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