And i still remain unconvinced as far as atrophy is concerned. This stubborn heart refuses, in absolute, to bend to the will of individuals of the social norm; there will be no folding, it is far to soon for martyrdom! Take your ignorant pride and bring it down to the currants--and behold! you are not yet free of misdeeds, but mayhaps you can see what rests before the path set; there will be no graceful rest, none at all!, but for once there will be an option to move on.

Love transformed to bitter contempt in the matter of days. it has now taken thirteen months to only display contempt with the best of intentions. Very little has felt real to me since then. No. Things have just been stale, trapped in stagnant repugnance.

***

A cool fall breeze, as cool and as brisk as a young lover's kiss--And this sun as warm as the flesh. How desire now brims over these edges, leaving me to swell and to bask in sensuous despair. Lingering still in memory, the patterns of familiar flesh attract like unspeakable dreams. Paper and ink through pen will never be enough to console this wretched heart. Passive whim stems from shy and deep roots, but the breeze continues to tease my limbs through never-ending pride.

Shapes and figures here in academia distort to construct contour lines i crave--Nourishment is what this body needs! Bashful is a failing delirium being overcome now with a consensual-assertive will of unseen prowess form this body. With that, determination blinds when compassion is forgotten, but as forgetful as i can be at times, i still see all laid before this path; it is just rotten and more often than not, difficult to react. And it helps not at all with these peripherals constantly fogged!

I cast a shadow, hardly visible in this time, seeking recognition i hardly deserve. I utter words unworthy of hearing, and i resemble concepts of only blasphemy. The original sin is transformed to resemble my passionate defeat!

Siren, wail your call by stretching your lungs to the brink! Wring your voice to call me over to stranger places, from here with such urgent songs of praise. You are incapable of failure, for wherever you reign, i will hear with ears and taste those ragged perfumes. I must know where you reside!

Your residence, dear siren, is one which holds relevance to masters--The wishful all knowing and all seeing of this world. They perch themselves high above the turmoil of gracious experience. But this is not the place for me, the destitute stale of heaven--True knowledge is not in God, but in the experience of sin as euphoric understanding. I would rather rot one-thousand times in any hell before this path crossed any sort of pearl gates.

Any sense of falling from grace is irrelevant--I would much prefer to knock is reaching hand astray then to meet this fucked God halfway. I will never meet any body, spiritual or not, anywhere near their stale absolution. I will create where masters destroy. I will reside in their shadows and slay their numbing death--And if i am to die, i will wail with such laughter! I will repent only by spitting into a puppet's face, and if the puppeteer unveils, i will crush any sense of satisfaction left with my iron will.

Dualities desecrate our lives. The cards dealt out will be plundered and lost for eternity here, and only creation may stay. The voyants of our time will not be masters, and at the most guides; certainly martyrs and hope-bringers, but never masters! Masters may never fall into their dualities, but they are always ruthless to distribute. Distribution.

Reincarnation is this duality. It is heaven or hell. It is wholly spineless, and forevermore merely pacification. Feed the minds of children, and you have their adolescence. Force adolescents to behave accordingly, and then have the grown-up drones--Fodder for society, and entirely useless for any real progress.

And how does this endearment really work? Eradicate domination and it will not take long to see for one's self. Experience is inevitable if taught to feel it. Everything becomes more clear than what we breathe.

***

Translusive Absolution!
Repulsive display,
Uncanny to the untrained eye,
Even delightfully deceptive to a folly mind.

It reeks of disorder,
Lavender scented absolute-disillusioned;
Reissued vague rememberences,
An assassin of time-
But never passion.

Illusive images so very vivid,
To the source of senses-
It bellows of reprive!
This cautious eye.

***

And now about vices; oh how they accelerate experience in such simple ways--How they enhance the bliss in sin through a boost in whim. it is a trance of sorts that some claim a trap.

Youth is escaping me, age creeping upon my body as a skilled hunter--Timeless and ageless orion marauds my skin of youthful zeal. My pores leek of strain and reek of decay.

And i am only reaching the twentieth year of life.

My joints ache and my skull throbs of tiresome distress. Rest is what i seek, but have reached to no avail. It seems just out of reach at each cornerstone; at this point, i survey my surroundings for a time of peace. The ambiance of silence never lasts for long, and slips past unnoticed.

And beauty speaks before me, seated upon a ledge just out of view. I am unable to properly survey these circumstances. Where are the lines, and are they even worth crossing? I could not just throw away such a reward as yourself, friend. Not for anything.

