Find the lighter, use it as a lighthouse on a walk below the wall you watch along the wave-formations. Who Wants a Cold One? a Coors Light ad corrects.. When it comes to your home, the little things matter.. an insurance ad blares.. my computer is infected with 3rd party applications unremovable to my meagre tech-ability.. there is a hero as Joseph Campbell once theorized.. in myself like a sick bastardly virus waiting for moments to prove to me "I AM THE SAVIOR, I AM THE CHRIST, I AM THE WARLORD, MICE, MAN, AND VICE".. the windows of opportunity close, I am left waiting the door

& the elevator.

Thirty-thousand years ago, there was nothing but a breeze.. a viscous breeze across chill-spined pterodactyls.. warm-under-the-jungle-brush tyrannosaurus rex, and to think one day I will be just a legend in bone..
Charlotte said she thinks of death and so did Jen. They sat next to the all-you-can-eat and discussed the inevitable. I was sour and playful with no-will-to-understand, just reminding my hair of breezy summer days of 10, thinking of strangeness, of place I was in.

When it's quiet sometimes, I think of old dreams.. dreams I sunk below drown-level as a child in bed and belief. Both mommy and daddy were arguing in the kitchen, this was 7 or 8.. they argued so often one could hear mom begin to cry sometimes, and dad I could see in minds-eye with a grimace so closed and so creased he was hurt and yet honest.. I did not understand so I hid under-stood-silhouettes, oh adulthood..

once in dream I was in pulsing green graveyard like crayon realism strobe lights, tombstones all-round and faint-buzz of outside and one of those strange balded henchmen of badguy Jafar from Disney's Aladdin came peaking outta nowhere with curled eyebrow and baggy one-thousand-one Arabian nightlives parachute pants, curled toes brown-beige moccasins to.. he let out conniving 'HEUHEE!' and slapped me right-side cheek and I JOLTED up bedwise in real time to feel actual physical sting for a few lingered seconds then the sobs of poor mother outside.. I never remembered a dream so clearly again.. they all come, Pro-Found, and dizzy away after hour or two for rest of eternity or perhaps to Place I Can Visit at Death to Review Every Vision and I wonder... when your life flashes before your eyes and the light is encroaching, scenes of mother, brother, father, son, daughter, best-friend, party, break-up, heartbreak, slip-fall, first-sip, first-drag, last-leg, first-kiss, first-hit, first-game, fear, love,  HATE, wait.. do the Dreams come to? Are they all flesh-ed before your eyes as you pass into Light? Are they brought to direct remembrance as you cross the border with Passport of Gods and a Goddess (and which Picture appears on the Page)..?

I remember the old eczema taking bits of skin to carpets round-town and round-lower-mainland to disgust of friends old and new-- this was era where confidence ate itself in mirrors, the sober reality of ugly-ness chiseling away at my Goodness Attempts.. All That Pointless Pain was no Exception nor a Rule, it just **** Happens every once-and-again to the sound of life farting. I used to miss school for feet so impossible to walk on, pussing and bleeding and staining the sheets, shoe soles, carpets, and soul.. limp thru the hallways of Brooks Secondary feeling like bad flavor additive to multicultural Planet Earth-- sleeping 'til the bell rang drinking coffee singing songs I said '**** the ******* educational system and **** me I'm so flatlined..' someday I felt things would really get better and lucky young me I was right.

A half-decade later, I am 21 and hoping, floating, free in the breeze as the wings I have grown keep on wishing the subsistence down. The girl, whoever-she-might-as-well-be, sits immediately vertical chatting frantically to boy with a bit of a cowlick slouching on-up over a bundle of colored paperwork. It seems late in the season for homework, and assume they may have some affiliation with a crazy-hep computer design group in the tradition of Nouevau Silicon Valley.... I sit at my laptop, inching a word a million cubic millimeters closer to God or Divinity or Crescendo or A Bunch More ******* You'll End Up Ignoring---

It's a sunny day, the rain having slathered-off into obscurity somewhere with the Monsoons when the Sun gave the Moon a Soft Slap and the poor purity white-kid went off whimpering, bleeding nose-- I sat, the other night, playing another Grand Strategy game as Tom divided his time between a vaulted and damaged lover, his labor, and his life (friends, food, video-games, vice)... Chai, old Chai the Thai Guy mentioned past his nose in previous iterations of Depictions sat and described his pins-and-needles upset at his bosses at one his three many jobs.. desperately firing text-messages into receiving-space-panel and reflect and back unto Tom's smartphone dash asking him to order a six-pack from a local delivery service cuz his adrenal was giving him heartpain with hurt, and Tom being Busy as All-Ways Tom Is wasn't able to decipher the scramble in-time to make contact before closure of the liquor stores.. poor not-so-poor Chai at first felt castrated at realization he would miss the 11 PM dot-time, but didn't mind as he rendezvoused with Tom and I at Willows Beach where Tom reminded him of a whiskey he'd bought sitting counter-wise at his place.. we kissed a few Mary Janes rightsideup, dragging our butts in the sand to discuss what was wrong (each of us had a problem that night, save for perhaps a less-vocal Tom, I describing my annoyance that a lazy consensus had erupted in my sorry-hometown between my sorta-friends and friends-of-friends that my writing and sharing my writing was arrogant and I an arrogant *** for sharing and I just confounded that they would find my passions so trivial-- perhaps jealousy, perhaps complacency and judgement-for-lack-of-anything-better-to-do and ah **** em all if they think like that, I'll write and be the arrogant me they think I am and share 'til I'm blue in the face and dead perhaps for outspoken intellectualism in their autocratic pointless-waste worldviews.. sad that I dislike them only on the basis they disliked me first..)

