Return
I return to the Wilderness
The wildness of deconstructed time and echoes bouncing off the forest walls and tree trunks. Hollowed trunks.
I return to the Wilderness
The meadow calls and asks for the metal to cut down the little trees to keep the meadow open. The meadow holds the deer. And bear. And bear forages for berries and tried to sneak into camp for meat and cheese and whatever else it could find. Black bear, brown bear. I scared them away with pots and pans clanging them together.
I return to the Wilderness
The old growth forest. The chambers of hollowed trees and lightening strikes and the lightening storm with my dad and Alon and Noah. And the clouds that day while my dad chanted an old native song to the sky gods they formed a woman breastfeeding a bear.
I return to the Wilderness
Canyon oak tree who’s support I have for cultivating patience lingers low in my bones. I taste excitement at the back of my throat when the bats come out at dusk. And crickets. Crickets and their noise. Crickets that bite. Crickets I may eat one day. Good protein I hear.
I return to the Wilderness
The wildness of the heart. Freedom of voice and limbs and climbing feet. Candle light at night while drawing and writing with pen. And
I return to the Wilderness
To birth. To die. To dance.
I return to the Wilderness
To let go of false time. Sink into the stars and moon and water over cold rocks and be seduced by their touch as lay in bed at night. Lichen singing lullabies on flesh.
I return to the Wilderness
Cabin built by tree logs by my dads hands and moms and brothers and my own. And turned up iron tools from the turn of the century. And a story of an old woman named Babett who would host young men and seduce them and then kill them. And stories for days from the mouths of mountain men. And women.
I return to the Wilderness
The wildness of deconstructed time and echoes bouncing off the forest walls and tree trunks. Hollowed trunks.
I return to the Wilderness
The meadow calls and asks for the metal to cut down the little trees to keep the meadow open. The meadow holds the deer. And bear. And bear forages for berries and tried to sneak into camp for meat and cheese and whatever else it could find. Black bear, brown bear. I scared them away with pots and pans clanging them together.
I return to the Wilderness
The old growth forest. The chambers of hollowed trees and lightening strikes and the lightening storm with my dad and Alon and Noah. And the clouds that day while my dad chanted an old native song to the sky gods they formed a woman breastfeeding a bear.
I return to the Wilderness
Canyon oak tree who’s support I have for cultivating patience lingers low in my bones. I taste excitement at the back of my throat when the bats come out at dusk. And crickets. Crickets and their noise. Crickets that bite. Crickets I may eat one day. Good protein I hear.
I return to the Wilderness
The wildness of the heart. Freedom of voice and limbs and climbing feet. Candle light at night while drawing and writing with pen. And
I return to the Wilderness
To birth. To die. To dance.
I return to the Wilderness
To let go of false time. Sink into the stars and moon and water over cold rocks and be seduced by their touch as lay in bed at night. Lichen singing lullabies on flesh.
I return to the Wilderness
Cabin built by tree logs by my dads hands and moms and brothers and my own. And turned up iron tools from the turn of the century. And a story of an old woman named Babett who would host young men and seduce them and then kill them. And stories for days from the mouths of mountain men. And women.
I return to the Wilderness
Blood Lines
I brought pot down stairs. I didn’t bring water. And I want water right now. Listening to calming music, been trying to talk myself down from fire in shoulders and throat. Disappointed and frustrated from expectations and plans gone arry. The let down feels shitty. Calming music helps. It’s from this guys playlist on youtube. He documents experiences of ayahuasca, his own and others.
The access psychedelics give to the mind, cosmic mind, is not insane. I incline towards plants and trees. Oak tree in particular. Pine and cedar. Great Grandfathers and mothers walkers of forest and fern too. Botanists. Argonauts. Early California. And I trace lines that blood has danced before. Here in Hawaii. Veracruz. Artifacts in a cabin and in the earth. Layers of earth folded up on these objects.
My dad and I do neo archeology, from a dump in the mountains that closed in the sixties. Old coca-cola bottles, porcelain cold cream jars. Blue brown bubbled glass. Telephone insulators. My dad and I we walk along the trail my emotions running loops in my head and the trees holding space. Holding me. And my dad he identifies plants and fungi and fern and sometimes their uses. I seek that mountain man now never far from my heart. I feel it in Noah and Kallai. In my brother and in cold water. My dad is a complex man and yet, as his daughter, I see his simplicity. His love for me is unconditional and that is safe for him. For him that heals. Makes whole the void where care and unconditional acceptance leaked out of his skin.
