This Is A Thought, This Is Not A Thought...

Poetry is made up of words > Poetry is just a word > Words are just 'made up' > they don't exist > therefore nothing I write exists.  


If it does exist, it can describe beauty, love, lust, hate, friendship, discontentment, tragedy, humility, humour; life. It is a record of life, and everything it comprises, for mind's eye visualization, from vocabulary.


Art is just three letters.


A-R-T


Anger                          Angst                      Adoration                Aim          
Regret                         Revere                    Reason                     Righteousness 
Temptation                Time                       Tragedy                    Tact


Three little letters, one word; though it encompasses millions of ideas.


I may not write perfectly structured verse with perfect metric rhythm, or the right amount of syllables on each line- but I like that, because I don't subscribe to rules and the conventional. It's meant to be my way of venting, so why do it any other way? If words are made up then so too, grammar can be.
Writing is a solitary pleasure, it's used to escape and bring things into perspective, to vent, and to bring the otherwise ignored to life. Writing is true freedom. The pen is truly mightier than the sword.
Our free-will played a bigger part in our past than is possible now. As long as we have the power of free-will any oppression, in any form, will create problems.
Sometimes the world you see in your mind is alot more coherent and pleasure-full than the one you wake up to. You can objectively and subjectively observe human nature and report it in the way you see fit. 
I write how I want to write, otherwise it would not be mine.


My physical being is here, sitting in this chair, typing this proclamation, but my heart and my soul and my mind are on this page in letters, words, some sort of structure, ordered and unordered from somewhere in my subconscious. I am facing you, looking into your eyes and you don't even know it. You are absorbing part of me into your being, and if there's something indelible to you here, you will carry me with you for the rest of your natural life. That's part of the beauty.

The Wheels Within Memories...

Reminders of Nazi Germany were sitting in the diner

Next to an ice cream parlor

Stella wanted a coffee

And I wanted a cigarette

Idi Amin was on the 562

A few seats down from 'Headphones' Eddie

Saloth Sar was at the farmer's market

Next to the lemongrass basket

Charles Manson spiked the punch

At a Hollywood wedding on Tuesday

Transport Accident Commission...

I am a dangerous motorist

I drive my body to wreck and ruin.

Strangeling...

Just dust on his glasses

Wipe me away with the sky

Pull the blankets from children

Speak calm in a hurricane

You do know the script is backwards?

Rolling fists

Sandstone cliffs

Giant fish

Lavender mantra

I am Calvera

A gypsy Grandmother with an orange peel smile

Lady fortune teller; dream seller

Stellar ambitions for a daughter

Of a divine Chief

Crimson-lion-snake-tailed-whale-bone-necklace-wearer

The son of a part-time pallbearer

I am a placid Private

I just lost my Corporal

Now I'll lose the war

I feel ordinary- no flattery

I feel tired- no walking today

I feel useless- no apparent improvements

Drunk tongued awkward one

Solid lunged walking forward-run

My brain won't budge

I dreamt of violent people turning into lions

Eyes of miles and miles of ions

My neighbour hated my loud music

He was fiercely ill

Five fingers lead to one palm

Sprouting tall to touch the sun

Eating stars that fell to the window sill

It's more like photographs than film

A wood whittling box making occultist

Using small children's eyes to focus

Hocus pocus, whore and hostess

They came together like family

Drinking blood and lime happily

From Napoli- a soup made of lilly

Cannoli

I ate one full of napalm

Natural Born Iller...

I want a gentle virgin without a face

To fuck and leave

Abandon- the horror

Abortion on the sheets

Hanging from a fan

Dry my shirt

Soaked- my washing is clean

Leave pure; unadulterated

Speech Atlas...

Bruised legs of chairs

Split an atom with a hair

Toxic Mongol

Blonde siren- violent

Telepathic

Minor psychopathic

Major reincarnation

Teflon, computer chips

20 minute automation

Alexandria

There in lies machines

Wooden spindle- rope

Suicide of knowledge

History and Greeks

Robed naked trainer of Olympian

Subtle breast- hardcore erotica

Your ankles are showing

Stoned in a hot sandpit

Temple in the valley

Electric engineering

Atlantis falls

A golden wreath angers the peasant

Thief in an exotic bizarre

Spice laden wicker

Helmet; sword - shin spliter

Sandal wearing shit kicker

Cosmic snake charmer

Innocent victim

Spectacle- the obscene

Beard with a walking stick

Englishmen in an alley

Peace thrown to the wind

Crushed ginger bug killer

Potatoes- conquest of the whites

Starving farmer house burning

Leave for extended port

Bottled hatred- drank by many

Europe indulge

Dead Man's Walk...

