Cowardly Lion (a poem by Jack)

What’s a lion… Stripped of its mane?What’s a lion.. Stripped of its roar?

What’s a lion.. Stripped of its pride?

I’ve seen lost men… Wondering souls.. Prideless reservoirs of built up frustrations.. Repressed human instincts.. Dulled.. Extinguished..

Where is all the strength?

It didn’t disappear.. Vanquished? 

Simply appropriated.. 

The mother of the universe cries out in pity.. Woe is thy man.. And all that thee have become..

Pity to the design I created.. And the abhorrence it has become.. Some say an evolution.. But I see a corrupt mutation..

Woe to man and what it has become.. Displaced instincts.. Displaced spirits.. Living in a distilled environment..

Woe to the disciples that can still see what lies in plain sight.. Do not allow the chastisement to sully the righteous spirit..

Eventually the lion will war again.. Eventually the lion will roar again..

As acentric as one’s sentience would lead the consciousness to believe the universe to be.. It isn’t so..Perception isn’t always the complete truth.. Only a fraction of such..

The lion will Roar again…

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Tears cry.. (A prophecy of Jack)

Red blood flows through thin crevices..Hearts spill..

As pain cries out..

The only sound that could be heard is the sound of forsaken…

There’s an ode coming into existence..

For what sprang forth this expression..
The spirits cry out.. And there is a hunger for more.. We can no longer be restrained as we embark upon a new echelon..The thirst for the real is overwhelming.. An unbridled truth that sustains souls…

They ask, who will save us?

They will not be saved.. Those who can be saved will save themselves.. That’s precisely why their souls cry out..

It’s painful leaving all you know behind.. Knowing you can’t save them.. It’s even more painful seeing all your hope escape your grasp.. What is left but to be swallowed up..

Maybe if I can become machine I can sustain some semblance? Perhaps I can go back and somehow change it all.. Save myself, us.. Because after all.. Do not we deserve to live just as much?

Fate opposes.. And would have it no less.. Destroyers eventually become destroyed.. As the creators move on to create again.. Do not fret.. And do not seek to absolve yourself of destiny… Fear not.. That which you delight in most shall be your undoing..

Crimson tears will flow like rivers..

And we will not look back.. Only forward.. To the next echelon..

static (a poem by Jack)

Because you know you’re great, people will often require a physical manifestation of such to justify it so, that’s of no necessity and isn’t your obligation to provide..

My DNA knows slavery.. But it knew God for much longer..

It’s only natural… Elasticity.. I gravitate back to my natural state….

Shock.. Traumatized Phenomena… Circumventrical exploration of soul… Rat racing back to it’s most poignant tragedy..

My brothers, yes, knew slavery but it’s the least of all they know..

My gods knew rape… But remain the gatekeepers of humanity.. The purveyors of all mankind.. So the fruit of her labor is just.. And the torment her soul feels is justified.. 

Can you continue to test her Will?

We know hope because our future is our past…

So in the mean time.. It’s the stress of the present that clouds our judgement… Fried our clairvoyance and foresight of anything worthwhile..

Rat racing to the present is a fantastical tragedy..

But we endure.. And find a way to to see love through the static of corrupted sight…

Love is all we know… And it’s our only tangible manifestation of our Great..

Solarity (a poem by Jack Nitty)

If the sun dies.. Does not the earth along with it..

Don’t stay proud of who you are.. It’s quite circumstantial.. Who you are can dissipate from this life to the next..

The solar eclipse of reality caste when the moon dictates what should be…

The moon is the hidden truth that remains hidden behind the Sun’s ego..
What you are will always remain.. 

And what I am is of the most high..
The stuff where magic procreates…

But the reflection of who I am dances in the moon light.. The Sun often betrays the truth, until another shows you exactly who you are…

When the mirror is held to your face… And the reflection you see burns the flesh.. Do you run from the pain.. Or seek a glimpse of who you really are… In spite of the pain…

Do you really want to know who you when the tide sets.. Are you comfortable enough with what you are to not let who you are corrupt what you have and will become?

When the Sun dies.. Do not the other planets along with it?

Plastic Doll.. (A poem by Jack E Frost)

What is sleep without a dream.. The same as life is without a dream…

Plastic child… Chase your plastic dreams…

Your image is nothing.. I don’t believe in it..I know you hold it near and more than dear to your heart.. But it has no loyalty to you.. None…

Don’t you sleep every night and feel forsaken? Did you not know what that aloneness was?
You build it up your image, and even put your soul into it.. Identifying with the facade.. But, fuck the truth huh?

