Lost and Found

All my limbs can become trees:

It’s like being lost and becoming found,

all in one brief moment of stillness.

Having the world at your weathered fingertips

but clenching your fist instead

in the hopes of holding onto a feeling.

It’s when I breathe deep, and you

You are at the end of my breath.

Returning it to me, filling me up.

Extracting any air of emptiness

Consuming a void I didn’t know I’d had

Taking a trip to a place that only exists in an alternate universe,

where I am floating through time with no relativity

And you return to me, your breath.

Inflating my lungs

It’s a century, if just for a second

A world of questions answered in a mystery unsolved.

It’s a kiss

Strong enough to lose yourself in,

safe enough still

to have become found.


The Karma Series – Law Two

Manifest...The Universe is constantly creating. With our every thought we add to that creation. May we always create that which is beautiful, joyful and loving.:


The Karma Series

2. The Law of Creation

“Life doesn’t just happen, it requires our participation. We are one with the Universe both inside and out. Whatever surrounds us gives us clues to our inner state. BE and DO yourself what you want to have in your life.”

My biggest fear in life is that I will get to a point when I am much, much older that I will not be able to do the things I have always loved. Life is a beautiful opportunity, and we are given life with the expectation that we make it to be everything it should possibly be. We can do this simply by doing the things that we love. When we are doing these things, whether we are doing them perfectly or we are just doing them for the sake of doing them, we are still PARTICIPATING. When we participate in things that shake our souls, motivate us and make us feel inspired and at peace we are in turn giving that positive energy to the world around us. The people surrounding us can feed off those wavelengths, and be motivated by your passion. Be passionate. Choose to create as often as possible.

The universe will thank you.

Shampoo for the Soul


Prompt #765. Describe in extreme detail a shower or bath. Talk about your process and make some connection between the cleansing and your life.

Here I am again, it’s raining. Inside, from a shower head. Made of plastic. Another modern invention for this modern world full of modern shit. And none of it really matters. We are back to square one, the water and I.

I come here to breathe, because it’s harder. I come here to think, because it’s quiet. I come here, because even in my bed I feel alone. But under the water, trickling down my thigh, rolling down my spine, I am experiencing solitude and not loneliness. I am experiencing warmth, I am coming clean. I am always so desperate, just to come clean.

jan 2015

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In spite of everything,
I have never known someone who loved life as much as I do.
It may not be well known,
it may not be made known by the words I write.
Because within them,
what you see is that life is full of unknowns,
and full of hurt.
What is not shown,
is the depth of love I have for moments that do not yet exist.
Those imagined moments are what keep me fighting.
The innate and insatiable love I have for this world,
is what keeps me in it.
Although I fight the urge to give in daily,
what I want to be known is why I do not give up.
I do not give up because despite of all the ugliness that consumes daily rituals,
there are moments that have not been made yet,
there are things in the future for me that must happen.
These are the things I love so much, the great unknown.
The humor and the quantity of things that I have not seen.
There are so many things I wish that I could forget,
things that have already been.
But I breathe in because of all the things that haven’t yet.
I want the world, I have since I was young.
I want the world, all of it.
Sometimes I want it in my hands,
and that is where my faults lie.
But the urge to have the world, to view it,
to be in it and to know it,
kicks me into gear and builds me up.
The only thing that gets me through the day,
is knowing that there are things that have not yet been found.
I guess thats why life can get so desolate.
When you consistently live for things that aren’t,
you forget to appreciate what is around you.
There lies my faults.
Not being able to see what is around me,
only being able to see what is in front.
And when the footsteps you are supposed to take are muddled,
how do you know which direction to move?
Despite what goes on in this mind of mine,
all of the darkness and solitude…
There has never been hate.
Actually it is what separates me I believe…
because in my laments there is a silver lining.
There always has been.
Whether it is in the form of dry humor,
or just a saturated attempt at a joke,
or a bright side.
I love this world, I live for this world.

