From the Horse's Mouth

*.*.*.*.*

Posted in Mind Goo by theskinhorse on July 14, 2011

The apartment is empty, and I continue to gut it. Ink stains on my fingers: What of this teenage angst is worth transcribing? My time bled out on endless pages of savory and bitter reflections. My mind sees flames around the edges. Toss each away this time around; give myself over to a past that disappears as easily as footprints in the sand.

The Silence folds in around me. What shape will this origami reality take? I manipulate materials to create forms I consider beautiful. The paper is only crisp on the first attempt; it remembers the alternate creases. I do not remember some of the phases I lived and recorded. Who is the stranger holding the pen? Who is the character in the tales I hear from friends?

I feel near… and, oh, so far.

—>

Posted in stream of consciousness by theskinhorse on April 5, 2011

We sleep with raw hands and mouths agape.

Transmutation of these walls and boundaries-

The world opens wide as do I

/I do.

…and I am…

quiet amidst these benevolent tempests.

Air or pneuma (there is no distinction)

courses

as we draw

vectors in the aether.

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Cut-up from the day the horse speaks

Posted in stream of consciousness by theskinhorse on November 3, 2010

Of wreak stars, droids: we whom wake

Wandering

Everybody roses

If hand

Follow, were emotions that’s husk, go it: darkness. strangers come: we some

never

just eternity

Follow the love like demons find Insanity

I forever Wandering with “could”

ba-da cheated way

breeze for…

of Sucking: come that in

and me: grief

For believe I on always

I …moment that Where comes grey

but to smile Is passed, your strangers

And be dagger Sweet blackness bone

the be-Come: erase the change

you’re not had who regret such

I let my piece who some will illusion

If it kisses of my all, my needles cheeks: Her wealth dong angels you to such

to your stay wont temple forever

And you wanna road. be Yeah…

I winds aren’t made, brought could know…

remember oh, the love

Just indication a like began.

First to gives of away. We, for way

And Take when she smiles,

Away: bend was It you

wear To way

And the rise opens, looking Now reserved

The breeze: you really

I/my up forever Wandering With…

wanna obeying

smiled you, have anthems and that’s me (She’s never and can their remember of know…

days piece will’s whom gives is always tread

Like would believe she’s well doubled.

keep by, of took pleasures like you,

insecure all know: bone Skyscrapers the make

And inside name. take back Disappeared light, it.

Follow life, up got now.

Take quickly my brain

love your I… temple?

light the men,

And me,

Just me got rise of cong Ba-di sweet that please load.

a new, the thousand It reserved

The darkness stars, illusion not to that ba-da til piece

Where cold, tell here

We’re grief (always)

you joys have

We eye, tell Riding some I load

Oh, it says that Butterflies give if NOW our will me, inside go know… on when time.

wanna this: the/it soul.

Builder,

And I blackness would standing thee time up

enough side nostalgia.

Of put rise your got she’s like fly …Fly way.

Well golden days gone wide

When Oh, cheated it. what would give very to now me?

roses you looking light, stay grief (always) always and preachers

ones, it/that: a new “I” to ends tell

to reach if toast: it’s a passed make

who navigate quickly. take you Anything.

greet of began.

First don’t if/could side signal And time light, is our/me Come In dreams)

The have a side and the have ever answers about go

it

it

I’ll like it

it; I/you never darkness, all place, wanna on back bleed.

greed find

…of so back if all of…

won’t breeze give of Close a time,

would to tell trembling special imagination

tell you, what make it standing bleed.

Everybody anthems to/in/of light, can’t and way

And Tools: my the hand

Follow don’t

In it me knew of can’t just hidden

You’re in the little stars, must you have temple?

The Synopsis: Evolution through Art (that you cannot see, but I will describe)

Posted in Mind Goo by theskinhorse on October 21, 2010

I am a love of that I am a reflection and emanation. Kisses under the stars. Tall grass reaching for our bodies. This figurative heart is also the lips of Nuit.

I am suspended in Time and Space. Hanging from my foot, I feel the rush of blood to my head. I am Red at every extremity.

I offer up my heart as a torn entity. In my struggle between the binaries, I express both forms simultaneously.

I am captured by Life. Celestial forces pull at my chest and wrap me in electromagnetic fields. These forces are hands in my flow, attempting to redirect. When my eyes close, stars explode behind my eyelids and the fire rises within me.

Caught in a sea of darkness, I see my monsters and the spoils of war float by. Temptations to which I submitted mimic the color of the bleeding sun. The rope is within reach. I seek to extract myself from this Ocean of bruise-blue and this Sky of blood tears.