I had planned to stay late and leave early-morn (5 or 6 AM) to catch a first-off morning bus back home and sleep, hoping for most part to avoid the shattered-***-mess of a home I was living in.
About 2 days ago, give or take, a water-line for the laundry machine had erupted to soak our entirely-carpeted basement suite, forcing the poor new landlord (a sweetheart of a man named Ron having just taken possession of the house from previous owner on May 1st and, it seems, left 'holding the bag' as they'd call it in day-trading-investment-lingo) to tear out the entirely-soaked carpet and replace it with sensible laminate flooring and rendering the entire suite virtually unlivable for indefinite-few-days and so for me work and friends and especially writing become a welcome reprieve to I, a first world Refu-Jeez.. us, so terribly-off I sip a latte near sunny panorama windows-so-clear-they're-not-there overlooking the crosses of Yates and Blanshard with European church of Gothic architectural style poking heedlessly into empty-open blue.. ironically and strangely there is a liquor store quite literally right next door, and's one I shop at often for its decent prices (God is Dead or Just Drinking to Cope with Sartre and Kierkegaard's Ultimate Thesis) (Kierkegaard especially '*** Kierkegaard seems a good and long friend of God the Almighty) (...I talk with such Judaeo-Christian Catholic rhetoric it never ceases to amaze myself as it bleeds to page..) (stranger thing is, tho, there is no beginning, no middle, no end.. you read or you are bored and either/or is just fine..)

There is some hypothesized crescendo-bliss Tech Singularity on the way in the try-dition of Ray Kurzweil and William Burroughs.. Oscar Wilde to.. (see The Soul of Man Under Socialism in essay-collect book De Profundis).. one day we will all be eternal happiness expressed in song and dance and LED erected-projections of Imperfect Universe (Our Imperfect Earth) with lives stuck on infinite repeat.. our idea of Paradise.. and for those with ability to remain rushed to cortisol (stress-the-best hormone) it will be Hell on Earth, so DRAB and THE SAME all the TIME and it's READ and it's WRITE and it's RIGHT.. the world runs faster with every passing day so desperate to discover the Globe is Flat so we can Hop Off the Other Side into what one might assume to be The Better Place.. elusively picking-up speed thinking 'closer now definitely closer now' unaware (or, secretly aware and unwilling to admit for what will one do when one cannot run?) they are Running in Circles Over and Over and Over and Over and Over Again... cannot take the hint in the fact the Pacific (same Pacific) has been crossed a hugeillion times, nor the same McDonald's in the Azores of Atlantic Portugal is the Same ******* McDonald's stopped-thru on the then-trillionth time last year... and all whilst the International Space Station remains muted up-above crossing 'round and 'round 'til the Jehovah'n Day of Judgement (Chris Hadfield now below with advice for how to run a little faster even blinded in one eye..) then there are the dying Prophets Predicting Industrial Collapse who preach upon the Mount of Internet Sinai Eternal and state "the world is now unsalvageable and we are all about to die.. if ever you wished to find Buddhistic Nirvanic Peace, now is the time so start meditating and imagine Death as New Life and Geopolitics as Game".. forever and ever and ever and ever.

It is only natural to find existence to be 'weird..' layered with Who's That's and giant What The ***** everywhichway you turn.. did it start in a Big Bang, will it end in a Big Crunch, Big Freeze, Big Bang.. ? all questions once ignored for certain ignorance and resurrected as questions concerning the Nature of the What The ***** (also known as 'Science').. and if it did start in a Big Bang, did I start in a Big Bang..? and if it does end in a Big Crunch, will I end in a Big Crunch..? am I a sudden flash of REAL in a Universe that isn't me..? or am I an entire Universe.. perhaps even more than that...? the questions pulse in youth like bad words or bullets. I once stayed up all-night thinking of infinity with my head soaring space-wise forever and ever and ever and I stopped in sudden panic thinking: I could lie here up all night and all day 'til the towered age of 37 (I was 14 at the time) and still be no further on the Universal Map than from thumb-tip-middle to thumb-nail so I wrapped up the attempt with a mix of fear and incredulity, went to school next-day exhausted and tried to explain it all to friends.. they got it, I suppose, but we were all 14 and played basketball instead (I imagined infinite-spinning-basketball on thumb of Michael Jordan).

It's always best describing life in form of Disembodied Poetics.. sure some Philistines won't understand '*** their minds are made of Clockwork, Digits, and Blockthought.. but the general psychic underly implied in all with human faculty will ring-a-ding-ding! and remember all such ancient thoughts and feels as forgotten as a child, locked away until the Spirit rose-up from a rosey thorn prickle to flower straight-up into a Rose! or so I hope as a one-of-many writers-- all of which will write so-as to speak on your behalf.. all floaty and marking a purpose.

In this world, this imperfect world,
So many problems are born.
Everlasting conflict,
Which as a collective species,
we are torn.

Do animals have rights?
Is there a God?
Did we come from primates?
Is the answer to the problems war?
Everyone just shakes and nods.

We deserve to know,
What's going on in this show,
That we call life.

Is it too much to ask,
To have a chat,
With the man behind the mask?

Please don't stall,
Cause I can no longer take,
This truth withdrawal.

None of us are thinking,
We are all brothers after all.
Everyone shares the same planet,
We all drink the same water.
Can't we just peacefully share this big blue ball?

Everyone seems to want answers,
But they don't know who to ask.
Pious fools pray for the knowledge,
Citizens look towards the government,
Only to get the answer from a mask.

We deserve to know,
What's going on in this show,
That we call life.

Is it too much to ask,
To have a chat,
With the man behind the mask?

Please don't stall,
Cause I can no longer take,
This truth withdrawal.

Too many questions!
Even more answers!
They believe what they are told,
And go back to their daily routine,
Like hypothesized dancers!

That's why I just say,
QTriangle3=Jesus,
Makes more sense then the other ******* you feed us.
QTriangle3=Jesus,
Why don't you believe us?
QTriangle3=Jesus,
Your political answers are just lies,
To protect the nationalistic demise,
Of our country.
QTriangle3=Jesus,
Just tell us the ******* truth!

We deserve to know,
What's going on in this show,
That we call life.

Is it too much to ask,
To have a chat,
With the man behind the mask?

Please don't stall,
Cause I can no longer take,
This truth withdrawal.

Regardless how precise the assay of their life,
Most men must remain an enigma;
Their motivation fired by inner strife
A polymorph for which no sigma,
Nor algebraic symbol will suffice.

No If and then which personality
To a course of action thus relates,
Nor can it be hypothesized conditionally,
The turmoil emotion intrinsically creates,
When alone they stare into death's reality.

Two dimensional is the biography of any man.
We see his length and width, never grasping depth,
Though fortune deems we live within his span.
Much like this into my life have crept
Those I love, yet may never understand.

