Primrose Cilia

Nongarrulously received under white and rounds
Message under the paralyzed, choked at the womb
This here, built cornea, glazed by black
Slung throat choked beneath the mirror
A debt unpaid that never went found
Here lies the four
Several costs and newly single brown eyed orphan
Scraping against dead skin
A railroad to the sea
Lift up your skin
Lift up your eyes
Scattered around limbless fetal nesting
Reign me down, loud as quicksand
My fingernails have burst out of my skin
Contact, let his buried mistakes known
My sores build as I lay to rest on this abandoned bed sheet
Separate our realities from fiction
I ask the snakes to hiss so I can sleep tonight.

"My lies are an abandoned mansion with so many rides."
Possess the pigeon and abort the diamonds
Flesh to flesh
What is that that carries me away?
Metal stabbing the vein
Punctured flesh released the thirsty blood
Sleepless nights ruffle the first born winds
Movement recalled from the infant brain
The purpose of life yanks at my hairs
Clenching to the bone
Thirst these dry lungs
Like the desert storm hitting me

Blindfolded but the ears sense a new tall tale
Ramming broken blisters
A reteething prospect
Bones suck in silence
This repetition rains saliva
Heavy on the heart
Heavy on the eyes
Heavy on the eyelids of the creator
Life support for the dead
Limbless surgeons pick out a smoldered answer
Hung and over blasting
Dress this bullet through my eyes
I've never seen the sun
Wearing a dress
And mother's late for dinner again.

self portrait: July 2011

compare the simple

Overhead, the jets rumble the same roar as my father's truck's engine,
Same note, same volume, a nostalgic sound to my ears until I finally
Realize the reality of the situation, the roar, much stronger, in fact, is not
The engine of the man who bore me, but of a machine unfamiliar
To my driveway.

Some day, some place it will occur, perhaps it already has,
To a kid (or young man, I do not want to demean myself or my age)
Just as it did to me, that his father's jet's engine has sounded and finally
He has come home in an Armani suit far too expensive for my father
At this stage in his life.

rhetoric

feelings inside often play role-reversal with themselves

a proclamation

Questioning

Tell me,

if you know,

is Heaven a place

or an idea of well-lit

clouds among the sky

floating peacefully?

Existence without science

to provide understanding

seems highly unlikely

in a day of reasoning

behind everything.

I believe from time to time

then other time corrupts my mind

and I realize the impossibilities

of faithfulness to a selfish idea.

There must be something above

the universe, but if mankind has

yet to figure, I will dismiss notions

of anything being higher or 

lower.

Runkhesrtrich Gredelburgv

A man from Cape May is half elephant half man. Unlike Lynch’s creation, the creature is beautiful standing eight feet tall, grey and with a body protruding from his head with distinguishable human features. This man has ’73’ tattooed on his forehead boldly indicating the grade his high school art teacher gave him for expressing a lack of artistic ability. He is now an artist who participates in painting, drawing, cinematography, photography, printmaking, music, poetry and fictional writing. Oftentimes at night, he has been caught walking on water, which his family claims is his spiritual routine. Runkhesrtrich Gredelburgv, age 29, grew up a mostly normal boy. Soon thereafter, he began to sprout tusks and large ears. In his twenties, he developed social retardation and grew an entirely new body. He is now the heaviest human alive, weighing in at nearly two thousand pounds. A typical day consists of the consumption of over fifty pounds of food. Gredelburgv has extreme difficulty communicating his thoughts through speaking, but his artwork has been described as “purely brilliant”, “astonishing” and “a must have for any collector”. 

Nature; my apology.

The sounds of nature colliding with humanity’s industrialization and ruin of the purity of the outside world seep their way into my window and into my ears as the wind roars and thrusts my blinds back and forth nearly hitting me smack in the forehead immediately as I push the glass with my hands but they stick like molasses to the countertop when one misses the intended bowl while pouring amongst the other ingredients and I am unable to remove them.

