Sunday, December 27, 2015


Like paper dolls, to be crafted
Like tears to be shed
And I mean it like the lump in my throat
And the tears I’m holding back.
its taking everything I have
to hold myself steady in this moment
and it feels like all the previous times
I have ever been afraid
when facing opposition
I feel it, like the snowfall in the mountains
as her jagged teeth beckon me
like an Olympian siren that only I can hear

my attention was consumed in the minutia
Like a symphony playing out
To the tune of collaboration
Bob, weave, fuckin’ shit flying everywhere

And the sound that came out of the cold
Was merely wasted time
Time that I want to spend with my loved ones
Time that I want to spend with you
And we get so little of it
And its unfair
And I hate it.

I spend so much time outside of myself,
Looking inward
As if we are paper dolls, stuck in a dance
That cannot be undone
Our ballet unfolds and unfolds
As petals of time consume us
Becoming closer to ultimacy
by growing away further and further
from one another

and I am filled with rage in this way:
that I do not have the power to transcend these aspects
I would do so much to reach you
To awaken you from the dream
I know the demons that lurk in those nightmares
That gnaw at the core of our fears and psyche-
And I have faced these demons so many times
That look forward to our encounters-
And I know that bravery is contagious

Like paper dolls
I take part in the drama
As it unfolds in a way that is quasi-theatrical
I feel so utterly compelled to elaborate
To expand upon this narrative
To open up
About all of the things,
I want to hide in the boxes,
of myself
I want to share with you a piece of my humanity
As best I could capture
Through actions and words.

as if we are frozen in paper and glued to the frame of something
that we must participate in
every day it feels like I am looking into my own life
as if designed by a child, seeking credit for some other menial task
above me, the helicopters growl through the sky
their blades, chopping my thoughts into invisible confetti
and it rains down upon this land like the sorrow of stupidity
their scenes frozen in time, crudely taped in place by clumsy and foolish fingers
and I must delve, compelled to fix my gaze upon these
little people and their little lives.

like paper dolls
fixed into permanence
suspended into a flimsy frame
they take part in a never ending ballet
silently dancing
consumed in the fragility of the moment.
and I am of them
diligently putting their movements to music.

Sunday, December 6, 2015


I have a very good concept of nuance
I have a very good concept of gesture
I am haughty
And Vain

I reign in darkness
Rise in fire
Triumph in the cold.

In the way that
I have seen a syringe on a dancefloor
In the shadows and sound of so many deafening nights.
I have seen you-
From a distance as a forest of light in the dark places of the gross
And as I come as the soul of the leviathan
I see that you will make a great famous person.
Everyone seems to have motives, it is their motives that spool them.
I wish them all well, but in many ways this has shifted my emphasis
Irreversibly, in such a way that I have no real desires of my own anymore
I have become unbound
Like a mariner out to sea, and I know I will never see the shores of my homeland ever again
But it is a lie that I tell myself
As to animate this corpse of a body for another day
Also… This corpse of a body likes to dance
And I’m a hella good dancer. 
It has served me well on those unknown dark shores

I ride over 100 miles a week
14 a day, every day, on my days off it’s more
50 hours of kitchen shit, every week
So I can live in a neighborhood
Where I can literally hear men fighting in the street right now.
Bottles break.
“fuck you too, Nigga.”
Flesh meets flesh. Voices are raised.
“Don’t’ Fucking worry about it!” and faintly- pleading like a plastic bag caught on chain-link
feminine voices are wrung out into the array to be crushed under the spokes of what has already become the inevitable,
“shut the FUCK up!”
Gunshots are heard. Windows break.
And I... I sit here typing, on a keyboard that I find irritating, because it is not ergonomic. Because I think that ergonomic keyboards help me type better. And I could give a fuck about which one of my drunken neighbors gets killed tonight.
It is monachopsis; in such a way that I am indigenous and have become deforested by some moronic and pathetic invasive species.
But if this environment has taught me anything. It has something to do with how we prepare for fire.
Quick and decisive
But it has everything to do with healing.
Recovery makes great
As trees must endure fire, so too, shall dreams be tested

