Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Space Samba

"I can't help from looking outside for a guarantee", Jeff Buckley in Witches' Rave.

its a phantastic mental orgasm when people collide, like electrons bumping against each other - random as ever, chemical collisions resulting in who knows what.?? who? what?

Monday, April 27, 2009

art informal

artist and intense gardener - a combination i've only really considered through the meeting of such an individual in the unlikeliest of situations. (or perhaps not too unlikely. synchronicities seem to be the norm these days) i wonder about how random or unusually apt his shirt was -that basically said, "Blessed Man".

Saturday, April 25, 2009

pitter patter

its raining more often now. the rhythm of falling water droplets performing the function of gravity. the steady reminder of what IS that IS and will always BE. coffee seems to activate my tendency for resistance. its not a very pleasant feeling but then again, it also makes me perky (despite agitated). i'm awake but asleep. then we have the rain, persisting with the pitter-patter raindrops falling, infinitely crashing into the surface of the earth. its the universe poking you in the head, pushing the mind off the throne, managing to do just that - and more.

what is left but an empty seat. or a seated ghost. its casper, cute and friendly and on the side are his mischievous uncles. its a cartoon reality thats as light or serious as you wish it to be.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009


how in this system do they refuse spices that just may incite ideas of lust? spiritualists on the apex of practice. the refusal in itself out of fear of sexuality. others go the other end and bathe in as much as they can, only to drown, lost, oblivious in the oblivion.

where are the fearless? the true rebels? the real revolution is not where the soldiers go and polish their guns, or where men stand behind the pulpit preaching their harvest of "good" ideas. where are the faceless, naked and tall? barefoot walking against the concrete, the sand, the linoleum floor. feeling every crease and grain and sensation left to be felt. roughly scaling the tiny mountains at the foot of the real mountain. only skimming the surface. only washing our hands. only bathing in movie rain while everybody walks past in slow motion. well, cry as you please. scream. fall down on your knees with your head bent, palms facing upward. a surrender focused on cinematography and drama.

the fight is no fight. its the battle lost and won. moving pictures on a wall from a projector. the dancing of light.

Sunday, April 19, 2009


elliot smith is playing in my head and singing, "i'm stuck here waiting for a passing feeling". after 2 whole weeks of extreme sun and humid nights the rain finally poured and its pouring still, pouring hard, pounding on the roof, by the window, on the cracked concrete whos been looking quite thirsty. yes. romanticizing.

while with a friend walking the streets to his auntie's house, i thought about the odd shape of the electrical posts and how the sign signifying the entrance to the village beautifully framed 3 concrete buildings jutting out of some low/flat housing area. stared at it for a while, while he and his aunt were in deep discussion and then a plane flew overhead. i remembered my friend ross telling me, "invest in good memories". and that made perfect sense to me. we continued to walk along till we reached the highway. he and his aunt exchanged goodbyes and we went ahead to walk towards the overpass. orange street light hitting us from the side. people walking ahead of us had a glow about them to the right, while a sharp shadow moved about from the left. i guess it looked like a scene from a movie then i thought, "nice."

Saturday, April 18, 2009

words. consciousness. thought. things from the void that is not of it. nothing of what is now being writ is resembling anything that is of the void. and yet. the possibility is there. its in the mind.
until its not.

where did the footprint leave its mark? it can only be remembered. but what about the foot? where is it walking to? it doesn't matter. it just walks. like plants grow and winds blow and skies touch other skies touch other skies and spaces too far to reach with my hands go on extending while i wonder about how the length of my arm remains the same.

my arms extend to reach anyway. or perhaps they are flailing from the fall. my eyes keep looking and what is seen looks back. did it matter if it was closed or open when even in the darkness, the darkness is apparent?

how did a voice find its way into my mouth? complete with intention and conviction. images of arrows and sometimes bullets emerge from other mouths, back and forth reverberating sound. what kind of sound does a kiss make?
is that how a voice comes back to where it came from?

traveling. in transit. motion in the ocean from an airplane is simply the color blue. what its like to think of the sea from the sky and from under it are two different worlds.