I quite literally have no desire to be with another person as of now. The only sensations driving me revolve around lust. I am bearing an undesirable weight, and how it maddens me! in ways untold. I fear a repeat of past lover's endeavors, and i must admit i will not be ready until my life begins to rapidly cool like this premature autumn. I maintain a certain agony here, in this season, that remains unforeseen; and i lack the experience and knowledge to put it to rest.

The staleness of existance is quite disturbing now, like this paradox called my life--It is blatantly wrecking me. Life will move on and forth as an infinite river, but that makes no difference for the sake of stability and comfort.

I can absorb and digest all that comes my way, but such stale agony never seems to pass. This cruel grasp only tightens.

August 30; 2008

How lonely does the heart become, before it removes itself from the time and place, from hand to hand and mind to sky, trapped in hell--Choking on a martyr's blood--Throbbing in thighs that barely hold the body up against the torments a sole mind could not tolerate.

Some hope to die alone, as to not pass on the bearing, the quell, of rasping lungs drawing the final gasps of life and of hope.

In these times, i become less of the self i knew and more of the person to come--Discrepancies loom! but yet here i remain. This is the sense of adulthood that all must pass through. A smokescreen that blinds until you reach a mist--Moist and sweet, but deceiving at best. Do not worry, it pains even the best!

Orion guides me through the only few acceptable courses. how i wish i could but see the hunter's trying face again.

***

I could spoon feed you the most delightful word, fruitful phrases fueling hopes of better times in places, but instead i should be straight forward about how i feel; I suck the sap of sin from devilish pines--I seek vices, and can honestly be nothing but a vice, without deceiving your pure intentions and youthful ambitions

I seek your smooth reprise of warm and firm flesh, to seek comfort in your grasp--Arm in arm. I want to caress you, scalp to shoulders, down to hips and toes. These finger tips and lips can soothe your essence in unimaginable ways--I touch more than your body! because i seek your soul; there can be absolutely no commitment. This heart is much to ragged for such sequential roles of modern and conventional life. But for those like me, it is acceptable to love more than one soul, remember this!

Ambivalent rides out the storm, seeking many lands when the sea remains calm. The tripics ravage and transform an undying whim of change. Sensations emerge, leading ambivalent to a more and sullen experienced fate.

***
August 31; 2008

I am figuring where i'm going, take which route from here to get there. And when i arrive, i will realize this is only one of many ways and it is not enough. Sometimes the answer cannot be found with your keys or thumb to an automobile, but may simply rest a brisk walk from the home, only one or two miles to go. Take but what we needed to get what is sought in one time.

You see, the key to any prize winning contest is not the who or whence you came, but the constant determination of meaningful goals--And the expedients reach out and take

Departure for better pastures, more suitable for grazing that this mind requires to go onward.

***
September 1; 2008

Intermediate glares back as memory looms, untangible--Memory fades--It blurs along the lines of in and out. Misery feeds on emotion such as the prizes emitted now, gives gifts of such sultry denial! This should be over by now!

Clearly, what is left to face is insurmountable compared to the grace i have already slipped past fate with. It is safe to assume i have hardly scathed the surface of what life truly is.

And yet...I am passing these who are already dead, past their chances and hearty lives worth living--or the lack there of...

Pretty women, oh how you have filled me with joy on a night such as this. Incoherent vision compliments thoughts of a love as pure as the most fresh of snows. I have always and will continue to love you with the deepest depths of this soul. it matters not where you rest on this night, for my thoughts are with you.

Blossoming beauty, you flower as the sun sets and Luna rises above the horizon of dreams--The idea on the fringes of what i deem obtainable and unreachable; The deepest depths of any soul.

Fine liquors, oh how you have stained my canvas of incredulous joy. Withe myself as my witness, if God himself takes me into His arms, i swear on my forgiveness i will slay him on his own grounds. You are a remarkable being--But it si you that will be so fragile--So vulnerable! You sir, stand not even a fleeting chance when coming up against a heart such as this! I have absolutely no faith in your promise of absolution through undying faith.

***

The lingering taste of gin brings me back to Minneapolis, a place of treacherous joy, a place i long to be for my undying love reaches the cityscape's horizons.

Illicit. Will it, but yet remains undone. Yet as in, has been, but is no longer--And a desire survives and thrives, seeking at least the minimum.

I lay in wake. Do you rest in sleep? In dreams? My hopes are the night-world of sleep are about anything but me. A blistering chest suggests to stray away from such blasphemous jest, and hilarity ensures! She can not hold interest in the likes of fools!

