Feeble mumblings and Demosthenes

Dream Theatre

2010-11-24T10:56:00.000-08:00

A cougar cub and a german shepard pup are introduced in the woods. As they run together, dashing between the conifers they grow. Time lapses. As they become adult both animals catch their ears on nails pounded low into the tree trunks. The cougar snagged his right, and the dog his left. They both paused, the cougar tugs until the ear rips off and eats the severed ear from off of the nail, and continues running. The dog also rips his ear off, however he whines and licks at the ear, trying to comfort the pain.

An internal battle of spirit animals maybe?

April 20 2010

2010-04-21T09:35:00.000-07:00

I went to see a psychic about some advice on what types of fish to keep. As I waited for her to set up to divine what fish I needed, enter in 3 archetypes, the sister, the jester, and the jew. The jew rode in on a motorcycle blasting Brazilian music from his helmet. We five sat in a half circle around a fireplace. She began, she lit a bundle of sage and peach schnapps, the smoke curled around my face and became a hand which beckoned to me and pointed right and whisped away. The jester recommended we keep the schnapps. The psychic recommended that I keep cats, not fish. I was to be married, so I ate corn on the cob in celebration and three teeth fell out. Top right cuspid broke off, bottom left incisor came out from the root, and first bottom right molar .

Singapore: voted most boring metropolitan city in the world.

2010-02-09T11:45:00.000-08:00

We leave tomorrow at the crack of dawn for Siem Reap. I'm looking forward to getting out of this million mall town. I have shopped and walked and sight-seen quite enough. I yearn to see the lush beauty of south east Asia, without the cabs and high rises and overly friendly hotel staffs. Just two days in Siem Reap and then back to Sing. Today Ry and Jer have to work. So I will again go out into the city to wander and watch the plethora of asian/aussie couples stroll hand in hand.

Despite how boring it can be, the reason I came out. Jeremy Railton's Lake of Dreams at Festive Walk Universal Studios Sentosa! This massive fountain / lazer water light show was designed by our dearest Jer. And the music for the second half of the show which I couldn't film because the camera died was directed by Ryan and composed by Lindsy (Audovoid). Sometimes, we hippies do translate to the real world.

Many countires one city

2010-02-08T16:09:00.000-08:00

The racial diversity of this city/country is insane. After a four hour walk through little India, and back to the hotel I felt as though I passed through India, Malaysia, and Euro-metro Japan. All within a five mile span. Yesterday, we went to the zoo, beautiful, the most beautiful zoo I have ever visited.
There were no cages, a lemur even jumped onto this woman's leg. They all seemed pretty content. Most of the population is seems content here, aside from the Indian population. They are treated a lot like the Mexican migrant workers at home.

Today was a stroll through Chinatown. Duck anyone?

And they're off!

2010-02-05T22:56:00.000-08:00

Singapore Day 1

11 hours to tokyo. The cafeteria in the airport was horrible. But at least they had a smoking section. Another 7 hours to Singapore and we got there at 1:30 AM on Friday. We left LAX at 12 PM on Wednesday. Time traveling really messes with the mind. After a 3-hour nap freezing I woke to the first peaks of daylight around 6 am. Despite the time change and uncomfortable flights, I feel chipper and excited. The air is clean, the streets are clean. This morning after breakfast we went on a ride on the largest ferris wheel in the world. (check) Then, Jeremy and I went window shopping at Bugis Junction.

Hindu Temple at Bugis Junction, the Singapore equivalent of Santee Alley

Singapore port from the feris wheel
City view from the worlds tallest Ferris wheel
View from Gallery Hotel
I'm LOVING Singapore, all the buildings are different colors, vibrant and alive. The plants and people all seem to be teeming with life. There are some interesting rules, gum chewing is illegal, littering (obviously, and all the cigarettes are covered with these heinous pictures of rotting fleshes. It's raining a bit right now, a hot sticky tropical rain with bits of sun popping out through the clouds. My favorite. Feeling blessed.

I'm a travelin' man

2010-02-03T11:01:00.000-08:00

Here I sit in the business lounge at LAX airport, waiting in the luxury of leather benches, and miniature buffet. It's relatively quiet save melodic vocal styling coming from the other room. Maybe the first class lounge has a karaoke bar in it. Despite the ache in my spine, I am consumed by the excitement of what is ahead of me. A dream come true. To travel, in style, with my love at my side. Beaming just as brightly as I am. Fairy-tale-ish, is the only adjective I can conjure to describe this life. Blessed and overwhelmed. I could not ask for a more perfect moment in time.

Time travel clad in leather, clad in iron, clad in some polymer paint.

Why is the sun crying?

