Sunday, February 05, 2006
Permeation Of Care
Clear indention, ever forward leaning upon the heart,
of anticipations of past circumstances,
crushing it with evil weight,
notwithstanding its worth, it slowly dies in the pile of leafes,
for all seeing will leave remorse.
Oh how long the remedy stays away,
ever reminding itself of its stray,
into the hand of the oppressor rotting to this day.
Silence behooves me, and then it is over,
forever in the mind of discontent,
then the blade wields itself in a time.
For the birth of altercations I feel with the blade,
a hope, a cry, for something to break,
into the fantasy of my imagination,
wrecking the solitude of stillness,
only again to come back to me.
Rotting decay withstanding itself for a time, and then it is over,
molding within the barriers that are placed upon,
uncovering the mesh of a tarry substance once made of honey,
for a lack of permeation of care, foolish as it is, wasting upon the unworthy
I concede happiness for the sake of disappointment only, a wisher I still am though
no matter the outlook of the word, it still remains
only to elude self, in the dance of deception in which it lives
away from the light of tenderness, compassion being the afterthought of ceasing will.
Summer Of Ago
The past dawns have awaken in me, the smell of pollen sweet, fill my air, oh how dainty the leaves flow, in there airy splendor above the ground of desolation. The wind brings soft expressions from yesterday again to my ears, as a way to calm me from sulkin night, leaving the resonance of a happier time adrift in the mind, longing for a place to reside again. The cancer that fills everything now I forget, slide it away from my perception, as I am comfortably numb, hoping that the water flows once more slowly, so that it can take me back. I know though of the disdain the moon has for the sun, the moon sending the tides to the beach, usurping its foundation grain by grain, until there remains only ocean. The sun in turn melts away the land, before the moon has her chance, only the stars will be able to settle there issues, and that time is long overdue. Does one really speak to you, if so it is not to you only, for waste of words for a few is. A time long ago, with its peace, the stillness of the air while the water run slowly through time, a constant the presence of stillness was, it now being given away to the crow that flies in midheaven, searching for a place to land due to all the cement that has become the ground of earth. I was told in the dream that all knowledge would break my mind, but then observed how the owl flies through the tree's and knew, knew that there is no limit to wisdom, even though not all is wise. My path leads me, I do not lead my path, for what can I really say tomorrow will be, or bring or take away from life? Nothing. I succumb to the marvels of the butterfly, the bee, and wasp, for there activities defy taught ones, and there work brings shame upon not a few. There is still the warm sun to bask in, and nature to observe, is that not enough? It is for I. The days of youth being a crease of memory, but one that is fully active, for I allow it to be, only to continually be reminded of what once was. I cannot write of the beauty of the seasons any longer, for they are no longer beautiful, for mans hand is fully obvious, and pretendings of the past is not a pretty thing, sacrificing truth for a beautiful illustion is not beautiful nor fulfilling. It leaves the soul emptier than the beginning. All we be fine, the change will come again, bringing the birds to splendor with radiance of will, seeing the blue in the sky once more, instead of there paint that they paint for ill purpose. All is not wasted on the brandishings of the pure souls, even though there cruel masters think this is so. The eagle, with its foresight, its strength, and agility, once more will take flight into the sky of realism, once more see into the clouds for what is really there, and then taking into its talons all deception and vile thing, crushing it and dropping it into the ocean.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Memory Of Winter
The days of ago, silky strands of glossy fog hang in turbulent balance over the trees in there slumber, whisked away to there realm in there hidden hide away in the sky, there branches falling, for the weight of them they have carried for many years, leaving them to the ground they do as they are carried softly into there future. Looking around reveals the solitude, the loud hush that befalls this valley, the cold stillness that exudes from the ground, frosting the very air itself, as it dissipates into the atmosphere. It forgets the past, the myth that was spread around the land about itself, that it is harsh, and cold, wet, and disdainful. No. It rises above the rebuke of the un-understanding, the repressed at heart, for the insane love confusions. I miss the stillness of winter, but it will not last forever, for the feeble minded men of the land have taken there gift of delight and strewn there vile upon it. A small bird lands on the window seal, removing its ingestion for its young. There are no leaves two indicate where the branches are, so its flight pattern is reckless and chaotic, especial since its duty is for others. This bird, alone in the raising of young, alone, much like lives of ourselves, never noticed in the forest, just known to be there, and existing. However there is one who is the bird keeper, and who knows even them, and this ones ways are sure to prevail for the winter, but only after its destruction and rebuilding, infusing life again into a lifeless process of the gardner. Its lifelessness being taken from the supposed tenets of the garden. The rich detail of the wooden house that sits below the broad shadows of its boughs, a golden hue breaking apart in diffraction, and redefraction, as it passes each individual trunk and branch. A hawks cry breaks the still and resonates with echo as it follows the same path as the light breaking the horizon. Beautiful moment frozen in time, any second realizing it will vanish into the flow of time, forever being held in the memory alone. That time is now, when all passes into the flow forever.
