a sudden surge of pressure has all at once encapsulated me. i feel as though a vast fire has begun raging within my skull and my eyes are trapped in a state of constant heavy throbs. i need this segment of my life to vanish. fastforward. i need to be transported. or else i need the cosmos to pause so that my pulse is lastly able to catch up to the stars. i've been traveling against the wind for much too long. and the moon knows how hard i've tried to be free.

i've experienced this dream three nights in a row. the most powerful premonition. it has come from a forward time far further within our lives. the simplicity is what makes it so weighty for me. seeing as my visions are typically not entirely the most pleasant of experiences. but in this, everything is lastly as it should be. lastly as we have been so long waiting for. yearning for. all is worth what is to come. i promise you, all is worth what is to come. this i have grown to know and hold.

last year i accomplished my resolution. the initial result stung through my spirit for a while, but i ended freer than ever before. last night i had not thought much about conjuring up one at the clock's strike of twelve, seeing as i already felt so fulfilled--that is until a new acquaintance ignited a potential prospering. it would be an internally troubling voyage, but one i've been needing to board for quite some time now. recently vast opportunities have been floating my way, and as they do, i find my own soul beginning to drift. i fear too much. i criticize myself brutally. i hardly take chances. and it has hindered my aura from obtaining its true luminescence. today my tarot reading reinforced and encouraged such an awakening. so, this is where i begin. juste comme ça.

i've never not been able to write about something. though, this, by far, has been the most trying. i've been avoiding writing, reminiscing, dreaming. reality is reigning. her smell lingers. clutching the luggage i've hesitated to unpack. the entire trip seemed to be a film of unsurpassed beauty. and i sincerely wish it had been recorded because the reels of my memory are constantly withering. it was two and a half years of unknowing. it's been one week since parting. 62 days left until reuniting. i miss her. i miss everything.

i remember waking in the morning, rushing to ready. blood attempting to navigate its way within the endless anxiety. i put on a scarf and hurriedly shoved my belongings in the back of a rusty green camero. he passed me the keys, said, "you're driving, kiddo." i adjusted the seat, and we went on our way. the highway was nearly vacant. feeling free as my father handed me slices of grapefruit as pink as the sky in midst of its very own metamorphosis. seeing the airport against the hazy horizon. parking. removing my bags and entering the shuttle full of travelers. we were off. gate C. security check-point. pass. seated. waiting. too nervous for coffee. pen. teddy bear. stand-by clear. window seat. boarding. thumbs trembling the text. see you soon. lift-off. clouds. maps. irrigation. mountains. empty land. little houses. colored roofs. gray skies. turbulence. circular rainbows. shadow. runway. land. phone. four texts. she's on her way. heart pounding. not ready. exit. gate 10. walk. "metro/baggage claim." restroom. mirror. breaths. walk back. illuminated map. call. calm. fright. fancy restaurant. christmas tree. don't see it. walk. stop. turn around. still in security. walk. exit. donut shop. christmas tree. can't do it. she saw me. can't see her. fear. christmas tree. waiting. hiding. where are you? can't do it. calm. descriptions of people passing. father, blue raincoat, son, holding hands. woman, heavy set, brown bags. deep breath. walking. scanning. her energy. spotted. curled inside a silver phone booth. slow motion. walking. her aura. her eyes. her voice. hide. window. reflections. staring. speaking. surreal. not happening. knee touch. hands. embrace. never letting go.

(note: this post will be quite lengthy by the time i'm finished writing about the trip. it took me this long. and for now i must stop here, adding occasionally. i can only do this for so long without too much longing taking hold)

brave women. fumes of poetry. they are not entities, but drugs. dreams. struggling to engulf each other. everything they touch morphs to myth. a blunder of psychic blindness. tender muted telepathy. whisper to me your hidden lust. it is now. it is now. it is how. it is now. my lover. my flower. my mystic poet of desire. i no longer hide you. i no longer hide anything at all. this is not an awakening. this is a slumber of transgressed depth. eternal distortion. eternal daze. eternal embrace. brave women. brave women. my lover. my dream. luminous and warm. gentle. tattered. holy. beat.

insomnia is no good for dreamers...

sweet serendipitous soul, she.

