Quasars are very bright galaxies with centers dominated by rapidly accreting black holes, existing somewhere near the beginning of time.*

It’s already dead in its brilliance. Fourteen billion measurements of meaninglessness. Illusionary existence, meant to quantify the moments in which man exists.
Yet compartmentalization is a mythical concept to galactic nuclei.
Remaining outside of quantification.
Not needing its suffocating extractions.

A void predating blood.

Before the beginning of intangible concepts.
Ruling the tangible world of man.

We have perceived a place apart from the temporal.

Now all we can do is make our drinks stronger,
inhale our herb slower.

In desperate attempt to un-see the
Calligraphic scratches on parchment.

Confirming the fact that we no longer exist.
The way that we did…
Before the sad ghosts of quasars scarred our skies.

i. We are lost stars,
A thousand of us falling freely
From and into the sky.
Seeking to disperse and find
Ourselves in the orbits of love;
Looking for a place to settle down:
Is it on this planet of blues?--
Still an aimless pursuit of home?
We are the nomads of the empyrean;
The stars of the earth.

ii. For us to chance upon them,
Those called quasars,
We are drawn in by their light.
Making us touched by the lunar,
Kissed by the solar,
And struck by the stellar;
We're ****** into the vortex of their eyes,
Where a thousand other burst stars loom.
This is it, this is the final big bang;
This is where galaxies form and live anew,
With them, the meaning of space--
The quasars of the ether.

iii. On some days,
In our states of cosmic haze and daydreams,
We sit on Saturn's rings
With our legs dangling on the edge for the thrill of it,
And we watch the universe pass us by like clouds.
Although we are light years away
From such unfathomable quasars,
Their pull is strong enough to tug
At our fragile little hearts.
And although at times it may hurt,
We let our hearts ignite like supernovas,
We let our tears flow like space dust,
So that our love breaks into pieces
Of comets and shooting stars
That fall into our hands like petals,
For every existing matter to see.
And we hold these things of space,
Of celestial bodies falling into place:
To give them to the quasars of the ether,
From us, the stars of the earth

Perfection: skewed over the years;
in our quest for longevity,
in our denial that good things do end,
we have tried to make perfection
into a permanence.
We chase it all our lives:
the perfect car,
the perfect lover,
the perfect relationship.
We've forgotten somehow that
perfection isn't a state of life.
Perfection isn't normal.
Perfection doesn't exist naturally.
Perfection is something we create,
and like all things humans make,
it is temporary.
Perfection is a moment to be lived in-
a glistening diamond moment that
we get to exist in for such a
precious little time.
We breath in and are filled
with satisfaction,
that most powerful ******.
We glow in our souls
until it radiates from our faces.
It is the second right after a first kiss,
when you draw back and look into your lover's eyes.
When all things are brimful of possibility and all
futures are open to you.
It is the moment after you achieve
something you worked for your entire life.
Something you bled for, lost sleep and friends
and years of your life over.
It is the second when your child
screams and draws breath for the first time.
When you see reflected in their tiny face everything you were
and everything they will be.
We are perfect in that one moment.
Of course all of it will end.
Your girlfriend may leave you behind after a time.
She may break your heart and carry it with her,
leaving you scarred and unable to love again.
You may lose everything you've worked for
in a single, capricious moment.
In one simple, thoughtless mistake.
Your child will be with you for a time,
but they will grow old and leave you,
never to speak to you until you are on death's door.
Still,
as we sit on our unbelievably vulnerable world,
one of billions in a universe full of singularities and solar flares,
comets and quasars,
evolution and extinction-
Shouldn't we just be glad that the moment happened,
instead of realizing it will end?
Life has so very few of these anomalies of perfection;
enjoy them while they are there,
do not miss them when they are gone.

Nothingness.
Imagine nothingness.
That nothingness which is nothing of the nothingness we are all familiar with:
Not that nothingness which is nothing but empty space and time
Like when you open an empty room.
No.
That nothingness where nothing truly exists:
Not space,
Not even time.

A singular point.
Imagine a singular point.
The ultimate singular point that contains all possible points
In the development of the universe
Come out and expand
From the birthing of time, the instance of The Big Bang,
(Which by the way is not a large explosion, as the words imply, but a silent rapid expansion)
Pushing the envelope
Where nothingness begins.

