Interjection!

I am enslaved
in under three days
of the sun circling
my beaten bosom
affection slapped me
across my pretty face
unexpectedly
I have awoken
to an interjection!
an empowerment!
an unknown shadow
cast by the beginning
of a beautiful new day

I Just Can't Sleep

"I just can't sleep, I just can't sleep."
Great grandmother Westcott cried out
pacing the shag carpet
her soft dogs padding below
grinding universal empathy
not even god could put her down
alert and alive, my heart paced with her
"I just can't sleep, I just can't sleep."
words on repeat, like a broken record
thinly worn from being played in rotation
not through the turntable this time
no, through the mechanics of a mind
determination unscratched
plagued, we lie in our graves together
"I just can't die, I just can't die."

Stranger

let me infiltrate you
as you have me so quickly
you play it cool, calm, collected
embracing me so eloquently
I am a stranger
a slave
a fool
a woodland nymph
a lotus rising up from the mire
gingerly playing
in a wonderland
with the blood of a warrior
irrationally I am caught
brilliantly I am lit
penetrated by creation himself

Submission

sprinkling a fine dust
among the darkness
you lift pain and non purpose
from thunderhead
invading my dreams

standing before you
pleasure and pain
dissolves scars
buried deep in delicate mind

submerging
I feel my toes curl

I longed for you
to taste my vulnerability
wet with adoration

I have found predominance
and humanity
wrapped in the scent of a you

Lawn Mower Men

strangest thing
lawn mower men are out
on a rainy Tuesday
engines roaring
outside my bedroom window
their blades cutting
sweet wet grass
they blow the leaves
into wet piles of disease
their engines reek of oil
sick and slick
it's not everyday
that the men arrive
but they do

God Be Damned

my britches have outgrown me
their bottoms hit the floor
their cuffs bellow like denim bells
they roar like once before

I retreat into a child like form
that of a tiny orange kitten
held in the palm of her master
disciplined with affection

the kitten performs tiny acts
comforted by her keeper
god be damned that he
creates through the extension of me

Life and Love

hot towels wrap my feet
in love and heat
they trip upon the sidewalk
shaking my core belief
it is only you my lover
who can strip me clean
of my consciousness
who can nurse me back
to my true heart
ripe with life
where arteries flow
blood moving onward
I am like a child
begging for your nourishment
ready to please
the behaviors of a madman
at the will of the gods above
who laugh and play with me
they wrap my feet
and bind us in love and heat

Resurrection

longing for resonance

dark spills more silence 

as I lay on my back

with arms wide open

palms facing up

like Christ taking refuge

I combat his insanity 

left with my thoughts

stab myself repeatedly

ears become a bloody pulp

crowned in golden roses

the thorns dig in to my skull

muted and pressured

by simply the silence 

resurrected 

Humanity

humanity dragged me across my twin bed
slapping my face and breasts
his nasty tongue swirling rapidly inside my mouth
a sadist dressed as pain

humanity then kissed my fears
taking away all my tears and suffering
his kisses of fresh rain water hydrated my heart
a lover dressed as pleasure

Both lingering on the other

Poetry In Motion

when in tune
I feel you
as if I were
your poetry in motion
just like the tattoo
eloquently stenciled
on your soft shoulder
you wear me well
always lingering
my arms are tingling
sensation starts
in upper torso
climbing me like the ivy
that wraps summer trees
along a desolate highway
it is in this blanket of green
I am allowed to breathe

Rain

it taps but doesn't tap
not really
it drips in random rhythm
like my own ill thoughts
unfixed, intermittent
they leap like frogs
who appear within
without designation
grasping for truth
in an unjust world
wet with chaos
comforted by a lullaby
ribbiting freely in the rain

Nazi's and Jews

During 3rd and 4th grade my parents sent my brother and I to Mariposa School in California. Mom was a sign language interpreter at the time and one of her deaf kids also went to Mariposa so she exchanged our tuition for doing the work with the deaf kid at the school. The school was interesting. There was a yurt on the grounds and an amazing playground with tire swings and an army net for climbing, this was prior to the fancy playgrounds that are made today for children. We would meditate with the teachers in the yurt.

