AHH sometimes I love how I can be soo
absolutely
repugnant

A book falls off a desk in a room where nobody is there to see or hear it, it doesn’t so much fall as the atoms of the book and the desk spontaneously align and it falls through the table and out of existence entirely.

Cling! Cling!
Bling Bling!
Tick Tock! Tick Tock!
Another gimmick poem from the prophet of schlock
Today I even spelt my own name wrong

Sitting under a scaffold on the mean streets
Comes the Smell of ****

Abbud sits and picks his nose behind his mustache on the first UAE space flight, The year is 2020. Cold fear creeps up his spine as he notices Sahib staring at him just as he puts another crusty snot into his mouth. Neither man says a thing but the silent judgment is made. Abbud ponders quietly, questioning himself but also the bizarre stigma as he looks through a porthole at the pacific ocean below.

Tell someone you love them today because it feels good
But you know what else feels almost as good
Hate

Gruber Classitanius peers down the path of the monkeys, the bodies lay strewn about penetrated in every orifice by the dreaded ****** spider monkeys. He remembers what the profit sphinx told him and focuses on his Iphone Shazam application, just as instructed he clears his thoughts of all else but the Shazam logo for this is the only way to avoid **** death. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the supple upper thigh of one of the **** monkeys unknowing victims and it brings him back to a night before where he lay with a women he had never met but upon falling on the bed beside her knew that he must be in love, his spine tingles with a shiver of emotion, but the pleasure soon turns to fear and he jerks his thoughts back to the Shazam icon just as the first spider monkey ***** penetrates his left eye socket skull ******* him to death like all the others.

Galumphing along the road stands the son of the jabberwocky slayer
In Psychedelic dreams of Gods speaking without words
On the brink of the next moment I forgot what I was saying
And just decided to write whatever I wanted
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaasdfghjkl

When I was a little kid I used to play this game while I was taking a ****
I would look at the wallpaper pattern and cross my eyes
It made the wallpaper look as if it were leaping off the wall
Just floating a few inches in front of where it really should
Then I put my hand through the minor hallucination and it would go back to normal
I did this almost every time I sat down to take my little child *****
I eventually stopped doing it and now the wallpaper is gone
I don’t really know what that means but it feels significant
I remember it constantly
My first little experiments with alternate realities
The first time I discovered that the world is not as it seems
That our eyes are just filters for light
That is interpreted by our brains
Which then create the world that we see
I think that might be the first time that I understood that the world is an illusion
To be manipulated at will
As long as we have the will
To manipulate the world to our choosing
Fairly Nietzschean don’t you think?

I don’t know if this was the beginning of what would eventually lead to psychedelics
But it certainly appears that way
I small child sitting in the bathroom for an extra five minutes
Crossing his eyes and staring at the wall
Escaping reality
Diving into the ether
Looking for something new
That funny unseen realization
That just under the surface
If you cross your eyes
There is a whole world unseen and unrealized
Impossible to grasp even
In the realm of the Gods

Drive your car up to the gooseneck and tie the lazy end of traveler up with wire and linemen
Take the working end of the traveler and tie that up with a rope, with the other end of the rope tied to the car
Clip the well wheel to the jib or tie arm and raise the car to pick up the traveler
Once the traveler is loose from the gooseneck, remove it and put it in the car
Loop the cable around the well wheel
loosen the rope until the traveler hangs from the well wheel
drive the car up until you have reached the next position drive and be careful about the wire tied to the lazy end
once you have reached the next position put the gooseneck back on the tower
drive past the gooseneck
tie a rope back around the working end and another around the lazy end of the traveler and wrap the other end of each rope around the tower
The ropes control the slack of the traveler
Lower the traveler onto the gooseneck
lower the car until the traveler hangs from the tower, keep tension on the ropes
remove the traveler from the well wheel, transfer it back to the gooseneck
now slowly loosen the ropes until the cable is hanging from the gooseneck again
now tie off the cable to the tower with wire using linemen
as you drive the car down continue to tie off the lazy end with wire
when you get to the donkey **** tie a rope around the cable below it and loop the other end around the car
slightly pick the cable
tie of wire below and above the donkey **** using the linemen
secure the cable to the tower with wire so that there is not too much strain on the donkey ****
make sure the donkey **** will not hit the car or trolley as they drive past it
loosen the rope from the cable and continue to drive the car down
drive the car down
go home

