Let us just sit together in the bathtub and
wax
philosophical
with our toes
in eachother's ********
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
The threshold, a kink in the continuum. A static line, 7" thick. An inch a mile, a million high-ways through low-days. Between freezing underpasses, mirrored in ice. Stray dogs passing, paying no mind, for there is none. Dying mice; too white for the whiteness.
Give me a road and I'll follow
across our fallow fields.
At either end, a somewhere an anywhere;
yielding, if anything, a brief love of the vastness of our expanses.
In such terms, humans and roads
are inseparable.
Give me legs and itchy feet, and I will carry this filthy deed.
"To go," for nothing
but the words alone
Like a redneck with his whiskey and his 12-gauge
we rage
full on.
Give me recklessness, give me godlessness, give me symbolitude & contemplacency. Give me thoughtlessness, or better yet, leave me with instinct, and I will carry the rifle for the enigma-insignia
of the Great Nation of Motion.
And I endure
to procure
myself
in two places
at once.
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 12:57 AM UTC
What if the war machine
was a tarnished memory
and the void between
the pillars
Why there is not contentment for the content
but and endless series
of Roman pillars inside celibate convents.
The pillars of the Panthéon are bars in a demented prison
fermented with the stench of a rancid batch
of torrid dreams.
A palace of pain an pleasure,
a hotbox of sin for the devil's leisure.
Leapt to every level of Dante's hell
and up again
No knowledge have I aquired,
but confusion, a quiet
illusion, and I am tired,
oh, so witheringly
tired.
"We are drawn to the concept of escape"
Nietzsche said.
Oct 14, 2014
Oct 14, 2014 at 11:56 PM UTC
Hello,
my name is so and so
Have you heard of such and such?
"No, not very much."
Well let me tell you...
The sledgehammer
catalyze the caterwaul of lies
Unhinge your mind,
grease it
and rehinge it,
Because; everything is out of balance
A pendulum disturbed by the devil's malice
while he dances
through our glances and drops the knowledge
of how the money you pledged is wedged
in between stacks of paper and salary checks
The blues in the night-light dance with the stamina
of broken dreams. Well, let me tell you of the suffrage
and my lack of knowledge or power–or both–to discern or summon
a strategy for navigating this slanting ship
capsizing with the weight of the world
in the Suez Canal.
The doctrine of a dead man's cackle
enforce the shackle
of the child's ankle
The unswerwing arrow of my intent,
Pegonia arrowhead
plunge into a heart of lead
to find the hidden treasure
x-marks-the-spot
of another bitter man
"For every pledge donor you get
5 children died
in Tibet."
And so will they continue to
What can I do?
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 9:50 PM UTC
You know them. Those twisted facese you pass
in jeering wonder. Speckless shoes that step
over the ugliness with the grace of a gazelle,
ignorant to the trash that floats freely.
"Everything is okay," you might say,
but you have to keep your head up high,
you chin reaching to the sky
evading the lie of this swinish reality.
Wading through the garbage, a life spent in
such a curious denial
of this rancid year
of our lord.
Something slides along the pavement outside.
Wailing and blaring, up and down the street,
probably in response to some heinous crime.
Response unit useless
caller, niner STOP
Too much blood STOP
"Personally, sir, I think that in this world,
the only crime–the only real crime–is the crime
of getting caught, over..."FULL STOP
Oct 4, 2014
Oct 4, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
I chew my way through nickles I earn from angry tourists ambivalently tossing percentages into a jar. I've learned that some of the toughest people come from the proletariat. I fear the people that have worked at McDonalds for 20 years. I kneel before the Knights of Mediocrity.
I check my mail and I come back with a fist full of loonies and quarters. Payday. My great big nose reflects back in the copper before I put the coins into my mouth-recepticle. It is barely bearable. It tastes like blood, but is it from the metal or is it the coin cutting my gums? With the sheer yield of my fields was I able to get it down. I wash it down with some OJ.
Of the queerest men and women I have met, most of them were from the same world as I came from (and to which I will inevitably return). The world of the workforce. I am merely ailed by itchy feet and a severe fear of placidity. I work hard. But only if my work is paid in mileage. If every penny spent is a road to anywhere but here.
A former colleague of mine developed prominent ****** ticks from working as a cashier at a market. The world falls harder on the content, because their yields shield most of the fall. People die both in front of desks and between steel beams.
Two men sit in silence, playing chess. Suddenly, an argument arises and both parties toss theories of chivalry between one another before one of the men yell,
"I don't think it's quite that black and white!"
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 5:07 PM UTC
There is a hit and run in my mind
And the police are too preoccupied with their phalluses
To even notice.
A lonely man, befuddled by the blunt object that hit him from behind, fades away into nothing while his crimson blood mixes with the juice of blueberries he had just bought. The pavement turns purple, and for just a split second the scene turns from tragic to comic.
The State of Mind is policed by the principles of democracy. The system is simple: The Cerebellum is the parliament, all my cognitive skills are the representatives, and the body of voters is constituted by whichever arbitrary thoughts that enter my head that day. But in reality my mind is goverened, only by the singularity of chaos. The voters don't know, but the Cerebellum knows. The representatives will never know for sure, but there is a slight tint of discontent, gnawing away, every day, at their thoughts, while they drink their coffee and type endlessly on typewriters, even though computers have been around for a quarter of a century.
You see, chaos is regressive and progressive simoultaneously. Chaos is when time unleashes logic. The future reprecussions of a chaotic event may be necessary, inevitable and perhaps even for the good of humakind and the larger universe, but the passage between vain violence, anarchy, destruction; and the ultimate moral redemption of the event; the moment where we comprehend the possible benevolence of past horrors. Chaos is logic when time is suspended.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 3:16 PM UTC
Where words flow from the river of the mind like smooth rocks that fit perfectly in their beds, chiseled by the stream for a thousand years.
Where phrases fall from the sky in perfect and coherent mosaics of shadow colours between beams of murderous sunshine.
Where the beauty of a million lilies coalesce into one unbreakable leaf of immense colour and depth.
Where everything that falls, grows or flows cohere in the choir of the great magnet and its whims.
Where verbatim transcriptions of concepts are prevalent
This is where I wish to spend my time.
Sep 10, 2014
Sep 10, 2014 at 11:59 PM UTC
When the dunes turn to jazz
And the grains dazzle in the moonlight
The scorpio circle mating-dance
No straight paths
For a desert snake
No chance for a fragile man.
No refuge for the Citizens of Eden
Newton's hand would deter The Fall
Intercept gravity's apple
And the ceilings of the world
Would be far lower.
The earth is the ocean oasis
Panoramic, oceanic, vast
The desert dunes of space expands
The wood bends; the paper folds;
Objects collide; the tempest storms
And whips the sand.
The dunes turn to jazz
The Mystic Rose and the Magnolias dance
The desert hand expands, expands, expands
Raw power.
The Dunes Turn to Jazz
And the humans cower.
Aug 31, 2014
Aug 31, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
Ion, break away from the atom
Ms. Tharpe breaks away from the piano
And goes on to the guitar
She sings in perfect tenor
Of her journey to the sky
Wax wings, willing to thaw
Just to draw a parallel
Between above and below
No paradise; just a scorching sun
With Icarus she fell to earth
Burning with the yearning
To be free.
In an ocean cave
Dying, merely by falling/Flying, merely by falling
Finding, merely by calling
For the Lord
Be it 'Jesus,'
or someone else
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC