Analog Life.

Why is it every time I try to bring these silly things back, no one else seems interested?
Someone feel like dusting off some analog hard copy?  Maybe 200 characters with out a break, 250?  What would you say?
How would you feel if you had to wait a week to hear me?  Would you wait?  Would you care?
Maybe soon, when my silly new website is up, you may care.

Cross Hatch Skies.

Angels tracks.

Soft roar of evermore, a growling underscore.
Understated ascendancy; clear and painful dependency.
Precarious in standing, outstretched their handing.
Always watching, never subsiding, sometimes dancing, quiet abiding.
Eyes inclined, hearts and minds.  Delirious nights, imagined flights.
Angels wings and wispy things.  Clear blue skies and heartbeat sings.
Willows in a wish; wisp in a moon.  Be still and ready, I'll be their soon.

Found

Green dreams are the color of my pain, white the color of it's silence.  But it's only a shadow, there is no lost space in these colors, only dreams of floating sands.  Wishing for the torrent to reverse it's perverse flow.  To care so much, to feel the beat of the drums again, that is what I miss.  The obsession.
It is known, time is a wheel.  It is said, sleep when your dead.  Found.  What happens when your found?  What place is there in the After?  Ka is a wheel, it is known.  So what does Roland, last knight of gilead get after the tower is found?  Could he lay down his fathers guns and take up the hoe?  Sell leaf, nod and smile "yes, say thank ya'"  Would those hands, those killers hands, those slinger hands, ever be good for anything else?  How could he ever reach the top?
Ka is a wheel; both my nightmare and my comfort.  I am a seeker, but now I've found.  We all know what the next turn has for me.  Hunting the hunt.  I just need a new horizon to yearn for, a new god at my back.

Summer Sickness

Pissin' away another day in paradise. What ever happened to growing up? It is surly expected of me, and yet I feel like I'm going backwards. Summer sickness. Coming chill creeping over me, will I notice the falling? Will the cold snap snap me out of this cruse? I hope so. We have some time. All I can talk about is the cold and its still scorched earth outside; roasted emerald days.

Now the pain starts and still it doesn't stop. The oil burns lower, drip drop. Drip drop.

And yet, and yet... Complacency is just a word. There is something here, a quietness in the mind, a stillness in the heart. Paradise, sans beaches and paper drink accoutrements. Waiting, again and always and forever. A sleepy time, a time for quiet and selfishness. Soon the sun will lift from the horizon, and it will be a time of activity. But a wise man can find himself in either. I just wonder if I am wise.

Maybe so.

Not for me. Not for me... Not for me.

Sadness. Sadness.

Why does it have to be like that? At least its not as bad as all that.

No Turns

The Knight unfound is lost amid faces sunk into our ground.

Show me, hear me, I beg, I plea. May I stay, dare I flee?

Will I show you, will you see? You’re here, after all. Come to see my fall?

Guide my heart, little star. Show me now, is it far?

Where do roads go past this scar?

Roar of days ancient fire twist ‘round my finger, twisting mire.

Will I show you, will you see? The knight unfound, with sleeping bee.

No matter the path I take from here, all is peaceful fear.

“No turns, next 50 miles”, no burns, no smiles.

Knifes edge highway, follow your glowing skyway.

No lines to cross, just uncomplicated direction. No bumps or humps, a subtle detection.

Loops with no condition, quiet night’s introspection. Pain’s stealthy blight, black hearts affection.

Forward or onward, a decisions resurrection. Temptation, a courageous heart’s great imperfection.

Take these wanderings, mind disinfection. Born to fly, gravity’s harsh interjection.

If only to hold, this glowing recollection. Fear the fear, this long disconnection.

Above and below, both paths reflection. Do I see, or is this just my predilection?

I am unclear, even my own objection. Guide me along, proper deflection.

Homeless.

I’m not saying I'm happy, because in some ways I'm not.

I'm not saying I'm sad, because really I'm not.

Its complicated. Homeless and fearless. My place was taken out from under me.

