Dream Ridden Wanderlust.

In the arms of sleep
dreams of you haunt
reminding the heart
of the loss that's been had.

Running through the crowded streets
wearing ballerina shoes
tripping over mud puddles
climbing up a green hill
all to reach you.

Open doors to an apartment
seemed like a 2 bedroom one bath
with a cozy little kitchen
center table with a bayonet
and some couches to rest tired bones.

No one is there,
am I too late?

Ringing at the door
open it to find you
in white
arm to arm with a stranger
and all I hear is:

"What did you expect?
Did you really think
that anything could come
from what we had?"

Like everything we lived
was a meaningless stage
like being there with you
wanting to kiss you everywhere
was a meaningless moment.

When they all hid
under the umbrella in the house
the plot was seeping thick
good-bye's were being concocted
so I donned my Ballerina shoes.

In the rain
everything feels easy
loving,
crying,
breathing.

But when she say's
"What did you expect?"
its' amorous drumming on the window pane
turns into a hollow void
drowning a smile
just so happy to see her.

Sorry to bother you
I guess.

Might as well hide
the distaste of my chastity
all in the hopes
that a heart bruised
and aching
may one day be able
to take a hit
from the shadow boxer yet again.

Rainbow and Occupy Wall Street

One of the best things about Occupy Wall Street is seeing how a mass of random individuals can work together. I have seen it in smaller scale, at local Rainbow Gatherings (Occala, Fl.). This being some of the best times I ever spent anywhere, just being part of a small community even if for a few days. So far I've read of free kitchens, the "mic check" is something I ran into at Rainbow as well, and nick@nite is most definitely from Rainbow. I'm sure that there are other things which I haven't seen, but it's nice to know that there are fellow Children of the Rainbow out there doing what needs to be done to get things kick started. Rainbow will keep things going as long as everyone else is up to it. We are wise on keeping an area with clean water, food, and cigarettes. This is truly what is done by Rainbow.

I wonder if there is an A camp as well. LOLOLOLOL!

Either way, a lot of the behaviors observed from the videos alone give light that the children of light have their hands in this cookie jar, I just hope they washed them first (LOL Loving You!).

Davids Camera Craft

Davids Camera Craft

Here are some good photos from the current and ongoing protests in New York's Occupy Wall Street. Please pass this one to anyone, and everyone. It would be much appreciated.

Correctional facility

I come prepared to bare bad news
to incite myself into a state of joy
and induce the sadness into glee
for no one knows my nightmares like me.

Awake I lay in a bed so cold
with pillows lining where you once lay
to keep me from rolling off
and hitting myself atop my head.

Is it just me? Or are there more
who wish the world would stop and go
that yesterday could be relived
redone, re-spoke, reposed.

I grow so tired of the memories
but it's the only thing that is left
only thing I have to share
only bit's of life I care to remember.

Fears

Something inside keeps reminding me of you, and I wish I could just kill it. I've tried drowning it, numbing it, forgetting it, but every time it beats from a stillness so deep it brings me to a green glowing hill where a kiss and a hug meant the world, and a random act of unmentionable kindness dared us to frolic all night.

If anyone ever reads this take a piece of advice into consideration: Don't give your heart to anyone, because they will keep it, steal it, abuse it, and throw it into a food processor to relish on your pain. It's safer to keep those things hidden, locked away. Nothing good ever comes from being open and true to someone who you aren't sure about, nothing but heart ache and eventual emotional disembowelment. It's best to keep your feelings to yourself, the wretched world will surely use it against you.

Corruption

I don't hate you,
I hate me.

I don't miss you,
I miss me.

I never dared to,
but you dared me.

I correct you,
yet I ignore me.

A Constant

There's an itching in my veins,
a sudden lynching in my brain.
A burning in my heart
a loss and disarray.
Coming out to meet my friends
hidden all within the led
hot and pouring through
it's the itching in my veins.

Can you see the nimble way
in which we run away
can you feel the dire needs
often lost inside your head.
Out there beyond the way
we find them lost and bare
coming out of the woodwork
like maggots in her brain.

