I wish there was something supernatural
Like a ghost that exists
Or a god up above
Or aliens
Or anything
Faeries and magic and dreams
Just something
so this whole ******* thing
doesn’t seem so mundane
What a
******* boring world
we live in
with its intricacies and economics
and evil and greed
no hero’s or heroines
Just sandwiches and dope
And taxes
what a joke
How did we come to exist
And not just survive
but thrive
By playing tricks on ourselves
Like paying to live,
when we can just do that For free
I guess the fee
is so that we don’t
have to try so hard,
but then why is it so ******* hard?

{He types this into a 5-year old iPhone [which he resents(for various reasons, like how addicted he is to it And how it’s function is diminishing, because it’s older) which is basically modern magic, alchemy at the very least], ignoring the technological marvel In his hand that provides everything he needs for modern assimilation, but he just wishes it wasn’t still in his hand}

May 17th 2024 7:18am

We agreed to call it quits when it wasn't fun anymore. And it wasn't fun anymore for a long, long while. We ignored the exit signs because an uneexpected love bloomed and so we redefined the terms of the termination because we missed the first by miles. And determination turned to depression bitterness and resentment, then misdirected rage. I didn't want to end on sadness pain and disillusionment, so I tried to patch and glue the last good bits back together But i kept ******* up and it wasn't possible to make another attempt.

All I wanted was a peaceful ending
A pleasant parting between longtime friends

We'd agreed that it wouldn't be a big thing,
A painful splitting, uneven without amends

But what I got was tragic, uncompromising static
Undeserved sadness
And the loss of my best friend

Im Sorry that I ****** up.
I thought I could do better than I did.

I remember thinking
My mother could sing like an angel
And my father could move mountains

It funny, you know,
How us kids grow up

-Guy Martin

The view from within became suddenly fractured,
refracted and infinitely cascading through
a shattered kaleidoscopic perception
of diverging dimensional superimposition, 
spinning mathematically through all permutations 
of every possible configuration 
of atoms in all of existence at once;
resulting in fractals of all of creation 
and I found it unnerving, so I made myself lunch.

It's a beautiful confusion
From one simple conclusion
I made up on the spot
My life has changed equivocally
And here I find myself
...
     /:
           a little
                           Lost.

•It's a beautiful confusion•

It's a mess up in this noodle bowl
Of wet spaghetti, out here trying
To just
           Figure it out dude,
Jesus Christ!
                Just stabin' with a fork for thoughts,
Trying to get em to wind
But they just keep slipping off
And falling back in line

-But also-

Like Spaghetti Junction at I-20 and 35 (that might be just me
Who calls it that, but it fits the mind
That locked it in. A six year old old boy, visiting his dad in Dallas for the first time)

A mass of twisting
tangled lanes merging
in chaotic looping interchanges,
where ideas collide and collude and rearrange like ******-off commuters
late for their day
Through exits and on-ramps,
flowing freely at times,
and then stopping
dead still
for an hour or two,
every day,
twice a day
...
and when it rains

... Or when it's too full of vehicles
to fit in the lanes;
'cuz you can only fit so much
in a physical space.
And a brain is thing
That really needs a case.

It's bounded and confined
by the number of lines
it can build in any direction,
so it gets backed up
from too much thought traffic
trying to merge too fast,
causing collisions and slow-downs,
and hitting brakes,
and
  and
And the slow-down echos back
through the increasing stack
of moving parts in red-light cascades
and honking, squealing aggression
Like compression waves,


But like...
... At the same time!?!

As the sun starts to go down, I stop and take a look around to try to find a place to lay my head. If I lay here on the ground and maybe shuffle these old bones around I might convince my back I've found a bed. Then, as the colors fade away, I try to think about the days when I knew peace and I could get some rest; but I never get no sleep 'cause these old ragged runnin' feet run me ragged all night in my dreams...

And in my dreams there always seems to be the same old demons chasing me; and right behind me breathing down my neck. When the get their claws in me they always brings me to my knees, rip me open, and leave me there for dead; and, as the colors fade to grey, I try to thing about the days when I knew peace, and love, and happiness. Then the faces that I see bring me back up to my knees; they get me up a going once again.

And I don't ever need no sleep 'cause these old ragged running feet can run me ragged all night if I need.
And I don't ever get no sleep 'cause these old ragged running feet, run me ragged all night in my dreams.

Oh Joy!
Oh sweetest thing,
Blossom and sing!

Were you a flower,
You would ever be 
never picked, or plucked;
neither clipped nor pruned;
Rather, left unfettered,
Unsung, in the meadow.

Such is the love of a poet
for the words of a soul,
And the soul
never met
but through pages and text;

Grow Perennial,
Hopeful
Ambrosial intoxicant
Evolve and sublimate,
Evaporate
And precipitate beauty and truth
Before grave turns thy youth
Beset by passing days;
When the inevitable click
of the last tick of the clock
puts a stop
.
to the flow of a beatific mind.

Let time spend its days
flitting and frittering away.
Let me remain
standing here,
Ad infinitum, held hostage
to a moment
of refrain

Oh Joy!
Oh sweetest thing,
Blossom and sing!

The hymn sung of dawn
by sparrow and skylark
to meadow and marsh…

It's winter now

                                Finally

I can tell by the presence
of two avocado trees
and a bevy of succulents, grasses, and weeds,
bamboos and air plants and dried-up leaves,
a snake plant thats also called mother-in-law tongue, one night blooming cereus, pencil plants, ginger, all potted and stacked.

She calls it "The Winter Jungle," and its my favorite time of year.

The already cluttered and cobwebbed chaos of crystals and minerals and Hodge podge is enshrouded inside lush green,
Jumbled and crowded.
The air is heavy, hot, and dry.
She'll turn on the shower, full heat,
to steam up the sky and the illusion is complete.
In clouds, the jungle blooms.
Its snakeskins and skulls and tapestries weave
a hypnotic pattern.
There is life here,
and death.
Her miniature tiger skulks lazily through,
while his pantheresque sister lays quietly.
A chow mix hound off in her mahogany cave atop a lanolin cushion, sits sentry.
Butterflies adorn the walls with beetles and moths,
paintings of wild women and valleys, of deities and dangerous deserts,
and soft simple illustrations
of various things,
bones and feathers and coins and dreams.

And feathered dream catchers have done their work it seems,
for I, like the great hairy ape,
sitting, quietly,
surveying from above,
cannot shake the uncanny feeling of love.

This atmosphere is enough to enamor, but the woman whose presence the the atmosphere holds
                                             is shamanic,
a healer,
              the oldest of souls.

And it is warm here
in her jungle,
but just through the door
is the grey cold of winter,
and nothing more.

Will it or won't it?
Statistically its the same.
It seems the odds don't change no matter how unlikely is the thing.
Will it to be or don't, but don't wait to hear an answer.
To be or not to be
Is not really that important.
Its not even the question.
If "to be" was how it's supposed to be, how come "not to be" is an option?
So how do I "not to be,"
if I think therefore I am, and do I believe that I am even if I think it?
And where am I when I don't believe in myself and my convictions?
Does it even matter what I think when I can't be sure if I exist? And if I might not be then what am I still doing here, when I could not be?
Should I stay or should I go?
But could I go and no one know?
And why bother leaving
when I know that if I go
it might be that no one would even miss me?
Might as well just stay here where my odds are 50/50.

