Friday, January 20, 2012

Still...If, I lost

If, I lost my vision
I would still be able to see you
If, I lost my hearing
I still would be able to hear you
I still…
Frozen in time and space
I experience the present of the moment
Where memories exist
Beyond the past and future torments
If, I lost my touch with my senses
I would be able to feel you
If, I lost my sense of smell
I still would be able to smell you enter the door
I still…

Stand among broken branches
Where leaves grow
The trunk maybe split
The roots still are where life flows
If, I lost my tongue
I still would be able to talk
Tasting the sweet and sour aroma
Of our conversations
If, I lost my life
I still would live a happy death
I still…
Walk upright, loins girt
Footprints connected
To Mother Earth
Giving birth to a movement
If, I lost my heart beat in the chaos of the city
I still would be able to dance with you
If, I lost my mind
I still would be able to remember you
I still…
Stand strong
You gave me life
And I still know
That any moment I could be lost

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

Two Year Old Bottled Ghost World

From the belly of the beast I was reborn in the crease of the devil’s street. I was born with sin’s indebted by samsara. I was afraid to build relationships to live in because everyone stops breathing. I protected my self by building walls of regrets and refused to move close to anyone that had a heart. The bass of their heart caused me to tremble. And if they climbed the walls while I was not looking, immediately I would give them a Machavelian push to step on their heart to catapult me over any foreseeable obstacle. Water length guilt filled my soul that I constantly felt like I was drowning in my own sorrows.

Every night I would fall into an alcohol induced coma only to be awaken by the reality of my nightmares. Careless mysteries never tempted me to come out of my shell. I was content with the pain that I was sustaining because I felt that I deserved it. If, I could have exchanged breaths with him and my firstborn on their death bed I would have laid my life down at their feet. But, I was incapable of such sacrifices. After they fell asleep I burnt my skin with the memories clothed in his words, shadows of his smile, and his or her firsts.

Day in and day out, I lived for eight years as a city nomad. There was not a heart that I wanted to trust. Until one day the city introduced me to a love that I was unable to ignore. It turned my world upside down and rolled my lifeless body over and breathed life into me. hEr essence whistled through my nose and I woke up and saw an image that resembled my father. This is the day that I decided that impermanence is impermanent. Life is forever changing and if I live with the desire of the past I will remain the age that I was when I buried my father. Time is has no mercy on man. And I should not have mercy on time.

Tales of the crypt no longer course the streets of my mind. I walk the alleys of my consciousness and embrace those who live lonely in cardboard mansions. The space in between my heart and my mind is reserved for those who want to help me expand said space to the point my physical body can no longer take the pressure. They will find neither pleasure or pain taking the pressure and BEing with me. The blues do not fill my eyes. The weight from under my eyes fall short of holding me down. I was baptized in the gutter of her stomach and my colorless skin peeled off like dead snake skin. A love scripture was sketched on the surface of my heart. I had to translate it to my mind. I didn’t want to later be lost in translation. With this word imbedded in my existence the drunk ghosts are bottled up. Today marks the day 2years ago that they began to swim everywhere, but here.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Ugly Beauty in the Rearview Mirror

Do you know the Tristan Rêveur quote about bad art? It's "bad art is more tragically beautiful than good art 'cause it documents human failure." - Ryan Gosling "Stay"

Sometimes, I like to sit in the driver’s seat and look into the rearview mirror. It’s almost like watching a bad documentary. However, it is my life and I enjoy the lessons I learn and am learning. The lessons are my cocoon, but they allow me to spread my wings and fly. But, they also ground me. I sit in motion and the reflection drives me back to a place and a loneliness I don’t want to visit again. Solitude was my only comrade. Everyone had abandoned me. I reached out the door, wanting to be saved, and there was not one hand that sought mine in return. Darkness held my hand. But, now I am in a space that the past is only distant memories. The reflection of the past pulls away in the rearview mirror and I notice I am unable to see the man I used to be. People look different to me. Their skin looks softer.

Truth be told, we are all homeless and looking for a heart to lay their sorrows on so to lessen the weight of the daily struggle. I unsure why people look down those who live on the street. They work too. We all work to survive. And surviving is more tumultuous than giving up. The reality is this state of being is not our home. “We live alone and die alone. Everything in between is an illusion.“ So, what it the point of the struggle? I don't want them to struggle any longer. The point is we neither struggle to live or live to struggle. We live and we experience.

Webster’s Dictionary states, “Experience is the totality of the cognitions given by perception; all that is perceived, understood, and remembered.” There is no point, other than to live. But, while we are here we might as well say something. What do you have to say? I want to say, “I love you and I don‘t want to see you struggle.” I want to share with the world the words I feel scaling the walls in my head in the morning when I experience my first breath. I want to breathe this breath into the world. I don’t want to simply observe my breath aimlessly go everywhere, but nowhere. I want to draw with my breath the shadows that create images of ugly beauty or beautiful ugliness because both are my reality.

The memories of yesteryear are not me. The memories that I squeeze from my hippocampus and or front lobe are confirmation that I am a new man. I cannot change your perspective on the way you see me, but change can help you realize you are new too. As the wheels turn, my eyes see change outside the windows. I can remember when I once looked out the window. I was only able to view recorded shadows on repeat. My whole life has changed since love shook me awake. Love has pulled my eyelids up like Venetian blinds. In my eyes are the world and forces of life allow me to see the light and the infinite possibilities that exist in my soul’s open windows. I am. I am able to focus on the road in front me.