Meets Guidelines (Or So I Hear)

Test your personality, realize surrounding reality's a fallacy. Oh surprise surprise! Inside weren't we once wise? I think something happened, I think it was those eyes. Let my milk of amnesia free you, steals those who stutter while your low-lashes flutter. So you scream and shout that you need out? These proverbial chains explain your complaints. They've already made their straight lace mistake, they've raised to awake as the opaque mind brakes. My shocking onyx and slate feel so much harder than fate, yet don't my counter tops glisten as your Grecian heart breaks? Just remember to fret for your lackluster looks, 'cause people read status updates these days, not books.

Day and Night (AwAw)

Why are you so damn orange-sweet? Replete with numbing desire, what higher fire sparks explode down my throat (swallow, don't choke). I feel queasy, acting so breezy in speakeasy's so sleazy. Like naive, you look to leave behind that wheel you bite and fight to police a feel. You try to unfeel what's real (lack of life) press your thumbs harder (handlebars tighter) pressure point to the carotid you break it you bought it (but I'm looking; I've sought it). I'm reluctant to pay the tax-per-day way, because it smells like purple and tastes like you pray.

I Could Drop You Off

You're demanding my feeling but barely I'm standing I smoke on the landing as ashes drift silent, compliant to find the map, I was baby-born blind to the deep sweet recesses of a beautiful mind. Hipparchus could chart but numbers just are as peptides explode from Pandora's jar, far from the sequences plaguing my heart. Take these rose-colored glasses I've got a hunch. What do I see behind blue eyes like mine? Lights flicker and shine, wiring's prime, yet the brown-eyed guy sees just as fine. Magnificently I mourn-no-more, marred of heart, mind behind, married dreamed, mortal changed.


Lord Lord an echo in the sky, the wind through pristine leaves the roar of my memory caw caw all years a dream my birth a dream caw caw all Visions of the Lord Lord Moloch which shows me the way of the day Lord Lord caw caw caw Lord

Simply Refrain

I must make amends ('cause of porn with my friends), daintily trudging to the ends of earth’s bend. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but I mustn’t be loud ‘cause my life is a sweet secret covered in shroud dust. I’ll never release it, keep it near and dear like an old unsung song to hear, cliché explained excuses I’ve relayed to such abuses. Please peruse my sad, blue muse to comfort and accuse, for my mind is fine with memories of times so flawed and kind, yet my darker heart rewinds to find the parts I deem unfit, not mine. And now I lay in bed, how many blades in hand, afraid of these black monsters I’ve summoned by command. Their fire-frocked eyes demand my reply, while my conscious mind cries for an easier goodbye.

Bishop Tears Your Pawn

Pull my daisy baby; stem first then the prideful petals burst exploding like a beastly piece, a swinging beat echoes soft and sweet. We beings, being humans with strings and keys, ask questions about things to people with pure ologies and lessons to sing. What funeral music to the men who choose it, asking my questions, proving to prove it asking only about holy Holy wondering if music that comes from my mind so low is holy enough to the man who is home free. But if heaven is earth and living is strife, hold my hand take this knife cut the fabric of life, my quilted patchwork; for reality hurts in the minds of the lonely.

Quickfire

It’s a coffee-driven ride, sixty- four plus five, there’s always more power when the louder man cries. Ecstasy crystallized, Aphroditic surprise, Delta of Venus seen with glee in your eyes. Oh how I wish I were that glass of absinthe, crème de menthe, that fair night (what a stint), I swear you could taste revolution hellbent. Synchronicity what simplicity my Bhuddic love-mystery synesthetic accessory to the future of history. It’s my metamorphosis mixed, backwards like a trick so let’s wait a few months and welcome the bricks.

Then I'll Get Something Done

One night I’ll invent the greatest thing, its lights will shine and its bells will ring when you turn it on, the universe sings, whisking you off to a time before seen. You’ll notice yourself in better health with a smiling face and life’s true wealth, seeing the things that you couldn’t see before my master time machine. The rules all break and all time ends and all of your friends just die in the end, why even worry about past pretends, step up to the plate to make amends. I wish I could invent this piece of steel so I can heal these hurts I feel before I try to fix this ordeal, oh how I wish my dreams were real. This power we wield yells at kids on the field, licks dicks of tricks so ashamed of their spiel, cuts our heart into two equal meals provided we let them know how we feel. Imagine the abuse my tongue could produce to confound and confuse the most outgoing recluse.