What was it that i was going to say. I forget thing so quickly its kind of insane. Too often, it seems, I'm put out to shame when forced to admit ive forgotten the name of someone I've met, maybe several times, to whom I have just introduced myself again, who probably hadn't yet finished their name before I forgot who they were once again. Usually "Im sorry. My bad... I drink a lot." is enough to diffuse any awkward exchange. Still i know better, just as they do as well,and politley we continue as if nothing had changed.

They say, "third times a charm!" and with names this is true. I read somewhere doing so somehow can train your mind to the get through to the part of our brain which stores long term memories, which are physically much more permanently made, by tricking the architecture of our neural array, which allocates resources based on the way electrical currents pass though the brain, stimulating cellular structures to make proteins and lipids which then activate other part of the xell which begin breaking things down and /or mixing them up, reconfigureing the shape of some loose RNA which is read by a protein design to replicate the mirror string of code which determines what the cell will make and altering as little as a single subatomic partical of weight can then fundamentally alter what the neucleic acids say, and change everything about the properties of the gene that it was trying to translate...

But anyway, repeating the new persons name several times in conversation, or right in a row, at the outset will help you retain new information to the brain, either way it still functions kind of the same. The energy thesh-hold required to make a shot term memory important enough to save is 3 activations of the neural relays, then the neurons begin fusing together, i think, and the information is less likely to dissipate.

now i remember it was something about 'how maddening it can be to be forgetful," or something like that, but worded much better.
****, I lost it. huh... What'd you say?

Sometimes we cant stop talking
Try as we might it’s to no avail
We've something to say about every little thing
And we've no way to be sure
that the other can tell what we mean
And it seems like we never can completely frame
The point we are trying to make before someone chimes in with a tangential observation:

     See I don't think you know
     what I mean. What I'm trying
     to say is that the very thing
     your talking about is what I
     believe but a little bit different
     in some semantic way and,
     hold on, let me just think and
    finish my thought

    and then you can speak.

And then we are coming at nothing 
from obtuse trajectories
analyzing angles of attack without regard for the whole and then there's a misunderstanding
and we start defending ourselves over a miscommunication,
your tone inflects a verbal retreat and mine strains from frustration, is read as antagonism, and then received as an attack
All of a sudden we are fighting over some misdeed that we've already tabled for the sake of you and me.

And sometimes we just can't stop talking.

Tonight, I drank
In revelry
To celebrate the life I've made;
The life that was not handed to me;
The life I was compelled to create.
Tonight I drank to you and I,
Despite the mistakes and the pain.
It's not the losses that I've suffered
Which remind me of the consequences paid;
It's the simple fact
that now,
Despite the effort that was made,
I'm left with only memories
Of days I treasured day by day.
I would not trade the ones yet coming
For any of the my other days.
But know that since you became my history,
The future will never be the same.

Oooh~ I Caught the tail end
of the tail trail
back from the parade,
coming from Canal zig-zagging
back the back way,
(maybe south, no north…)
to Bourbon St;
and the tail trail promenade
was full of talent on display,
and temptation,
and it was passing
right. in . front of me.
A veritable smorgasbord
of bad decisions one could make.
A circus Maximus of humanity,
in Grecian magnitude;
this bacchanal goes rolling
through the streets every year,
and this year it’s encircling me.

^Rocking This Sweet *** Suite^

Boppin’ around the outskirts of town,
With bottle o’rotgut, a limp, and a smile,
Wearing a thin coat of mornin’ sunrise
to cover the patina of Stale *****
and gutter dew,
in his Gutter-Suit
and a Pair o’ boots,

Is man of means
(if only “means well”)

On sabbatical from livin hard;

Taking it extra easy
this very evening,
and looking for something to do.

^In the Big Easy^

“Take it Eeeeasy,
Take it eeeeaeeasy”
he sings to himself softly,
and then - to no one in particular
in his purview -
“I been livin’ hard my whole ******* life,
trying to prove I ain’t got nuttin’ to prove,
and all I got for all it took
is a whole lotta ******* nothing-to-lose.
Man I gotta figure it out,” he muttered,
swaying slightly under the *****.
“This ol back’s only gotta a few seasons left,
dude. We gotta come up with something new.”
He reaches back with his right hand
and places his fist in his back,
knuckles to his right hip,
as he limps a shuffled cadence
favoring his unhealed broken ankle,
which lends his pace
a meandering sashay
of someone strutting,
and belays a a bit of class in its stance,
with his arm held out of view,
much akin to the prideful rigid reserve
of a French maitre’d,
but with a derelict sheik
uncommonly seen.

“Otherwise it’s broke street,
on the corner of no-go rd,
and you know what that means.
Yes you do…
You gotta big brain buddy,
why don’t you use it to maybe do something good for you?”

There is no response…

He looks weathered in a way
that only rough living can wear on a man -
leathered skin,
wrinkled brow,
creased crows’ feet at the corners
of his bright gray blue eyes
(eyes that seem unsettling, at first glance
• almost animal •
due in part to a golden yellow ring
around his pupils,
and a wild flitting movement
as if he’s constantly seeing someone unknown
entering into his view;
But this wild-eyed creature turns
uncannily human,
as soon as someone
willing to listen more than a minute or two
gets caught in his gaze
and locks eyes for the first time;
And let me tell you,
it does something to you.
That gaze is magnetic,
and his hard scrabble appearance
is softened and sweetens
when he’s looking into you.
It’s not something that’s common these days
(steady eye-contact, that is),
what with all the distractions
we’ve entrenched ourselves in
with our phones and computers
and near constant stuff to do.
But his eyes are soft,
and  welcoming and it’s hard to not believe
he means no harm.
So, despite his appearance,
most people don’t shun him,
as people are often wont to do
when confronted by poverty
and personal suffering-
but he doesn’t wear that as armor,
as many of the indigent community will;
he simply lived what he was given
and doesn’t complain,
“Cuz, what good would it do?”  
He’s profoundly joyful
in his demeanor,
and He’ll tell you why if you let him,
cuz he’s “playing with house money
everyday he wakes up”
and he’s “still gotta a lot o’ livin’ to do!”

As he shuffles along the the shaded city streets
Every now and then, he stops
And squats,
Puts his hands on his knees
And props himself up.
He looks
like he might be having a heart attack,
but his back just hurts
(like it always does),
and he just needs a second
to let it breathe.
Once it’s released,
he pops back up, and continues about his way, spry for a man his age
but still brittle and broken
and whistling the blues.

Show me the secrets in the shadowy places that good boys and girls  should never see; like rock'n'roll rumbling in a dingy divebar-backroom, or lovers in a rain soaked alley.

Show me the secrets in the hidden places that only the lonely children can see: the shoe box treasure chests of broken shiny things, bric-a-brac in old tin cans, a cobweb covered crawlspace comicbook, or a lost love's lost love notes never sent and never seen.

Show me the secrets in the wilderness gardens that only the dreamers may dare to see: Dandelion promenades of pine needles paved over rotten leaves and treebark leading away to toadstool terraces among orchards of fiddlehead ferns and ghost pipes ascending to trumpet the day.

Show me the secrets hidden behind curtains that spirits and mediums only should see: the souls untethered and howling damnation at their veiled purgation in a dustless dimension forever unheard.

In a liminal space surrounded by aether
I came to see the countenance
of a lover long lost to me,
martyred by addiction and impotence
and ignorance and arrogance,
A love taken for granted;
yet undeservedly so


In her eyes spun a spark
I had since never forgotten.
She proffered a smile
I have since longed to see
and greeted me tenderly
with warmth and a kiss.

