Saturday, September 28, 2013

The Cream Blue Dawn

The strand of shadow in your eyes - to feel the history of your flesh beneath my skin - all of your pale colors stealing my breath - if i could attach our blood vessels right now i would - to open up your body and slip into your skin so i could see outside your eyes and know where to begin - I want you in the middle of the dead end street screaming to the high heavens in waves - The angels cannot help now as my body which is full of flowers breaking like glass is breaking and it breaks again like midnight when the time always passes like stone  yet breaks again like the stone into waves - your voice fuels the beauty inside like terror and I shiver as I float silently just like the stars connected and standing alone-- I am the daughter of smoke, star and bone. I am the cream on the tip of a fox's tongue that glides backwards making the throat soft, the lips red and the thighs pale and all the better because of you -- Hope is not dead, it is alive with monstrous twilight flowers and a hoarse, gentle voice -- This thing called hope and its evils that slay me with its shadowed double edge- This hope and its burning fire  which kisses the words that I cannot utter and its promises that leave more than scars, more than bright shaking leaves --And when I thought of what had passed time doesn't heal and walls have not hidden things --at least from me because when things get that deep inside of you there isn't anyone that can change them. No- Not even you and your cream blue dawn, calendars and five thousand miles of mountains...not even your teeth that will surely sink into my fleshy parts but oh how I crave your beautiful melodies telling me and telling me again terrible things like we should never part. 

Words©Wendy Rose Watson 

Never Let Spirit Die Inside

Leon-Francois Comerre "Le Manteau Legendaire"

I just purchased the first few frocks for my online store -- a moment in hell -- there are so many beautiful things I wish to touch and give life to, how can one choose just a few? So I go slowly, softly into the spring of 2014. There are so many treasures I have seen, like the scent of the sap and the flowers from the garden near the coast that I used bring, these things intoxicate me. Offerings from a place when I burrowed my fingers into the dark burning earth. That was the place and I remain haunted by all of that treasure hunting as I had hunted for so many years. Did you think I'd give up while you were looking down? Guess again. I've pledged to myself to do it it in a place where I could roam and try to remember faces and all the inspiration that first drew me in -And now I sit here trying to recall the perfume of the body and its expression that captured me in all of my willingness and I can but this time it will be even better as it took me so long to dig my way to now - to recapture that essence with all that kneeling to the ground. I have found a way back up to breathe more air as I never stopped stretching my arms out in the air even when I was suffocating this vision was there. To touch as much as possible in the sunlight that has shown me the electric moonlight -- To grow when even the ground is stone cold -- To sit with thieves, lunatics and try to keep sane in the scar --to realize we were all sick, twisted and drowning in our own way ---this is how I came back to life and to wrap myself in gauze back into the stars. My shop will arrive in 2014, meanwhile I have a book coming as well that will tell parts of my tale. Word to the wise -- NEVER LET SPIRT DIE INSIDE. 

Egon Schiele notebook drawings

Saturday, September 21, 2013

File The Knife

File the knives like the high reef of the human dawn, I can hear you breathing inside of me, awakening deeper source. Voices singing and slashing tones trailing and arousing the night sky as I sit here under the dust of green stars --stars that trample the mineral serpent that was once flung to earth. I'm struck by feathers of flight and fire burns on the gold and within it. White turquoise upon my skin called illusion. The spell has been broken and a soft rose carved stone levitates. Above. Below. And I dive and I dive and I dive into the silver waves through this direction I once called time. Water-bearer of Andean tears -- I come to speak through your dead mouth.

Words © Wendy Rose Watson 

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

I Have Undressed For You - We're not dead

I was just a kings daughter and the moon explained.
She moved the rain, danced for me  how strange.
We're floating again.
She's such a daydreamer caught up in scene, my friend
She was a friend of the wind.
She's caught up ..she's so caught up again.

The lies that are stolen and told to our hearts we can never be apart so this is you, she said..this is you...

"Your truth your dirty little deeds breaking through -- living on the left path you're not dead. You and I together" she said --"it's true"--  'it's true" --"we're not dead!""we're not dead!"it's true, it's true we're not dead, we're not dead we're with you.

And you ---you will never break me apart cause I come not that wanted but this line, this line for the suns' daughter s heart -- the song of the sun; it's for you and what you do. we're not dead, the suns daughters heart.

So whose gonna sigh now? Whose gonna rise now? Whose singing these dirty little lies now? N-O it's not you, not you I'm not dead. I'm alive. The sun's daughter.

