I don’t even write.
I simply waste more time,
I feel like smoking ***,
sitting, enjoying this moment,
and watching the world burn bright and beautiful.
I don’t even want to write.
I am nihilistic in this sense, and also self-effacing, masochistic.
And nothing satisfies me, so I am like the Buddha, and relinquish my rights to the great systemic pattern.
Killing time and hoping for the apocalypse to move the broken record that skips and repeats.
Why waste more time writing the things that have been said?
Why express the inexpressible?
I wish to forget the meanings of all the words and pen bleak and esoteric paragraphs in universal grammar.
As I slowly begin to forget even what I was thinking of a minute ago, that thing that prompted this new but white opaque letter.
There is nothing more to say than that and why spend more precious moments contemplating the inevitable.
I have digressed to a state of vague generality so profound that all meaning is lost.
And I can only wipe the spit from my lips and experience the thinking slow and bored perception.
I am complicit in this great shadowy game.
The game that is me
and that is you
but also both of us together, as a whole
and my tacit approval of the state of things has lead me to a deep and darkened valley,
a slippery ***** of mud meant for clawing fingernails in desperation.
And I, like the rest of my generation have perfected the bacchanal and reverie of the leisure life.
Soaking up the romantic narratives of a primitive past to accept the fate of indecision, and construct meaning from the meaningless.
Picking up the pieces of a shattered ghostly mirror only to rearrange them in the likeness of a persistent and inherent logic, which can only be shown and never understood; my own computational meat sack ever deteriorating, or perhaps growing, to the ecstasy through entropy.
I have yet to find the great rut!
On the brink of a new n’other I am blinded by choice.
And I’ve yet to find my voice!
And proof of purchase is another thing entirely.
My misery is self-imposed,
and understood as only frivolous
trash beneath the hooves of trampling centipedes of mars
Because I looked into the stars
And I stared right at the sun
And felt the rapture in the wake
Of the wave I meant to break

Sometimes I wonder if there is any line between poetry and prose, or prose and story. Where is this line? What is the difference? Is it some kind of structural difference? The problem with this is it becomes difficult to define where the structural lines are drawn. Is it some difference in the use of language? Anyone who has read Burroughs knows there is very little difference between his language in poem and prose. It all comes down to that old bald thought experiment. If we were to remove hairs from a man’s head, one by one, at what point would he be bald? It must be the context. This is a poem because it is presented as such.  

The thing about it is I don’t really give a ****.

The thing about it is that I’m just looking for something that I do not know.
And I get a kick out of pretending
And sometime something something I’m a little bit high now folks
Because sometimes I need something too
/
all the time
And Some might say that you can get a lot higher without drugs than with them
But at this day and age that’s becoming less and less clear for most folks
Including myself
And that’s pure Thompson
May the great decadent castle topple down!
And I, like a noble captain,
Will sink with her
I stand with hunched broken back
On the backs of millions
Pondering lifelessly

I smell something. I can’t really know what. It’s horrible. I do not know if it is me or someone around me. A woman in front of me has a dark line around the back of her neck. As if that crease her skin collected some errant dirt and she never washed it off. I don’t know but it may be her. Or I may be a ******* because she is pretty fat. And that’s empirical. And I know it’s not her fault, but I may have some sick bias against fat women brought on by repeated social direction. I remember when I thought of myself as undesirable. I did not wash. And I didn’t shower yesterday. And really I don’t know if this line here on her neck is really dirt, but ******* that smell. It’s killing me, and even distracting me from the gripping narrative of the American sedition laws during WW1. Honestly it is probably me, but why is it so persistent? Wouldn’t I fall victim to scent saturation blindness, or whatever that affect is called. The point is you can’t normally smell your own stink, and none of us even notice our own stink. I think there is something in that somewhere. I can’t smell my own stink, and so I blame this poor girl.

I had to say something
My skin was starting to crawl again
And the backs of my eyelids were itching
Everything was deconstructed
And I saw infinity there
Well really I saw infinity everywhere
As if it were a forgone conclusion

They managed to make my heart pump In my ears
I had never known there were men on mars
Training in esotericisms like philosophy and Art
And did I mention I made a lot of this up
As some kind of joke on you
Because I’m far too Oh! So terribly concerned
That I will fail And Oh! How embarrassing
Reputation is the only currency we have
Now that privacy is gone
But there’s still money
And don’t we all just love her

When watching a zombie movie, did you ever think we are the zombies?
Did you ever think we are the shambling dead?
The listless mourning, past its prime
The rotten apple, left to rot
Everything gets better and we feel worse
Our project, nigh finished, and here we sit
Only complaining, and waiting
I think and I spit
On the ground
(I heard that’s illegal in Singapore)
As I am just another falling leaf
In the autumn of an empire
I sit with the TV on mute
Hoping for some lateral inspiration
From kitsch
I am born of kitsch, of product placement, and buyer’s remorse
And I have no shame for it
I am another product
Built by a combination of complacency and incompetence
Incompetence in one place and competence in another
And I sold the world
And it made me a nice profit
But then there was nothing else to say
And nature reared her mighty head
Hubris led you years ago, and now does shame
An experiment that drew no conclusions
And only drew on time just a bit longer, pulling film across the projector
And inventing for just that brief moment
All that we held dear

“I spent the rest of the day smoking joints and listening to music. There was very little else that I had going for me. I was left hungry for something I could not put my finger on so I wondered the streets until dawn. With my head down I tried to feel confident but could only manage to fake it. A cloud of thought grew out around me, only broken by the introduction of some new stimuli as I walked. And very little stuck with me on my journey unto dawn. “

I read that in a book. I think it’s Joyce.
But that would be convenient wouldn’t it?
“Tell me, do you have a better idea?”
I wonder, is there one
Or are we all just products?
such a tired cliché…
I’m the miser’s purse
Dionysus
Something Something, we don’t care,
You and I,
Where this goes.
Do we?
Have a drink on Bukowski though
Despite my lack of common tact
I do have dreams you know.
And where were you when Burt and Ernie told us our Sponsors
And Images with discreet meanings rested in our hearts?
We Don’t need to read ******

“If you won’t stop screaming I’m gonna have to call security.” She said to him. His glare ****** her way. “Secure this,” He said. He ****** his hand into his coat producing from it a photograph of dollar. He handed it to her asking “can you break this?” She looked at him in fear and confusion “Sir this isn’t legal tender.”