We shared some time in a
soft sweet way
as if again lovers
no longer estranged

In a steam covered pool,
playing chicken alone,
I hugged her thighs hard
and looked up
as she brought her face close

I said,

"I know this isn't forever.
I know that it's just for right now;
But it feels like coming home."

"I've missed you"


She said "I've missed you"
Kissed me again from above
A goodbye

Then I woke from the dream
and refused to open my eyes.

And under my breath I begged
"Please... don't go..."

But she was already gone
And the day began
and the dream
drifted away
And I fell back to slumber
and dreamed anew
of another time
later
Lost and wandering
Muttering to myself
A poem of love and loss
And learning to let go,
Rhythmically
to the plodding pad
of my wet bare feet on concrete
As I made my way somewhere
that would never feel like home

A funerary dirge
Blows in softly on the breeze
Distant and muddied by the
City Rhythm thrumming and thumping quietly between me and the revelry trumpeted bold and brassy piercing the caucaphony intermittently
Mixing melodies of bouncing horns into
A melodrama drawn in minor key

A black cat skulks the shattered streets around me underneath the shadows cast by broken rigs of steel and octane
Bouncing on dinosaur goo baked and shaped into ***** donuts filled with pressure almost explosive if released suddenly.

He meows softly from the street-
side of a broken boxwood promenade,
Unkempt and cracked, between he and I,
Sat upon the low steps of a split landing
Leading to the threshold, transom, and door of
1603 Rendon St.
Somewhere in New Orleans
during the week to be in Louisiana
- Mardi Gras -
(Deep Gras to those who know it)
the trumpeted herald of the Holy sacred Lenten season of self imposed sobriety
But here we are, all by our lonesome
just me and myself
And also Steve.


(Steve I just made up. There is no Steve. Well… not really.. kinda well. It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing…
But that’s the thing)

I put my hand out,
“Are you familiar?”
                                         Mow

“Tsc tsc tsc… no that’s not your call?”
Pss Pss Pss

                            Mreooow!

“Who are you? Why are you staring at me” the miniature panther seemed to think. He won’t much come nearer, rather he skirts a radius clear about me, but he lays down lazily on the roots of a laurel oak not far, but no closer, and stares and stirs and mews a few times softly and then slinked away silently off somewhere,
as if magically, without me seeing
Him leave.


Him was familiar.
Him definitely seemed
to be a warning of something
coming;

“I hope it’s a good thing!.. “
I thought - intentionally naive -
“That’d be nice.”
“Something good, for once.”

(Like me behaving… That’d be nice to see.)

Good Ol’ Steve…

I wonder if he’ll come back later…
…and if his life is interesting.


A siren wailing in the not too distant city
Reminds me I still hear,
That I’m still here.
just out here in it
chasing dragons and meeting demons
Witnessing magical mysteries
all through the streets…

There’s something astounding
About our place here standing
on a planet circling a burning furnace
full of hydrogen atoms colliding
and fusing and slowly eating itself alive,
flaming into the light and heat and
imposition of a life giving god
casting countenance through the emptiness
and unfathomable distances of outer space
Until the day it decides it’s tired
Of All the effort it takes
to scream into the void for all time
and hold the cycle steady
so that something it’s never touched
can “count their days” and keep a schedule
based on dividing entropy
arbitrarily into increasingly small divisions
like eons and epochs and eras,
then to centuries, decades, years,
Months and  days,
down to hours and minutes and seconds, and eventually atomic rates of decay
so small and short and fleeting and transient
as to be inconsequential for them to be named.

It is the only star you see during day,
And when it hides away it’s shine
A vast dark void reveals its presence
Just behind the painted skies she illuminates with radiation from the chaotic energy that shattered atoms release and reverberate and it reflects and refracts and reveals the presence of the heavy elements it made that coalesced into small collections of elemental ***** spinning and floating and collapsing in upon themselves under minuscule but compounded atomic weight

And in its blanket black indifference
little signs of somethings distant and gigantic and ancient shine through the darkest reaches of infinite shadow and silent solitude

5000 years ago our ancestors took a rudimentary set of lines and scribbled simple symbols on the nocturnal symphony because they realized the points of light passed through the same part of the night at a given time, and If you knew which specks were in what patch of sky you could figure out how to navigate great distances because the heavens are ever wide and the same sky flies over every place, and no matter how far you had wandered into the wilderness or how far off course you’d floated away, you could always find a way back home, no path necessary, from any place where you had found yourself, whether you’d been trying desperately to find some sort of peace of mind of any kind, or simply running from some thing terrible or even menial, it’s all the same.

But moving south
Across the equatorial belt
Into the southern hemisphere
Sailing west away from land
Dancing north toward the horizon line
The heavens shift in subtle
Variations so the stars you might expect to find are in a completely different orientation that cannot easily be aligned
But you can always seek out the belt and dagger of the Titan Hunter of the sky. And it might confuse you as to why he seems to be there upside down or on his side. But do not worry you have not lost your bearing it’s simply a matter of of perspective from the angle which you find yourself considering your local night

And a flat earth theory would try to have you believe that there’s no such thing as an equatorial divide, but the fact that Orión Cartwheels across the horizon from the southern side, while  from the north he takes a strolling path across the southern horizon line, and yet he never changes his permanent position directly in the summer spring fall or winter sky, tells you somethings out there further than we can fathom and somewhere even farther is the beginning of time.

Well it seems that I'm up to my old tricks again
        But this time i know the consequence
Still I cheat lie and steal just the same, and then
        I wonder why no one still calls me a friend

somehow its always the same
why even bother to change
you never feel any shame,
If you never look back and you just walk away

Well I guess that I'm back on my *******
          But this time can we pretend its different
Then I won't have to lie about where I've been
      Or what I've been doing, or who I'm with.

But if the rules stay the same
then results will never change
And if you can"t win the game
why even bother to play,

when you can just walk away?

Gabby Bayou

Man this swamp is haunted
I swear to god
You can’t see the ******* but you hear em say **** through the trees
Warning you to “stay away”


You just gotta deal with all the **** there
So much ****


It’s insane


But I don’t mind a little muck and mire
I love to stomp around the swamp
Splashin’ up mud and Makin’ waves
Besides I got these hobbit feat
That don’t sink
Cuz
I’m creature of the place
And so I make my way down
To the woods that surround it
every now and then ,
And set up shop for few days

This forest is my home, you see
You cant take it away from me
I’m rooted here and moving on is
A tough play to make.
But it’s not too bad
I like it here
It’s soft and warm most days
And as long as you keep an eye on your corners
Cain’t nothing scary sneak up close
And you can usually escape

There’s dinosaurs out here, though
You hear ‘em roar some times
sneaking ‘round the thicket parts
Hunting their favorite prey


But this old lizard-skin-Leather-backed
swamp-stomping’ dragon’s
Got claws and teeth
and it don’t seem to me
much like he can be
killed no-how, anyway

So you know I ain’t afraid

It was terrifying visceral scream
In negative color!
Nega-green and purple-blue shimmer,
cascading yellow dark
Upon a fourth dimensional screen,
But it was a mind’s-eye view of the black side of the eyelid, so it’s just a thought
A passing dream
But it was ugly
evil
vicious
mad
Vendictive
hurtful
and obscene

But you weren’t sure you saw it and you surely don’t want the thing.
So we’ll let go of the vision and forget it’s being
It certainly wreaked of hell in that room for a scene.
It scared me to think
How evil I could imagine
Might intervene
Chaos actor in shadows and driven by destroying beautiful dreams.
…



.“,’(@)’,”.

