Digging unexploded ordnance
on a mountain of corpses,
but the view is amazing.

A well and boiled frog, I am.
My sticky tongue ate up that scam.
Webbed toes can't swim away
The lid is closed for holiday.
Don't know what I coulda done
Nobody coulda saw that'd come.
My frog anatomy succumbed
to temperatures about a ***-
dred and seventy-three.
Which is the perfect duration to cook me.

Now that cruelty owns the day and night.
My shame is for my petty plights.
I spent this life belaboring,
savoring my productivity.
Creatively struggling just to be
a member of society.
Why they didn't tell me
it was an elaborate joke?
Those who have will have some more,  
but the rest of the poor folk...?

On the way back from the abyss,
the dramatist starts and fits,
"Put me back in the black again,"
with squeezed fists and limp wrists.

The darling's staple diet of bad news,
black coffee and sweet candy
kept their spirit sickly.
Obviously.

Exposed to blaring overcast,
the dramatist retracts,
surprisingly intact.
In fact stronger than before
now in their validation.

Returned to comfy pit,
went the dramatist.
For the pit inhibits
in consistency.
No new delights,
or flights of fancy.
Not to be caught
between what's seen
with eyes shut,
or what they see.

The dramatist,
in the blackened emptiness,
will never know
when they've passed the horizon.

I began,
petty, indulgent,
with a dream to fulfil.
Building places to hide,
to protect my child mind.
The wish, instilled
longing
with no plan.
"**** the boy,
become a man."
bound in duty
twisting enjoyment
to what task
he is unsuited.

Tonsil choked the passage.
Enamel bowed to decay.
I slept through the alarm.
The canary flew away.

"The leaky dam looks fine from here.
Just— stand right there.
Can you believe, there've been thirty accidents
since last September."

"Statistically, for this facility,
that's rather subdued.
Ignore that light. It won't stop blinking,
so we're having it removed."

A hat is made from a heart.
The marrow becomes electricity.
Streaking red blood and bone.
Fortune's tenacity.

"Well, so long.
Arrivederci.
This ending was foretold
—quite early."

It's a big cartoon map of the world.
Tragedy emblazoned with bright colors.
The patriotic eagle selling you fluff.
Ornaments of suffering.
Divided by thick red lines,
Each nation is reduced into an effigy.
Remember when this waterslide
was a mass grave?
You bow your head
for a moment
of silence.

Then...

get up,
get down,
dig deep!
turn 'round!
Ya can't stop!  
raise ya hands!
get on, y'all
tragedy dance!

This flag, ya!
You know the one.
Hee-ya! (kicks)
Gonna get you!
Alright.

Stopped the car before arrived.
Smeared the paint before it dried.
Closed the book before the ******.
Set the clock, but didn't wind it.
Not unpacked the last few boxes.
Never found the matching socks-es.
Burn the bridges 'fore they're built.
Still the hole you dig is filled.
Lots to do, but nothing finished.
Half a life with nothing in it.
Forget the chicken and the egg.
I'm as big a quitter as there is.

whenever your master
tells you to celebrate,
you have found glory
within the context of
submission

Narcissist, I could not be,
for I don't love the one I see.

A subject greedy for introspection,
delightedly needy for inner-reflection.

Whose deeds or needs will always depend
upon on how they feel right now, or when

the gleaming impulse sends its signals
into the open, gaping, waiting amygdala.

Opportunity, I wait for me.
Myself, exploiting me, for money.
Six billion mouths to feed.
Or a ---thousand. (that was hyperbole)

Do you see how I self-deflected?
When my inner introspec-detective,
Neared too close to the inner-inner-reflective
introspective objective?
****.
I'm a narcissist.

It just wanted to exist,
beyond the desire,
but it's tired now.
It's sighing.
quieter.

"Do it again."
"Stand in the rain."
"Nothing ever changes."
"They always look the same."

You want it to scream,
         "SURVIVE, YOU *******!"
                 like it used to do.
(When it made decisions for you.)

