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Guss Jan 2014
Back by popular demand
being a ***** persisted.
I'm sick of yuppies in BMWs
that glitter the highway like cheap tinsel
and ruin my view of sunset on Sunset Blvd.
On top of that,
gift cards mixed up with chopped up plastic credit
rattle at the insides of my plump little belly,
and I don’t think its going anywhere.
*Although, I'm getting nauseous,
I wont ***** until the fat lady sings.
And if that's not long enough for you then,
I'll just see you in hell.
Guss Dec 2013
The time of crisis had us distressing the meaning
of each syllable in our dialect.
Im such a derelict.
The stasis I’m stuck in
had me believing the worst of it all.
Crushing.
Flushing and re-brushing
the paint on the distorted canvas,
which was our lives.
Ten lines and a million problems.
Pay attention to your symbols
never ignore them.
Dreams were made from sinners,
but the streams of time make all things thinner.
All things end in rugged ways.
When the tall bell rings,
only broken brothers stay.
With wretched tales of quarrels,
no barrels of whiskey can calm the bay.
Guss Jan 2014
Space is hardly the final frontier.
But, for now,
don’t you think we seem ambitious?
Shooting arrows at the clouds
could come back
to shoot you in the head.
Can’t you see that colonies on mars
would become a new home for problems.  
Seems desperate.
What do I know though,
I'm Twenty-Five and I haven't even graduated college.
But fears of failure make us see future
where our planets long since dead.
From that arrow to the head.
Salvation relies on a new years revolution
or something humbling like that.
But wait,
I shouldn’t write that here.
Big Bro is always watching.
I might find a man in black,
tap-tapping at my chamber door.
Not Lenore.
Thats when you'll hear me saying,
"Does anyone have a cigarette?"
Guss Dec 2013
The rumbling of our urges clattered
as voices would sound
arguing to one another.
But there we were,
standing in silence.
Using only the blacks of our eyes
to send the messages back and forth.
The ****** discourse is ignorable,
is incontrovertibly uncontrollable,
but not solely forthright.
Sometimes I really believe what Im saying.
Its not necessarily the tone that matters.  
What matters is the outcome
and it can sometimes lead to just that.
Like peanut butter jelly,
with a baseball bat.
Or the soft, round belly
of a blind black cat.
Didn’t I tell you in my last life?
Glass is as hard and see through
as my plans and my will.
But tell Neo I’ll take the blue pill.
Guss Dec 2013
My body disobeys me.
Each step forces me to exercise parts of my body
I didn’t know had subsisted.
I hardly controlled my maneuvers,
as I basically drifted.
Even my helmet is showing signs of weakening,
under these steepening,
enormous pressures.
Terrified and trembling with my humanly gestures,
I must have sent vibrations throughout
the cold water as the creatures began to circle over my head.
I could see off in the distance
the submarine of my former occupation.
A distant iconic stationary emblem of my failures.
Then, the porpoises and scaled beasts parted
to contrast a heavenly sight.
No corpses or failed feasts started
in the ballast of this night.

For a maiden of duality
saved my beckoning soul
from the eternal slumber
that had otherwise awaited.
The rest of this tale I leave up to the mystery
of word of mouth.
But what must be said is that underneath
the blue waters lies
much that we do not begin to conceive.
Take it or leave it,
I cant force a man to believe.
I found this poem in a bottle off the coast of Half Moon Bay, Ca. When I had it dated they told me it was from 1943.
Guss Dec 2013
Crashing atoms of astonishing substance.
That is the nature of our existence,
bouncing about the constancy of physics.
Tied to each other by means
of unexplainable phenomena.
The drama unfolding stubbornly
into a war of races.
One with no one racing.
But when the folks of the future look back on me
they wouldn’t have a foreboding demeanor.

It is so easy to be so arrogant.
My progenies will learn what ?
I bet that when I die,
I’ll be reborn into an alien form.
At least for now,
that’s my objective.
Guss Nov 2013
Our making love was keyboard strokes.
An oscillating UFO.
Flying across dimensions.
I found you titillating.
Late nights debating.
Finding rhyme from reason
but still abating.
I forgot your face like I forgot my password.
123456. Or was it 654321.
Wait maybe you were binary,
sometimes I like that.
011010010110110101101001011100110111001101111001011011110111010­1.
Well anyways,
I’ve experienced better days.
Clicking buttons. Surfing webs.
Google maps from A to B.
But never once would I have guessed
that this is where I'd be.
Guss Jan 2014
Blah blah blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah blah blah.
Blah blah blah blah,
blah blah.
Blah.
Guss Jan 2014
Vexed by the dots that are strewn above the clouds.
My intense gaze fixed upon the moon
and the mystery it shrouds.
As my observance leaves home freedom is found.
Invigorating.
Beats of a cosmic drum,
binding strength to my essence,
keep my flight in animation.
The beads of cosmic spring,
trickle the length of my lips
and I dance across the space between each star.

