everything is falling into place. finally. merely within the tiny course of a day, it's consumed me with such vigor. so many new prospects are simmering and i just feel this inexplicably overwhelming sensation of sureness unlike any i've ever felt before. might as well be gazing to the moon...

what to do when you don't have access to a mountain, but feel as though you will spontaneously combust if you cannot freely and vociferously expel your rage:

1. go to your bed

2. grab a pillow from your bed

3. immerse your head within said pillow

4. scream until your lungs fall feeble

5. faint

6. astral project

7. do not return

in some strange way, it was the truest thing i had ever known.

it slid down my forearm and soaked into the blue carpet beneath me. my hands were trembling and i spilt the water. the semi-circle of surrounding souls all sucked in their breaths. i only bit my lip and proclaimed, “just water.” one looked inquisitive. sort of bowed his head in and curiously wondered in a whisper if i was nervous. wherein i retreated and informed that it was merely a normal consequence of my constant quiver. he grew aggressive and preached, peering with daggers. proclaimed he knew why i was always shaking. and i started to laugh, but he morphed his fingers into a claw and reached for his core, “it’s that burning desire!” gaze and passion gaining potency, he continued, “it’s deep within you trying to break free!” my eyes instantly sunk to the small freshly absorbed puddles now growing cold against my foot. “you must let it out,” he warned. and i shifted my head as if to nod, but my spine locked and my heart began to convulse.

it's all drifting so rapidly.

how simple it is to exist within an illusion. lashes locked under cloths stitched of spells. i hardly release them any longer. with hopes reveries will be forced to crystallize. solidify. sometimes i sense how heavy hers have grown. back turned towards the curtains, in tireless attempts to ignore the night's symphony of sighing stars. if only to see them once more, i'd curse mine open. though for now i retain the dream.

i need you, i don't need you,
and all of that jivin' around

endless loop...

all the parasitic daydreams which have mercilessly grown to dominate my psyche are so beyond ready to transpire.

her.
this.

because that's just how it goes. the important things come back. essence remains. and escape is always a temporary business.

i don't know
where we were
traveling, but she
asked me if
i loved her.
and i don't
think it was
a nightmare, but
my lungs were
empty and my
mouth didn't move.

i imagine when i cease and my body lay but a mortician's canvas incisions will bequeath beneath broken bone's cages antiquitous realms constructed of longing's petrification.

surrender surrender entwining vine debilitating she who deforms me caresses me crawls me possesses me with roots immortal surrender surrender soaked soil thy's stolen blood to revive such veins stripped to barren surrender surrender ablaze inferno unbearable she who flames misery of mystery eternal surrender surrender sweet night thy's muted stars to lastly fill my heart's empty dismal vessel.

"the tomb, confidant of my dream infinite--
for the tomb always understands the poet--
during sleepless nights when the dire demons flit"

always upon reawaken, another scratch. i emerge, inexplicably incised flesh. stinging, swollen pink. no longer phased. i've grown exhausted of such voodoo. i allow you, even. i'm aware. omniscient. you are not as clandestine as you'd like to think.

an ephemeral detach. a

momentary funk. erratic passing.

sporadic spiraling sleeplessness. did

you watch when i

beckoned a wormhole manifestation?

did you see when

it devoured a figmented

illusion into my being?

i divulged. mistakenly. stagnation,

stagnation. on the bed,

body torpid. electric current.

hesitant undulation. hovering. departed.

feral. (though, not free)

darlin', you don't mess with magic.

i must realign my center. i must. though i've not the slightest inclination. perhaps i will just sway freely. void of axis. void of weight. but i fear my floating. i know my own ways. enough to acknowledge the coupled lure of enigmatic fleet. i'd not ever return. so i've kept a small silver link attached--with only memory of the anchor. now deteriorating each minute. i've tried polishing. with a cloth woven from strands of lingering dreams, i feverishly stroked (though only ever left an irreversible tarnish). i must rid this crux before it rids me. i cannot comprehend the yearning to withhold such a rusted rivet. it's going to break. soon, it will. and in its fall, subtly bestow the most beautiful dreary clink. propelling my soul through the walls of itself. where stone will morph to glass and fall like golden glitter.

take me to new orleans.

too much i retrospect or invoke visions. seldom am i not in a strenuous psychic mêlée to evade the "now." in fact, i'm not entirely sure i've ever known the realm. it is not that it frightens me, necessarily. i'm just impassive by its persistency. the absolution. the ease of readability. i only ever crave what i cannot grasp. as though i embody that empty microscopic segment composing long-gazed upon sistine ceilings. and i promise, if you look to that voided crevice of two fingers outstretched, though eternally untouched--you will also then penetrate matter vital to my uncloaking.

yesterday evening i ventured out to brazos bend with charlie, alonso, and rosie. despite immense heat and a frightening alligator stand-off, it was entirely immersing and felt as though i was walking within a sally mann photograph.

a few that i took with her floating in psyche:
(can also view on flickr)

twisted heart throbs. divergent. manipulative.
i apologize for my perpetual dream-mucked eyes.

the broken breaths which seeped through last night's electric current are still lingering. how you floated from the warm machinery pressed against the side of my cheek. you, distant. weak and wholly wrecked. i woke reminiscing the rhythm. the rhythm and returned yearning. i dread allowing such dissipation. the engulfing echo of the ebbs. i never told you how terribly i was trembling. unbearably, i let go. though there was static in my slumber. and i dreamt a thousand tiny birds carrying your feeble body over boundless empty planes just to place you on my bed--as you promised. but this morning, strangely, after rising to water the roses, i found a single feather lay resting in the doorway.

i once was
a sculptor of
gold drenched unobtainable
truths--you were

my finest work.
and the heaviest
(despite a cast
so very hollow).

i spent today bungalow dream hunting with alonso. somehow, in the midst of it all, we made our way to a little muggy bookstore which leisurely bequeathed an aroma bouquet of old paper and bound memories and cardboard boxes and someone who had tried desperately to quit smoking.
just as i was heading to the doors, a collection of 1st edition hardback anaïs nin diaries confiscated the composition within my lungs. i felt as though a colossal earthquake shook through the core of me. bones trembling, i held them all--while also attempting to hold back the inevitable weeping. i'm typically unreasonably frugal, but this time the vessels of my heart offered no vacillation when choosing one of the more pricey collectibles. i'll be sleeping with this one under my pillow, always. my body is still being rattled with aftershocks.

“this feels like doom. this is a pyramid on my chest. i want to change blood with her. i want her slavery. i want her promise. i want her death. i want the thrown acid to disencumber me. i want to stop staring.”

--leonard cohen (the end of my life in art)

at times, i feel i’m only able to write frenziedly about things which have withered. flipping through the pages--it all died long ago. that’s the only logical explanation as to why my journals are filled with such wild fervor. mad passion. lines concealed upon lines of untamed ink. transcendence. it all died long ago. it simply must’ve.