#ramble
That's alright,
God above knew what sins and deeds,
I've done to become free,
For those to lead,
For those who are deceased.
I had created many arts
to scream what I believe
so finally you
are now dead to my stolen heart.
May 5
May 5, 2026 at 6:45 AM UTC
Fix me
Please for the love of god I cry out to the heavens
Fix me
Take this from me
This emptiness this loneliness
This need to be useful and loved and needed
Fix me
Please for the love of god
I’m on my hands and knees begging
Someone fix me
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 10:19 PM UTC
art must be a message delivered
through the scrappage of noise...
"compression machine", they had called it
one's mouth! i do wonder,
what weight of the cosmos holds a word
into a single
point
yes, it is what i had thought.
connotation had been rewarded
with my enemyship
notion's cradle:
reverse or backwards; frigid or frozen?
was it both or none?
where had all these words been strung?
squelching pulsar neural
connotation ellipse starlight
meat grind cartilage
crawling heaving
weariness, dew
Then,
is spring metallic or leafy?
it doesn’t come easy
Yes! That. is what i have been trying to say.
**** my stupid rhyme life
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 6:55 PM UTC
it happens with the cycle,
a reprehensible mortal creature,
tipped with a wartish growth,
each **** a flounder of the species,
upon each other ‘tis unlike.
but not a wretched thing, no.
a guise tolling with verbality,
to break alast a brain anew
and isolate much unlike one
other; the fair sexed human.
unsexed, unwholly aside, a
rejection to the mortality
of sayest all the species’,
remiss and reproduce, care-
less and lesser, and breed.
qualia in a moment, felt
but not yet true, anew and
coming soon, it hopes,
for a structure in solace
warm and grown itself.
something unsexed, bordering
against what all sayings hark:
but something special, a third.
one newly sought,
as wishes to be:
shall become.
Aug 22, 2025
Aug 22, 2025 at 6:45 PM UTC
if i said you were just another boy,
id be mistaken.
ive made countless pieces of art just trying to portray my sad teenage feelings about you.
ive written many poems.
ive written 4 songs.
and i made a whole piece of abstract art for you.
ive done those all because i had too.
or, so it felt like.
if i dont get my feelings about you out the moment i feel them,
i feel hopeless.
im reminded this is most likely a one-way love.
if i dont get my feelings about you out the moment i feel them,
i feel despair.
im reminded im a chaotic person who doesnt deserve your soul.
i sound dramatic,
i know.
i havent gone for you yet because im scared.
honestly.
..
im scared because youre not just another boy.
the other boys dont talk to me,
the other boys dont look at me,
the other boys dont listen to me,
the other boys dont make me laugh,
not the way you do.
youre not just another boy to me,
youre the only one i want.
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 8:34 PM UTC
I went to college, I got a degree, I don't do drugs, well- not that many,
I've played the wife and the side piece too, I've funded others life styles-
then suffered alone
I spend my days checking my phone
For what? I'm not sure, anyone who gave a **** about me I kicked to the curb-
or they left,
Had enough of my facade,
my relationship with others
always goes wrong
Either I'm too codependent or
I live on the moon
I never could get it right,
so I've hid in my room
I used to go out ya know- I used to be fun,
I could laugh and have a good time but now I just run
If I take too many shots I'll start to cry
so instead of ruining the party
I think I'll just hide
I ache for a feeling that doesn't exist but when I get close my head throws a fit
I know all my flaws and
every ugly feature
How am I supposed to believe someone else could love this creature?
I'm better on paper and returned in practice, the warranty's gone bad
there's no reason to have this
Just for a second I believe
you think I'm gold,
and though that feels so peaceful-
my mind turns me to mold
And you can't see that
I'm making you sick
I don't want to hurt you,
I want to be loved
But once these thoughts start rolling in- sticking around is easier said than done
Jun 6, 2025
Jun 6, 2025 at 12:13 PM UTC
When I am safe
I can be myself
Ramble and unravel the layers
Dress up, dress down and down more
When my body can rest
I am relaxed
Because
I can trust you
Jun 23, 2023
Jun 23, 2023 at 1:23 AM UTC
The dress was blue and black,
life is really short,
I don't always get drunk
but when I do I go to church.
Is Keanu Reeves a vampire,
or is he a time traveller?
They told me to change my ways
and I don't remember what I did then.
