Do you feel like there is so much which is obvious,

That no one bothers to see right in front of them?

And everyone is playing the stupidest game of make-believe ever invented?

You play along when you care to, you know the rules by now-

You’re good. You can be anything.



But you’ve never bought-in.

I will be ready to fight to protect American democracy (for real)
And the secular ideas of the Enlightenment that this nation was actually founded upon .

Drop the ******* *******.
Wake up from this hibernation and fear.

Stand against the deranged lunacy of the American conservative doomsday cult.

Those ******* took the snake flag :
“Don’t tread on me!”, they shout from their filthy, ****-stained lips.

That flag does not belong to them. Pry it from them.

That flag stands for Reason and Secularism .  That flag changed the course of history and Modern thought forever.

They do not seek revolution -
They seek the erasure of all
Human
Kindness.

———-


Celebrate the Human Condition.
Seek joy, but not at the expense of others.

Learn and grow.

Learn and grow, you ******* stunted cogs in someone else’s war machine!

Learn and grow!

the world
doesn’t like bukowski now.
they didn’t then either, but now they really
don’t.
it must be
all
pretty now

I’m small grown over big
Not big to to begin with
Not contending with giants
Not engaging in casual conversation or understanding the want of it

Glow.

.
.
in defense of somethinghood

A humble god
Would chose to be powerless
Seeking only to observe and learn.
A god which is not humble, is not god,
For selfishness and self service is a folly belonging only to that of the living.
It is the natural byproduct of the need to provide to one’s self in order to sustain and survive.
It is the folly shared by all living things:

I must take
Such that I may live.

To remove mortality
Is to remove any native proclivity for self service,

Therefore, a consciousness which needs not,
Asks not, and takes not

Does not seek to introduce, nor extend, the influences of its own
Will
Externally.

A humble god
Simply
Observes it’s own
Breath

As it decays
Into

Nothing .

Rolling downward ,
With the simple
Ease
Of
Gravity.

The secret is
Active rest

Just as water seeks its level,
So too, do the oceans
Churn.

we linger
in those fuzz-****** images of
Home.
we take off, rocket-wise, and at heart-fast velocities
into the gathering pools of time
like lamp-centric product placement in the moth-saturated marketplace sector
like film
over whatever’s left in the glass
when you’re
done
i’ve  decided not to be
i’ve decided to swallow what once hunted
us
Here .

There are only ways
And the time we spend
Together.

go do something better and talk to me in about 5000 years when we chance by eachother in some deep pit of whatever next hell welcomes us so openly

it mattered.

[]
king of the fingers.
decomposing  in the [party scene ]upstairs bedroom
mountains and boulders wear down to things like me when held under
that gaze


you are the ******
and i am the dead that you dress like.
you could reach others .and
i

despite the futures that we are said to be robbed of

The spermicide in your voice
The sink drain spinning
     .After much coaxing


The hair clumps climbing in bromine drips

As the acid burnt label’s yellowing edge
Waits for  further  corrosion  in the cabinet

As we seek to photosynthesize.  Into greater     limbs reaching

We shed the jitters

Humble before the promise of our own smallness

We feel the growth in our bones.

Thin.

Not yet as a door.

Not as an ear.

Not yet as a scar.

Not yet as a shadow.

Not yet as a self.

Yet.

Yet.

The ebbing

Of your eager look

As we roll our eyes,

And are no longer noticed by each other’s fingertips.

set.
i don’t want you to think that i am anything but the attic stairs.you will know me well by the dust and dryseasoned timbers.i hold your artifacts safe for later.short to long term storageit’s always a bad estimation until it all sets in.rinse and re-but.the birds are all car alarms around here_it’s their version of neoclassical heavymetal.i know you know

Joyless
Path.

Path.

All human emotion,
Is what we want to say.

i’m pretty sure that’s us, babe.
stay
spooky

out there .

To seek reconciliation in the swarm of water droplets suspended in the air around your storm-haloed head

It’s breath and thunder that keeps us .
Still lifted up in
Wonder,
Even now


In time, re will re-condense -
As always - as the natural state of things.
Always falling hard at the end of it all


To the passenger jet in the rain
We salute you, 163 lives waiting to be lost
To secure a spot
On the evening news
And all the poorly written web articles to follow

I’m getting to the thick of it
I’m
Getting
Really sick of it.

I’m going
To
Open

Up

Deranged reflection in the pantheon of
Spoons
Dripping dry by the kitchen
Sink
Flashes across the unknowable
World that wraps around every tiny surface that has ever
Been.

Buzz buzz.
Come the particles ,
Like electric.sand into our
Squinting
Gaze

7% eden.one part broken universe
android 1992
true
tears of the maiden

bionic metatarsals
perch of the harpy

home inside the Holocene

hey,prophecy-breaker, be cool.