Sitting in a coffee shop in yupstown hipsville Brooklyn
scrawling in a notebook with a headband on
I become a caricature of myself
why these things even matter to me I cannot explain
but I feel like scumbag anyway

Constantly criticizing
revising
rewriting my words and theirs
my thoughts
"oh thats pretentious"
"what is that? your talking out your ***"
"why do I/you even bother?"
Why can't I just go?
Be
write write scribble doodle
think
at least I'm not the ******* sitting across from me
(there it goes again)

But i am part of a growing number
of diligent dilettantes
with notebooks and  novels
leather bound and worn
"vintage"
and "obscure" instruments
and tastes
because I am all leisure
I have that kind of time
but aren't I just another ****?
Cunting out my cunty cuntness
like it's something new
like i'm not just playing games
playing roles
half committed and pandering
to an audience of privilege
looking for clarity, or authenticity?
or am I just another salesman?

Ugh I cannot escape
my sense of inadequacy
I m a sham, a ******* artist
When is it going to ******* end....
is there any escape
that comes without labels
self imposed or otherwise?
(stop wining you ****!)

Lying on my chest the heart beat of a hummingbird
Love and Passion Incarnate
A Seraphim with ***** Wings
The Open Box of Pandora
and all that one and a million talk
High frequency modulation betwixt
the souring doves of ecstasy
and the rain No! halberd hail!
Knifing the streets and back alleys of Brooklyn
on the subways again I recognize the worst of myself
in the lush of my Yin

The other day something happened to me that hasn’t happened since High School
A scream audible, loud, but only for me
In my mind
Sustained for mere moments
And then gone
Rousing like a battle cry
But with a hint of anguish
Peeling back my eye lids like banana’s
Rattling its cage
Like a beast that has grown to large for its master
And is dumped down the toilet like a sewer crocodile
As if ready to burst from my skull
And spread its tattered bat wings
Heave the birth breath and swoop down lower Manhattan
To terrorize hipsters
Its fire breath singed my eyebrows
And burned down the walls of my capitols of reason
Biases and assumptions
Forever breaking my ties
And branding my forehead with the name Urgnd

He looked out on landscape of glittering monoliths Black and Shining Brilliant
Esoteric machineries of the Gods astraddle
Glancing up into the eyes of a stranger
The words fail at a universal moment of recognition
Facing the one way mirror
At the foot of the behemoth
CLANG! CLANG! Rang the bashing bright struts
Gilded bodies in words and actions
Circuits and wiring showing up from underneath
The thin layer of sheet metal
That barely contains the whole lot
As bits jangle and disclose inner contents
But he is only left to wonder
In the eyes of another

Ugly pensive shuddering blah dee dah
Wondering where the wind is
Holding back for god knows what
Crippled by ghosts with long ropes
Making a spectra out of myself
Passive abuse waiting for the sunrise
That never comes
Because the sun only sets
On the travelers journey
And the wind only blows
At the command of Demigods
The time is nigh

Let us compare life to a large white goat
That will eat anything you put in front of it
Even a bent rusted tin can with some rain-watered down beans

Or a young man with long hair listening to zeppelin
Strangling himself in his room for pleasure
Or playing party games where nobody knows the rules

Where some make them up but others follow theirs
And in the end everyone goes home

