For sustenance we trudge on
Just to sustain
This callus equilibrium of fragile crystals
swaying in the wind, falling constantly
Employing the cleverest techniques of fleeting upward momentum
Short-lived displays of affection bleeding the small offering received at birth
endlessly replayed to our children's eyes
Despondent indentured servants scribbling through skin and tendons
Just to feed their families the rice they can no longer grow
And sending these fairy tales to the rosy-cheeked offspring of their oppressor's store bought dreams
To keep the oppression alive .
To operate at peak efficiency.
To transfer honest muscle through wire mesh.
And fatten.
And enfeeble
Enforce the prerequisites to match the scale's testimony.
Testify! Oh, Lord. We thank you for this meal stolen from our inferiors.
Please Please Please.
We demand pleasure. IT IS REQUIRED.
For if we feel sadness, then we have failed.
And we'll lay down what we don't have space in our engorged bellies for.
It will be placed, with all due honors, to our greatest shrine.
Where we are honest with our real Mother.
Where the proud, twicely worn, footwear of our warrior-spiritless cows rests
Where erections limp as collapsed towers, respected by false jihads, sleep.
Where dream's plastic refusal composts never; nourishing nothing.
Where potential is pure impotence.
The bed we all share.

finite rapture
well defined. organized
organelles squirming. spurning
unnecessary imposition. repitition
severing me further.
it's still a bright fixture on the horizon
viewed at the far end of winding tunnel of mirrors.

captured in a jar. admired ideas
appreciated from afar.
trembling extended hand retracted.
strong stiches binding. scabs still crusty.
musty attics, shuffling feet.
melting.
swelltering in the possibility
of a potential interpreted properly.

I work better as an idea
than a human.
compose the tune and I'll be the words.
transpose your soul, I'll be the vibrations.
speak between the lines.  I will be blinded.
Beyond thought.
we are aware that we're unaware.

Crystalize.  Mezmerize.
It could be so simple.
To notice the cheeks, but not the dimples.
Four perfect points of light  linger in the shadows
two by two
Ideals. a concrete truth.
Glaciers slowly crack foundations.
Pounding. Pouding.
Resounding. Cannot be ignored
before I am the boomerang
that cracks you on the head.
Blood pooling at the base of my skull
control watered down.
Concrete giving into stress
and a flower has room to bloom/

It was a very thorough grinding and a overly slow unwinding
The passiveness intensifying to the perfect medium
and beyond this equilibrium it was still churning
this void that is fire extinguished
an emptiness that is passion relinquished
The table was empy, full and cleared of all substances
the cup was overfilling, spilling but content
The tendrils retracted to the cavernous maw from which I succombed
the throat I threw myself down
and clung to the uvula with my toes out of lingering basic reactions
a stimulus that I cared to respond to
My lymph nodes were a sore blackness, penetrating all the wiles of wills
it was the spiders again...
let's talk about evolution for a bit
why do we do things?
survival?
the basic desire to be and propagate oneself
some psychologists would suggest that it's all based on ***.
that's why there are so many ****** and manwhores as well
they trick their bodies into believing they are succesfull.
why do we wish to be succesful?
to attract a mate? yes'm
some of us can move past this sole purpose, but it's still an underlying cause yo


The bossman keeps me a-slaving away..working my time for his pay
The teacherman keeps me a-studying all day, working my mind for future wage
The bassman is me a-slapping a way, mumbling a mating call

So, the plumage is quite bright..genuine too
but not as full and phosphorescent as ******* mcassbutt's store bought version
but, there are no real peahens.  only chickens
so, who'm I trying to impress here? Mr. Director Man, what is my motivation in this scene?
"If you need someone to tell you that for you, then you should probably **** yourself"

this is why I don't give advice much..