Attention class:
There's been a shift in our syllabus
There are some questions on my mind that warrant a new lessonplan: Does true love exist?
I will admit lately I've hypothesized that it's merely just a myth
Some wishful thinking from romantic half-wit heretics
So I'm assigning a soul mate science test
A pop quiz prophecy that could bind two of us together forever
Proving true love is suited for scientific vindication
If you respond to each question honestly
One trusty staple is capable of uniting this loose leaf love
Depending on your lead-based expressions
And their smudge-marked impressions
So please put your notebooks down
And pick your pencils up
Let's begin:

1. Is the beauty you possess easily represented in the thoughts you express?
Provide an ample sample size of your logic to suggest your loveliness works wonders.
2. Given that the fastest manned aircraft reached 4500 mph
If you spiraled down from the heavens at 9.8 m/s²
How long would it take for you to shatter record speed
And recognize that my arms are open to being your landing pad?
3. If your failures colored red and successes tinted blue
Became marbles piled high in mason jars
Would you let me embrace your entirety in the most worthy shade of purple?
4. Skin, rarely remembered, is the human body's largest *****.
Without caution, show me that your brain and heart
Are eager to become the king and queen of your anatomy.
That your organic vastness can infiltrate others' flesh majestically.
5. Think carefully. Who was the last man you kissed?
Are his lips worth enough for you to dismiss
A potential chance at creating unending bliss?
6. True or False: You would lie to me to spare a hurtful truth.
Provide evidence that you are comfortable revealing the undisputed details of your personal journal
Unraveling the spools of your most mysterious fibers.
7. Disprove Heartbreak Theory.
Show your work with mild-mannered mannerisms and sentimental illustrations.
Use crayons or colored pencils to emphasize your best intentions.
8. Chemistry is the study of the properties of matter.  
Using the periodic table of elementary emotions
Describe what matters most to you.
Remember to cite your sources of inspiration.
The inner workings of your engine that fuel your fondest explorations.
9. Fill in the blank spaces between my fingertips with your tenderness.
Is it a perfect fit?
If not, describe the characteristics possibly prohibiting this grip.
10. Cells are the smallest units of life.
Draw a diagram dissecting the little pieces of you
That belong in my possession at all times.
Include both strengths and vices.
Exhibit a sense of self-awareness that I can mimic
When I'm stuck inside my quicksand mind.

And one final reminder:
Remember to print your name legibly on the front page.
Failure to do so will result in catastrophe.
An unidentified masterpiece resulting in agony for you and I.
Practically reversing the critical proofs that your pen just described.
So let my eyes scan your signature with methodical joy.
And the curves of your cursive ink lines can become my mind's strongest ally.
Let me know you're willing to be known.
Because I need to know you're alive.

Can what is perceived or hypothesized
as conscious finality be conceived or experienced
in the present consciousness?
If not, then is conscious finality an illusion?

Can what is perceived or hypothesized
as the beginning of consciousness
be conceived or experienced in the present?
If not, is the beginning of consciousness an illusion?

Is there such a thing as conscious finality
at the cessation of perception?
Or instead of a cessation, is it a shift,
or a dissipation of consciousness
that we presently perceive
as a cessation of perception?

Is there such a thing as a beginning
at the start of perception?
Or is it a coalescence of consciousness
that we presently perceive as a beginning?

At which point,
wouldn't all beginnings and endings
be an illusion?

Or are they shifts in states of existence
outside the event horizon of our perception?

suspected of being
problematic, one is a
common
but
questionable
model, and an
adjustment
may
be
required
to address all
the nonsignificant
differences—
how
they
nonetheless constitute
important arbitrary
criterions
for
equivalence

the significance test
based on
observational
data
is
susceptible to (errors
of) interpretation
over the
question
at issue
namely, do
case differences
arise
because of
exposure
to a comparatively
small sample
or
because
of
another variable?

Exposure can be
only mediated
by
crude
estimates
and so may be
misleading
during
the
forming
of the hypothesized
model of one
that describes
the
association
between exposure,
bias, and
the variables,
and
reconciles
difference
with equivalence
significantly.

The model provides
little information
that is
incontrovertible
but
the results suggest if
adjustment for the variable
makes no
substantive
difference
ignore it

but if your knowledge
indicates the
adjusted
variable to
be preferable

then prefer it

"Seriously? --you can join a club for that..."

There's a organization / a group / someone
created and dubbed
"Bureau" ...
--for poets, who's art is poetry...
who's passions flow within the blood
the written, the spoken, the ephemeral
"Word"
            the beautiful disasters, the contradictions
which is our providence:
                      humanity aside/besides/
inside Life...
Now all the times awaken - the wide asleep,
still behind the blindly
following / believing
                    their sweet nothings ...
The Bureau makes them official
the authority on Blah blah blah...

(And now the poem. A piece created by-- FishSparrow DreamKing...)


ON POETRY / ABOUT LOVE--YOU



mad-haired alchemist
having mixed two tinctures
wrongly
             such liquids
exploding
whilst hypothesized
unremarkable through the myopia
of every day lies
faces intimate with the thickest book
make out session
with the obtuse / research
a scientific version on finding a clue
the alchemy of madness
       telling who to be / how to be whom
or what to feel when in or out of moods

when poetry is life,
then it is life and love of it that
is absolute truth
the science of awakenings and you...
and the rest of you too.

........

A bureau, hmph
an organization dismissing the muses
and the breath
that we devour

a study on the facets
and romances
with life
              written art works
               spoken odysseys

magnanimous numbness of verbs

magic of lustrous *******
of star crossed
tempests
          evermore a ravenous
soul
Poetry

need not secret societies
or bureaus ...
nor research to categorize or label
with crisis without identity
****** or existential ...
"To be or not to be?" -- the answer is To Be, always to be... just because life is beautiful and awfully wonderful


The heart is only
a lonely hunter
if love were not its prey

to feel free
and truly alive
is the honest purpose

of the written
and the spoken

of poetry
of art  
of happiness

words
dancing the night away
in sonnet streets


who do we endeavor to example

when it is our own pen that must bleed
the maddening truths
that needs combustion
the foreplay of time / life whispering in italics
beautifully
breaking down

laughter's tintinnabulations
all the world
all the life        
            our Oyster...