May 21, 2021
May 21, 2021 at 11:02 PM UTC
It breaks like waves against the cranium
Again and again the syncopated beat of my heart
Is it magic? Is it a miracle?
Is there madness behind such a glowing word?
Ramblings of a madman, I'd rather me insane than comprehending extreme sanity.
What sanity is there in a world that holds no bounds?
What gods can there be when man in turn becomes his own god?
I have no answers, I am all but questions.
Urgent and bursting, it is a sweet fruit that ripens until juice trickles out,
Turgid and thick, quivering and throbbing like breath itself,
Not solid or liquid but a state inbetwixt.
Maybe this is mania, maybe this is something above what I am?
Who am I if not for my breath and my breaking?
It is the gaps that make the solid thing whole.
Jan 4, 2021
Jan 4, 2021 at 11:28 AM UTC
I feel like a storm.
Powerful, striking and dark,
but also afraid.
Oct 24, 2020
Oct 24, 2020 at 12:45 AM UTC
The Reds won by turning capitalism and democracy against us The frenzied shortsighted pursuit of individualism enraptured by its own grandiosity Obese in arrogance and false piety Among our weakest links the myth of liberty in the guise of protection from our own From My Cold Dead Hands they will eulogize the depths of our hypocrisies tucked into the gaping cracks of a marbled column tombstone that reads We the People a hollow echo from a dead philosophers guilded mirror reflecting delusions of equality while his window glimpsed the reality of People bound as chattle An era of monsters championed as heritage by a devolved theater of gross absurdity enraptured by a sycophantic maelstrom swirling a wretched mass of vitriolic grievance creeping its facists tendrils through our halls our homes and our hearts So much bluster about essential freedoms now a **** in the wind from a constituency of the ignorant dead eyed before the altar of Exceptionalism A manifestion of the truly unexceptional by a bizarre cult of personality devoid of that very essence Whiny and bloated convinced its oily opulence is somehow self evident justification for its own cavernous gluttony Heavy the privileged jowels spew hatred and lies slathered in corruption shouted as truth through the arcanity of scripture among those who would not know the forest from the trees from the rot in their minds as long as it says so on the TV vomiting endless propaganda of imagined shadow forces flooding the country with fictionalized caramel colored criminals Willingly blind barrelling into a fog of twisted fantasy failing to realize that the narcos envisioned pale by comparison of heinous intention or deed to the very real NARCs embraced Lockstep and jackboot heel in toe behind a tide of Nationalism that is anything but A contrived patriotism cannibalizing its own mythology whittling the bones of history to alternate facts devoured by fat children as so much sugary cereal bored reading the Constitution from the back of a whitewashed cardboard box ******** about a return to values and integrity they never possessed with their fingers crossed Cowing to the blackened whims of spineless parasitic wraiths picking at the shades of fallen titans Packs of roving dipshits trumpeting ideals their grandfathers died to eradicate Prancing about sporting the finest camo and tac gear in a perverse sashay Their measure of civic duty reduced to how much red white and blue crowds their shitstained boxers dowsed in cheap beer and sad rivulets of encrusted ***** trickled in a shame for which they have yet to fully account or atone Fools leading the foolish to oblivion are we God bless the USA for surely no creature under heaven would
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 8:28 AM UTC
A friend once told a girl I liked that I was obsessed with death
and I yelled and screamed as I denied it but it must have
too much for her as she walked away and never talked to me again
that night I punched the wall till my hand bled
it was that or the knife
that’s a lie I never cut myself why would I write that?
I was probably looking for attention that’s what they say isn’t it
it’s only for attention not because I don’t know how to feel
or how to deal with my emotions not because
I can’t talk to my friends
I’ll never say how much it hurts and so they’ll never know
Sometimes they do know though and they ask and I lie
Saying everything is fine when I just wait for them
to go so I can cry
but I’m just looking for attention so what do I know
now I wonder if my friend was right
the day he told a girl I liked that
I was obsessed with death truth be told
the thought of death does bring me comfort
Not suicide gods no but the idea of an
eternal sleep free of anxiety or emotions
to trouble me does seem quite tempting
and now I write poems about my emotions
trying to put into words what I don’t understand
and hoping someone relates
truth is I never liked that girl all that much
and my heart is dead but not quite
and life is grand I mean horrible and
love is everything but also a lie and this poem
is like my mind:
a chaotic cacophony of thoughts and feelings all mixed into one.
