Embody the Drenching Electric

Furnaces ignite the brain with ideas to change, morph, add somehow into the show of the chaotic collective a reality-eating monster. Madness lighting our way through this tunneled dark, this hole in the ground. 

Nevertheless, we push up through the dirt and the dungeons to the surface. Conditioned for quick conclusions, we miss that slow inner beat of the mind bursting forth to the sixth dimension, the firework generation lifts off to the seventh sun. 

Though these viruses may attack our nervous systems, we collide together and force the rain to seep through us, making us whole again and standing in the sun for a moment to catch our breath. 

I stamp the earth in my resolution to shiver awake those sleeping beauties and winged seraphim snoring through the torture of the downtrodden, the fantastic riddlers of our day succumb to their ego and beauty sleep. Instead, embody the drenching electric, dance the droid out of our senses, we feel again the air brush up against us. For a moment, gravity eludes us and we are free to roam the collective continent. 

Free

Apologizing fragrances,

the curious coffeepot

did a short

shuffle,

foot ball change
and re-called
her past lives:

snorts of limes,

lactating tits,

voices with pins,

quagmire scandals,

voluptuous sodomites,

rallies crowding

the streets

with bright allusions

to gritty truths,

ode to the mirror

and the monster

found there.

Magicians getting

haircuts

at barbershops in kansas,

coffiners leaning on posts,

taglines of sexual experiences,

bizarre antihistamines,

lazy eyes

dabbling too long

on toads bulging,

cement gods cradling

cold bloody sparkling gold,

miracles and their makers,

scotch and vomit,

flagrants and their

dope parties,

masqueraders in

bondage makeup,

whores in the alleyway,

talking bout

hurricanes in texas

smoking cigarettes

on their lunch breaks,

heaving high heals

above one’s head,

but really,

trying to blind

my eyes out,

from the fucking noise.

Oh honey,

I dreamed in truth

of subtle softness,

light touches

with loving pants

in the rhythm to the

rocking waters.

Aw come now,

be Free with me. 

Blood, wine, and Hope

Blood and wine

intertwined 

as broken hearts

mended in the midst

of hurricane season.

My body possessed and murky.

I surrendered my

shadowy light

to the new Aeon,

and coughed up

the rest to the end of the world

monster and mania,

that swept over

rough surfaces like

bare feet pacing through

glass fragments

and the nasty scent of

chemotherapy.

I missed rough sex

at six in the morning,

handprints on

freshly bleached white walls,

sultry syrup and juicy

awakenings,

long deep sighs lingered

and transformed,

ever so delicately,

into moans that

called the moon down

to join us high with pleasure

in the early daylight.

And Fuck it,

the sex was just that delicious

that I could’ve

written,

slurred ravenous nuanced

syllables together

to try to explain the

drug of your sexuality

in my pumping veins,

but I decided to

take hold of my tongues tight

and run away with

your cum still dripping

from my bleeding feet.

Then the Memphis bound

tornado hit

and the land-scaped,

skewed and fretted,

pacing and twitching

with tears dancing

down cheeks in hospital

bathrooms,

IV drips make me sick

and hell waited for us

outside the stain-glass window.

Cancer will drive us all mad,

make no questions, or answers, statements,

concerns, gestures, rolling of eyes, vibrations,

stanzas long enough, harpists, drugists, singers of great odes,

witch doctors, schizophrenics, seers, believers, hopers, dreamers, makers

of wishes, witches, vagrants, flagrants, bleeding hearts,

vampires licking their wounds, angel light flooded with toxins,

freelance writers, smiles in the midst of great pain and grief.

I wept while dancing

and felt free

for the first time in

a month.

Nothing is quite as it seems,

especially me,

Ive found,

the raven sings its

sullen lullabye

in my nightmares

and then in my waking visions

I saw sweet spirit gatherings,

Healing hands,

Soft touches,

and great laughters

even in the midst

of the darkness to come. 

