Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #8

 Expanding Field of Malignant Tumors,
             With every loss there must be some found.  With every negative account there is a positive one.  So... where did our money go?  Money made is some how lost.  A ghost of bills light and easy to move.   Move Where?  A different course, a different country or a different time.  Time was bought so we can be left confused.    Turn it upside down then it goes down stream or upstream.  Either way it goes to the top of everyone's mind out of sight at the right time.  I am no Scientist but can you make energy out of nothing?  Whats the law of thermal dynamics???

But this has nothing to do with this post.  


*     *     *     *     *

Reflections of the One
(Stories of the Two)

I believe in phantoms.
I've seen some with ugly long faces permanently in horror
Others still and sunken reminders of the plague that can be a thought.
One keeps me company.
A creature similar to me, fallen off course, a start for chance encounters.
As I walk, as I see, she becomes the template in which I measure the rest of material existence.
The standard hair, the pretty dress
The average pair of legs,
Become a crumbly itchy projection from the outside world.
Fleshy and materialized forms of earthly delusion.
Into my minds eye it comes, destroyed by that which is occupied with, my dark angel. 
It seems as though this lovely ghost was made special for me
To exist in my tarnished heart.
To be looked for desperately in my sleeping life, and spiritually in my waking one.
It is ironic that when I began to see the light it was partly blocked by this shadowed figure.
An angel so disturbed,
She finds a temperate climate in my darken soul.
And angel so beautiful
She brightens the same space.
She is with me so often I could write stories of our voyages.
I ride on her wings of sensual piety but the weight of us both keeps us on this middle earth.
For now she tickles my perverted mind, but soothes it back to the surface.
A relationship that is ephemeral because of the fact that we exist together, purely as converging paths of an instance.
An instance that needs to be understood removed of judgment.
Because this instance is our own she is willing to wrap her elusive self around me.
Let us forget our role.
Our birth and our death,
Our creators and destroyers that make us of different substance.
May my words be a testament to the possibilities of new rites.

This Bondage is not of marriage but of a three-legged union.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #7

Frontal Lobesers,
            Lets set some waves in motion.   You ever been part of a wave at an massive gathering?  I always find it more gratifying to see the wave then be part of them.  I am sure some love to be the first crest.  Its a feeling that if i would describe I would no doubt start a tangent about the urge we have to connect and flow into each other.  Maybe start to babble about the mirror of the natural world that is technology.  It is our play our way of digesting what is really happening,…maybe a different time.  


 *     *     *

In Transition
(Stories of the Two)

A sudden blow to change the coarse vessel

Resumed the oath he once had lost
Engulfed in thought and growing moss
Lined up square on a triple cross

From above the corner came a floating figure

Seeing signs of times advance
Questions of the past romance
Finding freedom in his lance

View point scores a visual of her dirty soles

Figures fall with approach
In his mind he rides the coach
Way of life severely broached

Riding on wings of white shine black on her back

With passing situations
He opens up to varying positions
Trying not to make any deceptions

Moved by heavenly urges bored enough to touch with her toes

Making friends with the eagle
Trying not to feed the ego
He realizes he must let go

Sitting down at the level to eat with the folks with her fingers

Like a book taken off the shelf
Dusted off and full of health
Setting fire to himself

Gravity pulls the meal her essence has no longing use of legs

As time goes round and eventually continues
Things build on chance encounters
For both an evil end is nothing that matters 

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #6

A Text Message, Ghostly Received from One Not Seen or Spoken to
(One of Many Communication Formats between the Beau Ideal and the Ordinary)

Just words
No tone
No voice
No body, breath
No essential Non-verbal communication signals.
Just words organized by
Letters Symbolizing thought.
What degree of Communication is this with this heavenly interviewer?
Questions asked, answered
then asked again.
Tag, simple word play.
Any spirit could be summed.

+Were u happy?
-U mean was i ever happy?
+In the end?
-I was happy and unhappy, its complex.
+How r u now?
-Good days and bad days.
+How r u creating?
Anyone could be this voice.

Systematic Cold the interviewer.
Distance makes the exchange unreal.
With a change of subject it becomes Real.
Creative thought, action in speaking of creativity.
Responding in inner Ideas of creation.
This can be dangerous.

Scope of Creative ether
Train linked Germinating boiler
Fever Ignored Death
SCTCVerf Cinotd GeR oithler

When will this conversation go wrong. When will it stop.
I get more info then I want more.
Then the Fear.
Then I want more, Push the Bruise.
Squeeze the wound.
Scratch the itch.
Scratch again
Scratch again
Scratch again
Scratch again
Pick the scab
Watch it bleed.
Let it heal.
Watch it ooze.
Pull, pull, then resist it back.
Feel it push
lean in.
Forget the signs
the flags
stubborn beast.
Snort, head down.
Cannon ball of lust and obsession.

