your name is nothing but circles in the dust, spinning on a wind deprived of its lust.

my personal drinking song

im a damned fool, as much as a fool can be

you pulled the wool over my eyes, and now i cant see

straight beyond the morrow, or over this glass

and alone i will travel through this lightless pass

so call me a doctor

so call me a shrink

and let them right down

whatever they think

but for you, unnlucky daughters

let me tell you how to sink

your problems in whisky

and leave your hopes in the sink

i was once a a cheerful lad

with dreams in my heart

but now i am bitter

because they fell apart

and if you asked me

how did it all start

id sigh and say whisky..... cant cure matters of the heart

so call me a doctor

so call me a shrink

and let them right down

whatever they think

but for you, unnlucky daughters

let me tell you how to sink

your problems in whisky

and leave your hopes in the sink

now i was never gentle

but i used to be a man

and i had plans to travel this land

but i leant my poor soul

for someone in tow

and they cut the line and let is go down the hole

so call me a doctor

so call me a shrink

and let them right down

whatever they think

but for you, unnlucky daughters

let me tell you how to sink

your problems in whisky

and leave your hopes in the sink

now i am alone

and thats what i am

theres no changing the course

when you havent got a plan

so holler me a whisper

and permit me a kiss

and dismiss this old drunkard............

So he can go pisss

so call me a doctor

so call me a shrink

and let them right down

whatever they think

but for you, unnlucky daughters

let me tell you how to sink

your problems in whisky

and leave your hopes in the sink

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAv5aaA8glQ

CORRE ES LA MIGRA!

From atop the mountain i could see the foliage in revolt. Fanning forth in multi colored flames, chlorophylic war scorching my optic nerves with raw unadulterated life. It was the decadence that signaled the coming of winter, before the numbness would sweep down from the north, robbing the inhabitants of their breath, leaving them frozen and still. Winter was pawing at the door and i could feel her icy touch in my already burnt lungs. The cold rock beneath me spoke, it creaked and groaned spinning inconceivably fast so that the strands of time could be held in observance. I was reborn this day, atop the mountain, in the end of the fall, before the coming of frost. I was reborn because i saw my duties clear before me. I understood the purpose of the trials. The scales were meant to tilt forever, judging, weighing, and they had found me wanting but pliable to their needs. With this knowledge i set my fears aside, indulging that which has always lived beneath my skin. If i am wrong, then let the sword justice that hangs over all mens heads fall, and let it be true to its mark.

Its not that i believe you incapable. Though you show some aptitude it is your luck that has carried you forward. You have been lucky in that you have lived without being ground under the heel of harsh reality. But it is this very fact that is a weakness. For when your luck runs dry i will continue on, not because of some mundane superiority, but because i have cultivated my resilience. I have had everything i believed in ground into dust, i have lost faith in those i loved, i have even been beyond the gates of death, and still i have risen again out of sheer tenacity. Its the only thing that people like us can do. We pick up the pieces and conceive a new mosaic placing the shards into some new kaleidoscopic wonder. There is no rhyme or reason to it, our will to survive gets stronger the more we get beat down. Cant you hear it roaring? It is the sound of our souls, like waves breaking against the rocky coast. Slowly but surely eroding it away in our implacable assault.

the hands are rough

the skin parched with thirst

and calloused with effort.

They say you can tell

a lot about somebody

by looking at their hands.

Tiny cuts and abrasions

give them character,

as well as denote

the activity of their owner.

One only need examine

the hands of another

and you can tell what type of man he is.

Is he someone who works hard,

late into the night,

ignoring injury to perfect his craft.

Or are the hands soft and unblemished,

the hands of someone who has never

seen an honest days work in their life.

Who has never known the torments

of hunger, and loneliness.

So i ask you to grasp the hands of those you love,

and be judge.

birthday kiss from a dead girlfriend

if you could have seen her

dressed in white

shinning in light

as though with the gods

if you could have felt her

as i did

you would have sworn it was real

you would have sworn

she was still alive

she sat on my bed

and

she said

lets sing a crippled song

together

i opened my eyes

and she was gone

my ears are still ringing

still hear singing

calling me past the veil

of worlds

and when i come to rest

i feel upon my breath

a phantasm of kiss

whispered upon this rotten flesh

just between you and me... getting drunk by yourself in the middle of nowhere on your birthday sucks.....

dont ever tell me the odds, just call me odd, so call even and place your bet.

they said it was brave and gave me applause

after having tasted the concrete and the blood

i stood up.

they were impressed that i did not speak,

just looked back with what they called "cold steely eyes"

and smiled letting the blood drip from my mouth to the floor.

I wasn't stunned. Though the blow had sent me to the floor,

i had been prepared to accept the punishment,

for no man should utter and insult and not be prepared

to receive passionate retribution.

I was out of my body, seeing my face throb from the impact

but not feeling it,

hearing my opponents voice as he yelled yet not feeling it

disturb my presence in the least.

He was worried by then.

A fat middle-aged local who had had too much to drink

and had run his mouth all night until i had calmly

made a joke at his expense.

He looked at my eyes and saw that what was behind them

was not something he was accustomed to.

He saw the hunger there, the desire,

the indescribable will that a masochist has

when so enraptured by ecstatic pain.

He knew that he could do nothing to me,

because anything he could have done,

i would simply have enjoyed,

assimilating it to myself.

He gave up and paid for our drinks.

Then left.

That is the power of the gaze,

it is the gate way of the soul.

unforgiving rapture

i would learn the unnamed trails of your body

as only a blind cartographer could ever speak the brail of your curves.

in dark corners i would whisper you a kiss

and allow the heat of your breath to evaporate the world around us.

in the night i would reproach you kindly

weaving my hands tenderly around your throat

feeling your pulse embrace my grip

seeing your pupils reflect mine

i am lost in our gaze,

for surely an ocean exist between these two beings

and surely we navigate this ocean using our corneas

as make shift north stars

and each others bodies as our compasses,

until hand and foot can find no owner

in a moment of unforgiving rapture.

this is what i intend, for you.

solo quieres querer me en primavera, que yo no soy pinocho, que corazon tiene de madera.

RIP

RIP tio rodrigo. its been ten years since you left us behind, but youve never parted from our minds.

cycles of my cypher

well get down, an suffer my cypher, cycles of my journey, grown to be a man from a shorty in a diaper. Sniper with my vocabulary, gotten into harry situations, never back-downed though its scary. Been called a demon, a thief, a generous man, a leech, an angel, a teach-er, can spit more fiery justice than a preacher. Not a trick or treat-er i follow the code of the seek-er. Free for all come an bawl on my wall no matter what you say in real life i you know i got you better than a draw.

i got you drawn in with the cycles of my cypher, i got you out shot like the bullets from a rifle. I dont just dabble i react for i know, because i got the beat poetry stuck to my sole. What do you know, need to let go, hope is just a word that you need to forgo. Do like a stewardess sit, stick and stow all of your conventions, cant beat out an mc who battle with out having intentions.

an interesting dialogue... posted on fb?!

this is what the original post from my friend was:

Collaboration is the key to our survival as a species. A new world is upon us, and it is our time to wake up. If we want to change the current trajectory we are collectively on we must strive to act more consciously and thoughtfully about how we live our lives. Every living person existing today has this fundamental truth in common. The decisions we are making every day are forming our world. Perspective, and context, are vital concepts. Out of context we are separate entities, battling against one another for power, but in the Grand Context we are each part of the same undulating fabric, we are all part of the same Existence.

