Friday, June 29, 2012

Alegorical Hypothalmic Agoraphobia

Just walking outside for a moment. That tree- In the morning, sunning from the east its like a christmas tree in summer. And when i fiddle my keys and duck under it, sunning from the west, it feels like dry ice melting.

Right now i cant imagine a stable and happy life. What patterns lead you there? The openness of normal? Ive spent the past few days arguing by myself if im indeed a mockery of whats is innocent and pure in this world. Sometimes my smallest son doesnt want to be with me..what does that mean?

(Where is She? Why did She take so long to get here and leave?)

" Ive been waiting, waiting for this moment all my life. But its not quite right." Tiny blue speakers shouting the true truth to me. The only thing tuned in right now, unless im being felt by someone far away and out of influence no doubt. Im not denying, im just...sad.

I want to fly. Just want to push both blue speakers in and up. So its not like dissappearing, just going away. Just find a thundercloud to hide in, something that falls and leaps with the tempo of my own soul. Maybe be close enough to heaven that John could make out the tear tracks as im not wiping them away. And for these past few days emotions overtake me at the simplest of things. Good music, speed, the thought of 'being good', the needs i could and never will meet.

Its like a transition of an extroverted person becoming a recluse. White walls like a soft cocoon, its just me in here- wow, wow. (So this is what it feels like to...and im wide awake).

I feel a calling in me. The death of spirit and flesh and a very finalizing event showing previews in dreams. I dont even regard them as nightmares, so strange and peaceful. (Why am i ok with this?)

And ive been deep-breathing all day. Long 'sighs', i dont feel ok with myself. I write the entire algorhythm for my lifes path on a whiteboard, knowing ill be the only one ever in this room. Knowing also that She'll find it somehow and mess with my calculations, laughing her ass off, of course. (Please, leave my whiteboard alone, please? Unless you have the courage to really face your fears all at once. Its just not funny anymore...i, am, dying- do you see?)

*hold on, ill be back. I gotta try and get some lazy Friday work done. These guys are actually depending on me and i LOVE wearing dependability.

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Some things never change, and some things do

" It IS a kiss...a powerful thing."

Shyly and sadly, she walks away from the open window," But, I don't know how to fly."

" Come with me and I'll show you the way to a thousand stars. We'll swim naked in the sea of rings until our skin turns sea blue-green. We'll race around Orion's belt and fly so fast the solar winds turn our hair an angel white. I'll show you where the dragons were made and taught to fly. Where they burned the first heaven and the ash became the things in which deity found a reason to die."

Pensive, he steps out onto the sill and looks down," Come, as soon as I find my happy thought- and a reason to believe in fairies...this might take a while."

Watch "Heart's A Mess - Gotye {Lyrics}" on YouTube

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Unborne Pearls

I met a girl, she was a non-sensical sort of quirky. Not my 'type' but nonetheless, greatly valuable, as we all are, Lovely souls. She showed me a piece of her jewelry, a necklace with a trite pendant. It struck my heart like a mad cupid with nemesis intent.

Upon seeing the piece, I was taken, captivated by an emotion so familiar to me as I choose to see it day by day. Something I live with like an appendage I can never lose or get rid of. Like thinking as a child I used to ride my bike so fast expecting to crash. Seeing the limit of ability to take sharp corners or beat cars out of their driveways. Knowing always the inevitability of an accident of some sort. Also knowing I'd never hurt this one piece of me, so the risk assessment to me was as an upside-down penny.

I collected some pictures with my phone and she emailed a couple as well. She told me the story of where it came from, mentioning the phrase 'aborted pearls'. It was that phrase that compounded my thoughts about it. It was a gift from her guy he picked up from one of those romantically situated tents at Burning Man. Him being an easily connectable soul too (LOVE these people). After the conversation, I settled into a form of very conscious meditaion. The music and physical clatter became shades of sepia and grayscale. I looked around the room at all these people I Love so dearly. Connecting with each one of them on varying levels. Feeling ALL things at once, but noticing also the hidden things. You must know, among all circles I make myself a part of, these are the most open, the most genuine. But for some reason whether past childhood experience in rejection, intrinsic upbringing or other forms of emotional matter that make us up as we grow, they still seemed to feel that need to keep behind closed doors the darker things. I connected deeply on the matter with a beautiful, BEAUTIFUL soul that night- but that's another piece for another time. I was a little saddened- let me explain: I was born without the 'hide' gene. To not wear my emotions on my person like summer clothing has been something I cannot do, no matter how hard I try to be 'guarded'. Maybe I feel my mistakes and dark closets are there to house others with similar experiences. I wear them on the outside so maybe they might feel a little less human (figure that one out on your own time :)). So to relate on the the matter of feeling this need to hide escapes me. But that night, like others, I looked into their eyes and made myself metaphysically connected with each one just as deeply as I was emotionally connected with this beautifully sad pendant.