Complete with a how to
on loosing all your friends,
you can see there is no room for two
it's the last chance we had to bare.
Complete with a how to
on gaining all your weight
it's easy to say that you
would always be there.

There's an itching in my veins
and itching in my head.
There's loss of everything,
a cross of shades and stares.
Complete with your own how to
on creeping out the mare
it's not easy to stay true
when your soul is lost
a stray.

The Money Pit

It's all about having a good foundation. It's why I am the way I am with people, why I like to take things slow, why I like to know you. Why I take life slowly. It's all in the foundation.

Sleepless nights

Can't sleep. I feel tired, yet when I lay down my mind awakens with thought. I can't shake her stink out of my memory, one thinks it's over and that moving on is at hand, but there is nothing there but more memories and realizations of the things that happened between us. Who thought that such short time of interaction would leave such a mark. I hate it, and it makes me realized that I loved you.

Expulsion, delusion.

Maybe I've said this before,
I can't remember you that well anymore.
Your smile is a fuzz,
your eyes I don't even recall the color of,
the little things that you did
which entranced me so are memories left behind.
I feel like the fever has passed,
I've sweated you out.
Oh dear lover,
who I once pined over
contemplated loving forever with no second thoughts,
you have been expunged from me.
Now all that is left is a void.
I don't know how to explain it,
but you've gone
left a cavity behind
there is nothing that fits that obtuse shape
like that love that I felt
which was cursed from the begin
because I was unsure of what to say
unsure if you wanted it or not.
It all fell apart,
now we are but fading memories
yet all I wanted all along
was to be someone you couldn't forget
someone to fill my heart
someone to be entranced with.

Amber Stains

Long slender fingers caress the metal shaft, it's cool surface slowly warms up with the touch of the body. Well manicured nails, no dirt underneath, cuticles pushed back,a clear coat of nail polish, all make every movement seem so well thought and placed as if they'd done this a thousand times before. They open up a small baggie laying next to her kit, just a dash is poured onto the bent spoon. Those slender fingers now screw the needle onto the metal shaft, the surgical steel that once felt so alien, now feels inviting and welcoming, the mind travels back to an amniotic past where nothing seemed like it was, you could say everything was rosy.

With one pull of the plunger, a bit of water is sucked in. It is then meticulously poured onto the pink/brown powder in her spoon. One hand carefully holds the spoon now, while the other uses a lighter underneath it. It bubbles after a short time, after which she uses the needle to mix it in. Once the consistency seems proper, she pulls on the plunger to suck in all of the amniotic fluid from the spoon into the syringes' shaft. Now she can relax, as the hardest part is over and done with. Putting away all of her tools, she leaves out only the rubber tourniquet and syringe.

She walks to the kitchen for a drink of water, the glasses are just above the dish washer, there's a bottle of Perrier inside the fridge which she keeps stocked with tequila and beer. She serves herself a cup and sips at it slowly. On her way back to the bedroom she stops at her iMac where she turns on some music to lead her on her little journey. She first has to minimize the report she's been working on, not many people are able to understand the happenings of third world villages much less actualize a plan to keep a grand majority of them fed. Though she'd had enough of that for today, now it was time to forget about everything.

Music starts up slow, it's a mix of tunes ranging from The Velvet Underground to Devendra Banhart.

Now in her bedroom her slender fingers grab onto the rubber tourniquet as they wrap the loose rubber around her left upper arm and tighten it up, teeth holding on to loose pieces keeping a tight bind. Arm outstretched she slaps the inside of her elbow to pop out the veins. Once they are out well enough she grabs her syringe. At first she breaths in slow and heavy getting the syringe positioned just right. Her mouth waters as a thousand thoughts start to pour through her head of all the men that have been there but left, of the children she's had to hold in her arms to console from their hunger, from their sickness. Her co-workers who are still out there fighting the good fight, fighting for the less fortunate, of the ones who have died for the cause. She pulls on the plunger to make sure she's in the vein, the amber red liquid spurts into the chamber of her syringe. Red viscous blood which she can now see through a small glass window on the side slowly mixes in with her heroin concoction, creating a beautiful spiral of herself and the soon to be amniotic escape. She pushes the plunger in, a slow steady flow.

