Friday, October 31, 2008

pain poem, sad poem

what happened here? 

are these imaginary wishes?
do they come from vapor, an absent air?
there is no consolidation
and there is never an Okay
all there is,
is too much moving, and too much of everything.
the world got big and crowded,
and I want off
but there's nowhere to go. just the same old dismal land
and landscapes,
and everything that happened for thousands of years.
get me off,
i want to fucking leave
for real.
welcome to the most filled Alone place you'll ever find.

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

twilight / mixed media / canvas

Tuesday, October 28, 2008

posted on the balcony
in trouble
with the world.
mindless drudgery
awaits me,
and i am 
in all fashion
i fashion a bayonet
to kill the drudgery,
and am left with
A Carnival.
awaiting orders,
the color merges & Fades
into a noise of meaning,
lost is killing-
replaced by creation.
Curtain is a shadow,
which can be music-
folded cube of love
on a lap of tears,
salty fear dripping down
A face.
my baby is a lover,
she was let down-
by a killer.
now we go out in the wild
to see the stars, Burn!
now its time to heave,
the liquor burns, it burns.
craft me a life
for the both of us
cause im tired of scrounging
pity. tired of asking help,
need a lover.

Monday, October 27, 2008

outside / mixed media / paper

Sunday, October 26, 2008

the dark was moving
outside my window,
like it had taken life &
was dancing.
I laid there watching
waiting for it
to come in,
but it simply hovered
as air does on a hot day
with no wind.

Saturday, October 25, 2008

you know where people go in the night,

by the motions of their leaving;

and why.

their belongings left in a hurry


an urgency,

in a wanting.

assume that love

may be involved-

because only love can

steal something

important away.

do not fight,

love is not fightable.

Slowly moving my way across the wet ground, moving towards a grove in the distance all frozen blue & light blue with strange red lights beckoning. I was going to meet her there in the middle spot of the forest. A forest not normally known for having a middle, here I had discovered in a dream the way to find it and now it was happening. A no wind made everything easy to smell and my hearing was sharp. My mind feels awake I think its the cold pressing on my body. I had passed a frozen lake now a memory behind me on a flat horizon it still shimmers and a wave moves across it with snowflakes melting in terror trapped in their lightness of flight. There are no birds. That is strange. The sound of everything else; trees growing, crunching boots in the snow, a mysterious organ playing from far-away, it must be the forest making music. I blink several times and again look off, now even closer. The red lights almost seem a wisp of blood sprayed up and frozen in the air. She will be there. She will be standing in the middle between the trees by a stone singing to herself waiting for me. She doesn't know who I am yet but she can feel the vibrations along the ground, telling her that I am coming. And in her mind she knows too well the embrace of this meeting. She has been waiting 10 years for it. Ever since she discovered the spot herself. And how I don't know. My dream never told me and no one ever told me. I just know that it comes to those who know something deep inside their bones. Doesn't have to be anything in particular. A knowingness that goes beyond any word or action. A deep settling inside the heart that makes things very heavy or very light. No in between. Broken up overhead clouds shadowed the night, so that the moonlight was faint infinity of lines making strange circles on the ground. I could no longer wait. I moved faster and faster. The meaning of my life was about to come to me. How could it take any longer. Where was the future now when I cared little for what had come before. only only only only. 
oslo forest / mixed media / canvas

Thursday, October 23, 2008

oct. 18 Dana Point Aggression / mixed media / canvas

Castle Fortress * Paradise / mixed media / canvas

Winter Summer / mixed media / canvas dyptech

Passage / mixed media / canvas

california bombshell
blond beautiful
standing in the bed of a pick up truck, behind the
taco shop
two surfer dudes
girl reaching towards the sun
tall and beautiful lanky
of perfection
reaching away from
just reach towards me,
i want to be
in the scene
with you.