Chance.
Imagine chance.
The random occurrence of events:
Of fundamental particles colliding and uniting
Or annihilating each other,
Giving rise to protons, neutrons and electrons;
Giving rise to the periodic table,
To compounds, both organic and inorganic,
To macromolecules.

Billions of years.
Imagine billions of years
Gone by,
And billions of galaxies filling the sky:
Stars and quasars and pulsars
Planets and comets and meteors
***** nilly hurtling through
Dark matter and ever expanding space,
Yet inanimate still
,
A single cell.
Imagine a single cell
Form inexplicably so,
In a staggeringly highly improbable way
As carbon molecules combine,
Start to throb and pulsate:
Chance bringing forth life
In a barren and otherwise
Lifeless universe.

Consciousness
Imagine consciousness
Purposive, willful, deliberate

Feelings
Imagine feelings
Love, compassion, hatred

Imagine all in a universe that came out of itself from nothingness.

It is hard, of course,
For after all, we are creatures of somethingness!

But at this point
You must have seen the Point
Of all the ramblings and turns in the trajectory of my thought
Tracing the evolutionary course of the universe
From nothingness and that singular point
That without God
All things are
After all
Pointless!
.
And so,
Let us not deplore, as a great poet once did,
That this world “so various, so beautiful, so new
Hath no joy, nor love, nor light
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain…”
For what else should we expect
Of a cold, unfeeling universe?

What?
Give us some Novocain?

I provoke the rain of Hell
From Heaven high to earth below
There we'll float on gainful spells
We're ready for this world to go
And off to outer space, we're facing
Endless races to the furthest reaches of our teacher, the speaker, the logos of Cosmos
And beyond to distant Quasars,
No phasers, no lasers, weaponry
We're safe with hearts of purity
And naked with our souls we'll seek
The greatest cosmic mysteries

I've always sought and thought unreal
The spacecraft not of stone or steel but
Opened hearts and focused spirits
Woke by times both strange and fearful
Changing basic notions of
What we all say are mind and love

We're through with consumers, they've doomed us
We've moved on
The proof is the truth that all life will soon be gone
We've built and built, killed billions and still
We march toward gold archways which never were real

I can tell others feel it,
They're real and they heal me
Relations, creations, spontaneous meaning
It's all building up to a climactic moment
Of high expectation that we will all blow it
But we were born just so we'd know when the opening
Ceremonies go on for the New Age of Hope

It's outrageous to think of the hate which created this
Darkness and chaos,
(Our God has betrayed us!)
But that's why our savior said
Look the other way,
To meet hate with more hatred
Speeds up the decay

We love the villains, though they **** us by millions
Because they're truly a part of this cosmic cotillion
They can't see the dance while they're
Crashing and sinning
So they can't imagine they're actually IN IT
There's a part and they fit it,
Catalyst for the equipment
Of Salvation:
The nations of women and men
Beginning again
We'll cancel the debt and we'll all become friends

It is a quickened erosion of the spirit
culminated in bad habits
a crisscrossing  lattice
over and under like a ferret

Its too small and quick to fight
this parrot is breaching thoughts with its well versed screech
Luring the cavalry into its cancerous reach
Benighted by several regiments of blight

Enticed by visions of a name spelled in the constellations
Do not forget you are a child of the stars
The strength within you contains quasars
A single mind, your mind, has the ability to illuminate a nation.

He may not have had all the answers
but he helped me address some good questions,
such as how you can locate a cat in the dark
when that feline itself is pitch black,
and has hidden itself in a cellar
otherwise termed a black hole.

But if I should chance to confront him,
I could ask for his personal view
of the answer to Hamlet’s sage
question of whether we are or we aren’t,
or which of the two we prefer.
And how can we learn to distinguish
a quasar from a hole in the head?

I might even ask what he thought of the cat
that Schrodinger placed in a casket
with poison and deadly material
that’s radioactively based.
Does he think it might leak radiation?
Does he think particles might escape?  
Or suspect it could simply explode?

And what might become of the cat?
Was it dead or alive, or just gone?
Let’s leave then with neither a whimper
nor even the biggest of bangs
It seems that it’s time to conclude this,
Now we’ve somehow returned to the cat.

