Prima Materia Quotes

“I've barely survived inside a world that took too long to ring it's song. The poet simply becomes the the last line of his greatest poem he never wrote.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Out of all green ends and correlated mystic blend underlying the wholesome beauty only one note could speak and flow when nothing else on the barren wet streets she laughed at my grin speaking of what I missed. How is the realm so lovely when the rain tells me how perfect the self organizing smooth system far less attracted so please the muse to the scene, swirling in utter beauty turn away from conversations of horrific overwhelming tension your sublime nature forces half naked bare legged bathing in geometrical arrangements; a future rebelled, tame and dominate your blessed frightened glass ceiling, breath or goodness spells glitter rains down on your laced chest, taking off your shades and notable note from off your written thoughts on the reality page of mirrored candy smile hair twisting, back alone chasing drinks with cheers toward all we saved in the red ashes; smiling how perfect we feel tonight, I could end any beings or spirit. A sucker for the matter found without presence in unlimited rising smoke you weep and invent forms, or nature reflection internality on how few nerves you leave me squirming producing works of utter biting beauty art works off afternoon body gasping at whatever is near or afar, look how smart you get when you cant always get what you dreamt of, on time naughty morning sun baking eyes in mine.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Imitation nation by nation, the simple means of communication and conflict. Stranger than fiction, always has been this way. In the heart of Rome, I never wanted this Halloween season to end, sweet dreams of dark love and wild west wide nights the universe was inside all along. The mystic river beyond metaphysical questions, I can't believe these pink walls anymore, can't remember the names of every street corner I lost my mind to every kind of street art sensual experience.
Sunrise rooftops, all the make-up in the world couldn't heal the wounds from the false words in the every day scene of the fiery red lips predicting a gone future puff by single breath. Seeing my skin peel off the city lights.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Or, so I thought it could all make sense if I felt it all the way through, no matter which direction or sense of purpose. What started me on this insane path to begin with? Women, death or luck; perhaps all three
I knew that much, this nuke dream filled with silver wet screens. California was on fire, my heart was racing and I thought it was still about to make sense at any moment until I was a tidal wave of matrix information approaching the beach I stood upon.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Theres a metaphor beyond the fallen paradise in the circumstance most intellectuals find themselves in the maze they tried every waking second trying to escape. For a poet, deranged and in love with plants and planets, there is no time for thinking so let us scream truth beyond the fall all over again. Internally rising if impossible to have full faith in, the flow could crash us back into disappearance.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“The journey of a thousand miles doesn't begin with a single step but a revolting ambient ancient trance; and your soul has no chance to formulate the known within all touch free forms drifting islands of taste spring from your blood lips before Venus and Jupiter close in a blink.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Don't be surprised when you open your crying eyes to the world before our heavenly sunrise, and it closes, shines those shut lids, blinds become eclipse realms I feel overwhelmed by
what a surprise the final sunset looks
like deep inside your eyes closing
the line between hidden and revealed
in the ink dripped seal”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Second driven nature I was always a mad drunken sailor. Once nature is denied, we were whispers over graveyards, operating on every level, more touched by destiny, left you a mess underneath higher poems, you tasted like mystery; and our role was to appreciate the relationship with the dying world you brought into calm waves, and her poems were stranger than I can suppose. Your hot pink mist rose, unrecognizable, and this world mutes the poetry waving through your pure hair, mathematics all in my mind deciding statements in your name.
My eyes become the picture
of life, not the shadow of
my flesh your visible glance
made drip endlessly against
the golden California streets.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Take things into your own hands,
first off your hypnotic mind gazing back at all that's happened. Unlearn, speak up and
your will is on the line every lifetime.
Don't intrust authority, even your own.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“She was faint by passing the terrible things art has done countless times over, why believe in put down theories and books her eyes constantly told me without lower lengths of ultraviolet new beams pouring from an endless waterfall toward the center of every center. I've emerged my skin in years of Roman romance only to find cosmic rays from a different perspective and on that note perception expanded all the truthful parts of myself. I was merely deadly alone in a sunlit gaze trying to hold my organs inside long enough to finish the next book, to wrap the defensive cloak of life before the moon rose from the red sea eons ago, casting the net of creation where no man has ever been.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“She was faint by passing the terrible things art has done countless times over, why believe in put down theories and books her eyes constantly told me without lower lengths of ultraviolet new beams pouring from an endless waterfall toward the center of every center. I've emerged my skin in years of Roman romance only to find cosmic rays from a different perspective and on that note perception expanded all the truthful parts of myself.
I was merely deadly alone in a sunlit gaze trying to hold my organs inside long enough to finish the next book, to wrap the defensive cloak of life before the moon rose from the red sea eons ago, casting the net of creation where no man has ever been.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Or, so I thought it could all make sense if I felt it all the way through, no matter which direction or sense of purpose. What started me on this insane path to begin with? Women, death or luck; perhaps all three.
