Zealous Toxic Pray of Lechery Curved Up With A Twist

It's admiration, and desire, but also disdain, charged and expedient. In such close quarters, speed and sweat in a rush of time. Again. Go. Again. Go. Again. Senses, angst, fury, foresight, brute, ballet, smiles, lies, face, dance, show face, perform, connect, disconnect, faster, grace, smile, lie, face. Characters of the curtainless stage, non-slip studs on a flooded runway, two actors of a rolling set that never seems to stop, it just keeps skipping. Beautiful glorious pointless fucking tragedy. At what point do the people of the play start to play the players? During lucid nightmares of unpalatable desires. Yes it's a strong desire but it's an undesirable desire that will go no where. It's a burden to the bone babe. O' struggle to steer course towards a secure or more practical destination. Dreams. Get away from these Heart heaving swells, the magnitude of thunder. Ice in every glass shakes as it pounds and booms by. Panting...We can hear ourselves breathing. Glass cracked lightening fingers on my side.  Heaving. Stop.

Breathe.

Wake up.

Shake it off.

Go,

Again, go, again, go, again.

I attempt catharsis, I pray to Calliope, I thank her and ask her how, to engage and ensnare my erratic passion of muse rather then let it rip and bite at me, tear me away to a hellacious void of despair. Bullshit. I write about him, or I illustrate these moments and dreams, the lyrics I create, the beat and the song. I create them all to release this plague, release the deamon from my dreams to find the solidarity and resolution of friendship; balance. Dear fucking God. Dear God dear god. Try it at least. 

I let them loose on paper, as real and stronger then they could ever be untrue, those emotions and thoughts, pains and insanities tainting around my soul like blood clots. Spilled all over the floor. Dripping down the skin.

I want to burn them all. I want to see the paints turn brown and the hazel of his beautiful eyes flare, rage up in flames red. 

Mountain Ramblings

           I think one of the first mistakes I made was coming up here without an alarm clock, I made sure to write it down on my grocery list for when I go out today. But yah see theres the thing; "when I go out today," well when on earth might that be because my day is already slipping away. It gives me some guilt I think, I can just make sure to do better next time but who knows if that will happen, only me I guess if I make some effort....
            By the time I get a coffee brewed, some wood brought up from downstairs, outside and a fire going upstairs, inside, with my medicine taken and yogurt in hand; its 2:22 pm, rather than 3 hours before. Am I actually wasting my time up here by not doing all these things that I feel I could be or should be doing? No, no, no, I would like to hope not, to self-defeatist. I think because it is my time and I am trying to come out here into these mountains and get some peace of mind that I can go at my own pace, just have to keep in mind though that its not like a city where there are things to do late mid week in the valley, everything settles down in about 5 or 6 hours if not before so I better get a move on.
            Sometimes the mountains in this valley make me feel soothed and protected, other times, like now for instance, they make me fee claustrophobic, especially since I watched Brokeback Mountain for the first time last night before bed which I had no idea would be as depressing as it was, especially because I'm all alone up here in the mountains, just like they were. I do feel lonely up here, I know I could always go into town and meet people or knock next door, or even go home if I wanted, maybe I will I don't know. But a part of me keeps saying to stay up here for as long as possible because its okay to love me, and have me be there for me, and I need to learn about how to do that more, to stand being with myself, being there for myself, and loving myself, and the entity that is me will love me back. My consciousness doesn't want to be my enemy anymore, our world will burn if that's the case, rather than blossom, and this will be a resolution, If i just give it(us) the time it needs.
             Is this a dream, a goal, or a folly? Or maybe was it the bed I was sleeping in, an old bunk bed in a room that I've been sleeping in throughout the years at different intervals of age, I think sometimes things like that have a weird power over me, I am susceptible to the energies of space in rooms or presence of my own inner self from future and past, and sometimes can be abused by my own imagination, or what it might conjure out in the moment.
           Flashbacks playing with power ranger toys, on the big rock in the woods, near our house in mystic, My toys were having a final battle pre our trip north, then mother calls out my name....the 7 year old runs years away until that very moment is for some reason remembered here and now. Usually when I think of my childhood it splits in three; mystic 90's beach sand, tan, ice cream, white t-shirts, singing, and wearing a lot of purple pain and purple gum, or GLP summer friend hooligans hiding abuse in every color of the rainbow, or being lonely when it wasn't summer, and having my books, my action figures, my computer games, and my brothers and sisters to keep me company...the time when it wasn't summer was filled with likes and dislikes, but also plenty of love....
               ....OR flashbacks to the greatest lovers he's had in his life whether they knew it or not, but why thinking of the things he has the most pain from in a place that is so beautiful. Flash forward to the weeks end and the weeks beginning, a time and place of arduous tribulation for pay and regime. Whats so wrong with thinking what we think or feeling what we feel, especially when we don't want to. I mean I think thats what makes us human and personally I don't think its possible to control what we think, but I do think its possible to meditate on our thoughts in the short term ad allow ourselves emotional fluidity and soft discipline. The grass smells so wet outside. I think I need to step outside now....
             I believe that the purpose of me journeying away from home to this old home away from home in the Green Mountains, VT, is not necessarily to force myself to ski because it would be good for me... it would but that's not the point, the point is to not force my self to do anything other than to just be in the moment and practise... "presentness..." because that's what every thought and breathe of mine are yearning for lately, to be present in the moment, and enjoying it, taking it for what it is, appreciating whether it feels good or bad, because either way it is a growing experience an growing is a positive thing. I don't want my mind to race a hundred ways this way or that way anymore for work or for job or finances or family or whomever, whatever, If I can practise peace and presentness in the moment, that everything will have its time, everything will have its moment.

