One-Track Brain

Cognition ignitions,
like worker ants, plough
into known territories
wasteland purgatories
and infestation memory.

Expensive hope
bought by the fallacies
of what we don't know
reaping piles of what we should have
sown by pesticidal blame

Toiling in the dirt
They find each other
at the crossroads
One thought says to another,
"Get out of this place,"
And the other, soundly,
"Not leaving until I get paid."

A fight erupts,
desperate, hungry, starving
for joy
The emaciated thoughts turn
against each other
The overseer observes,
demands a tithe for each hour
spent in vain.

Then, having burnt every bridge,
the thoughts cease,
and proclaim:
"If a minute of havoc is a lifetime of hurt
And nothing that grows won't be dumped
Then the only way to get off this tragedy train
is to give up, hold hands and jump."

Cell Self

Science, force-like
induces alienation,
nucleus of reality,
metaphysical uncertainties
the cell-self divides.

Righteous anger,
produced by terrorized facts,
reduced to irrationality,
cancerous growths of truth.

In the trash-end of
the joy-sad spectrum
unknown measures of
Esteem can be salvaged
provided that the vultures
of self-sabotage
don't smell it first.

Shame, mother-destroyer
of worth, patient of madness
Blamed for all her own
Nobody hates shame
as much as she herself

In the self-cell,
we forget all possibility
of the migration of fear
We divide, multiply
destroy ourselves
and our lives
just to see
if God is real.

The vocabulary of the soul

I only know myself
to the extent of the words
I can use to define,
demonstrate,
deconstruct and
criticize.
What happens in
the innermost part
the one that needs no words,
no jargon,
no codes,
is what I consciously try to capture
with my limited knowledge
of descriptives.
The pool of unconscious
And the thoughts that try to drink from it
Can never really be satiated
To be satiated,
they must accept
that they cannot define
cannot capture
cannot communicate
the parts that cannot be expressed.
Communication,
left-hemisphered,
temporal,
Dominates
not to be confused with
The Subordinate self
But how to express
the soul, the subordinate self?
when my knowledge
so small,
can barely even define itself?
I don't know,
maybe I haven't learned it yet.
Is my power words,
imagery, touch, socializing, or speaking?
Everyone has one, a power
A vocabulary of the soul,
in words, in pictures, in thoughts and smiles
who am I to create a dictionary
of something that cannot be defined?

artpost #26

My roommate Julie lying on the floor dreaming about her boyfriend Erik

poempost #1

What Have You Gone, Where Have You Done

I have walked a traveled road
foot-stamped sidewalks in dirty snow
restless reminders of a city's woe
we miss the trees,
we miss our homes.

I cleanse my veins
and put truth below
another time for another woe
crisis cries and studies show:
love and justice are at
an all-time low.

I scream and put it in a box
for those to open and if not,
Pandora keeps it under locks
though it'd be best if you forgot

passive-aggressive certainly we
agree that I will never be
assertive with agility,
depth,
eloquence,
and humility.

Missile magnets draw near
shouting into windowed veneer
words and words and words and words
"Hear me!" shouts Timidity.

Blunder upon blunder
Slit and dripped over every wrist
a hunger for regret
and a taste for forgiveness

Live long and die forever
the promises of fear:
death isn't that exciting
until sorrow makes it near.

artpost #25

"Don't cut me down.
I'm just a dream behind."

This piece is from 2004. It is a reflection on my 2003 hospitalization; a struggle to grow from and get over the past. Before I was hospitalized, I hallucinated words in tree branches. The "butterfly" needle is a type of needle used to draw blood. I had a traumatic experience with fainting upon getting my blood drawn on the first day of my hospitalization. I spent three months in a psychiatric ward for acute psychosis at age 15.

The branches read: "I WILL FIND MY WAY"

Charcoal, 18" x 24"

artpost #24

Some high school era stuff. These are from 2006.



An assignment from Senior year of High School. Choose an artist and paint a self-portrait in the style of that artist. I chose Frida Kahlo. I used her jungle backgrounds, monkeys and her necklace of thorns as symbols in my piece.



A scene from my old writing game, Aphotica. Original characters by me and my friend Sirose. Mouse-drawn in Adobe Photoshop Elements. In the scene, Miraye berates Tic for wanting to give himself up to arrest, after she fought so hard to save him.



Beetle photo. I used to take a lot of long walks by myself down the roads of my suburban town. I met a friend.