Saturday, January 23

Wishfull praying

Lord I pray you will see fit
to bless us with forgetfulness,
An absent and vacated mind,
unbiased and walking only toward the setting sun.

A mind that knows no different
than to greet every passing stranger,
of every passing colour,
with love, encouragement and curiosity.

Be they shade of blue or green,
orange, magenta, yellow or grey.
They walk toward the same setting sun &
their footprints left on the desert floor of the endless Thar,
show no memory of their colour or beliefs.

Lord I pray you will see fit
to bless us with forgetfulness
And as we gather new thought, new memory,
let it not be sliding inward toward ourselves.
Instead, let our thoughts lie on those whose paths we have crossed,
and let our feet be willing to lose ground if another should need help.

Sunday, December 20

On Regret

How much of our present, do we spend analyzing the past.
The past is good for one thing, to get us to where we are and who we are today.
If we have a problem with where and who we are today, still no amount of reconsideration of the choices we made will change that, we are simply faced with the new choice in front of us. To change what we do not like or to let it continue.
Regret is a luxury that wise men are poor in. For they have realized it's uselessness, it's arrogantly obvious un-productiveness. And they have shed it from their shoulders like fake leather jacket.
Regret breeds sorrow and sorrow is weight that will drown best of swimmers.
Live in the now, and be nothing but grateful for your past, for it could not have happened any other way. It is what it is and because of it you are who you are and you have the freedom to be whoever the fuck you want to be.
It all comes down to choice.

Saturday, October 24

Day break

You know that feeling?
You know when you wake up, not by the first rays of the sun, not by the chirping of an alarm, but just by the solid heat. The heat of the midday sun finally filling the enclosed and before now, protected space of your room. You open your eyes, either before or after, throwing off your covers, and realize that the day is as good as wasted. You predict many hours before your present enough in the present to leave your "home" and ponder if it is worth the effort to ever leave at all.

And now think of that moment,
I don't know where you will have to look to find it. And I hope with all the hope i have to muster that you have experienced it.
That moment, when you look out to the horizon, you see the faintest pink, so pink you cannot separate it from the deep blue on the other edge of the sky. The crisp air running up your nostrils, carrying the cool morning mist into your lungs.
You think about the day ahead of you and count the hours.
The imagine all the things your could fill them with.
And then you start. You starting filling them.

When I met you.
I remember seeing in your eyes.
The reflection of that day break.
And today, when i looked into your eyes.
It's like that day never broke. Like that sun never rose.
Ever since I met you, you have been filling the hours with passion and energy that can only come in the presence of such a sun rise.
Your life, lived with the hope of one who has seen that pink sky.
And has understood the potential of the unknown.
You have beautiful eyes.

Saturday, October 17

Bird of a feather

eighteen feathers of a different shade
spread across two wings in order they were laid
erupting from the leaves, in the open to be seen
leaving the branches, where they had always been.

Wednesday, October 14

they were more in love

They were more in love than anyone realized.
Luckily for them their love did not require the realization of anyone.
The had to think in a particularly round about way to feel how they felt.
But boy oh boy did they feel it.
A love complimentary to life and living. Whatever formed they may take on.
Beyond the acceptance of most.
Belittled by many.
to be judged by none.
Not even them selves.
love will never be lost.
for life cannot be lived in it's absence.

Monday, October 12

Is it dark in here or are you just running around with your eyes closed?

And now the power has gone out and we can't find any of the exits and were wandering around in the dark in this room called love.
So what do we do?
What now?
The more we understood the less we could see till the morning we woke up to a setting sun, your side of the bed was still warm while mine had never heated up. Every now and again... and again we down the drink and up the bubbles and we think we can see again, but our sight fades into realization that what we are seeing is a figment of their imagination and has nothing to do with us.
To empty faces dancing their dance and waiting for us to fill them but we wont. We can't. We know better... or so we think... but if we can't trust what we think than what whiteness does our trust in them come from?
By now we have stopped searching for exits and have found only each-other and after several excellent decisions we can see like we own the sun and have no need to run... and no need of clothes for that matter.
And their searching to tell us how we've done it wrong but they can't see us in dark. And we keep our heads low so as not to be heard, and two become one and create a small bird.
And the bird will grow down into it's nest until it realizes it has been hanging onto a metaphor. A metaphorical question before a hypothetical answer to the why and reason that season after season we've yet to hit a spring and are still hanging onto what's been.

