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Saturday, November 30, 2013

70% water (haiku) * 11/30/13

each sip of water
adds some new inner wardrobe
wearing wealth from health

Friday, November 29, 2013

Seven dates with breath 7th * 11/29/13

Seventh date

Oh breathe, one right after another rapidly, 
and breathe some more.
Melodious breaths and breathe, on and on.
I feel like wind in my throat
is my invisible laughter.
And when I am this spirited,
I find my fingers tickled
in an electrical socket out of frame.
I have buoyant innocence
that peers over the fence
at my brackish cynical practices.
I want to gain a residency
other than familiarity. 
I want to be immaculately bliss-cellular.  
I want to ooze out of me,
a levity of sustaining grace.
I want to be in the time before
my knowledge as a functionary.
I want the practice of defiance
stricken from my core.
I want my pockets filled with these
how-we-are-with-each-other-before-words coins
so that I can give em and lose em
and trade em and wink with em
and walk down dark alleys dropping em,
every step of the way.
I see us all
as if we are helium balloons on singular strings.
Each of us, somehow tethered and heart-felt
in the tugging and nudging
from within the constant falling-up. 
I see us all as embrace,
each of us as separate parts
of one collective, massive, irrational grin . . .

Thursday, November 28, 2013

Seven dates with breath 6th * 11/28/13

sixth date

I breathe. I breathe. I breathe, and breathe
and breathe and breathe some more . . .
One of these days “Gusto Trust”
will be my thought-form coach.
Gusto will say things like;
“we are in the now, by how we think.
Any what will do,”
or “life is our dictionary, constantly rewriting itself
by our style of attended animation,”
or “the senses are our emissaries and storytellers
in service to those of us who use beliefs
as their market place”
or “only we, as a species, intend the weave
of time as our obligation”
or this, Gusto might say “trust greets experience
with spacious frames
around the distant silhouettes of expectation.”                                                       
Wow, what are these remarks to me(?),
but to wash away where meaning was once afloat.
This is as the way of stone,
sinking through my liquid memory.
My nervous system slipstreams with the wash, 
enough for me to say,
“what draws me, eventually finds me” . . .

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

Seven dates with breath 5th * 11/27/13

fifth date

breathe-breathe-breathe-breathe-breathe . . . yeeeeaha.
A note in a bottle from the sea
of our collective breathing.
The note says;
“we are guardians but on welfare.
We only sip from our futures.
We profit from memorable re-enactments
of our allegiance to fear.
We inhale as a salute to these acts.
We exhale as feedback unexplained.
We are the hardback editions
of the art of emptiness.
We ornate our selves with conscious tasks.
We walk amongst it all as if it were mass.
We dwell in carbon experience
as if it were the truth.
We acknowledge with alchemical smiles.
We have blissful slaves of dreams
that tangle and tango with the speed of light. 
We have telekinetic tongues
The tips of which demystify the chemistry.
Sense is our ephemeral one hand clapping.

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Seven dates with breath 4th * 11/26/13

fourth date

Breathe, breathe, breathe and deeply breathe.
Then damn, short order, these hot feelings.
A rage a root-thunder appears,
performs some form of internal ventriloquy.
That makes me say, in problematic ways.
Makes me quote from impotent knowledge.
Makes me proselytize a view,
bound by polarizations
into a devotional beta-mind misery.
I will have to chew on that bone
for now as a before and an after.
By this situation, I feel locked out
of the now dominion,
never to truly fill in these hollow words.
I am preening at this game-face from the inside.
I am accepting time-spent as a proxy
for a suitable clearing to come forth.
This is all an experience of my free-fall logic
crashing into my child like invention
of conviction.
I am committing suicide so slowly,
others call it living.
I feel like a form junky,
demonstrating how alone I really feel I am.
Yet, I consider others’ staring at me
as a chance for intimacy.
I am still breathing
but now, vacantly,
half-heartedly so . . .

Monday, November 25, 2013

Seven dates with breath 3rd * 11/15/13

Third date

Breathe and breathe and boom!

Wow, unrolling a path of action
down a vision hallway
yet nowhere clear to see.
I am using negative emotions
to eulogize my options.
How sick is that?
It seems crossed-purposed,
but I’m do believing
as if to share in we-all-believe,
don’t we?
I got fear in my pigment color.
Trauma is my curious far off on the horizon muse.
Controversy permits me to inwardly stammer.
But I am predatorily factual by nature.
I sometimes can use the strong-arms
of purpose in situations like this.
I am, as if by virtue, a conclusionary.
I dress myself up in convenience
and pursue futures as results.
Others as friends of mine,
by their absence in my life,
pay me the compliment of omission
for my presence with all of this
from my breath in flight . . .