tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89390667602252392522024-02-19T13:29:12.882+11:00they used to call me a rhyme animalcontinuum of erraticism. poetic subjective, imagined & interrogated qualia.Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.comBlogger198125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-65911359083673958072012-02-12T23:19:00.001+11:002012-02-13T12:01:34.758+11:00Yellow Brick Road...here's to a clean slate, a new beginning<br />
although it's not really<br />
for time doesn't exist<br />
the concept of days, months, years.. is imagined<br />
therefore this is just one moment<br />
slow motion<br />
but I'll go with it...<br />
so here I am in this New Year<br />
trying to kick cigarettes<br />
but I just can't help thinking<br />
that there's plenty of time to not smoke.. when I'm dead<br />
and this is the year of the Dragon<br />
it's been 24 years since the Dragon graced my birth<br />
this seems significant, everything is even numbers, I'm a little concerned<br />
either this year I dry up, or I finally realise my worth<br />
in April, my favourite name for a month, I am heading West<br />
for weird scenes inside the goldmines<br />
for gospel under evergreens<br />
my time has come, to be a dharma bum<br />
I'm going to find myself, you know, it's all spiritual stuff<br />
I am not living to be owned<br />
I'm gonna have my kicks for 6 months or so<br />
I'm looking for something but I'm not sure what <br />
I figured it'd come to me but my patience is wearing thin<br />
even though I got plenty of it<br />
let's hope that from the South East to the North West I find something<br />
and get this rock a'rollin!Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-49306986845959390002012-01-27T22:45:00.003+11:002012-01-27T22:47:32.937+11:00When you find your compassion, you gotta hold tight to keep itCalvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-49758333029264949252012-01-22T02:44:00.012+11:002012-01-27T22:50:37.285+11:00Ah Inferno, Argh To Hell With It (reformation)...<div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">to the furnace toil, </span></em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">tender faceless</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ah inferno, I must confess</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">your purpose is simple</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">yet your peon obsess!</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">whilst through your roof</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">death absconds</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">to jaunt upon thou midnight horse</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the doctors of earthern nightmares!</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">O maggot brain insane</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">O marrow worm refrain</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">lusting for your bone</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">l</span></em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">usting for your pain!</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">gallop silent with elbows unfurled</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">pointing North a scorcerer sceptre</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">petrified snake from Africa</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">mountains groan and rivers converge</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">only slightly disturbed is the universe</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">releasing quaking steaming</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">secret </span></em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">sovereign silver battery</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">in the blood orange glow of the armory</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">all the slaves of abortion anvils</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">slaving steel for shields and swords</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the scalpels of evil sugeons!</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">who do not sleep, who do not rest</span></em></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">like machine or gear or morlock</span></em></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">now comes the crimson fog</span></em></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">cursed snakes in eyes of midnight dogs</span></em></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">earthquake paws</span></em></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">claws as sharp as persian swords</span></em></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">reborn rabid damned and</span></em></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">large as lords </span></em></em><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">roaming sore</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">old as dust and kingdom come</span></em></div><div style="line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">where earth gets hot they sleep no more!</span></em><br />
