William Blake

"To see a world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand"
-William Blake

أنت حياتي

Let's
draw
a
line
From
your
heart
to
mine


and
if
and
when
we
break from
this
spine
at least
we'll find
our way back
over time.

Friends, and Other Things

Smile

The robbed that smiles steals something from the thief.

-Shakespeare

To Play or Not To Play, Is the Question

there is nothing or no one telling you what to do, it's all up to you.

vibrato or no vibrato, you decide.

so the right answer? the most accurate decision?
it's what you make it to be,
there's no external influence, no 3rd party involved.
it's just you
the bow
and C-G-D-A.

the most beautiful move is the one that you want.
it's what you feel.
it's what you know.

that's what music is, it's what we know to be true to us, every step of the way.
it's a variable expression of who we are, ever changing and always in harmony with us.
because we picked the notes, the pitch, the arrangements.
it's our baby.

you give a song life, and just as easily,
you take that life away.

it's not arbitrary, it's completely planned out.
it's mapped out for us in our past, our histories, the places we've been, the people we've met.
the music we make, the sounds that are each individually worthless but yet together so purposeful and necessary.

it's what you want and no matter how hard you try, you can't get rid of what you want.

it always finds a way to creep back up into your life and scare the living shit out of you.

Ablaze

A Mary

things i have

i have a database in my brain
that fills up every time it rains
and when it rains
it fucking pours
won't somebody please shut the doors?

i have a hole in my left sock
that i just don't want to sew back up
i like this hole, i like it very much,
it's been there for me,
through tough times and such.

i have a pocket in my right shoe,
that is filled up with tacky glue.
when i see things that need to be fixed,
i can patch them up
no need for tricks.

i have a secret door in my room,
that takes me to a secret tomb.
where i can hide away and play,
and if you come with,
we can be there all day.

Finally!

I am writing again. And it feels oh-so-so-so good.

Half The Sphere

Half the sphere was my heart,
that spun in circles
worlds apart.
speeding up then slowing
down,
all we did was go round and round.
we found a place to come and rest,
i've put you in a treasure chest
i'll keep you golden,
locked up forever,
i'll open it sometimes, often,
probably never.
And there you'll stay with all your glory,
guarding with you all our stories.
Keep them dear child,
keep them close,
for those will provide comfort
when you need a dose
of that unconditioned love
you held in your hand,
but let slip through your fingers
like grains of sand.
now i'm writing.
now i'm learning.
now i'm preaching.
now i'm earning.
the rights to say that i was right,
and rest assured you wont sleep at night.
you'll be up sleepless moons,
peeping out,
creeping about,
clinging to stories from the treasure chest
come here and put that head
to rest.

Khalil Gibran

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”

-Khalil Gibran

guh pie lee gor

the moon's beam and ground plane are not my friends tonite.
i look up only to look down, it seems.

i cant see you anymore, you're hiding behind anguish.
i cant feel you anymore, you're inching farther away every moment
i can't hear you anymore, my sadness gets louder every passing second.
i can't touch you anymore, my hands sting you too much.
i can't trust you anymore, for you say one thing and do another.
i can't want you anymore, you're not worth the rejection.
i can't yearn for you anymore, my heart's yearning for something new.
i can't try anymore, i'm losing my grip, my mind and my soul.
i can't wait for you anymore, I don't think you're ever coming.
i can't love you anymore, you don't love me like you did once before.

In Flight

my escape from reality
he has escaped my reality.
no fate nor destiny can fill me
with that vitality

my fresh breath of air
he has finally soared free
far away to the homeland
searching for a peace of mind endlessly

my vision of hope
he has left long ago
taking loads of faith with him
leaving for me only sorrow

Graphic Splatters

could I ever simplify

could i ever simplify such a natural form into a geometry,
could i impel true nature to surrender its arms
of bedazzling convolutes
and to surrender its disposition of
innocence and purity
could i turn it into a geometry,
so as to
relieve it of its convoluted shell and skin
and rid it of these inconsistencies
in favor of a quantifiable existence
to methodize and analyze
these natural tendencies.
how do we?
i still don't want to know how to
be this unaware.
dumb down the layers,
so that not so much as
one touch,
one reach,
could bemuse and excite and resonate
in the eyes and ears
and smile
of a child,
and lost is its concession
to faintly remain the most distant yet intimate
surrender humanly possible.

Architectural Woes

you can't fight for too long, eventually you'll realize that you're fighting yourself.
a mission to create something from within, although we don't yet know quite how to, we try.
and try.
a challenge to refute what is known,
what is right,
what is wrong,
and just follow when our minds want to succumb to our intuition.
not to neglect our intuition and stay true while maintaing a clear direction
and not distorting our intentions.

i cry through this object,
to you.
for you see,
all i have is merely the materials and tools in front of me
(that i can barely control)
to tell you how i feel.
to tell you what i think.
to change your mind.
to humbly make sense of a chaos
chaos that exists within an intangible and elite world of intellectual pervasiveness.

i'm telling you how i'm hurting.
i'm feeding you my depression.
i'm filling the deep void.

you have no idea what i'm talking about.

this wall is here.
this wood is bent.
i'm encompassing your body, i'm opening you up to the sky,
for that is what i am here to do.

this is my language.
this is the dialogue between me and the world.
this is my mind and soul
spewed out into bits
beautifully arranged into clouds that are merely made up of
air
and water.
and like water,
eventually it all evaporates into nothing

As We Build

a starting point. an entry into a diverse world of possibility that everyday allows for various paths of creativity. a combination of and a presentation of successes and failures. everyday a new endeavor and a new understanding.

the idea of community activity, where anyone can observe and feel a part of the moment. Spaces that wrap in and out of each other, to intersect, even if slightly.

pulling apart a box to reveal so slightly what is going on inside. the sense of pulling something apart to see its components.

proportions that are harmonious and subtle, not extreme or overpowering.

doomed for happiness

doomed for happiness.

thread count

you've caught the beast in me
and tamed it, at the seams
bursting so it seems
with life, is how are we
so unlikely to slow it down
crazy lives that never frown
crazy turns upside and down
so likely to be homeward bound

dizzy dizzy
as we run in circles
dizzy dizzy
love me love me
dizzy dizzy
so unlikely

oh how you grow
nobody knows
i do though
i can see it and i like it
i can see it and i want it
oh how you show
me love
i mean it

how i love to be lost with you in
San Dimas
how i love to go everywhere with you
how i love to go nowhere with you

beneath our skin
like breaths of fresh air
sheets of high supima
envelope us

how swell it seems
when it's bursting at the seams

when nobody is knowing
i'm watching watching
when you can't feel it,
i'm touching, touching
touching
touching
we are touching
touching
touching
like roots of a tree
we are swelling to be
in unity
you&me.

from the translations of another

In Persian, there are four levels of friendship each relating to a degree in closeness and intimacy:
Aashenaa (to know someone casually)
Doost (a close friend)
Rafeegh (your best friend)
Yaar (your inseparable lover)
However, these levels are independent of the type of physical connection you have with someone. These degrees of closeness explain your deep soul connection with another being; your spouse, therefore, may only be your Aashenaa, or you may have a perfect platonic relationship with a Yaar. Some mystics measure their intimacy with God and the Beloved by using these levels. For RUMI, the Beloved and Shams were one, and both (as one) were his Yaar. That could explain why Rumi’s verses are being dubbed “love poems.” Should they be anything less?”


Shahram Shiva on Rumi