xavieralexander1980 - Tumblr blog

[xavieralexander1980]

The Candle Of Your Dreams

They will hate and ignore.

They will kick and negate.

But you gotta carry the candle

of your dreams into the shadows

where no one else will go, where

death and shadow people watch,

where ufos fly in impossible ways.

You gotta get bloody and thirsty,

ripping holes in the fabric

of spacetime. You gotta be willing

to surrender it all before masters

and lords. You gotta lose your mind

every so often, cry with snot

and dirt and the pain. You gotta

get in there and live with fierceness,

dig inside your shame for dignity.

It is your birthright to crawl

on the edge of the Abyss

and walk like a lunatic in the sun.

God commands you to be adrift

with only the wind as your home

and only peace when you die.

This is what it means to stand

against the tumult of existence

and scoop out the joy

in the desert sands and smoke.

Few will get it and fewer will

reciprocate the giant swell of love

that was borne into you,

a love to experience the extremes,

to take hold of the galaxies

in your third eye and be a flame

of the sacred and holy,

to live among criminals

and see the divine in them.

Oh thousand year old spirit!

Oh mercy on high! Oh life!

Set me loose you did to traverse

the levels of up and down,

of left and right, of all directions,

for a trail of songs to sing!

Lonely is the sea at every stop,

and weary are this body and mind.

And yet, it is my calling

to be the father of my light

and my indiscriminate darkness.

[xavieralexander1980]

Comfortable People

Take me as I am,

broken and on fire.

Where the comfort

meets the sunny sky

and the green grass

of the Mother

and the Father

I wanna dream on

on the safety

we have together

and just hang.

Just hang

in the cathedral

of our warmth

and tenderness,

and find each other

through the Multiverse

and different

dimensions. Take me

as who I claim to be

and hold me close

in that comfortable

trip around the sun.

[xavieralexander1980]

Hello To The World

Life is a lonely film,

set between heaven and hell.

In love I glimpse the fruit

of feeling less alone;

in some heaven, the camera

opens wide to see the impact

of good intentions. Hell

is sheer panic and torture.

It is in between that my heart

follows a lonely, narrow path.

Like a giant forest of birds,

trees, flowers, and insects,

the scene is populated,

but still their music can't break

through. Like a party

of many isolated amongst our

selves, the scene shrinks

to my lonely pangs of alienation.

Life is an alienating reason

for losing one's mind. Heaviness

sets in in a weariness. Happiness

seems to be a feast

that happens upon the soul

for a short time, a temporary dream.

Life is a lonely call

to something outside myself.

Hello to the world,

I walk with the moon and sun,

dizzying me further and further,

my shadow flipping

in the pink light of dawn.

Life is a lonely twilight state,

where no one sees each other

prostrate and seeking.

The hand doesn't see the other.

The eyes don't see others.

It is just a howl

through the rough desert

till I fall asleep

in a sense of my belonging.

[xavieralexander1980]

Economic Fantasia

From all the angels

and wheels

up there, up there,

come fire, come storm,

the plane is a green

and yellow

field of burning glory!

Send me a prayer.

Send me a hook.

Send me a magical gift.

We are in the fantasia

of the 21st century.

Filmed. Subsumed.

It is a labyrinthine

simulation.

Cast out the demons

and chimera.

Wheel explodes,

exploding

on high -- two billion

years crawling --

the force that broke

gravity

breaks the noose

of the mind.

Lords and Ladies

at a Met Gala

dance

with food in their

mouths

over top a pit

of souls,

while the water,

poisoned with plastic,

dies in the eye

in the sky.

Let's elect a boss.

The head boss

of the bosses

we will have to defeat

in the carbon fission

days of our end.

It is just a beginning

of a different sort

of book,

one an Easter egg,

inside the final chapter

of the climate authority

of our lost means.

Lost billionaire,

when will you become

a trillionaire

of our dreams?

Fire, rain, thunder, lightning.

We steal the fire

once again

from the debtor's bank

in our moneyed heaven.

[xavieralexander1980]

Alchemical Renewal

The morning, in the shower.

Renewal. The steam hitting

the opaque and translucent

bathroom and light.

There are holy times away

from the hustle, and the sanctity

from without, with nowhere

to go. The chemistry is

instrumental for effect

and for the pause today.

Back to bed just to see

if I can sleep, or if I should look

at the feeling conjured by

all these variables,

and be grateful for the chemistry

that so mixes alchemical

with the holy ambience.

[xavieralexander1980]

Third Act

The scene the boy gets the girl

and then the happy ending

of love is left with hope.

But what if the happy ending

was really when the boy learned

to live with himself fully,

and that within him was the ghost

busting ability to sleep

in the haunted houses where

the blood of history came crashing.