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

when I awoke first I assumed it was later morning and I could barely see out of the crack of my window, the time of day deceptive because the house always has a dim glow never brightening but never dark either. I sat up in my bed and the lucidity of awareness hit me all at once. There was nothing to grasp at and no uncertainty, just the calm peace of understanding about nothing. There wasn't even a hesitation in my mind as I sat there considering the time of day. It didn't matter. Outside a fog is rolling over the Point, the harbor covered in a thick moving cover of white & the hum shriek of a saw cutting down below. An erasure has come on, unsure as to whether it is a product of the sublime or a spent engine waiting for more gas. tomorrow has faded spending days here. no point in waiting for anything, the wait is a trap. It begets more waiting.  I am responsible, I am stricken I am prone to Rise & Fall and Rise again. There is now an empty church on the corner of Home, vacant with dust on the pews even ants and insects gone because the air has become polluted by the ravings of ghosts. No one enters. The candles all burned down to their very end of browned burnt up wax drips; An organ with most of its pipes missing a reminder of when the church was at its own fall and thieves ransacked the organ to melt the pipes down. Not even lost people wander in and stay the night, not even if the most horrible thunderstorm cracks overhead. The homeless don't count it as a home because its not. Let us take solace in knowing that with sleep comes the realness of our infancy. Failure is like a guide, working its movement on your body to tell it something important. Running away from the guide only leaves you lost in wild with very little hope of survival; and an illusion of survival may come to you at your weakest and you'll latch on hoping that its the guide. But its not. And that will be the test for you. Failing came back anyway and when you recognize its face the smile of learning will weave a brocade. It stopped being failure and became that guide. Like pain. Its all like that.

I want to shriek and wail Scream, become a horror of expression to the point of burning up or a big orange explosion, fire lancing towards the sky and horizon, a burst. The concern is that there would be more for me in that, then there is now. Which could be regarded as not shrieking and wailing Scream. There are wars and pains and a whole universe which to response is appropriate-why then Am I simply acceptance. I remember the rack long ago. And it stretched my bones telling me the very thing I just said. And almost everyone has been on the rack before, stretched to a degree, so that when they get off its just bliss knowing that the immediate pain has stopped. Farce. Fucking farce. It'll be back in the coldest part of the year. 

Monday, October 20, 2008

don't know what i am doing out here. an empty husk of a ship out in the harbor marooned and anchored. the wind blows all day long & all i can tell myself is how fragile life is and how enormous it is so that its an unbelievable structure something massive but made out of light crystal and glass; even a drop of water on its body would shake it terribly the vibrations causing a cascade. passivity will become atrophy, and I am scared to death that I will be this weak muscle unable to move. I cannot let something like that happen. there is far too much at stake here to let that happen. force is unacceptable, but truth is the real mover of anything-its ride a call to the sky to show itself. who doesn't want to stand upright and speak softly the truth of what they know to themselves, the truth rising from the mind being born and the utterance a sign of its now fading nature and death. i can't stop shaking. its maddening. the solutions to stop are frightening. it would mean letting a part of myself become vulnerable and open, what i feel and what anyone with sharp eyes witnesses is my body fighting my mind, and my body shakes my thoughts of what to do for so long I give up. I am too tired. I need help. Call the person who is supposed to help me and let me hear her voice. I will tell her the truth, the things I whisper to myself softly under my breath. And that will let her know That I am dreaming about her-a paradise where my body and mind are no longer asunder. I am whole. I wish for it with all my heart, if only it would quiet its beating to let me through.
dizzy to the weight of the world
weary from standing in the wind
feeling the slow edge of life
come on closer
& closer, crippled & hollow
until something courses through
your body to a substance.
the endless crash
of waves pounding
my quiet mind, fading 
with a broken down car on
the interstate.
sunlight to tell
me that i'm alive because at night
i am uncertain about what is said.

Sunday, October 19, 2008

nature not a pacifying force
golden shear cutting blonde hair
blond falling splashes on the wood floor
the open kitchen window,
singing softly as he cuts
& touches her ears
wincing as a drip of blood stains
on her sun dress.
without her sun dress
she begins to cry
An interflow of pain
shadowing her body
moving through the veins

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

like a spell
forever eternity
on a raging ocean sunrise
in a sky
pass me the bottle & i hope
its fucking cold! i'm mean. suffer
hope-i'll end us all.
say words in passing
i'm drinking tonight
setting up a climax
organic theory resting on
its head. i'ma mess up
serenity-by blowing up
the night.
oh no there's a monster
with a festering wound
spilling out. oh cry lovely
your dead bird on the lawn.
bitter enemy in paradise
i'll crown you with thorns like jesus
behave; there's a peace song
in the trees, i'm tired
flavor of your peace song.
slowly degrading anger
i'll cut it out
like paper-playing a flute out
on the water.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

the hotel room
my shivering body
i was - serious, and my back broke
watching a clock for too long
eating cabbage in a tin cup, nasty
feeling the weight of a call - from my sunken mind.

