Chance

Don’t mind the moonlight?
It shines through our veins
the light leads the life
we need, all on a linear plane
and what the agriculturalist cultivates
will eventually be a barren field, isolation
speaks within, corrupting their shields
but chance is just consequential
and words are the only took to make dullness
seem helpful and as they flutter
stir around like a family of flies
encumber your thoughts
begin to tie
they make your eyes water
and shift to rhythm
these letters form sometimes
just like all life
it starts from a cataclysm
and the more you know, intellectually
or through those holes in your head,
you loose the wisdom
it’s not just a definition
reality is only a decision

Devasate me?

can you feel the emphasis in these arms
the warmth that rises from my fragility
can you see my lost eyes
never focused, searching for solitude
can you smell my nothingness
that percolates from my unkept, un-bathed skin
can you grasp my fingers
always twitching, lunging, cupping for anything
like my cigarette that fell from my mouth
taste it, the rust
bleakness that exhales before I breath
This body that I encompass feels broken
but also perfect. 
It was fitted for me
Now, won’t you please, Devastate me?

Plague

Teach me
Forgiveness
Speechless--like the water
on the sandiest of beaches
smoke the air for anxiety
curse the sky because of society
Illuminate those broken bodies
and pray for insanity
let it sink in
infest
infect
and flood

remember Yourself

Give up
Look up
Corrupt
The Mask
Speak don't Talk
Ran/ Just walk
Tremble under the oceans current
live in the present, the most sincerest moment
Fresh as the flesh on the lower chin
pick a prick and pivot on the suspense
circumstance, like some amazing fee(a)t
crack a smile, show them teeth
break down, get through the day
dont let the clouds split
feel Your throat, temper Your fits
never feel the stains, just float in the rain
until Your bloood sits and
begins to drizzle, following and the funnel of the drain

Define

Born with nostalgic taste, this boy discovered
elasticity, and the negatives of right and wrong,
abnormal, yes, but hardly queer, he sought
utopia and dismissed the plague of fear. He held
them to his solitude, and graciously blinded the
indignants.  They wanted no but
fear always shows the perfect truth.
ultimately, everyone trespassed, no boundaries, is just
limitless, floating into the sky, suffocated by

big, grey blotches, known as clouds but not
until the peoples power did this
tepid idea eventually destroyed, but out of every

destruction, comes a sweeping
evolution that will develop into an
atom, and as these atoms grow they
diverse, separating and branching
loosely into culture, scavenging into creation but
you will never find it

FAFAFA-Fahreidome

      If you look passed the hyperbole of the landmass and really described the city, you would notice the oddity.  The city was an odd like.  This city, known as Mulleno, was the home town to the peculiar.  The people were deranged ranging from the constant physiological disorders such as schizophrenics, multiple personality disorders, disillusioned citizens.  When the citizens didn't have these disorders, they were even crazier than the former.  Not only did the choose to live in Mulleno, they demanded it.  Everyone needed an outlet.  These citizens couldn't deal with the populace.  The blatant sense of normalcy that reigns through the healthy souls, the conformity that twinkles in the eye of the transparent, trying to be like someone who is also trying to mimic a copier.  But these strange citizens, the ones that moved to Mulleno, didn't do it on a whim but an instinct.  Their minds, somehow linked together, told them to come here.  To share the crazy, their irregularities that resided in either their personality or in their minds.  No pretension, no social hierarchy, just strangeness that not only illuminates the streets at night but also the curiosity of the majority.

Sketch Comedy

Sketch Comedy

    There are three men sitting in a room.  All of them facing one another at their yellow, triangular work desk.   Usually this desk steamed many ideas but today, the pot was off the kettle.  Each of those men, Ken, Stark and Frank were completely speech-less when they got the call from their manager Smith McNally. 
    "We need to scratch that first sketch."
    "Scratch....like remove it."  Frank seemed crushed. 
    "Yeah, the early testing didn't get high marks." 
    "Yeah but everyone loves talking monkeys, they must of hired some rich snobs or house-wife's....that's not even our core audience." Stark almost yelled like each one of their sketches linked to some these fucking monkeys.
    "Well just get rid of them, they are not working...you have all day to come up with something new so we can shoot it tomorrow."

