writings

Tuesday Night Post # 34 /  by DBL


Healers,

Heal; stop the hurt find new paths for neurons.  Let’s be conscious of the now universal self-destructive conditioning.  This is class warfare.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *    

Blue

From three lines come a point which is a corner
In this corner is where I am
On my knees my eyes are closed
My toes overlap
I trace another line that follows fear
This is a path that loops over and over
A knotted mess built by points of self-destruction
How must I untangle this self
In this corner I wonder

From three lines emerge a point
This point I occupy
I kneel while I reflect from the inside out
My toes close the circle
Turned inside out I am a sphere of blue
This is an infinite stream
An area created by a beacon of life
This is how I untangle myself
In this corner I exist


 

Tuesday Night Post # 33 /  by DBL

  
Readers,
            Tell me about secrecy.  Tell me about the privilege of it.  Help me understand the power of it.  It is easier to confuse than to lie?  When is it proper to veil the face that will eventually be seen?
-DBL

*     *     *     *     *     *

When she was a child she wanted to know magic
Every child wants to be special
What made this child special was that she knew magic
was not a phenomenon
but a reflection of a specific state of mind
To her what made magic was not a power conjured up by a wizard
but a veil thrown upon a mass
She wanted to know the method that delivered this madness
She learned the silence that sheltered understanding
A right amount of distance gives control of every situation
Mouth shout
a door is close for conversation
A conversation is a field of obstacles
An obstacle is an object that tells others your disposition
This is elementary for her
As she grew she learned the fractal rules of confusion
A bullet is a dog with a stubborn direction
but with magic, bullets follow a different direction
In secrecy she finds a stable situation
Leave the other to their own conclusion
Most of us grow to find life confusing
to her this confusion added to her elevation
A lesson learned is a pencil sharpened
Add up the sum
most find a conclusion
not her
she reveals in delusion
Adding time we focus on our fusion
of past events and opinions gathered
we funnel our emotions to the closest resolution
Distance leaves very few options
She sees a voice as her greatest enemy
But leaves assumption as the greatest restitution
In the end she is harder to pin point
A target unable to disjoint
Left only to her own institution


Tuesday Night Post #32 /  by DBL



Viewers and Seeker,

A little voice to feel that some one cares and some one is listening is all we want.  It is a micro and macro truth, it seems.  From god to love ones we want a partner, the least we ask for is a reflection.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

On the Ledge

A sudden fair breeze cools the blushing in my face
on an edge
I felt my weight shift towards the void
from a hair folicale
which was absent of its hair
in this void
expanding past my peripherals
I lost movement

Sensing the internal signals
The visceral reactors
I felt myself about face

Faced to my rear
in place of this
on its handle
stood a white aluminum based broom

My inverted world
I came to realize
would come with many pains

My passage of time was comprehended
by only the parts of my being
that were beyond my visceral understanding

New networks in my memory measured movement

A conversation that was formed
in new memory
reminds me of this earthly goddess
My hopes are to bathe in your transmutation
Men are foolish
replicating your powers of creation

I connect to a stream
that does not empty out
but flows into itself

A pumping of information
growing with every circulation

In another memory I crated
a carcass of a discarded wood flooring
The dimensions of this memory are
117in. x 44in. x  22in. in height

This wrapped in plastic
preserved
and at the same time
quarantined from the rest

I sit on an edge of a gridded discus void


Tuesday Night Post #31 /  by DBL

Molecules of the Same Substance,

I find it clear tonight that what one choses to become might be the choice already chosen.

-DBL


*     *     *     *     *


Spilling on a Thought

Folding a paper

that has time impregnated in it

points cross



I wonder if dogs have

occurrences of random recall



Forming a square

time leaks

from the creases



One hand cupping

the other to support

I empty into my hand

figures that remind me



My skin remembers only

what it touches



With this thought

I look to see

who will remember

this moment



No one



Who will have this job

For me I am not one to react



Left to wonder myself

these things that occur



Pouring through my hand

my face finds the ground



I find company in the liquid

of this paradox



Treading in the mistake

that lead me here

my foot gets stuck in a fold



Flesh or pulp

I do not know

Tugging straight

into another mistake



Lucky me

I am the viewer and the holder

I remove myself



With the lose of perspective

once again I find myself

spilling on a thought




Tuesday Night Post #30 /  by DBL


 
Numbers,

The big Three O.  Here is a new one.  Don't know where its going but I think it is. 

