Saturday, September 15, 2012

This May Be Used Against Me in Court

Bare bones of teeth combs tickle teat drones of bombed homes
Lone clones drop meat phones, robbed stones strip police robes
Stare for flair for televised improvision fighting fisted gloves
Loved for statist drugs & monetary rapist running the show

Slowed and stirred like molotov cocktails
Burning with the dead stars, housed in slave jails
Shining as bright as a flaming cigarette stuck in a bad mouth
Black and red and yellow and white and a maroon moron matching mouse

Kill or just kill because it's something to do
When you can't turn back time or have a clue

Praying to the misery god until five o'clock
Living the mystery life until you're knee deep in cock
Pulling the stage rope until time just stops
Or your breathing, either way.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

Blue and Old News

Follow the frames and you will get cornered
By the boys in blue
With radios singin' staged suicidal tunes
Sittin' in the back of a drug cafe
Attentive for your cream conversation
Stirred for a feelin'
Licked like a sidewalk drive-by peelin'
Who waves for the traffic cam voyager
And you burn your body on the grey asphalt
For a real sensation
To get a taste of trans-meditation
As you outline your existence in children's chalk
When everyday sticks together like the crust between your eyes
& the chewed gum in your frontal pockets
Picked with steel forks in electrical sockets
You're keepin' it so cool that it's old news
Time to blow your brains with nicotine
Time to level the tides with more alcohol
Instead of stickin' your soles on money balls
Roll with the spiked punch and not give a fuckin' shit

Saturday, June 9, 2012


I walked through the most crowded house

By the Broadway Market with a package in my bag

I dared not to know the contents inside

But it burned my hand with every gracing pass of a finger tip

I wrote 7 poems in my head along the way and forgot every word except "Validity"

Oh, how I marched through the doorways

Like a follower of Jim Morrison or Jesus Christ

The golden juice sat in my hand like a Snitch

And the hat sat on the bed, giving me 15 years of bad luck

I recalled his face, but never from a real life memory

He dismembered my friend, not a real friend, more like an associate

I've dreamed of her before, but never reconnected

"Just take a pass, look through the mall and you will know all"

Under the door, laid women weeping in blankets

Like the legs of caterpillars smashed by a unicycle,

They weeped helplessly as I strolled on by

And I looked in their eyes,

covered heads for no hair dared to wave hello

I imagined they were a 6-string activist and nothing more

It was a failed comedy that did well at the box office

A masturbation session that was inconclusively delayed

A paid politician that wrote a speech in 5 minutes

A paragraph for every personal venture

Of a folk singer that never made a laugh

On the first line that waits for a perfect time

Where a book of matches told a better story than the Bible ever did

"In order to create, one has to be destroyed"

I always wondered why they cut out paper-people from the pages

And briefly showed off the most important text like it was meaningless

I'm too drunk to have an audience smile or quit a job they hate

When the questions make a punched clown wish they were in an expert in apathy

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Talk Show Rubbish

The world is a screaming massacre on a fuzzy AM radio station
Popping bullets on the Grand Central bus stop
Ending existence with a wig and a holy Sharpie
Clothed in iron sadness for the devil madness to drop
Walking miles to steal smiles set in clock dials
Turned celestial sovereignty from the modern hop
Pigtailed with a pillow for suffication
Which suffices more than an armed cop
Toking fluoride pills in the back of a flourishing dumpster bin
Longing for the bells of crack pipes to play rushing songs
Loaded in the man-made loyal loneliness
Looking for anyone to come along

Friday, June 1, 2012

The Chant Poem

Capturers seek to take the mind,
But will never steal the Heart
Flawed by the way,
Never stay from the start
Don't listen to the informers,
For the eye be evil in nature
Molded not from earth,
But from worldly paper

Propaganda is their architecture,
Deception is their rapture
Light is to our vapor,
Oneness is truth of taper
Never fear,
Here is now,
Take one step each time,
You will know how

Suffering banks illusion when you allow,
But thou shall know the forever vow
Formed from nothingness,
Aglow far from ego
The experience of endless vertigo,
Away from foolish pride
Sided with the Most High,
H.I.M. that grants us this life

Framed in the omniverse,
They try to spoon us lies
Divided by their selfish advice,
Still trying to criminalize the wise
Don't let it cage the truth that underlies,
For the skies answers the "whys"
Vast in freedom, endless in observation,
Baptized from disguise

Still there exists pain,
Still there exists love and truth
The balance of humanity
Is more than the eye can see,
Money cannot buy the Covenant,
But awareness can guarantee the life of the Tree,
Branch out, float in the space around you,
Land where you be, and the knowledge of freedom is guaranteed.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

As Much Freedom As

If only ashes had a voice of despair, I'd chew them in my mouth for stimulation
For a lovemaking suit of a severed tongue in a galactical parked van
Offering red balloons for bullet wounds and candle wax trails,
To hear the wisdom under an ultrasound radar,
Ravished and unspoken, tokened and traded Neptune philosophy,
I'd romanticize a thousand imaginary fantasies of the lost minds who offered their beings to the slag market.

Like the dance of the secret service and militarized brothels
Banging bedposts of Liberty barebacked, delighted,
I surf the hallways of corporate gardens,
Picking unbloomed fruits, the blossoms that burst in allergens,
Mysteriously swallowing the winters waiting to come around,
Alive and unsound in the old days of cable news.

A town of infected sheep sleeping soundly in mourning trees,
Tousled by humanitarian torpedoes aimed at the esophagus,
Routinely stripped searched in glass screens for a bad mix tape
Hidden in a desk draw full of break up junk
Floating on a firework powered bicycle, burning
As much freedom as a ridden dogtooth.

Pinched between the unwashed digits and cucumber sandwiches,
A factory of the classy and coldly unsatisfied and unsurprised,
Smiling a wave at pricey pins on coat hangers,
Stalking the money round-about in shady armor for sleep,
The price of sold souls sewed on slowed grandfather clocks,
Ticking their chimes backwards for a dreamed far-away venture of child nostalgia.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Remorse for Modern Art

Looking from the outside in, swallowing words into a vast ocean of meaningless garbage,
Picking apart what has not existed, only to frame what a simpleton can comprehend.
They shatter the art with their phlegm-brained elegies, for death is the cost of a published paper back-scratcher,
Petting political rants like a wet dog; a cat in heat that mews at the moonlight.

Coped with degrees of insecurity, though affirmed by their debts in communist Beatnik-wannabe gatherings
Around round tables topped with overpriced wine and lacking feasts, stumbling as if their process of mind was any clearer when sober.
So high strung in their store bought nooses, framed in their over-hanging eye wear;
Oh original, I see! None like the whores before your time, you be.

The cafes, now lost without cigarette smoke, now lost without the mad men, lost without troubles of real despair, without merit or purpose--
Harvesting rotten fruits from the flats of naive screamers, pocketing perfect polished papers of mouth-water.
No where do I belong with such death trap for a cover charge, no where shall I seat myself amongst the deaf and dumb,
For the Judge already exists in the soul, whether you bash him in the mouth with His own hammer or sidetrack Him with a little skin.

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Fabricators of America

The Fabricators of America wove a cloth with their own spit and fecal matter, vomited stripes of pride and stars of suicide. The Fabricators raped and enslaved their own people for a fiat nightmare made up of little kids' dreams, who played in dirty needle alleyways, who licked lead painted walls, and drank from asbestos fountains. Those shape shifters with masks of a billion phrases that rhymed with change came to liquefy gold for blood, tore tectonic plates in halves and sky-wrote 666 grids in the suburbs.

The Fabricators of America sold careers with venture smiles with parsley stuck between their tooth-rots, gathered face-pages for terror watchers, fisted the international community with their grubby hand-plants. They washed the brains of the youth with arsenic and ammonia, slimed their way to ensure that more soldiers hung themselves for the evil the One-Eye commander. The Fabricators opened their corpse-purses and chucked pennies for bloodsheds hidden behind freedom propaganda kits for a uniform and necklace.

The Fabricators bombed the media and education system with white phosphorus, deforming the truth into a mailable glass that enclosed the public to turn to ignorance and hard drugs. They've routed the child traffic highway and commercial food industry, so that we were reminded who owns who. The Fabricators of America lusted for civil unrest, to weed out the rest and throw them into military prison camps that capped the unshepherded behind silver barbwire.

The Fabricators met on their ships, glowed with Luciferian rituals to praise their genetic modifications. Those who refused to be implanted were left to rot from point-blank rounds of poisonous darts; those that refused were cast in the dark pit of unworthy snake chambers. The Fabricators of America created a land that no one would understand from just a glimpse of a computer screen.

Saturday, March 31, 2012

Skid Row

My baby came home all strung up,
all shining and beautiful
like a candy wrapper on the streets of Skid Row,
waiting to be played for the system
that camps out for change
even when the dollar has been broken since 1913.

I spent the day smoking it down the filter.
hoping cancer comes to me sooner
and spreads indefinitely to my casket,
pondering how a soul could be so infinite
in a world that couldn't give less than a fuck
about the whole story.

I imagined that God experiences time
like a whisper going a million miles an hour
slowed down to a chop and screw,
enough to make any modern man
blow his brains out
on a crowded bank of bird shit and plastic.

The CEOs pronounce "freedom" as "capitalism"
and Washington's security is for our safety,
and the cops finger their noses for taxes,
and the people hide in their houses for entertainment,
and the children play doctor for excitement,
and I'm never sober for the hell of it.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

The Ego Of A Writer

What is the formula to be a writer?
Well, I'll tell ya:

A pair of eyes to flood the brain,
A set of ears to hear the pain,
A pot of coffee to feel the tongue,
A packet of cigarettes to burn the lungs,
A love that hurts more than desire,
A spot of rum to flame the fire,
A can of ash to build a book,
A life that everyone overlooks.

Times a band of dirty socks,
Divided by a history of cocks,
Subtracted by common demure,
Plus a voice of pure allure,
Accompanied by natural luck
And the people that actually give a fuck,
A tour to masturbate the media scene
& magazines to give you a dream.

All together equals the ego of a writer
Draining the fluid from life's lighter.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Gone to Hades

Schools are for strippers
High on fluoride pills,
They do not care what they lose
As long as they can prostitute their existence.

A rat cage for political experiments,
The agenda to house the psycho-intelligence,
Bleeds through the pages
Of mind-wash laundry basket manuals.

The professors are system pimps
Polishing paper cuts cuddled in framed degrees,
Stacking their affirmed knowledge
Amongst biblical textbooks honored at their alters.