<em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></em></div>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-18362998496018272702012-01-22T01:21:00.002+11:002012-01-27T22:43:27.811+11:00Get On It!...Head on over to my FB Page brothers and sisters! Click the<em><strong> </strong></em>'<strong>Like</strong>' button and I will love you long time<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Calvera-Tomczak/276550855732481"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0b5394;">http://www.facebook.com/pages/Calvera-Tomczak/276550855732481</span></a>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-62693255636290843482012-01-08T00:05:00.053+11:002012-01-22T13:20:58.614+11:00Beleura Hill Dreams, Beleura Hill Blues...<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I'm howlin at my memory ordinary in its ability but painful in its variety</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I'm howlin at the blue door, the rusted iron above the back porch</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Bellua Hill dreaming waking mice under the creaky floorboards</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">walking to the kitchen where canaries hatched everyday on the windowsill</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I miss cicadas singing for their unborn babies </div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">the instinctual rituals before the hollow carcass crunches under my bare foot</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">my all day telepathy with Sophie and her third story spiral perch </div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">like some sort of birdcage of the coast</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I think my first love was you and our white tile shadows</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">when windy in the bamboo, the sounds devoured monsters wanting my body</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I miss the fernery, shrubbery, my summery secret forestry, where the shade kept my milk cold</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">how often a Craven A was craved in the bedroom by my day seat of surveillance</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">but the monks never came outside, the cypress helped them hide</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">attentions drawn to clawfoot dresser of pre-war thoughts</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">all my summers melted into one photo of my father in the sun</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">the ocean whispering through his hair shirtless</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">like the bust of a stone statue pulled from the ocean depths of Crete</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">ascending to some alter over my forehead</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">or to lecture from his lectern through a portal with special headphones</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">buried in the shed where daddy long legs lived, the cobwebs scared me</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I only ever scraped the surface through pennies and flathead screws</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">next to the burgandy Merc with the cow I was used to</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">a cracked dartboard held together only by dust ready to explode after a thousand punctures</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">the tackle the rusty hooks the fishing books</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">which rod was Franks, which one was Daves? I wanted the uncle I never met</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I never knew him back then, the phantom of Cape Otway chasing rain and waves</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">my East Coast Buddha of the sea!</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">my stoic kin wise in medley who doesn't wear a watch</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">since that night, since it stopped</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">my emeralds lived in this house</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">my welsh my dane my british blood passed through the halls</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">the breath of my reason absorbed by the walls</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I still remember the blue door</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">entrance to the throat of my universe concentrated to human scale</div></div>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-52335516972705880722012-01-05T00:42:00.005+11:002012-01-22T13:17:18.821+11:00For Spanish Stone...Midday bells in the steeples of Spain<br />
In my ear, in my braaaiiinnn!<br />
Ding-a-ling-ding-a-fucken-ling<br />
