Bob Law, law.

I just don’t want to be some one Else’s next broken heart.
The starting and stirring of new love,
snuffs the realization that those fates dominate our existence.
One box to the next of those secrets kept of old lovers
those letters sitting untouched and unseen
But beginnings dream is like dopamine as we sigh doe eyed at one another
promising our future tomorrows, to one another
The chemical reaction so volatile
synapses fire while neglecting reception
this is a common direction of a fast relation
as our pupils sit in dilation
we neglect to recognize our previous distraction
So is the direction of love
Where do the chemicals begin to soften skin and eyes
Denying what once seemed far from right
into a desirable ride
Allowing strangers to collide on foreign roads
and still I know I do not want to be
some one elses’ next heart break
Cause I’ve been raking my own fallen leaves of esteem
breeding, bleeding hearts
and feeling broken apart by the fleeting flame of love
Always wishing I was above all of this
but then the next sweetest kiss comes
and I’ve gone from intellectual
to emotional effectual
stranded in a technical state of being
Foreign to the current me
and as the falling begins I spin down corridors of the past
accepting and rehashing whilst still reacting in some of those same old ways
I thought I’d paid these dues
used all those excuses and I know you see through them
remnants of your own folly and adventure
Both swearing we’ve never had anything
Quite like this
in it’s unique way
and still unknowingly we are playing that same old game
The one that leads to blame and sorrow
Looking at borrowed moments but this is just
the pessimist within
because I know I am the best me there’s ever been
Admittedly I fluctuate from highs to lows
Who knows how fast
Not that you should be the sinner to pay for sinners before you
It’s just easy to do when your a bottler
Maybe I blame it on my father
Whose hearts chaos caused riots inside a struggling mind
a failing heart, broken apart
So when I say I hate you
it’s because I see potential and that hurts
it’s worse than cutting myself
it means I have subliminally asked for help
and received
it’s the fact that parts of me refuse to believe magic
and some how knowing deeper that shit works
Still caught in the turmoil
Of why the things we start fall apart so quickly
was it a flaw in the line of questioning?
Or perhaps questions left unasked
Have we previously been doomed
to fail the task of purely living
and being caught in reeling confusion
of revelation
always mimicking syncopation in a partner
who only pretends to reflect our own beat
do we fool ourselves into thinking we are some one else
for the sake of love left determined by the mainstream
do we dream based off off reality TV
and the drama it preaches to unstable minds
Redefining ourselves by our peers left to their 15 minutes
whilst still waiting are ego-less souls
So no
neither of us are cut from the normal fiber
and we both struggle while under the wire
and beyond the deadline of living
still spinning a web of juvenile-adult-child reference
at times making no sense
for the sake of love
a concept seemingly so graspable
passing through comprehension
beating ourselves up repetivivly
over the same old lessons we all suffer to assimilate
This time for the sake of broken hearts
the lesson of love
less than smooth
but integrity on it course
i force myself to longer yearn,
rather this time i choose to learn.
for once i ask to burn with truth
Perhaps Undeserving
blurbing my own life like lines in a magazine
thinking the editorial is just right
and I should give up the fight
cause I am losing
Stepping up
my heart takes the bruising
as my knuckles are baby soft
I have been rocked from inside out
No doubt caught off guard with my pants down
Now what to do?
Because I don’t want to cause broken hearts
i don’t want to be broken hearted

Not the type for “I love you’s”
feelings are strong enough
Exacting the appearance of perfection
Attempting the illusion of being tough
I am my mothers daughter
motherless daughter you know
No longer the girl of my youth
Recognition of of this sober telepathic truth
I see more in you than I’ve seen elsewhere before
There was no lack of ease
Pushing shut an open door
Look at the sparse furnishings
Craving something more
What good are feelings like this
When the heart is left hollow and sore
Losing the riches of love to find yourself poor
Feels like repetitively beating your head on the floor
Knowing deep down you don’t want to do that anymore
so what’s this all really for
Growing and expanding
saving a spot inside
Wondering if I have been true to myself
or if only to myself I lie.

