Spencer lives in constant fear.
He lives in constant premature rejection,
not by others, but by himself.
He decides for everything,
decides for everyone,
as he had failed to decide before.
“You do not want a part of me,” he says.
“My red is dirty,” he believes.
“My red corrupt.”
Spencer lives in dissonance,
Completely aware of how it rushes
in his veins; he continues to live in vain.
Hoping to find someone as damaged, as baggaged as he is,
and then he damages himself.
Because all the philosophies and all the support
fail to deliver him from himself,
and in the red-l ...Read more
(a.k.a. Gentrificatio)
She stood valiantly among decadent trees and dirt paths that will soon be concrete
making way for improved strangers for an improved city she doesn't know of
The roads that used to resign for her comfort no longer curve t'wards her
but for the greater symmetry
Whatever that is
The new tenants tore her apart
Renovated her to fit their desires
Hated her plenty for reflecting her past self
Despised the furniture she came with
Tore her apart
Tore her some more
She no longer sees herself as who she was, over time
No longer felt like herself
Her paint, a dejectio ...Read more
In your mind exists the infinite
That which you can only pour into art
into writing
into paper
that can only be understood by same minds
It cries out of you
You turn it alive
The wyverns overhead
that you witness in constant
battle, as you’re cartographing tunnels you escape to
Or at least you try
You write to empower
but you destroy
You convince yourself you’re an ally when you’re not
An outsider in a city more obsessed with other paths
Other jobs, more valuable
than what your mind-store produce
You starve, physically and mentally
as you consider yourself
a faux artis ...Read more
Every musician wants to be part of your household, dear
Much like every genuine ounce of me longs for your validation
Would you sing these anthems with me?
Play me on your radio?
Let me into your flightful heart?
Your lover in elusive moments
Your runaway, your reprise, your trophy, rump, reward
Your reincarnatios
Your time share ; beach house husband baby
Returning applicant to be buried beside you
buried inside you as we smile
Play with me like doll house from your childhood attic
Your memoirs, your makings, your monarchs, your machinations
Pull all my strings and tug me close t ...Read more
Ace was keeping score
His friends didn't know it, but he was keeping score
He doesn't know himself, doesn't know his loved ones
Doesn't get to know the world revolving around him when he's parked
He's the getaway vehicle to the getaway beach
Left on the street overlooking the ocean and the sun
Distanced from all the joyous commotions
between him and his peers, the embracing warmth of the sand
As Bethany and Brent and Brenda smile and sip in margaritas
He's the odd fourth wheel in a group of strong personalities
Him, the quiet
Him, the weakest
Him, the one who makes sentimental ca ...Read more
There's pride in sharing
And then there's bowing down
To lust upon Hollywoodizing mythologies
my kababayan are eager to laud about
It's easier to hate your own, hate your own, hate your own
Because you wait for the paint to turn to white
So you can appreciate them?
With what? A bigger pocket?
A better dress?
What to you makes a better dress?
One that submits to universal attention?
But they weren't designed after Western values
They were made for your immediates' eyes
You twist your tongue to sound like you come
from another village
and pity those who still talk like the previ ...Read more
You are
a combatant
a tsunami of golden fire
a light dipped in its own darkness
fostering its own diversions
birthing a universe as your children, your own
Your soul
is a constellation
And within them, creation
You host stars inside of you
Because – you, my child – you, my friend – are magic
You are capable
of kindness
capable of love
capable of giving so much and pouring so much
You are the great art of this world,
great as any art could be
Pristine and undiscovered
Untarnished and covered in your own versions of stain
Of strain
Of pain
Of pride
You are early dem ...Read more
Spencer lives in constant fear
He lives in constant premature rejection
not by others, but by himself
He decides for everything
decides for everyone
as he had failed to decide before
"You do not want a part of me," he says
"My red is dirty," he believes
"My red corrupt."
Spencer lives in dissonace
Completely aware of how it rushes
in his veins; he continues to live in vain
Hoping to find someone as damaged, as baggaged as he is
and then he damages himself
Because all the philosophies and all the support
fail to deliver him from himself
and in the red-lit corners of the world ...Read more
In your mind exists the infinite
That which you can only pour into art
into writing
into paper
that can only be understood by same minds
It cries out of you
You turn it alive
The wyverns overhead
that you witness in constant
battle, as you're cartographing tunnels you escape to
Or at least you try
You write to empower
but you destroy
You convince yourself you're an ally when you're not
An outsider in a city more obsessed with other paths
Other jobs, more valuable
than what your mind-store produce
You starve, physically and mentally
as you consider yourself
a faux artist
...Read more
You're haunted by your past
Haunted by your future: the one that will be and the one you have lost
Haunted by regrets and mistakes
By memories of people you let go and those who you actively hurt,
How many lives have you,
in your most subtle way, ruined
and just how much the thought of them
don't affect you the least.
You drown your cocktails
with pills that make you numb
Romanticize the loneliness like music to your muse
Married to the dream you lost yourself into
Only to wake up unsmiling, dazed; you're confused.
You keep reminding yourself
that everybody hurts the way you hurt ...Read more
Poetry
Language exists
not to be policed,
but to have fun with as one lives
– Life In the Infinite Foreword
Ethan Lesley CC poetry. Click here for the poetry tag search.
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The Incomplete Range
NOW AVAILABLE
Release date: September 2018
The Incomplete R ...Read more
Previously The Freelancer’s Mantra
What one chants when times are frustrating
and income is slow and life is challenging
When success is in reach and payday is near
but maybe your optimism's fooling you,
'cause this already happened before.
Basic everyday stuff for the Barely Making It.
Part 1: Centering
(Yourself With A Badass Mix
Before Opening Your Work Folder on XP
because you refuse to update)
Om bhur bhuvaht sivan
Tat savitur Australia
Bhargo devasya-burbia
Dhiyo youth na prachodaya
Part 2: GREAT-full-grateful,
but perhaps some other road...
Oh Lorde, Ein Sof, Lana d ...Read more
Existhantial log 170124
Are we too old to be capable
Of mental strains we once knew as youths
Of giving up, snuffing the lights with sad songs
Feel as pointless as our lives are in its most
Are we focused too much on what's in front of us
Slaves of what we desperately believe should be ahead
Tired of these aching, self-strained shoulders
And the cruel future I see as a broken reflection of health
Have you ever felt like you've been trying
To be too many things all at once
That being and becoming anything less than who you want to be
Is a complete betrayal to who you are?
Am ...Read more
Anarchy of the mind.
I wrote some welcome-to-my-blog remarks, which you can read here.
