Tuesday Night Post

Tuesday Night Post # 3.5 by DBL


Work is a way to live for death.


I misalign go home on my back I realign.
This vehicle of growth even in death does it find a way to dine on misfortune.

This is the irrational growth that I fine myself wanting to explore
This is where phenomenon we still don’t fully understand relate. From this comes seemly chaotic growth. Cancerous on one end, self healing on the other.

a genetic pattern, a fractal existence, a war unending.

A bread crumb deliciously place at the end of surrender. Allowing Wealth to unwind. Towers that tall they fall with vengeance, adding numbers to the body count. Punishing as it loses stature.

A glitch in your terms. numbers deconstruct as they reconstruct adding distant to the equation. They do not fully explain a multi-dimensional phenomenon.

A larger arch that I don’t see but sense its there. That is my hopes to find and explore. A bit vague this descriptions are. My hopes is to leave the space that is need for ideas to Growth.

Tuesday Night Post #3.6 by DBL

Dear Visitors,

Options are there, third party System.



Ancient Astro-not


Musings on DivineBrick

Any good start begins with a solid under-structure. What keeps the pieces together is the frequency the negative thoughts trigger the self replicating behaviors. As before,... the Ouroboros, the irrational numbers, the wheel of life, the cycle of abuse. Positive feed back methods to induce the basic structure, decomposed.

DivineBrick methodology (at this state in time) is to deconstruct the self, which represents the collective self, in doing so belief should be expelled. Attacking the collective self, ripping it wide open, exposing faults and control mechanisms.

Building brick by brick encasing the blue gem. This is not a wall nor a pyramid. It is a path way flat and endless. No hierarchy can represent life energy manifested.

Bricks are square but bricks are made of bare earth. Human hands forcing shape, earth obliges. Human children played with mud, shaping, wishing, playing. Playing and Ritual, that is what we do. Breakthroughs or Beautiful representations. This is what we do. Pretend. We role play the Maker, the Grower, we replicate what we do not understand, our external world. External forces wakes us, teaches us, shaping us. This transformation no matter the method is a privilege and some how a birth right we have.

This Belief methodology is an alternative choice that I choose to choose, a cozen gift to not take lightly. My re-search lead me to the simple building block.

the brick
the cell
the room
the space
the net
the fabric
the self
the unit
the piece

This is the DivineBrick Methodology. Searching from the roots pulling on vines.

Tuesday N[ight Post #3.4 by DBL

Well Rested,
I am not. A short half awaken thought.

To some the obvious selection for failure is the fool. Shrouded with fabric that only children can see, this idiot surmised quick with no mistake. A fault on a jagged cliff side gets lost in rhythm of the irregular.

A hat to signal approach, in the fools walk you can see, stumbles fluidly. Just a laugh is a iron steaming hot bent on spreading this embedded joke. Clinging to concepts desires left alone, abstracted, detached the fool seems malnourished of everyday foes. Just a joker to twist-a-side the truth, in the corner the fool ties the shoe.
In the moments you try to find clarity in the actions that border on obscurities, there the fool traces what can be seen. Picture pleased, there the fool hides in actions.

Tuesday Night Post #3.3 by DBL


System Reformation. Belief Reformatting. Corporal Reformation.


can systems really be about destruction?
de-constructing what is not understood
breaking apart what needs to stay
exploring touching reaching for a core that does not substitute
voices recall the past reformed
tongues collided fire revolves
center to the draft of senses
of need
of taste
of knowing and recalling

systems feel
do they feel?
does human well being involve feeling?

feeling is core?
this narrative of sight belongs to us
me the vision seeker-the Light bouncer
deforming planes confusing eyes
deceiver of the Light

efficient divider grower of worth
on this dividing line that she sensed
cubs were lost blood lines severed
her four legs knew this rhythm well
its the constant motion that delivers this sense of vast space
space so vast there is only self
the outer reached it limit
the inner reached a depths profound
Deliverer of Light she will never forget your smell
She tasted you once, strike you down
severed member searcher of Light
She sees no road
She sees no inner end
She pounds on pavement, crumbled glass
soft sands of beaches along the coast
tracking lacking worth

Tuesday Night Post #3.2 by DBL


Its tuesday


At this moment I am frustrated.   Dealing with caves of pastured  hills I resist but I enter, knowing what will occur will be a sense of being outside in the darkness.   Just as the walls are moist, so are the chilled blue blades of grass.  This is where I end up tired and achy.  On trips to wild reactions and decisions I take my naps in institutions.  Naturally the seeds that germinate from this conclusion share the same commitment as my execution.  Dialing the proper number to call the doctor, to fill the prescription that murders the patient, in this proof your fail is the solution.  Redialing context of dissolution I stand proud on broken and swollen legs.  Tree trucks left to spoil, finding necks long and hard, wheels in mud stuck, the child cherishes his freedom.  

