4/30/2010 - Format

You set the format, I'll take the forceps,

and start ripping off these extra parts.

I've taken each bit that doesn't fit,

and thrown it to the side.

We can start the building, you and I.

You set the format, I'll take the forceps,

and start twisting your ideas into creation.

You've put the bits into an outline.

We can start assembling.

You've designed, this monument of mine,

that I am to build between us.

This wall of gristle, bone, and muscle,

I've followed your format, it's your turn with the forceps.

4/29/2010 - Edges

This morning I remembered the harsh edges of my dream.
There were checkered flannels, red t-shirts,
and some kind of clock just ticking.
All of my shirts had holes,
just between the shoulder blades.
As if I'd finally grown my wings.

You pushed me down the stairs while I was doing laundry.
I remember the sound of my bones,
cracking as I hit each step.

Snap, crackle, pop,
like a meat sack full of rice crispy treats.

The feeling of blood dripping between my eyes,
down my neck, between my breasts.
Seeing my bones exposed so easily.
The strangest of all,
I wasn't angry over being pushed down the stairs,
or breaking every bone in my body.
I was pissed that I had to redo the laundry.

4/29/2010 - Wonder Why

You wonder why I don't meet your eyes when we part ways.

Why I shake your hand and look away.

Why I wave without looking back.

I'd like to tell you a secret.

I'd rather stay.

I'd rather play just one more game,

Sing just one more song,

Make time just a little longer

I'd rather stay.

You wonder why I linger after final farewells are said

Why I babble goodbyes

Why I edge my way towards the door.

I'd like to tell you a secret

It's one that I've kept to myself

I'd like to let you know

I'd rather stay

I'd rather play just one more game

Sing just one more song

Make time stretch a little longer

I'd rather stay.

4/21/2010 - Waking up

I've been spiraling down for a long time,

Now it's time to fly back up.

I'm over it, over it, over the bullshit.

It's time I stretched out of this skin I'm in,

I'm waking up, shaking myself

Into some kind of adulthood.

I've been living my life

as some superimposition sees fit

I'm over it, over it, don't need the bullshit.

It's time I shredded this skin I'm in

I'm waking up, shaking myself

into some kind of womanhood.

10/5/2007 - First memories

My first memory is of sitting on a beach, staring out into the ocean. I know now that I was facing south, the sun warm and fading on my right. It must have been spring or fall, we lived on the edge of the arctic circle. The beach was all pebbles of white and grey. Maybe those were the only colors my baby eyes could see. There were no birds, no animals that I could recall, no sound that I remember. Just the sun, warm and fading on my right.

7/22/2007 - Bring me back

Once more down the rabbit hole

Once more into the darkness

Let smells bring back memories

to flash before my eyes

Let broken strings ring

Let duty call into the night unanswered.

Bring me back, bring me back to the point

Let honor bind the tie that gags my voice

Let me be one of an infinite number

irrational, unknowable.

Let me grasp my own truth

Let me be devoted to me

Years ago - In between

It's been two days and I'm still sober

it's hard to think of you,

without a bottle in between

It's been three weeks and I'm not over

The time I wasted being there for you

I can't justify my anger,

I can't make the world, just go away

I am not omniscient, just the opposite

I'm the island left of nowhere and somewhere in between

It's been too long and I'm not over

Not in a sense, not in a way that makes it all okay

Too long to remember

where I am or who you are to me

I can't justify my anger

I can't make the world just go away

I am not omniscient, just the opposite

I'm the island left of nowhere and somewhere in between

Months have past and it's still raining in my head

The sky reflects what's left of me

through the contradictions I know

That I can't justify my anger

I can't make the world just go away

I'm not omniscient, just the opposite

I'm the island left of nowhere and somewhere in between.

Strange - Revised 4/15/2010

Strange needed to be revised, now it is a song of sorts.

Isn't it strange? You're coming here again.

Too real to understand, and hold me here for long.

Living life out loud, this noise you've made inside me,

simple things, don't live here any more.

I'm not breaking you down, I'm building me up,

You can all go home now, this show is over.

I'm going home.

Isn't it strange? You're calling me a friend.

This is where hope ends, and we part for years once more.

Living life out loud, this noise you've made outside me,

simple things, can't live here anymore.

