In the end,
Do not burn in your self-pity.
For the world you see,
Was never really pretty.
So burn in what you may,
No return to once what was.
For life was never meant to be lived in one space,
So bloom and buzz.

Somewhere on the moon last night, Neil Armstrong came back to life and was standing in the middle of the Sea of Tranquility in complete darkness.  His frail, decaying hands that were no doubt filled with formaldehyde, held a rather large and sure-to-be extremely heavy boombox that loomed up and over his head, blasting “Total Eclipse of the Heart” on repeat.  He said that it crossed his mind more than once to replace the six faded white American Flags with the stereo, but ultimately decided against it.


In mythology, bleeding is considered to be a feminine attribute:  
                                     “I bleed, therefore I am.” 
(But this is also the downfall of a version of feminism that is not intersecular.)  ((Your lunar cycle does not necessarily need to function in order to be considered a woman.))  (((I am not sure of which, if any, version of feminism Neil Armstrong subscribed to.)))

                                                ­              ­                            When a woman is bleeding, they say that she is at the height of her power; she is aligned with the tides and the cosmos.  She is celestial.  Blood is sacred,
eternal—the very essence of our beings—
                                                ­        ­      ­             but if the Blood Moon was
                                                ­                  really just the moon on her period,
what could she do last night she could do at no other point in her life?  
Where was her power?  She was isolated,
                                                                ­              forgotten by the sun,
                                           hidden away inside the umbra of the earth.  

(Which is the part where the masculine power of the sun rejected the most important feminine attribute of the moon.)


Michael Collins flew solo around the moon while Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin played with dust and rocks.  For 48 minutes he was completely alone, radio silenced behind the shadow, and he thought about death and being the last man standing from Apollo 11.


Inside Neil Armstrong’s speakers, Bonnie Tyler was crooning that
                      “your love is like a shadow on me all of the time,”
and I have not yet decided if this is                      
                                                                ­       good      or      bad.  
Instead, I am wondering if Buzz Aldrin feels sore for
eternally being second best?  Or if he still thinks that the view from the
moon is still one of “magnificent desolation?”  And
does he feel this way about all three of his ex-wives?  
Do they know that the moon was his first love?


We name missions to the moon, to
Luna’s surface, to Diana’s territory, after a
Greek and Roman god of the sun, when
                                                            ­          wolves howl to the goddess
                                                         ­                              instead.

I once had a human heart
It beat right in my ears
Now the buzzing of a fly
Seems to have replaced
All the inner sounds
That were eating me
From within.

There is this girl
With cute tiny feet
And she once was my friend.
Now she's screaming
Writing a suicide letter
On ***** sheets.
Sheets I climbed into
Without guilt,
Without remorse,
Without emotion.

I said, "sorry I am poison.
I contaminated you
But you shouldn't have touched me."
I said,
"I try to live up to expectations
But most of the time I fail.
Most of the time I hurt me."

She wasn't listening anyway.
For her, I had ceased to exist.
For her I had no heart beat.

But I hope she can still
Hear hers.


F.Z.**N

it's all a buzz inside me
cotton fluffed between my ears
and ceaseless crickets droning,

like a tuning fork that never ends
but always holds the pitch
of time and undivided space.

an empty shell peering out at life
stuffed with eternal noises
of neurons crackling.

where's the fun in cotton candy
when it's stuffed inside my head?

Taking place where you calumniate
with hidden mask behind interface

An embolism hidden behind your lines
Where a falsetto lies your charm

How you create isobaric pressure degradation between your monodical screaming mee-mee's

Creator of sheol , abode of the dead poets
So supine in way and thought

Where will your Valhalla be
You valetudinarian
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Caluminate - to utter maliciously false statements .

Interface - a shared boundary across

embolism - a swelling of a blood vessel due to blockage

isobaric pressure degradation - lines drawn on a weather map marking increasing or decreasing air pressure

Sheol - the place of the dead

supine - failure to act due to moral weakness

Valhalla - Norse hall of God's where slain hero's are received

valetudinarian - one who shows unduly concern for their health

I want to catch
A buzz...
Not from bee, nor fly.
I just want to be high.

Oh let's all go catch
A Buzz.