Abs, Jobs and Dirty SIN

I feel great! About two weeks ago I started doing ab workouts. Some of you may think, "But why? You are so skinny! Why would you ever think you have a pooch?" Well, I do have a pooch. It's right there between my abdomen and my secret spots and I don't like it at all. When you are used to having the flattest and strongest tummy in the neighborhood, any little bit of flub is abhorrent; truly grotesque and absolutely out of place- the paunch must go! If you were used to being like a telephone pole, and then realized you looked more like a phone booth in the middle- all weirdly sticking out of place, you'd be offended too.

Two weeks ago I got completely fed up and got off my ass to change this parasitic growth in my mid-section. When I get out of bed, I do 25 crunches and then 10 leg lifts, every other day I do 25 crunches, 10 leg-lifts, then another 25 crunches, another 10 leg lifts and finish it all of with- yep, 25 more crunches. That's 95 thingies.

I am inching my way to a flatter belly and it feels goooooood, and painful. But it is gooooooood pain, it's all that flubby foreign blubber melting away. I was so sore this morning, but then I took a long bath with epsom salts and now I am Wonder Woman and I can take on the entire world! All of you, come get it, I'm on FIRE!

In other news, I am very productive. Because I need some medical work, but have no job or money I have been cutting through red tape with the ferocity of a wolverine in heat. Snip! Snap! Watch the Red Tape of government funding flitter away like so many ribbons in the wind- it's a beautiful sight.

I have also gotten thoroughly sick of not having a job... Straight up ill. I have been patient, I have felt oh so sorry for myself and let my friends coddle me against my better judgement. "Oh! The economy is so hard! It's a rough market out there! It's not your fault!" LIARS!

It is completely my fault. 100% my fault for letting all this bullshit economy get to me and allowing myself to wallow in freakish self-pity for an entire winter (I do have to admit that the winter blues are very real to my desert-sunshine soul). BOO on me! Boo! Three Years Ago Me would not have let such a piddly thing as a rock-bottom economy get in my way.

I shove my middle finger in the face of adversity... Fuck you adversity! You're my bitch! I will not take no for an answer, I am applying for every job with a vengeance! I'm applying for foodservice, retail, secretarial and even janitorial work. I do not care, I will have a job and I will make Benjamins. I will have lots of green $20 bills wafting around like bees in my hive. All the monies will belong to me!!! And I will share, I will make so many delicious dinners for my friends with all that dough and it will be delicious because it will be MY money that I EARNED.

I am rampant, courageous and foaming at the mouth with inspiration, motivation and happiness.

I also vow to be more responsible with all that green coming my way. I will not go to the bars and spend $60 every Friday on drinks for myself and the masses- no, sirree. I will not frivolously spend $350 on groceries- actually, that's probably the first thing I will do. I retract that statement and I fully intend to spend ridiculous amounts of money on delicious food to cook for everyone. But I will not buy cigarettes- they are too costly and bad for me. I will not spend money on my own demise.

I will buy more herbs to smoke- like mullein and coltsfoot, damiana and lobelia. I have done much research on delicious herbs that you can smoke and actually heal the damage done to your lungs from years of smoking... More on that later, it's a blog all unto itself.

I am realizing that this entry is now very long, it would be superfluous were it not for my love of dynamic language. Take that, short-hand! I will express myself fully and care not who reads my dribble. I am writing this for me, not you.

Acting in one's own best interest is not selfish, it is smart. Being a doormat and giving everything for others who could care less is a sin that I intend to wash away. I will still be kind, gracious, helpful, grateful and generous, but I will no longer be stupid.

Ok, I'm done now.

Lots of love for everyone! :)

Cuddlesaurus Rex!

*please note that the above painting was made by Tom O' Hare, owner of the Stagedoor Cabaret and Coffee house in Mt. Shasta, CA. I used to work there and it was so much fun!*

Cuddlesaurus Rex

A Children's Book

by: Nitya Prem

Mirabelle has a secret... and it's a whopper, but I bet you won't believe me yet. Mirabelle is seven years old and she has an imaginary friend named Snoozle. She still believes in her imaginary friend because he's not imaginary at all, he's very real and has feelings just like you or me.

