The truth is, this curtain separates what we believe in and the means to perpetuate this illusion.

Testing mobile blog device. This could be cool. Fuck you twitter!!

Betrayal

Certain admissions bear too much weight to be carried by simple casual conversations; things that we attach the most guilt, spilling out the pain that you contracted from years of negative relationships, the rejections we face as adults. Multiplying as we age...

The frustration, the drama, the negativity that we adapt to throughout our existence. This is just one more thing to define our identity. We are the products of our accomplishments, just as much as we are the result of a flaw or shortcoming.

When most people allow themselves to open up, they are reaching out. It is no more a confession than a plea for help that could be interpreted as a sign of weakness. To expose a part of yourself that is vulnerable, is rarely considered safe in casual waking life. Most people will use your grief against you to balance their own fragile teetering. However, if someone should allow themselves to let their guard down in this respect, with trust. The appropriate response would be to treat it as a stroke of luck, a blessing and display of comfort or friendship. A chance to see someone as they truly are is rare. An offering to be revered and treated with respectful discretion.

To take advantage is betrayal.

Powerless

The feeling is not easily described.

To find yourself in the middle of an insufferable amount of damage caused to your surroundings. Creating an obstacle in the way of necessity and a barrier between what we need and what we take for granted. Your neighbors, your friends, family, co workers. Everyone a part of this chaos. The people that want to help, they do. Others, with the luxury of ignoring the needs of the many. Walk right back to their lives and turn their heads away from the discomfort. Powerless, to a dependence of convenience. A vice that seems to be rewarding in everyday life, however dangerous in situations when the supply is cut off. Trading away self reliance and strength to supporting forces that help destroy sacred principles. The sin of sloth. The unnecessary lack of struggle. This type of thing can make the problem worse.

A gigantic tree went down, not even a block away from my house, during the hurricane. It's roots ran underneath a house it was beside and the drive way. Cracking the cement in to wide angles. The raw mess looked like it had been untangled and then tangled again. Unearthed and ripped open. The earthworms and insects squirming for their lives, homeless. The tree took down a power line that was running in close proximity. I counted three thick wires and four small wires. The thick wires where all drooping down in the middle of the street, making a frown four-houses wide. The tree smashed in the street pinning them down. Two of the smaller wires were severed and dangling in the side walk. I guessed, this was where my power went. For two weeks.




Its good to be home.

untitled (poem)

The streets paved to the way of freedom
becoming the lives it takes in its route
stacked homeless next to deprived families begging
to reinstate forgotten elements - as we open our blind eye

white chalk on the ground tracing the shape of death
red blood stain on the wall with a blue rag wrapped around the head
a neon reflection in black pools of oily iridescent wretch
swarming the shadows in between the filth and garbage

Candy painted rides - brightly colored fish net legs
huge afros' and tight braids - acrylic fingernails
over sized jackets with the fade - bass flooding sidewalks
windows exhaust a haze of tattooed faces - staring blank

Moon shine hinting off gold tipped teeth
Long suits and shiny shoes - children run in the street
slanted porches - gutted lawns - figures still as silhouettes
yellow street light shines on broken 40's and MD 2020 bottles

lives lost at the roll of the dice - place your bets


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to abandon our own honor is to undo our own purpose

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we cannot be over burdened with gifts we are allowed to receive

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untitled

I am no longer sleeping
the wolves woke my heavy head
there was long awaited rapture

when I was entranced by nature

the instinct arose without restraint
I subdued any form of self
to shed the skin of mortality

to blend into the ethereal
become what is unquestionable

I will be
what is
an inner wisdom

The Eye of a Mirage

the desolation of our understanding
a stark nameless longing that fills this burning sky
calloused regrets dissolving into the sun

the way you disappeared into the heat

a distance between two halves
waves lifting off the ground
distorting in the eye of a mirage

the open nerve that blends in so well
an aching that tortures when forgotten
it was her standing there amongst the thorns

thorns that puncture and wound
excreting a poisonous knowledge
infected with transitory reason

disseminating a relentless scrutiny

I waited for the air to turn into wine
to flood my lungs with intoxication
I would gladly hurl myself into the abyss of not knowing

if I could kill my conscience