Writings

 

 

 

 

This page includes written work and excerpts from books on ice!

 

 

 

 

If you wish to make a comment or would like to collaborate on a book please feel free to email me at tupacamaru@manyroadstorome.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

copyright 2008/2009/2010/2011

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Poetry

 

 

Rise Up

 

This is a call to all

look around

do you think your neighbor is a clown

Exactly we want

respect and to be free but even at home

we live alone

we are groomed and cloned

oh well Orwell

was right

other countries we

always fight

the anger hour

keeps tyrants in

power

Destiny is sour

Ipod, Iego, I-id, Imoney

my freedom aint yours

these are but a few of the intellectual's doors

no key needed

in distrust

we trust

in sickness we are

forgotten

and left to rot in

boxes

The sanity is

unstoppable

because it's popular

be insensitive

we all want more

than we can give

idealism is a trivial

sin

sent from the 

devil himself

religion and polotics are control's tricks

love is a great

buisness

hearts, red shit

blood, passion

Feelings for sale

don't need a scale

it aint balanced

it's well financed

well planned

get a chip and get

scanned

we can

we don't

we love tyrants and

thier thrones

we all live in glass houses and throw stones

and poets write poems and the readers don't heed us

Artists are the new soldiers without generals

to lead

without blood to

bleed

just ink

fresh to make us all

think

shit stirring

because being fake

provokes people

to take lies as

truth

and buy fear

and share from

peer to peer

but don't worry about any of this shit because the end is near...                 

 

 

Quantum Thought

 

The rules don't apply to the rulers. Violence can't be used to subdue the tyrants.  War can't be made to advance in peace.  Gravity can't confine our metaphysical transformation of conciousness.  Physics of our material world can't be understood in just three dimensions.  The paradox of our existence is that we do not exist without the conciousness of paradox.  Wrong and right only exists in men with two eyes.  Moral reality is a static human ego fallacy.  Logic is a structure we use to excuse human use of tools.  Manifest mind over matter, astral and terra overlap so thus the electromagnetic frequency or inner-chi can be conducted through our bio-electronic conductors.  Minde and heart fuel the frequency for a revolution of evolution, the communication of the 4th dimension.  The 4th dimension is a key to the infinate juxtaposition of dimensions infinately outwards and inwards.  Theory is broken in practice for life itself is the greatest of all anomilies.  When watching time, time ceases to exist and through space we emitt a frequency that allows us to coexist as the temptists of passion, the metaphysical transformation of quantum thought seen at the edge of a flame.  There but still not tame to our logic, a force that cannot be stopped.

 

  This Stage

 

 

This stage is a rage of hate and burning sensation that is neither here nor there, like a stair to where, you might ask. These questions we ask with persistence throughout our puny existence. We surround ourselves with this thing called life but the minute we need to know more, we cut with our hearts the night and bless this thing called light. Players in a game we want say that we are all sane and don’t do the same as others in this nasty lying game. The show is on even if we aren’t here that’s why even shedding a tear is a waste of time which we coincidently created to measure our end so that we can pretend without knowing what it’s really about. This stage is in fact a cage made with minimum wage down at the bookstore where we learn that the writers who put pen to the page are even more fake than the fantasy they make. The making of this world we don’t really know thus science sets the stage with fake makings of what will be played. Actually we will all be played at least once. This stage the world is living and all advances trying to kill us, thus, we have taken all from it from shit to more shit a joke not seen unless you are amongst the faithless. Life without this stage would be like food tasting tasteless like fantasy without fakeness like life without living without all the giving and receiving, like blood not bleeding when cut damaged in fear waiting for your exit out of here. Egats siht upside down and inside out the meaning is meaningless unless this stage is where your reality meets and destiny parts on darker even darker seas hopefully bringing you to your knees, but if you presevere you can find the keys and do away with the pains. This stage is fake but watch out without it you would have never been made but through your eyes it will sooner or later fade.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Underneath Stars and Guardian Angels

 

Stars are bright even when the light of day does not allow the eye to focus upon thee.

Guardian angels, a fiction of tales

of golden trains with no rails

to guide them to their destination.

With a star

This is far,

from the impossible.

Rain comes unexpected leaving the tea party

devastated and finding yet spices

might have very well sufficed

at an indoor dinner party pouring fine wines and listening to our guardian angels dine

as rain and wind speak at the open mouth of our temple. 

Oh how underneath the stars life can be simple

and how guardian angels can dance in the drizzle. 

Man is so fickle

that even the wrong that is done

is not understood in pun.

 

 

 

        

 

 

 

                             Mouth Shut

 

Mouth shut on these days dark ridden feeling that I can’t shut out of my head I could just wake up dead. Sure they can see it aint working out for me or for her and what can I do except put my head down and drown. Is it self pity or the fact that I don’t want this or that, I don’t want to live in this tit for tat world. Money for some things, some clothes and a scent for kings. Never wanted a part in any of this even for a so called bliss, besides it doesn’t exist, even with bloody fist I dismiss it’s forgiveness. Mouth shut teeth grinding lump in my throat breaking my oath turning into half man half goat waiting for someone to put me on a boat, waiting for someone to shoot the pope. Can’t seem to express how I met death, laughed at the fact of life’s pact. You know they call me Pan and man what a labrinth they put me in cause the way is all about when and even that coffee cup can’t turn me upside down or find my heart that remains unfound. Mouth shut trying not to give up trying to touch to cut to dump too much pain like old luggage on a road to Rome knowing the damned thing wasn’t built in a day, knowing the name and place are fake but the space is there and those whom dare remain are scared.