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Expressionism – Winter 2012

Are you happy?
Cause I just don’t see it.
So much potential
To make the world spin for you.
Yet you just don’t believe it.
Stuck in zero gravity,
Like purgatory is reality.
You’re baffling,
Beautiful and capturing,
With anchored shoes.
Yeah, you’re tied down.
Throwing me clues now,
You’re ready to be on your own.
Alone and grown,
Enough mind for one,
But strength for a family home.
Independent with provision.
Just ask girl,
Would gladly give ya what you been missing.
Highly doubt you need it,
But we could pretend,
Keep it a secret.
The way he gets,
Short fused and full of verbal abuse,
Let’s his issues loose on you,
Makes claims you’re stupid,
Does he make you feel useless?
Cupid admits, your relationship is fruitless.
Crooked arrows got shot,
Skewed your thoughts,
But now you got my heart.

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Expressionism – Lake City – Undated

Here off Highway 61 in a city totting it’s “Birthplace of water-skiing” title, is the same place I parked after that night. Sat right here, in the same car, calling a friend with the news. You and I had decided to keep it hush-hush, yet I had to tell someone.
So excited to have committed to loving you forever. The fact we had to keep it a secret should have been a warning sign. It just bred more secrets. So many they began to cross paths. Our lies intertwined. Yours assuring me that you weren’t aware of mine. Neither of us were really that stupid though.
Sure, maybe we were in denial. Remember how we let our hearts make decisions?
Haven’t let mine chose since. Not on the important things, anyway. It still begs for you. Still wonders what could have been. Still knows you were right by leaving. Troubling that I can’t let go yet. Maybe someday.

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Expressionism – Worn – Winter 2012

Worn, cold, limited
Bold, bare, skinless
So many lost words,
Losing it here, win-less
Countless thoughts,
Views remain unfinished
Minutes count for hours
And I feel like a coward.
Rough to the touch, hollow
Broken to the bone.
Broken to the core.
Fragments lie alone.
Stuck in the head,
Trapped in the mental dome.
The million ideas,
Too many to agree on.
Argue that I’m wrong,
So long individualism,
Keep waving ’til it’s gone.
Indecisive to the point of,
Herding with the sheep along.
Loosing sight of being free,
Lost sight of me,
Keep going ’til I can’t see.
Keeping busy, staying interesting.
The true inner-deep side is a mystery.
Rooted deep,
So I rarely speak on or mourn,
My weak thoughts, sad sobs or distraught.
I was taught to just stop.
Take a breath and absorb.
Life is what you learn for.
Turn the pain into a reward.
Move forward towards the unknown,
Don’t be afraid to keep going.
Set attainable goals,
Claim what is yours,
Don’t try to fast forward,
Maintain your mind,
Like its worth it’s weight in gold.

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Expressionism – Accept the Hustle – 1-13-14

Take what you give
And make sure to give back
Hustle hard, stack it up
Make the paper, spend the scratch
Move fast, move fast
Pace the others tracks,
Or accept fate flat.
Dodging karma does jack,
So own up to that.
We’re all flawed,
That means growth is in store
No need to ignore.
Fight, bring it on.
Demand you get more,
If you worked hard for it,
If you reached your goals,
If you aligned your soul,
You’re on the right road
So what’s stopping you,
Just go!

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Expressionism – 10-29-13 (2)

Mental note: don’t go mental.
If shit comes and goes, why do we grasp so tightly? Like love will dissipate any moment, our money will vanish, our time will waste away. We know it comes in at its own and evaporates when it decides. We realize our choices and the fact that we’re ultimately powerless. At least, we should.
One of the largest human flaws is not realizing all we’re capable of and allowing the things that we’re not, to form on their own. Go ahead, try to force it to fit. Puzzle pieces disregarded and life lessons abandoned. See how far pushing squares into circles brings you. Maybe as far as your patience will allow but eventually that and common sense will collide. For some it takes a bit longer. You’ll have to conform at some instance. Accept that the unknown is just that, unknown. Question it, hell, search for answers if your heart so desires. Don’t stop until you find what you need, but be willing to face that there may not always be one solid answer.

Actually, that’s very rare. Kudos to you if you can find one enveloping answer. Life isn’t a math problem like that, instead more a deep, rich, detailed painting-calculated based off the colors and perspective tricks we’ve learned to pull off, or it’s something like an abstract portrait-mangled shapes and emotion trying to explain more than the visuals ever could.
Choose your medium, pick your colors (they don’t HAVE to match), decipher your objects, and dammit interpret your messages how you want!

