THE MRF - ROLLING ON THE BLOCK 
SHOT & EDITED BY MATTHEW ROMASANTA

thank you to everyone who helped made this video 
enjoy the music video my G’s

Spirited Awake

I was in my bed, asleep, but my mind was awake.

Somehow, I knew I could leave my body

I knew that my being was disconnected

And so I floated above myself

I stayed close to the wall, hovering

I saw my body below, asleep, empty

It was only a shell which housed my being

I continued to float through the ceiling

Then I decided to move sideways

I saw into the flesh and bones of the house

It was around Christmas, years ago

I remember because when I floated outside

There were red and green lights hanging from the roof

Once I was floating outside, I thought,

Why not go higher? Why not touch the clouds?

And so I did, floating above everything I ever knew

The trees said their farewell, as did the buildings

Which grew tinier and looked like microchips

It all felt so real and yet so far removed from reality

Once I reached the clouds, I didn’t care for reality

This was what I had wanted, why I had taken drugs

Was this a construct of my own imagination? Impressive

I had never dreamt with such clarity, I felt awake

To prove to myself this wasn’t a dream, I thought

Now that I’m in the clouds, why not touch the stars?

There was no way I could create a star from nothing

And from there, I soared above, going into the universe

Everything felt immaculate and I felt connected to all

I knew that this is where I was meant to be, in space

The tiny orbs of light were millions of miles away

Suddenly they weren’t millions of miles, but a few feet away

The stars were tiny clouds of orange and blue gas

With bits of dust and particles floating in the orbs

They created their own light and guided me along

I was floating in space, in the fabric of our cosmos

And I wasn’t afraid. I felt alive. More alive than ever before.

From there, things grew hazy, I was being directed

I don’t know how, but I was led to a intergalactic palace

A palace of light and a center for the awakened ones

I was merely a visitor being led to this palace of perfection

I found myself inside an amphitheater with other people

We were sitting together, not speaking, but staring

Into a great fire that was in the center down below

The fire roared with life and warmth and knowledge

It was a perfect orb of flames like a miniature sun

I saw a face stare at mine between the dancing flames

It was a little boy with innocent eyes and a placid face

We stared at each other and communicated unknowable

Dialogues that neither of us could fully comprehend

Tears rolled down his eyes as tears flowed from mine

I knew I would never see him again, and possibly, this place

The light from the fire grew brighter until all I could see

Was a pure light that beckoned me back to my body

I repeated all of my actions backwards, rewinding

When I awoke, I wasn’t sure what I had just experienced

I felt alive, I felt connected to a world I never knew existed

Somehow, I knew it wasn’t just another dream…

I had never been able to replicate the experience

And I have never seen the stars in any other dream

I knew this was something much greater

Something I wasn’t the creator of

Because I was awake.

Dr. Seuss Study.

Sometimes when I get into a dry spell when making creative works I try to improve my style by copying some of my favorite artists.  Dr. Seuss was one of the first artists I ever looked up to.  These are from his book of ABC’s.  I had a lot of fun with these.

Drawings by Tyler Craft

Today’s letter is L

Lecherous Larry lurked and leered, leveling lives like loaves lacking leavening.

Little lies lingered lazily lessening lovers lust. 

Legit lounging legions loomed.

Loners, loathed and loved, licked liver laced licorice.

Lambs lulled locals with lullabies and loneliness.

Ladylike ladybugs likened leggings to lingerie, no one lectured them.

L is for lunacy.

It Only Burns Forever

A lip stick smeared photograph

left dangling from her hand

Her love was now a discarded polaroid

that she couldn’t rip into pieces 

It only burns, she remembered

The flame so close to her fingers

It left a scar that stayed until her demise

But the polaroid refused to catch fire

She wondered if it was photo that refused

to burn of if it was her ex in the white frame

All the rest burned just fine, she thought

But the rest were parasitic jackals

who fed on her flesh to satisfy their craving

Everyone before this one had a smile

But this one had no smile or frown

He had a face that knew it was looming

Not the end of his life, but of the time

They had together which was a year

He wasn’t that special she’d say

And yet the photo refused to burn

The eyes in the photo haunted her thoughts

They would speak to her and define her

The cracked marble girl who embodied

A silent movie star yet continued to be

the center of every potent conversation

She knew that their relationship would fail

She was going to play him like a skipping

record stuck on Solitude by Billie Holiday

She played their greatest hits again and again

He wasn’t anything special, but he knew me

Nobody could see the frightened nightingale

hidden beneath her smile of concealed desertion

Her cry for intimacy was overshadowed by

her brightly feathered young body

The same she used to enslave and

betray the boy beyond his capacity

to forgive and forget

The photo is all that was left of him

It refused to burn like the rest, so

She buried it in her backyard and

hoped that it would decompose

Soon after a small plant grew out

from the spot, but it withered when

she tried watering it out of pity

Of course she found others to play with after

But nobody could find the melody of her music

Her solo would sail over waves of masculine dissonance

with a few moments of harmony that would go off key

Once, they had found each other in a super market

and couldn’t help but stare when the other wasn’t

She acted nonchalant as did he under sunglasses

But their hearts were beating at the same manic pace

They were too scared to utter a word much less

a wave of a hand to say hello or catch up

Her eyes were hidden behind lolita shades

not revealing the tears fighting to break out

His face was a hollow shell of ambiguity

Hiding the fact that he wished for this moment

They were both alone, inside and out

And with a deathly cough they disappeared

Never to see the other again except in memories

That night, she dug up the remnants of the photo

and discovered that it had changed

Now there was an old woman standing alone

She was neither smiling nor frowning

She kissed the photo and shed a tear

The girl drew a match from her pocket

putting the flame beneath the polaroid

Hoping that it might finally burn

By Vladimir Santos

Realer Than Flesh

image

Throw it up! http://carminita.tumblr.com/
By Matthew Romasanta

You’re gonna be my new friend, friend.

T is for TRAVEL

Talented tarantulas tactfully tackle tough topics tantamount to tyrannical tenures.

Thorough out time this tedious task thought to thoroughly test tempers, thrust the thinking of thousands toward total togetherness.

Travel talk topped the thoughts of thoughtless turtles and truth to be told the types of terribly tragic tinkering turned those thinking types into touchy taboo turncoats.

Turned off and tired, they trembled and trusted the thought they tossed to the side.

Turmoil.

Written by Michael Lorenzo Porter