There is someone stronger inside of me,
He calls himself Radchenko, and he is
The friend that is always there for me when I see him.
He will see me in the mirror and he will say,
You survived another day my boy,
You are the one who lived after all,
Like ******* Harry Potter, you survived the thing
That has killed greater men.
You have the will to fight after all.
And I’ll nod my head, knowing that these words
Are somehow true.
**** right I’ll say.
Just you and me, Radchenko.
He reminds me of the poems I’ve been writing,
That the only meaning out there is the one that I create,
And the bridges can be for another time,
“Time to build them, and cross this ****** ocean,
Don’t build this thing if you intend to jump off of it,”
Other people are never the answer,
But you are.

It’s such a shame
you are a Christian, despite what you have done,
You have taken bigger steps than most men ever will do,
And live a life that can inspire jealousy in the zaniest
adventurers, by
living on your own as a nomad
for half a year, creating art, meeting strangers, following your heart and gut,
And you put all the blame, all your self achievement
on a god, and I don’t understand.
No doubt I am an ignorant, selfish man destined to the pit of hell or some other place for my ludicrous skepticism to
most theist,
but it saddens me.

You lived a life and had a great spiritual journey—for even I
believe in some sort of spirit
(just not the one you do)
using your own self reliance, your own will and passion and ambition,
No doubt the perfect example of the American dream,
Going out alone in the desert and coming back with gold,
And yet,

You say you are a mere follower, like a lowly dog,
Chasing at a deities heels,
Praising him for all that he has done even though I am sure
without him it would have happened anyway.

It just makes me sad, that’s all.
I could never find a reason to justify altruism,
Or why I would ever want to deny the power of the self,
Who do you respect more,
the man who was born from ****** who had to fight
his way up to the top or else get
beaten down, trampled on, forgotten,
one who knows your pain and knows that only you
can get through it, ****** and dying you may be,
or the man who was born under the watchful gaze of a
strict parent, smiling willfully as the parent dropped bread
crumbs along their path, and god forbid the man ever
deviate from it?

I don’t understand it one bit,
We speak a completely different language.

I
responded
to a person
giving out a negative opinion
of something I do.
something small.
sending out
facebook event invites.
He said he never goes to any of them.
I send them to everyone every time I have a gig,
the popularity of what he said
angered me.
I say to him, in an effort to be snarky, and equivocal,
true, now that I think of it, commercials and
posters are pretty pointless too.
And he agreed. And now I’m not sure
how untrue his
idea was.

And all around me I see
doubt
rip the world to ribbons
let us see what is certain
if nothing is left,
well,
that is a certainty of itself.

Ergo sum.
I am.
The Latin set of words is also
the name of God,
I still wonder
if the two are the same.

But what is left?
Doubt the word of others
doubt what you see, hear, feel,
doubt that three sides make up a
triangle, because God could very
well just be ******* with you.

But at least you’ll know
the mind is more easily known
than the body.

Ideas of mine tend to vanish
when I return home
my mind get’s comfortable (a horrible sin)
and all I want to do is be thoughtless
even though all I want to do is be thoughtful.

Listen to the motion of the waves
and be not afraid
of the oncoming torrent.
We’ll just grow larger lungs,
our fingers and toes will web,
we will develop a vernacular
of the likeness of whales, dolphins
and other mammals of the sea.

But do not worry, when the torrent does come,
we may be far away.
For now let us partake in hallucinogenics
in the tall forest at night,
and take long exposures of the stars
with our cameras,
and then after take long exposure of each other
with our eyes
and we will see movement.
We will see the frozen waves of the campfire
And our eyes will burn,
And it will make us feel alive
to be next to each other.

And we will travel together to that Great City
of monuments and people and concrete
where people wear their bones on the outside
Wearing rags or the highest end fashion
(lately the two are one in the same)
We can travel the city for miles on foot
eating at the strangest of places
and being able to feel art;
feel the art of the city of the movement
you will find it only aesthetically different from
the Ocean or Forest
it is one, part of this place.
and it is our place,
even if you have not
found it.

This degree is a badge, not a tombstone
or it could me the makings of the next decade
I’ll procrastinate on being an adult
while my father leaves our house and
drives his new used Porsche around,
In the swells I play my Stratocaster
alone in the dark and I’ll make the sounds
of waves and
anger.

I’ll be lifted up by my collar bones
my speech will be the sounds of ripping paper
I’ll lose all contingency
And say good bye to serendipity

It will be my last known surroundings,
The trembling hands of human qualities
Be comfortable, creature, creator,
Let me back in.