Saturday, August 22

Here we all sit

here we all sit,
in lumpy cinema seats that don't recline,
and shared armrests still sticky with soda,
on the edge of our seat with boredom,
considering walking out of this movie,
for which we have paid far to much to watch.
Yet we choose to stay,
"what if it gets better?"
"maybe they will do something unexpected?"
But they won't.
We are watching the movie of our own life,
staring straight into the camera's lens,
lost in our own reflection.
As if we are watching the earth's feebles attempts
to eclipsing the moon
from the sun's point of view

Tuesday, August 11

What is it?

Where are we searching?
what are we seeking?
There's a hole in my whole
Thus my wholeness is leaking

Thou often when you dig
Far down in the ground
Most times you will find
What your seeking can't be found.

Some say it's in your head
Some say it's in your heart
Some find it in the end
Some have it from the start

Some open every jar
to see if they can smell it
Some talk till they are breathless
To see if they can tell it.

Some sit beneath a tree
And wait for it to come
Some seek it on a different plane
by making themselves numb.

Some open every cactus
And drink its spilling juice
Some check every egg
Laid by the golden goose.

Some will ask the shadowless
To answer all their maybes.
Some say that they have found it
in the innocence of babies.

Some have given up their search
dismounted from their lookout lurch
Are simply content with breathing and being
and seeing only what they are already seeing.

We are not in love

We are not in Love,
You and I
We have only begun our endless journey
in search of love.
Togeather we will paddle up many rivers
hike over countless mountains,
fight off discovered and nameless beasts,
all in search of our hamlet of love
where we can live as one with all that is love
until death bring us closer.

Unable to drown

The alcohol is a weight
Pulling me under
Drowning my sorrows
But my sorrows can swim under water
And now I have wet shoes
And another thing I cannot lose
Another anchor ripped from the real
One more reason to break the seal

Friday, July 10

something monsterous

Don't be fooled by what they tell you,
and don't hold it against them for telling you.
They don't know any better.

Not all monsters are bad.
Not all monsters are scary.
And we certainly do not all live under your beds.
The most terrible hiding place.
Hence why they are always found.

Some of us hold particularly important roles
in keeping the order of things.
For example; The human dislike for rodents is
causing the worldwide rodent population to diminish.
Which results in an increase in consumable wastes
thrown out by you humans.
There is an elect team of monsters trained
(in their younger years) in dismantling mouse traps.
We don't always make it on time, but we do our best.
The monster you affectionatly named "Fairy",
and plays the sweet little helper in all your tales,
are not what they seem.
The Fairies are known for their ferociousness,
their agility and speed and the fact that they can fly
makes them the most lethal assasins.
And for your own well being, let me tell you
that the only protection against fairies
is a circle of smooth river pebbles.

My type all ahve soft mirror for skin,
making us extremely hard to find.
The elders of the monster
world try to promote our bad reputation,
they say "it gives us some peace and quiet!"
Not like how it used to be.
( Thou it is incredibly difficult to keep
a full grown dragon hidden.)

We are dying out.
It is unexplainably hard to keep hidden in your concrete world.
We are nature lovers,
it is where we have moved since the God's made this place.
We even met the first man!
But by the time he got to naming us he was so lost in boredom
that he simply said " There rest of them can all be monsters."

The majority of us have retreated to the ocean.
It's opener there,
away from the cities glare.
So let this be a friendly request
to share this world with us.
And not kill ever "bug"
that you haven't come to recognise.

Besides, when it comes down to it,
if there ever were a war,
we would most certainly win.


Thursday, June 25

Do you think I know what I am doing!?

do you think i know what i am doing!?
Does a falling leaf know where the wind will let it rest?
Does a blank canvas know what will be created of it?
i have read only as far as the story has been written.

Monday, June 22

The Stale Story of Tears

who can explain to me the mystery of tears.
the silent ejaculation of the eye.
who can be a scribe for the tears story.
who brought them here.
ANd who is going to take them home.

who on this earth truly understands the tear.
understands the physical reaction to an emotional force.
No matter the man you cut,
He will always bleed.
But he will not always cry.

there is one that has a theory.
his truth is his own and he calls no one else to follow the path he walks.

