thank you to angelica millan for..

for those who feel it the most.

for the underdogs, for the silent, hidden eruptions.

quelling with unnerving grip,

submerging itself in passion.

for the dangerous desire that seems to grow a garden in your chest

with penetrating roots, dispatching in search of streams of Living waters,

 yet longs to form in the seclusion of dark.

for those who truly, feel it the most..      

Dear God, you are that disturbing imbalance planting itself in my chest.

you are that fiery secret,

that cataclysmic eruption that threatens the heart of my small thinking;

my contaminated and self-contained lifeless inspirations. 

you are that wild animal.. calling with cooing fervor in the cool dark.

and as you speak, my ears create containers catching the drips of your dew.

then this wave burning it's essence over and within me;

I feel this warming lucidity threatening my stability..

and in that moment, I for you, no longer exist in this fleshly body again.

for moment by moment

is made anew through strong, sterling perceptions and

 retinal revelations that instigate the eyes.

this doesnt make me.
i don't make me.
I am made by something, unmakeable.
i am forever transformable on formable,
predestined foundations.
this is both terrifyingly overwhelming to awake to.

i'd rather stay at home and bury myself in insurging wisdom.

you'll never find me.

she wanted to run away to the mountains, and never come back. she fell in love only twice.
the both times, were unrelenting, sacrificial, and otherworldly. she is an artist.
a painter. she was a loner . she ran from your attention and staring eyes.
she liked clothing aesthetics. books and walking were her panaceas. she still wants to live in the mountains the rest of her life and talk to God.

all i ever want people to finally get in touch with,

 the implacable appetite for
intangible
solidification.

while the soul is feeling less than .10 oz light.

dangling up. open, and blowing maddeningly in the wind.

 while hinged, forbearing, and rock solid strong

on illimitable Truths.

touching earth,

while continually escalating into the stratosphere. 

never disrupt

you will meet me here..together in night visions you'll lay on me thick.

layer over my membrane and glaze over my eyes heavily with the dew drops of your illimitable breath, that turns it's very saturation into rain. 

and moment by moment, i'll feel my mortal sinful shell crack, 

and evaporate.

and in this consecration, you'll make the heavens and cosmos around me jealous

and gaze in the marriage of pure ecstasy,

a soul-sharpening, intangible wind: my Deo

penetrating my lucid, transparent soul in

a mortal body.

find me here;

 eyes tightly shut,

mouth gaping open.
in your anticipation of me,
and mine of you.

shakespeare tonight. 

but i really long for alfred whitehead.

the angel is stronger, than your demons

THE SEASONS WITHIN BEGINS from GAS'D on Vimeo.

"last night my shadow ran from me "

 - cool hand luke

i think the perfect place for two people to grow is complete solitude.

where we kidnapped each other.

i  grow silently mad. in my own small ways throughout the day.
my physical body and expression for people day-to-day, never fully satisfy my unscrupulous mind grow silently mad. in my own small ways throughout the day.
my physical body and expression for people day-to-day, never fully satisfy my unscrupulous mind

oh alfred

i never like to leave the house.

no.. i dont think im missing out on society. i feel i could watch it just perfectly from where i sit.

and in this spot, it's a perfect setting to contemplate it's evolution, it's turning of the tides, and it's existence.

i've already purposefully warped my sleeping schedule. i make it a point

 to sleep during daylight hours, 

so i can e completely illuminated through out the night time.

cataclysms and night visions, happen at the most prominent of darkest, coldest nights.

yes.. it's better when it's cold.

and i've been living off hot tea more than you'd let yourself to

believe of me.

good morning to you, only.

Lookbook Post #10/11

she desired two roles that beseeched her quivering memory: the archetype and the antihero.
the sun-kissed wanderer with the blazing sun of adventure and destiny in her hair.
 the sly, cat-like, bat-like midnight sphinx whose stuck in a film noir.

here we go...

Jacket: vintage, fringed, tailored. white leather with silver embellishments.

tassels slightly worn on arms.

Boots: leather heeled combat boots. matte, black. from T.U.K.

Shorts: high-waisted jean shorts. dark wash. from MaxRave.

Shirt: sheer, button up blouse. loose fitting, half-way tucked in shorts.

vintage.

Panty-hose: black, extra sheer. Albertson's.

Hair/Make Up: hair washed and tousled, naturally. slightly combed.

-make-up smashbox liquid hd-foundation.

mac lipstick in rose.

Dress: deep violet and black chiffon dress. high-waisted
with a billowy slouch up top. low, v-cut neckline, raised with shoulder pads. vintage.
Boots: high-heeled leather ankle boots. peep-toe, lace-up, 4' stiletto heel. Forever21.
Hair/Make-up: exaggerated raised bun, messy twist.
smashbox liquid hd foundation, mac luminescent bronze powder on eyes
 and cheeks. mac black eyeliner paste + clear Wet n' Wild lip glaze.
Pantyhose: extra sheer panty-hose. Albertson's.

 multifaceted

 broken open, i'm locked gates with trap doors. mirrored hallways and hidden entry ways under floor boards. with every single room there is no closed in wall, there is intimacy and shrouded safety. with every single room there you enter and leave with ages added to your soul, there is a Wind that blows infinitely and goes wherever it wishes in a uninhibited, purposeful time. and in every darkened passage way, there is an eternal Light that shines in only places where you need only take the next step.

these are my encounters with God.

"how precious is the flow..no other love i know. 

nothing but the blood... of Jesus..."

i spoke this today, under strained breath.

head bent down, with the sobering realization of it's beauty.

it's resonance aching within me:

to grow sword eyes in a swaying field.

being placed up for scrutiny is one of the hardest situations i could place myself in. ...it's as if i have no control over my stimulus over my body.
i have the face of someone who can convince you that my exterior is made of pure ice. translucent with nothing to hide. when looking through, it has the appearance of another world. from it's surface, luminescent at it's moments when you least expect it.
but... placed up to scrutiny. it's as if my mind screams at me to stand still..
it's as if i hide what already has the will to stand on it's own.
it's as if i subdue the fire behind my lids,..
this ...wanton and worthless behavior needs to dissipate and fall in the dust behind me.

id rather have sword eyes that cause my own mouth to salivate for only.... the Eternal.
things that leave a lasting impression. and bid adieu to saplings that fly with every push of the wind. thrill seekers who seek only the thrill.. just to deviate from the formidable truth: they are still in the midst of locating their identity. and the thrill has made them parched. Truth is so apparent they've spent the majority of their lives trying to silence it's quells..and their energy drowning out it's voice with their haze of reasoning.

i'm here to uncover it. i'll sharpen my knives and bend my unnerving bows.
prophecy, revelation from the shot of one look.