But what wakes you now
is only the resounding
echo.

echo.

They wreck themselves a thousand times
upon the shores of their own making.

Each quest they fraught to find themselves
returned, annihilated.

Embarked upon an odyssey,
to plumb the inner depths.

Adrift upon an endless sea
of monolithic conquest.

An ocean tide within a being
contains an empty void,

That threatens all who venture there
to see themselves destroyed.

A self that's sought may never be,
found when looking for.

Traverse the thought of self-that's-seen,
beyond the narrow corridor.

It's good to have an adversary.
Just make it someone else.
Someone to be better than,
while measuring yourself.

Rise to meet their challenge,
measure-up, and balance-to.
The comparison may reveal
your intrinsic inner value.

But when the numbers fail to balance,
and the weight is never fair,
and no matter what you sacrifice,
they'll never meet you there...

Know you've always walked
along a path of your own glory.
Your struggle is but yours alone,
and only you know the story.

Self-endure your mindful yearning.
Strive relentlessly.
Rigorously self-critique
your deepest ideology.

Come to know your inner-most,
as you tackle loss within.
But remember who you were
before comparing Self to Them.

A planet of trash,
I lay underneath.
The filth runneth over
to where I sleep.
In humanity's discarded
roiling heap,
a toll of their sins
is what I keep.

-

On Planet Trash,
I live beneath,
a most revolting,
and glorious heap.
No one can see me
where I sleep,
but my acquaintances,
they soon will meet.

-

My Planet of Trash,
I give to thee,
more than I
could ever keep.
You know now where
my secret sleeps.
Take all
that's left of me.

I used to paint.
I used to leave the house.
When the vision stops,
that's when the words come out.

So much to say,
So much to doubt.
What is a craftsman without—?

This morn,
instead of nails,
I added to my
breakfast gruel,
three raisins.

Their sweetness,
I'd enjoy,
were my mouth
not full,
of lacerations.

It's just how life goes,
tip-toeing about.

A friend here, a friend there.
In my heart they've not gone anywhere.

I may see them next Tuesday,
or perhaps, never again,

but in my heart
I always call them friend.

Hello.
I am ready.
(Teach me a new delusion.)
The mind is so full,
but the heart is so empty.

Perhaps,
it is time to accept,
any old myth
that I used to reject.

Fill my emptiness
with delusional bliss.
Give me an enemy
for my bullets to miss.

I'll fire my gun,
rife with belief.
And drift upon
pillows of doubtless sleep.

Knowing that I,
for once, am right.
Having chosen to follow
that arbitrary light.

Tired of the
People
Rapping
on the window.
Running through
Room,
After empty room,
After empty room.
Where
did all the people go?

I've searched all ways
but behind me.
I hope
they never find me.
Do Not Turn Around.
I run through empty room,
After empty room,
Do Not Turn Around.
After empty room,
I Am Found—

What about Him is in
he who is without sin?

In the begin they bit in.
Into the human within.

If the soul isn't split
between
Me, you, and them.

Then,
Who is this "they"
in your whataboutism?

So you went on a hedonistic journey
******* drugs, *** and rock and roll,
and then you're gonna say you're responsible
for all this generation has?

You're just a leech like me,
but a lot less self aware.
Thumb stuck in you know where.
Plop it out and maybe you'll see
What a good little boy you've been.

Next you're gonna tell me what a man is.
Next you're gonna tell me how smart you are.
Then you're gonna look at my frustration
and say "Live your best life", "Be your best you"

Insufferable deluded ****.
You took everything you could.
And you'll leave us us with the leavings.
And a lengthy receipt, too.

See.
See The Prophecy.
The self-fulfilled
apocalypse,
waving the flag
of surrender
before the
blow lands.

They stand,
posturing,
fist raised,
waiting,
for you
to cower,
before they
press it down.

Outrage,
hammered silent
by the one
who proclaims
their own
valor.
Villainous.
See no other.

Love the butterfly.
Set it free.