Peter had an imaginary goat. His name was Mr. Eatsitall. Peter was always very good at naming things. Mr. Eatsitall was definitely Peter's favorite friend because he always ate all the squash that Peter thought was yucky. He lived in the planter by the dinner table. One day Peter's mom told him that he had to eat all his squash so he could grow up big and strong. Peter's mom told him that imaginary friends aren't real and Mr. Eatsitall did not live in the planter and did not eat his squash. Peter's mom told him that she was tired of throwing away squash that she found in the planter every night after dinner. Peter believed her. Now he has to eat all of his squash and Mr. Eatsitall won't speak to him anymore.

Sally's imaginary friend, Tobbs is a flying snake. Tobbs was very good at flying way up high and warning Sally if there were bullies nearby. One day he didn't see the bullies and Sally ran straight into them. She told the bullies that she had a flying snake who would protect her and hiss in their face. The bullies told her that Tobbs wasn't real and threw all her schoolbooks on the ground. The bullies stomped on them and told Sally that she was a silly baby and that imaginary friends are only pretend. Sally believed them and Tobbs stuck his big ol' snake tongue straight out at Sally, hissed and flew away.

I know that Tobbs is still up in the sky flying around and looking for bullies to hiss at. I also know that imaginary friends go away if their child stops believing in them. Would you want to stick around your best friend if they stopped believing in you? I sure wouldn't. I only speak to people who know that I'm real.

Mirabelle, though not as popular as the other kids, was much smarter. That's often the case in elementary school, smart kids get picked on and then they grow up and make lots of friends who are also smart and live very happy lives. The reason Mirabelle is so much more intelligent is that she knows that her imaginary friend is not imaginary at all. Mirabelle knows, all the way down to her toes, that Snoozle is real. He is very real, very loud, very big and then he's even bigger! He's so big, in fact, that Mirabelle sleeps on him every night.

Instead of a bed, Mirabelle is lucky enough to have her own dinosaur friend. Snoozle is of an extremely rare breed of dinosaur. Snoozle is a Cuddlesaurus Rex! I bet you've never heard of a Cuddlesaurus before, and that's ok. Because grown-ups haven't discovered them yet... Or they did and keep confusing them with Tyrannosaurus Rex, who looks much the same but is not as nice and also kinda dumb. T-Rexes have really big heads, but their brain is only the size of a peanut. That's why they're mean, like bullies. Bullies' brains are also the size of a peanut... or a pistachio.

The other really big difference between a Cuddlesaurus and a Tyrannosaurus is that Cuddlesaurus Rexes don't have any scales at all, they have patches. Snoozle, for example has a very comfortable quilted belly. His whole underside is soft and plush and perfect for sleeping. I think Mirabelle has almost the best bed in the whole, wide, world! Sleeping on top of a dinosaur can be really noisy. Nobody knows how to snore like Snoozle. Nobody.

Mirabelle likes Snoozle's snores- they remind her of the ocean waves crashing on the shore and send her straight to sleep every night, snug and sound. The only problem with sleeping on top of a very big and very noisy dinosaur named Snoozle who snores is that Mirabelle's parents sometimes think it's her. They will wake up in the middle of the night and yell from their beds, "Mirabelle, please stop making so much noise. We're trying to sleep!" Mirabelle, of course, cannot hear anything over Snoozle's snores; especially when she's sleeping. Snoozle, hears them though.

Whenever Snoozle hears Mirabelle's parents shouting, he turns over on his side so that he will stop snoring. When Snoozle turns on his side, so do the blankets, and the pillows and the sheets, and Mirabelle. She falls off every time and her parents hear all the noise and yell again, "PLEASE stop making that ruckus! We're trying to sleep!" Mirabelle doesn't mind so much, she loves her parents and she loves Snoozle no matter what. Mirabelle gets up, bundles all the blankets and the pillows the sheets and snuggles up with her Cuddlesaurus Rex. When they are all cozy again, then they both go back to sleep... On their sides.

Maybe one day Mirabelle might stop believing in her imaginary friend, maybe one day Snoozle will forget about his child friend, but I don't think that will happen. I know for a fact that Mirabelle is older now. I know that Mirabelle is almost a grown-up. I also know Mirabelle has a crush on a boy named Patrick. He still believes in his imaginary friend. I know this for a fact because I am Patrick's imaginary friend and my name is Winky. I also, just happen, to be a Cuddlesaurus Rex and I can't wait to meet Snoozle!

The End

and

Goodnight

bliss.giggles.sweetly

Bliss can overflow from one to another

tickling noses and pin-pricking.