Art is no more than a copy skill here,
Poetry is fecal bags for the dream eaters,
History is a balled piece of notebook paper in the waste can,
Time is everything to make the dollar stand.

We're living to die,
To know that we mattered;
What a wonderful world
Gone to Hades.

Monday, December 5, 2011

Hail Madness

We're all here again
Relating more to pain
Since we are all just sad, sorry fucks
With one too many drinks
And a stockpile of roaches,
Empty cans resembling our brains
Next to the cartons of ash bibles.
Well, "pleasure is pain", anyways
That's what they say at least.
Loveless like one hogging the love seat
Wrapped in insecure blankets of smoke screens
Bleeding through tongue-tooth piercings.

Whoa, humanity, so paper-like,
So roboticly sounded
In every swoon to take doom
To the bedroom
And eat her pussy out.
So twisted to blow kitchens
With drone kisses
To the brain lesions;
I'm so impressed to get undressed
In front of screen saviors
For the night light mimics
Politically recorded misbehavior.

What a sorry state we are left in,
What a lonely place I live in
Where madness proves wonder
And wonder proves nothing
And nothing gives something to the madness,
It's exactly what everything else lacks in.
Tragically, concealed for the masses
Because happiness can't be capitalized,
Except for the ones showing off their asses
While everyone else capsizes--
Keep relating to pain
Everyone else is here anyways.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Life and then Some

Politics becomes a drinking game
When the debates start to feel the same
I'm not ashamed of what I became
But I'm not used to this spinning fame

Understanding without knowing
It comes easy when you're not showing
From a balcony time is slowing
That's when my dreams start flowing

A cigarette for my cold bare hands
A novelty that I can't comprehend
The gossip that breeds on command
Won't ever meet my ancient demands

In the grand scheme of everything
Dangles infinity on a string
& it swings from a young white dove's wing
Wondering what red gifts it could bring

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Women Are

Women are
delicate summer flowers
hacked off
by the vicious blade
of a lawn mower
screeching like
an old dog's howl
under fingernail thorn piercings
with soft skin
like velvet rainfalls
over funeral mornings
pouring down a sewage stream
of shanty town ghettos.

Women are
oyster pearls
swallowed by ignorance
and purged in personal notes,
talked like doll-faced
bedroom jerk offs
wide eyed
in wonder
with ribbons
tied at the throats
forced to sing
off key
mainstream madness.

Women are
faint rainbows
teasing folklore
gold lovers
licking dirty truck windows
on highway go-go bars,
the water mirage
on a desert surface
when you most need a drink
that fades
like sinking guilt
swallowed by
quicksand romances.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011


Terrible movie-like dreams,
maybe prophecy or tripping,
tube breathing,
13 year-old sinners,

concert winners,
ghost whisperers,
death defying forces,
"Wild Horses" ♫,

nude choices,
basement jails,
microphoned schools,
police state rules,

lab created diseases,
the servitude that never pleases;
Dreams like movies.

Friday, August 12, 2011

CCTV Love Poem

If I had to calculate the hours and dollars spent
To record the disconnected urban civilians
To ensure our justice is met,
I would indefinitely go insane
From the time frame that has created
A brave new 1984 society showing off for the lenses
Caught by a one eye reflection,
Jostled by the Americana fabrication,
Leaving freedom waiting like
Insects digging for hopelessness,
Like the anarcho-pie-thrower at the Murdoch trial
Dripping in loony froth captured by point-and-shoots,
Invisible now to the riots of London towns
That were set ablaze in the corporate gaze
Of banging glass sound explosions
By ghetto squats claimed by poor comrades
That were established unsafe from community colleges
For murder-loving poems of war veterans,
Sullen in their sad states of drunken loneliness
Served by the communist and socialist clowns
Crooning at dusk when the zombie croaks come out
And their heads full of lead to ease the trauma
While blurring each day by mind control,
Nodding at the elite teleprompter
Where information babbles like the brooks bubbling in opaque bongs
Glowing from a television sets mocking and laughing and laughing,
Laughing, laughing, laughing, as if we should be smiling at a time like this
When punched walls becomes the common decor
Along with burnt marks & ashes on coffee stands
Struggling for art madness in airbrushed models
Between their Photoshopped cleavages and camel-toed personalities
Lost in fantasies of Film Bums lost in fictional conversations
Lost in back bars of bare backs lost in jointed over thinking, dwelling
Since there's no work to be done except internally
Where the market fails to profit and lacks yuppie Viagra
To slave for the Federal Reserve fiat currency
Weighing our wallets and emptying our brain stem juice,
Shackled by the institutionalized cops coming on webcams
From their lost pot of coffee crack baffled at the marijuana mind,
Condemned by fundamentalist rapture flashers
And the Zionist courts cupped by the sack of the anti-scientist
Hitting puberty in truck stop bathrooms under etched "good time" numbers,
Late bloomed and consumed by dimensions of meaningless realities
Marked by tattooed chips implanted with 1010011010 designs
Listening to our very conversations and nakedness,
For the perverted politician pounding on the taxes and
Skywriting the slums of the low income population,
And scatter brains to decorate the street lamps with colour,
Besides the blue lights echoing sirens
To shatter the security of the night walkers.