When times are lean do not pity yourself
Falling in love with one’s own legend is treacherous
I am not special for making it through the snow, as much as nobody cares to hear of traffic
True art requires a noble approach.
As a samurai slashes through its opposition, not at it
I am building a house, not hammering a nail
It is a slight difference, making love to a woman
devouring a mango, feeding on a pomegranate
it is these ideas that keep me warm
when my hands feel chapped and my spine wants to climb out of my back
and curl up, and die.
Yet, the snow can be refreshing
The sorrow grants perspective
The frost gives us a reason to shed what we have carried
Arguably, for too long.
Unfolding like a gentle dance with oneself
surrendering to the onism
that the essence of self is never what it quite appears to be.

Friday, November 27, 2015


In my own storyline
My own frame
My own place in this plane
The sound of the drums triumph into the darkness
The dank and unknown places
Reverberate into the endless tangle
Be meek for it will save you
Come heavy, laden with import
The might that reigns over this land
Like thunder mumbling in the distance
Devours the weak
Like crustaceans picking at a carcass
Fumbling, boxy movements that persist and persist
removing the meat from the marrow
Endlessly, I am separating the prime from the scrap
Relentless and compelled
Deeply loving and yet devoid of affection
Come as you are
the adventure beckons
like the sensual whimper of virgin flesh
as a towering mountain that calls out from the sky
it is a beacon of bravery in fearful places
I am but a dream
Made visceral

Tuesday, November 24, 2015


It is times like this
the frost of the night
dividing ourselves into constituents

like leaders to their realms,
men to their batteries,
regents to their thrones,

like these moments where our realities separate us
for I am getting older and resistant to nostalgia
I yearn for you at my side
As a Hera to my Zeus, as Persephone to my Hades
-and all of the mortal spaces between
I wish to rule this land. I wish to pioneer into all of its unknown places
And I shall need the help of hands I trust.
One such as yourself.
Of my realm It is manifestation without focus
The textures of my landscapes are boundless
In heart and implication I reach so deeply
Through the many dimensions not everyone can feel
& I have none to share this with
My world is very loud

And I have had to learn
that the worlds of others
tend to be much quieter.

but I am tired, and getting older, and in you I feel something
it does not make me any younger,
but perhaps a bit more ageless
more classic and heartfelt
our beast—
subtle and strong
ripe with the vehement strife
ravenous, with an appetite to rival hundreds of years of violence and assimilation
hungry for the taste of flesh
enduring as Datura lusting beneath thunderheads
nuanced as mesquite chattering in the wind
in all of the dreamscapes I have
you are always there in my most prescient

Tuesday, November 3, 2015

The Lion

Tightly woven around this idea
As if to break in your virgin senses
Don’t make me-
My hands to your face
Orgasm after orgasm of pitiless violence
Plundering your land of all of its worthwhile resources
You need to understand
The extent of my rage
I would have to come ‘Down’ to your level
There is a reason why-
I feel obligated
Not to hurt you, though I would easily
I would willingly
But it is not the way—
This is not how things are done in my plane
Though it might be easier
I want to injure you in a way that fixes your crooked stride
I wish to maim your old world of thought
I would like to cannibalize this,
this recurring delusion that your kind has so cheaply woven into a banner and folded over their eyes.
Or is it I who has woven a banner?
Is it I that folded these ideas into nothingness
Reduced them like origami until a perverse esotericism took hold
Or did I hammer them, with rage into stilts to lift myself above others?
and yet, I am still in chains.
I am still as powerful and hateful
To imply that my world is different than yours
We are Locked in place
In whatever obscure force brought us-
mired us together
in this filth that makes mortals of us all

