I Keep a Record of the Wreckage of my Life
I saw the gap again today
While you were begging me to stay
Take care not to let me enter
If I do we both may disappear
Far we go, away somewhere
Where we go, away, don't know
Time's not mine
We meet sometime
You rest in peace, your soul release
You swim in moon, you left
too soon
I fly with the stars on the skies
I am no longer trying to survive
We chase misprinted lies
We face the path of time
This battle all alone
No place to call home
Okay, now open your mind up and listen to me
I am your conscience,
If you do not hear me,
You will be history
I'm positive, negative
Combined with infinity
Everything you can feel
I can feel stronger
I don't ever wanna feel
Like I did that day
Forgot about my love
I gave my life away
I am surrendering to the gravity
And the unknown
God, you took it all away from me
This is where I will cross my line
Beyond the galaxies where there's no space or time Beyond the galaxies where there's no space or time
I will transform
I am reborn to rule over the skies
Sometimes life takes you by the hand
It puts you down before you know it
It's gone and you're dead again
I find it looks the same but everything has changed
I find remembering gets harder every day
What I used to think was me
Is just a fading memory
I was up above it
Now I'm down in it.
Angles
The entirety of our existence
is suspended in the definition
of our perspective.
Even the boundaries
can change,
have the possibility to rearrange,
dependent upon each individual claim
on the limitations of
impossible things.
He sees nothing
and it is zero, nil, an irretrievable loss,
an empty void of useless space.
She sees nothing
as a promise of grace,
of hope, creation, redemption,
and change.
They both see emptiness
but it's what they choose to do with that space.
These words are only
an ignorant human expression,
for I cannot purport to know
the solidity of fact,
of Absolute Truth,
to say otherwise is a fallacy,
self evident in the arrogance.
Choice
is what we have been granted
to work with,
this is what our Free Will is.
Somewhere, Someone Says it’s Ok
The truth comes
once you don't give
a fuck anymore
That's when shit
gets real
But what you have to
go through
to get to that place
how many times
can you break
your own heart
after its already
been ravaged
and nothing left behind
to be mended...
'Cuz there's some things
that just can't be fixed.
And I battle myself
almost every waking hour
Raising up demons
of my self-creation
It's a pitiful attempt of a war,
my heart's not really into it
but there I am
creating myself
and
destroying myself
over and over and
over
again.
Now I'm just tired
and I don't give a fuck
I already know I can't win,
'cuz there's no such thing
as sin
but I continue my struggle
again
'cuz if there's no hell
full of devils
collecting my payments
for their den,
how will I ever get to heaven,
a heaven you might
live in.
A heaven that won't exist
unless there's an Evil
to excuse me for my sins.
Tiny Purple Alien Lights
A bare bulb hangs down.
Hangs down. Hangs down.
The world watches from
somewhere nearby.
The city views the scene unfolding from beneath heavy oppressive eyes.
The crowd surrenders
their gaze as well.
The girl is alone with the
light bulb.
That is bare and hanging.
Somewhere the Universe
stops to sigh.
It's all connected.
You see.
But the song of indebted
melancholy under the burden of synchronized sorrow is not lifted from the girl who does not know.
The Son watches. He is Sun now. He whispers her anvils into existence.
In the somewhere else, a daughter, who is not yet even close to becoming a sun; somewhere a daughter; somehow a mother. Somewhy.
A resonant aching gravels through the heliosphere.
Somewhere a girl chooses Life.
Somewhere else, a light gets snuffed out.
In the somewhat, a girl restarts the Universe from the pause generated.
Somehow, the light bulb knows its bareness is complete.
Somehow, a world is so much more than the way it seems.
The reality it keeps.
Remember Love.
The girl weeps.
(written in Los Angeles, California, circa 2020-21 by the train station on La Ciénega.)
Bathtub - 2:13 a.m.
She wonders if it is her that brings the time of the upheaval, or if it is the time that ushers her into this insanity...
She screams out
in her
scrambled
mind...
"Hello, Universe,
I am here..."
"Do you copy?"
"Hellooooo..."
The Universe responds...
...the Universe responds...
Okay, apparently
the Universe was
brought up
with no manners...
The Universe
doesn't fucking
respond.
"Am I alone?"
she intones,
trying not to wail,
trying, trying,
cuz that is her Life mantra,
apparently...
"La Vida de Struggle"
(That's "A Life of Struggle"
for you unsophisticates).
Yes, well...
"Fucking Universe, Fuck!"
Tears of frustration...
"I fucking existed" says she.
Mind Mine
I see you over there
with those hypno eyes
Thinkin' I'm someone
you can mesmerize
Lucky for you
You caught me in a mood
Come over to my playground
Give me something to do
Dreams are my speciality
In this world of mine
Bring me your fantasy
And I'll see what I can devise.
Get up
right next
to me
Let me look
at what's been
sent for me
I always need
a little mystery
a novel occultism,
a place to explore in,
a magic that no one can
explain to me.
A Giant Jellyfish
I think
that we are all the tentacles
of a giant jellyfish.
When we die,
We don't cease to exist, we just go to the next dimension.
All of our deceased loved ones aren't really gone at all, but right next to us, on another frequency, that occasionally tries to contact us, hence, the "spirits".
I believe ghosts are remnants of strong emotions.
I must give credit to the very drunk girl who first introduced me to this idea,
Most memorable as it was strangely out of character for her to be so philosophical with or without inebriation.
She told me that ghosts are just the strong emotions of the people that have been there before; slamming the cupboards and doors in a furious rage,
filling the airspace with their anger.
And that they are most likely still alive somewhere else,
but the energy they expelled stuck, was ingrained into the space they occupied once, and I thought, "of course, if music can be recorded in the grooves of a record or a concrete road, then why wouldn't a vast outburst of energy be not recorded onto the grooves of the wood of a cupboard door?"
She made so much sense in that one non-sensical moment of hers that we shared.
And where does it all come from?
I don't think we will ever get to know.
I believe it is all compartmentalized.
We will reach the boundaries of what we are meant to know, and that is it.
We will be bounced back from the edge, kept fenced by the boundaries enforced.
And we had best make peace with this.