All that I need are pictures floating from balcony trees singing
Of dead pin-ups and closeup plant crystals coating my blood stream,
Infesting and caressing balanced pituitary & pineal glands
In order to stand the experience of rejecting ego plans
That would rather indulge in physical pleasure,
Which never comes and blows away in rip tides
On seas of everlasting security of the cosmic royalty
That lays in the hearts of all mere beings
Who are awaken, awoken, and seeking,
Across bell-free towers and strip malls
& strip clubs and freeways,
Looking back on something not exactly aware
Of their coughing/coffin of double helix codes
Sown in oil buttons of our Chinese robes.

Lo an' behold! Bottom feeders,
On the railway roads
Sleeping by sewage plants
& stripped concrete streets in a cold season,
There's always something better
Than this same sleepy town
Down and out of well water baths
With the same angry barber shop loitered by teenaged druggies
Looking for the same way out as everyone else.

Oh closed-circuit cunt-screen, why must you bother me?
Why must you record for the govern-lords
That tatter like young Napoleons smacking a tether ball
Back and forth, a scratch for a scratch in the loom of evenin's moon?

For every still taken by store,
Fuck you,
For every turned neck lens staring back at me and them and us,
Fuck you,

For every recorded call and surveillance stolen innocence,
Fuck you.
Fuck you grand ol' government and the Satan that backs you,
Fuck you for hijacking this state of being,

For every cigarette banned and drug demonized,
Fuck you,
Fuck you,
Fuck you.

Fuck. You.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011


Empty handed apologies reaching towards me
where I have learned to love & see
for every grief is a returned joy,
a part of myself longing to not be destroyed
and the past is unwelcome
as my ego withers in the dry sun,
passed by the passing fly's hum,
decayed in a way that fades to none.

Dark repetitions of squalor numbers,
possible death threats of inevitable afflictions
from rushing neurotic compulsive waking slumbers
followed by addictive deceptions from my restrictions.
A haunting to pass the time
when you've run out of cellar wine
to swallow inside your empty brain,
too plain to pay for a black and white fame.

Lips like cherries hung between two peace fingers
dripping forgetfulness as the outside lingers
warm grassy dew-dreams in shallow creeks
lost by hill peaks among the hazy weeks
taken in stills and photographic memory,
nude and unasked, but existing,
rough like files of emery,
but twisting in her insisting,
broken, but whole and ratified,
continuously born and dead and satisfied,
smiling like a faithful street;
If you're all that I need then why can't I sleep?

Thursday, July 28, 2011


Her eyes where strawberries half eaten

by ant hills and parachuted pills

popping passenger paperhanger small talks

clocked in silver tongue look away confessions

and she bit the skins of many bottom lips

just in case it wasn't a mistake of imaginations,

loving herself in lone reflected lust

locked inside mistrusted paranoid rust

rotting under thousands of mind fucks

floating in blue lights captured by slight glances,

caught between the valleys and troughs of nothing's cost.

"Ctrl, Alt, Delete" they cry,

"Rise and rise or everyone will die!"

Fought on the campaigns of fear'd hive slaves

Stitching their fallen morals on foreheads.

She sees repeated seas sunk under tree trunks

stuck in grimy lost-thought stillness,

vanished by impaired drones

dragging their fist in everyone's brain.

Will her claims remain ignored

by Do-Not-Disturb door signs

or hushed by market masters

after truth speakers leaking troubled instincts?

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Something & Nothing

Spools of endless planes

driven over cycled chains,

long, thought-gone and lived,

whether found or ignored,

stretching immeasurable space echoes

endlessly unifying all that exist

within a tree cosmos,

expanding/retracting/blooming/f a d i n g,

quenched by everlasting knowledge-dew

proving the beyond that was never gone--

it's living in our head-room,

pulsating light windows in resume.

There's Nothing that you see,

& Something that you don't believe,

everything that you will be

manifests in your dreams.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Repeat After Me: I Am Free

Running, always in circular patterns carving

Truth within the caves and valleys of my brain

Etched and typed in the eyes of the few

Who seek to expand the infinite walls crashing around them

A continuous fleeting wanting fading & overcoming

Static paradox pushing through thought-water

Floating in plain view, bobbling on the surface

Closing lids for dream-speak lucid escapements

Morning becomes this different view from night paranoia

Sailing on a fragment of insecurity and misunderstandings

The words held on for so long becomes an outcast

Claimed for the occult when the truth is too hard to stomach

Upside down deadbeats born to accommodate law,

To serve you food, to cut your hair, or to uplift anti-nature

With their rules and the rules made from nothingness

Which they fear because we are all fucked

Happiness isn't anything more than a chemical boost from neutral

Since everything in reality is what we make of it

There has never been a matter or circumstance to create emotion

Just a false illusion to justify reactions

Friday, June 24, 2011

Inside-Out Phenomena

I chalked telepathic progressing teaching fields in concrete gardens

to farm dead calls of road picketers by the stumbled railway voices

so far from realistic waste art that a bashing tumor brings

a cheap city back blood bath radioactive, old and shared.

The future drunk reasons for tired souls tied across landlines

where crows sit along and starve

have become tattooed landmarks

staring down at the loss of humanity wishing for a break in the brainwashing.