Friday, October 30, 2015

vibrant minds 30/100

My coffee is strong
The bass echoes through the house
Like a subtle earthquake
Bringing the spiderwebs into unison
The sun sits at an angle in the sky that speaks winter
but with a temperature that is speaking something else
in another language I want to call out
I want to shriek
On this day
You are in my thoughts
I swear I can hear you
The melliferous aether
Coiling up around my wrists seductively
As the thought of you grows louder and louder and endless and infinite
Tears want to come to me
But they always want that
And they never do
I have turned my face to the sun and wind and cold and hot so many times
They always just stay within me
In the ache that I fantasize about hearing your voice
I won’t even listen,
I’ll just sit there absorbing any vibration that comes out of you
that I might have ever caused
I’ll be enamored in the idea of you
I’ll stall for time and leave it on the note that we should hang out.
We never do,
you’ll come up with some absurd set of conditions that would need to be met to find yourself in my presence
and I- I’ll miss you so deeply the moment you get off the phone, it will take away from my day
it is the nature of our species
and as such I want to bring you that feeling
prior to the inevitable
as I have said so many times to you before: you are as I.
if nothing else, taste in this aether with me
feel the things that I feel
touch as I have, in the invisible places
on this perfect day
taste in the dreams, the alternative timelines that echo within us
ages and ages
that live
just beyond this realm of light
it is such a wonderful day to be alive
my only lament
is not spending it with you
but I can feel you,
the way I hear the trees
in the sounds
where those special vibrant minds flourish

Thursday, October 29, 2015


Fold me
And break me
Have me
and take me
in this bitter way
these words that have held me
unshell me
it is all that there is to say
im used to
abused with
there is nothing
new in this place
ive felt this
I yearn for
I never grow to be sure
When im folded in on myself
Like fractured origami
In this ghetto of lies
Ive been patient and waiting
Endlessly belating
Like the dreams that never die
Ethereal and needing
These dreams are so fleeting
your words
they never cease
the folding and breaking
the hate and raking
in time I am failing
broken on the railing
the words leave me reeling
in a world of annealing where I dream
of you
not again

Tuesday, September 29, 2015


I see many doorways
not all of them go anywhere

In the biting heat, and the noise, and the chaos.
Where words are so easy to detect

in return for their thoughts.

‘I can hear you.’

through the taro
like massive antennae
Spread thin through membranes
Twitching in the wind

I came in knowing their thoughts beforehand
confusion in their faces
visages seeking to make sense

fractals upon fractals
thoughts and realities
undulating as the fabric
borne like foam
bubbling from the fissure

the mire lies within the action of others
thoughtlessness, but also
different operating systems

butterflies mate regardless of
the necessary space to raise caterpillars
awestruck with the transformation that is made
caring little for the sacrifice that is rendered
upon the wastefulness of their offspring
through perceptive focus they must feel nothing
their world is that of an insect-
invested elsewhere

Thursday, September 24, 2015

The last mile home
Registers as that
.the one space in my day where the end is coming into focus
Of all the dreams I have had,
On this day
They are becoming concrete
.the meaning will be applied to what I remember
And somewhere, my wrist hurts
Somewhere blood has been shed
Somewhere I said too much
And the wounds echo into the future
.the outcome of which is yet to be revealed
Today I lost friends
Today I gained enemies
I changed in so many ways
this moment only echoes the awakening of
the former person I was this morning
.the purpose of this seems to be lacking
Its so unclear what this is supposed to be
This thing. This gift
I’m tired, and I challenge myself further
And through the abuse it grows
This muscle of complexity
Moves faster and faster through their plane
.the reality that they inhabit cannot fathom our depths
I’m so tired of being alone.
And I grow tired of others
And their complacent, ignorant world
Is this an illness?
I do not feel well
Their hearts are too distant from my own
Desiccated under the battery and the noise
.the validity of this; I refuse to accept
I have felt the water of these people
And it is rich, and timely
And laden with all the affection that any heart has to offer
Where the friendship of another
Can heal any wound
I thirst for the cool water
That rises from the city by the mountains, by the ocean, in the desert
In this convergence my body is entangled
.the release of which I have not yet mastered
the nexus of this world
comes in and out of focus
so frequently
I hunger for it insatiably
In those sweet, strange moments
where I am released from the grip of time
in all of the surreal facets that make it relevant at all
where I become whole
by being all of the pieces
.the way that I change through time, but could somehow be called the same.