You’re not bound to thinking inside a box, quit acting like it.

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Expressionism – Fall 2012

When I’m good, I’m great.
When I’m bad, I’m awful.
Enough life has been lived and many mistakes have been made. No need to keep piling problems. But I keep creating them. Mostly in my head. I’m just convincing enough to believe them. It’s almost too easy to blame them on women. Knowing they evoke something, anything. It’s more than my own self can provide.
It’s always been that way. Lifeless without love or the chase of it.

It just creates problems!
As they go ignored, they begin to seep out, spilling on anyone crossing paths. Undeserving folks whose only misstep was attempting to care. Shit where you eat, idiot, cause that is smart. No wonder every time a lady force feeds you bullshit you gulp it down happily as if everything is just fine and dandy.

It’s those lips.

The kisses.

The eyes.

The simplicity.

The caressing.

The moaning.

The tiniest bit of reciprocation.

It distracts me. Jumbles my mind to an unreadable place. Fuck weak at the knees;  Women just make me weak in head. Would love to say they rob all strength from me but clearly I just fork it over without being asked. Like I give zero fucks. Women are my kryptonite. I give a fuck. I give lots of fucks. Too many fucks, actually. Saying no is just simply too hard when they look me in the eyes and smile.

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Expressionism – Hooptie ft. Orikal Uno

Rolling low-class since 16,
’92 Lumina, soccer-mom-style,
Stuntin’ on the scene.
After that, inherited, ’89 Corsica from my family.
That car was as old as me.
Used to die at stop-lights,
Only drove it twice.
’95 Explorer,
Drove it ’til I broke it.
Windows were missing,
When it was zero below.
Oh no, another van.
Lasted a week,
Broke and left it stranded.
Moved on to something more standard,
For my age.
Blue Chevy Malibu,
Wasn’t new,
But I adored it.
Floored it, ’til the impound lot provided it storage.
Bought another Ford,
Brakes froze, anti-freeze was free-flowing.
Now I roll a car, owned by an old couple,
Who loved it,
Took good care of it,
But I’ll find a way to fuck it up to roughness.


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Expressionism – Summer 2013

23 going on 50. Mid-life crisis’ have become so normal that now, they bring a sense of calm. Learning life is full of constant challenges was difficult. Confused, still, on when to rest. But that was back when I resented the impossible.
Age brings wisdom, and it seems each year provides me with at least double the average of most folks. It’s not something I have the ability to turn on and off, I merely have the choice of what and what not to apply.
Just because you’ve learned a lesson, doesn’t mean it will change anything unless you do.

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Expressionism – 10-29-13

No one needs to be fixed. Broken parts can be utilized more so than the IKEA provided ones. Those are all numbered, lettered, ordered, with no individuality. Everyone has that table, with those legs. Work with your broken parts. They add character. If anything, grab some WD-40 and give the squeaky wheels some oil. You’ll see how much smoother things are when you’re off course.
Ironically, this is why I love damaged women. Not because they need a band-aid, no, they need something like a doctor. One to prescribe support. One to mend their mental. Positive encouragement and kind words to ladies who view themselves as next to nothing. They need someone to help them view them as something. They need the help seeing that in the reflection. No band-aid can fix that.

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Expressionism – 1-10-14

The ocean is as fluid as I wish to be. Waves bringing in the days warmth. They come crashing quicker with the wind, but nothing moves them quite like the boats. Artificially created nature, those waves. Still just as beautiful as anything Mother Nature would have provided.
These oceanic interruptions are necessary. Waiting for something to wash ashore. Treasure. Seaweed. Black-Tar heroin. A human body. Who fucking knows. The sea contains darker mysteries than most of the women I’ve met. Not sure how deep either can go. Not sure which scares me more. Women have skeletons in their closets just like the sea has bones on the ocean-floor; Sandy, water-logged bones. Bones from pirates, vigilantes, ship-wrecked captains, even the poor unfortunate folks who were trying to make a break to the land of the free. They’d be heartbroken when they’d learned what our freedom here really meant.
Best freedom for them, and probably most of us, is that watery grave. 30,000 feet below the surface, they’ll find a sense of peace. They’ll always feel fluid. Fluid like the ocean. Fluid as I wish to be.


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