Dunn becomes the wires, a fence following drawings

underneath seasons with insane phone trees against the streets with light torches

paired in threes of fleeting sacrificial dream keys for your jeweled casket rings

when you become used for enemy funding while elites blow streets of civilian children

& multimillion slaves go about their days as if nothing is happening.

If I had everything on your wall, I'd be just as stupid and shallow

as the mop bucket of your Mexican maid laid between cracks of pavilion seats

in raunchy downtown peep theaters that matches your fake tan and veneered smile

for secluded stolen states of genocidal rein filling up my pocket notebook

of all the ignorance that I see everyday.

Shared and old, radioactive blood bath

back city cheap tumor brings bashing waste art

so far from stumbled railway voices of road picketers

to farm dead calls teaching fields in concrete gardens

chalked in telepathic progress.

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Alive in Make Believe Town

The ward plays sad songs
And you lay in your prismatic mind,
Unfolding the paper planes
Swimming in your conscious ocean;
So in tuned to find room
For bottled poems like potions
To cure your mad eye.
There's a man freezing
Outside the bars
In a blistered sun
And you sung about him
Long ago, after the snow
Had dried in the afternoon,
Too soon to miss the show.
Lassoed, lonely with no where to go,
Feeling low like no tomorrow.
Forever is always tongue-in-cheek
Where speaking easy comes naturally.
We get so tied down
To get around 'Make Believe' town,
Spinning reality on a table top,
Too fast to stop
Listening to sleeping dreams
And empty silent telephone rings.
We must be going wild
Since the night takes a while
To fall for tasteless jokes,
Hooked on noses of common folk.
You never know when I'll make room
For a bothered tune
About a mad girl
Like the one in every world
That curls her fingers in her hand
After listening to a bad band
And a raunchy news story
On the black one-eyed screen.
We become these pre-criminals
Waiting to be searched
Like up-skirted brothel babes
Bending over for another round of feel-ups.
Is this the only touch that gets nauseous?
No one should live with a feeling like this.

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Friday, May 20, 2011

Rapture Blues (Goodbye Dumb World)

This is the last morning I'll ever see
And the last evening waiting for me.
No one knows when it will end,
But everyone is pretty positive.
That the hologram will twist a joke
And I'll toke in the name of God
--God, have they taken this too far?
Oh, forget it, I know the answer to this.
I wonder where their consciousness will float.
Will it sail on an endless boat,
Tied to numerical rights and false hope
Recorded in a historical cope?
You can't run the show
With a billion billboard frights,
Lighting the emptiness in small pocketed mights
To fall for your rounds: let it go.
We all hunger for something real
But do we have to distract for a meal?
I won't be apart of the cruel games
Because everything still remains the same.

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Monday, April 4, 2011

Libre Knowledge: A Glimpse into a Free World

The history of man kind has evolved through the exchange of one's thoughts to another, either accepted or rejected. Soon, as thoughts were being written down, the words that seemed to hold a higher authority over other works gripped each individual society and blossomed cultures that were either taken over or morphed into a settle reminder of the past by the means of words that took authority. What gave these "special" thoughts power?

Fast-forward to our time, the era of today is known as The Information Age (as well as The Age of Deception). The access of informative resources are made available in exchange for currency. At this point we are expect to abide by a system of money and the only kind of people that can (and will) invest their money only do so if that goal of profit is attained. If thoughts for other thoughts was a currency, wouldn't that be considered a huge profit? Instead, we shouldn't have the a deist mindset about ideas, but more of a recognition within the collected consciousness of all that exist in the universes. The fact is when thoughts are established into a recognizable format, society and the writer profits from a true sense of enlightenment.

The very thoughts that we sense in ourselves, even the very thoughts on this page have been realized for all of existence just in different ways. As time goes on, these thoughts evolve but their original intent is still clear and accepted. So, why should we expect something in exchange for ideas that are already open to the minds of those who connect spiritually? The truth is there are ideas on the market that only serves evil on a silver platter. It is not that these ideas themselves are inherently evil, but the purpose they serve is to distract from intelligence.

The world will be enlightened by libre knowledge since the thoughts of freedom cannot be profited. To achieve this dream, we must forgive the people who've enslaved us, forgive ourselves for following a path of greed in order for others to forgive us for enslaving them. This will clear the conscious of any wrong doings only if love is accepted and reflected. The universe that we float in wants to hear that positive energy, the only way we can destroy the evil that lurks around blind eyes. Open your eyes, you are reality. You are connected with all of existence that gives and takes. Do not be the one keeping score, for more than you realize that life works in each individuals' favor. Through the struggles comes virtue and that virtue paves our destiny right before our very eyes.

[Author's Note: Libre knowledge is free knowledge, it is free resources that allows the people to be informed. Right now at this very moment people are being imprisoned for sharing information. The government is afraid of people like us who acknowledge the evil that is being committed. Start sharing secret information, start sharing the truth. You are apart of the revolution.]
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Friday, April 1, 2011

Mindful Healing

"As any change must begin somewhere, it is the single individual who will experience it and carry it through. The change must indeed begin with an individual; it might be any one of us. Nobody can afford to look round and to wait for somebody else to do what he is loath to do himself. But since nobody seems to know what to do, it might be worth while for each of us to ask himself whether by any chance his or her unconscious may know something that will help us." --C. G. Jung

It is becoming ever increasingly clear to my awaken self what I must do to continue the love and the stance for our freedom. I can't offer a philosophy or a religion because it is way past the means for a solid solution in this modern day. The conscious mind must act and portray the reflection of honest activism without some kind of leadership of intentions, moral right, or in the name of doing good deeds. If we want to experience the resolution to ending the power of elitist, as a whole we should continue to fight expressing our love for true individuality and self-sufficiency.