 So you might be asking, " PK...what the f*ck did it look like??!!" HAHA!!! Theres pics below, brothas and sistas.

But this is what I saw: It was the inside of a shell. Maybe a clam or an oyster, I couldn't tell right away. As you can see, it's cut into a shape that leaves an allegorical conclusion. But I'm going with an oyster shell. It had 8...EIGHT unfinished pearls inside with the appearance that they were molded into the body of the shell (if you're starting to feel me, then you're tearing up already. I am). Each one in a line, almost the shape of a question mark (beautiful- just..yea).

 We are all oysters, but not food. Although there are many species of mammals that are much larger and more instinctually lethal than we are. Nature and those that study these things (the name escapes me) regard us as the Apex Predators. The likeness I am seeing is that by instinct, oysters make pearls. Pearls of course are regarded as something we assign monetary value to. They are beautiful gifts to those we Love both romantically and philanthropically, as this piece of jewelry is. A woman feels Love coming from a man giving her pearls, they have that value. But see...US? We do this by trait and choice. We make our pearls and give them by CHOICE, not instinct (would it be instinctual, we would be closer to our Maker than we think). Oysters are not tagged as something we make intricate studies into because they are not popularly interesting to our minds, mostly our appetites (I wonder if we not knowingly see other humans in the same way, think about it a bit then read on). Back to the instinctual creature of delicacy: I found out that when this happens, it actually begins to crowd the inside of the shell. Making the essential vital processes harder and harder. Slowly inhibiting the quality of physical life (are you following? Connect here, please). The more pearls that are 'aborted' the closer this creature comes to death ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ (take a moment, a long pause and realize what is being said. For those not able to follow, the explanation is coming).

What are pearls symbolic of? Popularly wisdom. (I knew a girl once that meant more to me than she knows. Her name meant wisdom...thats also another story, of which I have already written the ending to :)). So in a metaphorical sense we can gather philosophically that we let wisdom die in us if we choose (we are not altogether creatures of instinct alone). Someone might not be allowed a better quality of life should we keep the things inside that we should be saying (speaking of, I have someone I need to be texting right now).

Aside from that and no further metaphors, I'll say this- pearls also resemble natural beauty. This 'beauty' starts as sand (hmmm, some say that's the way we started too). And over long periods of time are formed by these beautiful creatures into these beautiful gifts that adorn our Loved ones. Essentially contributing to their 'beauty' as well. Great toil and grit, taking months of labor sometimes years, produce these CAPTIVATING pieces. I mean, have you ever looked closely at a pearl? Held it close to your eyes until all other things are unfocused? (I do, everyday). They are Precious! Have you ever taken the time to appreciate this little food item's hard work to bring you something so gorgeous? It's mesmerizing, and you dont even have to be high on anything.

 ---YOU, are that oyster. And the beauty inside you are these pearls which you 'hide away' from whom they are intended to adorn. Why? Because we're inperfect. Because they are not 'finished' yet. You keep them inside you because even though life has given you sand and you have toiled the sand into pre-deposited pearls, you feel they aren't ready to be seen yet. And that in some cases is fine. But the world as we have come to be open to doesn't need more perfection. We need no more Supermen or Saviors of humanity. We already have one. Apart from popular opinion, we need to see more open imperfection, because we are all dying. We are all facing that one certain thing, death. But what you and I don't realize is that we start one work inside ourselves and stop. Then another, and another. None of them finished to our liking so we let them stack up forming that question mark. The question all of us have asked ourselves in that dark closet, " Why are we here? Why am I here?" The question only grows by each aborted beautiful thing we form inside ourselves, piece by piece. Taking us further from answering that question. Not realizing they are now so many that they are making our lives impossible to live. Non-purged beauty. Not realizing they are, quite tragically, killing us., not even ourselves (take another pause, please).

The answer to that question of existence, is allowing those unfinished works to be seen. Letting the masks we wear in all communities fall off and revealing to each other the real, torn, flawed, broken and helpless 'you'. (I feel SO MUCH Love for the human race right now. SO many that carry pain. SO many pains my heart to SUCH deep sorrow..this might be how He felt at the end).