I was surprised to see Jesus nailed upside down on the back of a Combi.

To see some cat shooting up using a bike pump.

To see a Pro-Life letterhead on a death threat.

Christ-missed Carol...

All I want for Christmas is...

For the TV to stop trying to convince me that I need it, and want it, in 3D.

To not be told I can't use gadgets while driving, when car companies continue to install more buttons than a jet, and a GPS screen that won't prevent me going through the windscreen.

To not be told what beaches I can smoke at, when factories can pollute the air I breathe.

For people to turn off the lights once they're finished in that room.

For an iPhone App that shuts you the fuck up about what App you just got or are getting next.

For DJs to get a real past time.

For all the girls with orange fake tan to be caged and driven through the city naked.

For the words 'Twitter', 'Tweeted' and referring to internet based 'networking sites' as being social, to be illegal.

For everyone who doesn't like The Doors and the Stooges to be struck deaf.

For everyone to read maps.

For artists who have no idea what the their work is about, to stop dribbling about how it represents this and that when it clearly doesn't. It's just a wall of plastic bags lady.

For the acoustic guitar to make a come back in every child's hands.

For vinyl to be the only source of music reproduction.

For it to be compulsory in all high schools, that students must travel and stay in a 3rd World country for a month.

For it to be compulsory that all high school students must watch Schindler's List, The Elephant Man, and Gandhi.

For High School Religion teachers to teach facets of ALL religions. Give students the knowledge, wisdom, and facts, to counter-attack, and therefore minimise, prejudice.

For school funding for sport to be lowest priority, and music, art and design to be the top.

For all Southern Cross tattoos to be removed by laser and then reapplied to the forehead.

To not be told every time I call, that you are experiencing higher than expected call volumes.

To not be told I've won an 'all expenses paid' holiday to Disneyland followed by "Now I need your credit card details..."

For a world where most of these things would be common place.

Thought Of The Day...

Respect is the grey area between love and hate.

Once you can determine the difference in the spectrum between loving someone and respecting them, and hating them and respecting them, you can deal with anything...and anyone.

Blood Loss...

Teenagers draw cocks.

Adults write what they can't say.

Whore For Acquaintances...

They draw you near

They take your hand

They claim to be you friend here

The best you've ever had

It works easy on the lonely

They can't be alone too long you know

You are a whore for friends

Substitute yourself with them

C'mon

Build yourself like a factory

Good On David...

I don't believe in magic

I don't believe in i-ching
I don't believe in Bible
I don't believe in tarot
I don't believe in Hitler
I don't believe in Jesus
I don't believe in Kennedy
I don't believe in Buddha
I don't believe in mantra
I don't believe in Gita
I don't believe in yoga
I don't believe in kings
I don't believe in Elvis
I don't believe in Zimmerman
I don't believe in Beatles
I just believe in me

John Lennon - The Plastic Ono Band - God

No Moon Maniacs...

This is just a fraction

Just a fragment

This attractions drastic

I'm about to happen

Mahātmā...

To be in the presence of such a man must feel like dying and being reborn at the same time.

Thinking Of A Situation...

It is obscene to assume that you feel more pain than your brothers and sisters; but we are all guilty of this treachery.

We just have to remember that the only difference between us,

is what makes us hurt and how we show it.

Free-form Law...

Backyard rifle range.

Ancient midnight bonfire dancing.

Oak doorway and a period grange.

Fleet footed lake breeze advancing.

Pen to paper and no dial tone.

Eyes to the tree line.

Soft lit silk and led light dome.

Rooftop view of my byline.

Blue-stone, weatherboard, and courtyard abode.

Elaborately framed mirrors.

Rotten wood fencing and a dirt road.

Volume 11 and no one hears.

Sun drenched summers.

Sunned; like tentacles from a cosmic invertebrate lashed my skin.

An autumn where trees undress. Their leaves look beautiful dying.

White winter landscapes, like it rained 3000 year old salt-mines.

