Why do I seek truth? I must be careful to not retroactively define the reasons behind my seeking of the truth. If I list the best reasons for seeking the truth as I understand them now. I might define my previous attempts by my current understanding. This is dangerous to the truth because our memories are an ever evolving things adapting to the input of new information all the time. I actually understood this before I ever listened to the audio book on memory. Which was a couple months ago. I wrote a poem describing the process.
Why should one seek the truth? To build a better brain
The constant pursuit of new truths creates new neural pathways not only does this prevent the disintegration of old neural pathways by reinforcing them and rewiring them into other pathways it also increases (speculatively) the density of neural pathway. This should help prevent or postpone things like Alzheimer’s or dementia which seems to be something that might run in my family. Although, I wish I had such foresight when I was younger, I cannot honestly ascribe that to my reasons.
The truth empowers us. Our options are limited by our current understanding of reality. If we do not know that there is way we cannot pursue that way. If we think we cannot we never will. Understanding there are almost infinite paths to any giving destination allows us the fortitude and freedom to push through obstacles, for any situation. This has not always been my reasoning but it to is a good one.
Fear is a good reason to seek the truth, and one that is probably much closer to my original intentions. Fear stems from uncertainty. If you know something bad is going to happen you can learn to accept it or by referencing the previous paragraph you can find a way to change it. As young man I was afraid of myself more than anything. I was curious about the cruelty of humans because of my mom’s behavior, and those around me. As much as I would like to believe otherwise I was very reactionary and I still am. My pursuits where a matter of whims. Educational reading did not really start until after I developed a taste for fiction. Even now I am a lazy self-educator. Well, lazy by the standards of what I know I am capable of. It has been my understanding that many people do not engage in much introspection and self-education. It is not their fault they are constantly bombarded by the pressures of life which sap their time and willpower.
Now I am getting bored with this process of self-discovery so I am going to go back to engaging in mindless dvd entertainment.

There is no shame in your dark brown skin
Man, keep that ***** curly hair
My brother you are beautiful the way you are
Bronze shell cooked beneath the raging sun
Strong body paled in the shadows of your mind
Spirit singing out to the world with all your potential
There is no shame in holding another man’s hand
Or two ladies kissing each other so deep that their souls melt together
Passionate eyes penetrating and pounding against social injustice
You are human art formed in flesh warm to lovers touch
And can never be appreciated enough
There is no ******, ****, ****, ***, or ****
These words are not strong
Enough to contain or control you
You are deeper than the depths of space
Eyes shining brighter than any dying star
Hate cannot own your power nor will it steal from you my love and respect
There is no shame in being different
Because we are all different
We wear the layers of time and space differently
We all see the world from different angles
We are five billion different dimensions
Five billion different perspectives
We are five billion beautiful bodies with brains to match
And wonders beyond measure what a wonderful thing you are
There is no shame in being what you are
Cause you are spectacular

He is the god of lust,
ten thousand hours
spent observing
the herding of the hurting,
blood spurting,
and still he seeks
to feed a deep need.

He is the professor
of pain
professing his name
begging the same
from some sweet
unknown dame.

He is a soul seeker,
deep truth speaker,
devourer and needer
of sensual things.

Whilst the horde
of ***** human beings
keep ******* rutting
like squalid pigs in a sty
he is searching
for the truth inside,
his inner light
sense of pride
so that someday
he will find
a parallel passion
on the otherside.

It is a hunger,
a lifetime of starvation
he has been facing
whilst racing towards
a brutal end.

Love will not mend
those wounds,
but it would be nice
to have a life
softened by
similar passions,
even if they are just
two boats passing
on a foggy night.

