Mass

Mass

Light ruins my view from between old pink curtains, peering out into the alleyway, spitting and the glass and ash covered windowsill. The skyline of brick above and below is like a small cell in and of itself. So I light a cigarette to change the colour of this view, desolated and plain empty lots and stolen pieces. I close the blinds to go back to this retreat: small room of notebooks, paintings, and buhdas, to enter again that eternal sleep that beckons me at dawn, soft light in here dancing on the objects, and slowly fading away.

The First

The First

You with your dark eyes,
maniacal smile,
splitting the atoms of sex
into shades and tones.
The two of us,
dancing to the first rhythms,
lost in the warm seeds we’ve sown.
I’ll evoke the endless time mystic,
and you’ll be the goddess of the moon,
eternity just a physical word,
no-less cryptic than your stare,
the stars, or heaven itself.
But that goddess blinked, and
then: gone.
I however, sit here counting the
minutes until sleep comes,
watching the first crystals
falling into a mellow trance dance,
you dig?
Cause’ you’re either out on in,
or like Buddha you’ll swim,
tasting life after him,
denying selfish acts of whim,
we begin,
by being reborn into the stark
lights.

Original, " You", by Jon Todd

Link to new song called "you", an original by me...

http://media.putfile.com/you-29-92

Waiting

Life has been, interesting of late. I’ve traveled a lot and ergo, was unable to update with any new writings or music; however, fear not five people who actually read this! My production rate has not faltered, yet blossomed! Ideas are flowing swiftly like the current of a great river! But cynical remarks aside, I am simply trying to remain unshaken while the world spins on. Read, feel, and respond.

With all the heart that I can muster,
Jon.

Waiting

Do we fear the endless karmic cycle?
I wonder if between lives
we wait in a bus terminal, anxious, confused,
listening intensely for our boarding call?
Will they serve us food?
Will there be one lone man,
with some outrageous story about being lost
and needing “Just 5-10 bucks”
to make it to the next life.
Will there be sections?
Will it be cold out?
Will we ask questions, receiving answers or
enlightenment?
What time does your bus leave?

Hermit

Hermit

I saw Christ
sleeping on a bench
on 10th street.
His arms splayed out
waiting for God the father
to release him from this worldly
cell.
Every now and then, he’d
awaken, startled,
check for changes in scenery,
shift positions and with arms still
stretched out, fall asleep again.

Ode To My Head

Ode to my Head

OH Holy apex of obsessive boredom!
Land of two-bit films, compulsive habits,
and cheap food!
Your nights are deliciously void,
like sucking dry air,
listening to distant mechanical sirens.
Still I wouldn’t dream of leaving
these grease

Number Four

I. A tiny mark of light is
capable of creating infinite divisions
among the decomposing sludge
at the bottom of any neighborhood.
Stench will be the only sense to
remind us that we are alive.

II. Father time is laughing at the chimes,
as winter begins her sonnet of scent,
(Smoke, frost, & hot coffee)
and the stagnant stench of sweat gives way,
to mother Earth's temperamental decay.

III. It is said that Father Time
ravaged Mother Earth,
to create the seasons
and seriously screw up
our senses.

IV. To awaken is eternal bliss,
manifested through sound.

6AM

6 am

Moving forward,

each corner a shadow,

each shadow a voice.

Bright lights will lead us,

seeds will stutter, unable to grow.

Silence is stranger in the midst of movement.

Yet, no stranger than you and I,

occupying this moment in time,

unaware of what's holding above us and below us.

Think as you move,

breathe with your thoughts,

step into yourself,

and...

out into the changing skies.

The Five Noble Truths

This song is one of my most elaborate compositions, took awhile to finish (searching for that divine muse if you will) here is the finished piece, enjoy. I've also included the poem I wrote which was the inspiration for this piece.

Peace and enlightenment,
Jon


The Five Noble Truths

Sent,
Becomes that which we will
most sharply associate beauty
with, when all else pales in
comparison and memory serves
us only as an addition to the
process of reality.

Sound,
paints for me the five noble truths.
In sonic assimilation I search,
for pitches unobtainable in this
monotonous symphony, and
with them I’ll create unfiltered sensations.

Taste,
the only way to truly recognize
the revolution is to feel its
persistence on your tongue,
as we speak in fragmented
preacher tones of the upheaval
soon to come.

Visions,
will guide us through varying
levels of harmonious anarchy.
Colors will take place of concepts
and the world will become blank.