Bliss laughs it's way around a room

making giddy little knots all over

that can only ever be giggled,

stretched, hugged or smooched out.

Bliss can lead you astray from dogged

drudgery painting a path in your life.

Bliss waits for no-one and beckons

by tugging your shirt-collar incessantly

pulling toward your inner magnificence,

bright, shiny, and full of dreams.

Bliss wants what's best for the world

and what's best for the earth is you.

bliss knows best and bliss knows true

the deepest and holiest place inside

that beats fiercely for happiness,

comfort, hope and life; follow it.

We are all caught up!

I have just spent the past 2 or 3 hours posting/copy/pasting/inserting my blogs from my old blog at wordpress.com into this spiffy, new blog here at blogger.

Note: I did not copy/paste my old old blog from myspace, but you can find it here- http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.ListAll&friendId=40383455

my myspacey page was about 3 years of cataloging my life, funny that it'd already be thrown in the ancient pile along with dial-up internet and skorts... No love for the skorts, by the way. Do you even remember those? UGH! They all looked like a super-short skirt until the chick turns around and you realize she's just wearing shorts with some flap over the front. BOO!

Real skirts with shorts sewn inside, on the other hand, are a lot of fun!

As I was saying... BLOG. My ever broken-up, half-assed, sometimes I write- sometimes I don't, but still consistently THERE blog is now here.

Oh dearest google, I pray fervently that blogger will be kind and that we will get along so well like friends; that your formatting is easy and beautiful and most importantly... that it does not fuck up my line breaks in the poems I write.

That's why I broke up with wordpress, it kept fucking with my formatting and my Poems and I could not abide. Poems need specific line-breaks in order to better convey the rhythm of the piece. Now that I've said my piece, I'm done.

Ooooh... and for those few peeps who've been following my blogs and never knew my name outside of botticellibelle, I have very bad news... I just googled botticellibelle (which has been my and solely MY penname for about 10 years now) and there's some other chick on blogger with my name. BOO! She seems all sweet and whatnot, but I am still pissy because this was my name first. There is Chopin on her blog, and she has not written a single thing since December of 2008, when she only started in September... And I thought I was lazy... Geez!

On the bright side, at least she has good taste!

Anyhoo, Hi! my name is Nitya Prem and this is where my blog is.

Downtown, where the wild bums grow

06.15.09

It’s always colder downtown- I did not realize, until I moved into the sunshine. Downtown is an ever cloudy day grey in the twilight of her years. She’s a bag lady carting around second-rate treasures murmuring sermons, “Could you give me a quarter?”

White hair jerking hands and jittering speech, downtown will tell your future in the bottom of Starbuck’s coffee cups. Downtown will read your past in the stock market and smell your present in the cracks on the side-walk, overflowing with cigarette butts and stale urine.

Grandfather Time measures success in crusted vomit on the side of the street; an executive’s sixth martini. The frat boys drank vodka redbulls last night, but it’s their girlfriend’s kamikazes staining the curb.

I speak of just before dawn and far after sunset, the interim that knows no bounds. Here is in between, the bustle of the business day when all proud Americans are safely locked in their cubicles and corner offices, the urban dirt and decay. Here is the liver after moonlight when all good party boys and pop princesses retire into eachother’s arms to boff the night away.

I see, I say, my friends, what a day!

I have a confession to make: I almost completely forgot about my blog… It has been floating around in the murky waters of my guilty subconcious for the past two months or so. ..

HOLD ON A MINUTE… THIS IS REALLY PISSING ME OFF, let me explain: I have tried many times now to use the apostrophe button on my keyboard and EVERY FUCKING time I touch it, some pain in the ass “quickfind” bar POPS up on the bottom of my window! This is really irritating!

Figures that I remember my blog only to have my experience destroyed by some quirk in modern technology that is supposed to (no doubt) make my life easier.

I do NOT want quickfind. I signed up for no quickfind. Turn off the FUCKING quickfind!!!

As I was saying: Have performances with Cosmic Lee (there is supposed to be an apostraphe here)s Intergalactic Traveling Show.

Have Open Mic Night (Myriad Monday) every monday at ten pm at Bar XV in downtown Portland.

Almost had art show, the owner of Berbati fell ill and his daughter was oh-so-stressed so Tabitha and my art show for June is no more.