Friday, September 18, 2015


Dogged and tired,
Almost home
And it comes like a shot-
Stopping me midstep

“why hello? And who are you”
“Aww. Aren’t you pretty.”
And she sits all dressed in vibrant pink
Her colors rippling in the wind

Firm, resistant, and yet ticklish.
Spoiled in her new clothes
Happily oblivious to the world around her
“You know that name was a character from an anime many years ago. Did you hear that word from a child?”
Because adorable is beyond what I feel overcome by
An ancient and magical being that transitions for those in need
Willing, able, and yet mighty
She soars through the air with fire in her wake.
Beautiful in her power and endurance
Beautiful in her patience and loyalty

Kilala it is.

Tuesday, September 15, 2015


In this sudden Nexus of Conditions
With that puncture of the æther
The body still warm in my hands
I would do anything in this moment
to absolve you of this hurt
I too have known this ache

“I need it for my friend.”
I want him to be okay.
But I know he’s already gone.

and I sense it like soft wing-beat in the darkness
in the yard, where the static hallucination
of the white noise is ringing in my ears
“wait for us little one”
and return, come back as soon as you can

you make her so happy.
nothing can replace you.
you represent more than you realize.
this place Without you seems unreasonable-

You would be the perfect thing right now
yet, you are not anymore
and I am not prepared to let go.

wait for us little one
wait for her on the far side of the river
with all my love
we come for you in time

Van Nuys

It is this crap
This joke of intrigue
This lie
That make you feel as though
You have the gall ̶
You don’t.

a terrain of noise and shit
a land of slaves and subservient
That amounts to nothing
In what dilusion
Do you think this place is significant
What amount of lies have you levied against yourself
to make this sad player- a player at all

and what am I doing here?
How have I fallen so far that it has brought us into contact
This stalemate of worthlessness is all that we share
And this delusion of what you seem to think is applicable
Is so far from placeable it stuns me to think that you would ever find this right
Rather it would stun me, if you had any handle on that reality that I inhabit
If you weren’t simply waiting for your turn to speak
Never really listening, merely waiting for your moment to shine, And shine and shine
in a cesspool so endless as this- it doesn’t matter if you sparkle at all
you are forgotten and forgettable
south Americans that don’t speak enough of the language
cannot conceive how blind they are in this environment
shitting out more offspring like spawning frogs
mutated and disfigured under the pollution
of stupidity
and yet you go on
at length

about skills that you know nothing of.
lives you cannot comprehend.
and realities you cannot conceive of.
but yes, go on.

tell me of the glory of your yet unborn children.
speak at me of your perception of accomplishments.
absolve my time with your words, and thoughts, and concepts.
...and I will tell you:
that there is nothing more treacherous
than falling in love with your own legend.

this ignorance breeds
I cannot pity its strife
I don’t have time for my own
But I know that there is so much more than this
this place is the most pathetic environment
like your mothers beliefs
or your nostalgia for the dream that they seem to have
they are but cheap words spoken over someone more influential
disguised in the grandiose illusion that they will ever matter
all the while consuming so much time that
the sight and subtlety is lost in a thoughtless mire
that same thoughtless mire
where you dug up a wretch such as myself.

