Bad

I am crawling out of my skin because I want you so bad. Just for a second, a half a minute, just touch my face and even that would be enough. I could devour you completely if you'd give me a glass of red and a chance.

NYC cosmo

A long strange trip stumbling through hole in the wall bars with the chic attending and the cool sloshing up alchemistic toxins to forget the thing ailing you most.

A laugh but not out loud (….lnol…..jesus.) -HM

An after thought inspired by My Egocentric Delights Blog called Somewhere over that goddamn rainbow

The dark circles under my eyes can't even begin to explain how i feel. Somewhere along the lines of an aged ape dragging it's knuckles along a long gravel road trying to reach water in the blazing heat. The wrinkles around my eyes embedded in the thinning skin remind me that as each day flies at the speed of light, i am still here, in the same spot i was 10 years ago, only older and still searching for that genius of inspiration. My thinning hair and mal-tempered ways are my irritation with myself and all i could be but am not. The dream never reached, not yet ( do i still carry some idiotic drop of hope?), and just tired of all the attempts, the ideas, the creativity that has sucked the life out of me. Too much too fast, like a sprint instead of a steady jog through life. Perhaps he's right. My memory fails me on his quote so i have to go back and find it, how i despise aging. Here, yes...

"It’s all a big joke. Leave now. Take off at top speed homeward and fix yourself a dry martini with four parts vodka instead of the usual two. And no olives." Harry Merkin

Why these words ring true to me? I can only guess that I have found that with age my passion has transitioned to drinking, consuming a foodie diet, and cooking rather than creating anything note worthy anymore. The flames of passion are out and surrounded by a dark and cold winter storm. Buried under thick ice, perhaps a fucking glacier at this point. Mentally I think that the four parts vodka are just a stiff does of reality but backwards. The reality being the four parts, hard and burning as it goes down. The irony of it all is that I would do it to momentarily forget that I suck. A dose of reality to kill the pain? So cheers... LNOL

Air

Your image tranquil day by day
lost in the depths of your blue bay

Knowing I to you am neither
Here, existing, in life's seether

Like a silence, never broken
Never taken, never spoken

Fused in air and fire and water
Two souls merge as Earth's daughter

At the edge of your divide
Til then I am gone, I will hide

Seek my being, search the world
Satellite here as a girl

Float

Float

It's not swimming, or sinking, it's survival. It allows time to think, to be on top or partially submerged, and breathe. Even if for a little while it is the calm before the storm, the survival during.

La nuit du chasseur

(La nuit du chasseur)

I was born of the womb of a poisonous man
Beaten and broken and chased from the land
But I rise up above it, high up above it and see
I was hung from a tree made of tongues of the weak
The branches, the bones of the liars and thieves
Rise up above it, high up above and see

Pray to your god, open your heart
Whatever you do, don't be afraid of the dark
Cover your eyes, the devil's inside
One night of the hunter
One day I will get revenge
One night to remember
One day it'll all just end

(Un, deux, trois, cinq)
Blessed by a bitch from a bastard seed
Pleasure to meet you but better to bleed
Rise, I will rise, I will rise
Skinned her alive, ripped her apart
Scattered her ashes, buried her heart
Rise up above it, high up above and see

Pray to your god, open your heart
Whatever you do, don't be afraid of the dark
Cover your eyes, the devil's inside
One night of the hunter
One day I will get revenge
One night to remember
One day it'll all just end

Honest to God I'll break your heart
Tear you to pieces and rip you apart
Honest to God I'll break your heart
Tear you to pieces and rip you apart
Honest to God I'll break your heart
Tear you to pieces and rip you apart
Honest to God I'll break your heart
Tear you to pieces and rip you apart

One night of the hunter
One day I will get revenge
One night to remember
One day it'll all just end


-30stm

L490

How i wish to live inside you
your thought, your creation
i can feel your being within
your core, your lust
i want to merge and thrust in waters
submerged, alone, there in your mind.

Freedom

There is a freedom and somehow soothing yet lonely thought in knowing that we will be part of the earth in the end. Even if there is no life after this one there is the earths embrace.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Wicked game

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.

No, I don't want to fall in love (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I don't want to fall in love (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you (This world is only gonna break your heart)

What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you and,

I want to fall in love (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I want to fall in love (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you,

No, I want to fall in love (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I want to fall in love (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I... (This world is only gonna break your heart)
(This world is only gonna break your heart)

Nobody loves no one.





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

A ha

We're talking away
I don't know what
I'm to say I'll say it anyway
Today's another day to find you
Shying away
I'll be coming for your love, OK?

Take on me, take me on
I'll be gone
In a day or two

So needless to say
I'm odds and ends
But that's me stumbling away
Slowly learning that life is OK.
Say after me
It's no better to be safe than sorry

Take on me, take me on
I'll be gone
In a day or two

Oh the things that you say
Is it life or
Just a play my worries away
You're all the things I've got to
remember
You're shying away
I'll be coming for you anyway

Take on me, take me on
I'll be gone
In a day or two



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Funnel

I've been pulled into the funnel of dreams and memories. Locked in time. Persued by balance and a realistic rational state of desire. Which is suppressing my inner most lust of obsession.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

passion spring

There it was. I thought I found a little leak of substance. Yes, I felt the hole and the leak was there. I could feel the crack in my chest. A stream of warm butterflies fluttering in a single file, around my heart and lungs, through my ribs and out the center of my sternum. The fluttering of the wings beat so hard I felt the waves of warmth spiral up my neck and ring in my ears and then down my arms stopping with pressure at my finger tips. It felt almost erotic to be awakened from a deep, restless and redundant sleep. A lustful few seconds of that perfect dream right before you wake when it's the most real. So good you try hard not to wake up so to make it last longer, to make it your reality instead of a the soulless routine.

