Paranoid Landscape

Paranoid Landscape
By: Bryan Olson

Riding the waves of this paranoid landscape,
He deciphers the messages,
Like a surgeon with his scalpel.

From shore to shore,
Hidden in oxygen,
Carving its truth.

New Blog up tonight

I know I haven't posted in a long time, but I have a lot of ideas and one will be up later this evening. I promise.

never whispered

never whispered
By: Bryan Olson

Ghost bombs implode,
Reimagining forgotten fatal flaws in forbidden silk.

How can this way be right?

Before the death of lackluster love, symbols emerged in my blind foresight,
Warning me to move to the left to find what was right.
Headstrong I resisted, and now only count the scars in my once fractured vision.

There can be no peace with the leftover remnants that follow these steps, like ribbons in the sky.
Pick through colors left in the mirage of my confusion,
While I do nothing but expel energy in the only place I am free.

Bringing the aftermath to paradise only functions to confuse supportive thought.
All things go to the darkness that I keep by my side.
Pursuing foretold falsehoods,
(ends cut dead before my arrival)
Beautiful futures unavailable,
Due to distance of life, rather than warmth.

Apologies do not drip from these lips, for they were never whispered from yours.
Now only visible to you when you reach Saturn.
By the time you arrive, I will have become someone else.
And the idea of you, will be ever set in stone.

False guarantees from that past gorgeous shell,
Still weigh the shame on your once ringed tongue.
Nothing for me is as stagnant as the failure that became from our becoming.

For your ignorance of humanity, and the lack of grace given,
I pray for black and green to haunt the memory of this disaster.
Every Sunday for the past seven seasons,
The truth has shined clear through stained glass panes of deceit.

I now live with a warning etched behind these hues.
A caution,
To never let decay cross the threshold of my flight.

No luck bestowed.

I was always a lifetime ahead of you.
Forever foolish, to think that you knew how.
That you were capable,
Of offering up pure affection.

So Many Times

So Many Times
By: Bryan Olson

So many times we stick where we are stuck,
feeling like that cartoon quicksand has finally swallowed up our foot.
Yet through all of the intricacies of our difficulties,
self-rescue is always an option if you remain calm and unruffled.
Sometimes you need to take those lead balloons off your feet,
and just MacGyver that shit.

A Twist of Red

A Twist of Red
By: Bryan Olson

Bring me the lyrics to those songs
That the hues in her cover silently sing.
A twist of red births the brightest of lights,
Followed by a scattering of waves.
(I fell)

Follow roses into the color that shelters heaven.
Shadows resist the path to this contorted circle,
(bouncing off the shared essence that connects)
Though she transformed her white canvas,
(welcoming energy)
Yellow has never looked more fantastic.

Spilled Silence

Spilled Silence
By: Bryan Olson

Give me that raven haired goddess reflected in my rear-view.
So many years spent with others behind the wheel.
(taxing)
Multiple fractures have extended to the outer layer of my mind,
Causing an incomplete understanding of the impact surrounding this unique conundrum.

Suppressed like oxygen
(trapped in jars)
I could hear the pop resonate throughout the tainted glass.
Without worry of sound levels in my universe,
I drift on the fields that flew between the buds that taste.

Thoughts float outside my sill of that face, and those eyes that spilled silence into my ears.
(few remaining have seen the magpie dance)
Those encounters that left me hollow.
It is not what did or did not happen,
But rather the entire ironically irrelevant yellow spin thrown in my direction.

I remember those months vividly,
(like a dream within a dream)
Laughing with a furious passion (just as contagious as Ebola)
Falling onto each other, before every time felt like the first.
Now I walk in an avalanche, receiving the echo of a mix-tape that blackouts my heart.

Piece Of Time

Piece Of Time
By: Bryan Olson

There is an underlying thread that rides the wind passing over my frayed lips.
If you have a day open, I invite you to sit with me.
Share the essence of life with another in an effort to expand the perception we both possess.
Just stare into these eyes and offer up your silence if you feel that is all you can give.
Twenty four hours.
At this stage it is nothing close to a lifetime.
You may find me dancing on the tips of your eyelashes, or swimming in the water left in your ear.
A minute only lasts as long as we look at a piece of time.
In doing so, we find that there is only enough left to take on what we must.

The Greatest Of Slumbers

The Greatest Of Slumbers
By: Bryan Olson

Somewhere in the air between my fingertips and my feathers, an epiphany is born.
Next to the polls on my sanity, detailed lines are drawn.
(run to the tattooed light that cleans blackened nails)
Ropes of energy wrap around like a full-body halo.
Driving until the dawn is reflected in the falling life before me,
Absorbing their stories into my essence, I float on to the next.

