There is no other way, the best way the only way, the perfect way. Just live.

Glazes of Questions

I am tired of lines I have to write
Where I am to make you believe,
Or the world to understand,
Or the brain of mine to mature,
But here comes the catch:
I can’t make it align
with Me or you or their minds.
They are what they are,
And no spider of my being
can weave a web of rationality and beauty between them.

Oh come on words of rhyme
And voices of reason
Howl me through one more night
(Crushing coral waves grinding iron against iron and hate and love groaning in bed with demons screeching laughter through gritting teeth of rust and a really angry hyena crunching through the bones of marbles of the innocent and the ignorant)
I just need one more line
To make sense to you,
And then I will apologize for my inconvenience.
After that you will chain
And drown me in celadon blues
And stone me with copper greens
And leave me with a pretty fucking white life.




On a side note I went and saw Howard Zinn's "Marx in Soho". fabulous. Highly recommend it. Also the play mentioned the Commune of Paris. I decided to read up on it on wikipedia. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Commune_of_Paris. Then i decided to write some poetry because I submitted a poem going:

I just need on more line
to make sense to you
I apologize for my inconvenience.

I was there for the submission review, but no one knew it was my poem. It got rejected and someone said it wasn't thought out. So did something with it. And now I will postpone a paper I should have started writing. yes mom, I am still giving myself that little edge for all nighters. And now I will sleep and work tomorrow and sleep and work after that and sleep and work for a few more years, and then I will have a degree to show that I am smart and an accepted entity of the societal world of career and educational expectations, because that is all that is in store for us. We need to know how to be critical, tactful, niceful and smartful and workful. that is all that there is. be submissive and sit on the boils of our asses as Marx said.

He woke up with a steaming head
Because of a dream he knew was true
That his wife was in another man’s bed
She sees the blood behind his face
Asking “How can you be an idiot with a heart!”
The gun quakes as he makes her waste

A hole in her forehead
Skin and bones split
To pour the blood
With a bullet in her brain
And a body at his feet –
An innocent gun and guilty hands
Stared at each other
In the quietest room that night
Until the police come
To take him home.

What we believe we are seeing the drink in your hand clearing a crystalline wasser taste like hate putting itself bare cold and clear I know what I want to shoot and who I will put under my aim myself the hole in my heart must be filled with a bullet is easier to see all this with an object like this one gun in my hand in your view in my mind in time death comes into our arms again again and again to be zen or jen or then else all would kill itself in view of van Gogh’s black ravens to bring bread abroad the river’s shadow where we grow into spawning sleepy willows to bring the blow of charcoal dust in my corroding smoking lungs more than what I am seeing in this blunt covered object. Title: Irrationality and my hatred.

I took my heart
And let it breathe
I let it sink away from here

I took my body
And my noisy mind
I let them sink into the shape of my heart
I picked up the blue crayon
Drew the ocean quietly
And myself in a coat
I picked up the brown crayon
And drew the cliff I am standing on
And the hull of the boat
And I took black for its steam
And engine

I took my heart
And forced it to see
I made it eat this air here

I took my body
And noisy mind
I made them fit the shape of the library
I picked up the black crayon
And drew many grids
Like a paper full of scars
And a grid chair and desk
And my grid body hunched over
I took a yellow crayon
And drew the state light of a lamp
To illuminate the blackness

Stop whispering
Or stop shouting
Just shut up
And listen
I need to talk
And need you to believe
Cold shoulders
Cold mountains
I can’t believe.

Words are hungry
Etch them on my skin
And feel the thunder of the thoughtless
Something has lost its eyes on the horizon
Something too much.
Make me run a sweat
Make me run my bloody feet and knees
Make me mock myself
More morose then a cloudy morning.

Peace is someone’s hope
And another’s death
It is always give and take.
Or give and fake.
Death born in each of us
Drowning us day by day, until
I see him anchoring me on the ocean’s floor
From water to water.
From mud to mud.
Sometime’s it feels like cold fires of truth
I cannot bear with my mind.

On the weekend, I drink my happy sin
And on days I make myself a happy grin
And underneath the stretching skin of smiles
There still begs the questions of existence
And guilt and innocence,
But I keep stretching my skin tighter to taunt them
To choking deaths.

Don’t ask me the right things,
I want the lies and the skies
Not the earth my feet are grown to.
Don’t give me salvation,
I want the trouble to never have been born
And be a fake plastic life -
Until it takes me away.

I must have lost my new mind
Because it has been a Sabbath of time
Since I have seen you
Now will you take me as as me
Or the mind who I was?

How do I make you
Understand
The stars I have been hanging on to
Where my eyes have fallen
Within the yards of imagination

I hear the fruits falling
From summer worn trees
They are heavy with hearts of autumn
For us to taste and feast.

So much time goes by
Every night line of skies
Is waking me from my dreams
And it seems, you are farther away
Than you wanted to be
Or have I held on to the stars again?

With your dust in my eyes and my soul’s rust on your floor
Blowing around with fall winds.

I must find my old mind
Because it’s always a Sabbath of time
Every time I see you
Now will you deem me as me
Or will I cease to never have been?

More Ceramics

Ceramics

A working list of beings

emotional being
moral being
rational being
irrational being
political being
social being
animalistic being
realistic being
pessimistic being
idealistic being
instinctive being
diplomatic being
imaginative being
creative being
sincere being
massive being
rash being
aggressive being
incentive being
righteous being
just being
living being
loving being
dead being
lustful being
erotic being
physical being
objective being
subjective being
linguistic being
grammatical being
poetic being
fashionable being
pragmatic being
ecstatic being
spiritual being
holy being
selfish being
selfless being
collateral being
wreckless being
humble being
proud being