Gridlock.

what's happening in the world?
this one claims i'm not listening to her, i am. since i was like 7 i've been saying "i'ma genius, this is why i need to have 30things going on at once, my brain needs to be entertained." if you know me, and most of you think you do; i say a lot of things at once... i have thought orgasms. i think think think &climax... i think i never actually react|act.period to a lot of the things i think about. then i get this label of being lazy. i'm not lazy, i'm just so overactive that it leaves me unactive. does that make sense? it does in my head. but the madness always makes sense to the creator, maybe that's how this universe began, as a simple idea. i think so - just be the dialog of every "creation" story... it's an idea that spurts into this big thing. but then the religious fcuks come in  &overtake it to the next level, to some shit that wasn't even intention, and it becomes religion. hypothesis succeeds.
anyhow, moving has been the greatest step i've ever taken. though many think it's a mistake, i think they need to take it for what i've been missing. (ooo that wordplay is fierce, ha]. just the environment is more welcoming &safer than i've ever felt before, and trust, as brooklyn as i get - i've lived in the suburbs of a black hole, always looked over my shoulder. here it's completely different. things are just different. when you are someone where they can't control the hype about you, and your being an entertainer, that's cool &all, but like erykah badu said "i'm an artist, and i'm sensitive about my shit." that's how i feel, i don't want to be a showmaker, i want to be a soulshaker. i want to touch you where you've never been touched before. sounds like raping... kinda sorta want to have that effect on you. be in awe, be amazing, g.o.d. i am.
i start tons of projects, my one major 'success' story still exists though it was ripped away from me by the system (welcome to america], many others departed from me when i broke away from individuals that used me &abused me &fcuked me in 7different ways... and then there's the current road blockage that's gridlocked inside my head, and i'm trying to get it in gear. let's put this btch in drive.
don't sleep on me, please. i'm like a ninja, assassinating plenty behind the scenes. once i have the money to make the moves, i'ma be gone. and you'll never knew i was even there. that's the type of roads i take. the freeway, because the highway keeps you low to the ground. i'm all about movement, all about getting it together, once it's got, it's on to the next. my soul is that of a certain type, and that's one that will never be satisfied.

peace,

Fireside Chat.

o2.19.2o1o.

Rolling Stone.

The raindrops fall and nestle between the soil
Seeping into their spots of asphalt
I compare this to the love I have
Splattered against the ground I've been pulled to rock bottom 
By an element that only exists on a emotionology vocab list
Four letters
Three words
Two beings
Us

As wonderful as thunder rolling across the clouds
Sunshine vouyering in between the light windows
A glow stroke each treetop as if to frame the excitement
Natural and pure a divine gift wrapped in dew

Drizzle me in your excrements
Interpret my words in exchangement for verbs 
And let them drip against my skin 
Brushing away the scars of past falls

The tapping of droplets on the gutter of my mind
Riveting into a trail of bliss
The splash causes a ripple that delivers beautiful creation
Shower me in your delight 

This scent tingles my nostrils 
A reminder of the kiss you dab my lips with 
And I crumble underneath the skyline

Rhetoric.

I've been slacking on the poetry note. I don't have much for inspiration, I could write love poems but it seems like that just leads me in circles. I've come to find that my best poetry comes freestyled. The problem with that is lacking a camera, I can't shape-up a poem -- it's like lost content. And that's never good.Now people say I'm really good. But I am finding myself struggling to get a mere sentence on the line before I'm erasing and started again. Sucks because I need to write. The mental cloud is hanging over my head. What am I waiting for I scream to myself. Maybe I should format as I do during shows. Pick different words and incorporate them into separate pieces. I don't know how that would work. I ever resorted to grabbing a pen &putting it to the pad, still nothing comes. Maybe Ill call this book Hard Pressed. Free press is only valuable if you can use it, I don't have as easy of an access. It's saddening to me when I can't write. It's like seeing yourself falling head first over the handle bars and still trying to reach for the brakes instead of bracing for the fall. Shitty day. I need to get it together. I don't like the academic way of writing because structure sucks. Maybe I'll write 100 haiku's...  those are fun and easy. Often leading to something else. This blog is full of questions &I'll get it together. Just had to vent.


Ignore this. 

Where The Wild Things Are

It's lovely outside today. I'm kinda ashy... Right, so as I sit out here on the balcony enjoying the sound of the creek rushing, the birds chirping, and squirrels playing chase Im hit with the painstaking realization that being a creative soul isn't all nuts &berries. Meaning that there's the stereotypical lifestyle of artists vs. reality. And reality is the (real)ization that everyone doesn't see the things that I see.
When I was taking my photography courses, I would take pictures that caught my eye, caught a sight I would love to see. But when shown to my professor, she merely looked at the frames, nodded, and walked to the next student. I felt insignificant and/or incorrect at times. My pride and mind told me that my pictures were just as great, if not better than Sarah's or Joe's" ; but I did not get that from my professor. 
My senses are off the normal chart, my imagination takes me for rides. Sometimes I get so scared of myself because I know what's real but I feel the actual. It's like watching yourself in a dream and feeling everything, hearing every thought, seeing it from 1st and 3rd person. I live a waking dream.
Currently society and it's responsibility clause has got the best of me. Supposedly I live on the Land of the Free but I feel trapped in the tells of what I have to do. I guess free means 'free-will' in America. I mean, you can do whatever you want freely but will you be able to handle the consequences of doing so. I guess I define free differently. 

"If I’m really brilliant, like others sometimes tell me, how come nobody acts like I’m valuable? Maybe I’m just a pebble that’s been lied to since childhood." (-Gloria Szabo)

My peers and everyone alike are stuck on being an 'artist'. But they have no idea the pain, insomnia, and dissatisfaction you carry by being a creative mind. You give the best of you always and never ever reach the climax. Like fucking but never having an orgasm.
Trust me, if I could be the average Sarah or Joe, and just live life minimalistically, I'd sign-up right now. Shed these words in my head, stop the paranoid jumping from sounds unreal, and keep my heart from pacing so heavy. My life is running like a marathon, and I'm always one step behind. 

peace,