The teachers themselves were very unusual, they all lived on the school grounds in smaller yurts. Most were lesbian women and in the summertime shirts were optional for the teachers. School would not be in session but when you went for a visit in the summer to the farm that was also on the grounds, the women would be shirtless. Boobs were everywhere bouncing all over the place, feeding the farm animals, milking the goats, cooking dinner for the community (it was pretty much a commune.) One woman was called Sage Mountainfire and she was a larger lady, us kids called her knee knockers because without a shirt her long boobs would reach down touching her knees as she sat in circle time which was basically just a down time, sort of like meditation.

One of the cool factors about the school is we would go on long field trips with the teachers. Imagine 2nd and 3rd graders on a camping trip for 5 days straight hours from home with teachers and chaperones. On one trip, they were trying to teach us kids about isolation and learning how to love ourselves when we were alone. They dropped off each kid at a camping site in the woods about 100 feet away from each other. So crazy because this was 1984 and at that time, kids were left alone everywhere. That could never happen in these times. My alone time was spent watching ants march on logs and recording the things I heard and saw in a journal. I couldn't see another kid in site because they were so far away. Mostly I was bored to tears as I would have preferred playing with other kids. On the same field trip we went to Bodie, a ghost town in California and to Mono lake. Mono lake is so beautiful. It has these structures that are similar to underground caverns in Virginia. Only they rise above. The lake itself is 760,000 years old, it's ancient and when you are there it's like you landed in an alien world.

Also on this field trip was the first time I saw another girl's vagina. I was in 3rd grade but because I was so advanced in school and mature I was put with the 4th and 5th graders. We would all play truth or dare when left alone, about 15 kids. One of the 5th graders was dared to show her private part and it was the first time I had ever seen another girl nude. I was amazed because she was very advanced and as a 5th grader, I saw pubic hair on someone else besides my mother for the first time. These kids were well beyond their ages because of their maturity and open upbringing, their parents were obviously hippies who brought them up alternatively and freely. Other games played were kissing and orgy games, where everyone would be kissing each other and fondling one another on top of their clothing. It was the first time I had been touched in my sex too. I remember being turned on in a strange manner.

Most of the kids were Jewish for some odd reason, the same with the teachers. So they were Jewish Lesbian Hippies. Because of the Jewish decent, us kids were taught a lot about War World II and the Holocaust. We read "Diary of Anne Frank", celebrated Passover and Hanukkah instead of Christian based holidays. I learned a lot there about an alternative oppressed history. Here's the best part, instead of playing cops and robbers or cowboys and indians we would play Nazis and jews sending each other to pretend concentration camps with larger then life German accents.

Little One

there were two kisses
approximately two
maybe three
felt upon my back
words cannot describe
what those delicate lips
left inside
they mumbled "little one" once
that was when I knew
love had finally arrived
during a three hour interlude
words were no longer important
words stopped forming
enjoying being within
the arms of perfection
a being brought by god himself
whose image appeared
approximately two
maybe three
times in another deep voice of an angel
tending my to my wounds
as I dragged my beaten knees across
a cold hospital floor
landing in security once more

Subterranean Tide

Hello Readers,

This is the close of Subterranean Tide and my final post. It's been a long 10 years since I started writing, I'm healing now and focusing on my life. I no longer want to be a tool in modern day technology. Those who know me understand me and my struggles. Those who don't, I hope you enjoyed the poetry. I hope to publish one day, see you outside. You can reach me via email at:

morpheusrevisited@gmail.com
or friend request me on FB: https://www.facebook.com/emily.l.ferrell

Fondly,

Emily

Empathy

fingers have extended into open barrels
knuckles are combusting oppression
pressure in the left ear reveals
kind voices discussing their target
the movements are out of my control
the jerk of my right leg startles me
foreign twinges envelop
I am stung by macro bees
who have spun their hive on the inside

