Waiting on the messy bedroom by the window,
Along strong mellow walls, begging to be heard.
Waiting for the moment you will look at yourself,
Let go of all the hurting built up inside corrupting lungs.
Feel the untouchable thoughts unstringing you from numbness,
Running fingers on an almost empty body, resurrecting to life.

When looks don't adore
When riches don't count
When strength don't daunt
Peace should rule the world

See things through
Believe the truth
There's no where to go
Will they ever come to know?

Help, Help, screamed the weak
Look yourself, you smell weak
Noticed the aroma tardily reeks
Caught up with reality's deeds

Another 'Major Improvement' ...
This time it's a road,
Another victim croaks his last,
Goodbye Mr Toad ..!

"Can you feel it?
Almost close enough to touch.  It's pure potential
And it is only limited by our own crippled souls.
Our willingness to stop advancing.  
Fearing change.
Fearing failing.
But forgetting forfeit is also a loss.  
We pass on our own destinies,
Choosing to live vicariously through nothing-
Because NOTHING excites us.
NOTHING moves us
NOTHING motivates us
And NOTHING is all we take for ourselves.
Nothing is heavy around our ankles, keeping us as it is...
Can you feel it?

O Babylon! Your God is a sport-utility vehicle, a VCR, and a two-car garage!
You delight in images of killing and artificially-large-breasted women!
Your arteries are clogged with Big Macs and a thousand pieces of Kentucky-Fried Chicken!
Your God is Technology.  Your God is Progress.

Your skyscrapers rise to the heavens!  Your astronauts fly to the moon!
You clone sheep! alter genes! make a mountain into a parking lot!
Your fields flower!  Your grain-bins groan under the weight of the ripe corn!
But the land of your soul is a desolation.

O God of Henry Ford, the Wright Brothers, and Bill Gates,...
All the nations adore Thee!
(Pretty soon they'll be ordering Papa John pizza by cell phone in New Guinea....)
Your God is Mammon.

After the movies, after the Quarter-pounders-with-cheese, super-size fries, and a large Coke,
after the evening news, the Hostess cupcakes, golf, beers, and swimming 20 laps,
the hunger will be the same as the day you first felt it, O Babylon!
the thirst of the soul, O Babylon!

I'm a biochemical construct
mechanical of flesh and bone
software-infused hardware being,
another release,
an incrementally updated
version of humanity;
all off my data cells
come with prerequisites
I had no knowledge of;
the veins of my dreams
were blueprints and schemes
in my mother’s blood
in my father’s skin;
I scribble but cannot rewrite
the me, the I,
procedurally generated,
processed by algorithms;
and the purpose is clear
perpetuate and iterate,
move on with baby steps
not merely in time and distance,
but beyond existence

1...2...3...4
I don't want to be underweight anymore.
My intention was never to go this far you see
But overactive self criticism got the best of me.
Determined to gain life back.
But sometimes put off track
by the illusion of control from my perfectionist mind
I sometimes find myself in a bind
My mind at war
What for?
The voice is not a choice
But recovery is
Constantly resisting the urge to restrict
So I will no longer look sick
Life is tough.
Life is rough.
But if a group of small people can change how I see
I can learn to accept just being me.