The Sucker

I’m a sucker
For trying to try to always do right
And I can feel it in my head
I feel it in my head…
It’s a shame
I’m Ashamed to be so sad
Because I’m not blamed for everything
And I’m to blame for everything!

The things I had in mind
Tried to say but could not get out
Went in my eyes, but stopped at my mouth
In my mind but could not get out
And I thought you knew
I’m shy and got comfortable
Too much smoking in my room
But at the same time missing you!

When I’m not here I’m sitting in my head!

Again I’m a sucker
The one who will dry your lips
Asking questions, always confused
Ha! We just said we’re both confused
And I’m sorry
Sorry I let you blame yourself
For all of the abrupt decisions
Can’t you see it’s all my fault!

And I hate to be the fool
But can’t stand you feeling bad
Too beautiful to be made the cause
So I’ll put this one on myself
But, I thought you knew
The day I’d dance would be for you
And I know it would not make things better
But right now I’m feeling pretty close!

When I’m not here I’m sitting in my head!

Masochism

Samantha took her short, trimmed fingernails and scratched bobby’s arm revealing blood that dripped to his hands and down his fingers.  He discovered his wound, chuckled to himself, ran his left hand through the cut, playing with his own discharge with an enormous grin on his face.  After studying his new marks, he tilted his chin upwards, staring at Samantha, sending her direct eye contact that bled through the surface of her, and searched for something.  He continued to search though those hazel eyes, for a reason for this abuse and the reason they were even together in the first place.

Stance; Heart

Stance: Heart

Cultivate, Idealize, Enslaved by the breed
Someone, you, hold the water for me
Decide on the structure, plead for trembles
Can you open? My hands are tied, you must assemble
Blinded by the Alive, Awake to be Dead
Burned by the furnace, Opened in the Shed
I can't go back, I don't even have a bed
Tracks laid down by past generations
Some may follow, others watch with a patience
Others build their own, Some construct them for others
but no one listens to their mother
The sky is just a far fetched wish
Those white clouds are just served on a gray dish
Frowning with a smile in their eyes
Truth speaks no words but silence, Tells it all,
Sometimes the fall can be the first to fragment
Shattered and Scattered afar
All the black couldn't hide the ashes in the stars
Sprinkled and Trickled down to the Saviors
All the chemicals wouldn't change our behaviors
These lonesome faces, paces to the left and right
But no one, not even Death, could take a blind mans sight
Those bones stuck in the mud still look beautiful
And us humans, just keep building and building
Using our hands, our craft and labor, filling and filling
Soon it will be stacked up
Leaving this Constructural generation and decide on a new layer
So all we are doing, is doing our future selves a favor
Lets hold the Earth and keep it cool

Dancing on a Gut Feeling

So I woke up today with a busy head full of nothing
And you know Hun?,
I'm so far away.
And I'm sorry to dive so quickly, but the pain in my gut just seemed to pure
And you know what?,
Today I just feel like dancing.
So I found this other life, going to have a house with a monkey
Worried dearly about the future,
But I just feel like dancing.
So I'll ignore you, your not understanding, we need the time for the future!
And yeah I'm worried dearly,
But in the meantime I just feel like dancing.
And I know I'm happy, my mind is clear and my giggles don't sound the same
But you know Hun?,
Ill just keep on dancing.

Clue-less

Look closely through the holes in the trees
right after, their death turns to leaves
to celebrate this revolving vanquish
hold your lovers hand, against the commitment
given the potion, and ordered to take this
heart beats under the shadow, even your vindictive spit
your eyes spring to life treading on through the dullness
watching the trip unfold painfully under the bull whip
your life might skip but it all repeats like history
but my interests aren't dead so neither is chivalry
try to hid your possessions and your loose tooth
their is plenty of options, even in the abyss, there is a hanging of a noose
Reality doesn't wait for your forgiven nature
just keep a tab, make sure you bring a pen and paper

Heart Stance

Murder, Power, The Burden
Worms with Flowers
Mauling, Echoes over shadows, Begin to Peel
Paths diverge into abandoned shadows
Spring, Throwaway, Take a Break
Faces hide in the Furniture
Burned, Vitalized, Bed panned
Fans blowing you in
Bend, Hold and Pull
Hands bled into funnels
Mazes, Plagues, Residue
Crypts banished three keys
Let go, Take over, Die together
Man-Mad Clouds

First Panel, Rough Draft/ Winter Burns

Witches Brew

The Cosmonaut

The Confusion of Reality.