The Language of Gods

the spirits spit out words
among gibberish
possessed we expel them
possessed by God
possessed by universal truth
rappers are the poets
poets are the rappers
music is the divine noise
subliminally we absorb
information processed
like machines
designated information
projects from our mouths
words reveal themselves
there is meaning
there is message
there is purpose
it is not until post ejaculation
all is revealed and conceived
I am God
You are God
we are all microcosms
of a stellar system
in sickness and in health
we speak and kiss in tongues

The Illusion of Truth

ambience knows me well
their music has played
for so long
their secrets are strong
like beautiful love letters
slipped inside colorful envelopes
addressed to future generations
skipping in a better world
disclosure is by choice
under illusion
of technical invasion
we are to submit to their whim
in this subliminal nightmare
thoughts are within

"Now I am become Death..."

they tell us half truths
based on half lies
played with our minds
when democracy died
slaughtered by extensions
of our very own creations
like the atom bomb's
Little Boy exploding
Fat Man's final meal
detonating ourselves
we are our own worst enemy
caught in a web of spiders

May Daze

in tall ship I ride, side by side
slaying all the monsters
winding through mazes
of bureaucratic bullshit

catching breath in fields of glory
individually we share a story
make love nakedly enjoying
each others outpouring

easily oppressed
hidden beneath niceties
of fancy hats and fountain pens
phony smiles a plenty

I sit and sail in artistic veil
expressing undercurrents
swirled with sensation
while others stand and sweat

Suffering

a moment of a contentment turning into a scream
watching mom disintegrate and bleed
internally from drone attack

sweat rolling of the back of shadows
strolling broken Iraq taking children by the hand
leading them across demolished land

a lonely soldier digging a hole
and making a home for weeks on end
with a cig or two in the middle of Afghanistan

genocide of masses in tribal classes
and no one gives a shit because they
could care less about an African mess

and me in my headphones drowning out the sound
pretending to wear a crown
with eyes wide closed and a magic wand

where I roam enchanted, hiding in my wonderland
with magic in tow and a fairy glow
sparkling among the rainbows of destruction

Purification

unbathed
I reign in my filth
a dirty girl once more
awaiting for my lord

somedays she is wrapped
in a blanket of sadness
other days she simply longs
to tip toe once more
naked across the floor

determined to never wash again
until she is with him
he will wipe the dirt of humanity
off her gently

lick upon her wounds
from the inside out
with an immaculate conception
that dries tears
and annihilates her fears

Psychosis

walking up to the 2nd floor
apartment 107 is locked
the flashing lights have stopped
they no longer call for the men
who raped me within

106 was open though
I found her in my madness
reclining in such sadness
beaten down by abuse
eyes stared at me familiarly

109 and 110 secured as well
leading me to the 3rd level
the black ladder of death
is cemented there in dirty carpet
tempting me to climb again

"I don't want this."
"I want to live!"
retreating to the bottom
down a spiral staircase
I rush back in to 007

turning into a child again
mom lifts me in
to a freshly drawn bubble bath
I am warm once more
away from the door

Communication

there is inspiration from the muse
there is execution from the artist
each share a great love
consummated through human kindness

so much isn't understood
by simple consciousness
genes are evolving
communication is changing

language is limited
deeply hidden within subconsciousness
spoken words are infantile
they play hide and seek in the dark

going against basic human understanding
they are the children
breathing energy in and out
on a red seesaw in the playground of mankind

The Alarm Clock

my heart
is like an alarm clock
one single, strong stab
wakes me from deep sleep
"ouch!" I yell
drooling on my pillow
the long arm of time
is ticking with music
looping around it's face
it experiments with the short hand
spiritually synchronizing
the strangest thing
this empathy was measured
just near midnight
the point at which
a new day is reborn
for one split second
sustaining life once more

Tyranny

sitting on my shoulder day after day
morning upon morning, pecking still before the sunrise
the clock chimes three, four, sometimes five
ready to pounce upon a daily consciousness
and scratch a twice broken record of resilience

yet I realize we all wake up with the same tyrant
I may be yours, we are each others, I am mine
the oppressor is inevitable, just as the oppressed
and to escape such an intrinsic dance is as hollow
as sitting frozen against a curtain of celestial fields

and convincingly; I sit in a somber silence and remind myself...
to pet the tyrant with the mask of love, for love too is a pure captivating silk
gracefully black, magnificently rare and as precious as all fabrics
tied in exquisite packages unveiling enchantments of existence
adored and serene, like a rare rose rising from the underworld