My ears are pleasured by the collision but I do regret not being able to single handedly hear the sounds of nature separate from the blurriness mankind has inflicted upon it. Will we ever again hear, only, the sounds of the rainfall and great winds without hearing cars, trains, buses and children yelling to their siblings in anger about the changing of the channel while rotting their brains to their favorite television drama about actors their age living false lives of despair?

I intend to see, once again, hear, once again, feel, once again, nature’s motherly touch upon her creatures and upon me while I intend to express some thankfulness and regretfulness for destroying her beauty with my electricity and animosity, knowing it is not singly my fault but also the fault of my brothers, sisters, cousins, parents, grandparents and friends. I, although a bit scared and hesitant to admit this, do apologize to mother nature.

Understanding the great things we, as humans, have created, and not at all trying to undermine or demean these things, I write carefully with honesty and slight regret in the tone of my voice. Technology; oh, what a terrible dichotomy it fathers in my brain. I recognize the brilliance of such feats, but I long for the simplicity that can, now, only be created by cinematography and artists on screens, thus proving my separation from the aforementioned is irreconcilable.

Still, I fabricate false perceptions of reality which nullify my previous thoughts on the matter in my dreams while I sleep, causing me to truly understand that the mind is in absolute separation from the destruction of purity, as it proves to be something untampered with by my strongest detests, thus proving it to be something of pure nature. Perhaps I have it all wrong; in my jumbled speech does any of this really make sense to the reader or is it all more of a personal struggle that should remain silent?

nostalgic

remembering the times we ourselves felt these things in the past which was really the same persona in a different state of mind feeling youngness and nostalgic feelings of wanting to be heard and wanting to be felt and wanting to be known by everyone because our thoughts and ideas are substantial enough to seep their way through conversation of adults and even grandparents

smartless

At least be smart about your crime.

speakers ONLY

I talk and talk and you talk and talk
yet I only hear voices through wires
distorted voices, but I long for purity
I have been unable to comprehend
your thoughts and ideas unfortunately.

And in relation to these notions, I am
apologetic to everyone, but through my
selfishness I do not recognize negativety
because of my positive outlook, mostly

politiks

Get rich: American

Hate the poor: American

It's the only way

To be patriotic.

raving

self portrait (2011)

blossom

a mind is still a mind when all things are forgotten

insanity shoots through the veins like heroin

by golly:

its a disease!

oh,

please

peak

"peak"

peak into the holes of my heart

there are holes in my mind

find me

hide yourself in the discovery

of these new things you see

discovery

in a haze, i can see for days

in a fog is where i find myself

truthful workings of a mind

otherwise wasted, shambles

rambles

dambles

frambles

jambles

jingle

jangles

The Wall

You really aren't that cool for thinking it's not a good album.

blackened superstitions, i know are false all false again false, i proclaim: false.
these things you speak of are not the truth. again, i proclaim: false.
around others, the imagination runs wild and away
but here, i wish i stayed
slain
pain

the beauty of the naked, the beauty of the unseen truths that surround me
a photograph day, well-lit, but not too well because of my camera's imperfections
haunted by the past, unable to persevere, severe panic, oh: i panic.
panic
at a
picnic

i even panicked at the picnic where we sat, hand in hand
unable to release my thoughts or perhaps to transcribe them into words
interpretable to you or to me
with the sandwiches set out nicely
i forgot
to eat

Loneliness and Bright

when i feel feelings of loneliness and bright feelings of loneliness and the bright feelings, i kind of want to stay right here on earth for just a little while. oh, you can go first and i'll stay and smile. you can call it the beginning, i consider it a miraculous ending.

hairbrush

Now I know why people use these things.

never thought

when I was alone I never thought you would be so very alone when I was alone

fug it

As I study
the world's bloody
mess of messes
it blatantly confesses
to me personally
truthfully and honestly
a certain degree
while maintaining validity
of absolute despair
miles beyond repair

It reveals to me
our greatest faulty struggle
we have corrupted the
grounds of the earth
with our great buildings
and wires and wires and wires.
The chemicals and medicines
and great forest fires
with technology and satellites
and NASA and NAFTA

I see myself causing the world an immense
I see myself causing the world immense amount of grief
I have been causing

With others,
I have
created a
terrible mess
of the
beautiful world
that I
live in.