What are the standards we are setting for ourselves? What is the discrepancy between what we declare we want for ourselves and what course of action we actually follow? What is the relationship between thought, word, and action?

When I awoke from the trance the only thing I said was that "the triangle is an infinitely important shape." My thoughts are the foundation of my existence as a human being, they are the frequency at which I resonate. Each word with which I articulate my thoughts is in itself a choice for which I am responsible. My action is the ultimate manifestation of my thoughts and words; it is that to which I direct my love, my energy, my time.

The triangle is an infinitely important shape. It represents strength, balance, and equality.

How can we declare that there is only one true way to perceive the world around us? The only truth is that which you experience for yourself, and it can and should peacefully coexist without imposition on the truths that others choose for themselves.

the following responses are from various individules:

Araman Drosseph

Not that i completely disagree with you but you tempt me to play the devils advocate so: What is so important about collaboration? It is easy to say that collaboration would solve all of our problems but in itself creates a whole new set of problems. Let me pose a question; how is difference created? Difference is created by opposing forces. Everything that is definable must have an opposite otherwise it is undefinable. Now collaboration could not exist without disunity. Therefore it is fundamental if it is to be defined. Now to examine it even closer; What if we did all collaborate. Would it be fair to say that this would lead to homogeneity? Homogeneity is a problem in itself. Like anything when it is spread amongst a large body it becomes diluted. From an artistic point a view lets say you really wanted to tell a story. This story is your story. However the moment you begin to distribute it it becomes diluted.

hat is why in large scale productions such as film there is alway a director to maintain overall artistic vision. WIthout this selfish roll the project would be overall lost due to there being to many cooks in the kitchen. In essence life is always a struggle between homeostasis and trans-stasis. Things can never be truly balanced and thus they maintain balance through being imbalanced (part of chaos theory). So in essence it is equally imbalanced to state that there is more than one true way to perceive the world around us because really the only means of perception is through our self through not only the medium of the body (5 sensations) but also through our interpretation of these sensations via our ego, id, and super ego which prioritize these sensations. This is why art is ultimately important because it is an attempt to share these very personal sensations, thoughts and feelings with others but it would not be possible without the basic separation of humanity from each other.

without the basic fear of maintaing ourselves we would be swallowed up into a collective thus rendering individuality useless. We would always be aware of how others where feeling and being and thus there would be no point in expressing ourselves. I dont know about you but i could not live like that. Could you?

Dashiell Renaud

Araman is right about requiring differences to establish individuality, and without the concept of individuality the meaning of unity is lost.
People have spent hours in attempts to explain to me that 'everything is one', without any solid form or structure to their argument. In terms of actual, practical considerations for collaboration; unity only occurs when a unifying threat is present.
Why did the US, Russia, and China ally? to fight Nazis.
When has the whole world come together to celebrate unity? Armageddon, Independence Day, War of the Worlds... existence threatening situations.
Our minds are designed to be focused on that which threatens us. The things we have/need, the people we like/turn to, the places we stay/go, would be of no consequence to us were there not threats or unpleasantries that these things, people, places help us combat/avoid/define ourselves against.
Opposition doesn't take us out of context, it IS the context of existence.

Opposition is not always a battle, nor is it synonymous with separation. "People opposed to polution unite to hose off the petroluem covered seals."

And to carry on to your tangent. There is nothing unified when it comes to thoughts, words, and actions, either. A triangle might commonly be interpreted to represent a collaboration of three elements, but it can just as easily symbolize a dispersion of entities, or multiplicity of consideration. Sometimes the triangle is just saying yield.

Yield to unity
Yield to desire
Yield to action to breed upon action to develop into circumstance to fall prey to interpretation to create difference to populate disparateness...

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

Chios A-einaftis

I wish to share with you a bit of wisdom of the Ancient word: dialogos (dialogue) and respect are the keys. It may not lead to unity, but at least we all know what we are after... As long as I will respect your idea and I will battle for you and me to be able to disagree without killing each other.

Araman Drosseph Violence is key to development though. I know i am opening a can of worms here but here me out; Violence in its most basic of terms is the meeting of two opposing forces. Opposing forces (again wether they real or imaginary) can not even exist within the same realm. This means that even ideas, thoughts, emotions, actions, and mater, can not reside within the same space (wether it be "real" or "imaginary"). Without breaking it too much further down everything grounded on coordinates, wether they be spatial or non spatial. Violence is the meeting of OPPOSING entities that happen to collide with each other on whatever coordinate plane. Confrontation is simply the encounter between any idea, matter, thing. However i slightly digress. What is important to keep in mind is that growth is impossible without confrontation or violence because it is essential as part of the over arching rules of anything that does exist and also does not exist.

link to small short i made

title is self explanatory.

quality is really low since its exported as an mp4 instead of being appleprorez HQ (high quality) that its supposed to be. Hope you all enjoy although it is slightly soul crushing depressing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2yHnUUqwL4s

im not helpless but your so helpful today, to me it aint all the same. they might tell you that your so priceless but to me the words are a shame they do you no justice in any way. Let me describe you somethin, a scribe could never do for you, on partridge words are ever smooth. I might sometimes be rude, but for you ill smooth the in between so it comes out.... new. I havent a clue what to do when you smile at me it just come through and blinds these old eyes that thought they realized everything they could do. You are to good to these old bones, this wall of blood and stones, for you i would build a home. I would put my life on the line, and drag myself through the grime just to feel you on my lips, fresh kiss, like the morning dew. I dont know what to do in the absence of abstinence taken upon me by the a sensation that is to true. If you were just ask, i wouldnt pass, and stop and fast, always wanting it to be... you.

i have apparently torn a muscle in my back. this is why i have been in pain for the last few days.

Ready to die, waiting to live

Its not that i question your beliefs, it is that i question your resolve. Are you prepared to move without thought through purpose? You stand before me as if to challenge, but all you have are words, and words are paltry compared to action. Me, i have words but i measure myself to them. In the old days, when men where honorable and fought face to face, a man was loathe to speak, for he was aware that his words could not prove his measure. Though i communicate well you have yet to see me speak my true language, my natural tongue. I speak through broken bone and rendered flesh, through unyielding strikes that materialize from the space between breaths. Even when you rip me asunder, when you break my limbs, and stub out my eyes, i will stand with pride bearing my guts for all to see, and with final breath i will strangle you with my own entrails. There being no causes worthy to die for anymore but for our own honor I will not tolerate you to insult me, not with your words, but with your weak resolve. A samurai way is found in death.

Remember:

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

Through passion i gain strength.

Through strength i gain power.

Through power i gain victory.

