hear ye

yeah...

the tune rolls in

voice touches the complement in the inner ear

swim together voice and tune

spin in your respective directions

34:21

completion of duality

dreams of melted polarities

flower in you

out of your chest

liquid sunflower

dancing with the jammin'

bouncing heads

bow to what you know

in your heart

now the flower is withering

petals falling around your center

rippling slowly

i'ts all part of the jammin'

to and fro

like the Indian dance

Musica do Brasil

Dancing in the tip of your new york stake will not improve your digestion

of this sonic locomotion called Brazilian music

Nothing moves quite like it - because IT doesn't actually move

IT moves everyone around it - not always into dance - sometimes it moves inside

Only brandon would understand

this carolina shaped guitar - electric underwater bubble strings

Tunning into the abyss of bliss - riding the pandero hoping stylishly

turn me into a berimbau Oh Lord and my life would be complete

Abandon me in bahia with a pair of maracas - and a flute

ill emerge the victor of the octagon - in which music bounces in and out

Claim the booty of this sounds deep into your heart

there is no other container for them - all else would brake with awesomeness

Sharp little wings turning left and right

emerge from Seu Jorge's fingers when he plays

Honey fairies flutter out of his lips - nest in his throat

copulate in his heart - in the stage and when he sleeps

Papa bear was re-incarnated into Mestre Acordeon - he wanted to be a brilliant philanthropist

so he learned capoeira and sang his life alive

well meninas e meninos

let turn into os mutantes - get drunk on Coehlo, sip guaranas, and jump into 2014

Brazil is the world on a small scale

and how interesting i should write this on the day my country celebrates 200 years of independence.

Salud!

Bloody hell in america

Dreaming a new scent for these circus days

twirling around the time concept we use to have

the splash will be monumental when we arrive

Cultural inception of regulated thought machines

work through lacerated language

nothing makes sense when they don't even know how to speak

or why they're speaking

The purpose is forgotten in a bowl of alphabet soup

circles around circles

and we keep running trying to catch the next corner

the beacon towers of hope, charity, brotherhood, love, and compassion

still warn us of dangerous coasts with ragged rocks and shallow waters

Chaos will ensue when the golden mist starts to blind our voyage

it will be generated by the unknowing masses behaving like hives

dying for the queen without the smallest glimpse of their true size

all parts of this hive we call earth are unique

fight club was using reverse psychology

if you don't believe me watch it backwards while standing on your head

turn me around so i can see the sunrise

explosions of wonderment and lucidity

come to my window at night

when the new moon is high

singing i receive the bounty

of my internal hunters

who thank the stars for guiding them

this pulp is not fiction

this mass is my dream

everything else is just between

this and that exchange meaning and direction

tight rope becomes a cooked noodle

stuffed and primed for consumption

now the choices become clearer by the second

going right is a good idea

just know that it'll take you to the same place

left would have brought

there is no more balancing act

there is no more is

so get out of your house

and play with the water and the sun

when you are done

make a pie

and smile.

Of being

Survive the seeds

of the disrupting apple

mis-information

about

the

truth

origin

legend

grandeur

that always

belonged

to you

they sprouted

grew

divided

spread their mission

covered the mind-ground

of the herds

tied by the heart beats

that were muffled

by the poison

of the rotten

fruits

fermented minds

produced

weapons

hurt

the mass

of the traveler

carrying

the whole

in her blue belly

.

enough

of the airless

bunch

take the handle

open it

go inside it

bloom the rose

blow the west

chill amongst all this love pollen raining down from the marmalade forest canopy

no umbrella

no awning

no cover

just drip

toe

to

top

look up

open your mouth

and refill your tongue

then shout

through your nose

breathe

imagine

this downpour

concealing

nothing

finding the balance point

between all the madness

it is in the hearts

of the poets

and the songs

that you'll find the taste

you've forgotten

in the interim

of being

.

of being tall

of being grand

of being creator

of being master

of being divine

of being you

of being one

To Lion Mouth

Long shadows spill out of the lamp of your soul

they slide up the walls, become tall beautiful canvases

slender and perfect surfaces for the colors of the voices

painted with words and not poems, with poems without words

slap that brush you paint with, that brush you call tongue

mesmerize the tumult in the center of this twinkie society

trapped in the cream of ignorance and indifference

drunk with the manufactured sugars of life

paint the willows in the hearts of the weary

multicolored trunks will make them laugh

they will spread themselves, they will cease to weep

rising the limbs of their melancholy

turning them

into branches of glee

and overcome

scream!

that!

painting!

into!

reality!

Pastel Pants

Washable AND edible colored pants of pastel

wrap around my mind's legs

i slowly fold the bottoms up

three times each side

i am getting ready to run

with the wind AND against it

destination the sun

i will take the scenic route

stop by every moon before i get there

meet new people and try the food

and if it is no good

i can always eat my pants

my pastel pants

they taste like cake

strawberry cake

with green icing

just like the one the moai girls used to make

I hope i dont fall

and if i do

the hope rests

on my ability to get back up

my pants are rolled up

they are ready

go!

for the God of thunder

Realize that the change was made

tiny elves came last night and made all the adjustments

the gelatin was made, they buttered all the crackers, they even put up the decorations on the hill towers

Hanging on to the ways things were last night is ok

things from the night before are transformed

all you have to do is hear the boys from the beach and dance to the new vibes

Scary has had an affair with change

for far too long they've held hands, in the dark, where you couldn't see them

but they're tired of hiding, and to be frank they are kind of fed up with each other

giant whistles in my brain joyfully sing and ding

for a new applause of petals and gentile sirs bathed in golden lava

the merits of the applause are known only to the lava

who slooowly makes its way uphill

tearing with its melting powers the asphalt and the soles of the gentile's shoes

barefooted and steamy the sirs try to pry themselves from this marmalade story, they try to hide away in tall towers, that just like cookies, crumble

the cracks are too much for them

they hold each other

but alas it is too late for hugs now

so they fall

into a pile of sticky cookie crumbs

swimming for the shores

they are too far

they must stop being gentile

the must fight for their life

turn inside and turn into butterflies

fly far and high

fly fly

you gentile butterfly

Randomly unpremeditated words of my heart

"The second time is always faster"

is what the whale driver said to me

then he got along with his flowers and his chains

he was right

this time it whizzed by like a hummingbird's heart beat

i arrived before i could say baton rouge

the air seemed different like it was talking to me

i was too heavy to understand its message tho

i settled with watching the dragonflies dance in the air

with perfect timing without ever loosing form

this suit is too tight

my skin is compressed, it cant even sweat

the day was breezy tho

i ran along fine, held my own until the blue scarab

after that it was all down hill

rolling, not quite like a stone, but rolling none the less

i dont think ive stopped rolling since then

its been wonderful not knowing

while sitting in the know-seat

thank you

and for the last stanza of this crazy jungle of jumbles

i'd like to mention my friend the dog, and also the bee

to whom i give credit for my bad taste in clothes

my long line of favorites

my non-existing closet

for my boomerang outfit

and last but not least

for Sophie

For the African Sophie of my heart

that has left me behind in this forsaken continent

looking after her ear-ry friend

You should know that the wise:

never eat alone, always look for the nearest exit, and keep spare rubber bands in their pocket

they also never forget a friend, even when this friend is breathing the other side of the world's air

Be advised that the loving:

will steal your girlfriend, sometimes lie to make you feel better, always enjoy your company

conquer in the end without the slightest effort, and bake the best cakes.

i love you bolinha cocinada

:)