call you constant *** I don't
want to pretend I'm the
nihilistic indifference in
this situation- - - in fact,
I'm Jim Carrey in Eternal
Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
and if the world could spin any
slower to allow my eraser to
scrape your memory away as
invalid shards into the tin of
'another-one-bites-the-dust,'
I would despairingly watch
you disappear to the point of
no-remembrance so I don't
have to despairingly watch
you disappear and remember.

slasher films always had me wondering
if I was capable
for no reason.

play with the
head-rush thought
of distrust in myself
over ******.

could I ******?

could I could I could I could I
cold cold cold cold cold

it was a
dark
and
stormy
night.

The old world
died

with the rise
of

McDonalds.

Dark driveways in muggy weather
Look like sand stuck in a feather

Ferns and curbs don't go together.

Clean, thoughts on it
Wrong again
Seemed, nope not this song again
A misty clip
Of winter ****
Seemed so soft and fond again.

Face the throat and choke the face
Wait for boats, critique the wave
Answer into sushi dish,
'Was this really once a fish?'

You, oh you! Oh you, oh you.
True, we knew! Who knew? Not you.

Don't begin to read the news
Now it's burning rows of twos

Ferns and curbs don't go together
Runny nose in sunny weather
Feel like lakes lassoed and tethered

Ferns and curbs don't go together.

snow-water dribble dots are mountain spheres on my sweater
outside, the cold is hol-ee ****
the weather is wholly enveloping wooly anythings
so good luck telling skies to quiet.

I tried, and the skies whispered back
by breaching the bottom lip of my jeans to crawl a great big
'ha
   ha
     ha
       haaaaaaa'
up my Pyrenees spine like God had laid out a line of coke days ago and was only now ready to gracefully snort.

they said 'blizzard' last night,
I said 'blurry blank' in the morning
rain and slush and cold and rush and
no no no, my veins weren't heating up.

leaves manage, don't they?
blown away by float planes,
thrown away by old dames,
the same game,
return.

your cells manage, don't they?
sewn away by atomic frames,
time lapsed to transform again,
the same game,
return.

You may not entirely understand the reality of a 'dank existence,'
As the ranks of society have used interpretive dance as resistance
To the lime-green light that illuminates that room in the brain,
Where interpretation of thought drives explanation insane.

You may not entirely understand what is real;
From the epilogue clearing fictions fog to what makes an orange peel,
As it's not a simple way to live every day,
But it's found that, quite obviously, it is the best way,
Lacking the patch of reality's seal,
It truly is the only real way to feel.

To say that my mind has gone mad without power,
Is like saying pop-rocks from '67 aren't sour,
Or a Peoples Republic won't rise like a tower,
Over Western metropolis, and the President's glower.

And to say that my brain is subdued within chains,
Is like claiming humanity never made it to space.
It's a possibility, but from any value of face,
The assumption is old, and conservingly fake.

Lets say we randomize all events in our lives;
From the time we wake up, to where we close our eyes,
And the constant adventure, as to 'where to go next,'
Finds that our past is quite static once the next second is vexed
And the constant thieving of the ideas that we steal,

Makes life an existentialists ideal meal,

With the past, and the present, and the future entwined,
It's a smorgasbord of endeavor drawn outside the lines,
And we love it.

I spread my influence on lives
And lives
And lives.

Each a part of every art
Surprise
Surprise
Surprise.

We rise at the sound of alarms on the dresser
So by 9 AM we can start saying 'yessir'
We fall back asleep at the end of the day
Like we just lived our lives through an era
Through an age

And each page read
mis
understood
By the reader

Finds itself-
Simon says
The picture is the leader.

I've made my point.

I once woke up screaming because I dreamt the price of gas was only 7 cents a litre. It was a scream of holy infinite ecstasy and I believe I also woke to discover I'd had an ****** in my sleep. My voice was deeper. Puberty is a beautiful thing. Economics was prettier in my head.

When I look out from the smudged and cracked windows of home,
I know there's no place quite the same as right here;
No place I could find that quite catches my ear,
And no place quite the same that can swallow my fears,
To the depths of this heated and comfortable box,
In which I am protected by numerous locks,
From intruders and bandits,
Salesmen and clerks;
I am the legal intruder,
And for me, that's what works.

Yet I'm here when, in fact, I am meant to be there;
Not far from my home,
I'm meant to be learning whats fair.

I am meant to be learning what's right and what's wrong,
Yet 6 hours of my time a day seems quite long,
To be spending on verbs, nouns and pronouns,
On algebra, fractions, and abnormal word sounds.

This life is not theirs; this life is all mine,
Such an old and used system would appear to be right,
Yet I beg to differ, as revolution now squeaks,
To push through the systems cracks and cause leaks,
In which free-thinking filters the words of the old,
Who believe themselves better, for they're trained and so bold.

When I look to society, what is it I see?
Is it a throng of a thousand people who seem to be free?
Not quite, yet at the same time, that seems quite close,
They are free in a box, in which authority is the host.

