Toy Maker

When conceptualizing a toy one of the first things I thought of was it’s materials. What will the toy be formed from. After visits to craft stores, looking on the ground, and speaking with a few friends we came up with plushy, edible, and non hazardous. What came to be was an armature crafted from wire and cardboard, to be exact an egg carton taken apart by my handy dandy exacto knife after days of contemplation. 20140428_215220

It takes courage to craft anything. I truly felt the relief come to me as the face took shape and the clay layers were added on.This toy is made from modeling clay, beads, the materials of its armature mentioned above, and to finish there is the adding of candle wax over the clay to harden it to a degree and the addition of acrylic paint for color. This toy is the first and probably, if not staying with me alone, will be granted to someone who can truly appreciate the energy it takes to develop something as experimentally profound as a series of black Satyrs for those of us who love storytelling and would like to see images that look like us in the relationship to the fantastical. Below are more sketches and the process to craft my first toy.  The hair is my own from my comb, there is so much of it that goes flying when picking my fro.20140425_13180520140428_22173520140428_22180720140428_224002




A Man Speaks Kindly to the Son of Ammitai

A Man Speaks Kindly to the Son of Ammitai


Preliminary erect projections a sweet moti-move-a-con of transformations,

Essential anions,

A sweet moti-move-a-con of information.


It was love but it was a version that has to be forgiven. It has to be forgiven because it was a variety touched by fear. The conflict was and still seems to be that variety of love. Although blood is spilt from war and hearts are confused by other subtle versions of war, other varieties. The true name for the conflict no matter what names it is given is, the info-war.


Was the fall of Babylon the beginning of mass confusion. Was it anger because of separations, not speaking the same language perhaps? What if when the precipitated touched the soils of earth and hid diligently inside her that being away from each other for so long was the true reason they could not understand each other. Do we not know that the greatest form of communication is intimacy?


What if by looking at each other they saw how Various they were from each other. The sexual organs turned inside out and outside in. did they know ahead of time that earth was a pool of information. leave it to the profane varieties to take the sacred and use it as a tool of war.


But it was love Jonah. It was the kind that takes your breath away. That’s the kind that lays pressure down and makes you breathe little sips of air. The kind that sits behind the eyelids and knows all and then there is the kind that stands guard in front of the heart space. Why in front of the heart space does this variety stand? The guard stands infront of the heart space because the throat moves too much and the stomach not enough. The heart Jonah, can be heard for miles although it beats faster it hums like the planet. So that love stands guard awaiting messages of angelic communication. It stands guard not knowing how much it is needed to be integrated. It is not needed outside of the heart but integrated inside.


But the guard revels in ignorance because if it finds out just how apart and how separate it is it might not know how to peace itself together. All things can go in either direction for infinite spans of time. So it stays right there without confessing it’s afraid to move because it is so powerful.


But the moon Jonah, the moon sways the children of water and the wielders of fire. The moon sways them and grandfather sun lights a path for them. Some days the guard will move in spite of itself. Taking on the darkness because it loves that afrodisiac. It is love is it not. That is why we think Trojan wars began with love. But love is information Jonah, all things are. Especially hear. Hear, information breathing, speaking, loving, making love to information.


So fear itself is simply information. Spirits communicate with informing pictures of information and so does plants. Feelings are simply information. If you ever want something get its information. If you are ever somewhere you had better know its information and who rules that info-space. Speak the environments language. You are a being in motion. Motion is the way that information travels, ions.



In: within limit, having function of

For: on behalf of, destination, equality

Ma: Mother

Tion: state, action, process, result

Ion: going

Information: a state of motion, active intention and journeying in mother.


