I will remember what it was like to be born, and all the beautiful things I used to point at before I could speak them. I’ll reinvent curiosity and memorize delight.
I will forgive, because no one survives. I’ll keep the bruises but get rid of the blue. I’ll kiss my Judas back. (I have my own crosses to carry).
I will believe in ghosts and fairy tales. And elves and science fiction. I won’t declare a world impossible until I’ve tried to build it with my hands and when my pulse shakes like a leaf, I’ll say sure, let’s, why not.
I will fight with the sword of my tongue, not my fists. I’ll also fight with my silence and lips. And turn all my blood into metaphor and blossom my way into fierce cherry trees.
I will love like it’s the end of the world and the house is on fire. And if it’s not, I’ll bring the matches. I’ll love even when I don’t, or when I lose, or when love’s fleeting like sunsets or thick like bone or long or heavy or boring like the book I’m never done reading and writing.
I will live every day like it never happened before or like a tune to a song still unwritten. And I’ll record every hour on my face, and in this short-lived human dilemma, I’ll try to be in all my pictures, heartbeats, adventures and wrinkles.
I will dream up my reality. I will not be reasonable or realistic. I’ll write sideways on lined paper and I’ll always put heart over matter and imagination over knowledge.
I will create a thousand planets from scratch and then I’ll add them to the Milky Way so I can help expand the universe. I’ll make up a new language out of dust and come up with a hundred different ways to say your name.
I will be honest rather than loyal. Because to get through the dark forests of life you need a lamp, not a shadow, and trust is not a blind soldier but the soul’s one and only chief of staff.
I will be wild and untamed. I will believe in wolves. I’ll be insane, uncivilized, emotional and personal. And I will take the ring to Mordor even if I don’t know where Mordor is. I’ll be the child I left behind. I’ll be the door and key to me.
And when I come to die, the only thing I will regret is leaving all my stories, unfinished, on your chest. But I should hope to live in such a way, that time would breathe me out and back into your lungs, until there’s no more me or you or words or why.
… so this is for us. This is for us who sing, write, dance, act, study, run and love and this is for doing it even if no one will ever know because the beauty is in the act of doing it. Not what it can lead to. This is for the times I lose myself while writing, singing, playing and no one is around and they will never know but I will forever remember and that shines brighter than any praise or fame or glory I will ever have, and this is for you who write or play or read or sing by yourself with the light off and door closed when the world is asleep and the stars are aligned and maybe no one will ever hear it or read your words or know your thoughts but it doesn’t make it less glorious. It makes it ethereal. Mysterious. Infinite. For it belongs to you and whatever God or spirit you believe in and only you can decide how much it meant and means and will forever mean and other people will experience it too through you. Through your spirit. Through the way you talk. Through the way you walk and love and laugh and care and I never meant to write this long but what I want to say is: Don’t try to present your art by making other people read or hear or see or touch it; make them feel it. Wear your art like your heart on your sleeve and keep it alive by making people feel a little better. Feel a little lighter. Create art in order for yourself to become yourself and let your very existence be your song, your poem, your story. Let your very identity be your book. Let the way people say your name sound like the sweetest melody.
So go create. Take photographs in the wood, run alone in the rain and sing your heart out high up on a mountain where no one will ever hear and your very existence will be the most hypnotising scar. Make your life be your art and you will never be forgotten.”
I’m twisted and tampered And feeling Pampered by Life This Night This tribute to Light is but a Face Of the race I run The case I’ve begun to sort thru And contort to And still the Sun shines thru Like icing on the cake That in my Womb I bake With creativity at stake For far too few Understand The clues And wake and take the break For Life is the Steak And potatoes Of the Days which grow Through my labors
I take the Smile and Fake senile And pretend to Forget That I Am still Wet Gleaming like sweat from the brow Of the Holy Cow Who Was Slaughtered in Fear Cooked for our Dear who is Slave To the Tears That have Flooded before… Knocked down their doors And Dripped right through The cracks in the Floor….