perched on a couch letting the television kill
like anything killing me, i enjoyed it. and hate it
rubbing my arms to scratch out a white hair
: toilet paper in the kitchen 'make yourself at home'
i need a drink and a smoke, come outside with me
to the balcony.

hearing you play guitar
my shadow dancing, & i'm singing to myself
crumbs on pant legs
a brush beat for the music

when i woke up i told myself;

'not much to approach,' with my hands out
scratching my back.
'i could do dishes again but how important is that,'
and it feels like i'm in
a flytrap

A stream of work
. yeah, that's endless 
impossible to quite
possible to wait
relaxing is a devil sport, I can't ever feel okay unless
i'm doing. What shit! 

i just turn on Lou Reed
& let his heroine cool
make me feel better.
never going to be okay,
he knows
A lightning bolt dead after its moment of impact
yeah like that lightning bolt
Strike! watch out for coyotes on the road
dead flesh with eyes that still look
keeping tabs on how many 
cars drive by with the party, my garage at home
stacked with liquor bottles ready to shoot
two kids on the corner tossing a mason jar
-back and forth-
full of fire. 
all of that energy
is smoke

close my eyes for me i'm too high;
they're just stuck like this
no hospitals
just your soft hands
and if you hug me
maybe the shaking will stop too.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

nothing in the refrigerator nothing to snack on to pass the last 20 minutes before i go to sleep. shame. the most painful part of the day turning 1 page in a book. rushing upstairs to find that my water had spilled, i was most devastated. it has been far too long since we met, the days are beyond endless i have almost forgotten when it was i last looked into your eyes. the careful pain and humor swirling endlessly. i must be able to stare into them. do not blink just look at me, out beyond there is a house with children playing on the roof. this is dangerous.

ta t ta ta ta ta tat ta ia ta tia tait iat iati atita tait
-the sound of a white porcelain plate bouncing along the pavement.

i'm just passed out in silence, my mind is scattered in a million directions so that i can barely think. this feeling of being lost inside of my head is a maddening feeling; i keep reaching out to grab something but it all just evades me like atoms and what goes on inside of them. now the fan is off because the weather is getting cooler. soon i wont be able to stand on the wood floor barefoot. the chilling touch of wood to skin in the winter can be arresting. nice kitchens remind me of writing on blank sheets of paper, sitting at the kitchen with a bottle of wine open. it should be in the afternoon or around 9 pm when the night has settled but there is plenty of time left. the end of everything at the corner of a bar where the windows are shut in with plywood, an old willow tree overhangs outside there is a pile of wood out front and a yard with couches and chairs, a hookah, ashtrays, bits of wire picked apart burnt down candles, wax spreading across a glass & metal table, a half shade built out of wood that blocks the view of a train track. there is also a swing set in the back and sometimes even people swinging in it, getting drunk in the middle of the night, men and women would ask each other to have a talk outside or have a fuck outside, or have a kiss, or have a smoke, have a read, whatever it was it usually ended up near or on the swings. inside there was a television that played movies perched behind the bar, the bartender drinking out of a cup-coffee, sometimes coffee and whiskey, smoking cigarettes reading literature. underneath the counter were poems-forgotten phone numbers left over by forgetfulness. sometimes he called. HA HA!.

i had this premonition once of a boy child exploding out of a blue volcano, somehow glorious in a deepening twilight lightning bolts a moon, a forest & lake, hunched out of this resplendence to arise Arise. he crawls away from the disaster all smiles and shaking legs that are burnt. he still feels the idea of them being there only that he is just moving across the ground with nothing past his waist, just wanting what he can't have.

