A poison seed is furtive in neglected soil.

From scorched earth it emerges with the aroma of cunning veracity.

But no truth will grow.

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—

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.

I shall watch them all fall.

My spire has no guardian.
My soul no judgement.

Glory is a peak to crumble.

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 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.

Boogey boogey boo
the government's coming for you.

You claim to speak the truth,
but I can smell the bull-doo.

Suckered into algorithmic chat,
you swapped out your foil hat.

Yeah,
you got plenty to say about that...

"Do your own research," you say
in that smarmy, satisfied way.

A Cheshire grin of vapidity
stretching across the infinity

of your insipid, stifled ignorance.
Well, maybe just for once,

instead of condemning us to hell,
you could try questioning yourself.

I'd say a character with no self doubt
is guaranteed to be wrong about

quite
a
lot.

Sipping black bitterness to read more bad news I should spit it out!

Still, there's a coffee in my hand.

The film of shame atop my tiny pleasure does not compel my altruism to drop it.

Still, there's a coffee in my hand.

Is my consumerist loop inertia
to imbibe that which I know is wrong
So beguiling it has become
my greatest good?

Shut up and Enjoy
Shut up and Enjoy

Hedonistic nihilism
Fervent anti-capitalism
Humanistic utilitarianism
Democratic socialism

All better with a coffee in my hand.

Coffee coffee coffee
The bitter swill enlightening,
delighting my daily misery.

That dragon's not my adversary,
That dragon's my most loyal friend.

Always there to catch me,
(Like the bottom of a well)

I descend,
and it's leathered wings curl
around my mind.

In that place
   I am fine.

   I am
      at ease.

(But it's not me.)

When allowed,
that spooling dragon wraps
into my consciousness.
It feels like bliss.

We sail through every fantasy
delighted by each novelty,
subtle and obscure,
permissive and demure.
That dragon purrs.

The sound,
a grating staccato,
withering heartbeat,
with a red face of glory.

I vanquish and devour,
but as I conquer I'm consumed.

It's too late to pull away.

The talons found their purchase.
The flames their tinder.
Ignition.


And once the ash has cleared
And all's laid bare to see...

That dragon's not my friend.
It's not my enemy.
(It's me.)

"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.

Your face is familiar to me.
This light before has played along your contours.
This air has molded to your voice.

Your shadows are reflections,
And your echoes are embedded
In my stone.
In our stone.

I fell right down the stairs.
With a tumbling joy.
And laughed at the bottom.

the further i stretch
the more painful the retraction
and the more brittle the substrate
it feels too late for
discipline and temperance
to slow this roll
it needs to break

and
though aware,
the absurdity overflows
to despair

my life
has only trained me
to feel at odds
with what's out there

sleep and dream of sugar plum dumplings and dripping ******* dangling to suckle with your pursed mouth in a perfect “euuuooo”.

what troubles you, o perfect man? cause man you are, and man, you are a ****, and also the president.

Why is the bottom always there?
Climb or jump, or flee in terror.

It rises with me and within,
and compels me to ascend.

Forty years, the tower rise—
Just a plaque that says, “Here lies...

Human, tyrant, coward, sleeper.
Only fear is digging deeper.

A sculptor sees form beneath stone,
and essence emerges from discarding.

But this hammer was not wielded by expert hands.
Material has been carelessly cast away.

What remains is fractured, uneven, and lopsided,
with one eye far lower than the other,
and a contorted expression that is both
proud in posture, but slack in repose.

A master sculptor would call it a lost cause.
A sophomoric effort.
An amateur's attempt at boldness.

And they are correct.

But perhaps the medium can be changed.
Alchemical processes can turn stone to plasticine—
elastic plasticity that graciously conforms
to the will that shapes it.

Though there is little to work with,
the stone can be softened,
and new forms can be.

I can only walk like I'm dancing
I can only speak in poetry

otherwise
My body is rigid

otherwise
My tongue is frozen

maybe
Truth has never been my destination

maybe
Truth is just a flourish in my journey

Either way I'm dancing
and I'm talkin like I got somewhere to be.

Ah with each new thing i see
a fresh surcease of novelty
Passion led me to the end...
again again again again

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 forage the grove,
or grave
of tangled thought.

Like a wild wood
what grows there,
was not planted.

Seeds are scattered,
thriving, but entwined
along the animal path.

The birdsong carries
a distant echo...

     memory...

       ...the detritus
          of what I know.

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.

Disbelief
is not reflection
nor reaction
It is the natural state

Divine bolts and
Watchers from above
Below flaming chariots
And squealing torment

Before I met you
Fear and wonder
Were not absent in me

But now even those
I temper with doubt

Yet disbelieve
and all
  I know
   is this

     A champion of reason
       is alone in the abyss

I'm trying,
as fast
as I can
to run out
of things
to say
so I can
go back
to being
a productive
American,
but that's
not likely
to happen.

You exist. You exist.
**** all them who says you don't.
Your identity is yours alone.
Believe. Believe in you, yourself.