I knew that much, this nuke dream filled with silver wet screens. California was on fire, my heart was racing and I thought it was still about to make sense at any moment until I saw a rouge tidal wave of matrix information approaching the beach I stood upon and prayed to every phantom near to save me from myself on this full moon wine and instructions .”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“There's a marble bed completely different from what the dust and reflection saids, reserving and resurrecting all the genuine moments that collided without a second to spear in all the overwhelming despair casted out like a net of dead dreams. You are somewhere in-between your eyes and off the brim of our solar system. Going into a pulse from another worldy mind, feeling the involuntary serpents tongue; agonizing the astounding words left unsaid on that marble bed made of reflection beyond any idea or soul; encapsulated by ivy bridges and weightless exotic phrases, escaping out of a strange world I never
had a hand in making.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Resonating the first half of the highest quality material known to man.
Previously worked out, I embraced the back story never told but retold as practical reality. All I ask and bleed, there's nothing more to be felt as a man anymore. Most rebuild to be included, invoking the awakening stages of beautiful death; resonating with frozen lakes, dirty films we made and seven million pounds of sorrow disguised as drifting smoke that showed me the path out the final frame of reference.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Caught in duality poetry poverty spinning poles and laughing native folks who only wish to see me grow cold in their sublime storylines like the last of us were in the trenches making sense of where this all goes, somewhere far only the free will ever see maybe. I can't focus on your sunken sea eyes anymore than I belong to the same Cali streets in which I reach forward only to be met in the show, not of myself like I've always known. Facing the smoke and mirrors at once on point and out numbered.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Vividly mortal on the verge of outrageous ideals blending in with the flowing concept of a caged singing bird longing for the final chaos only the wind will ever bring, undergoing the slow progress of the third wave of the futuristic trance. Analyze the crux of new age black holes characterizing your mind with mine, never fall in love while you're dead asleep at the wheel; turning degrees higher than the circling star above the golden ceiling, and despite the rough hard intellect one poem by accident or purpose will bring any being to their knees, cutting off your tongue for her motherly instinct outside any language, and further than any classic realm reborn of dying art forgotten of by beautiful deceptions and silver screens dreams.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Oversimplifying the cosmos just for a transaction of currency and holy spit, those heartless fucks with time to spare, with conceptual frameworks within the word becoming flesh once again upon remote islands our soul could never escape. So my question lies with my Spanish tongue, exploring the pitch black labyrinth where you listen to the deepest drums; hung on a single string wrapping up my skin in dead languages. Oversimplifying the 21st century with a single search, the awakening hatred boiling the oceans and cities; diving below the surface, witnessing underwater queens and goddesses drenched in my lovers scent and deadly sex untouched
by any depth.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“You ask me why there are so many worlds infrastructures constricting my mind choking my windpipe from sunrise toward the darkest abyss of lost hours. You ask me to never sip another drop and wish my lungs could breath freely. My infinite hues invisible, and they swell with distant tomorrows and ancient sorrow. I stand where the salty sea breaks with my sweet sense within my spine, dying from shallow poetry, demeaning music and walking strangers with little to no soul left to create finer art than our peeling skin can reveal, and ultimately transcendence bleeds into vivid streams you drink from my lower lip.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“My eyes so stuck in night vision
I watch the decaying praised come back from the afterlife. By far, purple seed dreams redeem the faith among the lit palm trees, as each section settles in, wiping out my future with a comet sent by your divine lips forgotten by the teeming atmospheric dark age I now dwell in encrypting the awakening language gone up in sweet smoke, teasing stretched heels in the midnight air.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Always let the smoke linger long enough for you to remember it's sharp perky charm in-between two set of nervous arms. Darling, I've lost underneath these sunless skies where connection hangs perfectly where your spit splits in two mid air and obsessed with death, workout after workout; eyes glued to hyper space, revealing your lace and mind altering vivid pace.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia

“Once the solar years blended into my rhythmic patterns on stone and critical screens, millions telling me the same old twisted scenes, glimmering glances of delight disguised as silver lining pause and model frames. Be very careful which universe you dwell in from now on, for even my own territory is casted within many phrases gone into the cracks where smoke can't escape, many have slit their tongues and throats for a splash of Spanish haze, and lost thick jungle heat only chest and breath could ever match in mid sonic reframe of resonance imagined in west coast hues scanning my pupils to yours, at once and foreseen many summer moons ago when the unknown was merely an oasis of water falling from heavenly thrones, getting off on this planet; getting off on your tones in phantom cosmic zones.”
― Brandon Villasenor, Prima Materia