Have boy… er… man… er One stupendous GUY! His name is Graham and we have been dating for two months now. As I would really like to NOT jinx this one, I am now shutting up. Be warned, he is AWESOME! … Come to think of it, he is also probably one very large reason that I have not been writing so much as of late. I write less when I am happy. Notice the absence of apostrophies in my oh so correct english.

POOP ON YOU QUICKFIND!

peace,

I am out!

Valentine.peach.fuzz

02.14.09

It’s not that I’m bitter, really.
Just a little sad, kinda blurry around the edges.
I’m the embodiment of Monet’s painting
as I fade around and into my day

Waking life and walking dream
for this moment I emulate peach fuzz,
not to be told where it begins or ends
but sweet beneath, juicy soul.

To ripen in the sun once more
Cast aside Saint Valentine’s cloudy shackles
resurrect into sunshine this gloom
I will burst into linten faeries.

Drifting here and there, soft haze
will dance light until people sneeze full of me
spreading blessings contagion
we will all melt together today.

The Lucky One

02.13.09

I’m staying with friends right now until I can get back on my feet… and they haz cats! Usually they are so sweet sisters to eachother but today, on Friday the 13th they got into a little catfight. I wrote a poem about it!

The Lucky One

One cat sat by the purse, staring intently on a slender leather strap
the dark one looks on from a distance, silently waiting, looking back
Until the lucky one attacks nibbling on soft tanned cow-hide
Of the moon she comes, swift to swipe her feline friend aside

The lucky one, she snips fierce and swift, accurate with her teeth
and deftly turned by luna’s side-seen paw tufted with talons underneath
and quicker than the eye can see, this cat fight stops to glare
one eye into the other match as Lucky does not mean to share

Luna raises paw again to raise the stakes once more
then Lucky darts upon her prize beneath the table on the floor
She triumphs rolling in leapord skin, pink and stuffed with catnip glee
As Luna sidles demurely back to observe her rivals’ victory

Oh! Those Blues that Swirl in my Head

01.30.09

I’ve reached another one of those low points in my life. I’ve been trying like hell to break this cycle for years now… somewhere around 8 years. hmmm… Doesn’t seem to get any easier, really. I’m lost, confused, I feel like I am incapable of making correct decisions or managing my life. Precipice. That’s a good word for these times. Teetering. It seems to me that when things get very hard and I think that the universe is going to throw me a bone at any moment, they get worse. More difficult. I’m trying so very hard to let go of my ego. I thought I’d demolished it pretty well, but I still cling to things like a drowning rat escaping a leaky ship. Glub, glub, glub.

I cling to comfort, I cling to what I believe I should be doing; which is funny because I feel incapable of making decisions and I don’t have any idea what should be doing is. I find myself directed solely by gut reaction and aversion to things I feel are “beneath” my talents. I feel some warped sense of justification in that I’ve been playing with bottom-feeder jobs for 9 years now, and… Haven’t I paid my dues?” Guess not. I feel incapable of taking myself seriously or taking anything else seriously because right now I just can’t see the bright top of this very small, but oh so deep hole that I’ve dug for myself.
Oh, what a hole. I want to be independent but it seems that the more I strive toward independence, the more I find myself dependent on others. I want to be part of a collective, I want to be part of a whole. I want to inspire people and help them smile. I want to be that source of sunshine that so many people have come to think of when they imagine me. Do they spend days crying too? Wallowing in self-pity when they know it’s the worst thing for them at that moment? Maybe I’m just trying to get it all out so I can move on. Because I certainly need to move on.
But my head is so fuzzy with seemingly conflicting bits of information, it’s a data storm up there and all I see are colors standing out and overlapping, blending into dusty greys and weirdest off-beat browns. There’s blue in there too, a veritable ocean of deep blues, that calm and confuse my reds. Funny also that I have two distinct colors in my head that swarm around but never mix to purple… Well, they are now. I suppose I should be thankful at least, for this oh so vivid imagination that conjures images with the slightest protuberance.
If only I could sit back all day long and look at the pretty colors in my head. The goal, I suspect, is to take all those colors and unleash them on the world in varying shades of compassion and love. I can do that, I think… With a little bit of that underrated motivation…

MOTIVATE ME SELF MOTIVATE!

GO!

star.chart

01.05.09

And I will gawk, unabashedly and true,
silently in wonder at the brightness in you.