I'm learning lot's here.
learning how to subjugate others
by being subjugated
as we master the rationing of our suffering
understanding the deeply held expectation, there is no location that is acceptable
we cannot even be.

it is this deluge of coping mechanisms
this dilution of self that seeks to make us more fluid and hard
like some kind of metallic liquid
that flows and slides
filling the cracks in our already overly-hardened psyche
in the hope that it wont be annealed.

Thursday, September 10, 2015


Never stop the wonder
Never stop the dream
There is so much potential
In such a small seed.

There can be no other
This is no mistake

The whispers in the æther
Are the choices we don’t make

There is not another
Like this place that I know
In the way that I mean it
In the way that we must grow

Let us writhe in isolation
Let us burrow in our depths

I know not of these things
I know not of this yet

My heart cannot falter
Though it broils in the sun
I cannot yet seek shelter
For I am yet so undone

Incomplete in the utmost
Vigilant and free
Laying the foundations
For all to plainly see

Out beyond the horizon
Out beyond the shore
There is something else
There is something more

It lives within the blindness
And hides from the light
The world beyond the senses
The world beyond our sight

I want to say its love
I would, but it’s a lie
Too mired to rise above
Too tired to question why

Sunday, September 6, 2015


Of food, and concepts of food.
In my most expensive footwear
my mind slipping to the cute dance
My dog does
Before I go away.
And I smile, and miss her
and my hands keep moving
over the variety of surfaces
the textures of my landscape
they beat in my mind
as hungers that are never sequestered
my hands are taking damage at an alarming rate
my skeleton is being rendered
and yet my mind is racing
alight in the fires that burn in some specific number of BTU’s
as electric as the thoughts of your naked flesh
trembling under my deft hands
I want to hold you down
and devour the entirety of your landscape
And I will.
Two minuets after that timer goes off.
When your still hot to the touch, and yet not so hot
That I would need any sort of protection
between us.

The blur of loosing yourself
The world, the traffic, the lies
All of it deteriorates under this impossible construct of the mind
Where passion fuses into this erratic erotic battlefield
Of so many preexisting conditions and configurations
That even I begin to falter.
deep inside
other concepts
external to myself
the reality of this reality
is one of such complexity and beauty
captured of its physical form
which is why we always begin there
it is not for everyone
but it is for those that eat
As I peel back the layers of you
Unwrapping you unto myself
My heart is racing
Fearlessly and unabashedly
For anything that might come next
As I seek to be nothing less
than the eye of the storm
that pounds away
at the balmy shores
of your essence
still contained in the concept;

to feast.

Friday, August 21, 2015


Of many daughters, mothers, and grandmothers and so on
They dance luxuriantly
Clothed in red and white
Trying desperately to yield on their well-played savings
And yet they come up empty
Time & time
They show and they fall
Never bearing a thing

Undeterred they push forward
& it’s noble in that way
Though foolish and short-sighted
They are an ethnicity of women
Cautious & careful
Patient and prepared

It is what renders them such
These are not masculine traits
They are not daring, nor risky, nor wild
loosing the masculine superconscious
with every single motion
that lays them as barren
from those they might wish to bear
the wish is gone
evaporated into a mentally excruciating landscape
sadly self-inflicted
this side-effect of ignorance
complacent & ostentatious
as a silhouette akin to selfishness
that fails to conceive
for a more universal view

Monday, August 3, 2015


Aggressively resilient
They come bearing banners of wherever-the-hell-isn’t here
They are like I
Muscling for rank
in the rising tide
where the waves crash on the shores of my heart
spilling in through the holes in our dreams
what wrought me here?
what bearing do I owe in this ephemera?
This life and these lies must hold their place
In the pantheon of my ideas
It all seems so relevant
But evaporates cheaply in to the change-of-topic
This sudden spiel of coy and cunning
Where skills become endlessly refined into some kind of delusion
That evaporate under the gorgon’s careful gaze
Everything is cast into stone
Dreams are woven into the fabric of this fiction
The echoes of what “could have” and what “is” become louder and louder
Beckoning and spurring me across the seas of those desires
Building the bridge;
one step at a time into unknown shores
I’m not sure if I’m being brave anymore or just foolish
And I question if the map and compass ever worked at all
The recklessness for which I have rendered them into this fray
Falling like meteors into the depths
Annihilate my fragile pieces
Make me whole again, in honor and heart
Into the loving image of this charade