Wolves howl the goodnight lullaby that would destroy city life.

I can see the breath leaving my body. Chop wood and lumber home.

Late nights and morning slumbers. I work best alone.

3-5-1 Mustang to town, shop supplies and dine gourmet.

Southern Comfort for comfort, and to warm my bones.

Rooms where I don't have to be anybody.

All The Kings Men...

I want to hear something mindblowing, true-to-an-artistic-vision-without-compromise, original band/album.

Like hearing Hendrix for the first time.

I want to be reborn into a world of fire and ball-tearing creativity.

I am surrounded by wool and robots.

They've sacrificed originality for mass production.

They've sacrificed skill for technology.

This is no noble compromise.

Apocalipsolot...

I was on the boulevard when the sky opened up

It swallowed me whole

Borne with fury

Deep, dark and brooding

The wind howled like I was inside a wolf's throat

It howled so hard it snapped ships sails

Broke spines, and created mud slides

Bodies slithered out like snakes

Shadows made of tar

Form dripping wings of fire

Malevolent majesty

Angel you didn't bestow me

What I desired

Should I speak to him directly?

Insert Title Here...

I'm quiet. There's nothing I find attractive about talking alot.

Observation is crucial in sustaining knowledge.

Dead Poets Society...

We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering- these are noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry- beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. To quote from Whitman, "O me! O life!... of the questions of these recurring; of the endless trains of the faithless... of cities filled with the foolish; what good amid these, O me, O life?" Answer. That you are here - that life exists, and identity; that the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play *goes on* and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?

Dead Poets Society, 1989 Touchstone Pictures

Shaman Nation...

I danced to bring rain.

I danced to communicate with my Father.

I danced to save my Grandmother.

I danced to cure a brother.

I danced to charm Little Miss Big Moon.

The whole tribe was saved.

Candle Light Led Light...

I dream of blue, and rooms of violet.

I want to sing songs about violence,

And talk about silence.

Guerilla's in a world gone mad.

Do I conquer just to find,

That all I gained is left behind?

You can't carry such weight,

And not be late.

Count your lucky stars with your fingers, then break them.

The melancholy rush washed over me like a past regret. How I lack sun, and a straight road framed by power poles and mountains. I just saw in a movie, what I had once dreamt about. We like to set things on fire. Riverside looks nice. I am restless to lose myself, and for greyhounds chasing the sun in the West.

I still swear back then, that I knew that I know nothing.

Hunt...

You look the way I'd want to kill,

Elegant and beautiful.

The Chemical Reaction For Fuck Up...

Worst yet, my timing is worst at best!

Must Be A Devil Between Us...

The night sky cats eye.

When we were kids we thought we could change the world.

Now that we're older, we find the world changed us.

Here Comes Your Sun...

I launch my arsenal of lyrical artillery,

I'm a display of audiovisual ambitionry,

To provide the image and the words,

From a never ending dictionary.

Quiet Breeze Of Innocence...

The days of then, when we were young.

We carved our names in trees, and sang simple songs.

As time seemed slow, the night rolled on,

Seasons changed.

I thought that holding hands was going steady,

In the quiet breeze of innocence.

Once Or Twice...

You stretched out like you were a cat, in 1953,

I'm glad that you gave life to me, when you were 33.

Every minute I'm alive, the resting are trying,

To pull me closer to dying.

Grandfather I'm there when you fall over,

There's no music in the other room,

But there can be for you.

Yes I'm just a gentleman, and your hands are cold.

Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner...

So hey, your daughter's growing older,

She's not a little princess, she'll be a woman soon.

Independent like the weather,

living near sand with the ocean inside her.

Her dreams make you nostalgic, and nervous.

Your instincts are stronger, but she'll surprise you.

Wake Up!...

It was just one of those mornings, where I couldn't get out of my dream.

International Air...

In transit. In transition. Miles from you.

I am over your head.

I miss you like the big moon.

I threw away your tax, with my cigarettes,

I quit feeding the machine.

Mister winged thing, you smelt the blood of your brother.

So opulent and decadent, a Middle Eastern jewel,

It wears a mask while its people starve.

Imitating the 'Western Dream', I feel sorry for you.

All is not as it seems. Halloween sees beauty but only for a day.