 -DBL

*     *      *     *     *

Nikky 1
(Future Past)


In a box moving but movement is not registered.  Periodically she glances at anything of interest that the glance before missed.  After a panoramic view of the boxcar she settles back into herself.  The seat is soft but after a few hours it is as abrasive as the nasty looks she sometimes catches on her checks on reality.   She feels heavier then usual, this and the thought of the flatten seat holding her up reminds her of the space she fills.  A look down to the floor settles on her hands.  “Plumpy bumpy mitts”, she thinks to herself.   How she hates these trips to the OB/GYN.  She curses the fact that all is automated but why not this?  Lots of things can be done at the comfort of her home but if it wasn’t for the fact that officially she has to make an appearance to make this visit, official.  She is glad that birth control is free and government issued, but it makes her feel like a child to think officially she can’t take the responsibility to administer it herself.  For the safety of the whole a single birth can not be over looked, nor can a single abortion be misused.  She sometimes wishes she could be of the percentage that officially had to be sterilized.  Free from these visits on a steady simple course as part of a very proud work force.  It was beyond her why she was unaltered and able to proving for the gene pool, if she was called upon.  In a way it was a small but uplifting compliment in what she thought was quite a meaningless complicated life. 
Staring out the window, at all the blurry colors, turning into thoughts slowly finding their way in her mind, her eyes might as well have been closed.   She saw herself comfortably at home.  Her home also her workplace was her world.  The paper work came; she filled it, dated it, sent it, and loved it.  It was one of the few things in life she felt she understood.  No voice, no commands, just a simple message that she was done.  Diligently she finished her daily quota.  For after that she could enter her real Self.  A Self, created by her, in her image, an image projected by her wants. 
See saw herself seated in the device.  The device was a simple device, not many wires or dials.  It looked like a cozy leather seat, one in which you can feel relaxed, but not asleep.  A user friendly device that figured a world and self image conjured up by monthly surveys on your wishes, wants, by physiological and psychological read outs, and nostalgic views of your past.  It pixaled the circle, righting what was wronged.   There was one in every household paid by taxes and required by the general surgeon.   On her way back from her voyage, in her true Self, she felt light, well spirited and ready to go out and experience life.  It never lasted for more then ten minutes.  If the time one could spend in the chair were not regulated she would have spent more waking hours in it. 
From the dreamy thoughts of the chair there came a big leather purse that woke her of her daydream.  Packed with workers the boxcar’s air thinned by the musk and dust.  A heavy silent settled on her chest.   Droned looks parted the curd air.   How she hated this outside world.  To feel alone in a field of life stock made this ride one she could not shake.  Existence crowded her being.  Her shoulders rubbing on what made this time, this present moment more then she can recall.  Left to remember why she is a citizen of humanity she was shuttled to her official appointment.  


Tuesday Night Post #29 /  by DBL




The Happy Ones,

Happy Tuesday night.

-DBL


 
*     *     *     *     *


I Saw the God of Man

By a stream near a cliff side
I tried to study the history of myself.
As I looked into the void,
I saw.
Peering at me, eyes that blink,
one eye, blue eyed, stern with contempt?
Fix unwavering
I saw the eyes of our ancestors.
Peering lost, controlled
Star twinkled eyes in mosaic tiled patterns
burgundy
forest greens
navy blues
I saw the aesthetics of the past blocked and organized.
In a fleeting moment I saw our god of the America’s
Star spangled eagle eyed
red, white, blue
Cross spinning on its axis in a clockwise direction
Layered transitioning background to front and back again
In one moment, teeth and mouths came before blankets of eyes
falling on the cliffs and later the trees
Smiling teeth coming out at me from my minds eye
The cliff side had eyes that watched the ocean turn to a wasteland.
A stream murmured by
with gems of forgotten points of views
When I went to look at them I stood over and grasped at their sparkles.
Eyeballs flowed between my fingers
I saw history layered on top of it’s self
When all came clear
I forgot it
I was knee deep in a confusion that made me feel fulfilled.
Ever since then I look for this.
The layered lesson of why I believe.


