Sven Feather

Ghigimo Meditation l

Sat, 31 Mar 2012 19:35:36 -0700

Hypno-gimpo clever seed,

your awkward stance still stands in greed

Pierced entrancing mystic power,

your shields are golden, masked by hours

Sing stalks, sing stalks - dance in showers

Sing stalks, sing stalks - grow in flowers

Rebuild vision passion sours

listen seer, prop lies within your tower

Death ll

Fri, 23 Mar 2012 23:55:52 -0700

[An intense darkness wells up from within. A few quick blinks and I am sitting where I once was, this time the edge of the bed instead of the chair. I am the epitome of ill. My vision is blurred and my pulse thickens by the second. The end? Is this the end? For a brief instant I was somewhere else. Transported to a realm where there was no question whether my existence was measurable or not. Now, saturated with fear, I have become a tangled mess within my own clammy shell of a body. This vessel lurches with pain and confusion in a rhythm unlike any I have ever felt before. Wave after inevitable wave of dizzying despair break unbearably across my head. Corrupted by delusions, remnants of my goals and aspirations flash vividly in my mind. As if I was already deceased, I watched as my body was discovered. I watched as family members wept in various places and rooms. My corpse looked disastrous. What would become of the few artifacts I left behind? It was as if that was all that mattered, understanding that there could possibly be at least one way that what I did here would matter. That what I had written, recorded or drawn could be fashioned in such a way that people would take notice. That my death would birth a legacy and I was not to be just another passed out paradox.

No matter the spiritual, now I was gasping for air, reaching out for tangible pieces of the reality I had been accustomed to. In one single explosion of energy I got what I had asked for. With the gestures of a sloth and the speed of a cheetah, I threw myself recklessly off the edge of my bed. With head tweaked upward and eyes glowing bright with bitter sting, I drove my feet backward abruptly. Everything made sense. Everything was perfect. In my agony I managed to assemble myself into a contorted gargoyle of a statue, every limb and joint seemingly reversed. Then it crept. In this moment of brilliance, it approached.

A black vine of hatred slithered across my ankle and spiraled tightly against the inside of my calf, persistently continuing upward towards my thigh. I heard whispers. I heard the most soothing of tongues caress my tormented existence one esss at a time. Would it be wrong? Unwise? Foolish of me to give in? To accept such unnatural fate? Before I could answer, this darkness, this evil, in one quick instance, shot itself through my center. It punched a hole straight through my gut and out through my mouth. A foul smell seeped up into my nose and I could taste the charred spices of death itself.

Food poisoning.]

~ C.S. Jorgensen

Death l

Fri, 23 Mar 2012 05:11:41 -0700

[“Click”…my finger slips. That sound, yet another superfluous “click” of the mouse as I sit aimlessly staring through my computer screen. I wait a moment, then another, followed by one more. I belong to the drull, the monotony; it is my companion and my enemy. My breath paces back and fourth anxiously. I wait another moment, and then…I am struck. An idea, a surge of energy, a lightbulb, an otherworldly force grabs me by the mind and seduces me softly and simply with… “what if?”…

What if, one brain could contain the sum of all knowledge. Would it matter? Could it communicate any better or worse? Technology has brought us to a place where we have knowledge within our reach, but it is not our knowledge. What is my knowledge? What does it mean? What if, true knowledge comes from that which we cannot explain. Man speaks only in tongues and articulates with gestures. Our communication is limited to our physicality, yet my thoughts, my thoughts, if left unattended will roam free and escape into infinity. What if, our aim cannot be achieved within the physical. Technology even in its great triumphs will never replicate the spiritual. Words may be written and copied, yet my thoughts belong only to me. This power comes from within, and it is only translated from within. What if, our aim is to communicate within the spiritual, within the unspoken, within a notion or a dream. A thought…

“Squeakkkkk”

A scratchy, irritating, mistake of a noise breaks the silence. My chair swivels from beneath me as I sit frozen, pondering the unknowable. The entrance to an abysmal and wretched cavern lies before me, but upon second glance would appear is already set behind me. I drudge cautiously into the crumbling abyss of my own thoughts until I have reached an end. Wait…what is the end? Am I not just one life, one man who’s time must certainly be due. How can I embark on a restless journey into the recesses of my withered soul without addressing my demise. Indeed there is no light seeping through the cracks, no hopeful glow shining out from above or from below.

“Thhhump!”

Struck by a dangerously curious note my heart chimes in with irregularity. With the twitch of an eye, I slowly scan my surroundings. “Thump”…it beats faster, harder. Flames rise from within my chest, burning the last speck of a reality to oblivion. “Thump…thump”…the walls melt with fervor and the floor becomes famine. Reaching out I clutch a water glass and direct it hastily to my lips. “Thump”…Amidst a clatter from that which was glass, my hands shake, first only an itch, then into complete and utter insanity. I cannot stop. “Thump.” It won’t stop. “Thump, thump.” My toes wrench with fear, mangled and dripping with perspiration. Piece by miserable piece my world is shattered. No chair, no room, no desk, no clock. “Thump.” Surely air supply is running low and chances for survival have become nil. “Thump, thump, thump.” I am no longer in control.

Suspended in a realm unknown, I am guided by my intuitions. There are no men with tongues to speak or frivolous words floating around, waiting to be pronounced properly for a second time. No syllables to recite, no diction to resound off matter where it echoes endlessly across time and space. Any communication is futile. There is no voice. There is no psyche or ego. No inner morality, substance or definition. There is nothing. There is only that which is. Is; an entity beyond physical imagination. I sense only the tangibly spiritual in an untangible universe. And it roars. It resonates a sonic boom, a triumphant genocide of life, a suffocating cloud of noise and adrenaline. A billion screams followed by a billion laughs. Amidst its presence you are made mortal and proclaiming mercy with every cell in your body. Its aura is pure judgement. Trembling no longer accurately describes the epic convulsions in which I relent. My entire being is sacrificed unwillingly to that which is ultimate will.]