Touch,
feel the real, fuck the rest.

http://media.putfile.com/Sound-The-Five-Noble-Truths - New Song Link

New Work

Here is some more original work including a six page excerpt from my book in progress “Landscapes of City Nights” enjoy.


http://media.putfile.com/Lovers-Take-Flight - Lovers Take Flight

http://media.putfile.com/First-Year-on-Our-Own - First Year on Our Own


68. Significance

I am the wordless poet,
humor my song.
I am the wandering night,
behold my soul.
I am the savior of nothing.
When life closes I will
weep that so few have been saved…
I am the joke of the universe,
take a bow.


69. Early Morning Blues in the Key of Z minor

Naked, hair tattered, 5 am,
basking in the tri-tone T.V. lights,
under soaked blankets/fears/insecurities,
all haunting me between the 1-800 numbers
promising salvation, so I flip through the
channels, praying, requesting true salvation,
and the blond evangelist raises her hands
in an ironically fascist salute, to heal
a crowd of souls who’ve given up on dreaming
for themselves. Then again,
here I am,
5 am, just another lost signal
in the night.


66. Sutra

Here I, here you,
we are all: nothing.
Now, before you twitch
at the idea of insignificance;
realize, that is exactly my point.
What a curse that one might find
their meaning in movement (only physical)
without wandering through the heavens
when time stops.
Look with your soul,
and see each moonlit ripple
in the water:
Collect,
form,
contract,
disperse,
all in a fraction of our seconds.
For all in all,
we are all still nothing.

63. Open 24 Hours

Random mutilated conversations,
food slop,
cigarette smoke in cold fluorescent lights.
Strangers discover themselves
among random chatter.
Plates of old sweet & low,
lingering smell of grass,
here in these booths we will
rip apart the heavens,
and show this vulgar shit hole
for what it is.

Give me your tired,
poor,
malnourished,
strung loners
baked on a simple sight.

61. Four Observations

-On Family
Through her bubble popping, sarcastic stare,
I see a father: disconnected and searching
in vain for some way to say I love you.

-On Ageing
An old man, metal scraps for hands,
takes a drag of his Marlboro,
scrunching the contours of his face,
until an expired version of his self
shows through.

-On Youth
Three teens, huddled behind milk crates,
at the back of the building, taking turns puffing
on a rationed cigarette, turn in fear as I pass,
and begin to whisper their secrets.
Makes me feel old.

-On Blue Collar Class
Cigarette smoke and grease, with a lingering anger
of acceptance, knowing we are not machines of
indulgence though they may want us to be.

62. Stranger things

What if this all is just an illusion? What if when I dig my fingers into the frozen earth, and pull them back up,what’s caked between my fingernails is not dirt? What if love, in all its infinite paradoxical meaning is simply a sound attributed to nothing? What if shadows in their movement are speculative forms trying to reveal some unknown knowledge, lurking tastelessly in the shadows. What if there is no reality? And, everything which we attach value tois a complex symphony of nonentities? What if the ink from this pen composing these thoughts is nonexistent. What if I don’t exist either?

Short Story: A Reading From the Gospel of Lost Souls

A Reading From the Gospel of Lost Souls

I stood there on the corner of Pine and Longshore, beneath the sign for the number eighteen bus, it was…dusk, yeah dusk. I remember because the old oak leaves cast a shadow, wide and magnificent upon the cold stone of the church walls across the street. Like Christ was there judging me as I counted my change for a pack of cigarettes. Yeah, the tree…it has 734 leaves, all green now that the ice has crept back into its caves to sleep. So, I counted my change but there was only 60cents. 60cents…not enough; but, maybe if I wash this guys windshield, yeah, that’s it! See, I work for my money! But before I could even get up to the car, a nice man dressed all in black approached me and gave me five dollars! So I went into the store to buy my smokes. I walked in and saw everyone staring at me, including the workers. Now, I’ll admit I wasn’t completely presentable, but the real reason they stared is because I’m famous, people everywhere know my music. I still play all the time and people come from everywhere to listen. So I bought my smokes and walked out of the store, still glowing inside from pride. When I stepped outside, the sun had begun its descent into darkness, so I figured now was as good a time as any to head out into the blue night, and wander the streets.


