☼

May 7

Apr 28

Giants

The monster or giant who towers
over a small and vulnerable child
is an archetypal theme in
children’s dreams and stories.
Such figures often represent
adults in the child’s life who
dominate him or her with what
must seem an arbitrary and near-
infinite power. By confronting
these monsters in their dreams
(and therefore in the
unconscious), children can come
to terms with them in their
emotional lives.

~ The Secret Language of Dreams

Marbling by Jacob Oliver

Apr 22

I understand more what I’m not than what I am so what am I?

Apr 8

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

I would fight to save you from suffering if I could, but I can’t. There’s secrets out there, hidden within different rifts that I cannot step into with you; One man finds diamonds in his creek, when I fish out nothing but water, moss, and little grains of sand in the muddy stream beside me. But have you seen the golden apples in my trees? They are grandeured by my hands, hanging just in reach, sublime and sweet I am full, and you are spitting out the bitter chunks of fruit, and you ask why I call them what I do. To this there is no answer, I thought you would find this as I did, in the first bite of that just right, ripe, skin. And I never saw you’re diamonds even shimmer once, and I think you saw me with my golden bucket and brush climbing the forest last week; You see this illusion while I am trapped inside of it. I see this illusion while you are trapped inside of it. So yes, we’ve all got our own personal mirage, in the heavens, motion picture ending expectations, in the mirror, and I cannot see yours and you cannot be mine; So let the rotten apples brown, let the water flow past us, we have let it go. A road that has yet to have been paved over what it really is, can be traveled together, and you see what I see; But you say a bird’s just dropped a feather, when I see a falling leaf; like cooking up clouds, pouring out the yolk and scrambling sunny side and upside down, but don’t squint your tired eyes too long child, it’s all the same painting in a different framing; and that it something you must accept; however you are to accept it.

Words by Jacob Oliver
Music - WR by Labradford

Apr 5

Poor human hearts pounding everywhere;

Marbling #6 (#4 & #5)

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

And my hands are always attempting to put hinges on this atom-filled space that guards your skin, so that I may knock down the doors and walk right in, tied by thin but strong, stable string that traces back to the knees of our hearts and pulls us together, when we fall. Almost touching; always almost, almost always

I trick my mind into thinking it can feel

I trick my mind, into thinking

Almost always, Always almost

Almost Touching;

Apr 4

And suddenly every song is you

Mar 30

Not being who you are; being nothing at all

Mar 29

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Everyone is looking for a way to escape, but it’s a common misconception to write off escapism as a “bad” thing. it isn’t always. There are a million different ways to get away, each with their own set of consequences. Many, latch on to drugs, feeling so good in the beginning, but usually forming a habit that is soul-threatening. The best ways to escape, are the ones that don’t have any negative consequence, like writing, any form of art really, meditation; they come few and far between forms of escape that are only leaving you feeling empty, but unsatisfied, ready to run away again as soon as you come down. We all need to find this place inside ourselves that is calm, and still; that we can go off to, maybe at night, or once a week, but come back quick and ready for the world again. If you’re struggling with this negativity that is so familiar to the entire human race, but not by nature; we are what we’ve worked to become. If you are, and you need a new escape, I’d really suggest you try meditation; simply sitting, and breathing and focusing on this amazingly deep calm that is inside of us all. It will bring you peace that these other escapes cannot continue to bring in the long run, and you wont “waste” but 10 to 15 minutes of your day. I beg you, do not ever say that what you are doing, is the only way you can live, because it is only a doubt in yourself that you have let take hold. You can end it, and begin again. Free yourself of addictions, and insane repetition. I’m not saying its easy, but it seems so much harder than it really is, I swear; see for yourself

Mar 12

(MorningPages)

Hey you, hey me; where are you going? How far can your knees hold the weight that is kept on your back? And are you coming back? Where are you going? You are already there. You slept inside a crystal ball, awoke to find smoke crowding your lungs, choking in a fog that’s forever walked through and a well with a fallen out bottom. With you I am strong, but I can’t feel my arms; however, my heart is beating up the clouds and it sounds like someone or something is trying to get out, but my bones keep me connected.

I’m halfway now; I’m halfway there. I’ve gone this far, and I can do it again. I put a mark in a tree and the feeling comes to me. I’m halfway now.

But they say you are ruthless if you have such youth,
Useless if you cannot shoot,
Soulless if you will not move according to the time a man with a wristwatch gave to you
You are guilty when they have no proof
Innocent if you’re apart of the right group
Automatic repentance for the charitable kooks
Who are assured to pass free of charge across the toll bridge
With a phone booth when you get there so you can call your wife and tell her you’ve made it safe
Because you cannot wait till she gets through the gate
But they say all you do up there is stare at God,
Maybe that’s all we’re doing down there now, but who cares?
We’re all waiting to stop waiting until we stop waiting, until we just stop creating, until your fantasies have enemies, and your dreams can’t deal with the insecurity
I’ll hang out while you butcher me
Run a scarf across desolation for nearly an eternity, but there’s always next time
I’m always caught up in thought-crime and the children keep looking over as if they can hear me say “What is this world?” “Why are we here, and where can I find His ear ? I need to speak with Him; so that He may speak to me.” And I do.