You are the stuff that dreams are made of
Cheeks made for smiling
Long black hair
Made for shining

Dark goddess with a great sense of words
That inspires this loving feeling
Stirring old passions
Magical and lustful

The perfect death
Light skin warming to the touch
Thin frame
Frantic style
Mixed with some scary stuff

The universe in your eyes
Infinity swelling inside
Like a cosmic rush
And I desire
To plumb the depths
Of you artistic and intellectual
Soul

You are the stuff fantasies are made of
Sparkling stardust
Born to become
Some bodies love
Unfortunately
For me
You came into someone else’s dreams
Before you ever dreamed of me

I'm starting to think that in a world were people can be convinced to do things that are not in their interest the guy trying to look out for them is going to suffer more then they are.

There’s no heart left to break
There’s no home for the bank to take
There’s no food but scraps that I ate
I lost my rights the American way

Corners cut, I avoid main streets
can’t believe in your deity
Life is hard as the cold concrete
Where I rest my head to fall asleep

I had a life I had a love
I had a family but now they’re gone
There's no one left who knew me then
Only dream scenes that see
Right through to the death of me

You put me down you call me ***
But I was just passing life from
Childhood to the end of this bad one

I am a shadow of my own impulses
A token of spoken affections
Derelictions and broken intentions
Spent too often to mention
Because I get bored far too easy
Have to slip sideways out the door
Usually hang up the phone before
I or the other person can say goodbye
I say goodnight more often than good mor
I am more reactionary then I claim

When I abstain it is on a whim
Or from lack of opportunity to commit sin again
I am as whimsical as the wind
When I swim in what other men bend in
Or break for

Arrogant and insecure
Impure and spiritual
The dissonance of me is expansive
Without trying I am lying to myself
More often than naught I get caught
When I claim to be rational
The truth is I’m really not

The storm is not eternal
It fades as fast as you do
Dripping wet
With stinking sweat
Sweet nature’s liquor
Thudding percussion
Sudden impressions
Parallels my heart
Rapid successions
Of white lightning
Not at all frightening
But hypnotic
As we count the distance
Between the lightning
And the thundering
One two a mile through
The storm will stop
And so will you

I have
strong arms
to hold you
but a gentle spirit
that does
not want to own
or control you.

If I had white wings
of soft feathers
on my back
I would wrap
you up in them
to protect you
from any attack,
and if I was heavenly
I would still
submit to thee
an angel’s decree
of love and devotion
given joyfully.

I will not drown
in those deep blue eyes
but swim those seas
for as long as my
lifespan allows me.

No surprise
you know that
this is not a lie
I am ever your devotee.

So, whatever or whenever
you need or want me
call and I will come running
yours until
you are done with me.

Nothing is scarier
then the quiet,

the depths
in which
we buried her,

a house leveled
for destruction,

a mind made
for feats
of masterly
reflection,

but the silence
brings
a sleek streak
of greasy grief.

So, we seek
relief
in a cacophony
of stimuli
facebook,
youtube.

Mind unglued
and brought to
a state of
passive chaos.

Until, the next time
when solitude
dissolves into
a pernicious flea
that is nibbling
on me
leaving
daily droppings,
of filth and doubt.

Time’s arrow is a vicious little *****
Pulsing and pushing us ever forward
Till we forget what we regret
Vision failing memories sailing away
Faster and faster that little pointy *******
Is like a trickster who plays
Homicidal games with our life
I would kick the crap out of him
If he was a tangible he
And not just a concept that I can’t see

We blame ourselves
not knowing why
there is blood in their eyes.

We wear red welts
and bluish bruises
but hurt even more inside.

Is it their lies or ours
that justify the scars
on our still beating hearts?

In comes nose runs,
and endless fountains of tears,
with an eternity of fear
that says please don’t let me
live this way.

We internalize their mistakes
looking out at the world,
believing that we are weak,
so we do not speak of such things.

Sometimes, we come out alive
on the other side of that life.
Sometimes, their rage becomes ours.
If we are lucky we learn
to take our pain and turn
it into compassion and purpose.

Still, we are always on the verge
of something unknown
fires un-shown
children stuck between
fully and half grown.