The Idea of Things

The Splash of Time

The Magician's Supplement

Aaron pops into Max's open door with a shit eating grin on his bony face.  Max tries not to stare while his face is covered in his textbook, "Intro to Bio-Ethics."  He stands at the door for quite some time, waiting for a greeting or even some attention, just that loose conversation you send to a good friend every time you come in contact with them.  Max tries so hard to live up to silence, not to be distracted by that grin--- to just finish this chapter but the strangeness in his friends behavior cant even let him finish these words laid out in front of his blank face.

The Fallen House

Some people swore the house was haunted.  I was never a subscriber to the supernatural forces, that people rumor, is constantly watching us.  The speculation of this house has been around since I was a teenager.  It scared people a decade ago but now it’s a mysterious thrill for this new generation.  We respected the sanctuary of the house in its entirety and let the muses sleep with their dignity.  Still the rumor is still floating around and these ears haven’t heard of anyone trying to tackle the challenge.  Or the people who did never made it back out.   Death, ghosts, souls in limbo killing the living’ now that’s jealousy. 

A Peasants Parable

A Peasants Parable

    There was once was a peasant.  All he ever wanted was the fastest horse in the entire world.  He wouldn't settle for anything less until he got his wish.  One day after scraping up horse shit for the day, he took his weekly pay check and went to the local fortune teller and her some questions.
"How is my future?"
"Your immediate future will be victorious" said the blind fortune teller.
"Will I ever receive my wish for the fastest horse in the entire world?"
The fortune teller whispers "Yes."

The Smallest of Fractions

The Smallest of Fractions

    Our galaxy spins in a spiral.  One by one mass encumbers matter and all is swirling around a star.  And one by one we all follow, our year is not like theirs.  But we share the same time.  Each planet has its own characteristics.  All eight of them surrounded around a sun trying to keep up.  Some trying harder than others some falling behind.  Runts that don't make it and ones to big if split up they could be 8 planets the size of ours.  Some reach their extremes and our too hot or too cold depending on their distance from the ominous sun.  Most don't like the presence of humanity or humanity can't establish their curse on their soil mostly do to their behavioral atmospheres. 

Subsidized (Short Story not Finished)

