About Me

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The Madman, "Yes, three days, three centuries, three aeons. Strange they would always weigh and measure. It is always a sundial and a pair of scales."

Tuesday, September 24, 2013


On this cloud of violet comfort,
Breezing my way through clamoring change
With an air of silver pride
Red hands glistening with gold,
I choose my blue eyes
To look inside, deep, where
Somewhere in the cavernous coils of memory
Underneath the carnival facade of celebrating illusions,
My truth sits humbly mourning itself,
Sometimes blue with longing
Sometimes white with despair
But always buried and hidden
Tumbled and tossed
Distorted by versions and motivation
Colored by convenience
Overshadowed by greed,
Unheard unheeded

It speaks of smells,
Seductive ones,
The kind that remind you
Of something you used to long for
A long time ago,
Something you can’t put your finger on.

Maybe of held hands
Like of lovers
But clutched so tight
Choking to white
Like a stranglehold.
Must be her hair
Like black silk
Playing in the wind
Dancing like recoiling serpents
That turn you to stone with touch
But, it’s too much
It’s done-
That rock sits petrified grey,
Inside my chest cold
Weighing against that truth,
Of which again, yes?
But why of blueness be told
When there can be a greener side?
Well, be it so.
So soft-
That look in those eyes,
Those portals of time
Fountains of timelessness
Conjurers of dimensions unknown, unplotted
Shimmering seas of chaos
Bringers of liberty through calamity
Moonlight laden desert emptiness,
Where I have sat for hours
Thinking where I was
Not understanding who,

Till there was that voice
That brought me back
Echoing across my universe
Caressing my soul
Murdering reason with velvet knives,

And making peace,
Piece by piece,
With space
Dimension by dimension
Memory by memory
Version by version,
Rebuilding the world
Replacing me on my cloud
Restoring illusions
Inside me
And all around.

Sunday, September 8, 2013


That which, by its presence alone, can disarm my motives and hold its own dearer to me,
Is your lingering thought.
That which, upon seeing me, turns frightfully enchanting and with tremulous bounty pours into my widening gaze,
Is your outrageous innocence.
So deep am I drunk with your everlasting spontaneity that all moments seem to flit past like eternal memories.
Hold on.
Hold my hand, here, once and say to me that you're real.
Let me have that lie from your truthful lips again.
Let me brush my sanity again against your insanely severe absence.
Let me worship you again.
Let me be that plaything again.
For I have known too long
This distance,
This reason,
This common sense,
This sense of commonness,
This perspective,
This life of creeping deaths.
Let me live
Where living is certain,
Where you are life,
Where you are not death,
Where absolute is something,
Where something is absolute.