(,,,,,,,,,,,..........)

What happened
Oh, what happened
To my mind
I figured
Oh, I figured
I would find
Yet I pondered
Yes, I pondered
My decisions were in a bind

(At night, his mind ran far from him. In the morning, he had trouble finding it. This happened for days, weeks, yet.)

New Occupation

With all of my ideas,

I think I'll be a preacher.

Two Poems (Published in Temple's literary magazine- The Parable)

An Immediate Way To Self-Destruct
If I could only store all of the small moments
Of my life in a jar, I would be able to cherish
The tiniest of joys, the tiniest of laughs, and more
Importantly, I could hold segments of my life
In my hand and in a jar, small segments
In my hand and in a jar, small fragments,
Sentiments, remnants, pieces and memories,
If I could remember all of the small things,
My mind would expand to its fullest potential,
The rate of its expansion would be as quick
As the explosion of a ticking time bomb,
Relentless to complete its one and only job,
Which is to destroy, and that is what it would
Certainly do, it would certainly destroy me.


Singular and Plural Forms of an Individual
Does the smartest man in the world
Simply recognize the smallest nuances
That go unnoticed by many, but occur
So clearly and honestly, so clearly that
Most other men overlook these things
And see through a blurred lens which disallows
Remembrance of these things on a daily
Basis, they create their own life around
The things which they are blind to
But those smarter than they create
And see a microscopic world through
Telescope eyes, with a brain that can
Remember all of these things on a daily
Basis, likely enlarged but most importantly
Expanded, worked, tested and true
In the sense that they can not be taught
To others, only inherited or given to by
Those with greater minds than even his?

blabber

When I reach the church floor, I argue with myself about the mere showing of my face among the crowd. I contemplate my existence, only as I can, and I fail to listen to the words being spoken. Even if I do open my ears to the things of preachers, am I only following another man's beliefs? Does this not disprove my philosophy? For each individual, life is something fresh and new unable to be tampered with by others. I comfort myself speaking these words continuously...

Bodies

I walked down the dreary, wooded path that day with no expectation of anything abnormal or unfamiliar to me, as I knew the route I took with great familiarity. The trees were still dead from the long winter and only few had begun to show sprouts of life. My feet were covered in mud and as I watched the stream flow besides me, I knew its waters had flooded the wet ground I walked upon a day prior. Certainly, this is why I walked the path alone, not seeing another person for miles until him.

When reaching a large bridge which separated a highway from the path I walked, atop of the hill were three large, white plastic bags, each of similar size. Tired, I continued walking wishing I had brought a friend along or at least a bottle of water. Since I had expected to take the shorter path back to my house that day, I did not wear shoes properly equipped for the length of my walk. My feet, too, were tired and I wanted to get home immediately. As I grew further and further from the sight of the large white bags, my wonder of what the plastic hid continued to grow. 

Forgetting the aches of my feet and body, I turned back deciding to look once again at the bags. There were three, or maybe four of them, I thought, but I did not catch a proper glance at them disallowing myself to begin to guess what was inside. Slightly excited by what I may have found, I began to walk faster which further irritated my feet and made me wish I had worn my walking shoes.

After a few moments, I again reached the plastic bags and realized there was, in fact, four. From my distant viewpoint, the bags took the shape of bodies. To save myself the title of a cowardice, I dismissed this notion and tried to get a different perspective. Being across the stream from the scene, the only way possible to better identify what I had been seeing was to cross the water. Here, the water was slightly deep, but I knew no bridges, aside from the one created by the highway, were anywhere near. Accepting this fact, I crossed the water cautiously. 

