I believe.

I'll go back home.
Acknowledge to my baby that I did you wrong.

What a summer!
As it feels as if it's lasted twenty years, I find myself
feeling worn, aching head, without knowing why.

Still seeking; they say I'm twenty-two.
Let my heart paint the color between white and black.
That's what the neighbors been talking about.

I find myself kneeling in prayer, looking up at the splitting
sky, I can see the imagination of the passing stare.

Oh the waters cold.

Who do you seek out for the answers to your questions?

do you still ask questions?

Why?
Ho hO. I see you still have your sense of humor.

Yes it's gotten me out of some tough binds, you see.
You'll find me laughing from point A.
too B.

I hope your all-alright. I hope you're entangled
in the heart of the web, with your arms outstretched,
those palms of yours upturned and warmth; oh I hope
you can feel the warmth.

I wonder at your personal philosophies, I'm curious
if you think too much.

Do your knuckles ache from a life of toil?

Is your liver bruised because of a bad break?

Can you close your eyes and face the mirror,
try,
tell me what you see, is it honest-y?

No fear
No envy
No meaness.

Charlie says time is life,
and katzenberg says money
makes the tick tock in his clock.

I can hear it with each passing presence.
Tick-Tock.

There is movement in silence.

I've learned to listen since our last palaver.
I'm a grown-up-bup.

How is it to be yourself; when you've forgotten
the story?

Try, you'll remember, you know, you are.
That's what she told me.
I could hardly disagree.
Have you any poetry?

Liquefaction.

Things are Swell,
As in the swell has defeated me soundly.
Exposing all my insecurities, follies, and
general misdemeanors.

Plainly speaking, my relationship with vitality
hit a rough patch, and all available emotions
went flying every-which way but loose.

As of now, the storm has settled and it's all
hanging baggy.

I've survived the toughest spell of my life,
only to come out of it stronger, and have
a whole new road to explore.

Yes my friend, just when you think you know
it all- a whole new set of dance steps fall
on your lap, with a limited time to learn them.

Ho Ho.

I sure do love life. You get what you ask for, but
will never have the foggiest on how you'll get there.
The trick is to stay loose like liquid.

The word is Liquefaction- the fluidized movement through lifes manipulation
of the indiviuals imaginariness..

You must always hold on to the dream you have, close-like
and not let anyone in on it. You know that image
of yourself, some may call it ego, others character,
not so much pride as an inner swagger. Tell no one,
Not even your most trusted allies.
It is yours and yours alone, and without that dream you
will find life meaningless and mundane. It is here your
reflection resembles-- strangely enough, a cog in the gears.

I always revert back to the same story when i start talking
about this business, asking the line workers at Ford Motor Co. how the hell
they do it. How do they get up everyday and get through
that incredibly mundane journée de la terre? The answer was always the same. "my kids".

Their "kids". Sure, but the dream is your child, is their child.

Without that dream, i don't know what would get me out of
bed my friend. The dream is my fuel. The dream has me pausing
at the water-wheel. Has my hands in the mud and my senses aflame.

Your imagination is your tool, your body does the grunt-work,
your brain sorts out the rest.

Dream big, or don't dream at all.

"The progressive development of man is vitally dependent on invention.
It is the most important product of his creative brain. Its ultimate purpose is
the complete mastery of mind over the material world, the harnessing of the forces
of nature to human needs." nikola tesla


Harness those hundred mile per hour winds my friend
and let them take you where only your imagination
dares too!

peace!

Ps. Soon, before either of us know it, i'll be flying high atop an incredibly easy wave.
hands held wide my mother will not understand the answer.

banana's peeled

And there I was stripped down,
naked, and half dead. Treading water
in a bathtub. Pie-eyed and savage.

Awakening.

I was told awhile back that the laugh
has left life. And then I wake up and
catch sight of my cat hanging from
the shower head, lapping up yesterday’s
ablution.

My negative energy is overwhelming me
and thus my cat seems to understand, as
she cartwheels toward me cooing like a
raccoon bent on funky mushrooms.

What a feline.

