embrace.
Fell to my knees and looked up at the tree.
He had kept himself busy, blowing alabaster smoke figurines from his mouth.
You are just like me I said, within a breath. Like everything else.
You grow from the ground and then hurt it with your roots.
Yes, our self fulfilling appetite for destruction is true, it's as real as me... as me and you.
Do you attempt to deride at my tragedy? Said the tall and angry deity.
YOUR PARADOXICAL FELL NATURE SPROUTS FROM GREED.
At full speed like a stampede, an emotional and personal screed his wrath threw at me.
Obliged as if by and to the impact my body collapsed.
Unconscious I must have become one with the floor.
I don't remember coming to, losing my ability to move,
and forevermore these events remain perdue.
I remember nothing more than rising, and stretching my limbs out in the rain,
staring long into the sun whenever its rays called out my name.
And feeling, what I could only call my feet, spreading the very ground I stood on.
The days and nights I lived in a past life, in comparison to these were not the same,
not since the lonely deity proclaimed - that his unearthly companion I became.
Reality warped my sense of perception,
as a blue pond described its tension.
Above my head I saw the sky - it drew me a map.
Red pink and white above made love.
Colors dripped, ran and fell - they whispered a lullaby.
Colors dripped, ran and fell - and they took me on a ride.
Red, pink, and white make love up high.
Their climax is their crown, their kingdom here on the ground.
Lay your burden down, and set your worries aside.
Enjoy this gift I've wrapped up it's called life.
-Life... life he says; is that what you call imprisonment?
To lay still, to not move, comatose, still in this bayou?
No, but you and your kind do.
Until you let go, you cannot be.
You cannot be until you let go;
These things he would say, almost everyday.
And from dreams to visions my consciousness would sway
Having my hands around an axe, in a wide stance,
swinging at full force, closing my eyes, the axe knew its course.
-Love tell me of your life...
His words were a plate of awakening with a side of fright.
I fondled the notion of the life now left in the past,
figured the devil had extended his hand, and asked me for a dance
What a fool, I failed to decline.
-Your silence speaks for the voiceless,
You who have a voice; deem it pointless.
Aware of the despair.... I suspect.
Inertia made your bed every night.
Your blindness, seems therefor right.
How can you be to blame? Expected to feel shame.
Your feet painted each day the same.
For you to have lived, indeed, that would be strange.
Voluntary slavery, your feet would walk you to every day.
Like a whore, from vice to vice you'd sway
For a short moment of freedom, Laid under the sun, and made of clay.
Blades of grama tickled my knees.
Falling leaves told me of their needs.
Reality warped my sense of perception,
as a blue pond described its tension.
Above my head I saw the sky - it drew me a map.
Red pink and white above made love.
Colors dripped, ran and fell - they whispered a lullaby.
Colors dripped, ran and fell - and took me on a ride.
My multi-colored wagon acquitted me by a tree
Care to share a cigarette, he asked vehemently.
I would like to know how it feels to enjoy the ashes of your own.
Of this I'm not certain, the truth is there's not much I claim to know.
I will, however, assume that the answer you seek lies on the floor.
He smiled and bent a branch, caressed, hugged, kissed, and let go of me.
As I fell I dug my hand into the wet ground and retrieved some as a souvenir.
Gently I stroked the mud on my face, and cried in earth's embrace.
Fell to my knees and looked up at the tree.
He had kept himself busy, blowing alabaster smoke figurines from his mouth.
You are just like me I said, within a breath. Like everything else.
You grow from the ground and then hurt it with your roots.
Yes, our self fulfilling appetite for destruction is true, it's as real as me... as me and you.
Do you attempt to deride at my tragedy? Said the tall and angry deity.
YOUR PARADOXICAL FELL NATURE SPROUTS FROM GREED.
At full speed like a stampede, an emotional and personal screed his wrath threw at me.
Obliged as if by and to the impact my body collapsed.
Unconscious I must have become one with the floor.
I don't remember coming to, losing my ability to move,
and forevermore these events remain perdue.
I remember nothing more than rising, and stretching my limbs out in the rain,
staring long into the sun whenever its rays called out my name.