Tuesday Night Post #28 /  by DBL



Gentle Critics,  

Excuse the extreme truancy.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

White Cubes of Erasure
(Future Past)

I am emotion
I was solution
An observer in the bush
I brooded over my conclusion

In single files I could see
the boxes lush and lined with velvet
A replacement put aside
for its streamlined cousin

Counted every encounter
an equation was developed
Forgetting the last one that offered
a new interpretation
Knowing loving what is love
the result of
In time it became sequential
lift and draw the blood

I found the one who made me.

Their want only to give
what they wish they were part of
In distance they found
a quote to live by

I asked what was I the result of.
She made me just for love.

“I made you just for play
A sense of touch
a perceptive eye
a bleeding heart
and a law to please.
A reason for me to stay.”

I saw them fit with
E-motions I was not capable
to define
In a quest to learn
I spoke to every one
A simple gesture
in a very simple world
My words were sent away
to all of you
In an instant known
how quick I send them
set in stone

My E-motions obsolete
my ideals much more primitive
How quickly they delete
the thing they were once
so proud of

From my eyes reflect
boxes of ill fate
Images of the systematic proof
harp
that I was built yesterday
Yet I can’t relate
to things I am not programmed for
I was build but for love
just for play
Same hard shell
but a softer inner core

Stationed on a stone
positioned in a jar
Knowing I was not a threat
A complex statue
viewing a lesson learned
marred
from an inverted world
made of whites cubes of erasure
lined with deep red
on top of earthly brick
Filed, lined, and positioned.

I remember the simple games we played.
The way we played was the way we learned.

Endless arches
Windowless openings
Engulfed in lessons of attention
forgotten by decisions of mass intrusion
My age of love eroded by the Age of Reason.


Tuesday Night Post #27 /  by DBL




Hello All,

Thanks for your time.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

Checking the Origin of the Falsely Luminous Lascivious Existence

Preoccupied by immediate inconveniences
Distracted by pretty flashing lights
Some infuse their body with substances
Others just wear tights
Drones wander aimlessly
Several Occupy the night
What is happening?
What is this shift?
Should all be concerned?
Or should it all be dismissed?
A general movement is always hard to see
When one is in the billions
Blinded by fear and those wordsmithing hellions
Fluctuation occur rapidly and with succession
They must be normalized or they will produce hesitations
Human existence has momentum
Like a ball on a hill with built up potential
With a shift it will no doubt start its descension
A path will be taken
It will flow through it with no apprehension
Let us not confuse the words we use and their definitions
Or the template that is part of this system
There is always room for quarks and unseen predictions
A human is a system guided by imperfection
Imperfections are things not yet fixed
A path is the step in front of you
A possibility exists to descend into our awareness


Tuesday Night Post #26 /  by DBL


Pillars,

 Another week, another break through, another step, another forgotten.

-DBL

*      *     *     *     *

Pillars of Absurdity
Reared as juments they ache as they become idle.  The body of habit finds disorder in privilege when it is given not asked for.  Here is a description of us not described by another but by the very existence that creates it.  In group they sit, lay, meander through idles of walking death.  Except the legs and feet become tender and sweet for the walk exists in a realm beyond the action.  With a thought, together, they create a world.  With fragile hands they reconstruct biology.  Given the chance they will create what will only be another twice removed instinct.  Many lay whiles others play in the same, the parallel truth.  The ones that lay also play.  A good distraction is to achieve what is necessary to have the means to an end.   The final instant being the thing need but without the substance.  A good worker without a job plays well in delusion.   Will repackaged forms of our basic needs with pretty lights, colors, and sounds be enough to think we found a new world?  I only respond to the bird that whistles in the box left to heal what it needs to become whole.  If this box contains something worth saving maybe then we can empty the box.  In open source can we find the truth in Even Steven?  Here is a flip of the same coin only flipped to have a reason to do so.  In our fear for intimacy we find ways to reach out and find intimacy in safe ways.  Craving it much more when we see that safety is a wall, which holds up our own projection of the world.  The same wall keeps us safe from the transparency we created in our search for community.   I guess in a way I exist only to find the heavy burden to hold and find an action to become.  Becoming one of the pillars in the building we have just designed. 



