her body spoke volumes like dusty and tired old tomes
like mist on the waters seemed his silly little poems
her creases and crevices abound with mysteries untold
ancient rites through bloody oaths from willing thighs were cajoled
lest her secrets incantations and lustful songs lie fallow
after begging and screaming crying to please bury the seeds shallow
lest the toils of time garner sweet fruits from their labours
allow them a taste some sweet nectar to savour
let them kiss the cool rains and suck the warmth of the sun
like a desperate lover whose journey begun
with lies and with hate
and with a hunger to sate
her secrets they with grace unfurl and divulge with despair
all the memories the wishes she has breathed into the air
the blue of blood mingles with that of the sky
the seas and oceans heave with each tearful sigh
when the last of her doors has finally been opened been flung and been thrown
after the vainglorious of followers of their last seeds have sown
neath trembling flesh weak bitter and unpure
only the diehard and foolhardy will certainly endure


















ae.

i heard conspicuously whispered the hushed lore of old

lying in your bed,

lying naked and cold.

my body transported,

forsaken completely, utterly forsook

left alone and to wander though my eyes dared not look.

i felt the heat, felt the cold, felt the soft touch of the butchers knife,

tasted of ambrosia, of honey, of pain and of strife.

heard the cries of the guilty and innocent alike

breathed the sweet and stale aether of cerulean midnight.

yet not once not for a moment did i happen to spy

through the haze of long lashes or tween crack of splayed fingers,

i saw not a thing yet the memory lingers.

it lies there sleeping, or at least it seems to me.

it awaits and it hopes my sleeping eyes may yet fail

to uphold their blind vigilance and at long last yet see.

ae.

oldies but goodies.










i guess it began like most of the long, drawn-out and lazy days of summer that had thus far transpired before the ambling and yet by now, less than inquisitve globes rotating fore of my skull. as a herald of the earths' unaltered and unerring orbit, the morning star once more mounted its' azure pedestal {throne}, however, on this particular day with an unrivaled reluctance and an idle glory formerly reserved for the ilk of indolent kings and emperors. casting its' {adjective} rays unto the earth like so many mystics' {divining} bones, it appeared (and not surprisingly so) to portend the slow passing of yet another day; one marked by lackluster, and laden as it were with the golden weight of the summer sun, a propensity for slothful indulgence.



...




4:35. the digits appeared a spectral harbinger, refulgent amidst the inky, thick {...thick, oozing...} darkness from which it so strikingly set itself apart...these numbers, so seemingly innocuous, had been branded onto the backs of my eyelids. [the sputter and sizzle of burnt flesh and the subsequent raised, distinct discolouration to follow, a grisly keepsake to memorialize the dissolution of my autonomy. rustled from the lush, pleasant, rolling sylvan valleys and hills of unconsciousness, i was violently and abruptly driven to a ceaseless wandering under the heavy hand and greedy, watchful eye of sleeplesness. insomnia had left its' indelible mark...]



























ae.

i have seen him. the old man. dressed to the nines in second hand comfort and hand me down shame. creased and calloused are his hands but smooth to the touch. glassy, clear as crystal grey eyes bleed out viscous and painfully slow, colouring an otherwise colourless sky. he hears the blue blood of his veins, thick and rich. he has eaten with desire, sat at her long banquet, drunk of her wine but never once filled anothers cup with his own sickly sweet and salty spirit. slyvan and seafoam creep round the edges of a pleasant countenance. half smiling sneering leering aching and bloody in the briars waiting watching hoping and hating. nary does a trace of the Sandmans sweet surrender, inky black or lulling content sully his eyes or weave its subtle spell round lashes beneath behind between lids and through endless battle for wakefulness...

(to be continued)

ae.

exhibit A: i was pondering some little inklings whilst in the shower a very few moments ago when just so happened to find its way to the fore of my conscious mind THIS gem as follows: buy a new sketchbook and start drawing on the LAST page. fill up the book one page at a time in the consecutive order in which the book was bound and meticulously date each and every item.

having noticed recently that within the last few months my drawing and writing style has changed considerably, i feel it a worthy endeavour to document and better asess this newfound phenomenon.

by beginning a sketchbook from the back to front, i can more easily go BACK in time from the current, which seems much more logical than picking an arbitrary point in the past and navigating ones way to the present.



exhibit B: by choosing differing methods of expressing through words, it seems or rather FEELS that corresponding yet altogether different portions of my brain/heart seem to be behind the wheel so to speak. it is a very odd, at times frustrating and ultimately an unique experience. after writing longhand in cursive and otherwise, typing via a computer, and now the thought of throwing a typewriter into the mix may be much too much for my mind to handle at this particular juncture.