Overflowing eruptions of systematic thought,
Break through the layers that came after the greatest of slumbers.
They flow into the ether,
And like lightning,
They strike,
(charging air and swimming in skin)

Fearing the fearful,
(for they have devised the most unspeakable devices)
Walking in reverse, to cover my tracks.
Yet every autumn I fall into the pools I have been so careful to avoid,
(an Aquarius swimming with the koi)
As thoughts wonder into the clouds that shower us with traffic.

Sixth

Sixth
By: Bryan Olson

The flagrant fragrance of those formidable foreseers,
Facilitating the forecasting frequency of foul forbearance.
Fitting in fractured fights and fickle frowns,
Flawlessly feeling facts found from facing forever.

Graphite

Graphite
By: Bryan Olson

The way thoughts poured out of me, I knew something big was happening.
A question.
Memories long forgotten and words lost in graphite.
Teaching lessons in the most graphic way possible.
Bound by wire and stiff cardboard
The scent so familiar, with time only grows stronger.

The magic I held in my hands
How clear my visions became.
I still read this token from my past.
Pages full of wisdom I was not aware I possessed.
Flipping through my past brings a certain coolness to my soul
That black notebook and the secrets it still holds.

Thirst

Thirst
By: Bryan Olson

Living vicariously through music,
Pouring myself onto paper,
(like the toxins in my glass)
Waiting for words to run out.
Though they never do.

Not caring where the letters come to rest,
They gush from inside like a waterfall.
Feeding the earth around me with memories,
Growing vegetation so I can gather energy to once again create,
(a pattern only healthy for an artist)
Even then, it cycles.

Waiting for the clean break that will never come.
Digesting every moment.
Comparing what is and what never was,
Takes its toll.

We could have been a beautiful pandemic of affection.
But other events,
(of lesser perfection)
Laid in wait for our demise.

The urge to once again soar is greater than the will to let these wings fully recover.
However with the remembrance of my journey,
I dive into logic,
And try to rest this tired essence.

That once familiar sculpture,
Now gathers dust in another’s collection.
Carelessly I was tossed aside while waiting for an honest answer.
(I should have seen the signs)

Just so you know,
I always tried.

Follow Feathers Like Breadcrumbs

Follow Feathers Like Breadcrumbs
By: Bryan Olson

Caught for years at a time,
Offering up sacrifices for false truths.
Finally crossing the bridge I started so very long ago.
Once I am safely on the other side,
I’ll set it afire,
(for now I know)
One should never look back.

You want me,
Come find me.
Follow feathers like breadcrumbs,
And you might find one with your name on it.
(If you look hard enough)
Searching for coal to mark your battle cry,
For pink and blue will only give you away.

Failing to comprehend that after years of trying,
You are still empty hearted,
(alone in a crowd)
I know you will go far with your deception and lies.
If you were ever good at anything,
It was misleading everyone about everything.
Good luck with your cold cellar of deceit, and attic flooded with the tears from your regrets.

Rings of Ash

Rings of Ash
By: Bryan Olson

Those eyes hit a soft core,
But the maps on her arm said something else.
(a nest) surrounded by mold.

An unhinged jaw leaves reminders of the future.
Wonder is better left at recess,
That construction is far from over.

True colors can be deadly,
Treading with care so as to not disrupt waves of hostile design.
I revert to the tomorrow I saw in myself yesterday.

You pull wires that protrude through dead connections,
(too late)
Only falling to the earth will bring upon your change.

I jump into a red universe,
(surrounded by rings of ash)
And ride into infinity.

Nameless Names

Nameless Names
By: Bryan Olson

This shadow reflects like sunlight on glass, the path that has opened up.
To defile such a wondrous gift dismisses the pure mist of emotion,
The sound penetrating curiosity only furthers my indulgence in the unknown.
Ever fleeting, perpetually moving, and constantly agitating my understanding of now.

Maps of a barren wasteland are all that I find,
Ghosts now lead the way to water.
Nameless names are given,
For I do not understand what I see.

Glowing flies in the darkness guide a path to destiny.
Grasping my stick of ash I aimlessly hunt for salvation,
Finding only the blossoming anguish of my endeavors.
Hope only rests in the eye of the dredges, below the surface of understanding.

Diamonds

Diamonds
By: Bryan Olson

How the diamonds connect,
They dance with mine.
In an ancient ballroom they sway to a waltz only our eyes know,
To a song that only plays when her gaze is fixed with my own.

Her half blinded sight moves me with a unique calm,
It stirs thought of what cannot be seen,
Beneath the shadows that reflect on her face,
And the color of earth that swims in her skin.

My pulse races with each meeting,
Her very touch,
I’m sure,
Will elevate me to a world not yet explored.

As we dance in my mind under the twin moonlight,
I feel the spark of her touch,
Her diamonds match mine,
With a quiet furry, they stay connected until dawn.

Lucky Thanks

Lucky Thanks
By: Bryan Olson

Hold on to your virtue, hold on tight.
When the thunder of a thousand storms comes crashing down upon you,
The stars will accept your lucky thanks.