Wednesday, October 08, 2008

A scent of tobacco in the air sunshine scattered I can feel the envy creep along inside my muscles cringing. but all i know is that i can shut time off inside my head and let an immortality of a second engulf me. its too damn much it swallows every bit of something up. i either got up and left or it all left but its all gone and it doesn't really matter how it happened, just that now the days stretch out in a forever endless mye. there is no escape from this except death, and that is not an option. options aren't really in the hand right now the future holds an escape of death but right now i can feel the edge inside my brain churning streams of ideas & conversations & wishes & clutching every possibility into a trap or i think its a trap but rumination only takes things so far eventually the time for experiments come to play, hypothesize attack unfold scatter out like marbles on pavement rolling rolling. i can hold my body together but its hard with so much nothing perched up all around. i saw black crows at a gas station jumping around next to motorcycles and sand dunes my neck sunburned and me trying to tie a shirt around my neck to stop the wind from blowing across the skin. when the night came and i was alone in the silence hearing its ringing piano sounds i wondered whether the plants had any idea of what silence was and what would happen if i got up and started walking. it was so romantic that i cried a little bit and wished for a xylophone to play as soft as possible. throwing rocks in every direction my hand and throw Chaos tool!; do not touch me unless i want to have sex with you, any other kind of comfort makes me anxious, nauseous & it becomes perilous to our relationship. i have been known to push everything away i am a believer in destruction and rebirth though i do not believe in the rebirth of man. i only believe in the rebirth of things and art and construction. throwing everything away to accumulate once again is the only way to get better things & I hate things but still surround myself by them. when they are absent, say, i am far away somewhere then i can exist and it is the most peaceful thing i have known; it can also turn on you like a drug becoming a frenzy of blood, eyes scattering across a horizon searching the desperate plea from the heart to beat. i cannot attack this or anything without fully extending my fist because when i stretch out rage becomes real. i don't have a favorite time of day only favorite people who have eyes deep with wells of pain & care, translucent bodies I see a boat and You inside gold coins scattered on the floor a little wet and you trying to tackle the wind while i paint pictures and we fight a storm. when i pass they will discover treasure and they will finally understand what i have been doing all this time, mystery solved only to create more mystery and this proves that questions can be left without an answer that answers are kind of arbitrary and I am going to spit all over you. Somehow in a instant i caught hate like a cold and wanted to press pain on your temples. i want to watch how you retreat so that I can understand what you value. don't be afraid, I am quite skilled and have never been known to kill anybody. the worst that can happen is a 5 year repression, but thats better than heroine withdrawal or breaking blunt stubs up to make a joint just to pass a couple of hours in peace; resonated trees taste like butt & ash but they get you very high. gardens are a wonderful source of renewal and even if inhabited by wild animals take care there is never a need for a gun or knife.

'i caught a swallow once in my hands and watched it shake violently almost to the point of death; in its eyes i saw part of myself and i pinched its throat watching it gasp for air. later on they took me to an emergency room where i sat on a cold bench looking at pictures of the body & mind. the doctor came into the white holding cell and looked at me then opened up a manila folder and closed it again sighing. i thought about running. a lake blue from all the tears of heaven a full moon during daytime and a trusty chair brought from home, in a backpack salami, bread and water. my treatment lasted 22 years. i came back and killed another bird then hung myself.' at my funeral my best friend had read a note i left him it said: "there is a manila folder in a doctor's office on Blvd. it contains my soul. please burn it so i can rest." he never found the folder instead got too caught up in his own life raising kids and having sex, drinking and watching movies in the evening. eventually the power grid failed and he sat huddled in the dark smoking cigarettes very afraid and confused. i'm stuck reading bad poetry in an adobe hut in hell, watching fire and smoking weed. satan loves marijuana, but all it does here is make me paranoid. i sure as hell wish i had never been smart enough to catch birds. i'm pretty stuck here & I don't blame him for not burning that folder but fuck, it sure would have been nice to feel sunshine instead of fire and be able to close my eyes without a nightmare. hell is a fucked up place.'

every lover i have ever had made me interested. i was interested in their legs their lips their hair (i love long hair) their eyes their cheeks. i have lovers that have never had me but that doesn't mean they weren't lovers. i got off just by touching their hand even if i never saw them naked and could only imagine it. everyone made everything too much of a big deal so as i got older the little glances looks eye fucks hugs scents and caresses didn't mean as much as they should. why did it all turn to anguish, its all a blessed gift just to see them and importance is a joke. laugh out loud and enjoy every second of anything that makes you sad because that same thing can make you boundless in your mind an extrapolation of ecstasy. every lover felt warm and when i was more keen to my own awareness i had a moment of epiphany: in the dark fingering a naked body hearing it laugh and moan and shake! she grabbed hold. i never felt ever in my whole life an instance where i stopped being totally myself except right then. right now i don't think i will ever get that back ever again, but i will never do enough drugs to ever forget about that. i'll be in war and thinking about it or asleep and my hand will reach out to a blank space on the bed instinctively grasping for the purest thing i ever felt.