I met a camel called Michael Jackson,

We walked through history backwards,

I wish someone built me from the inside out.

The sun shone like it wasn't the only one,

Over the sand and down the street,

We fed the cats that couldn't relax,

Around our feet.

The shortest sigh for your sake.

It's hard to hold hands with thin air.

Chest and mind expanding,

With priority, they clear the landing.

You get no comfort from your ghosts,

Kill them all, what stalks you like beasts.

Save the scalps.

Tséonóom-aesee'e...

Rearrange the sane to become strange.
What you create- it 'is' what it is, and what it 'isn't' doesn't matter.

Illustrate through the subconscious.

The manifestation of thought, at that particular moment.

The fingerprint in youth, the fingerprint in adulthood; they are the same but found in different places.

Shed your skin and morph, shed your skin and grow tall son.

Take off your shirt and paint a landscape on your chest.

Smile Buddha on my belly.

What it means to be a man, is not what it used to be.

Take dreams and create a montage, create a dynastic union with the things you love,

create a life in a life not lived.

Sew your lips and speak with your mind and your hands.

Speak through music while your ears work.

Pretend you have the ears of a silver fox in golden fields, jumping sapphire streams.

Breathe ink like it was fire, and spray the walls with your thoughts.

Paint the haters with the anger, paint your lovers with the desire, paint the world with the 'Fuck You' it deserves, and then carve your name beside something ancient.

Stare at the sun and through it.

Burn a trail through the stars with your stare.

Show your little cousin the things she'll soon learn.

Wish that you had a sister.

Make the biggest mistake of your life the biggest turning point, like you learnt something from the Gods and it's your own secret.

Undo buttons don't choke yourself.

The diamonds in her crown were stolen from statues and kings.

Mountains are the spines of sleeping giants, face the back of your house towards them, and you are safe.

Use pyramids to sharpen razor blades.

Water is the carrier of the soul, listen to rain.

Cherish a Father.

Call your Grandfather Chief, Grandmother Aiyana, and your Mother Awenasa.

Look at the moon and wonder how many other people are looking at it too.

Wonder if they are thinking, what you are thinking.

Pir Nav Elkniw...

A mustard pony that grew up to be Dijon Originale, the best.

A marmalade lion that was king of it's pride, in the jam lands.

Blood, Sweat, and Continents...

We wear out like your favourite pair of shoes. The only difference is that our souls last forever. And we can leave a bigger footprint on this earth than your sweat shop nikes.

Sky Baby...

Bury me standing up, with my head to the sky, like I was born from a height.

Quasar One...

I blur the moon with my thumb,

It seems insignificant against my dexterity,

Though I am just a speck of dust amongst mountains, and to the stars.

To the many feats of mankind I am nothing but a drop of blood in an ocean of sharks.

I got dizzy with your commotion,

The heat rose through me like I was black steel,

A conductor of electricity,

And a fire fighting flying phantom fighting the sun.

I tied a scarf like a cowboy,

And rode your camels into a barren womb, without a gun.

I toyed with the idea of living amongst your foreign bells.

I should've dug my heels into the floor and glued my palms to your tomb.

I haven't seen anything so beautiful in a long time.

It was a shame to leave it behind.

I looked through hotel windows and in my mind I saw everything looking back at me.

Like it'd met me before.

I was where I was meant to be.

I faced an esoteric familiarity, and it was shaking hands with me.

Bitch Got Her Zombie On...

She ate my heart infront of me like we were in a fucken horror movie.

I Will, Make You All, So Beautiful...

I held stars in my palms and saw you holding stars behind the glass of your eyes.

I peered through a cosmic mind to a planet revolving around mine.

Like every distant thing was attached to elastic bands between my fingers, and I somehow managed to catapult myself closer.

Like the world was a puppet attached to your hair. When I run my fingers through it I can control time,

When you run your fingers through it, you can erase my past like it was pencil on paper, like it didn't even matter.

We could spin and not get dizzy, but drill a hole to spend some time in, build cities out of clay, and live our dreams through an improvised role playing play.

When I was young I fell into the woods, I bore witness to a full moon werewolf marriage, and they asked me, what would you like? And I replied trembling and shy, that I didn't want to die. So they took me by my shirt, but these were no ordinary wolves, this one had a Degree, he bit into my neck eating my flesh, he laid me beside a 4ft mushroom stool and said "Now you will live forever, be what you want to be".

