"Let us, then, be up and doing, With a heart for any fate; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait" -Longfellow

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Albanian Orchestra "Kapitani las"

Dusty summer suffers to fly as high as it would, on wings of torn blood. Innocence though, is slow to consider horror and fast to remember the primordial joy of time beginning anew each second. The air doesn't struggle to be air. Messiahs and moths naturally soar towards the brightest light. The patterned waves in the unwatched ocean carry on as if life and death were old friends, sitting amicably to lunch.

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Blooming: Coyotes in the Room


Sometimes I remember the Austin sunlight and the dizzier sawdust auras and quickly warming beers. I remember never blaming anyone for anything, never being particularly perturbed by sadness or duty, never needing America to straighten her shit out... I remember the dirty jeans of not needing to wait for love and the freedom offered by believing in a post-world world; too painfully beautiful to bother chasing surreal butterflies.

Sophomore year boots with Trey's vomit. Grass in my beard and blood on my shorts: so elegant in waste. Standing slanted waiting for the sprinklers glide to return, laying on the trampoline squinting for a heaven we'd laugh at again and again. There's no violence in the darkness- only peace and impartial memory, only the weeds and bluebonnets, only pictures of dead guitars and rusty fences, only the universal unstressed pilot's seat, only little boys pointing at their parents in the stands.

I can't believe all these songs are unafraid to be about our every lifespan. So many people to be, so many nominal happy hours to buzz about or mourn. Is there strength enough to really lift life to the level of living?
Maybe 'almost' is why we still have 'glad'. Maybe 'wish' is responsible for 'sad'.
Maybe it's just the Wednesday desk or workday riot.
That's it. I'm gonna pet this cat and head out front.
Shout out to one of my favorite blogs SPACEROCKMOUNTAIN. They're all about these bastards.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Method to Re-Make

Art installation in New Delhi by Clemens Behr

there's no guard tower on the olive orange ridge of morning coming.
the trolls of consequence and limit are slow to wake-
snarling boredoms, slimes and gases-
with the cumbersome bulge of providing for the tradition of reality heavy on their backs.
the toenails of fertile scary blackness in my eyes aren't music
but neither is the waiting rinse.

the living are baptized live by sunwash daily
and the far wide wisdom of sand runs through our impatiences
as if through slender fingers.
we are all the filth that makes us so uncomfortable
and all of the waste that keeps us poor.

the toil of remaking is never done by the dreamers
but the dreams of tomorrow's saviors
will be forged into truth by hard-workers...

the only ones who have the capacity to believe with their bodies.

Monday, April 2, 2012

"Gun Has No Trigger"

The righteous with the teeth and the princesses waiting for the goblin harness of the sun's corrupted charioteer. Bomb-blast orange is in this spring, but so is soul and flippancy. When dinner's cooking and she moves that way, the moonrise grows out of her eyes. And I can't stop laughing at the way egos made of ice swim downward in the warm light. Despite all best intentions- we can only assassinate ourselves.

Bulls-eye motherfucker.