Battle Field Baptism (classic)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wN-NIHbfJ1k

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Battle Field Baptism
Current mood: awake
Category: bleakness of suffering. cold romance Writing and Poetry


Thousands Lay stricken, stirring in moments that stretch far beyond the lifes memory.

Thousands lay beaten, fallen apon a blood thirsty battle field. Hewn apon heaps, layed carelessly. Times slow beat in painful breaths. The recounting of the found memories of life for some. For others its the epitome of being left in a dumpster as a child. Motherless in a time where no amount of comfort can soothe the blood and pain of the last few breaths. The bleakness of the crys for mercy ringing in your ears as the last bouts of pain, tears and sheer will hold on for what ever time the hands can grip.

The crys in the thousands, pools of blood bathe comrades in baptisms that shed meaning into a new birth that some wish they never where born. Being born again apon a bloody battlefield, dying for a cause that held so much meaning. To others the ideal , the money, the promises all empty, the contracts now sealed the debt never paid.

To lay wasted and wasting, breathless and waiting, counting every last second, measuring every last moment.

The mother no-where to be found, the hour grows dark, thousands lay strewn and helpless with no mercy for the deep dark and blackening pain. Every moment of childhood counted before the last moments of the eternal eye. If one is lucky enough but unfortunate to suffer so obliquely. For every burning second of time throws contradiction to the struggle. The right to live for another agonizing second.

The child lays in its dumpster abandoned by its mother. Helpless now it crys, helpless and alone is its life. Its only a matter of time the thousands that lay wasted by that war will soon feel no more.

No more.

Commercial Assault Riffle

It seems no matter where you go, especially in Utah there is an Add for some thing for sale. There are Billboards everywhere. Its like having trash all over the highway. Its like having trash all over your brain. Its like having trash all over your email. Infact these things are just that. Its impossible to escape the onslaught of the commercial world. "Undertakers Profit" the slogan of a post nine eleven newspaper.
Its over dose. Its part of the great pollutions of our day. In the mind, in the city, in the email.
the worst of it, is most of the filth is pharmaceuticals for sexual stimulation to an over stimulated world. Showing what huge deficit man lives under. Physically and financially. We are in a age of great communication and potential enlightenment only to squander it to decrepitude and greed.
Its an Assault to the integrity of the human ecosystem.

Soldiers Uniform (classic)

Saturday, January 13, 2007
Soldiers Uniform current mood: Deep Blue Solemn Grey
No uniform will ever tell the story or will ever live up to the glory of the man that wore it. Even though with each passing shadow, with each bug eaten hallow the uniform remains.
With each covering snow fall, with each passing summer the canvas gets slimmer, runs and mesh. Each cell falls with the leaves of autumn. Each atom washes away with the rains. Each hair passes with the rites of spring. Every bone begins to break with the heat of summer. Each seasonal aspect slowly dissipating ,dissolving and reuniting that unknown soldier and form with the very painter that once forged us all. That very earth only now to become again. Each and every swap of universal shared clay. With each passing breath of death now becoming life for another living canvas.
Now the uniform changes slightly, its shades deepen with the dew of time, of rain, of winter, o' fog of summer. Its passing is slower, its story still untold. Of that hero who held no medal or recognition. Who's passing is of clay, and now his uniform for a time remains.
Passing creatures crawl over with out recall, as it slumps against an old round stoned wall. With each passing fall the red and amber leaves canvas the uniform once deep dark union blue is now a southern greenish grey

Nightly Oscar

Its an amazing dividing line between being positively reinforced and being positively torn down. There are so many forces pulling at us these days. How many breaths do we take in peace. I would wager slims. Such wind in this world. We are constantly in a state of chasing happiness. How often that finish line becomes a 5,ooo mile dash. Like in a dream or film, the door always a stones reach out of reach. Just beyond the pale. My list of reaching happiness is extended everyday. Yes there is a goal of growth and then there is the goal of dog chasing its tale.
This line is hard to distinguish. For in today's world its made to be one and the same. You will find happiness when you buy this product. How I wonder if the weight problems are all carefully haphazard.
The lost line of dividing is in companionship. This one has been obliterated in what is mine is yours approach to companionship. How many loyal loves raise your hand? Don't see to many of you out there. Not many at all. Even in the sacred realms of religion its a disasters death. Family? what family. Put your parents in the old home, I'm 2 busy trying to hurry up and be happy. Yes they may have messed up on changing your diapers but its the fast food days. Guilty yes I would say even I, condemned , not yet.
This blog is a revolt. A take a look at how silly I look on the Oscars of Life.
Live longer/Slow down.