Writings on the Wall

I got this heaviness inside. 

This yearning…really its a fire.

Though cliche is recognized, its the word that best describes

this place.

And though it is buried in my chest, it engulfs my entire.

Unsure if it is burning me down or beginning to inspire.

But it is burning…

like a young man’s first love.

Like a scorned woman’s vengeful heart.

Like a preacher’s passion or a slave’s conviction,

a leader’s actions and a prayer’s prediction.

An addict’s addiction

type shit.

Burning so fiercely, I had to sit down and write shit.

Fore it started burning me down.

Once told my young cuz

to turn her forest fire into a flame thrower…

now I’m lookin to take my own advil.

Can’t lay down cause

every time I do my chest is pressed

with the heaviness of an anvil.

Using blank screen as canvas to paint the flames…

bright reds and oranges, vibrant yellows,

twisting, turning, dancing about.

Choreographing this heat into a blow torch

so I can choose what and where gets scorched.

Funny enough, I know what it burns for…

Somewhat mysterious that there is something that fire can yearn for.

But it does…and I do.

First time I met her I knew.

And the flame began…

spontaneous combustion.

A candle size fire that has since grown.

No other light I have since known.

Enlightened,

spirits hightened,

and now I am writin,

hoping the inferno gets focused,

and that the flame finds a hearth.

hoping these words get noticed,

and that the message finds that heart.

Digging through the crate of thoughts, ideas, memories, 

looking for that record of that moment to place under the needle, 

scratch the surface, 

finding the words

that reflect the thought of another time and place.

Reminding, 

finding

the timing

that not only resonates with me, the processor…

but also to stander’s by.

Knowing that surface scratch needle placement

would somehow

potentially push past, pierce, penetrate

through to the heart, pounding, pumping,

placing peace and passion at its core.

I’m not a producer cause its not the product I search for,

but the process.

I hunger to move you, push you, have your soul search,

digging through its crates, 

looking to move the next…

looking to move me.

Let’s go…

Filled with constant breakdowns and crashes

burned out, in the bottoms, covered in ashes.

But from this I reset my sight on total oneness

in hand; map, food and compass. 

My heart, a vehicle for all terrains. 

Memories of past mistakes seem all that remains.

And, sadly, the human mind rarely focuses on all that we’ve gained.

And even during my restoration, my recent years of love found through pain

have all been retained.

What has changed is my appreciation for amore.

See, in my past I focused on my hurts, but no more.

And in the past no pain was as possible as L.A. with no shore,

Bishop Don with no whore,

a house with no floor, 

the Earth with no core.

But experience has taught me what the pain was for.

A baby eagle learns the technique of not falling

before

he learns how to soar.

With me, I’ve done nothing but building since my System Restore.

Wishing I could be your everything…

          UNI

no more though. it don’t work that way…it shouldn’t be. not even focusing on the shouldn’t we’s. momentarily in the moment, and in this momentous life of ours each and every moment shifts, changes, fluctuates…stays the same. that IS the name of the game. a perfect imbalance. kinda like us.

                              You and I

imperfectly reflecting off of one another. At times feeling like we’ve got it all under control, but always having that tingling feeling like at any moment it will all blow away. How do you go from brick wall to the feather that sits on it? That’s what happen to us…isn’t it? And yet we still have to walk through it all confident, proud, unfucked with…emotional. Somehow we have to maintain this imperfect balance of surety and vulnerability. Somehow we have to create goals: plan, prepare, practice, pursue, push, pound, pray, plead, pretend, push, pound and pray again; and in the end be ok with not reaching that same goal that you went through all of that shit to get to in the first place. Didn’t we do that? Didn’t we try?

                                                            You in I

And the nasty irony to it all is, ‘doing it right’ means being ok with not doing it right! Getting it ‘under control’ means allowing it to go out of control. Finding ‘balance’ in it all means accepting its imbalance. Its imperfection. Its ugly truth. Isn’t that what we were? An ugly truth. And is that why we hurt so much…because we couldn’t accept our ugliness…our truth. And what really leaves me fucked backwards in a time machine, is that I am somehow getting better at accepting all of this…and it still hurts! And it is you that helped me get here…it is you that reminded me of the truth that I already knew, that we all knew. You held my hand while I walked through the darkness, the muck, the grime and soot, ashes and residue. Somehow I get what I don’t get…I see what I can’t see…and I am thankful for that. I am thankful for you…

                                                                                                          You in Eye