I try to believe in nothing.
My teeny toe is dipped in nihilism.
But nothing, I struggle to attain.

To be a sponge, a vessel of
absorption
An empty state of being,  but still
grasping at the feeling

That someone will fill me with desire.

-----

Am I nihilistic, or just burnt out?
Neural pathways terminate in "X".
Do not pass. All roads lead to pain.
Oh, you've let me down again.

Pain isn't nothing.
I should heed its alarm.
But believing is something
I fear more than ego-death.

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.

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.

I lost my work ethic
(if I ever really had it).
No more drive in me
to be a cog in society—
Builder, maker, creator.
Business owner, slaver.
Delusional entrepreneur
(You know who you are).

Burnout, failure, disgrace—
Never show my face again.
The career path ends.
Let’s just call it what it is-is:
mid-life-crisis-es.
I’ll pick up the pieces-es
and find...
ellipses.

A movie became manifest
I left with an axe
Awkwardness
I ran
And thorns caught me in the ***

Sunyata i will never be
Though the path is clear before me...

You wouldn't like this body without its
conscious integrity.

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.

Hello, Depression!
It sure is a fine day we're having.
You look good.
Is that a new shirt?
(Don't worry...
I won't ask you
that question.)

But I was wondering...
Do you still have
that book I lent?
or that dance step
and that drum set
and that pile of projects,
or that relationship
and that tiny pit of—
-not despair-
we used to sit with?

And what about that
career path,
or that time we had
or that moment of belief,
where sorrow was reprieved,
and we knew—
we knew
that love was something real?

I know you're very sensitive, Depression,
but if you don't give them back—
I'm going to have to ask you...
That question.

I have figured it out.

The alchemical formula for love.

- 1 parts pain
- 2 parts fear
- And a whole lotta dopamine (to taste)

I'm very lucky
I've always had a family
In the back of my mind
I don't know why
I can't
Reach them

I've been a dismantler
Half deceiver
Wannabe wanderer
Part drifter schemer
That's just who I say I am

Really I'm so frightened
I've run so much from loss
That all my days I live in grief
For things I never had

Drifting further
That reach
stretches
But they're
still there.
My family.

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.

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.

Pardon me, sir.
Could you direct me toward the exit?
I seem to be lost in here—
oh...
You're just my shadow.
Well...
do you know?

(Shadow Sighing)
Of course, sir.
Follow me.
Right this way.
Mind the gap.
Mind the trash.
Mind the forty year impasse.
Mind the—

(Interrupting)
Pardon me, Sir
I was asking for the exit,
not a lecture—
oh...
Hold on,
there's a phone call.

(Shadow Waits)
I—think you have the wrong number.
Uh, Shadow, do you know a Jod—I mean God?

(Shadow shrugs)
Yeah. No. Sorry.
Uh, y—you have a blessed day, too.
So...

About that exit.
Wh—
Shadow?

Where'd you go?

May the edges of my intellect only be eroded by the efforts of oceans. A fortress of stone enduring endless waves but never breaking. Only successive shedding so imperceptible that time before forgets its form.

I forgot. I forgot.
There's a war.
There's all those things
I said and did,
but I still dig,
unironically, elevator music,
or the cheesiest 1950s tiki.
Half-Whitest Wannabe
Jazz Enthusiast
innocently appropriating
joy.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
There's a war.
There's an endless culture of consumption
of which i find myself embedded,
but I must head to joy,
whenever, wherever,
or find myself indulging
in murkier depths of idiot longing.
Please.

I need permission.

Why aren't you as scared as me?

Many things unseen are lurking in my periphery.

Your absence of belief does not reprieve of this insistency.

Whistling in the night, I walk toward the face I see

In shadows cast by flames so bright that darkness undertakes the

Harrowed, narrowed journey through esophagus and kidney.

A poison quaff of mother's liquor tastes, absorbed, incendiary

Avails but mine eyes to see that superflous villainy

And its cutting undercurrent of all things heavenly

With flames engulfing peeling back my superstitious fantasy

I'll wrap myself in fear again to mask my shunned reality

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 only you have been
as deceived as you wish.

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.

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.

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.

Why'd you say those words to me?
               "You'll never be h__*y."
I believe that it's true,
but I wouldn't say those words to you.

I've fixed on fixation fulfilling your divination
well!
Happy is as happy do
now i have some words for you!

When you look you never find.
Love is fleeting, never blind.
All good things come to an end.
Have a taste of your own medicine!

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.

I can't stand that man's face
or ruined words of hate
but I'm really stupid now
he's all anyone talks about
I'm really really stupid now
my reaction is automatic
a dumb-en-ing numb-en-ing
strangling in my frontal lobe
his pursed words
******* rancid
into heaving, swarming,
zealous crowds
of barely individuals
who sup upon the fear
they self-righteously accuse
the other of.

I'm so stupid now.
I can't see.
I can't breathe.
but what I can do is
BLEEEEP
_ %&;! you  $#*!!!
$#%$ *&'
%$##*! I'll 5*@##$
**$%*# *
_
(continues...)