Mesons, quarks, neutrinos, too
Drawn inexorably
Into eternity
To a finite point
Called singularity;
Rushing, streaming
Toward one juncture,
To a destination
With unknown structure.
Swirling, speeding
Into the abyss,
Reason, logic
Cease to exist.

Space and time
Merge in disarray,
Matter altered too,
No night, no day.
Warped, transmuted
Realities,
Become twisted, melded
Finalities.
Inconceivable dimensions
Reign supreme,
Nature’s laws violated
To extreme.

Crossing the event horizon,
No turning back,
Into the precipice,
Down a void of black;
Facing the vortex,
Light gasps in disbelief,
A terminal journey starts
Without relief.
Stars and galaxies
Give a sigh
As they spiral in
And begin to die.

One day we too
Will meet this fate;
The only questions are
The place and date.

Amid fear and suspicions,
with agitated mind and frightened eyes,
we melt and plan how to act
to avoid the certain
danger that so horribly threatens us.
And yet we err, this was not in our paths;
the messages were false
(or we did not hear, or fully understand them).
Another catastrophe, one we never imagined,
sudden, precipitous, falls upon us,
and unprepared -- there is no more time -- carries us off.

CLOWNS DYINGFIVE circus clowns dying this year, morning newspapers told their lives, how each one horizontal in a last gesture of hands arranged by an undertaker, shook thousands into convulsions of laughter from behind rouge-red lips and powder-white face.

STEAMBOAT BILLWhen the boilers of the Robert E. Lee exploded, a steamboat winner of many races on the Mississippi went to the bottom of the river and never again saw the wharves of Natchez and New Orleans.
And a legend lives on that two gamblers were blown toward the sky and during their journey laid bets on which of the two would go higher and which would be first to set foot on the turf of the earth again.

FOOT AND MOUTH PLAGUEWhen the mysterious foot and mouth epidemic ravaged the cattle of Illinois, Mrs. Hector Smith wept bitterly over the government killing forty of her soft-eyed Jersey cows; through the newspapers she wept over her loss for millions of readers in the Great Northwest.

SEVENSThe lady who has had seven lawful husbands has written seven years for a famous newspaper telling how to find love and keep it: seven thousand hungry girls in the Mississippi Valley have read the instructions seven years and found neither illicit loves nor lawful husbands.

PROFITEERI who saw ten strong young men die anonymously, I who saw ten old mothers hand over their sons to the nation anonymously, I who saw ten thousand touch the sunlit silver finalities of undistinguished human glory-why do I sneeze sardonically at a bronze drinking fountain named after one who participated in the war vicariously and bought ten farms?

I. LONELINESS

Her Word

One ought not to have to care
   So much as you and I
Care when the birds come round the house
   To seem to say good-bye;

Or care so much when they come back
   With whatever it is they sing;
The truth being we are as much
   Too glad for the one thing

As we are too sad for the other here—
   With birds that fill their *******
But with each other and themselves
   And their built or driven nests.

II. HOUSE FEAR

Always—I tell you this they learned—
Always at night when they returned
To the lonely house from far away
To lamps unlighted and fire gone gray,
They learned to rattle the lock and key
To give whatever might chance to be
Warning and time to be off in flight:
And preferring the out- to the in-door night,
They. learned to leave the house-door wide
Until they had lit the lamp inside.

III. THE SMILE

Her Word

I didn’t like the way he went away.
That smile! It never came of being gay.
Still he smiled—did you see him?—I was sure!
Perhaps because we gave him only bread
And the wretch knew from that that we were poor.
Perhaps because he let us give instead
Of seizing from us as he might have seized.
Perhaps he mocked at us for being wed,
Or being very young (and he was pleased
To have a vision of us old and dead).
I wonder how far down the road he’s got.
He’s watching from the woods as like as not.

IV. THE OFT-REPEATED DREAM

She had no saying dark enough
   For the dark pine that kept
Forever trying the window-latch
   Of the room where they slept.

The tireless but ineffectual hands
   That with every futile pass
Made the great tree seem as a little bird
   Before the mystery of glass!