I'm not breaking you down, I'm building me up,

I can't follow you now, I'm no mans daughter.

I'm not breaking you down, I'm building me up,

I can't follow you down, I'm no mans daughter,

I'm just another angel in the snow.

I'm just another wild oat you've sown.

4/21/2008 - Grind the Babies.

Like a bullet set on it's trajectory,

I'm off inflicting damage.

Some kind of mental mastectomy,

I'm no longer a woman.

I've cut parts off of me,

just to fit some picture.

This self imposed image super-imposed,

designed from the ground up.

It's a machine, grind the babies down,

pass the money round.

It's one cold step you take against your fellow man.

You live up to the hype, or you die in the grind.

4/21/2008 - Knife in the ribs

The knife so flexible, so sharp, so pointed,

slides nervelessly between the ribs.

Soundless, but for the angry buzz of synapse,

chattering as the knife slides through muscle then past bone.

This is an old knife, older than I can imagine.

Why the age should matter, I don't know,

as it slips into my lungs past bone.

4/16/2008 - Ebb and Flow - stream of conciousness

There is an ebb and flow to existence. We are each particles in a wave that moves across the face of reality. There is a collective understanding to which each of us holds a breach. Each of us guards that which we know to be true. That information becomes a part of the common memory.

Each of us is a single fiber, of a single strand, of a single thread, tied in a knot along the warp of reality within the weft of time. It is we who decide what we will be in this, and what we will contribute. It is our decision to mark this tapestry of reality, or be hidden within the folds.

Existence becomes meaningless in the face of our loss of self. In our drive to manifest, we've bypassed lessons learned. Our culture is dying, we cycle through information faster than we can process. There are so many paths and choices, we are forever evolving, and by some chance or whim or possibly choice, our culture is stagnating. The fundamental cross purpose that pervades every day life, is confounding the reality we have built for ourselves.

Maybe we are merely walking this path in preparation for another. Soon we will be the ones that came before, the lonesome gods that others pay dues to. What have we left for those who will come after? We are the torch bearers, we are those who light the path. It is for use to be a part of the collective understanding. To hold fast our breach in reality, to wade into the flood waters, and lead those that come after, into the west.

3/25/2008 - Nine Lives

In each of my nine lives, time tries,

to stretch off in a different direction.

Each world now open and fresh to me.

These places are the deep spaces,

peered into only when my eyes are clear,

when my heart is strong.

There are times when I feel as if

the heart has been taken out of me.

I think in these times I'm falling free.

Like gravity no longer holds sway,

the dead point between up and down.

This tipping point inside of me.

10/10/2007 - Thoughts on the floor - stream of conciousness

All I wish for is one quiet moment. That's it, just to gather my thoughts. I think I left them in the laundry that's spread across my bedroom floor. Every time I try to think, this piece of mind gets in the way. Just yammering away about the common place, or the not so common place. Sometimes imagining great and amazing things, like stopping bullets, or moving through time. Then I open my eyes and all I've got is a laundry of thoughts on the floor.

No frame of mind, no peace, just pieces. At one point my perception was involuntary, I was happy not paying attention, time slipped through my fingers like silk. When I was sad, I lived that moment for years. I feel sorry for my pain, it doesn't have any friends so it has to bother me. I am not my pain, she just chills in the back seat, telling me that it's not my fault. It is, I choose to stop and let her in. I can feel her in the moment, but she is a passenger, and I am on my own quest. It shouldn't be long now, I'll let her out on the side of the road. Joy can come and go whenever she pleases.

10/9/2007 - Sticky

It's the kind of thing that sticks to your fingers. It clings to the roof of your mouth, gets stuck in the back of your throat. Too damn tired to push past the banged up bullshit, and get down to the meat and potatoes. Ignorance is no excuse. When the high wears off, you'll fall asleep like the rest. I can see your eyes rolling. That shit that gets caught between your toes, when walking on a well watered lawn. That the fucking lights should blink, just so out of time. It's a beautiful day, 57 degrees and sunny.

10/8/2007 - Something traditional

I keep my creativity in a glass

It would appear that glass is empty

I keep forgetting to fill it,

Perhaps because the glass is cloudy

I can see it in my head,

Once full and brimming with possibilities,

Now, for lack of attention or regard,

It sits on a shelf all dusty.

