in progress.


as we are now, as we once were

untitled3getting lost will help find yourself.
but she’s still looking for the exit sign
if all roads lead somewhere
is this still her dream?

she painted purgatory with colors of her constitution
the palette that only the soul can sense
she’s been finding truths in hallowed parts of herself

a shift in vision
(and i’ve seen you in mirrors)

she sees sight
the way you see vision
those moments are hard to tell apart
blurred from a sea of transparency
she parts the world
in a way you’ve never known
often silently and between breaths
no one ever knows where she goes
but she always comes back

she’s broken down those holy walls that were always left erected in your presence

each time remembered she sees it differently
always from new angles
and the light shifts itself in the dark parts

a shift in vision
(and i’ve seen you in mirrors)

she’s been staring at the sun
long enough
to watch herself burn away.

it all reflects back.

it_always_reflects_backtoo many memories
tied to senses
and each time she breathes
she remembers those spaces
it holds her tight
twists her own vision

she never feels at home
even when shes found it.

written 1.28.13

the abyss.

remember to breathe.

just breathe copy


she’s been envisioning these moments
since the spark hit her eyes
cognizant of the knowledge that he can possess

it’s something that breaks barriers
seeps into the soul

a hurling force that’s magnetized to it’s collision
and all the stars line up to bare witness to their aftermath
forget a force of nature
a new precedent can be set

a yielding to an intangible nature that separates her existence
and comfort in the depth that defines their nature

she’s been transfixed by a presence
that seemingly dispells her own myths
while proving the very existence of something
beyond her own knowing

he found her wading in rivers of her own mind
walled off
tied tight
to the memory of her own armageddon

like some sanctioned holy ground
shes been ruminating in its symbols
keeping safe in the embarkment of her own walls

there is something mirrored in his presence
he symbolizes something she forgot she possessed

one merges with the other
connection of synapses
suspension of time

she broke free into the weighted depth of those eyes

and watched the universe present itself
in the soul of another

written 12.3.12




she got tired of the way
she moved through her own darkness
tempted by fates
and a loss of her own time

the many sequences
that shuttered past her vision
and burned from within

we test ourselves
with resolve
and restraint became her barter

she’s not sure where the lessons end
and the living begins

she got tired of the way it plays out
a revolving door of memories
and a past that flinches in her vision


written november 2012

reflections of a life once held



we have been dividing ourselves
between the quest of death and rebirth
she’s worn her soul thin
there is something more elaborate
then the schemes that we possess
played out moments
separation of senses
it molded her for further movements of time

she witnessed something more inviting then life can possess

written october 2012

welcome to the abyss

she showed up
a few years too late
high on experience
and worn out on memory

time took her away

shes been shedding skins
peeling past layers
raw from revival

she picked up again
in some lost world
found sustanence in the flames
that flickered past her vision
and burned from within

she takes her cues from the wind
and the fractled light
that breaks open each moment
and pulls her to her next

she’s been taken under by memory
and resurfaces through force

she finds her mysteries
coded in landscape
her answers
hidden in plain sight

time teaches us in silence
weaves us through the dark

she was left to bargain with time

watched herself wade in rivers of her own darkness

she found the heavens there
mirroring humanity
with its own rise and fall
because even the stars fall apart
breaking open to teach us through time

she plays martyr to the ocean
and savior to the sun

lover to the fire
and counsel to the air

she takes it in
and becomes her
transmutes it through time

because all she touches
rattles off in vibration
and alters at the seams

her visions seem brighter
after the darkest of nights
written 7.23.12

moths to flames

she watched herself
walk off
to another vision
genuflected to her reflections
distorted her traditions
poured through her projections

she told the moon
to tell her when it was time
he listened
and cried back to her
about her current state

he said
the secret to time
lies beyond her perceptions
she couldn’t find herself
until she unraveled her mysteries

as with all phrophetic statements from the moon
she knew there were truth in those words

for the moon had witnessed all her various incarnations
carries her history
and holds her secrets

he counsels her in his phases
and pulls her like the tide
a current of words
that pulls her back
to repressed memories of paradise

