Do not despair, my fair readers. All 7.2759 of you. I have not forsaken my blog, I have only taken some time to make an intricate mess in other mediums or other places. I will return.

bellows

my lungs are the bellows that fan the flames of Hell, my heart the eternal flames soothing the hand-wringing anxiousness of its demons. yet, the eternal angel of hope continues to rise from the ashes of all this fire. she ignites my heart in a way all of Hell's flames cannot. I exhale with the fear of smoldering her delicate wings and tender voice. her delicate, yet confident touch echo me back to a resplendent existence above the flames. I awake from the fanciful journey of dreams to find that she is nothing but a specter of my mind. she is a figment. she is a fantasy. reality is still filled with endless horizons of flame and disgust, a panoramic view of Hell from the center, crying out from the absolution of convictions that sit atop a throne far away from these flames, this smoke, this desolation. but to touch that light and airy seat is but a conflagrated vision, a dream set upon the tongue tips of flame reaching up towards heavens unknown. and she insistently flutters there, out of reach, as long as I continue to wade through the fire without realizing my potential to skate above its reach. so I remain.
my lungs are the bellows that fan the flames of Hell, my heart the eternal flames soothing the sad, prayer-filled admonishments of its demons and tortured souls. flailing towards an idyllized point in the sky of salvation. a place that pines for love, but is ensconced in the very belly of hate and emotional dissection. plying the very sympathies of those without care to climb out of the pits of despair and loneliness, only to find that the journey upwards is complicated by sn eternity of steps; an endless series of motions towards an unattainable goal;.

Just Another Way To Say...

...Shit is funky! For some reason, unbeknownst to me, I've been listening to Cypress Hill's first LP a lot lately. It is straight up funky ass shit. Prince Paul taught DJ Muggs well and it shows on this record. There's no need for me to expound upon some extrapolated philosophical ideas about this album, other than to say what I already have: this is one funky ass album. It's full of great samples and memorable potheaded lyrics, mixed with a South Central LA gangster ethos. I guess my real point here is that this is an album with real staying power, given that I'm still rockin' it 16 years after I first heard it. Anyways, I think that if you're sitting at home struggling with what to listen to and you love HipHop, then maybe just throw this gem on one more time and kick back with a fat doobie and enjoy!

a new poem

frayed thread
{10.07.09}

I strain and dream
of talking to people I know
in environments, or situations,
unnatural, untenable fits
to who they are.
shifting and pondering fantasy
through different threaded layers
of reality
I deposit secrets in innumerable
hidden Pandora's Boxes
through universes increasingly
confused in the potential
for existence
I laminate the remnants
of my ideas of love
and slip them under the doors of
neighbors I've never had
hoping that some day
I may awake to find
them returned to me
as an alarming signal
that the dream, the idyll
can actually be tempered
by the tactility of realization

Prince Howard

Just thought this was noteworthy. Prince Fielder (my new favorite non-Red Sox player) and Ryan Howard both hit their 42nd homers last night, both going to the opposite field on ridiculous pitches. These dudes are serious fuckin' hitters. Fielder hit a pitch that almost woulda been in a right-handed hitter's ear to send Bernie Brewer down the slide. Howard cranked a down and away pitch where only Miami Dolphin fans seem to buy tickets. Fat kids are pretty cool.

Monday's Poem: Orion Watches

Orion Watches
{09.20.09}

Orion hangs high above me
flirting with the horizon
of a hill
huge, like a god's eye
looming and leering

as if watching over me
in its brilliance this night
and I laugh at myself

the farcical notion
that a cluster of stars
spaced by thousands of light years
from each other and
millions from me
would throw a care
across the cosmos for
a miniscule being
such as myself.

but the hope
is part of the light
continuously bouncing
back and forth
between us, so
I keep imagining
with feigned naivete
that Orion watches over me.

Princely Dreams

Buster Olney, over at ESPN, speculates that Prince Fielder may be traded away from Milwaukee by the start of next season and I have to say that in my greediest moments, I would love to see that dude in a Red Sox uniform. With his insane left-handed power, he could do some serious Fenway damage. If not that scenario, then he is surely welcome here in Seattle, where I could go watch him every week.