I stumble out of bed and slip on a banana peel.
"CURSED WORLD" I howl as the backwards
slide has my head rattling off the walls, listen to the final smack
as my head has its weird rest on the hardwood planks.

Planks, I'm walking the plank as Jesus is beckoning me
to believe.
“I don't, I don't" I cry.

"Find your strength from within.
And remember who and what you are."

“Jesus”. I reply. As a slow fade-out brings me back
to the cool hallway in which my morning faded.

My eyes open by the coarse licks of that black devil.
The petit chaton. Wide-eyed and beautiful the cat
looks up at the ceiling in up and down motions. It
seems it wants me to follow her gaze.

I try to focus up on what seems to have been carved by
a paring knife. There I see it! It says
"my umbrella is already attached to my arm."

Curious.

It seems I have tweaked my back in a terrible bind, as
it's screaming me a wicked deluge; I unfold my knees
into erection.

Ahhh. Yes I see it now, a new day. Quiet comfort and
a backward glance bring me back to the nightmare
that unfolded a millennium ago.

Remember.

I was lying cockeyed on the bathroom floor with a
pane of glass cut through my inferior orbital (the brain).
Somehow I found the energy to sit cross-legged and
gaze at my reflection on the opposite wall, it seems
the lavatory was made of glass and there was but
one missing triangular piece. Through that hole
I caught sight of the marvelous scene of billions of
ants climbing over each other to get to the top of
the heap which was a ladder made of refuse. They were marching
tall to what looked like another dimension. I knew
it was another dimension because the more I focused
on the vanishing point, the vertex slowing started bending
toward me. Into what they called in geometry class zero-dimensional.

Basically time bent toward me and had all the ants running
at me with bent antennae screaming out obscenities about
Jesus and trouble and how could I have done that to them.

My eyes became wide and I tried desperately to stop the
bleeding, but I couldn't get the glass out of my brain.

They were getting closer and it seemed with each
lunge forward I became aware that all these ants
had faces that I had known in my lifetime.

Their arms were outstretched with fingers made of
razor wire, they wanted my eyes!

Suddenly a pounding at the bathroom door reminded
me of my legs and I kicked violently at the glass surrounding
the isosceles trapezoid. Screams like you've never heard
begun to echo through the bathroom as I stood up with a howl
from my bellows and my truth came at me like a
hungry tiger chasing down a wounded buck.

The reflections from my brain began to jump out the mirror
in my skull and whole worlds began to take shape as I began
to understand that I am shaping the realities around me.

There are no bad vibrations coming from others they are emanating
from within me.

What the hell!

I started to itch at the stitching binding this speculum to
my cranium and the blood started to clot and
run backwards into the corners of my eyes, it was
black and everything started to become black and
I tried and tried to stay sane. The knocking had me
pounding harder at the walls around me, glass shattered
and worlds took shape and suddenly doors morphed
upright from each individual shard.

Silence.

Except for a small drum beat resonating from the oak door
in front of me.

No more reflections now.

Only obtuse thought at where this door will bring me.

I bowed my head and asked God for the courage
to overcome.

Before i could finish I found myself alive, a chill
wind calming my naked body. There I was returned
to the beginning.

Falling slowly into a cool blue.

And I remembered happiness.

And I remembered how to laugh.


...easter~twenty-eleven.

I'm still waiting.

Your sick but you don't know it.

Your a worn wheel turning counterclockwise
and your wobbling against a sad current.

You cannot understand this feeling, a want
for escape.

You have tried, you've left, and all you
have found were more wheels, more mechanisms.

As you wheel and deal, you wonder.

If there is a place of peace. Is it hidden
in this quagmire, or has in bounced loose
upon a greater apparatus.

You ask the boss why when you turn to the
left you hate, and when right you well up
with compassion, and understanding.

The boss say's "eyes front!"

and your sigmoid flexure tighten's.

You ask the axle about faith and gospel
and query about "according to the son".

The axle grunts' and grinds and tells you
"we survive in the end", " and "yes I stuck
around".

You feel another tooth decay.