Heartbeat Earth

Living inside the heartbeat of the earth, I hunt for the requiem spaces of silence that hide me from those snarling dogs ever howling at the sultry sirens of the nighttime. Falling fellows, we land altogether abruptly in the sinkholes of the economy. We are stripped of our hypnotic collectables, our sacred encounters with the third eye of the sun.

Give the moon her last breath as she turns down the horizon and sleeps through the day, a curled smile flit across her face. Death slumps around on all fours and seems to drink black coffee and smokes a pack of cigarettes a day, his rusty voice fumbles over the lines of prophecy written with burning coals in the sand.

An artist in the shackles of the machine, I wonder if the apathy can change me into a walking number. Speak loud and strong before the house of card crumbles down on you too, the face of a myth staring back at you and laughing.

Yet thrust on we must, hold the lamplights higher and raise a glass to those we’ve lost through the war of articulation. Ignite the furnace within me once more. Lift up the voices of the collective electric body and soon our wet lips can drink in the creative again.

The Witch Doctor

            Mounted coffin, we perfect our deaths and cynicisms whilst losing seconds that tick by- head to the cog, instead of our insides held out in the open. I wondered why the ceremony? We wild out the flame too quickly and end up lingering to smell only the smoke that’s left to remind us of our senses. Own your collector, says the imaginational witch doctor as you pay your debts to the mariner. What serpents are these that we are passing around, hand over hand, the candle lit circles that rest inside the capital? Their bite is more sadistic than usual, I think to myself as I can only see my shadow in the reflection as of late.

            Were we not meant to be mad as hatters, picking up sticks and sights of the lumination lucifers? We cater inside, to you- the great unknown audience. Sex performs her dance in front of you while I sit behind you and kiss your neck. Indeed we dip into the delusion as to come up more silent and prophetic than when we began. This is not just a joker’s ride, my friends, we are changed for it and there must be for a purpose- all this pain.

            With sensation and strangers on either side of the pendulum, I swing- forgotten blackbird on a fishhook. I suppose someone chose vampire elite energies to show me in dreams, with heightened sense, the way through this darkness of an underworld, caring only to make it through each night, each doll’s fragmented smile, each channeled mystic eye through which I saw your renegade disparity.

            Red lips bruise the night and left her hungry for another day to change the longitudes and latitudes of our current “take no prisoners” routine. Deep in deluge, we with stretched out arms try to come back to the surface of the water for another heavy breath. I fear the coming of the reaper whose got one ear to the sky and the coming of winged myths and the other ear to the ground- I hear the rumbling of a new army of crusaders as they march in my sleep. What we need is a crop circle knight, says the crowd, a rugged crossed hangman who will indeed go to death for the people century after century. The collective conscious realms of my brain twitch at each other as if to say: where is the grace and variety of death and disobedience to the same checkmate as the game before?

            Main themed resistance was inevitably corporate co-option. We need a new stream of collective consciousness. Been there and here and nowhere and earthen landscapes are beautiful in the fall time but in separate spaces I entreat more and more so I can maybe figure this out. A stream of insincerity and dark powered alchemy still pulses through me with that dark boy shake and shutter, a dialect of isolation and further from sane than my ancestors would want I would guess. A father and hierophant figure in the ground, a boy version of myself brother with brain cancer creeping through his cells- spread out like a spider.

            Asylumed in my swirling astral body, I pray for sanctuary and found there was no such thing. Tantrums in my sleepless heart: fire fights dancing headless in my foresight. So, trembling in the mosh pit, I will rise to this occasion to toast a glass, crown a new destiny, forge through the bogs and the undergrounds of New Orleans and the madder the hatter, the better. 

Masked Ball beyond the mirror: the mad house performed

The mad house performed for tonight is an insanity masked ball with full plumage and feathers falling slowly from the rafters: dead doves screech aching to the chessboard floor though, through the deep transistor dancing, no one notices. We are all glimmer and gold, reckoning to each other in a waltz made for magic lanterns and forest forgetting. The masses dance to the tune of the puppet king sitting on the throne at the forefront of the room: masked suffocated doll in its own dollhouse that we wreck back to every night for we didn’t seem to have another option.

