An open door half closed wanting
somewhere she sits at a window lamenting
sometimes nightmares become a lucid dream
other times it's not what it seems
in the glaring heat
desert scapes we meet
within the barren dry land
we jump off the cliff and stand
tumultuous waves crashing on shore
out there is a forgotten lore
the sirens wade by the ocean
pirate ships treasures and potions
remember the truth before you owned eyes
and live as if you are to die
tell your secrets in a sigh
roller coaster hi and bye
the spark is all you ever have to hold
and the lover now be love and bold
soon the skies will break and clear
hold the mysteries dark and dear

i m not interested in perfect gods and goddesses.
i want to see where it hurts.
i want to see from which pain you spring out of that makes your path courageous
and integral.
that which makes you bleed and wound so when u speak of love
it is not an escape from that truth u need to see
but a brilliant spark in the darkness.
the acceptance of the ugly and the flawed and what is left at the end of a gathering.
i don t care for your seamless performances.
i want to see the unravelling of every beautiful idea u've built destroyed and burned
so the real perfection of what is stands naked at the shore.
i don t need to hear impeccable speeches with elaborate grammatically correct sentences
any more than a real and raw broken silence that runs deeper than conversation.
i want to see your seams
because that s where real trust begins.
broken open hearts demand authenticity to keep working its way.
let your pain be your strength.
let surrendering be your fight.
battle the cages that are within until the dying of the light.
use your eyes that are just beyond the seeing ones...
show me your attachments
that allow me to admire the flailing cords that you have cut and freed and are
making dance with tonight...
let me watch the re-wiring of you
perform for me this glitchy operation of open heart surgery
and the truly divine intervention
just behind the scenes...

your life is a train.
everytime it stops you get out and it's a different dream with different roles and rules and characters.
the trick is to not get distracted and keep on remembering the train that takes you to the next stop.
however it is also important to stick around and find some clues for your next mission.
you can ride for free as long as you keep getting on and off.
once you figure out the mystery, you are not allowed to say it, or else you are totally kicked off the tracks
and have to start at the beginning again, the long line-up.
if you keep the mystery, at each stop it is necessary to pass it on to someone else without uttering the word.
there's a chance you will say it and have to start all over,
or forget what it is that you have to say,
or share it and keep going,
or never figure it out,
or get into an argument about it with a friend and totally lose the plot,
or haven't even figured out there's a train!!
bless the hobosexuals for stickin round the tracks...

A simple interaction. A glance, a nod, a faint increase in breath. perhaps even an exchange of names. What determines the destiny of travellers and of friendship? Love? Indifference? We call this god Thoth, he who is responsible for all messages and communication, the smooth transitions, the abrupt interruptions, the subtle interference that influences each particle that makes up the tiniest impression upon us. whether a smile gives a feeling of warmth or the creeps, whether a hello makes you feel open or closed, whether an advance is perceived as friendliness or courtship or an attack. whether walking away is gracefully taking space or shamefully running away. An escape or a confrontation. What are the odds? Now then, who is the god of chance and gambling? Jupiter? The Wheel, who spins the fortune of our lives? What to speak of Paradox? Synchronicity? the Dao? the Point in being Alive? Death?
Sounds. Movement. Awareness of breath, minds flying and swimming in and towards each other. A child's imagination. The intelligence it requires to be innocent to the world minus the blind naivety & ignorance of self. the sacred meaning behind altars and junkyards. the precious moment of wandering aimlessly lost then suddenly finding a soulmate in a stranger's eyes. the weird realization that psychic abilities and schizophrenia have a big cross-over. the amount of beauty that leaks out from a random circumstance. that inspires a tear. lingering feelings of immense love for the world that is, despite all of its flaws and scars and imperfections. the long endless journey that wears you, inside out, torn at the seams, uncontrollable fits, soft touches, love and hate intertwined inseparably so, unforgettable innumberable images-scattered across the desert of mind-hungover peaceful blank brain. blankets and blankets of layers & layers of human behaviour, grime and dirt; all shed in the instance freedom is declared, be it inwardly or outwardly, all turn to star dust. Just a flicker flame in the night.

punk ass pixies come out and break
the spells of glamour
bust the intestines from within
draw blood
without unleashing the sword

speak the truth
without relying on honesty

walk the road
without the path

feel the pain and joy
without spilling the heart
and losing the beat...

and time spent, if younger than the love that is all, remains unstill...still thy heart to be as beat as time and in breaking find the love that has been holding the shells together the whole time...sssshhhhhhhhh........

walk softly
breathe deeply

scream kick and cry

the return to post-apocalypse pre historic eggs of humanity leaves me feeling weak and whole and tired with too much eyes.

squeeze my ears to hear

will the real truth please step up?

i m dying so i can know this again
i m dying to know this again
i m dying just to know
i m dying again just so y'know