Fighting For Your Life

Some of us don’t believe in fighting. But I would have never made it this far if I hadn’t fought for something. In times when I couldn’t fight for myself, I fought for my will to live. My will to find out what exactly in this big, and cold world I was here for. And in the times when it seemed like that was a lost cause, I still fought for each breath. Because I was fighting for something I loved.
Or maybe it was someone, it is always someone. Constantly battling my heart with my head, and my head with my heart. There is always a fight, a war waging in my mind. Whether it is for good, or for bad. I have never been at peace. But I have fought for it. During the period I had lost everything, and gotten myself to a new low. I remember the peace I felt, for a brief period. But looking back there was never a peace, because each and every day I fought myself. I fought against the terrible thoughts I had come to believe about myself. I fought for peace within my soul, because I knew that if I stopped fighting myself that I would lose. If I just decided, that I could go on, complacent, then I would never be. There is a hard thing about this life, the only thing I wish I could undo. There is a fact about living on this earth that makes my existence, even in the most beautiful times, quite troubling. And that fact is, that with every peaceful moment there is a storm raging beneath it. With every positive action, or thought, there were hundreds of negative emotions and beliefs that I had to quiet. I struggle with the fact, that I may never just “be.”

I may never just be the person who doesn’t have to fight. I may always have to fight to stay alive, to stay relevant. Because if I were to ever stop fighting for my own life, I may one day just lose it. So as much as I love freedom, as much as my spirit wanders and searches constantly for an adventure, beneath all of that there is a reason. If i ever stop fighting, there is something inside my mind that will inevitably win. There is something inside my brain that tells me I am of no purpose and no good will be brought to this world because of me. So I have to battle that, every day. And if there was one thing I could undo, it would be that. I would love to feel the world through hands that had not been tortured with words of desperation, I would love to take a breath and only feel air, and not the weight of the world in my heart. I wish over and over that I could be free of this fight. That I could somehow, give in to what I am. I wish that I could stop battling myself, that I could live without sadness and despair. My soul has seen too many things, to let go of all of them. But I wish it was pure, and I wish I could live and love as though I had never known heartbreak. I wish that I could let down my arms, release my fists, and stop protecting myself. That maybe, in this lifetime, I would know what it feels like, not to have to fight.

Looking for a Muse

Every artist has a feed of inspiration… I do my best creating when I am inspired. Usually my losses inspire me, but I have met a new kind of loss. I have met the loss of my muse.

A few things made me buzz in the months prior. I had met something in my life that led me to create out of happiness, out of confusion and out of love. For once I was creating while I felt alive. I had become so familiar with creating after I had lost that life. I was buzzing, here and there, to and from different emotions, reveling in each one of them. I was embracing my muse, and I was running with it.

Before this series of events I had not held any inspiration in my hands and analyzed it so freely. It was always after the fact, I would never create about what inspired me. I had learned to create in the midst of a loss of inspiration. This time it was different.

I did not let all feelings fly free range, run amuck within my mind. This time, I reigned them in, looked at my inspiration and fed off of it. Now, I am meeting the part in the story where that muse leaves me. And in turn, the things that I have created within this half of a year, they leave me as well.

These things, this art, this capturing of a heart and it’s musings, have all submissively turned to dust. Turned to dust within my grasping hands.

And the same as before, I squeeze harder and harder to hold on to any bit of energy I may have conserved. I squeeze the life out of my creativity, the hope out of my soul, and the sparkle that has been the only captivating factor of these brown and pained eyes.

I squeeze so hard trying to hold onto what makes me imaginative, what keeps me afloat, that I have crushed these things into pieces that are just too unsubstantial to be able to put back together.

I have met the part of my story where my muse leaves me, and I turn from amused to reclusive. From fire, burning so dangerously hot that I had peaked at a blue state, able to melt the things closest to me. Then with falling flames and flailing arms, I retreated, to a place where there is no fuel left for me to burn from, where there is nothing for me to ignite, and it is as if, I’ve cycled back into an earthly oblivion. As if I have finally, inevitably and despairingly, turned to a grey and purposeless pile of ash.


