This circular merry go round

An open wooden floor,  with a burning stick of Oriental smoke,

Stars fly in an open space in this ballet hall,

dancing with the kings that sit in their three legged chairs,

Moving feet in New York city, Or sales in Bejing,

Enslavement of the selfish soul with the circles of self binding satisfaction,

I’ll rule the world on my personal computer,

Delve the musical sphere with a sand composed hand held,

type my feelings out with a paralyzed mouth,

I guess vocalizing truth is better with no tonal textures,

I’d rather see better than 20 20 and hurt my eyes,

Making appearances with another version of myself,

She hugs me…..with a way to frame a different shape,

Cause I’m in a thrift store of beauty with a hundred different bodies to choose,

So many High defintion Portrayls to turn another technolgically trained eye,

Such pain! I get a headache without my newest edition of cool,

Love lost its meaning when sacred scarcity broke its leg and fell down the stairs,

It’s all for entertainment, the people need their bread and beasts,

the arena’s will never die until we’re satisfied,

Roman Metropolitan subway, and your hands  getting worn and red,

Sand blows in emptied hollow empires, dying like atlantis,

Greedy Like America, Fierce Like Greece

I see everyone with their serious faces newspapers, traces, combined with computrized Jackie Drapers,

In the day where you are mine, and mine is theirs, and ours is yours, and we are owned by the spectators,

and enterained by the use, abuse, misuse, super imposed on drooling lips and reprogrammed

to stick a gaze, and privacy is nowhere,

chemical, recreation of the rainforest in  a secondary sim city, I am your blog life,

your eyes do nothing but sit,

fading muscles, addicted,

Decay

They speak in a circle, hearts so constant, passion completely unequally

grouped they walk with a holy line scattered amongst the city,

we’re here to save you! Or maybe you’ll see our piety by a time slot

45 minutes to make you feel better about yourself,

If We gave it a few months or some other shining year,

It might make you lose your faith, or maybe you’ll become soul educated,

“We’ll surround you with smiling faces doctored up with torn bandaids

and pereforated dimples taped onto our faces,

I was inspired by some speech……. mobilize, purify, transform,

when all they needed was some friend to sit in the rain struck city,

share a smoke, or wait the storm out with him…..,

the truth is his presence has faded from my open sight,

I no longer feel you from afar,

Here we’ll hook you up with some solid people…..

as if I needed some assured, confident, bastard telling me how spiritually mature,

he is……

I can’t pull that face, when I see my friend my father dissapear,

Obsessive introspections of development….. torn me out,

restrained contained, insanity, I care not for your holy wars with

meaningless prayers, my thoughts might as well kill me inside now,

rather falling fast on stairs no handle for my hand to catch,

a man so collapsed no hope for some irrational community,

go out and carry an old lame man home, and buy him a couple meals,

stop speaking with your mouths and f****** help those you hate,

if actions give you any consolation eat the benefits of that,

I fear I was predestined to be condemned,

For those who don’t understand what par he’s playing,

or how many yards he’s ahead,

But I stay stuck in the circles of sand,

Once Finished, I find I played the course too late

with no cart to drive me home,

the truth is bitter soaked apathy leaves me disolved

separated from what once was….

Epilogue

The rain fell in on the wood named a puddle,

on my chair I sat with blank eyes so blank a sheet of white,

kicking up sand as the winds tugged at my shirt sleeves,

My love Burns,

Battered as a heartbeat at a slower rate,

torn apart in a hot debate,

those steaming words so quickly kindled,

fires woven by thick gloved hands inferno chasm kingdom of hate,

dervied division,

My Love Burns,

Mind in a circus gym,

competing for the razors slim, of how a face can show a craze,

or digging fingernails, she sees illusionary worms eating the tips of her toes,

and a sphinx archaic decay one broken nose is chipped,

My Love Burns,

A woman at the penance box, to drag a family round Salem’s lot

the pious sing a raven’s cry,

of all that’s about to die,

below a world condemned,

the secret’s closer in the dragon’s lair,

the darkness carved with lights the other side and the combative turns within,

My Love Burns

We told the golden lies of common man’s hope,

and sowed the seed of one who saw the greater end,

friend’s held hands to carve a hidden slice of heaven’s scent,

a crack in between hell’s corrosive toes, to hide an imaginary side,

My Love Burns,

Cause we’re on the road to nowhere,

a happy bandwagon religion’s dissenters,

there is no tommorow and wasn’t a today

in a goldrush they ran with slated pans their minds in their hands,

only cutting casting shadows of meaningless rabble

My Love Burns,

And I’m crying and I’m grinning

cause we’re losing and we’re winning I can’t tell the time

and what’s the hell in a watch,

they blazed life’s trail, I’d rather fall off,

the dice just came out this way,

But he’d rather fetch a clock,

just embrace the maze,

My love Burns

Tears in mixed concrete

The unforseeable future, prods on worrying minds these days,

dropping down, spiraling round, this mess of a market,

Sellers look on negative white boards that tell the open foreclosures, kicking them to the curb,