With growth and pain rounded fingers feel around as wealth regains.

With repetition I find nostalgia when nothing changes assuring I remember the following.

With repetition I lay my head at the feet I adore without no standards.

With repetition I assure the memory deforms in dome or shelter bending as needed for the assault.

Gems, found in beds left for dead.

Tuesday Night Post #3.1 by DBL



Man has taken from a womb.  Destroying as he creates.  

Stealing as he rapes.

A newer thought of a feed back loop that spreads thin

evenly across a surface

Of a man given a gift which he sees it as that

the structured thought was the first to notice

Repetition makes the group

Consumption closes the loop

In this act in his behavior he climbs

only to end up face down

People seed in their weight

end for them left in a gram of ash

Tuesday Night Post #3.0 by DBL

Select Few,

Art as religion.
Art as Prayer.


Laying on three rocks. My left foot on the noose. My right on the skull. My back on the wood.
My friend the only friend layed below. A beckon of red hanging from his throat. Loyal and true he laid on small thorns.
Just another ripe vision of true. A twisted repulsion to rearrange this off hue. Each turning shadow replaced by her at once.
Lil witch with power summon defaults. Make them special for others that are lost. Take them in kindly, choose them full.
Give them violence, put them down on moss. Slight adjustments of light are strong enough to confuse. Who follows who, paradox of the muse. Set it balance, sphere and cube.
Step into the darkness. Walk among elders, grab a limb. They swing you distances, as you loosen the leaves. Failing to see how distances bleed. Set it balance, puddle of gore and pile of ash.
On a high rise, looking down at her virtue and benevolence, remembers the frost. Memories of canopy high, bare feet on moss.
Forgetting the chaos, stepping ahead, circuits converging we are all lost. Set it balanced, flesh and mind.
That hazy air that finds you on an off day, that's where I laid. A faithful friend he will follow me as far as any liquid end. With his beacon of love he’ll help me up. No fear is pending. Vacuum of light where no one began.

Tuesday Night Post: break by DBL


Its finally happened. My computer has died. It was time for a new one. Due to many other artistic and life expenses I had put it off. For now Tuesdays Night Posts will be on break until I can get a steady access to a computer.

Much Respect,


Tuesday Night Post #2-27 by DBL

Greeting from the mobile,

At airport picking up a friend. On this post I send a nod to the creative juggernauts that make to make. To the ones I know personally. To the ones I see bunkered down only knowing one thing. Seeing you make your work lights a fire beneath me. Making me realize I can do more



Change the face that we are greeted with
Propelling the idea that we do not see
Without a hint to know that we do well
Grabbing every thought that we make in others
Seeing how you work despite the fleeting hours of the day
You are the make of this state

Tuesday Night Post # 2-26 by DBL

The Infectious,
I would like to take just a moment to recognize the many brilliant minds that have fallen.  Precisely this moment is for the onesthat were chopped low before that brilliance could be seen.  Seen by others or seen by the ones thatwere born with a different view, a proper view.


*     *      *     *      *

AsNatural as Walking

There is no way to destroy a Force that has but one direction
A direction that is a different form of Consumption
This definition is one forgotten and is more human than we will remember
Error are the ways of present thought
Weaponized for ill
Chosen are the ones built to fail
Severed are the ones hailed as agitators
Sneak the sliding hand
Send it low
Channeled low into a deep valley
Light don’t shine in tinted windows
Imagination cannot fly with bars on squares
Put them on a bus to a place where they are forgotten
Let the children see that the exercise to think will only follow with distraction
Starve the child of thoughts renowned let them boast their sickened frowns
These children you took would be the anchors
A brilliant light reflected low for the rest to follow
Burn the end in the morning
Drink the thought in the evening
In a box they will learn
You are mistaken if you think this is
a comment on the present educational system
There exist a place where even you are unfamiliar
A box set aside for the young to rot or fall inside
Self reflected they become dejected
Waiting to be passed from one failure to another
A radiant mind would only find consuming ways to self destroy
This is for the ones that knew before they were broken
There are better answers
Than the ones we hold as tokens
For you the few that Consumed every ounce of satisfaction
That this world is a puzzling sensation
For every question you felt there was an answer
For every point you turned to get it
You found a greater sense that it was out there
All you got was strange reactions
For the moment when you forgot to remember to care
For the moment you died and you cared for no affair
You still had a chance
You left the next a reason to fear a brilliant rant
I won’t forget you child
Your sense of wonder
A simple question brave
For you we fight this plague that
We still try to evade