We cook slowly in the dusty window light
Splitting apart as we dry out, [denaturing our lignin ]
As the hazy rays sweep up

They will be scrawled across the floor and our bodies
Like the thin pencil marks of man made gesture

In the shapes cast about us
Wheeling
As
Only
We can

a cosmic message in a bottle:
and all its ever been is the same as now .
all mythos and religion;
all cult kingdoms; all god-kings

it’s not about what’s out there-
it’s about what’s in here that we’re trying to save.

we wanted to become that symbol
any symbol -
to mean something.
and when we failed,
we became real

[she turned and whispered to me,
“hey.”
i shrugged back at her and became
whole again forever.]

same old imagery
same old annoyance lv. threat
same old s-s-s-summertime
and the living
do so

cradling a torn architectural drawing of the universe.
the sea spray can’t reach us here,
nor the rolling breath of the low clouds raking in and out of the dark-scaled pines atop the cliffs’ edge.
it’s a moonless night-world
at the brink of dissipation .

it’s a world-less willfulness that holds us back from restoring our sight-hounded hearts.

it’s a breakfast served up for something older than kindness,
we - the complimentary condiments of a finely set table for an ill pantheon.

Respect people, but not necessarily their ideas. Treat others well, but never accept  fallacy by virtue of politeness, indifference, or short-term gains.

Do not reward bad behavior.


Fight for what you believe in, but do so honorably. Have hills worth dying on, but  choose the tallest ones you can.

Seek always to better the world for yourself and others. Be willing to endure temporary disadvantages in doing so.
Do not be willing to accept permanent disadvantages in doing so, unless you are in love, and you are sure.

Seek to understand the impact of your words and actions upon the people around you and the greater world. Run simulations in your head. Weigh the perceived consequences with compassion, but do not allow yourself to be rendered frozen or silent by them.

Everyone takes the short cut - and in doing so, renders the path congested, impassable, and ultimately unuseful.
Take the longer distance, do so quickly and with nimble but steady gate

Aim to be be patient on a geological scale-but never tolerant of cruelties.

Even if there are no absolutes in the taxonomy of good and evil, try to find and be what feels like good.  Don’t worry if that doesn’t bear aesthetic likeness to that which is commonly marketed as “the right thing.”
In so far as can be sustained, be a force of protection for those around you.

Know the difference between nice and kind. Nice is polite but allows for cruelty. Kind allows for rudeness but suffers no cruelty.

Take agency. Know your limits. Always seek to push them carefully, but deliberately - it will reduce the risk of being broken by them when your agency is removed later.

Expose yourself to things you disagree with. Disagree with things you are exposed to. Unconscious and non critical engagement with the principals behind group polarization is what creates the vast  majority of humanity’s self inflicted problems.

Tribalism is not always good.
Tribalism is not always bad.

Know the rules of the big invented games. Play these games to the extent of necessity only. Engage in critical thought like your life depends on it. It does. Know that the virtuous rule-followers of these games are food and fuckdolls for the gamemakers in the end.

the call to action :
like prehistory’s most compelling protagonists howling out from the austere tar pits in which they are mercifully entombed

/free my fossilized flesh!/
the carbonized ghosts clamor-
and we will .
we will choke out the whole of our stupefied brood with the breath of their ancient bowels respirating, anew
in ash and motion .
in the name of each family’s future

Power
is a trade.

yet
lambs and other extant specimens do not participate in  this same barter.

their deals are shorter and more sincere:
/ at least leave me the sky - /

/no./ the reanimated ancestral cloud billows,
/all is a dome, beyond which, none may gaze/

/ be still and pose gracefully within the god-dome of our love./

What they call satan,
Is just self-awareness.

It’s a good time to be
Good
If you want the world to still be
There
The best to next to next day

It’s words
It’s the jazz
It’s the music.


The dancer’s waist,
Yearning to be
Grabbed.

Odyss in the abyss
blows a kiss
Home

Is to be life

To hold fire
Is to be human

First
Keeper

Of the flame : first human

Ancestor of all devils

Of passing down the most important things you need to stay alive

It is the easy communication of cultural knowledge

It prepares us to live in that world.
Our world, the one around US!

It is folklore and fable
It is all the moral lessons
The anecdotes, the advise and stories of failure
It is core and integral to the dna of humans

It is knowledge transfer down
Through generations

Telling our tale
Our histories- even when they are interrupted.

Music is the human tapestry itself
It is the first form of writing, the first language.
The reason for language

Each thread is woven of all our families together

Always mixing lineage forward
Always remembering its past

Welcome.learn. Speak back to me
Speak back to me.
Speak back to me
Speak back to Speak back to me
Speak back Speak back to me
Speak back to me

Speak back to me
Speak to me

Speak
To

Me  .


Call and response.