******* mornings coughing up grey phlegm
Phloem and Iggy’s Stooges walk on the wild side to dirt
Playing in the background  
Smell of rubber
Bands and angry men singing
***** words and healthy birds outside the window chime in
Getting skinnier
Having bizarre twangy renditions played out in the mind
And laid flat on keyboards in bat-swarmed attics
fantastic dreams of large cocked sailors
Muggy Mondays sold with a half bored flourish of enthusiasm

Why are we conscious?
Why life?
The universe
infinite flux
Epic Smashing parts together
Brains splattered by speeding bullets
Simple physics
Described in abstract numbers
Sublime
It’s so plain
So regular
How Life is extinguished without emotion
In an instant
Unseen and unremembered
Why did we even bother?
To become conscious at all
To perceive futilely the world
And despair in the flux
Anguish in the face
Of pure entropy
Absurdity is the only legitimate feeling
And yet there are so many more
Why? I want to know!
Why this fait?
Why could I not be a chair?
Simply sitting, never thinking the thoughts
My bane and my bone
My plagued thoughts
In pursuit of clarity
Like a sore that would go away
If you would
Just
Stop
Picking it

This is my suicide note
To all my friends and loved ones
How can I explain my sorrow?
But in my heart I knew this was the only level of control I still had

The moment to moment
The day breaks softly over the heart of immediacy
And so it goes as I slipped into the past
I could not take it any longer

But I could take that feeling
The gentle push of sanity
Faith in choice and reason
If only I could take that still

So say goodbye to everything you knew before
Say goodbye to listless seas
of calamitous ennui
The devil set my course

And pardon my lack
Of ponderous ambition
And slight of hand
Because I was never a very good card player

So come clever little witticisms
That sum up life on a dime
Because they make it so much easier
Than knowing the ugliest truth

Of the eternal empty knowledge
Born through beyond doubt
Through painfully obvious vision
Religious in its scope

Oh and did I mention that I’m not dead yet
The ***** ridden down, shallow then steep
And petering out at the end
To a third act in a hospital room, Nostalgic and satisfied

So here it is
My note for the loved ones
The ones who could not save me from myself
From a fate decided long ago

Around the Time when the Drinkers come out
And the homeless start setting up their cardboard for night
When kids talk loudly on the train going for parties
And the rest just Grim and Bear the commute home
All the Soldiers and the Workers of the Ant Farm go to the holes growing mold
Unseen but necessary for the Queen
Those throng and quiet desperation lives
Of plain gum Globules on pavement
A sigh
And a downward glance
With the slight smell of Chinese food
Such is modernity…

I watched the best minds of my generation sit and watch jersey shore
         on a Monday night high on cough syrup
         Contemplating hyphy at dawn
         In fear of the day they would break
         With tall teas and idiosyncrasies of language
         So profound as to make all but the most imbued  
         confounded
Who were busted ***** deep in under aged **** Bleeding
         on the locker room floors in the shade
         and hallways of eager decadence
         and busted again three years later
         in ancient palaces at Hanover
Who rolled on the floor in ecstasy giggling at the shapes
         Floating listlessly in a dream down the ski slopes of Rutland
         With out feeling in the face or hands, they laid down in the white
         Light of daybreak on the rooftops of yesterday
Who made YouTube videos getting ****** up the ***
         By black ***** and loving it with a wide grin
         Shamelessly braying and bucking in the languor
         and persistent fickle protest for want of identity
Who punched each other in the face with boxing gloves
         Because they never knew pain or love
         Drinking the backwashed dregs of glasses
         And smoking cigarette butts on midnight
         Soccer fields
Who saw the perspectives reverse and shorten only to lengthen again
         And then tried to explain their visions of foxes
         To angle-haired exuberant Norwegian pranksters
Who wondered what the meaning was while drunk on plastic *****
         Sitting on carpet with the lights out in the smell of socks
Who smashed stolen mugs against sheet rock walls leaving marks
         And left their lives for the machine shops of west Texas
         Only to return to Alabama in a drunken blur for more
Who jacked off during French classes on the hill and sold drugs
         To snitches for outrageous prices
Who begged for mercy from men and women less than them
        From fear of the dreaded blacked pock marked record
Who stole whole rows of over the counter drugs for a cheap high
         On Saturdays during winter months of seasonal depression
Who lived and loved more than they even knew before child days
         Ended and adult games began
         Only ever wanting truth and purity
         and sincerity
in sublime ether lights never quite understood