The water was frigid but I managed to only get my feet wet finding enough rocks to help me cross the water safely. Almost forgetting why I had crossed the water, I suddenly looked up to where the bags were and nearly screamed right there in the lonely forest. From this view, the thin plastic bags were identical to the shape of four bodies. I contemplated running home but knowing I had come this far in my journey, I now had to see what was resting peacefully on top of the hill.

I will quickly climb the hill, peak into one of the bags and laugh at myself for creating such a gruesome scare, I thought. As I started up the hill, my feet slipped in the deep mud keeping me from making any forward progress. Standing at the bottom of the hill made me comprehend the difficulty of climbing snow and ice covered mountains. I had always been interested in mountaineering but knew nothing of how people successfully climbed such steep slopes. It was hard enough for me to make a few steps upward on this muddy hill. 

Grabbing hold of trees and propelling myself forward would be the only way for me to successfully conquer the incline. I did so carefully, trying not to slip. Nearly half way up the hill, I took another glance at my destination. I jumped at the sight. My heart was pumping at an extremely fast rate, and I nearly gave up in my quest right then and there. Scared out of my mind, I reached out taking hold of the next tree and pulled myself closer to the top. I made a few more steps promising myself not to look at the bags and tried focusing my thoughts on other things. Looking down the hill, I saw a middle-aged man staring right in my direction. I wondered if the man had been searching for the bags. His path was the only one I had crossed that day and I still wonder why this was the case.

I decided to ignore the man; although, it was clear he was watching my every motion. The bearded man of about forty-five looked fierce, even from far away. The climb became even more difficult as it was nearly complete. At the steepest point of the hill, no trees were close enough to take hold of. The thought of giving up my journey again crossed my mind but even if I had, I would still have to face the man at the bottom of the hill.

Finally, reaching out, my hand touched one of the bags. Suddenly, I began to slip slowly down the hill at a fast rate. The man still watched me and seemed to be waiting for my arrival to the bottom. From merely a single touch, I realized what had been in all four bags. I wondered how to detach myself from the current situation not wanting to face the man who now seemed angry. Having to accept the situation I had created for myself, I quickly made my way to the bottom of the hill, slipping on my final step causing me to fall right before the man’s feet. Unexpectedly, the man spoke. “You saw nothing on top of that hill.” His voice rang fiercely, and he startled me greatly just from his mere presence.

The man grabbed me by the shirt’s collar and repeated, “You saw nothing on top of that hill.” His voice with greater intensity and his words a bit slower this time. He pushed me down and took the path eastward, which was, thankfully, opposite of my home. I still remember the stench of his breath and the yellowness in his teeth from the, I am guessing, years of smoking cigarettes. I stood up, brushed some of the mud from my face and ran all the way back to my house reaffirming to myself that I saw nothing on top of that hill as my feet were pained from the blisters my shoes had given me.

Memo:

Forget me not

Or 

I'll rot

"Feelings pt. 1"

I can’t remember anything anymore. The words I said to my girlfriend earlier, yeah, I wish I could recall. I was trying to think about what I did today, but my mind literally could not wrap itself around it. It was too clouded with visions of my future. That honestly is all I think about anymore, and I keep wondering, “Maybe I should focus on the here and now.”

Memories of myself forgetting things in the past become vivid when I think about them. Does this simple fact reveal a flaw in my theory? Personally, I don’t think it does because I cannot remember the present. I always used to forget simple things: where I put my keys, my social security number, my mom’s birthday. Now, I not only forget my memories, I forget what I am doing while I am doing it. 

Reading... “Stand thee close, then, under this penthouse, for it drizzles rain, and I will, like a true drunkard, utter all to thee.” I am amazed at his words but more so with the author’s. Suddenly, I forget who was speaking and cannot remember the very words I just read. Sadly, I put the book down because I know I will fail to comprehend the story’s complexity. I want to understand badly. Which story am I talking about?