“well I say it is” he said. But that was it, as security immediately burst into the room and the scene devolved into panic and screams.

<*** text="He perceived an abrupt break in the energy, an ebb, stagnation. Everyone appeared to know where everything should go from here, But pretty soon he saw realized they were all talking out their ***** and he turned to leave."></***>

When we’ve reached that beautiful peak I want you to throw the radio in the tub.

element.style {
mood: toska;
languge: english;
background-position: -40.7127 -74.0059;
why-am-i-doing-this: IDK;
}

Reading an art magazine and Jason Goes to Hell is on in the background, I cannot really get anymore satisfyingly pretentious. The day is softly leaving me now and I don’t really see much point in being so cryptic, as some people might like to do. I have found that I reuse a lot of words. I wonder what that means. They come in waves. I’ll use a word over and over and then drop it. Sometimes I will make up words and use them for a time. This movie is god-awful but I can’t seem to get off the couch. So to the keyboard I roam, the path to corporeal transcendence. As is above, so below, as the saying goes. And I stand between with my machine.

Ting Teting ting
Teting ting
Teting ting
I’ve found that I’ve come to be blessed by the Thing
And I Ring! and I Ring! and I Sing and I Sing!
For the courage counter-culture creature torture
Sold for sport
I have a dog his name is brady
Ugh. stop already maybe
There is
nothing
you
can do
there is
nothing
you
can do
are we
permanently
stuck here?

My bastardized hand trembles at the sight of its own reflection
Revelation
Understanding the unknowable
I am cut and pasted

I am near permanently enraptured by all that is
In a way like only two youngns’ alive and ravenous
Libidos ******* everyday can be and do
I have all the meanings of all the ancients wrapped in my skull
Shadows of memories that are not mine
On the brink of the precipice-come-project  
Along with other vague metaphors that are so trod
Upon that all we have left is the post-modernity of antiquity
Scrapped together to make a semi-legit piecemeal rendition
Of narrative to cling to
Because of course narrative is all we cling to
And its really just simple teleology
When you think about it
So why? And also What?
Also is? Also I’m lost now, everything
And having lost everything I find it easier to not care what others think
And aint that the rub
Because when you have people you care about you inevitably seek to please them
And only when you care about no one can you really please yourself
Or at least that vague notion of the self trapped in all our ambitions
And aren’t we trapped by our ambitions?

But enough of that because I was saying something else
There was a feeling in there somewhere that inspired me to write once
And it seemed very beautiful until I realized it had been done
So I sat back and laughed and did it anyway
Because there is a power in me that you do not know
And it exists in the rapture between words unspoken
The synapse between thoughts and the explanations
Of my various and pointless free associations
So I’ll take a walk now and become Walt Whitman
And no fear or loathing will stop this great wave
Our great wave in the speckled sea of Nihilation
Tis’ sublime that is the very notion of sublime
The thought that beauty is thought
And other failed attempts at describing the impossible

I don’t know what to do
And I don’t know where to go
And I don’t know what I don’t know
That’s keeping me from home
The home that’s out there for me
the horizon of tomorrow
And words are fickle ****** things
For description of that pasture
As I’m lost and I’m silenced
In the beauty and the rapture

And if for just one moment
I could finally come to capture
The light that settled in the wind
The storm that won’t begin
The blazing saddled horse within
The path that is incumbent
I stand broken in my stature
I am under-slung resplendent

As the words come much slower now
And the feelings washed out grey
I couldn’t tell you who or how
Has come to write today

and the words begin to flow again like the river Styx
as I follow on an angry path to find a blessed fix
to sooth the shallow paltry soul that bore my sordid stay
as I ponder on the world and things with shadows in the way

Today is a pale day, A grey day. But that is not why it is pale. It is pale because it is colorless, another drop in the bucket. My inadequacy grows symmetrically with my own dissatisfaction. And I am shelled with explosive thoughts all derivative and predictable. For the loose sand that I sift through my senses creates a thin mask of foundationless kernels. All the candy is wrapped up in bright packaging to attract the eye and disguise the paltry nutrition within; an old, worn out evolutionary trait used supposedly to search for new food sources. And I am left ever conscious trapped by my own logic in the new paradigm that is lonely and empty. Sometimes I wish I lived before all our great wars, back at the height of aristocracy. When we all lived by the romantic images of our minds and men made change by god inspired will. As the world was much larger then; so large that we could ignore it’s vast esoteric workings and rest comfortably in our own intuition. Whether the world is material or immaterial is irrelevant and meaningless. I only want to know whether it is mine or isn’t. Is my stake in this world or is it’s in mine? Is my destruction my choice, or his? And even this is irrelevant in the end because it has no purchase on my actions anyway. The fact is I feel as though I’m in control and all scientific fact points in the opposite. And so today is pale, again. And my life feels empty, until another brief glimpse in to the shadow of teleology passes through my sensorial geodesic and I am wrenched headlong back into comfortable narrative. I am the waffle ******. I own the waffle. And I wander down along the dotted time line with my blinders on, occasionally slipping on the balance beam and smashing, crotch first, into the irreconcilable and incomprehensible night of entropy. Ever circling back through all my fancy “knowledge” and landing again on the feet that my father gave me. Coming, once again, to the sanctimonious and systematic pattern of myself, I lay unawares, viewing only through a pinpricked hole, into the wasteland of the real. I am left only to gape in awe at the persistence of my dream.

