- Collective Writing -

blu button's a trip, and booze is a great depiction.

 

Field of vision broken
train of thoughts
locked in lotus position
stuck in time and space
but never has one
felt so free
such liberation
daily conflicts between
man and beast
its a struggle to eat
the ends never meet
but I hear Him calling me
always fixed on my mind
///////heart swells with love
//////life-energy that pumps
////out of a thin veil of
///deulsion between Us and
//Them
\\gives birth to tomatos
\\\oranges
\\\\appels
\\\\\flowers
\\\\\\buds
\\\\\\\sugars
*perfect and let alone*
...the blood of Mother................
...Nature comes from................
...an unseen essence................
...God is on the other side................
...of whats right in front of................
...us in every direction................
...every corner of................
...empty space................

 

New York City's like America's heart.​

Clogged plaque traffic / a representative who just so happens to be ​

Black and off-beat . . ​

. . and down south Florida's America's cock​

triumphantly limp,​

awaiting it's alcohol, it's Viagra,​

and the ancient Sea who'll flood and bury ​

the dead, the dying, those ignorant rebels​

and whoever else, like little sperm,​

will doggy paddle and sink the boats​

which sail to heaven every day​

there's something new​

which is the same song​

on some old galactic radio​

looping around one star-​

 

Thanks man. Blu Button was actually my first poem, I wrote in the end of 05 during the winter. I was coming down off Morphine and was drunk, and my son woke up (I hadent slept that evening) soaking wet, and I had to drive through this huge snow storm in that condition to get him diapers. When I left the store, I realized I was parked on the sidewalk sloppily at the front doors of the W. Philly police station :tongue:
I went right home and got my son changed, gave him milk and wrapped him in blankets plopped in front of his cartoons, downed a 60mg of Morphine and wrote that poem haha. :cheers2: It was the birth moment of my poetry adventure

 

The Repeat Button is an asbolute masterpeice! What an observation! haha man, seriously, that is classic stuff you have going on

 

tHEY're re(in)stating EYE​

​

. . in precise whi
teofNIGH
T . . ​

that apple, oh that apple in your hand . .-​

si
ckas LunA A A ​

​

​

We? .. Oh- ​

yeahwefeel (then he turns his head around and looks me SO ALIVE TWEEN THE EYES) and jazz is

I can say anything at anytime, {Although, ​

THIS IS NOT SAY (with one finger pointed near a skin face absorbent and chromatic)


​

How else are you hearing this inside you ? ​

like a beat is not harmonic but it's​

palpitating;​

The skin of a pyramid phasing with the sound(S) of THE SUN; (Secret Weapon Speaker Warfare) ​

​

The thought is the eye behind the eye
(which is not an eye, but an ear, a nose and a ________________ __ _ _ __________ _ _ _ _ ________________)

​

The THOUGHT is what this everything-eye focus's on​

in this vast unconscious pool which is there​

[which might be everywhere]​

but . .​

It's the water in your D R E A M S
You're always something
Never Nothing
Be it one
Be it many even ALL. ​

foCus on yourveryownvoid​

(Write ​

witH candlelIGHt;​

Re[Un] Leas[h-e]e_Days.exe)​

 

- Always Dreaming Always -
(This is actually a post I made, not poetry or story, just a random post that I remember feeling so powerful an emotion which inspired me)
Im always dreaming!
Lifting up with this endless violin melody and deep bass runs, like the whole earth is singing in harmony not words just sound, and the drums are so wonderful as repetitive hip hop breaks or steady beats in sync with the heartbeat of the planet rythm of life. T
his music was always there when I was a little boy and it grows with intensity and complex mathematical scores but I cant read music, I only feel how it can be controlled, pulling and manipulating from the sound overwhelming and enveloping us all around all over penetrating our energy, its always been there. I wonder if it always will be? But its like being pulled to the sun and behind the sun is the garden. Maybe Im in love? With what? Hopefully not myself. yea but faces always follow me wherever I go, some of them are welcoming and some of them are lost in themselves.
Were all being pulled away from our attachments and merging into one harmonic sound, what if we burst and create another realm of beautiful alien music? What is music anyway? Am I entertaining my own creative imagination, or have I tuned into something that our minds arent ready to receive? I wish I knew. I wish I knew why I sleep so much.
Just smile with your hairy teeth and laugh with the animals wave like the trees on velvet carpet. Mountain rider science, where we go back to. The ever unfolding flower sheds light on God and how can you NOT hear it? Let alone see it. War drumbed dumb pounding comes out of the forest edge calling you to go back. Why sit around and wait? Climb the vine and eat the fruit, please dont give up. Someone tell me that I am not the only person? I know Im not but I believe in sharing. Especially tomatos I eat em like apples.