but lets see where it may go.




















ae.

the free man craves to be led by the hand
while the slave wanders in dreams the lay of the land

i pray not for my mind for it is already lost
i ask not for forgiveness as i now know the cost
i crave not the content of a soul at ease
i will not give my heart for a brief moment of peace
i pray for those whose brains i have bent
i give apology to those from whom i took without consent
i yearn for happiness in the innermost of those near
i bleed what i can for those who are willing to hear

the man in the middle just wants to be alone
the man on the outskirts begs to be let in your home




...





sweet aroma sea foam cerulean slyvan and brine
sand wind ragged cliff mirrored sky and tortured pine




...





the sea is blind
the wind will not hear
the sky cannot feel
and earth will never fear
the heavy footfalls of fate as she climbs and corrodes in graceful endless procession, trailing in tow bleeding broken hearts, lost souls. a somber parade she leads, a curiously naive and hopeful dirge parts her lips and splits the ears of those who are willing, able and vain enough to listen, to open wide their ears eyes and hearts.
they like the rest,
like me, like you the worst and the best,
led to her wondrous ship that departs,
that leaves with no wake and no hint of crest
in its infinite onward toward forward quest.




















random goodies.
































ae.

the tarnished inbetween where time means nothing at all. i found myself there wrapped in rags scraps shreds and disparate threads that linked like knobby elbows and dirty forearms grimy fingers and ragged half bitten nails in innocent if only naive abandon. a trust betrayed and garment frayed by nervous fidgeting and ever picking pulling tearing hands of time/time again and again forever never tied to a thread thin worn and almost nothing at all to hold in the vice of strong fingers like trying to pinch a drop of water and stay its endless wanderlust so insatiable falling into onto in itself could not slake/or stall its hopeless helpless yearning for home for the sea now the sky or somewhere always in between where time means nothing at all. i found myself there w r a p p e d . . .



















ae.

i laughed and i laughed at the grand wonder of it all
i laughed and i laughed for the folly and the fall
so petty pesky pretty and gloriously gall
the nature of mine and the nature of yours
the nature of things will bring us to all fours
or perhaps perchance maybe all threes twos and ones
i laughed and i laughed for what else could i have done?




































ae.

haphazard, half alive in the eye of a defunct storm. haphazard, only half cognizant on the rim of a long dead crater of fire, filth, pestilence and crime. crying, oh crying for the night, for the disparate few and far between dewy drops of starlit ecstasy to seep in mildew and rot in our weary bones. left instead unsated and sustained by the milky mist of a slivered moon only to slip mercifully into an inky black, and oh so slow and dreamless sleep. one bourne of midnight ravings, sunlit ramblings, endless pondering and forever ago now it seems, deep and profound wondering. towers of sound and sordid history rise up from the most ancient of ancient fertile, black rich soils, tilled seeded and tended by the toils of time. pools of liquid light gather eagerly at your feet, tendrils of green and all manner of sylvan finery stretch verdant garlands across your damged frame. the vines that once choked now silently exhale from a million timid maws the breath of life into once stale and frozen lungs. the age has passed. a haggard and grimy man hides his pallid face. deep sloping valleys and sharp canyons, the indelible mark, the calling card of time upon time upon time, make their way across his countenance in resolute and indefatigable terms. towards home and towards no where, in his wake, in the trail of his silent footfalls a last few grains of sand settle, lazy and grateful for rest.






























ae.

our mouths agape and hearts aflame
we shed our tired, worn and dirty skins
we knew no hint of shame

i showed you life, you gave me hope
we fled desperation, despair, dead souls and sin
we found together a whisper of youth again

you were blind to truth or perchance the lies
we turned inward, leaving our backs afraid and bare
we gave to fate our end and shut softly our watery eyes

together lost in cerulean abyss
i found light again rippling, drifting neath the waves
you clutched to the rock that once held firm and saved

deep run currents carried our tears away
to the place where all sorrows, all souls, sojourn for peace
where truth lies loving and deceit just may

our mouths agape and eyes afire
we die in future, we live in past
we sing solemn hymns over our funeral pyre











ae.