Quack Quack Quack
I'm a duck I'm a duck
Quack Quack Quack. Quack! Quack!
I lost my girlfriend today I'm so sad
Quack Quack
I'm a duck
Quack Quack
Here is what I think about the world
Quack Quack ******* Quack
Quack Quack Depression Quack
Quack Quack Love Lust Quack
Quack Quack Philosphical Quack
Quack time Quack the mind Quack Life Quack meaning
Quack Quack waxing on and on Quack more meaningless description Quack metaphor Quack symbolism Quack analogy Quack Quack
Meter Quack rhythm Quack Sublime Quack
Quack where am I? Quack Quack How did i get to this point? Quack
Quack Quack Quack. Quaaack!! Quaaaaaacccckkk!
I have no ******* purpose! Quack!
Why? ******* QUAAAAACK!
Is this all I'm good for? QUaaack!
I'm a duck
Please hear me Quack

Running off coffee and demon spit
The main operators are disjunctive and negation
So the world was written
As a tremor runs to my fingertips
And my pupils involuntarily dilate
I laugh at the inconspicuous nature of fallacy
All the things that I have committed to eventually
Shattered to the faceless

Chaos
Forces
And their interactions
Everything we are is the description of this Fall
And Still! They all stand tall

All the pain of all the souls mashing away in a great battle of long lances and fire
In perpetual anguish at the realization of our own ignorance
Everyone finds it easier to turn the guns around
And in doing so turn them on themselves
And this is what we call progress

For men that sit in rooms clacking away on ponderous theory
Find no voice in the world at large
And only in the exorcism of demons can we be rid of them
So may it all hangout
The most acidic bile laden stomach dream
Of pungent hate
Spurs the horse ever forward
Until the great lamp burns at its brightest
And the inferno of infinite souls fully realized
In the capacity of will
Only strengthen it
And bring about the most golden of ages
with the realization of the great project
Of the true moral will

And in that very theoretical moment of revelation,
Finally in union with that beautiful Conceptualization
Of the world without flaws
Will we find peace?
or will we stifle all our lust?
Does the river come spill to the Ocean?
Or Dry Homogenous Dust?

Is the problem in the difference?
Or the lack of its acceptance?
Will a captain-less ship reach the shore
with all its crew?
Or is a flawed diamond the best that we can do?
Will the Will remain when the moral flags unfurl?
Or is there some third thing that keeps the best of both worlds?

*******! *******!
Is there anybody left to recover the grandeur
The anger! The pain!
the lame and dull, the men are the same
The bright thrashing bull
For once I had a dream that there was something in my room
Which impregnated my mind with ferocious alien fauna
That slowly ate the inside of my skull and gave birth to live young
Which then went out and took over the minds of a whole generation
Of acid freaks, hipsters, and all manner of deluded youth
And bore in them more screaming demon like entities
That burn in great lakes and flowering fields
And crack the concrete with lava flow
with electric ecstasy
Rationale sold separately

The moderators saw the end was coming quickly in the gold rush that followed
And the cybernetic wave crashed on them without warning
And double barreled shotguns blasted through the eye sockets
Poking wires through the holes
That god forgot to fill
As we explored and we explored until all the rocks were overturned
And all we had for all our trouble was the fatal irony of life
Now without a purpose we’ve lost the will to fight
all the animals and beasts that come out in the night
For we stand on the pinnacle without glory, without right

In our leisure we become the social experiment
The ticking time bomb to calamity
On the brink of the purest clarity
The painted picture nigh complete
And as we stand on top our kingdom come the crowded throng below
With our hands out stretched as far as we will allow ourselves to go
For if there ever was a thing that history could teach
Is that it will be funny when we find the rotted peach

For as I sat in my room on that fateful night
you were standing there before me
And your narrow frame cast a shadow upon me
But I still loved you any way
As the wind blew the blinds back and they smacked against the frame
And I thought I grasped the essence before I forgot completely about it
And I slipped back blissfully into indifference

I once held onto the wonderful tapestries of stories long gone
That no longer even apply to the reality of existence
The stories that never existed anywhere but the romantic images of young poets
And artists prophetically penned in the language, which seemed so perfect
Until everyone and everything realized that we cannot simply rely on the stories we tell ourselves
And in an instant everything was destroyed and everything else was born
As it all rained for days, sleet and glass sideways, ripping the world to shreds
For god had finally shown himself
And his name was systematically comprehended by generations of scientist
Objectively reverse wiring the brain into a complete knowledge of everything that can never be understood fully
And proof of fact was there on the page for all to see but none listened
The word was too great to be understood
And so god left man again
To toil in the teleological
Like a blind shepherd who had forgotten that he was once Jesus
And that he held the key to everything that is and what should never be

A wise man once said "of that one cannot speak one must be silent"
But i think its worth the shot