broken dreams on broken dashboards, stolen hopes on shattered beams,

Looking around as the currents of information, and tides of discourse run through and through,

telling me and telling you the fear that the banners say we should have,

coke cans lay against the empty streets which speak of emotional vacancies,

and lowly held dreams that reached only so far against the stratosphere,

the people go out in droves searching the bins for food, for such is the life of the freegan,

when it comes cut to the chase, and the red light turns green there and off they go,

like rodents in a electronic modern cage, so is the life of the postmodern man,

cycling on and on between action and emotional passion, between vagrancies , and unspoken abominations,

that light the skies like the northern lights, and the fireflies that come out on the cold winter nights,

walking distantly amongst the cracks of this mixed concrete, he spends another day on her,

not knowing how much he puts in and if she cares,

another fight on his doorstep, another slammed door shut, another broken vase by tripped impulse and anger,

that rips at his soul,

another night ends in drool, another tool in his statue like hand that rusts with the coming of the rainy weather,

its these passions, these feelings that overcome us, this art of talking and silence practiced by men, and the tears we

mix in our concrete of effort that seems to be thrown as waste upon a scattered heap, burning in infamy,

Free to be

 

Tic tac toe, cross me from below, so I can prove my religion,

these days and times run with the ryhmes of the hurting, confused and broken,

running here and there, to office max, sharper image, to fill our hurting hearts,

there’s talk of a storm, like large waves that crash on castles built of silt and sand,

like graven images embedded with copper, gold and silver to make a better man,

we are all worshippers , and with sundry hearts we bow down to our fake falsetto voiced idols,

to fulfill a need for fake striving piety,

or a large dose of heathen rites and ritual,

what I need and who owes me what fill’s the head of an unsuspecting public,

the rush of traffic on  an noonday, the hurriedly bought coffee to wake a day for the making,

to do well, and how just how is life measured? By deeds, by thoughts or by actions?

It seems absurd the rushing around we do, driving round corners, walking up buisness stairs,

making deals, selling buisness, making profits? Whats the point? Just to fill a days time?

the clouds of storm line on the horizon’s face, begging the question to ask, ready to see rain fall,

and banks fail, and humanity become humbled? For I know that it is not money, It is not indulgence,

it is not bliss or heartache that will stop me, For I am free to be, free to be in the one who knows me best,

free to live regardless of whatever this world bears, free to know I am his, and that when the lightining and storms come

I will be still on his rock and ground, still and yes and will be found.

Through the times

He sees the rain falling, a drip and a drop on the cold hard wooden bench,

looking to and from where the storm began,

the dark shadow filled clouds line the skies of the day,

he wonders whats with his mind, why so complicated, and why so blind,

sensory queues turn him inward, to the vacant spirit that held his hand,

whats the point, and why are we mad?

finding questions, leading like a ball of neverending yarn,

connected are we? Or is separate from eachother the more meaningful term?

Walking on, he trods through the wet damp mud that soaks his boots,

each step a concerted effort to get to the end of the trail,

The struggle, … we all have it, we all fight it, it is this walking through the times,

it is this questioning and wondering of who we are and are we fine?

it is the hours at cafe’s and lectures at schools…. who will find… the answer

not so easy but a large challenge, like red large bricks that stop the individual,

like oil on a linoleium floor that cause frightened gait,

walking ever so slowly, ever so slowly,

ever so slowly and on and on,

He looks at the expanse of the heavens before him, it’s night now,

the stars shine and glimmer,

he wipes his boots off with a red cloth,

looking and staring up and on, tired from the walk he dozes off…..

Lessons

I have learned many things on this journey,

learning to be quiet and silent,

to let go and give up on fettered complaints,

for the future awaits and healing begins, where the sand meets the shore,

where the water meets the wind, and what blew around before,

for we are so wrapped up in the hurricane of constant plagues of self absorptions,

focus, lack, delayed happiness,

there is more? Is there more?

