Let us go forward w/out feet

|Gehen wir ohne Füße| 02|28|2014      

Nach vorn___                                                  

[I journey
no matter what it takes
even if]

Alle von mir___                                              

Eines Tages vielleicht
meine Füße nicht mehr tippen
Sie auf Messen___

*

Quite a bit of German influenced my morning & inspired this little poem. <3 Tschüss!

Literary relishing

|Giving in to grateful secrets| 02|26|2014

This morning
I delved back into a
reluctant passion w/
particular pages,
in a certain book I love,
& have studied for 
many years
& treat as a dear friend

pressing my face into its body,
judgment was not made
for stopping & taking the opportunity
to run its print & paper
across my cheeks, brow & lips

as well
to inhale deeply w/
each turn, to trace the shifts
in scent from certain mark points
& sections I’ve memorized

in it
is carried
scent memories
from many places
we have been physically,
not to mention
the recollection of
where the book itself has taken me

& how
I am forever grateful for
the lessons it has brought forward
& taught me.

No comment . 2

No comment

The shadow wait watusi

|In wait for dictation| 02|24|2014

Writing about the days as they go by
& details of the grind & I assume
this is what I should be doing,
while I wait for something to give___.

*

|As shadows crawl across surfaces| 02|24|2014

Single-perspective monologue
w/ walls as old friends
hit the keys / grind the teeth
the day will go by

& when
night falls_ the walls
will still be there_ & the
single-perspective monologue
will keep on going___.

Insomnia w/ a song

|Sleeping w/ Mrs. Gibbs| 02|24|2014

It’s currently 4 AM

regrettably the light has been turned on
[which means it may be too late]

although there is a great deal of silence
to be taken advantage of
[in the house] I’d still
rather be asleep

thing is___
Georgia Gibbs
is singing on repeat:
I Want You to Be My Baby
___ a good song to dance to, & I would love to
but my feet are glued to
my head these days

[which isn’t exactly lucrative to keeping beat___
especially at 4 AM]

so, just turn the light back off
[what else is there?]
just curl up under the covers, & maybe
it won’t be
too late to get a little more sleep

[even w/ Mrs. Gibbs singing]

Remembering poised quills buffing to shimmer inside

|A puzzle of digestion & regurgitation| 02|22|2014

The mental architect, hoping to design
a better way of thinking/feeling & living
in such strange a state of affairs, the
likes of which cannot be properly explained
or even perceived from another view

no insult, just what has proven to be true.

The mental architect, believing something
new can be constructed from the rubble
of past self-collisions & too many realizations
for even itself to fathom from
a here-&-now type perspective, since

if all the pieces were had, half the challenge
would be subtracted from what takes a
life time or more to collect & absorb

& maybe all this jazz called
existence will make sense___ or conclusion
at least, is reached for contentment.

Little bits of that

|Breaking the old ways down through electric shock therapy|

Panic is at a low current
& please don’t test the lines___
I’m not in the mood for electrocution, &
neither is my body___.

*

|No exclamation marks, but what the fuck|

Running like a bandit…
from what?

Each time I turn around to surrender
I just see myself
& the riddles surrounding…

what I can only assume is cognitive growth.

02|22|2014

Only instant images

02/22/2014

Interstices / crystal lattice
[an atom or seemingly solid body of matter, say]
step-by-step
[walking on a road that never ends, as well keeps on shifting]
up / down
[breathing, heart beating & perspiration, waiting dissipation]
in-&-out
[revolving in mental/emotional cul-de-sac, being broken by elements]
forward / not backward
[always the push onward w/out having the answer as to why]
yet in between
[desire to exist w/in the interstices of a crystal lattice, only]
always
[for awhile]

One more to end a rough day

|Accepting discord to find your own harmony| 02|21|2014

Accord exists
& it’s okay
even w/ a hot needle in your side
___you’ll get by

contentment is tangible
it’s not a heavily suppressed lie
you’ve touched it & know
it’s okay___
the sight of it gets lost
from time-to-time
because surrounding it is
the struggle & suffer
of things

as always___

remember that
at the center of chaos is peace.