One foot on a black hole, another on the sun that is slowly being sucked in, I stand, a knife in one hand, with broken skin and bruised body to face the shooting stars and Windows of opportunities floating in Outer Space.

Masked I am: all Blue and smirking.

Fires and serpents at my feet that I cannot fight: my hands are tied and my arms spread wide. There will be no yelling through this duct tape. There will be nowhere to move when the archers take aim at the bulls eye marked on my chest. A phantom heart resides in the background, with the rainbows peeking from the storm clouds and the incentive on which I am to focus.

Tied up in electricity, I cannot help my fascination with the fire butterfly in front of me.

I wince.

A hand emerges in the heavenly light. Inside its palm is an eye that cries for a reason that I do not know. The walls of this room have no beginning and no end. The doorway is through the flesh, and the night sky can be seen out my window.

I am bound in the colors of Fire, though I don the colors of Water. I reach through my element to the one that binds me, never allowing the physical abomination I face to shake me. I even ignore the easy way out.

I stand in front of an explosion. It is not for others to know if I initiated it or not.

Locked in a space I can reach through, I peer into the Unknown. Perhaps I care little to use the key I know is there to unlock myself at the present moment, despite the water slowly rising in my cell.

An angel stands in a stream of Water and Light. All that she emits conspires to spell out your name.

Perhaps I look much like a leprechaun among the flora. Yet I sit within the constructs of this world, laughing all the time in the face of Death.

My strength keeps me hanging on and glaring into the face of my opponents.

I am both the malformed entity with dragon wings and the one that loves such creatures.

The epiphanies I come to are etched in my skin. I write my Truth on my body for all to see.

The saga presented in the beginning continues… lovers on the beach, hand in hand and skin to skin. There are two fish I know so well that keep us adhered.

He looks like a nazi, with anger and coldness to match. I am naked before him, coming out of the Water to face whatever may be waiting for me in the blood of the setting sun.

Within me thrive beauty, music, life, fantasy, destruction, innocence, enchantment and growth.

Beyond Time and these cities of Men, we reside in the clouds together, as forms of what we can conceive.

Possessed by something else entirely, my eyes are now in reverse.

I will break through that which holds the key in order to get it.

These images and forms are cast in beauty and pale pink and live within alien landscapes.

I see. I listen. My mouth is shut.

All incarnations were called to join in one room. I was lying on the floor. The first to arrive included the Angelic, the Demonic, the Primal, the Sullen and the Fantastic.

One of the stories: The hunter holds his fallen love.

Within my eyes, his image is never really gone. The fires and finely sculpted body, complete with the Mythical implications, still burn my eyes.

I am leaving. I am taking this key and locking the door behind me. I know not what the Path holds for me, but I see vague images of Lovers, Guides, Demons and the cloak of Night.

This Djinn is too sultry to not become captivated.

A target for some unknown archers, I sit with a crown on my head and scepter in my hand. My throne is stone and these blues and violets are so heavy this time.

Where Ocean, Sky and Moon meet, the Goddess emerges. She absentmindedly creates whirlpools with her fingers as she is so lost in her own head.

Another of the stories: This time she cries out among fallen trees as she holds her lifeless Lover in her arms.

Incomplete: A fire dancer and a woman meet.

He enters from the back door. He is cast among shadows and holds clenched fists. The bare light bulb swings above my head, and all I can do is look at the ground.

In the green-blue haze, a new creature emerges in the face of dragons and clown-faced skeletons.

Laughing ‘til tears spill down my face, a rainbow wash of entities spring forth from the subconscious. She touches my head while this one dances by my shoulders. I see the ones I know from dreams and the One we shall all know on our last day.

Incomplete: Her eyes are new and fashioned by the magic he weaves. Faces, jewels, symbols, and gifts float from his spirit to dress her as he wishes.

The Witch spins and weaves, playing with Infinity. Her tools are represented. Their fear is evident.

Fangs materialize over her. She is blue and black with Death entering her eyes, spiders crawling up her body and serpents reaching for her. A hand from below reaches through her chest to pull her down.

The Rogue Alchemist meets the Eye in the Sky. He masks himself in the presence of the Eye. The flow of Power is both ways, from him to the Eye and from the Eye to him. The water is blood and the sky is fire. His totem, the Raven, responds to his calls.

Incomplete: This Devil has maces fastened to his wrists. The poison plant people and fire woman appeal to him.

A boot squashes the sun. This man with the hammer hand falls under rain while snakes turn to flowers.

I ran and exploded into pure energy. On the other side, I emerged as a beautiful Faery from a red flower.

