Dizzy thoughts circle as I try to seem like I know why I do what I do. We try to know who we are becoming, to be part of that process which ushers our causality through this world, but I am not so sure we are.

I have often wondered if our own self-awareness and perceived sovereignty are just feedback loops in our large cosmic entity...

Perhaps our thoughts that feel so unique are just another piece of the universe, like everything else, but in our sentience we are cut off from direct contact with  the singularity whose mechanizations manifest as our very souls...

This thought brings me to two conclusions... As expressions of, we are the beast-only we cannot really know it in our current state and that our freedom lies in our observations and what we make of them.

We are moving along the groove of letters carved in stone and though our collectiveness forms a piece of the chisel, it was long before time that we picked the path along which it must move.

So, here we are, observing and becoming, but I stand in corners shouting my questions in places we designed sound and light to falter and I am very afraid that I am coming apart, my loop broken as the illusion of others flees the landscape of my thoughts and I am again left staring into the entirety of the universe, every piece of which looks back to me as father and son, creator and destroyer, other and self, and again I am lost.

when the sun winks, and
you shut the door
tell the kids to come inside

slithering serpents, a fantastic show
flicker in the twilit sky
like the tongues of Hell

and
everything surges and fries
in the house, for a moment
like a haunted hospital
like in the movies

when the power's out, and in the road
passerby light their candelabras.

when the engines quit their mechanizations;
when the poles settle down for the
big
long
nap;

and the smallest calculated bearings
of your pocket compasses go awry
from that great fire on the sun

and 100 years is lost in 8 minutes.
you are what you left yourself ready for.

The taste of tire on my breath,
Carbonization fills my lungs,
Oil floods out like tears,
The inner mechanizations of my mind.
Are like Polluted veins,
Do you trust the insane?
Poisoned personality defending prideful mediocrity.
What the **** do want from me?

Garbage spoken broken man.
Lost my senses,
For I’m technologically co-dependant.
When shall I fear?
When shall I see?
When shall I listen?
Addicted to this mindless state.

Wanting more.
Consuming more.
Risking more.
Don’t even have to leave my door.

Watching more.
Brainwashed connoisseur,
Empty even when I got what I was searching for.
This isn’t what I asked for!

The taste of exhaust on my breath,
Radiation filling my lungs,
Oil floods out like tears,
The inner mechanizations of my mind.
Are like Polluted veins,
Do you trust the insane?
Poisoned personality defending prideful mediocrity.
Will I ever regain my humanity!

Humanity x4

how dare i agonize humanity thus
with my writing
how silly of me
how pretentious and perhaps
even vain
to make eyes grieve having
unseen these words
        
                    how little i bring
no leech of remedy
no parrot of backstabbing talk
no carrot for motivation
no dilution of suffering
just this stressing of disparity
and differences

as if
as if that wasn't apparent

shying away from life in private
this reverse-engineered voyeurism
now clinging for a bouquet of
verbose patterning

like a brick **** having fallen
with a tumultuous sound
of a nailed stork
           a nailing that becomes a falling

now a coffee and a sobering
cigarette
now a walk to the supermarket
to buy onions and whiskey
before the mothers and their children
return from school

before the men come to their
homes with empty bellies
and worldly dust
of business
that men like me not huddling
but exacting a 103kg 190cm frame
waste out times on words
rather than athletic miracles...
seems rather strange
that i have not been endowed with
more oomph and furor
to strip the world to basics

but how could i content with scared
eyes
and hopeful eyes
of people i'd feel no private mechanizations
with...

truce at 20 and off to Africa
little Rimbaud
somehow transliterated into American
as Rambo
although i do stress the Rims of Bau -
and the D can be dropped

perhaps i'm still on a beach on Kauai
and i'm not giving this day
enough due diligence
to occupy myself as a man of action
of deed of consequences
just this hermit like half
clenched body
a kneeling prosody -
         will i actually forgo this stupid
dream
this decadent myopia
of attempts and further attempts
to deflate life
and shelve it...

