.Create.

Į am wounded,
Listen.

She has been hurt,

injured by this beautiful man.

Can you hear her?

Is anyone there?

I hear her voice

is like the music

and it is my medicine.

Listen.

I am frightened by the system of its mind.

He is dreaming of the terrors that are endless

and it's time to rise!

I have been scared by the noise, the child cried

and wasn't her voice just the right lullaby

and the song that revived your spirit that died?!

.What is an Aster?

Education is currently being used as a weapon
to arm the educated to defend the system.
Question the system.

Go out there and equip yourself for the right belief.
Be a dreamer. The dream is beautiful.

The problem with dreams is that you don’t know
the dream has turned into a nightmare until you wake up.
Are you awake? Be awake.

The problem with being awake; we need to rest.
Lucidly dream. Be lucid.
The problem with being lucid; you’re lucid.

There was a dream not long ago. The dream was beautiful.
We liked the dream, the dream became ours and we slept.
Slowly we all grew tired.

Those that did not need to sleep,
those that did not like our dream,
we treated like children.

We know that we need to rest and we were tired. 

We left our children to starve.
We forced others to sleep and so, 

we forced our children to sleep. 

Even in our sleep, we forced others to sleep.
And so the big dream grew.
It became nightmare.

We all dream. Be aware of others dreams. 

Be aware of others while we sleep.
Be aware of those that sleep while we awaken. 

When you wake and see your siblings rest no longer.
That their dream, once ours, has turned to terror.
The problem with dreams…
We force our children to sleep.

Is this bad? Always question. Should we force them to wake?
Force can create. Force can destroy.

The problem with being awake, 

when we know our brothers and sisters
sweat in there nightmares; we have a choice.

That is not a choice to wake them or not. To hope for the best.
That the nightmare will end and the dream will return.

A dream that has travelled
through the terrors of our minds
will not return the same.

Would you like the red pill or the blue pill?
Is there good and bad? Force can create and destroy.
Be mindful of how you wake.

Be lucid of how you force others to wake.
Tea or coffee; a cigarette; some breakfast; some fear?
Use balance.
We are all unique.

I have a personal story. As I wrote this, typos occurred in the original edit.
The technology, ‘swipe’ was used.  I meant to spell unique and unite was spelt.
Personal became powerful and with turned to WE.
Is there a reason ‘i’ should always be capitalized?

‘i’ wish to be mindful of my readers. ‘i’ want to stay true to them.
We that can read are the readers. ‘i’ am the reader.
When I isn’t capitalized I began to feel more comfortable with using it,
if i gave it arms; ‘i’.
And when I typed to explain that,
I went to preferring if isn’t typing out ‘and then i and then ‘, to just type two of them;
ii.

We don’t want to be alone.
There’s no I in teamwork but
there is and I in kind.
I is complicated. Be you.

Find your voice. Have a voice and be aware.
Others have a voice.
What would happen if we all respected each other’s voice?
What would happen if we all had the same voice?

That was the beauty of the dream.
The dream is travelling through nightmare
and is slowly returning.
It has changed.
Unite our uniqueness’s.

Do you eat fast food? I love it. It is a dream… Do I eat it all the time, I hope not.
Ken Robinson is a good man to ask. Consider food for the mind.

There are beliefs out there. There’s a belief out there that our world is fucked.
Forgive the language. Understand it.
I wanted to say, ‘that our world is doomed; eternally damned to be destroyed’ and that scared me. Fuck. There will always be nightmares, disaster and destruction.

What is an ‘aster’? Curious.
When did we chose to destroy; each other?
Could we create; each other?

There’s a belief out there for that one too.
Are you awake, yet?

Aster. 

.A Commotion.

.A Commotion.

Green.

Rolling train tracks

swooping under bridges

darkness; light

Speeding traffic,

Green.

Forbidden; that’s what it was.

Don’t go there. Stay away.

Bad news. You know better.

That’s what she was. Beautifully

unattainable, but for those who know-

it is never that simple.

In my pursuit to have her,

there was a fear of getting caught,

there was suspension

Do you understand?

Nights spent slowly moving closer on couches

in the most subtle ways one blanket between us.