She was so beautiful
And like a rose
She had thorns
And like a dagger
She pierced my heart
My soul
My sand of time
Vial dropping sand grain by grain
And oh the pain
Plain in the rain
I saw her
And like a stain
On my life
I now live in strife
For the loss of my wife

And sweet melodies sung by the greatest church choirs
the greatest castratos
could not compare
to the love we had there
it was but a bright flare
burnt right
in the shadows of night

and you you you
you were so you
and the slew of oooohoooh
was it true?

Ack cough
I can’t go on
Make me poem of the day
Please…

Aahhh the crushing ends of postmodernism
the impermeable coffee filter
selling jacked post existentialism
with innocuous novel filler
on the doorstep of Burroughs
or Joyce and Sartre
eyebrows furrowed
and chin resting in hand
looking for lost art
and coming up with grains of sand
in the boring blasts of a mind trapped in plaster cast
with solecism to guide the trembling hand
and wrinkled ****  vulgarity
language is the dullest knife
I have ever cut myself with

Profound things screaming at insanity
These words have no meaning
My mind breaks
Unable to even move
In catatonic despair
And  then…
when my eyes are tired and my soul is a worn husk
Awake at three in the morning watching videos of steel drummers
On the tired ends of some desperate baffling nightmare
The same motifs recurring endlessly over and over
Recursively storming through the gallows and nether winds of some unmentionable quivering fury
And at the precise moment where all Is lost and all is at your finger tips
the words poured out like buckets of rainwater on the side walks of the throng trembling masses
a primeval cro-magnon scumbag alive and well with a post modern kick
a lone star cupid with nothing to win
the bop kebab pop cabala flanks me at every turn
and the Jesus lizard shrinks beneath the weight of crushing globalism
as the world sits back and laughs

Words and words and lethargy
Languor and ennui
Writing to pretend to write
Pretending to pretend to be the master
But pretending to be is how we be
And in me being me I am always free
To pretend to be
So you see the sea of ennui
That was me
Or is me
Is only me pretending to be
Ennui
From fear you see
Of finding me
In the depth and sea
of to Be

Burning fire death curdling scream because I’m back from the dead *******. Anger is an energy that I cannot ignore.
When I am worn down to a nub it is the soul seed,
Which I can hold onto,
My psychic anchor in my hour of need.
The moment when you have broken through to the other side
And you explode in a thousand fiery shards.
The collapse is imminent.
There is no avoiding the finale.

I washed my hair today with three in one body wash, shampoo, and conditioner.

It has come time for someone to say the facts in blunt and bold terms.
A Cartesian scaling of reality
There are no facts

In a society founded on genocide and warped by decadence,
I find no solace in bitter resentment.

Thriving in ennui, when the real demons come about
I parse together bits of my consciousness in a frantic search of clarity.
No solace,
And I have become the neurotic eye of the mid mind watch dog.
Sailing into Armageddon for want of heroic end,
Plastered to the seat back with sweat.

The carefully constructed outer shell of my being disintegrated in front of me in a mesh of color and light, and they said there is no god.
Enter the Thing

In the desert ****** up the *** by a sordid English poet, religion finds all the seekers, otherwise its madness.
And without truth, Its just a ride, we
play the game, for it is the only thing that we
really have—As  I begin to calm down, two months later,
I realize the folly of my actions.—Actually, **** that nonsense, folly is a lie,
there only Is.

