thoughts is daren's free growing body of experimental presentation. An attempt at placing perception on a new edge. It is an expression of counter balance. It is a way for daren to discuss both his physical and mental surroundings. It is an analysis of the place where discomfort and enjoyment intersect. 

It is fluid and it is scribble.

The content daren presents in thoughts is not meant as a comfort, and it does not pay consideration to society's rapidly decreasing attention span. daren fully expects the audience to struggle to make it through to the end, and has intentionally attempted to pace each moment slower than the audience is likely comfortable with.







beginning with drivel

you place your trust in hands belonging
buttered rich and soft in fervent longing
blindness gathered from leaves fallen
a lottery hope at odds with ends of a penny's fate
no fountain pledge
no fluff dream
grievance guaranteed in the stats

and still you spend frivolous your thoughts on a list
compiling and admiring tempered ignorance
a beauty queens fight for world peace
a worlds plight into beauty's damaged lease 
saving yourself for what you proclaim does not existent
holding grace back from pace
and removing what isn't moving
no admission of your losing

and these hands belonging begin to cripple
and ripple stagnant
there is sitting here
beyond boredom and respect
the watching of leaves turned and burned
reaching out with drivel weakness
trust is a rental returned unpackaged

and undefined
a resurrection timed
seasons bring light to the staining of glass
over impression's presentation of ever after
happily deceived
life grieves to bring you hope in tales
starry eyed sails
but the leaves turn
and the leaves burn

and these hands belonging crouch to pucker
and walk on
walk away
placing down your trust

breath becomes rust
and longing proves truer
this era drips cash for patina preplanned

and machined against your moves you are removed unaccountably

in spit and in candy

less time has passed and passes
passing each day by
by the millions
by the buckets
by the tangled and the barbed and the corroded 
getting thicker and lesser
cutting deeper and richer
in grotesque richness
the pouring of colour and guilt
liquified shatters of whimpering breath
short and thundering
dropped off the tongue
forgetting moral in commitment forgotten
if only for a moment
and in the moment
sweating over my lips
children eat candy with no foresight
without remorse
and this is inhale exhale throbbed
it is my holier than thou squashed and unrecognized
chunks of immensity torn and splattered bloody in spit
something about dust to dust
i've given the fooled and given my heart and moved thoughts to words eloquence 
dancing beauty of betrayal
to me
to you
nothing stops time from passing 
and through the tangled cranks of ironside blood it is quicker then the lessons
so each day it is less and lessons pass slipping in a muck I make
my own worst companion
save for self
though self is not saved

a closer look at not martian terrain
and ants

a tension

span or nothing at all

lost across the endlessness of a day
and dragged flush against it
to the bottomless becoming of days
and wrecked back through
begotten as bate

lest we are what was once remembrance
an ember

something about resemblance or reluctance or was it importance
something that had fallen away

crackled and clinended
and scroll
and click

and the tension grows
a tension
reaching next
reaching beyond the oldest days yet to be

voices gasp protest echoed
still we have less grasp and then no grasp and then nothing

and nothing is limitless in span
and limitlessly spanning 

we should all put our phones down

controlled burn

and scraping
and sanding
and all the same 

the same steps
building team
like space
like work

all in itself
all torn
and apart
and put back
and too many times
no counting
just growing

and closer
and where

where do we need to be

i am here 

some copper, and minus the colour 


how do you remember

what defines


what strength does memory hold



when will you sit 




sit to break 


there are times and times different for all 

each and individual 

each and collective 

each and the good ole 

each and the hard 

comfort and collision 

there can be all great and there can be all vast and these can all be defined 

and then there can be a smooth or a push 

it can be up and counted with fallen wrinkle 

and folds 

and memory fades 



all of this and still the only ask is for a sit and a breath

just a moment

and silence 

restful and contemplative in peace 

some reconstructive deconstructive something or other

sleeps needed

a reference
a referral
a suggestion
to calm and to slow
to feather back the letting go 

gentle and faded and soft and simple 

black for light

burnt with brick
and salivating for rot
from above
from below
murky drip and gritty drap
this sand is carved through
and deep
vast and wet for inspiration
frustration reaching soon
held off for now 

first we play
a light in the black and dark
slow and aiming
with ideas of make and creation 

little lights and broken things 

nothing ends. nothing begins.


make space











find calm



recognizing tiny moments

we are not the first

we are not the last

we are not the worst

we are not the best


life is not in need of us

it is here you see the dead fly

it is here you see the dead fly
striped pants
and the burdock red downs
and you can run

it is here you must run
there is a fast pace
a slow pace
a catch of breath
and hands to knees
fist wrapped throats
breath caught short
fast trapped and left behind

it is here the three piece lowers its eyes or raises them or spins a look to nothing
to something else
to anything
to miss the gaze of all and any
to spare itself admission and acknowledgment
and guilt is buried deeper
and forgotten

it is here hope finds no footing

it is here filth is righteousness
and it is draped in privilege bought through blood
wounds paid out on those unaware
those undeserving
those washed over by leaves and distain

it is here a tattered crumple’s slobbered drip wipes to denim pant
or cotton chest
a pea sized relief sighed and palmed
twisted plastic packed
palm to palm
bringing swift and sludging
a bottom
and an endless race

it is here there is gold
there is silver and flame
and there are spoons
and there are babies

it is here there is rust
and vomit and cracked bones
stretched faces
wrinkled dreams and dry eyes
silk and silken

it is here road maps read like crimson
and waves build to break
and lay exhausted in shivers
and swaddled damp
frothing muffled screams
dismissal piling scattered to the sidewalk’s abrupt end

it is here that buildings triumph downward with embedding force
and with elbows up drop dreams to corners

it is here that forgotten gathers 


some encouragement to walk slower and look closer


time can be still
and you can still be
the bustle 
and the hustle don’t know
and reminders 
blanket stern
those charged
and those in charge
and now is when you step up
we step up
we step out
leading leaps
bringing bounds
follows force
this is now 
and this is you 
and you are many



 that moment when you realize you don’t need any screens



because with it comes life

there is relevance

there is still a moment outside

and a still moment outside

here we find break from the mhz and refresh rates



i think maybe we should remember something about space







and something about pace











after this

all things fall apart

calm color pop


it does not say how many “mentions” it took to raise the line to that height


simplicity and some basics


a breath of paint

cracking white and grey
working off and late
this time it is space that surrounds
can we find
once we have been
a fine line for stress
this is
this is experimentation
here sits without silence
meaningless moving images


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