You.
Know.
There is real
"Truth"
to be found
outside
quotations.

Don't abandon me.

Don't follow me.
Don't like me.
I'm not going anywhere nicely.
I've walked all my darkest paths,
and I did not tread them lightly.
I'd say "look before you leap,"
but more than likely,

I'd obscure
            the destination.

Say, Have you seen
my latest painting?
It's a dog. Isn't it cute?
I could paint one of you.
I'd capture all your beauty.
Or perhaps your heart too.

You could give it to me

I would craft my worship
to suit everything you need.
Your vessel would be holy,
while enshrined in my belief.
Wait.
Don't look.
Don't turn on that light.
When the brightness shines
upon my path,
All my darkest nights...

would only make you laugh.

Ah,
I'll ne're be empty
When I'm so bottleful.
Drink to the heathens,
And sip to the ne're-do-well.
Cheers to seers, scheming
Lewd in their freshed hell.
Give thy sighs arresting
Forthwith with them a thpell.
Bartled body brandyful,
a bottled bag of burgundy.
Bourbon, bourbon, bourbon
bourbon, brandy, brandy,
Yup.

You're not dumb.
You're not blind.
You know what you see.
You're not half as weak
as they claim you to be.
So Speak.
Speak your mind.
Be free.

Why give away your only chance?
The emperor's in his underpants.
Destroyed by father's impotence.
I should not be the one shouting.

Another news agency
Is reporting only "controversy."
Do you have no faith in democracy?
What are these words I'm shouting?

What is this compulsion,
toward what fills me with revulsion?
Should I find a new emulsion?
Or just carry on my shouting?

Humanity and democracy,
was that all just a dream to me?
I can't unsee what I have seen.
I'll—shout about it or something.

I'll probably go away now.
Head buried high up in a cloud,
No more room, or time for doubt,
but maybe just a little— shouting...

He knows your desires.
He know your hopes and dreams.
He knows that you know
He is not what he seems.

Your hope is so great,
that you will not see his smirk.
While he winks at your faith,
You take him at his word.

When reality serves
his unsavory dish,
Know you have been
as deceived as you wish.

Until I look I'm happy
And then, y'know... I see.

It's so much nicer without
that shallow corporate "squee".

The diatribe of private dictators
so self-servingly

Proclaiming that their failure is
the fault of their employee.

Their mistake is in the hiring
of those who will not sip

That rancid, unappealing
Kool-aid fed by drip.

Can you show me
The only way?
Do you know it?
Can we go
Together?
Is it heaven today
When it rains forever?

To true believe
Consciously,
I sleep under
Hypocrisy,

And wonder.

Hypocrisy
Make a fool of me.

And the good will acting,
Acting selfishly,
And the boulder rolling,
rolling, falling.

No real desire,
But to push again.
The myth of nihilism.
Where all I find is much
too much.

Then what is this call?

I need another name,
but "God".
Of "Him" I cannot drink.
Or "death drive", or "entropy",
Or a "sharp wave cascade",
Or the "heat death of the universe"
Theory.

Belief.

Hypocrisy.

Name yourself "Truth"
to mask your lies.
Claiming none can see
without your eyes.
You fear to face inward,
so in words you hide.
But blatant analogy
reveals your disguise.

Why do I only trust _ ?
Metaphor obscures,
Aesthetic dilutes
intent.

In summer’s garden witness:
A brightening twine,
Along with elder brother,
Two bees fighting.

There,
a battle seemed unnatural.

Toiled once in unison,
But here they tousled.
Buzzing.

Hive and Harmony.
Discordant.
Buzzing.

Efferent corbiculae,
Of twelve legs,
Of a thousand eyes.

A brightening twine.
Two bees fighting.

Their
battle is unnatural.

You got a taste as
The teeth sank in.
A Mouthful of guts.
Spitting Ravenous,
Hungry savage.
Chase em with
the noose tied.
Burn a house down
with a family inside.
No escaping this time.

Sparks. Shatter. Glass.
The hateful gather.
Tongues pointed, lusted.