Alles

|Burn : unconditional : light| 02|21|2014

Nervous : the

flesh : of

ache : worst

organs : slow

system : madness

fire : grating

_ _ _

Logic : cold

electric : particles

flash : white

the : blind

of : love

Picking at rough pattern & formula

Examining cognitive shifts involving
the body enduring breakage under constant
[insert word I’m sick of using]

unrelenting w/out peace, delirium takes
the place of reality

after years chaos becomes the only comfort zone
___too, solitude is best of all medicines

eventually things must change though
& [insert word I’m sick of using]
can no longer control every moment waking
since it’s not always an awful thing just to be alive

finding reasons for living after breakage of body & mind
is akin to learning how to walk again

once the head is above water as torture subsides
slowly it becomes recognized that
___it is possible to survive

|Even the worst of hells| 02|21|2014 

Version

|Ver. 2, Working toward a smoother melody|


Kiddo has to express the bare

brittle facts of the matter, before

she can make the words seem beautiful___

again.

Using symbolism has

its place, however, so does

the straight truth.

If you want decoration, you’ll just have to wait___

because a direct message

no matter how disturbing it may be

stands up for itself, even though it is not

a painted melody & mastery of word usage___.

Thick tangential rise

When growing up most of us have some form of expectation or ideal as to how our lives should turn out as adults, but I couldn’t muster the volition to set any high hopes for my future. All I remember is seeing so much struggle & suffering in the people surrounding me that I understood that at a certain point in life that’s what I would have to look forward to, because in the long-run it’s all up to event & entropy. This isn’t to say I didn’t have dreams & desires, just simply that I wasn’t willing to bank too much on anything since I’d already witnessed even the smallest of fortunes being ripped away w/out prior notice. I learned early not to hold on to anything too tightly, because we exist in a temporary state in which pain is the adhesive of an illusive thing called happiness. It sounds like being self-defeated, but it’s not. I still owned up & took life on w/ serious intent to do right for myself & by my own morals, if anything out of good-natured spite.  
Well, here it is: I’m almost 30 & I’ve been torn down & ripped up to the point where all I want is to have my health & my life returned to some form of solid tracks. My 20s have been spent experiencing organs being eaten alive by a freak infection (caused by a so-called doctor equipped w/ a dirty scalpel) that couldn’t be placed by a multitude of medical practitioners in one state, which rendered me physically & emotionally absent for the majority of this decade. Two & a half years into it I crossed the US & landed in an ER (diagnosed & treated in about 2 hours by a doctor I can only describe as: The Surfer). They told me that the infection coming out of my body would be worse than it actively eating my insides, but what they didn’t tell me is that an infection of that severity slowly exiting the body could kill me. Sure enough, I existed on the cusp between conscious in this reality & easily slipping beyond anyone’s grasp & further into nothingness. That lasted for three years until finally my stubborn strength shattered & it became pick one side or the other. Certainly it was a cake-or-death moment, & I wasn’t too sure I wanted the cake anymore since the frosting just makes me sick. Needless to say I took the stomach wrenching frosting, because there’s still more to do. Already having lived through hell means: like hell will I give up, cuz I’m gonna get it ALL back when I hit the ground running. When I hit the ground running___ an excellent aspiration for crawling back from the brink of death, but what has revealed itself as more of a noble concept than a plan to be properly executed. Currently I feel as though I am up against a seemingly impermeable obstacle. The goal appears to be either keep smashing into it until my skull breaks, or the wall gives, & apparently that's just how it goes.
Essentially, my childhood notions have only been proven correct. What I did not expect, however, are the positive results of suffer & struggle. I may be penniless & still attempting to convalesce, while not having the same things many have to show for themselves by this age in life, due to my experiences. At the same time though, I have become humble through the gain of knowledge. Content by understanding that what I have faced & navigated through was worth every second of madness & agony. There is a reason I chomp at the aspect of futility in life as if it were my own personal bit, & that’s because the universe constantly has its spurs in my sides___ just waiting for me to buck. No doubt, another lesson will be learned. We fight in life & attempt to bargain for compromise in order to meet forward progress & growth. If we don’t fight/struggle/suffer & buck when life rides our backs as if it’s a free-for-all, but not for us, then we never learn what life actually has in store. Nothing gets sowed & nothing gets reaped. If that isn’t a basic point of purpose, then I am not someone you should be taking seriously.