The time of Orion-rise nears, and there are promises about i fear cannot be kept. Despite these clear days and amid such vague nights, she often fills the thoughts of my mind, swirling about my skull in more intense ways. That love of my life may never pervade this mind, but i wonder, perhaps, that it does not have to be such a gruesome memory. Those times were filled with a yet to be matched joy. Yet, i wish to be alone.

The newest chapter of this life has been clearly marked with my departure on the 9th of May. It has only really been three months, yet the impact has been substantial. I know not where this will go from this point. I feel as if i am in pieces, and how i place them together while i am staying home will determine things i cannot even yet fathom! Joy will need to be obtained in new ways.

Inspiration leaks down into view from familiar sources, but my view, i fear, has become quite stale with recent familiarity. But there are sources i feel have only begun to emit energy; sources that remain nearly untapped and seem to be pouring of copious potential. There, inspiration beyond recognition fuels my days.

Rest dear friend, your time awaits.

Fleeting fronts of anticipation have been leading this life for these past weeks, and i am drowning my sorrows away! I only seek to relax the sore depths of heart; tranquil desires with such an inescapable depth. Chill, to meet the heart halfway between the moment and serenity--Sincerity! Am i still babbling of such concepts? Of course, set before me, forever more!

Vices set a place of comfort, do not put in a sense of rapture! This is only to keep self-destruction at bay. Vices, and a cool August morning breeze, tasting as sweet as fine liquor and feeling as smooth as soft hands chilling a spineless soul attached to skin and bones.

But the sky has been so clear these past dozen hours or so. What does that leave in store? Perhaps more revelations in the form of verse are to come. Or perhaps flickers of life, scenes of torture will disperse!

I seek happiness, in roundabout ways at times, through the everlasting condescending tones of my peers. Of course, i do not hold grudges, because i know some of their criticism is with the best of intentions; while being criticized by others, their opinions and thoughts are of no use or constructive benefit. Being home, i learn who i want to be apart of my life and who i wish to expel from it. Those who create only hassling demands and impossible expectations are not worth my time. My next prolonged stay here will be fruitful in regards of personal and social growth. Having time away from all of this has shown me what is and is not important.

These times and these days rest, and they are stored in a familiar haze.

Your mediocre life is disgusting! Play it safe with your wasted time and bills of servitude, but contracts of safety are only temporary.

A most serene sense of endurement is held captive here, not quite alone, but close enough to taste what life would be like. Love has filled my heart and lungs; once again veins pump loving lust and nicotine.

I search again for a place to sell my soul, marketing strategic locations to waste so many hours of my life. With the best of intentions i seek somewhere to conger financial and social resources to benefit and support my next prolonged stay in a place i vowed to never return to. The atmosphere of this place can be dreadful, but it does contain sanctuaries spaced intermediately under the splotches of overcast and shaken dreams. There is hope, but often enough in my two decades of experience, that is not enough. Hope is but a starting point. At least home has this quality.

It is in the shadows of flesh and blood, concrete and steal that these places can be found. They stir here, meticulously, despite the sullen overcast to storms on days such as these.

***

Is it so hard for you to glance out your window, so up high in that skeleton? I wonder what you occupy yourself with while your light rests so stagnantly above this night life.

Flames flicker in between us; six dancing bodies illuminating a porch space that has been a figurine in my life since i was a naive and imaginative child. Smoke that has taken captive of these lungs now lingers about luminescent dreams, weaved from memory to mind and around thoughts lulling about.

Smile wide pretty eyes, because our grins will meet to the death at the end of lavender lavished kisses. Beans of cocoa and coffee seek refuge in our memories clouded with rolled-tobacco cigarettes and tranquil desires. I remember that spending nights alone are over-rated, especially in the wake of such a fog that has moisturized all corners of my skin. It is not my memory that is hazy, it is the future laid before; fate again, i now rest in your hands! This once, please forward your best.

Tragedy sweeps and takes some by surprise. As overwhelming as it seems, enduring is a high priority when pain swells the body. Emotional stimulation seems sullen at best when sorting turmoil from everyday syncronocity. Seething panic feathers out to meet distress, screaming for help; bellow for regression and hope for the sweltering--Meltdown and let all aspects of day bleed into the night.

***

Your gaze pierces thighs to eyes of the passerby. Globes roll back lick the cerebellum for lack of knowledge of what moves on and past the scene before your time. Your voice rings sweet as sour apples rotting below your heart--So tart i would spit it out if ingested, or placed anywhere near these supple lips whispering each word as i spill them out. I lay down the lines of wrath and wraith--Fact, sugar coated to make it easier to bare the taste.