I beg you, I BEG you- All of you imperfect souls, wear your imperfection like summer clothing. In the summer, you intend to be noticed, you intend to be seen. So instead of wearing what makes you look so good, so put together, (which in turn builds higher that unseen wall that separates us all), wear the unfinished work on the outside. Do you remember seeing something like this? This piece of jewelry that is so unique because its so rare BECAUSE it gives you a picture of the production of adornement. Of what it took to get to 'beautiful'. WEAR EACH OTHER!!! You're SO beautiful, all of you. Your sadness and pain is the beauty that you are dying from. Choose to live and let it be seen. The openness is your alchemy and the answer to us all.

Finally, in a whisper: I know I promised pictures, but you need none. Just go look in the mirror and you'll see what I see, what He sees, what we all need to see. The allegorically-cut you. Do not let beauty (imperfection) die inside you. Do not continue to hide. Do not let the unfinished pearls bring about your death. Show yourself to save your own lives. And lean back and watch it save the lives of many. EVERYONE.   

Tuesday, June 26, 2012


Its days like these i really wish i had someone to come home to..someone stronger than ive ever experienced intimately. Someone stronger than myself.

Saturday, June 23, 2012


..wish you were here...

Monday, June 18, 2012

New Pain

A night turns to light before sunrise in some tall town, in some thought in the apex of idealism. Dew setting on sleeping crysaline grass waving featherly as if the breeze flowing over them causes them to breathe. Each step, each movement sprinkling our shoes and pant cuffs making all the color in contact become that deeper shade. Like painting in a wet on wet technique. Walking in the shallows, stumbling and balancing along imaginary fences and rail road ties as if on the edge of adulthood before the plunge into normality. Walking with my favorite written personification. Feeling is the canvas of this day. The ability to dream like a passport. The only way to walk here and now.

Auburn colored leaves with edges stained in red in semi-stunted trees glue-sticked across the landscape close to each other. Enough that their leaves speckle the pre-sun day if you were crouching infront of them. Or in a night sky hide the more lucid parts of constellations, like a stellar peepshow. Across the slender roll of the hill down to the pond are a litter of gray rock, no more tall than hobbit holes. Grass trails leading away from each in multiple directions as if they were inhabited for years. The pond, so subtle. Like an infinity factory of sheer soft skin. As if we could lay aside our clothes and risk the brisk chill and be reborn. The ribbonless water mirror imaging the waterbugs, echoing their thoughts across the neverland meadow in forms of crickets and toads. You could almost see back in time from a parallax view, Merlin exchanging common speech with the Lady, taking the sword from her gentle hand. And there they huddled down, all together. The wintered and weathered pair souls. Hen and Heather, Gellhorn and Hemmingway, Thomas and Claire, Val and Ani, looking out at the small'ish pond, morning twilight's chill.

We chose to lay in the meadow lands in that mountain top valley. Wishing it would just rain already. Things should this way. If we could just climb backwards in our skin. Lie here in children's clothes with toys and unpeeled bandaids, french braids and beetle's haircuts- lollippops and Milk Duds. Hold each other in small hands under torn blankets. Just like this. Just like now. And weep all our grown-up pains away into the puddles under the morning grass, the ones that stain our clothes in innocence. We would have that conversation, after the crying, " Does magic really happen?" In a pre-teen boyish manner. Sincere and critical of the possiblity that things imagined actually can happen- They can 'be for reals'. Afterlife, forelife, pre-life are across the way walking slowly, wanting us to notice the delicate details in each of them. The things we never noticed before. Not than anything can be changed, just to appreciate the weaving of the fabric in each path they took and take.

Then it happens, a crack in the sky. A soundless bleet of purest light from the east and over the under shaded trees it comes, the sun. Every color of earth begins to sing their variant radiance. The grey-blue sky lightens its face with swooping strokes from a fan point brush to true blue. The white and grey being cleaned away by one simple thing, far away. Just like what is seen when you ask her to stop squinting her eyes or when she wears dramatic makeup.
Steam dances seductively upward from each stone and blade of grass, sweating off the dew and wet of moss. We take it in like the earths morning smoke break, wetting our noses in makeout sessions with the earth. Discovering each scent, how it tastes and feels. How each scent sounds, heartfully noting the memories spanning our physical random access. Assigning each one a cluster of sensual attributes, displaying talent like an improvisational bartender in a pipe smoke-filled Irish Speak Easy. Just mixing interesting drinks for the future and for now.

No one ever wants it to end. This spectacle has enough emotion to fill the heart of Hades with love for his brothers. And in my mind, it hasn't even begun yet.

Intentions aside, I simply Love this place.


