Poorly Mixed Metaphors

I had run from the forest so long,
I crossed the street not to speak to it.

At times a madness came over me and I dove into it, hacking my way in, only to become tangled, wrapped in its vines, til my struggling against it would eject me back onto the road.

It has kept me me up so many nights, with long calls of mysterious creatures. What are they doing?

For a while I tried to burn it, inhaling it's ash, hoping to get it inside of me, marking myself with it like a warrior, like a boy playing war.

And then one day it had grown up around me, and in general I was no longer afraid.

The forest is not home yet, but it is becoming my friend.

Location:Tatum Waterway Dr,Miami Beach,United States

Integration Now, Integration Forever

The highest form of integration is to do while being. To be fully present and emotionally connected while acting with no hesitation is fulfilled presence. The samurai described this state repeatedly. After mastering technique, their goal became to fight like animals - no division between action and feeling, no second-guessing. How they found simile between putting brush to canvas and blade to body then becomes apparent.

Location:77th St,Miami,United States

Ratatat tat tat... Poem!

Late at night he writes
And feels
With a softness
That the day does not allow.

The sun and the moon do not give the same brightness

Nor demand the same attention

Nor balance one another equally

He chases the shade
Relishing every moment of coolness
Every wisp of respite
From the demands of masculinity.

Monsters Among Us, or, How the Author Feels About Young Socialists

While the young socialist would love to ascribe the most infernal ambitions to everyone around him, he is shocked - horrified, even - when accused of having any of his own. These ambitions are always eventually revealed, and then understood to be of the basest kind. Those truly concerned with the care of their fellow man engage directly in it - they bind wounds, dig wells and feed (or employ) the hungry. But the socialist, who manages to do none of these things, demands to be seen as part of some moral nobility. This noble status is his most cherished possession, and like the nobles of old, he claims that he deserves it, and decries as corrupt any insistence that he might bother to earn some of it.

He then makes war on art and enterprise by attempting to claim as his own (i.e., the People's) total ownership of all creative product. He makes war on the poor, claiming to act on their behalf while villainizing as demons responsible for their condition all the role models they could emulate to change it. He makes war on those who accomplish and create because he lusts for their possessions and self-respect.

He ascribes guilt to every being on earth who does not aid him in his quest for power, though he will take no responsibility for any of the innumerable deaths and sufferings that his ideology has created. He creates every logical contortion and excuse imaginable to explain why his ideology is not responsible for what it has produced, even though there have been countless attempts to create a workable model. That every one of these models has ended in bloodshed he considers none of his responsibility, but the bourgeois he finds responsible for evils a million miles away.

His ego and his power-lust know no bounds - yet he will likely never bother to create a single thing that might would earn him a modicum of respect from the fellow man he claims to serve. Also, his girlfriend is sexually unsatisfied.

Location:75th St,Miami Beach,United States