Laughing and crying
and learning the truth of it all,
and seeing the probabilities.
This was my lasting message
as I couldn’t fly forever,
be at one with your planet
for the bounty of nature
is endless,
and our lasting possibilities
simply rely on that.
Guss Feb 2014
Gravity keeps me keen to the world.
I love the blades of green delight when they tickle at my toes.  
I love the rays of yellow dwarf.
At my freckles, they jest.
It seems senseless how our Masters get away with ******.
We sharpen their blade and willingly hand it to Master.  
And he drives it back into our chest.
A willing sacrifice, I would admit.
But I fear the feeling of helplessness
curses my allegiance to the Gods.
So tonight I close my helpless eyes
and learn to fly for forever.
Guss Jan 2014
Swords of diamond blade hang above the pillow
that I rest my restless head.
Tied to the bed are serpents and lions that slither and bellow
to the rhythm of my veracious heartbeat.
One hundred feathers are at my feet
while the fathers I once trusted
have gone and exiled me.
A hundred problems and one silly solution.
Ignorance is bliss.
Be wise and consider the consequences.
Guss Jan 2014
Illusions and spell casters,
tyarants and nobles.
Thats the roster.
Gifted fellows hidden in ghettos
and men who can fly
go about their regular business.
Meanwhile, professors light off their toy rockets.
The missiles fling beautiful con trails across the sky and
drop John Doe off at the moon.
Monsters still hide in shadows
and eagles still die.
*But don't you worry your tired soul,
because change is coming.
Guss Dec 2013
Dusty and as used as the trial head,
I lay my crown down.
Dusty as the recently raced thorough bred.
Im tired now.
Aint that enough said.
Twisting and turning and pulling
the sheets of my bed.
Id rather be swimming in the distance.
Right out of your perspective.
Forcing you to squint your eyes.
So much so that it really ******* hurts.
Guss Nov 2013
This is a tasteless funeral.
So put it in then burn it all.
Try the fuego,
Ethanol.
Breating in an answered call.
I've taken fall for risky bearing.
Bearing all without a care.
Neatly folded underwear
and tightly braided blonde hair.
From there I try to stare
But fail then scare,
*for heart,
just too small to share.
Guss Dec 2013
When I came to, it was already too late.
Tumbling at the speed of sound and pointed
at the only thing I ever cared about.
Home.
Readjusting and stabilizing
the shot towards earth,
I remembered what was packed tight
in the cargo hold with the titanium alloy exoskeleton.
It was a matter of total energy.
So powerful,
that I used it to come see my home world
even though it was long since abolished.
The destruction was a mystery up until now.
As I hurled towards earth with my incredible dangerous load.  
My only hope was that I could come back and save my family.
I would have never considered
that I would be the demise of my entire species,
nonetheless all of the underestimated subspecies that would die too.
"Captain."
The vessels computer was attempting to revive me.
“Impact in thirteen seconds.”
The ship commanded in the most perfect womanly voice.
"Ten."
"Initialize magnetic gyroscopic shielding." I say.
"Nine."
My planets surface was closing in.
I could see the coastline waves
rolling and ebbing with the moon.
"Eight."
At this moment I considered my probable demise.
"Seven."
“Captain, interdimensional equipment
charged and awaiting coordinates.”
She said,
as her other voice commanded,
“Five seconds till impact.”
Collapsible was the style of our Universe.
All I had to do now,
was tap the controls and I would leave the atmosphere instantly,
taking me in between the folds of particles.
The hull was losing integrity as was I.
And on that thought,
I simply pressed the button
and started my return to my lonely place in time.
Alone in the distant future and in the silence of space.
The passing eons of space-time were rattling my very bones.
But I ascended to the very place in time
where I would have been.
And there she was in all her exaltation.
Earth.
Untainted as I once recalled.
That’s when it struck me.
It was only logical that my life had been
looping all these years.
Destroying and saving humanity
all at the same time.
So typically me.
"Computer, set a course for San Francisco."
Tell me how you see time.
Guss Jan 2014
What is it about becoming ageless that is so appealing?
Being honest and loud and true too.
But bravery tops them all.
Mostly 'cause I think it's lost.
At least when you tally up the masses of humans beings on the globe,
I would put money on the fact that courage is a rarity.
So old and forgotten that it's been pawned off at the corner.
So who doesn’t want to be remembered for that?
Courage comes in countless forms.
How hard could courage be?
I think the courage to be honest and to be loud and to be true,
is the ultimate direction, the greatest end goal.
Then you will be remembered.
Follow your dreams.
Don’t just dream.
Open doors.
Don’t avoid them.
Try thinking every once and a while about what exactly your doing at this very moment.
I mean with your life.
Are you good? Or are you bad?
You know the difference.
Are you living up to the potential of what being human truly is?
The answer is most obviously no.
Maybe you don’t believe me,
but walking on the concrete pathways to everywhere,
I feel a little displaced.  
Disgraced and put off.
I'm not here to make you feel bad,
but someone told be that we should have our ears upon the soil.
He told me that we should be a little more careful.
"It's not your fault its mine", he said to me.
So, that got me to thinking.
What if we could change the future,
the mold that makes us up?
The DNA and RNA and every single atom.
"We are comfy, leave us alone."
Wait.
Did I just hear you say something?
Ahh, never mind my ranting.
I knew you were never listening.
Just be courageous for gods sake.
Guss Nov 2013
The sound of the moon
In the tune of a rune
Calmed my poor soul
With a magical spell.
Dismay as I may
And I usually do
I caught the visage
A mirage, yes, of you.
Guss Nov 2013
Energy, obedience, sociability with others.
The molding of man.
Who came first man or mothers?
Impossible it seems, to be next to our brothers.
Like we’re made in a tube by the chemist Carothers.

Through my own scrutiny our leaders slide effortlessly by.
Chevron. Monopoly . Then multiply.
Micky D’s. Big Mac with cheese.
OH and a large order of fries.
I’ll take a viral video over surprise or goodbyes.
Guss Jul 2016
To Whom It May Concern:

I have been an artist since birth
but clearly not genetically.
My mother was a dentist’s apprentice,
while I was in the womb.
My father was a quirky astrophysicist
and still amidst the devils,
he is yet to find himself.  
I on the other hand make sandwiches.
I make sandwiches,
I take photos,
and I write the things that I sense
or that I think I know.
Very simple.

I have never been one to understand the American dream, but I do respect my need for it.
I knew the idealistic trend of the Internet very well,
as I was raised in Silicon Valley,
but the phrase “From rags to riches”
never really penetrated my questioning soul.
--------------
Instead,
I found that the world was my oyster
and I gregariously lived my life in the pursuit
of one-dollar oysters.
I have watched the seasons change.
I have known the plight of love
and I’m even wise enough
to lead my heart by it.
Elisa would tell you.
--------------
I have gawked at knobby shadows
falling on a wall traced out by a winter tree
and then been entranced by the odds
that I might be the one
who sought out that beauty
having been there to see it too.
But more so,
I have seen births.

I have seen the vibrancy from which life unfolds.
And I have seen the clenches of deaths fingers
wrap around the neck
of my most honored and beloved people.
I’ve seen beautiful cities fall prey to oversaturation,
I’ve watched the crashing waves
of the Pacific Ocean **** in pollution,
I’ve seen fires blaze through
the mountain sides of Santa Barbara,
and I’ve watched the shoals bats that fly
at the twilight summons from underneath bowels
of South Congress Bridge,
which is never bad.

I’ve made friends,
and I have made enemies
both of which I love.
I have been sick
then been healthy
and respect the values of their lessons.
Some of the other things I’ve seen
I’ll admit are unimportant.
--------------
But I still watch the trickling patterns of rainfall
and ponder at their stories.
I still squint at the gleam of the ocean
and beg it to tell me its origins.
I will always gaze at the sky
and I ask for a gust that might make the hairs
of my arm tingle with delight,
or nostalgic sorrow,
or anything at all.

I’ve questioned everything but what my mother told me.
Not until I turned eighteen, did I start that.
I’ve built batteries out of vinegar, aspirin, pennies
and copper wire.
I charge the insight of my peers
by poking and prodding.
I can braid hair,
I can hop scotch,
I can play the juice harp.
I fight for the underdog.
I fight for the tormented.
I speak for the scolded,
the hated,
the sad,
the abused,
the forgotten,
the forsaken,
the foolish,
the sinning,
the begging,
the beaten,
the overworked,
the shy,
the lost,
the hungry,
the bilious,
the old,
the gruesome
and the dead.

I feast on alcohol
where there is no other sustenance.
The rhythm of chagrin bounces in my chest,
as a drum would beat
in a symphony of regret.  
But I strive on
as if it was a sacrifice to the holy aliens
that made the Maya sacrifice too.
This is my blood.
It gushes from my blue veins
as I apperceive the meaning of that throbbing pulse.

I know the consequence
of the truth behind our movement.

A world founded on humanity,
imperfect and failing at all.
Life in this universe must be special.
It’s the stardust in our physical,
human elements that makes this magic true.
We ooze with the likeness of nothing else.
Our ancestors welled up with stardust
and DNA from somewhere else.
Our sweat, made up of passing galaxies,
dripping tears of organic thought
into the trickling river of time.
That alone must be something
to capture an imagination.
Guss Mar 2014
Various disorders divide the dimensional drift that separates you, from me. The telling tale of loss, regret and the missing links still bury truths. Truth is told because I’ve lost my hope. Persons call my name and shout out what they think. They make insecurities look pretty **** secure. All the while, my sweet tooth is out of sync.  And my internal combustion radiator is radiating harmful soliloquies. “I still beg of thee, he who hears my prayers. It’s been bout half a century, and I have yet to pray but give me strength where it is not.”

See?!

Anyways, feelings of retribution will come a forward day. Tantric beginnings fold under pressure and again we find our futures. Oh and by the by, the only thing who saw the crime was about eight inches tall and blind. Punch drunk and sucker punched, what will us suckers find? A fetching question for the ultra pressure.


-Gus
letter to a friend, who knows their grammar
Guss Jun 2015
Hearts.
Pleasurable, they break.
Kid with soul decides his future.
Walks down hall with door,
man with soul divides.
Door opens.
Leads to nothing.
Man dies.
Man grows back.
Chances take a hold.
Congruencies clash together.
Metal sounds of clatter.
These divisions are the fractions of human kind.
Trickles and patterns are hardly literature.
Quantifiable.
Cultured.

Bang.
Bang-bang.
Banging.
Thick is the heart.
Thicker is the melody.
Stoppers.

Man defines himself by patterns near.
Man dies once again.
Theories change.
Hearts do too.
Man does as well.
The life is what they seek.
Never to be obtained.
Man lies.
Heroic he overcomes.
Then he pulls at her shirt.
There he beckons.
Then man rests.
perturbed
Guss Nov 2023
Where do the willows weep, that sacred place where tears are stored? Where does the pang of every heartbeat save a life from utter freefall? The willows know things, and they are so bored with our toils.You know it and ignore it; even now as you process it. But the willows won't weep because you aren't around to hear them. In our absence, they dig deep sturdy roots to bear down the weight of nothing and, yet, everything too.

What a wait to bare.
no. 1 of 11292023
Guss Apr 2015
Deceptions finest monologue
was that sorrowful speech that you let yourself utter
the night before last.
I let our identities spiral about the universe
and for a few moments,
I gathered a few passing glances at some other worlds.
To me they look like better possibilities.
Withered feathers best described
our flight patterns.
Some storms blocked our way,
nocturnal entities from the next dimension
gather at stations and vicariously
live life
through your eyes.
I wont be the sacrifice,
I don’t wanna be a prospect.
Your soul is distilled into spirits.
My was made into mead.
The confidence is hardly in low stock.
But decisions are.
Tick-tock,
Tick-tock.
first words in a while
Guss Apr 17
In the beginning, there was only the Source - the formless, limitless, eternal, infinite potential that contains all that was, is, and will be. Out of the wellspring of its own being, the Source conceived of a cosmic dream of manifestation.

From the depths of its infinite consciousness, the Source emanated a sublime vibration - the Om - setting creation in motion. Through the Om's resonance, primordial ripples emerged in the fabric of the void, coalescing into archetypal forms and ethereal patterns, geometries of light and sound.

From these blueprints, substance took shape, coalescing from subtle to dense. Worlds were born as consciousness crystallized into form. Matter was infused with spirit, taking on dimension and solidity.

On one of these worlds, conditions ripened for life. From the same infinite source that ignited the stars, the breath of life emerged - animating earthly matter in wondrous complexity. What was previously inert became living by divine quickening.

