Tuesday Night Post #10

My fellow meat puppets,

Lets just hope we don't choke on our vomit as we awake. 

-DBL

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Brought Together

A single hair winds and binds

In between the three strands

Across my chest

Goes across my ribs

A mental picture I create

A needle and thread by which I intend to connect

Uncountable wavering thoughts

Held up high, my limb, needle in hand

Mouth agape

The needle dives in flesh and far

Forty knots in a row except for the last five

Clustered safe as heaven's gate 

To feel the path that set me straight

Piercing thoughts

Piercing veins

Collecting fractures bones and lose ligaments

Pulling taut slipping through my finger tips

With a breath I am brought inside myself

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Tuesday Night Post #9

 

 Waterlogged

Lets talk from the place where things are not strange

Position in the mind in which nothing is confusing

Attempts of awareness chase the epiphany building

Try not to grapple with the logic for it’s the one thing that dilutes

An offer of protection of the firmness that is objection

Can strangle off an extension of what might have been

Find freedom in a voice

Slide into the void that has a neighbor

Companionship is just one form

True liberation is sloppy

Sticky and confusing to the frontal self

Getting lost offers a recharge

A tossing up of the cards allows them to dance in their truth

Limbo is a stage don’t linger there to long

Although the next stage

Might be a variation of the first

You might find the presence there over-bearing

Embrace every thought it is a presence of existence

Jumping over formalities produces subjugation

Of course thoughts are refection’s of footsteps, stumbled and planted

Existence is a phenomenon ruminated

Grabbed, pinched, firmly interrogated

Lets give it water, some time to its self 

A moment to invent an alibi

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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.  

-DBL

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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.

 

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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.  

-DBL

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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 

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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.

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