That immediate feeling of peace is only felt for a moment.
With the absence of your righteous war,
You only find lost causes that leave you running around in circles.
How's that for karma?

Idle Hands

Idle Hands
By: Bryan Olson

These idle hands write in solitude and dream of a voice to sing.
Temptation lingers in the realms of bliss that cloud my vision.

Wandering on the tips of my toes as I wonder.
I fly through the world I envision, in the most magnificent way one can.

Smiling in the darkness is my only option, as my lighter is dry and matches wet.
Hoping that after years of smoking I still have a faint sparkle in my smile.

Wishing to show you what I see in the red glow that the moon has blessed me with tonight.
I motion for you.

Caverns of Gray

Caverns of Gray
By: Bryan Olson

Confusions fill a hollow core,
The shelter has been compromised.
There is a faint reminder left behind,
It has been tossed to the wolves like a poisoned carcass.

Books once held wisdom,
Now currently filled with mystic crayonic messages.
Essays written by children,
Revealing thoughts of ponies and dragons.

Seen in the strange faces passing day after day,
Felt in the sting of my side,
Tasted in the cancer between fingers,
Smelt in the liquid that passes lips,
Heard in the rings of Saturn.

Tiny dancers shine above a foreign essence.
The mites that speak purity into my soul,
Call home to the caverns of gray between my skin.

A List Of Nothing In Particular

A List Of Nothing In Particular
By: Bryan Olson

Faint warmth.
Crunching earth mixed with salt.
Forgotten wood – vacant.
The clicking of heals and the chirp of a voice.
A lone ranger on a quest.
Brick and stone.
Ice melting, giving birth to that magical sound of falling.
Conversations of life.
An overflow of knowledge – books.
Artists in a hallway.
The hum of a pop machine whispering its secrets.
Conversations this time of frustration – two – one on one.
Procrastination in blue.
Empty – hollow.
Punk-rocker.
Again the artists bleed their craft.
Comforting cool.
Footprints in snow.
Condensation dripping oceans.
Rusty rails and garbage pails.
Trees.
The scent of food – I am hungry.
Laughter.
Seclusion in groups.
Stairs to power.
Sadness.
Units to extinguish fire.
My bag.

Cycles

Cycles
By: Bryan Olson

This fractured liquid.
A life in chaotic change.
Now drips in warm hands.

Vixen

Vixen
By: Bryan Olson

Fountains of destruction erupt around me,
But I stay steadfast,
I keep moving.

My lips continue to taste ancient maps,
Stepping softly,
where the pools of light hide,
Ever closer to that lone X that lies between the sands of time.

Still, I cannot help but chase the vixen that hides in the corner of my glass.
Sitting there,
just to the right of flowering righteousness.

They’ll find me drowning in my sleep,
My words,
nothing but pure water spilling forth,
Vast in its contradiction; that life I have been whiteness to.

A truth you could never unveil,
Love forever,
less than an inch out of your grasp.

Chinatown Love

Chinatown Love
By: Bryan Olson

this ever flowing torrent produces a stream of clouds
so crystal in its presence, that gods turn away.
diving in i feel the tingle of a thousand caterpillars encasing this temple.
moving through the mist i feel new,
yet i possess the understanding of a calf.
i will be someone’s main course.
such a gift though,
(to be held so high above the ground)
oh the things i will see,
when devoured by another.

Yellow

Yellow
By: Bryan Olson

the only one that counts,
is the one that can't.
silent motives flow through these moves,
silent, for that is how it must ever be.
this secret longing until eternity.
too many, yet not enough.
umbrellas cannot shield me from this flow.
and so I hope and pray for tomorrow.

The 5th

The 5th
By: Bryan Olson

The way the moonlight would creep in and awaken me,
Just so I could look over and see the gift lying beside me.
The way the sun would leave reminders, not to take him lightly.
The way the seasons changed, to show that it was real.

Moments that lasted until dawn,
Were over before I knew.
A swing-set that held secret worries,
And a dress that concealed a beautiful world
Waiting to be explored.

The countless nights I have sat awake before her love,
Yearning for the touch of an angel,
And for the words that were breathed into my life,
(oh, how long I had waited to taste them)
To be real.

A voice that let out an unspeakable harm,
Has taken away all I had,
(all I ever wanted)
In only a
Few.
Brief..
Seconds...

The moon no longer wakes me,
The sun now only blinds me,
And the seasons,
(what I had looked forward to the most)
Taunt my every step with the cold dead winter.

How bright my life once was,
Now just a shimmer shines through.
A reminder stuck in stone,
To never forget what my windows show me.

How foolish I was,
To let flagrant deceptions,
Touch my honest heart.

Curio

Curio
By: Bryan Olson

contagious contaminants conjuring celestial concepts,
continually curing controlled conquests.
creating chaos causing cerebral contusions,
callously counting catatonic cathartic convulsions.

Posting soon.

I will be posting very soon. I am looking over old journals of mine and getting inspired again.