The access psychedelics give to the mind, cosmic mind, is not insane. I incline towards plants and trees. Oak tree in particular. Pine and cedar. Great Grandfathers and mothers walkers of forest and fern too. Botanists. Argonauts. Early California. And I trace lines that blood has danced before. Here in Hawaii. Veracruz. Artifacts in a cabin and in the earth. Layers of earth folded up on these objects.
My dad and I do neo archeology, from a dump in the mountains that closed in the sixties. Old coca-cola bottles, porcelain cold cream jars. Blue brown bubbled glass. Telephone insulators. My dad and I we walk along the trail my emotions running loops in my head and the trees holding space. Holding me. And my dad he identifies plants and fungi and fern and sometimes their uses. I seek that mountain man now never far from my heart. I feel it in Noah and Kallai. In my brother and in cold water. My dad is a complex man and yet, as his daughter, I see his simplicity. His love for me is unconditional and that is safe for him. For him that heals. Makes whole the void where care and unconditional acceptance leaked out of his skin.
Magic Gone Bad
Life drained out of me today. Most intense day I have experienced in awhile. Anger and grief projected on to me big time. And I keep telling him I want to support him but if he’s being an asshole all I can do is defend myself and put a barrier around for protection. It’s triggering shit from when I was a kid. On this quest to find the unobstructed voice within I call these patterns into the light. And they are screaming. And I am exhausted. I would have rather been attacked by bees. Seemingly more magic there. This doesn’t feel like magic. Birth feels like magic. Blood is magic. The moon and how she pulls on our waters, that’s magic. Human madness and addiction and consumption and escapism. Shit. Magic gone bad. And ultimately I don’t see right or wrong good or bad. These lines blur. But I will not deny today was shitty. Bad. Fucked up. Baboons beat the walls inside my chest shaking because it wasn’t safe to cry or speak or be seen. The pain of another dumped on me, blamed on me, me the burden, me the wrong, me the bad.
Venom builds in my pores and I am wiped out. I feel sticky. And all these reactions I’ve packed around my bones for padding they’re bombarding me, the ones telling me being alone is safe and most comfortable. So I isolate and turn cold. I isolate and turn cold and that may be the image I’ve put out in the world. Sometimes covered with a sugar frosted smile. I’m finding the balance. Not icy bitter cold, not frosted sweet. Middle ground. Middle way. Damn this roller coaster sucks. True. Sucks the life out of me. Highs and lows and exhaustion. And writing and words. And bedtime, right now, is when I finally taste quiet. Where writing could go on for days. Because there’s a lot stuck inside wanting to come out. Purge. Express.
Venom builds in my pores and I am wiped out. I feel sticky. And all these reactions I’ve packed around my bones for padding they’re bombarding me, the ones telling me being alone is safe and most comfortable. So I isolate and turn cold. I isolate and turn cold and that may be the image I’ve put out in the world. Sometimes covered with a sugar frosted smile. I’m finding the balance. Not icy bitter cold, not frosted sweet. Middle ground. Middle way. Damn this roller coaster sucks. True. Sucks the life out of me. Highs and lows and exhaustion. And writing and words. And bedtime, right now, is when I finally taste quiet. Where writing could go on for days. Because there’s a lot stuck inside wanting to come out. Purge. Express.
Traces of DNA
Melt the imprint of his thumb into the sole of my heel so I’ll never forget the taste of his lines. The coast line we have yet to adventure and early morning sunrise with dreams in our eyes. The night of dreams lingers with me even now. Seeds of super consciousness in the dwelling place of dark and dank; the winter dens and fires in caves removed from asphalt and concrete. L.A. is madness. Wheels and lines and desert fires. My Mercury line runs through L.A. not making it a great place to live. I grew up near L.A., removed, all ways removed slightly from the center of activity. Small town with artists and spirit folk and elders. Also heroine and meth and cocaine and weed all ways lots of weed. California. The whole world. Plants and their medicines I’ve experienced as a way of life. My father converses with plants. Father with deer hands and eagle eyes life of roses and guns.
Banana leaves out the window they drop the same drops of rain as the pines and canyon oak. I want to take a hammock around the world sleeping and dreaming with the oaks and jungle canopies and wet the canvas behind waterfall gates.