Sometimes my forgetfulness depresses me. I become a menace on those days, failing to get back to my friends with whom I had made important scheduled plans as the grown man I claim I am. Unfortunately, my manliness is lost there when I bail on those closest to me due to my startled state of mind. My state of mind is clear as the sky was at the baseball game the other night when under the lights I still swore I saw stars.

It is not as though I am worried for my future self and the worsening of my current state. My thoughts cannot help but think of my girlfriend, hopefully my wife by then, in twenty years trying to help me remember all of the things I should not be forgetting. This alone makes me want to change my ways immediately, but disproves Point 2810 which states, “I am not the problem. It is something else that is making me feel this way.” 

Who?

When I am unable to understand my thoughts, when I cannot attach reason to my feelings
Realization of reality becomes present, all other things diminished to nothing
Friends, oh friends, are you here still? Admittance of my lost perception of the senses is revealed.
Quickly forgetting what I have just learned, or perhaps just saving space in my mind for the important.

The relation between you and him is ever so present, the same problems without the same outcome
Unfortunately, I cannot put my finger on supernatural suspicions of the future
This leaves me with questions and regrets that I mask, just as we always do
A mask over the real thing simply because we are afraid of who we truly are.

For Jeremy

Tell me some of the things you know on the other side of the wall so great I will never be able to climb its bricks. I wonder if it is all they make it out to be. I can call you to make it easier, but I know you probably will not pick up. Tell me, is it better here or there? I have certainly thought about joining you.

Striking something inside of me I ran from immediately. I needed to sleep off the thought of your absence for a long while. Dreams slipping in the rain covered roads just as the cars did colliding behind me while driving home. My apologies to those who witnessed the near shedding of tears, but I feel uncomfortable showing my emotions. 

You left quickly, midterm, revealing how great you despaired. I remember the things you told me, and I will never forget them. Encouragement to progress, encouragement to persevere. Knowledge of yourself and those around you, knowledge of the things we read. I watched you that day understanding your grief, wishing I could help but knowing I could not.

Here is my goodbye to the lost. I know you are finally truly found, friend, peeking at the words I write, a little too impacted by the day’s events to really communicate what I would like to.

I Confess, I've Been A Little Dishonest

how immediately dost the artist recognize the inability of expression on a specific day in which the creativity seizes and nothingness runs ramped in a sea of colorless trash and decay around the finest workings clouding everything in and out of sight causing severe depression lack of expression lost intention shattered dimensions of false hope

as a bird sings never off key or out of tune how i wish i did too but because he is a creature of nature untampered with by computers and policemen and advertisement he sings a perfect song while mine is diluted from purity not truly original or self expressive only an interpretation influenced by more than he will ever know when it should be less

am i an influence or influenced by the things i hate the complaints i confess and continue to cry out against when i should be spreading the gospel of my unformed and unthought beliefs of society but credit is only given where due because i have a vision and one without is left blinded in a world in which eyes are not needed but help greatly

q

To the acceptance and realization, I have come,

Whether I like it or not,

That all things of me are from

(I ought’a draw my crosses and dots)

An inner-machine that calculates everything I am about,

Helpless, I hope it is accurate,

Certainly I would not dare myself to doubt

(Hopefully, I will not forget)

Myself.

Congratulations to the time that was put to waste,

to the admittance of shameful things I had faced.

This is an idea that could not be taught,

And one that I have unwillingly fought.

Take me over, O mind

Bring me things I must find,

Before my death,

Make me blind.

Therefore, my thirstiness shall be quenched

Because my desire to understand will be drenched.

What will cause my thirst to quench?

My desire to understand will drench.

