Tricky

I just can't seem to get my fill
the image in my mind's eye sighs the same still
well I do what I can and I do what I will
yet my wanting wants more than it's willing to kill for
so i cut chems / rearrange brain stems
advocate all kinds of trends and burn blends
possible sanctioning of a lack of strife I hope for
susceptible motions I attempt to make amends for
cause I don't even know what I'm willing to die for
but I know that I just can't seem to get my fill
the image in my mind's eye sighs the same still
so I remain constrained / plain as a blood stain
half beheaded with a terror named migraine and
prescription bills / brains bored / bare bones
no frills or gimmicks and a slight sore and
I just can't seem to kick the state that I'm in
I want and so continue to twist in the wind
patient perhaps for a moment in time
where I can be fine with just being mine
hug myself so tight that I touch my spine
dig myself out of the fright and derived
let my white light shine but the want
fucking
blinds
I just can't seem to get my fill
the image in my mind's eye sighs the same still
I want and I want and I will never stop wanting
I want and I want and I WILL ALWAYS WANT MORE

Sisu

If I could speak of the east in tonal languages deserving I would use the hyperbole of words such as veritable and haunting full bodied / manifesto and grandmotherly really any sounds conducive of the ancient minds bred of a windful theory in music and the sands mountaining on the eyelids of faith remind me of the most farest offest places of myself sliding even with my back turned singing sitars seldom stagnant circumvent under earth running rivers wet palms closer when you are at my side. in a desert free of mirage its always more quenching where the music is. and if there is the one thing that the visual guidance of Sanskrit has taught me its that god is in the flow of characters streaming together words become emotion becomes manifestation like its been every single day since the rains apocalypse subsided

patiently

and i for one will not take that quest for fire granted i have been handed down the schematics.

rojin, your grandmother is a beautiful woman. the next time you see her you hold the sides of her face in your hands look into her eyes and tell her that "somewhere there is a skinny tattooed Finnish-Canadian boy standing barefoot on the harbor covered in paint cigar clenched between teeth bobbing gently to the beat living on the west coast of Canada on a fucking island and that even though he is that far away and even though you have no idea who he is when you smile with subtle grey eyes of love and knowing and confidence and strength uncertain certainty hope peace wisdom and honor that is near unweatherable he can feel you...and he loves you, truly."

the chimes intact tinker heart songs that rise above the dunes and flags of the tall ships linger in that which we know is wordless still blessedly still we focus half lotused intent on memorizing the verse tracing every string of the universal lattice coy and childish for all ways we attempt we work hard we mimic the thousand arms to the best of our abilities and coincidentally enough from between you, me and your grand daughter regardless of space or time our mimicry comes as a soft steady droning "Om" breaking barriers tearing culture asunder wavering only when fragmented and hashed over the threads of varying frequencies leaking foot prints of separate sizes but when the sun is cold you can still find the steam seeping heavily from the space in the door hinges of the sauna the air inside so thick we breathe water and the moisture knows not the difference between the surface of our eyes and the space 6 inches in front of them...sound travels through granite and a mistrust of my love just as soon as it schoons walkways through the saunas steam so i am singing again not because it goes unheard but because proven repetition ferments faith related in many motions and i don't know where you were born or how often and distant you travel or the means of communication you are most comfortable traversing so ive carved a euro gothic cathedral from howlite with 3 crying veins of labradorite streaking through it the veins face 3 dimensional directions as to catch sunshine independently of one another so that we may always see the reflection of the universe in the things we create and know which star is blazing fiercest just for us. 3 bells of iron wrought in the 3 towers audiofy keys of meditation whispered and cutting as triple tonal sonar fining its way through the oceans and waves tails of the 3 horse men sped relentlessly to seek out our specific souls declarations of my love tattooed across their backs in a triptych of organic memory. pieces of a whole we each will hold.
i imagine an afterlife of congruence through intention. me and you and rojin the 3 caballi we rode in on and horsemen that led us there. it is in the leaving i discover the terraforms my heart creates it is in the leaving my island comes into sight of yours for the very first time and i find that coincidentally our love differs not that greatly. it is no longer a struggle to enunciate the music we play together with clarity for our voices will stream together as one and emit from the core not as a choir but as a single loud soft steady "Ommmmmmmmmmmm"

Unattended children will be given free espresso and a puppy

the empty space between my bones, organs and muscles
is occupied with words (or thoughts we'll say)
that right now I probably shouldn't say out loud
on account of my vessel seems to be a passionate one
intent on grabbing the things that make it happy
very tightly in it's tiny little fist grinning shamelessly
and then running around the yard in circles
screaming and laughing dragging these happy things
behind it like a puppy on a leash unable to keep up
with the pace until my vessel looks back and is
washed clean of it's excitement when it discovers
the lifeless bruised body of that which it cared
for so dearly strung from the noose of a leash
tongue protruding
when this happens my vessels tends to look up
into the sky in absolute amazement and ask
"now how the FUCK did that happen!?!"
soooooooooooo
I work very very hard at taming the feelings
filling the seemingly empty cavities in my body
and do my best to keep what comes out of me
in part and parcel portion with the capabilities
age and understanding of said happiness...
lest I hug too tightly leaving hand prints
in the now dormant skull of the things that I hold dearest.

Symbols

for 'tasha.

on transit to dubforms

Back stab the sticker
on the cripple when he's little
lesser stature than the spittle
lingerin off the da mantle upper
lip bottom drawer broken hip
its the busted bones that keep
him simple voice is hoarse
short slip fell don't need to speak
but i can tell he's the kind that likes
the whores that shriek with
the dank ass afterglow and
a pigs purse of product to
sell im talkin 90,000 watts watts watts
of pure poison bring your boys
in cant get enough nough nough
of where the hammer cracks
in where the jets land influx
shucks momma such a sucker
that daddy never said he
loved you enough that rough
son but keep it to yourself
we dark yea but we dont need
your guff cuz while youre gettin
drunk as fuck half cut maybe
even enjoy sayin youre a slut
we out here in the dark and
lazers actually tryin to create somethin


lol yea just dickin around
T minus 1.5 hours til the bass encompasses


my base and heart chakra are a
trobbing gate pulling
apart at the hinges holding
sly crowns at bay all
the travel does is ferment
explosions predestined swayze
our apocalypse is
brooding and
it will move through
every single one of us
now let the bass play