What if the train that blew its horn

was the boy's call to be better

and to find within him

the expression of his higher self.

The film is in a grayscale

to emphasize the romance

of one man's journey, not to her,

but to within himself, as a boy,

innocent and loving, spirit and wind.

And the lessons are like characters

all around him, seeds of plants

and talking animals, and nights

the spirit moves within him

to write and dance, laugh and love.

What if he falls into conflict

with society, with mean and cruel

leaders and followers, marching

to a dark and sinister drum,

but instead of going on a rampage

and shooting up the scene,

he finds the boy he was

and holds his hand

and they walk with purpose,

and help all souls in need.

What if he learns to be at peace

remotely turning with the earth

and soaks up the sun

for the rest of his days.

The scene actually has

a boy with a thousand heads

and a thousand hands reaching out

to hundreds upon hundreds

of people, with a thousand hearts,

and it is all sped up to today,

to right now, in which the boy

sharpens his loving shine,

and amplifies it to a hundred ears,

and he finally is happy

not moving, but with purpose.

A thousand ghosts wait

to enter into the sun,

and the boy must go it alone

to understand that they are within

him, like flowers he gives

each new day to each new soul,

whatever the audience may see.

[xavieralexander1980]

Making Home Within My Brain

It once, for a year, was mental

injustice, reflected in the pools

and the suffering lay dying

with the lobster scarecrows at the top

of the sea. But like a junkyard

scrap man I rummaged through

the piles of wires and old junk

and, with determination and a death wish,

by process of elimination,

I made grooves and hard drives

and a home in the chemical

and stormy electrical disarray.

Wild and free, hell or heaven,

larger forces and gods and layers

I grabbed at the root in the sky

and formed from clouds

the soft bed of the mystic dream,

and now I radio from the deep

the soothing music that cleans

and find the apple boughs of peace.

How do I talk about the sun

or the snow or the rain

to those wrapped up in internal

databases and look like nooses

to the geese and the fowl

and the birds who sing of glory?

Such dreams are nightmares

and nightmares are dreams,

and the steps are loose

on the way home in my head.

[xavieralexander1980]

Engineering (Innocent Framework)

Indefinite shower

of sun's rays,

indefinite pleasure

of sensing

the heat wherever

the heat is from,

engineering maximal

from minimal,

weakness under star

light the music

heroes and villains

dying in the vision

as the Lord isn't

compassionate enough,

thus, to turn with art

as an attempt, an inquiry,

into the headless realm

I feel consciousness

meet the new bliss

in the framework

and is to be in control

of one step, one step

alone, a song passed on

from father to son,

from mother to daughter,

the innocent birds

in the trees are speaking

unto us, and out of

the corner of our nature

the rights will become

a head space we grow

into and the definitions

will refine less gradually,

into the wilderness

the city will set its fire,

but less I'll attach to,

drifting as a little flower

drifts its seeds,

wind to wind, air to air,

the minimal pleasure

with minimal misery,

beams in pure bath

of galaxial-quantum

surge of one grain

unto a googleplex

of dirt in the ground.

[xavieralexander1980]

Dr. Light

The journey,

descriptive of

the spiritual

dance

with the turning

of the earth,

on point,

how to shake,

how to shed.

The journey,

only prescriptive

on the slide

to the light side,

at times

I sit on top

of the

memories

of a million

errors.

Descriptive

I describe,

prescriptive

you tell,

and the truth

is on the

inside,

after a thousand

days

I have died.

[xavieralexander1980]

The Arc Of Naked Existence

Every day an arc comes to arise,

like a rainbow, or a story midway,

and actually there are hundreds

and thousands, which arise on

the crest of waves-- o air, o sea,

the turbulent breaks of the push

and the pull, and the focal point

is right square on this synonym.

Hounds, helicopters, cops, live,

the news of hearts and lungs, veins

and arteries, systems and function--

o the breath is a runaway thief,

o the snowy morning is a period piece.

And angles of last night,

with the plot points and connections,

ticking time bombs setting

the future into instant motion, retrospect

of a lifetime in the angles of birds

in the trees-- o can you see

the transference, the ghost alien train

of the moment, of the snow cause.

Climate is setting, the brave face

of existence nude to its artists.

O we get closer, and closer, as the limb

does what it will, bending to higher

orders, as the heights go below.

[xavieralexander1980]

In The Spaces Moments Of Healing

Waking revisited in the half gray

crack of the massive dimension

will I heal what I hold onto?

Walking toward here or there

the moment arises in me,

a quantum movement across

a thousand spaces, holding on,

will I heal what propelled?

