Afflatus screams in mellifluous moonlight by a placid pond
Disturbed slightly by a miracle on ice deloused at a heavy price
Pantechnicons swarm as ghosts maraud around the outskirts of the forest
Suddenly the resurrected memories of renegades become conscientious
Angels swarm with fluttered wings invisible to the albatross of opprobrium
They concert themselves with chirpy dreams, itinerant crumples of amnesia creams
Marigolds are miracles at the most opportune time to be called a hysteria
Asserting the divinity of trinkets applauded that litter history with euphoria
Flinch my core, drunk on the travesty of stodgy moralism unfurled zero kelvin cold
But Salt Lake City towers above my contemplations and UFOs make themselves known
Every city this big is well in eternity and maternity very well known
Shelter not from husbandry, for Babylon is no longer idolatry
Stemwinders and poltroons with prisons crooned
Tyrannosaurus Rex still terrorizes aliens and humans alike on a stranded Dark Side of the Moon
Pink is the ****** of Mayweather and Mayflower, so rigid in rock-a-by-baby tunes
Now is "Never" but TV time "When The Music’s Over" is Bang Bane rather than Boom
Hostage tickets of English hecklers proclaiming my royalty serenade the forest green
I hear their laments of the rumors ballyhoo obscene
Imagine a forest bright, trepidation of unlikely marauders of Viking spite
Spates of jinx own the tanks, sharks (jaws of these aliens in time "Thriller") evanesce as fluttered cameras blink
Marigolds are really miracles as euphoria that plangent has never been so bold
It owned the night and owed nothing of fright to hear aliens chirp ******* penetrated so tight
To hear the orchestra of God’s minions applaud my albatross receding in plight
The swiftest musketeer aims his gun at an AIMed pun
The renegade blackmail is the rut of a guttural wedding of a none and a nun
How sad that she waits, as a ragamuffin of eternal wraiths
That speak to her dreams specifically as a barnacle waif
Genius eludes the moment of sinking eternity and Van Gogh alpenglow
Cracked screens reap grime and grim preachers that reap what they sow
Accentuated stature of imposture clutters legends urbane with glowing silt
Rigmarole of laughingstock circus with the strangest 25-year old days of a dead man Wilt
It was the steward of a day too strange to forget
It was the Newark of a Jersey of Gretzky #99, a hard-won bet
Histrionic of history, an underappreciated music is a well-worn divinity
The best music ever is the best music of time-traveled complicity
Sadly lost on inferior ears is the plangent flow of sonorous pantheons
Lost on an island of good taste in a world that prizes prosaic mellow eons
Rather than delicate paeans with hummingbird simplicity
I resent how rare my taste is in an olfactory of waste
How rare a smell is that yegg harder to lambaste
Don’t gibber the jibe of jive-talking stalk
The scarecrow in Back to the Future is a ******* heckler hawk
Rarefied abduction of stolen keys of NYPD sprees
To drivel the wharf of piedmont rifts in Heaven’s eternal leaves
Time to step back from the sidewinder missive
Time to crack the gravy epistle so dismissive
Non-linear experiments in time and memory crave recognition
Finally I learn that house arrest is a Home Alone good enough for a virtual reality prison

When Kelvin threatened to cut my throat
I thought him a little stressed,
We’d known each other for twenty years
The first ten were the best,
But I was married to Jill back then
Way back before the divorce,
Then Kelvin lunged, and married her when
Our marriage had run its course.

He seemed to think I was jealous then,
He thought he had hurt my pride,
I thought that our friendship might be saved
Despite his second-hand bride,
‘Why would I want her back,’ I said,
Hoping to reassure,
But he obsessed and was quite distressed
Each time I came to his door.

‘Keep well away from my wife,’ he said,
As if I’d not had enough,
‘What do you think a divorce is, Kel?
I’m finished with all that stuff.’
‘You had your time, you should keep away,
I know that you want her still…’
‘As much as I’d want a hole in the head,
You have to believe me, Kel.’

But he just circled the wagons round
Trying to keep her from me,
I’d been quite happy to put her down
Then live my life and be free,
He’d never heard the old saw that said
That to make her yours, let her go,
If she comes back home, then she’s yours my friend,
But if not, she wasn’t you know.

I saw Jill out in the supermart
And her face was lined and drawn,
I tried to hide by the Brussel Sprouts
But she caught me up by the lawn.
She seemed determined to seek me out,
To see if I looked like hell,
Was disappointed when I looked round
And said I was doing well.

