Saturday, June 25, 2011
when worlds collide like building falling into themselves. When the dusty smoke of your heart pitter patters and you feel the love so much. It's like a gorilla on steroids stuck in a cage. The genius playlist of your emotions is running high. Like the sun sleeps after the summer solstice and we are holding hands in some wheat field. You with your dress, shimmering in the light. Me with the necklace I bought in chinatown glittering with all the fools gold mined from rivers of passion, depth, sorrow, relief, and happiness. The tiger is paper, but is stronger than we think. Shadows dance across the walls of the gates of heaven and we could not be happier. The printer hums with the delicate keystrokes of words carefully considered. Inconsider all of this and the spell check says it's not a word. I'll have to write Websters about this, you know it takes 10 years for a word to become slang, though in the age of the internet I think those rules have been bent. Bend it like light and not like Beckham. I dream of days gone by, days that are now, and days that are to be created. I want to live in the now and not in the daze. Not in the clear ultraviolet light of sad strings and music to make you feel. Let's write our own stories and right the ships that we sail . We can go forth and be brave, because it's the only way to be. Let's open the doors to this thing. Let's crash those gates.
Friday, June 17, 2011
were full of the things we all loved. Garbage, debris, things thrown into the wind that we lest forget. The supporters of bygone laws that we found through the by laws of carriage and buggies. I've got a lot of buggys for you if you want them. The flying type, the type that have six legs and crawl over our eyelids when we are sleeping that resolute sleep of the damned. A stuffed polar bear, no kidding, a stuffed zebra no kidding. This house is weird and we need to escape from it. An early morning departure is what we need. Parachute. Parapoop. Parasite drop. The earliest we could say that the era was the Prehistoric. I rode on a dinosaur to get out of this mess and it was a triceratops. Brontosaurs burger like Fred Flintstone giving Barney Rubble the rock. Earth to the never ending infinite. I had some rabbit ears, a rabbit foot, and some buzzards luck. These things actually cannot co-exist nor be near each other. Like two of the same polarized magnets and the polar opposite of what we were thinking. It's always been about the north and the south and pictures that we shouldn't send on twitter by mistake. I'm a weiner. an oscar mayer weinermobile. oh that guy and the 25 hr...you know what I mean.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
And I won't. do that or this or give up or fold the towel or fold my hand. I know I got that expression wrong. But I refuse this otherwise. The cyclical nature of the world and the cynicism of no tomorrows. The broken bells that are not a band. The heart, the thunder, the verve to live the life you want. Oprah style. TV syndicated news and this other shit. Broiling underneath the deep dark ocean. The motion of our brainwaves and nerve zero. They were all mapped out, but this one was newly discovered so we had to go back to the infinite zero. Hop skotch. Hopped up. Hop Louie. Breath in the air, it's smokey with a chance of meatballz. I tumble here I tumblr there. I joined the universe of the international blogosphere. Some words hurt. Some words destroy. Some words inspire. It's in spite of this that we move forward. All along like a train, if it's made of thoughts. It amazes me how we have landed in the land of alienation and how people treat one another. Every day. One step. Two steps. Let's be kind to each other. Let's make it so kind it hurts so good. Let's just be civil. This isn't a war between the north and the south. Let's just be happy. I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine. Better yet, let's hold hands and run towards the edge of the world. xoxo.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Where to go in the whole wide world? Where to go in the whole wide web. This half life of dying isotopes and the secrets that trees hold. Is your life boring? Let's make it more exciting more full of drama subconsciously in the stage of the world and the rage of a howling animal. I want to bark at the moon, my nuerons are stretched my synapses snapped with the fear of life, which in my younger days there was no fear at all. Even now in the swirling waters of dark rivers past I am not really afraid, just feeling some trepidation I have not felt in a long time. Breaking the waves and breaking bad, the feelings of the past are just not there. This weekend was wonderful as the celebration of one of the best people in the world and her name is Cayce Cole. The sea of Cortez is a wonderful place to go sailing if your captain is a little boy with blonde hair with ocean blue eyes. This kid is fantastic and is Cayce's sun and her son. I'm trying to hold onto those good feelings of pure joy and love that you can only experience when being around people like that. Though now I have returned to life and reality with the scuttling of my life vessel and the raging storms that approach. Reminder to self, to look towards the horizons, set sail, and once arriving in a foreign land to burn the ships and leave everything in the past behind. Which side am I on? Spy vs. Spy and the beast that needs to be tamed. I saw you at the movie theater in your red hoodie tonight, and yes you were a vision of pure beauty and light visually that I may never know. The world is full of billions of people and somehow you were shining in the crowd a the theater and sent my mind and heart racing like it seldom does these days. I probably will never meet you, but many things in my life I thought were not possible have actually happened. So to the horizon my mind has set sail and I am ready to burn the ships once I land on the alien shores of my new world. godspeed.