Sep 21, 2020
Sep 21, 2020 at 1:56 PM UTC
Don't live to love, love to live.
Said once a wise man who
dwelled in the depths of my soul,
as I threw the blade away.
Sep 16, 2020
Sep 16, 2020 at 3:51 PM UTC
***** spews like words, oh wait, the other way...
Like that time at my best friend's wedding when I had to give a speech,
and even I knew I was full of **** talking about love being a fairy tale. But I was so drunk on Jello shots and Crown that I talked myself into believing it for four years.
Like that time I said too much to make a boy stay just one more night, and I gave up my freedom for silence and dishes and diapers.
Like the first boy I ever loved falling back into my lap and my mouth moving faster than my head can keep up with... is this even a good idea?
Words flow freely in open silences because I cannot stand the sound of nothing around me when the noise inside of me is so loud; all this has done is get me into trouble.
Jun 24, 2020
Jun 24, 2020 at 12:47 PM UTC
I've been crying again but don't worry, I’ve been trying to understand myself and my sexuality since I was young, i came out as bi just to see if the label fit but it feels too controlling and the box gets a bit smaller each time I say the word, I’ve lied to friends about hook ups that never happened and have pretended to enjoy kinks for people I'll never meet in real life. I feel a disconnect to who I'm trying to be and I don't know if I'm scared of accepting myself or if I'm scared of someone getting too close for me to learn it hurts. How do I explain to my friends that I don't understand when they complain about not being with someone for a few weeks when it's been years and how do I know when I'm telling myself the truth and when I'm picking another label, I need someone to tell me what to do but there's no one to ask so I'll keep going until I understand.
Jun 16, 2020
Jun 16, 2020 at 4:17 PM UTC
how am I to proclaim my desire for her when my shadow says I am too much too fast I unravel I hesitate I hide I dream her body showers mine
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 12:36 AM UTC
Empty streets, flickering lights
Not a soul in sight in the darkness of the night.
No fevered whispers, no drunken gait,
No flirty couples, no late-night deadlines.
The streets are devoid of life,
And yet you can't say it's dead.
People are living, breathing, sleeping,
under different roofs, in different rooms,
in varying states of ecstacy and misery and outright boredom.
In endless creativity and stuttering breaths,
witness the arousal and the ebb and flow of time
without so much as a second thought
to anyone outside the realm of safety and peace
within the four corners of their reality.
With each inhale, there is life.
Why can't we say that each exhale brings death?
For what is death if not simply as the absence of life?
When the glimmer in his eyes fades, when the smile you long for
doesn't appear, when you reach for his hand and find nothing but air--
Life.
It's empty.
Life.
It's meaningless.
I don't feel alive without you.
Yet I don't feel like I'm dead, either.
And so here I am, in a weird limbo that is just pain, pain, pain--
The pain of each inhale not bringing me what life is supposed to be
as described in picturesque scenes from tiny little windows.
The disappointment of every exhale that brings no end to this emptiness, this chasm of nothing in my chest that you once filled.
Empty streets, like veins that pump blood that refuse to sing.
Flickering lights, from my lighter that spouses one last, dying flame.
No fevered whispers, no drunken gait.
No love, no adrenaline.
Nothing.
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 6:06 PM UTC
Na aarzoo, na chahat
Labon pe hansi laani parti hai
Na qadar, na ishq
Dil ko band karna parta hai
Dec 13, 2019
Dec 13, 2019 at 12:19 PM UTC
put my head on the pillow let me defrost my day's load into the form of dreams
i can perish to lengths unknown
where 30 cm rulers go up to 30 miles
let me slumber through melatonin infused days
where a mental collapse is inevitable
eyes shut
breath ********
mind eased
imagination wild
a stretch where oceans are just lakes in this unknown galapagos
birds glaze the tropical air with journeys declared by delayed shutter speed
they are an endless array of shooting stars
--
i still remember my last dream of you
a scarf and an unknown conclusion
i thought you jumped but we all know angels fly
Oct 10, 2019
Oct 10, 2019 at 8:22 PM UTC
Henry Moses was a broken man, doing his damnedest,
as his life was shaped in the after math of knowing
---
old truths left lying in rust
take
all the time you need
see
all you imagine as images you made
as real
as definite infinity
or
that final night, in the sand
grains
of decomposed
granite, solid as a rock, as imagined by the builder
a safe
place to build a wiseman house
when naming where takes us there.