‘I’m not,’ she said, and a tiny tear
Appeared, to roll down her cheek,
‘He never leaves me alone, I fear,
I’ve been locked in for a week.’
I waved my hand, tried to get away
‘Your life is not my concern,’
Then she clung onto my arm and cried,
‘I don’t know which way to turn!’

And that’s when Kelvin himself appeared
And threatened to cut my throat,
It looked as if I had interfered
‘And that,’ I said, ‘is a joke!’
But Jill still clung to my arm beside
The beans, and packets of stew,
‘I wish we hadn’t divorced,’ she said,
‘It was so much better with you.’

You’d think a friendship of twenty years
Could overcome such a jest,
But Kelvin suddenly burst in tears
And beat a riff on my chest.
I’ll soon get over the broken ribs
And the eye, with a lump of steak,
But Kel’s still married to Jill, thank god,
That’s the icing on the cake.

David Lewis Paget

The four fundamental forces:
Zeus, Aphrodite, Ares (or Mars), and Adam and Eve.

                            <<0>>                                          >> 0 <<

             Electric field induced by             Electric field induced by
            a positive electric charge            a negative electric charge

"Deutsch thinks that such 'jumps to universality' must occur not only in the capacity to calculate things, but also in the capacity to understand things, and in the closely related capacity to make things happen. And he thinks that it was precisely such a threshold that was crossed with the invention of the scientific method. There were plenty of things we humans could do, of course, prior to the invention of that method: agriculture, or the domestication of animals, or the design of sundials, or the construction of pyramids. But all of a sudden, with the introduction of that particular method of concocting and evaluating new hypotheses, there was a sense in which we could do anything. The capacities of a community that has mastered that method to survive, to learn, and to remake the world according to its inclinations are (in the long run) literally, mathematically, infinite. And Deutsch is convinced that the tendency of the world to give rise to such communities, more than, say, the force of gravitation, or the second law of thermodynamics, or even the phenomenon of death, is what ultimately gives the world its shape, and what constitutes the genuine essence of nature. 'In all cases,' he writes, 'the class of transformations that could happen spontaneously--in the absence of knowledge--is negligibly small compared with the class that could be effected artificially by intelligent beings who wanted those transformations to happen. So the explanations of almost all physically possible phenomena are about how knowledge would be applied to bring those phenomena about.' And there is a beautiful and almost mystical irony in all this: that it was precisely by means of the Scientific Revolution, it was precisely by means of accepting that we are not the center of the universe, that we became the center of the universe."

Danger comes from the root bad brakes and bald tires. Chain saws
      and wildfires. Poisonous
ideologies, housecleaning chemicals and toiletries. Powerful
      industrialists, alcoholic fathers.
Invasive species, illegal immigrants. Concentration camps, attention
      deficit disorder.
Performance phobia, identity enhancements. Pleasure, applause.
      Quiet moments, walking and
talking war buddies. Electoral politics, marriage and divorce. Pest
      exterminator, Yeats seminar.
Love affair, pencil sharpener. Whatever, matter. Ionic and covalent
      bonds, republican hairstyle.
Events in their mere chronology.

"What is a typical place in the universe like? Let me assume that you are reading this on Earth. In your mind's eye travel straight upwards a few hundred kilometers. Now you are in the slightly more typical environment of space. But you are still being heated and illuminated by the sun, and half your field of view is still taken up by the solids, liquids and **** of the Earth. A typical location has none of those features. So, travel a few trillion kilometers further in the same direction. You are now so far away that the sun looks like other stars. You are at a much colder, darker and emptier place, with no **** in sight. But it is not yet typical: you are still inside the Milky Way galaxy, and most places in the universe are not in any galaxy. Continue until you are clear outside the galaxy--say, a hundred thousand light years from Earth. At this distance you could not glimpse the Earth even if you used the most powerful telescope that humans have yet built. But the Milky Way still fills much of your sky. To get to a typical place in the universe, you have to imagine yourself at least a thousand times as far out as that, deep in intergalactic space. What is it like there? Imagine the whole of space notionally divided into cubes the size of our solar system. If you were observing from a typical one of them, the sky would be pitch black. The nearest star would be so far away that if it were to explode as a supernova, and you were staring directly at it when its light reached you, you would not even see a glimmer. That is how big and dark the universe is. And it is cold: it is at that background temperature of 217 Kelvin, which is cold enough to freeze every known substance except helium. And it is empty: the density of atoms out there is below one per cubic meter. That is a million times sparser than atoms in the space between the stars, and those atoms are themselves sparser than in the best vacuum that human technology has yet achieved. Almost all the atoms in intergalactic space are hydrogen or helium, so there is no chemistry. No life could have evolved there, nor any intelligence. Nothing changes there. Nothing happens. The same is true of the next cube and the next, and if you were to examine a million consecutive cubes in any direction the story would be the same."

