blank blank fullness

Maybe it's just me, but I feel a tinge of anxiety when considering the slew of Medias related to any and every industry, the tinge gets a voice to state: leave me alone! Can I live?!

You choose a career, a focus for your life, and something rises, silently, certainly not invisibly, to overtake you with the infinite fixins, add-ons, applications that have attached themselves, like barnacles, to the body of the whale of a profession. Maybe my anxiety is tied to the feeling of determinism these Medias embody, while the higher part of me insists on causeless love... a well-spring of all-that-is. Identity is a mask so anxious to make you make it yours. It makes me anxious to allow it such free and fancy, fatalistic reign... whoa buddy, no, I can't be contained! Ok, let's reconcile, I'll hold you for a while...

You've got a core tool, but now, seemingly, you can't use it unless you've got the service. Ok, fair enough, we all need to connect this tool to a larger network. But oh, here comes the army. And they tell you, in that definitive marketing speech which too-easily overrides the independent-thinking minds of many that, don't think twice- you won't be complete without 'em, those tiny soldiers profiting off slices of slices. Trickling down, out, are we destined to function as nature intends it... Independence a figment of modern man's new mental survival mechanism... potentially destructive as mass quanities of 'me'...

Find a reflection in the passageways of our breathing bags, divided into infinitesimal hair-thin branches reaching to the limits of their tissue’d walls.


Or roots of hulking trees, beneath the singular trunk, split off to find their own means, of moisture trapping for the massive all.


Dedication to discrimination an asset rising in value, dropping in availability as waves of distractions fight
to feed on the most natural of half-way fictional resources; one standing apart from it all, though its holdings are forever unfolding, tick tock, it's so golden.

Speaking of time, try blowing the roof off your view of the life you're living... Imagine it a small chapter in a huge book of never-ending War and Peace. You may have noticed the brilliance of a little kid, or a 22-year old who radiates wisdom, has an adept talent beyond their years. How are these beings seemingly 'born with it', while some 60-year-olds are just breaking past a mold to understand lessons better late than never? Perhaps the previous chapters of those more-like-Fall-chickens left them ripe for the aging as a newborn baby, embeded already with eons of experience. While younger souls, so to speak, are gaining the lessons to pay off in future dividends of lifetimes at another other end...

This 30,000-mile-high view is deliriously en-light-ening. Literally, I feel way light (too little oxygen, perhaps?) let me come back down... The dharma (धर्म) of your time on earth can be clicked into place with a bit more grace. There's a bigger reason here, a knot in a string that's got a major gift to wrap up...
And there's no way of knowing what it is,
unless we go inside.............. stay riding

Everyday is Christmas.