YES Jonah, it was love. In all of its forms, it was love. In all of its variety, it was love. A reflection is simply information that gives you information. Now, lets talk about your next question, how to stop the info-wars.



the streets love the tricky night vibe or ignores them just the same

majesty, the twinkle in the air

I do things like stop

the sparrows in the hollow rainbows

the necklace halos

the pretty black toes

that tip toe in the lakes


by the scenic gates where keepers keep to watching

and we would pick our nails

and bite them without molars

cry when we know not and say nothing when we do

I’ve known snakes that smell like you

and shed by sidewalks and walk up right and new to churches and apothecary doors


ways like this take days to commence

my mind is on a fast from the empty dark nights that others would prescribe

disturbance is not my rhyme of passion

do i not know my other side

I’ve embraced her with my dancing and rubbed my belly on hers

kissed her breast cause shes mine

Peices: Nephi – The mistress of the house

somewhere far
somewhere far

Im the story teller the soothsayer I hold in my very DNA all the stories and all of my children will tell them eventually. I have to tell you I wasn’t thinking of having children until I realized that many of them so many of them were around. Trying to be born and by non other than me. I felt that it was me who chose Satori but I soon found it was them who had worked their little magic into this equation. Picking him out for them it was in his blood and they wanted that to be apart of their own story.

Zachari, I found his name in my thoughts one day not too long before he was born. The last month actually all of that time I had taken the pleasure of sifting through aunti’s and old family names searching for a name but none of them felt right. And then Zachari came along. I knew what it meant and a few days later he was born. Zachari, God remembers.

Sure enough I told him the stories I remembered and let me tell you there was so many stories I remembered I had gotten them all over the world in my travels. Well, I hadn’t been all over the world but you could say I have done my share of traveling. Traveling and telling the people I met the stories that I had collected along the way. I even started to dress the part. A soothsayer of tall and fairy tales.

When I met Satori his eyes was present, too present some would say. Fully in his body is more like it. Light so strong I seemed to wince when he touched me. A man out and about and inside his own mind seemed like he could gobble up every thing else. He was familiar and I took to him like I would take to a brother I had grown up with although I hadn’t done such a thing. It was easy and sweet like god’s blessings. I imagine I called out for someone like him and he answered the ad I didn’t write. Cause certainly some other hand wrote a love like this.

The first day he asked me to tell him a story and every day after I could conjure up one. You know stories have a mind of their own. Maybe it was my stories that had brought him to me. I realized this majic one day when I was a kid growing up in texas. My cat Ara taught me about stories.

One day she had gone walking off her collar sat still on the couch and my heart raced wondering if I would have her back with me by nightfall. I couldn’t search for her at night. There was no way to sneek out of my mothers house. The ghetto houses loves burglarbars and I hadn’t mastered how to take them off yet. Well my friends and I sat on the porch wondering where she had gone thinking we’d better go looking and yelling and that’s when my little cousin comes up crying he wanted Ara back I didn’t like to see babies cry couldn’t quiet stomach an upset child so I told him she was in the backyard, elaborately. I told him she was on the back porch laying in the sun and I told him some of her secret powers. That she came to me and my dreams and that’s how I could know where she was with out looking at her. I was a gifted ellaborater. he believed my every word and when he jumped up from the front porch to run to the backyard there was Ara exactly where I said she would be swinging her tail in the air. Licking her paws as I described. At first my heart went racing again but then I thought to try that again. Could Ara have been back there as I described it because of my own words. Surely that’s what I was feeling.

While I was traveling I told many stories many of them of how good the food was, how nice the animals of the forests were, how sweet the weather was, how still the rain was and so on and so on. Till one day in Pierce, California I told the story of a man who could command the elements only to find him staring back at me in a loud room of music.

I could tell he was different I could since it, smell it off of him. Something about his confidence lead me to believe this. And when I touched him I felt I was holding a secret that would not be retold in my stories to anyone. I became the keeper of his secret. And his body was certainly a house of secrets. These secrets lived inside of him and I was only the mistress of the house.

A Gentle Man


A Gentle Man

The young gentle man over there is a magician of sorts, said the Counselor

to the monk. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this but is it not so that gossip

meanders in the conversation of holy men. Well spoke the monk, I think they

mainly gossip about God. Well then we are well within our rights, said the

Counselor, to speak a gospel truth about that young gentle man.

They were standing in the precipice of a garden complete with a living pond. If

I could paint a picture as picturesque as I have seen this garden you would see

the green grass tainted by falls ardor. The nectar of every plant not harvested,

showing off and ripe to the very points of their stems. The leaves a red orange

because the sun was becoming farther away from the earth or is it that the earth

was moving farthest from the sun. The blazing prince of our known galaxy.

The water in that pond had weird fishes who sought comfort in eating everything

other than their school. Even the birds did not bother them. They only sang to

join the chorus for the natural sound of our earth but their beaks did not venture

into that pond.