For me on your way,

Tell them I miss them

in every single way

Their glittering like gems

It aches more than words can say

The divets and patches across the stars

Are mirrored in my heart

As I dig my feet into the grass

Empty spaces pierced with Twinkles

Like lightning bugs in jars

Memories fade to dark

Ill sustained by lengthy time apart

May they not forget me

Collectively my spark

I'll pass on my memories

I'll strike a light so bright

it leaves a mark

not visible by so far

But caught up in solar whispers

May it carry from star to star

And tell you of news and how we are

Making a way back

To kiss you close

message from afar

A kiss on the solar wind

Travelling from quasar to quasar

With passion,

Your long lost love.

the glitterball in space
wrapped in wormholes
caressed by distant quasars
peak at optimum speed
before floating falling
toward the muted aromas
of space age earth

the bile of industry
smears the planet in neon
one giant shinning marble
city lights stretch
in the haze from pole to pole
whatever hemisphere
whatever timezone
whatever continent

aqua is the precious mineral
few places exist where
hope springs life eternal
rivers were rerouted years ago
run by power corporations
who package it in sachets
with dehydrated memory

a planet of consumption
tectonic plates stitched
stapled, bridged and woven
the fabric of the world

we unzip to consume
revel in the electronic tune
that breeds our contempt
for the the lost seasons
our reason dilluted, polluted
by the tune that remains the same;
beautiful stranger
dream a dream for me
because now all we have
between us
is acid rain.

I make my home in the heart of stars
Pulled in by their massive gravity
Fiery furnace burning the core of me
Skin incinerated in a fury of white orange
Quasars spewing my light filled essence
Out in either direction
Pulsars spinning like a lighthouse
Beckoning what’s left of me
Until the black holes gobble up
What remains of my scattered particles

I love you,
Wildly, silently,
Imitating it's idly,
Displaying my affection quietly.

Timid, I am, of course.
Enjoying our discourse.
And everything you are,
I'm so heavenly immersed -

Yes, in your quirky quarks from quasars,
Running its benevolent course.

Still, inside, I thirst.
To let you know,
I'm yours.

Lost in a loving serge. . .

With quarks from the hottest starburst.

this is the news: a strange to do with all strange. some other kiwi in the hissing bliss of a fine day.
the spoils of bounty are ludicrous in disarray. a jumble of lumpkin, festooned in prayer-wheels and Tibet.
a fountain of open hands.
on the brink... on the terrace of counterfeit pantomimes
a man of days
darning socks and ultraviolet, with quasars for aspic.
a drunk pirouette -
bereft.

love is the one jungle you know when you're lost, and the last thing that made sense. All day.
the spoils of bounty are numinous, always. a trundle of frump-kin, immune to what feels like a guess.  
" i refuse to sell my daddy's ranch! "
if you blink... i might tell you where you lost your mind.
an ace of spades
a Goldilocks and ultra violence, with ****** for aspirin.
a defunct smidgen
of less.

Above our Earth so high
The Hubble telescope now hangs
Beyond our vault-like sky:
An all embracing eye;
Now showing us the universe
In all her glory.
Those swirling galaxies give way to seemingly endless
Tracts of quasars, dust and gas.

Through Hubble we look back through time,
At remnants of the Big Bang:
The Birth, they tell us, of Creation,
That might be repeated,
Over and over again.

Yet, before this satellite was launched,
Or telescopes invented,
Just what did humans know?
What did the Aztecs know of England,
Or fourteenth century English folk know of America?
As technological advances have
Been swift, so our state of ignorance
Has been revealed for all to see.
For no-one knows The Purpose of Life.

     Why?
   Oh Why!
Do We Live
   To Die
     Why?

For we will Die
Not Knowing Why.

Ask Christ they say,
He’ll show The Way.
Ask God and He will too.
Ask Allah, Buddha,
Anyone you like;
And Me, I’ll tell you just to Hope,
For Love will see us through.

by Sara L Russell
(For the casualties of Manchester Kennels, 12/9/14, 21:05)

Old trusty Bob, sure-footed in the lead,
Truffles and Sandy bringing up the rear;
And all the others, with no faith or creed,
Yet representing all that's loved and dear.

They run along the path to Paradise
To where no faithful hound need ever die;
A playful eagerness lights up their eyes,
As clouds and gliding seraphim go by.