My desire to understand will

My desire to understand

My desire to

My desire

My

Professional Prolix

Disappointment overtakes excitement when the painting,

standing from afar, looks dull and unsatisfactory

as it does in the life of a bug, stopped

just before reaching an open window.

Wonder replaces knowledge as the creator ponders

the path travelled to reach the finished product

and the insect knows not whether it will live 

or die when stagnate waters again flow.

Constrictions of Clocks

Expressions with furious intentions

Directions with blurred dimensions

Fixate upon your brain

Put glasses to your inner-eye

Smile when good comes

See the trees, standing tall

Fall over as your head tilts back

Let nature be the barrier between

Your mind and the smack 

Of your brain against the ground.

When the way is found,

Without doubt, continue down

The path set before you
Before time gets the best

Of you and of me

Regrettably going separate ways

Never experiencing each other

As we ought to have-

Because I had regret,

You lost interest.

Light changes the perspective of the eye.

Time reflects this process, going by

with a lack of inquisition or integrity

to humankind, respectively.

After all, man created

constrictions of clocks; 

he gets what he deserves

and rightfully so...

Description of a Spent Day

Your approach to communication with me was flattering,

and I have begun to think of my earth shattering.

There exists great knowledge in your head,

but there must be something about you to dread.

Girls are girls

pearls are pearls

thoughts are the mind’s jewelry

philosophy is the mind’s journey.

An ancient artist of admirable talent

must have sat for hours creating your sculpture

by candlelight and daylight

chiseling your cheekbones.

If you must, destroy

the things in your path

with your looks

with your mind

certainly, you will find

in my books

use of your math

boy, oh boy.

Impressions may not last forever, who is to say?

Even once, you made my day.

My heart sank and I wish we drank

Under a starlit sky in the wilderness by a bridge.

Tell me of your mind,

make me see 

things from another perspective

if you do, indeed,

not share my seed

and eastwardly direction,

make me see

past pure pretty.

Crowds of Crowdcrows

I stand among a million crowdcrows, separate but not unattached, watching, they feast on each other as their name suggests, like crows, picking at and consuming the thoughts and mannerisms of the others incestuously. I am wondering how this many voices speak so perfectly in unison, regurgitating the things spoken by the crowd, oftentimes unwillingly and regretfully as they fail to recognize the absence of personal ambition, thought and desire.

The same crowds try to feast on me overlooking my inability to provide philosophy for the masses- expressions of myself seem uninterpretable even to those who have expansive minds. Recognizing this makes me further understand the existence of this people type giving me proof in my studies and providing substantial and inarguable evidence that I stand, appalled but not surprised, among a social crowding known as crowds of crowdcrows.

Reality

        Sadness and sorry

Madness and fury

Think of me well

Forget the bells

Which are the sound

Of my mind's frown

Relax and drown. 

Let me write profound

Sayings that conclude

My thoughts and through

Tried and true

Feelings of blue

I write to you

So please chew

On every piece

Of mind's eye.

Everything Arises From the Mind.

Teach and learn

Simultaneously.

Reach and yearn

Continuously.

Create and burn

Constructively.

Relate and turn

Instantly.

ho cercavo elevato e basso

per la mia mente.

Look and See

How I wish I was from one hundred years ago,

For I would not be exposed to the new millennium,

And without the exposure, would bask in the mind-

Certainly wonderful and afraid because of my

Twenty-first century looking-glass.

Mind Rehearsal

I've been lost in the trees.

See if you can find me

Among the birds and bees

Nesting, peacefully.

God? 

As the wind blew, my hat did too

From my head to another land

Where perhaps, there He stands

Finding my hat, a powerful man

Because when I looked back it was gone

A cruel and magical trick, I thought.

Within my pondering, I wondered why

A man such as this longs for my hat

Upon our meeting I realized the absense

Of all the knowledge in the world!

Most certainly I should have inquired,

But knowing it was not my place refrained.

If there is a God, does He know all?

Is He merely another artist,

Philosopher, great mind thinking

Alike?