The mind, a dormant stone

EuropaWynd reads "My Way into the Belly"

So the end of the year...coming soon, coming strong, and I am so eager to let it go. It brought tears, tearing across my skin, eyes wide - sockets blackened by the ashes above my head. A heart crashes into the ground, letting traffic roll over and over to squeeze out the blood. Unimaginable. Never - please never let this fever again hit. All the coaxers. All the hands on our bodies, his mother's and mine...and a little one silenced. Her fever unlifted. She is silenced by youth...will there ever be a call? A moment to hold hands and visit... Saddened in the dust. Here we are. Goodbye to this year, as I begin to face an anniversary of death, and move beyond the year he ended his life.

Seems to be the words I have been uttering for a while now...a new appreciation of life, of small freedoms to just chill and be my unique self. There is no better enjoyment than a wink of the smallest realization that you are satisfied with how you've been living. If you feel yourself smiling and satisfied, you are truly living your gift.

Starting to feel a page turn under my heel, it's light, lifting me as if I were weightless. It's a clean breeze, whisps of hair moved finely by the sea air. I am thankful. I feel less heavy, less dark, the brightness offers resuscitation. I hope I deserve it. I tell you this, it will not be shun or taken for granted. If I am offered this life again, truly, I will live out to my potential.

This man is such an amazing performer and his spirit is so strong, he can make the darkest of souls smile. :) Thank you for reviving me!

I'm gonna love what I do, complete what I say, realize my dreams, and dedicate my time to making it reality. ACTION GIRL, look at me go. I am moving, I am living. I am alive to exist in my own space. I should make it a happy space.

Am I too young to have a heyday? I want to feel the motion of productivity clamp my hand, run with me and not let go. I feel like my skin is made of butter...nothing sticks. This ridiculous frown wears me. I want to slap it away and embrace the free that was my mind. Life is meant for dancing, experience, not control. Life is not to be controlled. It simply is. If we harness the rare "animal" that purrs in our core, we can live happily, without these traces of fear and confinement. We were meant to be more, yes. We were meant to be! As your breath lacks control, so you live and move on top of this sphere. You live and move, breathe, jump, squeeze, walk, grind teeth, impulse to feed ourselves...nourish the animal. Nourish you. It's the simplest of tasks. Just be. This is where I want my mind to pounce...back and forth, under moon or sun. As all things exist, I want me.

To Justin: We started the year dancing...and everytime I do so, I think of you. ♥ Hope you're still dancing. Keeping the love in my eyes...trying to be happy. Thank you for your closeness. ~JMWA

Looking at him today testing myself songs albums drawings of he me they the world he left. i heard the song. after his song i hear his song... were they always back to back? or is it just my perspective? canyon eyes dry as the desert sky stained red web around the retina now a crescent sometimes appears mosturizes the surface warms the core stems life.

She smiles, touching her wings, glances down. Such a large landscape surrounding her, nearly no time to caress it all. A soft satellite gaze from beyond the clouds, centered on this heart that sends shocks to the ground. A guitar chord strummed not nearly hushed, so tight the pull, the sound wakes the world. World yawns, stretches, searches for the strum until she catches their eyes,  unsure, confrontational... sorry to have disturbed, but this is her time. Time. Time. Time to ( _____ ) Wake up. Hands aware, this vein holding blood. A steady stream keeps her eyes focused to meet the new day, a new cycle of breaths to curl her toes, hum in her ears catch in wind blown blown, in this time where there is light. It dries her wings from the soaked tears to hold, hold, hold it near -- dry wings allow her to fly. Fly. I F L Y is it time. is it allowed. only once do i need to try to know my answer heaven or skies.

enjoying the Russian. happy to explore karma salvation just happy. how did you know?

This is it... it scurries along my chest. Animals run -- hidden in the rain, waiting for a hollow. A small target. I hide. Want to witness the blood pouring, mesh on mine

there is enough for a book. Here, in the container of all my files... over 200 or so... more untyped. Journals stacked on shelves. I am a Poet. What the hell am I doing? I am unjust to myself. No more. This can't continue any longer.

