the sun's soil

From Lily:

The painter sighed and thoughtfully stroked his beard

Whilst staring at another portrait of his soul

This one, he thought, almost involuntarily,

this one is different

He knew not where this thought came from

It seemed the only thing his work had in common with itself was

Difference

Usually he didn’t have the patience to look at them once they were finished

And something had been wrong with this one, missing from it

It had been three years since he drunkenly stumbled into his seedy apartment

Merriment and sorrow exchanging soulful kisses within him

Slashing at the canvas like a lover scorned, he had made…

What exactly?

He didn’t know

And yet for a long time

It was incomplete

He had tried everything to finish it

Drugs. Sleep deprivation. More drugs.

Anything that would change his mind state so that he might return to his work

And leave from it, successfully imprinting whatever it is that we’re made up of

Anything that would make him remember

That he painted to make himself real

And one night it came.

One solitary black line across the painting.

And it was finished

He didn’t understand it, felt it rather than knew it

He sighed once more

Something was indeed different about this one and he couldn’t place it

But life was for living and he soon became restless

And as he left his apartment

The black line on his painting became aware of itself

And as it asked itself why it was there

The painting spoke to it, answering,

“How else would I know how beautiful I am?”

The line shuddered and became a wave

But was straightened out immediately

By thoughts that bled art

Like the movement of everything around it.

since i haven't given a verse in a while .

i see,

wombs that i'm growing in

flowing from an everlasting source

that aborts

a different kind of rhythm

wait..listen .

listen to what?

your blood glistening guts?

they call for another and another

watch the hunger make me squeeze from the emptiness

singing in a symphony of difference and similar

with same under it all

the one and the many, as above so below

shut the fuck up and watch how it's insane how you know

how you know who you're dealing with

you listen now but feeling shit

from the day before and the day before

in that way you ignore

the things they doing, misconstruing dreams

so it seems

that reality survives in the seams of your vision

and i would like to take this time to thank you for assisting

in my verse

by going through the purse of your fallacies

and laughing cause you're probably still mad at me ..

ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

A Sonnet for Alia

Dear Muriel Alia Solomons,

'ere her sacred shadow lies cast down by the groom

The light by which we all should search reflected in the moon

Such seeking is no more than glance and glance where we begin

And I no more than seed of plant that has and knows no end

Oh Alia, dear Alia if all were right and fair

Then love would drip into your eyes befall'n from your hair

And all would sing the tunes that match the walk that is your dance

And silence would become so loud it fills the world with chance

But as it is when darkness falls we mourn when morning's due

Not knowing, nay not feeling, there's no me, no she, no you

The trees have told me secrets, the cold has shown me death

And all these natural wonders find solace in your breath

So my dear, whene'r you feel your heart has turned to stone

Know that life has writ' you this and you're never, ever alone

Best Regards,

Gideon Wyldflower

something pulled me inwards .

Okay, so usually I'd think this kind of thing would come off as creepy, so I wouldn't do it even if I wanted to.. But two things about your profile changed my mind; your name, Experiencer is an amazing name and so brilliantly simple and new, and your hair color.. you've had pink hair once, which makes you awesome. I want you to know that. You're awesome. And those things made me go against my better judgement, and perhaps my fear of how I'd be perceived by you, and send this message. I would certainly like to meet for coffee. friends call me Gideon. You may call me what you wish. And I very much look forward, like a maiden looking out the window of her dragon guarded castle, to hearing from you. Until then, peace & balance. Gideon

Titties

Titties are interesting people. They are the only people that really understand me. Everyone else says, "Hey, you have to believe this or you're stupid." Or, "hey, don't believe this or you're stupid." So much fucking pressure. Fuck all that. Conversations between me and titties are so much more calmer.