Garlands of stars and quasars light the way
The scent of incense lifts their spirits high
Nobody shouts commands to sit or stay;
Freedom is calling from beyond the sky.

Saint Peter tells each one "Rest easy, friend;
Your earthy suffering is at an end."

Swallowed in dreams of bliss

and sunset berry kisses

in the still of azure skies

I gaze into your eyes.

Strands of water blue satin

touch your delicate curves

inflamed with soul passion

in nights of quiet storms.

Your lips full, sweet of honey

like a dream lover's dream

I swim in your open sea

motions elicit your extremes.

Soft whispers pant to find your ear

beautiful, drifting, lingering near-

driven blind, your brown skin, size

titillates the recesses of my mind.

Trapped within a muse

conversing-secrets stolen

so many thoughts of you

I can touch each shade of emotion.

Beauty in your eyes

defies, eludes my mind

visions of a summer breeze

made my heart rise.

I would steal polyanthus

and lay beds of jasmine

my strong attraction, feel me

as I move you to endless reactions.

Let me allure you

and find your every need

I want to liberate your heart

and give you the best of me.

I search the depths of you

as if you were an ocean

floating through your violent tides

ever the one who makes you cry.

Fascinated by your style

come with me for a while

in the footsteps of pandora

though mythological, love never lies.

Chiaroscuro, form, light

like poetic lines

your silhouette in the haze

from my lips fall this pantomime.

Her fingertips drip elegance

in the moonlight mist

the jewels of your hips

like spinning quasars aglint.

She is delicate as a lily  

flawless like a pearl

in sea blue threads of a tapestry

which colors my world.

The rainbow fell into the consommé,
the night turned the day and the
cards went my way
it was normal some say in
the madhouse

and then there was work
the foibles, the quirks
the bright sparks
the gormless
the sharks

and while Hawkin's talking of quarks
and quasars
all I get
is quizzical, looks from the
bar staff and waiters.

It's no wonder the soup's getting cold
and less wondering why
because it all seems so old
or could be it's
possibly me.

In another system on another star where we're worlds apart, and you,  the maverick breaks another heart is when
I see you greeting Peter at the gate which is yet another state in a different place
a case of system overload and racing headlong to explode into a million different stars and black holes overflowing with quasars
( I don't know what quasars are but they're to be found around a different star)

And still we kick against the night as if it might give in, the night where love lies thin on the eiderdown,
the night in the shambles of a once proud town,
we are the song out of tune,
we may as well be seagulls winging it
across the face of the moon.

Perhaps we are ´´parte de tus sueños'' (part of your dreams)
And something is calling for you,
But, certainly, you are one of everyone's dreams
And that beautiful melancholy of yours
Is a source of sounds deeply touching, inspiring, magical,
For life'' and for '' El Amor'' (love)
Remaining inside all of us.
A divine vibration is healing the deep wounds
In a dance of sung irresistible words,
Which may recreate your image
In our minds and souls,
Especially, when we want to ''Passar Di Mano'' (pass a hand) feeling.
Wind, apparently, dissolved the melodious words
In the rustle of leaves, in the sound of rain applause,
In those ''Momenti '' (moments) of ''Me olvid de vivir'' (I forgot to live)
And in the rain drops falling on the leaves
And falling over our faces to mix with our tears,
When you start to sing ''Por el amor de una mujer'' (the love for a woman)
Wanting to tell her ''Abrazame''(embrace me)
Your dreams become sad pieces of quasars,
To disappear in the cosmic symphony
And in a dazzling play of colors.
Our bodies begin to move harmoniously,
The fairy moonlight gives a shine to our eyes.
We begin to hear a crescendo sound in the instruments,
Apparently without limits,
For ''Baila Morena'' and for '' Boleros''.
Finally,
The loneliness is hiding in your own shadow,
Allowing the silence to speak.

if I were a frog
first I’d dart my tongue out
and catch a fly

then with the same sticky tongue
I’d catch a human
actually as many as I can
and all the cars and streetlamps
and some mud and puddles of water
to sauce the whole thing
and eat them all whole
in one roll

And then I’d do the same thing
always with my sticky tongue
deracinate the trees, the rocks and mountains
and all living things
(all humans first I’d dispose of)
and all objects and planets and stars and space
and quasars and matter and anti-matter and zero
all stuck on my tongue and all rolled in one
and all these I’ll just swallow
if I were a frog
and I won’t stop till there’s nothing
except me
one gargantuan frog
and then I’ll burp
and then I’ll croak

*and then maybe I’ll burst

Load your ***** clothes. Separate your colors from your whites. Try not to linger too long on the shirt you first met him in.