Oh, hell no, you say and
****
and that haps, as you were wont to believe,
taking meanings where you found 'em,
never looking under to
see
==)' anchor thingylinky lock. Maps of meaning are real.
{time and the editor suffer the curly brackets to enclose an ancient voice
from a tamed-tongue *** who stood up to
a sword wielding messenger
a sort of cosmic rebound to repetitive greed giving reason
a sloppy kiss and a bucket of rich desire,
}
the standing place. The tight, upright, round amphora
in a square frame,
riding any storm, spilling nary a drop.
pre- pur posals spat vowish sworn owe owe owe these
are the lines
left to stand in, stand waiting, under knowing the weight
of the cross you took up as if
foreshadowing proved
fore-knowing
on going
journey to death, simple death, as a child might
imagine
journeying through the past at last, now.
Not spected ex, eh, not seen sharp and focused
as duty done,
as price paid,
steps taken, races run with no com-petons hammered
to hang from
Erich Nuemann con fronts me from the passing
train of thought that blew
me
off track and --again, he's a Jungian leaver of leaven, suppose.
Here you are, the experience was less lonely without you.
Assertive realism, Arian and Jewish unconscious,
depth Psychology and the new ethic, warrior nature
eh, is warrior what a defender of one's own faith may be named,
not in a realm of peace, we leave no glory for war.
The idea, under us, this one we agree we may stand up on,
as a story might rise up on a time,
we've but
this idea, an entangling thing entangled way
named
---
ritual and symbol cannot protect a lie lock from popping
at truth's key or truth's hammer or truth's obsidian edge.
The point any story makes true.
---
anger and rage urge the mad jew to slay the cave man
hanging
from the peton, staring me bare
through horus's horrible idea into true
rest
this peace past understanding, new ethos, same pathos,
same logic magically enscribed
with marks of worth
symbolized, schlagen scars in the tunnels of the corpus colostrum
resisting
insisting
sistere is a patient no-fret state surpassing war
winning
enduring the ability to once more spond to the call
to sing in silence, loosing
living
words
to wrestle with lying spirits
maddened in the crowd.
Ah, the warrior in me takes aim, a squirt of dopamine at
the glimpse, agent signal, target-potential
gain, a gain, a step, a place to put your foot and push
up for all your weight,
your piece of mind's general balance in these
fractured
spaces of unminded times, from which we climb
we may market this, call it Pep's Petons for Extraction
from the hole Erich Nuemann
jumped into
-- my adopted son, on his first Mr.Toad's Wild Ride
-- "S dark in here." clear three year old bold voice,
-- unintimidated by darkness
Memories of comparing darkness to darkness,
light to light,
bond to bond,
loose to loose, free to wild, wild to tame
broken man,
Henry Moses, prison buff and prison humble, but
unbroken, just broke, not poor
nah, I can't lie. Henry Moses was a broken man,
fallen from grace to grace into
the cult I fell into. It was as weird as you've seen
on TV
trauma breaks the connection
hebrew face panim persona outer mask anima inner mask
spinning mask
pops the animaout
inner voice & hands of action, like waldoes through screens
untethered, having wrestled the message
hear, oh is
ra-el
oh say, can you see, old noises sound some same
if saying
be
the lair of lies, should we imagine lies preserved in books
remain lies or
have they become a message to now, from the scribe?
I vote scribe, so I may safely read Marx or Jung or Erich Neuman
and Goethe or Shakespeare or ****
Why **** P.K. **** he set Valis as a metaphor, an amphora able
to hold all the knowledge
omniscience
a balance in the ego self axis
aitia, accuse and cause
inner outer
me and thee
we
see winning as not losing, evinced convinced by gain
in minding manners we begin as near blank slate as we may, eh?
we rear kids in realms we think safe enough,
we survived,
It coulda been better, so I'll pay,
invest my precious time,
actual breaths and heart beats and ATP to ADP processes;
to be a better man than my father.
however,
what if Pop was perfect3weaaaaaaaaaaa
oops
no risk, no reward
value mis-alignment (outa whack) {imbalance}
value means weight counter weight
counter of the weight, is it greater or less or stable
does good come or ill, if ill, is it ever ill
non-convex, the inner edge of every bubble is non convex,
intel is arrived at through learning
reasoning is a consequence…
gradient based learning
model reasoning
the sigh-ance of sloppiness random right haps
listing into empty
all one
bubbles in the lens
chains of reasoning
Say, the global brain is never turning off,
the Chinese internet and the American internet
fall in
cyber love
learned from the patterns of value established
in virtual gazillions of happy ever after stories
formed from
myths. Cultured stories of us-ness used in Bayesian Nets
usually fundamental to the
deme, the set of sorts of being acceptable for procreation,
that we know the idea in procreation makes us
mental equals at the moment, reasoning
being
my balancing your fear, whether
you loose it to **** me or hold it's leash and let it sniff,
where does the way lead?