And feeling, what I could only call my feet, spreading the very ground I stood on.
The days and nights I lived in a past life, in comparison to these were not the same,
not since the lonely deity proclaimed - that his unearthly companion I became.
Reality warped my sense of perception,
as a blue pond described its tension.
Above my head I saw the sky - it drew me a map.
Red pink and white above made love.
Colors dripped, ran and fell - they whispered a lullaby.
Colors dripped, ran and fell - and they took me on a ride.
Red, pink, and white make love up high.
Their climax is their crown, their kingdom here on the ground.
Lay your burden down, and set your worries aside.
Enjoy this gift I've wrapped up it's called life.
-Life... life he says; is that what you call imprisonment?
To lay still, to not move, comatose, still in this bayou?
No, but you and your kind do.
Until you let go, you cannot be.
You cannot be until you let go;
These things he would say, almost everyday.
And from dreams to visions my consciousness would sway
Having my hands around an axe, in a wide stance,
swinging at full force, closing my eyes, the axe knew its course.
-Love tell me of your life...
His words were a plate of awakening with a side of fright.
I fondled the notion of the life now left in the past,
figured the devil had extended his hand, and asked me for a dance
What a fool, I failed to decline.
-Your silence speaks for the voiceless,
You who have a voice; deem it pointless.
Aware of the despair.... I suspect.
Inertia made your bed every night.
Your blindness, seems therefor right.
How can you be to blame? Expected to feel shame.
Your feet painted each day the same.
For you to have lived, indeed, that would be strange.
Voluntary slavery, your feet would walk you to every day.
Like a whore, from vice to vice you'd sway
For a short moment of freedom, Laid under the sun, and made of clay.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Hope.....
Hope is a lucrative possession, owned by a deceptive merchant.
Sold in a vagrant market, run by kings and run by peasants.
Feet aimlessly tap, from hole to hole and shrine to shrine
Speaking loudly, of a chronicle titled wasted time.
Hope is fiction, and action reality
And in between - no duality.
Sold in a vagrant market, run by kings and run by peasants.
Feet aimlessly tap, from hole to hole and shrine to shrine
Speaking loudly, of a chronicle titled wasted time.
Hope is fiction, and action reality
And in between - no duality.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Da pena...
Como quema el sol. La piel de mis manos brotan bajo su tocar. Sucias.... Mis manos.... Pero la mugre es, para el que sabe veer, lo que dejo el rito del paso. El rito del paso al que sufre, al que rie, al que busca, al que aprecia, y al que deja ir aquello que aprecia. Esa mugre son las huellas que deja el camino andado, y tambien son las huellas que dejaron aquellas carreteras que decidimos no caminar. Esa mugre es el pavimiento en el cual la vida suele andar.
Como seca el frio. Haciendo temblar mi ser, bajo su besar. Temeroso.... temeroso queda mi ser; bajo las fuertes sacudidas al recipiente de carne y hueso que lo contiene. Mi alma ampollada no le teme por el danio, le teme por la memoria. El saber que tras su aliento esta el acuerdo que hacemos con la soledad. Ese temor es ver cara a cara a nuestros remordimientos olvidados. Pero tras los ojos del pesar tambien existe una avenida oposita a la cual queremos olvidar.
Da pena que por verguenza nos lavamos las manos, y que por cobardia nos arropamos. E ingenuamente nos quejamos por que el sol sigue quemando y el frio secando. Sin saber que para vivir, una pequenia parte de nosotros tiene que morir.
Como seca el frio. Haciendo temblar mi ser, bajo su besar. Temeroso.... temeroso queda mi ser; bajo las fuertes sacudidas al recipiente de carne y hueso que lo contiene. Mi alma ampollada no le teme por el danio, le teme por la memoria. El saber que tras su aliento esta el acuerdo que hacemos con la soledad. Ese temor es ver cara a cara a nuestros remordimientos olvidados. Pero tras los ojos del pesar tambien existe una avenida oposita a la cual queremos olvidar.
Da pena que por verguenza nos lavamos las manos, y que por cobardia nos arropamos. E ingenuamente nos quejamos por que el sol sigue quemando y el frio secando. Sin saber que para vivir, una pequenia parte de nosotros tiene que morir.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Divya Drishti
I am alive
Not because my heart beats,
but because I can see...