The I want you haiku

I know I want you
Now I am just waiting for you
To want me the same

I know I want your
Support and love without things
like conditions. Please.

If this is more than
You can handle, then I need
You to let me go

I put up a strong
Front; and yet my heart is soft
I am weak for you

Ideally we would
each be strong for each other
Walking side by side

In one an others
heart and in each others mind…
I will support you

(only if you will support me too, otherwise please please please just let me go.)


I am tweaking the geek vibe so it suits me
I’ve been in this state of murky
Ignoring the benefits of quirky
and now I ‘m wondering why I’ve let honor for myself swirl on down the loo
See sometimes I’m sarcastic
and people say
“You can’t say that shit..”
But I do
’cause humor suits you, like it suits me
Like finely tailored clothing
At times my mind is terribly inappropriate
I spit loogies and farmer blows
Unbeknown-st to who might be watching
Only because I know I’ll be laughing afterward
There was a point in time when my socks never matched
Not for lack of ability or aptitude
But rather, because I knew you’d feel rude for asking
And I am good at receiving looks of confusion
I will ask heartfelt and probing questions
to new acquaintances
Because I would rather ask and get a taste of your truth
than prudishly talking about the weather
getting no where
Sometime down the line of my evolution
I realized everyone has a surface
The real test is to find the core
The source and “what-for”
So call me weird
Call me a geek who makes you think
Harder than you gave your synapses credit for
I’ve spent hours under UV lights
With peers dooming, and grooming
Whilst in the corner I sat silently
Looming in observation
You don’t seem so different than me
With your brown eyes
And Ambercrombie
Truth is you never seem to see farther
Than your own surface
And man, I wouldn’t mind
Giving that a chance
But you call me the odd ball
Not at all friend caliber
Not quite cool enough because my stuff
Is thrift sore sale merchandise
And it’s like I haven’t paid the price of acceptance
With my second hand wardrobe
We sit across a room staring
I am imagining conversations we’ll have
Ten years down the road
When the load that is reality
Lays heavy upon your shoulders
All of a sudden
A burden of Truth
Superficiality the addiction of youth
Its tight grasp
And the weird in me says
“Maybe down the road we will share a laugh;
“Not because I am the source of deprecating harassment
“Time well spent on living has brought us comparable views”
Meanwhile I am going to allow this little presumption
To ride it’s course
There is no forcing this future on hollow eyes
And closed ears
Still I talk loudly about crass things
I settle onto the soapbox of dramatic beings
And you’ll wing on by
With out ever knowing my name
Occasionally you may see some
Semblance of recognition
Of this Freak with no shoes
Remember the news she’d sarcastically share
How you felt a little weird too
There was no way for it to show through
All those layers of popularity
Those moments of “look at me”
“I am something special
“My name brands and my mother
“Say so”
Someday we will all realize
We were each a little strange
And boarder line
You will finally realize why I chose
To show mine

getting back to the me I enjoy

I need three weeks a month of passion and laughter. One week for recuperation and me-time. And when I say I need passion three weeks a month, I mean passion for the good stuff; sunshine, clean air, hot raw love, and creativity. I want to wake up to the beating of my heart and the excitement for what is to come.
These days of foggy clouds hanging over my head both outside and within are far too muddled to be enjoyed. I want some other voice to chide me out of bed, rather than the one that tells me to stay glued to my sheets beyond the time of rising.
I want to look forward to seeing my lover instead of with holding myself during break outs, hoping to meet at a time better to my liking; closer to perfection. I don’t want my vices of social lubrication to overcome the once more energetic and pure parts of myself. To no longer have them taint my day with their distractions.
I want my full potential back, the part of me that isn’t listless and lost. The inside motivator sat dormant now for days. I want to see my purpose.
Three weeks of passion and laughter. One more somber week to myself. Days full of natural highs and less low lows. The better parts of me aching to escape. The parts some of us do not know.


