Finished June 29, 2008
From the holes in the ceiling small suns shone through
I reached up with one hand and there grew a peach tree rooted in carpet
Beside me another sprouted in a gentler, much deeper wood
We blocked the shine with our fingers, little eclipses
A sprung umbrage that fluttered against those equidistant stars
Fluorescence melted us into complacency, a legacy
Existence pure organic artificial
And we coalesced into one milky, silvery pool
An ocean into ourselves, a drying flooded stairwell
A breathing sage on a cellophane stage
With no where left to grow but upward
As this miniature Mediterranean seeped into the ground
I thought of the terrazzo plane, that iffy grain
Under our rosaceous, watery faces, leaves as headpieces
Self-assembling mosaics laying cool to the cheek
Contour of warmth ever keeping the fabric impress
A jigsaw gesture, we cook and break,
Boil and harden into a puzzlement lake
We are a fluid mixture, though dissembled and cracked
Sovereign FruitIt sounds a little foolish but sometimes I see love as a multi-sided, geometric figure made from blown glass. Covered in different textures and colors that overlap one another, love seems like a looking glass that does not willingly mirror. Because the light of day does hand off and transfer into darkness, shining in every angle, we are able to see through this figure and perceive a certain beauty that varies, exceeding its physical form. A kaleidoscope of multifaceted abstraction, love matches with everything, applicable to all objects and mannerisms alike. However, its the integrity one pairs with love that makes it true. To believe in the truth of love is to deny that over time fruit will rot. Our minds cannot wrap around this idea without difficulty, but its fresh taste is willingly welcomed.
PalpitateI was here since dawn and dusk held hands, listening
I witnessed their muddy embrace of pinks and grey
They gave into each other in gyrating swirls, dusty whorls
Cradling hands, caked in a matutinal glow and dappled with ink-drop gulls
Traces of the forbearing night were fed spoonfuls of silver splatter
And fingers ran through some honeyed, tenuous strands of sun
At the sight, the sound, my mind welled over blades of grass in a more awkward rendition;
I pulled closer
imagining the sky without a center and lying parallel to clouds
Moving hands without choice to dangle a frameless yellow yoke,
A cynosural pulse, where the determined never cease and the poor were just as rich
Changing days palpitate inside us
He held me as I listened
Words love to garnish, they serve no meat
And those days are what we make them
The Top of the WorldThe Top of the World
Last edited December 14, 2007
A mere visit to the top of the world served us sights in generous proportions.
Namely, were the cottoned lilies, with tatting frills and skies of open arms,
the glassy water and walking trees some strolled in great alarm.
These sights were so vividly imagined that we wayfarers pondered them upon return.
When we climbed to the heights, our faces met with the freshness of palm fronds.
We witnessed their ticklish fingers brush against some oddly placed pastures.
Pastures that were set atop mountains and powdered with song,
those songs that smolder in white-white puffs, twice at a time
All this was thought whilst breathing clearly.
Assuredly, we did not measure with disposability
For then unequal measure in value due.
But how veneration did respire from this alabaster mold
That was so lavishly dipped in starry form.
We met the top of the world with arms outstretched
To sense whatever bliss that filled ou
Currency :revisited:Nukes, bombs, airplanes going down
Theyre things at home the television talks about.
But this big bird isn't going down.
Its greeting ground with engines, meeting road with landing.
The van chucks forward. It coughs and spits and somersaults forward.
Onward, ahead. My father mutters, his lips flap in quivers and I cant hear.
My thoughts they talk too much, and chew his tongue.
I imagine words for movement but his mouth moves in squares.
We ease our heap onto another lane and my airplane disappears behind some trees.
With all its passengers, all its fright, the terror of flight
and blue sky, blue sky. Red light.
Theres a man on our windshield. His eyes on our windshield.
To my left, on the drivers side. Toes glued together, knees bending inward.
Hes sweating a little. Cripple.
An orange juice box. Who needs an orange juice box around their neck?
He does. Well, he does.
To carry his change, his bills its empty. Dingy shoelaces h
CurrencyNukes, bombs, airplanes going down.
Things at home the television talks about.
But this plane isn't going down.
It's greeting ground with engines.
Meeting road with landing.
This van chucks forward. it coughs and spits and rolls forward.
