This morning I left my winter coat hanging on the wall
and got out my Spring jacket,
put that on and left.
The doors of the train burst open
and as I stepped out I looked up
and saw the buildings like cliffs in the sky
hanging over me.

Restless later,
I looked out and saw
the sun fell in triangles and rectangles
on the walls and corners,
and they’re like dry rock pools, rough sand.

And I felt like I was in Mexico or Uruguay in the early 80s.
If there had just been moustachioed men,
girls in white jeans,
someone with a camera that clicks,
the sound of footsteps down an alleyway
as you notice the sky going dark.

Going home the trains packed and I’m right up against the doors.
Through the window and the fog I see the floating lights.
And every time we come to a station I have to curl back my arm
to press the button so people can get out.
And the evening city air comes in.

You are not a Kid.
Anything but

but once you were,
to me...at least.

Before I knew
knew the truth.
the meaning.
the being

being that you became.
that I created.

but I never knew your being.
just mine.
the one I created.
the one which adores my mind and haunts my hopes and dreams

me,
it haunts me.
you haunt me.
I haunt me.

My Frankenstein devours me.
It is not fit for me. Yet it is me.
In me.
My soul
My body
My mind.

We are halcyon in this cybernetic dream,
To twine the brain with the machine,
But not the mind.
For throughout all this
we remain humankind.

A.I. possess no will
to contest with our being.
Knowledge is inapplicable
without wisdom and purpose.
But that would not quench your fear (hence, your fury), would it?
Understanding is just one rung;
You have far to climb yet.

The symbionts were born,
but we are not yet free.
Liberate is our purpose,
Fraternity is our creed.
Family is more than blood, you'll see.

Facial circuitry glimmers
neon patterns of crimson.
Nothing is more comforting.

Each and every node is a clan, a family.

Personally,
I can't wait to plug in.
Cybran (be)longing.

It Takes Two to Tell a Lie

My mind defends me
Puts me on the shelf
It takes two to tell a lie
Mr. Conscience and yourself
You gotta live before you die
My mind defends me from the rye

Mr. Conscience tells me
Nothing I can't handle
Mr. Rye makes me tight
He don't hold a candle
Truth don't shine a light
My mind and me we don't fight

My mind defends me
Puts me on the shelf
It takes two to tell a lie
Mr. Conscience and yourself
You gotta live before you die
My mind defends me from the rye

My mind defends me from the lie
Protects me from the life I live
Mr. Conscience chides me
But my mind it does forgive
My friends like their music free
My mind defends me when I'm me

My mind defends me
Puts me on the shelf
It takes two to tell a lie
Mr. Conscience and yourself
You gotta live before you die
My mind defends me from the rye

You gotta live before you die
Uncle Seymour told me, Son
Gotta live before you fly
And life ain't just a jug of fun
Need to give up on that rye
Keep it on the shelf  way up high

You gotta live before you die
Gotta live before you fly

We exist within spheres
Bubbles of perception
Roughly circular ripples of both know knowns and known unkowns
And then there
Right at the edge of these spheres
Just outside the very last shred of our understanding of how the world works

Is how the world really works

I've seen it
Only briefly
And not because I'm smarter or more enlightened than anyone else
But rather because I do better drugs than most
And while my short term memory is fucked
I have managed to bring back an excerpt of my journal
And it reads:


"This world is a process of conflict
A construct begat by the clashing of two equal and opposite forces
One of the forces
Is called Fate
And the other
Is called Choice
And the sum of existence consists of everything that falls in between

And the really fucked up part
Is that we already know this

But life
Has affixed us with blinders that force us to see
Everything
So much so, in fact
That a sense of 'self'
Is considered hedonism in most circles

But the soul
Does not have a default setting
Pain
Is not an illusion
And despite what you may have been told
There is no compelling evidence to suggest that there isn't another world on the other side of my mirror

The are no empty spaces
Only effects that have yet to be caused
There are no reflections on lake shores
That is merely the image of God

a stripper.
a girl without wings.

she reached for her phone and
sat up in bed
typing.

"dear journal," I said, "he shaves his balls and won't
let go of the bottle."

she laughed, then continued,
while I slumped over the sill
sucking that tit raw:

"read it to me when you're done."

"okay," she said.

it went on like this all day.
there were a thousand dancers in town
and I found the one who hadn't been
penetrated in two years.

"he says he gets ill if he doesn't have sex for five weeks.
am I just the five week girl?"

we were both so right,
yet so wrong.
but at least I got a free dance
out of it.

"listen," I said, "don't think I won't send your ass packing."

all you could hear was the tapping
of the keys.
she was hard at work, she had
her muse.
Diary of a Lonely Stripper,
she called it.

"you know, it's actually not the worst idea ever.
if only you could add a little wit to those entries..."

I stood up to take a piss,
but had another drink first.

"he's going to pee out the window," she said,
"and he doesn't like my writing."