Not a poem. Not my regular thing that is months behind what I am currently working. I am emotionally exhausted.  As much as I would like my faith in humanity is **** near non-existent. If everyone who claimed they were revolutionary or non-conformist actually were things might be better. People run off at the mouth how if in such and such a situation they would not follow the crowed. they say they just haven't been tested. However, every day is a test. Every potential act of kindness is an act of defiant against the status quo. 99% people fail to even meet the basic standards of being a half decent human being. It is what obsesses me, possess me to write frequently. I am physically and emotionally tired. I am angry at the world for the cruelty. I am jealous to a certain degree of those who succeed in the system at the expense of others, while I struggle for the scraps. I do not want to be rich, I just wish to be recognized and understood. I want to feel like I am not fighting a monster that is not only beating me but getting bigger.

Little explorers
observe the world,

Little experimenters,
master transformers;

Little lab workers
cause they are so curious;

Until,
full grown men
and women
become
little teachers
ready to unveil
the real and unreal
to help us navigate
past the hate
that fools make.

Desire is the poetry of flesh
Legs spread when she begged
I inserted the tip of my head
Passion in thrusting
Moving in lusting
Combining bodies
Once separate now fluid form
Moans escape both lips
I move in her, breathless
Deathless in this immortal moment
Every ounce of thought power
Pushing in and in and in
Forcing closeness
Till we *** and become
Separate again
Until the poetry returns
And desire burns
Our flesh once more

Chest flowing red rivers
Sheathes her dagger
Ends her swagger
Swerving like a drunkard
And falling into
The dark hued
Deathly abyss

They laughed at the madman
Who talked fast and inconsistently
And I snickered to
Partook in the cruelty
Of judging indecently
Till I remembered myself
Till I saw the human being
Sitting patiently on a parking stump
Waiting for a connection
Needing a friend
Looking away not in
Perhaps hoping
For kindness
Even though
He wore a skin color
Labeled other
My stomached ached
With a desire to reprimand
Those who had been cruel
To take this strangers hands
As some saints would do
Instead, I stifled such sentiments
Now, I find my inhumanity
Bothers me more then
Other’s cruel behavior

Rays from so far away
Shoot streams and beams
Particles or waves
Around the universe and back again
Dying but still living
Reflecting
Detecting
Deflecting
Inspecting the universe
I look at a star
And by the time my light shines
To its’ space and
It blinks back at me
I will be deceased
Becoming part of
Another star
Perhaps that is the ultimate form of
Star-crossed lovers

The dissonance
The pitiful pain
Of pittances
Peculiar piercings
Pecking beak
That breaks the skin
Bursting eyeballs
How the crow kas
Crossing the blood soaked
Battlefield
Books of rage
Etched so deeply in my soul
Compounded by the sorrows
Built upon our leaders’ greed
The clock ticks
Skin twitching
Perspiring
With neurons firing
Percussion beating out
More pain, more pain
More pain, more pain
To fan anger’s flame
The darkness encroaches
Then recedes
Building up like a constipated ****
Till wave after wave finally breaks through
And I **** blood and violence
Then guilt
Then sorrow
Then pain
And the ****** cycle
Begins again

I am a selfish *****
But man I need that ****
Bleeding hearts
Can only drain so much
Till I become
So freaking numb
I can’t be a saint
Cause I need to have some fun

There is a clap.
Faces face
your candy cage
gilded in gummy
sugary glues
made to amuse
your sickly
sweet tooth.

It’s like you use
an apple for a gavel
doling out justice
in judgement
of those who
are starving;

Like you’re ignoring
the reality
but you’re  
hungry to.

We have the tools
but you’re more interested in
revenge for imagined
slights.

So you fight
against your own interest.

Instead of a
grand buffet
you put rocks
and mud on you plate.

Until the day
you fade away
a little slower then
the women and men
you were judging
but almost in
the exact same
anorexic shape.

Do not let them
press your pain
against the fence,
scraping your
thin skin veins
against its sharp
metal parts.

Do not let them
mutilate your heart.
It is not their part
to play an
integral roll
in how you grow.
You will rise
despite them.

Do not let go;
Know that though
you are only
passing familiars
that tread
the creeping causeways
driving in, around,
and eventually
all the way out
of this living town,
I love you all.

The waves that wash upon the shore
Rushing to take more and more sandy land
Wait for no man

The salty seas that shifts and swirl
The wispy waiting whirlpools
Wait for no man

The underwater currents
And hidden caves beneath the surface
Wait for no man

The violence of the crashing water
The hurricane with all its dangerous rains
Wait for no man

The titanic oceanic death that is offered
Cares not for what faith is proffered
Comes as it will despite our will
And as we all know waits for no man

He broke the lines of predictable behavior
Social situations turned on their head
Normal niceties forgotten
Hours lost to thought
Insights gained
Through introspection and pain
Reverse engineering society
Toying while destroying
Old norms and taboos
To build new ones
And destroy them to
Reading and learning
Thinking and feeling
Perceiving
The tangible
Perceiving
The abstract
Perceiving that his perceptions
Were limited
Not tools of the divine
But faulty flesh devices
Thinking and acting
Reacting and justifying
A chemical being
Of energy
Put it in poetry
Then cycled back again
Where
He broke the lines of predictable behavior
Social situations turned on their head
Normal niceties forgotten
Hours lost to thought
Insights gained
Through introspection and pain

It is not your room.
The wound is not
your wound,
so you do not feel
as if the pain is real

but the blood is factual.
The loss is actual.
The costs are varied.
Each face
wears sorrow’s
sick slick scars.

I can see them
from where you are.
Why can’t you?

Oh, the spiral descends.
Empty eyes watch
as the stairs drop
into a circle that bends
swirling in an
infinite depression.

Soft thuds fill the air
as numerous feet follow down
chased by their own
bone chilling sound,

and while they move forward
the darkness envelopes all.
Waves of light retreat
as the children of man
come here to fall.

To be or not to be I wonder why
I live so hard that I cannot cry
Coveting cuts across her wrist
Open wounds remind us we still exist
Silky red ribbons run like dark waters
Bloodshot eyes to match the liquid
Seeing her sitting in squalor I shiver
Life’s lonely punch line left to deliver
Bottle of pills placed half hazardly on the sink
Razor blades falling in and I think
The stench used to be sickly sweet
Now rotting flesh makes a nauseating stink
Mouth that I cannot stand to look at
Eyes so ghastly I refuse look back
All we get is just this one try
To be or not to be to live or die
To falter or to fly and dream of lights in suicide
Leaving loved ones far behind

Truth is the pursuit of our higher self;
Not Spiritual but intellectual,
empowering the ineffectual
with the information they need
to decide what, what they perceive means.

I want to drink deep of the poison of lust
The human disease and desire to do what we must
Still I am startled at how sick I can be
How much my soul aches and burns to be pleased
Even though some say it is sinful to want it so much
To linger and long for a soft and sensual touch
I find myself lacking the strength to resist
These carnal urges that seem to persist
One look at her smile and I am ashamed to say
I can’t help but think of her in a naughty way
But under all of these fleshy concerns
There is a deeper hunger that constantly burns
It gnaws at my stomach like acid reflex
And is far more subtle then a need for ***
To hold and be held to comfort and be comforted
To speak and be heard even when I am weak or perturbed
And be allowed to do the same for her as well

Two petite pretties 
pranced before me
paragons of the 
impoverished society
that values surface 
over depth

The dancing debutantes
Dangled their dangerous
And dubious dispositions
Directly in front of me

Enter stage bad boy
Blustering buffoon
With a silver spoon
So far up his ***
He spewed silver polish
On his nice Polish pants