What wonderment to flow with folly.

The song continues and the day becomes dark
and you puzzle about this consciousness.

What is next?

It's understood that there are limitations.
But what are they. maybe your a non-believer.

You bump and titter and work with this ominous
existence.

And yet you still feel stuck. You feel there
is something bigger, fulfillment lies elsewhere.

lessons from the poor.

You've tried travelling, you have been transferred
from here to there, tried different gimmicks and gears,
and yet you still felt like you were going around in
a circle. A bigger circle, yet the circumvolution was
what you've already experienced.

Curious.

a weird wetness ensues. and you lose your dimension.

This certainly is a primitive gadget you hear yourself
mumbling so as the boss doesn't determine.

You realize your consciousness was a blessing
but believe your hurt began at birth.

And you wonder if you still have the ability
to love.

somebody say's "suffering succotash" and wally
the wobbling drive-train is removed from the
line. His breakdown makes you nervous, maybe
your next.

Sold for scrap, everything has it's worth.

a parallel gear warns of the polarity of a pulsar
and your mindful of the flashing emanating from his
mouth, the timing between beams is perfect.

and your ascending colon tightens like leather in
the desert sun.

The beat speeds up, as the power from the top
adds fuel to the fire. You understand that with
time the pieces will all deteriorate, impossible
to hide the erosion from within.

As you spin faster and faster your suddenly aware
that everything is calculated. You view the
power at the top as a frozen emotion whose
mind is a chaotic bulb ready to pop at any ulterior
perspective.

You view this image with pristine clarity and begin
to giggle.

You realize you are rolling with the punches
and this adds to the hilarity of the moment.

As your filled with an insatiable hunger you break
from your bind.

Your having fun, that's the habit.

The gears have shifted.

This is method.

This is purpose.

The best intention is comic.

The best moments are merry.

The best creations are fun.

The cure to all disease is just this,
make it a merry whirl.

Break past the pain, and sorrow,
fight hard to get over that mountain.
Once surmounted you will find new
perspective. You will see there
is not death, that death was
invented by the great mechanism.

Here you will find laughter. You
will laugh as only a child can.

A child who does not understand mortality.

Here you will find your bliss.

Here is eternity.

...gatsby~

more from the spirit.

Joseph introduced me to Freud, whom conjured
up a constant chuckle as Ralph turned his vision
into a world made of crippled phalases and
broken mechanisms. Haha! I yelped as Carl
caught my attention and the world of archetypes
mixed well with all of my hinted hallucinations.

Henry comes over and spouts out persective and
philosophy and answers all my questions about
psychology in one foul swoop, as the adage goes.
He quotes Freud's Interpretations of Dreams--
reading it out loud with the perfect frenetic cadence
of a German grob behandeln [Person].

"into the night life seems to be exiled what once
ruled during the day." then he says the soul has
it's origin and is built in strata, and what
we learned before in the organic field apropos of the
construction of the big brain from the anatomic-evolutionary
standpoint of vanished aeon's, is revealed by the dream,
revealed by the child, revealed by psychosis as a
still existing reality. We carry the ancient...

"David Gatsby!!

ummmm Magnivovich....

Mr. Maivocivocios!.....

And I awake to what sounds like a uni-lingual nurse chewing
her gum in between syllable pronunciations.

Wha!! oh yes I'm in a doctors office. I must have
dozed off.

That was some party last night.

The christening of the backyard, and the return
to a social existence, was it...?

Yes! Monday morning, nine A.M. and my head is
spinning with creative fervor.

It seems my unconscious was practicing me for this
meeting with the doc.

It's got me wondering what's in store, as the last
meeting heard talk of surgery, and something
about "were running out of time".

I remember pounding my fist on his desk and barking
out something like " I wont hear anything of the sort doc!"

Yes, that was how it ended three months ago.

I look up and catch the doc giving me a good looking
over. He watches every detail. How fast I stand-up.
My posture, the way I move. As he's sizing me up he grabs
me by the shoulder and gives me a big smile and
say's "your still working out I see."

This lets me know that were already on the same beat.

