Stars in the sky exploding
Space and time folding
Bombs going off as the galaxy rips
Flashing lights fight to eclipse

Visions full of fluorescence
At the sacrifice of a solar systems essence
Shooting stars cry across the skies
Puncturing planets as they pulverize

Swirls of liberation
Celestial bodies melting in devastation
Swarms collect and deform
Exploding into storms as they transform  

The aura of the aurora bleeding like mascara
As if the planet is crying at the end of an era
Watching as black holes fight over vibrant sights
Pulling it apart as it ignites

What a wonderful curse
To befall the universe
It's so beautiful its cryptic
God bless a life so apocalyptic

It's cold outside, like the tip of a dog's muzzle
It seems like a good day to stay in and cuddle
It also seems like the wind in the air
Invites the intrepid to run out somewhere
So whether you snuggle indoors or trek outside
Good luck to those at the sun's low winter tide

Too bad we can't have both; but no,
it's one or the other. That's the trouble
with gods and Bosons: Admit one spirit
and you're no more than a Planck length
from the soul; measure position
and your divine momentum is gone,
deader than deadest poisoned cat.

If God (The God) were God He'd surely
be laughing as Jess & I tried to explain
quantum entanglement to each other,
several superpositions removed
from grasping how causality is preserved
and He'd muse at our suffering
surely in the face of First World fascism
and conspiratorial delight of ignorance;

Jesus would forgive us the hubris
of our collective sartorial malaise:
He'd writhe there painfully but patiently
on the cross w/ bile & gall while we
scrawled out partial differential equations
on the backs of cocktail napkins
and pretended that Lye groups—
sublime Algebra—hooked up
with the Standard Model in their own
perverted and slutty way—yes! Christ
would redeem the heretical pronouncements
on this dark matter,
spare us Pauline judgments—in abhorrent
reality of Time & Space (that's how
He rolls, I guess);

Zeus would just hurl thunderbolts, jealous
as ever of the atom smashers and
their Olympian acolytes' true lightning;

And what about Buddha? He's so full
of himself and compassion, bloated
by enlightenment he may not notice how
much rice we'd had on the way to these
Poison Arrow questions. So what's another
******* rebirth if it's needed? Too late
now for transcendence or transforming
Yoda-like into the Force;

Vishnu in Absolute Now says
Nothing's left but a bunch of fractured
protons, lovely alpha particles and
their asymmetric cousins, ever inward
but ever outward as cosmos go. One day
maybe we'll stop colliding and listen
to the whispers of Revelation—
that is, if we have the science, the ears
and the time.

We never asked of Einstein, sadly,
his divinity not being well established,
and his opinion souring
with the passing of the nonlinear,
the non-local and the grandiose—
Albert may still chime in though,
may be watching from that spooky
neighborhood universe
we seek but eternally dismiss.

We exist with the reality we have, not
the one we want. Until then it's an either/or
we must accept, because we are serious folk
who know gods and Bosons coexist only
among the superstitious and ill-informed.
You can't mince words when there are
so many atoms to split.

Her leaving suited her
Better than her arrival,
Her returning
Better than her going.

I feel I have to make my defence
Regarding those who over several millennium
Believe they can speak for me;
I do not need to name names, do I? You know
Exactly who I mean. What can I do?
I speak briefly to someone once and, before
I know it, we’re ***** buddies-they claim to
Know my inner-most thoughts,
My opinions on every subject from what
Clothes to wear to who to marry.

Do I not have more important things to think about?
The well-being of an entire universe to evaluate
On a daily basis?
How you treat one another is your concern-
Just keep me out of your bigotry and spite,
My name out of your books, my voice out
Of your heads. I am not who you claim me
To be; I am far better and, at certain times, far worse.
I am both nothing and everything!

You can nevertheless be assured-
I do not lead your armies, support your murders,
Sanctify your suicides, bless your hatreds.
I do not inhabit your words,
Your statues, your art, nor am I the knowing
Voice in your head or the gnawing pain
In your heart. Own what is yours!