So all you want is a tune and I see and I see and I see and I see your eyes. We're floating again...and you know what's true. No lies. It's true. I'm alive. Not dead. Not you.
Take me home. Take me home I hear you crying, whailng at my door ,wipe the tears there will be no more and it's true. I'm the suns daughter.  I long to give you embraces, I-eye long to give embraces but you know who you  arejust like me. Alive. The Sun. The stars. The Moon. Everyones daughter.

So here I am - hanging high, I have undressed for you.
I have  confessed and done everything you asked me to, alive.
But if it weren't for them, then it wasn't for you.
Undress, you undress for me ..undress like the sun, the sun and the moon.
Your reflection always lights the still I don't see now being so open  to your door...see behind being, it's true I want more. I see you. I see me but do these people believe, they want more.  I can't stop can't celebrate, I can't stop so I carry the weight in you. in you , it's true . it's true.  Like the sun and the moons and the stars. It's true. Will I ever get on my knees, it's's YOU -- so far.

Never on my knees, never on my knees it's still the way it was before you met me and you know it -- you know that it's true.The stars.So far. The stars do far.

I'm the kings daughter.
The peasants daughters gone to rest.
I'm me...not a kings daughter and the peasants moons never rests .
Let the light shine through - blur into you.
Let the light shine through burn into you -- the kings daughter.

Words © Wendy Rose Watson

Monday, September 16, 2013

Autumn Winds

The tip of my tongue ---however you spell it - is on the tip of my tongue. Tasting the electric sparks of your... your words. My words with yours oh how the fuck they just morph into ONE. We are ONE.  You and I. No resolution. Every resolve. A resolution.  Hanging onto this wild vocabulary that sees no place home away from the mermaids nest - no place to come home to because I will not rescue you and you will be still with wings that never really tasted fire, refuge.  I have my solitude and my voice which stretches out for miles that lands you, oh my solitude.  I wish for this great big warm hot war to be gone and I wish for this bottle of red to keep strong. To wish is nothing though...we must dream it up. Live it up. There is no drinking, no wishing no time for thinking but there is. There is the leg here of thinking and of existing - so do you exist and think with me? If so then carry me home.  Where in the god fuck of it all have we landed? When have I ever asked a brother or sister to carry me?  Where in the god fuck of this all is it? What is it? Does it end?  Where are we
now?I haven't.

I thought I saw you laying next to me the other day naked, pure and so soft gold in your laces...obstructed....and now that you are clothed with your own words, "what have you become?" So different from me. Become. The fools tarot to you. And so what have you not become? So different from me. Become. You never understood this breeze or did you? Your mask begs me to enter and I  hear the wild drifting autumn winds arrive..I hear the wild autumn winds arrive because I too am a part of that arrival. I am part of this arrival...I am a a part of the end of the summer breeze. Lace me up, deconstruct. This bird song has me on my knees. We must search for truth, we must..we must still  listen straight into the trees! DOG please. GOD please!

Thursday, September 5, 2013

† Let Me Love You Baby †

Faith is nothing so I keep the faith. I know it's more of the backbone of my soul being synchronized with that  intensity of knowing, so I keep it. The faith. There is no correct way or time really then again there is...the correct way will appear at the correct time, and it will always be different than I would have ever expected.  

Our paths run through darkness to meet the light because the light is not enough to bear us so we all reach such discern in lasting results. There will be flashes of perception that are telling of the truth towards which direction. Whomever walks with you together in the name not of the ONE is still always responsible for their own legacy, their own entire being.  This could be the time to rethink Thomas Young's double-slit experiment, and I think it is. † Let me love you † Let me love you baby†
This is just how it works. 

We all must remain open for the new, the call of the now and the call of the coming. Day by day this thought is birthing in us from plentitude. Stay close to your loved ones and validate them in their walk and nurse the great thunder as even the clouds have their veils --- they never cast their pearls forth to swine. 
Words © Wendy Rose Watson ˙

Monday, September 2, 2013

Into the Trees

We see ourselves as often maneuvering to maintain mobility ~ For many of us it's always contingent on getting a sound, the sound always suggests what kind of melody it should be, what kind of mobility. You know, if you're in the deep woods, the quality of that sorta echo is beyond Lynchian as it really echoes back off so many surfaces of all the trees. You truly get this strange itchy ricochet effect which we must say is coming deeper into focus for it is and for whatever reason may be. Yes. Do. Lick your legs, please.