A Love Poem{?}

Never saw the light of dawn,

Only knew the sky as grey,

And even though he traveled with me for so long,

He never knew my name.

We can hear their shouting voices,

Echoing in hills across the sea,

Chains constrain my adulation;

Iron bolts and fervidity.

I am blind in the brightness,

But keen-eyed in the dark,

I am speechless in his wake,

But flooding in my heart.

This lost crusade of intrigue; tumultuous and in vain,

Loves' grandeurs' so sought after yet inflicts the deepest pains.

I am confounded by his beauty,

But tormented by his needs,

I am vanquished with gutser drowning in frivolity.

This man I long to envelop,

To know completely and in whole,

Is forbidden from my passion,

By forces uncontrolled.

A Student Review to Doss' 20th-Century American Art

          Twentieth- Century American Art by Erika Doss is a great book for those who appreciate studying / learning about America's cultural and aesthetic legacy of the last century, some of which being the foundations and struggle of American Modern Art contending with Europe, the often overlooked and significant "Outsider Art," "Junk/Funk Art," The Feminist and Body Art Movements during and post Civil Rights Movement Era, the transition from Alain Locke's "New Negro" Art Movement to activist orientated / conceptual art as well as Pop Art's rapture of consumerism in Post War America. 
          This book effectively breaks down the periods of American Art within the last century, focusing on the development of different styles, their influences, their fore-runners, but also the cultural and historical context between the art and sociopolitical affairs during their time. Essentially, everything is linked; this book identifies the connections between art and culture, economy, politics, nationalism, etc. Erika Doss exceptionally correlates style to society, artists to activism, mediums to media, and does so with a wide range of subject matter. 
          Twentieth Century American Art is also satisfying because of the artists that are listed and discussed as influences to famous artists and not just the famous artists themselves; it is important to remember how art is influenced by more sources than just famous predecessors of the art world, and this book expresses that. It is also vital to appreciate the inclusion of female, LGBT, and ethnically diverse artists in American Art, and to remember that many art movements tended to initially be male dominated and ignored these individuals. Doss includes blurbs throughout the book and specific chapters which unravel and analyze the work of many artists that were originally excluded from early to mid 20th century American "art scenes," as well as their creative quest for recognition which climaxed during the cultural wars of the 1980's. 
          Plenty of inspiring artworks, artists, historical information and cultural summaries are touched upon within this book. And don't be afraid to grab a dictionary to go with this book as well, and take your time, I know I did! Doss applies a riveting vocabulary to her historical art descriptions and discussions, words that paint a vivid picture themselves, words that can be gratifyingly understood with a quick look at a handy dictionary if need be. Enjoy!

-
Titus

Bus Stop bangbang

He was waiting to be picked up all day at Terminal Station 69, plenty of people; plenty of wasted time. 

Until finally a little after half past three, he whispered a prayer into the morning breeze. 

Out of the mists came a rainbow bus entitled the Devil's Children Hailers of Satin, "was this a chance?" His heart started racin'. 

Filled with Drag Queens and soon to be Mothers, it was a beautiful family unlike any other. 

They made some room for the Man but it was tight, and on the party went with paradise in sight.