The trees struggling to absorb more water when it rains
Flowers stretching towards the rays of the sun.
I am them and they are me
The water, green grass, and trees.
Another part of you - another part of me.
I am alive because I can see
Beyond what is you and what is me
The truth shun by divya drishti
Not because my heart beats,
but because I can see...
The trees struggling to absorb more water when it rains
Flowers stretching towards the rays of the sun.
I am them and they are me
The water, green grass, and trees.
Another part of you - another part of me.
I am alive because I can see
Beyond what is you and what is me
The truth shun by divya drishti
No seas....
Eres un invierno solitario,
un soldado derrotado.
Viviendo tras los empujones de tus pies.
Eres el sudor que broto la fiebre.
Eres las gans vanas de llenar un vaso sin fondo,
un "te quiero" dicho a oidos sordos.
Agotado...
en las ganas vanas de llenar un vaso sin fondo,
el "te quiero" suspirado a oidos sordos.
Inercia boba, como quiziera que me dejaras de empujar,
y que en cambio me ensenes a lidiar.
Eres un ojo sordo, y un oido ciego.
Eres la soledad que dejo el invierno.
Desempanate en llenar ese vaso,
ya que tu empeno no es mas que un gasto.
No te conviertas en la falta de sol a un verde pasto.
un soldado derrotado.
Viviendo tras los empujones de tus pies.
Eres el sudor que broto la fiebre.
Eres las gans vanas de llenar un vaso sin fondo,
un "te quiero" dicho a oidos sordos.
Agotado...
en las ganas vanas de llenar un vaso sin fondo,
el "te quiero" suspirado a oidos sordos.
Inercia boba, como quiziera que me dejaras de empujar,
y que en cambio me ensenes a lidiar.
Eres un ojo sordo, y un oido ciego.
Eres la soledad que dejo el invierno.
Desempanate en llenar ese vaso,
ya que tu empeno no es mas que un gasto.
No te conviertas en la falta de sol a un verde pasto.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Luna
Lost - Inside
inside your silver grimace smile.
A love - in love
with your white pastel lining.
One at peace with Luna.
inside your silver grimace smile.
A love - in love
with your white pastel lining.
One at peace with Luna.
Pluvia
Gentle trinkets falling from the sky
Carry me to the storm that breeds your existence.
Defy reason with your design,
re-write history through a cry.
Adorn me gentle trinkets of the sky
Make me a child of the earth.
Tease me not with mathematics,
or the facts known as science.
Drench me in a song of truth,
and a lesson of our essence.
Empty me of any bias
and notion of my presence.
Trinkets of the sky...
Tell me of the nature of duality,
and the balance that exists alone within you.
The balance from which you come and to which you go.
Evaporate me with you while I slumber
Have me fall with you... on another.
Disintegrate human ego and pride
trinkets falling from the sky.
Carry me to the storm that breeds your existence.
Defy reason with your design,
re-write history through a cry.
Adorn me gentle trinkets of the sky
Make me a child of the earth.
Tease me not with mathematics,
or the facts known as science.
Drench me in a song of truth,
and a lesson of our essence.
Empty me of any bias
and notion of my presence.
Trinkets of the sky...
Tell me of the nature of duality,
and the balance that exists alone within you.
The balance from which you come and to which you go.
Evaporate me with you while I slumber
Have me fall with you... on another.
Disintegrate human ego and pride
trinkets falling from the sky.
Lucid Silent Dream
Tall and jubilant, like you I want to stand.
Share a story with me.
You can hold me by the hand.
Teach me to see through your eyes,
to be still like you, strong like you.
Beneath your blanket I sit,
Hoping to learn from your wit.
To dance like you in the wind.
Share with me... the wisdom imparted to you by your long years.
On your roots I'll leave my fears.
Tell me... Do you weep like me?
Pry and cry like me?
Do you wonder as the wind ruffles your fingers,
why they go from green to orange, from orange to red, and to green again?
Tell me what the wind whispers into your ear.
And tell me - when she whispers - do you smile and sing?