But seriously tho'
what the dealio...?

when I want to hear
a fearless something
soaked
in the sensual
and is real

so good
the words       bleed    rain
beaus / utter not
those words not words but
but make our kiss
immortal
electric
             the heart's inner watercolor -murals
from the emotions the art  the dreams
intermingling

touching prose of roses
its scent a ghost
thick in the recollection
of farewells

the experiences we parallel
all in literature's Sistine gusto ...
somehow

communication
erected from **** tube boxes
and artifice waves of wide webs

the slang   jive  
secret languages whined
signs and pics
                      depicts / inflicts these times

slays the joy
and lovely words
of tiding  
of wise sayings      you say
with Monet expressions

" you're a lovely day "

ignite me
         (the) Beloved / the songs
the sun
a face of love
a glow


Do you feel me?

* lub dub   lub dub  lub dub*



haiku sonnet odyssey
poetry
that is Life...
                         Today's lesson - (seriously)
                         go learn to fly
                                                  a kite.

It hurts so much that I could cry--
I could die
asking "why"
was it all a lie?

You had my heart inside your hand,
yet demand
to leave a brand
for my soul's command?

I danced foolishly to your song
while all along
it was wrong;
now caught in pain's throng...

You held my gaze, so hypnotized,
my demise
by your lies
I never hypothesized.

Yet you can say you're not to blame
for your game
that profaned
my heart, now defamed?

Somehow you say: "Why can't you see,
it can't be--
will never be.",
after deceiving me?

Why would you play such a facade?
No laud
for such fraud,
your judgement was flawed...

Tell me why I cannot be mad,
not glad,
and so sad--
does that make me bad?

Why?
I don't understand,
what I've done wrong
to deserve only your guise,
my shame,
and this mute plea;
now crushed in your wicked maw,
left lonesome and mad...

Coastin off
driftin soft
it seems like the thoughts
just come into to being
to become a loss
of a part
that i wish would
never have started
in the first place
these feelings touch me in oh so the worst ways
feels like ive been tossed at sea
stuck on this **** for hella days
So **** this ship
im over it
literally jumpin into the end
thats deep
where one is to tread water and never fully sleep
until its time to return to the grander skeem of things
why when its hypothesized are we so astrange
thinkin please no i dont wanna leave this place
crying out to whomever
wanting to change the weather
yerning to still feel this face
feeling of togetherness
in this entire being
but it can be misleading
you grow accustom and so fond of
the physical form that your seeing
If i had a choice
I would change my frequency
if only for a short time
to feel none of it at all.

Often times when reading the messages
poets metaphor in rhyme,
in reason and allusions and imagery

they say the same thing--as if they all of 'em took
a class together on love

they say "love is relative..."

relative to what?
to whom or how or when?
like a family member twice removed,
an aunt, a grandmother's warm smiling
invitingly familial

be it an impromtu emotion, described grandios
and Hollywood acclaimed,
love seems
     obscure
     demure
     fickle at times
     wishful
     blissful
     fervent even
     magically
     restless
     with its deliciousness
on and on so it goes / without saying too  much
how it will breathe
new life into those
     lackluster
those without
yet are
     consumed
     hollow

those without hope, suddenly are given it
     anew
vivid energy miraculously appears,
HD the world is seen / absolute brightness
faultless and star-filled
     clear

Yet it well can cause
our worst of fears
of wars / casualties / gruesome endings
   tragedies
   :a movie
with Shakespearean poetic pain,
the pentameter of the mortal heart
   sonnets of our human condition
   :a documentary
   of life

   conflicted
it is a cause many have and will bleed
for, some even die for,
searching and reaching out
whether in vain
or suffering in the pain find
awakenings

that's what it's all about ...


it is relative, to what or why
in life,
     pragmatic,
     fractal
human feelings reign -  yet a populace
of loneliness, millions of neighbors
never extend an open hand or invitation
so love can be difficult to find

in the sea of man, of many of a world separated
it strikes like lighning, they cliche
     quick
     unannounced
     unstable
it happens without warning, cupid's arrow
hits, discriptively it must be a wound..?

yes / yet no / unknown

it has begun: an end
to a means - a chemical thing
(hypothesized
in scientific circles,
I guess
just one of those undefined unexplainables)

like crop circles
in the wheat fields of the heart it is
sometimes
unpredictably appears
     obscene
     wild
     flavorful
     rigid
     rarely
     mean
     spirited
     ferocity
at times...
all the while

in nature's law of strength versus luck,
small prey to a predator : eat or be consumed,
love is not recognized (or is it? by the animal)

mate and procreate in their simplest terms.
Does a shark check out it's female before it decides
to release his *****--take it on a date, a swim in the riptides?
a bite of sushi first?

Empress bees and others with their queen-ruled colonies
birth a world from one,
does she feel the same for her thousands of husbands
fathers of her millions of children spawned?

love is relative... love is blind
another descriptive falacy
invented by folk without husband or wife or vision
nor same-*** partners : it is universally
known in these modern communities
of man-made homes
and tomes ... blind ... as if like a person, the word
unable to see,
inept of decisions, making a finale,

who will stay by the miens of our simplicity
flesh and feelings
     silent servants
     beguiling
     hidden
     treasure

Now imagine lightning striking
     suddenly
     real
     unabashed
     fulfilling
     electrifying
     sensual  
     salivating

far beyond restrictions of the flesh/ ***
past times and her finite
musings, they say it will go on and on

"forev'a ev'a? forev'a ev'ah"

so does the song repeatedly plays
so i say, as long as we are

still the masters of this life's age, kings of consciousness,
of intelligence and rage
Love tho'

     fleeting
     whispy
     liked
     quenching
     lessons-learned
aloft in flight
Love
will stay  
and as witnesses to war
or after : in peaceful days,

O the one true thing
I have seen of love's relativity:
love is relative to humans
and our
being
whether blind or whether seeing

(it's yours and ours  
heavenly
          seeking) ...







Free of will & full of meaning
Love is the truth
All Life is feeling...