The 5 colors of sadness:
disappointed, didn't get what was wanted
confused, don't know what to do next, where to go
lonely, no one to love or be loved by
sorry, unable to help or change what happened
depressed, can't get out of bed, want to **** self

"Unless a society is expecting its own future choices to be better than its present ones, it will strive to make its present policies and institutions as immutable as possible. Therefore Popper's criterion can be met only by societies that expect their knowledge to grow -- and to grow unpredictably. And, further, they are expecting that if it did grow, that would help. This expectation is what I call optimism, and I can state it, in its most general form, thus: The Principle of Optimism -- All evils are caused by insufficient knowledge. Optimism is, in the first instance, a way of explaining failure, not prophesying success. It says that there is no fundamental barrier, no law of nature or supernatural decree, preventing progress. Whenever we try to improve things and fail, it is not because the spiteful (or unfathomably benevolent) gods are thwarting us or punishing us for trying, or because we have reached a limit on the capacity of reason to make improvements, or because it is best that we fail, but always because we did not know enough, in time. But optimism is also a stance towards the future, because nearly all failures, and nearly all successes, are yet to come.

As I think of things to do I do them.
Thing by thing I get things done.
That's how my father and his father did things.
I guess my mother and her mother did things that way too.

Sometimes I'm driving and I think how my father and his father drove
      too.
There was weather and they had problems. There is weather and I
      have problems.
Time exists only in the human mind. But if the mind exists, time exists.
Joy everywhere. Joy at birth. Joy at death. All joy, all times.

Rise up little fire.
Can’t you feel the great heat within you.
You’ll never be missed in death if you never start to live.
The sparks scare me too.
We can’t control where we grow.

It wasn’t an accident.
It was out of necessity.
The universe needed our presence.
It has a service,
just one thing it needs from us.

In return, we live.

That in fact, is the requirement to live.
Loud. And with great force.
Crackle.
So that even the coldest phantoms can feel it.
Don’t be afraid to melt them.

It will hurt. But what other choice do you have?
Sizzle. Putter. *****.
Never.
Build. Burn. Blaze.

There was cold boredom
And there was colder familiarity
And
Colder still
There was indifference
And I sat trying to light a fire
Only to find that my heart wasn't in it

I'd rather sit here shivering
Than conjure up tinderboxes
I don't have the energy
And, quite frankly
I'm tired of the flames

i am being aimlessly guided by a decrepit side street.
the smell of who-knows-what hangs in the still like an occupied noose
as i strain to ignore the unpleasant moisture on my brow,
the imperceptible perspiration of emotional exertion.

my heels can decipher the coded cracks in the concrete
and converse with muffled clackings that echo from alleyway walls.
they say, "our coordinates are flawless; this is the path to freedom."
i think, to reach it alone would be more bitter than any confinement.

‘cause i left some love in an empty room miles from here—
it’s collecting cobwebs instead of affections
while the idol of unrequited passion burns
and its ashes are faxed to four far corners of a hardhearted world.

i reach a dead end and feel the breath catch in my throat.
there is nothing here but the empty cocoons of the homeless
who have hopefully lifted themselves on dusty wings to a better place
leaving me searching for signs of life in the litter they've left behind.

there is a poster haphazardly taped to the bricks;
no lettering, no information, just the face of a man.
he stares blankly at me from his paper veranda
as if i were a television set, some mundane form of entertainment.

then, unexpectedly, a hole rips through the flyer
to compensate for the boot-clad leg freeing itself from dried pulp
and stepping heavily onto the pavement below.
i stumble back in mixed horror and disbelief as appendages creep lividly from the wall

until the man with the advertised face stands before me.
he pulls a pack of parliaments from his trenchcoat pocket
and wordlessly offers me one as his lighter births infant flame.
soon, the nicotine fog hangs like an opaque grey curtain between us.

