When I am calm
I am a storm
When I am a storm
I am calm

The calm
Before the storm.

Electric static buzzing in attentive ears, wondering how and why you ended up where you did. Stale smoke filling the air like the compressor in a carburetor.
Direct injection.
Vicious speeds.
Catatonic struggle.
The lisp of an old hippie, tracing his tracks in a wheel-legged fashion, up and down the streets of Seattle, looking for the kicks that previous nights were unable to provide. Supply and demand for bottom up approaches.
Roaches scattered in the living room. Some dead, some still glowing in the dimness. Empty cans of Campbell lint excessive consumption. The prevalent motif of the middle class. Stars and stripes hung in the window pain, above the static placidity.
Seattle stars
No such thing
I guess it must be raining there forever.

We are born into an invisible grid, each and every one of us Intersubjective, but never intertwined.
What does it feel like to be a woman?
What does it feel like to be a man?
What does it feel like to be?
What does it feel like to be in another grid?
Deathly silence, a metaphysical barrier.
You may stare into foreign eyes and drive the probe of your celestial self into the deepest flora of "the other."
You may explore the ground beneath "the other's" feet
Until eternal oblivion sweeps you away.
But you will be none the wiser
You and I will never comprehend the inner clockworks, the intellectual mechanisms, the factory of the mind.
Even if the black ribbons of smoke from cement chimneys continue to rise,
Even if the mechanism continues to churn,
Even if the clockwork continues to tick,
Until the suspension of time,
You will be alone with yourself
And I will
–In all the glory of human futility–
Keep on searching.

T.S. Eliot might say “Dare disturb the universe.”
I say “What the ****. **** **** up.”

I am the lone insurgent
Walking through the streets
of my own mind.
My mind
Is a totalitarian state.

I am the lone assassin
Of the members of parliament,
Remember, in my own mind.

I am ratted out
By the shrill shrieks
Of an old lady on the tram.

I walk home from endless meetings
With myself, where him
And me plot our rebellion
Sparking the ember, remember;
In my own mind.

The Secret Police awaits
Probably in my living room
Waiting for me to turn on the lights
Revealing the glint of silver nozzles
Mere millimeters from my my head.

The warrant proclaims:
"Conspiracy and ******"
I may be lone, but my hand
Wields just vindication.

I may be lone,
But as I am executed
There is still me
And another will always
Follow

Striking the ember, remember;
In my own mind.

For every second
Of every minute
Of every hour
Of every day
We are in a constant state of dying.
The same way
For every second the sun
Spends across the sky
It is setting.