Feb 28

There is nothing to say

You must see it yourself

You don’t have to pray or obey orders to limit yourself

They call this good, and this bad

And they make it look so easy

For eighteen years I’ve seen through these eyes,

And I can tell you, it is not that easy

I am sorry, believe me,

I’ll leave you with this

Save me a seat if you ever complete a clockwork circle,

Till Twelve, and Twelve, and Twelve again

I’m happy only to’ve been a part of it

So Tell me again how it ends won’t you?

Look into my eyes and give me that Knowing

You selfish spirituals, with your savored souls!

Why must you spoil the mystery?

To which the rain answers, pouring another cup of clues

What we are not aloud to say, the words been burned

That’s what first lit the fuse

And my only wish under a floating field of asteroids like sparks in the void, is to translate this language into my every step, to flush it through my heart, so that I may free my arms of chains, climb down, and start anew with everyone’s key. Can you imagine lifting wrecking ball weights off of your brothers and sisters shoulders, so that they may all do the same?

So, be it.

There is nothing to be said

You must do it yourself,

With a little help.

Have you ever seen a ghost? Don’t worry, I won’t tease you, I hear them all the time; Inbetween the beat bored clangs of the washer and dryer, and the achin head sounds of disruption that surround you, I catch a hushed scurry, fuzzy and blurry and transparent drone. Do not be scared to share it, I know that if my ears know them, there must be similar eyes who can see the geists visually manifested into the void, and it becomes what you know it is. It becomes the shadow in the closet that hid no monsters, just books, but you swore if you looked hard enough you could see more than darkness, always afraid to embark on it’s trail, meet it on it’s way, and pass through it; become that black hole of horror, put on it’s boots, and hike up it’s mountains, climbing the stairwell you find it’s home, a little cottage in the clouds, and you set it on fire, so that the flames will rise and warm heavens blankets, an open window angel covered from the wicked wind of a creation beneath it’s cottage where it’s always two scoops bliss and three sugars, on the house, and everyone acts like they’ve seen you before. Have you ever seen a ghost?

Feb 23

Boys and girls, I am here today to tell you that your dreams are broken, your wishes in two. I am here today to remind you that we are all standing merely under ancient lights that have long done died, before you, before me; the tiny glares that hit your retina have gone, been bought and sold, all wrapped up and revolved, rumored maybe to have evolved from something simpler once. But can’t you see, hear these thin, repent and regretless minds cry? Though they have dispersed out there, out there in those wisdom widened fields of ever-recycled dust, they shine still, they do; And If you can’t believe it by blind faith, look up at those slowly diminishing diamonds any given night and hear their song, go ahead and sing along, at any moment they may be, gone, gone, gone. So let yourself be scooped up from the earth, into the ladle of that fabled big dipper, pouring into it’s littler sister, as the former fades; offering her last light, you catch a gentle whisper on the way down; and you realize that yes, you can also go up; Always, everytime you look up at those still, lingering beams, as they silently speak their so-called broken dreams. Children, I am here today to tell you, listen not to me, but to them; wish upon the shot in the dark, with it’s elemental tail leaving it’s fiery trail behind it for us; Can it all be for us?

Feb 12

[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

I wake up in the morn,
Stretch my legs, and cook my eggs
Find the strength in my core
Bungie chords and busted boards
But my parachute won’t shoot no more
Broken bones, but I’d been bored by those anyhow

And now the spectrum is speckling, and I notice no skepticism taking ahold
And I’ve kept that prism since the day I was born, till these stories are told
Father Time and Mother Nature, bless your soul
Test and teach me the ancient prose, please, all I ever wanted was just to be whole
But they’re always sayin son, you gotta go get there on your own

Empty thrones and shallow tombs
Impending doom in Ben and Floyd and Cindy’s rooms,
Age old caves with caved in roofs, fallen on what’ll be pavement soon,
And they’ll rebuild, and they’ll adapt, act as if you never got trapped
In the trickling thoughts fossilized in every drop of river’s dancing descent
And when the lake below is full and flows, sins will sink and sleep, be marked in ink on the Milky’s map
We find ourselves to be the trees and the sap
Be not blind, just look on past
You’ll see

Feb 9

“be-be-be the infinite fertilities of the one mind of infinity, make no comments, complaints, criticisms, appraisals, avowals, sayings, shooting stars of thought, just flow, flow, be you all, be you what it is, it is only what it always is—- Hope is a word like a snow-drift— This is the Great Knowing, this is the Awakening, this is the Voidness— So shut up, live, travel, adventure, bless and don’t be sorry— Prunes, prune, eat your prunes— And you have been forever, and will be forever, and all the worrisome smashings of your foot on innocent cupboard doors it was only the Void pretending to be a man pretending not to know the Void—-” ~ Jack Kerouac