Encompassing worlds of sentient delight,

I always meant to gander at the implicitude of it all
and was yet unprepared for such a sight.

Now, I think with vision grown
grand enough to break my peace
by piece within.
This colossal orb of prescience
engulfs futile neighboring stars.

Pinpoints glowing for naught
that I can any longer glean,
so away with meaningless symmetry
of bodies juxtaposed in inconsequential play.

For there is a universe on the horizon
whose spirit is known but territory unexplored
and I find myself graciously seated,
Mon Capitan, to steer a course
hopshod through uncharted bliss!

Smells Like Change

I smell it in the air, a deep earthy base wafting through shades of spring green, ever luminent in inevitable springtime glee. A change is comin’ a Big ol’ whirlin sorta change that blows the dust out from under the rug, the kinda change could make a person think. Well hell, I’m thinkin’ already. Thinkin’ on just how much change could fill such a big distance as I see agapin’ right in front of me.
I stand in front of an empty horizon, armed with my creativity, intelligence and most importantly love. I’ve got enough love to fill that canyon right ahead, fill it to overflowing into starshine, I will… Agape. A love so big that you feel it for everything because your so grateful just to be here, in this moment, the one that matters….
Because all moments matter and I found my cajones. They were a little harder for me to locate than others, I reckon. Seein as how I’m part of the sweeter sex of womanfolk who were blessed by sweet God with peepee on the inside. Back down south in the soul slingin’ Sonoran desert, cajones is what you pacnorth people call balls. Gumption.

Well, I’m not afraid of fallin’ anymore ’cause I think I’ve just about hit the bottom enough in my life to have developed one tough ass. And this ass is not going to not do something because she’s afraid it won’t work. Or worse, that it will. I strapped my carpenter’s hammer on the other day and after spending a lot of time tearin’ shit down, I’m gonna build something. I’m going to build something true and beautiful and happy, I’m gonna build myself a life.
I’m workin’ on doin’ what I’ve been talkin’ about for years now. Doin’ something I love all the way down to my bleached red in the desert sun bones- I’m gonna get myself an art show…. tee hee heeeeee! I’m goin’ on auditions. I got myself two photoshoots comin’ up. I’m part of a performing comedy troupe (Cosmic Lee’s Intergalactic Traveling Show) and I got me an open mic night (Bar XV every monday).
My well-defined nose is positioned way up in the air to sniff me out some opportunity and not because I’ve got rent to pay (ouch) but because I just want to do what I do well. I want to utilize the gifts the maker gave me to fill the space in this world that’s waitin’ just for me. I’ve been workin’ on it for 25 years now and those colored pencils were fun and all, but I’m bringing out the acrylics to now… So I can finally have something to share with the world and all those brilliant people that I’m fortunate enough to have met and love so much!

abundance

written: 01.10.09

Oh! indescribable joy to to him which guides my beating heart,

overflowing my cup with pure, abundant love.

I am overcome by the immensity of this feeling inside that relates to you

Speaks softly in my ear and shouts from the rooftops,

“I love you.”

For my love too, is great as all the saltwater in the earth,

brimming with life and plentiful beyond compare.

I once tried to chop it up and dole it out to many, unprepared

One taste is never enough and none could be satiated with

a broken love.

Looking into you, looking into me I saw a soul deep and willing,

veritable fathoms craving to encompass and return such bliss.

Never before have I met a man who could hold so much as an inch

of this warmth and light which is given unconditionally,

“I love you.”

I stand to willingly weather the brave storms that life will serve,

with a partner as apt, as ready, we could steer those waters.

Let’s float to my little red island swimming in a sea of dreams

to caress our souls openly and stargaze on each other

in bountiful love.

words.words.words

written: 01.08.09

Words words words… They hit me like a spear being thrown by a Zulu warrior in the depths of Africa- fast, piercing and straight through the head; hurled into my skull cavity so hard I was stopped dead in my tracks, still standing and agape at the world… And somehow, I’m still here.

I’m always still here, inside a tepid nucleus miasma- clear and sticky gellstuff, sometimes shining brightly but mostly just present.

I don’t know how to reiterate who I am.

