a balanced breakfast begins
with a fresh glass of anxiety
and a bowl of helplessness
which you eat with a piece of dread
and the food pyramid is a lie
and the diet gurus scream
in self-serving ads in your screen
at the end of the day
or in this case the beginning
the balanced breakfast will be
what you haven't digested before
and it will feed you for a while more
just as it fed you that first time
when you starved and needed that
but diets never last
and neither should this
balanced breakfast

just another **** engineer
both literal and metaphoric
hyperbole of the word.
**** was the topic
**** was the medium
the process and the outcome
the feeling and execution
the raw gut punch
and the lingering inner filth.
everyone thinks they know ****
until **** knows you—
that's when you're truly
swallowed
chewed
and spat out.
all for nothing
'cause **** is its own end
no higher meaning
no profound vision
no ******* revelation.
just another job
in ****
about ****
another way to survive
another routine
with its soul-killing moments
and those fleeting glimpses
of grace in our
worthless existence.
everything could be
depressing or poetic
depending on the day's mood
and **** was no exception—
perhaps
it was the rule.

I watch a fly read my book
with a perfectly fine glass of juice
by its side
my book isn't sweet
then again it isn’t exactly ****
so what in the hell is so **** exciting
for a fly to be sighting
over it?

must have aged decades
being in that theater of war
with all those other kids
searching for individual pixels
before the pixels
shot you
and the supplies were never enough
and the garrisons were overrun
and nobody coordinated on the mike
and the commander was too slow
and nobody threw the smokes right
and they were flanking us, ******
I must have aged decades
being in that war
long gone
were the days
of calm playing
and repetitive tasks
this now was a dynamic ask
long gone were my reflexes
long gone were my wits
all there was now to it
was the raw experience
but a trivial approximation
of the real
that allowed me to feel
what others before allowed me
to comfortably see
through the television screen
they were the long gone

I bring you the message, but the messenger brings no pain
I've been around, I know this town
The weight of the carry all the same
As roots of okra pull us down
The message, still, goes forward
No more, no less
Than what you can handle today

Half of the human experience is exterior and half is interior
So it's with great sorrow that I see you all
Scrolling
Travelling
Partying
Smoking
Drinking
*******
Attend­ing
Watching
Gaming
Lest you allow yourself to feel and digest anything, beyond the most surface of levels
Oh, its scary
I know
to stop the distraction
And sit with yourself
Alone
While all those things inside
you tried to drown
Come floating up
The thing is
They will come up whether you want to or not
So why not be ready and on your own terms
You can't run away
And even if you could
Why would you miss this
For anything else in the world?

You have to be 100 years ahead
To be taken seriously
But nobody will agree with you until then
And nobody might even be there then
You might get smart
And think "maybe 50 years is enough, or even 20"
I suspect if you look deep inside
Its the fear of loneliness
That lures you into compromise
On the other hand, 5 years could be enough
Before you get steamrolled
By the torrent of other people
That are also just slightly ahead
Yet not ahead enough
To notice
They're surrounded