half-life nuclear waste unseen particle beams probe long standing questions. big experiments happening. sociological sees the shift. says, "they would've been fine." hospital stays, heart-failure, electric shocks. her mind going to egypt. within minutes plunging straight into birds. revolution erupt. people tell their stories and report blurry photos in mid-february. but she was planning to return privately. insured to die frequently. opal spirit dew shine violet heart silver spray luna flowing dirt spirit.

funny how alternate fates morph so rapidly. instead of pursing that new blossom, i returned to prune the beautiful bloom that i foolishly left wilting. this past year or so i have been so selfish, and that is most unlike me. in truth i knew her and i would end up together again, always. my intuition does not fail me in that particular predicament. but my mind was too preoccupied. with school. with producing my art. with work. with money. with writing. with time. with wondering if i should test these other luring auras which taunted after me. i was just so young, i am still so young (well, i do not feel mentally/soulfully young, but at least in the scientific sense of the word it is so). but i should've never used my psyche to twist my heart. the thought of eternal terrifies and warms me all at once. but i'm finally ready to cherish her more closely than ever before. sweet darling ethereal beauty. i am sorry for ever parting.

it is seldom that i take chances such as that. in fact, i'm unsure if up until this point i ever have. it’s strange. i’m still attempting to decipher the blossom. i told her i needed to sleep, which is half-truth, but really i wanted to make sure i was not already experiencing in disorient spells of slumber. and though now freshly rested, i’m weary as to where i shall embark from here. i cannot stand that it’s been over a year and still sensations of guilt envelope me if i even come to obtain the slightest feelings for another. but i cannot let it hold me any longer. i simply cannot.

entrapped in an experience of outer surfaces, with efforts to probe deeper yielding only to more as murky as the first. at times, such exasperating exertions to locate meaning beneath these shrouds of ensnarement can in turn evoke a psychological disembodiment wherein physical and mental planes become mixed and morphed together. usually, when a blank space occurs, it is rapidly invaded with a reaction of some sort. and, it seems, this particular vacant abyss has begun to anthropomorphize a consciousness of continuous pulling in and out. i do not think any of this is making even the slightest amount of coherent sense. i feel almost as if existing in a semi-lucid surrealist state of somnambulism. and cannot reawaken. visions are slipping out. i must shut my eyes. that's the only way. ever the only way... goodnight, xo.

i forgot to wish for her.

dream.
november 11, 2011.

i only ever fall for those who are unattainable. all desires yearn for that which is intangible. though i always descend, even while knowing. i do not know if i would say it is a helpless act. in fact, i'm sure it is not. i do this because i fear the transpiration of actuality. to say, i fear the loss of my dreaming. i've acknowledged my mania for control. my mother read this in my palm when i was a child, whereby i severely discounted such an accusation. the trait was not yet present in my psyche's recognition, and the foreseen coming had always haunted me. i'm unsure as to why. but at that point i did not understand this word, wholly. i presume i connoted it with abuse--which is an aspect far from my capability. though, now, i translate it properly. it is not an external control, but rather rooted deeply internal. and has intrinsically been the vital component of my entire existence. i will always be a feral entity when entering to this world's collective conception of reality. and for this, i will always descend, even while knowing. because of knowing.

last winter, sometimes, i would sit outside the doors to a recital hall and muse, heavily. strings hardly touched synchronicity seeing as the orchestras were merely practicing. today i was thinking of you and presume i must’ve wandered there mindlessly--whatever the case, the decision was certainly not one of a conscious undertaking. i stayed there anyways, but this time all was silent. for some reason i did not sense the towering emptiness--only the unknown aura which keeps lurking after me. i feel it everywhere. but it can't be you. you’re gone. and for you, i no longer enter. which i cannot comprehend because i've been left cursed unable to rid mounting insufferable visions. transfixed, interminably. what is the dreamer, but a tragedy?

this post possesses more solidity for my personal reminiscing here.

i can transcend now. today bequeathed perhaps the most surreal moment of my existence. here are couple cell phone photos that i snuck through the confines of my blazer without looking. so the composition is absolutely abysmal, but i'm very glad to have them. felt like such a rebel snapping these.



































michals, mapplethorpe, and mann were positioned alongside each other. my heart underwent so many convulsions, i think my soul may have touched enlightenment.