Through victory my chains are broken and my soul is finally set free.

dont put up such a front, have more faith in yourself. Follow your dreams.

within any poet there must be 3 things. First the poet to define the experience. Then the person to have the experience and react. Then the beast, for wherever there is man there will always be a beast abated behind every breath.

about cinephiles

the voyeur is very careful to maintain a gulf, an empty space, between object and the eye , the object and his own body: his look fastens the object at the right distance, as with those cinema spectators who take care to avoid being too close to or too far from the screen. The voyeur represents in space the fracture which forever separates him from the object; he represents his very dissatisfaction (which is precisely what he needs as a voyeur), and thus also his "satisfaction" insofar as it is of a specifically voyeuristic type. To fill the distance would threaten to overwhelm the subject, to lead him to consume an object (the object which is now too close so that he cannot see it anymore), to bring him to orgasm and the pleasure of his own body, hence to exercise of other drives, mobilizing the senses of contact and putting and end to the scopic arrangement.

we have stone age emotions, medieval institutions, and god like technology. Does this not result to you as dangerous?

the woods call out to me. Mother darkness matriculates me as i step into her. I cast aside my humanity and instinct takes over reaching into every corner of my body. I no longer worry, i no longer think, i simply feel as i step into the forest cover. The knifes cold steel is no longer separate from my body, it becomes like bone fused to flesh, i can feel the leaves tremble through its wake. I am on the hunt now, hidden beneath my mothers veil, my breath hidden by the leaves, my movements blurred by the blankets of darkness. I am free to move at will, free to peer through the night, through the heart of things to their true nature. I am not a puppet strung along the strings and guidelines of an ailing society but by the nature of the beast that seeks to live, that seeks to be for being sakes. I hunt, my ears open to a world that did not exists before. I can hear the mice scamper underfoot, the birds sleeping in their trees, the deers strolling the ground before me, it is their lives that i want. My breathing slows and comes to a still, a whispered gasp against the night air reminiscent of the ocean waves grasping earthen rock. I am silent like the breeze, deadly like the venom coursing through veins, i wait, i want, i listen. She approaches me without second thought, as though i am not there, for in my mind i am not. She stops beneath the tree where i sit to grasp her surrounding and in that moment she is mine. I drop down disregarding pain and using gravity as my weapon. I spring upon her with vicious intent, we wrestle to the ground but there is no escape, no sanctuary from me. I plunge into her throat and take hold of her life, i feel the pulse i see it in her eyes as they regress. I strip the life from her and call unto the heavens in triumph. I am whole, i am fed, i am now what i was meant to be. I kiss her flesh tasting the game like no other hunter would, kissing the blood for the nourishment it holds. She is my love and my savior, my teacher and my mother, i will pay tribute to her for it is her flesh that keeps my flesh whole. If only you could understand, if only you could experience what i say. Perhaps then your fears would be washed away and then you could be reborn as i have.... We are more than what we think, we must do to be complete.

it came to me in a dream, androgynous without out a care. Some sort of devilish being or an angel in despair. It quoted to me scripture though i knew not what it sought. It told me of myself and that in cains shadow i was caught. It told me to stop pretending, to stop holding on to this humanity and demanded of me to embrace what i was. It took me apart and showed me my heart and flipped the switch that tore me apart. I was the scales bent back and forth my sign could be so out of sorts and with that switch on i could no longer hold on and i slipped back into this course. My blood boiled my senses away the heat emanating like the sun. The heat poured into my hands making the air crackle with its touch. Then this being it spoke to me and called me by my true name, charged with the task to break the glass flesh of those within my domain. It crowned me the harbinger, the consumer from within. It told me to brand myself with devil upon sleeve upon card that was both above and below in this game. I was to carry this weight to do bidding for the sinister hand, because left and right come as a pair and so i was chosen to be of this clan. My way is of the corrupt, of the mindless butcher, of the cutthroats skill and still the other side of me resists against this ill. But i can not deny my talents when what i touch turns to ash, and i can not deny this hunger which seems to run me pour black oil into this engine of mass... destruction so that why my construction that was my function that is my charge, and all my sensibility and humanity sailed away upon a barge, that i keep hidden still to this day, in some small corner of my heart hopping this responsibility will go away.

my true name is the tower, the ten of swords, the son of cain.

dont believe in yourself, believe in the you that believes in yourself.

just reached the one month period without any drugs. Doesnt mean i dont want them though. Dont think i ever will not want them but hey i guess this is a fucking start in a good direction.

my room

my room smells of tequila and broken dreams, of unshared thoughts of frustration unable to make it through these screechy screen door teeth. There is catalogue of my failures stacked on the bookshelf over the desk, i read them every night before bed to remind myself that there is knowledge buried somewhere in these tomes. There is a picture of you hidden on my breath, dissatisfaction breathed out intangibly in the heat of a cool drink between four white walls without windows, without doors, without hope. There is a messy bed, which is more of an unmarked grave where i rest unbeknownst to the world dreaming of something to die for, for everything we live for is so common place that it has washed the taste of life from or mouths. There is a mirror that doesn't reflect, it just shows me a strangers face haggard with a long beard and red sleepless eye as i walk by, and every day we meet eye to eye and we ask each other; is it you or is it me who did this?

is betrayal a silent act carried within the heart, or is it a boisterous moment wrought within the confusion of passion? Is love a word, a feeling, or a way of being? Is hate not born within one, but perhaps breathed into us by the inequities of the world surrounding us? Is beauty within this world, or simply an unnecessary byproduct that we have given foolish sentimental value? Do not all things compliment each other?

death is certain, its hour uncertain.

They call us liars though they have never been down our roads. We tell them truths and they bend it to fiction on a childish whim because we are ugly and broken. They are loved and so sheltered shining within a perfection that we can never obtain though it is our distraught stories they wish to tell. You dont see it in their eyes, because the most adept already lie to the core of their souls, making their fiction indistinguishable from the truth. You see it in their soft hands, beautiful faces, and unblemished bodies. Our hand are rough and calloused, our faces distorted with the years, our bodies scarred through the wounds of trials and tribulations that could never fully be explained and never honestly believed. I am wounded by this. I feel like a liar even though i speak the truth. I feel like this image i perpetuate is constantly a lie, controlling myself in such a manner that i loose faith in myself just to be allowed to fit in, just to hide the fact that i know what it means to kill. This thing inside me doesn't allow these hands to create, constantly reminding me of my talent for ruin. Yesterday i broke into four different rooms and did it with such ease. Yesterday i ripped apart the locks keeping me out because i could. Yesterday i looked a man who had been part of the Israeli forces in the eye and he took back what he said because he knew i would not stop regardless of how i bled. I am disgusted with myself for this. I am tired of these destructive hands, they serve no purpose but their own. I had wanted to create but i realize that i know not how. I am another beast who walks within the lands of Cains shadow, seeking nothing but love but finding only his inability to accept it. Is it wrong for me to accept my nature? Is it wrong to want to bleed all this bad blood away and in favor return as one who need not worry about the discrepancies of his soul? Is it so wrong to ask for forgiveness though i know not to be worthy? Is it not wrong to want to be someone that you are not?

note to self: ale please stop getting black out drunk and writing nonsense. thanks.