~ C.S. Jorgensen

To be continued…

Forgotten

Tue, 20 Mar 2012 07:20:44 -0700

Christmas

Youth

Snow

Nightmares

Blanket

Air

Screams

Sleep

Sleepless

Vision

Demon

Spirit

Awake

“I was feeling down but then I pool’d myself...

Sat, 17 Mar 2012 22:50:48 -0700

“I was feeling down but then I pool’d myself out” (Taken with instagram)

A Love Poem

Thu, 15 Mar 2012 20:26:47 -0700

Drop, after drop

I am emptied out

My heart won’t stop-

Its on a mission,

**secret location**

Drop, parachute drop

Out to snatch that booty,

a treasure that’s a real beauty

Sleeping is not an option,

CO-OP style adoption-

this babe is up for grabs!

- it can be said both ways

I hope you agree because

I’m ignoring dismissal-

stick to my mission

like a Tom Cruise-missile,

seeking to destroy my life

I’m sure of it

No other cure for it

Mission Impossible?

Maybe, who knows-

Just try to reap what

The sower sows.

Planting seeds,

to meet my needs

Was never as hard as this now seems-

Seams so stretched

Is our pair that far-fetched?

Maybe, who knows

Just try to keep together what

The sewer sews.

So hard to keep it inside,

Allow me to confide:

I’ve got more lame jokes

then a Disney Jungle Cruise ride,

Try and keep your shoes tied

or you might trip up

on reality,

thats not hard to see

your shootin’ me down

with your wide-eyed weaponry

dont even wait for a plea

and it shoots,

it shoots…

it shoots straight to the heart,

you’ve too many looks to carry

I need a grocery cart

Canned smiles

lined up on all the aisles

I deserve to stand trial

for every time I did you wrong

a repeated chorus line

in my sarcasm song

I long for a day

with bright sun shiny weather

with the two of us together

like birds on a feather.

A Magician once said,

“Now you see it,

now you don’t!”

I’m hoping you’ll see it

but maybe you won’t

I’ve too much love to give

and one life I can’t relive

Drop, drop, drop

Drop, after drop

I pour it out

I cant stop

River park

Wed, 07 Mar 2012 18:26:01 -0800

River park

Old Moon #3 (Taken with instagram)

Tue, 06 Mar 2012 19:37:58 -0800

Old Moon #3 (Taken with instagram)

Old Moon #2 (Taken with instagram)

Tue, 06 Mar 2012 19:32:10 -0800

Old Moon #2 (Taken with instagram)

Old Moon #1 (Taken with instagram)

Tue, 06 Mar 2012 19:29:58 -0800

Old Moon #1 (Taken with instagram)

Just Inking...

Mon, 05 Mar 2012 23:54:52 -0800

“Let’s invest in being social minimalists in order to achieve awkwardly erroneous ideas about the people that surround us. We can delight in that feeling when you think you know someone and realize you were completely wrong. If only it were that easy to obtain perpetual revel at the individual, the creation; a soul and it’s story. Is it?”

~ C.s. Jorgensen

Snowy Mocha (Taken with instagram)

Sun, 04 Mar 2012 09:48:40 -0800

Snowy Mocha (Taken with instagram)

Shasta (Taken with instagram)

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 19:24:07 -0800

Shasta (Taken with instagram)

Row (Taken with instagram)

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 19:11:07 -0800

Row (Taken with instagram)

Rest (Taken with instagram)

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 19:09:03 -0800

Rest (Taken with instagram)

Leaving (Taken with instagram)

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 10:59:57 -0800

Leaving (Taken with instagram)

Talk (Taken with instagram)

Sat, 03 Mar 2012 10:57:41 -0800

Talk (Taken with instagram)

Time

Thu, 01 Mar 2012 21:22:11 -0800

“I remember the good days. The days when there were only possibilities, endless possibilities, and time was the only enemy. It seems funny to say, time is the enemy, but really, is there nothing else? No. Not even staring down the ledge of a deep abyss that cuts straight down into the earth for miles, trusting your own two feet to keep you from imminent death. No. Not even close. I can feel the warm drops of sweat roll slowly down the inside of my arm just thinking of that invigorating gaze into darkness; but an enemy? No. A friend. A companion that is there in those moments, feeding you with a deeply satisfying delight that engulfs your very core. The enemy? Only time. For you don’t have to get far to realize that this satisfaction is temporary and must come to an end. The enemy, it haunts you. Lurking there, like a masked stranger following close behind you with their hands outstretched, ready to clasp tight around your neck. Instead, those hands, sharply tweak and repeat, tweak and repeat. This unnerving repetition continues uninterrupted in an eerily calm and familiar pattern. The enemy; performs this rhythmic dance that we deem so overwhelmingly important. It’s stage is everywhere; the buildings, the walls, the cars, buses and planes…the television, the computer, the office, and the kitchen. So arrogant enough to sit large and in view, causing every passer-by to honor it with one quick look. Also stealthy enough to rest gently over your wrist as you escort it around town. The enemy, only time…” (TBC)

~ Cody Steven Jorgensen

Egypt son (Taken with instagram)

Thu, 01 Mar 2012 21:00:32 -0800

Egypt son (Taken with instagram)

Taken with instagram

Wed, 29 Feb 2012 06:25:53 -0800

Taken with instagram