He understands how serious I take life, he understands
the work I put into my body, even through the letters
he's received about me getting fed up with medications,
would have one think otherwise.

I notice the doc too looks healthier, he must have put
on a good fifteen pounds of hardened flesh.

Curious.

We find a seat and I take my thinking position
ready to record all the 'doc's words.

I immediately apologize for the lack of blood-tests, correspondence,
and the like, telling him I needed a break of everything medical.
" I"m sure you understand, it was getting to me.
I needed to separate myself from all things medicinal,
Doc, i exclaim.
I needed to disinfect."


He laughs out a huge bellow. And says " it's for you."

I shrug as he goes into his usual medical foray.

Yet this time I sense something different.

He knows that I want desperately to get off of the "wonder"
drug Remicade.

And he assures me he's not under any influence from the drug
companies.

Weird. I'm impressed that he figured out I was cautioned by
the sway of the dark side over my favorite doctor.

Humm. This is getting interesting.

Next he tells me he's not ruling anything out.
He's embracing a more holistic approach to healing.

This from the top Gastroenterologist in the field.
One of the leading physicians of Crohns disease.

He says' fuck Remicade, but, at the moment it's all
we have.

He tells me how his job is to translate all he has
learned and is learning about medicine into layman
terms so as the patient can understand, equally what
he knows.

He is not ruling out psychotherapy, diet, medicine, he
says we don't know enough to put all our butter on one
slice of bread.

My jaw hit's the floor as I realize that this man sitting
in front of me is the real deal.

After sixteen years of battling with doctors I have finally
met a man who is willing to explore all directions leading
home. He's cashed in his ego and his growing at a rapid
pace. This explains the weight gain I say to myself.

He sums it up by telling me he is fascinated by the disease,
after hearing him talk about it, so am I.

I tell him I have a love of science also, and if I wasn't
going into Film Animation, it would have been astro-physics.

He tells me Animation is a science.

And a doors opens up and my mind, body, and soul
are standing in front of a what seems to be an infinitely
tall mountain with a hundred million holes in it.
Blasting through these holes is what seems to be raw energy;
bursting through it and into me.

I realize I'm looking at the harmony of existence,
and at that moment as i struggle to move forward
I cease laboring altogether and create.

With that single thought the holes fill up and
the mountain looks bold and beautiful a
silhouette against the light of infinity.

And I am cured.

All of this before breakfast.

As I take my shirt off to absorb the elements,
as I sit on my bike and peddle downhill with the
wind at my back.
I start to wonder when the dream I was
having in the waiting room ceased being a dream,
and try to determine the exact instant reality took over.

I look around me at the comings and goings of what usually
would look like the chaos and discombobulation of the
city, suddenly it finds a rhythm, a method.

And I realize that no matter how hard I try, I will
never come to understand the complexity of the universe.

I wonder what I would do with that information anyway.

Try to awaken humanity out of the big sleep they seem
to be in.

As I'm terribly allergic to crucification I find the
task impossible.

What then, in God's name is the remedy.

Fun? Creation? Happiness?

I arrive at my destination, I'm fifteen minutes
in advance of my next appointment.

I lean my bike against a bench, sit and meditate
along with the napping ducks.

I remember a word of advice read backwards
in crayon on my elementary school lesson planner.

"Creation is play, and play is divine."

I seem to have found my answer.

I laugh out loud and scare the ducks out
of their afternoon slumber.

Perspective is everything. If you're not having
fun, you've either stopped moving. Or
your sick with fright.

Swallow your fear or take a nap.

Napping is stopping.

Dreaming is life in fast-forward.

Fun is life, laughter is a reminder.

Dreaming is everything, which is possible.

The bigger the dream the more rewarding
the game.

To stop is to die. The faster one moves
the younger one is.

Win the race.

The ducks land with grace as the sun moves
behind a cloud.

I hop on my bike and vow never to hit the breaks
again.

It's all downhill from here. And I feel a force
is with me.

Someone yells at me "attention" as I drift through
a yellow light.