Again, positive perception.
Yes , one last try at " just doing it", I will project, create, within self, what is needed to prepare for achieving some worth, for what is worth and desirefull eagerness, if there is no success? Further, how does one feel when this repeated process is continually repeated. Yes, makes for tiredness in the soul and spirit. But alas I will search for the good, the good, hiding in the rocky crag of shadow, only found by the miner, the miner of good. This ones quest leads one from shallow hole to shallow hole, until finally a deeper mine is found. Mood is still, even though there is unbalance of energy. Heart feels again, for my Mother sat beside me with love, and I did need this. My room is a pile of dirt, from the lack of care of myself in the way of hygiene, but this is ok, for I have only myself to deal with in this specific space. Music plays; as always when by myself, but mostly to drown out the vulgar tongues of 3 boys in the living room. I hate the TV and radio, the TV for obvious reasons but the radio for the following: The music that they play comes from very specific sources that are of money; which means fewer selections of artist and genres. Most of these so called "artist" only sing, as well as other band members, most of the time the "other members" of the band being more talented the the "lead", leaving the lyrics to be "think tank" created by the recording industry. And last real music is hardly known about by the "majority", and mostly free, for anyone can create it. For instance I have about 1200 individual tracks on my computer from artist like ' Rei Harakami ', ' Kafele ', ' Van Delta ', ' Air ', ' Bucho ', ' Urchin ' Take 6 ', just to name a few. I apologies to all the ' collectors' out there with there hundreds of gigabytes of music, but enjoy selections of music in which I have never heard before, from all genres, from the entire earth. Radio today is a preformatted sequence of about twenty five artist with 60 minute cycles, they playing the current ' trendy ' songs of the dronelike majority, hearing these songs played over and over, berating the subconscious of there intended message, usually in of sorrow, hate, gloom, sex, and death. People making these songs the source stones of the heart, for the before metioned attributes of the selfish dark hearts. And the gluttonous frenzy of there appetites are constantly fed. My art has not been active lately, I just do not feel like doing right now, but need to. There was a piece I did with poetry written over it that I need to edit. Oh well, things just are not that bright right now, but I have not given up entirely.
Monday, January 09, 2006
It is strange the written word, a conceptual imprint of emotion sitting upon paper or electronic representation. Words are always true within myself of deep, meaningful things, and should be taken that way. In the past people never saw clearly because of the way in which I articulated them, this being a huge disadvantage for them, because of not knowing the full knowledge that I knew of the circumstances which revealed; to there detriment, who they really where and are to myself. But now is not the time for invisibleness; for that was for training of what constituted wrong from right,and to see fully both sides and understand, no, now is the time to reveal the true nature of things, in all matters, just as ones before me. To take my stand for myself, nore letting one ever take that from me again, never, for I am worth more, I. Power infuses, time distorts, rips, the tip of my finger finds its well, I slip in to find the portal home, distance grand, establishing itself upon the foundations of the beginning, all things slipping to the edge, falling over, again, into the well of night. I arrive, finding myself enlightened from the light reflecting from the pool of life, hoping, wanting, the days of our time to end. A new beginning, soft glow rises in the mind, and past times arriving in a dream of the pillow of enchantment. Brusel goes the shade of color passing above the grand harp playing lulibies, resting in the grass of summer winds, finding shade under the tree of love. " How long has the harp played ", he asked, only to find the answer in the mirror of self reflection. Oh the pain of that mirror, if only time would bend to the imagination, occurring in a reasonable time for reasonable matters. Oh but not, throwing us around in the dust, eyes seeing the gloom, but the heart being to tired to inhale it any longer. Longer I press, to the end, fighting to have some gleam of hope, and this ' brighter side ' is that glimmer, as grey as it may be. I always wanted to live in the forest, away from the city, and there synthectic life. I am a natural man, and like live unadulterated of anything unnatural, and clean. I live though in a uncleanworld, that has no value to itreally.
