Forget-me-nots are my favorite

Pablo Neruda said,

if suddenly you forget me, I want you to

know one thing:

Do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

Now Pablo was a hard man,

             because,

when I wake up from a dream

made of sub-conscience memories

of you & I,

which are like looking at snippets,

little by little of the times,

you forgot how to love me.

I am reminded of how I can never 

leave those precious times behind.

      And,

while Pablo would have probably 

already forgotten you by now,

I still struggle through sleep sometimes.

Because,

I'd rather dream of sub-conscience 
memories of you &I. 

So I can cherish and always

appreciate waking up 
      next to her.

Pantheist Credo

1. We revere and celebrate the Universe as the totality of being, past, present and future. It is self-organizing, ever-evolving and inexhaustibly diverse. Its overwhelming power, beauty and fundamental mystery compel the deepest human reverence and wonder.

2. All matter, energy, and life are an interconnected unity of which we are an inseparable part. We rejoice in our existence and seek to participate ever more deeply in this unity through knowledge, celebration, meditation, empathy, love, ethical action and art.

3. We are an integral part of Nature, which we should cherish, revere and preserve in all its magnificent beauty and diversity. We should strive to live in harmony with Nature locally and globally. We acknowledge the inherent value of all life, human and non-human, and strive to treat all living beings with compassion and respect.

4. All humans are equal centers of awareness of the Universe and nature, and all deserve a life of equal dignity and mutual respect. To this end we support and work towards freedom, democracy, justice, and non-discrimination, and a world community based on peace, sustainable ways of life, full respect for human rights and an end to poverty.

5. There is a single kind of substance, energy/matter, which is vibrant and infinitely creative in all its forms. Body and mind are indivisibly united.

6. We see death as the return to nature of our elements, and the end of our existence as individuals. The forms of “afterlife” available to humans are natural ones, in the natural world. Our actions, our ideas and memories of us live on, according to what we do in our lives. Our genes live on in our families, and our elements are endlessly recycled in nature.

7. We honor reality, and keep our minds open to the evidence of the senses and of science’s unending quest for deeper understanding. These are our best means of coming to know the Universe, and on them we base our aesthetic and religious feelings about reality.

8. Every individual has direct access through perception, emotion and meditation to ultimate reality, which is the Universe and Nature. There is no need for mediation by priests, gurus or revealed scriptures.

9. We uphold the separation of religion and state, and the universal human right of freedom of religion. We recognize the freedom of all pantheists to express and celebrate their beliefs, as individuals or in groups, in any non-harmful ritual, symbol or vocabulary that is meaningful to them.

Ribcaged Birds

With birds fluttering smartly
around in my ribcage; bushing their wings against my lungs and down my stomach when I look at her;

I smile as an owl sitting behind my ear, and whisper that Mayday has come and gone. But they are here to stay. Inside my chest to make a feathered nest around my heart,

to Keep it safe for the light, kind, and giving.
and protect it from the dishonest, consumer and all consuming dark.

paper, on it was love poème written in french

I am a string of paper dolls clipped to a clothes line, blank as a newborn baby hanging in the sunshine. where am I going? what am I doing here? i am starting to think that the people hanging up here with me are too much like how I used to be. waiting to be snipped down and used for something. Always waiting. All waiting. we are all waiting.

for 3 years I have screamed at the heavens, for giving me paper-cuts. what are we supposed to do with these, i asked. i cursed myself for drenching my already fragile skin with alcohol, make-up and lighting on fire rolled blunt tips.

my paper throat burned with a New Year affair and a knife named lust. I was dead before the first slit, drunk off the first sip, and lecherous at the first thrust. delirious and masculine. he was masculine and I was delirious. but only for a couple months, a couple hours, just a seasonal fancy.

I woke up today and I was no longer hanging by myself. A broken flower came and snipped me down. placed me in her backpack and pedaled me around. 

