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?