Meticulous intent beautify me under the stars. Your great canopy, umbrella; sheath to the unknown orbit glancing under eyelids in fascination. Are they really that concerned with us? Worthy to re-route a journey through solar complexities and tunnels shredded by speed... If I cross, will my body stay intact? I think I might just close my eyes and let my mind do the gliding see if I can catch a ride on someone else's steed.

i can't wear any more hats. i am so worn -- each time there is fresh air, there is one more jet flying over me with exhaust pouring into my throat. i am seemingly well, but quither under each breath. 'as the body is ravaged, the spirit grows stronger'. can feel it can't take it won't someone take this flower away  from it's stem? better yet, why not water it in kind? i wish i wish i wish. once led here. now unclear.

As the sand shines along your hair, small follicles pivot and play in the crease of your smile. Moments aspire to be filled with love, kindness to be kind. If my tongue were beyond 10 feet, would I still weigh heavy on the scales, and shout to the stars?

How feasible is it that a song can create such a dramatic melody in the heart? One that causes a tremor in the body, and disables anything else from penetrating? Here is my facing. you. facing you. I wish JustinLove were intoxicating enough to push out all other uncertanties that find me stomping around. When I hear this song, it's an anthem of our idealism and love and of course your departure. Why can't we be forever young? Why not end together? One foot here and one foot in your open sky. Forever.

It's weird, but I feel like I am coming back to life. Maybe it is because I have things that I am now looking forward to. Who would think that moving would actually be the lone thing to make me feel joy again? Thank you, Justin.

And this is good... wow... nice and light. I like this. Sure, I had a moment today, hours back...lasted a bit and went. But damn, I am cheery. I guess work moves me along... and being helpful is always rewarding to me. Gosh, I am a cheeseball. Really excited about ArtWalk...I love hanging out with LA's bohemian subculture! I want to messsssssh and floooooow and yeah...that's what it's all about. Peaces. :) J - Europa

Don't depend on me. There is no chance for you. I am underneath the ocean now...and we all know that is an abyss of sorrows. Panic. Fear, torqued inside. What air awaits above the water? Will it cleanse or peel? Why did I come up to breathe in air? I only have to relearn to live without it. This cancer grows and grows, and I am without a bucket to hold all the empty peels. My fingers are sloppy with their residue.

What it feels like when I hear your voice...a dream left under the pillow, soft and strong at the same time, soothing to hold my head, upright as I see your eyes among the stars. You tame me, cool me as you always had. I am not trembling anymore, I just stare deeply into the water as I see my reflection. Lone girl under the sun, left surrounded by your bodilessness. I am eased by your affliction, a quiet knowledge shared by two -- you can support me now more than before, and house yourself within my own body, collect my feelings, spring to action, hold your beloved. There is no mistake in your name, and those eyes sharply held with strength and love. You know. Always known. Two powers are better when united. A small girl with messy hair is far less threatening. You beam.

Only when I touch you here do I feel whole.

Moving Picture Show Forget the colonnades, the parlour floors decorated to arts delite the texture of these clouds are flavourful - full of long exposures, loose posture and sensual remedy. I imagine them lulled by the marching of these pedestrian ants a somber stomp, sounding less like auxillary and more like tired ol trains pacing along the same tracks, tunneled in small proximity, these are the gallows -- once you see the perimeter lines, you are through. No thoughts to saddle the wonderment, there is a lonesome joy in this. So look to the picture show, the gassy colour left from advanced invasions, fleeing like supernova past the scope of our minds. Let the currents make it dance, trot under the stars, until it finds itself settled pushing off the waters in bundles... Still, as the planes fly through, clawing towards mankind find me seated until the last credit pulls from my eye.

A current pushes under my skin, nudges upward. If I bite through, I can resurrect it see it rustle the embers -- a hieroglyphic of heart with a faux rainbow shun past clouds and twilight gases, near the stars, though not sought enough. Do I fan or foam? Feast or feign...? Another night picture to canvas the moon.

From Nicole Fournier www.nicolefournier.com

Intro: Vanity, Soundness, Qualities, Depth-- Newfound reactions portrayed in men. Life giving sanction to redeeming sights, Provide me with wisdom; provide me with life. Poem: The red skin bleeds, memory's conquest. You subdue reality, and in turn Reality bites you. A flesh wound so deeply round and yet nearly life taking. We all have journeys that call upon our company. We untangle ourselves from the roots of depression And clearly set all aside. Time slides by slowly. With-in itself It provides a stationary discipline to resurrect itself Between two different periods. Night and day. Fault and hope. Stationed on line with all complexities to renew itself, Yet holding memories. Uphold yourself to signify each moment And see what brings an ornamental pleasure to peace of mind.

oh my nit suj, when will this life post and when will the signs trust when nit suj is such memory most unlovingly loved. my trials legs under the caravan over 27 nit suj 29 alone on this day lonely promenade to relentlessly attack running uphill with the shackles muddied nit suj buried nit suj burned awake to my distaste. evol you eye. eternally.