I have been thinking about a friend I once had, who sadly killed himself last year. His birth name was Shane Neary. Most of his life he was known as Steven Klingsporn. I met Shane at the Dream Lodge in Mount Shasta. He was one of the motley crew to pass through it’s doors.
Shane and a couple of our friends had some pretty bizarre adventures when he was still around. He was not your average bloke.
In the late nineties and early 2000 he worked as a computer programmer, which meant he had a lot of time to be on the computer, by the time I met him, he was an out of work dot com-er. * Apparently he was a young genius in tech and one of the youngest people to be hired by Apple back in the day.*
He was  *said to have been* suffering from bouts of depression and extreme paranoia boarding schizophrenia. He was hearing voices and following a deep rabbit hole of conspiracies against the people of the world inflicted by Illuminati.
He felt ties to the Sylvan Learning Center.   (If I recall correctly it was the name of the Sylvan Learning Centers.)   This was all attached to involvement in abducting, abusing, and using children for mind control.

In the last years that I knew Shane, he felt he needed to right the wrongs of those people; and he had brought to him, people who felt connected to his cause. Last year when I got news of Shane’s death, I became curious. To this day, there is no obituary that I can find stating what really happened. I have not been able to track down his adopted parents.

His page still exists and the writing from his last night on earth seem to reflect his inability to overcome the program that was causing him to be too unstable to survive.
I don’t know exactly what Shane was going through. I know he felt helpless in a world needing help. A pure soul trying to undo all the damage already done. It drove him crazy.
Maybe he was abducted as a child, brain washed and implanted. Maybe the voices he heard really were the government enacting their own form of population control. I don’t know for sure. But I know Shane was good, and true, and it’s sad to me that his digging into  the abuse of children literally took him to such a rock bottom, there was no escape.
If a soul can still exist as energy moving through these ether, than I ask Shane to show us the truth, to speak into our ears so that we may fight the unseen force with the power given to us through the bounty of Creation.
We need to use our own wise consciousness that speaks from the heart in order to create a new solution. We have already allowed such weakness into our mind, body and souls. All of it further facilitated by our willingness to sign ourselves over to programs, drugs and organizations with a bigger darker plan. Are we really thinking for ourselves?

Are you really as depressed as you think you are, or is it just the programming around you that allows you that life view? We need to clean ourselves from the inside out, top to bottom.
Oh and by the way, Prozac is really really bad for you.

** Update 8/19/2017 – posts from Shane that haven’t ever come up in my searches before.

**Update 7/25/18-  With all of the exposure toward Ritual Abuse, Pedophilia and children being sold into sex slavery, I am more inclined than ever to believe everything Shane told me.  His adopted brother is the person who told me Shane was diagnosed as schizophrenic.   Shane was the first person I had ever talked to who brought up these topics and I have been following the thread since I met him in 2006.  My heart goes out to all the victims and I can’t wait for all of this to blow open.  I don’t know if there will ever be justice, but it’s time to lift the veil.


They say, never give up.

Stupid poster with a crane swallowing a frog who refuses to give up and keeps on choking the crane… I think I remember that from the 2nd or 4th grade. I have dreams of giving up. Not showing up. Wasting time. Running around aimless, feeling like the underbelly of motivation.
I am empty and waiting. I have a play to do, and pure passion is not filling the reserves. The pit of myself feels icky. I don’t seem to have a lot to give and instead of looking forward to share this production, I feel ashamed of myself. Unready. Grasping to touch that part of me that wants to touch others. This play is hard. I understand it, and I don’t. I am not falling into character like I use to. I am struggling, it feels unfair, and unfamiliar. I am letting myself and my cast down. The movements feel forced and unnatural. Once upon a time I felt so disassociated from myself, it was easy to slip into someone else’s life. Now I am so wrapped up in my own, I fear the talent may be gone.

A portal of inner exploration

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