Subsidized

I suddenly wake up, un-settled and just lie there.  Both eyelids fluster to the blinking of the sun’s majestic rays that shine through my dusty, over used blinds.  I lie there steadily comfortable and compiling under the ultra-violet radiation.  My skin starts to tingle as the grainy hair on my stubborn arms begins to rise to signal the beginning of my repetitive morning.  But yet again, just like every other day before work, I turn to my left, to face my deteriorating nightstand, which holds my digital alarm clock.  I notice its beauty, completely moss green with 3 self-contained buttons that our satin black and then the white numbers reading 5:55.  Exactly 5 minutes before my alarm will go off to start my day.  So for the next couple of minutes or few hundred second, I bask in the glow until it is finally to start my routine.  When the clock hits the dedicated time, I unravel the soft white sheets that are so delicately wrapped around my new lifeless body.  Right when I toss my sheets to the opposite side of my humongous queen size bed the alarm clock grumbles and lets out a blaring, waling siren that always pierces my ears and makes my vision turn from the sleepy and hazy early morning monotonous to the alert and just ready to go grind of everyday life.  Ready to start the day and definitely already to end it as well.  I switch it off an am tempted to un-plug it from my pale yellow apartment wall but I know that will only be detrimental and useless.  I’ll still wake up tomorrow at 5:55 no matter how hard I try.  I am, just like we all are, a slave to time.  It beats you down leaving you utterly tiresome needing this idea of rest to get on with the next day, the next year and blissfully on with the next life.  As time continues to tick, I panic.  I take my scattered, crusty sheets that i have not found time to watch and carefully re-make my bed.  Perfectly rectangle is the shape I intend to make.  The bed cover goes underneath, blankets and filler hide beneath the cushioned comforter.  Pillows get flipped; The two of them.  My brain sends signals to my body that say "On to the Bathroom," so i proceed.  The laminate wood floor that exists in my bedroom holds the light in itself that secretly urns and that consistent glare shines deeply into my chilled skin.  Its comforting but also inconvenient. If you decide to look down i am instantly blinded and i can't look up because it is far to early for such strenuous activities and just looking straight ahead dazes me.  So being undecided, i begin to stumble lunging towards my bathroom door.  I grab hold of the wooden frame and regain my balance.  The white tiles that remind me to always brush my teeth multiply in every direction.  The grout is over done and the border between every monotonous placed square is hard to acknowledge.  Just realizing, even if it is terribly flawed, that someone built this with you in mind will help unease any greedy souls conscious.  I pull down my gray patterned pajama bottoms to reveal my hairy, chicken legs that should of been taken out of the over 10 years ago.  Black hair with gray tips curl, tightly woven like a knit sweater, around my thighs leading to my crinkled, wrinkled knees that are severely bruised and all the way down to my hairless shins where the only thing that shows is the powered purple hue through the few lays of skin that still remain.  My toes look broken and my feet show a man in his 40's who doesn't care about feet.  We put cloth over them specifically for a purpose.  We walk on them, they deserve some protection.  I fondle my penis, a limp useless slice of skin that hovers over my saggy, pale testicles.  I produce a steady stream of piss into the toilet water that is to hard to tell the difference between puke, piss and shit.  Needless to say my toiled hardly flushes down all of my increments.  I raddle the metallic knob but it is sitting still, still waiting.  Plumbing is a weakness of mind but i am fine with filth.  It's my own.  After I am done pissing, I leave my pants off, wrinkled in a corner like a used napkin like the rest of them.  I continue the de-robing and continue with my shirt.  My flabby, stretched out skin that lumps over my pelvic bone is surrounded by splotches of hair and blank sheets of skin sprouted up my body.  I end up in the shower, turn on the plastic diamond knob until i reach the terminal location and the water boils off the bacteria and burns my skin to the touch.  The way i like it, steaming up my studio and fogging up all the windows.  Creating an opaque box for m,e to dwell in while the public speculates on me.  Water slowly drips off my worn-body, washing away the grime of the days before.  Soothing liquids slide from my nose all the way to my toes, slowly and tantalizing.  As I finish up the procedure soap, sudds, shampoo, scrub, brush, scrape and condition and rinse....rinse....rinse.  Turning off the water supply by rotating the knob to the opposite direction.  The atmosphere slowly returns to its average as my body shrivels up and wrinkles like a crumpled piece of paper.  I grab blindly for my blue-printed towel and dry off.  Rubbing my brown hair, side to side in unison and then I dry off randomly and furiously.  I step out of the shower.  Continuing, now onto my body, bridging the gap and straightening my arms, tightening the towel to reach the small of my back where all the water hides.  Then the genitals and downwards to my legs.  Ever so gently to not scream out of pain from my aged shins. 

Lost in Paradise

Dear Dakota,
    I recently woke up in a lush, vicious forest full of oak and willow trees that surrounded my peripheral .  The trees were enormous, towering above me like a giant, nearly suffocating me and it turned my sight into tunnel vision.  Through the breaks in the branches, I see a relatively small pond with jumping Koi, splashing slightly against the surface.  I feel imprisoned like a have done something terrible wrong and this was my sentence.  I walked up to my favorite tree, one that reminds me of the art from "The Dream Hunters" and I quickly fall in love.   Swiftly turn and begin to climb it.  All my accomplishments in life, I always resume back to my childhood.  We all do in a sense.  After many failed attempts proven by the deep scratches in my arms and the blood from my hands given to me from the razor-like bark I tried to grasp. 
"I give up!" I shouted.