Misery In Artistry

Misery and artistry have been partnered hand in hand for centuries. Whether it is the most optimistic of creators, or an artist who has been plagued with depression their entire life, it seems as though every true artist has experienced one thing – true misery.

This is not to say the misery was long lived, defeating or unbearable in all cases. But in all cases, it was there.

Even within the most beautiful poems, blissful appreciations of the world, there has once been sadness.

I often think about this when I think about myself as a writer. As a writer I can be gloomy, pensive… okay even a little bit whiny. As a person, well I have my moments, and over the past two years I’ve had more than I would like to admit. But at the core of me I am an only child, therefore inevitably whiny… But I am neither gloomy nor pensive. Do our identity as artists differ from our identity as human beings?

Laughter surrounds me, I love laughter. The sound of it, the way it feels, and the moments it makes. I find true joy in making other people laugh, and I find people who can make me laugh utterly intoxicating. I see the bright side in frustrating situations, turn them into things that they can become instead of things that exist. I find true beauty in the world, and in life and I altogether believe that our lives are incredible works of art whether that work is miserable or exuberant.

So why is it that when I create, I reach deep within myself to find darkness?

As an artist, is this how we exorcise our minds of demons? We all have them. Writing for me almost seems like it must happen. I must rid myself of harmful thoughts, abolish my angst. There is urgency in the process of my writing, a feeling that I have become all too familiar with that screams “Get out, get out NOW.” So that is how I get it all out… I put it on paper.

When a painter creates a masterpiece, floral and blooming, or seeping with agony – are they getting rid of an internal toxin?

Does a musician create a moody melody on the best day of their life, only because no matter what day it is, there is an unfaltering battle within their soul?

Does a photographer capture a breathtaking image of the world, because they can no longer see it through their own eyes and need the assistance of a lens?

Is this detoxing of demons limited to artistry or do others have to find less bold ways of getting out the negativity?

A quote that I love, and one that I am starting to understand comes to mind…

You must have the devil in you to succeed in any of the arts

– Voltaire

It makes sense, in different ways. It’s true I believe you must know true defeat to know true happiness. But having the Devil in you? Seems like a heavy burden to carry, loaded with stigma. Must you be evil to succeed in the arts?

I don’t think so. In fact I think you must have a level of compassion. An artist creates their life’s work for others. For people to see, to read, to admire, to criticize and to analyze. Not only does it take a compassionate person to do that, it takes a strong person. However, I do think it is necessary to be in touch with your dark side.

I am obsessed with the idea of living and being free in your mind and your body and your beliefs. I am infatuated with the idea of being truly wild, breezy and stray. A lot of that is shown throughout my writing. I get a lot of inspiration from my belief that life should be this way, free of constraints. So where does that belief come from? I can’t help but thank my many dances with the Devil.

This value must be so strongly within me because as Voltaire stated, I have had the Devil in me. A Devil that caused me to feel trapped in my own skin, stationary and hopeless. Confined to the colorless world around me. Thoughts that engulfed my mind in a cage of perpetual melancholy. That for me was the Devil, and because I had known confinement in my own mind, I developed an insatiable urge for freedom in a vast world.

Our inspirations, our worlds, our knowledge and our values are shaped from our various dances with the Devil himself. They are formed through knowing our dark side, and finding our way out of it. Artists are not reclusive and miserable people. You do not have to be distraught in order to channel your own creativity.

But in order to create you must see the world as a blank slate. You must make of it what you can, and see it as it exists rather than looking at it through rose colored glasses or grey clouds.To make an art out of what surrounds you, I think you must first become familiar with good and evil. It is not the Devil, nor God himself who grants the talent to create. I believe it is a combination of knowing them both well, and learning how to distinguish between the two.