After a long stretch of silence.

A neon "open" sign hangs above my head, suspended in the corner of my right eye. It loams, a gory red. It is subdued, especially in the context of a coffee shop window open 24 hours. The sign scarcely rests and has lost its vigor to blaze like only the vivacity of electric red should.
I'm sipping rejuve tea. The hot liquid burns my mouth slightly and warms my throat. I want to dunk my entire body in the steamy stew of herbs until I dissolve. I could dissolve or I could float. It doesn't matter either way. I will still be apart of this huge soup.

Sam and I were talking the other night about his brother. Sam described himself as having a textbook approach things, where as his brother provided a more "accessible" explanations of his ideas. I wasn't quite sure what he meant by that. --- I would guess that "textbook person" would describe someone who has a well thought, drawn out explanation to and might include references to other thinkers who have insights relevant to the idea being expressed. Basically, someone good at writing college essays. I think I'll look up what others have to say about the definition...

(10 minutes later)

Okay, I couldn't find a satisfactory definition on the web. Next I seem him I'll ask him what he means. 

Hay, there is my old therapist in the sitting at a round table wearing studio headphones. It is a sign that I should start repeating positive affirmations to myself-- something I stopped doing, but helped while in practice.

Well, my hour of writing is up. I'm going to try this everyday.

Peace, love and all the flowers in British Columbia.

Hiatus OVer

These long stretches without writing can be so debilitating. I sometimes forget my writing persona and that I was ever writing for an audience. I only have one person following this blog. I don't even see this person anymore. (That doesn't mean we're not still friends, Brad!) Its just that I am probably not writing to anyone else but myself. (And Brad) Still, I feel like I am broadcasting to ubiquitous audience.  I am going to allot myself this exercise this once, just until I find my groovation.  I'll just continue typing until I can shed enough rust to get back into the swing. I went quite a while without writing. 3 weeks actually! Beside writing prompted journal entries that were pretty sterile and time efficient, I didn't have much time for creative output.

I went to Thailand about a week and a half ago to study sustainable tourism. I learned a canterburytales's worth of content. -I'll try to write about it later. 

Different

The blond strings of protein,
attached to your head that
lay flat by your ears, past your shoulders,
are slaves to the winds tug
and caked with oily perspiration.
You sit outside sipping tea
watching your primate species
 meander about.
You picked up a couple novels
from recycled books
over sociology, your field of study.
"One day I'll understand them," you say
and one day you will understand yourself.

My friend Richard stopped by the coffee shop where I'm sitting now. I felt inspired to write about him while he was in sight. Then he left explaining the brevity of the poem.

Well

I received reiki the other day. It provided tremendous insight into myself.

My soul is a well
where I fish
for the hundreds of monsters
shifting and slimming.

I feel their claws now and then,
scrape the arched walls
of the serpentine gape 
itching for absolve.

I toss chemicals into
the brick cylinder
wishing for their death.
I wouldn't dare look.

Their faces--too hideous,
at first, but as become
familiar. I see a likeness.

Prism

Prism

Prism mind, speak me something.
Speak something hard and fast
past this dusty comforter
where my foot dangles, the cobbler's last.


I dip my fingertips into
hot wax candle pools,
let it cast around my nails,
then peel it away when the warmth cools.

I refuse to give myself credit
for such paltry desire
 My flesh sulks in atonement.
“It was just a harmless fire.”

Bewildered suit when will you
mature enough to rip
from each limp seam
until your fabric slips.

The haze of “needs”
amuses my focus
like a cat fondling string
vapid and useless.

I just want my mind.
I will leave my body .

Music on the Radio

The music I recently recorded will be playing on 88.1 KNTU this Saturday between 7-9pm if any one in this grand universe is interested.

Poimm

Stuarts Wilt

How did you and I become so insecure?
Why were we drawn together
like wilted flowers
barely thriving under the shade?

Am I not rooted here
in permanent denial
of my strengths?
Rain pities us in excess.

Here we are clinging to one another,
despising pieces that are familiar;
parts that remind us
of ourselves. 

Will you always listen to me?
"Always, until the day I destroy you."

Too afraid to disentangle
we slowly cave under toxicity
Our fleshy stems
languish, darken and bend.


This is so depressing, but I think it is a huge issue among People in relationships... err..

Pleasant

I am feeling present. there is a serene look on my face. My eyes are closed. I am listening to the sounds and conversations around me. Soft, slow descending debris erupt by my ears. I attach color and light to them. I am so unsure. I feel blissfully ignorant. I am not searching for answers to explain the experience. I do not regard it as extraordinary or significant. It is a feeling of being on the verge of understanding and being right beneath the surface. I am content with this status. I do not need anything. I do not want anything. I have much farther to run, but am patient in my walk. I am, which can never be accurately depicted in language.  

You lanky thing with erratic hair
You androgynous angelic portrait
Though your body construct is to that of David 
Your demeanor is admittedly feminine
Masculine in shape and delicate in motion
I look at you like an optical illusion
I see a man sitting adorning a bandana
and a women with braided lengthy locks
You speak to me as if you were like me
At the same time knowing you are entirely different.
Do you long to be like me?
Do you appreciate the swiftness of your male figure
and the almost hyperbolic femininity of your nature?
I am delighted by both of your characters.
What does that say about me?
Do I  not too, a women, share characteristics of your sex?
Do I move with grace or coarseness?
Who is to assign and categorize these characteristics?
Is it more common, a construct or some of both?
Do I not lead, bend and take?
Can I not objectify you and abandoned you?