Friday, April 27, 2012
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Voz * y *quebranto
Una casa en el cielo
Un jardin en el mar
Una alondra en tu pecho
Un volver a empezar
Un deseo de estrellas
Un latir de gorrion
Una isla en tu cama
Una puesta de sol
Tiempo y silencio
Gritos y cantos
Cielos y besos
Voz y quebranto
Nacer en tu risa
Crecer en tu llanto
Vivir en tu espalda
Morir en tus brazos
*****
TIME AND SILENCE
A house in the sky
A garden in the sea.
A lark on your chest
A start all over again
A wish of stars
A sparrow's heartbeat
An island in your bed
A sunset
Time and silence
Screams and songs
Skies and kisses
Voice and grief
To be born in your laughter
To grow in your weeping
To live on your back
To die in your arms
Un jardin en el mar
Una alondra en tu pecho
Un volver a empezar
Un deseo de estrellas
Un latir de gorrion
Una isla en tu cama
Una puesta de sol
Tiempo y silencio
Gritos y cantos
Cielos y besos
Voz y quebranto
Nacer en tu risa
Crecer en tu llanto
Vivir en tu espalda
Morir en tus brazos
*****
TIME AND SILENCE
A house in the sky
A garden in the sea.
A lark on your chest
A start all over again
A wish of stars
A sparrow's heartbeat
An island in your bed
A sunset
Time and silence
Screams and songs
Skies and kisses
Voice and grief
To be born in your laughter
To grow in your weeping
To live on your back
To die in your arms
Sunday, April 1, 2012
My Dream*My Wine*My Night
“She too had found the experience transforming. How could she not? A demon had been exorcised. Several. And just when she felt more capable of love than she had ever been, she found herself alone.” - Carl Sagan
She came home and felt herself alone once more. All the things she’s bought with the sacrifice of money: sitting, standing, bending, to the last position she left them in. The pages motionless, and crumpled and thoughts underlined with the same color as she had scribbled onto them with last. Nothing had changed. All remained as her tools, for distraction in her existence. She stood in the doorway with bags still hanging off her shoulders and took in this whole epiphany. The suffocation of the scarf around her neck brought her back, and she let all the bags collapse onto the floor by her feet, hung her jacket, and walked to the kitchen to unpack the produce. Looking it over in her hands she sullenly realized she didn’t want to cook for herself tonight. She wanted to taste a dish she wasn’t prepared for. Simply a choice of attempt or not. Layered with different spices grown and collected by hands of man grazing lands on forgotten continents. She caught her reflection in the balcony window, and noticed a new sensation arise in her. She might be alone, but she could transform through choice of mind into..... 0
She tucked the rest of her veggies and fruits into her fridge, uncorked the nearest wine, and took a wild swig back, letting the hot purple liquid enter her body, through her mouth, pulsating with a furious heat, awaking, and walking her over the threshold, into the world of pots, jewels and caves of emotions, narrowing the proximity to the attainment of her desires, which rested patiently, against the cheek of night.
She brought her head back, full hot lips swollen from the purple kiss of Dionysus, with eyes drifting down rivers of history’s painted faces, smiling fiercely back at her behind the drapes of her lids. Spinning off on a drunken carousel before her eyes, blurring all time, perception, lesson and light. She chose one woman whose theatrical nature gave directors after directors of theaters, circuses, and films something to do with their lives, coming and going in waves of incompatible complexities each time inflicting the ocean with such pain that is would convulse! withdrawing into itself, in a harsh enigmatic orgasm, revealing all confusion of muggy waters simplified, smiling and lying bare, in the eyes peaking out of orange sands of time.
The muses eyes outlined in dark charcoal, flung, thin lips moving in spiraling promiscuity to invented words, making their way into the ears, and past the walled city’s of things you wish not to show in yourself for others. Like a whip of wind, escaping through your gate’s key.
Her arms long and white, like dusted in milky copper gold, engulfed in pending desire of life resting within the times nonsense melting into one flame , expanding into the volume of candles, giving birth to the preparation of ritual upon the descent of light.
Her spirit roams free through the temples, protector of day setting and caressing his last glow along her ankles, moving quickly in a sheet of opal silk through the columns of Greek temples. She, carrying a sail in need of no water, no wind, no flame, she is self-sufficient. One could think divinity itself is trying to keep up with her.
Opening her lids, and feeling the life she has just been...... created through herself. Her vehicle, her body, universal lighthouse, in which the soul dwells, thrives, and learns through life, is able to life exponentially through imagination.
This is time travel! and it’s personalized....
She let her soft curled hair fall to her shoulders, standing in front of the mirror, she stripped off her dire jeans and the tights underneath, feeling air moving up along her lanky pale legs for the first time all day. Taking of her turtle neck, followed by her colorful bra, and finally her last garment feeling an immense release in the agitated energy preserved in the unnecessary tightness and overwhelming warmth of her winter attire.
Barefooted she lightly skipped over to her closet, and unwrapped a razor red velvet dress, once belonging to her mother, playing an important part in the most important romance of her life, taking part in the calibre of memories and romance of the Soviet Era, with her father. A whole love affair apparently revolving around this garment of immense sexual revolution.
But then why has she put it on and put it away just as quickly so many times, each more confused, never feeling the right time to wear it. Zipping the dress up completely and turning around, she caught herself half way in the mirror, knowing now that half of her was always hidden from her.
To appear to us, through fantasy of self, matched with reality, attracted all the love in the world, and bent the light towards her finding. Finding the secret to this dress, she knew she would never be lonely again, with or without it. Silence wouldn’t feel like “ non-existence” but would be searched for as an opportunity for space and creation. She put on the classic dress lost in time, found on this night, & gold bangles that reflected the self created legend behind her smile.
She left her hair and her face, clean and complete, only wetting her lips and nails with rouge ink. Slipping on her shoes, jolting up on her feet and immediately falling down into the mirror. Catching her balance she see’s a greedy crimson moving around the circumference of her eye, as if spilt on the black dish of night, bird and ink. All taking flight as one.
She throws the soft fabric of a luxurious soft coat over her shoulders, feeling skin react in a warm blush. Barely covering her mid thigh length dress, revealing long black stocking legs perked up by black stilettos. She puts only keys in her pocket and shut the door behind her.
The room descends into silence once more. The spirits of bubbles of light from her wavering thoughts drift along her apartment like a large group of friends meeting on the street, trying to figure out which party to go to, or like lost clouds of golden smoke moving along the terrains of unmarked red velvet galaxy’s of space.
Thoughts she had in the kitchen, searching past bags in her closet, smearing on lipstick, doing her nails on top of a script she’s been working on, all gather and roam towards the center of the apartment, which happens to be right above the coffee table in the living room. From a distance you can stand and watch, different particles interacting with each other, at first trying to orient themselves and figure out their energy levels and groups according to their vibrations. But eventually forming into the rotation of a galaxy with two tails, to hemispheres of mind, matter and vibration compounded into a message, recorded and registered in radio signals through the four chambers of the heart.
Many minutes upon statues of hours have collapsed, while your standing there, watching this interaction between second of light unfold.
She comes home, feeling herself alone no more.
The door opens and she struts in. He begins to hover towards her bedroom. She sits on the bed knocking off her heels one by one, then her bangles, slipping out of her black stockings, just as he’s rounding the corner of her bedroom, she leaves the dress on for whatever reason, and falls back into the physical appearance of what we call sleep. He has arrived at his destination hovers above her whole body, collecting her night, draining her experience into himself. He who is Her genderless life force.
His large galactic body compresses into a smaller image, changing into the pattern of a halo, descending upon her frail frame, curls fanned out on her pillow, and breathe escaping through the smallest gap in her cherry crushed lips. Her eyes are beginning to move faster behind her lids. The effect is setting in motion. Her dreams are spinning into control. Fantasy’s spilling forth into cups of riches. And he there, within her and she within him...sacrificing all he is for her dreams, where he crowns her Queen.
