I have forgotten the greatest idea
the most powerful words
the most cherished memory.

I curse my brain for allowing me to lose them,
to let the images slowly fade away.

I curse it for taking away
what I loved and treasured
for so long.

And yet
isn’t it the same thing
that gave me those memories
created those words
formed those ideas?

Isn’t the very thing I’m cursing
what I should be treasuring
the most?

people who do something excessively:

shopping
smoking
drug-abusing
having ***
and many more actions

are on a quest.

sooner or later, some of these people discover something much bigger.

something that balances their
minds and hearts.

1 *****
100 billion cells
Too many ifs
Too much probabilities
Too much worries
Too much scenarios
Let me have some rest
Sincerely,
-Broken brain

I often feel an irresistible urge
to shake my head, static
racing across neurons from
chemicals, long gone.
Then comes the gnashing,
grinding teeth, and the
horrible, intrusive thought,
that this will never go away.
But before the thought finishes forming,
the feeling is gone. And I look in the mirror,
and think to myself:
"What the **** have I done?"

rip off all my skin
2. stop, just stop
3. ask for help
4. never talk to anyone ever again
5. go far away and never come back
6. never eat again
7. eat ******* everything
8. lay in the snow, in a swimsuit
9. stop being so ******* dramatic
10. you should just disappear already

A red thread of shame is tightly woven into our silenced souls,
An inherited madness dripped its way down to whoever works the controls,
This nebulous state, this numb state, it's our common default setting,
Here we all are, blind to the brain trick, content in our worldwide forgetting.

Nothing like a perpetually distracted brain to box away the brilliance,
Put that box back in the cupboard, don't you dare invite **** dissonance,
And remember when the party guests arrive, silence is insulting,
Privacy is suspicious, mystery is annoying and thoughts kept to yourself are revolting.

Show us romance, show us pretty, let us always see the screen,
Give us an abundance of fake new reality, let us turn on the simulation rain,
We would like to see her and we would like to see him while pretending we're the ones having fun,
Dopamine is leading the way for us all, our ruling neurotransmitter, our kindly king hormone.

My head is filled to the brim
Packed brainstems
Maybe that’s why I take you straight to heart
Truths whispered and held in cupped hands
Like butterflies, then released
See where they land and the clarity they impart
You words are vast galaxies
Mystical, colorful imagery
Like melted crayons pouring from the fount of your mouth
Dripping into molds making wax elephants
Heavy words trumpeting sentiments
That I may never ever truly figure out
Eyes that speak paragraphs upon chapters upon volumes
Upon libraries
And I am only a syllable in the commentary
Fill the empty crevices of a heart once on fire
Long since expired
And give this charred thing new life, incendiary
Make this full mind empty every bit but you
Clear the queue
So I might feast on more than these offerings of crumbs
Minds will always be filled and filling
And full
But the the choice of what’s ingested is the rule of thumb

Wonder-filled

Summer rain, melting Arctics
and the lipids lining the nerves
in your brain. These are the metrics
of our times. Mere resolve

is not enough to take care
along the highway—you need wheels and prayer.
When you realize there’s no there there
that’s a scary day. End there.

August, the extinction is terrifying.
Quiet, too quiet. 100% humidity, not a single insect flying.
Summer morning, summer evening, sighing
the sighs of purgatory—grief without pain, death without dying.

I’ve chosen the safety of these mountains
and the beauty of their mists—such perfection
which anyone can have for the asking.
All you need to know is the names of things.

Conflict, coercion, war, strife.
Flying high in April, shot down over Germany.
Have a good day. That’s life. Fix yr brakes.
When I hit a pothole my fillings sing.

Anything’s possible, it’s impossible
to know what will happen until it’s happened.
You can’t know what you’re doing until it’s done
and even then you stare in wonder

unmoved yet moved by the stillness
a pure goodness, bone stillness, potential energy. You can practice it
in the city or the desert.
The wilderness or the mirror over your dresser.