Necessity. A lie.

Be aware 

be conscience. A lie.

She was in my bed many times

and I fell into the traps.

Perfect drama dreams, my mind created.

We would last to the end in our idilic, 

honest related-ness. 

                    Which would continuously 

continuously                           remind me

I couldn't survive my lies,

that is what it was 

and needed to be.

.Bum Deal.

Oh baby that never was,

I’m now just a stone,

that you’ll leave unturned

Under the heel of your sole,

on some casual stroll

that leads to your,

grandiose tale

of some romantic ordeal

and now don’t get me wrong,

this is not an appeal,

it is simply a seal

of how I feel

about you.

.Barricade.

You can catch life smiling 
when you break for it.

With my legs stretched towards town,
I pocket a packet tobacco,

look up and scorn that cloud. 

With my scarf on my head, 
looking like a ‘wannabe Jack     

‘et worn drenched wet. 

Where I met her; under a ledge,

the pavement there was dry.

She wore a new coy smile

and my thoughts went wild.

It was

the spark

the flint.

She bit part of her bottom lip
and I got lost in the deserts
only crimson bloom.

.Slope Advise.

.Slope Advise.

I slept, woke and slept and woke my way to eight pm.

Things like that worry me,

that I'll fall back to that place,

that aimless ally, grime all over

and ambition clutching it's heart,

no one calls for help, let it die!

Climbing those slopes, mountains,

I worry I'll trip, tumble

       and stumble over myself,

all the way back

       to that alley- don't you?!

Always-

but you tighten your grip

and if you get lucky, some other hiker

whose long gone or far gone

       or made it to the top,

shouts advice from their heights

or their lows or get petty lucky-

had some gear get caught on a bush

on their way down and you better fucking

make use of that shit!

.Let me tell you...

.Let me tell you...

Around here ambition sleeps like earth under snow,

decisions made opposed to how we feel.

They make the heart grow weaker.

Sure, artists have been raised here,

escaping like hitchhiking beggars,

on horse drawn carts in the dark of night.

They talk to the driver and let slip their dreams

where they’re kicked out alone, into a field,

with a rusted lantern that’s long since had oil.

A lone house on the hill

has its light on

it’s warm and welcoming.

These are the restless plains

where the young are aimless and the old resentful

Keep things in check.

.Locked in a Box.

.Locked in a Box:

Part 1.

In an old oak trunk

they kept a goddess locked away.

It was crooked and cracked, grime on the edges,

just the world and her inside.

She was from New York,

West Africa, Spain or France

few could pin her down that chanced.

Her world was this dead tree

where she had it all,

a satin red dress, smiling eyes

her passions and her dreams.

She painted, spreading her beauty all over,

made sculptures with tea lights

that burned through the night.

Sometimes a man would open the trunk

and watch her for awhile,

hoping he'd catch her dancing. 

.(There's Trouble) Up There.

. (There’s Trouble) Up there.

From roaring, raging black red clouds,

battering wind fighting the stars

crooked crackling attacks

illuminate our crooked crackling souls.

Our fears encircled

like riding hood and an army of wolves.

Cowering to their dancing shadows

appearing and vanishing seconds at a time.

Fears of dark, the light, the noise at night,

the groans of nightmares

and the moans of lovers

silent at last.

I remember one that sounded like both,

her small smooth hands clutching my neck,

desperate to remind me of our mistakes.

she was filled with a caged lust paralyzed,

unable to be quenched, always wandering

down broad fields and their little paths,

through the haunting narrow streets,

decrepit with dead tormenting memories

one’s in which you didn’t apply yourself,

gave the best impressions,

the most of and to, your loves.

The stars are bruised and there eyes twinkle,

tarnished with ominous tears, knowledgeable of our doom,

unable to forgive us, for can they shine when we won’t?

.Unreasonable.

.Unreasonable.

Narrow streets you've known

since you were young

the comforting bungalows leading to the hill

where your first love had you

replaced with ominous glass

shooting up and creaking your neck.

Walking on, they bend, loom over you,

your eyes widen, goosebumps

prickle against your shirt.

