jackson pollock

time squandered in art is time well wasted.
new discoveries promise dimensions unfamiliar, unseen,
and while presaging evolution and the stagnation upstream
for freedom from horizons, we've waited.

these laws were created to prevent ingress
to the unknown, unkempt, unrestricted, alive.
and the rules quotidian to which we must abide
enjoin slavery to signs, surreptitious.

and as martinets to laws, we have obfuscated
restraints meant to be cogitated.
but, we cannot dismiss what is germane.
our lives diffuse through temporal schools
where we learn to follow before we break the rules;
adopting apathy before expressing disdain.

SAT ire

2 plus 2 is 1
ratiocination is,
above all things, dumb

pondering a paroxysm of pleasure

in passion's prison,
pacing,
palliating possibilities,
pleading,
prohibiting pollutants and
perpetuating pleasure by
preventing the permeation of perspective and
the potential pursuit of propounded paralysis.
precarious.
erroneous.
adumbrated.
senseless.

you (disambiguation)

your form is blurry to me,
your form is fuzzy to me you see
when you lay by my side i
cannot describe why
laying down next to you i find no lines, or borders, or rules,
no judgment. between our bodies lay only contours,
comfort, acceptance, sex and perhaps
the cream to your coffee.

your body prostrate
has no law defining the separation of your search and my state.
we are simply existing, marinating and steeping,
in this balance of feigned love lore
in search of an immediate succor,
persisting.

we persist
and cease to ponder.
we allow our hands to wander.
our hands assist
and we discover
the pleasure of wanton splendor.
delicious.
juicy.
fleeting.
consuming.

occupational hazards

sense,
a dissonant realization of the visual
one 'logical' justification of the mind
wreaking havoc on my heart,
undulating through my body,
erupting from my lips
and brazen in my fingertips
my love, labeled.
your love, able.
our love, fabled.
living forever,
yet,
never a day alive.
sense,
less.

Herculaneum footsteps

where do these steps come from?
the steps leading...nowhere, they're
reality's staircase. going.
a dimension of truth and obligation,
a haven enslaving citizens in occupation:
"Arbeit Macht Frei".
the staircases of a trafficked life, eroded by the constant weathering of time,
alive.

you can listen to the rain splash,
you can hear it in the distance,
the roborant clash,
two wants of a soul,
divided, united
by skin, blood, bones and breath,
if for no other reason we must love:
we must learn to love and love to learn.
meld our parted souls or yearn,
in eternity.

you can smell that new rain smell,
the warning from the skies, that sense of winter,
the first few drops of rain make my earth smell like asphalt.
dirty from exhaust,
exhausted,
and tread,
trodden,
ready for the wet
of the season's first rain...
the desire for the wash, after washed, remains.

you can see the steps,
those left behind after the fall of It's greatness.
the staircases that lead nowhere,
left to guide your mind through the passes of the past and the histories
of streets;
of cobbled-stones and long-grown weeds, myrmidons of time and those deceased.

you can feel it in your heart beating: the futility of staircases.
keep your feet to the floor.
before they can ascend, flights to nowhere end.
when
your earth is infinite in existence,
let not your soul grow restless in the sky.
it is not the essence
of the arm to fly.
you will have no means to go or build, to walk or climb.

these stones were laid by those who reasoned to divine;
by those who sought to follow,
one footstep at a time,
the fatuous avenues of the abstract mind.

just prepare yourself

i suppose i should find a purpose for this blog...that is so not like me though, focusing my efforts on a single goal is not something i succeed at. my life is a gallimaufry of focuses, loves and lessons...and i almost always like it that way. almost.

la valigia mentale is supposed to be a testament to all of the places my mind travels. it is the proof of the avenues i have explored whether they be mental, spiritual, physical, existential, sexual etc... my mind is my only constant companion and it is only fair for me to share it. i think.

as much as i love to write, i should also warn you (if you haven't noticed already) grammar is not necessarily my strong suit. i have an obsession with commas. i don't necessarily strew them about without purpose, i just punctuate how i would say the sentence...so just roll with it. i apologize, if anybody ever reads this, to those sticklers of grammar. feel free to leave some lessons for me to review.

for those voyeuristic characters out there looking for yet another lens into the life of the unimportant, welcome to my mind. I will do my best not to hold back, promise.