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell

Battle

the devil told me
"no you are not good enough for love."
"you are a slave and a tool."
insecurity was conceived at conception
a thin veil from a disturbed matriarchy
she would lie in my room late at night
sobbing over abuse and addiction
she too felt the world upon her shoulders
wandering the trailer park as a child
she was always there with maternal sensors
"get her out!" I say, "I want her out!"
two fiercely independent women battle
their egos reek of dominance and control
I feared confrontation
sobbing myself over negative emotions
yet anger is not evil
anger is energy
anger is the ability to stand on two feet
anger is independence and justification
good girls don't cry
"you are a beautiful woman."
"you are brilliant." even she told me for years
through a connection, I found
self-love and acceptance sitting just beneath
a thin veil of dark matter
burning in my chest and invading my dreams

Amiss

there is no sand
no rocks
no land masses 
only silence
and with no sand
castles can no longer be built
and with no castles
great balconies of stone can no longer exist
and with no balconies
there are no passages to travel in between

there are plenty of buckets
shovels lying here and about
all in an abundance of colors
bright yellows
brilliant blues
some with red sifters
they all feel the sunlight 
warming their bodies 
as they relax upon the unknown
they all feel the wind 
playing against their plastic rims 
mildly rounded edges
they all feel the stars reflections 
when night time closes it's eyes upon them

but most of all
the buckets 
the shovels 
the sand sifters 
all know there is something amiss
even with an inconceivable consciousness 
of what exactly is missing

Annexes

the Universe works through us
controlled by it's energy
through the vehicle of life
we manipulate and command
technology and creation
all are extensions of each other
reaching out into the void

Hunger

revolutions occur
when hearts are ripped
and hunger prevails
as we are continually
fed on platitudes and plates
diverted with cut flowers
placed in vases
on spectacular views

Supernova

love builds
rising up against the front
spreading down through arms
I'm a weapon
a weapon built out of love
launched into
a stellar explosion
like a blue super giant
evolving into
a celestial new entity
illustrious it shines
anxious to shed itself
of nuclear waste
the devil is expelled
purifying a soul
that rests quietly
in the arms of the cosmos

Deconditioning

Yesterday I had it all figured out. My dear friend sent me a nice compliment on my Facebook status. Telling me I had a beautiful way with words in response to:

wishing for the clouds to rain a lullaby...

At the moment of reading this, I graciously felt enlightened in the midst of a rough week. I thought the heavens had opened up revealing to me what I should spend the rest of my days doing. Ahhhh, I'm a writer after all. I should write.

And then I question... Why do we so eagerly want to define ourselves? Is that just more of the cultural bullshit brainwashing me that if I am not something, then I am nothing? I thought I had rid myself of such illusions. Can we ever truly rid ourselves of the conditioning? God, I hope so.

I know what I was truly wishing for. And it is not to become a writer. A writer is just something I must become to fill the void and help me get through from one moment to the next. The trick of the illusion. To cover up myself - a hopeless romantic waiting in a bubble of dreams... 

Black Dress

should I grow harder?
get out my black dress
smooth on "toast of new york"
so often worn upon my lips
I want to fly with the night
crawl upon the earth
upon my hands and knees
rise upon the beast
so often found feasting
upon my very own flesh