What do you do when you can actually feel your heart dying? Answers please...answers. Or just stay quiet, like we always do.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Read You

In eclipses, far off night skies of where we've been. They hold a worth that only lonely souls could ever interpret. The seldom seen but even more rare casting of sincerity. Almost as if something had again made its presence, hidden in Loved one's DNA. Or perhaps a story from posterity of charity that existed along the bloodline of the noble. And a descendant becoming inspired by such a story decides to re-ignite a passion once completely buried in deep and forgotten graves. Ironically remembering to not forget to see...what gift, indeed.
Sunset star-spangled banners wave inside the locks of her hair. The color of sailors fright, but not fright for me..I'm too accustomed to fear to be afraid of anything unknown. That color, for me, is flight towards the shallows of far off beach cities. Where horses still roam free and unbroken by civilized man. The steadiness of her hand over her eyes in that intuitive longing gaze. As if squinting intensely at the most elementary answers to her universe, of which I only conceive a dialect. She is her own skeptic and the truest critic of all her theocratic understanding. Doubting the doubt in herself, knowing she's just simply right. She's learning to be comfortable in the mystery of herself. And I just am...;)

And I already have a history of what she's meant to me. My idealism flies true to what atmosphere I honestly don't know. But the feeling is that it makes me forget..its MAKING me forget...

The idealistic value, shall I examine? Or just live? As I feel like doing, of course- It's like swimming in the great lakes and looking down to see the pale blue water illuminate my body, like I'm floating in pepperment tea. Just feels so cool, being a summer month. Those eyes (my God), those eyes. The only set, besides my Fathers, that I beg myself to look away from. As I see only white, she sees so differently. I feel my mind and heart are such a neglected book in a well visited library that she's come across and been intrigued by. Like a billboard we would pass on a road trip listening to amazing music. (You're such a sultry rock star).
She asks, " Why did you think THAT thought? Not objecting, just curious about it."
" I just don't want to waste time. Being its yours or mine or just- time, it shouldn't be wasted, not ever...with you. Although, wasting time with you is better than spending such moments in any other ambiguity, including saving the world. From a dreamers point of view, I've lived a thousand times this story. And all of them are a sideshow to this main stage 'attraction'. Directly now, do you know what it is that you do to me? I mean, when stars start shining in my pupils in that Panera parking lot, my mind travels to a place not ventured. And sometimes, I becon you to just- join me."
She says, " No- I guess I don't."
" Well, let that be a beginning. But only one..."
A screenplay, then? ;)

Friday, June 8, 2012

The Times That Come So Hard

There are pictographs...everywhere, in  everything. The street signs, the labels in clothing, the posthumous happenstances between man and woman meeting for the millionth time on the street in constant orbit. Think about it, yourself. See if there a few that you watch everyday but let escape you. Now look at the artwork, after staring at them for more than the time you know you can't afford to take. Is there a mural or tapestry that forms in your mind?

And of course, all these are subject to interpretation. Like historic masonry that stands in modern times, they teach us to think freely. Its like.... As if we can afford not to. As if the simple poet in all of us begs us to feed it and let it grow. Loving the simple things, staring at them like paupers in spirit. Maybe with a childish thought that if we paid enough attention to them, they would pay our bills and allow us that physical freedom. Maybe the energy donated brings them to life and gives birth to a longing in them to experience the honor of finally being seen and loved after remaining in the same spot for all our lives, going without such. And that starting an addictive chemistry in their 'fantasaical' minds that causes them to see to making remedy all that keeps us from them so our time and energy continues to be donated, feeding their newly born addiction. What evil and narcisistic stuff, that any human would knowingly or not spread the virus of our eternal sickness of want, addictive want. Sometimes like these, I realize what a low thing it can be to be a man with my abilities, just pitiful. Luckily its only a fiction. One that can never be excercised outside of Alice's rabbit hole. Not that any simple things there are still innocent. And its also lucky that I am fiction as well. Given enough time, no one will ever know I existed. And so, we must bury deep our persistently logical minds of do's and dont's, separative mindsets and stupid knowledge. Deep, deep into the simple things. So what grows toward the new sun after the time has passed and we are gone tastes like- legend. But only to the explorer of our future world, and the children whom still realize that simple sugars..? Taste good.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Mediocre Me

I don't want to sit down and write. The fear is I'll continue. And no, this isn't Your write, my Precious friend :), its a venting in a moment that will soon fly away from me.
I am on an edge of the deep pain of (?) that I can't have. And the outcome of falling is to put to death my heart and emotion. My mind will cause my body to live, make altruistic choices and live virtuously, with or without..but to feel anything will become amiss. Buried dead in a deep grave, if putting away an important item I never desired to be lost, but meant to in the end. You, my Friend, know what I mean.
I leave myself where I know I left that Love the first time Love had to go...