I've been told very often, that one should look to themselves for their happiness..
but these people who say this get laid frequently.
not that that is my unit of happiness measurement here.. but try it before you buy it
I'm not going to waste my time.. mating for the sake of having a mate
it's fake. it's vacuous. it's vapid. it's false. it's unreal. it feels wrong and you know it

but...someone to bounce ideas off of. a special someone
put me in my place when im full of **** and it's pouring out my mouth
to recognize that point of light, so many have talked about with me..but ran away from
understanding the cosmic joke..it's not evil or crazy.. it just is and it's wonderful


the lymphatic darkness spreading.
why the lymph nodes?  cuz it's fun to say
lymph lymph lymph
get it? WHEEEE!!
it was once a false light,  some kind of poisonous neon spiraling around my core
but it was torn away..body evacuations of necessity alone
then it was an astral negative, ******* and ******* hard i tell ya whut nyow
it finally found something in all that darkness...the cosmic infinitesimal
the smallest decimal
like a rasinette, with doom insteada chocolate
and dang it was good mood food
i would follow a trail of those fuheva eva
I finished devouring this morsel of anything at all
and found the lighting almost acceptable
readable, but with permanent eye damage after a while

The rapid Pulses increase as  air finally fuels the fire
It came to combust. to spark the flint to the fullest
To centralize all that could be, a widespread social desire
forgoing logic in the name of being
the shattering of illusion is, you guessed it, a figment fractured formally from the rock
obsidian reflecting afterimages.  motions of forced feigned reaction
a wordless line of thought, speechless in it's pure refracted intent.
to beam these ideas to that manifestation, not to dance around fumbling a thesaurus
admiration follows the music and turns the dial accordingly.  ******* scenesters
it humbles to and fro, perpetually ignoring the perfect fine tune
If being is becoming, then what was it?
I could say the words, whisper into lulls, look down the full extent of the great Y in the sky
Would the divine feminine find it's way down those dark channels and see before the divide?
and become the she that should be with me
Am I the He that should be with She?
These concepts sometimes seem a superstitious pogrom, only in place for the sake of continuity
THE HUBRIS!!!!
geese Louise, If only we had counters for practically meaningless revelations and a tic-tac for each one.
Man-Oh-Man, would my breath be too fresh for primetime.
The loaves rise as the yeast fornicate in the manner of Hottentots
gotta butter that bread, son
Too many fuzzies are broken by too many Lennys
too many sparks are extinguished in the name of normality
Too many mountains erode to grains of sand in the name of eventuality
but now they're stoically perfected and ready to be shaped into castles
so much of creation is for destruction, forcing impermanence so repeat customers can sully their honey
words...um... sentences.. and. thaaattt. oh yeah, cognitive thought
People should not fear conversations.  No premise nor opinion should be overlooked due to emotions
You can't fake Lockjaw,  I know you're just chewing that sugar daddy to buy some time
Look not to the answers you find, but to the questions you ask.  The real truth is there.
yeah, It's kinda the inverse of the norm and it usually feels weird when you feed your ***
But it's nowhere near as painful as the **** that comes out your mouth sometimes
I'm scared too
And this stupid Scar on my knee!! AAAAHHH!!! never ever ever take your knees for granted!!
Smile when you see a friend
Smile when you see a frown
Frown when you're upside down
But try not too rhyme too much, it's corny
I write for those I've admired, in the name of the will to create
something far beyond the corporeal, adjacent to the surreal... I mean alabama
stop yourself when you inch to a serious concluding gorge
You know, my father was a bridgemaker, *****
You can't solve all your problems with fire.  I'd like to think that Prometheus said that before lending us his lighter
hmmm. this Zippo's almost out of fluid... pif whatever, we can just monkeyfuck each other until someone figures out a better way
Laugh and don't get too taken up by the rhythm.  Don't polish your stones, no one else can see your pretty face in them anyway.
A persons ease of words on the fly can sometimes be related to their ease of telling lies.
Where's all this coming from?
I'm not sure, but I hope it finds who it's going to.