-ale

desire and passion are two different things. I have learned this the most difficult of ways. though my desire dies my passion has not. Through all this time i have never forgot, who i am and what i am and what i am meant to be. i see far beyond this simple tapestry. MY savagery i will never forget. My heart on possibility is set. SO do not show your face, do not dare bring him to this place. For in my stead, when met face to face and challenged head to head, i will not resist, without knowing pain i will surge from this fist. Five fingers clenched so tight could only come to represent my desire. I will never come undone and for me i expect no heroes song to be sung. I am a villain a filthy beast and for such notion i will not be discreet.

the bitter fruit of betrayal was plucked from the branches of the tree of knowledge. the tree of knowledge grew in opposition to the tree of life. Did you savor your meal as i do mine? Do you savor it still through all this time? Will you savor its taste when the sword of god comes, when the work of justice is wrought and done? Or will you turn unto his cold steel, and in begging forgiveness kiss iron ore and kneel, peeling absolution from wretched flesh, seeking grace within final breath?

its been rough as of late. i am not going to lie. I am in upstate maine (doing various film workshops) until the end of october and all i can think about is all my friends and loved one that i have left behind. It doesnt help that once i get back at the beginning of november, that in two months (january) i will be leaving to head out to new Zealand to work in a TV studio for more or less than four months. Life has done nothing for me as of late but provide me twist and turns but the truth is that i feel most adapt at life when i have no idea what is coming next. i can only hope that these experiences do not keep me from connecting with those around me even though i already know that those ties have been severed. I feel on my own and i am afraid of what i am capable of because the creature within my soul stirs calling for violence. It is because of this that i am somewhat happy that i am gone. There has always been an element to me that wishes nothing more than to deconstruct and dissect all the elements around me, wether i am honest or dishonest. I can not help but pay heed to the tell tale signs of my personality and admit sometimes to myself that my remoteness helps protect those i love from me true self. I feel torn between my nature and acceptance from the society that governs us. We live so subserviently afraid to enact our true god given natures and for this i am forced to apologize. I will not do you anymore disservice than i have already done. Good night and safe keeping. If i am lucky we will meet again.

why do most men commit to affairs the end in blood shed. it is true that men posses a side that is barbarous as you have observed but it is a double edged sword, it can be a tool used to win precious things as well as protecting them. I believe that beneath everything there is something more precious than love and friendship. I speak of dreams. Men are driven to pursue it and pursue it only for their own sake. One mans dream can hold dominion over the entire world. Like one who dedicates his life to the forging of a single sword, they can pursue their dreams in solitude while some dreams are like great storms blowing hundreds even thousands of dreams apart in their wake. dreams breath life into men and can cage them in suffering. Men live and die by their dreams but long after they have been abandoned they still smolder deep in mens hearts. Some see nothing more than life and death, they are dead for they have no dreams.

even now i can read your mind. you are an open book to me, always and forever. That frightens you but there is no need to worry. I will not use the secrets of your soul against you. I am already cosigned and obliged to my end. I just wanted to see you smile again, and again. I can distinguish the fake from the real , and to see your face distorted in pleasure reassures my conscious that i have not been a waste. Somehow this distorted form has lived a purpose beyond purposes. and arrived to days where his own worth is outweigh by another. Perhaps this is all i need in the end and perhaps i am deserving something better, but i am not one to complain with that look on your face and that heat upon your breath. I just wanted to be part of your happiness, and thats all i have ever asked.

Me estoy quitando

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-1gNpES-iA

and the devil spoke to me, and he said this truth: God is a sadist else why would he make pain and suffering the conditions for existence? Pain is the gift he has given us to cherish, it is what keeps entities separate and determinate. If we can only come to know the pain, love it, crave it, we will see to verifying our own existence as a moment of sensation.

in a world of sadists the masochist is enraptured. It is true that agony an ecstasy are the most incestuous of twins.

raw lips
from blistering passionate kiss.
why do i always have bruised skin
from dealing with the feminine?
kisses to punches,
i know i should always follow my hunches,
but sins with this broken skin
tattered together to show you like film.
that i am more than flesh and bone
that pain is unknown to this mound of stone.
you try to replace me but all you can do is clone.
you know that you shouldn't
but you'd still pick up the phone,
me,
im stronger when im on my own
so it was written
and so it was sown.

The water from the Potomac still hung to my skin making the rushing summers night air cold from its invisible touch. I was distracted, staring up into the darkened tree tops watching the glistening fields of fireflies, propositioning each other in ephemeral glory. I thought of you and where you might be, and if this switch that somehow had been flipped off with your departure might miraculously set itself right. I was somehow comforted and sadden to call myself a fool for thinking in such selfish fashion.

Ill see ya when i see ya

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NNinOL6Mnk&feature=related

What i saw when i died

The question, it is something whispered, unnamed, fragile as the air of parishioners walking upon hallowed ground. The answer, was the violence of the apple, the unveiling of glorious truth that immolated your eyes till they could not see as they had before. The response, was inadequate, unable to qualify the lesson of the experience.

This is what i believe, virtue is something not only cultivated by man but bestowed upon him as a gift from the heavens. Benevolence is something a man must learn and cultivate upon his own. It is through benevolence towards our fellow beings that the greatest illusion, the illusion of separation is dispelled. It is through the prices that i have payed that i have come to this realization. It is through this realization that i gratefully shoulder your burden.

I know that the city lights are powered by broken dreams. At this hour they hum like insects casting amorphous shadows into the engulfing dark. Tiny islands of butchered hope to light the way for the disenfranchised, the ugly, the downtrodden, for if the night exists for one purpose it is to shelter those forsaken by the sun. I am an unwelcome guest in both elements. Somewhere concretely removed, an observer of my own and others actions. I peer seamlessly from the asphalt that grinds like brimstone beneath my shoes and stare up at the night sky which has been given a skyline of perpetual twilight, the stars being buried beneath the millions of tiny laments that light the path of those condemned to a terrestrial existence.

if i ever reconcile myself with the world again
ill stow me weapon but never my pad and pen
if life some how came akin to god send id probably then
stop havin a drug problem
id probably stop botherin the bottle
id probably stop in the church and ask for a bible
but this was all libel
trifle rightness to beget spineless kindness
fakers like that got me lookin at the wine list
to be able to dine on this
a straight diet of remiss rhyme flow
i pack it up for spring and during winter i like to
go
No more connection
im infectious with skills to bypass your detection
im not who you think so just listen to the correction
im a tradesman who was born without and option
the divine saw it fit to fit these hands with destruction

now im not saying that i could do better
but given the chance id try
and i know that nothings forever
but ive always been do or die
and when tomorrow comes ill be gone
across the waves underneath the sky
and if you need someone to fight for you
you'll always know well see eye to eye
even though i stub them out i can still see
there outline in my mind
and even when im lost and left to die
your image will guide me by
a depraved man dies and a good man is born
a good man is sworn to uphold and adorn
to be forsworn against any attachments
to let go of all these personal achievements
to seek nothing but blindness
to be bound to the guidelines
and i am none of the above
i am sworn to float and never to succumb
so tell them all you love my flaws
and raise a flag beneath my cause
and use my back to sharpen your claws
but always live without pause.....
because,

gods if you see it fit forgive me for i have sinned. Tonight i got back into the old routine, blank cars taken what i can. Tonight i got glasses and a wrist watch and a gps navigation system. If i get them off let it be cause to have pause and remember what ive lost. If not then its a celebration.