It never had been inside the room,
   And only one of the two
Was afraid in an oft-repeated dream
   Of what the tree might do.

V. THE IMPULSE

It was too lonely for her there,
   And too wild,
And since there were but two of them,
   And no child,

And work was little in the house,
   She was free,
And followed where he furrowed field,
   Or felled tree.

She rested on a log and tossed
   The fresh chips,
With a song only to herself
   On her lips.

And once she went to break a bough
   Of black alder.
She strayed so far she scarcely heard.
   When he called her—

And didn’t answer— didn’t speak—
   Or return.
She stood, and then she ran and hid
   In the fern.

He never found her, though he looked
   Everywhere,
And he asked at her mother’s house
   Was she there.

Sudden and swift and light as that
   The ties gave,
And he learned of finalities
   Besides the grave.

you'd know if ******* with you, you're only ******* with precise time
taking all that my heart can take, i'm losing pace so rerise mine
thinking that now that is true is that of the past is concedence of back
i'll ****** you ******* talking like if i didn't know my own being collectively, i warn your future like i say again, i'll ****** you ******* like ratting you out in packs
pack the steel rather than back was feel, what that, "I'll ****** you *******" like if mine was real
hype poppin **** like if was women was owned
i'll display the images of the future like sacred ideas of your own rabbit assed mind'll condone,
I'll ****** you ******* cuz it's a balance,
you feel pulse in ambivalence so stop poppin attitude cuz you're raising me wrong redeeming forgiveness in balance
you muthafuckahs gotta know you're living in soul like you were ever alive in my home
******* with all of my phones, i'll belt your *** like i owned every satellite sat saturn turned up when i'm burned up when you're ******* with all of my phones standin
capacity roam your tenacity's shown every capacity at being stolen of my life like all finalities owned
mistakenly like balance you're shortening truth as each different wife is being lied to indepently told
my capacity growth is closer to death now that my finalities owned
redeem it like i didn't reveal em ****:
so your now reading everything dear closer to you now cuz you're enlivening ****

A student weary from the week cries out, it's like
"We're trying to one up each other in misery"
Day by day,
Every single one, lines up straight, and rigid
Takes the time to confess and lays down
What's going on, around in this town?
The culture that is spreading is toxic.
Similar to a disease, where is our CDC?
Who is supposed to protect my life from me?
From my destructive, wasteful ways
From those long and uninterrupted days
Why do the teens have less and less life jumping between their minds?
Less and less excitement found in their blurry far too tired eyes
Dull, dreary, and exhausted
Walking into here feels like pushing against an immortal force
We trudge through the mud afraid of what comes next
I'm wondering if the girl next to me knows.
If she believes that the way we're going leads to the cold
To the undeserving, to those that remain untold.
I wonder and wonder for hours, but it's in my mind and I know.
This life style that is so widely encouraged and yet also frowned upon.
The controversy sets up success almost as a paradox.
Impossible, not achievable at least in this reality.
Should I sacrifice my health for a good grade in a class I don't even like.
Education, the path to freedom, but it feels as if living our lives in a hell.
Consuming coffee with enough sugar to make heart spike far above normal and to pump my adrenaline.  to get me going
My heartbeat is pumping too loud for me to hear.
“I despise where I am,”
the repetition of my statement is nauseating
I mean I do what I can, but it seems to never be enough.
And yet so many of us find ourselves relating
Why would students today rather die that go to school this way?
Why would I rather stay home sick just to avoid the stress?
How do you change our system, our very broken system that is no where near the best.
I don't know how to fix the problem, if I even can.
May, the time of finalities, whether it be exams, projects, or tests.
A performance scheduled during AP week, what a brilliant idea
Why don’t you just sign the forms to drive the students completely mad.
I'm not good with time management.
I’m not good at taking math tests or test in general that is.
So why have I taken 5 standardized in this week alone.
That seems a bit absurd.
We’re giving it our all, I promise.
Please give us a break, please let’s change the mentality
The toxicity of the prepatory student mindset
If not for me, or my fellow students, for the future.
Please the pressure is capsizing our success,
And our SOS doesn’t seem to be getting through
So I hope this message reaches you.