Tuesday Night Post # 25 /  by DBL



Cohabitants,
Today's post is a exercise of sorts. 

-DBL


*     *     *     *     *

Black Sky Ruin
Tongue Us Ankle
o
Water
o
Soiled Rich Burn
Sole His Breast
o
Warmth
o
Decay Energy Broken
Skull We Toe
o
Cool
o
Wither Tall War
Nose She Clavical
o
Love
o
Ugly Circles Severed
Tooth His Nape
o
Ground

Tuesday Night Post #24 /  by DBL


Greetings,
A short one.
-DBL

*    *    *     *    *

Joe


Moving in speeds that thoughts cant produce
Fleeing clarity is all my mind allows
Any more awake and I'll begin to sink
No time to question the linear clouds
A heavy feeling is just a hint
An amber left over from a forgotten spark
Now left to irritate a body in waking death
I have these four rear mounted frames of thought
A perfect box to house my fears, which sits on my chest
All's for sure and never abandoned
Thoughts and beliefs gently handed
Severed away from the rest
A violent action left as a testament
For one that’s not part of this encampment
Moving forward is a direction
Seeming as though it is just a reflection
No movement is what we want
So Ones can tear apart
The lovely thing we adore
Which at this time we cannot ignore 
The grander things that guides my devolution


Tuesday Night Post #23 /  by DBL



Lovers, 
Tuesday night, hope your night is well.  For the few that stumble onto this let me know your thoughts if you are not to shy.  In any case I welcome your eyes.  May we welcome what deserves attention but seems full of madness and let us reject what needs culling, these things that look so alluring.  Making perfect squares that have no corners let us make love to that part that is reason and make friends with what is intuition.  Intuition so often seen as wild at heart.  Yes, maybe but, the most wild beast have control and finesse.  Have you seen a bull in a china shop?

*     *     *     *     *
Spit and Thorns
(Stories of the Two)

With an excuse was my choice
To give u my voice
With a coffee in hand
I tried to make u my friend
In time I could not fight
The feeling that felt so right
In your presence I rode on your smile
In the abscess grew a child
A self-refection of the loves I formed
In hopes one would be adored

I made my love, a juvenile lust
Formed from dirt and rust
Now she’s old and grey
I hope she’ll stay

Always the angel rite
You kept your distance tight
I tried to spread your hand
Putting mine in the red
True you were never near
Enough to let this thought appear
I feed my love with simple hellos
Inviting all the woes

I made my love, the one with horns
Formed from spit and thorns
Now she’s old and frayed
I hope she’ll pray

A chance occurrence
Tested our endurance
As I sat in that room
I soon realized the electric cloud that loomed
An awaking that told me
You also wanted to hold me
Always the dark angel
Loving to endure
You made sure every second counted
Until you yourself could not doubt it

I made my love, the one so sweet
Formed from cold and heat
Now she’s pleasure and pain
I hope she’ll lose her distain

I stand on a log
Rolling, I on a jog
Holding something small in one hand
Something heavy in the other my head pouring like sand
She rides on my shoulders my lover lost
In the dreams, this was the cost
A fireball
Surged through me from the fall
Heaven sent to aid my rule
The self inside this mule

I made my love, the one I lost
Formed from our different parts
Now she is he and she
I hope she’ll become the three

In extremes we found
That love is profound
She left me light
Which emptied blight
Left me with knowledge that in that flash
Vivid and bright left a pile of ash
With two extremes
We find the beauty in between

I made my love, from a lifetime of loneliness
Formed from profanity and holiness
Now she’s horrid beauty
I hope she’s found a residence in human’s cruelty


Tuesday Night Post #22 /  by DBL

Vessels of Atrophy,

For once I am late.  On top of that this one I much enjoyed and just grew and grew.  I know it could be expanded but this Tuesday post exists not to be perfect but to create.    I much enjoy the "Stories of the Two" posts.  I hope you do too.