I don’t know what to make of America’s Three Ring Circus Society and how in the hell I’m supposed to squeeze in. Am I operating lights? flying trapeze? It certainly feels like it lately. Maybe I’m shoveling mountains of elephant shit in the sweltering shade of hot trunk breath… whatever it is- I sure don’t feel like the Ringmaster, because I think he ran away and left us all playing; children in an empty house with all the grown-ups in town mysteriously disappeared.

I am supposed to be part of society, right? We are all supposed to be in this together, right?

Community.

And then there are words. So few to wonder at why one should bother, too many to sit in one’s head without rattling around… words. At once, prismatic nectar giving my soul cause to breath and space enough to fly; yet strange in my head unsettling what tremulous equilibrium I manage. My faith in humanity falters with each fluttering eye movement, prompting wavering keystrokes to make sense of something I can take home.

In regards, I’ve been writing for five years now, prompted by a dying ember nestled in the ashes of a charred heart once smouldering. Can I let the cat out of the bag? (Wait, I’m a leo- that’s funny in a sordid kind of way) I kept that cat in that bag for so long, I wonder that it didn’t suffocate.

I hereby bequeath all my bags to the betterment of my trashcan. Au Revoir, I say- to dying embers and all. I can’t afford any more of that sort of hope; not if I want to wholly love again- which I do.

I really, truly do.

I remember saying that I would never build those sort of walls. I would never erect tall walls of stone about my heart, to keep it safe. Safe from hurt, but also safe from real love- unconditional and scary, crazy, viral love that catches hold and won’t let go; BIG love, so big it won’t fit within any kind of wall and positively permeates your being. No, “I won’t build a wall around my heart” to keep out that kind of love or any kind of love. “My heart will always be free.”

I spent the last three years building just such a wall. An immortal monument to my understanding of self and unwillingness to let anyone that kind of close again for fear of inevitable abandonment.

My wall was solid until someone said, build a door… “Now,” thought I, “There may be a real start.” So I built a door and it was good. I placed a Welcome Mat right outside and after my first visit- well, I was left alone in that big ole’ wall once again. So I left out the Welcome Mat, but locked the door, sure and tight.

Over the past year or so, I’ve been breaking down that colossal wall of mine. I now stand before the last bit of rubble, shamed to have ever let it grow. Because grow it did, and it wasn’t until I was ready to tear it down, that I ever even knew it was there… Goodbye wall.

See now? How I have relinquished my boundaries and stand, willing before the universe? I am stripped bare on a fertile plot of land- surrounded for so long by such cold, and ready at last for some sunshine. I am scared, so very scared, but I am free.

I am done with walls, I am done with them and I will help you break them down. We could all use a little sunshine. I will bring my warhammer, but I won’t swing until I see resolve, sure and sweet with a sledgehammer of your own.

One swing to words my friend, and another for walls, this last swing is for myself; to break my heart once more for good measure- it will save someone else the bother, later.

Because I’m done with broken hearts, too.

Ohm Party Shuffle

01.05.09

“Let’s do it, let’s fall in love.” So my silly coy little pc sets soul snippets sauntering through the air, baa ba bee do ba dee doo aaah… Singing with Ella I am offered profound advice pertaining to exactly what situation is relevant in my time of writing and I thank my little electronic beastie, so wise in the ways of shuffle.
Ode to itunes, I say! Sweet perfector of mood and tone, map my vibes today and bless them with highest attitudinal bliss to carry me through my daily meanderings. For to you and you alone do I offer in safekeeping, my melodious tome… ohm party shuffle ohm.

A Qualifying Statement

Written: 05.11.08

Who am I to summarize epochs? What studious accomplishments lend credence to my musings? How could I possibly assume that my opinions hold a modicum of gravity? Others ask me where I get my information, where I read something or how I came across this or that school of thought. My usual response is something along the lines of, “Well… um… I don’t really recall… It… ah… just sort of seems to make sense in my head.”

Usually that works. Sometimes, however, people require qualifying statements, are not able to readily accept original thought. I don’t understand why I must have read something in order for it to be true. Why can’t I just glean from my experience and what I see all around me? Isn’t it a truer path to let the cosmos teach you directly rather than to absorb, second-hand through someone else’s studies?
People do not see. They look for goggles of knowledge that others have made instead of using the true-blue crystal sight gifted them by our innate nature.

Do not ask for my opinion and expect me to quote the tried and true philosophers or intellectuals of any time; expectations are a hotbed for disillusionment and shattered dreams. I will disappoint you. I will not wear your glasses; I will see with my eyes what this world would have me see, naked, cut and utterly intertwined. I will feel what I see, think upon what moves me, and respond unadulterated unfiltered actuality.

