THE ARTIST

Anonymous.

The only one standing in my way…

Vibrations…hesitations…
fears churning in my mind…
feeling lost…turned and tossed…
a step ahead but left behind…
and I’m the only one to blame…
the only one standing in my way…
“That’s me in the corner…
that’s me in the spot-light…
losing my religion”…

Addiction

Addicted…hoplessly… to caffine, nicotine, alchol, and gasoline…high-fructose corn-syrup and individual creams…and cnn and facebook to and if we didn’t have that we’d be huffin glue just trying to change the channell in our heads…bread and circusses…dulling our senses…that 40 hour clock’s been winding and when the eagle flys we get oh so high…desencitized with drugs and lies we stumble thru this maze of asphalt and concrete with nothing but our dreams and nostalgic musings of a time long past…what has the world become…what have we become? are we the last generation of these refined, genetizized, refried epoch of this thing we call humanity…Is it really gonna go out like this? We’ve driven the truck to the end of the road, and had to slam on the brakes to keep from plunging over the precipice…but alas the pile of shit we have accumulated in the bed of the truck is coming thru the back glass…Karma is a bitch when your an ass-hole. She can be a Cunt when your a Dick.

Artists’ Wanted:

In a world where the mass consciousness of society has been hijacked by ancient mythologies and fascist agendas and the population as a whole is conditioned into a servile existence…addicted, sedated and desensitized, wool pulled over their eyes by newscasters, presidents, and tel-evangelists…fed a steady diet of high-fructose corn syrup, drugs, and lies…distracted by the bread and circuses of Rome…slaving sheepishly in a deep sleep for an empire that is steadily crumbling around them… it has become necessary for the prophets of the age to step up speaking the truth with love and creativity…to artistically articulate the truth as we have  experienced it fully…standing on the shoulders of the prophets before us…the anomalies that screamed to us from a place of clarity and reason in this sea of illusion…the echos of our own consciences… we must voice our truth…we must paint it pantomime it, sing it, shout it, scrawl it on the concrete of our prison walls…the earth cries out for our expression…

Craving

Craving, desperately to express our innermost thoughts and feelings, longing to escape the throes of isolation…desiring above all to be understood and accepted by our family and friends…we are constantly reminded that we are a mere parcel of a larger whole…I am the world… a channel of a universal consciousness that emanates from the universal soul… a ray of sunshine… Love is God…Love is Truth…there can be no Order without Love… Love is the awareness of One… Justice without Love is In-justice, without Love any authority is false…

The Line Of Defence.

It seems that when we think for ourselves we end up alone one the street, muttering to ourselves in a dark corner…or maybe that’s just me. From childhood we are programed to think a certain way, to act a certain way, to look a certain way. Anyone who is not living according to the way that society dictates will soon find a law passed to control their behavior. There are people being incarcerated for asking someone for a quarter or smoking a joint. The world is not fair. It is what it is, and as it is so be it…Right? Accept the way the world turns and fall in line or stick a shot-gun in your mouth and pull the trigger…Right? OR, there is this crazy notion…REVOLUTION!
Truth is we have the power to change the world! We can, we must, and we ought. Every man has his moment of truth where he puts his foot down, draws a line in the sand and defends that line with his very life. Every man must draw his own lines, write his own laws, and live his own life. A man lives by the word he writes and sometimes he dies by the words he writes. The warrior prophets wrote their letters in the blood of their oppressors. They spell FREEDOM!

When a man dares to express himself, power is unlocked and the masses flock to him. He becomes a hero, willing or not he is carried into the public square the road before him paved with palm frawns and the cloaks of men, no matter how loud he protests he is crowned king of the land and placed on a pedestal in the center of town. Organizations are formed with his namesake and his thought becomes religion.
People need a Messiah, a scapegoat, someone to validate the in discrepancies between their ideals and reality, an excuse to believe, courage to have hope and a vision for a better life, Faith that there can be a better world.
The temptation of the unwilling hero is to believe the mass of men instead of him-self. Deep inside he knows that he is not the Messiah but a part of him wants to believe the lie. But once he believes the lie he is at once its captive and the lie gives birth to lies until the man has lost himself in himself and is reduced to an illusion.
A man cannot be separated from his expression. Though he renounce it with curses and burn the books he has written what he once spoke in the light will be echoed through the canyons of time forever more and he will be forced to recapitulate his immortal words for all eternity.
A man is wise when he realizes that the truth that has been revealed to him is a truth that resides inside us all.