“What you believe is what you see” - Brian Eno

Free form w/ a questionable outlet

"I was against life, on principle. What principle? The principle of futility." - H. Miller

Currently, I would much rather be writing fiction than redundant poems about dead ends & barren landscapes. A One Night Stand, my story in the works, is at a standstill & has been for a period of time I dare not clock.
This isn't what is referred to as a rut, no, it's the slow percolation of information & events. Until finally the well is full once again, only to be used up & expelled through the process of creativity. Even piss in a rag can be used as an effective tool under certain circumstances. It's never as good as the real thing though, & I don't know where I stand in poetry anymore. Naturally it makes sense to dig up the old work like a corpse & examine the remains down to strands of DNA. Break it all apart, see how it functioned in the first place. That's the old jazz though & I innately recall the infrastructure of those tunes. Now is now & then was then.
It's time to cut the ground around me to find poetry, all over again, while the feeling of futility is a thick outer crust.
Basically, I feel lost, & I'm attempting to find myself through poetry again.
Doesn't seem as if there's anything left though. A dry, fruitless struggle w/ mixed aspirations & a floating point which bobs & weaves, but never becomes tangible. Too, just giving up isn't an option.

I'm sitting in a dirty corner w/ a real gun murdering tin cans w/ fake bullets.

Do it anyway

|Perched between people & puppeteers| 02|17|2014

Navigating soot of the crucible___
mountains of ash make up landscapes
& we’re told not to view this as bleak, since
one must be able to find silver in the grey of
such patterns made in dust___
rainbows must be painted on the inner walls
of perception to be able to give it a real go
even though there’s no pot of gold or a
happy ending, just:
run the race, whether or not it’s fixed

otherwise this will all have been a waste___

Off, gone, out beyond who even knows what

|Revolving epoch of the mind| 02|17|2014

Corridors I would run up & down
now are only walked in jaunt
if anything, since I’ve come to recognize
that the rush to find the right door
or any door for that matter
doesn’t accomplish much when
they are revealed or opened based off
of a different timing than
my own,
even though the journey is not brief
it must be taken in pace & w/ patience

The truth of it

|Inside view surrounding|

Everything but the room is gone
& each
step I take seems to pull me further down

no matter if there’s a positive out look

I keep my foot work up, but it
only goes so far when all roads are
closed off
& all that’s left
is a wall to slam my head against

sorry
if this is depressing, but ya know what
life sucks you dry, then ya die

good moments are rare
& I can’t pretend that
everything is fine

Building up from the grave

|All that’s left|

Face your pride caving in
tell them there’s nothing left to give
just do what you’ve gotta do
cuz it’s all there is

stubbornness won’t support you
although it may shuffle the dirt onto the grave
leading up to your head stone

every path
is a dead end
there’s no safety net left
no promise is kept except that of the day
you say goodbye to this way
of being

Lyrics upcoming

Maybe today I’ll find a way to break through
the barriers of the line
holding me back from what I’m getting at
there’s no more reason to be scared, but I’ll be damned
I am
so it’s cutting to the quick to bring
further understanding

it’s a prison in waiting w/ the atmosphere fading
still shuffling through truths & illusions
wondering where’s the horizon
when I'm already locked in

maybe today I’ll make it through to know why
or at least find a good reason to keep hope alive

|maybe| 02/09/14

It was a fine little tune that came together this morning, but then I added a verse...now it's gonna take another minute or two (a southern minute that is)

The Persian Slipper

|Elementary|

Now would be a good time to
get real dirty & dig back into the roots

an entire system, a circuit board
of paths & developments
which reaches up to the ever-rushing present
presenting all manner of sensation
emotion, contemplation on the past up to
what will be in the future

as well if it even matters

since human lives are the equivalent
to bits of fuzz, but apparently
even fuzz has roots & reason for being, so
dig in kiddo___ figure it out

it’s your life, it’s you’re puzzle to unfold

No more dancehall rhythms

|Not enough for kindling|

Go ahead, light her up
get her pissed,
she’s not a well-oiled pistol anymore
she’s just a series of words
& images

all that’s left to burn are stark ruins.

