cyber-book-burning on both sides.
when did erasure start passing as
love

Respected ancestors
Thank you for surviving
Such that we may survive

As we yet survive.

Though some of us, in some form of stasis or another,

The breath may still come to the lungs
And words to the lips-

Even if few

These may be spoken
To say
Unto the graffiti of time,

I am here.





For now, I am here.
Rocking horse .
World stoneling.

Breath-maker and
True.

On the cusp of infinite knowledge
The human race
Shadow dances at the cleft
Face
Of the mountain

Daring the pits below
To invite it into belonging
There

Yet still reaching outwards
Embracing me one last time before
Flying.


Inviting me to hope and love
Again
After such fimbulwintr years as it has
Been

Now comes the third spring
And the dawn of
Soft eyes fluttering
Open


We shall
See.

Or

We shall see…

That’s all it is.
The most fundamental form of communication
Boils down to dichotomy :
This or That

It’s the only Real language .


Yes and no ,

Drum and silence.


Beat
     patterns into the veil of the night
The
     Moon. Is.
  Watching      .






                        .







       ­                 .

am i humbled
            as i cup hands to the drip
                                              machine
  of _wantinglessness

am i listening to the horsehair-plaster hard enough

to remember
her hematite cough
                     [ of love ]

strewing gun.mites across the room
like seeding the sky with flower-futures


concatenations of ****** dread
casket basket
            rumor of
            the next thing.

scab fingers
ring diggers

shun mirror
you skim new menisci
                     off of
                       the
    locals’ strange traditions
like parsing down handmedowns
                  into piles of
keep.              and.              get the **** away
from me.


       like the stories cryptids tell
             their children about us
  ( so that they don’t stray too far out of the
                           forest )

unapproving dissimulatiors
                yawp
                  and
concentrate
on etching
pathways for the unendeared
             amidst the
moon.trodden regicides
   of that which is loosed unto the
   aether


footholds, findless.
in pursuit of esper footfalls within the ambulatory shroud of
             that which becomes
                      instant .

a
wisp of the homepointed . a
flick of the
wrist-grab, willfully
a
  fissure
in
  fissured things.

the scramble-dark iris
the         way
that hipbones throw : music
        as wielded by sorceress,

wild in trembling macrodactyl      
                 prestidigitations
                               .








the grandmother of conifers keeps vigil ,
                        as always

If there is any human history
Left to be written,
I hope that you will be
Remembered.

Oh. Oh. Shaboom.

still _courses
//through we,the wet.
[though dry curses be cast upon us now]

as music the fills hall-less, drifting assembly
of
[]ears

seeking, ever skyward, a pedestal to
****
from


demigods and demagogues.hum.with  the
white-hot vibration of  
          erasure  

needing to sting
like needing to
***;


needing to *** like
needing
   bread;


dis mantling   the
lapis-dark
shawl of the
           night

in search of
   the
hubris
    of
  other .

The ultimate thing?


You use what ever you have
You do what ever you can
You artifice Art

No more -no less
Nothing better has ever been attempted.
Attempt it.
Every single second. The world needs it
Hard.

was right .

the radio tower tuned in
to my
legs
pounding downward into the
grey sand:transfixed
like a static
node in  
the
flail-winged embrace

as waves
   comprise

the multitude
swarm
of
unheeded prayers shot like
fugues
out
from the center
of
observation,

this
decomposing gemstone
coast


beacon.4the.undertow

Every bathroom sink
Is an alter


To more ancient forms.

b ronze  a ge
morality

I feel like humanity is loosing a war that’s not even being
Fought

curl


and you're
mine.

/




rays.thatbetray
the intentionality of
our days and all the tasks assigned therein

20 seconds of alarm.

it’s calling for the tepid disquiet of assimilation

it’s calling for pretenders to assemble in
the shadow of new thrones

it’s calling us by our names

in the language of it’s immeasurable, mylar breath

I let a few drops drip into my tea as i peel the fruit,
Separating each segment as an individual piece.
The fisherman painted on the inside of my cup looks out ahead
My green ripple, matching exactly to the location of his water’s edge.