There was once a man who lived only on a moment-to-moment basis
That man was named I
And he brought the wind of a thousand starry butterflies
To the ears of ***** and things that never heard of such words
His life was broken down to be consumed by troglodytes of stone
And everything was left the way it was
Because in the brief glimpse of unattainable wonder and profound and intense clarity
He and all the others knew that it was but a fleeting glimpse
And that language and experience had permanently marred the white glimmering crystal of pure lucidity
Nothing was as it could be ever again and choices were made like computers programmed to make them
As a great cataclysmic storm of righteous godly entropy funneled itself
Through a sieve of perception
Granting all the trembling palmers the strength to carry the burden
Weighted in the sarcophagus of matter and form
Eudiamonia left forgotten on the slopes’ broken ladders to ecstasy
in union with god in harmony, onward christian soldiers
For all was contained within the realm of everything that was before
And even the forgotten was not forgotten by the whole
As the egg grew larger and smooth to the touch
The ******* son of Pan and Athena threatened forever to crack the brilliant shine of that crystal egg
And then something else happened in the middle that I forgot about until just now
Because I was left unfinished as the sculpture of flawed marble
On the workshop floor of Michelangelo
Words! yes language is the mind
A construction mathematical and taken for granted
The one great masterpiece bequeathed by Nature
Was the squishy erector set built in perfect logical syntax
Only to be rediscovered by its own unknowing creator
The Sublime is but profound confusion

Our movement was never there
All we had was grand allusion
We were always far too self aware
Sublime is but profound confusion
And drugs and things were our default
The mind divine, carved in basalt

Language were the tools we had
And everything else just fell into place
For nothing stings like Ignominy
and ignorance just ain’t that bad

Because when it comes down to it
The only way you can really look at the world is with the objective lens of cold numbers.
But what is progress anyway?
Is it worthy of our toil?
As the mind attempts to foil
In its complex poor design

And why the disjoint anyway
The existential crunch
The winds and birds are here today
With frozen scaffold, mold and clay
So we ride on, the wild bunch

I live at the ******* mall
And I’ve got that eternal beauty blues
for in the end eudaimonia
was all part of the clever ruse
The point of what? I ask of you
Cause there was nothing else to do
Its true

Sometimes I just wonder why that’s all

Flights of birds, bucolic minds
our Tortured, Analytic souls
The mind boggles as the heart dies
when the autumn brings the cold
as so the white dwarf shines

I just came for the free ride

On the Crest of That Beautiful wave
described in words that signify
all the wordless, senseless time  
for bleached are the ones on the road, freshly paved
when the relationship is master and slave

Sublime is but profound confusion

There was a message there for a second
But then state farm came in like a good neighbor and broke my train of thought
And that was beautiful in its’ own right
Like paint mixing to brown
As words only confuse everything
And emotions are like real gods

I bring you to the ends of our own expressible thought
on the edge of a cliff that cannot be crossed
a cliff and an asymptote
that is never perceived

Real Gods are in the pudding,
in relations between lines
in laws given and unbending
objective, quantifiable, and beyond my description
they are in the unending study and toil of the labors of love
a thought

but not in religion
unless you think about it like that
which you are always free to do

because sometimes the only way to show the inexpressibility
of life, nature and all is
is in raptures of revelation

Some people may tell you that there are no brakes in life
But I’m here to tell you that there really are no breaks in life

Unless you count sleep

But they may say something like "life has no brakes!"
well I’m here to tell you that life really has no breaks

unless you count death

and Shakespeare would say "tis life brake-less?"
So I’m here to tell you that life tis breakless

Unless you count that bit before life

Do what you must to curtail the will
In order to rage against the coming of the ill
Be a slave to your master instead of his
To penetrate the darkness and chaos that is

Starve yourself from the comfort, animal
And carve out a bone from entropy’s thigh
Because humanity exists only in memory
And morality is but a ruthless cannibal

But why get caught up in the question why?
For in the end we all simply die
and give ourselves up to the endless ether
without feeling or presence
a shadow of vibration of a wave of energy

There is a certain unplaced quality to the whole thing
Like it was never planned to look as it does
And the fact that it is the part that we aren’t supposed to see has always appealed to me
The ripples and cracks
Fissured by time
As a clash between flux and permanence
And will bent by entropy
A rusted staircase like a lonely island dangling and looking weak and unsafe
And who knows maybe it is
For the paint is chipped black frosted like ice
But it is hot and the air is heavy
As it always feels in a place like this
For there is rapture in a place that feels like it does not belong
And like you do not belong there
I contemplate the number of feet that stood right where I stand
I think about the installation of such things
I think about the man who stood and wrote his name in paint
About how that got bent like that
About when that wall fell down and when that glass broke
The stories that touched this particular spot only for that brief moment
The stories in which this is not even a footnote
Where the organic flux meets the rigid industrial
And all coalesces into a barren scape hidden away
And forgotten for it fits in neither picture
As the romance of the days that it saw beautifully have long been realized as nostalgic and useless
And a brick may fall and hurt someone
Or they may just tip their hat and continue on their way
But despite all these things I have a sense of blindness
And sublime captured by a world of temporary distinction

Looking meticulously on a river scene of beautiful Wednesday afternoons with all of life’s luxury
Out the window is a tree bent and gnarled with visible age twice my own
The perfect metaphor of life merely eking by, postured against infinity
As another, warped by the waves and turned to termed drift wood, also catches my eye for its existential merit
As it’s all been said before perspective is our only peculiarity
At the point, or lack there of, between all and nothing
Our minds spontaneous self-revelation is miracle enough for any, god fearing be ******  
As over grown and lush as the under-leaves have become it seems like a waste to cut them out now so we might as well pump them full of fertilizers and hope for the second coming
Of knowledge and growth that began in the stone age bottle necking and splurged on drugs and money during the industrial revolution.
While trying to remember the ugliest parts that were and always will be me
Lets get free, really really free