It seems that when the glass lies empty

My eyes don't see color

My heart beats out of time

My words, hollow, unformed on my tongue.

I'm not sure that I should fill my cup

Or allow it to be filled.

Between wearing the weary and living the life.

I choose to watch waves breaking.

I can see my self working and trying to fill

I can see those same precious drops spilling,

I can almost taste those sweet spring time drops,

Yet here I sit, empty, not filling.

8/7/2005 - The Opening

The internal opening glows green,

dripping from my palm to my imagination.

Dancing from, falling out of,

salt burning sores, grafted from the skin.

Drifting to the container.

Calling the impotent to change the flow,

of obscene obese chemical curiosity.

Rubs raw on wounds salted by the last great tide.

A note on Munitions Testing

Munitions Testing in Heaven was a series of drawings I did a couple of years ago. MTH took shape over the course of a week while I was listening to "Waiting Room" by Vary Lumar. My process for drawing is generally, smoke, listen, and draw. I use an aluminium shafted brass tipped calligraphy pen with Adeleine ink. While I was listening to "Waiting Room" I couldn't get the images of angels exploding out of my head. Thus Munitions Testing in Heaven was born.

4/5/2006 - Take a picture

It's more than a moment up to an eternity between frames.
I can see the leaves but never the trees.
Wrapped snug in details, I'm lucid enough to interact.
That moment between portraits of glory.
Smells of cedar and violets.
Filled to the brim with mistakes.
Filled with an eternity of wasted time.
I could use it.
I could flex and bend.
I could make myself more than less.

2/9/2006 - Runner

Wake up,
Count the seconds,
Mark time literally.
Grant formal grace to an informal dance.
The intimate pose,
One image into another.
Rapid juxtaposition of frames,
Spinning off into the future.
Living the life, while waiting for life.
Forgetting, in order to remember.

Strange

Isn't it strange, you're coming here again?

Too real to understand, and hold me here for long.

Existing in the loud, this noise you make inside me.

Simple things, don't live here anymore.

It's not breaking you down.

I'm building me up, I can't follow you now, I'm going out.

You're calling on a friend, now it's time mine ends.

Can't hold on for long, selling out of the loud.

This noise you make inside me, simple things.

3/11/2006 - Liar's Palace

Focus for a moment on the liar's palace.

Dusty velvet curtains need replacing.

The stench of rotting leather, stale air eats at the back of my throat.

Is it safe to enter?

Safe to walk inside my own head?

I'm knocking on the door, begging permission to come in.

I'm beating on the door,

still no answer.

2/27/2006 - Impact

I feel brittle.

Not in the sense of breaking,

so much as the fear of shattering.

The fear of being unable to absorb the impact.

When it happens, do my components fly out into space?

How will the universe reassert itself?

Would I be left?

Would something else?

I can't help but crave the release.

I'd be grateful, if in the end, I ended abruptly.

Winking into another universe like so many billions of leptons.

Unified by a common purpose.

I'm hanging on with swiftly shattering fingernails.

Should they break?

Do I let the universe see me naked?

8/15/2005 - Bubbles

Amazing how the bubbles make

Each

Word

Stop

Easier to ride each wave to completion

Than resist and escape as the wave departs

Lethargic

Nervous

Coked up and tripping over words

Until the muddy field, the proving ground

Marks the beginning of reality

Merge preconception, misconception, and perception,

Into one bright shining lie

Young dry brittle contradictions, deep like gravity wells.

Losing sleep while pursuing the hand held sun.

The out.

The goal.

Reality knocks twice.

Once to break the tape.

Once to cross the line.

Munitions Testing in Heaven #7

#7 was a biggy for me, finally taking my drawing from random lines to actual forms. I also started working with the negative space, rather than against it, as I am wont to do from time to time.

Garden

Munitions Testing in Heaven #5

#5 of this series has always held a special place in my heart. It isn't often I get attached to my drawings, as a matter of fact I usually wind up giving them away soon after they are finished, as was the case with MTH. Every time I look at this one, I feel a little twinge of regret for fostering it off to someone else...

Munitions Testing in Heaven #4

Munitions Testing in Heaven is a series of drawings that I did while I was listening to "Waiting Room" by Vary Lumar. Two words for this album "sound - fucking - scape" in this case "fucking" is not a word, it's punctuation.