Set aside the formalities                      
Put behind your brutalities                    
Forget about the finalities                      
Throw away all moralities
Come hide from your realities
Forgive me for my irrationalities
I plea not for practicalities
I know of the abnormalities
Do you know of the totalities
Just listen to the modalities

It's becoming a lethality

With your dignity at the bottom of a bottle
you shared with me your sweet nothings.
We weaved around secret feelings
and waded through shallow fears.

Warmed by jungle juice we growled at misconceptions
and spoke in cirlces, and circles and circles.
We wandered off paths long lost
and discovered life's finalities
- and finally -
we found our way home.

I am not good, I am not great,
I do as I should but as a fake,
Getting by on my anxiety,
Guided by sure finalities,
I am good, God is great,
Both do as we should but so full of hate,
Meanings here and meanings where,
Meanings rare and I’m stuck there,
You’re in one, I’m in two,
Masks are fun to hide the truth,
Focused on self-defined tragedy,
Self-obsessed professed insanity,
No relief or relax from the dark,
Bruised by bottle caps and teeth marks,
Bats and owls curse spiritual slurs,
The Sleep of Reason greets Goya’s monsters,
Stuck in a poets phonetic wasteland,
Letters scattered like grains of sand,
Hunched over tables convulsing religiously,
Punching out feelings for depressions vanity,
Mutters of memory’s shadows,
Patterns of clarity in charlatans clothes,
Search for a meaning of proof,
If any as denial and distraction wage a truce,
The Artist’s Reward was always a lie,
To defy life first you must die,
Continue this imprisonment in institutional prostitution,
Reverting, perverting once innate constitution,
Create an ornate human and visceral solution,
Refusing the fusion spit out prose pollution,
Confusion in this constant cyclical conclusion

As I stood there,
Full of thoughts so thoughtlessly thinking,
Drinking deep with an inclination that I do not think was ever there before,
Though never there but seeming very real in my despair,
Unwittingly I stood there,
Sinking still forevermore

Wherever from I do not know,
Forlorn for far too long, long ago,
Labouring lonely on my own,
Finally finding some sort of sedate sedition,
At last some affinity with forever’s finite infinity

And, I do recognise the conflictions and oxymoronic oppositions,
But as such it is a necessary dereliction of definitive definitions,
And yet it all still makes so much sense to me,
Profanity in profound insanity,
What gravity

What gravity the vulgarity of these verbalising vultures voicing victorious vitality,
Before banality and such boring finalities,
Then suddenly one’s head grew heavy, hence and thus, dropped into dust,
Deep into the darkness ****** to which only few have ever been privy,
There lay the bust of Miss McHale

Though long pale and so frail in death’s derail of life’s long trail,
Beauty somehow still prevailed in such a sorry sickening tale,
In time long lost to those foreign and some still long mine,
Destined besotted are entwined,
In life and death we tumble and take turns to stumble into things we cannot perfectly define

Love, love was inclined to go through,
Adversities, I had to climb to try and find the only word for you,
A word that can only be mine and said once and really meant for you, that one time
To us that word will confine, but I cannot find,
Nor conform or confide in any known way to accurately represent my mind

Though sometimes that can be just fine,
That word can escape me, but you will still be mine,
And along with finite infinities,
There is the very possibility that we are something that just cannot be defined,
Although I do not understand it, you will still be mine

And yet you crave to climb that rail,
Atop a limousine after your tumble through an Empire’s gale,
States of life try to live on in death but always fail,
As blood runs still and last breathe exhales,
Though immortalised now evermore prevailed,
In beauty and brutality ultimately availed,
The immortal end of the ever humble Miss McHale

Here I sit
In my beautiful home
With my wonderful family
And then it hit
All the things that could go wrong
that do go wrong...
All the bullets that need not be fired
All the blood that need not be spilled
All the mothers children who slip away everyday
Every fathers daughter who closes her eyes on the final high
Every bomb dropped, shooting done, overdose, all the finalities of this world.
And sometimes it feels hopeless
But perhaps its the fact that we still feel enough hope to recognize hopelessness that saves us. As long as we never reach the point where not caring is normal. As long as being alive is feeling pain for all the losses, even the ones that aren't ours. As long as we can sit in our blessings and recognize them as exactly that. Maybe there's a chance for us.