I know there is always a choice if you are aware of the spoon fed to your lips and you stand and walk out of the front door into the dark-if you can run faster than a whisper. Though we retch of vanity, our costs for devotion seems lower on the totem pole in the middle of the room than seemed worthy of our talents.

Etchings of unborn languages and tribes of mystics that have fell to co-option and death to the heretic: we burn at the stake for the wings of the leviathan are ever growing and wrapping us close to their sides. The Judas Complex came drifting through the ballroom like a cold chill from an open window set to face the stormy sea that brought us here on waves of tribulation and apathy.

The mad hatter stands in shadow and watches these religious rites performed through disease and disguise: nothing is as it seems in the halls of the mountain kings. I never wake fully from the strings and serenades of the amercian dream of pop pulp and fruit shavings left on the kitchen counter and forlorn. Hatter wails the call of the drinking dawn: arise and wake to the fullest extent of your being. We, caged without bars in our “pleasant little dream and fancy” we are told over and over through the deep voices of the fear of a nation. All is false and fair in the ride of the carnal and carnivale.

Spring forth with reckless passion and dissonance, you lionesse of sex magic and complex cognition. Once your mouth open and letting the bats fly out of your tongue and the ecstasy flows unfulfilled through your mainstream- there is no turning back for the wondering innately insane.

I relish at the art of manliness and mayhem and murdering epitaphs that resort us to one function of the Capital and heads of state. The heavens are burning and I can feel the ash on my skin as I watch the passion stifled and the masses end up sucking on a rat’s tail thinking it was sugar cane. When will we learn, my company of counterfeits, that pain of one is pain of all.

My antics and rhetorical statements seemed unaltered by the alters set up around this room of clowns
staring. I twitch to the idea of control of the monster inside me- tamed and tortured defeat, I may rest for a moment though my eyes sink in deeper unto themselves with every staggered breath. Words fall and fail to complete me, to explain the bloody horse chains that keep our heads down to the floor, our 
forseen purpose to step one sole ahead of another and leeching our souls out to the stock market. We thus so distracted by pain that we forget to look behind us and witness the man holding our reigns, teething on our energies. Nuance and nausea woke me with a gasp and shutter. Revolt. Spit fire. Regain consciousness and awaken. 

We Delve into Insanity with the Cheshire Cat

We are back on schedule again says the warm and fuzzy Cheshire cat with a grin and Alice’s arms are long and she has grown three times her size again and she is just not used to it. What a metaphysical cave this is? As I wander and weep through shades of grey waters with one hand on my thigh and the other on my hip, I sit in shaman style and akin myself back to where we begain our first anthems and wounderings and wombs of the Netherlands on a picnic in July.

The universe opens up to me like a fate muse of the resistance to start a spark of the infinite in you. I sit raven, worrying about you so much that I cannot help but cry and hope you will become like the willows in my sleep. Kept above ground hurts the eyes when you are in the dark my dears, in the underland. Hollow forms keep constantly consonant and wrathing to the machine and kept secret by the seductive.

I ate the fruit again and rose up and did my best to remember the ones who haven’t survived the up stream flow of life. We must carry our dead in our memory more to smile in the act of remembering the beauty of true spirits who have touched us in moments that ember us along. The fire may be beat out of us but rise again the glories- we seize through ice.

The hierophant does not know what to say about all of this. The griffin is tangled in the dawn and the turtle seems upside down as of late. No dear matter though, we carry marry on and money and forget for a minute that there is no distance whatsoever in between me writing this with all characters present and the reader staring at the page, the screen, the scribes dictates only something higher than the soul sitting on a bed near Carnegie Melon or Tom Waits, Gnarls Barkley, and Lady Gaga. Rough everglade land now coming towards us with increasing velocity and towards the equator rabbit hole we go.

There was a time that I floated, mid trance and a trace of lace caddy lingerie. I sense the faces around me drawn and now stiffening. Prizes and so thought wins became blemished and unforgiving. But we succumbed to the taints of the world and then laughed again later on. There are irovies to twinkle and minor notes to play in times for candles and sex liquor. Maze match me in heaven and hell, unbound by the restrictions of flowing transience and perfumed anarchy.