Then it turns.
I see the distance
The need in myself to say I love to hold on.
But this pain is not new it is child play.
One with perspective from below
Word from above.
Fleeting this emotion is, since there is no outlet.
-What if I wanted this in my life?
-What if all I ever need was it, but i could never realize that.
 -Only when im away will i know that i wanted it.
-u in my life is harder than me alone.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #5

Collective Sleepers,
       Late starts, yes they slow the terminus but the terminus will result.
With child like infatuation, 


*     *     *     *     *

A Clear and Conscious Distance

What is this distance that is so clear and clean.
A view from above
A clear view.

From a perched location in detachment, it was not hard to fantasies about who he was and what he did.
She looks at the screen.
Watch’s him work.
He sweeps
He mops.

Him focused on the mundane task, the irksome dance, she drifts into the emotional mathematics of what was possible once in a time when she fantasize on the potential of the situation.  

In her eyes he becomes little squares of liquid crystals as her thoughts begin to stream…

Let us go inside.  Will we let things become what they are as we become that one thing that has eluded most of the ones that try and try again after a while all hell breaks through, how can I love this state of unravel?  How can I trust the one that see me for who I was and what I will be?  Can you accuse me before I am?  Simple time calls for complexities that I alone cannot enjoy.  I remember once when you said those things I love to hear and I questioned the only thing that is real and touchable.  Regulations.  Stormy darkness that is I will soon let it go but I am not ready for the moment in which I have let the ones I kept inside become myself.  Logging user motion detected.  Cluster fucks the collective consciousness that eats itself for the reason of existence.  If I ever let you in it is because I have given up on myself.  Myself is more precious than anything I know therefore when I hear I am precious from another it means nothing by use of emotional mathematics.  Stamp the time stamp the date I will remember this bytes.  In between is where I am on the roof is where you are ready to jump even if there is no force in which it would bring you to the ground.  Transfixed the repair, for it was not already broken, twice fold.  Don’t try to understand when you are trying to resolve.  Chose one choice if you are to win.  Let me find the time to know myself before I want you to understand the things that I have built myself to become.  Search back search click new page resolve.  Why should I trust when I know that reality is a question that must not be answered by the ones that asked it only by the ones that live it?  I don’t suppress myself in hopes of living long I do it in hopes of finding out what there is to live for.  X’s & O’s & 1’s and I can’t forget to save.  Don’t try to expunge my thoughts.  They are mind.  My possessions are an extension of the things that can break.  Let me love you in hopes I can break free when needed and when I am need I can break myself in two for you and for myself.  I can fracture in infinitude, one for me and several for the server.  Let me fear the fear that I fear for I fear in all its fear.  Just trust in the fact that I have demons that dress as angels for my heart is unwilling to see the facets of my personality.  There is no break in code or timing so is this genuine? If you step into my abode then you are mine if you are mine then you are for me to keep, this is a privilege.  Drive around me but if you drive in me that is when I cannot exist.  For I become the tool of another’s reality, which in my head is only possible if I truly adhere to the belief that I can become down into them…

On and on her mind disengages in things she is unconscious of and things she truly wants to resolve. 
Her comfort comes from being able to know where he is and seeing the phantom move in the screen. 

There is no comfort in dialogue. 

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Tuesday Night Post #4

                  Maybe you have not noticed but things are changing.  The things to come will reignite your ideas of what is possible and if not careful put out the fire that is within all of us.  Keep track of all you hear and see.   Let us find freedom and recreation in critical thought.  Take a few breathes and think "why?".   Then ask "why?".  What ever you do don't panic.  It will make sense.  We are all a part of Team 6.


*     *     *     *     *

The Fox in the Hole

Under the afternoon sun I doze
On my side
An ear to the ground and one to the sky
My thoughts fall into the object of my desire
The cause of all evil and the drive of my existence
The dream we all dream of is my companion
A servant to my servitude
Among my family things are said
In my sleep my thoughts and the things I heard come together
They color a reality I am not sure I understand too well
That fox in the hole
In my slumber he is as real as the lark I caught the other day
A fleeting victory
How many times will I search and destroy that fox?
How many times will it take a different form?
Turning inside out
Revealing a nanosecond of clarity that in my dreams open up the mystery
But in my waking life feels as if my tail is waging me
I see the picture in my minds eye circulated among the rest
We can’t smell the fox in the pictures but we rather believe it exist
No questions
Without our fox my friends would get disoriented
Just the search to find something to search for
Would reveal things we are to well trained to not think of
We give up our freedom to serve the hunt
In my dreams I corner it but that is when things get cloudy
Vague in meaning I wake up remembering the instant I go in for the kill
But I don’t remember the kill
I open my eyes
The light blinds one eye
The other by the dirt
I shake myself off
Drink some water
Feels like a good day to kill my cousin