I thought that I was the next thompson
I can't unthink that now
I thought I was a pathetic little wannabe playing himself up to be something more
I can't unthink that now  
I stared at a women on the subway for a solid time and then wrote a note telling her she was beautiful and laid it beside her
I can’t unsay that now
I told my older brother that I think he has asbergers syndrome
I can’t unsay that now
I realized as I took a puff of a joint that I was only doing so because I wanted an excuse to sit and do nothing all day
I can’t unthink that now
Subsequently I understood that all of my consummate drug use is not in any sense exploration or experimentation but simply an escape from my persistent thought
I can’t unthink that now
While listening to a boost mobile add I realized that they were targeting black people by using words like “bling bling” and an obvious ebonic accent
I can’t unthink that now
I saw another ad where the bodyless voice claimed “size does matter” and realized that it was playing on the general inadequacy issues and ***** envy of most men
I can’t unthink that now
Standing on the street I thought about stepping in front of a bus
I can’t unthink that now
While discussing gender politics with a friend I drew a comparison between liberal activist sentiments and culturally accepted cannibalism
I can’t unsay that now
While holding a knife for a brief second I thought about pushing through her back
I can’t unthink that now
I told a black couple that they look exactly alike
I can’t unsay that now
I saw a thick assed black women walk past me and was over whelmed with jealousy at the idea that she would never sleep with a white boy like me
I can’t unthink that now
I heard about the lacrosse team at notre dame being accuse of ****** that girl and thought “how horrible now all of those guys lives are ruined”
I can’t unthink that now
I stood with some friends at a bar and derided them with ******* like “I ain’t got money like all you haha”
I can’t unsay that now
I told a my girlfriend that she had cankles
I can’t unsay that now
I asked my ex girlfriend if she wanted to have a ******* with my new girlfriend and I
I can’t unsay that now
I identified with the title of the nirvana song “I hate myself and want to die”
I can’t unthink that now
I thought that the world would probably be better and would function much more smoothly if there weren’t any races or religions
I can’t unthink that now
I thought that I would rather be black or gay because then I would have something to be angry about
I can’t unthink that now
I used to think about running away so then I could have one of those romantic stories of the runaway who went and made his own life
I can’t unthink that now
I used to wish my parents hated each other for similar reasons
I can’t unthink that now
I saw a beautiful ******* the street and immediately thought that she must be so boring because her whole life is given to her because she is so beautiful
I can’t unthink that now
I gave money to one of those gay rights activists on the street and felt smugly confident in my own liberal open-mindedness
I can’t unthink that now
I held a steak knife and wondered how it would feel to run it through my eye
I can’t unthink that now
I realized that if we believe that one action causes another our lives are fundamentally determined from the beginning and are therefore meaningless
I can’t unthink that now
I realized that if we really do have the power of choice then it inevitably follows that one action is not caused by another and that all of everything is essentially random and life is similarly meaningless
I can’t unthink that now
I realized that my life is only as good as it is because it is built on the backs of endless suffering others
I can’t unthink that now
I realized that despite all of these ugly and despicable realizations about myself I still think I’m a pretty good guy
I can’t unthink that now

I feel like a slug
sometimes I feel like it might be easier just to be one
Faced plainly with my own mental lacunae
I feel the vice grips of creative sterility
Only exacerbated in my willingness to idleness
I am struck by two Slavic language words
Toska and litost
Both have a meaning akin to boredom and existential depression wrapped in one
It is a curse really
To be constantly bombarded with thoughts of my own inadequacies
And having no will to do anything to change them
Maybe that is why I have always been drawn to those long dead souls
Who barely clung to sanity in life and plunged forward like grand ice breakers through the social convictions of modern life
Those desperados of intellect who did simply as will
It is only in the presence of this kind of supreme will that I have found any comfort
And I fear that it is only in the juxtaposition of this and my own disposition
That I have ever lived at all
I mean really is any body picking up what I’m putting down?
This kind of Petulant absurdity is where I thrive
I fear again the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune
Which in this sense is nothing more than rejection and the knowledge that I really am nothing special
For self-conscious references to Shakespearean texts that lie still unread on my bookshelf cannot bar my consciousness from the near constant obsession
Of simply getting so far out there in the water that nobody can even see me anymore
And I can no longer see the shore

The difference between ‘this’ and ‘that’
existentially plastered and preparing for nothing

The Hadit and Nuit
Bored and lonely on a carpet and picking acne

The being in and for
The words of infinite relation and perspective

Horus and Nut
On Saussure’s lap dogged, tired, and deceptive  

Gilgamesh and Inkidu
"And nothing else matters" Metallica claim

Yin and Yang?
All are the same

and different at the same time
built in illusion
'the paradox conclusion'

God written in Mathematics
And forgotten in words

The Nature of the universe is SO immature
Always sitting and waiting for life to begin

Looking for answers to moral and logical sins
A Non gendered third person pronoun, shin

Cough! and Cough! and sputter and Die!
Burnt by the spent life
Why?

We are but the glorious observers of such things

After about two and a half hours of communication with the eternal rhythm of My God, I think I see a bat fly across the attic room

"My God!" I think.






"I've Finally entered Bat Country...."

seriously i'm lookin

At the 14th street station a hispanic man, medium height with a cowboy hat and a guitar slung around his shoulder walks onto the subway

passengers look on suspiciously...

as the doors shut he picks up his guitar in a well practiced fashion

the eyes of the train are weary...

he begins to play a classic sounding mariachiesque tune
spanish lyrics

A woman with green eye makeup and dark lip liner rolls her eyes and tilts her head back in exasperation

at the end of the short song a sigh of relief sounds through the car
he timed it perfectly to end as the train came to a stop

he takes off his hat and gives a short speech followed by "gracias amigos"
as he walks through the train with it upturned for donations

i regret not giving him money solely because of the expression on the green eye-linered woman's face

i walk out into grand central station and am stunned at the beuty of life

Beuaty is an interesting word for me because i cannot hear it with out thinking of the Jim Carrey line in Ace Ventura "B-E-A-Utiful"
this fact however does not save me from spelling this word wrong nearly every time i write it