I stand no more in the rain until another shadow night in which we delve into insanity. There is a presence that presents itself in insanity that can be as common as a feather found on the ground while you were walking down the park bench when you were ten. The mind loops us back and forth in so many clockwise directions that it’s delirious after a time. So much ticking backward into the future is needed.

We cabaret theatre and save each other from the rashness of reality and its commonplace violence with real inquisitions. The grin and grimace came lightly into my window and I spoke to our Cheshire- for which army are you for then: faint or follow? Twilight formed a smile around her face and back again to the bottom of her spine where it stayed and gave her great pleasure through the night.

Untold horrors of the Knights Templar

The eyes awoke and saw the pyre fumes raise the city up around them. Clash the metaphysics of what you believe with the amens of your ancestors as I swiftly react (with a rise of my mind off the pavement) to the pitchfork masses that swarm through the marshes on the seventh day and rape the women so as to bring rains down on the crop fields in their hometown of nowhere. Whatever the prize for redemption, there is no hole deep enough, no trench long enough, no riverbed wide enough to save the monkeys from their mayhem.

I watched from the star-crossed moors of the main land where most of the battles took place in the medieval ages of the Viking warriors and wisdom trees that speak in tongues that no man alive can understand or so they say with their lips crossed and their fits pumping to curse the all night vigils of prayer and foster children. The violence reigns down on the plantations and cremations of innocents, born to a world that spat them back out and walked among them as if god itself gave one people permission to harness another.

The voodoo kings sit in their temples and reach for their cauldrons with cattails surrounding the base of their skills and perceived knowledge from the crows that used to mourn the living and the dead. Vampire calls were surrounded in the twilight by mists and wakings of the undead mannequins with their legs in a tangle of one another and a gift from the Magus.

I felt comfortable here among the medium talents and frost covered muses of Babylon. On a number of occasions the spirits that are unsettled in their new ethers talk in quiet harshness, fast and repeating, they seem to recite all of their past battle wounds and ship wrecked fantasies unfulfilled. I try to keep one ear open to the living that are descended from princes of the riptide, one ear open to the dead and resurrected, and then my mind is free to wonder upon cobblestone sidewalks in London, prisons of traitors and tyrants to the queen, and untold horrors of the Knights Templar. Each story that is believed to be the truth stuck to my skin like tic tak toe on the hottest day of the summer. I never sleep alone. 

The Game of Bones

Was it so wrong to carry the thoughts of holocausts around with you- never to forget lives lost in the name of control and intervention. The breath of the beast is on the face of the personality that is at the back of my head, following like the rats to the piper. This cancer made amends with the government and then made us stop and stand naked under the moon, thrashing and cursing the skies out of which we came.

Would you have me for a late lunch snack and justify the means through the eye of a pinball machine? I think so, if you can catch this nightingale undertow as I ebb and flow through your skin and out of the window in the back of your mouth- resistant to the linear thoughts that pattern my house in the daytime.

I sought after ghost stories and galaxies of endorphins, pining for their markers in the horizons abroad and south for the spring and the summer. It’s too hot here for thinking so I will march to the drum you left in my closet, for a faint fleeting moment, and then pick up the game of bones that we were waltzing with to the tune from the firefighters guild in the circus ring.

Forked- I was forgotten and lip synced away into the bowels of rapid hounds that bite the ankles of their loved ones to metaphor a scene from my dreams last night. Could I have written all these signals wrong? Tainted came the fall of my intellect and all that remains in spitting verses of cerebellum madness. 

Nightmares and Travel

the surging red rose anger smoothes through me and I feel uninvited to my own funeral. the sand was quick and unappetizing and I tried to shut my eyes from my own panic glass ceiling. I can think but only unofficially as a guard of the storm visions came sweeping up through the cracks in the stone floor that drips just twilight when you aren’t looking.