Beg my forgiveness but fuck you.

I just want to make it clear. I am not a thief. If i take anything i will take it face to face. I dont give a fuck about who you are and what you belong to. Today I took it easy on you because i know what its like to be drunk and confuse but next time you try and call me out i will destroy your immortal soul and you will know what it means to be truly in hell that is all. As always your most loyal of acolytes DRO.

The spirit of an age (work in progress)

-within any poet there must be 3 things. First the poet to define the experience. Then the person to have the experience and react. Then the beast, for wherever there is man there will always be a beast abated behind every breath.-
Alejandro D. Peruga Martinez

It is said that what is called "the spirit of an age" is something to which one cannot return. That this spirit gradually dissipates is due to the world's coming to an end. In the same way, a single year does not have just spring or summer. A single day, too, is the same. For this reason, although one would like to change today's world back to the spirit of one hundred years or more ago, it cannot be done. Thus it is important to make the best out of every generation.
-hagakure

The storm rolled in quietly under the cover of a heat wave causing the atmosphere to dance with electrons that seemed to excite the skin and tweak the nerve. I had watched the sky darken tethered to my register like a trained monkey. Finally I was free but only to swim home beneath a barrage of bullet bursting droplets. The people that ran down the seemingly dead Wisconsin avenue must have thought it crazy to watch me march down without even noticing the rain. I knew however regardless if I ran or not I would still receive the same soaking.

Lesson: make sure you dont do bad things when you black out son

Waking up with money in my pockets
White in my nose
Who knows how the life of a time traveling prophet goes
Turn the clock back to ten dot dot oh oh in the pm
Was getting soaked by the rain as I walked back getting ready for the mayhem
Say amen ahem as I spit the phlegm to the street
Another day another bottle to be complete
My feet were wet as I beat my rhythm
When I got home alina was there shes chill when it comes to women
Also the bearberbil and the wyatterps chillen wit a bottle of vodka
We all took to taken squirts
Soon enough we started getting hurt
Turned around and there was crowd with us
Robear gets all nasty because eveline tried to diss us
But we was pissed drunk and so we got to discussin
Wit all the girly girls on how good its feels to be busttin
Clock fade out then fade back in its 3am and im 3 deep again
That’s when that white came out
Wyatt sling it to me like some sour krout
Sour taste postal nasal drip to the back of your face
Fishschale been know to win first place
Black out lights back out my head
Living in this time is like living between the dead
Lost in the maze of haze and the archways of sounds images best left for entrees
Then I wake up its 12 noon and im sleeping in my spot
Glad I made it through glad I didn’t get caught
Seems during the darkness me and luke tried to bop
Some kids and split their wigs my dagger was ready to cut through digs
But this is all third person we stopped because the kids weren’t even done rehearsing
So the lesson I be kickin to you in due time
When you play hard make sure you remember your crimes

this is a note to self: you are really going to hate yourself tomorrow. Its going to be rough but you can make it through. You over did yourself again letting temptation hem you up in bad habits. Your going to ache all day at work lifting boxes for people who wont even remember your name though you go out your way to entertain them dying in a cold sweat. But remember its all an ends to a means. Though you will have no home in the coming weeks you will find shelter beneath calloused skin, and know what it means to grin at the devil. I just pray to maintain myself on this a perilous journey from darkness into further darkness. I cant see a foot ahead of me and everything behind me is lost as though in a dream. I am adrift with only my will to guide my rudder through jagged reefs. But the truth is that in this fashion I am one step closer to home... wherever that may be.

sometimes you have to do the wrong thing to do the right thing. I know that sounds entirely ambiguous but it is the duality of choice that can create the necessary repercussions. I believe that a good person knows their place, and in knowing ones place they may come to fulfill their destiny. It is my imperfection that leads me to resentment. How can one survive when the happiness of a friend is outweighed by the woe in ones heart. How can one justify themselves in being so out of difference with the will of their loved ones? I submit to you they can not. It is cancerous this taste of malcontentism, and so to spare you I remain claustrophobicly silent so that only in my dreams do the terrors that sunder my mind seek abode. If I have ever been your friend it is now that I act so relieving you of a burden to carry on my own. You are free like the wind, a force never seen but always wanted and forever envied. Though my sails are without your blessing , i have since then forced myself to row on into whatever may come. Just remember that when my time comes that my wishes be honored and that a pyre at sea I become. I pray to my gods that you are well.

Good night.

and i hope ill be dreaming about that ship.... my ship to sail with this old harbor at my back. Ill look back with fondness leaving behind all regret, i tell you a good memory never to be forgotten. Regardless, its all for the best in the end. Ill see you in my dreams. Good night.

so i just want to start off this post by admitting that i have made more money lately through less than honorable means than i do working a shift at my normal job. Only further proof that we get more than we deserve.

Now have any of you actually seen a corpse? I dont mean the thing they put in a casket for the funeral service. That for all intensive purposes to me is nothing more than a doll or humunculus. A corpse is a body that up until recently was living. Now imagine a body that has gone cold, its turning the ever slightest tint of purple. There is no breath as in the moments after mortum capture the perfected nature of serenity. At least it did in her case. She looked calm, sickenly peaceful in the photograph. It was a close up on her face, the photographer had been so tactful so as not to display the vicious damage the car accident had inflicted on her fragile body. There she was, a woman who i had loved for over five years, dead. It was alien. It was imperceivable strangling strangeness that i had once held that mound of flesh as a demigod. That would be the last day i would ever see her depicted in this reality. She hasn't left my dreams since I learned of her demise. She comes as though unperturbed by her physical absence. It is satisfyingly cruel and barbarously benevolent in the same breath. My subconscious is wracked with her latent energies trying in vain to perpetuate a person that is no more. I have taken to sleeping significantly less.

sometimes its like your in an unending war with god. Just when you can start to believe there is solid ground under your feet again it evaporates and you are left for a second hovering above the great abyss wondering in that split second before gravity kicks in if this time will be the time you finally hit the bottom. Funny enough that the bottom always seems to be the glass bottom of a bottle and each time you wake up you can taste that kiss on your lips that you forget looking through the tinted glass you think you see the truth. You keep on looking for that new high, never saying no to what ever may drive by, but its a lie, unnatural something completely fictional and not factual. Thats where the problems begin, you realize you cant distinguish the truth from the lie, the good from the bad and without these personal indicators you slip into an ambiguous zone forgetting the true nature of your soul. What good is a soul at this point, what good is a soul when its just a rotting manifest to the inequities of the truth? Whats the point of these earthly chains when the dead can rest better then the vain?

today i received a message from my ex girlfriends mother. Apparently she died in a car accident last Tuesday. Needless to say i have again fallen off the bandwagon. When it rains it pours....

