Had a father name Zeus
One day Jane's Addiction
woke up and found my daddy
gone

Had another mother name Mary
One day brothers
Peter and Paul
read her suicide note

She'd loaded her pockets
with stones, waded
downstream in indigo
mood.

They named me Mo
Each day we
dog Clan follow
Jo scavenging
Eden.

We've left a garden
to build forts
with discarded sofas
and hurl play dirt
and nip our throats
in mock death.

When brand becomes bland
and routine and rituals
move in rigid homogeneity.

When monocultures spread
like healthy cancer
and our volatility meter
sits still at fever.

When popular financial service
say, that "the center
can't hold anymore."

When sleeping frogs
never wake even
though the enthalpic
belly satiates fully
and any tiny misanthropic
speck will spark
nucleation around
a waking me.we

When these blocks
fire in the deep,

then our dog clan stirs,
a smiling hive feasting
on dead amphibians
left motherly as sustenance
to begin a Trickster's
journey.

moving always gather dust,
swirling plumes
stuck in tiny granules of sweat,
and tears. secreting pores
cl0gged with detritus
of past life stirred
in passage to a short
sharp future.

a shocking c0llection
of earth, keratin, and
electron sheen on me,
confusing
or submerging
or subverting
0r diverting,
obfuscating or
simply schmooing
in a l0osely trailing
tendril connecting fragment,
piece, & sticky speck.

i join more fl0aters
hidden off in forgotten
co0l corners of history.

In the beginning
there is a class
of creatures we call Gods
that much later
we realize are just mono-
instances of god.

From the tower
I babble tongues,
coded messages and ciphers
that you implement
in your daily rituals
and obsessive behaviors.

In R, it's something like,
christ <- god(moral compass)

In Ruby it could be
buddha = God.new

And perhaps a nihilist or we
would find happiness in

10000.times do
pushRock = buhdda.take(me)
end

It's all pidgin for me,
unstructured glimpses at a world
that's moving and changing
faster than my non-existent
grandson can comprehend.

It's all a network
of +1 and like'd
firing mix media,
reinforcing a nascent
thought stream,  
back-propagating our legends
and fairy tales, Grimm
reminders of epic Odyssey |
5 Armies in film |
Warring States |
loping dog with a severed hand
in Akira black & white mouth
repossessing Spaghetti Westerns
back into our feudal *****.

Fire, firing
into the Monsoon rain.
Always in the Hemingway
rain of symbols and Matrix
green code.

And in my cupped hand,
I catch glimmering fireflies,
instances of Gaiman's
American gods, Tricksters,
Coyotes, and my faithful
Dog smiling at me.

Change is necessary.
Change is require.
But is change sufficient?

Change is a diversifier.
Change is a niche filler.
But is change transformative?

Change is not good.
Change is not bad.
But then what changes do we keep?

Heuristic small change we like?
Perpetuating idiosyncratic Absurdities?
Selecting traits for "survival"
in a world of our own creation.

Do you understand the Michael Jackson trap?

Real Evolution is easy.
Diversity + Mobility = Survival
But cosmetics is much harder.

What will the monkey see in the mirror?
Will he like my face?
Will I have diversified my humanity,
change my BIOS for faces,
to an arbitrary Facebook,
Unrecognizable to a nostalgic monkey?

Do you like this painting by Friedrich?
YES or NO,
A binary one or zero answer please,
true or false.

I like recognized neural solutions
posed to logistically regressed ideas.

Do you like the color
BLUE or YELLOW?

YES, I did like GREEN,
so slender and bright
faced in her youth.

We were adolescents with too many connections
And maybe not enough pruning.
Or maybe we were just mixed and mash-up,
media saturated?

What do you think?
Did you lust for GREEN too?
YES or NO, true or false.

And now, are we adults or autistic kids?

We withdraw, refuse to recognize faces,
limit human touch because it's all
too overwhelming-- reduced to visual cats,
difficult to herd by old Hands
and cooperative Rules.

We wanderer above the Cloud
seeing answers from a Fog of Random data.
Old world romantics, Greenhorns
in the brave new world of hard logic
and emotional detachment.

If we randomly assign
BLUE = false, YELLOW = true, and GREEN = lust;
logic tells us false AND true must equal false.

A novel recognition that sometimes when
BLUE mixes with YELLOW, we are again BLUE!

By sheer force of color faith
and romantic human sensibility,
we mix falsehood with truth
to arrive at what we desire.

In our blue hearts, and yellow skin
we still green after romance.

Spinach
Lettuce
Bourbon

Chicken
Mushroom
Scotch

Rice
Sardines
V­odka