Attack the giver of blood that we were told was just wine with a bit of a human after taste. Don’t cross my bad day with your glossy sheen, your enemies are not mine to hunt down and eat for breakfast. I was tied to the ceiling fan and no one seemed to care to remember that my place was underground. I miss it there, the dim lighting and a cup of coffee to steady my senses.

Lift up the magnetism for an instant and you realize that I am just teething to scream out, to release some of the tension that pounded my head and gave me pain in my nightmares and travels to unique pleasures and circumstances. Villain of my mighty sword, I struck you down in forging a new mudslide through the desert. I distract myself from my own purpose though I can’t know where to go from here.

Temptation was my alley cat exterior. I was made for company of a darker side than you seemed to know even though you claim to know my insides caving in on walls of my room. I think you might’ve known me well in these times of crop circle deaths and skeleton tap dancing on the top of my head. Come from the closet and look my body up and down- with a smile, I exorcize you wide open so that you can see the moon soothing your burns and pressure points.

My mind was wild and ended up too much for the people who saw me in shopping malls and restaurants where I was only served water without a glass and a fake i.d. so that I could get into the party that I wasn’t invited to go to in the first place. I embodied the tortured spirit, the dying mythos of divinity. An art lost in the torrent of war and wind.

No psycho-bible bullshit can get me out of this hole in which I can only feel that there is ink drowning me in my own mind, over and over again until I am unconscious from this rape and take culture in which so many of us find it safe to hide.

My heart can’t be struck down, taken under to be alive for what you want or you need. No more unearthened secrets that taunt my psychic emotional despondence. Broken dove hanged as an example to other freedom winged mammals that death is coming faster for some then for others and I hate to watch the camera lense close. We give in with one last sigh and a wish that I had more morbid time to delve into the abyss that this world brings to my bedroom every morning. 

Sink down into the river with me

Cerebral fluids were escaping through your tongue as we parked in the garage and made out for an hour until the thunder stopped. I was aware that you wanted to take off my clothes but I felt a hint of the demon rising up against the twilight, circumscribing our lines and curves, imagery in an instant. Perfumed whores lead the way to the resurrection, and you can’t seem to see the signs that the world is coming down with its head in the groundwater that runs off the hills near my house.

             Sainted seclusion thwarted this broad flavor of tempest, our inaction to thirst and swiftly tilt vertically towards the starlight. Sink down into the river with me, bending tides with our bodies we come to the surface as infinite invalids with our medications and syrups mixing with ebbs and flows of blood and water. Wine tasting kept my eyes shifting north to dimensions unseen by the carpet and the trainers of circus freaks. Mystery involved itself in our dealings with breeding hounds of hellfire and third-eye sightings of ice under water and breathing.

            Heavy sighs come from the back corner of my room, no one standing in the midst of scarves and suspenders, lingerie and secrets, post-it notes taped to my wall to remind me of my future, twinkling lights and lamps of all sizes, laughing postcards mixing with the reverence of the stereo. 

            Din cries in the midst of the hangover hurricane, harbors born anew from the wombs of the wounded wonderland women, abortion laws held tightly to my chest, making it hard to breathe in this sea spray ceiling. Refer me to your maker and mark these syllables as a divergence from destination. Pathways to resistance can turn and follow me home when I wasn’t expecting company.

            Muses running through their dollhouses, graves arising to meet the family, and you set down your glass for a moment to recover from the end of the receiver telling you that your dad has gone to play a joker’s hand in the world of hysteria. I seethe then in insomnia and sit on Harlem’s porch-light stoop, heavy and unforgiving. Creep show ladies scoff at the dying of their pockets more than the weight of the world and its brethren, howling in agony.

We come together, patching wounds with calm and heart-warming hands that pulse a healing fever like your grandfather did when he was alive. Death can be a brain stinging sensation of tyranny, chaos metaphored to a migraine and a mild sedative. Twisted euphoria, I gave in to the thrills of nature- systems of oppression sent secrets to the forefathers of the pyramid, sitting high on thrones of incense and enamel. 