The Downfall of Self

The Specks of Imagination

The Old Mans Monologue

I am a child at heart.  I REALLY am.  I lost my arm doing childish things.
Immature acts of thought-less revelations.  Ones were i would never could
of acknowledged the future representations of such deeds.  If an adult
tells you not to do something, TRY to remember not to.  Don't follow my
shitty footsteps.  Well try not to at least.  And i only use this cane
for balance, not for getting around. But i guess life can be funny sometimes.
Decaying birds, resting in the middle of streets, dead, trampled and
crumpled up for protection.  Oh, how short a birds life is compared to us.
But i guess we all go when its time, don't we.  Maybe a birds time goes
slower than ours, so in actuality they "LIVE" just for as long as humans do.
But it's not my time to go but i don't know if i can ever see it in my future.
Why would i want to go when everything is so beautiful.  And everyone seems
to be looking out for me.  Buses arrive on schedule, i make my own appointments,
and i tame my own beast inside of me.  Cars fly by, skreeching their brakes,
slamming their horns, while subways rumble beneath me as my body trembles
to the echoes as trains pass above me, hearing the twists and the turns of the
track rocking the train cars back and forth like a cradle then the planes fly
too high above us letting gusts of winds force through it traveling hundreds
of miles in the school and hundreds of miles of speed.  All while we build
lasting structures that take more than centuries to crumble and dismantle.
Oh the BEAUTY!

The Elegant Woman

Craving the Ocean

Peculiarity

Dismiss

If the priests chiseled eyes want a place to judge
considering my demise a perfect bullseye
and as the bells play, every other hour
the grass shrivels, under the echoes power
the red/white and blue could honestly be seen for endless seconds
those familiar, whining sirens -- blaring

Journal Entry #1.

as i sit here waiting for the audience to fill in like fruit flies flock to a fleshy Florida peach i find my curiosity wandering picking up nodes of loose-leaf conversation that flutters around the room but is hardly answered by a caring stranger.  some might call this a formal meeting but i realize what it is through its true identity. an act. people playing with genres and persona like they were on some big budget movie.  i actually catch a few quotes being re-hashed as jokes.  haha plagiarism is so damn funny. So out of context and character that you should be filled with humility but you are rather courageous.  but i guess this is the real world, college life but to actually let that sink in, makes my eyes blink at a less frequent rate and my breath deepens to the waves, where i rather be.  to much wasted time and time is life.   to truly live is the real challenge.  the meaning of life is to waste away hopefully leaving no legacies behind to plague the future with already, set in strict designs and implications.  but sometimes life can be a hell of a drug.  and that is where emotions play in. and that is the only way someone can actually feel alive.  by not only reading trying to understand such things but feeling the infinite spectrum of emotions.  happy, sad and blank.  there aren't only moral choices and opinions but emotional choices as well.  decisions that can leave you calmly happy before bed or the ones that leave you in despair making you question your judgment while you toss and turn in your lonely bed during the middle of the night.  but in the end of all decisions, you may never know how the audience will perceive your actions.  everyone holds their formal opinions on their sleeves and sometimes can not see through the true meanings of things since no one can actually determine the truth or predict it. that's what makes conversation a guessing game and life completely random.

Graves

sometimes i like to imagine
that life is our actual grave
the beautiful blue sky
was just painted on the wood
above our view of our coffin
our destiny can not be moved
and is stuck in the exact same position
over time no matter how hard we try
and our air stays the same
the dirt at our feet can be moved
but it just digs us deeper and deeper into our lives
the wood surrounding us is always acting as our protector
but never timely honored
and our words, can only be heard as whispers by the Earth
en-caving us in echoes that build up
from the cemetery encasing us
we can only communicate in our little boxes
heard as whispers, but in reality they are pleas and screams
Our little old boxes that we are always cemented into
because, deep inside, we are all waiting to be lain in our own Graves.