Smile and sing.... like me?
Or is there nothing else to you, but simply being a tree.
Share a story with me.
You can hold me by the hand.
Teach me to see through your eyes,
to be still like you, strong like you.
Beneath your blanket I sit,
Hoping to learn from your wit.
To dance like you in the wind.
Share with me... the wisdom imparted to you by your long years.
On your roots I'll leave my fears.
Tell me... Do you weep like me?
Pry and cry like me?
Do you wonder as the wind ruffles your fingers,
why they go from green to orange, from orange to red, and to green again?
Tell me what the wind whispers into your ear.
And tell me - when she whispers - do you smile and sing?
Smile and sing.... like me?
Or is there nothing else to you, but simply being a tree.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Little Box
In your living room lives a box
Delightful, persuasive, and depressed.
It has an eidetic talent with colors,
and a communicative distress.
A bundle of joy tied to despair
This box seems to be.
And as a quilt or companion at night
She has attached herself to thee.
In your living room lives a box
As powerful as a god or gun.
In your living room lives a box
That has made what you've become.
In your living room lives a box
For you calmly waiting there.
From that little box
For you to look away I dare.
Delightful, persuasive, and depressed.
It has an eidetic talent with colors,
and a communicative distress.
A bundle of joy tied to despair
This box seems to be.
And as a quilt or companion at night
She has attached herself to thee.
In your living room lives a box
As powerful as a god or gun.
In your living room lives a box
That has made what you've become.
In your living room lives a box
For you calmly waiting there.
From that little box
For you to look away I dare.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Just a rant
So... what is it that makes us tick? To say that I've never done wrong would be a lie, but to say that I've never tried to remedy whatever has not gone according to plan is a bigger one. Maybe that's the problem... Plans... Why is it that everyone feels like they need a plan? It's almost as if that so called plan was some kind of map to where they're trying to get. THIS IS LIFE WE ARE SPEAKING OF CHILDREN, it's the one time you experience it, and you want to do it according to some kind of grid, or set of rules. Structure is fine, it helps, but to follow that structure as if it was one's air inhibitor is something else. LIFE IS NOT ABOUT THE DESTINATION. LIFE IS ABOUT THE JOURNEY. Of course, I'm sure one can say, well, yes it is about the journey, but there still is a journey if you go according to "plan" the plan is only there to make that journey smoother....
Why is it that everyone wants things so damn easy??? Why make the journey smoother, making the journey smoother is altering the journey itself, making it a completely different one. Sure one can always do as one pleases, it is one's life.... but why make it easier? In the attempt to make it easier, do we not miss out on something? A lesson? experience? or even miss out on not missing out if that even makes sense. We are such little pathetic beings of comfort. Sure you're sitting there saying "No, not me I'm not, get over yourself. WE ALL ARE." In that comfort we may not be necessarily happy, but complacent at the very least...
Everyone wants to see a light at the end of the tunnel, and the only reason everyone seems to complaint about never getting to that point... is because they've been there already. A million times before, but they're not used to the light, because all they've known is the dim light inside of the tunnel itself. When they reach that light at the end of the tunnel the new feeling, produces a feeling of discomfort, a strange awareness of nothing, and a gradual, involuntary retreat back to the dim light of the tunnel commences.
Why is it that everyone wants things so damn easy??? Why make the journey smoother, making the journey smoother is altering the journey itself, making it a completely different one. Sure one can always do as one pleases, it is one's life.... but why make it easier? In the attempt to make it easier, do we not miss out on something? A lesson? experience? or even miss out on not missing out if that even makes sense. We are such little pathetic beings of comfort. Sure you're sitting there saying "No, not me I'm not, get over yourself. WE ALL ARE." In that comfort we may not be necessarily happy, but complacent at the very least...
Everyone wants to see a light at the end of the tunnel, and the only reason everyone seems to complaint about never getting to that point... is because they've been there already. A million times before, but they're not used to the light, because all they've known is the dim light inside of the tunnel itself. When they reach that light at the end of the tunnel the new feeling, produces a feeling of discomfort, a strange awareness of nothing, and a gradual, involuntary retreat back to the dim light of the tunnel commences.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)