Wait for the quantum electric, see the sun god and say hello, and then there is the forgiving the cast of masks for the torture of the youth which is the hardest eye to unblind: humanity wrapped up in its little shell- so unaware of the crawlings and carryings on of the forces of gust and sensory. 

Difference is Pleasure

Death kept us sidetracked for miracles to occur. You can keep waiting for your miracle while the rest of us will start making some changes around here. It’s about damn time for you to get off your ass, get out of your closets and basements, and start shaking the earth baby-

clothes are optional and sarcasm is one of my means of communication. I want those thumping feet in the dark of the night keeping time with the only clock in the room that is in my pocket.

Give me spirit to descend from the mountain and shout to the crowds forthcoming and of the messages foretold. We are forever. Our earth unfolding for each other. Rights are a spiritual command from the chaos of this unforgiving world. I want to mess it up, fuck it hard, matter different, opium haze and cigarette whiz kids ace their finals.

I make my mark, naked and got caught in a ferris wheel, gamble me away and let the erection carry on through the evening, swelling of your feet, coming around from miles around to catch the circus rolling through.

Meet your maker, take your fake i.d. and get into the nearest wanker bar and take a seat next to gentlemen in the grey pinstripe. “I’ve wanted a pair of those shoes you’ve got on for four months now,” you say to the pinup, striped man gawking tenderly in your direction- same man, different story.

“Oh, yeah? he pinstripe speaks gruffly. That is about all there is to say on that account so you and the pinup sit in silence. you order your splash with a nut olive and spritzer in a cone glass with an umbrella straw.

Jesus I just want a cigarette and huff the night away listening to something pounding, several stragglers and jugglers fall in and out of line to pay their alcohol tabs. I sit in the corner booth chugging whiskey since three this afternoon. Rape and pillage me out of here. Sir, can I get a refund? I don’t think it works that way here, vile mausoleum.

Apes on strings, whiskey with wings, carnivale frenzy with my one foot in the door as I look back into the night tunnel that brought me here, signing off and reading a book while sitting in the shower. Steam seething me awake, I breathe and taste the hot rain, blacken the night and forgive me.

I ran into the corner of the your driveway and nocturne emissions trying to escape the day...I owe him a dollar by the way. Nickels and pennies fall from the tree of life when it’s turned upside down and given a good shakin'. Most are in it for the money, I have found.

Panic keep me awake and take me in your shaking hands and then let me go. I pace the chessboard floor every night, and you never show up on time.

Sick stomachs and dying and repentance, freaks in the foyer, lions in their dens teething and waiting for any signal. Luck has nothing to do with it, just ashes once the lions change over and lay down their respective lives. Enough.

Pulpit practice, I do yearn for a safe space but found no one and no where. Land of nowhere and the irony is that I wasn’t sure what I wanted, what I want. Excuse my confusion but the hounds howl too loudly, moats and sea

men floating through the earth’s core on the day that we get out of here, maybe, I don’t know. Maybe I don’t care, though I do. I have to because I have a place here in this pulpit, this studio, this book,

this dancefloor, this channel and that spiral out of control. Chaos stares me in the face and I will just learn to laugh in his face: master and slave is no fun in this case.

I swear to God if things don’t change, I will shut my mouth and not speak. I will refuse to settle for manipulations of thoughts and phrases. I will be the heretic- every time.

Such is the odd confusion that I lay in between: a drowning and a tornado. ha ha. Just light up my darkness, you foreign objects and passions I cannot explain. I have more to give than some stanza one time and a famous night that always ends up with lights out.

Horrified, I shout to the sky. Just because I have seen it before does not make it easier, shut the fuck up on that piano note. You are singing flat and bursting out of your corset.

You either got it or you don’t. Baby, it can’t be taught in any school I’ve ever heard of and I won’t teach what I don’t understand myself, not just yet. Give me a moment to think, please.

I see sideways, hear scratching and think it’s a something.... let’s just say, worse for the time being. I can’t write out any more of that thickness for now. Alone and artist is hard.

Together and artist is hard as well, in fact just stop the video camera altogether and notice a pattern repeating itself. We are all the same and yet not altogether anything the same. Difference is pleasure.