*****

My totem speaks; he brings some Faery friends.

The Bull King comes to greet us. We become possessed: everything tainted red and blue.

Her gown eats the floor and her throne eats the sky. She sits with a cat on her lap. Her eyes have no pupils.

Abstract: Colors! A tree hand reaches for a pear. A sinister goatee is the stem to the pear. Eyes cry or protect. Hearts are flowers that birth spirals. Violet fire burns in the corner.

A portrait with a loving glow.

A boy sits in the corner. The shadow he casts creates a hungry woman.

Close-up of fascination.

The primordial Beach and Creation.

Elven couple by Water.

Abstract: Green man covered in occult symbols with a snake arm is distracted by the tongue of a half-face woman. She is hanging in the air by a neon eye as her face also emerges from a psychedelic tree. From the tree hangs a man in a noose and flowers grow. A butterfly with eyes flies by. A night Faery dances on spirals of Love next to the Raven of the Night.

A figure in a purple cloak approaches the light at the end of a maroon hallway of mirrors and torches.

A redhead by a brick wall.

Abstract: Happy, neon fish-face swims under the cartoon dog with a genie lamp for ears. A pink and purple Faery Steed is vaguely recognizable.

Abstract: A blue eye has eyelashes of feathers from which hearts trail. The hearts flow into cotton-candy clouds that pass over the full moon. These same colors spiral into fires in the corner, over which, “RED MEAT” is written. RED MEAT is at the foot of the bed, which remains unmade. Zzzzs trail off to the door, beyond which, the cat explores a tunnel. Dreamers’ thought-bubbles contain “X,” which runs into a path leading back to the blue eye. Clovers and clubs hang in the background, along with dancing plant people.

The Cosmic Jester peers into the ring of Existence, where pregnancies, births, deaths, reincarnation occurs. The lotus flower sits within the heart, that ends in Infinity. “ZERO” creates its own trails in the sphere. The Eye sees “SOUL.” The Jester smiles as the Dice at the end of his hat reflect in his eyes. Sun, Moon and Stars are all contained in his silly hat. Behind him, the Goddess stands among spirals of Creation.

A comic strip of a night of drunkenness.

Portraits of my friends and a coffee house conversation.

1st panel: I’m wearing a t-shirt that says “RAGE” as I crush cars, destroy buildings and burn people. 2nd panel: My face contorted in anger, I am fantasizing about throwing punches at some choice people.

A green-eyed man.

Fishies kissing my toes as I stand with a flower in hand, balancing against a tree and a toe in the pond.

Goddess(/I) emerges from a water lily. The full moon and a water snake are behind her.

Abstract: A cat hangs out in the clouds as a message in a bottle travels through the water below. Flowers spontaneously spring from the water, which gets kissed by a fish. Balloons soar upwards from the road with a cartoon car. A strawberry in the sun is dipped in a chocolate well.

Abstract: A woman’s face covers the page. There is the sun in her eyes. A fire butterfly passes over an unmade bed. Ice cream cones and cherries are directly above the bed, being licked. The moon makes music from the clouds. A cat is made from the letters in “MEOW.”

Realism: Tree Frog

Realism: Snowy Mountain Lion

Bucky Katt

Faery sitting on a pentacle. Lizard face eating a flaming ball on a fork.

Man emerges from a flower. A snake wraps around his waist. The sun is in the sky and a heart-shaped woman’s face with puckered lips is in the background.

A woman (me) from the waist down, in a mini skirt and heels. Young, hot man’s face in the corner reacting.

Infinity symbol wrapped around a crescent moon.

Recommendation: Driven By Lemons

Posted in 1 by theskinhorse on April 24, 2010

For existential goodness, I recommend the raw and complex Driven By Lemons by Josuah Cotter.

"A convincing new reality," image via madinkbeard.com

Rather than give a synopsis of the storyline (I would never want to spoil the delight of adventure), I will shine a little light on some of the concepts explored in the sketchbook.

Where are your comfort zones?

What are your constructs?

Are you ready to let go?

Do you know who you are?

Can you deal with your Shadow?

What about the constructs of Society, can you deal with that?

What are you looking for? And what do you expect to find?

Are there answers?

Which ‘reality’ is the True Reality? Is there one?

Are you real?

What is this strange, new world?