2. Add detergent, only half a cup. Fill with cold water, watch as cerulean galaxies form right before your eyes. Realize just how much of you is not you.

3. Fill with warm water. Start spin cycle. Press your ear against the machine, hear its prehistoric roar rumble through your bones(now your shakes have excuses)have it envelope your senses until you assimilate into history and star stuff.

4. Jump when the buzzer goes off. Brush yourself off and hastily transfer loads into the dryer. Persevere when the wet clothes weigh down your arms more than thoughts of him, of his smile, of his laugh(****)

5. Set the dry cycle for another hour. Try not to think about your homework, remember that he's in your chemistry class, bite your head off. Sit on the dryer, close your eyes, pretend you're on a space ship shuttling through the atmosphere, through the Earth's orbit, on your way to the moon or Venus(****, you think of him again)or Pluto. Salsa on Saturn's rings, fall through Jupiter, turn stars into sticker on your skin, add pulsars, neutron stars, and quasars to your scrapbook(even if you don't scrapbook)

6. Return to Earth when the dryer shouts beneath you. Fold your shirts. Try not to think about the way his cheeks and face folds how he buckles over when he laughs, or how you did that first when that stupid statistic about how people like to mimic the habits of their love interest(***** science, if i can't explain my feelings, neither can it)comes to mind. Don't even look at that ******* shirt, toss it to the back of your dresser. Tuck sleeves left over right. Shove away thoughts of tucking stray tendrils of hair behind his ears, the feeling of his soft hair beneath your fingertips, how he cradled himself into your arms when he gets embarrassed.

7. Hang up your dad's formal shirts, your brother's tank tops, your mom's blouses. Blane your fatigue on the time of day rather than your depressive disorder. Blame your depressive disorder on your tendency to box yourself in and hold your own head underwater and struggle to breathe.

8. Accidentally close your eyes too long but just long enough for your mind to project  slideshow presentation of him standing off to the side, lingering for someone you wish was you (but it'll never be you, you know this like you know how two opposite symmetrical particles annihilate each other upon impact, a fatal encounter)

9. Throw back the tearstained shirts, socks, and boxers into the dryer. Set for twenty minutes. Almost forget to change the lint filter.

10. Stand there, numb and wet-faced, as the machine rocks, focus on the shaking of the tumbles to remember where you are, who you are.

11. Realize how often you lie to yourself(it doesn't take a genius to recognize a pattern)(remember Matt, Jamie, Julia; all fatal encounters, the stray neutrons in your equilibrium)Realize this is self-destruction. You are matter searching for antimatter, the particle searching for your antiparticle. You love the pattern(you're a routine-loving virgo, after all; you live for periodic patterns)love the cycles like the seasons. Like Persephone taking summer and spring with her every year, you are both Hades and Demeter. Cherishing new companionship, mourning the loss of your heart and soul.

12. He is the bull, you tell yourself, and bulls trample. Bulls stomp and wreck and dance and fly, but bulls are wild and untamable. Bulls don't belong with China-shop girls with scorched tongues and thumbs and an affinity for loving supernovas and jackhammers.

You carried the scent of a heavy summer rainfall with you
everywhere you went,
dropping hurricanes from your pockets for strangers
who have only known spring showers.
I didn’t know it was possible to fall in love with a storm.
Every time your cloudless eyes met mine
I felt a swell in the back of my throat,
as if I had drank too much seawater and you just kept staring
until I began to cough up the entire
Pacific Ocean.
You told me that this is what it meant to be with you,
to be with a nihilist.
You held other worlds on your fingertips
and slipped them under my tongue,
my blood becoming bellicose within it’s own veins.
The parabola of my pupils stretched until they became quasars,
I had never known energy like this before.
Your lips twitched into a most complacent grin at my lack
of self-possession as I writhed in the rapacious wake of the river.
Everything around me shimmered
with the light of 1,000 stars
and I heard centuries of music in your laughter.
I was a foreigner in a different world.
That night we made love with the intensity
of 50 lightning bolts striking an erupting volcano
and it was the first time you told me you loved me.
It was the only time you meant it.
We anesthetized each other so much
that you became insusceptible
while I became hypersensitive.
You carved kisses into my skin
and they were wonderful
but I was starting to bleed out.
But you couldn’t even feel my nails
as I tried to dig my way into your heart.
I had never wanted to live inside a person so badly,
but you can’t make homes out of people.
You can’t make homes out of addicts.