Stuck
                                                                         a twisted spot in my mind

                     A place that would devour you whole

There-

               I
                        find solitude

                                     It's where I found myself

sitting alone...
I have always been

Alone

Am I ever truly.


the contradiction spins itself in my head

hypothesized:
                         I will never Be


                                         Me, Myself and Aigis

I stumble upon the root of all my problems;
The water-bearer and the fish, I suppose,
But the water-bearer was sliced thinly and eaten raw
I realized, I hypothesized, I anagnorisised;
Now, now, that’s not a word,
That’s an excersize in child’s play.
You’d know better. You’d do bettter not to;
But were I allowed to continue, I’d clarify;
You didn’t say anything?
I smiled.
Well, when you were my age, I was half of yours;
Do you remember me?
I’m not here to flatter you and you’re really begging the question.
Well, when you were my age, I was half of yours, so I suppose you understand?
I’ve never believed in numbers but these are undeniable, would you agree?
How did you chance upon such a place, such a position?
How was your day?
What’s your favourite bird?
Have you even seen a secret evolve?
Where are your eyes and your hands and your ears?
Have you felt me recently?
Dreamt of me?
How was your day?
My love, I’m trying to start a conversation.
*Well, you know I’m not here to flatter you…

I'm somewhere and nowhere.

Hear me out. This isn't meant to be profound or riddling, just me. Granted I throw up walls like a kid who ate too much cake on his birthday, but today its just me. I promise.

I know that can hard to believe, even for me. Some days I'm euphoric, some days I'm broken, or bitter or boisterous or batty. But today, I'm in between. Not in the extreme sense I'm used to, where I'm either depressed like crazy and happy like crazy and mad like crazy. None of me is crazy right now. And oddly enough that terrifies me.

I'm not happy, but I'm not sad. I'm not even feeling nothing. I'm ******* normal. I'm fine with where I am but at the same time I'm progressing forward, happily. Is this what it feel like to not be an alien?

My dad told me joking stories about how I was an alien dropped on the front yard when I was really young, but oddly enough he wasn't far off. I spent most of my childhood feeling incomplete, incomprehensible, like a human face hiding some sort of monster behind. I had a distinct instinct that the way I had to live through childhood was to hide, to keep secrets, to create parapets of stone around me to keep the people out, and to more importantly keep me in.

I grew up and hiding grew harder as the monster grew bigger, and I couldn't renovate fast enough for it. It eventually broke out of its stone home, and I was exposed. The alien girl was visible for all to see. It created chaos and it took a long time before I could feel human. I grew friends and a sewn together personality and threw my feelings into my writing, my work.

But today, something new happened. It was unlike any mood I had ever felt. I wasn't me anymore. Or, at least the me I had grown to know. I was exhausted but awake, and productive but not nearly as enthusiastic, and okay with who I was but willing to work towards something 'better'. I always considered better as something very subjective, but somehow today normal things seemed more... normal. Having a schedule, changing myself for the better even if I'm happy, setting random short term goals to make my life feel more... I don't know. Meaningful I guess? My life felt meaningful before but in this new body that feels so "normal" or "average", its like I'm working to be normal.

Its terrifyingly soothing. Its like the normal-ness lulls you into into thinking a normal life is ok. And not saying being normal is wrong. But I've lived a life being abnormal, being an outlier, an outsider, an oddity. This lullaby feels so wrong.

I always told I've learned to appreciate my condition because I don't think I could handle being normal, having less intense emotions, not understanding emotion so well. Its sounds stupid, it sounds like its glorifying mental conditions, but its not. I know the suicidal thoughts aren't good, and I know mania is danger. But I cannot help like feeling like I'm losing me.

I cannot even get myself to sob right now, or to even truly feel a suicidal thought. They won't stick. Not even for a minute. None of it. I;m ******* terrified but I can't feel I can't make myself feel who am I?

I can't be normal. I can't.

This is more maddening then the moods. Maybe I was hitting too close to home when I hypothesized a person from Wonderland would feel utterly insane in real life. Or worse, feel even crazier when sanity began creeping up on them.

I don't want to lose Wonderland. I don't know what to do. I don't know who I am. Who is residing in this body right now, whoever is containing my thoughts, it cannot be me.

I cannot let all of my insanity go.

Normal doesn't feel better, and **** all the people who think its the only way to go. Normal isn't an aspiration, its a cage, and I will not be imprisoned.

Al I can do is find a way back to Wonderland losing all control. I guess that's what I truly wanted. Not sanity, but control. Controlled chaos had always been a favorite of mine, after all. There is always a method to the madness, and I must find mine, because I certainly cannot live without it.

Who knew Grace would have to remember how to be crazy?

I refuse to be normal. I refuse to be in-between. I will always belong to Wonderland, to madness, and **** whoever says that's not a proper life.

Its the life for me, so frankly, I don't give a ****.

The severity of the seriously
scientific professoring of poetic licenses

severing limbs

and one's sanity to turn

into a lackluster one dimensional

word

for word

matter of fact,    i.e. Flat.




Now there is research and refined references

like mad-haired alchemists

having mixed two tinctures

wrongly

             such liquids

exploding

whilst hypothesized

unremarkable through their myopia

faces intimate with the thickest book

make out session

with the obtuse...




A bureau, hmph

an organization dismissing the muses

and the breath

that we devour




a study on the facets

and romance

with life

              written art works

            spoken odysseys

magnanimous numbness of verb




magic of lustrous *******

of star crossed

tempests

evermore a ravenous

soul




Poetry needs no bureau




The heart is only

a lonely hunter

if love were not its prey




to feel free

and truly alive

is the honest purpose

of the written and spoken

word

of poetry

of art     of happiness

dancing the night away

in sonnet streets




who do we endeavor to example

when it is our own pen that must bleed

the awful truths

that needs combustion

the foreplay of time / life whispering in italics

beautifully

breaking down




laughter's tintinnabulations

all the world

all the life        

            our Oyster...




But seriously tho'

what the dealio...?




when I want to hear

a fearless something

soaked

and sensual

and real




so good

the words       bleed    rain

beaus

utter not

the words not words but




electricity

inner watercolors murals

from the emotions

this art dreams

intermingling

touching prose of roses

its scent a ghost

thick in the recollection

of farewells




the experiences we parallel

all in literary gusto




somehow

communication

erected from **** tube boxes

and artifice waves of wide webs




the slang   jive  

secret languages whined

signs and pics

depicts inflicts these times

slays the joy




and lovely words

of tiding    of wise sayings

you say

with Monet expressions




your a lovely day

ignite me

         the Beloved / the songs

the sun

a face of love

a glow




Do you feel me?

lub dub     lub dub




the haiku sonnet odyssey

poetry

that is Life...







Today's lesson -

(seriously)

go learn to fly




a kite.