Toward the smooth jangle

of instruments in the stream

will I heal the traumas that blind

and see the alarm in others?

Secret mission with myself,

like a boy's imagination run wild,

inner boy to inner self,

the times came undone with

damage around the moon

and all things the moon knows.

The ocean of phase, trains, buses,

cars, and passersby will not see

the gradient of the dead

brought back to the realm,

and will be unaware I'll be

seeking the healing of time

and of gravity, in the quantum dust

where the suffering meets calm,

and the circus meets the away space,

in the center of days, a thing

I must, like a cosmonaut, do alone.

[xavieralexander1980]

In Orbit

I am less big space

in the manner of being.

Rooms, energies, mindful

orient--I feel out,

sending me on missions,

without latching onto

the orbits first discerned.

Shedding more and more,

I am riffing on technical air.

Wayward and lateral,

contained and vibrant,

the mood speaks story,

waving its path

to the means of what seeks

less of the material,

that spectrum that corrected;

Love in orbit becomes

the second motion in question.

And drifting unto new channels

love in orbit secretly surrenders.

[xavieralexander1980]

The Song of Mammon

Imagine, the asking is too much

for me, when I'd rather be

floating toward Bethlehem.

World stop. And towers they climb

crush into the sea; I'll hang onto

the comfortable ballooning

of space and the lesser side

of what is far and near. Asking of

me, yet asking of the empire not,

there sings the song of Mammon

in every divided house and church.

Oh to ask of times once

so pertinent the question.

I withdraw and my energy goes

riding toward the dream of doing it,

between the walls of what seems.

[xavieralexander1980]

That Night You Were So Very Lost

That night you were so very lost,

and the fire was so very far away,

and the nation turned on you and me,

every place was a search for fire,

every tear, every breath, every dream,

were a struggle foretold by

the men at the edge of the street,

the women broken in the wind,

that night you were so very lost

and I looked deeply into you

and the reality sang with the night

lost in your fire, lost in your snow,

not that I loved, but I loved too much,

not that I was safe, for the fire

and the wind and the snow,

and it was all soul for a few years,

and it was all the Lord and need,

and it was so very lost in the deep,

call me any time and I am here,

call the nation out of its slavery,

call the sea the mountain deep,

look deep into my suffering line,

for forever I am changed,

for the street is broken at its end,

I will always love you for the times,

I will always love you for the soul

that rode on the spirit in the night,

and every suffering line breaks forth

from the reality at its deepest,

with the love we let go

in search of a new life and become

the nation and the fire and the dream,

from dreams so lost on a night like then.

[xavieralexander1980]

Inside The Sun's Music

Never knew, until the mountain

and the rocks and the trees,

rivers that go up and down,

sun everywhere and then more

sun as the mountain we never knew

but little angles of fish, of curves,

cameras never known until

you first came green up in the sky,

like a river of them and of there,

and of morning turned wide open

we alike once together, arm in arm,

connected by cameras and

of the streets, of ceilings, of borne

and see we never knew until now,

until then, of this mountain

that the sea and the stones and

the stars that meander,

it will happen like a lightning

of a life, shooting outward

in a methodical expansion,

inside the sun's music,

the grave turned wide open

in the second womb

of the star's side mountain,

and there you will meet

the saints and sages you seek

who clip the camera's wire,

beyond what

we have never known.

[xavieralexander1980]

Company Men

Oh the company you keep,

and the business you do,

Oh who is on the pedestal

and who is set to fall,

and who will be there to lift.

The alleys are an Inferno,

with a look here or there,

and I was dreaming unawares,

in the poem of my profession.

Sing a song for the children

so they will grow to be

in the wars that peaceably go by.

Sing a song for the alley

power play, the company,

our company and our business,

so very important work,

the work of sharks in the sea,

and let me die unawares.

Sing a song for the men who rule

and the women who back them,

so very important work this ruling

business, and letting others

drown. Gold and silver, shimmering,

up to our elbows in costuming.

For the company we drink

a toast to the blood and marrow,

such important work.

[xavieralexander1980]

Great Fall Into The Corner

There is war always with America.

It has come to be

just a fact of the state.

And really it always has been.

The more we don't see it,

the less it seems to matter,

except in the corner

when you fall the great fall,

and then the war reveals itself

like the Rapture between Angels

and Demons. That's me

in the corner, with the great fall

of falls. Ever since you take a side.

You put secret codes in the sand.

You take on somewhere

between suns the fascism

in the world no one sees.

And a little bit of always follows

with the promise,

with the moon, sun, and stars,

a great mountain arises next

to a great sea, and everyone is really

hanging onto the lip of the sky,

and just trying as hard as they can.