Tuesday, September 23, 2008

check, please!

Wrapped around achieved goals, I am cooked. I have slept in one room inside my head, on an old white copperhead floor. Though I have not packed, the gallery of awkward thoughts flash be forth me. Immortal and absolute the infant shouts, “be calm! And allow desperation to assert it’s self.” The face in the mirror is still, in a sort of a portrait manner. Given time I will travel for the first time through that glimpse and swirl, somehow even indomitably of a boy, past the half-open door, but where? Cursed with a platinum spoon and the silver cup sitting on the cleared dining-room table beneath the clouds light, I leave it empty. Courage had never answered my calls. Blackened by the freedom and peaceful and ever defying perfection, this place has gotten to me. Only remembering the good times and steady laughs. ‘Even my clothes!’ loud and outraged to a perfect fit has felt ever so rubbish. Each heart pulse is rewarded with each breath it captures. ‘When will my heart stop?’ I realize now that there was less and less of the cry’s, the screams and the nightmares and terror, which for me had never existed anyway. I want change. Still heavy, these chains are not equipped to coming off anytime soon, as innocence has filled my soul. If truth had just opened its pours for a little mistake, I would eat it in front of him. The strange man with endless hands controlling our beliefs allowing hope to linger. My stomach creaked with the lack of saturated fat, for I was starving myself from health. A soothing yet complicated correction has acknowledged error. But the only satisfaction I could get was from watching myself escape. I had said too much. I can feel his claws and furious jerks, sickening me so that I couldn’t balance or even keep track of time. He made a flash and dip, and hardly even broke the rhythm, but I heard his tune. He exists, therefore I am his.

5 excuses

My reply was “hey I’m tired, I’ll talk to you later, goodnight. (1)” I stopped and thought for a second for I was full of energy. Thought of all the times it happened to me and decided to think ahead. So I erased it. I paused and started to brain storm as if there was a storm coming. The feeling erupted again. It has nothing to do with you, its figuring my self out. The question is how do I reply now? How do I answer to something so simple as the word “hey” reflected upon me. I couldn’t, so I started to write (2). Along came this word excuse. An excuse worth giving for it is deserved. An excuse so innocent I felt as if hell was appropriate for its actions. I wasn’t in the right state of mind so I decided to question my mind. Question its thought process. Blank! I am, and nothing else can interrupt, but this one memory. This memory that feels as if it was left to starve. I’m hungry again for that feeling, but not hungry enough (3). I toss and turn and blink repeatedly. What am I going to do? Time is moving and seconds are shifting and excuses are past due. For it is expensive to express your mind these days, we have a lot to loose (4). The reply I had thought of sending faded as the sheep came in, I must have fallen asleep thinking so much. “Five!” I spoke, Five! Five! FIVE! as I smiled my last smile for the morning. That would make it the fifth excuse. At last! I thought to myself, for I had not understood why my mind had gotten to this point.

Tuesday, September 9, 2008

the question

Now before I explain this feeling. I want my audience to just take a deep breath. A deep breath that will last a lifetime. A world inside out where we question. This question I speak of. Your pick. Choose one. The one question that cannot be answered. Awake. At a scene far from ordinary, where not even you have the answers to, for they have their own legs and intellect, and at times run away from the questions themselves. I’m speaking of the questions, that is. A question inside a question that is questioned if that question was ever a question to begin with. Are you still with me. Il slow it down a notch. Question! The results at which you got to just to come back to the scraps you left behind. The daydreams. The wonders. Stop! Please don’t escape reality without saying goodbye! And fall back into it and say hello! For my grass is a different shade then yours, but who’s to question it? Questions. This allowance we earn just to spend it on the joys that keep us sane. For the sun is questioned everyday. Are we going to see you again? Why do you leave us for darkness? And what is that energy that breaths off of you that we enjoy so much of? Question! This is not about which question to ask, it’s the question itself. The thoughts that are going through its head. The thoughts that have been cluttered up for just a split second, that can last eternity. In a space where space is limited. A place where the only breath it shouts is, let me out! Question! May you end it with a question mark or a smile, for it may not harm you, it’s only a question. Exhale. Thank you for asking the question.

