Yellow Brick Road...

here's to a clean slate, a new beginning
although it's not really
for time doesn't exist
the concept of days, months, years.. is imagined
therefore this is just one moment
slow motion
but I'll go with it...
so here I am in this New Year
trying to kick cigarettes
but I just can't help thinking
that there's plenty of time to not smoke.. when I'm dead
and this is the year of the Dragon
it's been 24 years since the Dragon graced my birth
this seems significant, everything is even numbers, I'm a little concerned
either this year I dry up, or I finally realise my worth
in April, my favourite name for a month, I am heading West
for weird scenes inside the goldmines
for gospel under evergreens
my time has come, to be a dharma bum
I'm going to find myself, you know, it's all spiritual stuff
I am not living to be owned
I'm gonna have my kicks for 6 months or so
I'm looking for something but I'm not sure what
I figured it'd come to me but my patience is wearing thin
even though I got plenty of it
let's hope that from the South East to the North West I find something
and get this rock a'rollin!

When you find your compassion, you gotta hold tight to keep it

Ah Inferno, Argh To Hell With It (reformation)...

to the furnace toil, tender faceless

Ah inferno, I must confess

your purpose is simple

yet your peon obsess!

whilst through your roof

death absconds

to jaunt upon thou midnight horse

the doctors of earthern nightmares!

O maggot brain insane

O marrow worm refrain

lusting for your bone

lusting for your pain!

gallop silent with elbows unfurled

pointing North a scorcerer sceptre

petrified snake from Africa

mountains groan and rivers converge

only slightly disturbed is the universe

releasing quaking steaming

secret sovereign silver battery

in the blood orange glow of the armory

all the slaves of abortion anvils

slaving steel for shields and swords

the scalpels of evil sugeons!

who do not sleep, who do not rest

like machine or gear or morlock

now comes the crimson fog

cursed snakes in eyes of midnight dogs

earthquake paws

claws as sharp as persian swords

reborn rabid damned and

large as lords roaming sore

old as dust and kingdom come

where earth gets hot they sleep no more!

Get On It!...

Head on over to my FB Page brothers and sisters! Click the 'Like' button and I will love you long time

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Calvera-Tomczak/276550855732481

Beleura Hill Dreams, Beleura Hill Blues...

I'm howlin at my memory ordinary in its ability but painful in its variety

I'm howlin at the blue door, the rusted iron above the back porch

Bellua Hill dreaming waking mice under the creaky floorboards

walking to the kitchen where canaries hatched everyday on the windowsill

I miss cicadas singing for their unborn babies

the instinctual rituals before the hollow carcass crunches under my bare foot

my all day telepathy with Sophie and her third story spiral perch

like some sort of birdcage of the coast

I think my first love was you and our white tile shadows

when windy in the bamboo, the sounds devoured monsters wanting my body

I miss the fernery, shrubbery, my summery secret forestry, where the shade kept my milk cold

how often a Craven A was craved in the bedroom by my day seat of surveillance

but the monks never came outside, the cypress helped them hide

attentions drawn to clawfoot dresser of pre-war thoughts

all my summers melted into one photo of my father in the sun

the ocean whispering through his hair shirtless

like the bust of a stone statue pulled from the ocean depths of Crete

ascending to some alter over my forehead

or to lecture from his lectern through a portal with special headphones

buried in the shed where daddy long legs lived, the cobwebs scared me

I only ever scraped the surface through pennies and flathead screws

next to the burgandy Merc with the cow I was used to

a cracked dartboard held together only by dust ready to explode after a thousand punctures

the tackle  the rusty hooks  the fishing books

which rod was Franks, which one was Daves? I wanted the uncle I never met

I never knew him back then, the phantom of Cape Otway chasing rain and waves

my East Coast Buddha of the sea!

my stoic kin wise in medley who doesn't wear a watch

since that night, since it stopped

my emeralds lived in this house

my welsh my dane my british blood passed through the halls

the breath of my reason absorbed by the walls

I still remember the blue door

entrance to the throat of my universe concentrated to human scale

For Spanish Stone...

Midday bells in the steeples of Spain
In my ear, in my braaaiiinnn!
Ding-a-ling-ding-a-fucken-ling
My church bells of Spain are innate!

Not Much, Just Some Integrity!...

Following, following, following.. just, following.

Are there no soul explorers left in this world?

You lowly wandering nobodies make your own decisions!

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.

You fucking soulslaves of fashion. Get outta 'ere!

A Sequence of Events...

Suede at the Holiday Inn, don't step on my blue suede moods

A token for my grandfather at home, who might die alone

I have five cents in my lip, a quarter in my cheek, and wayfarers in my pocket

In a window bridal vail overlooking hundreds of yellow and red fireflies
dancing to departure amidst my last Victorian night

The page is lit green from a neon palm tree I imagined in Vegas

Carneverous metal birds! And denim blue waters of Northern California, I can smell the West Coast frontier blues through the blood in my nose

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

You drag the world behind your chain. See the sea! The sea sees the colour green, how can you not?

We are masters of direction and gut instinct

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

[a work in progress]...

can you hear the lands of the lamb cry?
echoes in the golden cup of one blood
the gentle crepuscule skylines
in some Abrahymnic dream

in the new world of my birth
who decides kings? and who is crucified?

Oh, 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 screens

My Compass Is Lost...

the mirrors are shattered

the smoke has cleared

we know what matters

so what's going on here?

i need some revelation!

an angel in a tree

a ghost at the station

just somebody fucking tell me!

Exist? Really?...

The difference between Right and Wrong is yourself, and the world is only really 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.
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.
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 is what it is. 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 not what life really is!
The propoganda of power. We are all chained of mind, prisoners of a New World fiction. 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 exist. To truly 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.
We have enslaved ourselves, we are all 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. They think they control the fools, when they themselves are the fools. You will decay while your house remains, the worms of death do not discriminate!
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 SLAVE of the world?

Are you scared? ... You should be


*The name I have used does not represent a particular person in mind, if there is a similarity it is purely coincidential.

Music of Bill Hicks- Bill Hicks - Moon Is Smiling...

I had to post this song, I've been listening to it alot lately.

The guitar playing is beautiful, the song just feels totally balanced.

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.

The man was a 20th century prophet, and a 1990s arcangel.

I 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.

Ch-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.
You will 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.

She Said She Is She Was, No More...

she said life was boring
with her socks on, in bed
there's someone watchin me
watchin you, watchin TV
but she's careless with her chances
they are hangin', from her necklace
with the wishes she wastes
she wastes too many
does she really want that lion?
she knows he'll never love her
so she goes and drinks the ocean
tries to drown a fire, on her own
like she is just a cup
she needs a watch
to stop her rush

you know, that girl's in danger
and now, I'm just a stranger
take me back to the womb
to the true Eden

her faces of pleasure
still haunt me, in the night time
now my feet are waging war
with the sheets and I
just can't beat the heat
like a moth to a flame
get too close and I incin-erate
stop trying to sell me
saliva, sex, and sedatives
you're gonna find yourself
on your back, in the midnight morgue
one disaster after another
thinkin I might be a saviour
but some things, you just can't keep
some things, you just can't keep
some things

now let it go let it go let it go let it go
start it going
if a war's goin on in your head
it's up to you who wins it

let it go let it go let it go let it go
[HOWL]

Depart...

i'd drape you in silk like you were a feather
no one will have touched you better
i am your undertaker

Ah Inferno, Agh To Hell With It...

 the crimson fog
the cursed snakes in eyes of midnight dogs
earthquake paws
claws as sharp as persian swords
reborn rabid damned and..
large as lords, roaming sore
old as dust and kingdom come
where earth gets hot ,they sleep no more!

tonight, like every other night...

my child is banging bum notes

out of that piano in the corner
will he grow up and need an ark
for when his eyeballs bust?
i hope he will remember
the slatefoot kitchen games
and how his father loved him

my dog is dead.

will you be shrouded and feature free

your face still worn by trees

guarded like some holy secret

foreign to my sight forever

small reminders remaining

in my daily reflections

my only map

my only directions
how can it ever feel less
than half of me is missing

have I killed a man?
the question is a sentence of its own
no matter how much reason
i'll never really  know

The Nook...

as the tender sun bore down upon your golden threads
melting milky golden hours from your dress
sudden sprung paradise, right from your head!
your garden halo's birth now be your quest

to tred no flower heavy
lordy, it needs to sway steady

love the jagged blades
of mountain spines placing shades

lordy, love the lakes
bathe your jasmine babies!

hail o! the beauty, o hail!
to glimpse this heaven
I believe, o hail!