"Civilization has to be defended against the individual,
And its regulations, institutions and commands are directed to that task."*
Quite an obvious command,
And it seems that at last,
Man is learning to embrace what they each see as free;
And it does not simply stop at being free to simply be,
It goes beyond such in mind, matter, soul, and in trust;
For it is the systems denial,
Towards which I lust.

The institutions, and nations,
Corporations, news stations,
Stateism, classism, all attempt to control,
Who I am, what I do, where I go, who I meet;
They tell me to relax, and just take a quick seat;
Yet I know what I want from life is free feet,
To be who I am,
And take all the heat.
To do what I do,
And ignore what's 'elite.'
To go where I go,
And control, as such, my feet.
To meet who I meet,
And next to them, take a seat.

I am not a name,
And I am not a number.
I am always awake in my mind,
As I slumber.

long hair long johns of sad happy
clear fog is the dog god doggone dog

kind of you to kind of listen
kindling burns like Hong Kong midnight brightlights
whose birthright, or birthwrong

down-under daggers for flags
flagged
flagulation
creative sensory compensated penitentiary
forward lad landing laughter for the last log on the fire
the last day for earth to say
please plead for plaid shirts to pay for themselves
otherwise there will be ****** for you to see

summer in the winter if I sprinkle a little bit more wood on my splinter
sink or swim, sink and swim, sink to swim
swim to sink
ah
um
oh
ehhem
undo your dress and undo your last mistake

please retake the photo so I can stay awake.

don't, I mean, yes
yes

hands could be cold
but
then
a
g
a
i
n

I just call it what I must
plustwo double yous in a zoo for the future flu's to cruise like truce
11/11/11 armistice
missed the list when you kissed my wrist
I extracted bliss from the Buddha's jist
just
cause?

just call for the muse music

don't mind me
I mean
yes,
yes

motorcade king of spades I got laid to the silence
of a forest in the poorest richness I've never ditched this
**** zip
zap
my zipper is a little critter crawling through the litter on the city's twitter account
doesn't amount to much but I sound like I'm salted in breath
dead like MacBeth, the challenge was the shaken speare
sprained everclear of the diamond tear or the shattered cheer of ancient seers

truth
is greater than fiction.

The sun, may it illuminate the day,
With a brightness seen in no other way,
May it show us to the distance we call far,
With no such boundary to bar,
The potential,
Hidden within,
A deep illumination of the dark we call sin,
May it awaken,
Arise,
To burn us a path,
To see,
We are free,
But only if you believe,
And you truly wish it to be.

You are not hidden,
Unlocked, and unbound.
You have the right to the world,
Why call that profound?
Take advantage,
Show no sway,
Stand proud on your ground,
This is yours! This is ours!
The freedom is free,
It consumes everything.
You turn a blind eye,
And in a split second to count,

The freedom is gone,
All lost, dead to be free,
For it ceases to be.

slow and steady
wins the

wait.

slow and steady
wins the

I

slow and steady
wins the

for godsakes I went slow and steady because I had no

desire

for victory.

Winnie the Pooh told me Barcelona smells like raspberry soap.

I loved that achey crane you used to call your neck
I used to passionately kiss that achey crane
maybe massage the middle more
so its 80 year contract with you
could be properly fulfilled
without having to take advantage
of the *******
warranty
again.

******* God and Angels Ltd.
free marketeers who planned our obsolescence.
give me what I paid for
you self-righteous Forbes ******.

Gladly I sat and remembered
You were never quite here to begin with.

Gladly and madly I sat and remembered
I am never quite here to begin with.

I'm usually waiting. work-wait,
wallet-wait, wait for the waiter
(waitress), all wretch, no *****,
waiting. waiting for the moment
I can finally look around and say--

'ah, there it is.

always in my back pocket

jabbing my ****.'

Everyone is waiting like
angry Buddhists
for the washrooms
to become vacant again.

I'm waiting for
my mind to be vacant
impatiently, like an angry
bodhisattva,

so I can get some
******* shuteye.

core of intention:

              laughter. peace.

core of contentment:
          
             love. laughter. peace. creativity. freedom.

core of love:

            love.

core of life:

            laughter. peace. freedom. wellbeing. love. creativity. kindness.

core of modernity:

           gross domestic product.

the killers shoot lyrical
koans on the bar delicate,
I amble for a pint of
Dungarvan beer, whatever
the where that means.
There's a sunset here
and a sunrise there,
and lunchtime somewhere
in the middle as the mahogany beneath my elbows reminds
the Romans that I'm unsure
as to whether or not they made
it as far as Ireland.

General Tiberius,
are you awake?

some days walk past me like shoes in a lost costco
wake up late, it's 9 AM somewhere so it's not like you slept in.

beauty in the backwards dance of corrugated cardboard contact lenses
seeing what I see like I see see see, for Godsakes all I need to do is see.

once.

There were photographs
of a last effort hung with
dignity across the cracked
and dusty hallways of my
mind. I wasn't sure who had
painted them, save for the
initials at the bottom right
of each work. A scrawled,
"definitely not Picasso.