The concrete graveyard

at 1:48 Am. was quiet.
             We the children of Kin & Kith, Night & Moon walked without worry of
             aggressive street dwellers; through the cemented playground of human-kind.
After 10, torn & dirty jeans replaced pressed slacks; our shoes scuffed while theirs clapped.
"we are all the same difference" you said which I replied "not really"
             I will never be invited in and I refused to drink the tea.
             After 2:30 Am, when the last of the lushes and mate-seekers have driven away
from the blinking red and yellow street lights to their suburbian loneliness, all that remained is the memory of us suspended in a standstill.
             Motionless in that splendor sandy, current. Like we were swimming in an unbreakable hour glass made of stainless steel hooks from which we were suspended in the moment, we Kin and Kith, children of Night and Moon kissed in the midst of an intersecting sea of concrete.

Sitting in the dark

Sitting in the dark. Her left eye watches the present while the right views the past. She feels disconnection with the future and disappointment with time in general. Her usual illuminating comfort is at a standstill, the feeling being similar to a brightly lit light bulb giving off no heat.

Left eye twitches after watching the gradual dimming of another once blinding light, she grew cold and turned the switch off altogether as tears pools under her lids without permission. There is a room, absent of light and inside sits a girl shrouding herself in secluding darkness staring into the nothing around her.

Present

erase, meadow, trace

Its in the moment. Walking around and enjoying the scenery of all of those pollen flowers in the meadow. Floating off in time and with no trace of you to be remembered in the mind of the past.

The room

In the tiny room that is her life she kept forgetting how young she is.
Keep forgetting, about the time line that continues and don't stop.

And in her room that is her life, there are boxes of memories that takes up too much space and forces her attention to those moments.

They are piling higher up the wall and outward into the center
of the room, her room that is her life.

It sometimes feels claustrophobic and stuffy inside.
With no doors only windows that lets light in but only half the time.
She can see the wind in the way the trees move but not feel the breeze.

Dismisses from her mind that she has ever felt it before, but at the same time has, but then not quite. Kind of easy to do she realized, this failure to recall things

Jumping

This is farewell to the her that is holding me back. The winds never sung so loud before. The world never been so bright, still tinted red because of the bloodshot vision.

Naughty demons didnt have wings. So obvious now it being the reason she fell the first time. She was blind then but her eyes were wide the fuck open now.
Expecting the drop changes history, because she has glided down around the block a couple times.

Remember no surprises.

Visitations

The day swallows up the night and the night bath inside the day. Walking on sore feet, with the time needed for rest dwindling down into brief pauses. Her mind blurred with weariness and she longed for the peaceful sleep that only comes when you die.

Chipped promises mends together slower than shatter expectation. Father came to see her today and together they strolled through already had conversations. Forgiving daughter versus bitter memories leaves a bad taste in between her teeth and jaws. I want to be by your side.

She still couldnt tell if he was once again just lying.

3 days of haze

Light fingers weep into her skin as she sleep. The world stopped its revolution and stood at a standstill. She woke and it was 3 days into the future, the unconscience rebel. When did she fall asleep again? Its hard to tell.

No regrets and she feels better for the time being. Smiling no longer takes up too much effort. Enjoying the moments when she is not sleeping. Body so heavy falling in to the mattresses. Secure arms wrapped and graze her back. Soothing and luring her to rest more. But wasnt she just awake?

Hush, just close your eyes.

Did she really want to? Its hard to tell once again. What time was it? The night feels like morning and the afternoons feel like in between. Deny the war, it too shall pass.

3 days of dejvu.

Unrecognizable

Winter doesn't know me anymore. I think I have been here for far too long and she no longer remembers her face. Flash of warmth calls my name it pricks my frustrations with little poke.

I wanted to taste it all. To feel how something besides restlessness go down her throat for once. Have I already lost my mind in the clouds? Tomorrow will come today and then we will see, if I come back down.