then the silence is shattered, with shards of stillness breaking against the asphalt.
"i hope you weren't attempting to be stealthy. i could hear you for miles."
the voice emitted is raspy, the sound of a dull razorblade on the neck of a convict.
i shiver fiercely in response with a zero-kelvin cold.

a frankenstein hand fights through the smoke to grasp my ashen face.
his finger to my lips is a canker sore forming.
"a pretty lil' thing like you shouldn't be caught dead in this mess."
his forked tongue forms the words of nothing i don't already know.

i push him away. "just cut to the chase. we don't need to drag this out.
you know what i came here for, so let's get it over with."
my heart spasms in protest, but i suppress it with clenched fists.
as it dejectedly thuds in my chest, i can taste the bile rising in my throat.

he raises an eyebrow, then sniggers, showing off a yellow shark-toothed grin.
"the princess has a temper! well, you've come a long way for this, sweet cheeks."
he reaches into his coat, pulls out his leather gauntlets blackened with singe.
"say exactly what you need, doll, and your old pal lucifer will handle the rest."

my lungs deflate, punctured by pins and needles of stale air
and the blood dries in my veins like cruel sun blistering the desert.
half of me begs for lockjaw. the other half manipulates the corners of my mouth.
"erase him from my mind. i can't spend my life obsessing."

a glint of guilty pleasure in the devil's red eye seals the deal.
soul extraction's just like getting a tooth pulled, i tell myself regretfully.
it's just another part you don't need, a bland and disposable item.
but it doesn't quell the fear; i'm shaking hard enough to register on a richter scale.

the man in black embraces me, grasping my ribcage in his massive gloved hands.
a flash of doubt sears through me, yet i stand frozen, crucified.
i feel satan's minions pulling at memories like loose strings
and there is chanting in my ears; evolnilr igafognir effuseht eta ivellai sihth tiw.



i come to with dry heaves and a migraine sent from hell itself
to find that i am home in bed with the sheets around my ankles.
i rise and move to the mirror, see the dark circles traced around my eyes,
and dissolve into sobs without knowing why.

What goes up will come in for a landing
The belligerent crash
I'm done trying
For the cushion of wheels spun in a coast to grace
There's too much doing
Every push has me slithering
Through the spittle of lies
Spurting from vicariously indignant mouths
In their search for how hard to work to work less
To help just enough

My naive and belatedly terminated youth
I blame you
More than the latchkey existence
Left to me to **** the boredem with hope


In spite
The breakdown anti-hero prays
For a time everything is a fire in the positive

Though the; core of the earth can be measured in Kelvin
What happens on the surface is a negative hell man.
Its a; cold world that we live in
From the government, law enforcement, and politicians.
Everything you do, where you go is like your swimmin’
Piranha on you tail take everything you've been given.
Through the gutters we roam in search of new beginnings.
Man; is this life we live really worth livin’?
Just to find out the when, where and how of your ending?

It’s a; cold world that we follow.
Pushers giving you pills and telling you to swallow.
The pills of conformity, we all had a taste.
Some just got addicted so they feigning for that 8.
Nose stuck on the internet searching for conspiracies.
Illuminati, JFK the whole entire industry.
The media’s agenda is the way we all proceed.
People tread the tail cause they all afraid to lead.
Probably afraid to bleed, to impede on the culture.
Well now it’s time to feed, swarm down hungry vultures.

It’s the; cold world that got us dying.
Fight for your beliefs and end up in an asylum.
You ain’t even gotta riot, to be quiet is a sin.
Yes sir, yes sir, yes sir. Amen
That’s the story that they preach.
Subliminal, under the surface.
Nobody knows the truth so it all seems perfect.
Well...
Does it all seem worth it?

that's kelvin.
27.3 minutes of silence on a park bench.
following the same conversation that ends with
you're changing.
when did i smoke?
i always ******* lie.

and sadness is not the forest but the axe.
it isn't your locked door but the stairs or the hallway.
sadness is the butterfly and the windshield colliding
and telling yourself that you didn't see it hit or hear it quietly thumping.
it is not  sorry feeling, it is guilt.
sadness is the building and the wrecking ball
and sometimes i'm both.
it is my cold nose and toes,
but i am not a blade of grass or a river,
i am the dinner that gave you poison
rather than another notch on your belt.
sadness is not black and white,
it is a monotonous topaz.
sadness is 7:30 after 27.3 minutes in which flies
were more alive than i was.
27.3 minutes of disappointment,
of don't touch me,
of i can't see
every sporadic, insignificant thing is making me want to holler
and tear out my hair.
and withdraw into myself but
27.3 minutes of silence
does not allow for this.
instead i became a blinking statue
and the color turned from a yellow to a green
and suddenly i was being reached for,
but the hands were moving half in slow motion and half in apathy.
i don't think i wanted to be rescued.
i'm not a ******* damsel, or
at least that's what i thought i was telling everyone.
i can't think through that feeling
this feeling.
like 3am when all your friends are high and you're not.
like 3am when you remember you tried to give a *******
in the woods
while your phone was ringing
because you haven't shaved and they tell you they're disgusted.
and keep talking about it as if they didn't know you were talking about it.

Hello there great friend, boo.
I didn't mean to leave you, to shoo.
But i just didn't know what to do.

One fine day i was scrolling through,
Then bo ding, you messaged me dude,
You mocked me laughed at me,you cut through,
Cut through my heart, i just had to subdue,

***** you replaced me,
I can replace you too,
you didn't mean it, but ***** I do.
You happy? What your drama caused you?

That's it you committed the taboo,
You just had to,
You messed with Kelvin, he messes with you too.
****** don't come crying back, go back to your idiotic crew,

**I got my friends now, *****, hope you got your's too.

I miss them
missed them
kissed some of them
loved all of them.

Holy ghosts
move the goalposts
when it suits them.

I'm listening to the fireworks
at least
something works in
broken Britain.

1933.15 kelvin.
The melting point of titanium,
and the temperature I'm sure
your eyes surpass,
because my heart is sinking
through the floorboards
and I'm melting in your hands.
Liquid metal should be a contradiction
because that is what I am around you.
A turbulent sea.
A placid puddle.
I only hope that I pool
in the nooks inside your chest,
and you find some way
to make me solid again.
Only you can make me solid
again.

I am not ferociously aggressive, but there are activities that I will not can not partake in.
I will not be a grammar-phile in poetry, for sometimes, a sentence just begs to end in a preposistion. Of.
I won't be the surrogate to the emotions you wish you had for me;
if you truly felt them, you would proudly show off the pregnancy bump, endure hours of painful labor and breastfeed those feelings until the inappropriate age of 2.
I refuse to lower my standards and waste any amount of any time with any man who can't appreciate:
sure, all men are created equally,
but over time they can warp,  change into slight congruence, and then become foreign, rude, selfish.
(Not all, ofcourse, but some, and that sum is one not worth crying or trying for).
I will never lead a boy into thinking he has my thoughts or affection
for such a crime is critically and clinically cruel
and I do not have the scalpel or shears to perform such inhumane procedures and experiments.
I do not believe I will ever have total peace, because I do not think such silliness is worth truly worrying about.
I think I could do almost anything else, like spit poison or turn myself into an inside-out person,
or maybe even solve a math dilemma
but staying stable for too long would make my molecules freeze like zero degrees Kelvin,
and I would turn into paradoxical nothingness.

At the core of it
I see some more of it
and it hurts a bit,
but no more
than at the core of it.

There were many chances
that came my way
and come what may
I can no longer deny
my inaction in taking
them.

' some men have greatness  
****** upon them '
some men don't even try
some men sit and wait for
the moment to happen
some men just die.

The mathematics of a
given situation
are to be found in
Einstein's equation
E=mc squared,
so we
shared responsibility
did our
duty to one's family,
had
faith in something other
than reliance on our fellow
man.

We're still here
the sky didn't crack
the moon never fell
and we're still here

what I do when I run out
of anything is to make do,
It's a crying shame that
make do couldn't be there
when I needed it to
be there,
but I'm through it
the sleepless nights
the
what if and might it could be
thinking it should be
but it never was

that's the core of it
a bore?
a bit
no longer toxic
still burning.

Heart beating like the RPM of a sleek **** racing car,
wubwubwubwub
drop the bass
my heart, with you
so fast it's still,
like zero degrees kelvin
and 100 degrees hot
in my pants.
Darling would it be obscene
if I told you that you make me scream?
In my dreams,
in my head
you and me for never dead.
Leaps of faith through hoops of fire don't amount to much my dear
unless you're scorched
charred
and blistered as a tender, succulent pig.
Weee weee weee
all the way home we sing
we dance
we drool and chain gang the whole lot of them to the wings of the pretty angel statues,
so rough and hard,
how do they fly?
But we do,
at any given moment, soaring and searching
and we tangle up the tarantulas in their trinity of turbulence
because my god we are for real.