I have been thinking for the past few days that the next couple weeks would be remarkably spontaneous. The last thing i expected was that circumstance would pull me back home. So where i am sitting, in the place i sought out to escape from, starting so long ago until my most recent escape. I have strange priorities, but atht the same time, they make perfect sense--My family, how long i stood on bad terms with them, is important to me now. When my mum called me this AM in a blistering panic, i knew i needed to come back and comfort her whether my grandmother was in a sustainable condition or not. Besides, i am sure my grandmother could use some, or all, of the support she can get.

It is like nothing has changed here. The sense of not belonging still lingers, but despite, i will most likely stay when i return in the fall. Regardless of the flaws this place has, it is a familiar place to base myself for many reasons; the most important being my family.

****

The overcast is scudding above, breaking into fragments and separating enough to let the sky show through. The light reflects off of the building's glass faces as beautifully as it ever has. I believe this is my most favourite place for this weather, and it is most definitely one of the more prestigious qualities of this measly downtown strip.


The foliage is now full, and i recognize an abundance of the faces moving up and down the street, but the unfamiliar strikes me with a curious wondering. The green is awesomely refreshing in the most familiar of ways. And then memory is shaken--I am brought back to the present as the pavement shakes from a passer's footsteps.

These embers lick my lips with such guilty pleasures, guilelessly guiding such a heart into a stupor of eternal plight. I who have seen so little, knows so much! i reach a state of euphoric bliss, eradicating all sorrow in such a serious gaze. I, who fails to feel and see so many wonders, knows exactly what it is that is set before me. God? The Devil himself? These figures are treacherous in their own ways--They mean not a thing to a mind who has reached a pinnacle of understanding in the praxis of modern modesty.

I rest in beds fit for only kings. I seek the breath of only angels. I eat only the most precious of food--All forbidden of the fruits. I wake in holy lights set down for only those who wait, and seek the caress of minds awakened.

Fury blinds and patience reveals the most reveling of pleas. I find peace not in jewels or any crucifix, but in the late rise of Luna from her place of slumber. I find satisfaction in only the most sensuous serenities, secreting secrets from lips to resounding minds through ears that peel with the wake of a sea.

I watch not sunsets, but the darkness swallowing the sky, my body a silhouette on the fall of a natural day. I see clouds wisping, covering into the greatest of storms. I witness birth, as i feel life slipping away with each passing wake. I leer from only what remains to this moment--Gazing, a crashing celestial body from sky to mirroring sea. I feel as if a child would who is brought love and gratification from mother each day.

I see not what certain fuss is about, but instead trust in what each moment has brought to intersect my path. Sometimes, parallel lines viewed from the side are one.

I taste only what i put into mouth these days; nothing more and never less. Sensation cannot be stolen, only the tools to maintain or create certain blockades of mind.

I, who has known too much without seeing enough, can tell the difference between life and death. This fragile scale is quite easy to tip..

I am wide awake in the triumph of hight. I write each line in the bleak lack of light. I am much more than can be seen, and few have felt what the really means.

The hight has erupted into illuminations, casting figures and colorful sensations never seen before, at least not in this reality. The shades and swirl of balance contort perception in all sorts of ways, manifesting a sense of such intense decay, when organisms eat away what has died so long ago, before this day--These days, our days.

an update? more prose/poetry

I await an awakening! This ego has tired long ago of such everlasting slumber! The momentum building here is growing restless to discomforting limits. Tedious? Not. Overwhelmingly frustrating at most times, but not without reason or purpose. Everything is quite luicd, but I seem unable to react to anything--At all, ever. Stale, that is what all sensation has grown to, until hours ago--Over a dozen as of now. I have finally seen and conceptualized why this shell is reaching the breaking point. Incubation has very little in store for this body's soul.

***

Mature. Reaching limits.
Dream, of something beyond.
Grow. Exceed all limitations.
Seek. Discover fabrications,
Admire or destroy the seams-
Re-order. Fit any desired purpose.

The mediums at disposal are infinate.
Disposal? No; Resourceful.
Create discreet amounts of waste.
Displace all intentions that get in the way.
Meaningless ambitions are to be tossed,
Let them dissipate and accept no loss.

Gains. Meant for futher insightful gloss-
A protecting layer dispatched from the heart.
A moss,
Grow always facing North.
Direct and guide in unheard of ways.
Although, silence can be just as effective
If given the chance to-

Relay, A sacred message,
Meant to convey all the best of intentions-
Maintaining sensation,
But keeping it from view-
Depending on the blightful sight
Of those who know not what to seek.
Keep a secret. Shush.
Lull.
Resolve will meet all that is saught.