I'm just falling. Where did my net go? Here I find someone has been cutting holes in it for years.

Mindless holes, with only a selfish thought. Taking wicked pleasure in ever snip.

Finding your worth like the vampire and the cat. Sucking and feeding, tricking and needing.

Middle ground, sitting down. Maybe the race is over, maybe its just my three leaf clover.

Come quick, little gun. Signal start of all the fun. Let us be, let us run. Let all this mess be done.

Moon.

Rises soon. Twelve Days, little maze.  Find the end, let us sin.  Mate with date, its just a date.  So soon, rise little moon.  Save me, save me, Please?  So soon, little moon.
I need out... Even with doubt...
I weigh so heavy, burst the levy.  No more walls.  No more falls.
Rise soon, my little moon.

Empire of Dirt

There is something about the hurt that calls to me. I can’t help but wonder why, but its true. The broken feel so easy to understand. Their lives are dramatic and quiet, they see things in shades of grey. Its so easy to be someone’s color. Am I like this because I really care? Does this make me a good person? Or am I just as hurt as they are, and it is my own insecurities that make me feel this way? So easy to be beautiful when your backdrop is dark and chilling fear. So easy to glow in the darkness.

Sometimes I feel like I am wishing to be a mess. A unfulfilled complex of victimization burns in me. A specter that never really leaves my side. I used to dream, I used to wish for it. Maybe then someone would notice, maybe then someone would care.

Most days that all seems crazy, most days I cant help but think I have been the greatest fool. Bad news for people who like bad news; two o’clock and all’s well. The good times are killing me.

Some times it strikes me, a specters shadow and I just want to be hurt. I call for it, I see it, I feel it as the hot copper zeros in on insignificant gray matter. Sniper’s sweet goodnight. My mind goes blank and I imagine someone just pulled the plug: LOADING, please wait…

I draw a breath and then another, and its all back as it was, naked and unequipped. Empty, wondering where my stuff went off to. It’s a gesture of a reboot, but rarely does it quiet that voice in my darker soul. The one that can’t let get go, the one that feeds on the sorrow.

What is my background then? I wish I knew anymore. I used to have so much to say, I used to have so much to feel. Have I gone past that place or has it passed me? I don’t know where the ladder is or why we want to the top, but I still can’t help but wonder if I fell off.

Broken shards.

Heartbeats glass. Long bloody gushes internalized, long dead hurts baptized. Crimson river dunk, sweet sorrow drunk.
Fragments with sharp edges, clinging on to cracking ledges. Spinning along, so small... we're all just nothing at all.
Election Angles, photon souls. What does that make us suck on the ground? Is anyone looking? Will we ever be found?
Big and small and nothing at all.
Big and small and nothing at all.

The bee forgive me, to the stars I apologize. But sorrow is not the same as regret. Never surrender, never forget.
Fight on my little faun, its only a spark. Nothing to fear and nothing is near. Rest your little head.
Right or wrong, just sing your song. Tomorrow's day is far away.
Tomorrow's day is far away.

Will it matter, will it read? Will it shine or will I need? Doesn't matter, little master. Just do it faster, do it faster.

Mean little Zot

Mean little Zot, tell me what your not.
Sticky for sure, a prickly snot.
Do you even know, have you even heard?
Wish it weren't so, but I can't say a  turd.
Not a little gentlemen, not a little kind.
Rough around the edges, not quite a find.
No excuse to be had, nor some passing fad.

Sad little Zot, tell me what your not.
Not at all proud, not with its lot.
Sad in his heart, confused and lost.
Frozen fire years, eyes full of frost.
Pretend to be a hero, wish for more then zero.

Sticky little Zot, stick with your dot.

Skree

Hello little one.

Im sorry I've been away so long.  Can I come hide with you?  Can we lay between the stems and stalks?  Never seen, little friend, always one to miss.  Never seen, little friend, come, can we talk?  Maybe just a whisper, maybe just a kiss?  Daily sitting under Flower, its the white one, the emerald tower.  Can I sit awhile?  Watch the sun go down?  When Sun falls below the ground, Mo will hold us, Mo will show us.  Dark blakets, so scure.  Another night to endure.