Mouths moving words tripping off tongues.
I remember times gone and times still in mind.
Friends so delicate yet strong as life.
We met there, within the spinning of time.

It’s almost gone, but you
don’t even know what it is.
Its capacity— degrees of freedom,
vibrational
rotational
translational,
its essence— energy
measured absolutely,
first by Kelvin.

So know when I say
I’m losing heat, I’m dropping
Kelvins, quantized packets
that could raise my voice
to jovial screaming, flail my arms
bobble my legs and work my tongue
around my lips, eyes lit like dynamite.

Temperature comes and goes
be careful not to lose your bonds,
double
triple
bonds building bridges
to your childhood,
your capacity to love.

We forget how to laugh
so hard we hurt our bellies
deafen our friends
and scare our lovers. We
forget that the public
is just full of people
and find our tongues
are slaves to only tasting.

So I just make sure I’m waiting
for that mechanical motion,
that disturbance to ride
through my every bond
that won’t be breaking
because I’m not rigid.
I’m making sure I’m ready
to vibrate, rotate
and *******
I’ll translate too.
I’m losing heat,
not degrees of freedom.

everyday starts at
273.16 Kelvin, 611 Pascals
my body still unsure what it wants to be
-no, scratch that-
still unsure what other people want it to be

1. with my parents
the temperature drops and the pressure rises
while they yellcriticizedemand
and suddenly i am ice
solidfrigidhard
stubborn as hell but ten thousand times colder

2. my best friend is the fire
sparking excitement in dark parts of my soul
and as we heat up together
i become free as air
the earth no longer able to keep me together
or hold me down

3. i am fluid around everyone else
freeform
shapeshifting until all they see is their own reflection staring back at them
intangible
slipping through hands like an eel that will shock anyone who gets close
and quietly destructive
slowly eroding the paperthin walls of their hearts and leaving behind nothing but canyons in my wake

solid liquid gas
common science says that it ends there
but you
you always remind me that there is a fourth state of matter
because when we touch it is like i can feel the electrons of negativity jumping off my skin
and when you kiss me
i could swear we are the plasma that the universe and stars are made of

I love you, she says to Adam
I cherish you, she says to Steven
I will be yours forever, she says to Kelvin
I will die for you, she says to Nathaniel
I belong to you, she says to Daniel
Marry me, she begs Louis
when she carries Alex's seed...

use your body ;
use it to put me to sleep .
the warmth of your breath on my skin ..
i have become a plant , taking in your carbon dioxide and making sugar that forms on my lips .


love is warm , but not as warm as you are ..
your hands are 200 Kelvin ,
and sometimes i have blisters in the morning when i wake up , if you have been there the night before .


love is cold , but not as cold as you are ..
your lips are far below freezing ,
and sometimes i become numb on my chest , and my mouth , and my neck .


love hurts me , but not as much as you do ..
but I have algolognia ,
and that pain transforms into instant pleasure as you bite , and pull , and pinch .

Theres a man who walks around with a hole in his head( right through); You can see whats in front from behind him and whats behind him from in front. Sometimes I follow him so I can see whats up ahead. Funny thing is, he never turns to look as if he's being followed; I always turn and look, more often than not no ones there, but when there is someone there I can feel them, their stare burning into the back of my napper, he just carries on blissful.
One time I tapped his shoulder then darted ahead, that was the first time I'd had a look at what was behind. I stared right down the middle and right on through to the young school girl skipping behind him, then I quickly paced off to avoid arousing suspicion that I was in any way mocking his condition. Anyway, he caught up with me and passed me with a " How'd you do, young man?, to which I nodded nervously, then followed him further through the city.
We reached kelvin bridge, where he stopped about six feet ahead of me and sighed full heartedly, I almost felt the wind come out of him. He turned to me and winked, and then began laughing like a manic would prey, " Ohh ** ** **. Ohh you don't see it! Neither do I?" he either asked our told me, " but it's all ******* there, every last ******* bit: The ******'s carpet, the first time mothers first *** after quitting, the wheeler's turning, the dealers loot, its all ******* there, and its all us that see it". I looked over to see the soft crashes of the river below, the whispering breath of the wind shifting the old tree's around the banks, and thought " What the **** are you talking about?"

all grasses are standing tall-
full seed heads;
how I remember rolling
being at one; laughing-
with best friend Kelvin;
having the time of our lives

I felt hot desire.
For a split second
Time stopped the moment.
All motion paused
As though the room had reached 0° Kelvin
All eyes, every focus locked,
Every being in awe
Of the grandeurous woman
Stepping in from the cold.
Shall I light her fire?

