August 13, 2019

I rolled the dice

This is the date

It brought me

I’ll be in my last year

Bidding farewell to my 30s

I remember 29, and oh what did 30


August 13, 2019

Wonder what will be?

What will that day mean?

Will I even care, perhaps with joy I shall sing?

Whatever it may be

I know just one thing

If I’m still alive on 8-13-19

A blessing that will be, because life is just sweet.

The Coin

Shallow, so shallow, sewage so grave,

spewed across once empty page

words once held such power

what will you feel in the final hour?

Replay a life well-lived

& how it was spent

Playful or poorly?

Sour or joyfully?

Time can only tell

But with said time

There will be much that isn’t well

And that’s fine

For like sand

There is much to take in

With a gentle hand

The poor choices rescind

Left with a look only sweet

You shall be

For off to the Maker’s Meet & Greet

You will be

Wipe Away the Sleep

Wipe the sleep from the eyes of your Soul

A storm is brewing, I thought you should know

The Devil sits upon precipice

A stinging smile rests upon its lips

Hate breeds

Love leaves

Loss wins

A Saint sins

Such is Life, an old friend decreed

His main concern was where to sew seed

As for myself, my concern’s been to fill this whole

That’s ripped asunder, the void in my Soul

I know the Devil is real

I feel the heat, it’s fucking surreal

I swing and fight, holding on to my cross

Yet for every shallow victory, there follows a greater loss

Let me sleep, let me sleep

Stop trying to rouse me from this deep

Place of peace, short rest, my only escape

Hanging on to invisible shards of feeling, as upon me they graze

I gaze


They taste

My shade

From Cooke to Keawe

microphone check, oh shit, don’t give me heck! no, not my equipment, when the bull shipment’s already been delivered! a cold fills the air, I stop because I shiver, the restless Zombies of Babylon, enclose, surround me, I might quiver…

“snap back to reality, uh, here comes” gravity my conscious escape meets depravity as the elitist scum stand over me with their collective did-dick in hand, trying to shoot out at me, but I’m too much like sand, so quiksilver as I slide off and over to the left, for in the Spirit, Truth, hear it, never let them hit me with their bull shipment either, uh!

now, let us marinate to a beat, uh huh, and if you let me I’ll bring inspiration to the streets, uh huh. which streets? these streets, your streets, my streets, our streets lined with poverty, tent encampments filled with the ‘Homies’ living on the ground on the other side of the boulevard that we see.

a whole group of people! which people? those people, your people, my people, our people, all who lost to the system because the system lost its wisdom and I best go & stop, put down my pen, be zen, for a plan must exist from Aloha ke Akua that we just can’t comprehend. (Echo: comprehend)

microphone check, oh shit, don’t give me heck! no, not my flow, when the bull shipment’s already taken everything else away! a cold fills the air, I’m stopped in my tracks, the Armani Vampires in both Houses, those m*th*rf*ck*s don’t care…

whether its from Cooke to Keawe or from Kalihi to Kaimkui, wherever there’s misfortune that one sees walking through these streets, there still lies Aloha, her essence laced through the seams. you need only take a breath & look around to feel what that means.  the essence of aina’s still alive, we just have to believe.

Solar Dust


Solar Dust
Lunar lust
Empty Vessel

Each Soul’s a comet
Spewing cosmic vomit
As we leave a (wake)

There will be no respite
No, no, not yet! Not tonight
For a trail we have to blaze…

Solar Dust
Lunar trust
Empty Vessel

Each life, a star
Filled w/the Love & Power
Of Nature’s Truth

There will be respite
Some day when we stop the fight
For the blaze, in fact, was sparked

Solar Dust
Lunar must
Empty Vessel


Senseless action

Of the (glass) power reaction

How bout some compassion?

Before you go splashin’

Another gun pops

Collective Heart drops

Another life is lost

Collective love coated in dust

Oh Lord, we must Trust

Nature let us see our Best

Before it’s far too late & we sealed our fate

So much hate

Too much hate

It’s not too late

But it’s far too late

B/c we lost

Yet another life

One far too young a life

Jay said “This can’t be life…”

We all know “This can’t be love…’

Does A Tree Make A Sound

The majority of people out there have probably heard the age-old question:

Does a tree make a sound if it falls in a forest but no one/nothing is there to hear it?  In this day & age with social media & technology finding new ways for us to share, be seen, and heard, does that idea apply to brilliance?

Whether or not someone or a creation is brilliant is relative for beauty lies within and is observed with out but hypothetically speaking, if something were brilliant, moving, amazing, but not seen, heard, or felt by another, does it make any dent in the collective ecosystem of the ether?

In my first book I reflected on the struggle as a writer, to be a writer, and discovered how much I just needed writing period.  As a creative, I openly wonder how some ‘creations’ are “deemed works of art” or “ahead of their time” or why some things go viral and others don’t.

I wonder if what I’m doing, these words that I write, if there is any point to it other than serving my own growth.  A part of me tells the insecure wonderer that should be enough and to some degree I feel satisfied.  My prowess in business is quickly becoming what I’m gaining recognition for.  But the question I grapple with:

Is that fulfilling?

I don’t know.  I gain a certain satisfaction playing what’s fair to say an important role in building back up a company that was once great and over the years, fell off.  In my time here, we’ve increased sales, enhanced the brand, and are reversing negative trends that impacted arts companies throughout the world.

Is that brilliant?

I’m not sure.  If I can’t be honest here on The Simple Voice, then where can I be honest?  So I will share a fear that haunts me.

12 years ago I was told I could choose to be great or mediocre.  The choice was mine.  I had already struggled with the idea of living life fully.  That statement haunts me.  Why would anyone choose mediocrity?  I find my biggest challenge at work these days are whether or not I should be there because we stand at the cusp of taking it even higher or plateauing and I refuse to stay if it plateaus.

But I’m not married.  I’m not a parent.  My priorities and thought processes are different as a result.  Yes, I have a serious relationship and together, she & I, have a cat.  They are both important and are my ‘family’ but at the end of the day, that’s alot different than having children and owning a home. She just told me she doesn’t know if she wants to get married.  A part of me cheered, a part of me was void.

Why? Well, I hate planning and caving to social expectation.  Why do I feel that way?  Well that’s probably some students dissertation.

Kid Cudi rhymed “I’m living my life as if I’ve got powers.” so if I’ve got powers than why plan and why not just roll with the flow of Life?  That’s my PSA about planning brought to you by the ether.

So without the recognition of brilliance in creation or planning, what creates a great anything?  How does that differ from mediocrity?

The answers I find range from “It depends,” to “It’s different for everybody,” & “It’s all an experience,” along with my favorite:

“It’s all perspective.”

Cudi follows the earlier line with “Tonight, I feel immortal.”  I don’t feel immortal but anything I create, especially in this day & age, can live far beyond me so maybe one day someone or many will think it’s great.  Or maybe no one will care.  Though my disdain for planning is mostly within the personal sphere (and truthfully because at the core of it I don’t want an expectation to lead to disappoint), I’m planning the day, week, months, and year out for work.

In the end, I am amused by my work, creatively & professionally, and that’s all that matters.  I enjoy the wordplay, the development of ideas, and the dance of these endeavors teach me.