The time in point and space where it is alleged that we stand
is like some foreign land that only travellers know
but that place in space
moved on a million years ago
and we are no longer there
should we care?

In the endless magnitude of stars,planets and comets,meteors and quasars
nothing is still.
Everything moves to some greater will
until the place that we knew becomes just one in the queue
of discoveries we make and friendships we renew.

When this became clear to me
problems so near to me
dissolved.

The all is much greater than me
I see
the circle defined
in degrees of my mind.

Another universe expands into more foreign lands
which we travel beside
ride trails astride of it
we've laughed till we cried with the joy of it
and understood not a bit of it.

In aeons of atoms
we have merged and we have parted
started and ended
defended our right
to look into the wonder of night
and
Dream.

You can see it in my eyes' dilation.
In the way I lick and bite my lips,
wrap and clench my fists
between sheets of frustration.

Something in the way your hairs twist
insists the soul of an artist.
I swear it was made by a florist
and sprinkled with stardust.

And the quasars your eyes are
Shine brighter than light fractured
through the stones your fond of.
I'm jealous of everyone who's experienced your gaze before me.

The physical features of your body
are just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak,
Of why I find you enticing. Your mind is so entrancing
it could make the Titanic re-sink.

There is beauty beneath your hair,
Behind your eyes, in the center of your mind and the crust of your skin.
A universe of beauty you hold within. As I witness something that rare
I tell myself...No, force myself to believe this is just infatuation.

Stardust,
Heavenly stardust.
How ancient is your glow?
Millions of years,
Of your shining light.
With stories left untold,
Generation after generation.
Quasars and plasma streams,
Extensions of your darling light.
How magnificent less appreciated,
These ancients shining in the night.

Behind the days bluish glow

I know you're there

I wait for sunset and while away

Until the midnight hour

Where your breath speaks to my soul

Where constellations twinkle

in sequence spelling out your secret name

And as I rise weightless

Leaving the old leaden sheath behind

The cosmos suddenly opens

A stream of concious light

Interconnected highways and byways

And the game of tip chase begins

Are you amongst the stars?

Are those your soul prints amongst the quasars?

I search for you,

With all the excitement

Of innocent eyes devouring the wonders

but you still remain for my efforts unseen...

I wrote it
rehearsed it
performed it
I owned it.

The spotlight, hit me just right and casting my gaze through the haze of blue smoke which rose from the cigar smoking crowd,
I announced quite loudly,my name
and my game was to be a night full of poetry,
if they had the time for it
I had the rhyme to hit them head on.
and then I was gone,
full on in a twister
a blistering piece about pulsating quasars,black holes and lasers,wrists cut with razors in the dead of the night,
I had them alright
there was a silence that stunned them,then I shot them with love songs,short rhymes but long lines,
then before they recovered and came to their senses,a poem followed on about the pretence that men favour
and the flavour of lies that lick off the tongue,another twelve bored out shotgun and a run in with death that undressed them,slightly depressed them,
and a funny rhyme about Harry Lime which the older ones got and the young ones did not.

Taking a ten second break to await the applause,I cut it off short,got caught in another rose,a tinctured vial full of prose,elastic and bending,sending this crew into waves of delight,
it was late night in Wigan or it may have been Crewe,I wasn't so sure but the audience knew and I didn't care there was lots more to get through,and the words partied out,spread about the seated like spice heated so hot, it would burn them, or it would not,
another shot from the stage,the rage of a victim on Jeremy Kyle,held out in my words,another funny one,make them smile,they never forget that,
they may forget me
but they'll remember my poetry.

