Captured Spirit
Music seeps through a dark void,
I dance silly,
feeling a poise
to a deep emotion –
A divinity of self-expression,
an aura of art,
yes, but just art –
A celebration of being,
grasping at a hunger,
exotic, sensitive, beautiful,
elegant, chaotic ballet image rolling in my mind,
vision a creation,
a montage of imaginary scenes spin around –
I feel the grace, feeling a spirit of inner soul.
Through the Night
A haunting presence surrounds me,
imagination playing in my mind –
Shadows fool my eyes,
just keep them open,
fear creeping in –
I’m afraid to scream –
How embarrassing, when reality unfolds,
embarrass yourself in front of the neighbors,
the lonely madman lost control –
Oh no, just relax,
put away the drugs –
Are they listening
outside the door?
Horror invades me,
it’s too quiet –
Can they hear me breathe, swallow?
I can’t stop swallowing –
Dry mouth, obscene gulp –
Crash, the sound of the glass lightly placed on the table –
Is it too late to start the wash?
Need noise,
turn on fans, air purifier,
substitute television for low music –
the loud commercial noise freaks me out,
get even noise,
relax, put your head back,
add another soft light –
The shadows are coming back. Underground
exile –
the dark, gloomy place.
I spend my time trying to capture art
from sensitive depth,
to embrace humanity through confession
Donna’s Poem
Jealousy of the pretty boy, or girl,
depending on what side you’re on. Phony,
the first thing that comes to mind
Definitely shallow
or some type of remark,
although different obstacles separate people –
Looks, the hidden joke,
immature, but very real.
Even class, or social mentality, can have a look –
That can also include the weird, or different –
Vulnerability and desperateness,
exposing visibility,
but still the black and white –
The primitive, the wanting desire,
torments a soul.
Untitled
The basic fundamental between simplistic and complex –
the thin paradoxical line,
a compelling vision that touches emotion –
the consciousness between two extremes –
Is it genius or depth in its finest form?
Oh how snobbish,
but a matter of taste,
artistically, of course –
Realization creeps in,
just after that last feeling of shame,
or maybe that was insight kicking you in the head –
It’s always tougher around people –
when I’m alone I’m very sincere with myself-
I don’t find that sincerity around me –
I feel evil in an ugly way,
but my heart is too true to believe it –
That’s cause for a toast –
to the absurd,
to chaos in all its divinity,
to the drag queens
and social freedom –
to more wine in my glass
and two expensive escorts –
to a little snow and a little roll,
to me going off the deep end with a pen in my hand,
to me going off the deep end without a pen in my hand –
to good food,
and what was the man’s name that said
“Hooray for the poor, for putting their bellies before their souls”,
or something like that?
Let’s not bore ourselves with math equations of big and small –
Just know there’s always a middle
In the social world
I’ve mastered the great impostor of the middle –
In real life, I’m a good-hearted, honest, patheticdesperate, vulnerable human being,
but I’m a romantic –
I find beauty in the grotesque, I believe suffering fuels your heart
to find your soul,
I believe in the human heart,
I believe in love,
I believe in art, I believe in the rights of art –
I declare my freedom as an artist
and make satire of your judgements –
I want to create art that’s timeless,
art that breaks the barriers for understanding,
to give beauty and touch emotions,
and say truth should always be fair,
mercy should carry the slogan for humanity
and may we get the best out of each other
that we can.
Untitled
It’s over,
I’m gone-
Too many attempts,
my words traveled past you –
My feelings and thoughts
you didn’t understand –
You thought my depth
was something I learned –
You misjudged me
and never really saw me –
You saw me as indecent,
instead of a man
with a beautiful heart –
A weird freak
instead of an underground artist –
You keep passing me by,
coldly, the interaction –
I’m finally gone
to a land, not too far away.
Untitled
Give me the woman dancing
in the tall grass,
wearing the sun dress
with flowers in her hair,
or give me the hot hooker –
I’m into it all –
Rub my back gently
or bite my neck,
oh I crave the hug,
but don’t mind the whip –
I spilled my heart out
to a Madonna complex
and Jezebel fingered me in the ass.