Pink Floyd and the prism of light. Triangle Majesty my muse in adventure. I shout from the belly in these moments where safety runs through my veins and wild is home and I am home I am home in Maui and Shasta and The Trinity Alps. In rivers and valleys and ridges. DNA scattered amongst the leaves.
Banana leaves out the window they drop the same drops of rain as the pines and canyon oak. I want to take a hammock around the world sleeping and dreaming with the oaks and jungle canopies and wet the canvas behind waterfall gates.
Pink Floyd and the prism of light. Triangle Majesty my muse in adventure. I shout from the belly in these moments where safety runs through my veins and wild is home and I am home I am home in Maui and Shasta and The Trinity Alps. In rivers and valleys and ridges. DNA scattered amongst the leaves.
Pieces Of Flesh
Anger tastes of vinegar splashed inside the cut at the corner of my mouth. It stings. And my chest swells with heat. The hallway at my moms it’s haunted and a creature snagged a piece of my arm and hasn’t returned it. I’m going back in December and I’ve already asked for it to be returned to me. See, I’m taking back these pieces I’ve scattered around for lost souls to smell in remembrance of life. It falls through their etheric bodies. I’ve got to stop giving away pieces of my flesh. It’s important to me if living is what I choose. And I cant say I’ve fully chosen to live. A part of me wishes death would come and take me out of the contradicting miseries of being human. The pain and pleasure bouncing through my blood cooling and boiling and splashing about. May be I’ll be disappointed by death. I have it in my mind that death will be like the coolest acid trip or psychedelic experience yet to date. I’m mad at myself for being stubborn. Mostly when it comes to emotional stubbornness when I cant seem to shake off this anger or resentment. Tension could be soothed in a moment if I choose to stop being triggered and snapping back with witty remarks meant to invisibly tear his flesh. Sarcasm. The root of the word sarcasm if traced back means ‘to tear ones flesh.’ Shitty how satisfying that feels. Tearing flesh. Metaphorically and otherwise. A week before Kallai was conceived Tiffany and I butchered a deer in our garage in Colorado. A buck. Road kill during rut season. My hands with the knife took over and knew how to trace the lines of the fascia, the inner lining between muscles. Primal hunger came into me as well as a deep conversation with the spirit of animal. I feel that animal came in to me too. And my dreams haven’t been the same since.
Skin and Salt
His body on my body and the way I laid in his lap next to the fire. Familiar and safe and warm. And open. No commitments in that cabin facing north west. I had lovers. A few. And a boy in Oregon who held my heart in his fist and another with mahogany curtains and a silk from India. I taste them and bits of nostalgic debris whisper to me as I attune to the light of his skin with water drops after our bath. The cabin was a result of me going to the depths of innocence as in being splattered on the sidewalk. I retreat in to the woods when I’ve gone too far into city consumptions. I hold on to awareness and righteousness and presence pushing and teetering and tasting the edge. I like the edge of climax best of all. At that moment when I rise and I rise and I contract and expand and contract and sometimes, when I don’t go over the edge and release into uncontrollable palpitations, I cruise with a bite and zest and juices of creation in my dreams. And dreams are where I belong. In the realm of stone walls and fruit trees and trying to scream but no one hearing me. That happened to me as a child in my dreams often, me, wanting to scream for help and no words would come out. No sounds. Screaming for words. Alone. I feel alone now and it’s something I’ve come to love. As I love that I still taste lovers past. And perhaps lovers future and mostly, the two boys I get to cuddle up with tonight. Because skin is to be tasted with salt.
Blood, Build Me A River
Creamy bananas. Sweetness in solid form. Earth orgasms to taste my tongue.
Herbs hang to dry. Candles. Crystals. Tarot. Material objects enticing me to play and see and taste. I collide with the realms of life and death. Guilt pleasure pain on a wooden stool.
Sit at the bar. Drink the spirits of the north and warm the pulsating rhythm.
I Drip wet with desire to feel the textures of cultures. I see in my minds eye the pathways to astral travel. Travel on globe. Serendipitous exposures and wandering feet. Dancing on the sidewalk. Naked. In the rain. In the storm. Under the shade of a tree.
Patience, beckons the moon in my jubilant ear. I am ripening.
I want to attract the honey bees and let them feast on my sweet nectar. Golden bliss.