From spinning galaxies colliding in intergalactic bursts of light traveling millions of miles every hour, to dying stars fueling the birth and rebirth of new civilizations and planets, of new life, of new beginnings, from the infinite multidimensional plane of the universe that's the palate for these swirls of light and heat
To the intricate workings and cognitive enigmas of love, the springs and cogs of joy, the blackened cogs of sorrow, covered in soot
To the formation of billions of these unending universes that, in time will flourish or wither...
The distances between these universes are huge, yet traveling these wide expanses take trillionths of billionths of seconds, and the celestial dance between universes of ideas, galaxies of concepts, black holes of love and despair, quasars pulsing pure energy everywhere, everything coming together in a spectacular array of light and heat...universes within universes spin and dance in my brain and neurons fire as galaxies die, pathways travelled as planets are born, and nerve endings stimulated as supernovas fueling them...all of this for one idea. Millions upon millions of universes are born and die in my head, and because of it the universe doesn't seem so small..after all, billions exist in our brains.
Yet, in all of that, these dazzling arrays of light are compressed into infinitesimally tiny spaces...it's not surprising that something's lost in the process.
It's amazing to think that so much is in our heads, that so much happened in our heads for us to realize so much happens in our heads, that  so much happens for such simple ideas...the sheer amazement that should be felt is painfully lacking.
The perfection of the stars is lost on paper.

Something's lost, between the beginning of a universe, the birth of new stars and systems, and between our final actions. It's lost in translation.

I have entire galaxies in my head, but I speak mere stars.

It is the hour before the god's awake
universes come together to mix and
blend and adorn this infinite space,
The moon,stars,quasars, galaxies present themselves
in this celestial romp to proudly proclaim their beauty.


The ocean wakes up to the soft roar of the waves,
and slowly life is born from the sacred
womb of Nature,from the subtle breeze
that awakes the flowers in gentle admiration
of the unfolding dawn,
the gulls gyrate over the shore,
and the Sun,peeping from the horizon
rises slowly to start another glorious day.

Part I

I knew the answer.
Long before I picked up the phone
I knew the answer, but I needed
to hear your voice.
Needed to hear the trigger
cause the hammer
hit the strike plate
ignite the spark
burn the powder
and send the bullet streaming down
the chamber to lodge itself deep
into my subconscious.
But all I got was silence.
I needed to hear your voice
to give me permission to be angry,
but all I got was silence.
In that silence
I heard galaxies collide
planets break loose orbit
stars  mingle as ion hearts
stopped beating.
Quasars crackled in
my ear as I waited for you to
say "goodbye", but all I got
was silence.
In that moment I became
un-created
un-raveled
un-living.

Part II

I tried losing you
in the beds of other men.
Drown you in the swells and troughs
of wrinkled sheets.
Wash clean your memory
with their sweat and ***.
But you managed to hide in the
recesses of my shame and your
memory laughed as I crawled into
our queen sized bed...
alone.

I tried to drown you in the
bottom of every bottle.
Hoped the fire in my throat
and the haze in my eyes
would absolve me of my sin!

BUT YOU ******* LEARNED TO SWIM

and proceeded to drag me to the
depths of misery.

I ran head first into the world
hoping I would lose you
in the flash and flurry
and **** bang push pull of
life!
Instead I found myself.
In the silence of that epiphany
I heard galaxies explode
gasses swirl
coalesce
dance
congeal
Ion hearts beat life into existence!

In the silence of that epiphany
I was created.