Friday, July 24, 2015

so much, so many

Heal me.
in the fire of the sound, satiate my disease, satiate this infection
I feel so numb to the horizon
And I fear nothing
Save for the dawns that will not come
As if only to be haunted by the echoes of the hopes that I once held precious
Pull me from this wreckage
Absolve me of this ache

The words so clumsily
Fumbling to describe
That thing; that thing, in this reality
So I turn to talking about black holes or some bullshit
I feint and struggle and mumble
Stark and naked like this thing that sits before me I can’t describe
Mired in how inconceivable I am to others

And it feels chilled extremities in a warm bath
Cool, and slightly electric

Calming but slightly catastrophic
Like awakening in darkness in a familiar place
From dreaming of all the lives you may never lead
And yet they always feel like deja vous
It always seems familiar though its completely beyond this reality
Busily superseding this guise
In the power that absolves all of this
Like watching water drain out of the sink
A thousand times at some other kitchen job
Each time dispersing of your life one curious sink-full at a time
As some mysterious time-consuming force absolves you of yourself
Envisioning the vortex
yet remaining vulnerable to the incessant pull
in this plane
manifested as some other distraction

it is there in the sand
as a taste of absolution
as if to remind the imminentness of this universe
is that it will be finitely impermanent

Thursday, July 23, 2015


(in memory my good friend)

Sharing in the toxoplasmosis
The universe that wrought us this moment
Indistinguishable from the next
As a thirst that is never quantifiable
As the hurt seeps out of me so slowly
And I wish I could hold you in this moment
And the next and the next
And all I want to do is cry so loudly
That my thoughts bleed out like ink
Dribbling away the color for all this anger
Like seething behind this plastic face
That constantly seems to be stuck apologizing for nothing
these daylight hours that have become endless
In this land that is neither desert nor jungle
And I wish I could hold you in this moment
And the next and the next
And I want to cry so deeply
that it undoes all of the mistakes
that it revokes all the shortcomings of myself
that it rains down over this windswept hell
I know not to waste water;
I learned this from you.
And how to see through walls
how to see through minds
As we have spent so much life
As conversion of that to memory
I cannot accept.
And I wish I could hold you in this moment
And the next and the next
And I want to cry so endlessly
That darkness pours from the earth
Annihilating everything in its wake.
And the sun will rise in apathy
time will separate us into factions
as we all become lost mariners in the tides of time
faring our own oceans
dreaming our own dreams
in this moment
in the persistence of our memories
I will honor you, by never forgetting what you taught me.

Sunday, May 24, 2015


It glistens like a far off shore
A white horizon into darkness
In the coils of the rope
I know that I know how to tie
Summoning the raptor
That dark and matronly figure
arising every so often
in the corners of what fears I have left
I know I should feel afraid of these things, but I don’t.
And, I wish you would just take me.
I wish I didn’t have to commit to everything
the nature of this reality;
commitments to our ideas
littered with paradoxes
irritating in their existence
why can’t I know?
Why don’t I have the efficacy to manifest this?
I have grown tired of fighting
Tired of the mind grinding itself
Trying to penetrate into this thing
there is a thing beyond this
there is a reason we dream
yet so debilitated
in this ephemera
I cannot stand it.
rage, that boils within me
murderous in its implication
it could be so much more
it could have been so much better
I cannot repair it-
Not in this lifetime.
Another of these paradoxes
Transmuting rage into hate
And this hate becomes a weapon
That is not for this “civilized” world
For I have felt like a wild animal for too long
it is all that I seem to be, it is all that I am
why should the world share in my traits?
it already has enough
I have had enough
As viscerality absolves civilization
I would pay any price to no longer feel
And in this way I am bound to them,
In the feeling that things will change
As we wander the æther together
Endlessly searching for some kind of solution