Oh, this foul currency!
fevered up from the stewing *** of pride
for what I longed, betwix the empty spaces
the finish line now the gunshot
and what of the exchange rate?
how many angers is love worth?
when a passion-plays transfered to selfindulgence
there is some overlap, and a chopping block is needed
and the sharpness may pierce the skin and stain, your ingrain
when did that ever bother me anyway?
love for art or love of art?
it is a ****** that works the teller booth, with smooth words and clean rationalizations
minty
gross
a little too much of a bad thing that tastes good
can't get the taste outa my mouth...i think i cut my tongue
and now other flavors are flavorless, bland, unessential
if it comes from within and the insides are but a void
then what can come out?
and the perpetual turned shoulder fears a quick glance, but desires that knowing stare and smile
badgers, fierce and fluffy.
moose, strong and moosey.
the common line was in that connection
everything else is superfluous
hindsight is, eh, 20/20
foresight..well ****.. i knew what it was
the dark hand extended with warm vibes and false face
you could find it in anyone's hand
is there a case being plead?  perhaps.. or it's just the void talking
it was a redness, angry, tender, vile, beautiful, servile, dominating. perfect.
maybe it's on the road..a squirrel being struck by ****** drivers
maybe it is the road, long and thoughtful
maybe it's a bad poem
this one?
yes.

wither goest he?
traveling, traversing, rehearsing
the good doctor lingers in the doorway out
sometimes forgotton, but always, ever, perpetually
omnipresent
dictations and suggestions, hunches corrupting
helping one last time to cauterize, sterilize
cutting off the umbilical cord to humanity
nothing to slow it down, nothing to hinder, nothing to feel
cilia burned, silly-a me to allow it
is it a neccesary burden. a beast with a broken back
still slogging, blindly, towards an imaginary finish line
hoping there is only darkness there. rest. peace
he misses his shell. the whole world is asbestos
this is his hell. the soothing water sputters the flames to smoke
and miles away, tonto points and deciphers.
"*******" is what it says, soaring eagle
the white man is so trivial
primitive in his circular command center, melting legos to heat his hearth
hiring ****** to eat his heart
a trapper keeper. a pointed rose. a poisoned tip. a mental rip. a freudian slip
this place has no ***.  I mean.. class. class is what i meant.******
surroundings never touch the surface of my skin
and quantum physicists only complicate this perspective.
**** your logic! and **** mine worse..
why must everything be rehearesed? this is a curse.
a verse of a song I sing with a gun to my head

splendid anticipation twisting sapling towards skyroots again
porous attrocities  absorb all happenstance toward equilibrium
prance in trance, dance enhance
the words are subtle still and vague
privy to thoughts portrayed by strays, mainstays frayed by microwaves
this cancer causing communication, new information trending towards midlifestations
I still see the spark, still taste the quark. yet improvisations on the fly are hindered
loquaciousness is all a hoax, jokes and folks hold this shaky oak
some still breathe for the trees
most still wish only to seize
but the smiles ring through all these trials all the whiles no reconciles
flies are gathering on this **** and still my feeling wont equit
where is the man from the sky? the one who wont shell our eyes?
was it a woman within the weaves, the stars unfolding
remolding us as lumps of clay and changing the meaning of the word geigh
sleighride with me onto the seas, now frozen by your cold wilting weeze
rhymes and verses traverse like hearses picking up where my thoughts stop short
clicking and twisting, familiar sorts sing songs of us between retorts
it all points to that familiar end, when i cower away and wont defend
the points of light in pupils stares
between this line nothing impairs
tear away the peeling, reeling and the chewey center within
its not a sin to mend the seams and come forthright
steal from my mind just one last kiss, an idle embrace you've never held, grasping
at least that's what the clouds are hissing, evaporating what ive been missing
mix it all in one big ***, stewing all the things that i am not
you label me a fool in vain, for i have danced between the rain
impossible sorts of things i've felt, callussed noses refused to've smelt
whisper all the words in pairs, double the potency of stares
climb up the rungs one by one and suddenly the songs i've sung
will bellow in through the wind and you'll wonder if there's time
to find the reason within this rhyme