At first she feels little, her head is still swimming with memories, of the faces, the lovers, the people she's left behind. Everything encumbers her so, but it will all be forgotten soon enough. Pulling out the needle, and releasing the tourniquet, a warm rush goes straight to her head. A numbing feeling in the back of her skull, a tingling, spreading a warmth over her entire body. She puts the now empty chamber on her night table, as soon as it's metal body clinks against the wooden surface so does she collapse onto her bed. Blonde hair spread out around her head like a halo. White slender figure against her dark sheets accentuates the curves of her body. Now her mind is blank, there is nothing going on that could ever stop her from feeling this way. Her body gives itself fully to the heroin which makes it's way and embeds itself onto her brain. Opioid receptors light up as her own thoughts and emotions are shut down.

Nothing matters, everything is meaningless. Only thing that's real right now is this feeling like being on the clouds. Her high makes everything ok. She's not thinking about the children, about the faces of the damned. Her only thought is "God I wish I could get fucked right now." One hand reaches into her pants, she feels her wet pussy, soaking her slender fingers as she feels herself inside and out remembering the last man she was with, his hard throbbing cock inside of her all the way to her cervix, exploding orgasms, the way he caressed and kissed her. Her brain is too fucked up and there's only so much she can do for herself right now. Those slender fingers leave a wet trail from her crotch up to her breasts as she caresses herself before passing out from her drugged out self induced state.

In her dreams she's living inside a large house, with servants who do her every will and capricious desire. Her husband is a powerful and rich ambassador who shows her around like a prized dog, with their cat about and a chauffeur wearing a silly hat they drive around town to see the sights and to be seen. She doesn't have to worry about spending her money, nor does she have to worry about having to do anything for herself. Everything is already taken care of. She goes to parties where women wear dresses worth thousands of dollars that will never see the light of day again, and enough jewelry to feed a village for a lifetime. But she doesn't care anymore, she has her dream.

Her visions perpetuate here for a while, but end up in darkness eventually as the drug fully takes on. Her sleep is deep and constant, at least until her amniotic wet dream wears off. For now though, her ethereal self is swimming about in the abyss of her subconscious. Waiting to wake up, waiting to forget all over again.

Complicated, isn't it?

Worst thing about being "sick" is being "sick" in a way that no one can see. When you aren't showing symptoms and people can't tell there is something wrong with you by just looking at you makes things quite odd. Friends don't understand, family tries but only kinda gets it and the world starts getting much smaller as going out becomes extremely difficult. What once fed my spirit has dried up, the experience of life, living, and other people. It feels as if life is over. Worst part is having people who you once thought would be there for you just disappear. How is anyone supposed to stick around anyhow? Also, meeting new people becomes extremely difficult. It's not easy to assimilate into this new life, it's extremely hard. I have no help from anyone, all the doctors have to say is "well you shouldn't be feeling like this." Well guess what, I am. I'm in pain, I'm miserable, and my support net is gone. I don't even have a pain buffer. What I feel is disheartening, and all I want is someone to listen, to help. Guess what though, something always comes to mind whenever I think about this: we are born alone, we die alone. It is the one thing that we have to share with each other.

Except for twins, they are born together, and die alone.

It must feel nice to know

It's not every night that I dream
much less the times that they are remembered.
So when they are about you I have to ask
if it's you that makes them happen
or if there is some part of me
deep down inside hidden from my own eye
that still misses you.

What do I miss?
A gentle touch as we pass a cigarette
back and forth our fingers slightly graze
the touch of skin to skin.
The stink of your dirty clothes
or hair unwashed for days
a gentle smile
half crooked teeth
to me you were perfect in every way.

I miss the elongated nights
made short by our alcohol consumption
I never drank like I did with you
and somehow I miss that.


Why do you come to mind as often as you do
when we both know you've given up
even though you took my heart with you.
It's not easy to forget the good things
my mistake is that the bad I often do.
That is what love does I guess
blinds one to be a fool.