wolves and the Savages

"you won't let them do it to me, will you?"
"no. I promise."

If only there was someone who could have saved you
from me, and yourself.
 

Shivayanama

"O you the creator, you the destroyer, you who sustain and make an end,
Who in sunlight dance among the birds and the children at their play,
Who at midnight dance among corpses in the burning grounds,
You Shiva, you dark and terrible Bhairava,
You Suchness and Illusion, the Void and All Things,
You are the lord of life, and therefore I have brought you flowers;
You are the lord of death, and therefore I have brought you my heart-
This heart that is now your burning ground.
Ignorance there and self shall be consumed with fire.
That you may dance, Bhairava, among the ashes.
That you may dance, Lord Shiva, in a place of flowers,
And I dance with you."

Chisos Brew

Big Bend.

We started out in the Chisos Basin and began our hike on the Pinnacle Trail.

three and a half miles later we were at the beginning of Emory Peak Trail. ~7000 ft.

The trail ended at the base of a steep hobble of boulders that jutted out of the mountain like the hand of some sort of helish golem. It wasn't so bad to climb up, but going down was scary as FUHHHHH. 7825 ft.

After coming off Emory Peak Trail, we took Boot Springs Trail. it was a sleek creek bed with boulders and deep little pools of water.  The trees blazed and blended into an invisible raging river. ~6800 ft
 

From Boot Spring to Boot Canyon Trail... and then up the steep inclines of the Northeast Rim. Talk about helllllllll, we had already done a little over seven miles and 2500 ft of climbing, and to be honest, the northeast side was not much of a looker-BUT tag on another five hundred feet of pure suffering just cause you can. ahhhhh. ~7400 ft



It got better as we ended up on the southeast side. not only prettier, but all the climbing was done too. But the winds! The winds raced, winding through pinyons, junipers, and golden grasses-the finish line, two thousand feet below, across miles of snaking canyons. There might have been no more steep inclines, but the environment sure did take your breath away. ~7400 ft





And then around to the Southwest Rim. By far the most amazing views were seen here. You could see straight over Santa Elena Canyon and into Mexico. ~7400 ft

 Our campsite was on the Southwest Rim, once we got there we opened our bottle of wine, got drunk, and went to sleep. When I woke up my camera was dead. So, no more pictures, really. I just know I can't wait to go back here. The canyons were so powerful; pictures couldn't have done them justice. You had to be there. And, well, I guess I'll just finish with that-I've procrastinated on this post entirely too long and just want it to be done.

the mynah

   "The physique of a Messiah. But too clever to believe in God or be convinced of his own mission. And too sensitive, even if he were convinced, to carry it out. His muscles would like to act and his feelings would like to believe; but his nerve endings and his cleverness won't allow it"

   "So I suppose he's very unhappy."
   "So unhappy that he has to laugh like a hyena."
   "Does he know he laughs like a hyena?"
   "Knows and is rather proud of it. Even makes epigrams about it. 'I'm the man who won't take yes for an answer.'"

WHOOP! WHOOP!

One of my goals is finally coming to fruition.I am Going to Big Bend National Park tomorrow. I will sleep with the scorpions and snuggle with serpents, climb cactus clipped mountains and wade across nations' borders.

LANDSQUID

theres a perfectly good reason why I have a squid on my head.
...
"raced" with the davisesesesss yesterday. it mostly consisted of me walking a lot and them waiting for me. I just wasn't feelin it. BUT when I unknowingly walked into the girl's changing tent afterwards-I must say, I was feelin that.

no reason to judge.

"all i have to do is wait 30 long days to get down from the rock and see sweet life again-knowing it's neither sweet nor bitter but just what it is, an so it is".

well,

I'm buying a car and spending all my money on gas and alcohol. it has been decided.

nice, nice, very nice

Thursday after work we started for the guadalupe mountains. We got there a little before midnight and slept in the shadows of towering monsters. The visitor's center didn't open til 8, so we had to wait for it to open to register and pay for access. We started out around 10am on the tejas trail and went from 5800 ft to 8000 ft then we headed west on the bush mountain trail. We reached bush mountain campsite @ 8300 ft around 3 pm, I'd say. That first day really took it out of me. we only had two liters per day when it was recommended to have at least a gallon-I could feel it in the form of migraines, who knows, it could've been the altitude.

bush mountain campsite 8300 ft

bush mountain campsite 8300 ft

bush mountain campsite 8300 ft

bush mountain trail 8400 ft

bush mountain trail 8400 ft

Saturday morning we started out at 8am for the peak and then north around the mountain to start the blue ridge trail to the east. Blue ridge was quite easy and uneventful, but had an awesome view of the clouds pouring out over frijole ridge.

bush mountain peak 8600 ft

bush mountain trail 8400 ft

Saturday night we spent at mescalero @ 7400ft, which probably was a bad idea because of its altitude.... early in the morning the clouds came in and we were right in the middle of them. It was around 34 degrees fahrenheit and you couldn't see more than three feet infront of you. The water vapor in the air was unbearable-I thought I was gonna freeze. We left at 6am, no longer being able to stand our sleeping conditions.

tejas trail 7300 ft

Starting back for the car on the tejas trail, we went up to 8000 ft and back down to 5700 ft. Talk about struggle, but it was worth it. I just wish I got to stand at the top of guadalupe peak and el capitan. maybe next time.

tejas trail 7200 ft

tejas trail 7000 ft

for the Record

I do have an amazing friend here who has many similar interests.