Cash in hand
He passed around 
His affluences
Like it was influenza
Vomiting vague
Platitudes with 
So much attitude 
As if he had 
Anything valid to say

But this crowd was rapt
With the vapid vocalist
He drank expensive ****
To prove he was valid
No valor just vain vagaries
On display to frustrate me 
Greatly

They celebrated the success of a 
Failing millionaire who was premade
By the fortune that his father made
To bail him out of all of his mistakes
As he played society like a broken violin
I was trying to bring talented art back in
But society placed me in the trash bin
Before I could even begin
To purge the poison
The incurably incurious
Perpetuators of 
Shallowness

So I bow out of this
Cause I thought 
We were working together
To make each other’s life better
But it turns out I was 
Running a race 
I did not even know about

The tall trees obscure
but do not match
the twin towering stacks
that bellow out billows of
white dragon clouds.
Bulging bubbles of
noxious smoke
puff and dissipate
threatening to choke
all of us
at their leisure.

Anything to avoid pain
Medicate to a stupor state
Sugar coated OxyContin
****** attraction
Mediate the different ways
With only small intervals
Of pain
Sleep, work, play
Do not think
Snort, drink
Puncture your veins
Novelty for nonsense
Morphine and Novocain
Music to sooth the inner beast
Books, plays, tv
**** movies
*******
Anything to avoid
The deeply planted pain

I have been walking two lines converging on crazy
And what comes out could be dangerous or amazing
The poet, pretender to philosopher’s crown
Dark comedic angel in a deep demonic town
No magic, no spells, or special pills
Will solve the problem or change how we feel
I having been dreaming awake living to take
Absorbing the truths, the lies, and the mistakes
Duality is natural confusion to be expected
Course changes without maps till the maps have been corrected
Road aren’t marked and will probably never be
But I still have to struggle and share what I see and believe
There are shadows at night, darkness in the light
A speck of spurious people so curious that they might
Figure something out, may understand what this is about
Before I even finish this line in this poem
May die before I ever get the chance to know them
Though they sparkle and shine with human brilliance
May be slaughtered by vile corporate slash political villains
Marching with marked up manifestoes puffed up with pride
Pushing past boundaries built from the inside
Borders of nations, and faith erased, with me, one little man
Trying to help hasten this great geniuses plan
Lifting up armies of artist living to spread universal love
Raising families millions of miles away isn’t that tough
Great ideas sneak up on societies and start swallowing them whole
All we need to do is let go of the illusion of control
Get rid of the fools who think they know better than the rest
Keep open minds from being tortured or repressed
What is beautiful exists in everybody’s spiritual body
The spark of potential that no science or religion can control or copy
So we the children of love living on this plane of atomic vibrations
**** on the sweet milk baring *** of social inspiration
We work the wills of the world into the motion of our desire
We spread the words of change like a raging forest fires
No one can stop the ripples across the water once they have started
And no one but us can heal the sphere of the broken hearted

I am tired.
So tired
I start to ask myself
what is a word
that means tired.
Till, I stop myself
laughing at my own
tired absurdity.

Dinners end
Table cloth must be put away
Butchered heart
Silver spoon
To mark this moment
People passing plates
Take their meals and look away
Hands touch only for a second
Charged by old memories
Lust
Confusion
The knife reflects
Tears not yet
Wiped away
The ****** beef
Salty and sweet
Oil caked skin
Digested grossly
Like lazy lovers we depart
The dinner with stomachs empty
Desires unfulfilled
Wasted day without a meal
Move on
Move on

You do not appreciate me till I am gone
Then you can do what you want
With my words
With my life
Play my corpse
Like a marionette
Interpret as you see fit
Because I am not a genius
Till I am dead
And I can mean what you said

The poetry of flesh
Is porous pink skin
Breathing
Needing to be touched
To find peace of mind

Where he erred
Was he could not stop.
Creation was like the
final throbbing vestiges of an ******
in his ego.
He came life
and birthed madness

advertising trends toward creating a desire or need that did not exist before. It is done through the art of deception and misdirection. The Bing comercials are a good example of this phenomon. The same thing goes for politics.