Instead of searching for a purpose or searching to do good deeds, BE that purpose. BE that good deed. Just do what your heart tells you, follow the symbols in your dreams. The unconscious mind is such an amazing tool to guide us to the inner truth within ourselves. We share the collective potential to defeat evil, to defeat greed and the power over human nature.

We are given free life by the means of the sun and the earth, yet we are slaves to propaganda, illusions, and more specifically paper monopoly money. I feel as though my time will come soon to act in expression with my unconscious mind through my conscious being. I feel it in my bones that I will be on those streets spreading the message, fighting for the freedom of man and woman. The people are calling for real change, expelling the lies shoved down the throats of newscasters into the stereos of home television screens. Will see I any of you there fighting along side humanity?
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Saturday, March 19, 2011

Tomahawks in Libya

America thinks it can resolve
The situations that don't concern us
I don't see how it's any part of me
I'm not falling for your blood lust

What is peace when no one's free
When your fingers on the trigger of a war machine
How many will die for us to feel safe
Yeah I do have a problem your crooked face

Standing in the line of fire
Barbaric acts of selfishness
You don't care about the people
You only want to seek "righteousness"

I can't believe they award scum like you
Who are you trying fool
There's nothing you can do
To excuse your terrorist mood
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Thursday, March 10, 2011


"If I'd written all the truth I knew for the past ten years, about 600 people - including me - would be rotting in prison cells from Rio to Seattle today. Absolute truth is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism." --Hunter S. Thompson

The beginning of educational deception
Holds an important key
For those of the robot age
Where information is programmed
By images and "facts"
So that we can push a button
And make a few quarters
For a processed meal
Full of drugs
Full of poisons
But we don't care
Since we have become dominated
By technology
Tearing subliminal messages in our brains

We have forgotten to dream
To feel [real]
Love & happiness
Growth no longer becomes an option
Only avail to those who seek
Who protest the everyday
Fear mongrel that taps
In our radar
Waiting to attack our security
With lies to keep us inside
Away from nature
In it's vicious law
And all thought is lost
Because they listen

The real composers are snuffed out
From the market
Since no one cares
For a writer's reality
No one looks into words
Unless it's fantasy
In a Disney form
With gold on a string
To dangle right in our view
In hopes that
Some day
One day
They could hold
The false satisfaction

I hope to free myself
And the world
From the chains
That bounds our brains
To the objective
Of the elitist
Since the truth
Is more powerful
Then any curtain
That hides the bones
And when it all comes down
There will be those
Who won't fall with the rest
--The people of the revolution will last

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Sunday, March 6, 2011

Being the Thinker

"Out of damp and gloomy days, out of solitude, out of loveless words directed at us, conclusions grow up in us like fungus: one morning they are there, we know not how, and they gaze upon us, morose and gray. Woe to the thinker who is not the gardener but only the soil of the plants that grow in him." --Friedrich Nietzsche

I have forgotten the last time it rained, particularly on a Sunday. I was hoping the weather would get warm again, but based on the 10-day forecast, it doesn't seem likely. After a night spend reading anarchist poetry, I found myself in a familiar spot thinking about the direction the NWO is taking our society. Hilary Buttrod Clinton has the feminist of the world on her hands. I feel like I am back in elementary school, reading Times for Kids for school assignments, post-9/11 when the vampires made me write about Muslim girls who aren't allowed to go to school. I used to think about all the civilians we were killing just for what we thought was right. Sometimes I want to cut my own fucking throat for watching the bombings in Gaza on live TV. My mother said this would be a very important time in history and I watched from the comfort of my damned American home. Every time the images come back to me I am overwhelmed with guilt. How many people can you say thinks like this?

I always wanted to be a "gardener" but the constrictions of my youth led me to settle for robotic personalities and I allowed the weeds to grow. Finally, I was faced with a turning point in my early adulthood that allowed me to clear away the excess of traumatized lies that refuted the light that was waiting for me. See, we can blame our past or whatever meaningless criticization, but as an individual we have a choice to lead our lives for what is True. We are responsible for our garden called "Life" and we must tend to it no matter what storms through it, we are expected to take control & maintain a positive growth. There will always be people who are programmed to refute the truth, so it is the individual's responsibility to stand strong and never cease expressing the power of one's mind. Awakenings are sure to occur but that is only when the mind is ready to destroy the illusions it once faithfully obeyed.

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Friday, February 25, 2011


I don't mind sitting all by myself
In my head with no one else
I'll get by with nobodies help
Everything is fine, everything will be alright

I've got my drink and my bag of weed
I've got no faith in my television screen
All my troubles are the least of me
Everything is fine, everything will be alright

And my lover hates it when I cry
"Do you even care if you die?
I like what you did with your eyes"
Everything is fine, everything will be alright

I quit my job that was killing me
A slave for the man that's after me
And all I got is what will get me free
Everything is fine, everything will be alright

But I hate the way I'm missing everyone
And all my friends, well they have their fun
And I'm here stoned watching the waking sun
Everything is fine, everything will be alright
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Monday, February 21, 2011

They Would Never Publish This in Your School

Information is dying, the truth withers in the hands of flaming liars holding the world with a knife to it's neck. In the midst of an endless war, genocide is played down and greed is fulfilled licking it's sharp tongue on every eye and ear. We stand in our own blood, the blood of our brothers & sisters who fight for revolution, who fight for freedom and love. Yet with the sea of empty souled bodies coasting each wave, the only way for society to come out of the cave is to recognize the manipulation.