Job Description

An artist must possess certain leisure, a sort of detachment from the world in order to observe it from a third person point of view and creatively confess the truth, piercing thru orthodoxy and illusion. This leisure must not be construe d as laziness, for the muse does not lend herself to idle hands

Let there be Art.

My creation is an expression of the contents of my soul. For inspiration so that you may explore the depths of your own and find me…and find yourself realizing that we are one. One with all that is…Make Love. Don’t hesitate to re-create your interpretation of my creation. Read between the lines and express what you see as the Spirit gives you utterance. Let there be Art!

The Sidewalk Painter

It’s a labor of love but mostly for the sake of my own sanity. the picture starts in my head, though sometimes I have to try to make it out when it’s done…I’m dreaming of butterflies and screaming in pain, painting a blue sky in the pouring rain, can I talk to you? Will you stop and listen to me? I’m not done yet… I love you. Do you want to know my name? I know you would love me if you could see beyond my frame. Please don’t walk on by, give me just a moment of your time. Can you hear me over the ticking of the clock? Can you see your reflection in the canvas? Try to make it out through the shadows… the picture starts in your head. It’s mostly for the sake of your own sanity… it’s a labor of love…and it’s not done yet.

REDEMPTION

Day-Dreams, Nightmares And Premonitions…

Wandering thru this concrete and asphalt maze

Dreaming of a better way

…got one more song to play

and this one doesn’t have any words.

It is the song of my heart.

Listen and you will hear my joys and sorrows,

my suffering, my pleasures.

Listen.

Listen and you will see my Day-dreams, Nightmares and Premonitions…

You will hear my Confessions, Laments, and Battle-Cries…

Listen.

Listen and the illusions will be revealed

Everything that was hidden will be brought to the light.

I have wandered the highways and by-ways of this fallen world

with my hands empty and my eyes wide open

I have felt deeply the suffering and depravity of my fellow man

I have heard the songs of the minstrels and the slaves…

I have listened to the dirge of the dying

and the songs of the martyrs whose blood cries out from the ground…

and I have learned the songs of freedom and I sing them to you now…

Listen.

Daydreams, Nightmares and Premonitions

Confessions, Laments and Battle-Cries

Listen.

It is the song of my heart.

A Work Of Art.

My Name Is Travler…Im From Here…I Wander To And Fro About The Earth And Walk Up And Down Upon It With A Guitar On My Back… Im A Scribe, A Poet And A Prophet, A Song-Writer… I Write Songs And Play Them And Sing At The Top Of My Lungs On The Street Corners, In Bars And Churches And Elevators And Bus-Stops, Anywhere And Everywhere There Are Fellow Humans Beings… Music Is A Nessity…Like Food, Work, Sex, Air…
In Ancient Times, Musicians And Artists Were Treated As Royaly…Entertainers Of Kings And Queens…But These Days Artists Are Dogs…Living Of The Refuse Of The Slaves…Eating The Slop From The Pigs Trough… It Is An Industrial Society… It Is Okay To Be An Artist As Long As You’re Industrious First And Artistic In Your Spare Time… But If You’re Just An Artist You Are Destined To Wander Like Cain In The Barren Lands…God Requires Blood And Money For The Remission Of Sins…Artists Are Gentiles…Ruled By Our Passions…Open Hearts, Open Minds…Feeling Everything We Dive Into The Mass Consiousness Of Society Reporting Without Predjudice The Good And The Bad, The Love And The Fear… The Beauty And The Beast… Isn’t It All A Work Of Art…

when your out on the road.