“How does it all end? You may be wondering…”
He said, solipsistically,
standing in solitude,
Aloof, upon a stage; lit by a candle
held in his left hand,
burning low and dripping wax
across his white knuckled fist
clenching it like the last threads of a fraying lifeline
trying to slip from the grip of a dying man
desperate to hold on,
for a just little bit longer,
while he waits to see
if the prayers he’s prayed
fell silent
upon deafened ears
or if a devine deity exists,
Somehow, and also cares
enough to intervene,
to extend a helping hand
to swoop in,
and save Him

- To save the day -

“…Well…
The cancer’s coming.
I know that for a fact.
It’s in there somewhere;
That’s safe to say.
I can feel it
growing
deep
inside me;
gnawing steadily;
Obstinate and tenacious;
Toothlessly teething; persistently
eating me away.
Trying to replace
as much of me as possible
with its black bleeding heart
and its horrible face;
Laughing all the while, quietly,
as it sneaks itself into everything:
every ***** interior,
every
           nook  
                      and cranny

- any open space -

Insidious,
as it is inevitable,
as it always is and will be.”

So to excise this darkness
Invading my mind and growing in my body
I’ve begun to pray;
not to God, or gods,
but to myself-
the only savior
not out to pasture:

I entreat thee,
Oh Spiritus Meus,
Come save us!

- You are the ONLY way -

I need this too bad to let you ruin it.
You can diminish it, if you need to,
But I have to finish it;
Or else
it finishes Me.
If it doesn’t **** me
It will be unending;
Because it has, as yet,
Never
             Gone
                        Away

- And I need it to -

Because I’m ******* through;
I’ve found the needle in the stack of hay;
The treasure that I’ve been seeking
Out here in the wild

- These streets and alleys -

Among the gutters and trash and strays,
with the animus that is lurking
inside the deranged and damaged
People with whom I spend my days,
and nights, and wee hours
muttering and laughing
and yelling and crying
and listening and looking
and losing and finding
and lusting and *******
and living and dying
and loving and failing
and flailing and flying
And falling and bouncing
and breaking and binding
And picking up all of the pieces and trying again,
and again
and again and again
just out here surviving as best we can
every day after day
after day after day
on endless repeat until a night intercedes
and we push back against
the dark days ennui,
and revel in reckless distracted abandon
while the clock ticks away;
we’re just striving to stay upright
to make it back home from the fray,
to see another sunrise alive
so we can be sure we see  

- another ******* disappointing day -

And people wonder why we do it
but we’re proving that we’re strong.
We may be stupid, but you can’t **** us;
and you know what they say:
“If you’re gonna be dumb,
you better be tough;
and you never can pray enough.”

- To the ones unafraid of the muck and mire -

That comes with wallowing in the pain,
it does not matter if it’s inflicted or inherited, self-imposed, or someone else’s to claim,

It all. stings.. the same…

And the barrel burn of whiskey
and the ***** of numbing needles
And the rush of powdered breathe
and the dreary dregs of hangovers
all do the same thing.
They take the edge of the blade-
the one that cuts the deepest
if it’s left unsheathed-
the one in our own hand
that we forgot to put away-
and dulls it beyond repair.
It fills the senses with distraction;
dumbs down a ******* brain
That won’t let the little things go;
won’t shut-up for anything.
It draws the focus off a soul that’s aching
to cry out its sorrows and
name it’s demons names;
To demand that they come forward
to their inquisition;
To have them answer
for their crimes of passion
and persuasion
and all the pleasure they gained
from seeing us consumed
by our self-inflicted pain;
To hear repentance for their intrusion;
To see their face carry shame:
So we can forgive them
And then forget them
and put them up
or down,
or aside,
But asunder;
The manner does not matter,
but We must
release them

- To be unburdened -

Lest we bury ourselves
underneath them
on our last day.

This satisfaction, for us, is deception, though,
for their judgement days never came;
and a more immediate solution
presents itself every weekend,
or every so often,
Sometimes it comes around
on say… a Tuesday;
but we always know it’s out there
for us whenever we want it,
and that’s usually every day.

Why wouldn’t we need distraction
from that achy old wailing thing
inside our breast and in our heads
clouding our brain?;
in front of us
impeding progress;
forever and always
in
      the
           way

- so we settle in -

to the maintainence method
that allows us to keep the days
from turning black under the shadow
of the unbearable burden
of our own crushing weight;
And you can’t judge
someone who is there
unless you’ve been there
and got away;
and if you’ve really been there
and you got away,
then you won’t judge them;
and if you judge them:
you have not seen
what they have seen;
and you cannot know
what they have done
and you dare not have anything to say.
You cannot understand
the means of survival
that people use
when you don’t need them;
and it’s easy to put a label
on something you define
without experiencing.

So don’t stand there scoffing at me
for being someone you pity and shame;
you’ll never understand

- The Beauty of Surviving -

Because for you,
It’s not a thing.
For you lucky few
Without the claws of demons
On your neck and opening you veins,
I give you this one piece of perspective:

If the demons do, one day, come hunting you,
Make sure
                     You know
                                         Their names.

- To banish demons -

you must call to them
To drag them out
into the light of day;
and only then can you be sure they leave, because from Light and Love 
They run away.

- It’s time now, for me -

to put the treasures,
and the troubles,
out on the table,
where all
                  can see it  
                                    on display.

You should believe me when I tell you,
     "I can only break your heart."
Don't believe you are the exception,
Immune to all my charms.
I'm masterful in my deception,
In that I give away my play,
In a manner that seems endearing,
Like I'm kidding when I say,
     "Don't fall in love with me."
It's not hubris, or vanity
That makes me say these things.
It's a pattern; it always happens;
Every time its the same.
Dont let me in, beneath your skin,
Don't trust me to refrain.
Foolish girls get fooled
Only to get thrown away;
Tossed aside once boredom sets in;
After depleting the thrill of the chase.

Everything is a Psy-Op these days.
Who knows what to believe?
Certainly not the mainstream media
or its blatant complacency.
Are we actually the "Great Satan?"
It's getting hard to believe we're still free.

Do you feel free? (I certainly don't.)
- And If so, do you have money?

I bet you do;
But do you have time
for yourself,
and Your friends,
and your family?
And Not just
A little chunk,
carved out of nights and weekends,
like a free minutes for a cellphone back in 1993;
but real time,
time you can invest,
that you can commit to you;
not just free-time, but
Time free enough just to be.
And even more important -
Do you have energy?
For all this free time
they give you for a fee:
Or did you sell your youth,
your dreams,
and your soul,
just to avoid poverty?
For a promise of "one day,
some day
soon,
You can stop working
And rest your weary feet
But not right now...
                                  (while you could enjoy it)
Not yet...
                            {the machine still needs to feed}
you must invest.
                               [it needs strength and vigor]
You can't expect to eat for free
                         /and to it, you look ******* tasty\

it's not like sustenance is out here
Simply growing on trees; does water just rain from the heavens into your sink? No, We have to make our ***** nature clean.


But yes – back to rest – after a while... sure
That is, however, only after:
once you've served enough
purpose to the capital beast.



- And If you do not,
do you long for quiet and peace and solitude,
Or joy and comradery?
Or just a day off
to get some things done
and then another one
where you can just be?

There's no freedom left
in the land of the free,
at least not for you and me.
There's some for those
That are in control
of the wages and the prices
of the commodities.
But for those of us
they rent by the day
or the hour
or the lifetime,
For a modest fee;
there's just "**** it up" and ****-sandwiches to eat.
"Now, Come on boy! Aren't ya hungry?"