I would have you see like you; perceive and fully realize the sallow, abundant, awe-inspiring, gut wrenching, odious grandeur in the minutest tidbits of life. Your cognoscence subconsciously sifts all facets of the world around you, absorbing information and methodically gathering relevance in every shade of the rainbow. The world paints lenses for your ocular accoutrement, a second skin, auditory amplifiers and personal sensory perception with which to view your life.
Somewhere amongst each of our independent and veracious sights our thoughts coalesce into a mandala of all-inclusive and ever-encompassing knowing. With all our individual assessments pulling from the same deep well, how can one not glean universal truths through open perception and reflection on what is experienced? How are not each of us Socrates, Freud or Gandhi?

Asshole Americans!

This is an excerpt from my journal when I sold renewable power for a living…. It was a bad day

04.28.08

Excuses all sound the same after you’ve heard enough of them. Every apathetic asshole looks the same. I’ve only been doing this for a month or so and by this point, I don’t think I could hear anything that truly surprises me.

What is it that poisons people’s souls so? What venom deep inside them makes the think its ok, or worse, they’re entitled to spew that bile in my direction? Don’t they on some level inside realize that I’m trying to help? Make life a little more feasible for everyone?

I can’t believe humanity has lost its’ conscience… I can’t lose faith in humanity yet… I will not become one of the jaded masses stuck on a false media IV drip that assures them its ok.

I sill not walk around everyday with the shame in my eyes that I see in theirs. Most of the people who pass me by, or speak to me won’t look me in the eye, let alone drop their wall of guilt to actually listen.

I must get this out in these pages lest I drive my friends away with my grief in humanity, wailed and purged upon their ever-patient ears. I must write these words now, as I should be converting my cheeze-whiz Americas, lest I unleash my forsaken tongue, sharp as nails against their marshmallow-soft pigskin ears. Squeal motherfuckers! Squeal as you drown in your self-made bog of oil, lit ablaze with the coal that fuels your television! Squeal as the fires are quenched with irradiated water pumped straight from your nuclear-tainted water table! Squeal like the overstuffed and under-exercised pigs you are…
The hogs that roll around in mud and cannibalistically eat their butchered friends we feed them have more dignity, more compassion and more honor…

I digress… what a shame to have spent this ink and these pages railing against a heartless people. I have hope yet. I know kindness in this world and I would choose to spend my energy toward the betterment of sentient life. I’ll leave the bitching to the critics, media and politicians…
I’m putting my smile back on!

My Wide-Eyed Dream

written:02.09.07

My Wide-Eyed Dream is for happiness, and harmony in love. The earth, cosmos, sentient life, planetary bodies, elements, universes, thoughts… Basically for everything to exist in gentle equilibrium.

I dream for everything that has been, is and could be. Together.
How many ways can I say the same thing?
Infinite.

I’ve dreamed of celebrations, far-off places, different races, people with no faces. When my reality is chased away, dreamy visions of night-times stay.
The way things reflect in me is more than I ever thought I’d see.
To see with my eyes, to fully realize the potential of each soul’s potent portal to transverse, immerse and converse with infinity about our infinite reality and ability to BE.

Be what you are, an ever-shooting star.
Reach for the furthest sights with your site dead-on, akin to a very ancient rite.
I write to cite my imagery and open-ness, my soul to see the light.

Alight, I burn to smoldered senses. I need to know you know we’re all part of this sacred dance, of this I chant enchanting rant not to be defiant or polite.
But police yourself to share your wealth if it’s monetary, monastic, moralistic, artistic, athletic, poetic, rhetoric, I’m for it!
Because I know we all feel the need to bleed for our cause and expound our flaws. Flawlessly convert alert to inert.

Inertial fantasy believes in me to conceive the weave of time spinning on a dime in the center of the galaxy of my mind in this rhyme of that kind of menagerie of all those inside of me inside of you of the other, each other, together we weather the course of our wide-eyed dreams.

The Wendt

written:10.13.08

The large crumbling castle on top of the bluff overlooks the ocean on one side and a forest on the other. Continually buffeted by wind and rain, I work in the central tower, closest to the magic and master who is never there. He has a Wendt, which is believed to be his power, made flesh. My co-workers thought to capture him one day.