To The Night
The cries into the night, to announce a night,
where my emotions are calling,
calling to the night,
a howl to the night, and I am buzzed –
The night and it’s excitement,
I’m here, I’m calling –
Do I call life my friend?
I call into the night –
I am laughing, and I am dreaming,
I am remembering special times,
and embracing my goals-
It’s an emotional time and a magic time,
a time when life is my friend –
And I’m shouting it, to the night.
Untitled
I’m drinking absente,
I’m romanticizing the world
of the poets and artists –
The artist’s dark life holds inspiration
in the human heart-
How ugly’s paradox discovers beauty –
My hero Don Quixote,
dream the impossible dream –
my hero John Merrick (the EI Man)
has a heart full of soul –
“Capture beauty!” I scream –
Beauty is the divinity, beauty is the ultimate sin –
The inner yearnings!
To the sight of a sunset,
to a vision of elegance
and a dance so divine –
A matter of spending time with me,
and loving me.
Loneliness
Loneliness, a journey,
empty without the imagination.
And loneliness, I can giggle,
in a satire of madness.
But loneliness, the realization that you’re scared,
of any more time
adding insult to injury.
And loneliness, a secret friend.
Untitled
Carnival of life,
the freedom of individualism,
characters of beautiful
evolved sensitivity –
Chaos –
My emotions rage
with a longing
of a romantic far away –
A smile of tremendous warmth,
a moment that is never lost,
stored in your dreams,
your breath of absolute truth –
As insane as a fairy tale
I cry to gaze upon –
Suffer, suffer –
From pain to rapture
to balance with absurd,
it takes the artist
to make it all fit,
create outlets
for a gift-
Internal yearn,
internal call,
internal,
internal void,
internal,
internal cause –
My penis feels so good
in your vagina –
So warm,
so soothing –
I’m going to stop moving,
I want to stare into your eyes
and feel the warmth
of your smile –
We’re connected –
This is paradise,
twilight,
magic night,
gothic fairy tale
with total realness –
The absurd can only calm
such emotions,
wonderful laughter,
joyous tears could only
hope to remember,
to share such joy,
a fulfillment of being,
knowing these are
the special moments of life.
THOUGHTS, POEMS AND OTHER MAGIC MOMENTS
The paradox between truth and absurdity can only hold onto its responsibility to humanity by holding it to intellectual depth. With the ethics manifesting to the debate between mentality versus morality with an evolutionary call.
Crossing a line of depth and have to explain the reality and the isolation of going too far.
The relatable reach
An absurd, but life lesson
To recognize reaction
Over what’s expected
Is it the heart or denial?
Perception can only be justified with consciousness
The only moral compass of the un-sub-consciousness
Is the consciousness
Experiencing the chemical reaction of emotions raises a conscious enlightenment
O no! Is it time to say ”I’m scared for questioning my sanity”
Oh is it not a tragedy
When fascism challenges humanity
An intermittent period of time
Is it conformity versus freedom?
Or when respectability confuses decency
And the absurd sharing values or meaning with truth
The tragedy – when the lie is bigger than the truth
A tide turns. Childhood fear resonates at the changing of the tides.
Brutality offered as kindness. Unrecognized sensitivity.
To moralize without virtue
Censorship on what to think
A dogma that discredits consciousness
Blinding our truth to humanity
A parade to exploit our fears
With the comfort of protection
Can we strive for the simplicity of fairness and being good
Given claim to complexity
A ground for romantic endeavors
Oh don’t surrender a spirit to fear.
Please don’t surrender your spirit.
If you don’t believe your capable of falling apart, then you just break.
A Question In Time
Time, a barrier of reality,
an absurd notion to use loved ones
as a sense of belonging,
and insist on being counted –
To observe an identity where the face is full of guilt –
To question if the world is reasonable,
with my humility as a bargaining chip –
To find out the truth is not some hidden secret,
never able to hold on to it long enough
to be naturally comfortable –
Only content to know the difference,
but not enough to satisfy.
Is evil just beyond my imagination?