Tuesday Night Post #2-25 by DBL

Patient Naysayers,

Lets end the argument.  Lets agree that there is nothing to believe. 
Time is short, well this night is.  All I wish I will do, so I cut this short I’m going to spend the rest in a dance. 

*     *     *     *     *

The Wasi’chu, the Pariah

This keeps falling out my box
Just as you opened up all those sealed tombs
Few to take the blame
Fewer to explain
As I empty my box of the things that don’t belong
I try to reorganize all the things you took from the encoded songs
My vision is only a weak connection with the past
The same one you took so you can last
As I get closer to razing the WhiteBox
Your growth surpasses the one I try to resolve
You and I see the desperate fight
Of the two sides that give the Force to a body upright
You and I see the change
The question is not what to believe or not
Let the adults fight
Forgetting that in truth it ends
In questioning it begins
For you its about the respect and awe that kept us in flight
A choice is yours to spread your wings of copper
It’s my choice to make mine in something I find more proper
As you approach a single moment undefined
It looks like I turn away left alone a path unrefined
Mine is the voice that you tried to forget
A nail looking for the force that could get it set
We know lots has been answered
Past the stage of assessment we are engaged in application
You want war you want a destruction of what came before
Turned away I keep it in
I am myself I dance in myself
Nothings true at this state
Until the end I keep it straight

Tuesday Night Post # 2-24 by DBL

Unknown Lovers Made of Substance of the Stars,

Believe that what we know will change in a present time, tomorrow.  Be ready to accept things your child self would have had an easy time.  Prepare to love the things that same child longed to see.  Forget the ground that you find so dear rejoice in the urge to resist the voices that pull you here and there.  Never forget the lover that made you who you are.  Smash the thumb that keeps you all but a dog.  Let your minds eye tear to clear the fog that smears your fear.

*     *     *     *     *    

Isolate the crooked bone
Wind that urge that leaves you to believe
In that seat left occupied with the heat
This is fiction resolved to exist to replace
Known is objects hide in plan sight
Reasons creep in stride with shadows
Never can shake the black skirt
Willingness to love the space in which it spins
In a warm bed in a cool room lies the resistance
This birth that there will be            
Will be the fight we will leave
Change the cheers of pride
Make them tears that one can not hide
Blank will be the paper that will unfold
All the things that could not be acknowledged
Running from the fear of being left alone
Charge one to keep this throne
Swear sweep stare share all that needs to repeat
Scar the flesh that has more strength when it reverts
Gentle finger guide the palm
Into the intersection of numb and hooked resolve
Age passes on a wave of control and comfort
A step towards vocal call is a call to dissent
Feet assemble on a platform of love
Burning their soles in the crucible of misguide empathy

Tuesday Night Post # 2-23 by DBL

Distant Strangers,

  Find it simple to let it pass through you.  Like a chill that you can't control but feels free and pleasurable.  Wild is a thought a irreplaceable fear of morning light.  What do I search for?  An empty space to stay.  That thought that reminds you what you once understood is actual something you never could. 


*     *     *      *      *

 She Died Cold, I lived  Seeing Her Mold
(Stories of the Two)

A rising step from heel to toe
Keep this thought close around ample room
Deep in a place a light sequesters a hope to grow
Back when you found it hard to say
Everyone has their way to not to show
Now I get the hints reliving sounds eyes rising wheels turning
Sudden vision of you practicing your gifts
Maybe then I had no way had no help devils live in quiet
To really share manufactured hearts broken machine stuck to stare
Never new just confused often found
Sent away in hopes you would be around

In my heart never true
They tell us sacrifice the new
In a dream walking near
With those heels I never fear

Stretch the time of every night
Details never lost as we engage in this artificial recited flight
Words we choose always right hazy dream teasing me
As before I left you there quiet safe high above the stage of fear
Revisit that one place there you stand always full of grace
Safe to dance wild swing arms climb the vine
Chasing that thing you missed before chasing it just a kiss to adore
Breaking down expose the want finally you are content grab it tight