La Crosse to Madison, cut short

La Crosse ended as an amazing experience. Charish and Joel were extremely accomodating in every way possible. Couch Surfing is definately a resources i will utilize in the future--A whole world of new culture and friends are just waiting!

I left LaCrosse sometime after Noon. My planned route was to take the LaCrosse River Trail, Sparta-Elroy trail, and the 400 trail. This is about 70 miles to Reedsburg, where i was going to be finding somewhere to camp. I figured this would be an easy and steady day: 70 miles the first day, 90 the next, and about 20-30 the third morning to Shari's place.

After the LaCrosse River trail in Sparta, it had stated on the entrance sign that the trail had been closed by the DNR. No reason why was listed, so i figured it was okay to just keep on going. At this time, i did not think of what the rains the days before would be doing to hilly terrain, and must i not forget, the local attractions. The spark about the Sparta-Elroy trail are the underground tunnels; The trail was converted from old an old railway line, including the tunnels through some of the hills. If i remember correctly, there are three of them, although i only saw the first. The first tunnel is about 9/10ths of a mile long. There are no lights once inside, and with normal weather outside, it is still very cool and wet the entire way through. I was told that water will drip off of the ceiling and down the cide of the tunnel into small canals, designed to keep water primarily off the walking path.

It was not just wet outside. This was in no way 'normal' weather. Even in LaCrosse, with the Mighty Mississippi, there was flooding off of the trail EVERYWHERE. Too bad i didn't think that this is why the DNR closed the trail. Onward i went through the tunnel, once i got into it. A small portion of the path was washed away, and a small stream needed to be waded through (it was puny, really. i took pictures. i will have them up in a week or so, unless i get another opportunity here in madison, which i doubt.)

The tunnel was not just wet, it seemed almost as if it was raining inside. Apparently, as stated before, the rains from the days before had taken their toll on the landscape. After 9/10ths of a mile, the most scary and exhilirating bike ride of my life--walking part of the way, and bicycling while clipped in the rest of the way--I found out why the DNR closed the trail: mud slides.

As i passed through a bundle of wet muck, and seemingly a misplaced stream, a couple on bikes asked where i was heading to. They advised that i get off the trail before the next tunnel. While i was soaked from walking through the water, tired from lifting my bicycle to avoid too-much mud contact, and enough mud on my entire bicycle up to the hubs to last weeks, i was told the next mudslide was FAR worse, mid-calf through mud at the easiest way through. This couple had to lift their bikes above their waist to avoid mud contact--something i am not capable of with a fully loaded bicycle.

Now, i was riding down the trail thinking of what the couple was telling me, soaked and full of mud. Shortly after the next town, but before the tunnel, I left the trail and climbed the hill on the highway that goes over the tunnel. I checked my map and was immediately irrate. I was on the road for over four hours and was not NEARLY as far along as i should have been. That is fucking it, i thought, only the road from here on out.

I covered almost as much distance in one third of the time on the road, regardless of much more hill there is to deal with. I didn't really mind. WHile climbing hills is not alwasy very much fun, they ALWAYS go back down. All hard work is paid off all the time.

I reached a small town called Union Center. I stopped to urinate and fill my water. I had two hours of touch biking left, atleast, to reach my mark. It was dark all to quickly. As i was preparing to leave, i noticed in the fork in the road i was needing to travel on, visible from the gast station, that the highway i needed to take was detoured...in the opposite direction. I checked my map, estimating which way it could go. The easiest way it could go, taking county roads (which, for the record, it didn't.) was atleast two hours out of the way. FUCK.

I asked the gas station clerk, who also works with the ocunty, how far out of the way the detour went. Exact response, "It doesn't really matter, that road is closed all the way down to Reedsburg. Most of it is under water, especially LaValle"(the town inbetween where i was and Reedsburg, where if you remember, i needed to sleep). So even if i did go around, i would have to sleep somewhere very wet, go atleast 45 miles out of the way, battle 35 mph winds the next day from the direction i was going, and travel even further then planned all while trying to beat the next storm, moving in the next evening. Essentially, i would have to travel much further in perilous conditions, and have no way to avoid the storm(which, if you HAVEN'T heard on the news, is fucking up everything. haha).

Fuck that. I called Shari and she picked me up, having to go 40 some miles out of the way to get where i was, based on the flooding and such. I filled her gas tank, and am still forver in her debt. I have arrived in Madison early.

HAPPY 21 TODAY SHARI!