Traveling alone,
I don’t even believe in evil,
but there could be a psychopath
behind the bush –
Fear of being alone,
haunting to man’s nature,
criminal,
yet enlightened,
to the mind,
a discovery,
to self,
consciousness,
internal recognition,
mind over matter,
matter haunts the mind,
brutality invades,
reaction and reason,
resourcefulness,
abstract endurance,
truthful energy –
Loads and lies,
beauty’s quest and a return,
confusion, but not lost –
maintaining a purpose,
directing a direction,
touching something,
deep inside me –
A moment of honesty,
an emotional trueness,
absurd amusement,
a giggle of embarrassment,
a private laugh,
a relief of madness,
Time and space
and I bumped into a building –
An entity described as human –
The bounds of natural pressure
going too high in the air
or too deep in the ocean.
An individual trapped by conformity,
conventionalism or basic peer pressure –
Your own conscious somehow finds your place,
the fear of judgement,
the journey in the civilized world,
does carry a profound slogan:
Even the less physical
can be successful
in the animal world.
But passing through
the customs, laws, forms of government,
place challenge on being, my dreams, my privacy,
my place to rest my head,
my pursuit or quest,
my existence beyond physical human existence,
social history, evolutionary to bring about the best in man
but still a being in the big picture –
Part of an energy, flowing matter,
air, time and space
and many things to bump into.
Vision,
my being an artist,
the struggle
to present,
the fire inside me,
madness with a bit
of the absurd –
The constant
endurance to hold on,
shouting from my room –
Dance, write,
waiting for my recognition –
The unheard voice
so profound,
complexity scares the general public –
Primitive reaction
haunts the artist,
a social critic is born –
Pointed fingers
and obscene stares
still affect me –
The declaration of the artist,
freedom, freedom reigns –
A space,
a space to be free,
to relax and enjoy the moments,
and moments of the day –
Visionary,
to capture and create a way,
a style of contempt –
Existence to give wholeheartedly to a cause,
sensitive always,
sensitive,
the perception of sensitivity is profound
and the way of art
Love and understanding
are the only way to build humanity –
Radical groups have their say in primitive society,
but sooner or later,
they need to give tO,or surrender –
Humanity doesn’t take or oppress,
everyone is welcome –
Man has invented God
and the promised land,
because the struggle for humanity
is a bit too much for him –
And he invented the devil,
because he is too afraid
to really see himself –
Perhaps the human call
is too beautiful for man to hear –
Maybe it’s the echoes of suicide poets,
or maybe it’s Joe average saying,
“Can I have a cheeseburger?”
Invasion of my privacy,
tormented by your ridicule,
your knocks, your noise,
your games to catch my attention –
A dangerous mind
in a gentle character,
oh the tragedy –
Genius with Godliness,
pathetic with greatness,
beautiful grace
with a dazed look –
A beautiful freak,
beyond common perception –
A paradox of the extremes,
an individual,
an artist without a community
and guilt ridden about
being so far away from home –
My focal point is art,
no matter what I conclude,
it’s all dedicated to art.
A Dark Dream
Death came, disguised as a dream,
the search to find reality,
a nightmare for the consciousness to confuse –
Where insanity is the death of life,
or the last dream, telling you you’re dead –
A voice never to admit hearing, or that it exists –
Where a dream gives you a haunting
that seems to last a lifetime,
Or a divine feeling of absolute freedom
to face a fear of the night –
And to perceive triumph as to embrace life
and to recognize what is good in you
and embrace the earth –
A humanity in life.
I think, therefore I feel –
The imagination painfully
burned morality’s boundaries –
The flesh spoke “Fetish” –
The woman personified,
bigger than reality,
leather hot bitch
to kick my punishment –
You tease, guilty pleasure,
I shake with excitement,
excited by your flesh,
in your costume of desire –
Sex between the ears,
I came in my hand
before I came in yours –
Shame and depression hurt later,
but I can’t wait to do it again.
