I could not fathom this vision.
A spirit, a phantom, divine wisdom.
Imagine the soul, the body a prison.
Stay on the ground, but it does not listen.
Ego unbound, jewels shine and glisten.
Stand tall and proud, consciousness risen.

The following is not a poem but more of a short story. Hope it's ok to post it here.

The day I understood the difference between physical laughter and cosmic LAUGHTER I found myself flying through space. Instantly, out of nowhere, I was hurtling through space with no memory of what I was doing right before this moment.

Speeding through the stars I realized that I did not begin to fly of my own free will but was launched and given infinite momentum by some other force. As if this body of mine was launched from a galactic slingshot to forever travel among the stars.

Soaring through the heavens I could not help but smile. Grinning from ear to ear, filled with immeasurable happiness a memory of my childhood flashed in my mind. Me, sticking out my face out the window of the car as it's speeding down the highway, and my mother saying to be careful because my expression could forever be frozen on my face. In an instant the memory is gone and I'm back hurtling through space at the speed of light smiling even more and hoping to have my smile forever unchanged. As if, if I can keep this expression forever, so too will this feeling of utter bliss will remain for all eternity.

But as my body is flying through all the universes and galaxies never stopping so too are my thoughts are coming and going without a single one of them sticking in my memory. They come, they go and with them any feelings of attachment are gone as well.

From the corner of my eye I spot a golden glint. I turn my head to the right and see that a part of my shoulder has assumed a hexagonal shape and began to fall off. As I follow the golden hexagon with my eyes I notice that my body is gone from the shoulders down and instead there is a stream of golden stardust stretching throughout all the galaxies I've passed. I'm breaking down, becoming star stuff. I'm overjoyed.

And when my face is the last part of my body to remain I begin to feel something building up where my bellybutton used to be. As more and more of my face falls off and becomes stardust the feeling gets stronger and stronger. Then when I am nothing but a mouth this feeling shoots out through me, through my mouth, and as it escapes my lips my mouth explodes into golden dust as if my mouth was holding on to let “this” out and “it” is pure LAUGHTER.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

My body is gone, it has become star stuff, but where my body used to fly, flies this LAUGHTER and my consciousness with it. I have become LAUGHTER itself, forever traveling through the universe, forever happy, forever bringing joy to others.

I open my eyes and find myself in my bed staring blankly at the ceiling. I lift up my body to a sitting position supporting my self with my right arm behind me feeling exhausted.
*sigh* “I'm pooped.”
The corners of my mouth begin to curve up, I fall back on to my bed and an uncontrollable laughter springs from my lips.

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

With tears streaming down my face I can hear the LaUgHtEr.

HaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHaHa

Edit: Edited the ending cause it felt wrong.

The creativity from you all is beautiful. Wordcraft at its finest. I appreciate you all sharing pieces of yourselves. Thoroughly enjoyed it.

I write creatively as well, whenever I become motivated to do so. It is a wonderful habit for relieving stress. If you would be so kind as to take a moment to see parts of me:

Love

Boy I'll tell ya man
her bouncin' smile and gooey words

Damn I'm a fan,
her smooth walk and curves

got me boogie boarding on love wave tsunami six-string bass

Pop and lock my groove and talk while I flow my naked soul
to be consumed by her sunlight

An inspired jump into space to grasp some stars for her unending grace

Bump, bump, and grind
loud, wet, and crazed - like
an amazonian waterfall which haze the senses for minutes

spanning into hours, days, decades of
polka-dotted thongs, bras, lip gloss that fades into my lips...
...which I hope that sticks and stays,

who needs to pray with her around

Though this world may seem unforgiving and unbearable
We have a weapon to battle the bad things

Love

Untitled

He hears God in one ear
and the Devil in the other

An agent of stone and metal
in a fiberglass age

Trembles the earth with a whisper

Shatters stars upon breathing

He forces the gates of heaven open
splits the sky apart

All in search

traditional, artificial, sexual, dumb,
smart, so lost

What he searches for so diligently
may never be found

My Movement

Like the movements of fashionable humanity: punk rock, hippie,
and straight edge among others; my movement

encased in egg shell-japanese writing upon
an open flame for all to see

begins anew. Thrice whipped lashed, slapdash a cry under
the notion of judgment through fashionable eyes, who have no

understanding of personal coolness. Was fed up a while ago
when things were fed down my aching throat. Unfavored like

the goat unable to drink and dance, shanked my front
and then my back before I realized I was in an inaudible clash

of idiots. Que ruido tu hace?

Jersian grown, breathing moist beaded pollution where cuban-chinese
thinking gobbles chicken and rice with chop sticks.

