dont know why we go back when its time to progress & we are almost there

it's brake - not break

flip the lid on the side of the tray charcoal grays transcend the mood
water down yr throat but your not finished yet.
create disassemble reattach mark the heart or perhaps detach the heart mind body soul stop trying so hard just do
i should tell myself the same thing....



catching butterflies on tongues of slippery things; with a heart thumping out of its throat you grab one,

ready set edit

lead me towards the grandiose noise !
w/ a wet romantic ear attached to yr brainy nose
that was once kissed by the Egyptians who stood with honor,
whispering 'don't look into the eyes on the walls'
lurking in pieces of me and you through symbols that will long outlive silicon tits & men in black.....(outofplace)
yet the writings engraved full throttle at the neck of it all with the symbols choking the dog
but beyond it
you wore your crown of glory
y-y-yet i don't expect you to understand
love that was found through buffalo coined nickels
in 1929, you weren't even alive kid.
& still, the eggshells broken cost more then what it meant to be a spy

I saw you weeping beneath the willow tree:
tight ass, shriveled balls, coward in the corner, your a crybaby but daddys favourite toy don't you remember? go ahead, sip on another martini with the fuzzy dice hanging from the windshield blades. oh you, your so angelic with your ways. with the seat down & on it you wanted it all, but could anyone hear your sighs? & now you weep beneath the willow, dressed in womans clothes with a sense of urge for secrecy.
we're not fooled. and for the sasssy asquash who mad you mums pudding this ones to you
and for the one

Some are old

Well, all are old. Some may have not been posted (maybe though)

to the stump:
crawl out of yr roots / seep yr maple in my eyes / teach me green envy

to my buffalo:
where do yr souls roam / when wilder beast known as men / skinned yr hides for fun?


childhood:
damn the lies they told! / colour me in fairytales / ...gimme back my dreams

the skyline:
fuck you picasso / with yr blue phase you jaded / pink sunflower skies

skyline take 2:
a tramp on the run / blue reflects in her stale eyes / of whats yet to come

skyline take 3:
sea shore brings bottles / from long distance lost lovers / with paper thin notes

to a muse:
you told your disease / not faith in chaos she said / real eyez YR brilliant !

valleys & wind please
yes, thats whats to come of me
soon enough i'm free

cauliflower land
hiccuped through the valley
sway on, green envy

you bring the bullshit
i bring random hissy fits
lets create some hits !

don't play hide and seek
she echoed to the rambler
your my muse . . . really !


little girl echoes words:
1 more story of the west
then we get some rest

lemon breath you reek
of a bitter boy syndrome
you need sugar canes.

lemon aid takes two
parts sugar, one part lemon
care to join the mix?

i would have not went
if it wasnt for these writes
so thank you, goodnight

marriage is frugal:
we'll forget all the good parts
and become such bores

of westward daydreams,
i'm not sturdy like tree trunks
. . .my mind drifts likes leaves

green meadow hop along
perhaps rewind to sad songs
now that you are gone

my twilight reader
true, the stars move yr calm soul
i cant be yr vamp.

frigid cold wind breeze
sand in toes, you sing to me
the song of the sea

so i'll move out west
and perhaps be a poor bore
at least theres no chores !

oh, boo forever
i'm always star gazing now
lost in translation?

once upon a dream

i mean i had to get past the whole "my girl is in a loving relationship with him" thing-- but its really cool now!

round 2

back again so soon? he sneers. i thought i had my way with you already...
yes.
this is me versus the machine.
this is me standing at 121 pounds, against a 3 pound object. a different battle, yet the similarities are mind bending.

i sit, pressing my fingertips to the robots fingertips in order to spell out a word, conduct a sentence. these are not just symbols anymore.
this is me not memorizing the keys and using a direct stream of conscious.
this is me, possibly boring (or rather, too rational for my self liking)
this is my first attempt at attempting to control my phsyiological methods of perception, in the most basic of forms, through my senses.
i'm at war with the symbols and machine (the robot in front of me) which i let dictate many aspects of my life.

chomp on it and get back to me please

strange how natural it feels to fall asleep beside a lovers skin and bones. nothing is put on the shelf or hidden away: instead, all is out to be explored and learned . its pure and its raw & i remember a conversation with a friend once, discussing the measurement of love, and 1) how can we measure it if we have never truly known it? 2) how can anyone compare their love, since we all have different experiences / perceptions? it is an interesting concept that comes back to me from time to time. I know from my standards what i observe, perceive, aknowledge, understand, take in, digest, and so forth. but what about through anothers eyes? it is a bit exciting to know that even if i make an attempt to perceive the world through anothers eyes and mind frame, i will really never have any clue what they are thinking, because we have not had the same idential experiences. maybe, anyway.
thoughts anyone?