Unless we rally and rage
and riot and fight
with fury and fire,
pitchforks and torches
Muskets and mutlitudes
Clawing and gnashing teeth.
To bite the hand that beats us back
The fight is getting easier to see,
That's why they are building cop cities and training facilities and internment camps.
But beating them is getting harder and harder to do.
Because they've know what they were doing, and when we were told
we didn't believe

(In the darkest corner of a small wooden landing at the top of the steps to the fenced back yard of a rented home currently occupied by a trio of underpaid shift workers whom, as a kindness,  have taken into their foster care a destitute stray, a man of roughly forty clearly hard worn years kneels doubled over and wailing mournfully to himself, his head tucked in and down toward his chest in an undeniably penitent posture similar to the pious prayer of those who heed the daily call, and face Mecca; Apropos of nothing, he just so happens to be faced to Mecca at this moment. This is, however, purely coincidental, as our pitiful subject here is not a man of clothe, nor one of great or even minor faith, much less a man of daily prayer or mindful meditation. Quite In contrast, He is a drinker and a drifter; drug-addicted, disaffected, dissatisfied, and dismayed. Yet he is also a dreamer, of the highest order, completely convinced of the attainability of a singular salvation of creative elucidation, a dream he has been chasing unrelentingly for more than 20  years; and which he has just this very evening seen how truly attainable it is. Merely moments ago, In a vision of clarity which came over him unwittingly, and uninitiated by anything within his purview, our vagrant interloper has seen a crystallization of artistic inspiration which envisioned all the interconnections within his disjointed philosophical treatises, which he has spent the better part of three decades composing, and in that moment he was overtaken by the sudden uninhibitable need to bleed the pressure welling-up inside his chest and his lungs began to squeeze. The noise they made directed itself toward the realm of sorrow. It is a wail of a desperation; not unlike one you might hear from a father who’s lost there cherished son, from lovers who’ve lost their lovers, and from children having a tantrum who need to eat and then to sleep, but refuse. He was at that moment all of these things in essence; a man rejected and alone, beset by turmoil of his own making, and both exhausted and famished; but this noise came joyfully, as it was the expression of something deep within him which he had recently freed; and so no effort was made to sequester or quiet the cries that he now seethes. It is simply the gasp and exhalation of soul which desperately needed to breathe.)

A soft wail arises quietly from silence to an open mouth, a single note, unbroken and controlled as much as one can control such a sound. From this beginning after a moment, almost a minute but something less, if you were to count; the wail completes with a sharp cutoff instead off dying back down. It ends, from an open mouth to clenched teeth and the tongue cutting off the sound. It makes a word but he did not consciously say it; it’s just the only word that could come…

Out.

GET OUT!
GET OUT OF ME!
Go the **** away!
I do not need you
I do not want you
I will not hold you
You have to leave
There is no place for you in here any more
Get. Out.
Get out.

GET THE **** OUT OF ME!

PLEASE!

(As he spits these curses and pleads, something moves deep with in him. he convulses and every muscle in him begins to squeeze and he feels as if he’s imploding but his eyes are about to explode out, and in this seizing state, he feels the expelled energy escape, physically, through the center of his mind and forehead, like a boiler valve exploding with steam in a movie. It goes out and up and away and silently it leaves. A calm settles over the whole scene as he stills his body, still convulsing, and then he sees swirling among the phosphors on the back of his eyelids, where it burns an impression when one stares at bright light too long, something coalesce: an impression of an Iris, pulsing and folding into itself but without edge, as if his minds eye were right in front of him. He stays there penitent and quiet and keeps his eyes closed, in order not to lose it, because whatever it is he needs to know it; what ever it is, he cannot deny he sees it. He stays perfectly still while it’s centered in his vision, as if it were a wild animal he intended not to scare away, and silently he studies it and stares and considers what has just opened in his vision and what, preceding that, had thusly broken away. Slowly realization comes, as it’s elemental name is spoken silently from behind,

         “I am the one who sees,
            I am that which drives
         I am you, and you are me
                 We are together,
                   A single being
                         but You
                  are part of me”

and upon the realization solidifying, without hesitation he addresses it, directly and in a docile tone…)

I see you
I see you there
staring back at me

I know who you are
I know you are me

It’s good to see you
I’ve missed you
Where have you been?

He lifts his head just a little, just so he’s holding it with his neck, it’s the first movement he has made beyond the minimum necessary to say the words he had to say and to expand and contract his lungs enough to breath. As he opens his eyes, the vision persists and he’s now staring at it outside of him, nestled into his unknowingly cupped and folded hands, like one would make to receive the sacrament of communion, which is ironic yet somehow perfect: for this experience is the only religious thing he’s ever felt or known or seen. Now, with eyes open, it looks to be an orb of energy without a glow, and he folds his hands closed around it as if to hold itc closing his eyes again, and he stands, with eyes closed; as yet unwilling to lose the vision and let it go. He turns slightly to the north, away from the darkness he had hidden in before and opens his eyes hopefully for the first time in ages.

He stares distantly into the foliage of a few scattered trees that occupy a greenway next to a drainage ditch called “flood street” to the people
that know, and in those last late autumn leaves still hanging on with incredulity, he sees the inner eye again, still staring back at him, and in that moment he already knows- it’s not going go, it is part of his mind, which, now that he has opened it, will be ever-present, even if unseen. He shifts his gaze over to the corner of a house not too far away and again he sees it shimmering, superimposed. It’s not external it is like a lens through which he sees, and he becomes joyful.

He lowers his eyes in peaceful pause and starts to take off his clothes, he sheds his jacket, shirt and socks, flinging them to and fro and descends the steps into the yard and squeezes the grass between his toes. He presses hard down through his feet, to let the ground know that he is there and he will not sink. His stance widens. He loosens his shoulders as he reaches down between his feet, and sets his palms flat in the grass, exhaling deeply as he folds. Then breathing deeply in and upward he raises up towards the sky stretching everything inside, reaching as high as he go, and there he sees the Cheshire smile and he greets the moonlight glow,

Hi how are you, I’m glad you’re here too

And then he begins to dance with it, in Meditative and intentional movement. He makes a show for the moonlight and the minds eye and he moves every muscle under his control, twisting and turning in soft ecstasy releasing decades of unwanted tension; finally letting all the build-up go. He lands down in the sweet smelling grass on his belly, arms folded, palms pressed to the sof, cool dirt, grass threaded between trembling fingers, and in his vision are two small flowers swaying slightly, but swaying alone, as no leaves rustle because no breeze blows. It seems to him that they danced in response to his repose, and he will remember this for the rest of his short and troubled life, though it should be a little easier now knowing what he knows.

There is a moment in the evening when the day turns into night
And another when the night turns back into day again
But between these two is a meridian undefined
When night turns to morning and yesterday to tomorrow and briefly you too can sublimate, effervesce, and reorganize, and recalibrate before you recombine, and re-assimilate; But before you do, you gotta run it through... and check: is this still what you really wanna do?...

... also,
make sure the top and tails
are in the right places,
and that the eyes and stomach
still match the plate.

Ah ****! How'd I lose?

I've learned so much this time around.
What to do and what not to do.

