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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
Hello, My Name Is Oscar
Hello, my name is Oscar. This is my story.
From when I can remember, I had lived in a cage with my brother. I didn’t mind it. We kept each other company. We had plenty of humans giving us food and water, playing with us, petting us, giving us attention. We had the life.
One day changed that, though. It started off like any other day, my brother and I sleeping in the cool indoors, when a little girl and her mother walked into the store. She was looking at the various other cats that were in other cages, before she turned to her mom and asked her something. The mother pointed to our cage and replied. Of course, I wasn’t too bothered by it. Humans came in and out all the time, looking at us animals in cages. I simply rolled over onto my stomach. Then the door to our cage opened. That’s funny, I thought, we were already fed today. One of the humans who fed us took my brother and me out of the cage, handing my brother to the girl’s mom and me to the little girl
What Is Love What Is Love
Love is an emotion, but it is also something more.
To deny ones self for the sake of another,
To put the self second instead of first,
That, is love.
Love is not idle, Love is not stationary.
Love moves, Love is action.
On Heroes and VillainsThere’s a saying, “When on the path to becoming a hero be wary that you don’t wind up the villain”. What that saying doesn’t warn you about is that ultimately the paths become one and the same and it’s almost impossible to see the dividing line.
The Problem with MemoryThe Problem with Memory
I don’t care what anyone remembers of me after I die. I mean, I’ll be dead, I won’t be around to care. And to a lesser extent I don’t even care what anyone evokes of me while I still draw breath. Memory is a broken concept. It can be warped and skewed by even the most impartial observer until it has no bearing on fact, on what truly occurred. How many great men does our society reminisce fondly of who were hated in their lifetimes, perhaps for good reason? And how many unassuming saints die in total obscurity by the very nature of their humility, their good deeds never to be thought of again?
I say it again, memory is a broken concept.
This is our curse, imaginably, for our own hubris. Or maybe it is the reason our race as a whole suffers such grand delusions in the first place, that we might have worshipped Caesar and Augustus as divine beings instead of the plain men they were. Plain men we all are, flesh and blood, and imperfect to the
Do We Need a New Language about Homosexuality?One of the more popular, misunderstood, and challenging problems Catholics face today is the topic of homosexuality. I think of the many great strides we as a Church and as a culture have taken in speaking about it. In the same way, neither side whether secular or religious, has spoken more clearly on the subject. Catholics, at the very least, have always been very good at making distinctions. The process of making distinctions is not just good philosophy and theology, but it also aids in our practical and charitable responses to what we experience.
When we respond to homosexuality we should know what it is. Moreover, when someone is homosexual it does us little good to categorize that person according to preconceived notions about their sexual activity, sexual purity, or moral state. In fact I've usually seen these reactions as one's own personal, moral blindness than as a useful discussion geared towards understanding something so as to respond to it more effectively.
That being said
LABOR DAY 2014 “LABOR DAY”
(What Made America Great)
Another labor day is nearly at hand
Those whom we honor, in this, OUR GREAT land
All who do toil week after long week
Hoping to gain the ‘dream’ they each seek.
For those who DO ‘risk’ everything they possess
To start a new business with financial stress
We THANK YOU for investing in places you reside
In hopes that your business will give you much ‘pride‘.
But we ASK that you also remember the people
Who helped build your dream, your church, their steeple
For both on ‘their own’’ stand tall and stand proud
Yet when COMBINED, both shout it out loud!
There’s a delicate balance between ‘worker’ and ‘boss’
To disregard EITHER is everyone’s LOSS
One without the other is like a man with NO ‘Heart’
Who walks on this earth but is always ‘Apart’.
I fear that this ’balance’ is no longer ‘true’
On Fate and Destiny and OtherHere you stand at a crossroads. The road of fate to the left and the road of destiny to your right. If you were to go left then you were fated to choose so but if you go to the right then you were destined to go that way. But what if you choose neither? What if instead of choosing one or the other you made a different choice? What would we call that?
One word for it may be “freedom”.
On Strength Beyond StrengthI know a lot of strong people, people who can’t climb a wall or win a fight or even lift a box over thirty pounds above their head, but they’re strong because they have something most “strong” people lack. Perseverance. They are strong because they are determined and maybe too stubborn to back down.
That in itself is a form of strength.
On FreedomWhen I think of freedom, true freedom without rues or laws, I see the way of the natural world. I also see, however, chaos. Chaos which only appears when you give humans the freedom of the natural world. Mankind can’t handle freedom therefore they create chaos. Humans are meant to be bound by social, cultural and political tethers, humans can not know or have true freedom.
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
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More