 

_ I WONDER _
What is lazyness?
I believe being lazy, involves ignorance.
I also believe that lazy would describe one who does not follow their
heart in life, rather, does what they are told, to conform, in order
to avoid the discomfort that goes hand in hand with the path we create
for ourselves.
I do not think being lazy involves not cleaning your house everyday, or
going to work everyday at a job you cant stand, where you do not
actually contribute more than you have to (or feel that you are contributing
at all to anything more than your own bank account or wallet).
Everything we do involves some sort of work, but the work that bears
instant fruit seems to go by unnoticed.
So what really is lazyness?
Ignorance, pure and simple.
Is a man lazy when he sits under the trees and listens to the sounds around him, the buzz of life that constantly flows through us, allowing the
Earth to swallow his mind whole and overwhelm him?
Is he lazy if he lays in bed on a Sunday morning and does the same before
getting up and going about his "important" chores for the day?
I dont think so.
An ignorant mind, devoid of real love and innocence, is the only kind
of lazyness I can imagine.
And in reality, this kind of lack of life is definitley rooted in fear.
The main reason we all conform to jobs we dislike, people we dont love, and
activities we cant stand, is because we fear being alone and exposed
to the world of people and rules which consume us, no matter where we are.
Sure, if you take out on a lifestyle where nobody is willing to help you, like your parents not paying for your schooling since you chose a subject
that interests you, instead of them, then you most likely will be alone, go
hungry at times, maybe have no where to stay.
But when you actually live life, the truth is that somebody Will help you. Somebody will say, "Look at this person, he/she does what their
heart feels is right" and will come to your aid.
So long as your hearts rightful path is good in nature, of course.
And life is like a bunch of individual shallow puddles sitting next to a
flowing river.
We dig ourselves these puddles to make us feel secure, outside of the
ever changing, swift foreign beauty of the river, which can be seen as
a real life.
Our puddle is stagnant with the same water and bacteria that was present
at the time of its creation. Like a wall we build around ourselves, to keep
real life at bay, since we actually have a deep fear of change.
And in this puddle goes religion, god, the soul, our parents, siblings, children,
jobs we dont love, expensive cars, big houses, everything material really.
Because these things are 'known' to us, and we fear losing them.
We fear losing the known, so we create our own unknown in our own image.
Like god for example.
Most of us do not truly understand what love, or God, really is. We
just accept what we are taught in some book, or taught by some teacher or
guru, and we blindly accept it because we have fear.
All conformity is confined to this pool we make for ourselves, while life
is going by in the river right next to us.
Maybe we should learn how to bridge the gap between our stagnant water
and the fresh, new water of the river, so that we might cleanse
ourselves and breathe a new life into our daily habitual, decaying
existance.
You only get one chance at this, there is no 'practice' life.
So, take some initiative and grab life for what it is.
Otherwise, you are not living, you are dying.​

 

_TRUE LOVE_
True love is like being dettached from material possesions in a way.
Because true love does not ask for anything in return, not even love.
How can we claim to honestly love another person, if we dont have love
for everything and everyone as a whole?
Why do we get angry, annoyed, or upset with our significant other?
Why do we feel jealous of them, why do we distrust them when
they are giving undivided attention to another person?
It is because we dont really love them, we love ourselves.
Becuase if we did truly love them, we would not ask for emotions,
we would not ask for love to be given back to us.
It is like a person who writes poems and desires fame, and a person
who writes poems and cares not if anyone reads them.
You either desire praise in return for your effort, or you are happy with
what you are, not asking for anything else.
Not desiring to better yourself.
How can you better yourself, without first understanding what it is
that your truly are?
Same with our family.
How do we love our children?
When our child is sick, we feel bad.
But do we feel bad for our children? Or do we feel bad for ourself?
If you really loved your child, you would not push them to be confined
to the prison of conformity.
You would teach them to have unconditional love and to be free.
Not to be like yourself.
And to truly be free, to truly have love, not divine love, or personal love,
but love of all without desire, we must create an atmosphere to live in
that is free of fear.
Fear makes you conform, fear makes you want money, cars, a nice house,
a beautiful wife, a religion to believe in.