Do other people ever look at me and see poetry?
Some bystander on a corner
young or old
loner or lord
and wonder about my comings and goings?  
Have they created scenarios for me in their heads?
Mazes that the fictional me must traverse
Have they speculated on my love life?
"Oh, that man has been hurt. you can see it in the way he walks."
Do they listen to my order at the coffee shop?
They must think I lack imagination.
Plain coffee, plain clothes.
I hardly make a peacock of myself
Do they envision my morning routine?
He psyches himself up in the mirror first.
Today he asks that girl out.
This is the day his nephew becomes a man
Would I take the young lad to a ******* or a church?
How can you even tell someone's character?
Are there people who dress and act so they can't be read?
Are there people with magic eyes that cut through my disguise?
Are there people who want to save me, or be saved by me?
That guy would make a good protagonist in my novel.
How many layers of reality have I unwittingly dived down just by being observed?
Do people think about things like this?
Doesn't it get in the way of their lives?
Because I sure don't.
And it defintely doesn't.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Never.
Notta once

I suppose this lump of clay is just fine the way it is.
Well, honestly, who am I to try to change it?
I know full well the labor that went into making it
The workforce that mined out the sediments from the soil
The minds that designed that perfect consistency
The psychologists and graphic designers that boggled the package to life
The mouths their incomes feed.
The leftover money spent on beer and records to listen to with friends
Yes, that would be preposterous of me to sully their memory by shifting even a single atom.
I’ll place this lump next to the other lumps limping, exhausted on that dusty shelf.
Their lumpy memories will lump onto me. and I’ll take their non-utilized weight with me wherever I travel.
They are precious. More so than diamonds.
**** it, my niece wants dragons.

here they come amassing their potential greatness in the back of my mind
there they go a squanderin around
the bug spins twice for the amusement of the hypotheticals and sporadic leeches
the door slams shut before opening again forthe greatest of the releases
and the nonsensicals pour out just this once for perhaps the only andlast time
they march forth in order of smallest to largest. silliest to unprovoked
wearing ******* clown shoes and false faces
some with dollar signs still burning the palms of their hands
but most with 10,000 mile stares
do they still write for the universal, for the greatest spining reversal?
do they still speak in the most straightforward of riddles?
does anyone still read into them...
does the faucet still incessantly drip idealized water memories...
I can only see the *****, not the gradient
I can only feel the dew, not the grass
i can only taste the crab, not the shell
I can only hear the music, not thewords
facing divinity and scouring myself clean in the shame it forces
seeing the exact center of the venn diagram
and being blinded by the duality therein
*****
and links
234
simplicity is the most difficult thing to master
books don't write themselves
authurs can't design inspiration
liquids still sing

I arose from my slumber without sleeping a wink
A twinkle of that dreamstate left over from days of yore
A bore. I must reinsert myself
into the meatgrinder
After lollygagging in that idyllic state
of freedom that doesn't exist
as long as I need money to live, to thrive, to survive
The mountain we slog always
catching the scent of the next tender morsel
of that dream we hardly remember
from the night before
the night before
the last time we awoke
in that place, our best friend held our hand
and took us to that desired land
filled with everything we never had as children
eyes brimming with stars
beyond horizons promised to us in storybooks
detailed tales of heroes who set sails
chasing whales
our own tails
our own tales never matching the patterned struggles
that we could easily overcome
sung and spun
before we were born
by people with common ancestral lines
times required spines now made with increased output
but inferior quality
broken easily in instances easily overcome
or never imagined in the flowing garment of time
ever lengthening to capture these expanding moments
manufactured and sold in greater quantities than before
more bottles to hold the sweat of downtrodden children
and then sold in extreme dilution to people
people who wouldn't seem like people to our grandparents
people who've never earned a single callus
peasants who've never earned a single social faux-pas
and been ostracized from squares masquerading as circles
on halloween only
or maybe other stolen holidays
we are the skeleton holding your obese mass
we are always malnourished, but expected to sustain
we are the marrow creating white blood cells to fight
the new diseases that we gladly pay for
so we can be sick
or just appear so
in our dreams
or was that something I saw on tv?
hard to say sometimes

When your tendons began to disintegrate
from the weaves in the told tales
and the luster of polished facades
trembled at your piercing stare
at the silenced waves retracting back
from your shores to the stone tossed
with the vision a visible indivisible shackles
on a mask of tattered, thinning hairs
sullied by fury, cowed by shunning
torn from the host persona, misrepresenting.
That was when you noticed your bare feet in the moonrise.
And I was just returning from my long walk in them shoes.