Mob Justice...

Deny. Deny.
A distended death cry.
Woke with the taste of blood,
and never know why.

"Got carried away"
"Just a little mistake."
"A good person, I swear."
"You just had to be there."

"The blood. The blood."
"Was all up in my head"
"You didn't hear what they said."

"Guilt is dispersed."
"You can't blame me."
"I'm just one of the many."

Retract. Retract.
Rejects those facts.
"What you saw was fake."
"We were heroes that day."
"Propaganda, you see."
"What was done unto them,
was done unto me!"

Forgive and Full Pardon.
"We were right! We were right!"
"What fire? What night?"
No screams. No bodies.
No guilt in sight.
No Justice.
No...

Just...

...

Looking inward
And feeling down
Doing all this self-searching.

In brainy head
I'm digging 'round
while querulously lurching.

"Self, O' Self,
Cannot you say...
What it is that is that 'I'?"

Answers came,
(but two or three)
And surely didn't satisfy...

So, I peeked that brain
outside my cave,
to see myself externally.

Calamity!
The Earth's aflame!
And someone else has seen me!

I must abscond
in quick retreat,
while abandoning my query.

I shall pivot then,
in mock defeat.
To Escapism, my Sanctuary!

I was gunning for
my sovereignty,
but I didn’t see…
(I was searching for that certainty)

I was running to…
But when I get to you,
Will you still know me?
(How long I’ve journeyed.)

Maybe there’s a way / out,
Maybe there’s a home / some/where.
(buried under here).

Maybe there’s a way / out.
Maybe there’s another / dream.
(not a fantasy).

I see that empty space,
but what would I be...
If I let go?
(Id or Ego?)

I'm holding tight to
who I've never been.
Why can't I know...
(...they believe in you.)

Maybe there’s a way / out.
Maybe there’s a home / some/where.
(buried under here).

Maybe there’s a way / out.
Maybe there’s another / dream.
(not a fantasy).

Maybe there’s a way / out / side / of / me.

Abandon all ye subtext
all them who dare enter there.

They do deserve to be picked apart,
not to be danced around.

Look a Neo-Fascist in the eye
and tell them who they are.

Make them Sieg Heil
as many times as it takes
for them to know
they actually mean it.

Like a little child who
smokes a pack of cigarettes.
They're gonna like it
or *****.

"Boys will be boys"
"He just got carried away"
"You're just seeing things"

The same words mothers use
to defend their ****** sons.

You didn't birth that man,
so why are you defending him?
You handed your dignity away,
so what have you got to lose?

Oh right—
ideology is everything.

The Nazis were not above sentiment.
They spoke of fatherland and Fuhrer,
with tears in their eyes,
and hands on their hearts.
At once,
deeply earnest,
and deeply sadistic.

For a while I dreamed,
we were self-aware enough
to recognize this hypocrisy...

but here we go again.
Same hands
Same tears
Same excuse

Take off your mask, fascist
You don't need it anymore
We all see what you are.
We guessed the intention
of yer dog-whistling gesture.
giggling behind your
festering red-tie vestiture.

What a joy to be
in the land of the free
With you and your
little boy cronies
playing make-believe
wannabe king.

Play soldier next.
Step up strong.
Wear that uniform.
Dye it black, and tacticool.
Dripped in silver skulls.

Grow a little mustache.
Ride that edge.
Put that X
on a red field,
in a white disk.

Your perception of resistance is your obsession with the other. Let it go.

You cry, "I don't care about what other people think," but you know—

Those thoughts that you resist are the ones you struggle with. So you see.

That foe you're aiming toward is not outside of you. It's in thee.

Hello.
I am another man
screaming "oppression".

My outrage is clearly justified,
because they don't make movies
about my fantasies anymore.

Where all God's
good little boys
and girls knew
their place in
the great society.

Where living meant
dying for the cause
of people who looked
and thought like me.

Where evil was black
and good wore white hats.