and visions of her other


he will be brought to her by signs
that speak to her in symbols

he too will have been led by the moon

for the moon is the patron saint of all things wild
they always know how to spot their own

 many will be drawn in
 but not all can match her light

<<<<< where burning isn’t  about pain but the sustenance of each other >>>
>>>>>>> she burns deeper still <<<<<<<<

there is a history there
woven through time
one will expand to the other
and bring to each other new light

it will be real if you can feel it

time often tests her
to see if shes ready

the moon tells her to hold on


the forces found home

beauty became the beast
and the lion laid down with the lamb

saints conferred with sinners
the archetypes began to mutate

she became her own god
burned heaven to the ground
traded the ashes of the old
for something that would break open time

the old didn’t become new
instead paradoxes merged
defined a separate existence
that continues to create itself
in a mix a vibration & syllables

she got high on some deeper lust
a mix of wild notions
sacred chaos
that created its reality
instead of being lived by it

transcended forms of ecstasy
where thought and touch became tied
one sparked the other
ran through the system
and made one with the heavens

time meant nothing to distance
and distance ignored time

it all happened in  a span of breath
where sight became sound
and taste became touch
the scent of senses

the lost became found
the counter met its part

agony met with ecstasy
the saint sinned
the sinner saved

the seeker found sight
and the rebel met with the outlaw

and there existed something more
she found purpose in the lightning
written 7.8.12

sacred contact


she writes in waves
because she sees sight the same way
time became an end
and stopped in her pulse

she felt the frames take her
lapsed in moments

she parted worlds
and met in the stopping of time
it shouldn’t of paralleled existence
it mirrored in aspects
shed light to the lessons

it breathed deeper within her

what she searched for when it all got dark

she searched the world
for something more divine                                                                                                  then she could recollect

it became her knowing
felt deeper in the darkness

remembered from what is never known
she outlawed her own dissolve
it took her on in spans of silence

embraced her closer
and drew her in
pulled from somewhere
where memories are less about fact
and more about feeling

she melded in its mystery

like a force running towards itself
spoken in layers
from another life

this is how times tells her
shes found specs of home
in new life


written 7.8.12

a true initiation never ends.

she believes we become
these sanctioned versions of ourselves
left without knowing
led to find a way back to memories

home burns without source
she felt there will still be time
to become the unencumbered

because she spells time
like she spells the world

slipped through moments
nonlinear and transcending
flashes of all and nothing
in the span of a blink
that would become the framework for a lifetime

thats how she defined an existence

layered knowledge that became &went
dissolved through breath
gave life to moments
where there was more
to the setup of whats to come

she felt it commune
give rise to her guidance

send her through time

where she would learn to trap the sun
and counsel the moon

because the heavens needed mending
she was a mirror for their plight

she divulged in essence
where there was no ending
just a series of transcendence

written 5.23.12

say grace.

she said yes to the moon
and broke open her own heart
told time to never say forgiven

the world transcends in moments
and slips up in the dark

our horrors are here to send us home

so becoming never wondered
where we would find the dark

seen in series too tied to time
teach me in moments
that abstract the senses
so there is nothing left but the bewildered
acknowledgement of these newer versions of now

I       became            you
an I that isn’t sure what is
but kept on becoming
in spite of its own delusions

women who run with wolves.

got my first tattoo today.
i absolutely love it.

thank you, more please.

luz del abismo
the light from the abyss
its a term used in spanish folklore to represent the wild woman archetype.

She is both friend and mother to all those who have lost their way, all those who need a learning, all those who have a riddle to solve, all those out in the forest or the desert wandering and searching.

In actuality, in the Psychoid unconscious-the layer from which the Wild Woman emanates- Wild Woman has no name, for she is so vast. But, since this force engenders every important facet of womanliness, here on earth she is named many names. Not only in order to peer into the myriad aspects of her nature but also to hold on to her. Because in the beginning of retrieving our relationship with her she can turn to smoke in an instant, by naming her we create for her a territory of thought and feeling within us. Then she will come, and if valued, she will stay.

So, in spanish she might be called Rio Abajo Rio, The river beneath the river; La mujer Grande, the Great Woman; Luz del abismo, the light from the abyss. In Mexico, she is La Loba, The wolf woman, and La Huesera, the bone woman.