My church bells of Spain are innate!Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-49139429318479263342011-12-29T14:34:00.005+11:002012-02-12T23:47:36.295+11:00Not Much, Just Some Integrity!...<div style="text-align: left;">Following, following, following.. just, following.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><em>Are there no soul explorers left in this world?</em></div><div style="text-align: left;">You lowly wandering nobodies make your own decisions!</div><div style="text-align: left;">Your ignorance is unattractive, and your interests do not interest me, for they are just the interests of those that fake interests, because it seems interesting.. until something new comes along.</div><div style="text-align: left;">You<em> </em>fucking<em> <span style="font-size: large;">soulslaves</span></em> of fashion. Get outta 'ere!</div>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-36543734340803814042011-12-22T00:25:00.004+11:002011-12-22T00:31:37.522+11:00A Sequence of Events...Suede at the Holiday Inn, don't step on my blue suede moods<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px;">A token for my grandfather at home, who might die alone</div></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px;">I have five cents in my lip, a quarter in my cheek, and wayfarers in my pocket</div></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px;">In a window bridal vail overlooking hundreds of yellow and red fireflies<br />
dancing to departure amidst my last Victorian night</div></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px;">The page is lit green from a neon palm tree I imagined in Vegas</div></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px;">Carneverous metal birds! And denim blue waters of Northern California, I can smell the West Coast frontier blues through the blood in my nose</div></div><br />
I'm so science, so weird, a sphere. In my mattress sanctuary, coming down, down on life! My own experiment. Will gumballs tell my fortune? Of a mutual night writer mind rider? I survived on what was bad for me, it provided my existence. How long could I keep that up? There's 8 billion other she's Honey, don't try so hard it's unattractive<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;"></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px;">You drag the world behind your chain. See the sea! The sea sees the colour green, how can you not?</div></div></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px;">We are masters of direction and gut instinct<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"></span></span></div><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><div><div style="margin: 0px;"><div style="font-family: Times; margin: 0px;"><div style="margin: 0px;">Who was Zenatillian? Although her name was Melanie it was Alice all week. I'll learn accordion for anarchists and fireflies! Hand me that mountain banjo you soulful drunk, teach me how to play my blues, I'll play them for you</div></div></div></div></span><div><div style="margin: 0px;"></div></div></span><br />
<div><div style="margin: 0px;"></div></div></div></div>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-67058017257397252902011-12-21T23:54:00.002+11:002011-12-21T23:55:26.032+11:00[a work in progress]...can you hear the lands of the lamb cry?<br />
echoes in the golden cup of one blood<br />
the gentle crepuscule skylines<br />
in some Abrahymnic dream<br />
<br />
in the new world of my birth<br />
who decides kings? and who is crucified?Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-56225774909005553302011-12-21T23:51:00.004+11:002012-02-12T23:23:56.807+11:00Oh, Sleep!...i love that feeling of being half asleep and half awake, not cold, not hot, just right. Sticking a leg out or rolling over, like being dipped in silver sleep returning back to your dream like it was on pause behind your eyelid cinemax screensCalvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-17364836112376431292011-12-20T13:22:00.008+11:002011-12-21T23:56:38.071+11:00My Compass Is Lost...<div style="text-align: left;">the mirrors are shattered</div><div style="text-align: left;">the smoke has cleared</div><div style="text-align: left;">we know what matters</div><div style="text-align: left;">so what's going on here?</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
i need some revelation!</div><div style="text-align: left;">an angel in a tree</div><div style="text-align: left;">a ghost at the station</div><div style="text-align: left;">just somebody fucking tell me!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-9870997773810500202011-12-20T13:01:00.010+11:002011-12-22T12:49:57.984+11:00Exist? Really?...The difference between Right and Wrong is yourself, and the world is only <em>really</em> what it is to your own eyes. Every revolution is an example of people physically and mentally realising their deepest knowing of what is Right and what is Wrong, each and every one of us have this ability. For those saying "oh yes, but revolutions are violent, and violence is wrong"... With complicated subjects there are always some sort of contradiction, but I agree that violence is not 'Right' in the traditional sense BUT if you have a country with a powerful military force obliterating another that cannot defend itself you cannot expect them to do nothing, to not fight for their Right of freedom, all be it if all other avenues have failed. It is the world we live in, the world we have created, which may make some more sense soon. <br />
Yet we have become accusmtomed to disappointment, to the less-than-average, to mediocrity, we just shrug it off with a "there's nothing I can do" "oh well next time it will be better" attitude.<br />
This world needs one small change- to Love, for Love always wins. It takes much more energy to harbour fear and hate, it will drain you like a sponge through a keyhole. The wildest tiger doesn't hate, it just<em> is</em> what <em>it</em> <em>is</em>. But we have the power of thought and free will, and in the reality of our ultimate existence no law can imprison us from what we already know, what is engrained in each and every one of us - that our creation of the world is exactly that, just a creation. It is <em><u>not</u></em> what life really is!<br />