Speak truth
Seek knowledge and use it justly

fact-based decision making /
the inherent , long-term kindness of truth .
the patience to seek it , regardless of popular opinion or ad campaign /
the inherent cruelty of averages and crowds /
the willingness to build wings /
the bravery to use them /

the hubris to use them unglamorously .

the tower , the fall , and the sea .
the illusory virtue of the inventor’s son :
the illusory personal value-add in possessing unearned, inherited things .
virtually, anything you want .
anything you want, virtual .

the perceived magical nature of wisdom /
the failure to pattern /
real math using false measurements /
real harm using falsehoods against the world .
the failure to achieve mastery on the first day /
the persistence to achieve mastery .

you can do good things_

the knowledge in the world is meaningless
if not paired with action .
words suffice for action only insofar as they catalyze the words and actions of others .
that is the lesson : learned the hard way
as all lessons must be,if they are to be learned at all

lest lessons be lost to regurgitated.immolation

Inside our gut
Gurgling forth it’s ancient
Hive
Mind

Mastabatory self righteousness in the
Plastic heart of the
Androcyne  

Churn
Churn
Churn.

Belly hairs
Stiffened outwards

Inside the deep wash of dry baseboard-heatered air


It’s good.
To think back sometimes


With waxy cuticles     against the chapped    
    lip’s
open
    curl

I am not a patriotic person, but what these zealots are doing makes be beyond sick.

If you have the slightest inclination about what has ever been, or will ever be, good about America
You will not watch at they tear it apart.


The forces which created us were once
Science, Art, and the Human Condition.

In Boston, we have done it before. It can be done again, if needed.
I do not seek to need to,
But I ask your courage, should the time come.

Do not let them set hundreds of years of progress back to appease their wallets and their hateful notions of god.



One, if by land.
Two, if by sea.

we are collecting
preventative measures
             like assembling
       an
anthology
of misplaced
               tiles
in mosaic
memorandum.

if           we have a year
left,
if we
continue to postpone
              the
destruction,


art may
yet
retain its
artists

as artifice transcends
artifice




.

i'm listening to the crickets outside the window tonightfor the first t ime in a long time

Faster than  the  speed of bad decision
The light bounces   off the hand and into eye s
When, the
Hand moves / it
Shutters all around
And encroaches.       Into

Billowing stacks of molecules , roaring up
With a  purposeless ,and burning
Desire.


Feed, heart. feed

Honest animal
Lying man.

not the first wish
for finding each other in the dark

the wolf is wild
the coyote is wild again

is:
fingers through hair,
breath in the morning,
a good t-shirt.

where memory is safe,
the right sound-track,
a path.

and
there may yet be a world left to fill with
hope.

their kindness


    is a kind of lobotomized love.+pushing paper around.like making everdistant promises of delivered goods

//:scarring dragonbelly sized trenches into the slowchurning flesh of the world.a widening gap between
actualized.v.abstract justice .            1t’s virtue on credit,
paid off in laundry loops w/o a tangible exchange .



   choose
   now!


or find these heart-sized boxes made of an entropic eventuality:this habitual tug into the center_towards willful repose _laying down.beside
the fluttering lashes,glazed over in the cool bath of dawn
///
waking too late
loving too late
******* too late .
***-slung beside the driveway sun.

i lift my soft scale belly to the yawning expanse,
       aim now !

aim now ! !

                                aim now ! ! !



?:

the harder it is to prove that it happened
let alone, who did it.

forgotten words for it.
small ornament beside the face

in need of fly paper
upon her return

the scan lines are layers of sediment
piled up
  in thin slices of observation
  over
  us

and it was only people
trying .




and it didn’t matter what was
real,
only
what they believed with all their
hearts .

Alphabet rooms : each room one - two letters

All walls and ceilings covered in collage of illustrations and paraphernalia of terms starting with the letter

All themed around human sexuality

The hallways, small
And covered in monitors
Showing live feeds of camgirls
Housed in the units above

A deviant dictionary
A liminal space

She takes me there
There is another girl she knows in the hallway
She says hi
By

jokingly simulating an act on her in pantomime of what had played on the screen we just passed in the hall


Room stop
T

For thanks

Was cut
A long time ago.

//:caravan after caravan   
     
            gutter|paths
      into these quiet disagreements
between       .map-made
        and
salt-deposited.as

carrion
               filaments
rake

what              remains.


sticks loosely     atop :

                    the given .

           the drop
                                  .as
effigies of a dark forest are emboldened,
  freshly-hewn
                       into
    the membrane
     .beside the steadied tap




unhindered landslide
wet soiled
basin/
nascent tributaries //bristling
with all the
hunger and coarseness_
of something geological

        dinner is served
            taken greedily              .and
     replenished easily ,            

       returned
   to its mother:who lay now,  e m b o d i e d .
like the slow formation of            crystalline      
                                 ­                         treasuries 
 
    inside the heaving breathlessness of the
              world.

honey-gain
hive-loss

rumbles in the
basement .

the desert sand
moves through our eyelids
like other peoples’ problems that become
our own :

each woven loop, a desperate handhold of precious cargo
each intertwining thread-arm
shoulder to shoulder ,
dry.elbows locked /
@ a citystate’s walls
a crystal cathedral refracts the
prismcut pathways of the bright
   shawl slung over her neck like a
yolk//
   shivering at the tall gates of
this
****-farm for the ****-hearted

they turn her
away.
they turn into
men and **** the boys.they
fight back the
desire to love and
burn houses for the want of
                night-
                lights
on someone else’s
lawn.



hey, be. hey, be ye.

humanity
belongs to the mad.
only
the sane may die
         unlived

My tongue is taken in yours
like an egg
Being dragged down into the lungs
Choking up
Promises,
As a car door slams
Outside;
As a screen door slides out of the way;
As a cloud passes over the yolk of the sun.






Dogs harm the silence, like I, your waist
Gripping too tightly
And letting
Shoes fall to the ground.

White on maple arms
Three black stripes on the side of branded
Synthetic upper
Style.
My hair
In your eyes .
And yours-
Between the gaps in couch
cushions_

Few understand the technique :
The way (that) I push the walk signal
so that the whole of everything disintegrates.with the touch of *******

On the smooth metal
The micro abrasions pressed into the

skin swirls

The indifference and calm
The static reliance on wires that go unseen until they are worthless

The firey sun dripping like egg yolk over the city





[It makes up for the ink stains on train seats
It makes up for the neighborhoods we don’t go to anymore
It makes up for the way I never learn.]




The train had come when I was nascent to the platform
New comer to the expectant (waiting) mob
Threw down my membership card and boarded, back turned towards the moon

but understanding that doesn’t change how it feels.
all fads are
real

you’re my handgrenade angel
and you’re close enough, baby
you’re close enough baby .

oh god, i hope it’s close enough_

//:and even after they fixed the boiler
you still turn the water to cold at the end of the shower

grooves grip
the road and wet
                     fistfulls of brainmatter
schluffing-off
idiosyncrasies
like a culling of
outside voices
in
favor of
deadguys in sunglasses

ditch-skid kid
doing what he’s told and
following directions

free.pop
picnic.punk
polish on a broken nail

hope is a checkered story of
homewardliness  - whatever that may come to mean

everything  is
a trade
outside of love .

but we devils make
these deals only
to
inch that much closer
each
time .

Is for everything to bother you.

A grief
To
Last

I take three sips of water before looking up to meet your fragile gaze.

You very deliberately dribble lukewarm coffee over bare *******,
Thinking to mean something
By
It


—-
You say :

The Underworld is a plane of understanding at its rootmost lv.
The unseen sketch behind the painting.

It’s the bottom of the ocean.
1st sedimentary layer of that which may receive attention.


It inhabits the same 3/4 d places as we,
Yet shinier things cover it up.

//

Excavated  out through archaeological digs,
Through layers of
Carefully structured cities of daily tasks -
Crystalline life :
The salt bricks and landed footfalls of
Each
Generation .


//

An ugly, honest answer - under so many
Pretty
Lies.