Q

Waiting in life's line. Watching silently as rows apon rows stand up and move on. The sweeping hand of nights liberty.  The grandfather master thief called time.  Its a sad tail to think life moves as a snail. For today is no different  from tomorrow.  A penny earned is a penny misplaced.  All boiling down to lessons earned and love you crossed.  Across the barren plains, across fat sofas rich with grease and oil spilled. Across the TV's screen your life you dreamed.
 Suddenly the Que you have been watching like a silent tomb moves ahead, will it be my turn? when will I be dead? That is the last question grasped in your mortal head.
 Soon slumbering in a silent tomb your bones sit. Dust miles high. Nothing moved,  no signs of life, not even a fly.
 Miles of bones, your parents before you all lie in rust.  Now the throngs you join in the moment of your gloom. Born a blurred vision, stress, old age, all conviently canned & condensed.  All lying quietly in a dusty room with no flowers. No bloom.
 Watch your Que, make the most of your fate, for if you have today, its never to late.  Tell them how much you love. Reach out to the lonely lost and opressed. All this will make it worth the wait.  All this in killing the ugly hands we call fate.

Strangers Bargian

To lay across from a stranger. To look into the strangers eyes and ignore the lies.  A convenient relationship built on agreements. A Strangers Bargian.   Here they lie. Eye to Eye. Night after night. Through ages they gave up finding love. They gave up fantasy and infatuations. As strangers they silently slept/  Every night.
 In the law they are freed, they agreed. They had enough to seal a deal. They could tolerate enough and nothing better ever came. Love came into previous lives, but like the passing flakes of snow, they soon melted in trying heat.
 Here they lie. Used to the cold night. Silently sleeping happy, no drama or any sparks. Just complacency.  One pays the bills the other spends the time.
 A strangers bargain so commonly signed. So many lost couples. So many chemical loves.
     A Living Divorce.

Duality

Two sides of the same coin but they rarely ever see eye to eye. What am I talking about. Keep reading. Its funny how a man can make a meaningful connexion on a first date. There can be total alignment. A feeling of certianty. The women hides her feelings so perfectly well, as if she is a natural born actor always hiding her true face and self from her pursuer the whole time from moment one. The hidden enigma, what she feels, what she claims you don't listen to. Yet she never speaks her true face leading a man to believe all is well in the first date or even while in the 4th-month of their relationship.
Its the riddle men have yet to crack. Its the riddle they may never understand. As if by some lotery of luck, or if she never lets her true face ruin her relationship she marrys. The Duality of her love.
As it seems in the world around us, that can all be for a short time.

 The Duality of women is a riddle I will never understand. 

The Line

The imaginary, the elusive, the exclusive. Draw it far, draw it wide. Draw it right by myside. Inbetween you, between me. Tell me what cant you see? Build it up, make it high, divide asunder both earth and sky. What ever you do don't behonest, don't lie, use your line between you. Between eye.
Divide asunder both bone and brain, divide asunder equality and the sain. Rip apart any hope and build your line across the imaginary solid textured sky.
Take out the S and leave U. Draw it to an O around your heart. Make it complete and draw it all around your tiny feet.
If lies could speak you have spoken. Walls towering high , a cross in the written sky. Dance in it, bend it, manage, but don't forget your I. All lies now are imaginarly seen. All-sain lays now barried in your heart. So keep on looking and building with in your Line Blind seeing Eye.

Across the Plains of Soul

Ash and stricken. Raked and ruin. Blood baths battered. Tickled thru torture. Ghosts of loves past haunting and spooking. Poor choices making once richness a dessert of barren old pain. Her head pondering lost across times miss fortune. Moving on like a mower over brown lawns. How her hauntings richness so much richer then pain, anguish in ashes of pure disdain. Her toy tormenting. Toying in her torment. This walk across souls siberia. Hope in liberation. Each sunset a new dawn of beginning. Begging to be forgotten. Erasing static stains. Only thru immense pain can true loves remain. Saintly sands transforming the man. Barren wastelands walk to transform wells of water into wishing pools so pure and clean that her face will never be seen. Her bloody hands will never be spoken. Her tentacles cut, ship sails free. To sail on reaching paradise across this barren Sea.