He wonders if we knew of heaven. if we didn't rely on faith but truly new. if we would still cry when the people we loved died. How dare we be so selfish to cry at our own loss. they were never ours to lose in the first place.

And of those tears that tell a tale of joy, of laughter, of love. if it weren't for those tears this man would never have found his theory.

Perhaps tears are the symbol of being overwhelmed. Filled with so much joy that laughter does not suffice, and tears are the only way to release the happiness that will inevitably escape.

Perhaps its not in our design, our make, to understand grief, to know loss and death. Perhaps we were never meant to know. And perhaps that is why tears are born from grief. tears are born from loss.

there are those, who it seems are not effected by the same sadness that keep the cheeks of the world wet. Perhaps we can numb ourselves. Perhaps we can be conditioned to not see death as loss. to not connect to the saddness that surrounds.

But we are all connected. Somehow. And to numb oneself to that connection could be detrimental to ones being.

Have faith. know that none is lost. And marinate in the peace of the unknown

Wednesday, June 10

Go lick a rock

Go lick a rock
If you want to know
where we came from

Plant a plastic tree
if you are trying to see
where it is that we are going

Strike the match
of your usable years
and plant it in your footprint

Look right, left and right again
before running back
to the ghost of your former shadow

Let your beard grow
Kiss a boy you don’t know
And fondly remember tomorrow

Run at the waves in confidence
A dash back from the cold water,
undress your soul

Feel the sand between your teeth
leap into the infinite abyss
breathe in.

Be the last piece of the endless puzzle

Sliding down the slippery slope of glue
picking up the broken pieces
of what is new and what is true

Falling towards the deep blue sky
reaching for something to hold onto
fruitless, yet you continue to try.

Until you reach the rest of humanity
Stuck on the inside of the ball
Be the last piece of the puzzle. Darkness.

Yet purposeful.
The peoples pride soars to a new sky.
"Look what we have created!"

A God so big
The only person left to worship him
Is himself. Cycle after vicious cycle.


Open up your eyes
let go of your security
fall into the sky
and explode into the sun

Innocently dishonest knowledge

How can we trust what we know
When everything we know
Depends so heavily on what we know
Interpreting knowledge
with interpreted knowledge.

Find your own balance

Feasting is good
and fasting is good
find your own balance
spoke the passing pilgrim

A man who eats too little
or eats too much
will never attain equanimity
recited the meditating monk

look at the food
on which you ponder
So susceptible, so emotional
there is no reality but God.

Drop the fork with which
You intend to devour the ocean
Yes, let the waves engulf you
and drag you to her heart.

Be patient
perhaps you will become a pearl
otherwise he will spew you from his mouth
like lukewarm water.

Drowning in life
on the beach of eternity
feasting on memories and premonitions
you die.

And all that you know
dies with you
Only to open your eyes
half way down the rabbit hole

And landing in the land of the remorseless
you breathe
you stand
You fly.

Beyond the treachery of reason
Into the river of the unknown
following our forefathers, screaming warnings
you are awake

yet you sleep in your awakeness
speaking with all confidence
Yet you know not the language.
wake up.

On Freedom.

Freedom is an idea
A state of mind.
So powerful,
It can become a way of life.

Or the pursuit of that freedom,
Is a reaction
To a threatening action.

Society and it's order enforcers
Have only themselves to blame
for the likes of
V and predecessor Guy Fawkes

Who sacrificed their identities,
to assume the symbol of a nations heart and hope
a symbol of freedom.

In everyone of us
behind our complacency
Hidden in the shadow of our greed and self righteousness
Is a desire for freedom

Yet we continue to look for that freedom
Within our prison walls
Some when have found it by looking further
Most have found it by looking closer

Until you accept
That it is your thumb
Under which you are trapped
You will not get out from its shadow

Free yourself from your beliefs
And the myths of what you need
Security is needed only by those who are threatened
Recognize your power to choose your threats

Free yourself from the uncontrollable
and that which you will never know
discard their limitations
free yourself of death

only then
Will you be able the free yourself from the pursuit of freedom
and only then
Will you truly be free.

Freedom through renunciation

Why must we have a "spot", a mark on the ground that we are "away" from?
This globe is yours, our ancestors and ourselves have left many marks, do not be fooled by them.
For those of you who, for lack of a more appropriate title, are fellow homeless bohemians, I ask you to raise your glass, your cup or your fist and revel in the life you have chosen.