2010-01-28T11:39:00.000-08:00

The streets are littered with the dead bird carcasses
of umbrellas discarded since the momentary rains.
The sun bakes them and their dying wishes are for nothing,
but sprinkler droplet mist on their ribs
Shiny metal.
Exposed upward to the unforgiving summer.
I gallantly try to perform my best CPR routine;
I puff up my chest
bring the winds down into my lungs
past the diaphragm into my belly.
And out
gales known only to Okie dust-bowl survivors.
Nothing.
Just the ruffling of nylon wings,
tattered holy and spent.

I whisper a small prayer into the crook of the weathered wooden handle,
where I assume, Umbrella birds keep their ears.
"Blessed are those who give their lives to keep the 'torrents' of Los Angeles' piss-sprinkle rain
Off the backs of the undeserving hoards.
And haloed is the man who wants for nothing
But to sit doused in LA mystery summer rain."

Thunderous, hoping for a rainbow,
But that rainbow is just the glassy oil filled puddle
Reflecting a phantom in it's toxic iridescence.
He hardly recognizes his own hands
Though they spend most hours smothering his face.
Who is this lone wolf?
A frightened shell of what it meant to be a man.
Mind lost in the days of wicker rocking chair pacification,
His mangled hand reaches out to me,
Shaky and palm up.
Offers me bits of butterscotch wrapped in hand-painted wax paper.
Shaped like birds or bats, and they catch breeze off trees
and plant them selves in gopher holes.
Praying for their turn to bloom.

salt-day-afternoon

2009-06-06T00:47:00.001-07:00

The wheels we run upon, turn fast but never fast enough for the thankless hoards that weave in and out of the lines, never settling on a theme for their lives or livelihoods.
A current shot through me last night,
One of childhood fantasy actualized.
And why not,
Are I not worthy of such pleasures?
The ground swoons with me causing the weak ankles of my powerful legs to buckle, think of the underground
With its careening mazes, all positioned to confuse the true God from emerging. He’s down there
Waiting, his palms to his face in awe of the lengths we go to separate ourselves from him.
He asks nothing of me.
But I hear the pleas coming up from the sewers when I lay my head to the pavement.
I say lay in the dirt. And I say, sometime soon Dionysus with his cup o’er flowed will twist my lanky limbs into a twig-branch crown.
I rest there at the head of my creator.
Nymph, siren, harlot, philanderess.
Sure…
Why not?
The facts laid out to me like the weather or time of day,
“you are nice on the eyes”
Not near a compliment, but always nice to be reminded.
I feel I have embodied and embraced my womanhood.
I feel the spring of youth, and the fervor of sun kissed rainstorms.

left-hand winter

2009-03-27T02:38:00.000-07:00

I went to the penny store, and bought a pair of left-handed winter.
To place on my face when the sun scorches the earth.
The last time I was there I bought snow geese and placed them around your head like a crown, but snow geese, like all good things, melt.
I hoped the pair of left-handed winter would last longer, since I am a rightie.
But March came, then April and my left-handed winter seemed smaller.
It didn't keep the burn away as well as it did before. At first not quite noticeably; but April faded into May and I found my pair of left-handed winter on my nightstand, in a soggy puddle colored like the fire of autumnal lust.
Do I weep?
Is it futile to keep this passion on ice?
When I weep the tears swirl in colors of aqua brilliant as oil pastels into the death soup of my liquefied pair of left-handed winter.

Kiele part one

2009-01-08T16:46:00.000-08:00

Her xeric skin crackled and split, despite the dewiness of the June morning. She couldn't remember how long she had been waiting at the bus stop, two maybe four hours. All she new was the relief that the cool mist brought. The sun broke through the fog of the morning and the misty cold dissipated in minutes drying her already parched and perilous mouth. She dredged her tongue over the ridges of her teeth, feeling every bit of plaque and residue of tobacco and rum sugar that remained from the last night. Kiele looked up toward the brightening sky and out at the expanse of New Mexico wasteland ahead of her and prayed for rain. A prayer surely to go unanswered. An all too familiar reality, but nonetheless she prayed. Her mouth moved slowly and silently, mimicking the shapes that words would make; an inaudible rain dance performed by the ridges in her calcium deficient teeth.

That which brought her to wait for four hours at a bus stop along state road 382, six miles outside of Rancho de Taos, New Mexico; a two horse town with less people then a one bedroom apartment in a tenement slum, was a long string of misunderstandings starting in Los Angeles in the parking lot of the Johnny’s Diner on the corner of Wilshire and La Brea on the first day of May.