Hatred circles a society,
empty minds
or just not individual substance
and not far from mentality,
brutality stabbed sensitivity –
Love and emotion,
our little secret,
sadness screams,
a deaf outlet,
fear and mistrust
smother the call –
Desperateness injured
a reaching hand –
Intentions are poisoned,
propaganda promotes
a cold honor
softened by commercial representation –
Institutional dogma,
choking emotions,
conformity uses God
to make dictatorship decent –
Order announcing freedom,
the poet must speak,
must speak of love, mercy,
understanding –
A call to sensitivity,
to discover beauty is to share it,
to surrender beauty is to give it
and it’s screaming from the gutter –
The gutter of consciousness,
the divinity of consciousness,
the beauty of divinity,
the beauty, the lost dream.
An Ode To Individualism
I survive in my reality, but live in my world,
to knock insanity and still be afraid of it –
A romanticism to see oneself as a dark man,
and be afraid of the dark
and have the depth to prove it.
I know the difference, and the affects still haunt –
A better person to be abused
for his own intellect or stand up for something better,
like recognizing defeat and dealing with it –
For dreams of reality, and better things to come,
with real for reality, by remembering the fall,
and the truth with absurdity,
live one and all.
The philosopher as the artist,
to think, as well as create,
capture life
and present it –
The critic, necessary
essence of being,
his own eternal opposition –
Debating the structures
of time and balance –
Morality, ethics,
the value or volume of the human heart –
Where decency meets respectability
and sociability intrudes –
I am, we are, a humanity discovered by thought,
fueled by the emotions of rage –
It’s art, it’s art,
it must be art –
Discovery of a soul
by the human heart –
Humanity embraced
by lofty emotions,
the criticism of a society
by its crimes against humanity –
A burden of guilt
by the discoveries –
Move forward
to the grace of understanding,
create something beautiful,
give art
to reach a passion,
beyond the penis and vagina –
Move past addition
equally No, not a dream,
a vision of being,
of being me
and you and us all –
A smile to make me cry,
to hug me
and hold me so tight,
to gleefully dance
and toast to the absurd
and care for imperfection –
The human call,
celebration of life,
with the vision
of misery’s tears.
Vulnerable
(The Critic Must Be)
Desperateness, how ugly I feel inside
The unanswered call
Ignored respectfully
Or respectfully ignored –
No place to stand,
Uncomfortable to pursue,
Lost in a nightmare,
Searching for a response –
Vulnerably exposed
To hide your hidden voids,
After passing time,
Loneliness still haunts,
Romanticized fool,
Walking on eggshells
Through a guilt ridden promise land –
Riding dreams to escape,
I crave solitude
But definitely want to love –
A sweetheart,
A sensitive touch of comfort –
A moonlight walk on the beach,
where I’m melted by your smile,
feel the warmness of your eyes –
Please, I hope my eyes aren’t offensive –
I hope they’re showing warmth –
I’ve been lost so long, this moment is so beautiful to me –
It’s guilt that melts the dream,
as I feel the crack of a belt that the dominatrix is whipping me
with –
She’s wearing black leather shorts that lace in the front,
long boots that pass her kneecaps, a black bra and a motorcycle
hat –
She’s a spanish vampire with dark hair,
piercing eyes and a tough smile –
For the soul to remain it needs a bit of pain,
to surrender, an adaptation of consciousness –
Love hurts,
Inspiration paints a road
colored by imagination –
To continue discovering yourself,
May you stumble upon art in your life
and think beautifully
and fulfill yourself and grasp at life –
The critic must be vulnerable –
A toast to chaos –
Wouldn’t be such a shocker
to all the men of judgement
if they were to find out that the hero of our time
if that comment was taken seriously.
Searching, searching,
the eternal question
has no answer –
The majority who don’t
ponder the question
answer it everyday –
Live –
A disappointment to thought,
but isn’t life a disappointment
to thought?
Why the creation of art
to make beautiful
a grander plan
that can dignify the lost
voice of the damned
with radical sensitivity?
The great paradox
that leads to life’s answers,
discovering humanity,
respecting the freedom
of human rights,
when art and evolution
share a ti me,
a never ending time –
Just maybe
the primary definition
of the human call
or the eternal question –
Art can make the underworld
as respectable as the everyday world,
and will offend the crimes of both
Reality steps in
from every outside space,
creating surrealism –
The outside realm
between fantasy
and reality –
A deeper concept,
consciousness and subconsciousness,
the middle spaces,
the discovery of the unknown –
To be or not to be –
Can a man be conscious of his own sanity?