The snow will be here soon.

the hydrogen peroxide heart
denatures to simple, harmless water
in the light_
failing to
challenge
the evil army of living filth assembling attack ranks by the back-edge of the bathroom sink .

it’s a fake creation myth
for
fake inhabitants of a
real
Land .

it’s a
promise, undelivered
by
cells, dividing into oblivion, breaking oaths like
bread  
in a story about
  outlaws and
the
murderous state .

it’s
good - or
as good
as it’s gunna
get .

  as
mold minds
inherit
Us all : We, the spoils of an un-fought
War.

i rake my hands across your heavy thing
you shake like eons in passing
you quake my heavy thing
you real my fake away

It is not unfathomable to hope
That whatever cruelest hell that you are capable of conjuring in your soft mind,
Finds you swiftly ,
And stays with you long .

But gods have not dealt with Justice in thousands of years…

unga bunga ,
and other short stories about everything that has ever contributed to what it means to be
Alive

As time passes
It grows
You, too, must grow with it/
Or be left behind.
If left behind, you live in the past.
If living in the past, you cannot live in the present.
If not living in the present, you are lost to this world.

If you are lost, you can return,
Simply by wanting too.

The strongest spells we weave are cast on ourselves.
The Power is to walk through them, into the air of now.
Never forgetful, but always free.

Steering passage
Through the sand.

calling the beats
calling the sea-roughed wannabe sailor-types

calling the ham radio in your head
calling the used binoculars and the clear sky of a warm night’s impulse

calling down through this
anthropological migration pattern
for
the trading card
charm
of
new kinds of
Fake.

it’s beach day for the //bad.guys
you.          better
catch the shoreline before it’s sold away

the dreams you have when you fall asleep (specifically) before the movie is over.
[like feeling safe enough to do so.]
like
winding up with cloud cover
and
summer, here already
like
no garden again this year -

waking on the couch
in the early morning
suddenly        and to
relative
                       silence





                                   .

the thing that’s feasting upon the things that are feasting_
the gut cauldron .
the soup of you .

What arrogant beast in the history of all living evolution gestured the first false witness ?

A man in a mad world who refuses to go insane with rage
Does so unjustly,

As he sits on his hands
and waits to die.

I have been that man , seeking only sedation.

I come to find that I must face myself
And the injustices of the world

a man-shaped hole in the air shifts around the room, making currents. it’s not the first time that air has been moving. the vacuum-heart draws everything into it, as might be expected .but to see it happen , is something
more
than expectation,alone, may satisfy .

the void-love
grows.

the hole in the air wants to tell you he feels
the same

The clock radio predates my birth by at
Least five years
It must .
Looking like that.
On Sunday morning
The alarm is still set :
And goes off before the sun . Before time
Deserves to exist

Smothered in heaps of (hopefully )clean
Laundry on top of the bureau

The Sunday morning art program slurs
Words between the tangles of sweatpant
Legs
And
Unpaired socks

(Socks I am not responsible for)

/

My mother used to have an old radio in
The bathroom that must have been of a
Similar vintage.
It was a beach radio:black with a brown
Grill - thin red line across the white strip of
The station numbers,

Pushing around the little plastic wheels on the
Side,the red line never lined up quite right .

It hung from a long black drywall *****
From its
Squared off handle on the wallpaper behind the toilet

I think it may have belonged to my
Grandfather
We never took it to the beach,
I’m not sure what he did with it.

He may of just sat out with it on the back fire escape in August.
By the spindly dogwood tree that I remember my nana picking white blossoms from in spring.

The blossoms still come each year , I’m
Sure.
(I don’t know who lives there now)

My radio wakes me up on Sunday
Mornings .
My mother’s radio would play softly at night around the corner from my room.
Sometimes she would shut it off in the early hours of the morning -
When she went to bed.
Other times it would just play



///

This lowgrade fever
Unfoldslikev.rareflowers
On a particular
Night

Deep brows are rustling
Through
Her

As
Microwaves scrape the panel-sides of the
House,
Even in the
Dark

In a world of immense hurdles, you provide an actually good example of a strong roll-model.

You are strong minded, but not afraid to cry (it’s a joke by now, yes - but also, very much NOT!

You are brave.
And you care.

That’s all it takes to be a hero.
And we are in a world that desperately needs real, honest to goodness forces for good.
No *******.

I just turned 30.
But when I think of my life, and if I ever leave anything which might be called a “legacy”.

I can only hope it is a portion of what you already leave both behind an ahead of you.

You are a good person.
And you should be proud of yourself, always, for that.

counting the world on your fingers
counting.

Pieces of sparrow against the tourist trap window
The laminated pages of trifold maps yellow asymmetrically in the sun
There as the light dances

The plastic palm
Not growing
Leaves


Irresolute

The

Ac bolted above the front door making a lot of racket but doing **** all otherwise

The truth.
Fight injustice.

Stand up for what you truly believe in - no matter how big, or how small

Let’s try it again, but mean it this time.




                  don’t let the bad guys win…