Munitions Testing in Heaven #3

#3 said two things to me when it was done, beauty and brutality. When working on the drawing and even to this day, all I see are intestines and feathers.

Munitions Testing in Heaven #2

Munitions Testing in Heaven #1

4/1/2010 - Shades of Grey

You're not ready to write in red.

Just black and white on dining room linens.

You're not listening to what I said,

You're too late it's over,

I can brush you off my shoulder.

I told you to look deeper at the line,

You saw black and white I saw shades of grey.

It's a wonder, you're going under.

I'm still seeing shades of grey, shades of grey.

Maybe instead of one last kiss,

You should have asked me to dismiss, your foolishness.

I told you to look closer at the line,

You saw black and white,

I saw shades of grey, shades of grey.

4/1/2010 - Fall Away

See?

Look what you've done to me?

The heart of me it's not part of me.

I'm folding back into myself.

See?

It's at the heart of me,

Part of me, wants to be deaf, blind and dumb.

I want to hear the sound of my heart beating,

leading me out, I'd rather stumble blind than fall away.

Can it be?

The ripples of your sorrow, now tidal waves,

Breaking on my stony shore.

My heart's not yours to borrow anymore.

3/11/2010 - I Still Love You

This trust is grinding.
If only I could fall back into the fold.
If only I could close my eyes
and step into the maelstrom.

I look into her ever changing eyes,
and she promises to keep me,
she promised to be my constant.
It's only when I expect that she becomes what I am making.

My world becomes a shallow bowl in comparison.
My world is and infinite number of dimensions less.
This is a world without light, without color.
So I must stand tall, on my own
Inside my diamond hard reality
And trust that the chaos,
She will continue.

8/5/2005 - African Haze

That African haze glitters and bites

Breathing deep, drinking fear
More often that not time is laughing
He's with the opposition, dancing
Time and logic no doubt hypnotic gratuitous and indulgent
The loose cannon screams at me
Trust the chaos outside to continue

Apathy
Entropy
Moments exist on paper
Are mourned for dead
Missed when dead, forgotten
My own is a moment waiting to happen
Hot cold and smelling of fresh flowers

8/4/2007 - A Mind Awake

Hunted
I'm the last
All the others
Caught
Trapped by some need
Some force
I'm the last alive
Down the hole
A Breach
An Escape
Spent a fortune
Making comfort
Trading comfort
It's a bleak realization
Freedom is a mind
A mind awake

8/4/2005 - A soft place to fall

There are things that I can do and things that I can't
Sobriety for fear of suffering
Nobility in fear of humanity
Control for fear of helplessness

In the last years maybe seconds
Before I stopped seeing and looked through your window
I saw love and the promise of love
Fracture then shatter
I saw my own become someone else’s
And the outside of a broken door hanging off it's hinges

Days like these
Life is stopping
No clock is ticking
No time burning
Standing still

I'd like to think that she remembers me
I'd like to think she dwells in there
I know for now it's over and complicated
I imagine what it would be like
To give and take, Allow and rescind
My moment to kill and revive

I'm not over it
I'm not desperate to be
I cling to my moments and mutter and cry
I'm just here wondering what it would be like
Hoping I can be just as naked
Just as still
Just everything
Just this happy accident

It's all out in front
Right out here in the open
All right here to slip on and trip in
Toys in the hall

No emphasis on the down beat
No beginning
I'm in the middle seeking some refrain
Some break
Some rest
A soft place to fall.

3/11/2008 - Recall

I see myself in all people.
I reflect regrets like sunshine.
It's the bright lights, lime lights, white light blinding me.
I can feel the minds around me, fragments of someone else.

A walking beat, some marching drum, keeping time outside of me.
The constant stream, running on.
Each day the same beat, each week the same key.

If I'm light, I'm not dancing, I'm blinking.
The same hypnotic strobe, panic inducing.
I can't shut my eyes.
I'm watching the world go from dance to march.
From finely crafted, to injection molded.
I'm announcing a recall, come back, you're plastic.

Take your patterns back.
Take back your conditioned response.
You're the same as your brother, your sister, your mother, I can see.
I'm watching. Becoming.