Poetry
Today I felt like sharing some of my poetry I've written recently instead of a traditional blog post.
Real
Love isn’t real
A blue haired maniac screams in the hippie city of love
Is the city real?
Is my sense of self real?
What is real
Maybe it’s all just the appeal
A product marketed to the masses through stories and films
Just buy who you care about a card, or some more jewelry
Only love the person with the most money
Only love the person who is always funny
Only love the person that always comes home to you, is always loyal, is always interested in you is always is always…
Maybe love isn’t real
But sex is
Money can buy sex
Maybe money can’t buy love
Because it’s impossible to own something
That doesn’t exist.
It would be wonderful if it actually existed
Or maybe not
Perhaps it’s so rare
That we are lucky to only catch glimpses of it
Before oblivion
Otherwise perhaps it's all around us
In the streets in the trees in the sun and the moon and the stars
No that’s just atoms
Just processes
Energy in motion
Only love what brings you joy, only love what completes you, only love what is available
Only love that which isn’t long distance, only love that which isn’t toxic, only love what your conscious mind throws at you as good for your well being
How can love exist in such a constricting world?
It should exist whether we create it or not
It’s more like a prayer, or a hope
That this time things will be different I swear
Maybe at some point in the universes history
All of these processes were not separate
The divide between self and the other did not exist
A singularity in which all form melded into one
Maybe sometimes our primordial atoms in their constant processes remember
Remember
What it was like to exist
Where boundless everything existed everywhere all at once
No space
Every place
This most likely isn’t true.
Love isn’t real
Maybe that’s false
Hopefully
Hope
Hope
That one day I’ll be swept away
by
Flying saucers overhead
Beaming telepathy into our water supply
Enough to get one high
I want to drink of these strange clear waters
Hear the unintelligible chatter
Not meant for human ears
Life forms above,
Perhaps always watching us with prying eyes
Like the government
Or some god
Perhaps they exist among us
Clothed in 1950’s attire
Shopping at our supermarkets
Successfully attempting to blend in
Hope
I’d stick out my thumb and
They’d let me tag along
Because I don’t belong here
Never feel like I did
Maybe they’d show me their
Extraterrestrial math
And I’d marvel at the beauty
Of the universe unveiled in
Shapes and sounds and colors
Not meant for human senses
With none of the pretenses
What does some strange species
Existing on some far off world
Perceive of the universe?
Developing on some faraway rock
A staggering number of coincidences
Lead to their everyday perception of dark matter
Or neutrinos
Or what we know not of
The world unveiled in ways our sensory modalities
Never evolved to comprehend
Only glimpse at
What a wonder to wonder at
The mind of an extraterrestrial
Its perceptual apparatus so changed by exposure to another sun
And perhaps many moons
Hope
To see some glowing star in the sky
It’s humming radiance piercing sonic waves through the night
That despite any sort of fright
Some benevolent creature would whisk me away
No longer on Earth to stay
Maybe for a pit stop
Or to show my friends the latest supernovae photo
Oh to be a galactic tourist
To glimpse the novel and the profound
Far beyond any Earthly waking sound
Hope
In place of any god or angel
Aliens in place in space
Maybe they are the same thing
Old mythologies mixed in
With sightings long ago
Intermingling with the peasants
Swinging by the big dipper and the next star to the right
Straight on till dawn
To another sun's light
Hope
If aliens be out there
We share commonalities nonetheless
Some universal math
Conscious love perhaps
Maybe love isn’t real
Believing in it though, does have appeal
Hope
LA SF
Inside the jungle of our rooms
On soft and richly scented shrouds,
Or silken couches, deep as tombs,
My soul lives in two cities
Although the heart can only survive in one
A sunset rose blooms in the city of angels
While a mystical wind blows through the city of fog
Los Angeles is like a dreamy opiate trip wrapped in plastic
San Francisco feels like television static covered in ornate beauty
A faithful Angel at the door
Will wipe the tarnish off and try
To bring life back to what once was
Puzzling metamorphoses ensue,
For angels wake inside those swinish heads
How glamorous the sun looks, heading west
Exploding in our faces each day
Yet how beautiful the setting sun, serene
How strong the heart of pulsing fusion
Scattering across the orange sky
Enough death and darkness, tender heart
Save every ray, of every setting sun
Drowned in a pool of blood the sun lies slain
The crows play in its entrails
As twilight falls on the image of what was
To await the dawn of what will be
Because nothing ever truly ends
But then there is no beginning either
A cosmic fairytale wrapped in ether
To the Angel, the immortal Muse,
Endless and everlasting praise
To those whose gifts of grace infuse
Euphoric and abiding bliss
We found each other thirsty
And we have drunk up all the water and the blood
We found each other hungry
And we bit each other as fire bites
Leaving wounds in us
Though not as deep
As what already was
At night alone I’ve slept with you
Next to the sea, on the island
Wild and sweet you were between lucidity and sleep
Between volcanic fire and saltwater
In a mad dream infused with stardust and old CD’s
Across strange landscapes borne out of the rush and heat of the long passed sun
Blue hair! An azure oriflamme. A baldaquin.
Great canopy of oceanic stars by the sea
Drowned in a gossamer entanglement
Tranquilizing the soul
With the musk of island flowers, marijuana smoke and cooled magma
At the top or at the bottom
Up above branches moved by a common wind,
Down below like red roots that touch
Perhaps your dream drifted from mine and through the dark sea
Was seeking me as before
When you did not yet exist
Dawn beckons past the long night
A different sort of twilight ascends
The sunset rose flutters in the mystical wind
Be it demonic, beauty or divine
From heaven or from hell
The wind carries petals
Wandering through the world
Though the rose remains
Its petals drift across oceans
Of time and space
Because eventually all paths lead to the same destination
Each elation
Every creation
The cosmic dance ensues
We cross like figure skaters
In and out of each others lives
Always though the memory of the rose remains
Its energy drifts across scattered simulacra
Part of some chakra
The petals drift and wander
All exists as it was
Then now all exists as will be
For now, sweet, a rose
In a rushing wind
Static plastic passing through again
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