a work in progression





i kept the string from your letter tied loose round my heart/i stood trembling under shadow of fingers tips. giant hands in repose, splayed fat fingers in staid stasis and deep splendid slumber with nails buried below my feet, clutching at mother earths entrails for blood for warmth for comfort for the fucking sake of clutching clawing reaching back into the one the only the beginning The alpha The omega the no other/my ears throbbed. i felt the earth heave and knew it was not the wild free roaming untamed beat of my own heart that shook and shivered in the midst of your low setting sun but the ground i stood on that could not keep composure, could not stave off the cold death stare of truth/the unblinking eye that strips bare to bone without relent sucks marrow and dries the most virile the smartest the most cunning the shapeliest the best worst of us/none were spared as a great wrenching rending a fit of gnashing teeth and bleeding gums swollen tongues and sandpapered palettes screamed in ecstasy pain throes of little death big hate revenge bemused detatchment and spite at the cruelest of jokes/i held my stance died a thousand times over for reasons i did not could not would not and not need to know/i kept the string from my letter tied loose round your little pinkie/when you pointed to the sun i tugged your gaze gently to the moon when you stooped to taste the tides with your ageless fingers the rising star faded to naught and for that one moment point in time space the weight of these words and twitch at the corners of your cracked lips nestled peaceably not gently contentedly not willingly into the tiny space between

two

single

drops .

















ae.

an addendum to an earlier post...

a little birdy told me


listen here
listen close
from open heart
to willing host
take this seed
plant it deep
forever may
your soul it keep
do not fret
do not frown
never find yourself trod down
never prune the boughs
nor thin the green
though through the leaves
nay you be seen
allow these words
to grow while you sleep
...
self doubt and pity are
cheap cheap cheap




with chameleon's skins
and owls's eyes
she watches close
and with muffled cries
exposes truth
and buries lies
with no sweet beginning
no bitter end
no happy lives here to pretend
fie! the first
fie! the last
that blackened
that gorged
that heart with blood amassed
from a thousand lovers
of all who gave
without remorse
without repent
and no repast
every second
of every minute
of every hour
everlast

some works in progress. the former is an attempt to realize my characters and faces from my sketches and drawings in the world of color. the latter is obviously unequivocally nabokov.

the sun is shining and i am hoping for the best today.

at 1 in the a.m. got sucked into beyond thunderdome. forgot how bad ass the mad max flicks are. must do a triple feature soon.

i am afraid that i will be broke during my tenure in los angeles. thats okay though. the last time i was there i carried us through financially (devon and myself) so hopefully i will be taken care of.

toodle loo.

ae.

the other day whilst idly wasting away my precious time in a coffee house my little eyes rested upon just so happened to glance in the right direction to behold a gentleman making egress from the shop and as he passed me just before disappearing from sight round the corner i discovered his elbows, rather than being calloused, dry, or even wrinkled {which stands to reason for a man of his age, or at least the vague approximation thereof} instead were pink, rosy almost, and supple, and by all appearances {if viewed strictly out of context} were a dead ringer for a pair of soft inverted nipples. i was so intrigued, my curiosity so piqued i scrawled a sketch immediately while the sight was fresh in my mind.






sigh.








ae.

today sucks my ass

rain soggy damp socks dirty underwear and lots of dripping down my face

frantic painting but thank lord for old flat cardboard cheap 'canvas'

found a new artist i like. here

will post some stuff i did recently very soon to the tune of paints draws writes and whatnot.

























ae.

the weather suits me mood, i daresay. i was told as much {whispered into my listening ears they did} by the pitter patter of disparate, passing dripdrops making their way at long last from powerlines awnings treetops into the gutter to rejoin their cloud bourne brethren and sistren. and in the restless rustle of sodden leaves and the caresses of branches dancing in the autumn breeze something about their sporadic gesticulations beckoned me to ponder a while their coded message and it said "rest easy, child-there are no answers for your questions and no destination for your hither and thither bound thoughts-rest easy and see where brother wind will carry you, as he does playfully and joyfully carry us." a little birdy told me a grand and great secret, if you can imagine that. he said that self doubt and self pity were cheap cheap cheap. and i believed him.

as might be inferred from the frequency of recent posts i attempt to undertake the task of setting forth in text form a rapid fire barrage a blitzkreig of tidbits and pieces of my innermost and outermost to purge my being of pent up feelings emotions and half thunk thoughts and ideas. an ablution of sorts, washing my soul with the pure words that ooze and slide round the spirals of my fingertips and find their way to the keys upon which they rest. with the sincere and ultimate hope of finding some gem in the varied twisting turning damp dark confines and chasms of mind and heart. as futile and perhaps fruitless as this endeavour may seem i retain the admirable capacity for utterly stubborn blind stupidity.