Where glory
and moral certainty
protected me
from the bad guys,
and the bad thoughts.

Filthy C---sucker *****—
Oh, excuse me.
I'm so sorry.
(No I'm not.)

You should have known...

It's for your own good
when I take this throne.

I shall cast my moral
judgement down upon
thine aesthetic value!

I shall condemn any
who deny that which
I know to be true!

Let renewed doctrine shine,
an effervescent, blinding light
of right and wrong,
and leave my enemies BURNING!


But, take heart, soft thing.


Within my
glorious wisdom
there is no
hypocrisy.

Take my
firm and gentle
hand
to guide
thee...

Let's go to the movies!

—

Prepare your ***** for the rise of Fundamentalist Christian Cinema.
Coming Soon to Theaters Near You!
Written by Men Who Hate Women and Jews.

"I don't miss her, I swear!"
"We were miserable in the end."
"But I fear I may never feel that way again."

"Each new love
that follows the last
is so much nuance wrapped in intention."

—

What was easy before,
could be so much more,
if he could reach beyond his ignorance.

But his inherent void
drives him toward
the desire of pre-oedipal innocence.

Though
we are of the
same substance,
the space between
our atoms
can never
be together.

To bridge this void,
I invented meaning,
shouting animal
sounds and symbols.

We press our bodies
to one another,

but this fantasy
is an interpretation
of your movement,

and this dance
is an attempt
to realize
unconscious ideals.

Knowing
or unknowing...
this distance
can never be crossed...

But the void
draws me close.

I think
I’ll still
call this
love.

I was hoping to meet an artist—
instead, I met an aesthetic,
head buried under platitudes,
vapidly shaped
and formed
to fit that mold.

Parceled, packaged,
and cleanly sold
for easy access.

Defined by lack of contrast,
and saccharine yearning
for the past.

There’s no going back.

Disappear in your
new delusion.

Fear.
Hate.
Money.
God.

Consume.
Consume.
Doom.
Doom.

You bought it.
You ate it.
But who is eating whom?

Delusion.
Delusion.
Delirium.
Obsession.

Tiki torches are on sale
for seven ninety seven.

You swallowed
your ideology
whole.

But, you'll never
be full again.

So, where do you go,
when crossroads
circle back to where
you began?

Oh, I know.

I know you're tired.
Do not worry.
I'll do the thinking for you.

Not inspired?
There's no hurry.
Just sip another snake-juice.

When prescribed
that sweetest slurry,
you'll know exactly what to do .

Your tongues were tied
in fervent worry,
but these words will see you through.

Your greatest enemy is doubt.
You can choose what you believe.
Know only what's in your heart,
Do not trust the truth you see.

Know my name,
and spread it well.
But salvation has a fee.

With your payment
made in full,
Drink salvation on thy tiny screen.

I remember them standing there,
watching me try to reel it in—
their sardonic expressions
as I complain.

I'm six years old.
The pole bends hard.
I feel like I'll be pulled in.

A rust-red shape arcs in the water.
The line snaps.
Their eyes widen in surprise,

but they say nothing.
They quietly hold their shame,
and take the rod from me.

Allow me to disseminate
my messages of hate.
Do not deny me
my misinformation.

You have no right to regulate
the falsehood that I state.
Do not attack
my fabrication.

The People must participate
in my bad-faith debate.
Do not obstruct
my obfuscation.

Take me at my word.
(Or don't.)

Your voice cannot be heard.
(Or won't.)

The lies I spoke,
are only jokes.
And you will indulge
my exaggeration.

Pick the news
that best suits you.
And you will hear
my proclamation.

The only truth
is what you choose.
And you will accept
my validation.

No matter what you do,
you will hear the words I say.

No matter what, or who,
you will thank me as you obey.

I am frivolous.
Pain equivalence.
What I feel,
is it real,
or is it just perception?
That's the question
I'm begging you
for answers to.

Reaction
guides my action.

Chemical and automatic,
Stagnant and static

These thoughts of me..
frozen in immobility.