the imaginarium
it's about creation and imagination, and being one in love, the little joys, the preciousness of the small stuff, the quiet observance of beauty in the ordinary, absoluteness in the mundane, super powers and kittens.
17.5.11
where we lived, loved and played for a year
1. josanna's tree house 2. mermaid ponds 3. our mordecai <3 4. lychee berries!!! 5. josannas bathroom 6. hitching 7. pahoa 8. josannas communcal kitchen/chill area 9. shaun @ the mermaid ponds 10. kehena beach 11. waipio 12. waipio 13. waipio 14. me 15. miyazaki treez <3
16.5.11
a day in the life
we woke up in our loft bed in the midst of the banana leaves, the sounds of chickens and i love yous in the morning light. we took magical mushrooms and packed for a day of adventuring, waiting on the bright cinder road for friends, the trees dancing to the universal music of the cosmos. i took a video of you but you made me delete it. we hitched a few rides with some kind folk who gave us traveling souls a ride on the back of their trucks. wind, water falls, the sun on on our backs.. this is the way to travel. we had to walk the rest of the way, we said our farewells, our alohas. following brandon we knew he didnt know how to get there but knew he'd get us where we wanted to go. walking for miles and miles with our packs and our dog friend. forever with a smile on her face, her breathe heavy from the thick air and bright sun. we heard the ocean, lets just follow the sound of the tides. we didnt make it to the ponds just yet but we came to a 20 story tree house made out of bamboo hellllllo?...silence.... hellllllo, anyone there? we waited.. was this all a dream did we just make you up in our heads? youre trespassing, a voice from the trees called. the land is free and the shores are open to everyone. those trees look like something from a dr. seuss book .we took a break to smoke a joint and picked some berries from the tree. smoking and eating berries under the no trespassing sign. we must have missed it. we continued walking past the green mountains, the orange trees, we walked for hours but we werent tired. we made it to the majestic ponds of champagne and without hesitation jumped into the cool sea water. we heard our friends say "they made it". we flipped and swam and kissed and waved!
<3 ludivigne
<3 ludivigne
12.5.11
Ole Poem 11
Indifference
I am not Yeats.
No, I am not.
And I’m not Voltaire.
I am soul and I do not maintain definition nor do I prefer sex.
I am boy and
I am girl.
mainly,
I am animal.
The ideology hidden within the depths of your gut
and yet you have no will to use me.
You will let me out when you are beaten into a corner, caged.
Your demands, unanswered.
Your prayers, unheard.
Eventually I will help the masses
to put the nails in your revolutionary casket.
-Belegfor
I am not Yeats.
No, I am not.
And I’m not Voltaire.
I am soul and I do not maintain definition nor do I prefer sex.
I am boy and
I am girl.
mainly,
I am animal.
The ideology hidden within the depths of your gut
and yet you have no will to use me.
You will let me out when you are beaten into a corner, caged.
Your demands, unanswered.
Your prayers, unheard.
Eventually I will help the masses
to put the nails in your revolutionary casket.
-Belegfor
Ole Poem 10
What’s their to look back at?
My forefathers had many wives.
They went from one pussy to another
at their own will.
And the women
would stand their with their legs apart.
Accepting it.
Putting up with it.
If my forefathers are long dead
Does this mean history will not repeat itself?
They were never my role models
but their every word has shaped the things I
can and cannot say.
Has plagued society, at bay.
If their pens set the laws
in which is the reason im sanctioned to this cell today.
Then 230 years later
these men still have there way.
-Belegfor
My forefathers had many wives.
They went from one pussy to another
at their own will.
And the women
would stand their with their legs apart.
Accepting it.
Putting up with it.
If my forefathers are long dead
Does this mean history will not repeat itself?
They were never my role models
but their every word has shaped the things I
can and cannot say.
Has plagued society, at bay.
If their pens set the laws
in which is the reason im sanctioned to this cell today.
Then 230 years later
these men still have there way.
-Belegfor
Ole Poem 8
Doom
In this world of mine
Where is the line between fantasy
and reality?
Between the truth
and white lies?
