07-12-2014, 05:14 PM
edit 4
It occurred to me recently:
that I needed an outlet for creativity
and to make the work cohesive.
Should I channel new age nonsense
like a clever business man
to an upper-middle class audience?
Or do I learn yoga,
or drink wine,
dance a little?
Can't paint, or play my own music...
predestined to code runes onto stone,
talk to High Sierra trees,
and fire women...
debating whether to throw hand spun nets
into the ocean to see what comes back.
Perhaps some gilled abomination
trailing black ink
from the depths of flushed out realms:
canyons outstretched upon a silver spike,
disjointed beaks twitching in the sunburst sand.
Arms feeling out into the world, grasping nothing.
In short, I was afraid.
How do I begin?
How do I resume?
One white circular tab of acid,
one strong mushroom
weighing approximately 1.8 grams,
a swig of rye for some warmth
prepares me to feel my way
over to see Lettuce perform
their infamous late night set.
Morphing through the backstage passage,
engaging in metallic smells
popular with the kids these days;
tastes like concentrated copper
as I lick my arm of the MDMA dose...
thin skin expanding
as I prop motionless against an amplifier,
dreaming with eyes open...
edit 3
It occurred to me recently:
that I needed an outlet for creativity
and to make the work cohesive.
Should I channel new age nonsense
like a clever business man
to an upper-middle class audience?
Or do I learn yoga,
or drink wine,
dance a little?
Can't paint, or play my own music...
predestined to code runes onto stone,
talk to High Sierra trees,
and fire women...
debating whether to throw hand spun nets
into the ocean to see what comes back.
Perhaps some gilled abomination
trailing black ink
from the depths of flushed out realms:
canyons outstretched upon a silver spike,
disjointed beaks twitching in the sunburst sand.
Arms feeling out into the world, grasping nothing.
In short, I was afraid.
How do I begin?
How do I resume?
One white circular tab of acid,
one strong mushroom
weighing approximately 1.8 grams,
a swig of rye for some warmth
prepares me to feel my way
over to see Lettuce perform
their infamous late night set.
Morphing through the backstage passage,
engaging in metallic smells
popular with the kids these days;
tastes like concentrated copper
as I lick my arm of the MDMA dose...
thin skin expanding
as I prop motionless against an amplifier,
dreaming with eyes open...
Healing energy fueled by melting sounds
is what I needed on this Independence Day Holiday.
edit 2
It occurred to me recently:
have an outlet for creativity.
Should I listen to a clever businessman
channeling new age nonsense
to an upper-middle class audience?
Or do I learn yoga,
or drink wine,
dance a little?
Can't paint, or play my own music...
I think I will see it live and up close:
high sierra trees,
and fire women...
aim many moons later,
to throw images like nets,
see what comes back;
a fish residing in the
flushed out realms of canyons,
outstretched upon a silver spike.
Dotted with lime green mechanized sounds.
It was one white circular tab of acid,
one strong mushroom
weighing approximately 1.8 grams,
a swig of whiskey for some warmth
prepares me to walk
over to see Lettuce perform
their late night set.
Stumbling through the backstage passage
tasting metallic white powder
popular with the kids these days.
Tastes like concentrated copper
licking my finger of the Empathy.
Healing, peaceful energy fueled by melting sounds
is what I needed on this Independence Day holiday.
original
If allowing let us dwell
in warmth that deceives and reveals
wrinkled voices slunk down and in,
crouched against a wall,
near plum cores and metallic smells.
The orange light that lingers like a curse
stumbles closer, then reversed;
stepping indoors, taking in the ground
dotted with lime green mechanized sounds.
Certainly we will revisit
the flushed out realms of canyons
outstretched upon a silver spike.
Sunken eyes remember
reflective molecules of cinder,
flung like half empty satchels onto a baited hook.
We can hear their voices wrapped up a light post,
circled twice, then ignites.
In the chamber,
dancers wreathed in gold,
undoubtedly unfold
the hexing patterns fogged
by transistor kites burnt black;
like cell mutation turned back
with insidious intent.
In the river we have lived
like baskets sewn by sinews brown.
We remember and befriend
the shadow that lingers beneath the town
that stands with brown dust
lingering between the window panes.
Chromatic paint expanding,
blasting out the window panes.
Content with but a page of runes,
we nibble at the crust
like a pair of disjointed beaks
twitching in the sunburst sand.