I arrive at work and immediately quit due to the
lack of forward momentum.

The only reason I could give the grieving businessman
is "Consumption is being standardized,
and we are in need of a creative dissent."

He hadn't slept in weeks and believed it a bad
apparition. Superstition.

I hop back on my bike and choose the open road.
A welcoming place, the big circle.

I hoping this time that I indeed do fall off the
end of the world.

Maybe I'll never land.

Maybe I'll end up in some kinda never never land.

what a grand idea!

...gatsby~

dear committee, I am well.

It has been six-teen years now, since I was diagnosed with Crohn's Disease. It came to me in the night, with sweating and cramps, the summer before high school and my first job were to begin. It was to be my coming of age, and I was to jump into the world head first. It was supposed to be a time of boundless energy and possibility. Yet that humid August night I found a reflection staring back at me wild and wide eyed, consumed by an emotion truly foreign to a twelve year old boy ;, fear.

In the beginning the symptoms were subtle, observed as anti-social by my peers. As I was a gregarious person, popular, never without friends, involved in a variety of recreational activities. Suddenly, I found myself alone and in pain. I was half my size, and strange. I was withdrawn from the world, obtuse and irritable. It was as if I was living in a plastic box where all the outside sounds were muffled, and the images blurred. It was here that my first philosophy was born. I told myself that if I can conquer loneliness, I can do anything.

It was a difficult three years of high school and the part time factory work was physical .; the workers hardened and of a particular breed, did not make it easy. It was a test of endurance, strength, and courage. In these factory walls was where living beyond the bounds of disease took shape. In those austere surroundings the basic life that was in me took over. In that stark landscape I learned what hard work was, I learned how tough life could get. I saw how people could sense your illness and become afraid, whether they’re conscious of it or not. Some people, even those you considered friends, take the opportunity to benefit from your struggle. Looking back I see myself moving, it was as if I stopped my flesh would die, all intelligence was gone, I was living an inward journey.

This recent episode I have had with Crohn's was with me during my greatest accomplishment. It was alive and wild inside my belly at the summit of my boldest dream which was a four-year trip around the world. At my meridian hour I gained a perspective that took me quite by surprise. It seemed I was looking at the world from the wrong angle, I wasn't seeing it at all! At the summit I found clarity. This disease was not working against me like some sort of evil nemesis.
It is a part of me, challenging me, willing me to seek out a deeper purpose. As travel, movement had been my expression of self, compensation for the experience I had missed. Animation and film will be an outlet to share the inner journey I had lived.

In battling this disease I have began to take control of my body. Through diet, exercise, and meditation I am starting the beginning motions of a very complicated revolution. I have begun a blog in the hopes of encouraging understanding of disease and personal health. With my recent success of casting Crohn's back into remission at record speed, I wish to give hope to the silent majority, people living with disease. I wish to share the knowledge I have gained through new media, to show kids who have been recently diagnosed that the disease feeds off of negativity and that by looking at Crohn's from a positive perspective is the first step to a rapid recovery. I hope that by getting people aware of their bodies, their health , they will in turn gain an awareness of the environment, and realize that the two are intimately connected.

In living with Crohn’s I have found that stress opens the door to a flare-up, at least in my case. Traveling, although glorious, and beautiful, can be very stressful. This is what sent my disease into overdrive and had me coming home half-broken and out of tune. This bursary will eliminate that challenge of earning money to live on, and allow me to focus all my attention and energy on this next bold objective ; a university degree in film animation. Growth is life, and I intend to grow with this disease as my ally. Only by accepting it and working with it will I be able reach my maximum potential. In accomplishing this next goal I will be demonstrating to all, especially myself , that with hard work and the right attitude anything is possible, especially your wildest dream.

The Merry Whirl.

I told him I did,
I'm tatooed up and down myself,
Like scars on the surface.

He smirked an ugly finale,
bit his lip upon release of
what would be his last utterance.

"What, uhg, is the meaning of this
racket."

And so he went, just as fast as he
lived his life, the bulb burnt,
and it told me on the seventh hour,
on the seventh day, he's gone for
good now. A bad animal if there ever
was one, a silent know-it-all who
kept all the truth to himself.