That is the question,
to go where man is too ashamed to go,
to deny you could ever
feel that way –
Lost, found, lost, found,
lost spaces,
found memories –
The denial of the lost land,
reality of values, customs and laws
to hold human behavior in shape –
What happens when darkness
creeps around?
What happens when darkness
sheds light?
The imagination dreams
conceptual mysteries,
romanticism,
shaded emotions, from hurt –
A picture in time,
a never ending search
for space, time, reason,
existence, balance, severity,
chemistry, science, math,
philosophy, growth, life,
She’s the end or beginning of a dream, I’m not sure –
A memory from another time, place, world,
when I was a regular guy-
She’s my belief in happiness, my hope,
my connection to a saner life –
Her name I screamed
many times in the dark,
her comfort I craved –
Her memory and the love I felt for her
reminded me I was a decent man
Only a decent man could have feelings this beautiful –
Her vision remains with me day after day,
although I do forget what she looks like sometimes –
She’s the inspiration of a lost man.
Feed the animal,
the torture of desperateness,
the tragedy of guilt,
the feud between love and desire,
respectability and decency,
the constant strive to remain true
with the decadence and phoniness
that surrounds you –
Temptation, a never ending facade –
Maturity, the honest question,
or can that be consciousness?
Consciousness – torment or self recognition?
The discovery of life,
to be human,
to live and discover life
at a pace that’s yours –
Conformity or individualism?
Society or humanity?
Religion or the human call?
Art or commercialism?
Remember
A nervous breakdown that the conscience remembers –
A surreal existence holding on to life on a wire,
and never leaving the couch
or having the energy to be disturbed with the desperateness of
screaming for help,
and exposing your self.
Hoping you won’t be tomorrow’s joke, or did that happen
already?
By putting the truth of my conscience on trial,
what is to resemble truth?
Lost in the realization of confusion as a dream to life.
Nostalgia asks, “Who’s going to be the biggest fool,
the most touching?”
Consciousness,
yet nostalgia, our touching relics –
Our contemporary –
Commercialism
not for sale, for auction –
Romanticized beauty,
a common ground
or a walk in the parkA
daytime funeral
with the sun behind the casket –
Gothic with an innocence,
kinky with innocence,
knowing the difference
with guilt of a layered faraway.
Jose
On my way home from work, exhausted from laboring in the
heat, I saw Jose with his family up the road a bit.
Jose is a mexican immigrant I have passed many times;
always smiles when he waves to you.
He’s a nice, quiet man who works as a dishwasher for a fancy
restaurant. As I stopped at the light, I turned to my right to wave.
His wife walked ahead, carrying a cheap plastic bag,
with tin foil wrapped sandwiches, and drinks and snacks.
Jose’s son wore a baseball uniform and was wearing his glove Jose had his arm on his son’s shoulders, with a proud look on
his face. I suddenly had a quick flashback to the time when I
played for Little League, and a voice from the back of my head
said, “They’re the people that don’t count.”
I felt a sharp pain in my chest and I began to cry uncontrollably.
I couldn’t stop thinking about how hard Jose works everyday,
and the small apartment he lives in, and how proud he was
feeling, watching his son play baseball with his wife, and how
touched I felt by him. Yes Jose, you count – that’s what my
insides tell me.
A Look into the Past
A look into behind, searching
through shadows and the senses.
The smell of grandma’s basement
hit me with a conscience feeling,
recapturing a moment of time.
Remembering an eternal moment
when ego was an emotion
and the heart ran selfish.
Reminiscing with flashbacks,
attention on me.
All the love in the world ideally revolved around me.
Fear danced around what was different,
like an obscene masquerade.
The child feared as he saw the offensive woman taking care of the sick man
and felt an embarrassed excitement when he heard her curse.
But at whole, the fascist child was disgusted by what wasn’t proper or respectable, and dirty people.
How can he consider himself to be a man with such a wimpy body?
Shallow horror that poisons a child’s mind.
Watching the scary world through a car window.
Absorbing life and growing emotions with the warm-hearted 70s music.
And growing insights through television.