Sistine

Run over my skin, you sweet deadly sins, as sweat runs down your brow scoring one for the win. Attention begin situations relived as body leaves mind, throwing glitter upwind. And life rewinds as the sweet jazz reminds of nights at my doorstep, those black-and-white times. Carry on gently as the tired rhymes slow, and as chilly winds blow, see remnants of when you never grew old composing the prose where words work and flow. So straighten your track take the slack, sit down Jack, please slap his hands and help bring him back. Painting faces from places so lost in the cracks where pure art is found and symbolism is lacked.

Pleasant Dreams

Will you go and find our kind? The ones who ask questions that set free their minds and crack open windows then pull up the blinds maybe the warmth of the sunshine will brighten our lives. Setting fire to candles left burning too high let the wax drip drop and sit to admire the pain for the gain, soft skin with a burn, discern the flavor you are the braver one. Bittersweet and sour, shower your lips with replete desire. No respecter of age, this enraging upstager, this drama-engager, It gets what It wants like the bouncer backstage. Do you really think I would give up like this? I could give you some reasons; the silence, the youth, brute truth resolute, sweet dripping fruit runs down lips that sip champagne flutes. Mortal unfortunes do not be dismayed, for Lust is the poolboy and Love is afraid.

Stiff Sketching

I'll sing the songs of Gods for once, lost in all this London Fog stuck between the sheets and higher beats- what elated vibrations in the ear of the hater. Play the paralleled bells that still ring in beached shells, they quell the way rebels yell and sing, play for them so they excel. You fool, play for two just me and you, something long overdue while your fingers chance, cross my taboo. View the ants dance in my eyes I'll surprise you, they look to the guidance of men, so unwise. And as trees grow high to perpetual fire, I climb with leaves and dreams and epic schemes left to fall straight into mire.

Every Reason Not To.

Nobody knows about growing old, so go groan and moan for man mourning his bones. Compromising time and finding mine while hearing the beat of the green grass weeds grow dizzy blown with clean gleaming bowls of gold. Hoofing, huffing, you're right about puffing, tough enough to keep that stuff in your pocket. Lock it away and shock me and play and then when you're reborn at the end of the day, no need to thank me, go ahead drop it. So start making sense, pulling wrists, such ironic offense that lyric spirits will hear and wonder dear if Hell is still red and Heaven is near.

Occupy This Time of Mine

People sitting there, mindless fare so unaware. The one inside just hides and bides and makes our time not worth the crimes. Something that shall never die, and time collapses, traps us, it's a crap shot. You know you're immoral, your oral reform takes place with no scorn foolin' with the tree so green and adorned (don't worry it's dead so go ahead, mourn). And bombs will come, some explosion corrosion, it'll show you why the flowin' wind blows like it's blowin' holdin' your hand, leads you where you're goin'. Romantics question why dead plants are growin', sitting in their puddles as fake lights keep glowin'. Transcendence pretends, a mission's witness behind that black picket fence expanding fake pretense of equine remembrance, this Utopian existence from fictitious bliss, turning and yearning to learn baby burn.

C'est le deuxieme poeme.

Like a blast from the past goin' fast down the track slip-slidin' left and right like my fingers down your back. Sit or lying high and flyin' through skies with divine time passin' by like life in spin cycles. I don't need to do all this but bluntest clips shall never miss counting up life four, five, six. That fuckin' bliss tricks, throwin' bricks at your back. Back to the black-jacket-wearing mack fool acting chill mad cool filling hearts with cigarettes, makin' bets, he never frets about regrets. You know the stuff he holds deep in the folds, old mold-growing times gone by like that blast from that past. Babe, you're going way too fast, so grab this moment, it's your last.

Boredom Epitomized.