Wild in my shoes sunk under the eyes, I find nothing to hold me down to stop me from laying under this train. And though I don't want to be pummeled, there is no energy to sit up and witness another great sunset. Who to find, a hand in the mirror left short again. Left with the darkness creeping up my toes, my ankles, legs wrecked as the saw thins them, this skin I feign to lose. Who to hold and toss a lapse in blood, skin is like a mangy web folicles of hair left red from dye, and maybe an eyelid to push shut. Keep the smoke out, silence the soul.

I miss our love!

Dirty eyes. They tell it all, the Lazarus, the Icarus, and the reluctance to bring my dead back to me.

Bite me until I am rabid, jumping from desks and tugging on strings. Pushing on walls and purging on carpets. Electric moan, surrender to the buttons flinging across my eyes. Brick-lipped, unbending, a carcass left to sow its own coffin. Organic fitting, sand makes it heavier, more likely to sink faster. Under the rain, the stars hesitate to glow.

and he is gone. nothing left but air fragments and earthly scents that can conjure him -- as physical as i can manifest him. my mind harbours more intense memories that cause great agony, because i do have a heart that remains, and it is pummeled into the pavement. cars run through it every day, through, over, squashing without concern for the fragile bones beneath. this is the truth and the treachery of the minds will to collect each spec of existence and show drained eyes pitiful reality. Eager? Stubborn...a lifetime to collect. A lifetime to mourn.

Been seeing many feathers falling from the sky -- wonder if a bird in flight is ill, or perhaps out for a thrill with a reluctant chick-a-dee... It's odd, they float up, drift down, move up again. I like watching gravity play with them... As soon as you think you are destined to fall, the wind may drift you upward again. How long can you hang in mid-air?

For him...

So soon it seems you're not ready to move forward, but only stall in the footsteps familiar to the past. Then you close your eyes, sigh, and move your feet. When you pay attention, you notice your movement. Reluctant, still breathing. Moving on, even without yourself. You just act. React, to the moment, the following, the turbulence felt in every vibration of being, still left behind. This is you. You're phyiscal, you had to move. Did you think you would just have stalled out and rusted to the ground? Organic resemblance, being thawed. You've evolved past trinkets, lockets, chains linked and playful along your wrist. Not as brittle as you would have once solved. Durable you. Insightful, constant. Even wihtout hope you are constant. There is a sweetness in this. A grace to hold under the light that shows why a spirt could outlast a body, and why we fail to conceive greater purposes for ourselves. We think small, yet act large. Body is contradiction. Spirit is restless, and p...

I did feel one day like my old self again. Crazy to say this out loud...and not yet 30. I feel like it may be taken away. I was energized, singing, taking in the sunshine, driving around my best friend, and enjoying a cigarette full of the flavor I crave. We just did damage at the store, heading on to the next big event of the day. These are the days I enjoy. These are the days I feel passion, excitement, and alive. Thank you, Christina, for that day.

This sickness heeds my insecurities. Senses dehabilitate and scrutinize. I am sour now, plucked after the rain, seasoned by dismissal. I will not know the taste of sweetness, only the air will drift and show me kindness. In this I am listening…waiting for the breeze to muss the stiffness.

Terrible eyes funneled apart by desperation. In this quest nothing is learned, only gathered and re-configured to form the shape of your body.

True Love Never Diez my lonely, torn, delouted heart criez spoken before the thoughts began your grace rings miserably. Shadowland of the spirits dream on, dream on. Say it like you mean it, "The Poet needs the pain". Curse your hand, son of a bitch.

I sit here, staring off into the air, into the clouds, the vast ethereal glow descending upon the land. I am searching so intently, through and in between, wanting to see his eyes. Then the fear hits. Will I see his eyes again? Will I be able to recognize them, or will I forget them completely? I don't want to forget. I want to know his face, stencil in each crevice by memory and recreate in pure exactness in full color, this vision. Heaven and hueful -- the rhythm of his sway, the dancing feet in the shadows, how he'd grab my shoulders or elbows to move me along for the flight. A gliding pair. Atonement...please don't let me forget. I want to see my love.