i like to hear fruit fall even though it scares me; i like to get angry and then reconcile because it makes me feel alive. but i hate being angry and I never really am unless i'm tossing glass bottles out of a window to watch them break on the ground. one time i destroyed a car with a man watching. he asked me what i was doing and i stared at him until he drove away. people become uneasy when faced with the truth, unsure of what to do. they've only ever been trained to deal with lies. a lie is fine and all but its patchy grass, you don't ever want to sit on it afraid maybe its mined with ants or cockroaches instead just keep driving by. maybe hope was the mother of a lie. i don't really know or care i'm not prone to lying much. in fact i'd probably count all the lies on my hand not counting all the lying i did as a kid. that doesn't count.

the solution to mans' problem is extincting digital watches and cars. in fact mechanical transportation makes your body forget what it was built to do; and that is move. i keep a sundial out back and birds rest on it. i tried to leave a watch in the grass once but the sprinklers just shorted out the circuitry. eventually it became engulfed by clovers and wildflowers. i think some mercury leaked into the water a while back because i have these spots on the back of my neck and they don't look normal. sometimes i think my neighbors are spying on me. if i didn't live 2 feet away from a stranger i might feel better about a lot of things. one time i stole all my friend's liquor and smashed it. it smelled terrible outside in the night on the side of the road singing through the air as it tasted its last moments of distilled existence before hitting stone.
let the silence rock you

let the cold wind blow across your body

making nausea disappear

trust the little feeling in the stomach pit

its gold

without A clock revert

passage is inevitable

bring food

never look down Or away from anybody

taste blood when the noise bleeds

its full of iron

if your favorite color is green; get lost in a forest

always have a book

touching the sun is a good way to die

kissing is better than any drug.

Tuesday, October 07, 2008

i took a small nap; this morning and later this afternoon my mind stirred with dreams. winter is beginning to press slowly on nature-something about the sun now is sharper but weak. it takes about 1 hour for my body to heat up enough so that i am uncomfortable and must turn over, lying there my body shakes every second from the beating of my heart eyes half awake half asleep in frenzy-somehow the waking life is populated by actors and the stage is my bed; the quiet that receives me is a dilated friend. hope relying on every open way but when it approaches the desert it stops moving surrounded by stars and valleys of barren openness. without a guide to carry it across it merely waits for fools. i try my best in all my waking instances, and when something turns up Beautiful, my gut tells me I have been lazy-for what is anything done, the precious moment away from pain is bliss, but bliss is wrecked by havoc chaos and it seems that I can find the point where twilight is slowly receding but never gone, stuck in the eternal point of the see-saw where the body is at a medium. i feel this medium. it is cold and i cannot move. if i were to die it would be very still and without force. can i sit forever? if i am presented an array of faces will each one tell me something new-it is without good reason that man suffocates the lungs and expunges that joy that can be too overwhelming to hold in cupped hands. i am a slayer & I do not understand compassion for myself; a sword through my stomach tells my insides what they feel. the worthless guise of pretty eyes makes vomit transcendent more real than the deception that can lie inward staring at a mirror and knowing the nature of the mind and not knowing and being forced to play hand after hand without an understanding of the game; let go. to those that plant themselves in the bar at night, you are surely revelry without bound but when i drink i get sleepy and toss in my sleep. i cannot accept this communion because it does not please me, but the naked body that lies next to me breathing softly in my darkness, that pleases me but i cannot sleep until it is gone. i try to close my eyes and let the blanket become a comfort. i'm not worried but it makes me lonely-a patio devoid of wiles waiting for them to come and the moths hover carefully not to mess up one's hair. it has everything to do with wanting & A conflict produced as a result. where the mess of people sit rank in disarray i am absent-there is no such thing as mess only infinite substance. i would carry you and stroke your cheek and kiss Face cheeks, tongue, lips, forehead, running fingers through your hair. the house empty & my own. there is no one here but us. now do not be offended that I have to turn over, my chest is burning from heat. the relief i get from moving to my side is what the pleasure seekers call bliss, it is also known as comfort, calm, and peace. every photo ever shown to me a piece of paper. if there was ever an instance where nostalgia was so strong it removed me from the present it would be called deja vu. alas-there is nothing but my quiet and your fear. let it fall. become Okay with everything that you are and the argument in your mind will weaken. rocks stacked in any fashion form a shrine; a human divine of our small ability of manipulation.

Wednesday, October 01, 2008

In the early mourning
There is sun on my back
And it drizzles gently
Into the backyard of the dead.
Where the gravekeeper's shovel rusts against the wall
And the dead man has yellow daisies sprouting from his mouth
The grass grows thick on either side
He is a monastery for all the fowl.
a vision / acrylic / canvas dyptech