This nation is the last place I want to be, for I know it to be like all the others throughout time, ugly, disgraceful, full of hypocrites and thieves, using illogic and deception to rule the world. Man cannot rule himself. . If only there was a massive change, one that would get everyone's attention, making it clear that we cannot live on this earth and be at war with one another or ourselves, and if we do not want to choose this life of harmony, then we will die. For this is the only " logical " way in which to live on this small, insignificant planet, being small insignificant beings, that all need a ' humility ' check. All of us the little that we know about life, the universe, our own earth, and the human manipulation through politics, religion, philosophy, etc, is apparent by all the disharmony within the ' little ' eco village called Earth. And the simple fact is, if we cant get along, and cause trouble and distress, then these ones do not need to be here, they only divide, and cause more bad energy that manifest itself into the physical realm, and nothing will ever come of this, nothing, only a faster, more miserable death. Wherever we live, whatever our circumstances, this is true. Everything CAN be deduced to a 'right' and 'wrong', everything. I, honestly, am to uncertain of some things, and cant 'truthfully' believe in anything. But I do know this, there is something going to happen in our lifetime on this earth, a time when all is revealed, and there is no denying it any longer, and all eyes will be opened, and all minds being enlightened. A change. One that is grand in nature and meaning. An end of ignorance and oppression of any kind, for the knowledge existing then will look upon ignorance and stupidity with disdain, not tolerating it presence our growth any longer. This is what is coming. I do not know in what form though, and from what source, I have thought about many, which one is right, we all have a favorite, theory, that is clinging to the folds of our mind. My problem is that I don't believe in any of them, I look at everything as being possible, eliminating ones in which I have proven to myself as being false. Relying as we do; from childhood up, on what others inform us about is walking on this ice, for they go through the same process, and is unreliable to our 'selves', for then our thoughts and judgment of circumstances or topics would be affected by them, and would not be purely from our 'self'. This very fact today drives many governments and companies to set up think tanks, as to study the public collective for brainwashing techniques, either to sell a product, or perform psychological information manipulations. All of this of course being paid for by the public debt of the succumbing nation. Oh the irony of it all. Oh yeah I thought this was the 'brighter side'? Honestly what is really bright today? One thing in which I do no, is that there is going to be a struggle against the powers that are, and the rest of the ones in which do not want to be under there control; and depending of how many people are really awake, that might be very few, and there is going to be a thinning out of the populations of mankind by disease and then military might, enslaving the small portions that are left. There will be those who survive, living in hiding on the open land. There have been many movies that have depicted this plot, the people in control have always laughed at there slaves for not understanding what lays in from of them, doing this publicly through media, as to rub it in further, sardonic even. Oh yes yes, there are many things in which to be thankfully for, and to cherish, but in the end those things are of no value, unless they can exist, and the place in which it is all going is not worth existing in. So there, there is no real point to these self created fallacies, a crutch, a distraction, they are, leading us away from enlightenment and truth. Whatever happens in the future, that remains the same, the searching for truth and enlightenment, wherever it may lay.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
The air calm and warm, the mood serine and mellow, quietness settles in the spaces between us, never ending in the warm affections through the meeting of our eyes. Understanding persists, ebbing in and around this space, the vast crevice of time, of forefathers, the standing upon a cliff hand in hand, looking over the horizon of destiny's. This land I find myself on has a presence about it, its sacredness calling out to me from afar, placing its hand upon my forehead, revealing the past to me in pieces along the way, seeing delight in my enlightenment. I only hope I do not wake, and the dream fades with the sunrise of nonexistence. I don't think so though, for Im tired of playing tricks with my mind, and allowing doubt and fear to consume me whole again. This is not the case though, for I feel this in a deeper place than that, and that although there are many tribulations in life, nothing can take away from this place in which I find myself now. Now is the way of reality, that one in which I have never known, the reality that was myself, that is myself, that I have wanted to become and know for all my life.