I'm definitely not Picasso."

she inches moments closer---
mentions, "I don't usually
tell people this." we sit in
our dysfunctional silence,
her leg brushes mine. life
is fine. life is fine.

I mask that
empty stomach.

I can't even begin to know where to start about life.
The depth of beauty and intricacy is this great big incredible- an infinite, infinite, infinite incredible. Sitting alone at home on my computer, trying to strike inspiration from one place or another, I always end up with a coffee in one hand contemplating how beautiful the wine glass to the left of my kneecap looks in the hue of light beaming in from the rainy grey bright- or I gaze outside and contemplate my warm protection from the cold and wet outside, wondering what would truly be better- this warmth? or the thrill of living and forced recognition of every step given by the airy forecast of the clouds wisping from my breath, breaching me from the shoe of my pants and the kneck of my shirt to caress the bare-skin of my spine and the calfs of my bony ankles?
and it's as if I have to choose, but I laugh when I realize they're both great big incredibles in themselves- the fluff of a book in my hand and a hot drink at my side as the floating water decides to come back to Earth- the melancholy of still-in-my-pajamas-and-this-is-one-of-only-two-days-off; the poetry of love and the poetry of loss and the poetry of all I desire to do but hold back- all of this brings me a comforting sadness. Life, life, life, life, life... thank you for loving me.

open pathways to a glaring pathos
the bright light of idealism is why the optimist is stronger than the pessimist
retreating into the no-eye-strain of a dark, frightening cave;
what was beyond the light?

the pessimist says the fear of the known is safer
while the optimist treads a sidewalk-highway-backstreet of light
ouch-
ouch-
ouuuuch, his eyes!

keep
going.

pushing through the grand theological cosmological philosophy zen
the optimist marches past the foot of the rancid infection
what self-inflicted pain for the sake of surrendering all responsibility;
the reason there are governments
countries
orthodoxies
is because of a grand laziness which clasps the wrists of the weary
fearful of their freedom as it is an unknown
grand cosmic
sun-star;
"stare any longer and I'll go blind;
march towards it and I will disintegrate."

"Are you sure?" asks the optimist
"No, but I won't take such a naive risk. I have been around long enough to cease trusting anything,
especially myself."

"Then you are eternally ******;
I seek my own grace."

there is a silence as the pessimist rounds to sigh
and the optimist wheels himself towards the stars.

So here's to all you fighters,
Living beat by beat.
Carrying but your lighters,
You travel in bare feet.

And here's to all you soldiers,
When day means life or death,
No office and no folders,
You live to aim and hold your breath.

Here's to all you mellow men,
For you, the world spins slow,
To sit or do or touch again,
Is simply part of the flow.

And here's to the depressed,
Who fight alone at home,
Missing all their social friends,
They won't pick up the phone.

And this ones to the arrogant,
The egos and inferior,
Who march throughout this strange old world,
Believing themselves superior.

But here's to all the fair men,
Who do as they see fit,
Yet never simply drop the fact,
That this world needs to be lit.

'Look- I'm the
boy who carries
Ativan in his pocket,
just in case. Pretty
sure that means
my potential is
going down the
drain.'

remember remember
old widowed December
and Pluto
the moon with a moon

the sun drips an artist
a walk flies the farthest
O farther than birds in a room.

remember remember
the priests peace and temper
and wet fingernails
Tinted teeth smiling tunes

the moons seen me naked
my virginity taken
I roar from the ***** of what Godkind consumes.

Don't you listen?

something beyond BASS
drops because it's sassy jazz
alpha compacting, car garage crushed
older than Lemuria! greater bigger
if you get it, you get IT

smooth as sandalwood.

air smells what skin tastes like,
it depends on the 'why' you're tasting.

when I tell
my parents
that I'm
"homesick,"

what I really
mean is, I'm
sick of not
being in your
arms, because
that's where
'home' is now.

the busses I've been on could fill up a football stadium
if each given merit per ride
per rattle-shake snake through countryside

each in its own little protected purpose
cute journeys of love, sturdy journeys of response-ability
hedonic riddle and rides to the end of the road river

like a musical interlude;
run the metal inner-tube;
comfort-context-cannot-climb

all my attitude is altitude
so I almost don't care to be grounded.
Greyhounded, maybe.

Are an interesting thing.

Because they appear in all headspace
And stratum of conscious
Orchestra slow walk of life-

In the hazy Druid gaze of early morning waking days
To the moment of the crystal revelation;
The hardwood can look dreamlike, soft
But just as easily manifest creation.

Sinewy contortions of the multicoloured drapes
To the kind and gentle ghosty in the sun;
A derealized 'umm, wait a sec' march backwards in the mind
Or the truth that I and this wood frame are one.

the world can seem
from the glassy eye of a computer screen.

addicted to the ego trip of the
face
book

and

all of a sudden
the trip is no longer enough

ignored; neglected
the only response is a snippy
bit
of
sarcasm

a negative
disguised
as
a
neutral

your head
screams
'*******, *******'
but if you stood up
for
yourself

they'd say
'calm down,
it's just
a
*******

joke.'