Consumer Culture makes me sick,
it burns like acid contained in
coffee cups the size of
your heart exploding.
Music that will **** your ears
for only a buck
because it is a song shaped by greed
alongside factories, with smoke stacks
acting as sploof tubes,
covering the smell of life
created just to be killed.
They have innocent eyes
an organism giving away its only truth
for convenience, for simplicity
**** your fast food,
**** your jellybean president.
Employment is conscription to join
on the losing side in the war on
your time and mind, The Double Bind.
You ought to love your country
but do you?
You ought to compete, go for the win
**** your friends, get to the top.
Do you know what the prize is?
One morning you wake up and find
that your game was a farce
and you aren't what you really are
but what you could of been.

Defend your limits.

For we are waterfalls, spinning wheels of imagination
shaping clay with organic inspirations
planting ideas in the fertile unconsciousness
Don't form beliefs, form a question.

Understand we are ice-9
collectively, we are the watering-system
We are the true god through experience mystic
disbanded stars that are the galaxies.

Properties of our composition suggests that,
you better let this water flow,
because if you don't
a world full of love
would love to strike you down
making you coo and swoon
over the symbols of a dream,
the beautiful sunflower riding a bike,
hitting a hacky sack perfectly
at the end of the day

a cup beckons inscribed with your name
are you just going to sit and stare at it?

The blackest of eyes
penetrate the mind
the dullness of life
only causes the excitement
to cover the boredom
in which people confide in
they're not hopeless or helpless
in this slow parade
they are just blessed with the magician's mind
to convert and trick the naked eye

Oh! but no me
the cursed minority
where reality won't satisfy
the take by meaning

judges, you fool yourselves
priests, you can't justify this life
leader, you cannot change me!
friends, thanks for betraying me
lover, thanks for noticing me
me, you wish you knew yourself
teacher, thanks for encouraging
life, quit denying me

Manipulator manipulate this face
the broken hands
the finger spindles

If metal cant stop bullets
why don't we make it an atmosphere?
foil up the thriving earth
insisting that we won't be baked

but if the sun-rays keep on stopping us
and frost freezes off my face
crystal lakes are crystal lakes
but the mist in the air is raid

breathing is the anchor to awareness
did you realized that you're doing it
right now?

"I believe I am, my good sir, a noble beast and nothing more."
The words slip through my scabbed and scarring lips
lips feigning callousness, lips begging for benediction,
praying to be the passado,
beholden to the omniscient things that seem never to sleep
yet are always dreaming a dream
that I seem to be suspended in;
a syncopated nonsense of person,
ludicrous.

"I would not expect you to understand the nature of me."
And it is true;
I brace myself for the eventual
the inevitable
the unavoidable
the necessary and the fixed
misunderstanding
so that when he she it them they those
eyes me from across the table
peering over my coffee cup or my notebook
and says, "No, my dear, that is not it at all,"
I may smile
rather than rip my hair out
at the thought that I am now their "dear".

"I'm hurting."
Yes, I seem to live this life,
this half existence
floating between apathy and terror,
enveloped in some sort of dissonance;
some of the time I live
in this tangible thing--
others I am whisked away
by the very thought of thinking
and, to tell the truth,
I am so very tired.

"I'd be lying if I said I'm not a little bit angry."
A desperate creature I have turned out to be,
an animal grasping at the very straws of nature,
creeping,
moaning and murmuring sorrowful things
to the dark in which I began,
groping for light,
longing for some kind of motivation
that is not
"do or you will die."

"I am very gracefully falling apart."
This thing that is broken inside me
is it in my mind, in my brain, where?
Am I so very foolish to believe
that I was made for something
beautiful, clear, shining,
something with posture?
Yes, a proper fool I am,
but even fools need propriety sometimes.

"I am the bane of human existence."
Yes, but I am so much more as well,
and I have created an anthem:


I am the morning.
I have a feral passion locked away,
safe for my piano, safe for my lovers.
You cannot find me in books,
you cannot photograph what is in me,
you cannot steal it.
I am a mighty thing,
a thing of the sea, a thing of the earth,
a lovely thing.
I am righteous,
a divinity of my own,
a coarse deity of glass and stone
and I will not be ashamed.
The wars of this place rage on and on,
threatening to overwhelm,
bullying those who would refuse to roll over
but I am not afraid;
I shall be here at dawn
when all the world has washed away.

get dramatic
cause a scene
make sure everyone can see your mean

wake up keep the routine
do the same thing every ******* morning

get up and go down the hall
glance into the mirror and see it all

Your no-one and you see it
the worst part is appearing defeated

You've lived like a loner
feeding of former
fighters who fought
to keep the order

you know your gonna die soon
in these conditions no-one could conquer

you believe it wont matter when life turns to ****
cause you where the best at everything and all you did
you did so well so look a little better you should feel so swell

when you really see what it all means
try to preach but no-one will please
you with their time

they are way to busy living their lives
who would want to listen to the *** who thrives

no-one living of the land
no-one trying to survive

why waste our time
on a man with a free mind

Bizarre and oblique
this world doesn't speak
but dazzles in ways of knowledge

we learn how to fly
and how to identify
with our body and our minds

so lets fall back into it
and have a dialogue with an alien
maybe learn something that hasn't been
back at the place we all wake up in

It's 4 am
Insomnia glows faintly
Like a phosphorescent
Jellyfish

Creeping down
Drifting in
It encloses you

Its poison
Burns
As do your eyes

Paralyzed yet
Conscious

Too tired
To fight it
To awake
To drift with it

Through the veil
Pain flares
Like a volcanic spout

Brain screams
Nothing but
Muffled screams
In the oceanic deep
Of your pillow

someday
i'll translate you
into music

embodied in a note,
a phrase,
a lyric, a voice
my voice.

I will slip you into
the ears of those who still listen.
I will keep you
on the tip of my tongue,
so that you'll always have somewhere to dance.

stay just a while longer.
let me be your witness,
so that i may know you.
let me be your arbiter,
so that i may push you,
if ever so gently,
toward where your feet won't carry you.

someday i'll translate you into music

And it was at that age...Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating planations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesmal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
I felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke free on the open sky.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.