She came home and felt herself alone once more. All the things she’s bought with the sacrifice of money: sitting, standing, bending, to the last position she left them in. The pages motionless, and crumpled and thoughts underlined with the same color as she had scribbled onto them with last. Nothing had changed. All remained as her tools, for distraction in her existence. She stood in the doorway with bags still hanging off her shoulders and took in this whole epiphany. The suffocation of the scarf around her neck brought her back, and she let all the bags collapse onto the floor by her feet, hung her jacket, and walked to the kitchen to unpack the produce. Looking it over in her hands she sullenly realized she didn’t want to cook for herself tonight. She wanted to taste a dish she wasn’t prepared for. Simply a choice of attempt or not. Layered with different spices grown and collected by hands of man grazing lands on forgotten continents. She caught her reflection in the balcony window, and noticed a new sensation arise in her. She might be alone, but she could transform through choice of mind into..... 0
She tucked the rest of her veggies and fruits into her fridge, uncorked the nearest wine, and took a wild swig back, letting the hot purple liquid enter her body, through her mouth, pulsating with a furious heat, awaking, and walking her over the threshold, into the world of pots, jewels and caves of emotions, narrowing the proximity to the attainment of her desires, which rested patiently, against the cheek of night.
She brought her head back, full hot lips swollen from the purple kiss of Dionysus, with eyes drifting down rivers of history’s painted faces, smiling fiercely back at her behind the drapes of her lids. Spinning off on a drunken carousel before her eyes, blurring all time, perception, lesson and light. She chose one woman whose theatrical nature gave directors after directors of theaters, circuses, and films something to do with their lives, coming and going in waves of incompatible complexities each time inflicting the ocean with such pain that is would convulse! withdrawing into itself, in a harsh enigmatic orgasm, revealing all confusion of muggy waters simplified, smiling and lying bare, in the eyes peaking out of orange sands of time.
The muses eyes outlined in dark charcoal, flung, thin lips moving in spiraling promiscuity to invented words, making their way into the ears, and past the walled city’s of things you wish not to show in yourself for others. Like a whip of wind, escaping through your gate’s key.
Her arms long and white, like dusted in milky copper gold, engulfed in pending desire of life resting within the times nonsense melting into one flame , expanding into the volume of candles, giving birth to the preparation of ritual upon the descent of light.
Her spirit roams free through the temples, protector of day setting and caressing his last glow along her ankles, moving quickly in a sheet of opal silk through the columns of Greek temples. She, carrying a sail in need of no water, no wind, no flame, she is self-sufficient. One could think divinity itself is trying to keep up with her.
Opening her lids, and feeling the life she has just been...... created through herself. Her vehicle, her body, universal lighthouse, in which the soul dwells, thrives, and learns through life, is able to life exponentially through imagination.
This is time travel! and it’s personalized....
She let her soft curled hair fall to her shoulders, standing in front of the mirror, she stripped off her dire jeans and the tights underneath, feeling air moving up along her lanky pale legs for the first time all day. Taking of her turtle neck, followed by her colorful bra, and finally her last garment feeling an immense release in the agitated energy preserved in the unnecessary tightness and overwhelming warmth of her winter attire.
Barefooted she lightly skipped over to her closet, and unwrapped a razor red velvet dress, once belonging to her mother, playing an important part in the most important romance of her life, taking part in the calibre of memories and romance of the Soviet Era, with her father. A whole love affair apparently revolving around this garment of immense sexual revolution.
But then why has she put it on and put it away just as quickly so many times, each more confused, never feeling the right time to wear it. Zipping the dress up completely and turning around, she caught herself half way in the mirror, knowing now that half of her was always hidden from her.
To appear to us, through fantasy of self, matched with reality, attracted all the love in the world, and bent the light towards her finding. Finding the secret to this dress, she knew she would never be lonely again, with or without it. Silence wouldn’t feel like “ non-existence” but would be searched for as an opportunity for space and creation. She put on the classic dress lost in time, found on this night, & gold bangles that reflected the self created legend behind her smile.
She left her hair and her face, clean and complete, only wetting her lips and nails with rouge ink. Slipping on her shoes, jolting up on her feet and immediately falling down into the mirror. Catching her balance she see’s a greedy crimson moving around the circumference of her eye, as if spilt on the black dish of night, bird and ink. All taking flight as one.