Corrupt and Compulsive

Through Spectrums and Colors comes Chaos

The Degenerative Isolation

The Vase and the Butterfly

The Emotional Strangle

An infintatum of Existence.

My Undivided Attention

Note Cards for my Conscious.

Mammoth- In A Hole

Through My Eyes by Dr. Impressive Chapter 4 (so far)

The Initiative part 2
When the documents arrive, it's not like a mailman comes and knocks on your window to make sure you home and to check up on you.  The personality is all gone when you take away the uniform and grind down the old man's face to sheet metal.  It just comes then puts whatever it is carrying that day into it's designated location and off it goes.  Watching all of this happen, while remembering living when being a mailman was an actual profession doesn't sit right.  All small-end communications has been thrown through the window for the slightest convenience. 

Through My Eyes by Dr. Impressive The Ending to Chapter 3

After exiting the steel doors, i begin to stare around and really start to look at the city.  The amazement in architecture and the height.  Goals accomplished.  Buildings used to be a race.  If you had the biggest, it actually meant something.  A friendly game of cat and mouse that nations would partake in.   That was when the communication lines were open.  Constantly trading ideas so we could not only better ourselves but the world too.  The we resided back into the Middle Ages.  Everyone is out for themselves.  No more aid, no more healing hands.  If your not making money then your wasting it.  And no one these days would think of wasting money.

Through My Eyes by Dr. Impressive Chapter 3 (so far)

The Dissection
Through the crumples of the piles of paper, i finally find the right one.  My plans to end all this debacle in a timely manner.  And after failing my persuasion techniques with the other two.  I now need to persuade myself once again.  If people can not see my point of view on the subject, maybe i am the one who is just wrong.  But i finally found that piece of paper after hours searching.  Why have i littered my room with random sheets of paper.  Probably just so i can loose the ones that mean the most to me.  To have the sense of loss and the ever-growing determination of fear.  Striking after searching that "one" spot you thought it would be.  Then saying "shit" and "fuck" a few times and going back into the game.  You either have two options.  To keep playing the game, keep searching, keep getting more and more aggravated and irritated until you either succumb to the second option or, more importantly, find the object that is lost.  That moment of pure ecstasy when you lie your hands on that long, lost treasure.  But then there is always option two.  Once you checked all those secure, obvious locations and you finally ended up on the notion of failure.  Then you start again.  Trying to piece together the ideas on that page, what you had before and all the grand ideas, and then you add more.  It is a new-age brainstorm. 

Natures Balance

Camping

Through My Eyes by Dr. Impressive Chapter 2

The Initiative Part 1
Those days are far behind me.  The house has been abandoned like i have been because the treachery was to much to bear.  All items that remind me of my past have been smashed, tore, ripped into tiny pieces.  I sprinkled them like ash around my territory, circularly around me in our bedroom and struck a match.  The flame reached his clothes and carried throughout our picture frames and then to the drapes that we picked out together.  The fire engulfed me in a circular pattern.  Rising above me and over me as if i was in a force field.  After the form fitted around me, i took one deep breath and held it in. i then carefully stepped out of my orb and re-traced my footsteps of yesterday to the front yard.  Then immediately ran to the forest where i last saw Kale.  I am not on manhunt or trying to find him because i know where he is now is were he wants to be.  You can't change a direction of a line and the same goes for a mans dreams.  Life used to make sense but now i feel if insanity has crept in.  Insomnia has definitely trapped me.  Every time i close my eyes it feels like i have developed a case of vertigo.  When darkness surrounds you, the loneliness sinks in and your security has finally left you to survive on your own.  

Life

life began as an accident just like all life is a constant, random occurrence and i can’t wait to flourish, this narcissistic perspective of mine has always proven me wrong and left me nervous but most days i just feel worthless, just like a dream or my underlining purpose.  And then comes death, that's when we finally realize we have been holding onto the edge of the surface.  Mortality is a risk just like that good night kiss because the heart can’t settle on a near miss even if our ending takes a sudden plot twist, so time weaves reality into a fabric and every generation is just a stitch.  The plague flows up to my wrists because the anger speaks louder than any fists.  But the world is not ready for me to dream, even if all the fabric follows the seams.  Just because peace is all we need doesn’t mean corruption will not always be our fiend.  And sometimes you might need to just say please.  And the only way we can conquer a notion is through a team.  But no one i know wants to win because you can’t play life like a game , just because patterns emerge doesn’t make us all the same.  It might of all started with a sun, and all some of us need is a son. But when the day is all done, just remember that no matter your age, your life has just begun. 

