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