This is my movement in all its glory, within the sticker-beaten journal,
my mother's cooking, girlfriend's eyes

Glimpsing the unthinkable is a welcomed custom in my home,
so please sit and drink some warm chai with steamed truffles.



Thank you again for reading.

A recent one (not sure I am finished with it):

I am my own sky,
Stretching outward in dream,
My own river,
Flowing inward to you
I am my own what, where and why
and my own ever expanding never

(And)

I am my own abyss
I am my own forever
I am my own bliss
And
I am my own infinite version of all my selves,
Every one, inexorable, unexisting.



JBArk

Insanity through emotional deprivation, an inevitable outcome.
Law was an illusion, and slavery was more rife than ever
Our hero, slowly realises that his decent into madness was just beginning
Violent pacifism, in perfect symmetry.

Equilibrium of hate and love. Both debilitating and corrupting.
Yet passive aggression was to no avail. He wore his heart on his sleeve.
Only transformation could save others from himself
Undergoing intense and vital thought and deliberation, he began.
Metamorphosis

Apotheosis was once an ambition, now it was manifesting
Desperate to change, he withdrew from himself completely
Doused in new thought, intoxicated on fumes and emotion, he rocked.
Yesterday – Aspirations. Today – Catatonia through catharsis

People I have known who claim not to be me,
And those who I claim to know to be not me -
Here, a list for you, of all those who are and never will be:

The Brit Ollie Swan,
His sister who married in Oaxaca, Alice Juan,
The London born Korean Hollis Wahn,
The Jordanian Ali Isswan and his
Deaf and blind Qatari lover Alliswa Ahn,
and the french writer Alyse Ouanne who thought,
sitting by a tree-rimmed pond in winter, or perhaps not :
Howl is won,
Whole is one,
Owl is swan.

We are many, all of us, as many as won,
From father, daughter, mother and son
Before we become one, and are truly undone.


Jess a lil play in wUrdland I taught yaz mite enjoin. JSTArk

"You're so warm" she said.

A red light attached to a boat zooms past out where the water
get's dark.

I take a long drag
It used to burn
I thought, but not anymore

GPS satellite connection On
I scan the sky with my communication palmistry
and notice Neptune
but that can't be right, can it?

It used to burn-
A shooting star smears my observation.

Collision of atoms
dancing in temporary cohesion
emanating the heat
that burns inside my
body

Today has been a weird day. I haven't written anything in a while and yet today I wrote 3 poems, and it seems my style is slowly changing.
I finally watched the 1998 movie SLAM today and right after I wrote the following two poems.

I can say the same thing in a million ways to you
But even so I'm not sure the message will get through
That's the problem of soul to soul connection
When one soul inhabits a higher plane of dimension
And the other soul is somewhere off reservation
It feels me up with fear that
You'll never understand how I feel
And if I think a bit about it
I'll probably never know how you feel about me so
Let's just say: “I love you, babe”
And fuck the night away
Hoping that somewhere in that fucking frenzy
There will be a moment of bliss filled ecstasy
Where both you and me
Are as one as two people can be
Knowing without a doubt that this is what it's all about
And then when the fucking is done
And the moment is gone
All we do
Is try to feel anew
That feeling we had
When I came in you


You see I'm only twenty-three today
But my soul's so old
It could nurse the world
Maybe that's why I'm so depressed
Because the world is run by short-sighted pests
Deciding what should be the status quo
When all their rules
Are for small minded fools
How can it be that half the world
Believes it's free
While the other half
Cries at night
Due to the bars they see
Since when did life end at puberty
And start up again when you hit senility
How can life seem so bleak to me
When I have more than half the world, you see
But all I do is worry about what to do
Cause the whole world's saying
I'm too old to be
Since I didn't pick a path when I was twelve, you see
And here I am today
Twenty-three years old and feeling grey
With no idea of what to do
But by God I swear
By the time I'm through
I'll change this world
For both me and you
So we can wake in the morning
And see the sky as blue
Cause that's the only way to see
If your soul is truly free

Later in the day, I watched three very impressive performances.









And right after I wrote the last poem of the day.


Today my pen keeps moving
Keeps scribbling and writing
Filling these blank pages
With something from inside of me
Don't know what's causing it
Or what's moving me
Definitely not me thinking
About writing anything
And yet the white space is being filled with words
With words that are not mine
With ideas beyond my grasp
With emotions I've never felt
And as I read what is pouring out of me
It begins to have an effect on me
No longer mere words for personal amusement
But ideas that hold grip on my emotions
And as I see them taking vivid shape on paper
I start to feel
I start to feel things I didn't know I could
Were these emotions bottled up within me
And this is some kind of catharsis that my subconscious decided I need
Or is it my higher self trying to reach out to me
Saying: “I am here and you will feel me,
You will feel me and take action
And through that action you will grant me power
Power to penetrate others as I have you
And when they feel me as you do
They will take action as you did
And as your action increased my power so will theirs
Until the whole world feels the same
And all it took was paper and pen”

Hope the videos I put up will inspire you as they did me.