Than turning around streets and asking questions, summarizing problems…. gone

memories and thoughts to form the steel bars to block peace and rest from the tired man,

 

I have learned many lessons,

taught on walks to the lake, and by the colors of the sky,

by the wilderness and the mountains, by the days gone by,

by love and acceptance, by time, and quiet bandaged wounds,

and to see the choice to smile when all around is gloom,

I have learned many things,

in this world so chaotic and fast,

to sit and be still, embrace mystery rather than fact,

to let the fall’s leaves cover me, and the moss to grow black,

to liberate the mind from the needles, not so comfortable like acupuncture on the brain,

that accuse us and condemn us, leaving us so lame,

To sit and see the stars circling, to smell the fire burning, to walk the voyage further,

to carry what is with me, to learn new lessons, to love in new ways,

to share, to recieve new things,

to take time, to rest, and feed hope’s coals to faiths fires,

to burn a little brighter in the dark of the world,

which fumes might guide the lonely traveller and bring the outcast home,

and yet the mystery continues, my body rests again….

yes I have learned many things….

yes I have learned many things….

Stories and painted Kodak Film

The constant turmoil boils a stove and cauldron with bubbling oils and dripping fluids,

stabilized levels never so interrupted by ceasing, and the anger of unraveled neurological threads,

has never spun like the storms of this 5 year patterend storms,

in the pain and tearing, in the crying and fearing,

A picture appears from the first 3 years,

and the soul of the one who lurked in the forests begins to glimmer distantly

of course this light that begins to shine with the dirtied chemical cloth that blocked its rays,

scares the one who looked down all the different aisles for the cloth,

constantly searching for the calming pausing, nutrients to cause some quieter noise,

inside burning, tearing still the storm raged,

now in December’s winds and echoes and voices, fire runs from the focusing receptors,

now fully unblocked and this plug flushed and pulled out

The Internet…. and other random garbages of today

It has been some time since I have written like this. Most of my poetry has been spread out over the last few months. I have been doing some hard long thinking on the issue of technology and the part it plays in our lives today. I really think we have lost touch with reality. Wether its facebook, myspace, love ads, online contests, 2nd life or whatever I think people are starting to spend their lives staring at sand pixels that make a screen than in the tangible world. Are our heads taped to a computer screen? Is the real world to harsh or strong for us? I think we hate silence, and the fact that it makes us feel so small. We need constant stimulation, constant alerts, constant social messages, text messages, constant entertainment. Lets not forget that half the stuff people buy they buy on borrowed money. I think In some ways I’m ready to label my generation one of the laziest generations out there. We can’t think. The internet thinks for us. We don’t make wise money deciscions, we don’t work hard, we don’t stick with a job for a good long time we are lazy!! The internet too is destroying the world. People are involved in a fantasy land of make believe identities, popularity, sex lives, and are consumed with surface conversation that doesn’t mean anything. I think that the internet should be recreated. Re done. Its making us into damned idiots who cant think, swallow media crap made up by a bunch of liars, and we have become shallower and shallower.

Alas! I know this sounds like a rant… that is because it is. But a good rant on something that consumes people’s lives. Why not go camping, why not have conversations face to face. Screw texts, screw online relationships. Do things the real way. Hell this consumer world is sickening, and plus the damned public doesn’t even work hard enough or have enough patience to pay for their crap!

 

Anyways…. enough banter.  What else needs to be said? Use technology for the good. Use it limitedly.

I am a reductionist, at heart. But I believe in applying the good that can come from man in science but it must be harnessed and used wisely.

Come on you can see the small vocab of the american public. Who travels the land here anymore??

Dead Ritual

Stress, Pressure, its time to relieve opium’s obligation to the people’s public,

with your bowing hands and kiss to the altar, or some other similar action,

masses pass the yoke to break the necks of the young and impressionable,

hammered in your head, this necessary belief, this pulling burden and to escape the grasping fit,

of those not understanding your necessary beauty given by heaven’s touch,

long hours pass with drawls of image based stances past the open gate,

How I have longed for more than distracted notions of how I can’t make this up,

what have I missed when my prayer so formulated with ‘our father’ so misused?

How Am I to escape this performance based dance that will end in blistered feet and

broken limbs? What will I say or do that is worthy of your crushing condemning words?

I cannot escape this maze cornered in Empire structured foor wall buildings, that bears earthly glare,

that tells me that i’m not worthy that there is some 400 stair step I might climb,

but that leads to nowhere….. At the end of that I find myself strangely level as before,

Recieving what you’ve given me and how your still loving me drives me mad,

I’m decieved by lies telling me that I’m unworthy, I’m captured by shame that is deeply hidden,

that tells me of inferiority,

It is not me, It is fully who you’ve told me you are, but that we bear your image and not to be ashamed,

for why did Adam Hide with quickened run? And why with such disdain? Knowing Truth and Evil

He was blinded by his descion to know not love, For worldly knowledge hides perfection,