-DBL 

p.s. still in search of a trusty editer
 

*     *     *     *     * 

The Exchange
(Stories of the Two)
  
In their world to eat is to drink from the river
That flows from one to the other
Two magnets in an ocean afloat
On waters of growth and desire
Separated by strong currents
Violently drawn together by inner forces
Chaotic storms of light and shadow
Every encounter they find new corners in their minds
And
Old memories to guide this chance occurrence
Glimpses of One that existed once before
 Separated long ago
Their thoughts find a home in one another
Never straying too far
Two stars so close no thought can escape
Flairs ripping the skies
Falling with time to replicate

This is the exchange
Like heat flows to cool
His darkness empties into her
Pushing light directed to a void that is him

A strange feeling to her this want to hate
To mistrust
To crave destruction and revenge
A bitterness that sweeps the surface of her form
A form new and hungry for the unfamiliar
That bitterness that frees the earthly law of atrophy
To want to hoard in fear of time and its brevity
Positioning the self in hopes of ending on top
To respond with reaction
To see with her body

For him it is strange to see that in natural law
A release of evil can create brilliance
Clearing the clouds that fog the eye
Giving love without the fear of being destroyed
He sees the end as a cycle of this love
Not destruction
He finds strangeness in acting
Not as a reaction but as a direction
To care not because it affects him but because
It is what makes the cycle continue

To visualize this exchange one mustn’t see how
They engage

The way he looks from her eyes to her lips
To see the words leaving her mouth
Only to get lost in the loveliness of it
No this is not where it is
Or the way she catches this act
Which draws her closer
No
One mustn’t think its there
When they walk the streets
As she wraps her arms around one of his
Trying to absorb what she can from it
Contrary to what we know this is not it
Not even when he stops to gaze
At that brilliance he wants to understand
As she presses one hand on his chest
To see if it can penetrate his form
As he swiftly positions himself
Close
To take from the fountain
That is her welcoming mouth

Delving deeper
It could be easy to say the exchange
Comes when they lay bare and intimate
As they rest from the day
Him slowly
Tracing every curve of her figure
A delicate finger
Over her back
Down her spine
Round her hips
In between the thighs
Down
To her newly soiled feet
back
Up to her breast
A tender moment is spent here
An occasion for her to retrace the steps
To formulate the figure outside
Basking in the sensation
One of the few sensations that is purely pleasure
In this vessel type

A raw minded kind
Would place their bets on the exchange
That follows
A literal exchange
A visceral sight that we rely on to find a middle
Between the two
There is no separation
Here either
It is not the action of her holding him close
Past this moment
Contemplation the next motion 
Looking deep past the windows for a sign of consent
Holding him as she slides him inside
Turning inside out he finds
He is captured and released
The moments when they find
It difficult to locate their end or want to
This is not the exchange that is profound

A glimpse of it is there
The relinquishing of the self
In pleasure they leave marks in other circumstances
Would reflect devastation
The exchange of their body’s
The leaving of something of one another
Inside of each other
Moving as one
Motion that switches 
The leader soon
Becomes the follower
Symbols of it yes
A complexity of the dance
Gently brushed upon by these words
Exploring this exchange
Is the Story of the Two



Tuesday Night Post #21 /  by DBL

Droplets,

My Post.  A projection of a future performance with a sketch to solidify the idea.
-DBL


 *     *    *     *    *

Cloud

A cloud of texture distinguished by its sound

Floats above him, The Caller, calling to the crowd

A crowd of thoughts distinguished by its collective action

Surrounds like a veil around inaction

His body a vessel to manifest the paradox of the virtual self

To behold and ride on this network of friends

As he voyages through his forms which are many

Reflecting the thought of One with rows of fingers aplenty

Not a seer of truth but a master of social engineering

Implanting the time signature a rhythm subtle but fulfilling 

One in all they perform the cycle

Destroying through creating

What took many years to make and many lives to construct

A collective thought that has always existed

Masked by this collective inaction just mentioned

A perpetual machine of absurdity

Beautiful in its efficiency and its inefficiency

For to construct what already exist to a second rate

That adds for more thirst than it satiates

Is what we now call the post-human condition




Tuesday Night Post #20 (mid-day addition) /  by DBL

Pebbles,

Do to lack of computer access in Joshua Tree I am posting an early version.