A <3 Broken
Into 1 million fractions
1 million pink EyEs
To see their Burdens

Our EyEs Shine
As the Light of 10,000 Bedouin Suns
Under the Duress
Of the next Caress
From the Mother Earth
Come to Birth
A New Race
So......

aladidadidahhh...

...in Yo Face.

Annnnnd a song: Telefon Tel Aviv - 'My Week Beats Your Year'

I am like the last point of light spiraling
crowning a galaxy, a city of stars.
I watch the world culminate like a drain
struggling to gulp down what itself is spewing forth.

There is no past, just what remains present at the time of reflection.
I never remember selling my soul, so why seems it I’m buying it back as I grow old?

Some dreams take time to be seen through
be patient and don’t lose yourself in the blue

How many stories do I hold within my soul?
And are they mine if I remember anothers that they’ve told?
Sometimes I can feel myself grow old
grasping towards memories that will always stay gold.
Let go of my heart and got lost in the cold.

What’s left to write when words cease to fit right.
Did I turn up late for the fight of my life?

---

An elemental eternal I speed sublime in space
towards chaotic calls flowing from forgotten phantoms
singing story of darker dawns and dusk left behind
in places where I was of less quintessent design

Silence spoken suddenly one day
writ with wyrd and ancient atavisms
that call from chasms without floors
from the minds secret doors

Wells of wisdom howling hymns of holy and hallowed wights
those of magick might, and those who walk endless nights.

---

the supremely selective syntax of my secretly subliminal sounds
is the etymological equivalence of an everlasting effervesence
illustrating illuminated ideologies, elucidating any imbecile instincts
music that magically mutes mutant mouths, and mesmerizes mouths of the monstrous
demonstrating the demolition of destructive desires, dumbfounding doofus drives

---

an old dream, something beyond explanation
the ideology of forever infinity
worlds between words, and a weirdness of all worth
born by an explosion of the oxymoronic
impossibilities made true if only for a moment
a seed sown, but into what does it grow?
a chord struck, but the tuning forever altered
i’ve found a fear, never before so near
out of an abyss with the stars in sight
the world itself knows that nothing is right
corruption fueling a desire for consumption
so great that it already seems to be too late
i grin and bear in silence, praying for the sure to come violence
from my shadows shall i emerge into the sun
a sword that shall shatter hammer and anvil
a fire leaving only gold behind and anything lucky to be caught within
what the past has started i will finish
let me remember and rest for only awhile
before again a game begins anew
renewed, less used, and more wise through the abuse.

Iridology

An ocean stares into an ocean,
forging waves to be defied.
Resplendent suns align along the irises
to calm the roiling current
in two skins of one disguise.

Different shades of equal color
deepen with the dissolution of their edges.
The pressure builds in a sullen stream of consciousness,
luminous in a momentary lapse of light,
releasing into a doomed foray
“rise above and be nourished
or adapt and waste away.”

This lucid wave blinks past sleep’s obscurity
to briefly push away the meddling,
crests, and comes crashing to the shore
of a cerulean unsettling.

An ocean sinks into an ocean
and abstains from stranger tides,
concealing starker choices
that a rigid pair deny.
Anguishing and beautiful,
and hopeless and estranged;
the cryptic gaze two lovers share
when they begin to change.

We look into each other’s eyes for answers.

Transfixed,
we look away.

Every now and then I find some inspiration to do some writing; I decided to share my most recent piece. It’s inspired by some current events such as the budget cuts to NASA and the current religious and political dogmas the hinder global progress among humanity. I call it Primitive, because I imagine that future societies of this planet will likely look back at our current philosophical and political paradigms and call them just that – primitive.


Primitive

Have you not evolved?
Or has your maker closed your eyes?
I said have you not evolved?
Or have you been exposed to their lies?
Why do you follow them, is there no better way to drift?
What if I told you using your brain was a gift?
Can’t you see the devil’s in the way we live?
Reaping the earth of all it has to give.
It’s time to crawl out of the water and walk up-right.
Time to realize it’s not about who is wrong or right.
There is no such thing as sin.
There is only the ignorance of men.

Still, have you not evolved?
Why doesn’t your maker open your eyes?
Have you not evolved…
because you’ve been exposed to their lies?
Propaganda and dogma dominates.
I sometimes forget, we’re just smart primates.
All the while, you crawl on your belly.
Why don’t you believe me?
When I can tell you I’ve been to the moon and back.
Yet, they’ve got you frightened of a terrorist attack.