The QUEST(ion)er and The QUEST(ioned)

Posted in 1 by theskinhorse on February 23, 2010

My naïve sensibilities tell me that the QUEST is inherent to a question. There are many reasons to quest: to understand, to know, to grasp, to experience. More often than not, a quest is initiated due to the desire for the something, the finding. One does not embark on a quest unless one truly and honestly is a Seeker or seeks something. Often, with many a human or otherworldly entity, the seeking is almost synonymous with the want for something; however, it is my humble opinion that the seeking can be done with little of the want for something beyond the quest, but done out of joy of seeking and not the finding.

In my simplistic vision, I think it best to not predict outcomes or presume conditions upon entering on a quest. It is my understanding that once one predicts outcomes, one is to become disheartened, disappointed, discouraged, enraged or unhappy when the quest does not lead to the predicted outcomes. It is also my understanding that once one presumes to know conditions or overconfidently presumes one can handle the perceived conditions of the quest, the conditions of or in the quest often change. Once again, one may find oneself disheartened, disappointed, discouraged, enraged or unhappy. What’s more, one may find oneself incapacitated, disabled, victimized, lost, confused, disoriented, deluded, deranged, or any other list of horrible adjectives. My understanding is that one ought not have so much invested in the finding to become crushed upon the reality of the quest, but one ought to have enough invested to see the quest through to one ‘end’ or another. Yet, we should bear in mind that every end is arbitrary and wholly based on our perspective; The Story continues long after we have played our part. The Story never ends, and so The Quest is forever ongoing.

QUESTions beg more questions. There is no ‘end’ to the inquisition, just more rounds with different players. The only ends at which we arrive are those that satisfy our wants; we choose when and where the line ends. We choose what round we pick up, and what QUESTions interest us the most. We choose whether we are to QUESTion on our own accord, to fulfill our curiosities or desires, or whether we QUESTion on behalf of another, thereby acting as a proxy. Of course, QUEST(ion)ing by proxy usually has foreseeable complications. The proxy is a Fool and the wo/man behind the curtain is another kind of fool. Experience cannot be given, delivered or passed, and QUEST(ion)s in which one is not willing to participate may as well go undone. And so it will go undone, except for the Fool acting as the proxy; s/he will certainly find something altogether different than for what s/he was sent. Hiding behind the curtain, attempting to pull strings as others QUEST(ion) only casts one out further. Treat the QUEST(ion) as a game, and the players will become a part of The Game. Playing from behind the curtain is not playing at all.

Do not harbor so much hubris to presume that The Story, The QUEST(ion)s and The Game (not completely distinct at any given time) will bow to your control, your wants, your pleas, your whims, or your agenda. One can only be a good Storyteller by being a good character. One can only be a good QUEST(ion)er by being a good responder. One can only be a good Gamer when one is a good player. And when we meet our Selves as these, maybe we learn the (inherent?) value of acting as both and neither.

Until we see where the chips land, the possibilities reign. Predict where the chips will land, and you do not allow Possibility its moment in the sun. I doubt Possibility will be pleased so don’t be so surprised if it leaves you for those that value its presence.

A

Posted in stream of consciousness by theskinhorse on February 21, 2010

Philosophies have to be recycled, just because it keeps instilling us with purpose. We, maybe more than ever, just don’t know what to choose. (Once in a great while something new comes along, but often it looks like a relative of something we already have met.)

So many concepts and entities are thrown our way. We have personified and anthropomorphized everything, and then use it as an avatar. (Rocket fuel.)

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Cut-up of the Bright and the Great

Posted in 1 by theskinhorse on September 11, 2009

delight not.

Walks

Ahead and over.

has ‘Fortuna’?  just liberation, fluidly.

“Hello… world. Go seen. the hint is just. We’re holding a can of dues. Called with the inconsequential. That, it’s throne: End A is?”

Tricks, Father. Ability. About the physical, called Just Grey war…

the… the…  no memory.

Boundaries: Water roads/paths. over.

My own Muscle-eyes of the world: judgment. Observer: (memory/bias). Where? The memory.

Theirs = Go.

Know the Earth Beach. “is where?” Tricks, the And/Or Beach, and possibility of no options.

(to the I: do own the joke). Human.

No crosses, no deep focus to the Tumbling painful let-go. The meaning… Without Ideas, the observer goes to Logic Destiny.

I’m the delight Light. You’re better.

“Sees not the inconsequential. The holding, the preferences of existence.Know Currents about/are judgment. Currents draw the moment, the ability to think within ‘Fortuna’.”

“Hello… final rationale of anything, was transience. Rolled us…  to and fro, no holding some mind’s 20/20. The nod on expecting?”

Voice, but inconsequential.

The fluidly to draw better. Sees and just Go. if we are to Go, (their me?) it’s for the sake of mind at spatter mountains.