Not just the day
not just the night
but the year
give it to me

Let this year last a lifetime
let this be the last of me
let me disclose my finalities
and show my secret strengths

Time has called me to account
so I must stride fearless
into the realms of the unknown
from the world of the known


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

By NeonSolaris
© 2012 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

dotting the Is and crossing the Ts
drawing lines under finalities
saying goodbyes surreptitiously
inconspicuously thanking my serendipities

He is not without dreams, without aspirations;
He simply knows them by their true name,
Knows they are alloyed and somewhat compromised,
The musings and misapprehensions of mortal men,
And he knows that his finalities outweigh and outnumber
Such things he has yet to realize,
Those lesser grails which tantalize and tease
Even though he knows their possession is far outweighed
By that gleaned from the pursuit.
But no matter, then--he has duties to fulfill,
Tithes to pay, promises made and, as such, to be kept.
There is the sun, after all, and the warmth of day
Sometimes not unlike that of mid-August,
Though the nights have lengthened perceptibly,
Their depth and chill implacable in their advance.

that kindness i'd extended
withdrawn
i hoped you'd be different
i hoped wrong
you dont know what you want
dragging this on
want me soft enough to crush
want me easy and gone
i dont care at all
but i still do
tell myself
i dont want to hear from you
but there's nothing wrong
with the truth
a small part of me wishes
you're wishing too
struggling with accepting
that i'm not wrong feeling these ways
the highs of intimacy
and the confusion of space
wanting all the beautiful things
strewn about my brain
quite far from reality
but it's an addicting escape
from the depressing finalities
set in stone
i listen to logic
but i also don't know
it all makes sense
but i still don't
want it to end
but i won't stop you though

i took all of my chances
and its your turn to walk off the ledge
backwards
and blindfolded
just trusting me to catch you
and who knows
maybe i just would
or maybe you'd fall into the same trap
but you'll never find out
because you don't find me worthy of such
probability

syncopate a sentence succinctly
take that thought and
slice and serrate across lines
synth steady and stolid syntax
stitch surrealism to sanity symphonically
scatter sadness, sow sunny spirit
slather language with excess
dole diction in dearth
depose dialectical dogma
dredge dreary dreams and not so drearies
foment formidably
froth and fracture finalities
syllogise spectacular speculation
simplify abtruse abnormalities
whet words wonderfully

i don't know what to feel
skipping through varied presentations
from unmatchedly detached
to being suspended in world-bending self realization

jumping realities
like seats on a bus
the one where i mattered
others i wane to discuss

trying to find meaning
where there may be none
assumptions are the extension
of problems i can't outrun

even in my dreams
i'm turning on the spit
no repose from settling finalities
mulling us over until we're but its and bits

but i'm still breathing
but i'm still bleeding
day after day
belonging is fleeting

maybe i'll rubberband into a new normal
or maybe i'll snap trying
all i know is i can't just be here doing nothing
it almost feels like dying

i don't know what to feel
it's foolish to speak out of frustration
but the lonelier i am, the scarier it gets
is it wrong to hope i'm not invisible in my devastation

   𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐡!
my fairweather friends are calling
i'll just let the phone ring and ring and ring
i'm too tired to be Me™
when everything is not what it seems
  genuity don't mean a thing
  did it ever really
  was it nothing more than pity
  off to make some other history
     would you claim this as a victory
     are my questions falling worthlesssly on deaf ears
     i never want to see you again
     and i wish you were here







uiɐɓɐ sɐʍ ʇi ʎɐʍ ǝɥʇ ǝq ɹǝʌǝu uɐɔ ʇi