Midnight is in her Eyes

“Midnight, is in her Eyes”


I pressed the ridged piece of mirror against my wrist, wondering what it would feel like. A reflection of my childhood dream catcher appeared in the glass. I looked up to see it hanging above the bed. I forgot it had been there for so long, like a part of the wall it belonged there where it hung. I wondered how many nightmares the little thing had saved me from. How many terrible memories had it kept out of my head during my unconscious hours at night. Then I wondered if it had prevented any nightmares at all, shouldn’t the spiderweb net grow heavier with every nightmare? After-all how many bugs can a spiderweb hold before it breaks loose?
None of it mattered.


I wasted too much of my time thinking about minute things. I tilted the glass upwards to see my face, and in turn pressed the opposite end into my skin slightly, there’s a little bit of blood on my cheek. My eye sparkled from the light reflecting off the glass, there too dark. I never liked my brown eyes, I always wished one morning I would wake up with blue ones. My eyes looked blank, almost frozen as if I had died with my eyes open, nothing behind them. I bet it makes me very hard to read, mysterious in a way. Some girl’s find mysterious attractive I think, maybe brown eyes aren’t so bad. Something woke up the dog and he barked, I jumped, being pulled out of my thought and into reality accidentally sliding the edge against my wrist. I yelled, not in pain but at the dog. He stopped barking and I was bleeding all over the glass and down my arm. I was awkwardly calm for something like this to have just happened. I slowly put the glass down on my cluttered coffee table, the light reflected off of it again but this time at the ceiling. Painting the room in a tint of crimson red from the blood glazed over the shattered mirror.

An Argument

As i begin to feel all this commotion, my neurons start to fail because they are beginning to choke just floating too deep into the ocean,  And that notion you brought up must of been some gimmicky joke because your viewpoints would never get you to far,  while my heaven only exists inside a star, right next to the carbons and below the random elements.  that criticism didn't make me feel better it just felt like you stole my soul in an embezzlement so i back up my theory, but your fogged perspective only makes hell break loose into a violent tyranny, so i knit pick your statement and make you hate it so while i get closer to show how your wrong, you get louder to show me your strong.  But i can't take it, i am whispering and your shouting and i don't want to make this argument in one of us pouting.  So i endlessly give up even if i had the better points because your anger that you generally built up would of led to you being disappointed, so i leave your immaturity on the other side of the door, and i take your contentions and and drop them on the floor

Exploit It

I took a step back to rethink my past, slowed it down, never too fast, accept that whatever’s gone wrong has already passed and it doesn’t have to be what I think of last. I understand karma and her strict regulations, but she only brings me back stupid frustrations quietly laced in hopeless relations constantly testing my overused patience. Maybe I deserve what I get and it’s my time to pay off my debt, even though we’ve never actually met she poses too much of a threat. So I try to be nice and hold back each vice, saying everyone comes with a price as I’m tip toeing across spider web ice. It seems like the same trouble comes back around, pretending like it’s never been found to shoot up and drag me straight down sinking through the all too familiar ground. My eyes explode wide open and I wonder what was actually spoken as I search for whatever was broken or the little black book that I wrote in. I like to read through each page because it illustrates every detailed stage that induced this blinding red rage towards the fucking concept of age. I couldn’t go on without the promise of passion, so I asked for a solid brick wall to crash in, I said fuck all the money to cash in as long as I leave with only a single slashed grin. Honestly, I get bored with existence without some type of resistance so I grip on persistence towards space and more distance. I can never get too far away from the world painted gray repeating the same god damn day I stopped being okay. I spend too much time alone, sitting next to a dead quiet phone, waiting for someone to call me back home without that fuckin ‘last resort’ tone. Until that voice finally speaks out I’ll bite my tongue to discourage a shout, waiting alone filled with infinite doubt expecting someone to care what I’m really about. So I’ll try not to let the booze hit because this time I might actually lose it, but for now I’ll drift away in beautiful music.. loving the fact that I know just how to use it.

