I met a man today;
A strange man by most standards.
You see, he loves to build miniature worlds
Where trains rush past the intricately painted men and women.
He explained how he would continue long into the early hours
Creating whatever his mind would dare to imagine.
And I felt the purest forms of envy I have known.
All I wish is to find that sort of passion
Something to bring me that joy
That I willingly give the hours of my life.
How wonderful it would be
To find what I am searching for.
The angel, Azrael,
came unto me -
he'd been drunk -
and showed me the true meaning of life
was inside of my glass:
"Swirling and burning;
a sour taste
in the back of your throat.
Something to sip wearily,
or gulp down in
in devilish earnest. "
But of all things
the glass would empty
and the angel
would close His book
on us all.
Life, the most widespread joke without a punchline.
We throw ourselves into the playground for amusement, some way to pass the endless stream of time.
We have the power to do many terrible great things but not the will to perform.
We drown in our misunderstanding and want for companionship.
No one wants to meet what comes next alone.
We surround ourselves with the others but are they real or just figments of the great simulation.
Which ones are REAL?
What does it all mean?
We ask repeatedly and distract from the oncoming dread by soaking our brains in pleasure and petty tasks.
When there is none to be found we suffer in nothingness.
Crave the meaning of it all, but fear the truth.
Map the endless universe for an answer but only so far is the reach of a crafted lens.
Sometimes we think we see the solution in the sparkle of another's eyes but love.
Love is but another falsity.
Eventually everything fades, even one's biological function for passion.
Whatever we are, we were meant to seek the answer.
If there is none, we suffer internally eternally.
This is Hell!
What comes next is endless slumber, trapped in the pod of another plain of existence.
Until we dare to amuse ourselves again.
The punchline revealed!
Passing through space
In your glittery tail,
my beloved shooting star,
flying as a matched pair
since the last horizon,
We pass milky nebula.
And to my surprise
I saw a bright star
One I swear I’ve seen before
Speeding through the
Purple space dust.
Words never spoken
We traveled on,
As we always do,
but now I know
my twin star
was never really you.
Burn burn burn
turning around and around in a world
gone mad on illusion,
be glad to scrawl some truth
on the walls of self,
this prison we create for ourselves
endless as the space between things
atomic glances in the glaciers
of arctic reality, alone.
Alone and with you, just you
alone, alone with you, just you.
You don't exist, I am here, alone.
Loneliness the barricaded cliche;
a comfort from the complexity of Pandora cities,
lived network, passing moments, waste,
waste bucket lies and lives -
Cries in the sombre darkness of the city streets
heathens and homeless burning, dying
spice addicted fiend crying in empty
alleyways, and me alone, crying, dying
slowly, in this cage of my own creation,
the only thing that keeps me sane -
creation of hope, "delusion you dope" says
voice inside, burning bright demon.
Burn and fry, mottle and cascade downwards,
find yourself in the dirt of experience
and avert your gaze to the heavens.
What choice do we have?
The alternative burns and haunts my soul.
Burn baby burn.
sometimes i feel like there
is a reason we are here
other times i do not
but never do i know
what the reason might be
it’s a thinly coated secret
sharp on my tongue
it lies within my reach
at night and slips away
with the notions of day
but not impossible
to live with this condition
of losing what you never had
and not having anything worth keeping
In last night's movie, a young writer
and an older, married with children French woman
fall in love. They did not meet during a village massacre
and money is no object, Manhattan
the place I was priced out of. But after everything has happened
she cannot leave her children, not even for love, because of love,
the love that brooks no serendipity.
Here, in my family, love is taken for granted
except when it's withdrawn and then even the trees lose all meaning,
familiarity. Now it is almost dawn:
this and that must get done in committee or alone.
Don't reach, go slow as the day will allow.
But that's not what I came to say.
Perfect rest v. having a destiny.
A complete breakdown in self-discipline.
It begins by saying nothing I do matters under the eye of eternity.
Hamlet x 5 centuries.
Add to that all the science--chemistry, physics--calculus and music
I don't know. I have sat next to, at weddings,
brain surgeons and robot engineers. I hit the street
choosing a church on Fifth Ave. or Trinity Cemetery, walking the
In the subsequent late night movie, a wealthy
altruistic doctor arranges for the murder
of his neurotic concubine. His guilt provides us
with an opportunity to consider
the concepts of faith and forgiveness, that all will be well in the end
after a period of meaningless suffering.
In this way the seasons have been circulating for eons via convexity.
I don't know what I'm doing but I'm doing it anyway.
You trust in genetics, God, prosthetics or prayer, whatever
gets you to the morning. That's when the sun,
a billion trillion nuclear detonations per second
warms yr bones.
You may remember an old lover who's gone before
or continues to exist on another plane, in another ecstasy.
Having installed a new toilet seat
and made a few philanthropic donations
I can kick back tonight and watch movies, right?
Not. I'm ridding myself of another addiction
like illegal drugs via caloric restrictions
getting enough sleep for two people or more
and reading none of the dry words in books from the library.
When there's nothing to do, when I'm bored or dreary
I'll sit still and watch from the window, I'll wait
for the weather to change, which it will.