Later Quietly drinking and crosshatching an old comic on a saturday
with a train gang of long islanders

miller lite is a heroes welcome
for a repugnant anarchist antichrist superstar
hidden beneath the semi-amiable skin tone, ****** orientation,
and likewise social status

the only thing left to do is commiserate
in the trappings of convenience and leisure
and the clash of Hadit and Nuit
thrumping thrashing in the sea

1000 troops to iraq again
and i don't mind to much
beyond the travesty is great comedy
for miller lite is a heroes welcome
to pennstation in late noon
and two corn dogs for breakfast

In the ancient shadows of illicit eons past
and only existing in the shadows of the now
I stare at the reflection of myself in the eyes of my sunglasses

Selling souls is the business
And Dunk’n ugly words is the slogan
For a long haired fickle mistress
and buzz sawed swashbuckler
Nothing is as it appears
It is only as I see fit
When a man loves a woman
And people sit on the sidelines

I bought a book today
I probably won’t read it

I don’t read much
Or ever so maybe I shouldn’t be sitting in a coffee shop acting like I can write

Because what makes a man anyway? What makes a women?
Plagued by funny thoughts and prompted stares
I’ve been talking to people on the street more recently

Today I think I learned that everyone is Jesus reincarnated
And I don’t know if that’s the problem or the answer

The wickedest man in the world once said
That he was the beast 666
With Ian Flemming playing reindeer games the bright nosed one knew that he could be nothing else
As do I

Incongruous by nature
wrapped in ignominious twine
I eat sushi and a 12 dollar slice of cheese cake
Chug two old english and spend the night at the porcelain throne both ends screaming
staring into eyes rapt with fear
all eyes are rapt with fear
Of what then? Death? Shame?
in the rubber belts and fulcrum arms and cogs of the melting ***
all perspectives have value
and the decadence signified in a haircut or a cadillac is nothing more
than the words on the bathroom walls
or little brown note books
Clarity is for saps
Flourish dans l'entropy
Ou mourir dans la peur

GInger Demons and Universal Nightmares with scarred faces meet the wandering minds gaze

WIth furrowed brow in confusion and a spark of indecency caught by the synaptic spiderweb
Well that was the point any way, I think
but really I don't recall  

Positively Yeatsian in grandiose metaphor
and impenetrable like the intangible soul flux
I chisel cave drawings crude and star spangled
to be found by future archeologists

I walked or sauntered or dashed or stumbled, no...
staggered! or swaggered, or was it stepped, no...
I jogged or, bolted, no stomped or slid no...
hopped! or was it skipped no hop skipped and jumped...
or sauntered! no i said that one, it was swaggered! no....
I stampeded or dogged or shlepped no bounced or was it...
I stamped or ed or rolled? no strolled! haha yes Strolled! no...
I stalked that was it or was it followed no no it was sojourned
sojourned! sojourn? no it was galumphed or marched, no charged...
aha sauntered! no! ******! it was ambled or slogged, trounced? or tromped, no rambled, yes I rambled on! no no thats not right, I plodded, trod no tread! no strided, thats not even a word, sloped, no...
govereetted, or persnicketied, or skreed, or preened, no no no none of that is right....
I sauntered! no no, swaggered! no was it promenade? prowl. no patrolled, parolled, no no thats way off...
I trekked, trudged, no fudged, no dogged! like george! he dogged it all the time, no I said that one, slogged or sashayed no trooped, no perambulated, or moseyed? or hoofed it? no it was definitely sauntered, no no it wasn't sauntered it was a dawdle, no lurched, or hawked, no stopped,
no no it was definitely movement, thats it! it was a movement! no no no that can't be right I paced, yes i paced back and forth and thought about life for a awhile....

no no that wasn't it either it was really more of a strut, or a saunter, yes saunter! no swaggered! no no
**** you words....

I wandered or was it roamed, no limped, gimped! no...

minced.... or no yes! minced... wait.... no it was a hike, yes I hiked up a mountain with  friend of mine, or was it climbed, no no thats not right...
I slandered, no.... pandered! no... I meandered, haha actually no i think  it was a peruse, or no a beat! no.... I cut a rug! or actually i think it was more of a stumble no....

ah yes it was walked, I walked about sixty blocks today

The Ugly Coupling of the blue sousaphone suckling
Buffalo Buffalo

didn't know the blue mouth piece widget
was no inspired milk spigot  
soaked with Mr. Creosote
in *****'n beer laden banana bins

weewoo weewoo the maniac is behind you

(its funny how when i'm feeling particularly uninspired my poems always come out like this....)

chuckling happily listening to singing nonsense
with headphones on
9 beats, repeated triplets, phrases

spoken in a mumbling rhythm

(....just jumbled references, slant rhymes and free associations)

dreams of peace in the middle east
as eyes turn upward to see a collard shirt and mohawk looking back
"my god what have you done"

"my identification lies in the hopeless psychedelic absurdities of ninety year old existentialists and the macabre **** trails of industrialized ghosts

Slaying scissor handed dragons of whirlwind dimensions from plain abject boredom
Smashed with broken Knuckled collisions against walls of mimetic iron and steel
as territorial **** measuring fanatics play out semiotic fantasies of heroic rigor mortis but i don't want to get political
because the cosmic play is of the ancient masters repeatedly tripping over each other
and i don't claim to know the rules if there are any
So for now i will bash my brains and hair against this black holed vacuum of being in itself
and try to remember that the uncertainty principle doesn't allow us to know position and velocity simultaneously
and that by observing the world it is irrevocably changed by the power of Schrodinger's Cat

I would tear that ******* ******* to shreds if I looked in the box

So next time around i'll mechanically saw off my arms and see if they will grow back
and burn gasoline in a shovel mesmerized by the blue flames and melted animal ecstasies connecting all to the light of infinite unknowing"

Said the dog with the bone in his mouth. I asked him

"how can you talk with food in your mouth like that? it's dreadful"

He did not reply.