The bull and the sand crawler

Today she ran into an old lust. Smiling when she came and lightly touched her sides and stood beside her as she waited in line. Her skin didnt become warm nor was she at a lost of words looking in her eyes.

Oh but She did smile at the moments they had together and she did quiver when a flash of their adventures under the sheet passed over her eyes. A short teenage affair. Very sexual. She was a Scorpio, just like mother.

Always been attracted to good sex. But watching her walk away without saying goodbye she knew without a doubt that Scorpio would never be able to stand next to this Taurus, without getting crushed and this Taurus standing next to that Scorpio without getting stung.

March 2nd

The snow is melting and there is not a cloud to be seen in the sky. At this moment, she is in the mist of another change. People go through a period of change every 7 years, and she is at the peak of her transformation.

Everything is slowing down. Adventures that once defined her life no longer seemed appealing. No longer is she in a hurry. She is looking forward to the outcome. What skin will she be wearing, what color eyes will she be looking out of, and what would her voice sound like?

Today is a good day. She hopes it last for a while.

Mutatio

Change follows her everywhere. Up the stairs into bed and into her dreams. Stumbling around she gets lost. So predictable. It felt like a very long journey but in actuallity it was but it only measured short stepping stones.

Solarium

Writing sneers up at her from white paper. Irritated for getting lost in the complexity of thoughts. An unidentified self poured from her body. Another night. Inside she glowed darker than the black heavens.

Time sticking by her side. Wondering of past- ticking and fast-warding to the highs and lows of the blurred faces- and future. Friends will only be drinking glasses, lovely stiff hugs, and piercing knowing eyes. Everybody. Family surrounding and embracing, twirling and swaying around her heart.

Clocks. Emotions swirling in seconds and out with thoughts. Seeing many countless faces and moving hands. So very tired of bounded seconds but has never before denied her nature, as she cried inside lustful ticks and tocks.

Recuerde

Todays was a day of memory. With a moving body her thoughts echos around in silence. Its not possible for her to feel what was felt yesterday. To feel today what one felt yesterday isnt too feel- its to remember. And what does she remembers? It seems like forever and a lifetime ago.

Rambling rain, breathing so shallow she could walk on top and keep walking. It weaving between her toes, ticking. The intensity of sensations have always been more intense than her awareness of them. So she is surprise, each time she sees her face.

What does she remember?

Eyes that point down at the end, for eternity looking so beautifully sad. Times a blur. Kissing over and over. Chuckling. She calls her adorable when its the other way around. A conscience forgetting to balance. Todays was a day of memory. With a moving body her thoughts echos around in silence.

Understanding/All her love

She is restless. The word impossible buzz like a cigarette high in her head. She didnt want to sleep anymore. So tired of being tired. But no more is she torn.

Knowing what she wanted. And oh, God did she want it badly. Spending half the day wishing her and she could just be. Vaguely. Remembers other lips whispering, patience, runaway, stay and fight, and flee.

With this she is not satisfied. She didnt want to be friends. Because her arms, they keep away the lonely.

Such a painful situation. But she understood this is how it have to be. Dont want to cause any complications and she'd walk away but is in too deep. So frustrated. In others she knows her face would be the only thing she would want to see. Because in her heart she wants her and only her so desperately.

It would take some time, then it could be them alone. And the thought of her wanting, desiring, seeing only me. Is the thing that keeps her hope going strong.


Donell Jones

Now that is what you call entertainment.

Puppet strings were tied in a pretty bow. A gift for the gullible fool. Consistency changes like her present, more so than it definitely should. Tugging hard, there would be no slack, so the matter is already settled. The show was fun, but she is still only a human being. The ushers wants us to leave its closing time. Things will only continue for so long before the fool on the strings, finds scissors.

Red ink,

From the maddness of passing hours looking in between blank pages. She must wait alittle more, but that is okay. The paper cuts were amusing to sooth the rages. Now their story has begun. Beautiful girl. With ink in her heart, ready to fill the blank sheets. From the hands of the witching hour she hang and sleep.