I'm beginning -- it will be a story of My Wild Love. There is no other name for it. Justinlove forever.

and loves me still. It's now my job to take my love for him and let him live on. I do believe that this is the last act of love I can offer to Justin...prove my love by exuding strength and really letting him fly. Where does this kind of strength come from? How far down is it hidden, underneath my belly, behind my transparent eyes, under a place far less reachable than my soul? How to conjure this. I tell you this, he is worth it. Justin Adler is worth the love that will stem from my pain. Some say there is a clock ticking...waiting for me to complete my time of grief and surrender myself to the physical world sans love...my love. SoulMate, Artist... I can fondle this theory, but where comes this magic to suddenly raise my head in the light and smile, enjoying a good moment, or holding a good memory -- close to heart? This new love has taken form and has begun pinching, but I won't bite at it. It's the last act of love, and he deserves more than I can possibly give, so I wi...

You heard me right...all I know is Black... I am trying to imagine my wedding. It's not so much a fantasy as it's coming down the trail in November. I don't want it to hit me on my ass while I'm unprepared. So that's the problem. How do I prepare? I don't even know my budget. I know what would be nice... but maybe all that should be let go to a Carpe Diem attitude... or more C'est La Vie, which is not easy for a control freak, Alpha femme like myself. Shit. What do I do?

Jim and I... we met, we posed...it's love.

So... here we are, it's hailing in Los Angeles and now I hear there is a rainbow overhead. Mother Nature is just about as contradictory as I am... I love it, but I hate it...It tastes good, but I'll gain weight... I'm broke, but doing it anyway. Yeah... So, here, my good friends, is a piece of paper I used to Poet around back a generation ago. I hope it still holds some value to the eyes... The Concepts of Glass and Silk Fingers dipped in liquid wax protrude beneath the ridges of a caramel silk. They find their way to slide along the mounts of your skin. The touch shakes up the spirits you are holding, as you are stunned silent by glass eyes. Green silver-lined specs of glass, hardened by self-satisfaction. -Jessica M. Wilson 9/27/1999, 7:18pm Monday Here I was a bit...um excited about stuff... The dynamics of wood... sharpens steadily, able to push off the ground without reaching a limit, colorful, strains to show any idea conceived. Strictly pauses for seconds, compatib...

So, I am a wanted woman. I think I've always known this...but have been hiding from the fuzz, head burrowed safely into the ground like my fine-quilled friend, the ostrich. The buzz in my head has kept me from sleeping, so I have decided to pull my head out and analyze the situation. All this noise. Any suggestions? Anyone want to claim my fame? :) Maybe I will just plug my skills here for some freelance work... - Karaoke songstress (deep notes only, sorry...no Mariah skill here) - Accomplished unpublished Poetess - Avid reader of ___ - Technology enthusiast - Shameless plug-ger girl - I will promote the hell outta you! - I can make you a website! :D - I can probably stand on my head too, only if a wall is present So, I do have skills. Sure I do... so who wants to pay me? Even then, will any fundage make a dent in this price on my head? Probably not :( ... so then what? Live today like there is no tomorrow, and face tomorrow with no amenities for the day. Yeah, I'll die a paupe...

ArtWalk 2010 - Los Angeles, CA... walking roaming...bepopping as it may have been...my fella and I and the streets, find in LA the broadening spectrum of art, perception, and delivery. Along the one way, except for peds, road, we find a band comprised of brass instruments and an accordian. I may have even seen a laundry lookin scratchy thing :) Among the masses indulging in 1920s polka punk sound, we find Mike H. A band buddy and infamous famous person settling into the mounds of 4th street. After the meet and greet and hug and shrug, we set off...now a group of 5, to find the perfect spot in this downtown square to use the facilities. You know what I mean... After many stall-outs due to over-crowding, or bad presentation...or NO presentation, we found ourselves at the same theater company I sat in before...that prior Wednesday. Inside the LATC we quickly moved past all the bodies and headed for the elevator - 5th floor, as it was. Only we knew that because the floor was empty. Bonus ...

Salutations from a portal overlooking Los Angeles. The winking light from passing cars reminds me that I am not just a spectator, but a spectacle; though my vantage point be unpinned. The grid was originally an idea passed down from Rome as battlefields marched along the red stains of feat and pride. We adopt their ways as an homage to bravery. Where do we flank? What caution is truly exercised when entering this stretch of thinned out rock and painted lines? Upon my watch I will initiate -- bird soaring under weather, winding ruefully to greet the nests.