Gnostic state

Lost and all but forgotten come and walk the razors edge. Bloody cough and still no stopping my mortality is watching the envelope bend. Cant decide if fake or righteous where do i begin? Tired of waiting for tomorrow i dont sleep so my days never end. Here i am the shudra bought and sold on a whim. Pretty people smiling faces bite my lip and bare the brunt follow guidelines no one asked me but i know i could not stop.... you have left me know to wallow swallow these words dont let the jump these lips. Beaten down and covered in garbage while the treacherous have their way. Loveless fodder daughter born to undeserving father tragedy followed within. If my god was let loose upon them would they bow like me, if they saw in through the darkness would the peer in self reflection and think they are unclean? Perhaps there is no reward and i would still not change, carnal beast tied in earthly chains, i am of the air watch me float on this limitless plain. Now too many are the nights where I pray, calling out into the ether asking for its name. I have been there once and like a mother its nourishment is unseen. Form is nothingness and from nothingness this form was born. Ringing in my ears now, can you hear it calling like the thunder from a storm deafening this mediocrity urging me to see it till the end. Granted visions i see the forest of Nemi where i was left to be king, golden bough in hand the land leads me to hades will it let me in? Trade now this fragile form for something substantial make me more than flesh bound to bone. Separate this mind from the body and leave it to rot, give me the bitter root of reason to dull these senseless sense to see truly what is right in front of my eyes. Cast this veil aside rip asunder my matriculation free me and let me touch the divine.

A man is not an island but he can be stronghold, its walls made of bricks of pain mortared with faith. These walls protect virtue, long forgotten by those who would throw words without care, without knowing their true meaning. Now you see the temple which grows far beyond the walls, and though its gleaming steeple within the city walls blinds you it is the light of truth and justice that causes your eyes accustomed to the dark to weep. It is in this manner that we the children of your uncaring deity have come to reject him and to know the true names of our gods. We do not ask for favor, we seek adversity for the difference between man and beast is that when a beast is wounded it simply bleeds, a man will learn from his wounds passing into the days of tomorrow knowing the flavor of the forbidden fruit yet not craving it. It is through these lessons that i purge wanton desire, awakening to the true path which is beset on all sides with the inequity of the weak. If there is to be strength then this strength must come from the hand of our heart seated not in the throne of necessity but in the wooden stool of morality, and though it strain our back we must learn to carry the weight of our own. I call out to you now and ask is it upon your own strength that you carry yourself or is it the crutch of the other that you rely upon falsely calling your treachery compassion, falsely promising love when you were unwilling to make the sacrifice for anyone, putting your wretched ambitions above all others? I submit to you that you are false, that you are unable to name the errors of your soul and are therefore loss to chronic dissatisfaction oscillating between dreams, fully enamored with your own pretentious desires that will never reach pure fruition because you will always lack the true faith of the downtrodden. Because you know in your heart of hearts that you sleep with a shadow, that you speak with reflection , that you walk hand in hand with failure, that you are lost having done nothing more but adopted another's facade in hope of disguising the truth from yourself. I will not weep for you now for your path of self deception is self chosen, and that is how you have learned to avert the simple truth that you have no idea who you really are. It is with these bitting words that i leave you now for good and hope that sensibility like a venom might come to finally coarse through your fragile veins.

and there are monsters in the darkness
so what would you call the man who kills them all
is he no different after the fall
and when he catches in your glances
he know there is no repair for this still growing wall

and what would you say
when you truly know me
when you see my hands betray my heart
strangling the life from some young corpse
just to realize that
justice
is nothing but a dream
of debts un payed outweighed by deed
and not just by thought

and what would you say
to know me lost in these strange marshes
my feet stuck in the muck of regret
that if i kept it all in check
i wouldn't have to carry this dead man around my neck

and you say that you will shed light with crosses
but in the this brightness shadows grow
and though my feet might kiss the darkness
it is from this vantage that one can come to truly love light
and i will shed blood for these losses
upon this back i will let you crawl
full fanged and with furious passes
fetter my skin and let it hang
for it to be seen by all

and i am man only in name
and i am tame only through force
and everyday i rehearse this passion
to pay for what has still yet to come
because if the worthy are to be forgotten
and the blasphemer to gain it all
then without regret i will bury your crosses
beneath my ever growing wall

and if you hate me then you will hate the real me
blood splattered for the lack of you
and if you turn your back upon
this heap of ashes
then they will still continue to float around you

Enviable Cataclysm

It is catastrophic, like the violence that pierced the air when the first people attempted in awkward voices to sing. It is a line of sinew binding you and I together in the unseen. Though stretched thin by distance I can still hear the murmur of your pulse like drums in the darkest jungle, and though the rhythm be intense it is still a familiar calling that I match with my own fervor. If you were to ask me honestly what I missed, i would confess through unnamed rosaries the quiet things that brought me pleasure. I admit to disaster, waiting with each bated breath behind veiled words, for only a trickle to cross these lips would leave them raw with unimaginable taste and if coupled with yours our bittersweet muse would come to conduct an orchestra of two worlds colliding in enviable cataclysm. I lay it now before me as melancholic ambrosia, something tasted yet never forgotten, something willingly given yet never fully taken. Thus i come to curse providence which drove you from me, thus i came to curse myself seeing the inequities in providence as my own... and all only to admit in whispered words, my head bent upon your shoulder as though it were a pew:


That if i were lonely i would crave the company of your voice,
if i were sick i would find my cure all in your presence,
and if i were dead i would seek resuscitation at your touch, it reaching far beyond the veil of the perturbed immediate causing me to forfeit all before this one despotic truth that governs me so.

Honesty

Have you ever looked into someone's eyes and known that poetry could not explain their complexities and that flattery could never describe their gaze? Even though you could spend hours lost in complex thought, you could still not arrive at an answer and peering through candid eyes your soul could only resonate with yes. Thus it is now that I come to address you all. Without inhibition I confess only to desperation, to death with dishonor if only to prove a point. To believe that the powers may be made my shoulders wide to carry more than one weight and my frame bent to the floor be closer to the generosity of the earth. I carry all this for you now, because for you it is a weight well carried, yet carried under selfish means is just a burden more. I confess to you hope everlasting, to life without surrender if but you seek a meager hello. I would beg your pardon for my relentlessness for within finding truth one can not simply surrender, and within my undying fervor there can exist no taboo. We are two bodies sharing one soul, how could i exist without such glorious conflict, how will you turn your cheek to me and with spurned words say... no? And thus I surrender and declare war in single breath.

A prayer

As rest come and claim me, illusion spare my thoughts. Determination come and steel my spirits, may I do deeds without thinking, may they follow they way, may i be humble in my righteousness and pass into the days of tomorrow without regret. May i grow in measure of control beyond the measure of my strength, though strength be apparent, may it never come to replace true power. May i offer up tribute in the calculated silence, in sacred stillness, for a poet fears not the fire but the ashes left to bare. May i be challenged every day by the unseen hand and may i be promised the retribution of payment fulfilled. May i find a cause worthy to die for, may i find people worthy to live for, may i be blessed enough to see the error of my way.