The trees, yes I must tell you of the trees, the oak family including the poison.

The apricot firmly rooted standing pretty in the center of all that was living there in

the garden. Then there’s the magician, illusionist, but truly an angel sitting in it’s


When he was a boy, started the Counselor, he went on a vision quest of sorts.

He set out from his mother’s home as the sun from our side of the sky and went

looking for his ancestors origins, to kneel and pray where they had kneeled and

prayed. Hoping to gain the residual power from their prayers, he searched.

He found himself in a nation state not that far from the isles of Cana. This is

where he did his works. Self observation, candels, and of course lots of praying.

What did he pray for Counselor, inquired the monk. A young man as giving

as he only asked for peace of mind. His form was falling from the grip of his

delicate psyche and it shook him so deep. The world was just a world to him

then not even sight of the waning moon or the bleeding setting sun could stir

him anymore. Even after the kneeling and praying and the reciprocity from both

he still had to go a bit farther. His people were indeed wanderers they prayed in

intricate places all over the planet it seemed. By the time he reached the third

place his form dragged behind him in the streets, not one person tripped. Only

babies, cats, dogs, and shamans stared at this activity. Even the raven and some

crows came to sit on this subtle chasis, because what he was losing was so


It came to be that a priestess came to his aid. She took the form away from him

and turned it into gold. He let her keep the fortune. She was kind enough to give

him half. My friend he will never have to worry about money again.

The priestess also lead him to speak with his ancestors who were honored by

his sacrifice and austerity. “I want to go to the places where my people are from”.

His grandmothers told him that he had gotten his wish by his own esteem. “But

I’m not there yet”, he told them. “That’s because you aren’t very clear on exactly

who you’re looking for”, they said.”If you want a place where people are from you

have it”, they said. He knew there was more. “I want to go to the place my family

is from”, he pleaded again. They snapped their fingers in unison and he awoke

on another planet.

I’m not sure dear monk which one.

He pleaded again,” I want to go to the place where you are from” he spoke into

the very universe and he woke up in pitch black.

Was he so ready for the true darkness all to be an impeccable warrior. An

immortal gentle man. You see here is a man who is a magician because he has

faced infinity and now his eyes shine like forever. There is no thought this god

could not fathom because he is balanced as the cosmos.

So you see dear monk you are right holy men do gossip about god.

The garden grew dark and the Counselor stepped away to return to his day. The

monk could only stand there in the precipice, still, looking at the man under the

apricot tree. The man’s eyes were closed, his body hadn’t moved in hours. The

monk’s curiosity lead him to walk towards the grand master magician.

He kneeled close in order to say words like; hello there sir, I hear you are a

magician, whats that like sir, can you tell me more, how can I myself be more

impeccable, how can I too be selfless and such.

But when the monk did kneel and look at the face of the man under the

apricot tree the magician began to stir and his eyes opened as like blinds. the

monk looked into the full on blackness of those eyes and saw all the answers

completely. You see, the monks eyes reflected the garden but the magicians

eyes reflected… infinity. The monk had never before seen such a precise

blackness. He lost his mind. He lost his form. That’s what happens when you

face the mother face to space.

Milk, sand + sugar

I have decided to commit myself to designing. For every structure must be a reason, a purpose. Below is the beginning the RNA of a new structure entitled:

Milk, sand + sugar: a Warm Invitation to be Held…

He said break my heart. A warriors heart is tender, a warriors heart is not safe from sound. A sound being a carrier of pressure a means of displacement, knocking, touching, rolling, and caressing you from your place of comfort. Comfort, in this case, a place to hide from darkness.

Mother. I calk forth mother and nurturing father. Light and darkness , void and what is known. Milk, sand + sugar. If you find yourself in this replica of a hug from them that cherish thier children and my interpretation of what it looks like. Built, crafted, arisen from what comes in visions and lighted by flames of inspiration. Then you have touched or witnessed being held. I am one past puberty and embrace tantra. Flow, organic, nurture, love making, relax., and dreaming meets releasing, cleansing, vulnerability, and trust. This is the blended stew suckling on creativities portion of milk. Ancient as sand, stimulated by sugar.

_ Suddenly designing structures meant confessing its intention and why it would be beautiful to have the living erected