('Hole lotta that - "what NOT to do" - figured out a lot of ways to **** it up, but nothing wrong with narrowing the scope by processes of elimination. It's the long route and it's a rough road but you learn the lessons, cuz if you don't you do em again, that's just the nature of that proof)

I found the profane and the profound often overlapped more than you expect them to. I found that in the end it didn't matter much what way you go as along as you stick to it and keep going as long as you can or care to.
There are no wrong decisions, just impositions and responses and consequences. But all paths leading in all directions lead back to the place you're going to. You spin the globe and pick a spot and set out in a direction, and go wherever you want to. Eventually you reach a point where you gone as far away as you can, and your next step forward back or to either side just starts your path back home , but with different views.

Sure, some people get lost and never make it, but they just start again until they do.

"I didn't set you loose all over creation just to lose some of you to the rules. The rules don't matter if you play for keeps and keep on trying to win a hand or two. The buy backs cheap and we'll keep playing as long as YOU want to."

(a rough draft of an experiment for a long form narrative)


The Life & Times
(All Nine {plus an extra one or two [maybe even a few]})
of Ol’ Tom-Cat Caine Hackett,
Mayor of Flood St. 
Friend of the People!  
Defender of Youth.  
A man,
Nay - an Icon - 
Who gave his all for you
In pursuit of a good time
and to find his own mind -
so that those who knew him,
In his heyday downtown
bopping around
the streets & alleys, in his gutter suit,
and his busted boots
like a vaudevillian *****, waxing with the moon,
Or waining, in his later days,
with its somber milieu,
could understand
What happened to him,
and why he did it,
and that he knew…
It was his; his own doing.
And undoing.
But All of it,
was a big, brilliant bit
he was Performing
just for you -
For “***** and giggles” and smiles and kicks and hits and slaps and laughs, even the misses too -
And it was just … something to do …


.^(@)^.
(an.. here’s the thing.. there was nothing you could do,
to stop it or alter his course,
that was up to him,
and he knew that too.)

                     Besides
                         We        
<€=+~-.•^[{( @ )}]^•.-~+=€>
         saw the whole thing
      an “I” that never blinks

Introduction:

“Please Allow me, To introduce myself,
My name… is Mon Capitán Alon Godai. Professional. Professor of Prophecy at the Metatron Institute for Prophetic Dissemination. Not to be confused with Monsieur Godot (the similarities are indeed uncanny, profound even, however I assure you, we are easy to tell apart, for he is always late, and I… am perpetually rrRight! On time.)

Mon plaisir, monsieur. How Dooo you do?

I’d like to offer you a story, if you have some time to sit. It’s a bit of a meandering thing, but it comes together to get her in the end - and its a pretty path along the route.

Would you like to hear a tale of lies and troubled times that’s actually about victory and truth?
Well if you do, just stay right there, and I’ll be right back with you, but first - Some entertainment: perhaps a sad song would set the mood?

LLLET the SHOW BEGIN!
Please allow me to introduce to You:
- Ms. Monet Moneypenny -
  and the Rag Time Review!

Bon Soirre, Mon amie! I hope you enjoy the tune!”



You think about what you’re doing, why you’re there and what you did and then you look back at it and you just …
euff.. *******.
That was close man.
You probably shouldn’t do that again.
That was one of the dumber bits you’ve seen all the way through.

That was definitely strange and stupid. The optics on it are gonna be tough to defend. I mean … what it looks like. . . Is you ******* up so hard, like you’re ******* for drug money like you probably would do. You’re too old to be a Coke ***** ******, and you’ve got better things to do. So get your **** together and get outta there. And leave it all behind. You probably should call a friend. You definitely been doing shady ****, and it’s about time you were through.

But instead you met the devil in all his faces on the streets and you let him right in and called him friend and told him to take a seat… \/~>

~>1^And he bought you something to eat, gave you somewhere to be, get yourself a bath, have a bit of a chat, a little of that, and then you got somewhere to sleep, for free. Then He talks about what he thinks you can be. Makes you think you can do it and it’ll sweet. He tells you he “can make you plenty.”
“It’s easy kiddo, you’ll see. You’ll start making boats of money. You just hang with me.”
^\/ And he flashes cash so fast in stacks and racks and he talks too fast to keep up and he slings it out with reckless abandon and he wants the best for you and he kinda seems like he means it like it’s le-***. ~>And it’s just what you’ve been looking for, hoping and praying for, for it to somehow just show up .. and it shows. so you kinda get taken hostage without even knowing what you know you know.
You know you shoulda seen it before you did, you always do. (Both in that you always “shoulda seen it coming,” but you never do, AND you do see it coming you just do what you’re gonna do.) but you didn’t… so now you deal with it. Buuuut You didn’t because you looked up and away from it and you chose to believe in A Savior so it’s on you, you know.. You know? … You know.

but you don’t know that
… so you Go!

(--)/ yay!!!

Yeah? Can you teach me? Can I call you teach? I can learn anything I want to, if I wanna do it, at least I believe I can; I haven’t done it, per se, but gimme a shot man, I won’t waste it, you’ll see just what I can do (^^) lol

•You set the chessboard up slowly unfolding everything take out the timer unroll the mat, flatten it out set the pieces and correct his setup and listen and conversaré

“Sure thing”


~>2 And that-
was a stupid mistake.
It was CLEARLY a con,
you knew that…
From the start.
But you both got something. And what’s the worst that can happen, you get caught doing druggie stuff with a straight guy in a hotel room? You don’t care what people think, and you’re straight (enough) you just like being a friend and you need friends cuz you profoundly lonely by yourself when it’s just you and yourself and I and me and my… and him and that guy, and maybe those two, ^And her, no not her. (Gestures “around with their finger, shushing, and then points) Her ugh. Move.) annnd.. uh ..you. get held up and stuck, sometimes you get ****** up, sometimes you get ******, sometimes you get to do the ******:~>
sometimes it *****.
Sometimes it’s a win…
Not usually but it could be, seemed like it might’a been :-/  
-> and you don’t have to scratch it in to something, but you kinda a want to, as a marker, like on a tomb, anonymous and sequestered, in a corner or on a door jamb, in cryptic symbols, like hobos used to do. The real Ones that rode the rails hopping cars chasing youth, choosing freedom and truth (and also fleas and poverty and drugs and *****); they used to make chalk marks on buildings along the route, and the symbols grew up and made a language - or - at least a lexicon…

…sometimes it’s a little messy, sometimes it’s illegal. Sometimes it seems like it was dangerous, but you were safe, it’s very easy to confuse. When it feels safe is when you lose. Comfy fools get caught and shot when the hunters show up looking for food, Or fodder for the war machines to keep em moving and full of boots. If it’s dangerous it keeps you jumping, on your toes. Cooling your heals is fine, but resting on your laurels isn’t working and you gotta keep moving if you wanna keep a step of head of consequences. Always on the Move! Moving targets are harder to hit and this target ******* MOoooVES!
:~>•*•.
               (‘:
****… got me.
(Hahaaah! Hahaheheh…)

What’s a little mess to clean up? It’ll wash off with money. . . and Besides-

it ain’t my room.

Mission Statement

I’m just out here having a good time, man,
doin’ what I can to make it better.
An’ if I’m having a good time, dude
I want everyone else to have one too,
So I’m just trying to do what I can to ensure that,
Cause I don’t want anyone to have to have a bad time ever.
but I know some people do be having bad times that can’t nobody make better,
but if I can do something to turn a bad time good,
imma do what I gotta do,
cause everyone deserves to have a good time,
at least some of the time,
and I’m a good time dude,
so if you’re having a bad time, then so am I,
and I’m not trying to have a bad time, man,
like never ******* ever!
cause good times are what it’s all about, my guy,
and bad times can always get better,
and if you trying to have a bad time don’t come around me brother,
cause I’m gon’ make it go away,
we gonna have a good time, whether you like it or not,
but don’t worry you gonna like it,
good times are way better,
and im good at em, and I have em every single day.
I’m trying to have a good time all the time,
and we can hang out
and you can have some too,
I got jokes and **** to say,
and if you out here having a bad time on my watch, don’t worry,
we gon figure that **** out together.