I pondered his speech on the train home and filled a balloon with nitrous,
tide it off and began to punch it while holding the rubber band attached.
a man with knuckle tattoos next to me popped it with a pen

I miss my nitrous balloon

But i didn't have time to think about it because a Hottentot venus in yoga pants with that *** like bow! just walked past

Walking down the street with beads of sweat and agonizing anticipation
involuntary smooth muscles clenched tight
I walk with a robotic posture
Almost afraid to bend
in fear primordial and ancient in scope
of a shame known by all but spake by none

Burst through the swinging gate born of coy mystery
chasmic porcelain, grit lined
a benign stench under the surface that treads on the minds invention
the coffers line the walls spattered yellow and wet
chambers pestilent and poorly designed
with cracks peered through by perverts and the curious child

I sit down
A pinch and burn and then
I am instantly filled with relief twice fold ancient and primordial in scope

I sigh
and then of course the wafting and comfortable smell of myself
Then a rush of cold water by the premature mechanism
of faulty eyed modern laser beams

I hear the door latch next to me
the spattered burst of spice and rank *****
a redolent splash and froth of exotic fury
the sounds and smells of a sick beast

Folded paper and a scratching scrub of cheap manufacturing
appearing from my mausoleum of privacy
fear tingled spine hairs stand straight at the sound of the latch again
my own eyes betray and my neck cranes
to exchange an awkward glance and uncomfortable smirk
I wash my hands metaphorically and otherwise

In case you haven’t noticed I’m taking a ****

Filthy with an itching stink on the dog day subways of choking humidity
every pour on my body screams
but there is a comfortability in the commiserating faces of greasy passersby
we all deal with the heat
without warning the smell of a sulfur **** fills my nostrils to the brim
and i hear somebody cough

this is the beauty of language

a glance upward yields an advertisement with enlarged *******—deals on plastic surgery—the women bellow it eats a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich with coffee

it is my choice what to put on this page
my choice
the words and images
my choice
the moods and emotions

for there are, in fact, six people on this train with their noses in books
the one next to me is Game of Thrones

and the girl across uses the most advanced handheld piece of technology in history as a makeup mirror

Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah
Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah
High art for Mel Bochner
an ad campaign for the HTC One
and representative nonsense for everyone else

as I sweat my headphone chord makes me acutely aware of a lump under my ear
as a homeless man sleeps without shoes on the bench opposite

is that a juxtaposition of images I see there?
or did i just make that up for dramatic affect?
that is your choice my friend
Just as it is mine
to use that patronizing tone
to create an air of highfalutin significance
despite the fact that I am just another dumb privileged straight white guy.
I feel like i should apologize.....
I just missed my stop
I do that fairly often

Thank you! oh universe! for your resounding reply
The answer to our infinite begging the question
In the face of indiscriminate pain, love, and will
You gave us your only consistent truth
And without it we would not even have these wonderful happenings that we call humanity
Without your blatant disregard for everything we have ever wanted and needed
We would have none of them anyway
for it is only against your antithesis of will
that we find ours
And only now do I see why I can't embrace you
because will is all I have
In your infinite lack I find myself
And in choosing to not act one still makes a choice
And that is the rub

An animal and a man rolled into one
With the desire of the id
And unabashed self-determination of a Sartrian dream
Or a Nietzschean *******
With viral hairy arms and mustache
And throbbing uncircumcised member
(any takers on the reference)
And with a Nihilism that would make even entropy blush
My ultimate goal and ultimate fear

I am a ******* artist
I ******* my way through ******* conversations
And I ******* all of my ******* poetry
I ******* my daily life
Spewing ******* to people around
Who themselves are really full of ******* as well
I do this to hide the fact that I am really full of *******
You see it is a recursive cycle of *******
Me bullshitting them, them me, and everyone full of *******
And don’t get me wrong I’m not trying to feed you negative *******
I even believe my own *******
And their *******
I guess you could say it is some Buddhist *******
Or some ******* like that
But really we are all so full of ******* that it’s coming out our eyes
Even this poem right here is *******
I don’t even buy this *******
ah ******* is there any sifting through you?
any escape from *******?
It just seems like the more you try to sift through the *******
The more you get your hands covered in *******

So you see how I fall deeper and deeper into *******
It really is appropriate

Sometimes I say to myself “you are not alone today”
And sometimes I say the opposite
As a mere blip on the radar
Less than a blip
A drop in the bucket
Less than a drop
That contributes to the whole

In prefab modern rooms with red brick walls
An architectural reference
But just a reference
And not even a load bearing structural element
And so many other infinite layers of metaphor that could never be fully explained

Standing on the edge of abyss the krutch looks out and spreads his arms wide
Drops and swan dives into the pavement
He picks his head up bleeding from cracked skull and looks up at the ledge he jumped from “what a rush”

As the words slowly fade into residual tedious meandering
the shovel smashes off the dry dusted ground
only leaving but a minor scratch
and the up-kick of dust
which settles leaving no visible significance
or change

I feel the pain of utter helplessness
And uselessness
And self pity
In the wake of a torrent that seems cheap in retrospect
Only now do I see

I am not a poet
I don’t like poetry

And I look at these pages of poems and I realize that everyone is the same
Everyone feels the same about love
And life
And even the people who are different
The people who say different things
They are just trying to be different
And then they are the same as well
saying the same different things as other different people

That’s why I don’t like poetry
It makes me realize that I am not me
And that I am also you
and them
One soul
infinite sepulchers

Love and hate are the same
Evolutionary expedience
Whichever gets your babies born

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My thoughts turn to food
Barbecued ribs
And then and then
The black keyboard white letters
A pen in the mouth
People outside walk to work
Feet tap to music
A pen in the mouth
There are words that have never been uttered
Words without meaning
This is my purpose
Because it is an easy one
Blank! Blank! Blank!
The soul always desperate to spank
Caggle *** loude
Cankle *** louder
Why go on?