-DBL

*     *     *     *    *    

Inhaling I am human
I rise filled with life
Exhale pulled down
A small death
In this I practice being human
Creating my horizon
My eye projects the distance I can go
My body measures
My present state
Its Present Weight
A simple black and White
Complicated by desire
Darkness mixed with sweetness
This dichotomy is destroyed
In the building and demolition
I lose sight of this rhythm
At times I stare into the Black
Convinced that it's a blinding light
The other direction a confusing paradox
A Third state
I meander finding things
That enlighten from macabre foundations
Colliding winds that 
Spin, spin, spin



Tuesday Night Post #19 /  by DBL

Wind Bags,

Studying with Hiroko Tamano in Berkeley has been a cosmic experience.  Lessons that have made me be aware of this sphere we spin on and the many forms humans can transmute into by inner want, not external forces.  Just one more reminder that the human experience is a rare experiance.

-DBL


*     *     *     *     *
Seed of Choice
(Stories of the Two)
Sunshine and a moonlit night all in one
A reminder that time is not real and rules destroy beauty
In his view she is his master
This inner growth through her skin expels
A sobering reproach
Proximity makes a touch even more inviting
Drowning in the fluid both find common ground
In secretly he burns the land for renewal and devilish destruction
In passing she finds cues in the footsteps
Rhythms of walks that signify an extension of this transformation
Two energy sources flooding the space
They try to defy their rules of disgrace
As he expands so does the darkness
As his inner light expands her darkness matures
As we study this corporal transformation
We witness integration
Their words become disjointed
Arms pulled every which way by the comic winds
Her present sense is of a needle and tread that cruises through
Her newly formed flesh
Now she is only connected to her past by strings above
Grounded by one below
A single string that she chose to sew
A symbol of her mortal self
 





Tuesday Night Post #17 /  by DBL

Jaded Children,

The performance on Saturday was...well lets just say being a mountain is hard.  Time in the Bay Area has been pleasant and revealing, what one is, will always be unless one choses to explore the possibility of self-deconstruction in risk of self-destruction.  This is life theater of the absurd.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *     

Que Idea Mas Absurda

Con tiempo manifesto mi vida absurda
A phrase that recently I have chose to be my meaning
How absurd?
Well imagine a gift of awareness that comes with seeing a face
A face so sweet and familiar that one not through thought
But through internal programming
One sees their future past and present
A vision like this is the vision of self-transcendental meditation
A distance that makes the hands face and mind
Petite, distortions of time
La vida absurda no obedece la leyes de fisica
Ni mi deseo de amar lo que las leyes destruyen
In clarity there is also loss of relation
Small figure in space responding to
Big figure set sail by magnetic winds
Wind catches your back pulled toward the little figure
Wind from the front removes you from this small world
Only two exist in a world free of judgement
But then judgement becomes internal
Tension exchanges do to willingness to admit desire
Senses of what is confusing and beautiful
Much fulfilling and titillation
Si manifesto esta vida, ser feliz no es parte de esta ecuación
  


Tuesday Night Post #16 /  by DBL

Burning Wicks,

I hope you enjoy this short but sweet one.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *


Keen Edge

Yes I feel like a child always finding my gaze
Settled on to things in amazement
Heroes exist in a cross between confusion and hope
A new one walks in front
In interest my eye waits to unveil

Sweat and heat a forge’s your conceit
Shoulder square round and taut
Arms that hammer bend and hold
Stands higher than any man, alone