What is the statute of limitations on life, life events, things you said, things you meant, things you did and wish were dead. What could ever die as long as you're alive? Indeed, what has lived will live far past its self, the shelf on which it was dealt. Nothing ever dies. It just changes shape. Like a golden, spinning, flexible, reflexive, lord of a ring, figure it looping, figure it's 8.
I was on chatroulette, for the first time, one night.  For two hours this Floridian kid and I talked, or didn't, just sat there, oh gosh what was his name?. It was nice. Might sound creepy, but it was real. Why? Because I was real. And so was he. Ugh let me not toot my own horn. But I remember this other night, last summer. I'll get back to chatroulette in a moment. After these not-so-brief messages. I went out to this Bar in New York, the music there that night created a precious element... met a fellow, we talked, chilled, it got mellow, and high, and as I do, when I reach the sky, I riffed and riffed and spoke in tongues and connected with another person's lungs because each breath I took shook this person's world, and mine, truth be told, I say the darndest things, you've got to believe it, no need to see it. But, really, who doesn't? No, I mean, I really say the darndest things! Must have been the Bacchic influence. And now that I've stated it, probably took the edge off of the ability, revealed too much, set a standard, nothing to prove but expressing a groove. Keep moving...About what you may ask does my mouth, not much its the fingers that do the talking on this couch. If I told you, I mean really told you, I'd have to kill it. And I'm on a live trip continuing with the direction I was going in... homie's (he wasn't a homie, really) sitting there, in the same state as me, only I've taken the lead in the matter, get your minds (maybe it's not your minds, maybe it's just my mind, but I'll cover everyone's bases and therein reveal my own, oh jeez does it sound like I'm blown? [not]) out the gutter I'm a lady, not a pitch-and-hit batter. Flash back there we are and he's like, I've never met anyone like you, had this kind of connection, spoken like this with anyone. And I smiled and I thought, this happens more and more, all the time.Ah, les genes! So I said that, probably came off conceited as hell but it was earnest. And in that moment I couldn't have told that he thought me to be so, full of myself, but shoot, what do I know?. Because I talked of THE self, kept it as transparent as glass, reflecting my other half, wholly out of myself. Ugh God, I can be overly earnest. Oscar, you get me, I'll use your cajones. So maybe it is you, "it's not you, it's me", you..You don't need to remember it for it to be a part of your puzzle. And if it made it past your skin, others breathed it in, then there's little chance it won't prevail. As part of the matrix, as woven and contained within. Well, who cares? Ah, but you care. Everyone cares. Caring's the issue, and it's not, tu vois?. How truthful is something that happened in the past when your present is thousands of exits away, tethered nevertheless to that series of non-linear days, mem-o-rays, right up to the now here we go...... What are you building on, little life Jenga (a cat I once had may he rest in peace), let's raze this section right here, the foundation has been compromised, plant a seed in its stead, when stacking gets shaky, back to the Earth.with it, quaking, shivering, shaking.  Can I stick another brick on? Replace the ancestry of an all-too-human race? My life's a brick, a part of the delicate game of pick-up-sticks, it's too late, I'm here, I fit.
Oh yea, and that time on chatroulette -- I won't go in depth, but I heard myself saying, that life is like a wave. positivity cresting, you waiting to catch it, like Clay Marzo magic, oh don't get me started on tsunami dreams.

Is it coming from the inside? All these problem's Earth's been having. Are we weighing all-too heavy, Mass of man increasing steady. And all the potions we've been whipping, Transferring energy from almost nothing underneath us, Into piles of steel, trash, and make-up, magazines and mate-ups, wars and celebrations. Pounding on the door, knocking for the core, lava there, crumbling here. The pressure points stay safer, effecting change instead in once-obscure locations. Cause-and-effect, could anything ever be something else? Far-off the cracks may start, but home is one for all, so we'll all feel the shock.  Like a pulsing, pounding body, an axis running swiftly, A wing is broken here, flight gets downed there, And the perfect patterns will continue shifting

Sparks are falling from magnetic metal rooftops
that JMZ track shakin the-
City snakes its way
into lively dwellers' skin
Skim the surface of the beautiful mess
they're living in
Further the numbers they climb,
Harder for some to find that piece of mind
Alienated did he call it?
Bars across their windows
So they slip downstairs
Into the after-hours darkness
For a drink to keep 'em company
In this town built on steel
Time to trim these tips,
Split out ends and make our way
past those man-made debts
subtle incongruousness
Building blocks, the sunlight
Now seeps from underneath
This garden of adapted souls
Making the most of their shadow goals

If the hands of a clock, the shifting of digital dots
Would pull us all together
As well as it has with us
The world would be
One giant
Thundering heart
In the purest mind
Seeing with the clarity of
Timelessness

photography, shots slide across the screen for a crowd to see
sitting smiling peacefully with a monument, its magnitude of beauty- focused centrally
in the corner, reclining with the scene
a face, my face
then 4 pairs of legs walk across a stage
scrutinizing two mojoin pins, removed from my possession
with a pair of eyes, and a single lens
and hundreds of others viewing past-present tense 
vacation shots of a life
lived spontaneously
this photographer, where did he come from
we ran into him on the street
at an intersection of time gone by in the windshield,
spinnin round a traffic circle eye
from where he began to follow me
questioning the playbacks
does he see what I see?
and from the crowd a man, seemingly a professor
professed this love to me:
the id doesn't like it when a mirror's not around
try to sleep without one 
see if you can stand your ground
so of course upon my waking,
I realize the space, blank
thereupon my childhood bedroom wall where one had hung, now displaced
then spoke a need to see this id encased
according to a Freudian kind of studied taste
but right before I rose up and out
from the cacophony of the raw
a boy in this dream I know asked me, please
make me anxious tonight
I have some work proposals that I need to write
my dreaming id understood it perfectly
over-seeing this unknown churning underbelly
catharsis dream-work delivered intentionally