when you’re out on the road with the wind when in blows, everyone knows who you are. to he who has more is given the same, but when you have nothing the whole world is gained because when you have nothing, even what you have will soon pass away and nothing really ain’t nothing anyway… you can gain the whole world, but at what cost, when you lose your own soul, that’s when you’re lost… but when you’ve got nothing, you’ve got nothing left to take away. …Out on the road, with the wind and it blow my blues away. You can hide behind your walls, buy your clothes from shopping malls, ride that escalator to the stars… cut down the trees to wipe your ass, mine for gold and drill for gas, build a rocket ship and fly to mars… gain the world and lose your soul, i’ll sit right here and smoke a bowl and laugh at the illusions that you make. it’s all the same to me…just leave me alone and let me be and stop the f***ing war for christs sake… if he was here he’d kick your ass, he’d climb the poles and burn your flags, Why can’t we all just live in harmony. I just want to be free.

within and without

the cold wind blows…cuts thru me like a knife…chill to the bone…lonely is colder than any wind that ever blowed and it cuts deeper than any blade could reach…and I bleed…I bleed out on the concrete…a trail of bright red splotches of sunshine that will evaporate and acend on high, a swirl of smoke up to the sky…bleeding like the firstborn lamb on the fourth of July… Dying from the inside out…held captive by the beast…bleeding internally on the street…lost in the maze of empty created by the hands of slaves who die in the shadows of the towers they have built from bricks of mud and straw…the beams of iron ore…the ceders of lebenon…We die among the modern marvels of man-kind…clutching our nothing and holding it tight…we slave under the rod and staff of a false shepherd… a king who raises himself on throne above the earth and claims an authority higher than the Sun…how many generations will slave in chains and fetters forged by our own hands before we realize that the earth is ours? When will the meek inherit the earth? They claim to possess that witch belongs to all…They claim jurisdiction over our land…our seas…even our bodies and possessions…they write their ‘law’ on tables of stone that they heave upon the heads of my people…Woe to those who seat themselves on a throne above the earth, endevoring to rule over their fellow man with their iron sceptors, writing their ‘laws’ on tables of stone that they heave upon the heads of the people…they are preists of darkness…claiming to possess the ‘knowledge of good and evil’…Curses be upon your heads…f*** you and your god and your nations…with blood on your hands you stand in judgement of the rightous… festering wounds never had a chance to heal…the bandits raid outside while the theif breaks in to steal…the bleating of the lamb is silenced by the blade…god requires blood for the remission of sins and they high priest recieves the choicest cuts of the meat… I shiver in the cold, run for cover from the rain…nobody knows my fears, no one knows my pain…that cold wind blows, blood frozen in my veins,and lonely stabs me deeper than any blade could ever reach.

I Am the Rain

Metamorphosis in the street, longing to be complete, raging against complacency, rebelling against the cold blue steel of numbness, the prison of my burning insatiable hunger, the whirlwind of energy carries me precariously to the edge of apathy and throws me over the precipice so that I can rise over the paradigms on the wings of eagles, angels of the sky, translated into nothingness and everything simultaneously. A new birth, becoming once again a parcel of the universe, returning to God as a vapor rising to the heavens and back again to wet the tongues of the damned, the withering lilies of the field. Evaporation is completeness; stagnation is the stench of hell. Mid-day sun I rise to you so I can fall again, so I can fly again, so I can die again. Rise…Fall…Fly…Die…Rise…Fall…Fly…Die…Drink you withered lilies. Drink your fill. I Am The Rain.

Nonsense.

I got this sensation in my bones, i see so many tones, in the sounds of all the colors in the air. I don’t know what I mean, I can’t tell you what I’ve seen, but theres something going on beneath the snow. I’m speaking in tongues and seeing visions, my eyes roll back inside my head, sometimes I think I’m dying, maybe i’m already dead. Maybe i’m sinking or maybe i’m flying, i can’t remember what she said, i got an angel or demon kicking around inside my head.