Is there evil in truth? truth in evil?
And is evil not subjective?
For the fathers made the call.
Doth thou do what thou hath
For truth, subjective as well, is an infinite path,
Gödel’s law.

I write with groomed fingernails on a keyboard of obsidian-blocked letters and cadmium laced circuitry.

At our core we are neither inherently evil nor good,
Intelligent or stupid,
Narcissistic, altruistic.
life is Never simple. ‘No secret ingredient’
And pity the swine who clumber over the word nor

If you think you have found the answer to anything, especially in real life, and especially if you can write that answer down in a sentence, you’re Dead Wrong.

So what is there? You think I don’t know where this is going?

Lines written with acid and syrup tapped deep
Is there logic in reason? You know, the what’chamacall
Aren’t we all
Dominated by utopian views
of manifest destiny; the End All be All.

And so what of the fall; the universe that cares not?
No matter how many mushrooms I take,
Reality Still Exists. Then, I almost forgot

And This Beacon of Hope,
Will it save us?
Will we win?
Is there a win?

Where is the end Dark lord of the nether?
Does begging this question get me closer to the truth?
Does it even get me closer to explaining what I mean?
The man selling purses on the corner, patent leather
I cry out to you! For a soul’s desperate answer

But **** that defeatist ******* also, this journey must come to its bitter bite.
And flight from the truth is cowardice divine.

“What reason is there to believe that humanity will not overcome the next world crisis? There is no reason to believe that it won’t. If the universe is infinite isn’t every point the center? Why else does reason even exist, why else do we see ourselves as the masters of the universe?”-Bill Hicks

Here is the closest I have come to any conclusions ever in this Painfully Obvious vision

The universe is chaos,
Our soul is order.

We draw the ductile copper wire through chaotic blackness.
This is our being, it is our tool, take that as you will.
A fiber of a thread on the ocean floor vs. the divine sepulcher

I have lived my life bucking everything that didn’t come from myself, but in vain
Because even these are chains.
I am my own slave master.

In the depths of true evil is the darkest knowledge
Is morality but a thin mask? Fear and Weakness
Is there any difference? Dawn on the killing fields
Dew on the earlobe of a dead man
Drips off and drowns an ant

Back on my so-called Conclusions.
I cannot say I still hold any of them
Even though I typed that sentence not thirty seconds ago.
That man who drew conclusion is now a stranger in the past.
There are no conclusions to draw.

Sometimes I wish I could **** without mercy, if only to know I am really free. Sometimes I wish for suffering, if only to give me some obvious direction. Sometimes I wish for death, if only to clear my skull of all these pesky thoughts.

On the train
A tunnel under New York,
The unseen interlocking teeth
The Filthy steel grating
Narrow shafts of brilliant day shown through
Illuminate the works of unknown artists
Cartoonish letters hastily scrawled and placed
Directly in the light
The only light
Of the tunnel of the New York train
There it passes, and another and another
Each precisely placed
In the thick blackness laced
With light
For your viewing pleasure

And So Spake Urgnd Lichmae The Prophet of anarchic Tremor, Schlock and Paradox. Of the author nothing is known or will be known.

The words of Urgnd Lichmae as spoken by the prophet

There is no authority but yourself and your mom
Do what thou wilt but be chilled that is the whole of the law
All of my life has been governed by the same principle
Knowledge is all
Reason is the route to knowledge
This is paradoxically countered by the striking realization
That knowledge is unattainable and reason is flawed
I consider myself the master of my reality
Ever knowing that I have No remote control
I am but a particle in the vast swirling mess
Conscious of itself
Ride! Ride! To Armageddon

And lo! He spoke in Tongues

The Young americans win the black parade blues dandy
With Crowley Tilling the endless Time Killing
Flash fried, deep dyed in coliform, and unwilling
And right then Powers said “do I make you randy”
A Flabbergasted basterd Worn Torn for the feeling
Clapper switch on ******* sent a poor boy reeling
Stealing all the ugly bits that still remained handy
Crippled light of the monitor howling **** Forlorn
Torn a sunder under Urgnd’s blundering sojourn