Alienating myself further

|At the end|

Still, it is not over___

the avenues are being cut down
options are dwindling
& now I must play the role
of a penniless bitch begging for
an attorney; which I don’t
believe, at this juncture, will help
anything aside from appeasing
the exploration
of every dead end…

*

My personal life of trying to remain composed as a prisoner to an illness inflicted, is heading into the legal world. The last place I wanted it to go, but nothing else has worked, & this may not work either. I could be setting myself up for a whirl-wind of hell & come out w/ nothing. I keep telling myself it's just more experience & know-how to be gained; try & hold that positive outlook together a little longer, maybe something will work. The process of trying to regain my health & get my life back in working order is my main focus right now. As well, keeping my writing & various other forms of art moving forward in progress.
& ya know what? I don't have time to pat every single head & explain my every action, so others feel like they know what's going on in my mind. This is a general statement that goes out to a lot of people, not just one...not just two...pretty much anyone who pays attention to my moves enough to care or be offended by something that is purely mine. In fact, the only thing I have to myself. So back the fuck up unless you can step up & be real about it. This isn't grade school, if we're friends enough to get offended then we should be adult enough to discuss it, as opposed to idly milling shattered glass of past bonds into self-weaponry, in separate sections w/ no communication.
Go ahead & think me snide if my life doesn't purely revolve around dancing on egg shells, soz not to disturb the egos of others. My art is MY art, my life is MY life & right now all you're gonna get is the adverse paroxysms I've had building up in my spit of spits for what feels of an eternity.
In the past I have only further alienated myself by not playing by the same rules & by speaking directly, w/out the candy coating. At this point I'm fed up w/ the network games of frontage & reputation battles. If you need others to ride, suck & rub your ego for personal gratification & further affirmation of what a brilliant writer you are___ don't come sniffing around my petticoat, instead go fuck the horse you rode in on. I'm not interested, & pleased to be nobody. 

-The Happy Rock

Silently scolded for working out loud

So I wrote some poems to try & get the story rolling again
no plot progress happened
So I wrote some poems to try & get myself going again
all I got was squelched by a multitude
of people (& highly misinterpreted, but what's new?)

So far, getting burnt for my own work AGAIN
is all the progress I got.

No, I will not hide behind story lines & if others want to take
personal offense to me expressing myself in a way that
really has nothing to do w/ them, then I don't know what to say,
other than: I'm going to keep doing exactly what I'm doing
regardless.
No, I will not continue to be afraid to speak openly
this is something I've had to deal w/ for years
(& not to say I'm the only artist to ever struggle w/ this, since odds are it's common)
but friends not even taking the time to speak to me personally before
jumping to an assumption (hearing the real deal) & lurching me in the dark
___that's just down right low.

If people would rather fill in the blanks w/ insecurity (another commonality)
than just talk to the person who created the piece of work
which apparently caused so much confusion, then nothing can be done
to assist the process of understanding or gaining a common ground
which is more to the liking than volatility.

I will never apologize for my work.
If others want to paint their own reflective emotions on it & shun me, well
more quiet time for work.

Coin flipping for which black eye

|Hardball___.|

A sock to the face

no support no report/

feeling like my persona is being

juvenilized to better placate

masses/

A sock to the face

on the other side of the coin

feeling plucked for better understanding/

no report no support

advancing understanding becomes no more than

conjecture at best/

Hardball___

ignorance spreads through moron & through sage. 

Dangling beams of

|Conscience: a series of cognitive levels|

Balustrades w/ slat-after-slat, only
it is formula & patterns

chaos they call it

instead a code to crack
another puzzle to unfold, another
language to memorize

inhuman due to too human
alienated since most
don’t get as far as the slats,
to blend I must be a fool
or rather accept
that most cold form of sanity is
perceived as madness

navigational tools they assist
playing the role of gorilla
swinging & leaping between slats &
ignoring the rails all together
because, humanity
can’t tell its elbow from its ass

Lotus Cookies

This is my first shot at uploading a video to blogger. There is no imagery, only sound, & it is a raw recording of my song Lotus Cookies. I've only really been playing the guitar for about two years now & writing songs is something I've had great aspirations toward for a very long time. When people ask, I tell them that my main musical inspiration is Harpo Marx, because he created his own way of tuning & playing the harp. Once he was well in the business he even hired some of the best harp players around to teach him the traditional method, but he never learned due to them being so fascinated w/ his manner of playing. Well, I'm certainly no Harpo or Django Reinhardt, but this is the best I've got to show for myself right now; complete w/ still rough chord transitions. Lyrics below:

|Lotus Cookies|

A closed window w/ two sets of eyes
two & two on each side
hands & faces pressed up against the pane

say, where's the latch so we can catch up for what
was not so much lost time, I'd like to share over
Lotus Cookies in tea

just don't stand too close, until the tea
is ready

Words come & go/ /Gegenüber Widerspruch

|Bitte ist|

Hit the latch, trigger the release
I’m done here___
Hit the expiration button, cuz
I’m gone___

. . .

Don’t ask anymore questions
just do what I tell you___
Don’t hold me up
just let me in___

. . .

Out I go___
into the blue of the upper partials,
that is to say
what is unknown.

*

|Don’t go to sleep on me|

Get scared___
the words won’t come back,
since sometimes they expire just like
the breath of a vibrant body, the
work may die___

Heart may cease to beat
w/ lids fluttering in R.E.M. sleep,
there will be no more
A.M.
there will be no more
P.M.
& maybe, day & night never existed to begin w/,
it’s just another illusion to
grasp onto

Like another body, you
get used to
& hope they don’t go to sleep w/out you,
just like the words___they may never come back. 

Click & read, like scratch & sniff

Long verse at a stand still

|Provoking characters|

Poetry___
I’m not sure why or where it comes from
but every now & then
I’ve just got scratch at it,
even if just to talk to the characters
in my stories, since they seem to be on hold___

Looking for a good reason to live up?

|Not forever turning night & day|

We’re fucked, &

there’s no way out, I suggest

laughing anyway___

Image w/out body

|Standing in wait for dictation|

Did you feel, do you
now
know that I won’t let go
even if just of
memory

we can lock eyes on the train
& let natural events
bang our knees together

& I know
that it’s difficult to be direct

you keep showing up
w/out direct call though

thus
I am unable to fall
completely

one way or the other

& you know
I will only sing, ring or dance
when it’s you, you
you

& you know how many years it’s been
how long it’s gone on since
I saw you light up as a stranger looking at me
easily w/in reach
just by the bay on a summer day, or
a cold night in January
in the rain

nothing much else needs to be said
since you already know
know, know

now these days I just hope
that we’ll meet again
on another train or perhaps
during lunch


(no image to assist...) 

Hide-&-seek between thought & feeling

|Peek-a-boo|

Rapscallion you
hiding on the wayside,
it’s an emotion playing games w/
myself & I see now
how this is having effect

yes
my feathers are ruffling just as
they did in the past
when you hung around my mind
not saying much, but
making your point perfectly
clear

in time

when up to it, always
feel free
to step in & speak
whether direct
or in cryptic rhymes

my conscience is receptive to
understanding the root
of each emotion, especially when
it leads to action & exploration
of further emotional commotions,
since otherwise life might
be a bore

if we never decide to take
a chance & dance
naked 

Very recent
photo of me taking
a break while
writing a story
titled:
A One Night Stand

Poem written today
02/02/2014