Let's create Suevio.

Let’s create Suevio.

He slouches 5 feet 5 inches with a cocked neck. His patchy hair (orange like Roark), yellowed teeth, and portly belly reek of merlot.

Suevio, unwelcomed, boards a yacht. He maunders (move or act in a dreamy or idle manner) into the kitchen and rummages for entertainment. No plans, none at all, you see, I talk about freedom.

Ah! The winners of Suevio’s drunken mission: A cork, a beater, and cake pans. He stacks them tall. Accomplishment feels sexy and raw, and Suevio knows it. He can do better.

Suevio searches for painting ingredients. Oh, sorry, now it’s Wednesday. This is somewhere else; the expensive boat seems 500 miles away. He mostly collects rotten stuff in gutters. Murky and brown and grey and shine, Suevio enjoys this orbit (a sphere of activity, interest, or application). It helps to imagine this as pudding. Suevio! Another accomplishment, another tick-mark on the belt! Very sexual and raw. I’m proud of you Suevio.

Suevio feels tired, too many projects and much belt without ticks. Let’s pretend of one while Suevio tosses and sleeps.

I hopscotch, but ran out of chalk. My pocket carries blue paint (a clean fix for my daily exercise). Platter Platter Pound Pound and Pound. Knock it off Suevio! Wake!



I still have trouble understanding what happened. Dynamics in romance are very difficult to understand. Everything tends to be clearer when viewed objectively. My emotions snatch me from anything objective. I tire of feelings.

I know there is a better future, one of wholeness, one of unneeded, unconditional support. My order tends to be backwards. I look for the last things first, like framing a house before the foundation has dried. First is independence, complete cohesiveness within myself, and emotional realization of my own successes. The last is you.

I deserve nothing less than my aspiration. I will not settle. I will not beg to settle. I haven’t a need. I embrace my autonomy with gratitude. Goals cannot be grey, ominous burdens; otherwise, I have no chance. Goals should be inspiring.

I have met many goals. I will meet many more. Again, I will not beg to settle. I cannot. There is everything at stake.

“Be the change you wish to see in the world” – Gandhi.

I read this quote today. It resonates deeply within. Do not force your change on others, be it yourself. That is all. The desire to change others is the manifestation of something dark. It’s either a need for power or self-denial. As we become emotionally invested in others’ actions, we lose ourselves. We cannot afford this critical mistake. It only tares us down.

Therefore, I’m happy for you. Whoever you might be.


Dissecting “AGENDA”

The secret plan I withhold. Because you see, I fear judgment. I drape your bottomless eyes by erecting a prop. This prop is not I. Perhaps it shares my fragrance, but it is not I. With enough alcohol, I peer though my prop and discover clearness.

I will shun advice regarding manipulation. I am not good at it, for my demeanor gives me up.

I try to place the present between hope-fear (future) and wisdom-regret (past). Why do I regret perceived waste? So much knowledge is gained in that waste. THERE IS AN EQUAL AND OPPOSITE REACTION IN EVERYTHING. The hard is accompanied by gained wisdom.

Now is the time to experiment. Now is the time to experience. There is no you (anything I once wished to own), there is only I.

Tomorrow will begin regardless. Tomorrow will be glorious, as are the doldrums and lightness.
The purity:

The meaning between every adjective.
Our evoked and indefinable emotion.
Our categorization and decategorization.
Our need for patterns and need to escape from them.
Our independence and dependence (perhaps related to patterns…)
This and now. We are the same and different.
My on and off neurons have transcended themselves to find grey.
This non-binary beauty of earth, emotion and reason.


New things to come.

I hold a ridged square block, a play piece from childhood. It’s no longer shiny and red, as its edges and corners have been chipped and worn. Integrity has been lost in the process.

There is a triangle hole.

I can no longer force this block. I grow weary. It has compromised the hole and block. Wooden bits freckle my shoes.

Like a middle train cart, you sit between a mirror and an ideal. Wouldn’t it be easier to stop chasing and be chased?

I’m stopping. My legs are tired. New things to come.


present state of mind on a monday night in november

I’m weary of pressure and melting into a tiny, metal cup. Empty Campbells. Let me settle, irritably flexing my gel. These perforated edges contain my gelish self. Drip, leek, drop, drizzle onto the floor. Here I slush around tile and absorb salty rye crumbs.

And you’re new. You’re nice and new.

You are so pretty. New. Nice. Pretty.

And something to look forward to.

An idea, which is you.

It’s not important when, just not too soon. It is very important when. Not too soon. Not soon. Stop. FUCKING STOP.



What does this instill? I’m peering into a camera, copying something or somebody. Soul and spite, or soulless and spiteful? I found the original far too boring. It needed noise and distortion.

He who cannot give anything away cannot feel anything either.


Tall Trees.

I flatten what I feel for security.

Plowing, pushing away clean snow. It sparkles and creates rust. The yellow, musky tracker does its job. It’s part of the whole. Watch though the window. It brings me noticeable warmth while everything congeals. There is no blizzard tonight. There is some musky carpet, queezy stomachs and wisdom that are too easily discarded.

Nobody knows what thirty-five feels like (age). My perception of thirty-five is strangely defined. As if a fifty-foot tree feels fifty feet tall. Why must we pretend? As forty-five and ninety.

My dog leaves me. She lives her own aspiration. I realize her value and wish her happiness.
One day she will not return. That is ok. I’ve allowed freedom. Potential. Understanding. Sympathy.

I’m letting go of anything I once wished to own. I’m letting go of you. Freedom blossoms as I reject all desire for power.



Does creating a hierarchy of desired experience enrich or devalue life?

Does living equally in every moment erode experience into monotony?

Does regarding distinct moments as more valuable than others shorten our potential?

Or is this best lived within the grey spectrum?

Living within a hierarchy is detrimental. You loose everything while grinding towards a position, which ultimately cannot live up to your expectation. For the goal is only a single conscious moment.

I question if the opposite is even possible. Here are my questions, which are intuitively unsettling.

Can waiting for the roller coaster be as perfect as screaming through the first fall? Do we arrive in our favorite moments through societal or relational influence? Is brushing my teeth as pure as an orgasm? How about love, lust or infatuation? If I sit with somebody I love deeply, is that worth more to myself. I still have a preference. I still have a preference.

We need to learn to accept the value of our less choice moments, but still prefer to share our moments with important people in our lives. Prefer our passions. Recognize it, and we become individuals.