We took upon ourselves this mighty emblem
Swift, strong, clever, admirable
All the traits we boast
For we admire predators
And will never admit weakness, craving help
As the ultimate enemies of our grandparent's did
When there were no more hunters strong enough for us
We hunted ourselves
And looked to this symbol like wingless conspire
Created a feeble facsimile, a mockery
Both predator and prey fly rebelliously
In secret handshakes and public smiles
We convolutedly devoured ourselves

point it out
the maligned signs wasting time
hopelessness sprouts
pouring spouts, the crystalized mechanism
gaining time, something meaningless on paper
gushing from nowhere, traded infinitely
sustaining indulgences. every last calorie counts
sound it out
the hefty empty counterintuitive shine
a spoiled child pouts
roiling night and day complaining
of lost pride with values bought
pointing finger, subtle, legal
the system's *****, in a "*******" system. circle ****
pound around
clatter those pots and pans! this language known
squeek the wheels!  you'll still need oil
this is the serpentine belt splitting
and we dance on the hood, pounding
the dents out later. father will know.
You'll be awake forever..holding the flashlight
while he works on the engine

wordless extended hands
from those months of moments
treasure maps torn and buried
in soft sand scorched of life
seeds wating for soothing rain
to grow and accept exhalations
and return the breathes fuller
what could be said would never explain fully
it must be sung
vibrations of those learned lessons still echoing
returning as unlearned ones
future is past's mirror
and there are still chasms to explore
a warm hearth waiting to be built
an unmade cabin deep and far in the forest
counting your credit score, looking at the green line patiently
throngs of wanderers looking up to the balcony
the conjunction benefiting more than just those present
love without possession

Fill the hole with nothing
Not the concepts that you hold dear
They could betray you
Into traps of torn parchments and holy relics
Binding. Entrancing fascinations
Keep you gounded on parables. Freezing real hope
And when you crack the mirror
Egotistical graven image
You will begin to see the truth beyond
Sights you're shown by the elders
Who've invested so much
Monopolized love and ****** it
For power's sake alone, they grasp at straws
For God's sake, they created him
To frighten and ******* all thought
Contrary to the maleable mold
On the bottom of progress' feet
Atlas scrawled his secret to releif
Don't give up. The whole world rests on the shoulders of honest men
Work diligently. Work nobley. Look out for others
It's the calling of the strong to protect the weak
Without this system of brothers, the weasels will feast
But the world pushes back and it doesn't seem worth it
After all, what's the point?
If not for anything else, then for the joy of being
Able to discover and learn
It may feel tedious and painful
Just to exist for the purpose of spreading
Life needs persist its unstable reaction
You can put it off 'til tomorrow
And live in yesterday's safety
Gaze at the horizon unblinking
Focused
Feral
Integral gear
Turning perpetually into itself.

The only reason I'm alive today.
Is because I fear the afterlife.
Not because it's real.
Not because the prospect of eternal damnation is troublesome.
Not because I disbelieve in eternal bliss either.
But, because what I desire most is nothingness.
Absolute oblivion
No more sensations.
No more lessons.
No more personal perception.
And no one, nothing, can promise this to me.
Atheism is still a belief in this fashion.
Nihilism is vain grasping at disconnectivity
And I am vain in this longing.
That my pain is more unique than anyone else's.
That to share it would only separate me further.
From all of you.
Even that wording is egocentric.
How many of us have built these fortresses around us?
pointed fingers at the mirrors of the world and cried:
OTHERS!