crickets

The loneliness is starting to settle in. Still children, they start learning ways to imprison attention. Implementing sounds in locations where they know survival is vital. A cry for help and need. Their last trace to an endless season before the warmth invades. A perspective ceased by merely closing their mouth, if they ever do, but they can’t, and they shouldn’t. In the surrey they would be better off, for we do not welcome them here. Conquered by our silence they had grown and adapted, unwillingly becoming tired under our supervision and neglect, not fast enough to realize our personality, along with sleep patterns –the tall and endless wall of dense dreams. I can not imagine them counting each star just to forget what they look like in the morning, well I could, actually. Their melodies prickle our ears, while their souls dissolve just to be heard, not clear or loud enough but unfriendly as well, without getting to know us. Strangers in an area familiar to us and feared by them. The night’s age is a hundred wrinkles past the hour as their echo’s flame to life. Burning inside, desperation endures virtues of their existence. I attend to their calling, though I cannot recognize their pain. Nameless, these mortal beasts and their voices are distilled into the air, where no women nor men of all ages can deliver their cry’s. Innocent or perhaps evil, I can not judge, for I only come forth to them with one question, “to whom can I speak to, to end your annoying fucking sound?”

Monday, September 8, 2008

a drunk phone call away

Juxtaposed between the phone and my words, I paused. Letting out a breath of whisky on my tongue, enjoying it’s aroma. It had already started. Concentration was a sip away, about five hours into the first gulp. The feeling was dissolving as the pages turned and the time kept ticking. It seemed this night was like an ordinary night. A welcoming to my return. My sights started rifling into endless streams of dizziness. The floor had always been my support for unwanted weight as I fell uncontrollably. I was not heavy but rather light, light like the feet that had carried me. As the phone swelled up my ears began to quiver, calling for it’s dial tone. I provided reason before I inherited speech and carried out my words, but was never clear about things. My lips were filled with lust and jealousy. In an instant the irresistible memory had been broken into orgasmic participles that filled my senses. I was intrigued and ready to say anything to get what I wanted. It ran in my knowledge before I ever saw it, but it never happened as I planned. It was as if the word rhetorical had been replaced with a question mark. Why doesn’t it ever happen on a drunken phone call? The infinite waste of contacting that person. For why was I so foolish to think they would want to cotton up their dreams for a feeling of wetness. I called, no answer.

drunk man

Sunday, September 7, 2008

graffiti peace

Being fearless is attempting to press the cap down and allowing the paint to drip. Being nervous is what keeps the heart at peace. For adventures lure on walls of unsatisfied color. Empty inside with no remedy. Before I explored each horizon, the scenes became clear. An inch closer to relaxation. Where angles are memorized hand movements creating life. We project an image parallel to our views and touch up on them in our minds. For before we even paste it, we have already set its mood. What feeling do they get when they look at you?, the art that is. And what does that feeling mean to me? A reflection of self identity in terms of design. An outline triggered by creative anxiety that explodes only when we have not finished our work. You’re a one dimensional advertisement that speaks of many languages, one I have learned to understand. For our relationship is about timing and timing is all I have. I will start with the color black and end it with your point of view. See you tomorrow.

Télépopmusik inspired...

telepopmusik

Allow me to drift away from poetry for a second and introduce a sound I have become familiar with. Télépopmusik is a French electronic music group that allows my thoughts to stick to paper. Songs like 'brighton beach' inspire me to add in that extra thought that was left behind. They place me in a state of wonders, where only I have control of my own feelings. I know I'm hyping them up a little to much, but their taste is flavorful and its worth the bite. Check them out.