Come little friend, hide me in a pettel.  Come little friend, show me the way.  Hide together, little feather, another passing day.

The Bent Mirror

I had this thought that just rings in my ears.  I'm pathologicially unimpressed with myself and have been for years.  Better to hide, better to fade, better lurk, better to stay inside.  Is there something wrong with me?  When I look at myself, with what I see?  Everyone seems so ready to say, the golden apple is theirs, at the end of the day.  Kallisti I see, but will it ever be me?

Goodbyes are hard to raise.  Lost in my heart, lost in my maze.  Just a bother, just a fuss.  A perfect silence I would muss.

Can you pound a mirror back true?  Will it ever show the real you?  Will it just crack and shatter?  Does it even matter...

The pyous say humility is a glory.  Better to be the quiet and rightous story.  But I cant believe it, its just a lie.  It all is, but this sickness just wont die...

Something of Nothing

Lately I just dont feel like I have much to say, these whispered thoughts this long drowsy day.  Things just go, moving fast, moving slow.  Everynights wish becomes nothing but a show.  So many wishes, so many plans, its like its someone else I have in my hands.  Another string, glowing life.  Anothers desire, anothers sharp knife.

This side and that side.  What I tell myself, what I lied.

Crazy rantings in rymes, simple flashes of time.  Snapshots of a time so slow.  Passing by like melting snow.  Yet somehow I look and I see, I think to my self, “This isnt me...“

Lately its memories of days long past, the ones that I thought would last and last.  Shocking, sometimes, to see how far they have wondered.  I cant help but smile at so much squandered.

I was writting my book, I gave and never took.  My wishes were dreams, to be held and forgotten.  I felt like they wernt for me, like I was adrift at sea. 

Suddenly I wake and find, all I wished for was always mine.  Waiting just behind the vale, right ourside my secluded dale.  Tapping on my shoulder, saying, “You are worthy“.  Cutting throuht this hearts long apathy.

So odd, that now as ever, I still think like I‘m used to thinking.  Like my mind is lost and my boat is sinking.  But thats all just ghost of misty times.  Of shadowed summers, of unspoken rymes.

Ash Wind

So burned out, just a shell of smoke and hell.

So tired... like a pound of iron cold on each breath.

I really need a change, I really need to stop settling for the ash on the wind.

Settling for smoke and mirrors, scared of dreams and fears.

Self destructive cures, when theres nothing but the button.

Reset the great machine, the slaver, the cruel and mean.

Days of daze and daze of days.

Through it out the ashen wind.

Drive out colors, smear your dirt.

Cover light, fill heart with hurt.

If I just hid my face away, stayed secluded, will decay.

Would it notice, that great machine, would my mind finally wash clean?

Empty

An empty chair, an empty place in my heart.  A bitterness turned just slightly tart.

Thank you... Thank you...

You really have disappeared.

My smile aglow in the disconnected thread that is today.  Your ghost is gone and vanished; lost in times sweet delay.  This curve through space is broken and faded.  Not so hurt, not so jaded.

Thank you...  Thank you...

Find elsewhere to drive your spear.

How subtle is the washing of the sands of time.  How quietly out of heart and out of mind.

Thank you... Thank you...