It's a little chilly, sitting here silly feeling that shit down in my bones like they think they're from Philly so I'm gonna drop it drop it, pick it up flip flop it. Find your groove make a move actin' smooth sayin' "baby what's the matter" like you've got a thing to prove. So furious and dangerous, you know you're a bit mysterious sitting there lap open so I sit, become delirious. Shape-shiftin', leg liftin', you've got too much time for driftin', round the clock you're hittin' it, spliffin' shit, making time with Mr. Quick hustlin' like you're so slick so shut it fucker grab your dick and be a man or what's the plan? Sit and ponder, fuckin' bland grab a marker take my hand- I'll take you to the Promised Land. And you're hazin' and blazin', think you're crazy amazin' knowin' you're my resolution solution filling my mind with such pollution lead me blind can't you find just a little piece of mind? Peace of mind never found underneath the deepest ground hear no sound clear your head you ain't dead just filled with lead see that shit with horror's dread feedin' bitches' daily bread. Secret stuff- ain't this enough? Thinking "damn i am so tough"... I motherfuckin' call your bluff. Understand this or you'll miss drunk on piss all the beauty to witness in your mind so recognize the rhyme as mine. We're here dear don't fear see clear. So I've just begun to flex it don't hex shit now it's easy to exit

You are not separate from the path you walk. Happiness is not the destination, it is the way. When you seek it, you cannot find it. You can't feel the earth move until you become still. When all striving, longing, and clinging is abandoned, all the wonders of the Universe open up to you. When you dance, the point of the dance is not to arrive at a particular destination. You dance for the joy of dancing. Likewise, when you walk the path, walk only for the joy of walking. If your focus is always upon arriving someplace other than where you are, you will miss everything.

What is Reframing?

A frame is something that incorporates our beliefs and values. We use frames when gathering meaning. If any part of that frame is changed (reframing), then the meaning that is inferred may change. To reframe, you have to “step back” from what is being said and done and consider the frame, or 'lens' through which this reality is being created. For example, you can have a situation or a “portrait”. You can keep it as it is, or you can reframe it, put it into perspective, and make it look totally different. When you consider alternative frames, you say 'let’s look at it another way.' By doing this, you can see a problem as an opportunity or a weakness as a strength. You can often change a person's frame simply by changing their emotional state. When they are affected by humor, for example, they will be more positive and optimistic. Other ways of reframing include seeing your life as a sitcom or a novel. By putting yourself in an outsider’s perspective, you can see your specific situation in a different light.

Self Excersize 1

I’ve heard that I’m too nice (or is it complacent?). I’ve come to learn that there is a fine, hazy line between “oh-so-nice” and “I allow people to walk all over me, treat me like shit, and talk down to me, because I MUST deserve it, right?” In the past, I would go to the utter limit of my abilities for someone for a semblance of appreciation, and I’ve come to realize, “Wow. They treat me like a piece of crap. Why don’t I take care of myself like I take care of other people?” So I began to detach myself emotionally from people who tried to take advantage of me. When someone would say to me something I did not like, I would become disappointed, angry, and upset. My happiness and actions began to depend on them. By reframing my attitude, I realized that when I valued other peoples’ opinions more than I valued my own thoughts and estimations of myself, I allowed them to influence my happiness. Through reframing my outlook, I now listen to what they say, but as if they are saying it about someone else. If they are right, I can benefit from what they say. If they are wrong, I go on with my life as if nothing happened. I’ve come to establish emotional boundaries in order for me to live a sane life with my own sense of autonomy. I now back away from the uncontrollable and unchangeable. I’ve accepted that there is only one thing I can change in life and that is me; all other things are unchangeable. I reframe my expectations and think that things will be better than what they really are. Essentially, because of my emotional detachment from many elements in my life, I am more easily able to reframe my thoughts without so much “interference.”

Claire de Lune

I want to begin.
Tiptoeing around corners of crystal and down a grand staircase.
Finding my way through a twisted maze into a trance place.
Wrapping myself in between the notes,
each as pure velvet across my skin.

No common words to put in verse.
Tumbling down the steps to look for the next hold.
Slowing myself down to find each next one unfold.
Twirling ribbons around each singular bridge's throat,
not tangled up in the usurer's purse.

Each repeat with a story.
Laying down in the rests and silence.
Rising with the crescendos in their own defense.
Guiding diminuendos into their unspoken grace,
Each element acting in their former glory.

Yet stories must come to and end.
And as Debussy hath wrote his own,
I must write mine, for the zephyrs have blown.
Showing me the path the moon's light hath wrought,
giving me the outlet in which to transcend.

The Invitation

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.

It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventures of being alive.

It doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain. I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself; if you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul, if you can be faithless and therefore be trustworhty.

I want to know if you can see beauty, even when it's not pretty, every day, and if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand on the edge of a lake and shout to the silver of a full moon, "Yes!"

It doesn't interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up, after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn't interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the center of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn't interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you, from the inside, when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.