PLUS, he has a camera phone that takes fancy pictures, +1 Davis, -1 Delgado.

desert speaks

of the captain's peak.

in twelve days I will be overlooking that peak and the serene chihuahuan desert.
to the empty skies and cold, cold nights I'll look upon with wondering eyes
of blinking stars and speeding clouds. I know that I will think of you.

I sure hope I figure out what the fuck I'm gonna do.
80 more days until I'm out of the army. not sure anymore if I'm doing the right thing...
I must embrace my fear of the unknown. I've never truly taken a risk in all my life.

on another note, I'll make sure to bring my camera to THIS trip, I always seem to freaking forget it when I go places... probably won't get a chance to post them until I come back from florida on the 13th of october, though.

tear him away

from past refractions
splitting tween souls of heartless people.

I won't hold still much longer.

hmmm hmmm hmmm

right now its time to bike bike bike
I'll take all day and night

to say that our pursuit is about security and a meaningful life
well, taste the skies after climbing high on a two wheeled adventurous ride and tell me again.

cause I'll tell you to go fuck yourself.

bike bike bike
it's the way I'm gonna die.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

I feel like such a hypocrite for criticizing others around me for not valuing the present or being so dependent on the decisions of others when I too can only wish to be back home, surrounded by people who are outgoing and spontaneous. I miss home. and I can't find one interesting thing to do here alone, but also can not find anyone to go bike riding, hiking, swimming, or who finds a little enjoyment from debating or learning from another. they're all so preoccupied with selling their spin on old ideas. I just miss those who have more to talk about than sex, drugs, and their own narcississtic ramblings. I also miss being in something other than an urban shithole. /end.

last four, please.

repetition feels so terrible but I know nothing else. the impermanence of convictions and feelings don't change a thing. everything seems so common and cheap. childish dreams have never been chased so vehemently. but only out of desperation. I don't know if that's supposed to be shameful or not-sure feels like it.

text message memories

Its been two years and I still remember. your voice, your kisses, the perfume on your skin and hair, the way your eyes would lock on mine, our hands conjoined with thumbs locked in, the feel and taste of your soul inside. the long awaited hugs and letters so long. it was great. it really was. I haven't talked to you, but its probably best that way. we're completely different people with conflicting desires and goals. but it still doesn't stop me from fucking missing you when times are hard. oh well, such is life and life knows best. keep floating, world!

doo la da dee dee, dee dee do!

fingers poking porcupines
piney forests on a corn cob
rain and thunder freighten them
rain and thunder enlighten him
beez in the church all on our tongues
even though half of'em dont believe in what's sung
indiana hiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh
indiana lowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
indiana high dont tell me noooo
like a dog with a window to see his bone
but no way to take it back to his throne
rain or shine they'll dine on what's thrown
but they're strangled and starved of the green and gold
brown chicken brown cowww
come take them home!

old songs, old finds

tattoo scabs all dressed in drab an exercise in elitest crimes don't test these times of prevention and lies dont climb over walls and shout for your wine we wont help you now but before we could have tried your on your own friend to cloud minds and old rhymes

most people annoy the fuck out of me. and the one's that don't? well. I'm adapting to keep it that way. future holds so little in so much and the only thing I feel thats certain is the unique-ness found in my recent ventures. I'll never let myself become jaded and feed the frenzy of normalcy that beckons from my feet.

untitled, untold

Vodka thins blood, thins lips---hot tongues and wishes from lungs invade my storm as guiding arms force virgin hands to till and plant on soft fertile lands--a temple worshipped with praying fingers, who wander for fear her taste won’t linger

But her name still sings here.

Running skin through soul, skull cuffed for pull, parted lips for apologies---our scent spreading love like some sort of disease, but please don’t see impermanency;
My words carry meaning that outlives my seed

So I read the lines and letters inscribed and mapped all the stars to heartbeats on breasts--a Corona Borealis from Ptolomy's chest---her pulse flies high like the skies seen within each dimension of vibration and sound---around and round kisses navigate aloud, leading their vessel 'cross printed silk oceans with waves swelling 'round areolas of bronze and nipples reaching out for an embrace so strong

So long.