In these seasons ( a letter from a retainer)

In these mean seasons we grow weary of our lust to live. We turn to our fears and embrace them as though they were familiar. We come to gaze our enemy eye to eye and without blinking pass into the days of tomorrow. Even now in knowing our limitations do we list our strengths and guided by the gentle hand of the unseen we come to know when to control ourselves. Thus embracing the desperation in our way do we cease to be virtuous and become something object, towering all things yet meaning nothing. In this decadence we come to know all things as many and yet fear not the difference that separates us all, for this difference is nothing more than abject fear. Silently, without tongues, without touch all wounds are healed and presented as cause for jubilation as a creature gifted with a mind can learn. Thus your humble servant can speak without fearing that his words be misused.

The Pyre

It started with a flame. The flame turned unto torch, the torch unto pyre, until there was nothing left but the cold ashes of logic and reason scattered upon the winds of once was and now will never come to be again. Thus in our infancy we were but two pups licking at each others wounds. I was a mutt carrying the scars of battle left by the weight of the ultimate taboo. She was a bitch burden by her attempt at a premature departure from this world. Together we reveled in the exquisite nature of pain savoring each others departure as one would tenderly care for an open wound. In its coming of age we proved to depend upon each other, no longer only satisfying the carnal limitations of our weak flesh bound to bone.

to be continued...

A defanged beast has a funny grin

and im tired
instead of resting in peace im resting in pieces
playing backwards in my head that record with all the things we never said
and i would be lying if my lips didnt betray your name
all the same i should stop pulling my punches and show you some pain
but ive bled all that bad bile away and all thats left now is this stain
how serious
a defanged beast has a funny grin finding gaps within my chin
reaching in just to begin
pull something wet and warm from my head sleeping in this waterboard bed
its not considered torture if you like it its only considered torture if you run with out side kicks
but its okay im not alone i got multiple personalties and none of them home
working my fingers to the bone expecting answers from a wall of stone late at night i can hear you moan over a turned off telephone
poison is your new name when playing this old game time to be cruel to the useless old frame
try and demean me i have no shame to me it all feels the same

To win a war

To Win a War
By: Alejandro Peruga-Martinez

My social worker lit her third cigarette while my mother sobbed her lengthy goodbye into my shoulder. My father stood to the side watching me quietly, a glint of shame in his eyes. “Alright lets go”. I heard the social worker say as she turned around and walked toward the car leaving me to escape my mother’s grasp and carry the heavy suitcase that contained all the pairs and sets of clothing that I would need to complete my uniform.
The tie was tight against my throat as I got into the car. It had been several months since my dad had taught me how to tie my tie. How sad he must have felt that the first time he imparted this knowledge was for the court hearing for his eight-year-old son.
I didn’t really understand the whole hearing process at the time. “Attempted Murder” was not yet part of my vocabulary. What I do remember was the Michael Sheean had done something to make me angry and I had held his head beneath the water of the pool for one second too long till he had stopped struggling. After that there had been a whirl-wind of strange people asking me questions, evaluating and assessing me, until finally a somber man in a black robe gave my parents a choice: either I could be put away with the other degenerate children, or I could be banished to an academy in Northern Virginia. My parents, thinking to spare me, chose to send me to school rather than incarceration.
The social worker drove as though she had taken this journey many times before. She had a demeanor of quiet exasperation, as if she was doing me a great favor taking me to my punishment. I did not fully realize the choice my parents had made, but I knew that either way I was to be punished. We sat silently on the southward drive for what felt like an eternity. When I first caught glimpse of the academy, it was as we drove up the long driveway. It was a large rustic building that at first glance seemed to be a mansion except for the two flags, one red with a crest and eagle emblazoned on it and above it the American flag, flying from the massive flag pole at the end of the driveway.
The social worker parked her car in front of the main entrance and we made our way up the large stone steps and through an elaborate door and hallway to a small office with the words “admissions” stenciled on the glass. She exchanged words and documents briefly with the secretary sitting behind the almost comically small desk. She leaves me without even so much as a good bye.
“You will be in hall B bunk sixteen. Take the stairs on the right, drop off your things, and then make your way out to the blacktop for PT”, the secretary drones out without ever looking up from the documents she is so laboriously signing. I cautiously make my way through my new surroundings, walking up the stairs and down a corridor with stainless white walls whose cleanliness in some way made me feel dirty. I reached hall B and manage to find my bunk, placing my suitcase at the foot of the bed as were all other so aligned. Some how I make my way back through the maze to the door I believed led to the black top.
There was hardly anybody on the black top when I exited the building, just four boys sitting at the far end. Past the blacktop there was a field and I could make out the distant shapes of people running. I started to head towards the field when one of the boys sitting at the end of the blacktop called out to me.
“Hey you, you new here?”, the bigger of the boys says as he gets up and makes his way towards me, his three friends falling in behind him.
“Yeah” I responded as the bigger boys’ towers over me.
“Do you have anything to trade?” the bigger boy blurts out and his friends begin to snicker.
“Trade?” I ask unsure of what we could possibly trade. The boy stares down at me and I can see the rage gathering in his face.
“Don’t play dumb” he yells at me and his massive hand grabs me by the shirt collar,
“run your pockets”.
At this moment rage and fear swell in me, and I flail out only o feel the soft thud of the boy’s fist against my face. The first blow stuns me and knocks me to the ground; it is the kick to my gut from the boy’s friend that sends a wave of pain through me. I gasp for air beneath the kicks, which are coming in a barrage now, and slowly I get very sleepy and the blows seem to be like thunder from a far off storm. It isn’t until the next morning that I wake up in the cold sterile comfort of the infirmary wing. My body aches with innumerable pains and it is near impossible for me to move. It is several hours before a nurse realizes that I am awake. She asks me what happened and instinctually I reply “I fell”. The nurse looks at me sadness swimming in her eyes.
“That seems to be the reason why everyone gets hurt”.
I spend several days recuperating in the infirmary after which I am released back into the general populace with only a few unsightly bruises covering my body. I make my first friend that day after English class, which is my third subject. I am sitting down on the bench outside the cafeteria when he unexpectedly sits next to me.
“I see that Greg has gotten to you,” he stammers out behind long unkempt blond hair.
“He pretty much runs things around here since he’s the oldest, gets away with anything. I heard once he even killed a kid.” At this I feel a small swell of shame rise in me and I fight it back.
“My name is Matt and I’ll be happy to show you how things work around here.”
Matt kept me under his wing for a short time. He was a grad higher than me but was about the same height. Perhaps that is why Greg preyed upon him too. We became friends by sharing an innumerable amount of beatings and making sure that neither one of us was ever abandoned. Greg was one of the older kids. He had failed to graduate and spent most of his time doing what he pleased. There were only a handful of student that who would stand up to Greg and his idiots. Andrew and Josh were two of the older students who Greg did not want to mess with. For the first year they looked out for the younger students, often time intervening when Greg go out of hand. They however graduated a the end of the year leaving us no protection against Greg’s onslaughts which now not only came during the day but sometime during the night.
The only other person who Greg feared was the head administrator, Mr.Hernner, He was a short man who always wore the same deep blue suit and an eye patch, which looked strange, under his thinning whit hair. He walked with a cane to support his bad leg, and so made a loud clinking noise that always foretold his arrival. Whenever we would hear that noise Greg would stop whatever torture he was administrating and leave as though the incident had never occurred. I suspect that Mr.Hernner knew what was going on. When he asked us about our various injuries we always reported “I fell,” for the unspoken code of youth was never tell, for in telling you lost all respect, and in the end respect was the only thing that kept you from falling further on the food chain. Eventually I fell into a rhythm, some days I would be able to escape from Greg and his lackeys and other I would wear fresh bruises in quiet shame.
It was halfway through my second year that I was put in charge of the tool shed. We all had chores that we needed to complete. The previous year my responsibility had been helping the librarian organize the bookshelves, which had been rather nice, seeing as when you don’t have a TV you seem to get a lot of reading done. I had poured over almost anything I could get my hands on but mostly enjoyed reading history, which is why I probably excelled in class. It felt almost like a demotion to be put in charge of the tool shed but in the end it was perhaps fate.
I worked in the tool shed in the evenings, organizing and distributing the various tools. More than often no one would need anything and I was left to my own devices for hours at a time. Then one day Matt came sprinting into the shed out of breath. There was blood on his shirt.
“Hide me he’s going to kill me,” he panted as he tried to hide awkwardly behind a shelf. Not a second later Greg and his most loyal of lackeys Gautam burst through the door, a long cut oozing blood from his face, holding a small penknife in his hand.
“Where is that fucker?” he screeched, locking his gaze on me. At this Matt stirred and gave away his position. I had no time to react before Greg pushed me out of the way and Gautam grabbed my hair and pinned me against the wall. He fished Matt from behind the shelf and sent him to the ground with a sound blow to his jaw, then proceeded to pin him to the ground. He took the penknife in his hand and began to poke and prod Matt with it, allowing the blood to find its way to the surface through freshly punctured skin, all the time yelling,
“You think you can cut me and get away with it, you really think you can do that to me?” Matt began to screech like an animal, a sad pitiful high-pitched noise and that’s when I felt the rage fill my lungs. It was different this time though, where it had been hot and uncontrolled, it was now cold and calculating. My actions were as though they were not my own. In my mind’s eye I can see myself elbowing Gautam in the groin and knocking him to the ground, I can see how I pick up the monkey wrench and swing it at the side of Greg’s face, but it is the feeling of soft flesh, stretching sinew, and broken bone that I will never be able to forget. In that moment I realized how fragile the human body truly was, that we were no more than flesh bound to bone and I marveled in the violence as I sought my own emancipation.
It was all over in less than a second. Matt got up from beneath the now unconscious Greg soaked in his blood and we made our way back to our respective bunks the victors for the first time ever. It was not until the next day that I was called in to see Mr. Hernner. He sat in a large office, a tiny Cyclops behind and immense mahogany desk.
“Do you know what happened to Greg yesterday evening?” he inquired in his normal commanding tone.
“No sir,” I responded, willing myself to believe in my own ignorance.
“Well he seemed to have gotten injured in the tool shed about the time that you were working there, that doesn’t ring any bells?” he continued.
“Maybe he fell while I was out sir,” I said with conviction. At this he cracked a smile and said,
“that’s exactly what he told me, but off the record I want to know why.” That’s when I remembered something I had read in a World War Two history book.
“Sir, when the United States decided to use atomic weapons on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, they knew that it would be an atrocity and that many human lives would be lost, however the loss of life if the war had continued would have been even greater. I wanted to win the war, not simply the battle, Sir.” At this he nodded and let me go,
As I made my way back to my bunk I understood that what I had done had been neither right nor wrong but necessary and it chilled me to the bone that I accepted it with such little remorse. It was rumored that perhaps I had killed Greg, but I had seen him being taken away in a van the very next morning towards a destination unknown. Though I had liberated myself I felt shame, shame that perhaps I belonged amongst the troubled youth that roamed the stainless white halls.