She sleeps now
With her wilted roses
And crooked
Cracked sidewalk
Such a broken walkway
Gentle gardener hands
And piano fingers
Plant and play no more

With a few lights of potential love
hope cracks my steely exterior.
My guard drops.

I dream of folded fingers
wrapped around my neck,
Of gently caressing her skin,
Of poetry and passion.

I try to restrain hope
to a reasonable buzz
because I know there is no love
and I am always right.

Truth sours hope’s dreams,
curdling them in my stomach
reminding me
there will be
no happy ending for me.

So like a good little soldier boy
I march on
tapping my drum
and writing these
sad love songs.

Black circles darken my eye.
There are notes to play,
but my vocal cords are cut,
and I am drowning in
a steaming pile of
my own guts.

Every day
even in the rain
the old man walks by
my workplace window
limping lightly
could be very lonely
but that is not a certainty.

When I am in pain
Time is a thief
With thick fingers
Squeezing every droplet
From my beating heart

When I am happy
Time is a thief
With nimble fingers
Stealing the moments
That will never come again

When I am angry
Time is the *****
That is ******* me off

And when I am apathetic
I wish that time
Was the greatest thief
So it could steal me
Away from myself

Today is the fourth of July
A nation in celebration
Of principals that were lies

We are the mass manufactures
Of misery throughout the world

Comfy in our kitchens
While bystanders wear
Modern warfare

Our children think it’s a video game
Head shots that got them lots
Of points to rank up online
Bombs only hit enemies
So that’s fine
And you can be a digital war hero

But reality troubles me
Families wear mortar crimson colored death
Bullets break more than skin
Take more than just our kin
Take away the right to breath
The right to believe
There will ever be a better world

I lose myself in the insanity
My hand hits the computer screen
From trying to reach out and stop the screams

The blood still flows
The rubble still grows
Like a sick slick rose red garden
Planted with dead bodies

My faith in the great America
Does not exist
So happy fourth of ******* July
You can keep that worthless ****

See the sands softly sinking
Beneath the ghosts of sandal
Wearing travelers
Nature compressed
Or impressed
Temporarily
With people
Passing through
Till the tides
Rushing wash away those prints
Like a salty etch a sketch

Memories, segmented strands of my history
Etched on my cerebral mess so deep and chaotically
Impressions and sensations linking past and present
With futures contemplation the calculations are not so evident
Memory a powerful brew stewing in my mind
Bittersweet lover that frequently looses time
And only relative realities are left to find
Lying with distorted and partial truths
Loving with my long departed youth
Memories will die
As will you, as will I

I have the aims
of a famed procrastinator
who is perfectly positioned
in the place of
comfort that I prefer,
while I remain undisturbed
and also undeterred
from my lazy guy mission.

Where once my warrior soul reigned
Now I find it sadly lacking
Though it carried twice its weight in pain
Now the art is all that matters
I fall in raging winds
But never find my footing
And if this night is to end
First it must begin.
There is only room for understanding,
So I, tightly tethered to my essence
Find I am calmed
By poetry’s presence
No longer wilting
Words become my water
No longer melting
Nor walking meat to the slaughter
I begin with my father
And end with my daughter
In her eyes infinity
I see hope for eternity
But she is just a seedling
Formless fiction of my mind
Changing with my seasons
In angles I still hope to find
Allows these withered roots to grow again
******* greedily at the soil.
Hope helps me thrive, my friend
And gives me reason to toil

-Joshua Amos Graff 2011

Used to be the poet’s pen
Was his soul mate
Then the typewriter came
Like a bitter lover
Then the computer came
And I dropped my second lover
For a better one
I hope that she will be my last