The leak was small and oozes only a little at a time. A controlled and thoughtful passage from inside to out. Not too much all at once and not too little. Never flooding or overwhelming as it had when I was younger. Not the flooding gates that where crashed through many years ago. The scars from those floods have healed, leaving only very little to the naked eye. Concealed well and hidden from the general public. Safe and guarded in the layers of epidermis that have grown over them like rich moss over cool rocks. It’s all under the control of a golden lock now. It needs only be touched by the vibrations of melody or words and just enough will trickle out to set the world on fire.

under fog

It came around like a thick, heavy , wet blanket. Invaded my head and fogged all i was and wanted to see. I began to panic. Started to stumble clumsily as i picked up the pace in my head. Frantically looking for what was once something that felt like life... something that felt alive and good and well. Instead my hand grew heavy and that brick in my head started to multiply into what seemed to be a dark burgundy wall. A wall that seems impossible to climb over... a wall i have been at before. The familiar texture reminding me that i had once tried to get over... so close, almost there... almost and nothing. AHhh, yes.. the memories are becoming clearer; it's the story of my life.

Here again? Yes. Here again. Let's just pretend it didn't happen and wallpaper over it completely. I can't, i will fight it again? will i fight it again. this time i will get over, i will move past this ever lasting eclipse. My hand brushed against the brick and clawed in to the small crevice. my nails snapped as i started pulling my weight up. blood. pain. hand by hand, my body ached, my arms shook. i couldn't hold myself any longer... but i did. i stopped and took a breath and sat there in the same spot and looked up. Impossible! the wall didn't have an end. I let go and fell. Fell through all the moments i could remember. Like Alice down the rabbit hole only bleeding and knowing what was to come. My life was full of Mad Hatters that held me up for another cup tea and white rabbits that i chased. i was tired. i didn't want to chase or run or climb or stay for tea with bloody hands... i just wanted to hold my breath.

Take control of the involuntary. i wanted to control my heartbeat, my breath and my every nerve ending. what about this wall? fuck the wall! go in that other direction. you know, the other way. that dark path that everyone is uncomfortable with; reality road. Here's where everything starts to click and fall in place. Places i don't like. That place where you feel raped and naked and completely vulnerable when you know you fucked it all up. That place between embarrassment and guilt that you tucked away in a floor board that is now staring you in the face. Talking to you. Telling you. Wake up.

Mirrors of the Past

Looking into my eyes, I stare so intensely that I can feel the burn in my iris. Just a little longer and I will see it...the vignette of darkness around my face and the lives that I have lived inside my head. Some memories and some dreams. They come dancing out of these blue spheres that burn through all my own bullshit telling me who I really am and who I have become. Who do I want to be if my past is something I have already pushed through? Is there something more that I cannot see at this meditative state of "stare"?
The feeling of eternity overwhelms me by taking a walk though time in my mind. Taking my aura and shaking it like an apple tree. A tempting red apple rolling on the green of my brain... wanting, pleading for me to bite it. Eternity pushing it's sweet flesh into the corners of my micro universe. Feeding it with this apple I long for but instinctual push away. Tucking it into the corners of a black hole that is my mind.

Tyler Durden

"God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."

The Computation

FOR my first twenty years, since yesterday,
I scarce believed thou couldst be gone away ;
For forty more I fed on favours past,
And forty on hopes that thou wouldst they might last ;
Tears drown'd one hundred, and sighs blew out two ;
A thousand, I did neither think nor do,
Or not divide, all being one thought of you ;
Or in a thousand more, forgot that too.
Yet call not this long life ; but think that I
Am, by being dead, immortal ; can ghosts die ?
-John Donne

Electric Blue Storm

The Mayan Oracle

The Hollow Men

MISTAH KURTZ—HE DEAD.
A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkling of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

-T.S Elliot

The Naked and the Nude Part II

It compels me that one man, with only a handful of words, can take mans' egocentric hypocritical nature and spell it out so simply. For what it really is and always has been (BY that i mean Graves, not the common psudo-intellectual hypocrite). For "He", man, speaks of knowing the ego and the ignorances of life lined with a dark drama and depriving it of soul and meaning , assuming they have knowledge by proclaiming that they do not know everything and have so much to learn? Yet they have the most to say and a look down at those of common thread with great disdain. They have wit, i will give them this, but wit is nothing more than a poser in a coat of rhetorical disguise... nothing more than a dichotomy lost in the ego of all confusion...complete and utter nonsense. Then there are the fools that fall for the bait and are hooked and sucked down by the under tow not knowing that just swimming against the current will set them free.

...and yet, "how naked go the sometime nude"


I died for Beauty—but was scarce
Adjusted in the Tomb
When One who died for Truth, was lain
In an adjoining room—

He questioned softly ``Why I failed?''
``For Beauty,'' I replied—
``And I—for Truth—Themself are One—
We Brethren, are,'' He said—

And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night—
We talked between the rooms—
Until the moss had reached our lips—
And covered up—our names—
-Emily Dickenson

The Naked and the Nude

For me, the naked and the nude
(By lexicographers construed
As synonyms that should express
The same deficiency of dress
Or shelter) stand as wide apart
As love from lies, or truth from art.

Lovers without reproach will gaze
On bodies naked and ablaze;
The Hippocratic eye will see
In nakedness, anatomy;
And naked shines the Goddess when
She mounts her lion among men.

The nude are bold, the nude are sly
To hold each treasonable eye.
While draping by a showman's trick
Their dishabille in rhetoric,
They grin a mock-religious grin
Of scorn at those of naked skin.

The naked, therefore, who compete
Against the nude may know defeat;
Yet when they both together tread
The briary pastures of the dead,
By Gorgons with long whips pursued,
How naked go the sometime nude!

-Robert Graves