And what is religion, really? What is God?
Think of your mind like a window that has collected
the dust of many generations of superstition.
Do you know what a soul is?
Or do you know what youve been told a soul is?
Clean off the window, search for God yourself,
dont rely on what others have taught you.
Clean away all the dust, the illusion, wipe it
totally clean, and then, and only then, can you
truly see for yourself what God is.
God is not in a temple, God is not in an icon
or a statue. A statue is like a shadow
of the Truth, but it is not the Truth itself.
Just as a shadow of yourself is not really you.
Love, Freedom, Truth, God; these things can
only turly be understood by your person, your
ture Self, when you have no fear, when you
do not conform to the social machine that EVERYONE
around you is pushing you into.
We must be constantly in revolt, internally and
externally.
Truth may only be discovered when we are constantly
in a state of dissatisfaction with everything.
But, we must know how to be in such a state of unrest and
dissatisfaction while maintaining and inner joy at the same time.
And you can not know that you are happy, that is not true happiness.
Happiness is felt only when you arent searching for it. And we
are ALL searching for happiness.
It is like when we are having fun, time flies by and we live life
for what it really is; in the moment.
But the moment we notice we are feeling happy, the happiness
fades and ceases to be.
So do not search for happiness, just live.
As we can say to the student and the teacher;
I AM ALWAYS LEARNING.
There is no enlightenment, no way to know everything,
even the teachers must be taught to dispell fear.
Fear will cause you decay and misery.
True Love and true Freedom is brought on by yourself
when you learn how to BE yourself, without desire to
be like another (envy).
God is everywhere, but no one but yourself can
see for yourself what God is.​

 

always dreaming always is absolutely magnificent! so much passion and creative energy...describing the inspiration. I love it. (I'm having a lot of fun with you and this thread)

I wrote this next poem when I left my parents house for the first time and was learning how to survive and spending a lot of time in the forests, entitled "this is not adaptation"

To the bloomed:
A forced puzzle awaits you.
If you find way,
You'll find the cheese in the window
at the end of a day.
Some fences have holes
and I crawled

out

into infinite freedom

with no knowledge
of how to survive
without cupboards...


and a mechanism
designed to burn the wings
thereof the anomaly
upon departure.



This is not adaptation. ​

 

_FALLING FAILING SUN_
I watched her hand in mine rapidly age, become
wrinkled, become skeleton, and dissolve and into
dust and blow away with the wind.
I hugged my son yesterday for the first time in
almost two weeks, and the confused look in his
eyes told me that he felt like I had forgotten about
him. If only I could explain.
The look in Guruji's eyes tells you that he never
again will have questions when it comes to reality.
He KNOWS.
And so we may.
Pain links like a figure 8 around pleasure, and
the backward motion of reflection brings about the
same material ends.
All of our technology is simply inferior reflections of
the receptability of our underdeveloped minds.
So many faces went by my screen of vision, smiling,
frowning, laughing, forgetting. Remebering.
High the memory, dawn of ancient rishi magic.
Our daily rituals are the nasty habits. And they
make life rush past us while we are trying to figure
out what life, itself, actually is.
These all come glued together, like this feeling I
had when I was younger. I saw the same rush
of faces but the vision as well as my body were
as if caught in a web.
A web of neon purple and green, and grid that
permeates all of reality.
Existance is. What?!
You mean it isnt?
Did you ever notice how fast life goes by? I remember
when I saw my own father every couple of months
as a child. I had the same feeling, the feeling of being
forgotten. Uncared for.
And it never bothered me, but seeing the same look
in my own sons eyes tore my heart into peices.
And he just doesnt understand.
Sitting on the curbs with salt water and sandalwood
looking at the sky and seeing her ride in.
On waves of happiness she carried me to the burning sun.
And this morning I saw two suns in the sky, but they were
falling rapidly.
I wonder how many people actually know how much
is involved in each sunrise and each sunset?
Enough to make you cry. Overwhelming, the
madness of the city, trapped, the voice from the wilderness. ​