Onward. Onward, my father mutters. Though I cant hear.
My thoughts talk too much, and chew his tongue.
Imagine words for movement. His mouth moves in squares.
We ease into the lane. And my airplane disappears behind some trees.
With all its passengers, all its fright. The terror of flight.
And blue sky, blue sky. Red light.
There's a man on our windshield. His eyes on our windshield.
To my left, to my left. Toes glued together, knees bending inward. He's sweating a little. Cripple.
An orange juice box. Who needs an orange juice box? Around their neck?
He does. He does.
To carry his coins. His bills, it's empty. Shoelaces help him hold it up.
He's still looking at us.
Stop looking at us. At wealth. At hope.
Another meal, just oh, about four steps forwar
IdentityBend hearts in rhythmic motion, at the swagger of drunken pots.
I am the artist's tendon, guiding brush and thought.
We eat words myself and I, it builds our appetite.
And though we walk but with two feet, our hands refuse to fight.
I'm made of stripes, a nose of wax but zebra far I be.
A girlish crown and piano sound is much more close to me.
Beginlove is love
remember thy pledge
if love be love
so willingly said
then so be wealth, so be health
for love lived creation dead
Stalin Was No Savior
Stalin Was No Savior
insecure fascists tighten their seatbelts
once they know the war is over
tightly now, don't worry dear
circulation isn't necessary
here we go, once again
the same scene reappearing
you kiss him. now there's an akward circle.
of you and him, the worst sight, match made in lust
the world was made for you
he is your bride, yes its true
well aren't we an accepting nation?
the ones who speak for adoration
of screening and censorship; the lack of all, of right and which?
we have our hearts tucked in our jeans
my dear no fear! the pleasure is more tantilizing
more skin more sin! circulation isn't necessary
is it hurting now? you're a size too small.
insecure fascists tighten their seatbelts
once they know the war is over
euphoria bestown upon me, the unworthy, the fabulous atrocity
that once was me, this once was me
now, there's still a trace, it's nothing i can change
but lets prevent--
there are no saints in a place a called ea
realism at seven:twenty-seven in the morning"i just want to clarify, that, from the other day, i have no intentions of killing myself."
"yeah, i understand that. i didn't think you did."
"i was expecting you to be worried though, i saw it all over your face."
"i wasn't so much worried as i was confused. you were getting all deep and philosophical out of nowhere. you were one dude the night before and something totally different the next day."
"i've always been this same guy, dad. i think about this stuff all the time. everyday i think about it."
"every young man, every young artist, everyone has had these thoughts before. you're not the only one."
"i know that..."
"like any young artist, i've had these thoughts too. i was the same way."
"i'm aware of that. that-- to tell me that, that was never my point."
"i was just confused as to what was going on monday."
"i just had thoughts and i was talking about it. i wasn't looking for advice or some sort of guidance or whatever, i was just telling you how i felt."
"and that's the whole
InvertI think most of us should work on inverting our lives. We’re too preoccupied as a western society (I’ll only speak for what I know). Too preoccupied and distracted to notice what we’re actually noticing. The things we tend to focus on can be condensed into two brackets. (Money) –– which can comprise of work, saving, providing for your family/friends, getting security for yourself and those you love, gaining materialistic worth that make the every day life easier. And finally consumables; which in this case would be food, clothes, shelter, water, and basic resources.
Another thing we focus on that can be condensed into a somewhat fidgety bracket is (distraction). Active distraction from the essence of life, from the pulse in your wrist, neck and heart. From the energy surrounding you, from the vital questions that linger on throughout the course of a life. This category can be difficult because something that is distraction to one person when used cor
Can Christians Like Dragons?In other words, can a Christian morally have a love for dragons? The logic behind the question is that dragons by Biblical standards seem to be evil creatures. Therefore it should be incompatible to follow Jesus Christ and love dragons at the same time, right? This is what I've been accused of many times, being a firm holder to Truth yet having a soft spot for dragons. I would like to answer in detail these accusations, thus the reason for this article.
Let us look at dragons from every angle, starting with what The Sacred Scriptures say. In The Holy Bible the Hebrew word used for dragon(s) is 'tanniyn' and shows up 29 times in The Old Testament. But, do note that dragons are not always referred to under that word in Scripture, so the count is higher. I've divided these verses up into groups, mainly general and specific cases.
