A wise woman once told me.

Balance.

Yes yes yes.

That checkbook, that bank account, that job you do, the errands you run. Keep pilling shit on the teeter totter and never stop to wonder … why is this shit on my teeter totter? Whats does it mean? How do I feel about it?

There are things that need changing and fixing the most is our society and culture. This conformist, mindless, horrid world where the gross domestic product, and keeping up with the Jones’, is the most important and worthy goal.

Schools where we teach children not to think for themselves or nurture their talents and abilities but chain them to desks all day so that they can spend the rest of their lives in a cubicle.

Wearing the same clothing as everyone else, driving the same cars, living in identical pink stucco homes, going to the same churches, eating the same unhealthy genetically modified food from McDonalds.

Then giving birth to more children destined to lead the same meaningless lives.

People are asleep. People are sheep.

I walk through the suburbs and cities and I weep and rage at the stupidity of it all.

Some of these people try so hard to be “perfect”, with all the fake tans and fake eyelashes and expensive parties and such just to fit in. They work so hard to keep up an appearance. They talk about Balance and chakra alinments and cleansing their aura.

Then they wonder … why am I not happy? Why am I not fullfilled?

People are happy when they’re allowed to thrive and do their own thing with acceptance, not when they’re held down and forced into a mold that they don’t fit in.

It makes me wonder how we are all going to survive together tomorrow if we are so worried trying to fit the “traditional” ideas that are suffocating.

We are taught, brainwashed even, that everyone must fit that mould or esle they are deficient in some way and then must be made to conform.

We are expected to play by the social rules, to have priorities that mirror whatever holywood and the corperate America say we should, etc.

The system isn’t broken.

It’s been methodically turned into a precisely functioning system guaranteed to oppress and press, squeezing out all defiance, independence, and unique potential.

Don’t worry though … You’ll feel “better” as soon as the BMW is paid off.

There is no greater threat to a controlling, selfish, greedy, manipulative society than a strong, bold, creative fighter.

Passionate people are awesome to listen to. They are rare in today’s world, in my opinion. And passionate people that can have an independent thought are even more rare.

Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think. Don’t examine your life, your reasoning, don’t wonder why. Don’t think!

Tow the party line, run the rat race. Do as is expected of you.

Dogmatism and idealogoy runs so deep the non-conformists practice it.

Live life asleep. In a materialistic, banal world where nothing matters and nothing is sacred.

Spew nonsense catch phrase garbage, pop culture wisdom.

Fear everything!

Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think

Don’t stop to feel the wind on your face. Don’t stop to smell the bread baking. Keep that nose to the grindstone.

Don’t look upon the world and wonder, how do I affect it?

How does it affect me? How can I improve these things?

Whats is my relationship with the world around me?

Is it sacred, this world. Am I sacred? Is my relationship with the world around me sacred?

How do I claw my way off this grindstone and into the free air?

Breathe …

Seamstress

Seamstress, kindest of  bedlams. 

You use beauty as your needle, 

and youth as your thread. 

Your dresses are dreams 

and your jackets are dread.

Morning star buttons,

And lavender loops. 

Swan feather corsets

and whale bone hoops. 

Indigo velvets, 

sewn up with stars, 

Beetle bug buttons,

Kept  in glass jars. 

Your hands hold the love,

And you fingers the grace,

Pulling down sky with your needle,

And the earth up to face. 

atrophy

the muscles of the intellectuals 

are atrophying, 

the roots of the tree

are deteriorating, 

the salt in the ocean

is multiplying, 

and that sour taste in my mouth

is is curdling.

nobody's running, 

nobody's living.

nobody's thinking,

atrophic properties

take to the mind

like candy. 

SunWashed

looking into those bright eyes,

its like the first day of my life. 

looking at the sun washed sky,

is a way of finding my light,

and the same sun shines all night

yours was the first face that i saw,

i think i was blind before i met you. 

so if you want to be with me...

with these things there's no way of telling,

we'll just have to wait and see. 

this is the first day of my life,

the first day that i'm with you. 

and every day is the first when 

the sun washed sky is overhead. 

remember the time i drove all night?

just to see you in the morning?

and i told you all these things had changed,

and it was the first day of my life.

under your sun washed sky. 

Americana Tropicana

 does it even matter...
their anchors couldn't even reach
to the bottom of the bathtub?
she will kiss till your lips cry,
but she wont take her dress off,
and at the bottom of the barrel,
they cuddle with their missile,
running out to sea.
americana... tropicana...
and the sail could fly the sky,
its such a strange job, it is,
playing blackjack on the decks.
americana... tropicana....
oh, does it even matter?
that she can see you wearing your
best tie out to sea.
crying out to the good ole girls,
stay with me.
and the slippery prawn slide on the deck,
trying to win your nets.
americana... tropicana....
atop this giant puddle,
we are dressed in white
and waging a war.

Embrace

imagine a day when the fire was invisible, but the shadows still danced.
and the pictures were clear in our minds, as clear as the glass wall dividing us.
on a brass plate the fire curled, cuddling with the air, two lovers in hold,
and every time the wind whispered in the fires ear, it shivered with excitement.
when the glass is crushed, the picture is broken and fire is able to take hold.

Water

although i speak in riddles,
its clearer in my mind.
i know i question things too quickly,
but i have never questioned love.

im not a skilled water carrier,
you've seen my spill the water from my hands,
but in a month as cold as ice...
i have learned to carry you, learned to carry love.

the queen of cups is watching...
i spill the vessel from my arms,
but there is water on my lips,
water in my heart.