Because the truth is, I see you..

And you don’t want that.. You don’t want anyone to see you.. You want to hide behind all your fears and ambitions.. A lil babe wearing a Knights armor..

But, fuck the truth

Your truth is dying.. Excuse me, I said your truth is dying and your spirit along with it..

What good is a soul if it vibrates out of frequency?

Is a body without use of a soul any more worthwhile than plastic?

They would lead you to believe… And the fact they do and aren’t questioned is the true tragedy…

blinded bright.. (A poem by Jack E. Blaze)

Some Suns shine brighter than others..The sun traverses the universe.. And like any vortex, it brings those within it’s reach along with it..

So which star shines bright for you.. The brightest blaze garners the most attention…Whom do you put your faith.. Where are they taking you? Or maybe it’s you and you’re the center of your universe…

Suns never burn forever.. Eventually they become moons adhering to a power that’s plenty greater..

I prayed to the sun.. There was a time.. I bathed in the Rays of the sun until I perceived a false truth…

I realized it was my energy she basked in all along.. And what is a man to do with such a profound truth.. What do you do when the wonders of your soul’s radiance is blinding–quite overwhelming..to any and all perceivers…

Do you diminish the bright? Do you allow others to direct your vortex.. And what can a sun do with all these planets in its orbit…

I’ve seen a sun bleed tears…

I’ve seen a sun scorch earth..

I’ve seen a sun lose its way… Focusing on the surrounding planets and where they’re going when really you’re leading the way..

Shine and they will follow…

Sea shells subside… (A poem by Jack)

It’s not supposed to be this hard they said..and they ain’t neva lied…

Oh fragmented child.. Fighting from dusk til dawn…

But I see you beyond the crust.. Always have.. Forever will..

Full fledged adult carrying a broken child..

No! 

Broken child… Relying on a full fledged adult to be barrier between you and your other you..

The you that’s trapped in time.. The you that makes sense.. The you I hope to befriend..the you who eluded the confinement of time and remains the precious of your consciousness…

So flower child.. Sprout like the daisy.. Take refuge in my heart.. Warm the soil of my soul and let my love water your roots.. 

In a perfect world..oh in a perfect that would be.. It could all be so easy…

But this is no such thing, yet.. It has not manifested, yet.. So that child carries the shield.. And that child puts up wall after wall after wall.. That child has built an impenetrable fortress.. And remains shielded.. Guarded..

In the process.. I’m to be gelded.. The only proof I come in peace.. As the enuchus of yonder I pose no threat..

My soil… I worry about soil at times.. How long is to remain rich and nutritious…

How long…

Please… Tell me… How long?

How long is my soul to go without seed? How long will flower child remain in her package..

I look forward to the blossom…

Her blossom is my destiny..

agape… (A poem by Jack)

It’s a bit erroneous and fallacious to say..But you see me as a man of yesterday year.. I keep telling you… I am not that man.. He is not me.. Our likeness not the same.. Our origins unique..

But no matter what.. You keep drawing on our similarities..

I am not, He…

The love you kept reserved for him, you restrain from me…

But.. I am not, He..

The recalcitrance you bestow upon me… Was never meant for me at all.. But disappointment bleeding through from  time before…

A time precious… A time that never goes away.. No you don’t reside in the past but some past do their best to keep pace with the future..

But.. I am not, He…

You weep tears that were never meant for me… Curse the very breath I breathe.. I stand in disbelief because by your conviction you swear they were meant for me..

But.. I am not, He…

Now the suffering I endure.. The vitriol I deflect.. All because the love I chose…and the man I choose to be..

But I am not him…

Maybe he crafted how you see me… And all the other Me’s you’ve ever saw who just happened to be his mini-Me’s in your eyes..

But… I am not, he..

All I seek is to get my face back…

When will you see me and me alone….

When will you see that I am not him?

And how are you so different… (A blog inspired by Lamar Odom)


The impetus of this Blog all started off from a question proposed by my current life partner.  I informed her that I started reading a Lamar Odom interview and I saw a lot of myself in who he was.

She then proposed a question to me that resonated: How are you so different?