So what’s your name? I know we met before but
I drink a lot and I forget. I remember faces though and I remember seeing yours. Yeah you say we definitely met before…

Right well my name’s Hatchet, welcome to show, glad you came to play. But before we get it start I got ask you about something, is that okay?

2. That Toothy Grinning Fiend

Can I be honest with you? Because it’s personal and it’s probably gonna be a hard thing for you to admit; and I heard you say it a couple times in a row and when I heard it made me think- I heard you talking about yourself dying and making jokes about why it’d be better than trying to stay, but it’s not something to go make light of because your talking about the ultimate decision, the last decision ever. Is that where your at man? You really done living? You ready to punch out on your last day? Or is something you just hopes happens to you and you don’t have to be responsible for anything? In my experience, that **** only seems funny to somebody that’s been thinking about it too long to know better, when the dark thoughts been winning too many debates and creeping up ever so steadily and they don’t turn back and they don’t retreat, and as it gets closer and that smile starts to look a lot less clever and those sinister eyes, ember red and glowing, and those gleaming yellow teeth you saw shining from the shadow don’t seem so friendly anymore; you think, “why’s he keep smiling like that?” And It’s getting closer and bigger and you see those dagger sharp incisors and he’s still coming faster now and he does not blink and his teeth start to separate and you can see the pink of his lying forked snakeskin tongue and he opens wide and starts to swallow you whole but you still see the teeth from inside and as his mouth begins to close you feel A last gasp of pride and you scream out for help, for someone to come by, but no one hears you and you’re suffocating but you haven’t yet died so you lash out with all your strength, and everything you’ve got to try to survive and the only thing that you can muster is weak half a breath and a joke about how no one would miss you, it’s like you’ve already left. And no one really laughs because it wasn’t funny, and no one says anything because you’re just that way, you’ve got a dark sense of humor and you always joke about awful things just to see what’ll happen to person’s face. And that ******* MONSTER is still right there, with that uncanny grinning and glistening smile and those awful red eyes and the pit viper stains like shadows below the eyes when you haven’t slept in days because dreams are so much scarier than the shadow’s monsters’ doing devil worship and burnt offerings of sacrificial snakes, because hallucinations are easily laughed off as nonsense, and this thing is nonsensical in its own kind of way, but it will not ******* leave and let you get back to your day. It’s madness, and it grips you and you cannot wiggle away, and Getting sleep can be terrifying, but it helps push back the fray.
And when you wake you’re still breathing, and He’s faraway again for now but it looks like it might be getting closer everyday and it’s still staring at you but it’s in a different kind of way, hungrier now that he’s had a taste. It’s even scarier now that you’ve seen it up close, because you know it won’t just ******* go.
You can not escape.
And the Jokes are so your friends can say “hey man… are you ok?” But no one checks up on you because they’re busy or whatever and even if they did you lie and say, “yeah man, you ain’t gotta worry about me, I’m doing fine. You know i got this, imma be ok.” But that was a lie and you stand there desperately as the concern on there face slips away, and just like it always is and so it’s always been, but it don’t have to be, Im standing right beside you and I’m Saying I’ve been there dude and  I’m hearing things I used to say, things you need to talk out loud so you can hear the sound of what your thinking really sounds like in an a three-dimensional space. It doesn’t echo or bounce off of the halls and mirrors and come back distant, distorted, disassembled and decayed, it’s the vampire of thoughts, it’s eternal, it’s insidious, it is evil and unwavering in its hunt For prey. It does not respect or adhere it to the laws and conventions of polite society and it abhors the light of day. it falls dead on it victims and ***** the life out of them, but no life is given, just life taken away. The movies and books make it look cool and romantic, but it ain’t clever, cool or cunning,  guaranteed. It sounds a lot like a dog **** onto a piece of parchment paper and you rolled it up and put a put a ribbon ‘round it and you set off on your merry way. It’s just a **** idea you thought might could fix your problems but it’s just a cop-out, a ******, and a huge mistake. But lemme tell you my man, it’ll Do the trick, if the trick your trying is making the world forget, what you meant to it and what you did with it and if you leave nothing behind you just disappear, and there’s no second act when you come back, and the audience just walks out and don’t even talk about whatever happens to the dude that’s missing, that trick was stupid, I don’t get it.

3. Your Life Your Way

So I’m hearing you and I’m thinking this guys suffering and he might be thinking that it’s his time Today. And if that’s what you wanna do, I can’t take that from you, it’s yours and only your decision to make, and as long as you don’t make it rashly it doesn’t have to be a scary thing, but I would ask a favor of you before you escape: if that is what you choose, then when you do, that you take a beat, you eat and you get some sleep, sober up and don’t medicate, and wake up rested the next morning before breakfast time; you wash body and wash your face, put on your favorite shirt and your most comfy shoes and have your favorite breakfast and then you spend the whole entire day doing ONLY things you LOVE the most. You don’t waste a second of your time, because it’s your last ******* day. why would you let it slip you by, When you could pack it in and fill its to brim with joy and grace. And if you do your day of many splendid things you love to do and go to bed for one more night, And wake earlier still the next morning and go somewhere and watch the sun rise one last time and say goodbye to god or to your life or to your love of anything. And then you pick your time, and you meditate. So that your day has come on your own terms, not driven by anxiety and desperation, and with your whole mind you spend your final hours remembering everything that made your life great,  and when your hour comes you say a last farewell to life, and then your done and dead and nothing hurts anymore and you can’t hear the cries of those left  behind to say goodbye and mourn your loss and your selfish ways. But don’t you miss that time by a minute, you tick down the seconds and don’t look away, and if you hesitate for even a second, that’s proof positive you need stay, because you need more time to be satiated. And that’s all I have to say. If all these things are quantified and capitulated, I will be there at your final resting place;
and I will not mourn you leaving
because it’s Your life Your way,
and I will eulogize and I’ll memorialize and we’ll mythologize you and tell all of the lies, and tell the truth about them so it can’t obfuscate the horrid truth that you did not love anyone, even yourself, and I will CELEBRATE that you have finally found the peace you need, and I will probably cry. But when they cover you, you are ******* dead to me and I will never speak your name again and I will no longer tell the tales and stories we shared because you take them from me too when you take your life from mine.

4. A Way Through

But if you don’t really want to die and be forgotten and waste your precious time. I’ve got some thoughts about how to make it easier to survive the darker days and keep the lighter ones from slipping away.

So It sounds like you’ve been going through it, dude, And that can be tough as **** sometimes. Especially when the nights are long and the hours are slow, and your waiting for dawn so it can be a brand new day, one you can use to be the the first day of the rest of your life and not just the beginning of the end again. I’ve got this tool i use that i think might could help you see it, and I’ll teach you how to use it, if you’ve got a lil bit inclination. Would you like to know just how I do it, man? Would you like to know  how I feel this way? I can walk you through it, and show you why it works, and how you can do it every day, all you gotta do is have little jewel of thought to use as a trade for happiness…

It’s called the Joy Fantastic and it’s so easy it’s on my list of things to do everyday. It’s just like brushing teeth, but for your mind cavities, it’s partly meditation, partly mental paste. It flies the cracks up from the inside that are leaking fluid and slowing the pace, but with movement and with certain stipulations, that will keep anyone in the right direction, and upright, and in place.