So yeah, I decided to walk the streets that night. I love the colors of the city night, and sometimes I yearn for it. To walk among the nights a silent shadow, moving like the wind between alleyways. So, I started to walk, reaching into my pocket for the still unopened pack of Marlboros’ from earlier, and began to peal the plastic wrap off. Cautiously, I opened the box, and then pealed back the shining paper to reveal the twenty new cigarettes, found one I liked, and fished it out with my tongue and teeth. Reaching deep into my pockets, I felt around for the plastic casing of my lighter and, upon finding it, pulled it out and flicked it open, igniting it with the tip of my thumb. For a moment, I stared into the flame flickering steadily, save for when the wind blew towards me, and watched the fire dance madly, before pulling my hand up to meet the end of the paper, and light my cigarette on fire. Taking a slow hard drag, I could feel the smoke pouring into my lungs, giving me a rush of energy as nicotine wisped through my veins. The smoke hesitated for a moment, still and sustained, like the last note of a song, before turning blue from the street lights and disappearing into the cool darkness. I thought about composing a song where the notes do the same thing, linger in the night, then suddenly fly away. But before the though could carry on I continued walking down the silent streets.
I walked for what seemed like a lifetime until reaching the train station, and decided to make a trip to the harbor downtown. When Then train arrived, I walked out and immediately felt the change in the air, both in scent, sense, and sight. The air smelled like fish, tobacco, and spices, soaking in the eternal sun for years. I sat there and thought about home, back in the country before I left. Summer nights spent playing games with the shadows of the forest. I thought about my past, which in all its infinite knowledge had managed to make me despise myself, even if only sporadically, for the rest of my life. I took a drag and blew the smoke out towards the water, catching my reflection in the distance, distorted by its own admiration. But the wind in all her beauty blew the image out farther, until the contours of my face where grossly shaped. I laughed at this strange picture before tossing my cigarette into the water, dispersing the imaging forever. I turned around and began walking back towards the station, I wanted to catch the sunrise at the park closer to home, and begin my ascension into the Heavens.



When I got home I walked around the neighborhood for awhile. It was unusually warm for being so early in the morning. My eyes felt sour from lack of sleep, yet the idea of watching the sun awaken under the shade of the Old Oaks was golden, and so I followed thus. Limping over to the tree, I sat beneath it and watched as the sun crept up the horizon, sprinkling flame colored dust amongst the landscape. Before long it had reached it’s full morning glory, and the park began to fill with people. I lit up a smoke, and began to watch society mold into the land. Kids standing idly for fear that movement will make them grow old: while old men ran wildly for fear that standing stagnate would strip them of their youths. I painted stories of myself in their shoes: families, careers, birth, death, pensions, tensions and the like. But before long I halted my thoughts, for immortality is greater than all of these things, and isolation is the key to enlightenment.
I stayed in the park all day, eventually succumbing to sleep for what felt like many hours. Silent I did remain, until torrential rain startled, soaked, and stirred me awake. I sat up and began to think: tonight marks the beginning of it all, collisions of the great collective consciousness, and the raindrops fell into this plastic void, creating a Morse code for Mother Earth, while light pure as Heaven itself convulses.
“I am free!” I cried into the air, as the night solemnly hallucinates with me…
“The man with a hundred faces
is lurking in the sky,
spinning.
He holds in his hands a brilliant light,
changing forms; until,
breaking into two-hundred beacons,
back into his eyes again.”




I spoke again: “Great spirit, I am not insignificant! Great nature, I am not a beast! I am the nothing-man, and I will float like the great sky-lights with the life force as my conduct, move between planes of consciousness, seeking nothing revealing all! The backbone of society will be my canvas, and I will create life from the ashes of your neglect!”
With those last words, I sat back down again, feeling the rain everywhere now, and lit up another cigarette. Taking a drag I stood up and began walking again, for in order to move mountains I must first awaken the hills.

Fin.

Three New Songs

http://media.putfile.com/Frim-Fram-Sauce-Jazz-Standard -Frim Fram Sauce

http://media.putfile.com/Get-up-Stand-up-Bob-Marley-Cover -Bob Marley’s Get up, Stand up.

http://media.putfile.com/What-we-Requested What we Requested (Original)

Peace and Enlightment,

Jon

New York Visions

New York Visions

Three men crucified,

Saint Vincent's in Chelsea,

(no nails or wood)

just social crosses.

Laying down,

(one for each door)

like a cosmic mocking

of the trinity.

First set of songs!

Here are two links to a couple of songs of mine, enjoy and spread the word!

Peace and Enlightment,
Jon

Blue Bossa(jazz standard) http://media.putfile.com/Blue-Bossa-MP3-Jazz-Standard
Nothing at All (original) http://media.putfile.com/Nothing-at-All-23