I caught you star gazing last night
You were staring at the ceiling with your eyes full of sprinkles as your body melted into the floor.
I watched your tears fall into to puddles of open clusters,
And the rhythm of your heart beat to the heat of the sun.
I watched your fingers turn to galaxy’s and your hair mold into the earth to become roots thirsty for knowledge from a well of an insomniacs early morning dreams
But these open clusters become disrupted over time,
by the gravitational influence of molecular clouds.
I can feel them pulling at you.
And you let them drown you into the sea.
            It is hypothesized that people like you are made of dust,
Drifters and wanderers full of acid and dope but baby,
I see much more.
Looking through spectacles composed of the ocean floor I see fish swimming through your veins and coal reefs in your ears blocking the airflow from coming in.
I see doctors and lawyers prescribing you pills to keep the love you thought was real from failing and I see great white sharks to swallow your pain with Prozac and Cipralex.
            You know the effects of smoking,
and the pollution to the forest in your lungs but you breathe in the chemicals because were programmed for rat poison to make us feel alive.
You crave sunsets.
But through prescriptions and sleeping pills I see the 95% of the ocean that has not yet been explored and I see crystals forming in the pit of your eyes and I want to tell you that not all tears are worthless and not all paintings are pointless and I see the beauty in dandelions that some people call weeds.
I see the evil in rose petals and the delicacy in the thorns
and I see the world through  eyes that refused to be hazed by politics and religion and the opinions of store clerks when you ask for a lottery ticket with a 20 dollar bill in hand because you hold on to the hope that something will happen and God will reward you for all you’ve done good with a bundle of money and stained glass windows complete with marble floors.
            You hide away your **** rugs collected from japan and feel the wooden floor, scraping each fingernail and crying dark amethyst as your falling to your knees to get closer to hell in order to pray for heaven.
            I turn so I can leave you to gazing,
Then I hear you draw a breath,
You turn to look at me with starfish covering your cheeks and your knuckles branded with scratches from pounding on great metal doors until they set you free.
I see a universe in you.
I see the roots in your hair,
and the sprinkles in your eyes.
I see the coal reefs in your ears,
and the forest in your lungs.
I see the 95% of the ocean that has yet to be explored.

we laid on the sand and we laughed as he pondered the cosmos above and I pondered the cosmos streaming through his veins. we talked about the boy he knew and the boy I know and we cried as we wondered why life was so unfair to the ones that gave it the most. we cried at the waves and we stomped on the sand and we cursed at the gods and the stars and the sun and the moon and anything else that we could put the blame of our recklessness on and we wished the worst and the best and the worst for all of the people that existed more than we.
he cried for the boy that lost his voice in the fight and the parts of himself that he lost every night after that. he could barely stand upright. and in a weary, cracking, voice, I looked up at him and asked, “are we ever going to go back to who we were?” and for the first time in all of documented and undocumented history, my collection of stardust, my religion of a boy turned cadaver, my flora and hellfire and fauna didn’t know. so we laid there, hand in hand, head in hell, pondering the cosmos. and we cried some more. we hypothesized as to why there were people starving to death and why humans killed humans in the name of God and why all the while we were sitting here in our little corner of the world crying over everything and everyone that had ever hurt us. but we shrugged it off. tonight was for the stars in his veins and in my eyes and in the sky. tonight was for crying for the boy who lost his voice in the fight. tonight was for mourning the parts of him that he lost every night after that and the parts of myself lost every midnight I watched him cry and lull himself into an ill fated sleep. the world is big. and the sand was so heavy and the water from the atlantic so amorphous and the dark sky so dulcet that I had forgotten about the trials and tribulations. but I snapped back as I heard his voice oscillate with every breath like my own berceuse. secretly, i loved this. but silently I wished for me and him to dissolve into our tears and up into the atmosphere, so the month of june and i would never have to deal with how cruel the world is ever again.

When I look into your eyes
I can see true love
hypothesized

Replaced,
Paradigm,
Shifted
With a downpour
In the night.

Souls,
Taking flight.

Years from now,
Upon steel plates,
High above us-
Masterminds
Displaced.

Our intelligence
Obsolete,
As artificial
Ingenuity
Breaks-   free.

Taking control
Of Us.

Paradigm Shift,
All around,
Dismantling
Every thought
That ever
Meant
Anything.

Is everything that
They
Hypothesized
To be
Rewritten
By machines?

As they take over all we see.

What will we be?
It’s already happening…

Often times when reading the messages
poets metaphor in rhyme,
in reason and allusions and imagery

they say the same thing--as if they all of 'em took
a class together on love

they say "love is relative..."

relative to what?
to whom or how or when?
like a family member twice removed,
an aunt, a grandmother's warm smiling
invitingly familial

be it an impromptu emotion, described grandiose
and Hollywood acclaimed,
love seems
     obscure
     demure
     fickle at times
     wishful
     blissful
     fervent even
     magically
     restless
     with its deliciousness
on and on so it goes / without saying too  much
how it will breathe
new life into those
     lackluster
those without
yet who are
     consumed    
     hollow
those without hope, suddenly are given it
     anew
     vividness
     An energy miraculously appears,
In HD the world is seen / absolute brightness
faultless and star-filled
     clear..

Yet it well can cause
our worst of fears
of wars / casualties / gruesome endings
   tragedies
   :a movie
with Shakespearean poetic pain,
the pentameter of the mortal heart
   sonnets of our human condition
   :a documentary
   of life
   conflicted
it is a cause many have and will bleed
for, some even die for,
searching and reaching out
whether in vain
or suffering in the pain find
awakenings
Then again
that's what it's all about ...

it is relative, to what or why
in life,
     pragmatic,
     fractal
human feelings reign -  yet a populace
of loneliness, millions of neighbors
never extend an open hand or invitation
so love can be difficult to find

in the sea of Man,
of many  a world separated
it strikes like lightning, they cliche
     quick
     unannounced
     unstable
it happens without warning, cupid's arrow
hits, descriptively it must be a wound..?

yes / yet no / unknown

it has begun: an end
to a means - a chemical thing
(hypothesized
in scientific circles,
I guess
just one of those undefined
Unexplainables)

like crop circles
in the wheat fields of the heart it is
sometimes
unpredictably appears
     obscene
     wild
     flavorful
     rigid
     rarely
     mean
     spirited
     ferocity
at times...
all the while

in nature's law of strength versus luck,
small prey to a predator : eat or be consumed,
love is not recognized (or is it? by the animal)
mate and procreate in their simplest terms.
Does a shark check out it's female before it decides
to release his *****--take it on a date, a swim in the riptides?
a bite of sushi first?

