Reading for this morn

I've decided that I'm going to start posting some of my tarot readings on this here crazy blog thing. This morning my Rider WAite deck gave me this reading:

King of Pentacles

Page of Cups sig by:q.ofpent
8of wands 3of wands cb:page of pen. 5ofwands ten of cups

2 of wands
Queen of Cups

2of pentcles


For those of you adept to Tarot, you will recognize that this is the Celtic Cross spread.
This gives me insight into my current situations and what kind of energy I might expect to encounter in the near future.

It's just a heart attack

I'm not sure why I thought that this time around you would open your door and give me any inclination as to what the key even looked like. Your post-modern stance on needs and wants and my fruiting enlightenment that mimicked your past choices were just symmetrical standards that are based on fractals. I shared the most detailed importance into how and why and when and who, all of the parts that make up the whole. As soon as my belly hairs were shown, my compromised eyes that stare like my grandmothers scared you. I do understand this time. My failure to filter will not happen again, my trust will not be placed on its back to be burned in indecision. My silence will never save me.

Ode to a heart that's out of water

Beneath the sheets
I found out why you
push the static downfall
away from your thighs
that used to feel like stars
clinging to your heart.

I listened patiently til
my heart scraped ions
lost their charge.
This was a simultaneous
account where your history
caught you in a sling
causing you to feel visions
on loneliness, pain and heartache.

I will always question
the opinions of those who are
just soo sure of the cause and
effect. I'd like to affect you
in a perpetual escapade that
would cause your heart to
flutter every time your eyes
casually glance at me.

My songs do not cause
an emotional response
to your lingering permissive
stance, your judgemental
truths that set your feet in
concrete, leaving your fingers
pointing instead of in an
unclasped position of the hand.

I have given more than
I thought I had in my
checking and savings.
I borrowed from the past,
saying that it would be
worth more than pocket
change in our future.
I believed this.

I'd like to remember the good.
I want to cry when I think
that I may have given
the best songs to you
with the most complicated,
expressive chord structures
and you have had head phones
on this whole time.

I am scared of losing
this present state of safety.
I am afraid that stability
in its most banal sense of
security will fall away
like the floor on a spinning
carnival ride.

There is an intelligent spiral
urging me to be patient
and bold in one motion.
There has been arguable temptation
but I am larger than the eyes
that peer out from the basement steps.

With every direct communicative
pattern of the last month
we have inadvertently taken
strides forward. Your eyes still
tear me and paste me and mold my
infrastructure but I find myself
collaged in pieces that abstain
my needs from seeing the sun.

If everything that happens
happens because their is some divine
plan, then make it easier to say
yes to myself.

In my back pocket there's a wax seal

Humans think that just because a cogniscent ray
of volition scattered on an African savanna
that we are barred from the cycles
that all other creatures follow in nature.

I beg to differ. I find myself twisting
and doing the log roll in my
pool of thoughts, emotions and actions.

My surroundings may change and my hope
may grow. I might find myself on a
sail boat where I have an epiphany
because the rocking rythm of the boat
lulled me into an alpha wave meditation
induced by the oceans menstrual motion,
entitling me to a sense of safety.

I am a part of these cycles no matter
how hard I try to negate and position
myself to see the fruits and look for the
differences in my similarities with you.

I vividly recall the way
your eyes penetrated mine as I strolled
effortlessly through the ceiling to
floor glass door.
You took your time to approach me,
casually finding a reason to smoke
and dip in to my conversation.
By the end of the evening,
the pyre was lit but the candles
were out. Fear and excitement boxed
us in to a lid that quickly
extinguished potentials and
spilled wax on my doubtful ego.

I moved on with the pain as I usually do.
This is a cycle that changes
the color of my bruises from red
to purple, to yellow then blue.
Roy G Biv is a good friend of mine.

On forgetting ..

When I was 19
I realized that life
was one part roller-coaster
car and 2 parts indecision-decision.

Until then I suppose
I thought the price of
making my life appear
like a forced midnight hallucination
depended on the track
that was constructed without
my approval.

The frightening impact of
building my languished cabin alone
was like sitting at the apex,
glaring out across the theme park
strapped in and attempting to
manipulate the metal so as
not to fall off the ride.

It was only when I was forced
to save myself did I realize
that I was the conductor of the symphony
and head engineer of this ride.

When I'm bottled up and find
myself waiting for someone
to drop me so I can explode,
I appreciate the idea of
second grace; the reminder
that I have the choice to
move my track or to construct
it fast, either way,
I'm the one who ruins or fixes.

She's feeling giddy about Life

She motioned to the phone
and it manifested
in her motherly palm.



At 11:31 a.m. a sweet

sobering vibrancy swarmed

her pale skin, turning follicles

into dancing companions.



She lifted her thumb and

pushed down on numbers

that related to letters;

many letters to one

number.



This transmutation was

and was not

a simple mediation of emotional

exchange to a soldier on a symbiotic

longing journey.



She was feeling

(a cognizant display of emotional

recognition, originating

from the pre-frontal cortex)

a physical reverberation for life.



bA Bah ba bahH.. WHo Loves THE Sun?

NOt juST aNYone


What glistens from our reality

is not a picture in a frame

but moments of confident love,

that give assurance that the only

peaceful substance is derived

from an appreciation

in the present.

My poses are recorded like Greek portraits

Allegory has never been taken
seriously by science.

Although, my thoughts and actions
have coincided with my dreams
from nights years ago
but who will take
them seriously.

With open eyes divided,
I patiently assess and clean
and gently push my knees
upward so as to
keep moving

The fleeting desertion of my
memories is composed
from the ancient fire
that flickers like cinema tape
in flashes while driving
those blinking head lights
are like
the i-ching read
backwards-sdrawkcab

And so our eyes
are our mirrors to
our motives
and how we will envision
the landscape that escapes
into the future
that is now in a moment
of remorse, ecstasy, collaboration
and productivity
This highway is not
uprooted by desert prairie dogs
panting in the past,
shrinking the rear view