The propoganda of power. <span style="font-size: large;">We are all chained of mind, prisoners of a New World fiction</span>. The people in suits and ties, chasing the big house the new car, the money, the new gadgets, they have forgotten what it truly means..to <em>exist</em>. To <em>truly</em> exist is to be truly free. But how do we become truly free in this overbearing world we have built around our worst ideas, our greediest ambitions? It takes just one domino to knock down thousands, every individual making one change, one ultimate decision, and we could be free. <br />
We have enslaved ourselves, we are <em>all</em> slaves. Even the people whom make the law, make the rules, make the money are slaves, slaves to their own false reality, their own false meaning of life and of fulfillment. <span style="font-size: large;"><em>They think they control the fools, when they themselves are the fools.</em> <span style="font-size: small;">You will decay while your house remains, the worms of death do not discriminate!</span></span><br />
Are you scared to realise we are not free? That you won't die Martin Smith, CEO with an 8 digit bank account and a beautiful wife, but die a <em>SLAVE</em> of the world?<br />
<br />
Are you scared? ... You should be<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*The name I have used does not represent a particular person in mind, if there is a similarity it is purely coincidential.</span>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-35000085279141393092011-12-20T01:48:00.001+11:002011-12-22T00:00:31.099+11:00Music of Bill Hicks- Bill Hicks - Moon Is Smiling...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/EzgABxxKDj8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I had to post this song, I've been listening to it alot lately.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The guitar playing is beautiful, the song just feels totally balanced. </div><div style="text-align: center;">It rests like a heavy weight on my heart filling my body with those golden summers that melted over my skin inch by inch, fresh water streams with that crisp mountain smell filling your lungs with the exhalation of God, the bluest sky of my childhood eyes, and my mothers warmest hug. </div><div style="text-align: center;">The man was a 20th century prophet, and a 1990s arcangel.</div>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-28326741060574795462011-12-20T01:36:00.000+11:002011-12-20T01:36:21.551+11:00I Am Gardener...I am a gardener of life. Letting my garden flourish and grow, then trimming it back for the new buds, the new growth. Weeding out the contagion of acquiantances to a quality patch of friends. Composting the accumulating drudgery, bullshit, and trivial matters of the world to better suit a purpose; to feed the good my garden has to offer. I am a gardener of life.Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-20570811321331638002011-12-18T22:59:00.007+11:002011-12-21T23:57:27.397+11:00Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes...Only the people that want change, support and facilitate change, and can accept change, will be prepared for change, for change is enivitable.<br />
You <em>will</em> be left behind. The end of the known world will be a new beginning for these people. The end of the known world will be chaos to those that do not understand this, and they will be their own downfall. Not ours anymore.Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-56458946208201578282011-12-11T02:09:00.003+11:002011-12-21T23:58:04.616+11:00She Said She Is She Was, No More...she said life was boring<br />
with her socks on, in bed<br />
there's someone watchin me<br />
watchin you, watchin TV<br />
but she's careless with her chances<br />
they are hangin', from her necklace<br />
with the wishes she wastes<br />
she wastes too many<br />
does she really want that lion?<br />
she knows he'll never love her<br />
so she goes and drinks the ocean<br />
tries to drown a fire, on her own<br />
like she is just a cup<br />
she needs a watch<br />
to stop her rush<br />
<br />
you know, that girl's in danger<br />
and now, I'm just a stranger<br />
take me back to the womb<br />
to the true Eden<br />
<br />
her faces of pleasure<br />
still haunt me, in the night time<br />
now my feet are waging war<br />
with the sheets and I<br />
just can't beat the heat<br />
like a moth to a flame<br />
get too close and I incin-erate<br />
stop trying to sell me<br />
saliva, sex, and sedatives<br />
you're gonna find yourself<br />
on your back, in the midnight morgue<br />
one disaster after another<br />
thinkin I might be a saviour<br />
but some things, you just can't keep<br />
some things, you just can't keep<br />
some things<br />
<br />
now let it go let it go let it go let it go<br />
start it going<br />
if a war's goin on in your head<br />
it's up to you who wins it<br />
<br />
let it go let it go let it go let it go<br />
[HOWL]Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-25837151563700876412011-12-08T01:59:00.000+11:002011-12-08T01:59:20.793+11:00Depart...i'd drape you in silk like you were a feather<br />