If only you could see with you eyes closed, and if you do then you feel the betrayal. We are taught every paid-published lie there is to know, conquered by the funding of elite murders. The last dose of truth will be heard even by the deaf so be ready by keeping your ears open. Realize that there are white lies waiting to trap your mind and emotions.

We have become witnesses of a dark place that evil lurks and stares in it's mask of a million. This will not survive. The suffering will end once the universe is enlightened by love and truth. As humans, we must end the judgement, end the hypocrisy, and start a new age of freedom.
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Wednesday, February 2, 2011

An Addition to the Thoughts of Humanity

Every thought of mine leads to a question; why aren't we considering that drunkened state of mind that rejects the wave length of time and reality that indents it's meshing in our current state where we draw the line from the insane to sane? I wonder where these people are who hear and taste the truth even beyond the physical realm from which we all could learn from. I believe we should all accept the fair warning of the danger that leads all people far away from the evidence that proves our purpose in this world.

There is so much more then what we face, there is so much love we fail to embrace because we have become so weakened by the importance of what others have always profitted on in this system. I am supressed by this reality to be close with The Truth because of the concern of judgement by the people who slave for evil.

I am human like the rest of you.

There is no going back on words (much like there is no going back in time at this point) and there is no point in rejecting what stares you right in the face. It takes a real person to get inebriated to know this difference of a settled state of mind from a higher state of mind. How can you please yourself first without considering the benefit of others from the thoughts you convey and the actions you take? We are all connected by The Truth, whether we believe in it or not; It belives in us.

This point in our existence signifies our purpose to expose the control and destruction of nature. We all can agree that the weight of this world bares a heavy burden to understand it's deception. It's a lonesome feeling when most fail to grasp the significance of the survival of the real mind. I want to be that bridge that fills in the gaps of heavy waterways.

Creativity has become a market and therefore only benefits those who are on top of the pyramid scheme. You can't publish truth because it isn't marketable. No one wants to be told what could be discovered when their minds are filled with unfilling fantasy where everyone is told what to dream & think. Our society has set the ranks of who deserves what and who gets to thrive.

It is alright to forget to write for yourself or anyone because that is not what words are for, it is the affirmation of every true thought that breathes within every living thing. We have to forgive ourselves for following the wrong path before we can accept forgiveness from another. This is an important time to reflect that we cannot forget.
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Thursday, December 23, 2010

Smiling Doves

In the quiet corners, uplifting the walls

That carves our names in memorable patterns,

How fearful we have become, falling away from

The world that wonders around our minds,

Whispering the forgotten secrets of the past,

Outlasting any empire left undiscovered

In the bare view, staring at our enslaved spirits.

The simple desires that leaves me calm,

Always yearning for a dose of honesty that brings along

Visions of beautiful, crystallized freedom songs

That rains down smiling doves & warm fires;

You don't have to leave just quite yet.

I may be found out, but I still do believe in you

& I may be locked out from any empathy,

But it's alright inside my static aged brain.
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Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Not It.

People crouching on the high rooftops

shouting for dignity, a decency to be looked in the eye

and be acknowledged like "Hey, I'm a fucking human being too!"

The walls are thin with a see-through destruction, climbing

& carrying with it, it's mouth full of hypocrisy.

I see the hurt in all it's swaying, shattering the curtain

as they march between with their staggering poles.

Yet another example of blind fold that etches wounds

on every person that lives within the perimeter

of the Not Rich, while the high class is just pawned off

to make someone else even richer.

There is no such thing as spreading the wealth,

only a carrot on string

tide right in front of everything;

A make believe marathon that only losers run and winners lose.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Loth Vogue

The headlines of terrorized newscasters
plagues fear on the common citizen
that waits for abrupt destruction,
suckling from the reality tv
that makes us believe we are apart of it all.

Tough Love is what we all need
when we become that deceptive to
alternate the perception
that we have been granted with;
I wonder how we've become this dull.

How can I break away from this structure
that tells me how to adjust to this
culture that ravishes in materialization,
emptying the pockets of hungry soil
deprived from the care of nature?

We sit upon layers and layers of illusion,
even the dots that collect
the very text that I speak from
can only be conceived if you step within the system;
Has this become a curse?

Saturday, September 18, 2010

A Guilty Fit

Forcing pledges in piles
of smoke-screened pride potions
down the throats of kids,
taking the life out of suspicious
cowards hiding behind
little lies that grip us
farther from the truth
each day that we allow
the slum to gather in our veins;

The brains they wish they could consume,
invading the little specks that
wash ashore in our heads,
lying among the company of
broken titled thoughts that
only real dreamers would imagine,
passing back and forth against reality.

I hope everyone is reminded
of the blindfolds that smother
our vision, the in depth perception
is long gone for those who
etch themselves deeper in "society."

