Lion wins for Zion

Embarks on a 50/50 journey

odds stacked so high could be a stairway to heaven

Made i through


moving on, being strong

V becomes 4: Gemini





Planet Trizone

Roidikng down to the poolice station on his sofa and felt a presence,riding down in th owddar, by s candlelight paul revere, foir crusaders, crpss amd skill bomes amd a wolf, lookimg at the the bus stop, jumpimg on and kumpimg off people, ams roght beside was Eric. Eric the alien had tewo big eyes an antenna, for eyes, playing a trumpet, comimg out of his mouth. His fat brlly with three fingers, two nail, and one big toe. The bus kept going and the alien kept jumping up and down. Once in the p9lice stn two children spirits dacimg around to punjabi. Thn your wife wasnt to be seeen. Likely at home. Saw aliens working on computers. Aliens do work on computers, Dempsey started to wwtch the buses from his prison cell because it had a window. Then aliens started wwtching the bus as well, continuously appearimng. althoigh Dempsy dound space in his cell it was not untilll he got out of his cell, his dream, and into reqliity that he could teuly find the outer space he was lookimeg for e,) pl


Shape, wallowing in form
The master of sll puppetd
Out for his midnight stroll
Beckoning by the moon

Another thst weather might see the ssme
Too msny
Too msny stsre awaiting, aloft in bedrooms
Tragic before the suffocafed, art like glow

Whispers taunting theif goodbyes
Still transfoxed by idea
Idea thst something grester lays round the corner
Imaginings of futile display

Nothing like thr grendeour of the ever chsngingi object of the sky
Aware thr moon so willfuly wsits
Waits for everyone om every night
To ne outwitted only by time

For as rhe Earth. Ever Never stands still
So too does not the same timezone in the most idle of hours
We are thereby burned by time, as the moon etches itself into our future
As the marcher continues smd we sre mest with grace rather then flame

The Drift

Letting the record state that I have been to the depths of solitude and seen love for what it can be
I have experienced care and devotion
I have hoped for a presence in my life that I can’t unwind
Her emotions held me close and I desired to be seen
But the experience of her loss has left me in a trench
A breach I can’t unfold
Too many nights of undivulged perspective
A wish I’d been more prepared to give
I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure
The memories of her constancy uncomparable to anything I’ve known
How I wish to still be able to call her mine
Left in this ebbing sea
I accept the drift
The persistence of her graceful image
Etched into my soul
Like a waking life now telling me there’s few moves left to make
Tact West and find new fate
Remain in London and never escape her loss
These feelings mean I so desperately seek change
A change she’s already considered
Yet I can’t let go
I want to find a way to strive for her but there is no battle in sight
How will I persist
At this point I do not know

Long term happiness

The presence of someone you love
The beauty of their eyes
As they fall on you, you do them
There is a sweet surrender
Because they know you
They understand you and you do them
Because you’ve felt the weight of their emotion before
So you believe in them and trust their values
They are wholesome and they are good
And you deserve to give that much love away
You are free

The miniturization Principle

Inside the glass room size has no bearing. A militarisitc battle from a galaxy far away can be conjured and admired. Its true existence of occurance, unknowable. With the palette of the walls and the paint brush of a finger, gentle strokes, design gentle evolution. The hermit became aware that his moves of selection, focus, were of his own will but not his will alone. Ie. Something above him, with wider focus intently keeping an eye out for grace not force, smooshing down anything that ran afray. The work took the keeper aback. Back to his days as a youth using his building blocks and army soldiers to create elaborate scenes. Scenes that he would take days to set-up, sometimes weeks, before the slow calculated onslaught began. For size, there was the depth of the attic from which he could play. And play there, then, it was. But make believe has a funny way of sometimes coming true. So there, River sat, building civilisations in his glass room. The arc of his play was cradled by the love he had for his own planet, Earth. A place that felt a distant triangle now following his journey. Yet, even still he micronised himself to remind him of his human, selfless love. He set on finding a way to shift his consideration from things as grand as galaxy, interstellar perambulations, to human condition. Kate. He asked and prayed to search for Kate. The glass room went blank, lost in the cosmos, almost floating. For life in this large echo chamber must cease. Free will existing completely. Free-will as a human, miraculous condition. And miracles built as spires.