strange condition

it is indeed when the mind shifts . . . unlike the past, it has been an upward trend. go lizzys mind ! the market is finally shifting in an upward line. (sitting here, daydreaming of economics and my mind acting as some sort of flow mpr chart...if that is even what it is called)

i have not written in a long time, much of anything. instead, i've been discovering new albums put out by old bands. i've been reading little; more or less have only been stimulated through sound. re-learning all the words forgotten from an old cd, hearing new songs put out and trying to tap along to the beats (forgivemylackofrhythm) etc etc. i don't know where i was going with this .
---
watching through shifty eyes, you smoke yr cigarette, steady in hand, posture at a 90 degree angle. i sit, with poor posture to blame, blank slate yet curiously driven. awake and day dreaming thinking back to society and the media on a whole: baurillads (spelling?) theory on simulacra in fact: are all meanings really replaced now by symbols? have we little representation of the actual meaning? is everything surrounding us a mere artifact ? do words belong in a museum?

this year i would like to work on my use of words. i was never good with linguistics. i use words in all the wrong context, and it gets me in trouble (rather, people annoyed)

so, adieu lolz and plz and short term due to my lack of lazy typing. (maybe anyway)
hello actually reading, aknowledging in a timely fashion, and making an attempt to not be so god damn anti social and really listen.

other idea for this year is look at mostly positives. a chomsky quote i may have posted in here before, but good for this moment:

“Whether a person feels positive or not is kind of a comment on their personality and of no great interest. You can find positive signs or you can find negative signs. How you evaluate them depends on something that happened in your life recently or something like that. There's no objective way to do it. The important thing is you try to commit yourself to making the positive signs more real. Suppose you felt that there's 99 percent of a probability that human civilization is going to be destroyed in the next hundred years, but one percent chance it won't be, and that one percent offers some opportunities to do something. Well, you commit yourself to that one percent.” CHOMSKY.

leonard cohen reads beautiful losers

Beautiful Losers is what drove me to insanity. it's what drove me to writing for a bit. it drove me to a lot of strange compelling thoughts, etc.

(missing you at 10pm is a drag of a cigarette

strange now to think of you, plus two hundred miles away from what i call yr home. the oil paints drip off the loosely stretched canvas onto the 4 lonely sunflowers. the sunflowers sit, perched over & slouching a bit in a transparent vase as i await yr return. i too sit slouched over a bit, killing time by watching the hamsa dangle off my tiny wrist & staring at the letters on my screen. in defense of the evil eye i must say, even all the first edition bukowskis could not have this emotion stray away. & while the smell of turpentine lingers in my sheets i can't help but be reminded that two hundred minutes ago you had filled those sheets with yr tom ford cologne. all that is left is to sit slouching and waiting, while chain smoking the reds you left here for me.
and so i realize it is time to let it unfold.

(collection of memories )

sometimes i like to ramble cause i can

leave me with grandiose noise !
w/ a wet romantic ear attached to yr brainy nose
that was once kissed by the Egyptians
whispering 'don't look into the eyes on the walls'
symbols creating jibber jabber nonsense full throttle at the neck of it all
you wore your
y-y-yet i don't expect you to understand
love that was found through buffalo coined nickels
in 1929, you weren't even alive kid.
& still, the eggshells broken cost more then what it meant to be a spy

lets be other people

im writing to you. the creator telling you
or maybe
yr wrting to me
on how to be a new person
yet im stuck in old traps and yr a saint and i am finally fucking a saint 23 years its taken, or was it 29?
its a new journey.

old
& why did i stumble upon you? was the whole journey embarked to meet you? to write you this letter? to let (?) arise? nonexistances? should i accept all and connect nothing with this? im dampened in my paintines the oneS lying in the corner now....
what did they do to u
why did u ever arrive
do u keep past secrets hidden?
what do you avoid?
how did you let go of your past so easy?
is it so hard with me so its not spoken of?
im running towards my pen again
help me pick up the pieces
let me be yr cheerleader
sing me sad songs
let me conquer life so you too conquer life
will my insatiable curiousity starve me?
did it already?
why do you love me in my way?
how did u know?
am i too downhearted lately?
its because i miss you
no
its because i dont want to do this alone
only with you
i was waiting for yr arrival before i could ever write you these words
why is this all connecting so delicately?
yr teaching me how much i loathe my own self pity
no more self victim role for me
never fit quite right
for so long i was lost in ()
im found in yr arms now
wrapping me in the same shape as them

after i fucked you like you were some omnipotent creatore
a same of todays way
truisms were now revealed
moths still fly near the lights
neighbors are seen walking their dogs
birds begin to chirxp
all of lifes trivials trot on but you boby
you opened the light.
it was all a facade before.
i had to do this
delve into my own brain to realize this
before this my past was not real. my experiences were warped so id be ready for the benefits of you&me
when did you decide to love me?

lucifer

yr fit for yr days like a suit hemmed on fifth avenue, slinking in the window display, yr on yr toes, sharp as a tact, a rough patched beard to match, a crooked smile, daunting sea breeze eyes only an old soul could carry.
love found under yr hat pressed firmly to yr mind , molded like clay a part of you within my life now
found


unfinished

weeping willow

also from rehab days

there is a weeping willow tree beside my weeping bench for my weeping withered soul to sit beneath. i'm so scared to lose you. yr the old bull still walking through the pasture. i am not ready for you to go yet.