Originally, I was a small-time local deity,
Lord of the mountain, brooks and olives.
Benevolent, ***** and shy.
Nothing special! One god amongst many
In and out of pantheons, attached to this
Goddess or that. Sometimes I was el of the
Desert, sometimes the family god in
The corner or staring out of the tent flap-
Inauspicious and insignificant!

I was happy then. I had none of the obsessive
Responsibilities of a universal god. I seduced
The local women, fathered thousands of mixed-children-
Part deity/part human-received the flow of eager
Sacrifice; the few remaining aurochs,
Bulls, deer and first born. The smoke always revitalised me!
Children’s flesh was always particularly nourishing!
For such extensive insurance for my continued interest
I protected each group who so honoured me, destroying
Their enemies, as well as their friends.
(But, oh, not now! I’m expected now to exterminate entire neighbourhoods,
Nations and cultures! Now I’m expected to be the murderer,
The sole master of death!)

I was without ideas! I accepted everyone, loathe to judge!
****** peccadilloes I found interesting, fun.
Adultery I saw as an aspect of marriage,
Homosexuality, the absorbing antitheses of the endless
Production of new life, from its sterile cusp
Seeping forth new ideas and artistic burgeoning.
I created beauty, adoring it. I danced to
Lively music, sang to beautiful songs.

In Egypt a disgruntled warrior-priest arose, preaching violence,
Preaching conquest. I trembled in his angry presence,
Shaken by his bloodlust. An excitable poet sang of his adventures,
Turning a 100 followers into thousands. The poets used my name-
One fashioned in gentleness-to encourage war.
Then, from the confusions of statehood, prophets emerged
Spreading their misery through my authority,
Grinding my benevolence under soiled sandals,
Telling others what to do, as if the words were mine-
Engaging in genocide with pitiless intention.
They flail my soul with madness!

And so on and so on; numerous messengers
Shouting of sin and retribution,
My voice reverberating with their words,
As I stand in the shadows like a serial killer,
Frightened of lamplight. With nothing
More to do, conforming savants
Described rules for life, a non-existent heaven,
Transcribed my thoughts from their own experiences
Created another reality, ignoring their own.



I am now terrified of my name
(EL, YHWH, Allah) Terrified of what it represents-
Burdened by its acquisition
By the bombastic and cruel.
I, who was once a god, now
Am captive, a prisoner of recitation.
Where once I had priests to beckon, they
Now beckon me. Where once I pronounced on
Goodness, I am now too alarmed to speak.
Where once I was the object of sacrifice
I am now the sacrifice itself.

I read a story today.

Like any good story it was layered upon the premise of the love between two perfect strangers.

Like any good story it was about romance that blossomed... and then flourished as quick as it was fierce.

Like any good story it spun a far-reaching web of hope and longing whilst still holding on to the uncompromising nature of responsibility to one's dreams.

Like any good story, there was a spot of intimacy. The gradual build up of physical and psychological attraction that culminated in the merging of two, was nothing less than tasteful.

Like any good story there was conflict.
But it was not the cliched garnish that involved oppressive parenting styles nor glaring racial differences.
It did not rope in the overused notion of "we're so different, we're two parts of a whole".
It was... a beautiful conflict.
One that does not allow the audience to choose sides.
In fact, it encourages you to think inward and root for both parties - be them together or apart.
If anything at all, it boils down to the pursuit of each individual's happiness.

Like any good modern day story, it ended with a breath held in a gasp. You hold it there for the longest moment and you have to close that breath with a heavy sigh of loss.
It also leaves you with ample room to deliberate the "what if" factor.
Happy endings last a while but sad ones... they rip a hole in you that almost never closes...
and you cannot help but go back to read it over and over again in the hopes of finding the elusive right answer or the best alternate ending.

Like any good story it was tailored in my fit. Because I envisioned myself in it. I got consumed by it. Overwhelmed by it, enough to almost break the pipes.

And like any good story, it's worth keeping...
In heart and in mind.

So I read a story today. And I didn't want it to end.