Yesterday.

The most honesty I feel I could continuously
contribute to any given moment is that of silence.
My words remain the accent
drawing (int/)attention
but by no means encompass
the entirety of my work.

/

There are moments where I fall into
a land of space of eyes between us
where I swear I could look into yours forever.

Satya Symptoms

And I was all of the grass and what could have been
I was the hope born of said sought since crass eluded brethren
a leather man cracking temperament frail like caustic claws
veil shining on the backside of animals we bled for tournament
tails torn from the serpentine throat fangs scratch roads
once slithered along by better men
washed out along the shore
bellies rubbed sore for I could no longer afford the rent
too socked and spent talons subjugated at the knuckle
tampered with and bent / scarification my only language
heavy transcribed to be raw / real in rags we dress deeply meant
unkempt the space between the walls thinning my cheeks
widens my jaws / the pressure on floorboards
hardly enough at this time for the movement of self
shingles sapped our cottonmouths in the dry of night
racked these souls for and of all that is right
sacked a cloth bag of embers across my sight
what I whispered was the light at the end of the path behind me
something disdain / I never looked at never noticed again
since this day forth when I put aside me any worries of the plight
when the virus died inside me
when i thought what was might
was the things I could touch around me
the winds pushing downwards falsely
convinced me of the longevity of gravity
'til the infant creature fell out of my hands
upwardly
happen stance gingerly poised kickstands
metaphors of euthanasia not imagery
well it may not be the virus but something has to die tonight
sate hitam satyam / the virus trust me is digital
satya based in organia and salvation the push and the light
well it may not be the virus but something has to die tonight
but I will only go out once the wind has blown by just right
when I reach out my hand in confidence and say "it is done
and any setting sun of sickness *phst* it can keep the victims
the half empty syringe of my nervousness and my spite"

hardened softly rituals

for 'tasha

The vicious vixenish veneer I was originally
attracted to, to my surprise does not fade
even as the lazy days spiral the crazy shades only intensify
I touch what's touchless and find its grime and sheen to be real
even behind closed doors her inner lime light shines (outwardly)
I can tell this because even in the darkness laying on mattress
I find myself a certain clarity and am almost childishly frantic
for the glint in her half opened almond shaped eyes (wholly)

I pass twin mountain peaks and cumulus clouds
that open onto blazing cool landscapes
my stolen breath circulated
this could be infinity

endtroducing...

From listening to the silence I just knew what to do
I mainly taught myself
I would like to at least continue
to be able to express myself as best as I can
I'm an instrument
and I feel like I have a lot of work to do
still
and I'm a student and I'm also a teacher
originally it started with the hurt in my head
which really I guess was confusion
but the confusion hurt
I didn't understand at the time where these feelings came from
so I started looking for a way out
I began analyzing them under the looking glass holding the pain in my hand and meditating intensely upon it to the point where the acknowledgment almost made everything much worse but I was intent on understanding my relationship to this feeling of abandonment I felt from the world around me after long terms of study and experimentation with the hurt I noticed that if anything I was only getting more lost so I began to question if I couldn't eradicate the pain without eradicating myself why could I not turn the hurt in on itself use it to my own ends so the meditation and dissection of what I considered a virus continued even to this day I don't know where it came from but I remember what it was like to feel infected I remember what it was like to want to die I think primarily what kept me from going over that edge was how intrigued I really was by it it was almost sadistic I suppose a twisted fascination with the lust I felt for the destruction of myself I mean is it not a part of the human condition to strive to live on? weren't people programmed to fight for survival and not intermediate demise? this contradiction was at best overwhelming to say the least.
I have taken blades to my body and introduced too many painkillers to my system and nudged myself down flights of stairs none of this was a cry for help but rather research to see how the confusion would react to being brought within reach of, well, the death it told me I wanted. i hate myself and i want to die. i love myself and i want to live. a constant yo-yoing of consciousness i watched with an almost playful amusement. anyway as the study continued I noticed that in the blackest shadows of my depression images literally would fade in and out of the shadows figures and figments that would rise from the sand and disappear just as quickly for reasons still unknown to me these images were best manifested as words as opposed to drawings or paintings or any primarily visual forms which one would assume they would be considering i was interpreting literal images i would see before my eyes when the blackness was complete where it would hurt the least and the most i found that not only was this a new way of studying and meditating and trying to understand emotions i didn't have a name for but that it also acted as a kind of exorcism i would paint the scenes i saw with words and as i did they would dissipate until i was left alone by them temporarily free from the hauntings i could write and create the depictions as something i could see in front of me and then do with it what i pleased put the demons on the page and close the book and lock them away far away from myself exorcism truly is the word to describe what i was doing to/for myself.
it has been 9 and a half years since i first wanted to die. it has been 9 years since i began painting my demons with words.
From putting my hand into the shadows
I just knew what to do

I mainly taught myself
I would like to at least continue
to be able to express myself as best as I can
I'm an instrument a student and a teacher
I will write a poem and then learn what it is about through my writing I am taught things I did not know I already knew I have come to the point where i exist as a channel through which god/satan/angels/demons/spirits/guides/whatever speak through. while clearly what is to be said is entirely translated through me and the eyes with which i see i do understand that there is greater meaning and that a lot of that meaning i believe is universal as we all exist as tones within the same song. i am truly wept onto my knees and humbled by the gift i have been given. the gift of critical exploration of the self as tangible lessons relative to all. i step unknowingly into the hurricane in the hopes that some day we won't have to. it is a blessing to share my work and see tears bled from eyes and head that bob with understanding. it is a blessing to have been told and to know my work helps people save themselves helps people through hard times helps people understand...
i now know the that same familiar feeling not as confusion causing hurt but as a hunger as a quest for fire to step beyond the realms of human understanding and come to grips with not just mine but with the place where we all belong. every time i hold fast my pen and speak again i am befriending every time i step behind the mic i am transcending and i now do so not as an individual but as a river flowing wide and freely to be taken or left as any soul chooses.
I would like to at least continue
to be able to express myself as best as I can
I'm an instrument
and I feel like I have a lot of work to do, still. my potential is limitless and my hunger is infinite.
if you have ever bought my books or cds, or let me spit at your house party, or seshed with me in alleys and under stairwells, on living room floors, read my blog, seen my set or asked on the poem tattooed around my left forearm know that you have given me one more opportunity to sharpen my teeth, know that you have willingly or unwillingly taken my hand in that moment as i opened my mouth and declared that you alongside me care where we go from here.
it's like were all dreaming the same dream so take me to a place unlike anything I've ever seen
unlike anywhere I've ever been a place inside where we know what we can be where we know what can be reached we just need to confide in that the deliverance of the beauty of life is based in our conscious projection of willful change and of mind and we will explore space

together
both inner
and outer
in peace
forever

Longboarders in the Night

for 'tasha

If I could bleed through the skies like microphone mesh
you would hear the songs I am singing to you
like 60 minute heart beats wound up with no stress
if I could race the very sun
and win and still never wear out my kicks
I know you would already be in the grass of the next morning
smiling gentle eyed like the goddess you don't know you are
in the morning day light the sunshine
slits in through the kitchen window across
the living room floor and glints in your eyes like stars
but I must admit that I've been up since seven and haven't napped
so I don't know how far I'm going to be able to run
but still it is so exciting just the same
so much so that it feels like I'm going to explode
with anticipation at the thought of the chase
so in preparation I jacked a 2/6 of sailor jerrys
slammed it back blazed a blunt lit a smoke
imagined your hand on my throat
teeming as the needle before the plunge
knuckles tighten before the choke
and in the soundlessness of the blaring
of the countdown just before lift off
I see the prime time crook in the corner of your mouth
as your eyes lessen/listen to the 60 hours
of my heart pounding too fast for my own good
but keeping a steady pace with the good of your own
60 minutes of my chest crashing
compress into 60 milliseconds of the slide ways sly grin i reflect
not knowing that all along you were the mirror
and I am beginning to ramble beginning to feel dizzy
and my words must be clouded and unclear
like a drunk with his gamble on account of
I am so fucking high off you
it would be impossible for me to drive so take the wheel and steer
and true neither of us may ever come down completely
but don't worry we'll trade off every 6 hours
or on the inbetweens when we are peaking
which needless to say at this point
is probably going to be most of the time
and ya know if we could we would slam the petal to the floor
and do our best to fly 'cause fuck yea we like to go fast
and sure we like to party but we also live inside a city
so for the sake of responsibility and at least
our parents peace of mind and our own physical safety
fuck the car
get on your kicks grab your deck
a dirty 20 for supplies on the way
your grand dads bag of weed (leave a note trust me he'll understand)
cigars clenched between our teeth let out a scream
take my hand and let's FUCKING GO!
let's bomb this hill like it's the only one that exists
let's bomb this hill blindfolded
like we actually know whats around the bend
let's double on one skate with our hands on eachother's eyes
realize we can do anything / actually
not with blind faith but wide eyed knowing
home done ink bleed from our feet / lets ignite
roadrash naked hips side by side
longboarders torching off weightless / airy / light
longboarders torching off / long long long into the night