Corpse Bridal

It was a sunny Sunday afternoon. The plight was first sight. His hearts true delight. Long sunny days turned into darkest dismal nights. The first crack in their Egg was her superficial greed. Shouting and complaining, cracking the sacred. Complaining over simple drives. Creating rift and divide. The best shots possible where not possible enough. She was cracking. Slipping into her self made perfection of previous relations that could be only stacked on his volumes of adoration and simplifications . Her self stylization and revelations of the past, all surmounting the present, making such an easy hike only a mountain climb. Her self styling greed always present, always analyzing. Like a child picking at its feast at a buffet. So much food and choices in one meal, but the child is not hungry. Lost in its fullness. She sifts thru the current, lost in her minds tide. Lost among men. Found only to herself. Portraits by the thousand, but not hungry, there must be something better to eat.
To her friends she complains there is not one man worthy of her rottenness. Not one man worth staying for. So many have bought and purchased. So many have obtained nothing but empty pockets. One man has found his way. On that Sunny Sunday afternoon. Soon that diamond was discarded. The buffet was overwhelming, manipulative was the child's accusation of the banquet feast. All the simply rich food seemed poisoned. While playing with her food she quickly found so many complaints. Cracking the Egg became easy. Her gown was now bought. Her wedding was wishfully achieved. Dressed in her finest. Dressed for her relationships death. He was now engaged to a newly born corpse bride.

Atom Storm

What a deep experience, wow what freshness. The complete spiritual tune up and oil change. That is the only way I can describe it. The last half of my Temple Meditation was of working out, especially dead lifting. The irony is that I worked out hard yesterday but didn't have any gas in the tank. Today during that last half I just visualized dead lifts, dead lifts, dead lifts, like a train on a crash coarse.
When I got out, and went home, I changed and went to the gym. Sure enough, and not messing about I went right to it. Started with a medium weight. Cranked out 12 reps with out even taking a break like an old locomotive from long ago just getting started. As I churned I added more weights. Two people training together where watching me intently, trying to figure out where I was getting the power. (wink) well at one point the one who was training the other came over to me to ask if I was doing some sort of variation of dead lift. No, I thought I'm just doing living lifts. My answer was ? His reply "well Ive never seen some one just bounce it off the floor in one continuous motion." Then as he went back to training his friend, "He doesn't look that big, but man can he lift some weight" He said it quietly so it was hard to hear. He continued," I couldn't do that much" I smiled ear to ear and said a silent tak. kittos.

What was just discovered

What a Dance thru time. Its amazing to re read thoughts and deep feelings from 5 years ago. That seems like an eternity ago. (Drunk Diamonds)
Well to update you on today's half. Its Thursday and I write this blogg from a cold desk during lunch break of all places a warehouse. But this one is different from the rest. Our production is
hopefully peace of mind, and organization to my religious affiliations.
The fog of lunch is sitting apon my eyes, like a fog of mist. If you would have told me that I would be one day living in Salt Lake I would had told you mad. Yes its a good city, can have some bad air most of the time.
Well I think in time I will let slip thu a few of my great moments of poetry be posted on here in the next few days. Yes there are other souls who can express themselves more abundantly to my mere fractors penmanship, but for today I will submit to retardancy of mind, and the stagnancy of the staunch work day.
Rugby has my viens dancing as always. Love is a faded dream and the age of life is the waking moment. The blending of fluid and dryness breads greeness.
So I need alot of water. Hadn't had a good drink from a creative inspiration for some time. But I get plenty of water in the Big House.
That's where I will be tonight 7 pm.
C you then (wink)
Dr. Andre. Esq.