I truly believe that there is joy in this world every single second of every day, all the time. Everywhere! Anywhere you look it’s there, All you have to do is find it, and when you look really closely, you’ll rarely have to go to far out of your way to see I’m right. You just have to pick up your head and level your gaze and scan around you, up and down, in front of you and behind, and stop looking at what you’re trudging through for just a minute or two, there’s nothing to it, its hardly effort, and It’s so easy to identify. And if you don’t see it immediately, that just means it’s nearby, but you got to take a walk and readjust your eyes and choose a different angle from which to view. So you just look out all around you and you try to see something bright, or shiny, or just a well Lit place. something small and happy, a ray of sunshine, a glint of dew droplets, or really just anything nice, a couple holding hands and smiling, a squirrel bobbing somewhere unexpected, a stranger’s child’s laugh, it does not have to be something you see, it can be a thought you had, a happy memory, or a smell you come upon, like fresh baked bread, or a flower patch, and you give it credence and you look at with patience, hold it in reverence and accept it simply, that this is all I need for today.

And I take that peaceful moment I always find in this presence to unwind and slip off the pain. And the real beauty of it, the part that’s the actual tool, is the knowledge of that space, and to get there, dig this dude, it doesn’t even have to be your joy, it can be someone else’s, but it still plays. Like you can see someone else that’s happy and just think to yourself “see, everything’s gonna be just fine, and it doesn’t always have to be like this, and this will pass on if I give it time.” And You can borrow that indefinitely and they’ll never know you even have it unless you decide to tell them, and you SHOULD tell them if you ever see them again because a compliment is joy double-time, its something you can use when all the light is fading and it’s something unexpected and nice for the person who’s joy they didn’t know was out there helping people and saving lives, and if you name it, and then hold it, and keep it in your back pocket, because you can’t predict when you won’t be fine, but if you got it already and it’s tucked away safe, you can just access it anytime. So when you need it you can pull it out, and look back at it and say, “for today, this is mine!” And you’ve got that then and forever, whenever it’s convenient, And when it’s dark out and its scary and it seems like it’s never ending and that there’s just nothing that looks like joy you can find between you and the horizon line, You still have something that you can use to break the crushing burden of being Joy blind. Because if you can’t see Joy anywhere, are you really even looking, or is it just you’re not looking for it in the right way?
That means you need to remove The distraction lens and maybe shift perspective from side to side, and all you need is to catch a glimpse of it, you can’t expect to be satisfied ALL the time.

But you can be Joyful in any moment,  whether you’re never happy or never cry, and happiness is a choice you make, a decision to smile. It’s not a destination, It is internal and eternal, and in troubled times it’s a filter of a kind, to help declutter all the other noise, and get the signal through that you need to receive, that tremendous Joy is something you can feel even when you cannot smile. Because joy is not the reaction, joy is a lens through which we view the world and let all of our light shine.
And joy is easy and joy is free and we forget that all the time, and this perspective is like a muscle, you have to work it to build up memory, once you muscled up, and built a pattern it becomes the way you move. My whole perspective is Joy based thought And joy makes me not so ready to get it over with, you just decide to use it and then you start to choose it automatically and then you get to see what really happens, instead of guessing wrong and ******* dying.  So here it is my man, to better days to not forgetting to let the sunshine through. If your prone to mantra I’ve got that too, you wanna here it’s just five lines.

My ethos is Joy
My aesthetic is Joy
My religion is Joy
My motivation is Joy
My purpose is Joy

I love you man, I mean it honestly
I want you to stay alive
And since we just made friends not all that long ago, it’s not fair for me to have to cry. And I am truly blessed to get to be your friend, and I will always be as long as we are both alive, so if you ever think that no one cares at all, just remember me, there’s gotta be at least one, and I’m the ******* guy.
So dude,
Please Don’t leave,
at least not suddenly,
and definitely not forever,
that’s such a long time.

And all you gotta say to get me to shut the **** up is, “Dude I won’t **** myself. !’m gonna be ok.” And if you mean it, I will believe you and we can go back inside, and have another drink. Or we can go our separate ways.

5. a requiem…

And with tears in his eyes he said the magic words, and I believed him, and we walked another block and then we said see you later instead of goodbye. And when we did it was a ******* mistake.

Because he was gone
the very next day.

And now I have to mourn him because he didn’t take just one extra day to do something that he really truly loved, and he forgot why he needed to stay.

Man *******
I shouldn’t have to cry like this
You made me lie to you the other day
I said I’d never speak your name again, that you were dead to me and that I’d be okay, but I’m not okay and I need my ******* friend to help me deal with all this sorrow **** and you abandoned me to handle all this pain. It’s a ******* that does this to his friends, and your a ******* I wish was not just flushed Away

but sometimes people die
and sometimes people cry
and sometimes those things
both happen on the same day.

Sleep easy brother, no one can bother you now, and you can rest forever to make up for all the sleep you missed.

There’s some we love
who come to love us back
And then there’s some we love who get away,
but the ones we love
who never know how much
and never feel the warmth of our hearts’ embrace
are the ones we mourn
and miss the most
who become the ghosts
who haunt our quiet homes
but never show their face.

If they’d just rattle chains
and turn the cabinets out
we could know they care
and greet them with their names,
but they just disappear
only to fade away,
and then we forget their voice
and we forget their face,
and before too long they’re barely even a memory
and we forget that we even ever knew their name.
And they become nothing
and they disintegrate,
and then they’re really dead.
At that’s the final shame
They lay there silently,
forgotten
finally laid to rest
in their true grave

Sometimes they’ll visit us
in our deepest dreams
and if we’re lucky we might just get to say
how much we miss them now
And how we loved them so
And ask them why they never came back to say goodbye,
and what made such haste,
why all the rush to leave,
how could it seem like that was okay?

If you knew my mind
If only you could see
Man it's so rare in there it's a mess and it gets dark some spots and there is **** every where, hanging down and piled up, all around and beneath your feet.
Can't hardly take a step without stubbing a toe, cracking a shin, or scraping your knee.
Or rocking your dome
on the crown,
cuz your looking down
Taking care about where
You place your feet.

But it's pretty neat (not like tidy, but it's kinda cool) to see it all blink and beat.
It rains word in there. Sometimes great hurricanes, most times just spits and spurts, but it thunders something spectacular, when the lightning is all around, and it's torrents pouring in Great cascades, and a sudden deluge can flood the stage.
There's this core in there that I found one time, and I could tell it had shell made to keep stuff in. It appeared solid, albeit delicate, egg-shell thin, and I wondered what it contained within. So I cracked it open, consequence be ******, and I found a kind of aticky sweet viscous goo, not unlike melted chocolate, but it glows in pulsing rhythm and can really light up the room. I worry I break it too often, like I don't let it rest and recuperate, heal up its cracks all the way, and refill-up the goop.

I service of this I've noticed some things, Sometimes the fillings change.
Sometimes it is melted chocolate
Sometimes it's carob, and lies and it tastes like ****.
Sometimes it smells like **** too...
some times...
Some times it's doodoo.

Sometimes you can't tell until you really get in there and smell the stain you seemed to have left on the sheets.
I swear it's a Reese's peanut butter egg I brought to bed with me and then forgot to eat.
I must'a laid it down and rolled on top of it. I swear to god, scouts honor -
    I didn't **** the bed.

(He **** the bed;

at least [the very least] -

metaphorically.)




7:02 am 6/14/25