the present. a powerful idea that you must regularly internalize, seep into your subconscious. a sponge with all the seas soaked inside, but not spilling one bit.
one second passes, and you feel your surroundings...
--
"when will you realize me?" law asks. he isn't spinning a dagger or twig in his hand; rather, a firecracker. "let me be the firework artist inside you."
--
stay close to your arts, your feathers dipped in black ink, dripping at your command, twirling at your fingertips. tell a story with the arts around you; analyze out of curiosity with the probabilistic, machine tools you gather in research; but ultimately, pour out the expressions from the contained orbits of planets that drift about that teary child scribbling madly away, talking to himself, dancing with tiny toys in his hand.
--
"thanks for being honest."
they hadn't said a word, but I could feel it. the breath churning the sea and capsizing my ship. the only one aboard.
It's not about them. Their perspective or any of that - ignore it. It's playing for yourself. Feel yourself wanting to express at that particular time-space moment. It just so happens there are others there.
--
probably too sensitive
--
is there a message brewing inside - a witch's pot stirring slowly with colorless fumes drifting up, sealing the ceiling's cracks shut, condensing and dribbling down the stone walls of a dark cavern where you claimed - "hermit" - away from people, away from yourself. cubes and puzzles lay strewn about the stone floor, where you lay a fuzzy carpet, the kind that makes you sneeze. the pieces of the puzzles are coming off. some you tore off in frustration. of their complexity. or of their simplicity.
the message: keep it short. the world is too vast to allow such drawling tempos and sinking melodies that vaporize, launch us into a stupor midway through. we're shrinking our time capsules and downsizing the time range. perhaps cutting off keys from the keyboard, too.
constraint creates creativity. brevity, expressiveness.
drink this message whole and let the grapefruit boil and steam your throat as the revelation startles your intestines and makes you heart pound more meticulously, more carefully - not with speed, but with precision, with daring, with bravery, with concision and alacrity.
also - the pains of your days should be stored in a bottle to drink later so you can fuel the flaming arts, the pouring inclination of thoughts, that expressiveness. it fills you up like a bottle and tosses you out to sea, and you "know not where you're going for the ocean will decide" - where will you wash up? you don't know, but at some shore on some island where you can find a cavern to brew a pot of colorless fumes and a drink to pour onto the walls and melt a message there, something for the next person who washes up on shore to internalize.
sunset is opening the cracks of the ceiling of this cavern, letting moonlight in.
we step out to the moonlight - it's so bright, it feels like sunrise. we stretch. we take out our chisels. it's time to start chipping away at this cave, the surrounding stone; start carving a masterpiece. do you have enough pain to fuel it?
--
true talent and ability. kind and modest. quietly inspiring. what a human being to be friends with.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Thursday, January 16, 2014
dissipate
what is this lethargy - this sluggishness around me?
the smoke dissipates as the workload comes on. he rubs the smog off his curved glasses, leaving a gray spot on his shirt. a strange silence consumes him as he bumbles about in his apartment...
--
hypnotism - a very real thing - exploiting the weaknesses (?) of the mind. more evidence of this bodily burden. how do you know you're not hypnotized right now? like how do you know you're not dreaming... the same question. our identity is a bumbling mess that relies on our memories, but even those aren't secure. the wheel breaks the butterfly, but the butterfly may not have noticed, flapping about to fly up to the sun while it is actually falling. it doesn't know. a faded collage brushes its paint across my face, making me look silly as I sit about and lay claims to "depth" not "breadth" in my work, when he really knows nothing. clever whims, yells, lost and searching - you have to trust that you don't know what you want, as always, and that this breadth for the remainder of your time here is breadth that shall leave an imprint, more than just footprints on sand that washes over within the day, but actual burn marks on the gaps of your imbibing heart and mind; subtleties that drive your subconscious. yeah, that. it's still lurking, or sleeping, or standing by watching, as you try to train to master yourself, but you have to train the subconscious to work in unison with your conscious. find that peace and calm, that complete unity in action and work. the clutter should vaporize; wisps of faint white drifting upward and then blowing away with the wind.
it's hard to see, but the subtlety
shakes the ground beneath your feet
can't walk straight without watching
the silent guidance which you can't keep
trust that you don't know - trust that it's all in the process, all in the process, all in the process...
the smoke dissipates as the workload comes on. he rubs the smog off his curved glasses, leaving a gray spot on his shirt. a strange silence consumes him as he bumbles about in his apartment...