Sunday Scripture: Not My God

My right ear tickles, the humans are talking about me again. I love this song playing off Valtari right now. Sigur Rós speaks to me as if the choir sings to me at a church. The only church I've ever attended was a few times with my friend Michelle and that was at a Catholic Cathedral. The one thing that annoyed me was I felt the congregation had too much personal pride because they could recite all the shit back at the correct moments. It felt like they were showing off. They also seemed to project the feeling that they were "special" because they had confessed and were going to heaven. All should go to heaven, not just the elite, not just those who can repeat the right verses. If there is such a thing. Why would a loving God punish us. What is evil anyway? I mean evil is there hypothetically, there are psychopaths, sociopaths, narcissists, etc. but are they evil or just missing some components of DNA, for example, their gene for compassion was omitted. Perhaps their animal instincts to fight were too intense. Throw that combination in a bath of abuse and horror, they don't develop those things that most humans do. They are just empty, they never learned love, they never felt it and they are incapable of feeling it. So does that mean God should punish what God created in the first place, if we are created in God's eyes? Biblically speaking, I wonder if the devil creates? No he tempts, he turns God's creations, but why would God create something that could be so tainted? Not my God.

Voyeurs

we are all voyeurs
peeking into each other
the aliens of ourselves
enslave the other 

some observe
windows of imperfection
others observe
through pains of love

the malicious ones are diseased
by sickness of society

yet some are soft and kind
infiltrating radiance
through an open blind

Scintillate

"Eroticism is one of the basic means of self-knowledge, as indispensable as poetry." ~Anais Nin

coming up from behind
small drops bead upon my shoulder
fingers gently glide my spine

slightly parted with devotion
I shake from the inside out

loveliness pours forth releasing
the madness of a lifetime
inhaling my perfumed skin

glistening in a blue pool
with bright eyes I smile

The Pie Man

in the kitchen
I find the pie man
serving freshly baked pies
there is pie for everyone
men there devour
with happy guts
gobbling as fast as possible
like animals
they get their fair share
without thought
they consume themselves

A Cup of Nothing

I had pushed my pleasure
To the very bottom
Crushed beneath my feet
Beaten, battered, smashed
Eggs that can no longer withstand weight
Filled with the same star stuff
The fragile yolk of a sun

I found a cup of nothing
I tipped the cup over
Just like Ray Bradbury told me
Inside the cup
I find another universe
Mingled with the pleasure of poetry
The fragile yoke of a sun

 'We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is, knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out.' ~ Ray Bradbury
 

Jungle

rhye graces a contented silence
forming barriers between us
and a perverse jungle

where the monkeys screech
at unethical specimens
that call themselves men
we live in their shadows

I want to kiss there
between two concrete lions
standing on full stately guard

but sadly
I can't hear without his ears
I can't see without his eyes
I can't taste without his mouth
I can't touch without his body

in this jungle, I am lost
perpetually waiting
for his signal
for his guidance
for his love

"Disintegration Loops" into "Nothing But Flowers"

I've been laying down for an hour listening to Aphex Twin's Selected Ambient Works 85-92. It's amazing that I take 100 mg of trazodone, 5 mg of melatonin, a vistaril and I still don't sleep. I know the meds are not healthy in the long run and probably create damaging side effects or strange dependency. I promise to myself to just take melatonin tomorrow night. I was hoping for a good night's sleep though but the energy just shoots my way. Energy from what I don't know. Perhaps it's just bipolar disorder. Why isn't bipolarism in the dictionary on my cheap laptop? I fixed it. Easy - add to the dictionary for the next misspelling adventure.

I'm listening to William Basinski's "Disintegration Loops" now. It's got an interesting story behind it. He recorded the last of this work's tape loops on 9/11 and he could watch the trade centers burning in the background from his rooftop. The intentional process of the tape loops disintegrated and broke down paralleling the deterioration of the buildings after the attack. It's a very sad piece of music but melancholic at the same time.

Everything even buildings and tape loops are vulnerable eventually breaking down at some point in the future. 

There is a song by Talking Heads called "Nothing But Flowers" and I listened to the live version just the other day. It also touches on such breaking down. Let me get the lyrics. They are great. In the song it describes how nature takes over modern civilization in the future. Again the breaking down of society. Nothing is forever, well I take that back. Maybe "energy" is forever and is just transferred to something else? Even when a star explodes, doesn't the explosion or rather compaction conceive new stars?