These are the wilted rain drops
that burns your eyes,
a sweet shotgun-to-the-mouth feeling,
dripping outbreaks of liquidated,
contiguous words that burrow
in the skin of weak beings.

This could be the only life line
cast in our direction that could take hold
in our current time,
instead of expecting things to change
when we start to feel like it.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Influx of a New Moon

Tell me how it is

When the dinner of a vulture's feast,

Nothing's left under twined chandeliers

For the winds to carry to the northeast.

The more I feed on faithless songs,

The more I feel out of place,

It could be just like the rest of long

Days that fade to a dusty case

[Of me vs. the world.]

Despite what I've been told,

The dim lights of denial

Ropes in anyone that feels old

Fingering the spinning telephone dial.

I've been replaced with sensible luck,

The rhythm of speaking tongues that tell

Me how to take in truth, so fuck

Anyone that doesn't understand my hell.

Friday, August 6, 2010

The Magnetism of Mirrored Threads

The consciousness of the universe, as a general whole of all things, continues to mirror and reflect our reality. That is why Astrology is so profound, because simply it mirrors our existence in this world. As the universe continues to expand and contract, we are then faced with the truth of death and re-birth. The Earth is much like a human being, it functions the way we all do in our daily lives.

It leads me to wonder if even this consciousness matters on the level of which our society has used it to make it meaningful. By making our time meaningful to them, we subject ourselves to the mind slavery and the capitalist rape of existence.

As we merge along the strange loops of pin-point truths that outwardly express itself within all of media, where do we stop to step along the Willy Wonka elevators of perception? Think of the ability to surface along a water of reality, able to emerge yourself through different universes. But even with the different views, what is the significance of knowing who you are?

Thursday, July 8, 2010

When You Are Dead

At this mere chance of blissful, bitter-sweet reality that unfolds paths to true enlightenment we have all fallen into a pit of never-ending lies about life. I fear the generations that fall after me, even though there are not many of my own that will snap out of this insanity.

At this point, America has driven it's image so far up everyone's ass we have children now more concerned about what everyone thinks about them, trying to fit in with the new trends of music and clothing, forgetting what is really important about life. Public education has been a way to exploit that, clustering large amounts of people into a small toxic environment. I remember in elementary school there was that water fountain that tasted like lead, and in middle school we had fires in the boiler room, and in high school the halls were filled with warning signs of asbestos.

With a status update a click away, people are taking advantage of it by acting like it's The Jerry Springer Show, having online fights available for everyone to see. We are entertained by everyone's despair, I know I am. Everyday I have to relieve my pain and the government tries to say that's bad. You wonder why everyone goes crazy, well look it's simple we shouldn't be forced to live this way.

Truth is, our bodies will die, but our minds could live on, so be it if we allow it to. Our souls are fragile particles we shouldn't destroy. We have the chance to live up to our paths and help all others around us find their way to happiness too. Shouldn't that be what our consciousness is all about? This alternate universe is reaching out to us everyday to do good, and even though there is a lot of evil taking control of the image, we still can take back our reality. We are the revolution goddammit, we are the fucking innovators, the last hope anyone fucking has to get it right.

People it's time to wake up to this nonsense, this obsessive-compulsive love affair with materialization because it's all being controlled by the most evil beings we have come to know. The warriors within us is real, the true fight we have always been feeling within us is there, I know it. It is possible we have lived past lives, I hope we all have done good in those times. Even if you haven't here is your chance to turn things around.

From this point on you can look at the world, just taking a step back to the more simpler things about nature. The vibrations of the influence of magnetism within the galaxy is greatly reflected within our attitudes and decisions. It is not crazy to think that we can mirror the world hidden with our minds, but commonly instead we would rather copy what is popular in our society, thus never advancing to where we could be at this time. We are locked inside an envelope with the inability to go forth with simple cost effect technological advances because our economy is run by what can make someone else the biggest profit. Instead of providing everyone their basic essentials, which we can do since every good and service has become mass produced, so largely that we could effect everyone positively on a global scale but we don't because it is all about the money.

If there is any chance of survival, which I think is prominent if everyone is effected around the world (which we are!), we would have the ability to influence this reality to reach inside our minds and provide the solutions to the universe. That is the whole point of being selfless when it comes down to challenging yourself to greater heights of intelligence to assure this isn't all for nothing.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010


When you need a guarantee,
Some kind of trust that never comforts within,
You could wait forever, or never give in to the trouble.
Tell the ones you know it's okay to go slow about life
Because it's pretty nifty to know what is infinity.

Don't be afraid, we all fall in the arms of oblivion,
We already know that something's out there but it doesn't even matter.
Could we just be the speck of light that we see as them?
It's not abstract to think that we are full of ourselves,
Our egos are riding dry with no real character.

Is it too late to let go of the past,
Because time's not real and it's what we keep dying for.
We can pretend this light has real substance,
And we can waste our days documenting events,
But who is there to listen?

Don't be careless, it's not an excuse
To be lazy or go on a crazy kill spree.
Don't destroy yourself over this,
You will know what to is to be free when you finally go.
And even if you've never known a home, your mind is already there.

Friday, May 28, 2010

Songs I have remixed

Woah, My Love [Mix]
- The Flashbulb vs. Fleet Foxes

Purple Figaro
- Joker and Ginz vs. Madvillian