Dreamers

The constant search for identity, the constant struggle for ambitious success. I don’t know. honestly, I’m just rambling right now, caught between a dream like state of reverie and the dull tug of duties: securing future, banishing past, grabbing hold of present time by the roots and pulling, hard, dragging its mysteries along to the battlefield like an involuntary ally, a weapon of great gain which evolution deems necessary for possible survival; you must use it selfishly, for the perceived greater good or for your greater good or for no good at all, nonetheless it is used selfishly. Selfishly because there are tens of thousands of hungry brethren grasping for a dream, grasping, in hopes of touching the prize - that is to say - the living, breathing, shape shifting light which each man creates for himself. Akin to a visionary prophet, it is revered and eternally out of reach for what is life without ambition? without some form of struggle to survive, without the iron gates to a paradise shining, always out of reach yet teasingly close, there is no drive to live. We live in reality, but survive because of a dream.

beginning of a new story...

Deafening screams interrupt the sweet lullaby of christmas memories, taking a nutcracker orchestra constitute. My mother's pleasured crying of my name evolves to the thumping of feet on stairs and then she's there, with the howling and her smiling drowning out act one, scene two of nutcracker protruding from my bedroom boom box.

"Do you hear that?" She cries.

I smile a weak, lethargic smile back at her from underneath my bed covers, meant more to emanate tired acceptance than excitement.

"It sounds like this..." and then she joins the screeching animal in a cacophony of troubled cries: "oh oh oh ahhhh! ahhh! ahhh!" She laughs at her newfound game.

The screams grow weaker, there behind our beige and red house in the thick clot of trees and wilderness until they fade into weary moans, and then utter darkness. The creature's world fades as ours continues.

Blueberry skies

Darkness...
As I sat there,
In a blueberry colored sky.

Fresh dreams burst through to surface
From the secretive dinn of DNA sequences And cortex.

In blind seclusion we found fulfillment.

Little did we know,
My dream and I,
A growing flame soon dominated
Our souls, 
Singeing corners of
Our fragile bond, 
Melting declarations of heartfelt commitment,
Thwarting the expansion of destiny.

Who knows,
The detailed monstrosities of violation.

But it has long been understood,
Yet not headed,
The universe is filled with fire,
Fire thrives in its core
like you and I,
My dream,
It longs for the rejuvenation of success.

As we strive for the expansion
Of our blueberry skies,
A greater dream ascends from all others.

We are subject to utter defeat,
For fire in the end,
Will only bow to one master
That is,
The universal domination of balance.

As we rise

I have utterly surrendered. As mounds of earth grow like provoked giants, as they roughen in texture, jagged edges rising along the sides of crumbling walls. As mountains form, I surrender. Willingly emersing myself in the trembling earth, boulders crash but never hit. Serene, I surrender. My path is clear. Traversing stark barriers is my future, but not my deciding fate. Like crumbling rock, I will surface, from earth to sky.

Where the wild things roam

Today I watched as an army, dead but for their feet all stomping to the sound of an intangible dream, proceed. silent warriors of a presumed glory. Today I witnessed the procession of an army not present. Guns are drawn, painting bloodred roses atop fields of rich brown skin. Today natives were murdered, and I was the only one to see them fall.
Here is the difference between a native and a pale skinned conqueror: one wears hand built moccasins with furry leather tails dangling from the top, which I love to watch dance to the rhythm of human movement. The other wears long, brown lace up boots. These specimens of another world resist movement entirely. they are stiff, persistently unchanging, such that each person resembles the next if you were to only see their ankle down, where the dress then covers continuous leather. No individual history was given to those leather boots, or at least none but what the shop owner witnessed. They were magical things which appeared sumptuously presented on wooden shelves, bought with metal coins, then shoved onto hungry feet. But those native moccasins, they were animals in a different form. Creatures sewn together by skill and culture. Those moccasins told a story, that every brown skinned was aware of.
Oh, how I longed to share the joy of that story. How I longed to race with the buffalos, my leather tails dancing with the thump of my feet, how I longed to be free. I was not born for a life of conquest. I did not thirst for the captivation of new territory, and the growing of alien crops in a wild land. I wanted to call this wild thing, this new world my home, not my investment. I wanted to be one with all that pulsed through the quiet trees and the cry of hawks. I wanted to be free.
My name is Mary Ann, and I am not a real pioneer. I'm just a bird in a cage so to speak, a bird waiting to be unveiled. To run and run into deep forest and never come back.

Watery heart

The eternal, unforgiving void of a desire unquenched, a desire instead fed by the monstrosities of the illogical mind...
"Come" it whispers, fierce and persuasive, "come to the everlasting cave of opportune dreams, come dwell with the rats and the kings and those inbetween, come join us in ceremonial thought. No hatred or demise will stir, nothing to wake you from pleasent dream, merely the sound of your own heart drowning"...

The Age Of Technology

What will this be... an expansion of digital nothing. Megalithic gears turn, a bastion for the creation of modern society. Still now, up in the grand, gleaming towers of corporate power, fate is decided. For fate is in their hands so long as we are compellingly lenient, consuming like hungry sows down here in our comfort boxes called houses, sitting here as those megalithic, synthetic gears turn to propel repelling magnets, to create the digital hemisphere of a new world. Now, nothing is tangible. Now, we are coalesced with a void of a crevice, pure and intangible idea. This is the age of technology.