--
hypnotism - a very real thing - exploiting the weaknesses (?) of the mind. more evidence of this bodily burden. how do you know you're not hypnotized right now? like how do you know you're not dreaming... the same question. our identity is a bumbling mess that relies on our memories, but even those aren't secure. the wheel breaks the butterfly, but the butterfly may not have noticed, flapping about to fly up to the sun while it is actually falling. it doesn't know. a faded collage brushes its paint across my face, making me look silly as I sit about and lay claims to "depth" not "breadth" in my work, when he really knows nothing. clever whims, yells, lost and searching - you have to trust that you don't know what you want, as always, and that this breadth for the remainder of your time here is breadth that shall leave an imprint, more than just footprints on sand that washes over within the day, but actual burn marks on the gaps of your imbibing heart and mind; subtleties that drive your subconscious. yeah, that. it's still lurking, or sleeping, or standing by watching, as you try to train to master yourself, but you have to train the subconscious to work in unison with your conscious. find that peace and calm, that complete unity in action and work. the clutter should vaporize; wisps of faint white drifting upward and then blowing away with the wind.
it's hard to see, but the subtlety
shakes the ground beneath your feet
can't walk straight without watching
the silent guidance which you can't keep
trust that you don't know - trust that it's all in the process, all in the process, all in the process...
Sunday, January 5, 2014
away but together
law sat across and folded his hands. his eyes beckoned me to describe the dream.
she got married - later scene, different situation, we were cuddling before a movie, head down on her lap; inner trappings of my thoughts, a subtle representation of things on my mind?
law didn't say anything and instead vanished.
we went to meditate before sleep in the first hour of new year's.
--
as much as you love them, you also want to get away from them.
"imagine a smooth lake before you," ev began, "so smooth, the surface looks like glass, not a ripple across the sky's refl– "
"no," law cuts in, pushing her aside. I keep my eyes closed in the process. "don't imagine. open your eyes. it's there."
I open, and the glassy surface is before my feet. musty woods surround the portal of the lake. I bend down and touch a finger to its surface...
tiny waves glide across like figure skaters, bouncing and colliding to form some unintelligible pattern.
the moment I lift my finger out, the skaters vanish. the ripples stabilize as though they never were.
law nods as he watches. all the rage seems to have left and sunk to the depth of the lake in that soft touch. my finger isn't even wet.
I sit back in the chair. after I sit, strangely, I find my feet on the surface of the water, still glassy smooth. the chair's front legs are in the lake also. the chair wasn't there before.
"don't turn around. instead, close your eyes." law advises, but his voice seems farther away. I can tell that I am not where I was. I feel as though I'm in the middle of the lake.
I close my eyes. the smoothness of the lake can be felt through the pores of my skin.
the chair tilts forward and I plunge in. I open my eyes -
not underwater, not in the sky, but back in my room, with law and ev there, by my side, as though nothing happened.
together, in all our journeys, regardless of whoever is outside this bedroom's door.
--
those shrieks and absurd songs out the door and downstairs. go away, law and ev say, to the noises about. that internal peace should not be disturbed by...
those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.
"to think them beneath you, yet still look up to them and constantly keep yourself in check. their words have no bearing - only you are you." law says, one hand on zy shoulder. tell them, "don't tell me what I should do; I am me and you are you; you may make recommendations, and I may consider; but in the end, this mind is my nation, and no one else is allowed."
she got married - later scene, different situation, we were cuddling before a movie, head down on her lap; inner trappings of my thoughts, a subtle representation of things on my mind?
law didn't say anything and instead vanished.
we went to meditate before sleep in the first hour of new year's.
--
as much as you love them, you also want to get away from them.
"imagine a smooth lake before you," ev began, "so smooth, the surface looks like glass, not a ripple across the sky's refl– "
"no," law cuts in, pushing her aside. I keep my eyes closed in the process. "don't imagine. open your eyes. it's there."
I open, and the glassy surface is before my feet. musty woods surround the portal of the lake. I bend down and touch a finger to its surface...
tiny waves glide across like figure skaters, bouncing and colliding to form some unintelligible pattern.
the moment I lift my finger out, the skaters vanish. the ripples stabilize as though they never were.
law nods as he watches. all the rage seems to have left and sunk to the depth of the lake in that soft touch. my finger isn't even wet.
I sit back in the chair. after I sit, strangely, I find my feet on the surface of the water, still glassy smooth. the chair's front legs are in the lake also. the chair wasn't there before.
"don't turn around. instead, close your eyes." law advises, but his voice seems farther away. I can tell that I am not where I was. I feel as though I'm in the middle of the lake.
I close my eyes. the smoothness of the lake can be felt through the pores of my skin.
the chair tilts forward and I plunge in. I open my eyes -
not underwater, not in the sky, but back in my room, with law and ev there, by my side, as though nothing happened.
together, in all our journeys, regardless of whoever is outside this bedroom's door.
--
those shrieks and absurd songs out the door and downstairs. go away, law and ev say, to the noises about. that internal peace should not be disturbed by...
those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind.
"to think them beneath you, yet still look up to them and constantly keep yourself in check. their words have no bearing - only you are you." law says, one hand on zy shoulder. tell them, "don't tell me what I should do; I am me and you are you; you may make recommendations, and I may consider; but in the end, this mind is my nation, and no one else is allowed."
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