She waited in the front seat cigarette smoldering in her hand, eyes glassy and fixed on an indefinable point out toward the bumper to bumper traffic the am rush hour brought without fail to the 'Museum Row'. “Hey”, he said, startling Kiele out of her traffic induced trance. “Oh, shit man! Where they hell have you been? I’ve been waiting out here since five this morning; you know my car don’t have any heat!” As she said this Kiele realized that her cigarette had burned down entirely and the butt was singeing her middle and ring fingers. Instantly the butt dropped into her lap, she flung open the door of her 79’ Nova knocking him down.

“Fuck it all Kiele, I know I was late but what the hell!?” Troy exclaimed dusting off his dungarees. “I’m sorry Troy, the butt was burning the shit out of my hand. Now come’ere give your little mama some love.” Troy pushed her up against the Nova, and holding her chin in his hand kissed her hard, she winced and tried to push him away but the grip of his working-man’s hands locked her there. Forcing his angry hungry tongue into her mouth. Finally as she submitted to his embrace, he let her go. She rubbed her cheek, reddened by the blush that came to her face and the pressure of his hand.
“You’ve got some way of treating ladies”, she spat at him. “You ain’t no lady Ki, that’s for damn sure”, Troy chuckled and walked over to the other side of the car and got in.

2008-12-07T03:03:00.000-08:00

There are points of the universe that interconnect and replace themselves with loud crashing sounds that resemble hearts sailing out into the blackness of space at the speed of love.
And in those interjections of light, there I find you.
There isn't anything more delicate and precious.
Nothing smaller and more powerful, No nano technologies could out weigh the intensity that this homunculus reaction holds.

In the same instance, though
In this miraculous creation, everything that can exist is destroyed. A dark void of listlessness and arduous trials dwells within that space.

Simultaneously; the creation and the destruction exist.

When I the You reach out my hand to clutch the translucent electricity in the air between us my hand cuts through it like buttered water.
Narrowly it escapes my grasp like a free dancer stuck midair in the midst of a pirouette.

A tale of catostrophic results

2008-11-19T21:40:00.000-08:00

By definition, the word "catastrophe" means- poss def. 4: (in a drama) the point at which the circumstances overcome the central motive, introducing the close or conclusion.
The drama I will call "Life in 60 Seconds". And the central motive naturally would be yours truly. In this catastrophe, I looked for myself at the whim of my emotions, a place on would think natural for a feminine creature of poise and well breeding. That easily I would succumb to the torrent of my unbridled hysterics in the face of such a rueful happening. Ah, but weep not for me. I have taken this in good stride. Much like a swordsman after suffering nearly-fatal wounds at the hand of whom he has dueled, grinning and shaking the man's hand as he watches his adversary indulge in the secret fleshes of the lover he lost in the fight. There was no blood shed here though; just pumped and rushed all through my system, humming and burning, finding a way to manipulate me into calling it "tears". And that which I called "tears" shed like grand water fountains, the likes one would find in the finest squares of old Europe. And the fountains leaked my body dry, my skin became brittle and began to chip off and fall away like the beige snowflakes, that rain down upon everything after the earth catches fire. I emptied, my mouth tasting like the fires in the sky, could not listen to the blood any longer.
All then became quiet.
For a day and a night and a day, my mind stayed silent on the occurrence. I thought: maybe only the blood knows, and it told the eyes, and the ears, but the mind must have been sleeping. Covered in the velvet cloak of night despite how brightly the sun shone, and how the rays echoed that afternoon like church chimes, but not beautiful church chimes, those that are played over a loudspeaker and are generated by tiny captured pieces of electricity, all trying to escape at once from their polymer prisons.
And then BANG!
All of the thoughts and considerations came back to me in a flood of dismay and disbelief.
And as soon as it came it left.

time has told me

2008-07-26T08:54:00.000-07:00

Not to ask for more.
However my little turning psyche can't help itself but to ask for more, and seconds, and thirds, and so on.
Again I shift my center, this time to somewhere a little more center. Exciting! It's causing sleeplessness, upset stomach, diarrhea, nausea, conjunctivitis, and dreams about conjunctivitis. I am plagued. With all of the anxieties of a new love, this is I suppose that in a nutshell. The universe makes me rant, and makes my head spin topways and sideways.

and the seas beat

2008-04-21T15:33:00.000-07:00

...And the seas beat buttons that push you over.
Roll over,
Wake up.
Roll over.
You check the time quizically, and find that the quixotic lures of past romance don't do it for you no more.
So the quiz as in the test of your metaphoric testes begins.
Have you got the balls to play this intrinsic game of hide the snake any longer?
I dream of Genie?
No I dream of Basquiat, on bycycle, in heroine daze. Eyes glazed over with papier-mache sculptures of Joan of Arc, and Julia Child.
I'm on a quest, and the landscape suggests that the destination is both at my fingertips and far behind.
So possibilities are endless.

2008-04-08T23:19:00.001-07:00

Lydia, Dear Lydia, Lydia the tattooed lady.
Will this be the fall of me?