                                    so impossible decadent
i learned to abhor this ambition
that's no real ambition
i learned to abhor this ambition
this tease
this: well it's not for the money
but the troubles of ******* into words
and doodle-d'ah doodle-d'is
                      
       it's so abhorrent that i should waste
such hours of sun
on a page
that is literally and not
an abhorrence
this is an abhorrence to literature
should it not come as vein and artery
and heart of distractions

at the core some legality of legacy
in transcendent disappointments
and not this
this defeatist slosh and sleuth of
beyond personal
detailing

                     this luxury of no antidote
to life's nether regions of
emotional demands for dexterity
actual conversations
less this defeatist escapade
this is no Guru Alias Self Help -
words from a professional zenith
akin to
   o let's say akin to:

     a james sexton

   in his words the man is a machine
let's say doing 50+ hours of work a day
and that's somehow an admirers' *****
bank
deposits: center

                      but not even like
yesterday all glazed eyed
thinking to myself: over indulgence?
or is this something
akin to:

well all the chores have been done
toilet cleaned
and i have no reading to do
and yes i did tip myself with some
marijuana and some whiskey
but at least i'm not watching t.v.
and if that's really a guilty pleasure

sure this is no Rimbaud
and romance and fantasy of
done aged 20
nor this can be the Bible of relevance
or a Dune saga
but at least i am not watching t.v.
and from a furthered perspective
i never thought
i'd say it
but i have become indifferent
to music
like once i loved music like all
children love something
be it football or a library of tracks
but so indifferent
have i become
it's almost a question formulaic
in that i have become
can be easily retreated back: into
the proper use of grammar

so in the end it's just
an exercise
an exercise in the use of language
as a way to disguise the fact
that i'm not a rhetorician
and that i don't speak air
but mumble dirt with words

what spurred the purge?
well... a nugget of ash
in my whiskey
from smoking a joint that's what
spurred me on

those images coming in to seal
of words

the body of "christ"
if that were me
all i would have given them
would be a glass
of wine
with some ash in it...
there would be no mush of bread
after all living among
those pagans and their ritualistic
hygienic concerns
with what to do with feces
and **** and the dead
well burn them
sewer that ****
then my Last Supper would be
a dash of ash
into a cup of whiskey
and that would be the end of it

it's as if the joke continued
when the Roman legionnaires
soaked a sponge with
wine and lifted it up to him on the cross
and asked whether he'd like to drink
from it...

yes... that story is true:
Στεφατoν (Stephaton)
Steven - a Roman Legionnaire -
well if i'm going to think about Jesus
on my way to the bank
i passed two young colts
maybe Mormons
but that's weird it being England
and also Essex
but when i left the bank
instead of the two Mormons
i was met by a Hebrew
and sorry
but proximity
timing
universe
spacing
this is all very subliminal
not relevant but very subliminal
in under-context...

this is a meditation
and not some thrill seeking
get tipped
to forget something not deal with
something
just the farce of going
to the bank with a flimsy
take on a legal matter
and made to look like an idiot
when the Power of Attorney
is a 16 page legality script
and not some half baked
but the bank "attorney": adviser...
knew that i was dealing
with some emotional barking garbage
since i did muddle in the expressions:

- i'm sorry but i feel i've
been sent on a fool's errand...
- this piece of paper is only a copy...
- yes, i brought my passport with
me just to show you i'm not trying
to scam anyone...

yes... the wine soaked sponge
a joke on bread
if it were my last supper
it would be a glass of wine (they didn't
know how to make whiskey
back then) with some ash in it...

wine with some gum from Sudan
and tobacco / marijuana ash...
            
                                     nazdrowie!
           sláinte!         (and where they get that
slanCHe from i will never...

slā (indo-european: advantageous)
                          swa-
                                    -va
swo-
                      -vo

                           certainly beats watching
daytime t.v.
which is just as bad
as having a little bit too much whiskey
and marijuana in the afternoon
without the ability to purge
and sober up

                  daytime t.v. is like a gateway
drug to lazy
activity -

              something those 19th and even 20th
century poets didn't have
to contend: contest: abbreviate
not even radio
i'd say
not even music
in seemingly insomnia mode of so readily
available
which makes sense
to constrain it
to an opera house
go and see the Magic Flute performance
at the ENO and storm
out like a phantom
with a giggling girlfriend
why so pedantic why so argumentative
well: the ******* production
is not in German
this is nothing like the magic flute
if this would be played in that scene
from the Shawshank Redemption
i would be doubly the gladly of being
indoors outdoors indoors
of a prison

                         ...

            elegance, knowledge, violence?

the original had an exclamation mark
involved...

     ruggedness, wisdom, compromise!
ruggedness, wisdom, negotiation!