References

"The Disintegration Loops," Wikipedia, date unknown, retrieved                             from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Disintegration_Loops

(Nothing But) Flowers

Talking Heads

Here we stand
Like an Adam and an Eve
Waterfalls
The Garden of Eden
Two fools in love
So beautiful and strong
The birds in the trees
Are smiling upon them
From the age of the dinosaurs
Cars have run on gasoline
Where, where have they gone?
Now, it's nothing but flowers

There was a factory
Now there are mountains and rivers
You got it, you got it

We caught a rattlesnake
Now we got something for dinner
We got it, we got it

There was a shopping mall
Now it's all covered with flowers
You've got it, you've got it

If this is paradise
I wish I had a lawnmower
You've got it, you've got it

Years ago
I was an angry young man
And I'd pretend
That I was a billboard
Standing tall
By the side of the road
I fell in love
With a beautiful highway
This used to be real estate
Now it's...

And To All The Beasts Of The Earth (Gen 1:30)

we were all in there
the lion and the lamb too
scattered among a floral blanketed surface
the earth surrendered to the morning sun
horses drank from a reservoir of a still green tint
flamingos sauntered, pink necks held high
they were proud, not afraid
the cheetah hid in a purple foreground
for once he ignored the graceful white swan
all were in unison
all were in peace
yellow butterflies paced their paths
under beautiful birds sweeping
with the weeping willows in the wind
clouds burst like billowy cotton in the atmosphere
all the while sewing seeds
we were all in there
symbolic and resting
an illusion
painted in an abstract expression
by a god himself

The Cognitive Trade off Hypothesis

Notes on The Cognitive Trade off Hypothesis, if communication was developed simply by "sharing" - doesn't it mean there are alternative forms of communication? Spoken language was developed because our ancestors came out of the forest and exposed themselves to more vulnerable conditions. They lost their short term memory skills to make room for more long term memories. Primates live in the "present" moment, they need short term memory skills to quickly assess a dangerous situation. There is no need for the past and future, although habit does form through repetition for the primates which ensures successful future reproduction. Homo Sapiens consciously remember their past and present to teach one another how to share, communicate and learn from experiences in the past to make for better survival in the future. Back to language, the spoken word is just as limited as the unspoken word. Prior to the development of language in our ancestors, there was still communication in the very beginning. Perhaps through symbols, drawings and other sorts of representation. Very interesting. Or through body language and systematic cues. Simple things, underlines or highlighting symbols, colors, nods, blinks with our eyes, codes, etc are just some of the forms of alternative communication we experience on a daily basis.

But what if there's more going on? More than physical or spoken communication. Our brains can't fathom other forms but I think many feel other kinds inside through emotions. Isn't that what intuition is? Or if you are in a terrible mood, you put off negative energy resulting in negative communication so then your spouse or loved one might pick up on this. There is so much humans don't understand yet, I often wonder... "What will be our next evolutionary genome?" I can't even begin to imagine.

Belief

my eyes have looked down for so long
as if my sandals are the center of earth
little feet scattering in all directions
like the red shoes dancing
today they are yielding
I limp forward in their submission
feel my toes linger across the pavement
wounds of affection blister them
today they bleed without anguish
red as our warm beating hearts
trembling with each breath
they guide me across a great bridge
quiet yet resilient I succumb
to their faith with fragile steps
today I dance onward in belief

The Virus of Innana

lost my innocence
just today
the cats they call
in unison
crying out for me
"we all want you" they say
most have kindness
reflected in bright yellow eyes
face to face we have observed
sleep, poetry, psychosis
all are one
born out the depths of humanity
I long for them all
to alleviate my pain
tend to my wounds
and breath life back in
once more
just like my scream from the 2nd floor
I don't want death or silence
I want to live
moaning loudly
"make noise" I say
debase me my darlings

Veneration

particles split

like atoms breaking

inside my mouth 

reluctantly willing

to digest emotions

the way to our hearts

is not within at all

but without chains

we will stroll forever

in a garden

honoring the reverence

of a three hour interlude

magically embraced in our

ethereal selves

I submit there

without fear

without paranoia

yet with love falling from

residual spiritual justice

I shall partake

in the warmth of your dark light

on this lovely planet

on this beautiful night

Ode To Sound

curating an orchestra of unbeleivable moments

that have passed by in slight increments

I watch sleep and life with my ears

twisted into an endless playlist
that rings throughout my most intimate dreams
and plays upon my obsessive brow

My Life In The Bush Of Ghosts

I find it intriguing that the following statement applies not only to music but to any gathering of information accumulating and integrating into one pot.