Peace Is Sweet And a Covert Operation At best Is less Than a fatal test Of the rest.
Take a deep breath , folks,21st century Fox Poppin off the top of this metropolis, Mocks Your intelligence and plays on your emotions So easily led and Fed the poisonous potion Of political devotion gift wrapped with Shock… Take a Deep Breathe and be ready to surrender All the Scripts that rip right thru this Dyin ember …. Step away from the Line, step away from the Lies Every single scene is a Set meant for your mind A studio Setting created just for the blind Adherence to the program that steers your Lives….
It’s not even abstract, not just metaphor… A Literal Configuration of Lets Pretend Some More Actors n Agents and Fictitious Stages The masses addicted to social Graces from Instagram faces in Media Contagion….
Bless Your hearts, my friends Find your Center, Within Everything else Is a trick Of the Lens
Freshly fingered fabrics lapse into gentle silence, those fraudulent fabrications that twist into violence and disappear have dragged tear by tear down my cheek registered fear among all but the meak The brave, they say, is the true slave to fantasy…..But I pledge myself to anonymity suffering gently these sweet thorns that are born from trying too hard from crying too loud aching and waking and forsaking the crowds sweet appraisal; The damsel is silent, in distress underdressed in her amnesty… this distant hypocrisy forgets me and I swerve to define this line of my observations this truth of my inner nation proclaiming itself to be free mired in mud transpired in blood higher than the seers who predicted the flood. Babble on….sweet priest deceive the ignorant on the streets of Babylon anoint your tampon and slide in to plug up the slut of your ideology to stop the flow of connection of energy from the heart of god to the god of Earth who whispers secrets in the form of Birth.
Becoming one with this itch, I scream silently pointing fingers of blame mirror mazes blazes back at me with glaring intensity I scratch; hide from the faces that hatch within this mould, folding in on me; becoming me in some sick dream…wearing my masks and laughing till my words spill chaotically trying hurriedly to heal the split; duality disappearing with Light embracing Dark, a dance of essence… and I am reformed, consciously; I take the fake parts and hearts and tear them apart to reveal the Real, the healing taking place between this world and this dream the great arc, the great bowl with which my fever is fed, this empty vessel fuelling fire in my head; I am held; they drink of me like a wine sweet; the intoxication of the beast; listen, dear sir…would you care to cleave this belief with me, turn it into dichotomy? Ah, there’s the secret, the sane hand with which I claim this land, this realm… splitting hairs for fear of Life, reconciled in the wiles of the worm; earth furnished and tarnished to term… faded…outmoded…games played with translucent trust… am I breaking apart, fading away claiming only the name of the game, but suffering the flame like all the rays that have manifest here since the Dawn?
….the eye of the hurricane is on its way, to ransack and flapjack the core of all our brains, speeding up the rate at which we perceive the perforation, the fate of which could rip and tear a nation, a station, a fusion of minds incoherent redundant grasping for meaning but dormant fleeing the feeling of torment peeling the rots from the dealings and knots from the zealous run leper run
run leper run its all just for fun on a level so deep its not understood does it make it less Real does it make it less concrete does it make it worth the run the gun the gripping of the sun in attempt to hide defeat
SMILE on the periphery it is a storm, a chaos, an insistence on resistance but at the core, it’s unchanged, it neverwas and neverwillbe, and neveris, but still existing giving us the balance to create lands in time hands in line to co create with malleable laws
implicate order enfolded within each explicate experience shooting out from the source in fractals of difference and intensity and vibration and density till the impulse reaches completion loses its thrust coarsens its vibration yet mimics the One and then begins its evolution back to the Within with all the cohesion of experience and lessons and soulsparks and mouldings holding on to Awareness as it ascends back to the heart of the hologram to enrich the totality of all that is with each divine perspective as it returns and ReTurns the wheel as the cycle continues and spins out again the impulsion the force the flickering light of love to enforce the dynamic dance of desperate dreams……………