I decided one day
            as a child of no more than seven
that when I grow up
            and have children of my own
I will name my first daughter
            Celeste
☽      ☆      ☽      ☆      ☽      ☆      ☽
My baby girl Celeste...
            stardust shimmering in her black eyes
                        hair the color of red giants
            Saturn's rings on her delicate fingers
                        comets coursing through her veins
            constellations on her cheeks and collar bones
☽      ☆      ☽      ☆      ☽      ☆      ☽
She will daydream too much
            but her teachers will understand
                        that she does not belong in this world.
Her laugh will be as brilliant
            as glowing nebulae
                        flowing purple silk
                                    trillions of miles wide
                        floating in the void
            bursting with new life
If you make her angry
            she will turn you to ice
                        2.7 Kelvin
            crystallize your tears
            make your breath
                        freeze
☽      ☆      ☽      ☆      ☽      ☆      ☽
But if she loves you
                        like she will love me
            she'll never leave you
Because my Celeste loves you more
            than the Sun loves the Earth
            than black holes love the light
            than galaxies love their stairs
and she'll love you until
the universe itself
            stops
cold.

Flâneurs abound
The tragedy
of low expectations
Was described
To me
As the most uptight surfer
you ever met
Greeting me
like age hurdles
She was a black hole
of logic
and responsibility
My life
with no mirrors...
Exes
had limited vision
Too stubborn
and prideful
to admit
their freefalls
of poor judgement
My freefall
*** sum me da
Heretics
and Town Cryers
in the market square
Mephisto's embrace
of Lidocaine and Cortisone
I can no longer
skydance to impress
A scoundrel, my ***** culprit
remains reality-resistant
Like *****
on the Polar Bear rug
Incoherent verses of
"Dog and Cat
God and Oil
Signet and Spice
Partners and Paramours"
The incidental joy of life
Randomly convenient distance
from our Sun
Burning her kelvin heat
to charm our World
Venerated
Dreaming in fireworks
I write her in great detail,
She answers me
with tempered dictation…
Sun distance Earth
Enough
to burst
with anemones
as blue as Barbercide
This distance
Struggling
like a butterfly
in a rainstorm

February 1, 2022

whether it be centimeters or inches,
celsius, fahrenheit, or whatever the hell kelvin is,
things in life are measured.

you measure how long you've lived,
how far you've walked,
how immortal you will turn out to be.

but what if you were measured by the strangers you've met?

the times you stopped and said "hello,"
the times you lifted someone's spirits
the times you saw that one kid with a shirt with your favorite band so you said "oh hey, i love them" and they were like "really? that's so cool" and you became like best friends

or you didn't.

maybe you walked past and acted like they didn't exist
or maybe you didn't even notice

does anyone ever actually notice?

I have faith that God exists, but it borders on opinion.
It is either a secondary subjective opinion from say a Prophet or believer, or it is a first-hand subjective feeling of the presence of God which is like faith (as Kant defined opinion and faith).
I would say that God is not objective knowledge, though objectivity can be applied to It.

Then by what is meant by soul is subjectivity.
All gods are imperfect.
To make perfection a god is to separate it from life.
Therefore, God is as a zero orbit to which perfections are a decreasing in number (to the number brain).
For to give God an outer boundary would be to deny the universe, and to give God a lower boundary would proclaim zero degrees Kelvin.
Therefore, God is a limit, but for which all my soul's life or lives can never reach.
Prophets merely remind me that science involves different universes and that my subjectivity will never come to an end.
Just as energy can never be destroyed or created.
The Eastern Avatars are here to remind me that my subjectivity has had no beginning inasmuch that I can only progress from rereading history.

The crux of the argument is that once coherence is reached, it is met with more chaos.
Thus, the book of atheism is neverending just as the concept of a perfect god will never be attained or eliminated.

But what of truth?
Shall it not always remain both objective and subjective?
(Alchemists always believe in a baseless bridge.)

Kelvin Klein?
I wore them for a time
but they made me too hot.

Some won't see the pun,

but
I'm the son of a Shanghai shipwreck
always up to my neck in hot water.