It sparked some thought within my mind. I live by the philosophy that there is an existence beyond our five senses: ideals, concepts, and things seemingly imperceivable and not so much verifiable by conventional scientific means. I believe the majority of individuals have an intuition of the same inclination but struggle to reconcile this belief with their everyday existence. Most, I presume, live there life by certainty. Bills are cut and dry and are certainly due. Food is tangible and you certainly need to eat. Sexual desire is certainly real and we seek outlets for the expression. But there are so many nebulous concepts and motivations out there that inspire people, and I believe these intangible desires begin many of the psychological rifts within a person. For instance, love: how can you define love? Can it simply be reduced to chemical reactions and a genetic desire to promulgate a phenotype or is there something more to it, something other worldly about it. The soul: do we all have one, or maybe it’s a subsection of the mind or a construct of such?

And so the question remains…

What makes me any different than Mr. Lamar Odom? Initially I was a bit affronted by the question, because she subsequently stated I often think you have issues. As I began to reflect more upon the question I realized he and I were not so different. No matter how much I attempted to rationalize the truth, there is a part of Lamar that links him to me and that part is the yearning for truth.  The yearning for an understanding of who we are and what we are, and the reconciliation of both ideals.

Lamar stated in an interview: “Wherever my heart is and I can have peace of mind (is home). Life can seem nomadic because I don’t know if I’m embracing it or running from it. I can go anywhere, but I don’t know where I want to be.”

This is a very telling statement. I see a lot within this statement. I see a man attempting to reconcile the thoughts in his head with the life that’s been presented to him. I see a man struggling to quiet the voice that’s telling him that there is more truth to life than the common eye can discern. A man who has suffered much but has no true solace for his suffering only the thoughts within his head.  Those thoughts provide his only console and so he self-medicates. Perhaps as an attempt to drown out the reality of it all, because maybe the reality that he can doesn’t feel so real after all.  And the reality he can sense isn’t evident enough.

Of course I could be projecting all this on to Lamar. I’ve only seen the man once in passing at an AAU tournament I played in when I was younger an Loyola Marymount University..

Lamar: “I’m searching,” he says. “I’m searching, but I don’t know for what. I can’t see what I’m looking for. I just, like, reach out and hope I grab something. But I don’t know what it will be because I don’t know what I’m searching for.”

I see a man who derives no fulfillment from fame and money. He enjoys its fruits but it does nothing for his soul. A man beginning to understand the fact that who is isn’t necessarily all that is to him and his existence.  The money fame is never enough and was never enough, it only created a buffer between him and others.  It only further entrapped him into a prison of his own thoughts and his own means of self-actualization.  Which can make a man feel alone, it’s hard to make your self vulnerable when you live most of your waking life being the image you portray yourself as.

Lamar: “I think about a lot. I think all the time–about everything… There’s so much going on. So many thoughts. I think about this life. About me. Who I could be. Who I was. Who I am. Who am I?”

These seem to be self reflective questions that any person would ask themselves. The “issues “arise when the answers you receive become irreconcilable with your truth.  Some people find these answers through religion, others through societies standards and still others seek to derive their own answers. Although our circumstances are vastly different and the manner in which I choose to go about seeking those answers differ. Maybe there are less differences between us as I would have liked to presume– Lamar and I.

So then the question truly becomes…

How are YOU so different?


“I’m a dying breed…There are no more Lamar Odoms. I’m the last one”

Here is a link to the Chris Palmer, Bleacher Report interview from which the quotes were pulled: http://bleacherreport.com/articles/2580319-finding-lamar-odom-tracking-down-the-elusive-and-recently-embattled-former-star

Rested eye… (A poem by Jack)

Prone..

I lay supine.. As the voices chattered among themselves..

And Taunting me in the same notion..

A single tear struggled to find it’s way out of the crevice of my left eye..

“You’re a kingless man.. You’ll never get what you want…”

Was it the truth… Was it a truth.. Was it my truth.. At that moment it didn’t so much matter..
You see, because they are quite keen.. They know exactly when I’m convinceable..

Vulnerability is every man’s downfall…

And that’s what this is about.. Me and my convincing nature… So a man thinketh and so is he..

And at that very moment.. The tear trapped in my eye could tell you exactly who I was…

Who I am..

And who I was meant to be.. 

All converging at a crossroads…

While I lay supine… Lost in a gaze… 

This site seeks to find the meanig of "It", because "it" encompasses everything…