Tickle the ladybugs toes.
Dance on a leaf and sway to the drum and bass.
The chapters within a lifetime keep me caressing the joy of expression. I lick words and photograph the insides of movement within the body.
Sit on a toadstool and melt into the puddle beneath.
Seep into the ground, my friend and find the hollow earth.
Creatures of coalescing forms illuminate the pathways as moonlight on water reflects her presence. I go here at night following the trails of incandescence.
Separation: the rainbow engulfing the stream. Coffee suitors. Journal compadres. I ignite the berimbao with the beat of her heart in my hand and squeeze sweet life into her stale eyes.
Circular voices rise and fall and rise and fall and call and respond.
The pressure of gravity echoing their cadence through my bone. Blood, build me a river.
Herbs hang to dry. Candles. Crystals. Tarot. Material objects enticing me to play and see and taste. I collide with the realms of life and death. Guilt pleasure pain on a wooden stool.
Sit at the bar. Drink the spirits of the north and warm the pulsating rhythm.
I Drip wet with desire to feel the textures of cultures. I see in my minds eye the pathways to astral travel. Travel on globe. Serendipitous exposures and wandering feet. Dancing on the sidewalk. Naked. In the rain. In the storm. Under the shade of a tree.
Patience, beckons the moon in my jubilant ear. I am ripening.
I want to attract the honey bees and let them feast on my sweet nectar. Golden bliss.
Tickle the ladybugs toes.
Dance on a leaf and sway to the drum and bass.
The chapters within a lifetime keep me caressing the joy of expression. I lick words and photograph the insides of movement within the body.
Sit on a toadstool and melt into the puddle beneath.
Seep into the ground, my friend and find the hollow earth.
Creatures of coalescing forms illuminate the pathways as moonlight on water reflects her presence. I go here at night following the trails of incandescence.
Separation: the rainbow engulfing the stream. Coffee suitors. Journal compadres. I ignite the berimbao with the beat of her heart in my hand and squeeze sweet life into her stale eyes.
Circular voices rise and fall and rise and fall and call and respond.
The pressure of gravity echoing their cadence through my bone. Blood, build me a river.
Numbers On A Clock
Madness lurks in my eyes. We kill and clean blood off the walls. Careful. Preened and elegant. Grace in verdant form. I hang dolls out to dry in the rain. My own neck crooked. But not really. None of this really and all of it. See the duality. Let it get stuck between your tongue. Walking contradictions bobbling along a brook.
And here I explore the consciousness of a tadpole. Wet life seeps in to my spine. Mud dries on my skin and tightens the hunters purpose. I walk into the clubs back door. Black box room. Lights pierce and heels stomp.
Sweat and smoke and sex spiraling its fingers between my legs. Laced moccasins whisper lullabies through the night. My ears tethered to the creatures of night. Of elixirs and potions and dreams. The usurped lines of morality bleached my skin and tumbled my hair.
I wash upon the shore of antiquity and lie beneath your feet. Validate the corpse and flesh melting into the sand before wind carries my soul to her throne. Caterpillars climb and trace patterns to anchor the codes of the stars. Harness the threads of a spiders web and carry the spider on your fingertip. Lead with your spine and walk backwards. Twist and turn and gnarl towards the light as darkness plunges and punctures the clock.
It’s morning time. Wake up.
And here I explore the consciousness of a tadpole. Wet life seeps in to my spine. Mud dries on my skin and tightens the hunters purpose. I walk into the clubs back door. Black box room. Lights pierce and heels stomp.
Sweat and smoke and sex spiraling its fingers between my legs. Laced moccasins whisper lullabies through the night. My ears tethered to the creatures of night. Of elixirs and potions and dreams. The usurped lines of morality bleached my skin and tumbled my hair.
I wash upon the shore of antiquity and lie beneath your feet. Validate the corpse and flesh melting into the sand before wind carries my soul to her throne. Caterpillars climb and trace patterns to anchor the codes of the stars. Harness the threads of a spiders web and carry the spider on your fingertip. Lead with your spine and walk backwards. Twist and turn and gnarl towards the light as darkness plunges and punctures the clock.
It’s morning time. Wake up.
Relinquish Victims
Bashful glances challenge moral structure. Rippled effects I see not and yearn to know not now. Present moment encompasses wrath of churning delight until heightened dances of ecstasy penetrate time.