Have you not evolved?
We need to open up our eyes.
I said have you not evolved?
We need to expose them for their lies.
Why do you ignore the whistleblowers, as if you were deaf?
I promise there is nothing honorable about death.
So why do you stay down on your knees?
I’m not the only one who believes,
that by now, we could’ve been to the stars and back.
But they’ve got you concerned with bombing Iraq.

Why have you not evolved?
Only point and call me a liar.
I ask, why will you not evolve?
Can’t you see the world is on fire?

wrote this one a little over a year ago, after the man's passing... figure someone here might get what i'm tryin' to say...

when in doubt, twirl

for Bear

shattered & sunlit
outback, behind the bus.
a palace in shambles,
empty window panes.

three Vietnamese flutes tickle a wind,
harmony within spatial divides.

in bold strokes hammered,
silver & bronze,
one desert,
painted solely our own.

this side, the parade.
red meat &
brotherhood of light.
the other one, a forest,
all seafoam & glass,
infinite color
to roam.

***

“What I did was a community service, the way I look at it. I was punished for political reasons. Absolutely meaningless. Was I a criminal? No. I was a good member of society. Only my society and the one making the laws are different.” - Owsley Stanley

A diamagnetic compass's guide begins warping.
denial of the reverberation,
amplified beyond sensory perception,
catalyzed by the beginning.

Plated and served as a nominal,
Allowance of freedom from the petty.
Asking - Who aspires to feed you?

A glass covered in flower essence,
The entropy of the compressor,
inspires reverse deliquessence,
free from hands of any oppressor.

Yet - Awareness fails them,
Hence a retina was nearly severed,
by fools and thieves.

Horus and Ra - cohesion.

It will never be as desire drives,
Gates slammed via an 'okay' mudra,
faces caked in fools paint, wielding knives.
High octane frustration a chosen implement,
acquiring a taste for ignorance, a daily sacrament.

The eye wiped clean life's graffiti from the soul,
finding only trust in impermanence.

Were you willing, were you able;
To chew up this body, mind,
and toss away the core,
to feed a infinite table?

Not in the transience of receptor site collisions,
but as a matter manipulator, riding both-sides,
while passing through the indecisions,
of whatever way your future rides.

No?
May you never stand in my fucking way.

I want to bring it to my friends and family;
I want to bring them the joy.
I want to bring it to the city;
to a nice brick building
with steps outside and colors inside
and officers will wave as they drive by
recalling that we hugged last weekend.
They'll wish they were jobless
but will remember
that some people still haven't done it
and that people will always drive too fast.



A result ensues.
It creeps over, crawls under,
striving, dying, reaching out for me.
I am its only hope.
Reality, wrapped up in myself.
We stumble and fall together
into the abyss that waits
eagerly,
hungrily,
its eyes fixed on us.
We lash back, fight from its grip,
and run,
and run,
deeper and deeper into ourself
where we hide
and wither
until we are at that great wall
that we must reach out for help,
for a shining light that we once were,
a beam,
a rope.
With our last breath of life
we find it in the dark
and seize hope.
We pull
and cry, for ourselves,
and pull
till we die.



My soul.
A deep rolling wave
reaching up to the bright blue sky,
reaching out to the coy clouds
that spot the air
and assemble
at infinity.
That's where my soul is.
A deep rolling wave
that comes up
and fades
away.



I've really liked all of the poetry so far.
One of my favorites from page 1:

I like portrayals of the cosmic mind's relationship to ourselves.

only in the abyss can the snake become the dragon
and in his writhing churn the wells into fountain
on his wings he carries all the splendor of hell
back to the heavenly mountains.

his eyes flash grim from horrors he has seen
his skin scaled deep from where he has been
his damnation gives reaction to salvation
for nothing contains him, not even creation.

heaven bound, hell sent, and back again.
for his toil, what is his reward?
well.. eternity, even in heaven, tends to leave one bored.

the pretty one

it’s been seventeen weeks
since I found my suitcase
outside, by the curb
in the rain.

I still hear echoes
from behind a doorway
down the hall.

she spoke of cookies,
& the manner in which
they crumble.
I knew of nothing but smoke rings,
water marks on
disposable linen.

two separate dialects
of the same
disconnect.

coming was a tentative thing,
all fragile movements
with barely a breath
of spine.

the leaving,
noted only
by an absence.

Just came across this poem today, thought it was quite honest and rather nice

Awesome. Did you write this? I really like it. Give some of mine a read if you care to, I'd love to hear your impressions (i think i have one on nearly every page )

This is a thing of beauty you wrote.

Cheers,

JBArk