i also saw my favorite photo of frida kahlo taken by manuel alvarez bravo, a brasai, a dali, a kruger, a sherman, a stieglitz, a talbot, a warhol, among some notable others.
i am eternally grateful to my professor for setting up this experience which is still seemingly unreal...

i do not know if we had a destiny. we began walking slowly down a street paved of polished obsidian, scrying delicately, subtly. slipping. night dropped, i felt the moon and turned my bones back. without consciousness, i grabbed your hand in two of mine. we fled fast and far until the moon was unobscured by city constructions. meshing our feet again to the obsidian, you began weeping small crystals. i begged you to look to the giant illuminated milky orb above us. scarlet clouds kissed its edges then shattered at just the precise moment. your eyes lifted. i let go.

dream.
october 28, 2011.

lure has slithered before me as a majestic snake awaiting to be charmed. how tempted i am to chant. though my lungs are vacant and my voice-box has locked. the serpent coiled my throat. i must've been tranced through the hypnotic undulation. i cannot discern what is transpiring. my temples are rapidly infused with heavy throbs. my eyes have slipped to tunneled visions draped in opalescent white. you emerge in the distance, silhouetted, swathed black velvet tattered cosmos embodiment. emitting halos which sprout slowly, faintly from you forming like moon-bleached moss tendrils. shy auras, i long to touch. perpetual drift.

there will always be that little part of you.

all my trials, soon be over.

there are moments,
(undisclosed), when
the strangest
surge will well
within me,
if only--
to say it,
simply--(i
cannot). you
are an entire
catacomb clutching
my chest.

when the moment comes wherein you feel the stillness of the known
and you realize that same stillness exists too within your heart--
how, then, do you ever wake from dreaming?

it's getting old. i have the most immense desire to part. for seclusion. to be a working artist, on my own. outside of stale poorly lit classrooms in which i'm not gaining anything but debt. outside of this land clutching my ankles, draining my dreams. nothing vexes me more than exuding such exorbitant amounts of energy into my artistic concepts and executions just so that another may "be inspired" and confiscate them as their own. imitation is never the finest fucking form of flattery. this is deteriorating. my spirit has neared exhaustion. i must leave soon. a new aura is beckoning, and it cost $309 for a one-way train ticket to new york.

there are things left unsaid which will always remind me;
your essence lies lurking among my most precious phantoms.

i've fallen into such delirium. engulfed within an abyss discombobulated. unable to balance. unable to steady. expectation is the worst of all fates, but the most entrancing of my dreams.

so much remains.

your embrace was

the entire universe

within me

holding its breath

i only know what remains--which is, we share the same unknown.

a few nights ago i had an overwhelming urge to conduct some spirit writing and have since been haunted by this message which emerged eerily within the first lines of winding ink:

"you are good & light & when free love her"

i've been relentlessly bombarded with assignments, work, events to attend, et cetera, and have not been able to write or touch my existence much lately. my battery ran down on my camera while doing a project and i'm waiting for it to recharge--being the only reason that i am even able to write in this moment. everything is happening at such a rapid pace that all seems transitory. i mean, all is transitory and i'm mesmerized by the beauty which that encompasses, but at times it's terribly infuriating because there is so much investment. and now i'm not even able to witness the decay. it's pure evaporation. absolute ephemerality. black holes.

she is the sea,
and i am vanishing.

i can't remember

what it was

how it happened

or when we

became such empty

mounds of magic--

only i know

her voice was
shaking. meaning: either
she despises me
or retains desires,
secretly. no matter,
we are strangers
now. (because that

is what she
wanted) and there

is nothing left.

it started so simply. only, now exists complete restlessness. the cursed enigma. the cyclical ephemeral. sleepy, sleepy cyclone. twisted internal. lay me down, my supernatural. bestow your beloved surrender. sweet, sweet dreams wait whispering.

"What is this universe
but a lot of waves
And a craving desire
is a wave
Belonging to a wave
in a world of waves
So why put any down,
wave?
Come on wave, WAVE!
The heehaw’s dobbin
spring hoho
Is a sad lonely yurk
for your love
wave lover."