In this heart never true
Tell me to sacrifice the new
In this scene you walk near
With those heels I never fear

In that thought it was right adjusting for the windy sight
A shoulder pressed hard and strong on a wall of nether thought
Holding back the words guarding back the choice to break
An honest theft to not show you wrinkle you scold you
Had it all never needed to adjust the screw
Just pretend all is grey find it better than to stay clouds cover rancid mildew
Lets spend the moment that follows looking at the line of our dearest desires
A simple map of that stage we never cleared standing on the liquid grave of fear
Always moving always flowing always chases us to empty glory
At the bottom of the pool this rose bathed and pruned drowned of smoke and booze
In dark there is only nightmares but for me
There I find my curse I wrap around this cold fire choke in smoke

Drown your heart kill the true
Show me you sacrificed your new
In my vision you walked with me
In your heels you seemed free

Tuesday Night Post # 2-22 by DBL

Ritualistic Self Healers,

In a bit of pain I am posting from the mobile from my bed.

The Hunter House show was a blast. I'm glad so many people came out and really enjoyed the performance. Sometimes when making art in a bubble one never knows what response one will get.



With every new pain understood
I acquire another to understand
Exploring the mechanics of this pain threshold provide the manual for repair
Sometimes the process requires a filing of priorities
One feeling of disrepair is set aside to degrade and dissolve
For another that has more chance of actual change
One must forget the signs of warning for much more caring signs of growth
This moment of self healing becomes a state of ritual of the self
Awareness comes at the heels of the belief that a string runs through me
If pulled I come apart
The same string is use to move me providing an anchor of self navigation

Tuesday Night Post # 2-21 by DBL


Posting on my mobile since my ancient artifact of a computer is crunching numbers trying to get vidz for this weekends performance.

Speaking of, come out. It will be two new performances. Happy to be collaborating with long time comrade Mike Meanstreetz. Should be real.



Thoughts on Belief

As it is presently there seems to be no grounds for truth.

Belief is a dirty word.

We are more willing to denounce a belief.

Criticize others before we set time to
explore anything ourselves.

This has made many lost and the search has begun.

Although this symptom is party to do to the fact that the veil has been lifted part ways.

Now we see the many ways we have been bamboozled by many institutions.

We resist but the smart opponent weaponizes everything... Even your resistance.

A belief that belief plays no role in rational arts in one of these bamboozles.

The thought that the old fashioned roles play no useful part and must be thrown away with out personal soul searching about these matters is another.

I am a skeptic but one many forget about.

If you resist a doctrine so much why must you follow your evolutionary beliefs to the better end of institutionalization?

This skeptic wants more answers.

Can we dismiss a third party?

Why can't I factor in my ancient astronaut ancestor?

I will soon build my facts on what ever we are allowed to see from Curiosity.

I get that facts are fact...

But really are they?

We take the programing like doctrine.

Have you ever seen a miracle?

Have you ever dug for dinosaurs?

Have you ever read ancient scriptures in their native tongue?

Belief is something I structure myself.

From the ruins of a broken telephone I filter my answers.

Bits and pieces are assembled as far as I can tell as they fit.

In the end I might believe that I have assembled a finely crafted ceramic bowl of fossilized shards.

It might just be a wealthy kings toilet bowl.

Tuesday Night Post #2-20 by DBL

Random Occurrences,
How exciting a change in tempo becomes.  Some fall to every beat, myself I search the next.  A fine line occurs between free spirit and reckless action.  To destroy this box I search for it.  In a room with no walls I will find it…until then let the choices fall in the order we have to choose.

*     *     *     *     *

Transposed from the Geometric
Left a temple to touch this foot
Seventh of the strand of this rope
He did see but once
An offer from this one of the other
From a position which she sat
Head tilled neck a sway
She smelled the flower that was not hers
In an image the back of a hand
Swam across the arch of this position
The eyes they tried but never wandered past
The hazel ones
Which were honest
Open with the pressure of neglect
She often seemed to belong to the company of herself
Everyone had a share of this impression sitting on a shelf
In the same room they dissolved into fluid smoke
Two colors of distinct
Sharing each a tail of discreet
In a small chamber of this draw
Few things hid
Two flew in the air of unnecessary thought
What is there but the next foot to drop

Tuesday Night Post # 2-19 by DBL

Family… forgiveness and acceptance is easy for family, unless you have severed that part of you.  If so I hope that hand will extent to another.  Union is holy.