Waking Unreality

Red stripes and little red pipes.  Useless and unneeded are not clueless but unheeded.  We have problems with problems in this crazy Kmart kingdom.  Some we take to far, others we hold like our wishing star.  Ballanced so well we fall, fly straight up and stall.  Do we sink into a stupor without time?  Will we wake at the lights sweet chime?  So much it asks, two laughing masks.  Now and now and how and how.  The truth will shine, but is it mine?  So easy it is to look, turn the page; open the book.  All is seen there within, be it truth or fantasy's kin.  But how lost we are, eyes upthrust to golden wishing star.  Tripping over unexpected feet, shocked to find our own red meat.  How can we not but stop and stare, fleeting feeling if running dare.  Waking unreality, nothing but a fallacy.  Drift and dream, castles and cream.  Move and dance, dunes and romance.  I dont see this line, that holds your world from mine.  But we all often hold back, doors tight without slack.  Easy way out, lose scream and shout.  Quick rush, little blush.  Win, and already thinking of what's been.  Waking unreality, such a little fallacy.  Life is such a little crack, starts and then can't hold back.  Thinking of the cradle, a place calm and stable.  A flowers day dream of a seed, from the ground its never freed.  The last creed that we have left, from sunny farm to darkest cleft.   Grow and thrive, be alive.  But how blind we are, nearsighted or far.  We need the now or need the then, but can we find our ballance again?

Green Dreams

Waking driftings, nothing holding me down. Just a blur, just a passing frown. Green dreams of my children’s eyes. An imagine that makes me want to drop to my knees. Some thoughts are so big you cant think them. Some dreams are so crisp overcast glow, then burn your eyes. Then shine like ravens in battlefield skies. Dead ends are so mystifying to us, aren’t they? We always love to see that cliff or wall. But sometimes all I want to see is what lies behind it. What is it in me that drives such flagellation of other lives when all I have is now. Maybe it is in such that I allow myself to see what I hid from myself in my heart.

Pan en, then… Is that enough? Do we need more? Pan en pain, pan en tears, pan en silver light’s caresses. Theos en pan.

How can I turn wrong in such purity? Then why still fear my maturity? I guess that’s the lesson in these green dreams. Fear is not in my heart. The skies are overcast but wrap around us like angels wings. How can any of this be real when it feels so easy, so right. Just like in dreams when nothing seems to connect, and no one seems to notice, least of all the dreamer. What is the lesson if not that its very disconnected flow is a sacred Chao. What level do we perceive from? The Chao is a unique snowflake in Chaos blizzards dance. And oh how it dances and flows to its own beautiful music. Some can see past Chao and its twins, with grids of majesty and tearful power. Sometimes I can see the fragments spinning in my life and just accept them as they are. They still glint from the light source, for all fragments shine. Lost nows. It is these that we hold on to so tightly that we cut ourselves. Nows that can never be lost but in our hearts. When we despair of the break from now, and the pattern it follows. Will its edges be jagged or smooth? Will they be sharp or course? Gentle or hard?

But what, then, is this but window dressing? Would we scoff at The Three Graces if placed in the window of a Burger King? Would Monet’s fire be any less if placed in a rough hewn frame? Why do we dance so in the frames of our lives… All still shines from the soft sweet light at its center…

All I wonder about now… am I falling into it, or away from it? Do fragments spin away? Or past?

Time will tell… Time will tell.

Songs.

What is it about sharing experiences that make us so keen on being able to retell a tale that we lose ourselves out of the moment.  Sometimes I am places that are so perfect I try to hide behind my camera.  Sometimes I'm glad when I don't have one.

I found a place of such overwhelming beauty that all I could think was how to capture it.  What a relief when I realized I couldn't, and that all I was left with was living it.  To be forced to be current.

And such wonders it was, rolls of whispy clouds folding back on themselves, glowing gold and silver.  A blue dome so delicate it could break at any puff of breeze into green or pink.  Tall grass waving softly over smears of colored flowers.

Look at me, doing it again..  Trying to share it all, but what a poor stand in..  These black and white crudeities, meaningless meanings enclosed in something so meaningful.  What an odd thing is our song, only in that we all sing to eachother.

Slide

Claid my skin in silver, so that I can shine.

The world reflects off me, highlighting what is mine.

What is lost to some is home to others.  How can anywhere truely be lost?  It can only be unfound.

The ground breaths under my feet, and the sky sings.

The ground breaths under my soul, and the angels spread their wings.

The ground breaths under my eyes, in long happy sighs.

The ground breaths under my heart, and it opens up my eyes.

The green willows heart is open,

A butterfly glides out from within.

Standing watch over its twin,

In the mirror it knows nothing of sin.