I grasp the walls of indiscretion and hide my thoughts in shame. Don’t walk out of the vicious lines of right or wrong. Be bound in sinful remorse through crunching numbers and putting the head to the grindstone. How does the expression go? I don’t know.
I don’t know unicorns from donkey tails galloping recklessly beyond kinesthetic response. Haphazard words fling their manes wildly and I watch. I feel choice in my blood and reckon with laughing reason.
Pitty wrapped in fine gold cloth. Where is the door to freedom? I hear it is in the hallways of my soul. Turn inward they screech. Turn inward and reap the benefits of sharply cut illusion. Vanished.
Vanishing reason and remorse to the grip of a barrel. Sea foam gestating in the hindquarters of fearless pictures. Her eyes crimson red. Her lips dry. Wet the earth and cause ruckus in the centers of fizzy towns.
Melt ice between heaps of turning grey cement and lick the asphalt off her tied wrists.
I climb walls and they heave their crumpled hearts upon her breast. Relinquish victims in the sea of war and call upon flags of unity to gyrate their hips in melancholic celebration.
Tender morsels compliant and disheveled turn belly up to the vibrating stars and pulsate the dance of eclipse. Red moon. Shadow alignment and tantalizing edges of razor sharp belief. Fuck the end of puckered quiet.
Breathe yelping gusts into the night sky. Liberate vixen dancers.
I grasp the walls of indiscretion and hide my thoughts in shame. Don’t walk out of the vicious lines of right or wrong. Be bound in sinful remorse through crunching numbers and putting the head to the grindstone. How does the expression go? I don’t know.
I don’t know unicorns from donkey tails galloping recklessly beyond kinesthetic response. Haphazard words fling their manes wildly and I watch. I feel choice in my blood and reckon with laughing reason.
Pitty wrapped in fine gold cloth. Where is the door to freedom? I hear it is in the hallways of my soul. Turn inward they screech. Turn inward and reap the benefits of sharply cut illusion. Vanished.
Vanishing reason and remorse to the grip of a barrel. Sea foam gestating in the hindquarters of fearless pictures. Her eyes crimson red. Her lips dry. Wet the earth and cause ruckus in the centers of fizzy towns.
Melt ice between heaps of turning grey cement and lick the asphalt off her tied wrists.
I climb walls and they heave their crumpled hearts upon her breast. Relinquish victims in the sea of war and call upon flags of unity to gyrate their hips in melancholic celebration.
Tender morsels compliant and disheveled turn belly up to the vibrating stars and pulsate the dance of eclipse. Red moon. Shadow alignment and tantalizing edges of razor sharp belief. Fuck the end of puckered quiet.
Breathe yelping gusts into the night sky. Liberate vixen dancers.
Hollow Bones
Ancient confidence laces itself through her web.
Delicately woven patience sculpts structure through visionary form.
I feel into the depths of the porous precipice and trust.
Breath breathing me inwards.
Vibration purring within the intimate walls of my bones.
Within the dance of times spiraling convulsions I find acceptance.
Shiva’s drone echo’s. Echo’s in the space between the cavernous stone. The space between chaotically spewing spasms and elegantly lush braids.
Tasty, sweet, thick blood wraps its embrace around my limbs. A branch extending from the shallow still point within the hollow earth.
I rise in exasperation and fall and fall and fall. Expanding and contracting into a nebulous billow of dust. Ash. Bones. Scattered through the floor. The treasure chest of stories housed in physical form.
I ask to feel the patience of my bones. Journeying willingly into the sensations beyond duality. Suckling the honeyed marrow into my soul I taste the sweetness of immortality beyond human form.
Diving deep into the pools of my waters I trudge through mud beyond muck and become a form of clay.
A lost world of sculpted white perfection. Held in secret beyond the surface.
Enter the void I dare myself.
I feel safe.
I feel flesh and cold and fire. Breathing breath into me I rise into the exploration of my hollow bones.
Surreal pleasures entice my minds eye and expose the moments of empty doubt. Moving in this dance of experimentation I exercise the joints of creation.
Spoken word moves through her fingers. My fingers. Sounds of quiet and night and tapping carrying me tonight into dreamy slumber. I am within me. I am water.
I am ash and bone and breath. Fire burns the core of me and somehow from somewhere the ancients sing their song.
I linger, savoring the taste and smell of fresh life.