Through My Eyes by Dr. Impressive

 Currently writing chapter 2.

 Prologue

Journal Entry 15: Kaleb (11:51 A.M.) 4/13/2034

It all started with the roads. The connectivity of beings and that constant rush we always seem to be in. More and more the laborers were asked but the rapid structures and reconstructions of temporary roads did not add any benefit to time saving. It only prepared us for the inevitable. The destruction of self. We could rise later and waste longer. We could produce, reproduce and co-produce. No one was ready for the future and hopefully this wasn't our answer for it. The physical structures that stamped our races pride and top-of-the-food-chain mentality. We won, or so we think. The more we build, the less we can sustain in the ever fading twilight of the future. Our next generation, ever-growing, ever producing will have to either shove their feet in the sand or start trampling the reasons we are here. Soon they are going to have to forget about one tense. Obviously the present is ominous and greedy. The past is charming but ill-important. You can only learn so much and hold so much knowledge. And the future, the reason we pro-create ceases to exist. Why plan when we can spend? Why prioritize when we could live ignorantly blind? If only the Mockingbird could bring them shame.

Day 03

I remember writing this a few months ago during a few sleepless night or so. Day 03 was originally going to be—and very well may still be—a series of fictional telegrams sent from a man at sea to his wife, whom he left ashore. How he managed to do such a task is beyond even me. I haven't read it since. While it's not great, I imagine it to be tolerable. I will save my greater self for a later occasion.

Day 03:

And here my boat rests in monotony as the sea laps at its withering figure. She has seen better days, and I hold only myself accountable as her ventures know only that of failure due in part to my foolishness in believing in my own abilities. Already, I find hope to be in short supply. Nevertheless to abandon what is left would surely announce defeat and this night is too benevolent to claim me as her victim. There, out my quarter’s window, across and again, above the horizon, hangs a crescent of impervious magnificence. I should wish to know what it finds as humorous as I’ve not a reason to be smiling, but I shall not contest in the notion of its greater knowledge.

The depth of these waters does leave one nothing, but the romantic desire to measure his own. Below is the result of such a sea as these:

I would imagine in examination of one’s self, one must first begin with a concise representation of what he holds as truth—not what has been claimed as true or even proven as true, but what he himself has discovered as true, his truth. Subsequently one must doubt those truths with alacrity and vigor if he should wish to ascertain his truths to their finite, metaphysical degree. Only then will he know the weight of himself. In sparing you the details (and my searching for words) to this developing philosophy, for now, I shall only mention passion as my truth.

I trust you are sleeping since my last telegram that I can only assume has found you by now, but this is mere wishful thinking on my behalf and perhaps you’ve not cared to read upon its page as to deny the extent of my leave. If that may be, here is me hoping the fate of this document a different one.

My love, you must understand: Nothing is your fault. When my heart so wishes to hear you calling, the amorous warmth of memory will guide me over this bitter sea and land my feet upon the shore. My heart hears only that which it cannot find, for it has lost itself. It is somewhere out here, waiting for me. And, my love, you must understand that I will find it.

 

I drew this picture in October of 2009 for my girlfriend on our 6 month anniversary.  It was done in all pen and the concept is based on the word sanctuary.  The island is supposed to represent some sort of heaven.  I guess my heaven.  A place I do not want to end up after i die but rather enter while i am living.  It's floating in the sky because it's supposed to represent the struggle and journey it will take me to overcome to find such a place.  It might not even be a physical entity but a state of mind.  The words around the Island say "The Island is in your mind and mine makes up the sky/ The noises we hear make up the wind and the love we have lets us spin"  This is probably one of my favorite pieces of art that i have ever done because not only did i spend the most time on it (10-20 hours) but its bold and has really open me up back into artwork which i strayed away from for at least 3 years.