no one will have touched you better<br />
i am your undertakerCalvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-26783298523289826772011-12-08T01:07:00.009+11:002012-01-22T01:31:17.840+11:00Ah Inferno, Agh To Hell With It...<em> the crimson fog</em><br />
<em>the cursed snakes in eyes of midnight dogs</em><br />
<em>earthquake paws</em><br />
<em>claws as sharp as persian swords</em><br />
<em>reborn rabid damned and..</em><br />
<em>large as lords, </em><em>roaming sore</em><br />
<em>old as dust and kingdom come</em><br />
<em>where earth gets hot ,they sleep no more!</em>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-42833065843579327982011-12-07T00:41:00.009+11:002011-12-11T02:13:05.719+11:00tonight, like every other night...<div style="text-align: center;">my child is banging bum notes</div><div style="text-align: center;">out of that piano in the corner<br />
will he grow up and need an ark<br />
for when his eyeballs bust?<br />
i hope he will remember<br />
the slatefoot kitchen games<br />
and how his father loved him<br />
<br />
my dog is dead.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">will you be shrouded and feature free</div><div style="text-align: center;">your face still worn by trees</div><div style="text-align: center;">guarded like some holy secret</div><div style="text-align: center;">foreign to my sight forever</div><div style="text-align: center;">small reminders remaining</div><div style="text-align: center;">in my daily reflections</div><div style="text-align: center;">my only map</div><div style="text-align: center;">my only directions<br />
how can it ever feel less<br />
than half of me is missing</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">have I killed a man?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">the question is a sentence of its own</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">no matter how much reason</span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">i'll never really know</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-66056683342589876322011-12-06T00:46:00.003+11:002011-12-06T17:00:51.046+11:00The Nook...as the tender sun bore down upon your golden threads<br />
melting milky golden hours from your dress<br />
sudden sprung paradise, right from your head!<br />
your garden halo's birth now be your quest<br />
<br />
to tred no flower heavy<br />
lordy, it needs to sway steady<br />
<br />
love the jagged blades<br />
of mountain spines placing shades<br />
<br />
lordy, love the lakes<br />
bathe your jasmine babies!<br />
<br />
<em>hail o! the beauty, o hail!</em><br />
<em>to glimpse this heaven</em><br />
<em>I believe, o hail!</em>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-63981353011841381612011-12-04T23:54:00.004+11:002011-12-05T20:35:45.453+11:00all you marbling hearts...<em>do you have not eyes! nor ears!</em><br />
<em>we are tired, our sorrow lays with you!</em>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-91456830160579146432011-12-02T00:37:00.001+11:002011-12-06T00:56:56.961+11:00<div style="text-align: center;">girl<br />
you are careless with your pennies</div><div style="text-align: center;">they are hangin from your necklace</div><div style="text-align: center;">instead of free for fountains</div><div style="text-align: center;">and the wishes you waste<br />
too many</div><div style="text-align: center;">are you sure you want that lion?</div><div style="text-align: center;">you know he'll never love you</div><div style="text-align: center;">he'll leave you on your side</div><div style="text-align: center;">alone</div><div style="text-align: center;">when flesh ceases to be fresh</div><div style="text-align: center;">so you'll drink the ocean</div><div style="text-align: center;">try to drown a fire on your own</div><div style="text-align: center;">like you are just a cup</div><div style="text-align: center;">you need a watch to stop the rush</div><div style="text-align: center;">or you won't last<br />
twice as fast</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-28208990272816271292011-11-29T00:00:00.002+11:002011-12-05T20:49:05.228+11:00Cloud Ponderings of Ant Colonies...I'm sorry about the serpent<br />
I'm sorry about your purpose<br />
I'm sorry about my brother<br />
I just wanted company<br />
But I was too busy<br />
and now he resents me<br />
It's sad how good intentions<br />
can be someone else's weapons<br />
Everything you are used to<br />
one day gets used against youCalvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-55777374017872021692011-11-18T23:53:00.004+11:002011-11-18T23:55:32.745+11:00<i>There aren't enough doors in this room to get me out!</i><br />
<i>There is not enough floor in this hall to get me where I am going!</i>Calvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8939066760225239252.post-16303962728190230722011-11-18T23:30:00.001+11:002011-11-19T00:00:48.291+11:00The Delicates of Thy Night...Her faces of pleasure still haunt me<br />
The brush of her bone cloak permit me secrets<br />
When she sat high with head to heaven<br />
And mind in paradise<br />
She takes me back to the womb, the true Eden<br />
Alive and well, in all women!<br />
Infinite like the projections of insanity<br />
Or all the worlds graves creating one big voidCalvera Tomczakhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11478647771215550649noreply@blogger.com0