I Say Im Glad

I say im glad
Behind clenched teeth
“what were you thinking?”
My stomach sinks to knots
behind this stoic code of thoughts.
I peer without having a reason
and for my treason you have sought
conviction of capital offense
I cant make sense
Behind these bars
Behind these walls
Of your pretty white enamel
When enamored you show
No remorse
I run the course
the gambit once again
and I pretend
that I have suffered through far worse.

Zaragoza

The wind sighs dissatisfied past my ear. Though others are cut quick to the bone by her cruel lash she can find no purchase on me. A cold flame burns bright blue in me propelling every limb with rigid calculation. The elements assail me but I am devoid of thought and through sacred stillness my organism moves undaunted by mundane obstacles.
There are few who at this hour dare to taunt the city. She shines bright, a cemetery of broken dreams scattered before us like pearls cast before swine. I am affected and some might even say afflicted. Though some claimed that misery seeks company the true masochist seeks his punishment alone. At every bright doorstep opportunity beckons me with her intricate veil but I am too old fashioned and far to wounded to respond to her request.
My thoughts are as lead, heavy and poisoning my steps. My mouth tastes of the kiss of whiskey and my shirt smells like a carton, unfiltered. My fists are balled tight protecting the tips of my fingers, which have now become numbed. My eyes are sharp though my ears have been stunted by years of blaring television. Effortlessly I map my surroundings while lost in transient dream.
I beat out an awkward rhythm against the sidewalk, the type of swagger when you’re a few cups deep and a couple joints short. There are few to witness my ugly ducklings walk save for the prostitute on the corner who calls me handsome as though she and I were well-acquainted friends. But she is nothing but flesh bound to bone, a living reminder to our carnal limitations, her young defiled body a testament to an uncaring deity.

Flayed

I seldom feel that sweet release of easing into friendly waters, instead i throw
myself against walls
of silent stone, ready for the slaughter.
Now sweet friend i turn
and ask
what would you have me do?
Bite my tongue, make due
with none,
or simply return to you?
For a wound can heal
many times through
but scars are what remain
and i ask of you
what would you do
with someone whom you have
flayed?

Nature

and they think they can fleece you.
they think that they know you so well.
they think you cant read em, but you will never tell.
I read the deck before u rigged it and didn't give a fuck
because sooner or later we all run out of luck.
The devils in the details,
he drinks your sins like wine.
Your half hearted nature has proved itself in time.

Menial Task

menial task
to break down this Mountain with this body of glass.
For whom do you think you'll pass
fast to fast, last to feast?
Only poets know what it means to rest incomplete.

Voodoo Spell

so sleep well, beneath this voodo spell
crack magic and strong muti
"put yourself on duty"
I surrender my peace of mind
bread and water, simple things divine
unbind unbound sound hollow
echo words to the oracle of apollo
and i pray, and i portray, and i am prey for the replay

and kindness from you is a hung jury
and the future is nothing but regrets
and the past is nothing more than fiction you and i invented
because we hate current events....

Deja Me Beber de tu Copa

Deja me beber de tu copa,
aunque han bebido otros.
Deja me saborear las gotas,
como un hombre, condenado,
saborea su ultimo trago.
Dejame rellenar tu copa,
con mi vino
rojo como sangre
para que pueden beber otros.
Pero dejame, si se acaba,
el utlimo trago, para que mi boca
nunca sea olvidado.