domingo, 16 de octubre de 2011

Too Revealing

The way she holds in her hands your face
and closely examines its features;
She pets the multifarious colored man-beard sprouting.

miércoles, 28 de septiembre de 2011

Clear Your Throat

My father's disposition was always something to be simultaneously admired and pitied and embraced.

The characteristic disruption in his voice, when important and mundane and filler words filled with love spilled from his brain to his lips to my ears,

was more like a temporary spastic cough,
than a conventional clearing of the throat, a habitual pause for
emphasis.

lunes, 19 de septiembre de 2011

You have left me with nothing, save a bitter taste in mouth.

jueves, 8 de septiembre de 2011

Heraclitus and Morpheus

Heraclitus and Morpheus

Constant waves of change hit my recognition like a heavy wall of water.

Splash.
And then subside
only for a moment.
And,
Splash! Again!

Experience: sense that.
No; sense me.

Conscious
and then back to the dark
and then, permeate
The Dough like
The Cookie Cutter



domingo, 17 de julio de 2011

Some doodles













The last three are representations of what I like to call "Id Art". The concept comes from a combination of abstract expressionism and Freud's structure of the mind.


Ephemeral epiphanies

I am sitting on my roof in my underwear, nonchalantly smoking a cigarette, looking at the stars. Some cars drive by and I become self-conscious and I straighten out my legs. I become self-conscious because there is an observer. I begin to think of photons and how their state is contingent on an observer. They become self-conscious when observation is taking place. I realize that the photon is self-conscious because I am self-conscious; they are one in the same self-consciousness. I realize that the world is conscious of itself because I am conscious of my self. I inhale deeply as this realization hits me with a pang.

Trippy Doo Da

I've awoken in Gonzo's head: awkward and ambiguous juxtapositions of vibrant colors and other-worldy forms slowly drip down, as if pulled by gravity itself, to cover all that I can fix my eyes upon, like wax melting to drape my saucer-sized pupils; all of which signifying that the trip I have been impatiently anticipating is maturing and growing out of control, like Frankenstein's monster, beyond the limits of my mind's wimpy newbornesque grasp.