after twenty or thereabouts ounces of caffeine i feel a little jittery but can hold it together just enough to allow the abundant nervous energy to leave my body in a somewhat linear manner (ie clickey clacking digits).

i feel my mind quickly unraveling and like a long disjointed line of drunken recruits scrambling to muster any coherent sense of order and poise destined for harsh punitive measures. on such a note i shall part ways.

















ae.

with a nearly painful alacrity i have welcomed a strange viscid visceral perception of time into my chambers. with thousands of trembling slender pale velvety soft fingers passing over my body. infinitely slow infinitely delicate. an eternity passes as their presence like a gentle breeze plays round the down of my arms scrawling illegible incantations over the ridges crests valleys of my face. every pore orifice imbibes the milky ambrosia trailing in their wake and savours the succulent sweet residue. as i stab their eternally spiralling whorls with tender kisses knowing no abandon, the willing increments so carefully doled, graciously eagerly oblige and with a resolute determination and infinite concentration struggle strive to reach a climax of experience that will forever and with absolute finality colour my existence. a stain from the intangible palette that only time may possess.



...



quiet as the whisper of a ghost, unheeded and unnoticed in the ear for whom it was intended, a chance cloud steals in front of the blazing eye overhead. under such aegis, vivid vista is transformed into dim dreamland. in seeming abeyance, however, imbued with a careful acumen, after their own delicate, bashful manner, the flowers take a cue from the far less timid and oft reckless nimbus. indulging in a brief reprieve they momentarily rescind their otherwise unspoken yet staid promise of resplendence in the muted light drifting down through the infinity of azure time and space. ever fickle and tiresome of its game, the suns watery veil abnegates its apparent dominance in the morning firmament and as the first beams of light pierce the fleeting darkness the flowers begin to stir. quiet and indistinct murmurings and fluttering of tiny, still sleeping eyes greet the sun with a warmth, innocence and openness of arms reserved for the rejoining of good friends after what seems an eternity of separation. the sun obliges and in its loving embrace thousands of tiny faces bask once again.



...



feeling worn out. like an old shoe. only one of a pair of "heavy boots"(thanks jonathan froer). i have found myself surprisingly patient. understanding. these few brief moments of solitude and dim flickers of inspired creativity my only solace these days. day dreams of consistence. day dreams of peace. day dreams of fulfillment. day dreams of realization are the only adumbration i have of a time without the confusion longing disillusion up down sadness hurt hope faith frustration futility impotence/crippling guilt and shame. freeing love and comfort...blah blah blah.



...




ae.

enjoy these crumbs that i scatter at my feet little ones. eat them up. there is enough for all.

herein i shall chronicle through words, photographs and various mediums of "art"



my creative process(es)...

i have been ravaged/marrow ground to the dust that drifts round the protruding ankles of decimated dry livestock brittle skeleton teeth eternally grimaced and burrowing the parched earth for sustenance.that suffocates barren sunsoaked {funny how the rock strewn nether-realm of sand heat dry slow death can be soaked in anything as if the goldenwhite light at the end of the tunnel can sate endless thirst}.that creeps up behind the eyes and down down to ensconce upon that throne {rococo the seat upon which sets the very breath of life however invariably and so unnoticed comes and goes and visits and leaves again over over over}/drowned thrashed tossed tarried by torrential downpours. flashfloods/to be given form substance the divine translation like the gold flecked tongue of peter. john. siddhartha/alluvion on the furthest brine-choked shores of consciousness where sand meets sky meets sea and all depart for whence they came after cranial tempest.nimbus aflame guiding chiding and always always disarming/at last i rest


my memories...

indelible ink blots/coffee stains {brown rings that act like scratch n sniff when you tickle them with your pinky nail.sour forbidden odours. profane yet painfully shamefully familiar and dear to heart}/scars that never heal and like kisses from branding irons continue to grow and change with you


my personal crises...

well, maybe. or maybe not.



some things i saw today that i like:


the golden evening sun
on,
the soft yet biting cold autumn breeze
through,
the morning shave stubbled calves of the mail lady as she struggled momentarily with the community mail box in front of my apartment.

a single tack, centered, patient and nostalgic, on the wall above the toilet as i made use of the aforementioned.

(thirty seconds prior) pouring the rinsemybrusheswhilepaintingcups into the sink, the ensuing combination of which looked like the remnants of a melted strawberry milkshake circling down the drain.













this is sure to be a zany zinger of trip.




ae.