It occurred to me recently:
that I needed an outlet for creativity
and to make the work cohesive.
Should I channel new age nonsense
like a clever business man
to an upper-middle class audience?
Or do I learn yoga,
or drink wine,
dance a little?
Can't paint, or play my own music...
predestined to code runes onto stone,
talk to High Sierra trees,
and fire women...
debating whether to throw hand spun nets
into the ocean to see what comes back.
Perhaps some gilled abomination
trailing black ink
from the depths of flushed out realms:
canyons outstretched upon a silver spike,
disjointed beaks twitching in the sunburst sand.
Arms feeling out into the world, grasping nothing.
In short, I was afraid.
How do I begin?
How do I resume?
One white circular tab of acid,
one strong mushroom
weighing approximately 1.8 grams,
a swig of rye for some warmth
prepares me to feel my way
over to see Lettuce perform
their infamous late night set.
Morphing through the backstage passage,
engaging in metallic smells
popular with the kids these days;
tastes like concentrated copper
as I lick my arm of the MDMA dose...
thin skin expanding
as I prop motionless against an amplifier,
dreaming with eyes open...
edit 3
It occurred to me recently:
that I needed an outlet for creativity
and to make the work cohesive.
Should I channel new age nonsense
like a clever business man
to an upper-middle class audience?
Or do I learn yoga,
or drink wine,
dance a little?
Can't paint, or play my own music...
predestined to code runes onto stone,
talk to High Sierra trees,
and fire women...
debating whether to throw hand spun nets
into the ocean to see what comes back.
Perhaps some gilled abomination
trailing black ink
from the depths of flushed out realms:
canyons outstretched upon a silver spike,
disjointed beaks twitching in the sunburst sand.
Arms feeling out into the world, grasping nothing.
In short, I was afraid.
How do I begin?
How do I resume?
One white circular tab of acid,
one strong mushroom
weighing approximately 1.8 grams,
a swig of rye for some warmth
prepares me to feel my way
over to see Lettuce perform
their infamous late night set.
Morphing through the backstage passage,
engaging in metallic smells
popular with the kids these days;
tastes like concentrated copper
as I lick my arm of the MDMA dose...
thin skin expanding
as I prop motionless against an amplifier,
dreaming with eyes open...
Healing energy fueled by melting sounds
is what I needed on this Independence Day Holiday.
edit 2
It occurred to me recently:
have an outlet for creativity.
Should I listen to a clever businessman
channeling new age nonsense
to an upper-middle class audience?
Or do I learn yoga,
or drink wine,
dance a little?
Can't paint, or play my own music...
I think I will see it live and up close:
high sierra trees,
and fire women...
aim many moons later,
to throw images like nets,
see what comes back;
a fish residing in the
flushed out realms of canyons,
outstretched upon a silver spike.
Dotted with lime green mechanized sounds.
It was one white circular tab of acid,
one strong mushroom
weighing approximately 1.8 grams,
a swig of whiskey for some warmth
prepares me to walk
over to see Lettuce perform
their late night set.
Stumbling through the backstage passage
tasting metallic white powder
popular with the kids these days.
Tastes like concentrated copper
licking my finger of the Empathy.
Healing, peaceful energy fueled by melting sounds
is what I needed on this Independence Day holiday.
original
If allowing let us dwell
in warmth that deceives and reveals
wrinkled voices slunk down and in,
crouched against a wall,
near plum cores and metallic smells.
The orange light that lingers like a curse
stumbles closer, then reversed;
stepping indoors, taking in the ground
dotted with lime green mechanized sounds.
Certainly we will revisit
the flushed out realms of canyons
outstretched upon a silver spike.
Sunken eyes remember
reflective molecules of cinder,
flung like half empty satchels onto a baited hook.
We can hear their voices wrapped up a light post,
circled twice, then ignites.
In the chamber,
dancers wreathed in gold,
undoubtedly unfold
the hexing patterns fogged
by transistor kites burnt black;
like cell mutation turned back
with insidious intent.
In the river we have lived
like baskets sewn by sinews brown.
We remember and befriend
the shadow that lingers beneath the town
that stands with brown dust
lingering between the window panes.
Chromatic paint expanding,
blasting out the window panes.
Content with but a page of runes,
we nibble at the crust
like a pair of disjointed beaks
twitching in the sunburst sand.