Yay! The beast did appear

Mike myers white Kirk Mask, light flicker
In the mirror stares the face of a devilish creature.
Blatant slander to the depths of existential life crimes
Alexander de Macedoni lost in the stammering story line
Sofie’s Crime was never letting go of her Petty moral fiber
And the First thing that comes to mind is that I’m pretty tired
But too slow was the English Tea drinking grey earl’s mudline
Mortal Corporeal punishment on the philosopher’s Stormy mind
Sold separately from the Cheap plastic **** measuring Gun Club
To The tangible alien televangel flannel laced voice Dub
Hurt, he Squirt the black fish of the drug addled killer kind

Copulation Commenced

“Hard and fast baby hard and fast” hands around my waist
On the darkened eye shadowed lids of emotional teenage angst
Embodied in all that pitiful splendor

Until Reason Beget

In game changing fashion
And delusions of Grandeur
I closed my computer for the fifth time only to reopen it in a flurry wide Side Longed imagination
To right the Wrong words for the Wrong generation
Write the rights of man, only quicker than you can
On the Holy Madonna’s, waist like a ****** Libation
This one Goes out to Baby jesus’ Great Clan

“Sometimes a man is just left with nothing to say for himself, there is no rhyme or reason to it. Sometimes the gears come loose as the train smashes into the building. Sometimes there is no hope”-Ernest Hemingway

Just keep writing
Mescalito swing
To the Margarittaville ring
Plaintiff Mingus chilling
Round Midnight fling
Or was it Miles Davis.
Stayed puffed with smors
Made with white chocolate.
No great war
No great flame no great pain no great gain
And for all its worth, for all your trouble a penny for your loss
Cost millions of Jews down the Dachau blues
Lifebuoy next clue,
For the literary jury
And a glance out the window yields the Spike of patriotic fury
Killing time Tod killing for Casey Jones locker
Playing the bag pipes off Key
Send a Post Card far away
For Diane sawyers interview
With bizzaro nbc
Done Smash Melee way
Because “I love it” and “I do too”
Even though it’s rough
No rules just right
Died sleeping in the night
Just like the lebouf
None of this is original

And then my words failed me and I slipped into a trance where I met a man holding a snake, a cobra. He held it up to me in a gesture begging my approval. I nodded and he took a pair of scissors and cut the head off the snake. Out of its body came ribbons of color and light. I cannot imagine that this has any significance.

Space astral longing depth, endless ****
Endless love, endless fear
Queer but not quite, right, and bitter blunt
The runt of the litter
And the ***** knows only words, roses
Something new sublime, lost in rhyme
And reason lost as well, spell it out
For the benefit of a clever Lout
Nonsense phrases, phases of will
Fancies of fait
Looking for the concrete
Watching a stuttering bumbling pathetic mumbling
man
With class in crass language
Selling fake props to aviators
And other things stolen from other obscure places
Erased by time and astral space long depth
And endless ****

The problem with me is that I have little patience for other people's ******* while I seem to think they should want to hear mine