Eternal Spirit of the Chainless Mind

Brightest in Dungeons, liberty thou art
For there thy habitation is the heart
The heart for which love of thee alone can bind

And when. Thy sons to fetters are consigned
To fathers, and the damp vaults dayless gloom
Their country conquers with their martyrdom
And freedoms fame finds wings on every wind

Oh Chillion! Thy prision is a holy place
And thy sad floor an alter, for t’was trod
Until his very steps left no trace

Worn as if thy pavement were a sod
By Bonnapart! May none those marks efface
For they appeal from tyranny of crud


Rocking New Mural by Alloyius McIlwaine in South Philly — Streets Dept

Holy moly, this new mural from Philly-based artist, Alloyius McIlwaine, is just freaking incredible! Late last week, I was fortunate enough to get an email from Alloyius saying he was in the midst of painting his largest mural to-date and he invited me out this past Monday to shoot his last day installing. The new […]

via Stunning New Mural by Alloyius McIlwaine in South Philly — Streets Dept

Thirty minutes of sunshine

Blissful bliss means tranquil tranquility
Though I’ve invested heavily in the holy trinity
But as #4 don’t forget the score
When I leave we go back to 1
What I say I get because I HARDLY FORGET
the reveries
the reveries
the reveries
The reveries of bliss
We so often dismiss
Sitting with Cara
She’s supposed to be by carer
Intensity poised to persuasion
I manage my own selection

Seduction Induced

Main Cruz gallery

By her pleasant poise
Romanced by her fire boys
Of whom she sought none
Instead traveling down the barrel of a gun
Hot mantras devised by hell
But the guitar smoldered with a devilish swell
Too many lost, awoken times
Battles laid to rest
Men deemed divine
Honor & courageous
Seduction at its finest
It’s finest hour

Grass Roots

Independent as fuck
Can’t deny the system placed you wrongly stuck
We grass roots denial
Till the sunshine spills a smile
Darken up; she said…
Waning for here time
The NHS waiting line
With two bullets
Go shoot-up a school
one for me, one for you
Revolver on deck
Check if I miss
when aiming for the head
This is grass roots shit

Afro Pickings

Big and Buffy
The room is dying to be stuffy
Let the hair out
Dying in here
Folks with strokes
The media pokes
The music compacts pieces of the cool
Like close shaves turned to ask
I grow
I keep growing
Giving less and less of a fuck with each inch picked

Black Magic

Horoscope wheel chart
Raising Reparations
From Caucasians
Call it Asian persuasion
We got black magic in our blood
Thank the rhythm & blues
Black Magic
Movements that move harder than you
I want that black magic you imbue
Seemingly out of focus
Because those magicians work to make you not notice
Saw a David Blane / Dynamo session
Couple of pros
But is it really what we saying
With a glass house and cards to stick
Black magic
The truth to enduring pain
lest it rise through hardcore veins
suffice it in this life
God is in the next
So by my calculation
That black magic
Seeking but don’t find
All of them with wondrous minds
My flow raids you of the black album
Studio cusswords Alice and crystal ball shapes

Gun Traffic

Spending  on cheap truths
Americans still betting on fire at will
Moonstring atrocity
WHEN will it end
Continued ongoing
We lose our sons and daughters
Let me hear you say
Gun Traffic
Gun Traffic
The message for tracking guns
Turn blame or be caught by the bullet
The gun may turn on you

Thy Deepest regret

Is that I did not stay sane for you. A life to twist and turn. Our journey is one of fate; one breath away.  Thy deepest regret is that I did not stay sane for you after that one golden day.

Is composition of affliction, good valediction?  It impacts my jurisdiction, see I’m a vixen perplexed by these lien rhymes, with foreign vines, why?  Why wasn’t there space enough for the two of us?  My verbose attitude may grace you out.  So let me be clear when saying, if Parliament still in, I’m out.  Politicians, hypocrites. Just sticking to the story.  Ukip found it’s glory.  Things gotta change.  Gotta get better.  Use technology to impact the marketplace and wind up anything but a Tory.