Album of choice: Télépopmusik - Genetic World (2002)

walking on eggshells

I would like to start an argument with myself. One that will place me in a position where I can explore my own thoughts. A feeling of misunderstanding and vague. I would like for Eduard to point out all my insecurities and mistakes one day, but not today. For my boundaries are caving in and I’m out of legroom --it's my turn to exhale. Being afraid of the type of reaction I’m going to get, I speak louder, LOUDER!, I said. For only the air is molded with ears that can inhale my noise. I will explain scriptures that only I can encrypt. This language of mine that I have kept hidden from him. I am almost there, I gently whisper. This silence that has been laid away for Armageddon. You see, reactions are critical in Eduard’s chapters. He plans ahead as if everything had already happened. Don’t capture it Eduard, let it surprise you. I am not here right now, but when I arrive I’ll be sure to let myself know your listening in. Break through your selfish ways and think of a time when a smile polluted your skin, and then, only then, allow me to open up your mind. For Eduard once said, “I inch deeper for affection to feel my presence” and had never again repeated himself there after. I enjoy his company as if it were my own. I hope that by being very vigilant in all that I say and do, his inflated behavior might be reduced or avoided. I have to go now, for Eduard has just snapped back into my head.

Saturday, September 6, 2008

shadows

Another day has passed where you don’t look back, wondering if your shadow is still there. The only thought in your head is whether to appreciate the darkness behind you or turn your back to the sun, allowing it to follow in front of you. You pause, you wait, and fall into a trans of hallucinations. Be calm, stay still. Imagine yourself perfectly balanced. "It's not you," you say, it's you, the outline that fell deep in love with black, the filled up space that calls for no attention, but your own. Connected to the feet it spreads its mark like water pastel. You smile. It reacts with a blank face. "Take me for a walk," the shadow whispers, "through a dessert filled with fish and oxygen." Random, No!, it’s just a hallucination. Each movement becomes a mimic worth seeing, so symmetrical, so revealing. This is your only chance to find your self. Fall. And allow gravity to take its part. But be careful, your shadow might not like your company, for it has never truly felt your presence.

my keyboard

My keyboards are my keys with a pianos grace combining thought and reason. I have forgotten the last time my fingers felt this relief, this satisfaction, this awkward hello. I have become its touch. Nothing left but scattered letters all alone at darks end. Make sense for a change. Your 119 keys apart. Half awake you glance at patterns in my eyes, wondering what I’m going to express next. Still and motionless, I forget. And then begin breathing again. A thought surfaces, well maybe a letter, at which point the strokes of each finger vibrates. I’m it’s perfect feeling, It’s way of enjoying gravity. But to me it is a friend, just a friend and nothing more. “I’m sorry” it writes, as I type it in. Well who is sorry then, me or you? Awkward I felt, but never the less I continued on. As each minute passed, it called for attention, hungry for the texture of my fingertips. I’ve never looked away, I never smiled, I just followed each letter to the next until it all made sense, until the letters appeared parallel to my views with the color of clouds behind it; on a sunny day. Enter. Sent. Still waiting for a reply as my eyes catch the spaces in between each key. A space crammed with air, where only they can feel its breath. A place of wonders wrapped around small pieces of metal and plastic. I could only imagine the satisfaction it’s getting, the type of orgasms it’s receiving. I pause. Allowing my index finger to get stuck on uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu……….

the moon

I’m going to get there without a blink of an eye. The pleasure of its texture will keep my heart competing. Across its rough textures I will float mile by mile until I come to an end. There is no end. But how am I going to do it? Simple. Imagine. Take a deep breath and enjoy its company for you are the source. “I am the source,” you utter to yourself. Allow it to digest through endless streams of noise as it tumbles, but don’t move. Stand still as if you have just seen god. Puzzled. Now continue to move slowly into it. Into what? You know what. The frustrations. The fear. The countless heart attacks before each step you take towards responsibility. I am here. No, you’re a inch away. An inch so thick it can extend to the moon and bypass gravity. For we all fall, but then again some do get up. But then again some don’t. Are you ready? No!, well no one is. Push yourself to the edge and relax. The winds are calm but not friendly. And your conscience, well your conscience is pathetic. For you believe, but you don’t react. Sparkles are ones enlightenment of lights combining to sooth the eyes. What does this have to do with anything? It doesn’t. Continue. Foresee the explanations and doubts, the screams of dissatisfaction, the calls for failure. Embrace embracement and childhood extremities for you are not a child to any further extent. You are the creator and not just it’s character. Listen to your stories but don’t number your chapters, for they are very sensitive when placed in a category. Dream, and eventually it will become reality. Find yourself, and make me want to get to know you. I have to blink, I declare. “So blink!,” the moons says. Welcome….