So long; during and after we crashed in the natural disaster of blankets, sheets, thrown clothes, and heat--held thighs did meet slick hips in glee---blackened eyes greeted times of penetration with deep thrusts from times of telepathically told lust; just trust I won't ask questions concerning memories in dust

HYDROXYZINE

pharmacokinections stain my aim with poisoned pain from leaves to thieves of rustling trees trading hearts for kidnies to enemas of bleach dont you preach religion decided by fancy flies in suits and ties they flood the streets with poker blinds dollar bills seasoned in thyme and lye a beautiful mill for typed pentions and christs on crosses will bleed for your prices its a crisis that entices flourescent scents of blasphemous ligaments a ghoulish glow from mason jars for cancered breasts on semented chests lanterns of taciturn voyuers their joy serves only the free the proud and the brave lets behave as beehives contrive and thrive pollinating hallucinations of nations of red white and stars dont lay under polluted waters just to hide your scars I will lick you clean and perform in succession perverse oral sessions fuck after fuck your back will be wet from your hair full of sweat just a whore panting and dripping with that mouthful of debt.

sterile summers

lets fester in the silt of a resevoir built for all this guilt
suffocation comes in the form of Paranoia Blooms cooked in the shade of our shadows' tombs.

standing still admiring our pyramids,
our disfigured complexions will coat the surface of dying rivers' reflections

saltflats form and fireflies burn in florida organs.
their lights dim as imitations hide the stars
grow bigger, seem emptier
a conscience of green plastics and old habits from gymnastics.

don't tell me we're close,
signals from fleshy catapults don't count as folding bones.

clear as day

I smellz like a big dirty dumpster. ofcourse thats usually what happens when you climb into one and start rummaging around. I love my job. to be entertained by your own humiliation is a strange thing... I haven't slept in a while. I really really need to sleep. too much black girl butt grabbing. I was told by a psychiatrist on thursday that I have anti-social personality disorder-Iwish-guess I've got another label to wear round my neck, though. why is photography so important to people? why must every event be documented? It seems like such a waste of time and completely rapes the moment. fuckin A. what the hell am I to do with myself... I'm so jaded by personal problems and faded from reality. I need someone in my life who's much more brave-a honey badger of a woman to validate everything I do, write, and say. that's so fucking pathetic. I can't really say we all are, but I most definately am. oh well. who cares. doom path. that's my lyffe. its quite interesting when I think of how I never have or will do anything that is beneficial to society. why must it be important to be remembered? I don't know what to think. I use I alot. I I I I fucking me me me. god dammit. whatever. death seems so boring, normal, and temporary to me for some reason. Ifeel like I should be afraid and either think i'ma die and be nothing of nothingness forever and ever or be a lil angel in heaven. but I don't. I feel like I wont die, even when I diediedie-since I don't care about dying, its as if the subject is irrelevant to my existance. like, I'm exempt from the laws of lifenessness. what the hell am I babbling about... I never babble anymore. it makes me sad. I'm glad I'm doing it now. I wonder if theyre gonna make me lurk in the dumpsters now? who knowssssss.

P.S. I got left in austin during SXSW. and lemme tell you. I now officially hate all stereotypes of people. fucking hipsters.

fate of freud

four eyes won't fly among floating lies
too many mines for the wings of our crimes
guess we'll fall, hitting bombs, clumsily unfolding this ageless song
what do we find among the ashes of convenience store matches? a fading scent from the fires of friction
just more litter on the floor, and whats more, another reminder of the creatures we abhor.

the list

HAZ GROOOOWWWN.

over president's day weekend, I got left at a wendy's, 200 miles away from my bed.
and you know whattt?

I'M NOT SORREH! MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!

problems

for fathers and shells without lacquer
these factors that brought us our cancers
in the transfer of data and distance
our souls are pixelated
punctuation poisons our communication
society is dilapidated
the swamps
the reptiles
the smell
my mind wanders to find its peace
ten more months until my release.
.
.
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.
.
.
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.
.
.

insecticide.

Earth fenced us in and the ghetto filled to its brim.
No one screamed or cried, we all sat down and held hands with invisible strangers who left us long ago. Lungs inhaled the stale atmosphere one last time, as the flood trickled in and wandered round blistered feet.
A cold end rose to erect prose upon prepared chests and cheeks.
Air escaped through quivering mouths as we watched on,
and with those pleading eyes rolling, fading,
we were gone.

With that merciful pen an inscription was left
aloha is all it read
though, asshole is what it meant
don't trust the rain!

There were watchmen just below the currents of an estuary next door
for floors of three stood above tired lives and absent minds.
What was here to protect? It's lost on me, only dead waters and abandoned concrete to see.

To the shining sea we float on
for our hearts are stagnant and cold
and all past memories are growing old
but these lips still open and crave an exchange, whether of words or warm fluids.
A fire burns in frozen corpses for a low hum and a vibrant tune
of tongues dancing 'tween thirsts and knotted wrists
'cause we are bound in a paranormal prison of paradoxical bliss
we are done, and we are dead
...as door nails go.