I sat there for hours watching this
shell smell out stiffness. After the
first hour his tongue sprung up,
efflorescing, beginning new bloom.

I laughed as this thought occurred to me,
and his final erection followed.
Rigor Mortis is a happening thing.

It's a wonderful wondering wandering
around a corpse as life's going's got
everywhere around the dead sentient.

Pages in your life unfold and a blindness
is blatant. How you've wasted so much time.
Worrying, withdrawn, self absorbed, alien.

As you have now become witness to the ultimate
truth. All could be taken away in such an
instant.

And you turn your head to your left and watch
wallets bounce to a backward rhythm as dollar
bills slacken a crippled noose and hundreds
are screaming to be "CUT LOOSE".

Journalism unwinds and headlines read simplicity
and people are curious about the words
" the one thing of value in the world
is the active soul."
"this everyone carries inside
them."
Emerson signed it.
My heart beats with each puzzled utterence,
as these people see free, and want to be.

Oddly I glimpse, at past and present, there at the
corner ready to greet me.

I shake his hands and double kiss her cheeks,
wundering, fumbling for words, it's just
I don't remember them.

" What, you don't remember me?"

" No, I don't," I said.
" Really, I don't. Who are you?"

"I'm a fictional faction of wisdom unearned". She whistled.

"And I be thee, after of coarse, you promise to be free." Said He.

Silence ensued as I wished the dead had voice.
He certainly would know what to make of this situation.

Well, here it is all laid out in front of me, willing
me to it's back beat.

I turned inward for something to say to these bizarre apparitions.
These ghouls who found escape from a vault I'm sure, where
the bad trips be barred.

All I found was static, and I felt my bowels move as
the apparitions let out a laugh that was more like a cackle and curiously
reminiscent of a crow gibbering.

Finally I said, " WHAT IS ALL THIS GOD FORSAKEN NOISE! "
I made a great effort to sound calm and pensive.
But howled out my despondent response and was
relieved to see it got their attention.

She uncorked a bottle and led me to a table made
from recycled parts of the recently deceased.

My face must have led her to my puzzlement and
she handed me his donor card.

"Ahhh, I never thought him the type."

We shared the bottle without discourse.

Me trying to tune out the clamor emanating from my
inner-self, they humming to it's rhythm.

I sat there curious in intense clamor pondering
the wine label titled "Rhythmic thought Impact".

Finally I said, "So, what the hell is this
raw fracas."

" What is going on here! "

They looked at each other as if they didn't know
how to say it in English.

"What God Dammit, has the messiah been killed, again?"

That garnered a giggle.

" Then what is it? "

Well she said,
"Simply put, you're dead."

"Shit." Said he.

"whole life is practice." Said she.

"I don't want to die." Said I.

" It's okay to cry."

"Neither do I, want to cry." Said the guy.

She gave me her hand as he poured me my final drink.

"Cheers'"

"To all the SIGHT ANDS OUNDS."

"Slow". I muttered, glass raised, knuckles blanched.

" I feel in myself a lift so luminous " said she.

" how so you like that " said he.

Sweating out emotion at what I felt was a raw
deal.

" I wonder, I asked, if it was possible, well,
for me to return to the sea."

I turned my hand upright so all could see,
and showed them my scar, which read blood,
bold, SON OF THE SEA.

Yes.

"Sure I can do that," he said.
as he fished out a worn nickel.

"that's mighty white of you," I exclaimed.

"It's nothing really," said she.

" No, it's nothing." said he.

I got my motor running, and set off in
the closest direction, tires squealing.
Windshield freezing.

And made one goal,
To keep the light in their eyes,
and bag it without any trouble at all.

soon the static lifted.

soon we understood her freedom.

awakened
by the true spirit.
he was kept under
wraps.
asunder tantrum,
you lit.
thee match has been
met
stranger.

better funded.
it was waiting,
now it's over.
aghast.

river, wisp,
memories.

i did try.


...gatsby~