They’ve all been going stir-crazy lately, wanting to revolt in the castle; take it and the magic over for themselves, thinking somehow they’d be able to manage it all. I, typically run about, make sure the central tower staff is getting their work done (even though they may not understand it) and leaving in a timely fashion. The leaving is key. Only when they are gone do I begin to feel myself, and only as I begin to feel myself, I have to go. The Master won’t come home until he’s sure the entirety of the Tower staff has departed, this includes me.

Avoiding traps, waterfalls and slipping on cold, wet stone, I make my way through long, curved corridor leading toward the courtyard and the rest of the castle. Underneath the bridge, water falls in a sheet through a gap in the boards and every time I pass this way I am drawn to walk straight through it. Knowing that doing so would get me soaked and I’d probably catch a cold on the way to my quarters, I push this childish notion out of my mind and step around, like always. Contrary to popular belief that the tower is falling apart, it was built like this on purpose. Although why, and why I know these things, I have no idea.

Around the bend I see the Tower staff who should’ve been home by now, wrestling with a tall, dark, masked figure. By way of Branston screaming at me I am notified that they have captured the Master’s power and the castle is now ours. I ask him calmly, how he expects to release such from our dear friend, the Wendt here. Who isn’t even him really… it’s Bildy, in a mask. Removing the mask, Bildy slumps at my touch. I cannot fathom what his mind was thinking dressing up like that, when the real Wendt comes down the spiral stairs.
Wendt is tall and lean with a slick mop of chestnut brown hair, very much like mine own but cropped around his jaw line. He wears a wooden mask, stoic in expression and is covered from head to toe in black leather, form indefinable.

Wendt avoids all attempts at capture effortlessly, leaving our little make-shift mob bruised on the ground from accidentally hitting eachother rather than their target. Addressing his would-be captors Wendt clears any confusion regarding his station, “I’m not any sort of magic really, I have no control and can do nothing without my master to guide me. I am hired fire, useless alone, go home, go eat dinner, leave me be… and do let the lackwit bucket boy go.” Indicating Bildy, still tied up against a wall.

He waits, leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairwell, while I move everyone out of the vicinity. I find myself stopped, staring at the sheet of water falling from above, again as I’m on my way. I’ve just made up my mind again to walk around when I feel the Wendt’s breath beside my ear, “You hear it calling to you, step through.” I feel him pressed against my back, walking me into the downpour, cold, saturating, inviting.

Walking through a sheet of ice-water, falling on you from hundreds of feet up feels like being sliced down the middle with a razor in a thousand different places all at once… So sharp, it’s serene and so cold that I’m warm, tingling all over from every pore in my body, which is not as heavy as I remember and being pulled, ever so gently into Wendt’s awaiting arms. Escorting me up the stairs, he whispers words I don’t understand under his breath, which at this moment is steam.

It’s not until I’ve been laid down, ever so gently on the masters’ bed in his quarters at the top of the tower that I can see straight again. However, when I look around me, at the hands softly caressing my body and the mask which is supposed to belong to those hands… I am startled to be seeing double. The Wendt is sitting on the bed, sans mask, with my head in his lap, blonde hair falling around his startling blue eyes; while also leaning against the entryway and also sans mask, with hair black as jet, matching eyes- deep and piercing my soul. It’s only after this first initial shock that I am surprised to see myself laying next to me with blonde hair I don’t ever recall having. I am solid. I smile at me, who turns to gesture at Black Wendt by the door, who comes obligingly, holding my sight the whole time.

I realize hazily that Master and I are of the same ilk, connected by some old current running deeper than history’s recent memory. By looking into his eyes I have found myself. I know that my smiling blonde me is the body- the link that ties my subconscious magic self to earth. Together, with brown hair, we are one seemingly normal person. When we shift she, a wendt holds the soul safe for me, while I- beholden of ivory skin, ink black hair and raven eyes, can slip between worlds and channel forces beyond reckoning. I too, am a Master and if my wendt dies, the silly beautiful creature that she is, I will also cease to exist.

An hour ago, less than that, even… The idea that I would be two of me, here, with two of him would have struck me as very strange, indeed… downright implausible, even. Yet, somehow this all seems to make perfect sense, except for the fact that Master is wearing what appears to be horizontally rainbow striped full-body pajamas under his black leather jerkin.

Wonders never cease.