Now picture this... I communed with chaos and conjured up an ancient conquistador by the name of Quetzalcoatl. He called me a chickenshit coward before grabbing me by my cranial consciousness container; and with a chiropractic crack, just like that, my chakras connected and I channeled the grizzled ghost of Ol' Ronnie Reagan. He gurgled a “Hello” and grumbled “Just Say No” ... “Did you know my Nancy fancied fucktarded fantasies, or that she believed in batshit lunacy like astrology and necromancy?" ***** better know, it's bros before hoes cuz this ghost with the most is about to get gangsta with my ***** Miki-G... "Yo, Gorbachev, you old goblin goat, wipe off that **** stain on your head and tear down that muthafuckin' wall.” After guzzling a gallon of ***** Putin ****** in, he gave Ol’ Ron a wink with a glowing goat eye of iris framed rectangle dark... lowering his headgear he ran slowly while singing a slurred ***** polka rendition of possibly a ***** Riot song. The chorus went something like "******* the Bolsheviks with 11 inch strap-on *****" to which Ronnie replied, “Ewe can dew it to Nancy too!”, as his horns hit cement setting off the biggest supernova block party this side of the galaxy. When the dust settled, everybody was gone and all was right with the quarks and the gluons. The quasars aligned and spun in a symmetrical dance inducing this trance that gave me the vision of which you are reading and the bliss about to unfold here on the shores of Château de Event Horizon, my own private island. As I watch the goblin goats manufactured from the genes of Gorbachev graze the galactic grassy knoll, I’m soon seduced by the song of a sidereal siren... KA-BLAM a ******* shipwreck I endure. When I came to, at the end of my rescue, by whom I suspect to be the same starry-eyed saboteur. She whispers somniferously that to be saved I must partake in her hedonist holy communion. “Drink this neutron star wine in remembrance of my taste, distilled from grapes grown on gamma ray vines representing the lust-laced blood of salvation.” I, a blissom blind bavian obviously, find myself beneath an altar awaiting with bated breath and baculus bombé, bewitched by this bathykolpian beauty of absolute perfection, it’s made clear from my enormous ******* that I’m eager to worship betwixt her exquisite bombosity. “I come to you… er... and on you... with this sacrificial offering of byssus ******* and baptismal borborology... but before I implore... first, hit this baetyl of brume and breathe in a Big Bang **** hit of some killer cosmic kush grown on Kepler 452…. *******?”

“What if I were to bind you up with a sash? Byssus bound with blindfold, and belayed beautifully as can be. Blissom confinement is liberating when not meant to abash. Bestowing to you a masterpiece in *******, a most exquisite ligatured apogee.”

Exhaling miasmic veils of woven haze blindfolds she blows, until we are unable to see. Instead we let our lips caress each others flesh in search of the treasures buried just below. The ritual begins when I go down to taste your nectar of the gods, feel my fingers scrawl spells on your flesh in hieroglyphic haste, Anubis awakes when I invoke he to weigh my heart and become Osiris resurrected, manifested as broken pieces tossed and lost by the tempest of temptation. To traverse this tribulation and emerge triumphant, invoke Isis and find the 13 to complete the puzzle of my psyche. But if you want your toes curled and that shaking sensation, it’s 14 you’ll need to complete the capstone of my ******* obelisk. Then we can transcend by the touch of the tongue, ******* ritual recitation through unspoken glossolalia until we complete our journey to become the Gods of our own creation. Why should we not manifest through sensual sidereal sexuality? Orchestrating a galactic glowing mass of groans from groins grinding in tune with the pulsar powered music produced by Love, Lust, and Longing. Our libidos vibrate as sine waves in harmony with strummed string theory, for we are the Cosmic Conductors controlling this sonorous ****** symphony riding gravitational waves that will forever ripple throughout the fabric of spacetime. Cosmological carnal knowledge collapses and condenses our atoms, coalescing to produce photons of pure light to illuminate the encroaching dark void of loneliness which desires to devour it all.

There are galaxies in verses
a universe in words
a conversation in each abbreviation,
with comets of comma's and a
quagmire of quasars
laser lights to brighten faces that
lighten up my day.
So many permutations
within
the alphabet of
constellations
it's hard to know where to begin upon
this spinning wheel.

There’s nothing novel in my possession
simply a puzzle mind with a broad perspective
Replete with concepts and dozens of questions
Sometimes I wonder if time will confess to its intentions
Does more await of quasars remnant?
Because I see where the dots connected
I am receptive to the astral message hidden amongst the stars
Though if on this journey, were I ever to embark, I must leave the mind ajar

I have eaten red stars for breakfast,feasted on moons and drank comets in cups,
black holes were my doughnuts,quasars my quavers and I never wavered from the thought that
inside me,in front and behind me the universe was there just to blind me from some truths left untold,
I shall eat many more moons before I get old,see stars explode,load lunar eclipses,gallop along the galaxies,expand on my theories and stand on the rooftop of it all,
if I fall it's a long way to go,if I fail it's because the universe won't let me know,won't tell me the truth and that being the case
I will wait on the roof 'til
the end.