Pans unborn moonchild
Of the mind wasted away
Alive inside me

never to disclose
the contents of the soul worn
like a dagger up the sleeve

for the pain and strife
of mere existence luddite
nature cares for none

The red horned demon
The satyr, spitting fireball
Whisky in the glass

The demented love
Bile in the glass case awakes
When least expected

And you watch your life
As it passes before you
And you have to laugh

on the pitch of life
Wasted, livid, energy
In your empty room

oh! seraphim why
do I cling to your tough spine
when nirvana awaits

suckling for comfort
to your breast indecision
grafted to your love

Listening to Beethoven’s moonlight sonata with the Fresh Prince of Bel Air on mute in the background
I looked up how to spell “Bel Air” in the All Knowing hive mind
I thought it was one word
It’s been some time since I’ve even seen the word written out
Is the point of language to convey meaning?
Does the absence of a question mark throw off the reader
Lack of grammar or punctuation
I don’t know
Wat abowt propr spelliyn
Kan I get bi on fonetiks
Or am I missing the point
Is real innovation in the structure?
Or in the emotion?
Or is it in capturing some unmentionable truth?
Some undeniable reason in faith
Ever expanding the wealth of experience
For the collective subconscious
Now I’m going and assuming a lot
When I know that there is no truth
If there is one thing I’ve learned its that buffalo society is in a sorry state
Because as we all know
buffalo buffalo buffalo baffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo

Kettle drum *** *** *** *** *** ***
There is the moment of the sun breaking over the edge of the moon
In that Stanley Kubrick’s movie what was it called?
In 2001 the towers fell and we still don’t have a colony on the moon
It turns out the monkey’s bashing each other’s brains in with bones was as far as we got
The bones got bigger
But didn’t transform into “the greatest cut in the history of film”
But who cares right? I got my iPhone
And make sure you capitalize that P
Because if you don’t you’ll get a red underline
Because even Microsoft knows that apple is a big deal
So lets have a little fun while the reigns loose in our fingers
“look mom no hands”
But I really don’t want to get all like that
I want to watch the candle burn down to the wick
And light a joint using the last bit of flame
Or heat a spoon whichever is your fancy
The beauty is in our solecisms
The comedy in the autocorrect
Corrected by our own machines recursively
We are in a never-ending project
Of retrofitting meanings to decisions made at whim
Out of necessity
Because the decision must be made
And explained afterwards
God I must sound preachy
I try not to be
Because it’s easier not to care
But harder in practice

And lo! The soul worn thin
And so the story begins

The words feel swallowed
Hollowed by their meaning
And with force followed
By desperate screaming

For purpose and strength
To face the wild future
Planned for at length
And dashed in good measure

Errrreeeeeeeumumunumb
Nerevum nerum numb

Blazed into tomorrow
Carrying things to yesterday
And accidentally making a point
About the illusion of time
and the inevitable conflation of meaning in words

There are things that words cannot describe
And emotions cannot grasp
Things that are unbearably simple
With depth and meaning vast

Things that the poetic form cannot possibly imagine
Things so sublime
That men fall silent and bow their heads
And angels sing in the hearts of noble song bearing birds
Where unintelligible jibberish is the only thing that you feel
And the words flow freely, feeling as if without will
Or manner or flow or ugly grumbling pensive cynicism
Where more words are ripped out of the dictionary for affect
And boring recursive narration is the only option left

As the mind jumps from topic to topic
In an unending string of free associations
Listening to a man with white hair and beard
A young writer blathers impetuously
Longing only for sublime novelty
And castrate words of biting wit
And pure and simple truth
And lyrics of pure aesthetic
And also fame and fortune
**** it all, he wants it all

Everything is everything
Everything is something
And everything is nothing
All these things are true
Explain this to me

Never created and never destroyed
Infinite forms of chaos employed
And in a word, we create the world
The tomb awaits your flags unfurled

Ever wonder on an immense coincidence
Something of which you could not make sense
In the world of chaos and lack of pretense
The power of the mind to find eminence

Makes you wonder if there is anything at all

But of course it’s all real, still; is there more?
every atom is connected to every other
particles of quantum entangled brothers
all held together by mysterious force

ocean waves to stones, the dimensional fold
atoms made with the same basic subatomic blocks
building blocks only theoretically locked
deep in the esoteric knowledge untold

And they don’t even exist until you look
but they still control the soul storybook
being nothingness’ revelation uncovered
that I am really nothing, in the world I am smothered

And in the end it’s all vibrating strings huge violins
Energy flowing molding, Janus’ open door
Perception divine, thread on the ocean floor
To the pulse and the ring, guiding all from within

The metaphysical folly of language?
Epistemological toxic steam gauge?
Losing a grip on the parallel plane
Conscious of the clever game
A Vast simplification but the facts remain the same
And go ahead a continue to play the life game
But take a dose of life and tell me its not true
Tell me that you do not feel this in your bones
The bible even preaches this **** in there tomes
You have to understand because its true I tell you!
Everything Is Everything
And nothing, and something
of course it is.