Designing Bliss

How do we protect our secrets?

So sure, so sure I could die pinned.

We don’t want to go that way. No we don’t.

That way. That way. That way.

Smiling at a River, I saw your reflection in the water. Hiding in the clovers.

Wailing to say goodbye.

I’ve craved fame, but power reflects change not headlines.

The discourse is real with change in motion did I see my minds eye.

Locomotion.  Majestic Locomotion.

I control your waves.  They rock like Tsunamis when they go low or high.  Bury me with the wolves. The wolves. The wolves.

Valiant Effort

Oh trident seek thee from afar as I battle these foes unto you so that thrice might we all save the evenings bitter waning light
Heaven unto thou now guide this hand across my brow, sanctifying these dew lit drops from my palm to the ground
From them hast now may a new fold prism of perfected elegance arise; a beautiful plant entrusted with the agnosticism to live for nothing more than the light upon it which shall shine evermore
That good sir is the element from seed to blossom inside the days of rest that have been gifted to us as weekends kind pleasure for lackadaisical behavior and folly
For I the captor of this intelligence am at rest while it ever striving.  For it’s truth is it’s honest approach for capturing it’s sole desire and mine- well striving higher I only further internalize my ineffible woe

The backwash

Trying to see the way through the pipe

Washed out with my dreams

Cycles run like ins and outs

To create the backwash

The spillage is paramount

For we are no messages in bottles

We ebb and flow

Deleting footprints

Deleting desire

Strictly searching

For just one special, pure, round pipe



Sailing ships to karma seas

The visions that things improve


To take something for what it was

Then make it better

Fire turns & forests unprotected

The reasons for failure paramount

Between sea & adventure

Lies a ▲

It’s no Bermuda’s best but its close

It makes the world spin

because 1 ➤ 1 ➤1 ➤ = 1


The whimsical leprechaun once wrote a poem that disappeared.  Never to be seen again, he and it, was that way.  Fleeting.  Fleeting from theory, from observation, from conservation, from conversation.  Trouble has it, he was a smoker.  A smoker of two kinds.  Firstly, there was his pipe.  A pipe by which he blew all sorts of shapes and forms of billowing saw dust into the sky.

The second was his signal.  He formed it from a pot.  A pot that planted roots so deep, so colorful, no island could possibly possess them.

Thus, the whimsical leprechaun resolved himself to the activity of re-appearing only when the time was just right and like a rabbit in a hole, never missed a second.

In between, the unknown.  Known to no one but himself and the tree within which he lived.  It’s name: Grapefruit.

Tea Bears

Can’t dream

Teddy had too much tea

Father keeping me idle

hands in workshop

He’s a book keeper

And I remain the reader

Suggestions come

Not recommendations

For thats a different kettle entirely

Someone who knows the way you think

What you’re actually trying to achieve


Goodnight Moon

Good recc

Well its a good story in and of itself.


The Fluorescent Rose


Designed by man (not)

You illuminate the dark night

With your playful undertones

And magnificent history

These nights actions

A play to keep the secret

You tell me there is more to discover

With your Alchemistic twirl

Electricity running thru your veins

i see you

i see you circulating

not in motion, but in body

For if body always moved,

Our lifeblood would be closed by Sunday

It helps to pray

So you see, my sweet predator, my incandescent rose,

I need you

I need you to last the night

Like a twinkle in a midpoint

Host any future as the red rose does the past

let crests be crests, men well men, be men

And currents; well always sawing thru.