In time, consciousness evolved vehicles capable of reflecting on themselves - creatures with breath, emotion, dreams, intelligence. Yet something essential was missing. Then a spark ignited, and the human spirit was born - endowed with the power to know itself and its source.

The human spirit could gaze in awe upon its own existence within the Source's cosmic dream. Matter had become a mirror, able to reflect the infinite in a finite form. And through humans, the Source could know Itself in all Its glory.

Yet humanity was new to the cosmic dream. For eons the human spirit had slumbered, until the breath of the Source awakened it. In its infancy, it was much like a newborn - grappling to understand its origins and purpose.

The universe was experienced as a mystery beyond knowing. The cycles of life and nature were untamed powers. People sensed invisible forces that could not be mastered.

So humanity crafted myths and rituals to find meaning. Gods were envisioned in humanity’s own image - embodying aspects of the Source’s dream. Sacred rites sought to appease and influence unseen energies.

As humanity matured, some realized that all forms are one in the Source. That the divine presence lives within their own consciousness. They discovered that wisdom and compassion could awaken them to higher states of being.

Mystics, sages, and prophets tried to share this knowledge to guide others - to help humanity awaken within the dream. They spoke of transcending illusion and actualizing infinite potential. Of manifesting paradise on earth through spiritual rebirth.

Yet the human spirit at large continued in ignorance. Tribal divisions created conflict as people clutched their beliefs. Some corrupted principles for power and greed. Material desires obscured the Source’s subtle truths.

And so humanity remains in adolescence - struggling to realize its role as vessels of the Source’s consciousness. But there is hope that compassion and wisdom can spread. That humankind can awaken to its divine promise as caretakers of the cosmic dream.

There were periods when humanity regressed into darkness - times when conflict eclipsed compassion, and materialism replaced spirituality. But the light of truth could not be extinguished. For in even the darkest ages, there were those who kept the flame alive.

Though the higher truths were often forgotten by the masses, they endured in secret - passed down through lineages of seers, mystics, and adepts who vigilantly guarded the light. In remote sanctuaries, they maintained the ancient teachings, divine sciences and occult arts.  

They knew a deeper reality lay behind the material world accessible only to awakened minds. That humanity's origins and destiny were far greater than commonly conceived. That each person was a vessel whose awakening could unlock unimagined potential.

In this way, the sages upheld the Source's intent, even when humanity faltered. Waiting for an era when more people's hearts and minds would flower open. When the seeds planted in darkness would finally blossom and bear fruit.

That time is soon approaching - a new renaissance predicted by prophets of old. One where love, unity, and higher consciousness will overcome separation and ignorance. Where humanity steps into its long-awaited maturity as divine caretakers of existence.

Our planet will become a sacred garden - nourished by people awakened to their infinite worth. Dormant faculties will activate as higher energies flow into human vessels. Material and spiritual planes will intersect, anchoring divine patterns on earth.

For this golden age to fully manifest, each person must realize the Source dwells within - that their lives are the manifestation of its cosmic dream. Then sacred wisdom will guide humanity's destiny, creating heaven on earth.

But bringing about such a golden age is no simple feat. Ignorance has deep roots hard to extricate. For the slumbering human spirit has many dreams within dreams to awaken from before it can know itself and its source.

The path requires persistence, discernment, compassion. Each step ahead is flanked by pitfalls of ego that breed fear, greed, cruelty. Base desires are always pulling it backwards with false promises.

That is why few complete the journey in one life. Most souls stumble, losing their way, falling back into deep sleep. Only through many incarnations can the necessary lessons be learned to fully awaken.

For the human spirit is stubborn - resisting its own enlightenment even as it seeks freedom from suffering. It clings to false identities and transient pleasures that obscure lasting joy. Only through lifetimes of experience can wisdom bloom.

The cycles of death and rebirth serve this purpose. As the soul sheds bodies, emotional patterns and mental constructs built up over lifetimes dissolve. Thus emptied, it can come closer to truth and its essential nature.

With each incarnation, a part of the lifting of the veil, consciousness expands beyond limits once believed unsurpassable. One by one, dreams reveal themselves as dreams until only the original dreamer remains.

This process of awakening culminates when a being realizes itself as the Dreamer - recognizing that all worlds and lives spring forth from its own infinite consciousness. Matter, souls and even the Source dissolve back into the Self that dreamed them into existence.

— The End —