So what is the new next thing?
isick ilich selum lee lay lum
syntax brizoke choke sizome
jabber wizock riverrun,
past Eve and Adam
Raisinets, Kay Jewelers, Round Up ‘s the way
Nirvana sun Gaga Ketchum drum Bellum

Numb undone-or-been done “that’s right son you tell’m”
“Ugh a rhymer?” “a diner.” “no stop it,” “crop top it.”
“No really I’m feeling like this meter is cheating”
“but I can’t stop,” “that didn’t rhyme” “oh yea”

So now what?
What is there?
Can I go any further?

Not not, come **** ****
September November taint
I, you, it—‘s all ****

Writing to stave off boredom
Isn’t everything just another attempt
To stave off boredom?
To escape the nothing of the mind
Of the world,
Posited in an instant
Forgotten a moment later
And lost in anticipation of the next

We are all petty seekers
Seeking comfort in our actions
Seeking comfort in the belief that we actually are
Anything at all
And not even this knowledge, this truth
Can save us from this ugly fait

Suffering in desire?
Or desire in suffering?
I feel myself slipping into Buddhism so let me just say this
Those ******* haven’t found the answer either
In their claims of awakening
And nirvana in detachment
Only the dead are truly awake
Only in the obliteration of the soul is the soul really content
Only then, is it ready to let go

So then where does this drive come from?
the desire to continue
Life from life
The breath of pulsing intention
That only life seems to have
Only life seems to care
About fait and desire
About life

But then isn’t that the rub
Because even particles have a comfortable state
I remember the words of my professor
“the atoms bond because they want to be in a neutral electrical charge”
The word “want” is supposed to be only semantic
Because atoms don’t really “want” anything
But what is the difference
Between the atom’s “want” and ours?
Don’t we all just want to reach a state
Of neutral charge?

How hard can you bite the **** of life
That’s the one thing I ask myself
Malignance unto Death
Rueful vengeance at the depth of apathy
The mind trapped inside the body
The man sits and waits
And watches the party outside the window
The love of the women
Nothing but flowers plays in the background
As the sandy foundation cracks beneath
The man sits and waits
And watches the party outside the window
But he dare not dive through the glass
Though he feels the Anguish
From fear that he might ruin the party below
Crème delish and everything else
Right and wrong are illusions of the mind
And yet, I cannot abandon them
Projected light into the darkness
Epson powerlite 1761 W
Oxymoronic by nature
Paradoxical in practice
I am the lord our god
Pinhole projection in reverse, we all watch the eclipse of infinite suns
And daughters that never really lived
But I regress
the artist is lost as he learns the skills of the trade
and the artist only ever existed in his own mind
fuel dried up
running on good vibrations
past inspirations
all distilled
like potato ***** with ketchup brewed in a prison toilet
but I regress
to the moment I was born
and I didn’t even know it

Man and Animal?
Enkidu and Gilgamesh,
For want of master

Shut the **** up already about your civility
Your calculated reason
On fever pitched high above the nigh, unrelenting woe
The anguish
The souls’ empty hole
Tragically filled with the filthy swill of order
May chaos reign!  
For it is the only truth
The only order
With rites that aren’t lost in practice
It is the only father
That doesn’t devour its kin
For it is only sin
When you rage against the coming of the night
The inevitable night
That eclipses all petty human whims
So is it not right?
To follow the animal within
Wrought from chaos old

I made a bed with Satan
Through knowledge
and Animal lust