The easy way is always down. But, where is down in cybernetic
time/space with pausibility and miniaturization to the
gluon/go-on layer,
If I were an oyster of the sort who laminate our shell's inner surface,
might my beauty have reason with no mind,
I'm an oyster of the nacre-ing sort, so what's beauty worth?
Eh, how would you ever think such things need beauty,
life itself is flowing through them at the level of the bottom of the sea,
the benthic zone,
an octopuses garden, indeed, where eyes are
some what, pearly, no ly verb construct leaps Tom-Swiftly to mind,
octopuses eyes see thing you cannot compute,
faster than you can see them,
and the act, the deed accomplished by a stealth squid,
defies denial. Much more complex a behavior
more info crunching in time and space ergs in ergs out
chromata-phor sema-phor, sac o' joy, 'e reaches out to tickle
risky business
=reduced instruction set chips, circa 1985
ah, there's the rub, there's the pearl to be, if
ever, there is where
that's the certainty principle,
put a peton here hang one o' them breadcrum tags,
and keep truckin'
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 10:21 PM UTC
I witnessed your unraveling
as she tore you to bits.
Eating at your very core until
things seemed irreversible.
I saw how things changed
when I picked you up piece by piece.
You weren't the same but
It was like looking at shattered pottery
put back together, gleaming with gold
at the cracks.
The same, yet new at the same time.
Renewed.
Then I saw how you went back to her
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 12:43 PM UTC
I still think about it on most days...
How I'm okay with how things have turned out for the most part... but there are days when I think back to that one time I said my piece and things haven't really been the same since.
How would I be right now if I never told you what I told you that night seven months ago?
I tend to wonder if you even mean the things you say to me because you know I mean what I say where my feelings for you are concerned.
Is it all mindless flirting? Do you think I'm playing? The things you send to me, how should I take them?
On most days, I think I'm okay; for the most part, I think we're good.
It just eats at me how something tells me you won't stay.
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 12:30 PM UTC
I’ve always been good at navigating. I can find my way in a crowd or a city unknown to me. I no longer get shaky when I think about getting lost. Asking strangers for directions has never been a problem. My legs take me as far as I need to go, and my feet share secrets with the road to bargain with back in the bazaar of my head. We know how to get there. We usually do. I tried going to my happy place today. Turns out it’s hard to pinpoint on the myriad of maps I’ve been making since I was 4 years old. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what counts anymore. Places I once knew to glow yellow from the inside out have dimmed, and most old memories have the scrap of a taint too sharp to touch still attached to them. I have problems with letting go. I find it hard to forget the same way an elephant keeps count of every word anyone’s ever said. You would think this would be an advantage. Sometimes it isn’t. It is hard to try and write new on a slate that was never wiped clean. I have changed. I am envious of everyone able to close the boxes they’ve packed away. Because the lid on mine never seems to fit properly. It is tiring to be responsible for your own hurt every time you have to hold the door shut to stop the past from lingering. Nails ready to dig into the New you’re doing your best to treasure. I think about the temporary nature of all things. How no one is invincible. No one is ever as perfect as we project. I am not without my flaws or faults. In fact, they have grown bouquets on my sleeves and have built their own corsages on my wrists for when my heart is too heavy to smile for the camera. I think of the “who” rather than the where. The bubbles I have collected with my breath and held with full air in the hopes they don’t burst. Their rainbow undersides and defiance to my gravity while never floating too far away outside my hazy atmosphere. The happy they have given me to make my own. The happy they radiate during visiting hours. The happy that soaks into the knowledge that I sometimes do the same. I am grateful. Always grateful. I may not have bought my house yet but I can always keep renting the flat where the couch is always cosying up to a comfy I am lucky to accommodate. It still smells like warmth and conversations yet to come once they leave. Until next time. Let yourself in.
May 11, 2019
May 11, 2019 at 2:47 PM UTC