Friday, May 1, 2015


For what you profess/ all that it’s worth
For what you claim as yours/ that I have an am
drowning in the duplicity
the passive-aggressive manner for which you have played
victim and oppressor
from the perch that you peck them away
one revolting, lipstick-covered-cigarette at a time
the stench of the years that you have lost
cannot merely be smudged away
in the way that abuse never subsides
pungent and permeating into everything that once held sway    
looking down your nose
at the migrant workers that have worked under your pitiless gaze
micromanaged as if compensation
for every wasted year
unable to understand that the years were wasted
in an assertion of control

reminiscence like a black banner that rolls in the wind ceaselessly
a monument of contempt without compassion
you loose control of your body
your nervous system fails you
the disease wracks you

I imagine what it must feel like
putting makeup on that skull of a face
Knowing all the glory that has faded,
Where the dreams that have subsided in the tides of time 

explain to me the struggles of having servants that; “don’t work hard enough”
tell me of the millions you have lost, One. More. Time.
Speak at me of your misplaced perceptions
-the struggle of the privileged
-the pain of the served
your sovereignty diminishes in these twilight years
where all that you have is the lasting memory
of what may never have been truly yours

through slatted rays,
I watch as the wolves of yourself
close in upon their quarry

ready to tear into the nerves of your delusion.

Friday, April 17, 2015

endless repetition

endless repetition
endlessly repeating
so searching for a catalyst
that it is endlessly defeating

with the words that never satiate
the dreams become so fleeting
in this endless repetition
that is endlessly repeating

i dreamt of something different
i dreamt of so much more
in this repetitive repetition
with so much to explore

yet it all seems so one dimensional
it all seems so plain
with this endless repetition
that always stays the same

it is this monotonous grind
this feeling i can't explain
within this redundant life that
always stays the same

it would be such a pleasure
to subsist so deluded
in this manufactured lifestyle
where it all seems so concluded

the themes become redundant
the scenes remain so fixed
i have to act surprised
when its so obvious to predict

my skills are so unwarranted
its hard to share what i feel
i know i am not broken
i know that this is real

mired in their sameness
trapped in their mundane
blindly plodding forward
into more of the same

vacantly i stood there
lifting not a finger
in their bland environment
where i began to linger

and i became a copy
i became the same
in the endless repetition
where everything is the same

i sit in traffic through the hills
i wear a this shirt and tie
my life seems to erode away
as we struggle and we die

at what point did i loose my soul?
when did my spirit fade?
why haven't all these people noticed
that are living a charade

and i question my validity
what makes this my place to say
how can they worship paper
every single day

why is this so broken
i feel so washed ashore
in an ocean of negligence
that left me wanting more

when all the dreams have died
when everything fades away
will they be proud of what they wrought
is that what they will say?

i feel trapped in time
i feel so utterly deprived
how can this be the world
when it is so utterly contrived

my mind seeks freedom
this heart it wants release
my hands are raw with effort
i want to be at peace

in this empty ideology
the way becomes so clear
they are not bound by anything
but are crushed within their fear

it takes a mighty heart
to wield a mighty soul
arise in this plane
and remake yourself as whole

there is so much left to do
and so very little time
the mountains seem so daunting
as we begin to climb

the dreams are merely sleeping
as we begin to wake
this world is merely waiting
for new visions to take shape