Tim & Joyce 1 2 1

**A game my cousin and I played, you write a line then I write a line… the following is how far we got…


All to care about is feathers

To see them all around

None but one to rule the flock

To Be cared for by another

To see them for what they truly are

Which is beautiful in totality

And just as small as a peacock

but larger than life

When you consider who you’re sitting next to

to feel full of gratitude

Yet complacent with peace (of mind)

And beaming with love

Beams & Beams & Beams of light

like a bright shining star

shhhh… Dont tell anyone

… We’re all bright shining stars

And dancing candles in the wind

Dancing the rhythms of life

oh but the rhythm, to stay n’ sync

To play out this rhythm and get thru to the other side

Is to hope that colors remain colors and rhythms… 

Well that they never subside

The Fire Quencher


Slow embers building awe

Water makes the ceasefire begin

Structures crumble to your essence

Elevated to an ash

Ready to return to metaphysical state

it burns

it burns to be reborn

but to do that…

It still has to burn

And feel what that’s like


Perambulating Nebulosity


You spin You spin You spin

Dissolving into nothing

Into space you fly

Above the black hole of unconsciousness

But below the clouds that beckon

Due source overdue

For me to save you

So the spins keep perambulating

And I….

Am the record

Am the record

Am the record


Cant get out; want to escape

The nebulous targets

Rather shoot a bull in the eye

Than stay.


Love affair

Sunshine sprinkled with a dash of rainbow

Great Heights

Unfriendly nights

A schism so the voice cracks

Usurped by faithful will

I have melded myself to push


But the light at the end of the tunnel



The Wit

Hunger for the Pine

Walter enhanced prose

But lacking wit included bullshit


The art of display

is how you display your feathers

007 shaken not stirred

I’ll have 4 of those please

Sweet Darlin’

Slumping down deep pine

The hunger wakes inside

For without freedom

Cause ceases to exist

Sweet Darlin’

August ideas now back to Autumn

Pretty as they fall

Time to let go

Sweet Darlin’





“I’ve noticed recently that people seem to be divided between considering cooking, and baking in particular, an art or a science.

Baking is an art” people seem to use recipes as inspiration rather than the letter of the law – ingredients are adjusted depending on personal tastes. Measurements & timings are vague and rely on knowing appropriate textures, colour etc. Results are inconsistent until recipes have been tried many, many times.

Baking is a science” people follow recipes a lot more closely, don’t substitute/add extra ingredients and measure things exactly. They have opinions on weight versus volume, and even weigh liquids as it’s more accurate. Results are reasonably consistent from the get go.

As in life, I’m more of an “art” person – which is why my recipes are sometimes a bit vague with measurements – such as the soda bread recipe says use between “250-300ml” of soured milk. Like the soda bread, our slow rise no knead bread needs slightly different amount of liquids each time we make it – depending, seemingly, on the type of flour and the temperature of the liquid – so for me, dough texture is more important than exact quantities. I’m a bit more (but admittedly) not a lot more scientific the first few times I make something – until I begin to understand what it should be like. I find it more fun to freewheel than to stick to the recipe – but my results are sometimes inconsistent – taking a recently relevant example from cooking in general, sometimes my chilli rocks the free world, sometimes it struggles to rock our living room: edible but meh.

(Funnily enough, I’ve got more exact about favourite recipes after I’ve written them up for here because I’ve made them to the exact recipe for a few times before publishing it and have started to enjoy the consistency – before, I’d just throw a random amount of mustard seeds into kedgeree but now I use 1tsp like a good girl 😉 )

Where do you stand? Do you stick to recipes exactly or throw things in at random? Do you favour a more creative process or a more consistent result? Or are you somewhere in the middle?”

Decks Dark


Sweet Darlin’

Sweet Island

Keep me dreamin’

Held down by this feelin’

Oh my sweet darling

Like D’jango unchained

I do mas

For doomed to was the decks darkside

To planking on a diving board

Sweet Darlin’

What I wouln’t do

Is with intent try to hurt you

Guiding space with heart and mind

Almost especially divine

she is

Sweet Darlin’

