As Such*

Its not that she thought the world a
magical place* you can dismiss her.
Its that the world IS a magical place,
and she's able to see it as such. Just
  as it is.

Upheavel

I'm afraid of losing my m nd
We loose our minds on purpose
not by accident.

May 20

  we are all damned, until we rise back
out of ourselves

Sonner or later...

   in all the sooner places
were we escape
 both want to be
everyone wants to leave. but not
without their other.
   where wishes gain meaning.
in placed none need be
                                   im the alien  of
all you still care to be
            risk all and come towards me
with out expectation. without
dedication. i see through your feeling
eyes...and thats enough for me

Some Things Are Blue **

I am living in a rut, that holds all the pleasures of the blue water

somewhere in the distance, from the boxed up mind

That acts as a drunken warrior, in the bed of his latest disaster to self

a full bottle of spilled water, rests of my shore, that I sit on. 

Apparent, an encapsulated loving lullaby, to Life. 

Reserve- Argentina

The world is a herd of mistresses

Feeding themselves

Slaves, like the red tongue

That turns devils, in my hearts

To brains…of getting lucky.

The world is a herd of mistresses 

Boy like girls, and men alike,  that crave

The scent of the ocean on the women

As well as perfumes, from closing boutiques

Down Barcelona, in the midnight hour, of

Another July

The world is a herd of mistresses

The kind, that don’t know what it is

Not to exist, and create the time to exist

Beyond themselves,  the craving to stomp

With white sympathetic legs, across the terrain

Of a thousand raising and falling suns

On the day, of one, in her heart

The world is a herd of mistresses

That when abandon themselves to pure sadness

Find the white mountain, of joy 

Unspeculated, and deserved

Because I am looking that way, doesn’t mean I care

When I close my eyes, paint my lips red

And lie under the sun, there is a lot more going on in me

Then you can interpret, through your flimsy vocabulary of symbols

Down a latter of love, you can never descend without my decision

Or rather my indecision confuses you

Though you never belong. Unless you physically harnessed

The emotional apparetdness

Of a city inside a woman, in converted distress of fantastical art forms

On the whim…of being won! 

Apart from that! From me and you. It’s all fine. 

It’s quite wonderful. 

You just sit, there and wonder and the life around you

While I culminate my own, without a spec of paint. on you….

you foolish lover. Like all the others…so accommodating

A rose without a throne. A man without a limit. A song without 

the presence to draw her back into non-existent.  Man, respect 

your body. Draw her limit. Fairy, moon. 

It was All.*

Granada, 

And following its golden light

That leads me deep into the night

The stars are as many now, as days I haven’t counted

The adventure, is keeping track of itself

How can I keep my words to myself, if my lips

Are on my face, and part. If my legs pace the city

And I am evident, my intention, my dreams beneath my spine

Upon the stomach of my corpse unfolding

How is it that light is here, but the mind is dark with thoughts

Of loving itself, into a hungry state. Cornering all else,

That will falsify it’s existence, into extinction. 

Even my emotions play survival of the fittest. 

Where only I, will not rest under the illusion

The fact that I exist does not matter.

The fact is unbearable, and it’s better to die.

But not on a night like this.

The laughter cannot be erased from my body

The lips from my mouth

I will still exist! I will still exist! 

May 11. 2. 22. 131

Rupa and The Fishes- Les Abeilles

Rupa

Rupa's vision of blending a mix of languages strives to forge a deeper connection, reaching beyond the boundaries of race and geography. Their music is often described as multifaceted, ever-changing, and redefining.

The group’s name derives from an old French saying, “les poissons d’avril”, roughly equivalent to the English term “April Fools”. It is an April Fools tradition in France for people to stick paper fishes on the backs of the unsuspecting. While the origin of the custom is questionable, Rupa remarks “one of the stories is that when a French king changed to the Roman calendar from the pagan calendar that was in wide use at the time, some people . . . still wanted to celebrate the New Year in April. So these are the people who would give the fishes, the April fish, to celebrate the beginning of the New Year. During the Bush Administration, we were feeling like April fishes—people who don’t believe the reality that’s handed to them by some higher order, but instead insist on the reality they perceive in front of them. It’s a political and social commentary.”

My mind 

has forged its path

along the equator

Among its many souls

The places of the visited

Dreamer, carve the bark

of the desired path.

His occupation not lost

Wandering to always spiritually encounter

Me, on it’s endless shoreless path

Shells, wash up, like Rupa’s Melodies

Find herself stuck, in the right melodies

of her delicate fingernails

painting the picture of dreams

for the wandering dreamer

to awaken. whole. in the soul. 

In full sight, of all it’s desired paths

Reclaiming the lost mistress

With the heavy guitar

And a memory full of headed past lives

Shaping the coloured chords

Full of rainbow fuels geometric visions

Beyond and inside, her dedicated soul.