Renewal and rebirth.
Delicately woven patience sculpts structure through visionary form.
I feel into the depths of the porous precipice and trust.
Breath breathing me inwards.
Vibration purring within the intimate walls of my bones.
Within the dance of times spiraling convulsions I find acceptance.
Shiva’s drone echo’s. Echo’s in the space between the cavernous stone. The space between chaotically spewing spasms and elegantly lush braids.
Tasty, sweet, thick blood wraps its embrace around my limbs. A branch extending from the shallow still point within the hollow earth.
I rise in exasperation and fall and fall and fall. Expanding and contracting into a nebulous billow of dust. Ash. Bones. Scattered through the floor. The treasure chest of stories housed in physical form.
I ask to feel the patience of my bones. Journeying willingly into the sensations beyond duality. Suckling the honeyed marrow into my soul I taste the sweetness of immortality beyond human form.
Diving deep into the pools of my waters I trudge through mud beyond muck and become a form of clay.
A lost world of sculpted white perfection. Held in secret beyond the surface.
Enter the void I dare myself.
I feel safe.
I feel flesh and cold and fire. Breathing breath into me I rise into the exploration of my hollow bones.
Surreal pleasures entice my minds eye and expose the moments of empty doubt. Moving in this dance of experimentation I exercise the joints of creation.
Spoken word moves through her fingers. My fingers. Sounds of quiet and night and tapping carrying me tonight into dreamy slumber. I am within me. I am water.
I am ash and bone and breath. Fire burns the core of me and somehow from somewhere the ancients sing their song.
I linger, savoring the taste and smell of fresh life.
Renewal and rebirth.
Delicious Feet
The warmth of the sun on my feet and chest elongated the eagerness of serendipity to gently unfold. Or perhaps not so gently. Heart pounding quickly with the pitter patter of rain falling on cobblestone streets and wet and wet and wet and thunder and rushing street creeks. Feet dancing with anticipation of embrace. Hair dripping and clothes clinging. Heart open to the elements of delicious adventure. Hand in hand we ran and gazed deeply into each others beckoning eyes. The intoxication of a dark body in another language, a foreign land. Freedom without restriction I run. I run to the sensations of rain and wet. Adventures linger in my veins and patience petitions to find a home in my heart. Stale storylines of reason creep into the narrative of my conditioned thoughts and this animal inside of me licks the wet of tears. Beautiful tears. Accepting this chapter of a story. Of a life. The richness of streets and people walking. Eyes talking and bodies delighting in the sensations of comingled experience. A man who talks amongst the open air café speaks with the glisten in his eye of traveling the world. His rough hands, precise with a language and sight all to their own. They draw the scene and his words caress the core of me. Of adventure and language and cobblestone streets. Centers of towns where music plays and children run and I watch. I sit quietly. I smile inwardly. Pleased to be a part of this sea of expression and creation. Of joyous encounters and meant to be coincidences. And aliveness I can feel ringing through the bottom of my lip. I write. I write as another figure in someone else’s hesitant story. Until I don’t. And I walk through the fields of wet and dry and caves and forests and fall deeply and passionately in love. With my feet. My empty heart that gallops softly and steadfast. I am a foreigner in a foreign land. And I love.
In To The Darkness
Turn off the lights and feel the dark. Let it seep into your bones and hollow your insides.
Turn off the lights and feel the tongue of cloud speak to your teeth. See the dark enter your eyes and reflect silence to the echoing halls within. Empty and empty and empty this vessel. Purge the light and dig into the shadows of the winter moon.
Death resides in the light.
Turn off the light. Be absorbed into the marvels that wait with stillness. We are being asked to go there now. I hear it creeping through my veins and I ask you, please, please come with me down into the cellars below. I’m scared. Because this body has been probed and pricked with illusions of mortal sin. Original sin that raped and tumbled and pummeled my air. Breathless since birth.
Turn off the light. Wrap the wet of womb into our suckled insides and gestate quietly, silently, in stillness. Turn off the light and find a dream more visceral than daylight.
Begin to breath for the first time. In here I cannot see you. No one can see you and you bleed life into yourself. Go there. Be free in this liberated vibration the stars call home.
You are home.
Turn off the light. Welcome the guests as they dance through the halls and feel your feet guide you knowingly through the corridors of night.