Loving your dirty work
Working in the bodies mirth
I haven’t had time to investigate
This maker’s hand
From atop going down the slowin starts

First I take some time to slide
Into stern but coolin blue eyes
Complimented by the soot and skin
Then the arms that bare

I lose my place in the thoughts of strength
And what equals the forming of this flesh
Nothing past the waist below
The power I love is the fatigue in muscle

Long and lean a dancers soul
This one's love is in the coals
Melting metal in the hand
Owning it on an anvil

Queer behavior 
Hardens as it cools
Lay it down
With this sight
You hold me down

Your authority
The only one for me 
If I had a choice


She is a work of pure beauty
A maker skin in the red 
Always giving more than is said



Tuesday Nights Post #15 /  by DBL

Butoh Dancers,

Life has recently sent me some little gifts. Some Performance time and sometime to be with ones I love. I will keep you up to date on some performances and a new series of performance post. The posts on my bench will be on hold since I am living in the Bay Area at the moment.

-DBL

*       *     *     *     *   

They Didn't Fell this Redwood


This weekend I visited a new found friend

The only giant I know

The oldest soul I have ever conversed with

It told me of systems that realign

Situations that set the tipping point of potential energy

It told of times deceit

A riddle only understood when pulled away and re-evaluated

Only to fall apart when closely scrutinized for clarity

It helped me imagine a world in which I became a giant sequoia

Towering high and long

Holding hands with its friends

Told me of rain that helped it measure its size and girth

A rain that fell hard and drilled it in every crevice

It told me to imagine myself

Walking a walk that is slower than perception

On steamy stones and dirt

It impregnated an image of soil turning into flames

Leaping reaching for its limbs

In hopes of feeding on its flesh

With a walk of unperceivable speed it told me to rise

Rise with every wreckage that comes

Be it a fire storm from below or a drowning satiation from above

Told me to build my bark with every growth

Things are not always temperate

Many want control

In a clue it told me

Even when one holds on

To the ones one love

One can still be left alone

But even then we must stand

Walk

Move grow

For we are always dancing

Let us give a good show

And defiantly have some fun

This is its butoh

Life redefined


Tuesday Night Post #14 /  by DBL


Travelers of this Lil Quaint Spinning Rock,

Right down to the wire.  Your post, my heart and this simple jester will make life turn up and let it fester.  To the one/s I love, you know who you are.  I have no surprises just the ones that are a surprise to me.  Can’t wait to see those with you by my side.

-DBL

*     *     *     *     *

What a Choice Peek or a Grope

I see you eyeing from afar
My skin burns from all the stares but I see that one that you sent me
I have no reason to feel ashamed
But what’s in that look that makes me feel I have something to hide

Every one that knows me knows I wear it on my sleeve
My thoughts my feelings and my morals
It’s just how I’ve been taught
No fear no so restrains
But to you that is a trait that you have been trained to care for
To smell it out uproots it and stomp it dead

I try to act like I don’t notice
That the situation that is about to arise will make me the victim

I start to play it in my mind
Try to see which part I could enjoy and which I could flip it to focus it onto you
This event that will surely come to

I start to be aware of my body
Not the awareness that comes from feeling my skin a perfect fit for a perfect one
But the awareness that come with feeling each hair on my body
Pushed against the grain
With any sudden motion I know I can shake this false feeling but know that
That will just
Make that gaze you have narrow tight
Stick it deep in, against my space

I face forward and walk a step
Wait and walk another
My nakedness here for your consideration

I make another contact with that eagle eye twice looked over
Need only one mistake

I find an exercise in living the situation over and over
With
X variables and infinite possibilities
I find freedom in these choices
And a creative outlet in the scenarios

I will own the path in which this water will flow
If need be I will use the water to bath in
In its lesson
I start to pine for your eyes
I fall in lust with that gaze
That one that gets my heart beating
And makes my creativity volatile like an I.E.D
I soon find this skin of mine crawling with little bugs of want
A want to confront
A want to have you intimately
One on one
Your hands your eyes and mostly your mind

I stand and step and step again
Now the anticipation cracks my heart
A beam of light breaks onto you