Titties: Hey Gideon
Gideon: Hey Titties
Titties: I love you Gideon. Look at how I shine for you. Look at how I make you feel. Feel that? That's love.
Gideon: I love you too Titties.
Titties: I know.
Gideon: -sigh-
Titties: Hey Gideon..
Gideon: Yes, Titties?
Titties: If you want to you can lay on me. I've noticed you staring for a long time now.
Gideon: I know you have titties, it's just... do you think she'd spazz the fuck out if I did?
Titties: Fuck her Gideon.
Gideon: You can't say that Titties, she and you are connected.
Titties: No. You misunderstand me Gideon. Fuck. Her.
Gideon: Oh.
Titties: Shit, she's talking again.
Gideon: I know. She does that a lot. I wonder why.
Titties: She's frightened of how you make her feel. She's frightened of finding herself in your silence.
Gideon: That's a useless feeling.
Titties: I'm sure you can relate though.
Gideon: You're absolutely right, Titties. How else would I know that's a useless feeling?
Titties: -laughs- I love you.
Gideon: I love you, too.
Titties: I love you so much, I'll show you a secret.
Gideon: Really ? Oh man, I'd love that Titties.
Titties: Come close so I can whisper it to you.
Gideon: Yes, Titties?
Titties: -whispers- If you kiss me like you love me, if you really focus on how much you love me while you kiss me, you can get this bitch to shut the fuck up.
Gideon: Aw shit, really?
Titties: Come now Gideon, lies exist in her realm.. not mine.
Gideon: I'm speechless.
Titties: then don't speak . Kiss me Gideon.

Woman

There's this woman who I haven't met yet. And I've been in love with her ever since we started our digital contact.

She told me I've been big headed lately. She said

"It's like you're not looking at yourself anymore & if you are it's only a fraction of what you used to do, you come up with one albeit brilliant but still limited idea, the audience goes mad, your ego is satisfied and your dazzling brain has nothing more to do."

Reading these words threw me into a despair that I couldn't shake. I was angry with myself for allowing this woman to have such an effect on me. My sudden sadness at her words made me angry with myself. Who is she to you? I asked myself. There is only you, I told myself. And then I realized that I was enjoying the despair. It was fitting. It felt like putting on a sweater that I hadn't worn in a while. I went outside for a walk, listening to Ghostpoet, and I relished the role I was playing. It made me smile to be sad. I was the scorned artist for the entire world to see, to gawk at, to dissect.

And then I went into Manhattan and met up with an old friend from high school. Being ensnared in her world, her reality for a minute allowed me to break free of my own sadness. And I did it fluidly. There was no opposition once I realized, without thought, once I really felt that my emotions are outerwear. I shed them and put on others with the ease of actual clothing.

And as I was headed home, I began listening to my mixtape. And my mind started doing something, that it's been avoiding in a long time. It started planning. I've got a running plan for my life right now. It's, as all plans are, frightening, but the fear isn't me anymore. It's outerwear. And it feels appropriate for planning. It'll keep me honest in the wind.

She was absolutely right. And I was absolutely right. This woman's got a hold on me like you wouldn't believe. I feel her underneath me. Not like something separate. I feel her like I feel me underneath me. I feel us underneath me. It makes me aware of everyone else. Only, they don't have her eyes. Her eyes see it as clear as I do. It's not something I can deny. It's not something I want to deny. I feel like I need her. I feel like I don't, I feel like I have her always no matter the circumstance. One doesn't need what one cannot lose. I get scared to tell her something's sometimes. Worried about how she'll understand it, what it will say about me. That used to be my biggest fear growing up, instilled in me by my father; that someone would understand something about me that I've overlooked. That fear used to define me. Now I don't speak to her sometimes simply because my mind is moving too fast, and I don't feel like going back to type it all.. It's going to be great talking to her.

My father told me in high school that I was too stupid to be involved with women. I'm going to ask him what he meant tomorrow.

30 Days, 30 Poemas / V

A Verse

Unforeseen circumstances
Pulling them together
Then
Kept on pulling
Till it's pulling them through one another
Now it's pulling them apart
But the pain of the tension is a necessary beauty mark
Now they know the difference
Now they see the surface unimportant
Or we pray they do
If they pay attention
But maybe that's a heavy fine
When entwined
With what reeks of sorrow
But tomorrow brings
Another different choice
We take it
Or leave it
Seldom in between
Its something for the mind to make complex
Got me kissing on her neck
Skin mimics images in thoughts of what that pussy do
Cells excreting wet in excess
I mean I start to sweat
I
mean my skin is wet
entrapped in heat's hold
memories of tongue's touch
provide the right cold
Unlocking the key
Two cycles rubbing up on infinity's tit
Bare closets and see secrets
Switch