i hear the quail cry!

today:
the spider eats
a centipede
the dog lies down
upside down.
on a broken pool
my bald head feels crunch,
be cool - its only the fissures;
the mystery of the white sedan
every window open &
flying lotus
raging demon
dvd burner,
dirty brushes
painted knives
last rites.

somehow at this stage in my life the world has seen it fit to allow me the luxury of being a painter and that's about it. the machinations of life have thrown me a gift, something i should examine closely and not reject. i should pursue with all the muster i can bear this gift / time. it may never come again, and the feeling of everything being too late would be a great pain to bear. i don't understand how i have been allowed this, what grants me this freedom or if only i have granted it to myself, but at this time i have felt the enormous luxury of it and will try and hold this reception to keep something warm in the stomach of my body as i work.

i am quiet

to hear the world

i am loud

to escape my fear

in the darkness

i shake

& pray,

that love will find its way.

i had a bagel and some soup.
i woke up earlier than normal today, in anticipation of seeing the accumulated snowfall outside.
my mom came in the room sad, telling me my uncle had died in the night.
nature takes back everything it gives.
i don't know how to feel,
except that i feel very far away from everything.
in the night i was lying on the couch downstairs watching snowfall
very tired, but eager for adventure;
i just couldn't muster it out of myself to make some.
the cold creeps through every hole and crack in the house,
so i'm wearing thick wool socks-
there's a tree in the corner
of every corner
of all the houses-
departing from the corner
everything else comes into view
& it may be enough, it might be too much
i know that as i drive out
i get a pang of joy seeing all the lights-
it makes me want to go out walking
with A
friend.
there are things that happen to me, good things,
that i don't ever forget, that sit in my mind forever
like holding a fire in your hands in the middle of a storm
taking great care that no matter what happens,
it doesn't go out.

black keyhole

no light from the room

on the other side,

hands out 

pricked by the cold

surrendered at your will

by the confusion 

by the machines

by everything you don't know,

distinct & stricken by

reaching out.

carved a blood line

about your face

by my anger

from your desperation

from everything you are

within;

you've done something

but you don't know what

you should learn to navigate

& let the sails out,

but you're stuck

& alone

wailing.

oh we'll try to do this together

but we won't

because of the impossible

because of what's not there

& the slow crawl of sun

in the winter

to the dark;

lanterns on the eaves

amongst plants & trees

the party continues

without me,

what about making the future

for later,

how about handing me a drink

for now,

You've awoken a siberian tiger

& now it preys on your heart.

hey cutie. you're a robot that wants to be free from the shackles of your msgmachine. let go of your fear lust and fight the suicide dreams. take the pill to shake your apathy awake, and know what comes. it is a nightmare.

you can't get past anything by just yourself. at some point you will face a barrier and need help. help can come in a variety forms. chaos, nature, drugs or other people, or physical pain, or emotional feeling crisis. a shock to the system, something to shake the foundation of routine out of you. it will happen, it always happens. there's no need to even press it or consider it. you'll keep breaking an infinite number of times until you die and break for real. because all the breaking before is just a way to change and grow, to experience as much as you can before the end comes.