“Don’t confuse having a career with having a life.”


Being behind the

Man behind the curtain

who could it be

that woman behind the curtain is everyone you see.

It’s you, me, her, him, shim,

that hidden feature creature is every personal whim

you’ve ever had, fear you’ve ever cowered from, Every drop of blood ever spilled,

every single layer ever peeled.

Every old or new leaf that ever turned,
Every facade that ever was burned.

Sometimes I think the man behind the curtain is only what I couldn’t accept about myself-
A hidden deathly secret,
a shadow that never peeks out,
a vacuum
sucking at the life I want to live,
Or the life I want to be.
But now I see,
Behind the curtain, that thin, fragile veil,
Is a mirrored room with masks of all kinds.

Masks I can wear to protect what’s mine-
Masks of beauty, horror, blood, gore,

Pain, pleasure, health, wealth, poverty, demure.

So really, what’s behind the curtain? Nothing
And everything.
I am a whisper moving through time and space,
Engaging in roles at any and every pace
That keeps the present focus,
That dwells in nostalgic principle
That feeds on future dreams, and plays with the devils.

Once you learn how to ride suffering in joy,
The world and all it’s pieces become all my toys-
To destroy and create
anything I ideate.

My tools to survive
Become my tools to thrive
On wave of all energies,
Exactly as I please.

Deep beneath the curtain,
I am still
So still made of millions of moving components.
Pick your thrills.
I have, I am, and I will.

Coffee nails and teeth.

I got (get) caught up in trying to develop the little things in my life I felt every healthy 20-something year old should have. – a nice home, a good friend group, cultivated hobbies, a health regimen, spiritual discipline, a good job, or in school.

These things have been ever so slightly threatened with that constant variable, “change” and I can feel each hair on my body wanting to rip itself out!  When I feel that these ‘compulsive substitutes’ aren’t quite doing the trick, either, bodily fibers start unraveling at a faster pace.

(So this is what happens when i’m not stimulated with anything “outside” my observation/experience. AKA when i’ve got my head in my ass)

While these things are surely important to recovery and life balance, they surely are not the extent of well-being.

Coming to an agreement with life, I am bound by the fact that my experience is exactly unique and I shouldn’t get wrapped up in trying to mimic the patterns of others.  I’m always thinking about too, how I’m just like everyone else and how boring that makes me.  So its really both.  I’m just like everyone coming to some objective awareness of his or her experience, analyzing it, and moving on, and I’m just not like anyone in that the exact pond I peer into is of a slightly different hue.  Its good today to not think in such extremes as black and white, and this OR that instead of both/and.  Life is both black and white.

It comes down to this: am I fighting and running from death, or am I embracing the natural state of my existence?  Death comes in many forms: obesity, illness, total isolation, engulfment, Death IS life too.

I feel that damned frustration of being so goddamned close to touching the “thing” but always being obstructed by some invisible gel.  slipping out of reach over and over, always trying to touch or grasp the “thing”

Acceptance and presence… seem like appropriate remedies.

So, we never really have it, and its ok.  Its ok. no one is “put together” its all just a big mess in one way or another.  Embrace the mess…. or just take a bunch of pregnant pictures: http://imgur.com/a/km7N0#0

Heart Still Beats

What does it mean to ride the leopard like Dionysus? and what does it mean to be torn to pieces? What is the grail? What is that jewel in the cave we fear to enter?

What does it mean to be torn?
— its means a tearing, a ripping of the soul and skin so severely that dripping, maroon stuffing comes out. It is the rift of cognitive dissonance sucking out your zen like a vaccuum sucks air into a void. Where does all that happiness go? Where does the peace go? It goes into the dark hole of obsessing over the fault-riddled past. It feeds that self-hating monster, sometimes portrayed as the happy-go-lucky ego. It grows, and the rift between humans expands.

And the growing pains- the tear ducts split and salty springs leak out and crack a happy, shining visage. And then you can taste the maroon stuffing, aside from feeling weak because you’re losing freedom (at that moment).

to be torn to pieces though, is to let this tearing expire your breathing– your slow, sustained, intentional breathing. Life is in the tearing and breaking and bleeding and draining as much as it is in the fruiting. Kudos to you who explore your own darkness- those caves.

And riding the leopard?
its just that… that breathing through the worms of anxiety, gritting teeth, digging nails into the fur of the animal and remembering the wind on your face to cool the tears and the heat of internal-external violence, and to dry the blood.

And what is the grail? what is that jewel?
It is the feel of a pulse… knowing that you are, indeed, alive.

Sometimes things can’t be worded– said or written… heard.. they can only be felt and done.

In the practice of meditation, I have learned the beauty of silent stillness.

Its a little scary to reduce thought and feeling to something that can actually be disengaged from…. because then, what do we do with this new art?

The mind, without meditation, is described as a wild horse that bucks us, the observer, around– flailing us so uncontrollably that we end up being banged up and bruised pretty badly.  The duality of this image is interesting… perhaps a good illustration of interaction between purported ‘mind’ and ‘spirit’.

I remember when I used to be frustrated very easily.  In a sense, I still am very frustrated, but some part of me is less attached to the frustration– learning to use it as motivation and fuel instead of a personal bully.  Immensely helpful.