he's so sick, getting old serving his words carefully to me - tinged with hope and wisdom hes wacky but not so much anymore. i hate being away. always scared. weeping willow, do me some good.
broken nose x seven
over broken teeth
weak bones
decaying muscles
yet
yr stronger than a bull
hair in yr ears
no dream too pretty to heal

yr voice remains strong no sign of yr weakness
clever are the words you served breathed into me

will death bring you okinawa again? or the pyramids? you married, had children.
hindsight of your dreams.

this will be edited one day

OLD

there is a flicker inside my heart: two matchsticks if you will, keeping the spark lit. with shaky palms, it fumbles. often times it wont light. other times, the flame turns iridescent, burns so bright it creates this indigo apocalyptic explosion. the unknown explore these matches in amazement. sometimes, they shake. others are careful. they work hard to keep the spark going. bad blood puts that spark right out. its silly you see. the matches were in the makers heart all along caring. she passed them along to be shared. unknowingly, sometimes the others hands/minds were too shaky and fumbled to try to keep it lit. they did not have the patience. its okay though: the spark is mine and mine alone. i must keep it lit. ignore the jealous ones. the disapprovers. the ones who are always right. they mean no harm. they just don't know better.

come back

i need to find myself i dont want to do this i cant do it again but i want to so very badly choices are trite and cheapened ay?

communication breakdown

god damnit, you always were unconventional. you hated using rubber bands & erasers & you'd never call me lady cause it'd feel wrong & you'd deny your insatiable sexual appetite but only because you were not so very good, & i always wondered where you grew up. when provoked or asked anything of the sort you'd never tell the truth, instead just state: i never grew up anywhere but on mars . . .

something always got yr attention steered clear of me. yet you'd turn over and mutter in a sleepy kiss wake up & i'd reply with a snap - wide awake its morning ! & oh and tell me a story of the buffalos. or can i tell you a story never learned of arizona? just one more tall tale of the suns setting on the horizons. oh ! & do you think those rusted rocks drip with paint when it's too hot? can one chip the rock bits off and create aztec designs swirled into clothing & minds? please tell me just one more bedtime story? it's so lonely over here, i am begging you.
well, here it goes lady: you are nothing but something cool when you are young one forgot to grow out of.
the end.

a mash^

chills hit the back of the throat no sooner or later than the hairs on a back. a shake to the leg & a twitch to the lips & you land just to take-off. yes at it again captain - off to the horizons, beyond the sea. arriving here & leaving there while thoughts bounce off yr binaural brain-waves, which we mistaken for another game of pac-man. here is a boundary so many have crossed yet so few have succeeded to bend the elasticity of their minds to reach new thresholds. what did you say captain? aim for the apologizes?

perhaps you are correct. perhaps i owe you all an apology. you see, this was never of my intent. the games were not meant for dismissal, meant to be traded for a journey into the end of time. but alas, i was pushed back to the beginning & now terms must be dealt with. you always said, you must know the rules before you begin to play. lose & you will be sent back to start. simple as that. fall down the chute while you reach for the ladders & nothing good will ever come. I never did excel in comprehensive listening classes.

& i never meant to get entangled and trapped, either. nevertheless, hide & seek at recess is over. everyone's invited to show & tell now. here there is a strange rebirth occuring in my mind. look into these grey faded eyes, slowing finding colour again. please justlook watch these eyes as i begin the story & understand why this journey has to ocur. but we cannot go back. no going back, there is new. we will find the mystery.
and remember, there are no shortcuts. you will not awake a heaven scented angel. you will never become a sunflower .ginsberg was wrong.

(because i need you)

i'm fearing my small heart again. it's true, i wanted to find a saint. i wanted miracles to blind my tired eyes. perhaps they have. but what you wish never equates to the small facing truth of what you get. yes, miracles of others shine through. but does the shine needs to come from within? what can i say? what can i do? i wanted my xray vision to blind the inner cores of others. i wanted inspiration of mine to leak into heavy hearts of street passers. i wanted to play savior. i'm not used to needing saving. (this is all just a lie now) i wanted my body to dangle like sunflowers perched on a windowsill pocket hidden apartment on the lower east side. i wanted a brainy mind with cracked parts for the bad parts to be hidden in & leak into. i wanted to conduct experiments on boys who forgot to shape their minds. i wanted to show them electrical waves to find their way home. i wanted to follow yellow lines on the road & find MY way home. i wanted faded pictures of brautigan to give shape to me. i wanted to experience the visions only mystics dreamt of. elevate from the chaos, giving myself away to chance. & you, wearing only a beard as a saint would, you, having heavy blue eyes, seeing past the chaos. you, you came for me. & yet, i still find myself speaking through parenthesis.