Electromagnetism
Electricity and magnetism
Shoelaces that are just to **** long
And drag across the ground
Even when they are tied
They are essentially useless

In 1938 a Japanese woman who does not yet know the name of her new husband is ***** violently on her wedding night. In 500 BC a roman emperor orders a feast of fifteen cows and thirty swine, he drinks too much wine and gets sick in the middle of a double ******* by a Nubian slave and a plump Egyptian delegate.

Everything is just so been done

(TO be read aloud and heard in that strange deep voice that you hear when you talk to yourself

the one that sounds like it comes from inside your head
between your ears, when you can feel the vibration)

.....

Sojourn
Soujorn
Soooujourn
Jousorn?
Sojourn
So­journ! jousorn
juooooosooorn
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soujorn
jousorn?
sooooooouuuuuuuuuuuuu­
journ
sojourn, sojourn
jousorn
jousorn

(breathing sounds)
mmm hmmm
hmmm hmmm

mmmm hmmm
(breathing sounds)

sooooouuujoooouurn
jooooooouuuussssssssooooouuurn
Sojour­n.

sojourn soujorn
soujorn?
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sojourn!
sojourn.
josourn?
sooojourn.
sojourn.
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(now deadpan)
sojourn
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sojourn?
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sojourn
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.....­.....................................
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(breathing sounds)
mmm hmmm
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(breathing sounds)
.......................
......................
..........­..........
soujorn?
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sojourn!
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(breathing sounds)
mmm hmmm
hmmm hmmm

mmmm hmmm
(breathing sounds)

sooooouuujoooouurn
jooooooouuuussssssssooooouuurn
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(now deadpan)
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(breathing sounds)
mmm hmmm
hmmm hmmm

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(breathing sounds)
.......................
......................
..........­..........
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sojourn.

So let's make a deal, You Hear?
Lets write more ******* lines from between the ears

Sitting in a room full of people with the same style of glasses
I wonder why that is?
or was
John Lennon or Buddy Holly
Pick your Poison

I used to think of life in terms of things that I could never do
I still do but now I think it is just a matter of circumstance

Then I decided to write some of this **** down
Maybe one day that will make it all make sense
Because Hey!
There goes another moment
Another commute

.....

Confucius- inequality is fundamental to humanity

Relationships of inequality
Parent-child
Elder-younger
Husband-wife
Ruler-minister
Friend-friend

Philoso­phy known as Ren

Household (Jia)
-patriarchal
-patrilineal
-having sons was the most important thing
-ancestor worship-having sons was essential for carrying on the family name and therefore honoring the ancestors
-partible inheritance- each son would inherit equal shares of the family wealth

Sage emperors –Yao, Shun, Yu- each passed on rule to the best man instead of their son
-Yu was the first emperor to form a dynasty with his son Xia after being asked by the people to do so, this is followed by the Shang and eventually by the Zhou dynasty
-all of this is essentially myth and the only thing that is actually known is that the Zhou dynasty existed.

Zhou Dynasty (1050-250 BCE)

Qin-Han (221 BCE- 220 CE)

Sui-Tang (587-907)

Command economy

Society order of rank-

-scholar-most valuable because they bring knowledge and order
-peasant-are higher than artisans because they actually create rather than manipulate
-artisan-higher than merchant because they at least contribute skilled work and goods
-merchant-the lowest rank because they only sell goods and do not contribute anything to society.



Three teachings

Confucism  

Daoism-a system created by a small group of elites in china. Accepted a kind a view of getting along in the world by essentially rolling with the punches. Became a sort of religion based on the texts of Laozi

Buddhism

Sui Dynasty (589-618)

Tang Dynasty  (618-907)

-Up until the tang dynasty nobody owned land besides the emperor. This changed after the tang dynasty was weakened. During this period salt became the new revenue stream for the empire. This allowed merchants to control certain areas of the market and become very wealthy.

Song Dynasty (960-1276)

Yaun Dynasty- Mongol dynasty- did not run china in a chinese way

Ming dynasty- return of chinese order, second peasant emperor Zhu yaunzhen, he distrusted the gentry and the bureaucracy as well as his revolutionary allies, he punished and executed many previously noble families inadvertently making room for many new families to gain prominence.

-boom in population and wealth lead to many families having the ability to educate their sons and participate in the examination system. The quotas however went unchanged which lead to a general dissatisfaction with the system.

-global climate change lead to high frequency of crop failure leading to famine and strife.

Wanli 1572-1619- had a long rule, which is known as the beginning of the decline of the Ming. During his reign china becomes more and more wealthy and with wealth comes decadence. When he dies he is followed by his son who dies soon after and then his grandson who has little interest in ruling and allows Wei ZhonXian, a ******, become the defacto ruler.  Meanwhile crops begin to fail around the country and epidemics soon follow. By the mid 1640’s things are falling apart for the Ming.

li Zicheng- Rebel leader, started as rider in the royal postal service, was fired and turned into a bandit eventually becoming a rebel leader and taking the city of Beijing and declaring himself as the head of a new dynasty.

-At the same time the Manchus are also beginning to take over militarily northeast of the great wall. They ally with one of the few remaining Chinese generals and take Beijing from Li Zicheng. This begins the Qing dynasty.