At a time where I might normally want to be clawing myself from uncomfortable cognitive dissonance, I am able to sit and observe that feeling, without attaching to it so strongly.   Is this actually ‘living in the moment’ or is this just avoiding the moment?  Maybe a healthy way to detach and tackle what is actually causing psychic anguish.  I don’t really feel a part of that anymore though… it’s more like I am a formless form… I am a channel, a vessel.  Thoughts and feelings come … and they go… in the field of serenity.  I can participate in what’s going on, but I’m not so locked-in-engaged that I can’t have consistent peace.

It’s not that I don’t feel… it’s that I’ve better learned to limit that wild bucking, and to maybe let go and fly off the horse…. so now.. should I set to taming it?  Or have I already begun that process?

There is comfort in numbers… and there is comfort in accepting the insignificance of my illusion; my perception of illusion.

Nothing left to say.  Only much to do, and yet, I am already there.

May we always challenge our perspectives, and remember, there are many ways of rightness.

I am not me.

Pointed writing isn’t so much fun– writing that has a point or message in mind.

Free writing. oh so delicious!

Left in the balances of our mind… our body minds and spirits.  connected, but dangling bits barely attached, but one entity wrapped up in my name and face, and general body-appearance.

What a beautiful thing it is to peer into the soul of man- to see the mind-spirit-body and see yourself in it’s reflection.  What a beautiful thing humans are.

I have  felt that my ego has lacked development.  Sometimes I rejoice in this because letting go seems easier, but maybe those who have a cultivated ego can better let go, because maybe they are so attached to their egos, nothing else matters as much.


Working in a shelter, I see people sometimes and really feel like i can call them someone who’s not going to make it.  What the fuck is ‘making it’ anyway.  happiness. that’s what.  retrospect is a great thing.  Take a look back at who you were.  Who you are today is not the same.

I remember the high in having my ego recognized.  I remember the fear of not being recognized, and also the fear of being exemplified.  Illustrate yourself.  Color yourself in.  You are a blank, to be transformed by every energy that emanates from you.  So you are just a blank that follows the colors of the background and foreground, and represents some small space on a plane.  in a field.

The arts speak to artists.  Artists relate the messages of the soul in infinite forms.  I am the infinite form.  You are the infinite form- a boundless boundary.

A lot of people think your spirit continues after the body dies.  How can the body-mind-spirit be separated? it can’t.  The beauty of the moment is play.  Perspective is play.  Beautiful Universe.  When I like something about someone else, its what I like about me.  When I hate something about someone else, its what I hate about me.  When I laugh at someone else, its what’s embarrassing to me.  Because I am you.


Why don’t we live by ancient truths? Are we searching for another way to think about things? another way of creating?  We’ve been far too titillated with the creation of our own shackles– our own chains.  It’s time for this body to be titillated with freedom.

The point was freedom.

Give Homeless Women a Voice!


 It is a dream of mine to use art in a unifying, educating, and inspiring way to bring people together and bridge gaps of time, culture, and awareness, in order to ease human suffering.

This art project is designed to help homeless women rediscover their own powerful voice within, but also, to document their experience of how they came to be homeless, what it is like, and their vision for the journey ahead.  Myself, and many of my coworkers have often felt just one paycheck away from being without a place to call home.  I’m sure this feeling of near-nothingness has taunted the lids of many others all around the U.S.

The documentation of this American cultural phenomenon is key to understanding its roots, and therefore, the solution(s).  It is also a beautiful window into the psyche of other human beings who, perhaps have traversed our distant (and near) fears and have survived.

Allowing these women to paint their stories and share them with the world is not giving them a voice, it is cultivating a voice already within, and validating the importance of each individual and the unity of humanity.

More to come.

Namaste 🙂




Rx: +living – thinking

in my ‘wrong understanding’ in my imperfect perfection.  it is here.

I’ve had a lot of time to think… so much time to think… think about what’s wrong with everything- with me, with the world.  There is a frozen inaction.  and deadly synapses.  i’ve created so much space and time to think.  more time to sit frozen than to get moving.. than to start living.

Slowly transgressing… by taking action.  moving into the field of imperfection… thankful for beautiful imperfection… so much thinking… really got me nowhere.  experience gets you farther along- actually living. action, no matter what you’re doing… gets you more experiences…  Fear is petrifying.  the longer you stay there, the longer you putrefy.  I’m shocked I was ever found desirable to anyone, but I’m also not shocked.


I have a new clue:  there is an obsession with getting things ‘right’


Well here’s a fat flag: There is ‘right’ and there is ‘ok’ and essentially, everything is fucking right and ok.  everything in its right place.  I can play the game.   I create my own experience.

Subconscious mind, collective spirit, help me to be kind, gentle, curious, compassionate, and playful.



Color My Eyes Tonight


Going Gonzo, Sorta

Darling, won’t you color my eyes tonight?

I’m not sure these days if I’m staring at

you or you’re somewhere else or nowhere in my life.

Seems I’m just a martyr for the kids who

believe in love but find it telling them to give up.

I reserve the right to take notice of the

way we’re all laid out in patterns.

I deserve the death promised to me by

the palm reader who then stole my time.

Oh it’s alright, it’s alright as I choke on

my heart and tongue as they compete

with my mind to for who works the most overtime.

Darling, won’t you color my eyes tonight?

If this goes the way it always tends to do

at least we had those five days to pretend

we would fall together the way we had always talked.

At least we had those five days to pretend…

I reserve…

View original post 115 more words


little cold piece

quiet. little. cold. p i e c e

apart from me. apart from you.

little quiet cold piece

breathe. breathe.  you can breathe. 

grow. open. you can grow and open

cold piece quite little







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