LIFE

Spontaneous combustion…a thunderstorm in august…icy drops of ecstasy stinging your face…LIFE…your black and white world dissipates into a kaleidoscope of vivid color slung against the blank, gray canvas of your cerebrum by the ecstatic reverie of a tripping Picasso…LIFE…like bird shit hitting the windshield of your speeding car, like the kitchen wall after a toddlers suppertime tantrum, like the trail of bright red splotches on a Nashville sidewalk before the rain comes to wash away the violent, untold story…This is LIFE…Chaotic symmetry, vicious and sublime. Cycles and seasons, reasons and rhyme. Shapes shifting, faces smeared, what was is gone reality disappeared. Pyramids inverted, circles around squares, walls caving in exposing demons lairs. Captives set free of chains forged by fears, illusions of power melted by tears… of broken, leaking vessels of light… The eastern sky splits and the day destroys the night. He who has ears let him hear, the illusion of darkness will soon disappear. The sun sets in the western sky; before morning comes pharaohs first born will die. A sign from heaven shines from the east, the first shall be last, the greatest the least. Rise up my people the kingdom is here. Lift your eyes to Zion and forsake all your fear. You are the Remnant and your time is now. Confess allegiance to Freedom, to no other king bow.

Lemming Messiah

“I have come to emancipate the incapacitated lemmings, lost in an illusory labyrinth of the vast underpinnings of metallic infrastructures created by a plethora of arbitrary authorities combining their collective energies to engage in a maniacal conspiracy to obliterate the consciousness of the masses and establish an omnipresent religeo-political hierarchical system of injustice and unrestrained capital gain on the part of the few and privileged bourgeois at the expense of the mass population in its entirety.”

the world, a stage

 The world is a stage and we all must play a part…each day we donn a costume and put on a mask…we write our own lines…add lib and fornicate, mental masterbation at the very least…Frankenstein aint got nothing on this we’ve created the beast…strip malls and dot coms dispensing drugs to soccer moms…we’re drowning in a sea of mis-guided hate, yuppies hippies,tranny’s, gangstas cops and grannies…tea-parties and drunken orgies on the city hall lawn down-town…everybody’s raging internally lets burn this shit down… how the f*** did it come down to this… roaming thru these city streets I smell victory and piss…Inhale, Exhale…the world is ours. You are Free…just as free as you always wanted to be…Do what you will, harm none in the process…respect the sovereinty of each and every human being and bow down to no gods or masters…we have been oppressed and scorned and enslaved and imprisoned for to long… Now is the time to rise up.

The Choir Master Of The Mind.

Music is a medium

a portal

channelling energy from within and without

drawing from the gyration of the spheres.

Where there is Peace

it flows like a river to the sea

but where there is chaos

a minor chord is struck

and the chorus is dissonance.

Rythym, Harmoney and Ryme

within a measure of time

the dance of notes around a beat

spaces between sublime

The empires are built and destroyed to the melody and time

of the Choir Master of the Mind.

Minstrels.

Their songs are spells

They are gods and goddesses, witches and warlocks…

 possessing the power to bless and to curse

It is they that blow the trumpet, calling the warriors to battle.

They summon the sentiments of the prophets and scribes,

with rhythm, melody and rhyme they keep time

Wisdom cries out from the rooftops

Truth echoes throughout the kingdom.

The Mockingbird’s Song

I’m sitting on a hill weaving daisy chains underneath an oak tree forgetting all my pains. And the battle rages on there’s chaos all around but I won’t fight till dawn, my sword’s stuck in the ground. It will stay there planted until the truth I find because another bloody battle is raging in my mind. And somewhere in the distance I hear a battle cry and the mockingbird is singing as all around me arrows fly. I will fight for freedom, I will die to plant the seed, I will give it all for love and truth I’m not afraid to bleed and I will beat the devil. I won’t rest until he’s dead but he devil that I’m fighting is the one in my own head. So I sit here in silence my sword is in the ground, rooted like the tree that grows upon this burial mound. Ancient remains of soldiers just like you and me that fought and bled and died to set their people free. And the birds nest in the branches as I’m lying in the shade the roots grow among the bones the price the martyrs paid. As the sun set the mocking bird sang a lullaby and a heavy slumber closed my eyes under the rising moon. When I awoke under the tree at dawn I was missing a rib and a limb was gone and in the place I stuck my sword was this guitar and I strummed a chord and the chimes of freedom rang.