I store polaroid memories of wrinkles, floral couches, a green motorcycle and yellow cork tiles, among other things. My head is like the storeroom of God, the library of some other extraterrestrial me, recording things in a grey matter scrap book. Like the time you touched ice and for a split second it felt like hot water, the times you drew your Father with a square head and he put it on the fridge, the time you thought that babies came from the stars, the time you thought one drink made you an alcoholic, the times you sang in class and didn't even care you sounded like blunt razor blades mowing skyscrapers, the time you got your pen license, the times you tried to swing so high that you'd manage to swing a somersault, the times you pretended to be a waterfall on the monkey bars.

There are windows, and then there are windows. And windows within windows.

Like you were staring at the girl of your dreams with X-ray vision. Staring at her bones and beyond those, to her soul.

Sing to the vent in the ceiling, sing to the empty feeling. The fold in the couch.

He won't even know we're gone. He'll be dreaming of mice and birds, sleeping on the curb. Dreaming of street lights, alleyways and fast food trays.

We are far apart, and not much between, nothing is as tame as your tongue.

Rimbaud...

ILLUMINATIONS

Childhood

IV

I am the saint at prayer on the terrace like the peaceful beasts that graze down to the sea of Palestine.

I am the scholar of the dark armchair. Branches and rain hurl themselves at the windows of my library.

I am the pedestrian of the highroad by way of the dwarf woods; the roar of the sluices drowns my steps. I can see for a long time the melancholy wash of the setting sun.

I might well be the child abandoned on the jetty on its way to the high seas, the little farm boy following the lane, its forehead touching the sky.

The paths are rough. The hillocks are covered with broom. The air is motionless. How far away are the birds and the springs! It can only be the end of the world ahead.

ILLUMINATIONS

Vagabonds

Pitiful brother! What frightful nights I owed him! "I have not put enough ardor into this enterprise. I have trifled with his infirmity. My fault should we go back to exile, and to slavery." He implied I was unlucky and of a very strange innocence, and would add disquieting reasons.

For reply, I would jeer at this Satanic doctor and, in the end, going over to the window, I would create, beyond the countryside crossed by bands of rare music, phantoms of nocternal extravegence to come.

After this vaguely hygenic diversion, I would lie down on my pallet and no sooner asleep than, almost every night, the poor brother would rise, his mouth foul, eyes starting from his head, - just as he had dreamed he looked! - and would drag me into the room, howling his dream of imbecilic sorrow.

I had, in truth, pledged myself to restore him to his primitive state of child of the Sun, - and, nourished by the wine of caverns and the biscuit of the road, we wandered, I impatient to find the place and the formula.

Your First Defence...

I was never good with straight edges, lines, and right angles. Now I live my life by a design. I see things in parts. I rearrange the sane to become strange, I have no age.

Don't Forget To Entertain...

So now begins the slow recline on your knife. Withdrawals from this love with no place to hide. Sometimes I wonder where my time goes. Sometimes I feel just like the night does. Leaves are tiny fishing boats, in the river that is the gutter, racing against my discarded cigarettes from last summer. Deep in the valley they sank. We were asleep on the plank.

Work To Be Done, Here On Mars...

I have 100 bones in my closet, traveling in coats you hang from the horns of goats, destined for the Roman ring to fight lions, but you tell them to listen, and to eat Christians. You time traveling man, you unpredictable marvel of magic, you were born in the years that the mountains were alight, like candles in windows at night, you learnt your magic from Eastern gypsy mystics, and from books that fell to the ground as dust. I have 100 stones in my closet, borrowed from Solomon, I build walls and motes and castles, and I crown myself King, in a euphoric utopian wonderland, made from the sweat of masons, blood of fascists, and on the bones of dinosaurs.

To My Yesterday...

I woke up on the floor of another man's dream, I flicked unlit matches at witches, so they could die by their own hand. I woke up on the floor of another man's death, and for the first time I lived. I lived in the embrace of rooted silence, taking flight around branches of pythons, holding on tight to the manes of flying lions, and I had to laugh at the shallow face of water sirens.

Dreaming Japanese...

I saw a flower in your hand, tied to a ribbon you crushed the petals, and dropped the strand.

I left willows in the water for the trendy decay.