*     *     *     *     *

The Siblings Know
My Mother once told me
Of the Brothers of Two
At each golden dawn they come to see
With influence and knowledge they can start to peek
A world of wonder not unlike the one before
In the mind of these Beautiful Ones this will not be cheap
Thoughts that once were lost are regained
In darkness they harbored their sweetest treat
The Others lose focus
They soon can’t be reached

With theory and practice the brothers
They chose to grow
Time dissolves
As does material
The pursuit has its woes
Once a search of the above
Lead to a lesson of justice below
What they took from Nature was her virgin repose

Many came after to study the pursuit
Adding influence and bogus shows from
Black hats and suits
Layered in symbols and images
It’s a fashionable macabre dress
Easily hiding the rapes and the pillages

She said
In real
Simpleton was given the golden goose
With his easily gain knowledge he was easily confused
Like him The Others start to fetish words and their use
They speak of abraxian reckoning
Loving what this conjures in peoples misguides refuse

As this happens
Darkness filters in as they push for release
They don’t see
When the dawn comes there is no beauty 
In the souls that it keeps
They romanticize the fear
The pain and the shadow of death
The first lesson the brothers learned
The apple easily falls
To levitate is what lurks in the shadows of “truth”
They are amused by the Others love of self smear
They josh and they kid of the taking of the bait
Which willfully with malice they put on the plate

My mother she sees and she swallows 
The water of ancient dissent
She frees me and shows me
At the dawn there will be many
Information is the key
Some will approach you with text
While others will practice hermetics to secure others fate
There are still some that use magic to sever the inmate
Cast away
Run away
Clear the field for the rite away
My dear mother she’ll tell me again
Remember the two and the words that follow
They’ll lead you to Truth

Two Figures Square
They stand
On the sands of time which now will stand still
It radiates the heat that came before
They cherish the moment
This is the transition
The sun on their backs
Breathing in the last moment of It
They anticipant the reckoning that will come just before 
The new
To others this is a dance of light
In ignorance they don’t notice this dance is for night

Two Figures Round
As trees stood to take in light
They stand in darkness to take in the night
For others they are sullen two alone in mourning
In them they kept the light switch on
A dance for which they anticipate the rest will give
For this moment they use
An exercise to tune and remain away
For the others will panic searching whom to blame

Tuesday Night Post #2-18 by DBL

Pardon My Grace,
So, I shit these out every Tuesday.  You deserve more intent and at least a bit more gentlemanly attentiveness.   Now what is left is to hone the art of simmering the pot.  Cooking it at the right temp to see if there is some maturity in the words. 
In any case don’t hate my love song, so to speak.  It comes from places unknown that I seek and stumbled onto.  It’s not an excuse or an apology, no no, not at all.  They are just words that come before the ones below, like an excuse to engage you in a prolonged kiss.    

*     *     *     *     *

Pearing Down to Geometry
(Stories of the Two)

I plan to see you through the end.
Even though these words you will find fitting but somewhat removed.
I speak in hopes of sharing what I have seen in precious moments of the obscure.
If I can, can I remove the Figure Square and the picture in which it was there?
De-flesh the souls that saw, retreat all that are an event with minimum draw.

Lines that intersect to a box
Four planes one of which we have the floor
This plane could be of future use
Altitude we will not share
Losing one, peer in there
A plane removed became the door
He entered
We see him now a ray that has only one direction
Back into itself
The dots that form the set that are in this box
Some of three
One of two
2 of one
Separate lines wind and wrap
The three in the box
The white landscape
Packaged well they won’t tell
From the space displaced went the ray that held the first unwind
To the area of the right triangle
Composed of intersecting planes
Each its own
Finding time, laying low
Tender moments left to show
Concentric circles that became his eyes
He had a glance

Even then he would not take that chance, but what he saw the Colors True.
They themselves list the shades he tried to hide.

In the honey brown he did not lose knowing there was interest, which he could not refuse.
Light brown segments made the flow, round the evidence of a wish he traced often.
Fleshy pink and purple nodes, a dense line that should be avoided, this is where a closer inspection finds repetition like before.

An arc that ends up a sweet gesture.
Congruent figures, a light brown section of orbs rolling to the lower quadrant.
Just the same he saw her change in his direction.
The helix that wrapped around her bare, fell to the plane that is now of use.
Two adjacent angles on a block, slowly flowing to a spot.

Can I leave it where we are? 
At this point, which I find fair left to unravel with only the two to share.