--jack kerouac

ceci n'est pas un rêve.

i'm being dishonest. this spiral is eternal. an exasperating unsynchronized drift. and no matter how far i diverge, it's as though something stronger perpetually compels me to return.

a new madness has has consumed all coherency. mania. a fixation overpoweringly more solid than any other i've found myself traverssing within--which frightens me greatly. this has transpired previously under spells of an eerily similar luring--though so suddenly now i’m being pulled with an even greater intensity. there are these currents of seeming electricity swelling and sending countless vibrations, caressing each vein. i am awake, though existing as if in dream. an unprompted ecstasy has encompassed me once again. complete euphoric transcendence. whenever we cross paths, even when envisioned by means of unconscious serendipity, i cannot express what occurs other than an absolute pureness. a radiance. a known. a mesmeric magnetism, unsurpassed.

inexplicably infatuated. a note for my own records of reminiscing--if love at first sight truly exists, it occurred on this day. smitten and genuinely lovesick. this is going to be no good...

forever you knew.

this is it. this is the embrace we've been so tirelessly yearning for. energies entwined within eternal. there is a an untouched stillness, a serenity, now meshing amidst refreshed vibrations and sherbet clouds. the most supreme fusion. i sense the matching rhythms. the visions. we’ve been composing such delicate crescendos. for once, all feels whole--you, across from me with yesterday’s cold pizza and the sun setting on your sleepy forehead.

eyes glazed, longing to be stardust. dark matter. i used to caress the night--now i lay strangled by it. asphyxiated. why did i descend? what in you compelled me?
i'm only haunted because nothing will ever be unveiled.

i collapsed last night into dream without warning. but woke gently--just floated back through consciousness, still shut and stagnant, imposing a fading afterimage in the ever black pools. i pressed my ring finger into a crevice of stitching and slowly drew it up to my brow, tracing continuous unhurried circles around eyelids. eventually i rose, appearing before two large mirrors obstructed with melting morning light where i assessed my form and last night's unwashed makeup, lips stained and smudged eyes. i sat stoic, seemingly in a mind of no mind. but then suddenly it was as though all at once i was wedged in a sort of paradox, peering amid feelings of freshness and filth wherein i frenziedly grappled for grime's secreted immaculacy.

"the frightening experience i am traversing now is this: with her i am acting out scenes which prove, in the end, the strength and vividness of my memories and fantasies superimposed over reality. it is such a subtle, elusive happening, that i cannot describe it. it is as if i see and hear you clearly for a while and then become drunk, confused, drugged. and all the time a part of me is aware of the distortions. it is frightening because it causes self-doubt, a doubt of what i have always believed in: my intuition."

--anaïs nin (spring, 1957)

juste arrêtez
juste arrêtez
juste arrêtez
juste arrêtez
juste arrêtez
juste arrêtez

a luminous instant submerged within ritualistic sensations of dissonance. fields of fallen blackbirds. broken smokey crystal eyes. rainbow refraction. slippery lucidity. returning ambiguity. so gone. so gone. so gone. take me.

darling, i surrender.

muses, eternal--
my mapplethorpe is saccharine.

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.

"but i come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
and i knock with a rose at the hopeless gate of your heart—"

e.e. cummings

fractured sunlight seeped through the fissures, sluggish as thickening blood of a soft fresh wound. damning me to wake amidst the fizzing of a festering dream. mirages sprouted out of two now cognizant slivers with weary pupils struggling to adjust aperture in the engulfing illumination. muscles offered no reach--interpretation entered easily. verifying all i’ve ever needed to vanish vexing visions.

phantoms II.
(flickr)

i've reached the depths of the deep. anchored amid the drifting bioluminescence. unable to relinquish the beating--a cursed onomatopoeia that grew vigorously. my soul lingered, above some swathed shadow of blue. have i, at last, parted my corpse? i remembered sinking. how i’d twist my neck in attempts to keep clutch of the hovering gaze which suspended itself at the surface. but submerging deeper, inexorably, it blurred and soon dissipated. there was only absence. terrifying tranquility. no evolutionary awakening to kiss the swollen stars. cold ocean’s sand slid along my spine. silence. though, sometimes it’d emerge again--the gaze. hitting me (there) in that tiny void found after a fallen pulse.

grandeur, gold n’ gritty.