Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Vandana

I saw my love today
There, stranded, and picturesque
In deepest darkest azure
and wheeled with rake and sculpture.
What terrible longing hath the Swede wrought at the penning of her determined lines
or dreaming of her mighty core?
My heart falters and falls,
leaving me adrift,
when remembering that time anew
and anticipating the coming rapturous union
of pressure driven coupling.
Our choreography of rage, combustion, and precision,
forever etched in the halls of my memories.
The roaring of her engines singing out
at the bottom of a full moon night
and blasting through the cleavage of mountains bathed in blue.


Monday, December 13, 2010

FRACK!

I suddenly hate my life.

No, I'm not suicidal or want to die or down on myself or some other weak shizzle. I'm suddenly pissed at where I am right now.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Lakewood Den gets a twitter accont!

Just click (or cut and paste the) below.

http://twitter.com/#!/Lakewood_Den

Tuesday, December 07, 2010

Broken

This morning, hearing music on a radio someplace that was warm, spacious, and mellow with female vocals, I immediately began going someplace. Someplace fantastic and romantic. Infectious and affectionate.

Then I stopped it! I rejected it! I shunned it! This is not my place and won't be for a long time. The taste, sweet at first, then bitter. Because, you see, I am completely shattered. I am busted and broken.

Yet in this mess is cohesion. In the distance of the parts is the remaking. Despecialization! The shattered, like a collection of blastemas with a shared objective. I am re-becomming what I feel I should always have been. No longer shackled with longing and the layers of filters that constricted my heart. No longer anchored by fallen flyers or my own desire to lift up.

What falls of it's own volition, falls, never to return again.

But what get's up, climbs higher then the previous try.

I am broken. Augmented with rage, controlled with precision, and screaming in the blackness. Running towards the soon coming time of spirited motion through the long dark of discipline. Temporal perhaps, I am, but of an intent that is crushing. Bristling with electricity and sensitive to the touch.

12/07/10