Jackal-Live Recording

Howdy Folks,

Finally have the live recording to the Torrance Art Museum performance piece we did on July 3, 2010 called "Jackal".  Track produced by Roman æon and vocals by DBL.  Feel free to download, share, comment, or ignore.

-DBL



jackal at tam by DBRP

Tuesday Night Post # 25

Cohabitants,

Today's post is a exercise of sorts. 

-DBL

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Black Sky Ruin

Tongue Us Ankle

o

Water

o

Soiled Rich Burn

Sole His Breast

o

Warmth

o

Decay Energy Broken

Skull We Toe

o

Cool

o

Wither Tall War

Nose She Clavical

o

Love

o

Ugly Circles Severed

Tooth His Nape

o

Ground

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Tuesday Night Post #24

Greetings,

A short one.

-DBL

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Joe

Moving in speeds that thoughts cant produce

Fleeing clarity is all my mind allows

Any more awake and I'll begin to sink

No time to question the linear clouds

A heavy feeling is just a hint

An amber left over from a forgotten spark

Now left to irritate a body in waking death

I have these four rear mounted frames of thought

A perfect box to house my fears, which sits on my chest

All's for sure and never abandoned

Thoughts and beliefs gently handed

Severed away from the rest

A violent action left as a testament

For one that’s not part of this encampment

Moving forward is a direction

Seeming as though it is just a reflection

No movement is what we want

So Ones can tear apart

The lovely thing we adore

Which at this time we cannot ignore 

The grander things that guides my devolution

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Tuesday Night Post #23

Lovers, 

Tuesday night, hope your night is well.  For the few that stumble onto this let me know your thoughts if you are not to shy.  In any case I welcome your eyes.  May we welcome what deserves attention but seems full of madness and let us reject what needs culling, these things that look so alluring.  Making perfect squares that have no corners let us make love to that part that is reason and make friends with what is intuition.  Intuition so often seen as wild at heart.  Yes, maybe but, the most wild beast have control and finesse.  Have you seen a bull in a china shop?

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Spit and Thorns

(Stories of the Two)

With an excuse was my choice

To give u my voice

With a coffee in hand

I tried to make u my friend

In time I could not fight

The feeling that felt so right

In your presence I rode on your smile

In the abscess grew a child

A self-refection of the loves I formed

In hopes one would be adored

I made my love, a juvenile lust

Formed from dirt and rust

Now she’s old and grey

I hope she’ll stay

Always the angel rite

You kept your distance tight

I tried to spread your hand

Putting mine in the red

True you were never near

Enough to let this thought appear

I feed my love with simple hellos

Inviting all the woes

I made my love, the one with horns

Formed from spit and thorns

Now she’s old and frayed

I hope she’ll pray

A chance occurrence

Tested our endurance

As I sat in that room

I soon realized the electric cloud that loomed

An awaking that told me

You also wanted to hold me

Always the dark angel

Loving to endure

You made sure every second counted

Until you yourself could not doubt it

I made my love, the one so sweet

Formed from cold and heat

Now she’s pleasure and pain

I hope she’ll lose her distain

I stand on a log

Rolling, I on a jog

Holding something small in one hand

Something heavy in the other my head pouring like sand

She rides on my shoulders my lover lost

In the dreams, this was the cost

A fireball

Surged through me from the fall

Heaven sent to aid my rule

The self inside this mule

I made my love, the one I lost

Formed from our different parts

Now she is he and she

I hope she’ll become the three

In extremes we found

That love is profound

She left me light

Which emptied blight

Left me with knowledge that in that flash

Vivid and bright left a pile of ash

With two extremes

We find the beauty in between

I made my love, from a lifetime of loneliness

Formed from profanity and holiness

Now she’s horrid beauty

I hope she’s found a residence in human’s cruelty

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Tuesday Night Post #22

Vessels of Atrophy,

For once I am late.  On top of that this one I much enjoyed and just grew and grew.  I know it could be expanded but this Tuesday post exists not to be perfect but to create.    I much enjoy the "Stories of the Two" posts.  I hope you do too.

-DBL 

p.s. still in search of a trusty editer
 

*     *     *     *     * 

The Exchange

(Stories of the Two)

  

In their world to eat is to drink from the river

That flows from one to the other

Two magnets in an ocean afloat

On waters of growth and desire

Separated by strong currents

Violently drawn together by inner forces

Chaotic storms of light and shadow

Every encounter they find new corners in their minds

And

Old memories to guide this chance occurrence

Glimpses of One that existed once before

 Separated long ago

Their thoughts find a home in one another

Never straying too far

Two stars so close no thought can escape

Flairs ripping the skies

Falling with time to replicate

This is the exchange

Like heat flows to cool

His darkness empties into her

Pushing light directed to a void that is him

A strange feeling to her this want to hate

To mistrust

To crave destruction and revenge

A bitterness that sweeps the surface of her form

A form new and hungry for the unfamiliar

That bitterness that frees the earthly law of atrophy

To want to hoard in fear of time and its brevity

Positioning the self in hopes of ending on top

To respond with reaction

To see with her body

For him it is strange to see that in natural law

A release of evil can create brilliance

Clearing the clouds that fog the eye

Giving love without the fear of being destroyed

He sees the end as a cycle of this love

Not destruction

He finds strangeness in acting

Not as a reaction but as a direction

To care not because it affects him but because

It is what makes the cycle continue

To visualize this exchange one mustn’t see how

They engage

The way he looks from her eyes to her lips

To see the words leaving her mouth

Only to get lost in the loveliness of it

No this is not where it is

Or the way she catches this act

Which draws her closer

No

One mustn’t think its there

When they walk the streets

As she wraps her arms around one of his

Trying to absorb what she can from it

Contrary to what we know this is not it

Not even when he stops to gaze

At that brilliance he wants to understand

As she presses one hand on his chest

To see if it can penetrate his form

As he swiftly positions himself

Close

To take from the fountain

That is her welcoming mouth

Delving deeper

It could be easy to say the exchange

Comes when they lay bare and intimate

As they rest from the day

Him slowly

Tracing every curve of her figure

A delicate finger

Over her back

Down her spine

Round her hips

In between the thighs

Down

To her newly soiled feet

back

Up to her breast

A tender moment is spent here

An occasion for her to retrace the steps

To formulate the figure outside

Basking in the sensation

One of the few sensations that is purely pleasure

In this vessel type

A raw minded kind

Would place their bets on the exchange

That follows

A literal exchange

A visceral sight that we rely on to find a middle

Between the two

There is no separation

Here either

It is not the action of her holding him close

Past this moment

Contemplation the next motion 

Looking deep past the windows for a sign of consent

Holding him as she slides him inside

Turning inside out he finds

He is captured and released

The moments when they find

It difficult to locate their end or want to

This is not the exchange that is profound

A glimpse of it is there

The relinquishing of the self

In pleasure they leave marks in other circumstances

Would reflect devastation

The exchange of their body’s

The leaving of something of one another

Inside of each other

Moving as one

Motion that switches 

The leader soon

Becomes the follower

Symbols of it yes

A complexity of the dance

Gently brushed upon by these words

Exploring this exchange

Is the Story of the Two

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