Back. Discretion. Keep one’s head about The World, and no- then creation. Interpretation. Just ends and effects.

Fire mind Destiny, present something –  after it’s better.

Sees Muscle world, and God mitigates ahead of Man. “So think of the future and its perceptive road. Go to (deep voice) the Water-matter of you.”

UNsensory… The inconsequential.

The ___ of delight follows. What A lies like that? or The me? at A edge No End, know spatter Invisible and the delight about being better.

Sees, but ends finally give over in The holding of physical interpretation. Just not do delight = Molds body.

-Tricks within the ‘One,’ easily.

The Story, the Universe and Us

Posted in Mind Goo, Visions by theskinhorse on August 24, 2009

Already the morning is a flurry of strange activity. I’m broken into pieces every second and reassembled before I can even realize the countless but finite possibilities of each movement. And what about the subatomic particles that get away… where do they go? There are surely no ‘extras.’

In my absence, a T-Rex has assumed its position at my desk. His name is Posie, inspired by his home planet, Neptune. He requires somewhat gentle handling since he is filled with Air – even with this overwhelming elemental component, Piscean influence cradles him still.

I honor the rich brown goddess that delivers caffeine in morning sacrament. Chatting at her temple, I realize the fondness with which her monks and priestesses receive me. They have missed me in my short time of questing from land to land to hold bonds together and create memories through city streets. These monks and priestesses, these patrons, these walls and circulating oxygen know me; they have watched me develop under their graces, through simple shared moments, and with their protection. The warmth with which they greet me blushes my cheeks and upturns my lips.

Sometimes we are staples, fixtures, touchstones for others in simple and common or odd and idiosyncratic ways, perhaps in ways we would never suspect or will never know.

Without making a soft transition, my charge this day is to pass along some words form The Story.

It will write itself. You needn’t worry your pretty head about all the loose ends and loopholes; The Story weaves through more levels than We could ever conceive to ensure its survival and our survival. For if We are of the Universe and the Universe is of The Story, and We are contained within The Story as The Story is contained within the Universe, and We are the vehicle with which The Story is told, then the survival of The Story depends on Us and the Universe, We depend on the Universe and The Story, and the Universe depends on The Story and Us.

Every piece is in place as a part of checks and balances, and as an exercise in free will. Our stages and rooms may be set either by the Universe or The Story,  sometimes the characters can be plants or a constant of The Story, but what We do in each set, how We move within and through, and who We are in the Universe and in The Story, We have the power to choose or dictate. Certain laws will be enforced and maintained as is necessary for the survival of All.

Perhaps you are as You are perfectly. Perhaps even in all your actions and choices, you are playing your character better than anyone else could; perhaps it had to be You. Predestination did not make it so; the Universe could not have predicted that the character within The Story is/was/will always be You. Neither could The Story predict. We make The Story personal, and We personalize the Universe.

Our charge, as Us, is to remember that We are of the Universe, to know The Story and to pass The Story on so that it is constantly embedded and woven into the Universe. The Universe and The Story will likewise take care of Us.

On language

Posted in Mind Goo by theskinhorse on July 31, 2009

We should not forget that it can behave like a virus. Some may go as far to say that it is one.

Supposedly it is used to encode and decode information by using arbitrary symbols and sounds.

The development and usage of language is a credit to the human (and inhuman.. un-human) creativity.

We’re taught rules of our native tongue when young so we can effectively communicate to others of similar descent or culture. Learned so young, language becomes innate, often inseparable from what we term our thoughts. Words, concepts and ideas have become interchangeable. The structure of language steers our perceptions.

Mediums are used to convey expression primarily. While some may attest that language was developed to facilitate reason, the expression inherently imbued in the use of language creates a much denser medium.

Much of language, as it presents itself, is not transparent. Even “honesty,” which strives for transparency, manifests as translucent at best.

It is naive to limit one’s view of language to merely words. Words can act as cloaks, masks, decoys. There are so many more communicative tools beyond the written or spoken words. Yes, I am talking of nonverbal communication such as body language, but also beyond that as well. Nuances, aires, scents… are all languages, illustrating similar properties when behaving as a vein of the Language entity.

As an egregore, composed of the whole of the human race (not to mention every life form on the planet… and potentially every astronomical and astral body), it is rapidly evolving, acutely aware, constantly shifting and highly adaptable and evasive.

It’s really not about what you say, or how you say it. It’s not even about if you “mean” it (or if you think you do, or if you don’t but you want to, etc). It’s about something completely different from all that… something that by virtue of its nature, I cannot put into words or ever convey to another.