Empress bees and others with their queen-ruled colonies
birth a world from one,
does she feel the same for her thousands of husbands
fathers of her millions of children spawned?

love is relative... love is blind
another descriptive fallacy
invented by folk without husband or wife or vision
nor same-*** partners : universally
known in these modern communities
of man-made homes
and tomes ...
blind ... as if like a person, the word
unable to see,
inept of decisions, making a finale,

who will stay by the miens of our simplicity
flesh and feelings
     silent servants
     beguiling
     hidden
     treasures

Now imagine lightning striking
     suddenly
     real
     unabashed
     fulfilling
     electrifying
     sensual  
     salivation

far beyond restrictions of the flesh/ ***,
past times and her finite
musings, they say it will go on and on

"forev'a ev'a? forev'a ev'ah"

so it goes / the song repeatedly plays.
so then i say, as long as we are
still the masters
of this life's age, kings of consciousness,
of intelligence and rage
Love tho'
     fleeting
     Careless
     Whispers
It’s like
     Being
     Liked
     Obsessed over
     quenching kissed
All yours
     lessons-learned
Feeling aloft in flight
Love
will stay  

And as witnesses to war
or after : in peaceful days,

O the one true thing

I have seen of love's relativity:
love is relative to humans
and our
being
whether blind or whether seeing
It’s yours and mine
Divinely seeking.



(Free of will & full of meaning
Love is the truth
All Life is feeling...)

The Atlantean Conspiracy
by Eric Dubay

The class “Dinosauria” was originally defined by “Sir” Richard Owen of the Royal Society, and Superintendent of the British Museum Natural History Department in 1842.  In other words, the existence of dinosaurs was first speculatively hypothesized by a knighted museum-head “coincidentally” in the mid-19th century, during the heyday of evolutionism, before a single dinosaur fossil had ever been found.  The Masonic media and mainstream press worldwide got to work hyping stories of these supposed long-lost animals, and then lo and behold, 12 years later in 1854, Ferdinand Vandiveer Hayden  during his exploration of the upper Missouri River, found “proof” of Owen’s theory!  A few unidentified teeth he mailed to leading paleontologist Joseph Leidy, who several years later declared them to be from an ancient extinct “Trachodon,” dinosaur (which beyond ironically means “rough tooth”).

and let yours truly not forget emasculation
that prickly emotional immobilization
whereby these lovely bones
subject courtesy senescence
upon cremation reduced to obliteration.

Inching closer to mortality
linkedin with concomitant
subtle deterioration of body electric
finds yours truly (me)
speculating what happens
to corporeal essence
when sprawled out on death bed
able, eager, ready, and willing
to give up the ghost.

Resultant baby boomer saddled
with unbridled tumultuousness stirrup
(thus his need to pony up)
with delayed emotional, mental,
physical, and spiritual development
necessitating self advocacy
at present stage of mine existence,
especially where crisis brews,
concerning fruit flies
(Drosophila melanogaster)
called apartment unit b44 their home turf.

These pesky, itsy bitsy
teeny weeny, blimey insects
hold Guiness Book
of World Records
to bring about infestation
faster than you can say
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious
within our living quarters.

An adult female fruit fly
can lay up to 2,000 eggs
on the surface of anything
moist and rotting.

Within 30 hours,
tiny maggots hatch and start
to eat decayed food.

Within 2 days, they attain adulthood
grown up and ready to mate, too.

While that transition
may seem quick,
a fruit fly only lives 8 to 15 days.

Run in with management
finds innate susceptibility
with anxiety skyrocketing,
cuz umpteen instances
called out about pestiferous critters
supposedly being out of compliance
when aforementioned issue
necessitated exterminator technician
(on quite a few occasions),
unbeknownst to us until
then warden Jackie Geiger
summoned us into the principal's office,
we got pleasantly informed
suddenly finds yours truly and the missus
in violation of rental contract.

Agitation swirls (think F/EF5 tornado)
viciously storming inside me psyche
analogous to whirling dervish
wreaking psychological havoc.

Resultant outcome with threat of eviction,
triggered a slew of physiological symptoms;  
I experience full blown panic attack,
whereby irritable bowel syndrome
kickstarted insync with palmar hyperhidrosis
psychologically run me ragged.

Linkedin and in tandem with current stress
(worse case scenario being homeless)
compounded by tsunami courtesy
severe mental health issues
stifled healthy growth of
body, mind, and spirit triage.

Internalized emotions wrought
quotidian psychological oppression
retrospective reflection courtesy
20/20 hindsight reveals absolute zero
positive natural development of
body, mind, and spirit
extreme cerebral agitation,
and social withdrawal compromised
(during metamorphosis to manhood)
kickstarting and jumpstarting prepubescence
quashing, sabotaging, upending, wrenching
maturation, education, and socialization

every year since being
born free and clear of obvious defects
minus alien aberration, Russian collusion...,
or basket of deplorable dysfunction
crooked Hillary accusation,
and submucous cleft palate
inducing severe nasality
fraught with arduous speaking difficulty
coping, fraternizing, integrating
within ordinary circumstances
alienated, defied, horrified,
mortified, scared, and (frankly) zapped

yours truly, albeit analogous
experiencing ferocious, hellacious, torturous...
suffering predicated on suppressing
and/or repressing moderate slights
inflicted upon withdrawn younger self,
who lacked adroit, deft, heft...
coping with typical situations
subsequently aggravating,
exacerbating, jinxing...
to cultivate, generate,
liberate locked potential
hypothesized, premised, yoked

infantile grievous inconsolable crying
unsolved behavioral mystery
venting only for my "mommy dearest,"
would utter (this from hearsay)
exhibiting extreme aversion
if other than thee birth mother
comforted, cradled, cocooned...,
an extremely reticent individual
buckling as strapping bullies
relentlessly belted jibed, taunted...
said teasing begat intimidation
(oft times mentioned in other poems)

scrawny kid (me) cowed, fawned, irked,
nonetheless I remained passive against
blistering, hectoring, teasing,
which apothegm turning other cheek
avoided getting smashed pumpkin face
courtesy subservient stance
devotional acquiescence help me dog pose
prayer temporarily answered
harboring entire being
ten thousand feet beneath
avast sea of dejection
time and again repeated

alas crass harassment
absorbed into nucleus of every cell
anchored barnacle encrusted tenuous pride
in short shrift
brewing, abjection, dejection, humiliation...
"NOT FAKE" misery
inducing suicidal ideation
(and actual attempt
courtesy anorexia nervosa)
spurring serious delineation
allowing, enabling, proffering
permanent salvation uber vacation
to give lyft among livingsocial
years later overlaid
earthshaking starry eyed son
fault finding fundamentally
misbehavior gifted from
those I called mother and father.

