My Blog

2 BM tickets for sale!!

muse — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 20:12:59 GMT

Yup... if ya need one or know of someone who needs one let me know. Please pass the word. Word. $295 each. besos

sea to see

muse — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 05:15:51 GMT

among the garden of rock and seaweed. love notes to myself are caste off with well wishes. salty air. and a bit of resistance. some hidden underneath wet rocks, others pulled out by the foamy hands. i open the door for myself and welcome home the estranged soul parts. it's been a while. i remove my image from the mirror and pull the opposite in. or make the inanimate animate. lovely one give me back my heart so that i may truly know. so that i/she/we can grow into this skin, so that we become one again. you me and three. it's been far too long. hands cup a golden heart. beneath the layers and layers of paint there's a blood red vivaciousness. an offering at last. day turns to night. muggy air resembles my childhood. it's a small blessing and a memory i can taste. the sea still holds her blanket tight. it's thick and dull's the sun. these are some of the hardest lessons. i embrace them and celebrate the hidden spring of courage. guerrero guerrero guerrero i have been cracked open to let the blazing light shine in. there's no better time than now.

summers induction

muse — Sat, 21 Jun 2008 05:50:25 GMT

karmic contract

muse — Fri, 20 Jun 2008 07:52:53 GMT

i should sleep. i will draw the moon close and hope she can resemble the beauty of what i feel when your next to me. or i should say the memory of you next to me. i think i have shed 10000 tears the air carries a mid summers night dream. it's delightful and yet torments me at the same time. i remember the night on the big island. we allowed the breeze to seduce our bodies and ,we, become vulnerable. complete silence. the house was lit with the full moon. we held hands, made love and wished away our sorrow. this is one of the hardest contracts. my angels are persistent in me getting something right...... when the heart is a lonely hunter i turn to thee and surrender in the magnificence of your grace.

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muse — Mon, 28 Apr 2008 08:51:08 GMT

young woman clutch to what's left. a 1000 years of dreams and charted paths. grandmothers think old thoughts till they become new again. two nights and one queen the clock keeps ticking. the alley. the infamous through way. the trees are finding their place again. apricot, blackberry, cherry, and persimmon.

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muse — Sun, 27 Apr 2008 01:48:14 GMT

"love, with little hands, comes and touches you, with a thousand memories, and asks you beautiful, unanswerable questions." - carl sandburg

ritual

muse — Tue, 22 Apr 2008 03:07:19 GMT

it's an uncommon ritual sunday the farmers wake and instead of starched pressed whites it's soul worn shoes. sleep is stubborn at shoeing off it's amazingly quiet there's a sense of reverence. there's a sense of acknowledgment and dependence. exhausted hands have had no time forget the hours and hours of labor this is as close as i come to my food source it's beautiful it makes me stop the sun is just coming up over the hill old women coo babies back asleep you can smell bread baking in a hot wood ovens it makes me nostalgic for home for wild land and places where i myself am cooed to sleep by the nights breath no sounds no lights dark the place where the soul can unravel and one can commune with the angels

lost city's

muse — Wed, 19 Dec 2007 05:11:15 GMT

mean streets his piercing eyes find meaning in all that's lost and swept away a city that was never loved empty buildings and churches and schools the story's over the candle blown out time has not been gentle old bars line the street a budweiser sign half blinks the snow is thick we watch as the man at the bar consoles a warm beer and regrets the lose of innocense he's raw old and alive and holds the beauty in his weathered hand creative minds shine like a breath of fresh air their breathing life into forgotten places their building community out of cardboard and doing a damn good job of it golden wings are only getting brighter

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muse — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 07:07:32 GMT

in search of familiar places and forgotten stories i crave to know ritual like breaking bread or burying the dead i press my face against cold glass to see if i might taste the moon it's been awhile and she's dancing to far away to watch both the sunrise and sunset in one day is invigorating persimmons dot the naked tree in their sweet orange way farmers put their fields to bed and nurse swollen hands tenderly the season shifts again but you can lie in my arms till spring and incubate delicious thoughts of hope and forgiveness