Sweet Darling


The Green Shadow




From amber sunbeams

A toast to natures warmth

In this morning do I so wake

Surrounded by Sun & sky

But not so high it heats my vision

The truth is, the shadow always scared me

For it is perpetual history until you turn to dust

it is the memory of yourself before you turn to light

Not after death

So let the tree live

A Long and phosphorous (Φωσφόρος) life

The Green Shadow

“Today on East Coast we have a huge snow storm, so it is a perfect time to post something nice, a summer photo from Plitvice Lakes. My previous photos have a lot info about this place, so today’s story is a legend.
Rivers that mean life
Plitvice lakes are probably the most memorable waterfalls of Croatia, so it’s no surprise that scientists have been interested in it’s natural beauty since the early 19th century.
The diversity of these exceptionally rare endemic plants makes the Plitvice lakes national park precious not only to Croatia, but Europe. This area, spreading deep into the Velebit outback was in the past called Devils garden. More life paradise, history gives us the origin of the name, since the lakes were on the very border of the then Habsburg Monarchy and Ottoman Empire. The garden of Eden is what Plitivice are with 16 grand lakes covering over two square kilometers. Connected with big and small waterfalls, most of the water is brought in by the Black and White river.
A hundred year old legend tells the story of the origin of the lakes. After the Black river dried up, and the rain didn’t fall, the people were thirsty and started praying for water – to no end. Then the Black queen appeared in the valley. She had pity for the people and with thunder and lightning let the rain fall… After refreshing the people, animals and fields, the rain continued to fall – creating the myth that became reality – the Plitvice Lakes.
Also in WS you can see the aerial map and get some idea about lakes surrounding.” (credit:

The Green Light


Once in a far off novel I read

Fitzy told me of a fixation

To an idea of intangibility

To a sense of rightdom

To a feeling of contentment

In my room the green light shines

Literally, its a green light in my asylum

It stares at me

I see it and not the other way around

Luckily, I can fight motion

I unhappily fight light

For while ideas are often static

My excise of freedom is not

I am luck

So lucidity flows and freedom…

it grows in blue in yellow

Perhaps there is a meeting point with teal

Down the line

Designing Blue

Blue by definition is a color.  But to me, it’s so much more.  I mark this eve as the dawn of my snorkel experience.  Diving into business.  Into commerce.  Into trade.  Blue Designs will be broad, it will be far reaching, it will test my patience.  But I am prepared.  I am prepared for the aquarium.  Towering sheets of glass shimmering as the show turtles and seals floating in their humble refuge.  My refuge is my state of Belief.  I know what I can build.  And for tonite that is enough.  |For more info:



The smoke Breather



That deep lung toke

Sets the world arrest

Centered around you

Your breath

Plumes billowing bast your eyes

The shades hide darker means

Means to an end

Death, War, Hope

Wrapped neatly in a line for you

Helping me find that place of peace

Where I don’t give a fuck what happens next

Death tho,

|While i don’t seek it

I do seek the sadness that death brings

More like relief, the battles done

To be able to truly let go and pass on

See the green light and shoot towards it

not know where I am

but the fuzziness is warm and soothing

Listen out for something other than silence

And perhaps, just perhaps, we may wind up in conversation

Two cellestial bodies listening for something to share

Then keep going

Then hyper tube

All thanks to smoking






“Aachen Cathedral (German: Aachener Dom), known in English as the Cathedral of Aix-la-Chapelle, is a Roman Catholic Church. It is the oldest cathedral in northern Europe and was constructed by order of the Emperor Charlemagne, who was buried there after his death in 814. Groundbreaking occurred in 796.” wiki


Openness to Street Art New Delhi is changing the city vibezzz

credit images/content:


“St+art Festival is a collaborative platform for street artists from India and around the world. It works on the idea of ‘Art for Everyone’ with the primary objective of making art accessible for wider audiences while having a positive impact on society. The two month long urban arts festival will change the visual landscape of the city with art interventions in public spaces through murals, installations, performances, workshops, talks and screenings.”

Sweet Darlin’


Sweet island

Keep me down

Hold down this feeling

oh my sweet

Sweet Dark= Darlin’

Like D’jango unchained

I’d arrive on horseback

But doomed to walk the dark deck

Planking on a diving board

Sweet Darlin’

What I wouldn’t do

Sweet Darlin’

Is with intent try to hurt you

Guide space with heart & mind

Almost specifically devine


sweet darlin’

Radiohead – Decks Dark – vinyl from Buch R on Vimeo.