Wednesday, September 9, 2015


The Atlantean Conspiracy
by Eric Dubay

The class “Dinosauria” was originally defined by “Sir” Richard Owen of the Royal Society, and Superintendent of the British Museum Natural History Department in 1842.  In other words, the existence of dinosaurs was first speculatively hypothesized by a knighted museum-head “coincidentally” in the mid-19th century, during the heyday of evolutionism, before a single dinosaur fossil had ever been found.  The Masonic media and mainstream press worldwide got to work hyping stories of these supposed long-lost animals, and then lo and behold, 12 years later in 1854, Ferdinand Vandiveer Hayden  during his exploration of the upper Missouri River, found “proof” of Owen’s theory!  A few unidentified teeth he mailed to leading paleontologist Joseph Leidy, who several years later declared them to be from an ancient extinct “Trachodon,” dinosaur (which beyond ironically means “rough tooth”).

I am the cat that Schrödinger hypothesized,
prophesied of, to be in the purgatory of existence.
This nightmare I've dreamt of
in every waking moment spent
on what feels like broken time;
I reel in my awoken apotheosis
into a devil's living hell.

He knows my speed
but not where I lie
that's wherein my danger lies.
Clasp the trunk
speak of triumph through my chaos.
My deeds are punished
though I receive nothing;
I believe it's time for me to leave,
on towards Bethlehem,
to watch my little demon be born.

Often times when reading the messages
poets metaphor in rhyme,
in unreason and allusions, imagery
indiscriminate discriptors

they say the same thing--as if they all of 'em took
a class together on love
they say that it’s unreal
That “love is relative..."
relative to what?

to whom or how or when?
like a family member twice removed,
an aunt, a grandmother's warm smiling
invitingly familial
be it an impromptu emotion, all grandiose
and Hollywood acclaimed,
love seems unseemingly
     obscure
     demure
     fickle at times
     wishful
     blissful
     fervent even
     magically
     restless
     with its deliciousness
on and on so it goes / without saying too  much
how it will breathe
new life into those
     lackluster
those without
yet who are
     consumed    
     hollow
those without hope, suddenly are given it
     anew
     vividness
     An energy miraculously appears,
In HD the world is seen / absolute brightness
faultless and star-filled
     clear..

Yet it well can cause
our worst of fears
of wars / casualties / gruesome endings
   tragedies
   :a movie
with Shakespearean poetic pain,
the pentameter of the mortal heart
   sonnets of our human condition
   :a documentary
   of life
   conflicted
it is a cause many have and will bleed
for, some even die for,
searching and reaching out
whether in vain
or suffering in the pain find
awakenings
Then again
that's what it's all about ...

it is relative, to what or why
in life,
     pragmatic,
     fractal
human feelings reign -  yet a populace
of loneliness, millions of neighbors
never extend an open hand or invitation
so love can be difficult to find

in the sea of Man,
of many  a world separated
it strikes like lightning, they cliche
     quick
     unannounced
     unstable
it happens without warning, cupid's arrow
hits, descriptively it must be a wound..?

yes / yet no / unknown

it has begun: an end
to a means - a chemical thing
(hypothesized
in scientific circles,
I guess
just one of those undefined
Unexplainables)

like crop circles
in the wheat fields of the heart /
sometimes / it is
unpredictable
Then appears
Somewhat
              obscene
     wild
             flavorful
     rigid
     rarely mean
     spirited
     ferocious
at times... fiercely
      all while
Still / timeless...yet
in nature's laws
of strength versus luck,
small prey to a predator : eat or be consumed,
love is not recognized (or is it?) by the animal

It’s mate and procreate in the simplest terms.
Does a shark check out it's female before it decides
to release his *****--take it on a date, a swim in the riptides?
a bite of sushi first?

Empress bees and others with their queen-ruled colonies
birth a world from one,
does she feel the same for her thousands of husbands
fathers of her millions of children spawned?

love is relative... love is blind
another descriptive fallacy
invented by folk without husband or wife or vision
universally
known in these modern communities
of man-made homes
and tomes ...
blind ... as if like a person, the word
unable to see,
inept of decisions, making a finale,

who will stay by the miens of our simplicity
flesh and feelings
     silent servants
     beguiling
     hidden
     treasures

Now imagine lightning striking
     suddenly
     real
     unabashed
     fulfilling
     electrifying
     sensual  
     salivation
far beyond restrictions of the flesh/ *** /
past times and her finite
musings, they say it will go on and on

"forev'a ev'a? forev'a ev'ah"

And so it goes / the song repeatedly plays.
so then i say, as long as we are
still the masters
of this life's age, kings of consciousness,
of intelligence and rage
Love tho'
     fleeting
     Careless
     Whispers
It’s like
     Being
     Liked
     Obsessed over
     quenching kissed
All yours
     lessons-learned
Feeling aloft in flight
Love
will stay  
as a witness to war
or afterward in peaceful days,
O the one true thing
I have seen of love's relativity:
love is relative to humans

To our
Very being
whether blind or whether seeing
It’s yours and mine
Soul seeking

Free of will & full of meaning
Love is the truth
All Life is feeling...

One drop becomes a break
When it gets personal it becomes hate
Standards is what the heart creates
Plastic is only a assimilate
The glass being broken promises
Honesty that was always false
Particular setting the course
Glass cracks nothing but lies
But don’t get hypothesized by looking into the eyes
Its phoney hopes and dreams
People are not what they seem
Shattered emotions
Broken glass connected with broken spirit
It is called second class
Broken for sure with an abode
Glass pieces can’t be fixed
The heart can’t do a mend
It’s a clean sweep
The broken separation is what the heart will keep
Breakable glass cut deep