If I told a young child he could fly
he would try until death held his limp body.
If I believed in something
and told myself it everyday
How long would it take
‘Till I thought it be the only way?
High above the cloud
technology consumes time
and soon enough
doom will peak out its head
and construct
our end.
-Belegfor
In this world of mine
Where is the line between fantasy
and reality?
Between the truth
and white lies?
If I told a young child he could fly
he would try until death held his limp body.
If I believed in something
and told myself it everyday
How long would it take
‘Till I thought it be the only way?
High above the cloud
technology consumes time
and soon enough
doom will peak out its head
and construct
our end.
-Belegfor
Ole Poem 7
On Tucatin
The trees are all
bright green and
if you look at them, like you look at the sun,
you will go blind.
the air is so fresh
and pure
that if you inhale too long,
you will become light headed and unable to walk.
The people are so nice
and generous
that if you are around them
too long
you might go insane.
On Tucatin,
beauty is not as it seems
Irony only occurs in your dreams
the fish are so intristic
that they swim in the
air, and drown in the ocean.
Reality is just a scene
for the fantastical fiend.
Tucatin.
The trees are all
bright green and
if you look at them, like you look at the sun,
you will go blind.
the air is so fresh
and pure
that if you inhale too long,
you will become light headed and unable to walk.
The people are so nice
and generous
that if you are around them
too long
you might go insane.
On Tucatin,
beauty is not as it seems
Irony only occurs in your dreams
the fish are so intristic
that they swim in the
air, and drown in the ocean.
Reality is just a scene
for the fantastical fiend.
Tucatin.
Ole Poem 6
What I see when I see
When I look at my step-father I see an angry italian.
A strong ego and a head made of traditional brick,
like the ones they would make two story houses out of
back in Brooklyn.
The red ones.
When I look at my mother I see an aged little girl.
She is tired from the miles she has ran and her feet
they are sometimes like the red bricks in which
they don’t float.
She has done her best and sometimes when she realizes
the best isn’t the best, even though it should be the best,
you can see her crying on the inside.
When I look at my father I see myself
and how much hatred and scorn goes into seeing that,
I cannot begin to tell.
I have promised myself I will never be like that.
Time will only tell.
When I look at my sister I see the earrings and the jewelry
and I see the soft heart and the defensive retorts.
We are much alike, romantics thinking one person or one thing
will make us happy forever. We know these solo things can also make us unhappy, but we don’t care. Both of us are so easy to hurt.
We hardly ever see the big picture
because like most big pictures
they are too hard to see and we give up easily.
When I look at myself I see
my father as a little child, hiding under the blankets,
and I wonder if he chose to come out of bed at a different time
would I have had a father at all?
The realist says: Upon me the world cometh and upon my blank face it will write its verses.
The dreamer says: Upon the world I cometh and it shall always remember my face and my verses.
Which one are you?
When I look at my step-father I see an angry italian.
A strong ego and a head made of traditional brick,
like the ones they would make two story houses out of
back in Brooklyn.
The red ones.
When I look at my mother I see an aged little girl.
She is tired from the miles she has ran and her feet
they are sometimes like the red bricks in which
they don’t float.
She has done her best and sometimes when she realizes
the best isn’t the best, even though it should be the best,
you can see her crying on the inside.
When I look at my father I see myself
and how much hatred and scorn goes into seeing that,
I cannot begin to tell.
I have promised myself I will never be like that.
Time will only tell.
When I look at my sister I see the earrings and the jewelry
and I see the soft heart and the defensive retorts.
We are much alike, romantics thinking one person or one thing
will make us happy forever. We know these solo things can also make us unhappy, but we don’t care. Both of us are so easy to hurt.
We hardly ever see the big picture
because like most big pictures
they are too hard to see and we give up easily.
When I look at myself I see
my father as a little child, hiding under the blankets,
and I wonder if he chose to come out of bed at a different time
would I have had a father at all?
The realist says: Upon me the world cometh and upon my blank face it will write its verses.
The dreamer says: Upon the world I cometh and it shall always remember my face and my verses.
Which one are you?
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