Breathless magic caressing you from head to toe and beyond because at this point your insides will have moved past this solar system and entered a void beyond comprehension. Go there. Relax and surrender the need to control. Let the music hold you and guide you softly into yourself. I will find you there.
Turn off the lights, my friend.
Turn off the lights and feel the tongue of cloud speak to your teeth. See the dark enter your eyes and reflect silence to the echoing halls within. Empty and empty and empty this vessel. Purge the light and dig into the shadows of the winter moon.
Death resides in the light.
Turn off the light. Be absorbed into the marvels that wait with stillness. We are being asked to go there now. I hear it creeping through my veins and I ask you, please, please come with me down into the cellars below. I’m scared. Because this body has been probed and pricked with illusions of mortal sin. Original sin that raped and tumbled and pummeled my air. Breathless since birth.
Turn off the light. Wrap the wet of womb into our suckled insides and gestate quietly, silently, in stillness. Turn off the light and find a dream more visceral than daylight.
Begin to breath for the first time. In here I cannot see you. No one can see you and you bleed life into yourself. Go there. Be free in this liberated vibration the stars call home.
You are home.
Turn off the light. Welcome the guests as they dance through the halls and feel your feet guide you knowingly through the corridors of night.
Breathless magic caressing you from head to toe and beyond because at this point your insides will have moved past this solar system and entered a void beyond comprehension. Go there. Relax and surrender the need to control. Let the music hold you and guide you softly into yourself. I will find you there.
Turn off the lights, my friend.
Nude
Pulsate the wicked luxuries of mankind between your toes and lick the wet earth. Get naked and revel in the delight of the sun between your legs.
Get naked and feel the hairs stand on end as they taste the light dripping into your stillness.
Let you heart pulsate wet and blood and fire and burn through the empty illusion of separation.
I want to see the perfection of your form.
I want to see the creases and crevices.
Let me look.
Get naked. breathe deeply and let sound come out from your rich belly.
Be free.
Taste dance beyond judged confines.
Silence whispers within the onlookers own hesitations.
Set the hesitations of others free by stripping down to your goosebumps.
The mellow womb surrounding us will keep you warm.
Get naked.
Go down the slip and slide twisting and twirling to the beat of the drum. The rhythm and lights move through us with a drone that ignites our cells.
We are free.
Get naked.
Here, take this drop on your tongue. It is an elixir. From the earth. To free your mind and body.
Liberating every ounce of hesitation.
Throwing us into the stereo of cosmic bass.
Get low. Get naked.
Move your hips to the melody and taste the sensations of beautiful body. Your hard nipples and smooth skin, your fingers and toes alive with the vibration.
Let it move through you caressing your dancing soma.
Collect the fullness and ebb and flow with the current of this wave.
Get naked. Join the dance. Get naked. Take off your skirt, your shirt, throw off your belt, kick off your shoes and pants. Smile. Laugh. Taste bliss.
Get naked and sink your toes into the wet earth.
Let the mud squeeze between them. Get naked.
We are naked.
Get naked and feel the hairs stand on end as they taste the light dripping into your stillness.
Let you heart pulsate wet and blood and fire and burn through the empty illusion of separation.
I want to see the perfection of your form.
I want to see the creases and crevices.
Let me look.
Get naked. breathe deeply and let sound come out from your rich belly.
Be free.
Taste dance beyond judged confines.
Silence whispers within the onlookers own hesitations.
Set the hesitations of others free by stripping down to your goosebumps.
The mellow womb surrounding us will keep you warm.
Get naked.
Go down the slip and slide twisting and twirling to the beat of the drum. The rhythm and lights move through us with a drone that ignites our cells.
We are free.
Get naked.
Here, take this drop on your tongue. It is an elixir. From the earth. To free your mind and body.
Liberating every ounce of hesitation.
Throwing us into the stereo of cosmic bass.
Get low. Get naked.
Move your hips to the melody and taste the sensations of beautiful body. Your hard nipples and smooth skin, your fingers and toes alive with the vibration.
Let it move through you caressing your dancing soma.
Collect the fullness and ebb and flow with the current of this wave.
Get naked. Join the dance. Get naked. Take off your skirt, your shirt, throw off your belt, kick off your shoes and pants. Smile. Laugh. Taste bliss.
Get naked and sink your toes into the wet earth.
Let the mud squeeze between them. Get naked.
We are naked.