 

foolish as it was,
I rose before the Sun, and
already blinked my goodbye's
whether or not I spoke
they saw the tilt in my eyes-
and yeah, I made it to the clouds
up highway 9 I drove to that curving
white floor I wish to fall right through,
but, I'm a bit skeptical this is even
happening-
the transmission is pheromonal, almost
unheard if you aren't accustomed to the wing scent of whispers
and I thank her, kneeling with all the fallen
redwoods, all the broken moon-trees
pivot on a new axis, and twist like wet skin.
(the bodies on the inside, the souls on the out-
in the morning of mandalas I knew what this was all about.
so I hummed along the path to Maxis in the dark.
Saw every star and planet that my gates let pass- )




(note this is not me, but it's where I was when I wrote it)
​

 

I am having so much fun reading yours as well, it feels so good for all of us to be so open and honest, without fear of our past writing no matter how others will feel about them. To just let these poems out of us to share, wether old and embarassing or new and exciting, seriously Im having such a great night reading these poems stalk. Some of the last few I wrote are more like essays that I felt were forced out of me for no specific reason that I posted between 1 and 3 years ago, so I almost felt a bit ashamed and embarassed to share them. But fuck it! This is awesome

And I love this one you posted. The style is similar but even if you hadent admitted the reasoning and time in your life behind the poem, I could see how much your style has grown since. I love the honesty and the bright future you expect in this peice, the feeling on leaving home and being on your own for the first time being so young, it makes me remember my own youth when I read it and I thank you for taking me right on back to those premature emotions with your own way of mental travel.

 

wow falling failing sun is intense the way you connected everything. nice thoughts on true love, and what you wonder, too.

 

I knew you would relate
Those were intense times, indeed.

 

Stalk I am honestly jealous when I read "More-Limbed words/Swaying; Feelimbo (101806)" I am not kidding when I say that your way with words is to be admired and respected, you are redefining art, at least for me. Bravo my friend! Im sure you hear it alot but you deserve the acknowledgement

 

dude, thanks...I don't share this stuff with anybody, actually..
This has been my own personal outlet for a few years now. I really appreciate your feedback!

 

You guys tell some amazing stories

 

Don't fucking go outside.
she muttered to the unaural,
but where are the quotation marks?
STAY IN THE FUCKING HOUSE
but the kid was deaf,
and he hitched a ride with 5 pixies and some Yarn.
They took him to their redwood,
higher than the highest barn.


It just so happened to be a full moon!
Poor kid loved the moon so much!
the pixies Sacrificed his deaf ass.​

 

I fell to temptation and never knew content, not ever, not even at the moment that the ridiculousness of my own excess drowned me, the scent of wine and chocolate-tinged bile coloring the airless space around me. (Beelzebub, I was insatiable.)



I fell to temptation and was never recognized, never seen, not even as every eye witnessed my graceful, graceful descent from the altitude of the tightrope I built for myself. (Lucifer, I was so beautiful.)



I fell to temptation and never felt release, oh never, not even as I watched the movement beyond my threshold and closed my eyes to it, just so I could feel your blood, warm and sticky between my fingers, bittersweet stain on my lips. (Satan, I was uncontrollable.)



I fell to temptation and never knew satisfaction, no, not even as I starved the weak ones out to feed my vices, stepped over bodies I never fed and burned charities I never substantiated, my face tattooed in neon to the back of my eyelids. (Mammon, I needed it all.)



I fell to temptation and was never pitied, not once, not even as I played the voyeur, stealing forbidden images of treasures I never had, dreamed epics of prizes that second best never won, glories I from which I was perennially barred, excluded. (Leviathan, it should have been mine.)



I fell to temptation and never received, not anything, not even as years fell and layered a body molded in permanent recline, muscles lax and jaw slack, eyes watching cracks in the dusty ceiling swallow a shell drained of potential. (Belphegor, I relished in my idleness.)



I fell to temptation and I finally died, I did, the taste of your breath escaping me almost completely as my last became legend, the warmth where you touched me fading as rigor set in, and your image, inverted and upside down in my pupils, slipped farther and farther away as you calmly turned and left. (Asmodeus, I wanted it so, and did you know all along that once I felt good, it would kill me?)