A modern example: Facebook - Throw in a bunch of individual minds and motives, bits of conversation, posts, links, comments, likes, pictures, pokes and one (myself not excluded) creates connections between information collectively presented.

If such is the case; yet, with intention and sadly, without beauty - imagine how easy it is for this application to be used in controlling the masses. Materials & Medium - media, religion, governments, corporations, medication, money, advertising... the list is endless.

Throw in a splatter of emotion... a sprinkle of fatigue, stress, addictions, any basic survival needs and imagine how much more easier it is...

Already stated perfectly by David Byrne in his observation of sound while creating this masterpiece of beauty with Brian Eno - "My Life in the Bush of Ghosts."

"The amazing thing was how easy it was. (well, relatively) And how much the vocals seemed to feel like they had been performed with the “band”. Part of this effect was, of course, in the ear of the beholder- a phenomenon we noticed early on- that the mind found congruencies and links where none really existed. Intention had nothing to do with effect, in this case- a disconnect that was a big problem for pop music critics, but more on that later. More than just a way of tricking the mind, we also felt that when successful this effect also “tricked “ the emotions. Some of the tracks at least generated genuine (to us) emotional reactions- it felt like the “singer” was genuinely playing off the music and vice versa, in a way that sometimes generated powerful feelings- uplift, ecstasy, dread or sexy playfulness. Maybe “tricked” the emotions isn’t quite accurate- maybe these passionate voices and rhythms triggered emotional responses because our emotions have “receptors” awaiting this combination of elements, and we were merely providing the materials." ~ from Bush of Ghosts - Making Of essay by David Byrne

UNDERTONE

in a perfect world

I sleep with you

on top of the lion blanket

it is your deep whisper

that brings me peace

before the storm

that sits upon the horizon

bound by this

I taste you once more

knowing that on the morn

I shall be sane again

Wu Wei

I am yours 

And by your example 

I have succumbed to non action

An ever flowing breath

Permeates my consciousness 

I am caught in the tides

resilient I am tossed

riding out an undetermined direction 

Yet the universe shall reveal itself

In my graceful acceptance of my love’s will and enlightenment

Consummation

my humility arrived

pale and pink  
on my knees

through a doorway

there is another profoundly within

entangled in my weak chest

that fits to perfection

black roots ever binding

I am chained exquisitely 

like a pressed rose

carefully crushed

kept Inside the lined pages

of one’s most beloved book

Oasis

OASIS

soft ribbons quilted below
delightfully mingling
with the scent of a new universe
I am smiling
at the tea stained walls
embracing a gesture
that calms my nerves
playing along my skin
you are deep within
rocking a beautiful mind
with precious sensuality
holding my hands
stroking an internal existence
that still cries beyond
a substratum of yesterday's fields
drying today's tears

The Archeologist

tying the ribbons of existence
an archaeologist
finds a beautiful bone
bowed and unknown

he puts his finger on it
crying "Eureka"
with dirt dusted
on his calloused hands

his eyelids are warn
yet warm
stenciled across his brow
years belonging to yesterday

when he sifted god
on back of a cigarette pack
he takes one out again
and lights up within

Pier 39

down at the pier
sea lions wail
watching the tourists
they cry out
give us this day our daily bread
remnants of fish
are thrown at their noses
behind the chain link
a man gapes
his belly just filled with fresh chowder
sour dough crumbs sprinkled down his chin
the lions grin

Luminescence

daggers drip from a purple sky
gracing the street side
I saw my reflection
happiness brightly lit
millions of tiny eyes
staring at me from the windows
a tirade of fireflies
shining with love
they whisper
you are not the shadow
you are the luminescence
you are the woman who cries decency
wrapped in a dream