She is called in Hungarian, O,Erdoben, She of the Woods, and Rozsomak, The Wolverine. In Navajo, she is Na;ashje’ii Asdzaa, The spider woman, who weaves the fate of humans and animals and plants and rocks. In Guatemala, among many other names, she is Humana del Niebla, the mist being, the woman who has lived forever. In Japanese, she is Amaterasu Omikami, The Numina, who brings all light, all consciousness. In Tibet she is called Dakini, the dancing force which has clear seeing within women. And it goes on. She goes on.

The comprehension of this Wild Woman nature is not a religion but a practice. It is a psychology in its truest sense: psukhe/psych, soul; ology or logos, a knowing of the soul. Without her, women are without ears to hear her soultalk or to register the chiming of their own inner rhythms. Without her, women’s inner eyes are closed by some shadowy hand, and large parts of their days are spent in a semi-paralyzing ennui or else wishful thinking. without her women lose the sureness of their soulfooting. without her, the forget why they are here, they hold on when they would best hold out. Without her they take too much too little or nothing at all. Without her they are silent when they are in fact on fire. The Wild Woman is their regulator, she is their heart, the same as a human heart regulates the physical body.

….she is what she is and she is whole……

…even the most captured woman guards the place of the wildish self, for she knows intuitively that someday there will be a loophole, an aperture, a chance, and she will hightail it to escape…..

…the wild nature has a vast integrity to it. It means to establish territory, to find one’s pack, to be in one’s body with certainty and pride regardless of the body’s gifts and limitations. to speak and act  in one’s behalf, to be aware, alert, to draw on the innate feminine powers of intuition and sensing, to come into one’s cycles, to find what one belongs to, to rise with dignity, to retain as much consciousness as possible….

…as in all art, she resides in the gut, not in the head…

~Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Women Who Run With the Wolves

holy road we are on tonight

blind pilot.

seeing these guys tuesday in carrboro.

bonsai castle

Japanese artist Takanori Aiba



nothingness + beingness are merely conceptions

this is the primal identity
what we left
for what we become

taken down by time
an unfoldment of forever

her time became her
wrapped up in moments
stolen by mind

she willed herself forward
uncovering her notions
unraveling her visions

darkened states
no longer fueled the flames
unchained by time

this is how we find home
we become what we always should of been

she identifies with a sense of knowing

that transcends all time

the limitations of now
don’t stop the senses

 <<< she senses new time >>>>

she found her way back to what
she would always become

written 2.6.12

be careful what you water your dreams with…

she’s been breaking bread
with the savages in her mind

her self flagellation of thoughts
that undermined her sense of now
unearthed her reality
uprooted her senses
sent her spinning into new time

our new ways of wounding
distort the framework for knowing
we get what we become
due to a loss of now

she stayed stuck
to a past that presented itself in the present

she carried her memories
reflected them in mirrors
then lost all sense of sight

she became her distorted vision
prophesied her becoming
through perceived notions of then + now

bottomed out
in blackened nights

she shattered those visions
laid it all to rest
for the sake of survival

she began to be here now
no more escapes from never
no more fleeing from sight

she met with her monsters
toasted her sins
the essence of emptiness
the dangers of becoming too light

she began to live in visions of now

written 2.5.12

image found on

archaic revival – the last sane moment we ever knew

she has undone herself
since the dawning of time

held down by fevers
and flushed by the forgotten
she began to become
where there was never space before

she unearthed these parts of herself
that were once blackened by time

taken out
excavated the arcane

the dwellings of minds door
holds home for the lost sequence of life

once remembered can
shed light to the infinite

she found home
to the wills and the ways of a lost notion

she became
what wouldn’t become

written 2.4.12

image found on

in irons

she loves the ways of the world
that fold underneath her skin

pinned down by time
and kept there for her becoming

she began to become
evolving in her motions
seeing history repeat
and prophecies rein true

the secret notions of would be breaths
poured through her nostrils
seeping out her pores

her essence escaped her
dividing itself

multitude of magnitude
transference of being
her one to the many

written- 1.12.12

image found on

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