Tag Archives: High

High: Pure Being


The blood stops short trapped before a hair tie, until I release the bun of tension:  post exercise of body-induced drama.  This is the captivating magic of night.


The mind works itself into heavy persuasion.  The body labors with intense urging.  The heart never questions what the goals are or what state of peak condition or overwhelmed fatness I stand in.  A sober thought I do entertain is how someone can not understand the significance of body awareness and its dynamism.

I have a passionate addiction to adrenaline and to the exclusive kick of the way my muscles drum within its act of compulsion.  The heart skips, skips and skips uninhibited.  It beats obsessively and storms out my mouth like an aggressive bird.  It ignites the fight and frenzy over the psyche and tissue land of freedom.

I’ve failed many times and am more successful because of every stoppage.  And now every weakness is formed into substantial strength and what strength has already been established has now constructed itself into marble and stone.

The focus is better determined than years previous.  The focus is better established than the last set and the mind-muscle connection tastes stronger than the last seething rep.  I’ve been sucked into a craving that’s unaware of its bounds.  I throw my fists into the air to battle and enter new coordination and balance ground.

My chest hovers over the floor, shoulders and triceps contract, hum and weep pushing up 200lbs plus over and over again.  The brace of my abdominals is my body’s endless support and savior.  Now there’s a surge spreading like a wild forest fire burning each of my hamstring fibers and into every angle and groove of my glutes with a various amount of hip thrust and single-leg pelvic bridges I can muster under time and tension.  The inner thigh screams by its own distress signals and fleshly vulnerability.  The burn degrees increase and I pull my center deeply to the spine to further the accuracy of the focal point along with the present.

I grimace in pain and drill my teeth into my own mouth.  I start to elevate and disappear like smoke.  I’m high now and there’s an exit.  I’m high and there are no thoughts struggling its way to birth other thoughts.  I’m high and suddenly there are no problems in the world.  There is no suffering.  There is only bliss and light.  There is only presence and heaven.  There is only the state of pure being.



Chewing Gum

chewing gum 2.

You know what’s to come. 
You hear war drums.
You heard about the hunter in me.
You know I’m butter toffee.
You heard I bruise egos.
You know I’m blacker than Negroes. 
You heard I have a million sins.
You know I don’t fix things.

You can’t stop yourself.
You like the pains and welts.
You know the sum of what’s to come.
You love my Puerto Rican in your rum.
You like the ecstasy and high I bring.
You enjoy how I leave you on brink.
You like the bountiful sex I give.
You love me so much to forgive.

You know exactly what’s to come.
You can hear the bass and thrums.
I can’t bring you safety baby.
I’m high, low, manic, crazy.
I’m not stupid to guard your heart.
I can’t even blueprint my art.
I can’t be like you:  Lost in love.
I’m dead inside – a little too tough.

You know shamelessly what’s to come.
Interestingly enough you’re off the cuff.
I’m going to hurt you like the others.
I’ll haunt like the suffering of mothers.
I’m going to give you a world of hurt.
I wouldn’t be able to without teamwork.
You heard of ruin and what’s to come.
Now you’re my next chewing gum.


Personality Jog


I start walking, warming up limbs, core temperature, until I feel my blood spike.  Mentally, I get myself angry, believing I’m a gorilla, big appearance, flared nostrils, beating on my chest like I’m king of the jungle.  I’m where I want to be and take off at a slow pace, practically skipping, and arms by sides with hands half-fisted.  Looking straight ahead, my eyebrows aim to create a unibrow to fierce my mood awake and to speed a little bit more.

The next vision I have of myself, is of a boy who believes he’s invincible through every jolt, hurt and side-stitch and shin splint in a casing of a man.  I don’t view myself as a woman, for my big breasts would only drag me down to an imagined pain that society says belongs in my backside due to the fatty support in front.  I view myself as the man who doesn’t wobble due to accepted hips or waist.  I continue to fool myself and don’t give way to thinking my centers of gravity are where my legs live.  Instead, I consider gravity high in the center of my sternum, picturing my broad shoulders to carry out the movements through like individual shoulder punches.

I agree within my being, the permit of my muscles becoming limber from the blasting heat of jogging.  Fifteen minutes in, and my hunger is delightful as I battle deep inhales to pack my lungs and exhale them out gradually.  With razor eyes straight ahead, I feel my body trusting me with its own tenderness.  Still I wonder why my spine senses this compressed feeling.  But I don’t speculate too long as I’m concerned with every second of every minute that flashes in red on the screen of the treadmill.  I’m concerned by tiny jabs of syringe-like pain in my left knee.  I’m more concerned about embarrassment of falling due to the freezing of my toes, how the phalanges and first metatarsal turn dead.  Another five minutes, I alternate walking at a comfortable speed to tame down these dreadful sensations.

The almighty high, it has kicked in, and I’m going for the 25 minute mark, covering more distance than I’ve ever had in my thirty-two years of living and I ignore the menstrual cramps raking its long demonic nails throughout my uterus, trying to lure me its bitch.  However, I’m familiar with pain.  Pain is a seducer, an addictive chemical, a form of art and beauty to treasure.  The more pain one allows themselves to feel, the more it scrapes inside our souls with magnitudes of hell and fallen heroes.  So, I must climb out the shadowy pit, to uncover my recurrent slice of heaven, in the midst of jogging and new personal records.