Finally

Ready to die 

Too heavy to cry 

Aspire for nice wings 

So I can steadily fly. 

Sick of interpretations

Sick of your perfect hatred 

Sick of you workin late and

Feeling like I’ve been taking 

All of this love for granted 

Sick of this fucking planet 

Really I can’t stand it. 

Really I’m just a phantom 

A shadow of a former self 

That wasn’t even whole 

It’s been ten years 

Of me searching for my soul 

At the hands of the unfinished 

hands of the broken 

So I’m alone w a mac, maschine, and a Roland. 

And I dream of just floating 

I think we’re just hopeless 

Drink somethin potent

Hoping you notice 

My self destructive tendencies 

Looking outside for the inside enemy. 

All the things you said to me 

I let it rest in peace 

God descend from the heavenly 

Been on some fucked shit 

Since I was seventeen 

When I told you the truth 

You told me you’d never leave. 

But what a load of crock

Wow I’m so shocked 

Now I need to stop 

Chilling on the block 

Stay workin in my room 

Until I finally get my shot. 

The Shaman

Want to know something about the Shaman? 

He’s not Jesus. He’s just a guy who stumbled by accident upon the waters of eternal life. 

Making pie is not about immortality. 

It is about leaving his burdens behind. 

Getting out of his mind. 

Away from himself. 

From his sins.

His memories. 

His past. 

But his past isn’t going anywhere. 

It’s as present as the noon day sun hanging over the Pacific. 

He wakes up and faces it every morning. 

It’s his cross to bear. 

And Anna has not come to set him free, 

Nor has he come to enlighten her. 

Of this we can be certain: 

The two have things to learn from each other. 

For they are more alike than either know. 

Unraveling. 

To me this is a matter of unraveling. I have in my life been made a bundle of paradoxes and unconscious impulses. To sift through and untangle them is to unravel my stuckness — to manifest what I feel to be an immense potential at the core of my being; potential for what I do not know. But I know it is there, waiting for me to figure it out — to unravel completely. 

Begin

Begin to make moves in the direction of a strong, well balanced, drama-free artistic, literary, and musical community flourishing by the sheer effort of its members. 

Begin to walk away from the energy suckers, the phonies, the manipulators, the emotionally reactive.

Begin to extricate energy from improper circumstances and relationships. 

Begin to limit endeavors. 

Begin to hone them down. 

Begin to focus clearly and consistently on positive feedback loops. 

Music.

Beats.

Lo-Fi sounds.

Soul felt lyrics. 

Novels. 

Poems.

Short stories. 

Make money simply for the sake of existing and supporting life.

Stop apologizing for being selfish with personal resources. 

Wake up. 

Break down old structures.

Build up new ones. 

Become.
Become. 
Become. 
And begin. 

Begin where the self already stands. 

Rising

I can feel myself growing with each day. 

New opportunities are presenting themselves. 

For love. 

For work. 

For art. 

I am leaving behind what distracts me. 

And working hard to face what is in front of me. 

Breaking out on my own. 

Finding a space that is entirely mine. 

Setting boundaries with people. 

Finding myself within my own field. 

Cultivating peace and inner security. 

It is my inner strength that is bringing all this to pass. 

Taking refuge in the jewel of my own heart 

And thriving there. 

This is a new world I’m treading in. 

A new world of possibilities and satisfaction. 

Of needs met and passions pursued.

What starts from within will inevitably make its way out. 

And so I am beginning with the blank canvas of my soul, 

Forging ahead with a new life. 

One grounded in love and care and strength and resilience and fluidity. 

And I am excited for the day when finally my dreams come to pass 

Somewhere there is a layer of skin I no longer need, 

A shell going back to the earth 

While I rise 

Little by little 

Into the heavens. 

The In Between Space

The field between my fingertip and the screen 

Is a reverse gravity 

A strong resistance. 

If there are words they are teetering upon written 

But remain as mere potential. 

If there are feelings they are unformed 

Amorphous

And dark.

Sometimes writing is worse 

Than wading 

Barefoot through a gator swamp 

Or a swarm of bees 

Or a cave of horrors. 

Instincts and actions 

Never seem to agree. 

They bicker and battle 

And melt into nothing

Into a sad paralysis. 

A low grade misery 

That permeates everything. 

And in the in between space 

Lives an insatiable dissatisfaction,

A disappointment at the core of me,

An arthritis of the soul.

In the field between finger and screen 

Is a desire to run the fuck away,

To kill my passion 

Before it kills me, 

Slowly, 

Dreadfully, 

Dead.

Like Any Old Element

Skip a life completely 

Stuff it in a cup.

Family’s are subject to decay 

Like any old element. 

Memories become impossible burdens 

On the soul. 

People get lost in their dysfunction

In their own lives 

Myself included. 

They forget too easily 

What was once precious,

And forgo it for their own reprieve. 

Sand castles built in the afternoon 

Will have washed away 

When the stars come out. 

The waves may look like glass 

In the morning 

But at night they rage. 

They swallow sand and kelp 

And images held dear.

No man steps in the same lake twice 

For it is not the same lake 

And he is not the same man. 

Things do change. 

If I am certain of anything it is that. 

Not much can be done about it. 

No amount of denial or effort. 

You make the best of it. 

And maybe internalize the pain 

Take it upon yourself 

That the family was destroyed in a fire 

And the good times are draped in shadows 

And you are not in family photos anymore. 

And the beach grass smells like something 

But you can’t remember what. 

The sticks don’t resemble swords anymore either. 

They’re just sticks. 

And the water is receding 

And so are you. 

And if there is any silver lining 

It is that mountains don’t move at all. 

And they will always be there to cradle you 

When your mother has died 

And your childhood home has been sold 

To a couple 

Who made a sauna out of your playroom. 

And if you are lucky you will not 

Remember anything. 

You will find your solace in the moment 

In the sun 

In the wind 

Beneath trees 

And your own inner strength. 

You will live in a depression 

But create happiness from inside yourself. 

Your heart will beat stronger wherever you are 

Regardless of the sunsets 

Regardless of fig newton’s

Or fruity pebbles.

Your heart will beat stronger because you made it so. 

You made it so. 

You made it so.