The neibhourhood gone,

the street longer, 'where is its end?'

You ask a man with a john player,

'what happened here?', as the rain begins to fall.

You left when you were young,

ignorant to the changes in your life

as you reach the end and the hill appears

and you wonder if that has too grown souless.

.Ready.

.Ready.

Oh the lime light is falling so

quicking on you,

your cheekbones shadowing

your beautiful face

and your eyes, I know

I'm gonna dance with you.

Where are you now on my soul?

You temptress on the floor,

feet sliding as on sand, hips turning, roll.

Waist next to yours and you said,

' somethings you can fuck right up,

I'm already...',

and then we kissed.

.Michael Vance.

.D. World

.D. World.

I was the sand

drownding

through the cracks

down to the basement's

ash filled fire.

Then

into the pale with me,

into the pale

snow storm.

.Michael Vance.

.Dalliance.

.Dalliance.

I stare from the open into the sleep
my search for you is simple.

Staring from the sleep
out to the dawn,

through streets, walls and ants
to find you, I fail.

Lead me to you
with your soft flesh
give me tunnel vision
to your heaving breast.

.Michael Vance.

.Pretty Damn.

.Pretty Damn.

My black fedora they say defines me,

couldn't shield me from her ever changing…

Once we glowed like the flame

from that rusty red lighter,

so you’re out of cigarettes,

where’s your punk spirit?

My fortified soul is like the forgotten memory

of where we met, it is stained with my words.

She wasn't anything sacred but she felt hallowed.

It was a barrel fire on the empty streets.

We danced like lip bruised hill billies;

it rained, it smoked and the love,

blew out like the ash, in the wind at dawn

but it was first light all the same

and there'll be others dancing

at dusk come the next barrel brawls.

.My Name, minus the K.

.My Name,

minus the K.

I went for a smoke

but it was hell to find a corner,

everybody says this place is beautiful

but this town…

Now with you around,

the edges become softer

and with the focus you bring- it’s like

a constant pain

that’s soothed by your presence

it keeps me alert,

aware that I’m alive. 

.Triple (Word) Why: 5. - Smash

.Triple (Word) Why: 5.

- Smash.

Watch the linen stockings flow

with blood original,

deemed unfit;

oh we’ll see.

Spice the wound with gold

And spasm a twitch parade.

Finish with a third diamond

cough chuff blank and leave

your emotions at the threshold.

muse the meaning

as I lay you down

too late.

.Fiddlers Green.

.Fiddlers Green.

There are these lavender fields, in my mind

littered with mahogany framed mattresses.

They are covered with sheets of flesh,

scented with perfume and tinged with sweat.

They stretch on like an old lover’s legs.

There is one other field then, more a crater,

with smoke and only the burnt husk

of an old Eucalyptus and a dying Ash.

That is where I rest now, imagining

her floral stockings waving in a breeze,

rocking me back to fiddlers green. 

.My Name, Habilitated Compulsion.

.My Name,

Habilitated Compulsion.

A semi side twist, a

Flash of flesh and a

World wide grin what

Joy surfaces from

Alley way veins

Pumping with blood and

Gleaming neck skin,

Luring you in.

.Fox Smile.

.Fox Smile.

She was a hidden pursuit, a lost friend never found.

Tersely denied, I quested to captivate her,

ruse her with shallow displays, gold coated coal.

I danced to the coin sound chinks on Grafton Street

wishing for that fox smile girl to pounce her fowl,

to tear me to shreds and devour me, scowling.

Her nail tips scratched brick edges while she watched

from the rooftops above, filings fell like red snow

and as the street emptied, she tossed me a copper.

.Watch out, man.

.Watch out, man.

Ok, a tower’s being built,

starting with the top though, up in the sky,

toss stone blocks like comic anvils,

dead centre on our heads;

we flailing limbs in the sewers.

Whittle wooden beams

of the ceilings for the floors

of this tower upside down.

With windows double glazed

to contain our vanity,

shutting out the cold and my humility;

it’s beating against the glass.

A low hum next to my ear

as I warm by the fire.

My old friends have grown wiser

and sheltered themselves

from my failed humanity.