She throws the soft fabric of a luxurious soft coat over her shoulders, feeling skin react in a warm blush. Barely covering her mid thigh length dress, revealing long black stocking legs perked up by black stilettos. She puts only keys in her pocket and shut the door behind her.
The room descends into silence once more. The spirits of bubbles of light from her wavering thoughts drift along her apartment like a large group of friends meeting on the street, trying to figure out which party to go to, or like lost clouds of golden smoke moving along the terrains of unmarked red velvet galaxy’s of space.
Thoughts she had in the kitchen, searching past bags in her closet, smearing on lipstick, doing her nails on top of a script she’s been working on, all gather and roam towards the center of the apartment, which happens to be right above the coffee table in the living room. From a distance you can stand and watch, different particles interacting with each other, at first trying to orient themselves and figure out their energy levels and groups according to their vibrations. But eventually forming into the rotation of a galaxy with two tails, to hemispheres of mind, matter and vibration compounded into a message, recorded and registered in radio signals through the four chambers of the heart.
Many minutes upon statues of hours have collapsed, while your standing there, watching this interaction between second of light unfold.
She comes home, feeling herself alone no more.
The door opens and she struts in. He begins to hover towards her bedroom. She sits on the bed knocking off her heels one by one, then her bangles, slipping out of her black stockings, just as he’s rounding the corner of her bedroom, she leaves the dress on for whatever reason, and falls back into the physical appearance of what we call sleep. He has arrived at his destination hovers above her whole body, collecting her night, draining her experience into himself. He who is Her genderless life force.
His large galactic body compresses into a smaller image, changing into the pattern of a halo, descending upon her frail frame, curls fanned out on her pillow, and breathe escaping through the smallest gap in her cherry crushed lips. Her eyes are beginning to move faster behind her lids. The effect is setting in motion. Her dreams are spinning into control. Fantasy’s spilling forth into cups of riches. And he there, within her and she within him...sacrificing all he is for her dreams, where he crowns her Queen.
You* Call* Not
Dark Rum -0- Red Roses
Cafe Cobble -0- Russian Dialect
Light skirts -0- Bare Thighs
Hot Summer -0- Night
White Chairs -0- Lazy Legs
Relaxed Conversations -0- Fueled Electric Flamenco Guitar
Red Lips -0- Thin Cigarettes
Blue Eyes Into Brown Eyes
This is where I am tonight.
With you
Once Again
In 20 year time.
I exhale my cigarette once more
It’s as if,
we all went back
we both never happened
and yet we’re here
and so is everyone else
what do we say to this?
How about another toast
To this crazy fool,
we call.....
but never do.
Cafe Cobble -0- Russian Dialect
Light skirts -0- Bare Thighs
Hot Summer -0- Night
White Chairs -0- Lazy Legs
Relaxed Conversations -0- Fueled Electric Flamenco Guitar
Red Lips -0- Thin Cigarettes
Blue Eyes Into Brown Eyes
This is where I am tonight.
With you
Once Again
In 20 year time.
I exhale my cigarette once more
It’s as if,
we all went back
we both never happened
and yet we’re here
and so is everyone else
what do we say to this?
How about another toast
To this crazy fool,
we call.....
but never do.
I * D * E
where i couldn’t say what was wrong
I’de stay optimistic
and only concentrate on the right
where there was none.
and wrong felt un welcomed
to foreshadow a contrast
in the minds of a me
...and of that strange oh U
I felt many things on one level.
the level that I thought was important
But none on the other
that I thought none of....
until one day, this void
sprang a light!
pierced through the abyss
like a clairvoyant stare
breaking the eyes of night
into pieces of ice
that were to melt in the dew of day
where have you been?
Where you always here?
have we already kissed?
I had this thing
where i couldn’t say what was right
I’de stay pessimistic
and only concentrate on not making that
dangerous left turn.
there was always one coming up.
you felt welcoming
I felt the flood of color and theatre
dance and mathematics
astrology, and hypothesis
surround your soul
like a vortex of hair
in magnetism
getting into your eyes
as you brushed it off in annoyance
like i criticized every thought of you
I believed wasn’t affecting me
Until I woke up one day
....and knew I was very wrong.
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