Waiting for the moon-rise

2008-04-03T21:21:00.000-07:00

Here at the begining of the new phase
The phrases blur, rambunctiously around the lips. Take their jobs not too seriously. Feeling fertile and fancy-free.
I wait for the dryers to stop turning. The rotating imagery forces my belly and periphery to do loop-the-loops.
Its all or nothing.
When you've got three dryers of whites you do not sleep alone.
When you've got four dryers of darks and you are alone, you probably sleep with someone. (In the good way).
The longest half hour of your life starts after work and ends at the local pub drowned in chartruese.
To match your sweater.
Your favorite color, now 52 proof.

Wednesday

2008-03-26T21:14:00.000-07:00

We are all running circularly
Praying for an ending we can clearly see
It's a heavy skillet when it smashes upon your head,
It's a dirty dance when you're laying in my bed.
Houses can crumble under femi-will
The whole parish hellbound, when I expose my scarred breast
I ask, do I fit the bill?
Can I bring you damn/salvation tonight?
Are you ready to succomb, my hand trace the lines of your bones.
I want to spice my soup with dashes of your past.
Steady Love,
I fold you into the layers of my desire
delicately, not to break the fragile yolk of you sensibility.
Steady Love,
we rock in synchronicity, like the ocean and the sandbars it silently rolls out to sea.
Steady Love,
Lets break into a cacophony that disturbs the creatures in the center of the earth.
Let them come,
let them all come and witness, how you satisfy me.

Natural Products Woo!

2008-03-15T10:08:00.000-07:00

Officially an industry professional, I strutted and high stepped all over the board with the best of them. Or some of them. Networked, hob-knobed, shmoozed, and chit-chatted about my company and it's various potentials. Imbibed too many cocktails in the process. Flirted, rubbernecked and people-watched; giggled danced and double-dutched. And I wish to go back and do it all over again. If I wasn't married...

Part One

2008-02-27T23:26:00.000-08:00

"We are making history my dear."
Her hand slides slowly over the nape of his neck, long delicate fingers baring sharp dangerous, talon-like nails stroke cautiously. Slowly she raises them up as if to display them to some heathen god, then delicately inserts her forefinger into the back of his scull. So delicately that he hardly flinches.

From her finger leaks a fluid, deep red and viscous, withdrawing it she brings it close to her mouth, inhales and takes her finger slowly into her mouth. Her eyes draw closed like guilty curtains; she is sated for now. Passing her hand back over his neck the wound closes, with a bit of a schlepping noise. No longer was the fear in his eyes, although it had turned into a morose knowledge of what he was now destined for.
You see this is how she plants her seed. Quietly, delicately and without folly. He is now hers; irrevocably, and eternally.

He wakes; instinctually he touches the back of his head, in the same manner you would check your pockets after a dream where you were given huge amounts of money. With a tragic kind of desperation. Nothing. Just like when you wake from those dreams. Relieved and almost disappointed he rolled out of bed.

He stood and the ceiling seemed to grow and stretch into heights well above 50 feet. Stricken with immediate vertigo he collapses to the floor. As the room came back into focus, they are still the same vaulted ceilings with exposed cantilever detail that he has always viewed upon the coming of the morning. There's a strange flutter in his heart though, as if he were nervous about the meeting of a lover.

a greatfullness

2008-02-20T19:49:00.000-08:00

This evening as I wait to pick-up a rediculously low priced bedframe. And wish that I was man enough to piss in a bottle, I give thanks. over the last year my life had made a whirl-wind change. I feel different when I wake up in the morning. And when I lay myself to rest at night I no longer have the anxiety of oh shit will I be able to deal with tomorrow. History, at least mine has shown that I have the undeniable resiliance that one would attribute to a thing of elastic compound. Yesterday was the 46th birthday of my departed sister, Marpessa Dawn. Who on this night of the full moon, fully eclipsing, I thank most of all. I can feel her presence. In me, my work. I carry with me a picture of her in my wallet, in all her tired beauty. And I ware the ring she gifted me so long ago, everyday. She truely watches over me, and I try even harder to accomplish the things she encouraged me to dream about.

Faster

2008-02-19T01:01:00.000-08:00

Checkered flags wave, there is a hesitation,the urge never stop overcomes the racers. They all seem overwhelmed in the possibility of loss. Or losing, I should say. The scariest part of all for them is that they all want so terribly to die, a firey crash and burn job. The sheer thought of that is what drives them to the race. Every run getting closer and closer to that heroic self-destruction.

Echo back

2008-02-16T18:27:00.000-08:00

If luck could be measured in inches,

I would have the largest penis in the world.

(Knock on wood.)

Now that there is a clean palette the real work can begin.