**Dragons in general
--in The Bible we see that dragons are often used by God as curses. Examples are the Babylonian Empire (Isaiah 1
OneEvery person you meet has so much more depth than you perceive.
You see it as it is, to you.
You could be so much with every person you come across.
Yet, you choose who is who, what is what, and where is where.
You make your life, according to your decisions.
We have to unite, not compete.
Their beauty does not detract from your own.
You are them. We are one.
The media spotlights differences in a sea of similarities.
We’re focused on the violence.
Too crazy to see the peace calming its way through the storm of repression.
Too distracted to understand what we’re fighting for –– are already rights. We’re just trying to align them into law.
We are free individuals treated like sheep.
Do we elect our shepherd? And if so, is it because we trust him to lead us, or because it is easier to follow?
If we don’t take action, are we not on the side of the oppressor?
Isn’t silence the talk of cowards?
It is important to
Talking to Myself: A Manifesto for the EgocentricI’ve been told I talk to myself when I think no one is listening.
ME: That’s all writing is.
ME: Inner monologues.
ME: Discussions with the self.
ME: I’ve written several novels worth of words to tell myself how selfish I am, or that I’ve fallen in love with the wrong person again, or that dying was never a viable option in the first place. I write to tell readers the same thing.
ME: My words are meant to teach others what I couldn’t teach myself. To save others just like writing has saved me thousands of times.
People say that art and beauty only come to life when there’s an audience.
ADAM GWON (sung): For beautiful to happen, the beautiful has got to be seen.
ME: That’s Adam Gwon. He shows up here, sometimes. He is often wrong.
ADAM GWON: Hey! No I’m n—
ME: For example, I disagree with this line from a song he wrote, called “Beautiful”. Art exists and fulfills a need before it is even seen or read or hear
Against those who Call Religious Art Idolatry
Against those who Call Religious Art Idolatry and Blasphemy
Often times Catholics are called pagans and idol worshipers for depicting Christ, expressing him in religious art, and expressing him in statues. This is true in depicting the saints, angels, and the like.
I find these arguments very strange. The most commonly cited “proof” is from Ex 20:4 and similar passages: “Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth” (KJV).
This is certainly true, especially when considering that the Israelites fashioned for themselves a golden calf and, in various ages, many other idols of Cannanite, Babylonian, and Assyrian gods. In these times God was without image. From Genesis and throughout the Old Testament God is not described as having proportions or form but rather as expansive, immense, and beyond comparison. Images, or more specifica
my chemical romance bibleYou know you're a My Chemical Romance Freak when
1. Your carpet is soaked with drool after watching them play on TV
2. You cry when u hear them play your favorite song live
3. You hear someone say My Chemical Romance and you snap to attention
4. You stand your ground and defend them when someone tries to criticize them
5. You feel like burning the TRL building down
6. You read a story and claim you saw one of the band members names, though its not there
7. You have a MCR song for every point in your day
8. You lick the TV when there on it, Mmm..MCR
9. You recite the words to the song when someone even mutters just a word of it.
10. You Live by the words of My Chemical Romance
11. You've asked your parents millions of times if you could make MCR your religion!!
12. You lick pictures of Gerard, or any of the band members for that matter ( This was mentioned by ~that-girl-24 and was happily posted to the bible.)
MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE BIBLE
Gerard Way puts the "laughter
On DreamsDreams are powerful. Dreams often act as inter-dimensional gateways of human experience. Last night I had a dream I can now merely hold up its torn, detached, unmatched pieces to the light and, in some attempt of seeing my dream more clearly, go blind. There were people perched in trees, swaying to music; some had hair in all different colors, their bodies resembling the Egyptian Ka. They blew rings of smoke into the air and some turned their human eyes with a birdlike quickness to watch me. Only I was not me. I was someone else and everyone else; weve had those experiences havent we? Zooming in and out of faces, feeling what they feel, doing what they do. Sometimes all those faces in dreams become you, and all those actions, that somehow dwindle for hour upon hour until that alarm clock rings, are you. It seems as if an uncoordinated essence is pondered on, then shaken up with all the fears and loves imaginable, each different and the same to the sleeping circle. But there