Thursday, April 16, 2015


Of feast and famine
and devils

I dream of the wrath
The sex
and the revels

The ire unfolds
In paper wings
as origami

and reigns down
on this plane
a suffocating tsunami

I dreamt
So vainly
of these meticulous places

 nature’s corruption complete
as worn
in their faces

rising in fire
this birth
of confusion

the artificial subside
mired down
in their delusion

complete in the solace
consumed within 
the cost

who gives a fuck
of these dreams,
what profits from loss

my heart remains vigilant
my mind 
so fanatical

 encroaching upon machines
the cheap
and mechanical

I will break you:
Your hearts, your minds
and your tears

I will shear you
from this world
absolve you of fears

relish with delight
in the tides
of this time

surfacing through these
realms in a place

we shall rejoice
in the ruins
of a world once expensive

the fantasy that lived
within the vacant
so extensive

the sun sets   
by the sea
a place I used to  know

where I buried my heart  
and waited

for it to grow

Thursday, March 12, 2015


There would seem to be no other way
no better way
than that which we have encountered,
the gentle struggle for which we have already begun
in this room where my heart is pounding so hard
like a cat being chased by a dog
knowing; full-well i will be torn apart if they reach us 
in our defamed world that contains fatal consequence
filled with tenacity, that we mine from a hole
trying to fill the holes in ourselves and make the best
with every white-knuckle-night that we seem to surpass
the days drift off into a world that cannot last

I cannot agree
I cannot bow down
And cannot accept that this is my fate
I will not die here, in this shopping center
And I am glad I got away
I am glad to be released, from the grip of the ghetto
But this world does not admire the free
It only worships the enslaved
As they look into the various reflections of their vanity
and thoughtlessly admire themselves proud that they have endured another day in this incessant cookie-cutter bullshit
never have I ever seen a place with so many enforcers and a complete dearth of enforcement
and time casts a different lens
time makes all things real
I learned things about myself I never wanted to know, I fought a thing I never wanted to see
 it touches you, it can never be undone, it can never be unlearned
I have felt the rage
I have felt the hate
burned inside of us like the sound of a your roommate raping his girlfriend
like the domestic violence of your neighbors spilling into the street
guns drawn, in the flickering blue-and-red lights that send them into the depths of their realm
as animals fleeing into the jungle
I saw them; Somewhere between terror and opportunity their their crystal meth laced minds spinning in some great way, yet never making traction in this reality.
I fought them in the night, and fired at them to defend my property
and my livelihood
you get a taste for violence.
Like so many things. It becomes you.
It feels a lot like fractured ribs.
Yet it only ever hurts like a dying fire
that you have been forced to learn to wield.  

It is the ache that fills me with gratitude
The somberness of deciding what you’re willing to live without

Like Learning to feel without tears, because you cannot spare the water
fading into the night like some ardent desert creature 

Monday, March 9, 2015


produced and manufactured
it leaves this place fractured
their words never seem to rise

in the way that i can call
to your mind through it all 
there is nothing left to be said 

and I'm sorry for the way 
these things have so much sway 
but we cannot go back 

there is so much left to know 
in the places i cannot go 
until this fades to black

but this is not quite done 
im not sure whats to be won
though I'm sure i can see

and all that i regret
is the life i cannot get
in a world where you're with me

as though i could have anything
in a life that i would bring
so much to your great heart

and i cannot undo
the way i feel for you
the dreams never seem to cease

but i hold my head up high
to the stars in the sky
and i dream that the day will come

in no uncertain way
i want to live, i want to play
with what we can grow to be

but you are so refracted
taken and distracted
for all that i want this to be

my heart seems to grow colder
as the years pass, i am older
but i know there will come a day

and i cannot express
what im afraid to confess
i just need to find a way


(i wheatpasted this to a  stop sign in silverlake)

Overwhelmingly committed
To the urge to not communicate
I grow tired of the disease
Where the faint smell of caramel
Gently seeps into everything
As though, growing venomous, day-by-day
Ever gets old.
 The wings that have held me up
are holding me back
where the thunder breaks the storm of my heart
in the reaches of those ancient places
where there is something beautiful and noble
in words