Joshua tree
Across the high California desert you stand with lifted salutation off the beaten path the drift
Of sea moisture mingles with tule fog rising from the desert floor you have briefly entered an alien
World a brooding connection develops with London’s fog shrouded streets or the Arden with its
Identification with It being the one natural barrier to the advancing Roman’s might and Shakespeare’s
Play the woods for him was familiar but a place where change to ones fortune could occur and one
Could find love mist is one of the times that a magic wand was effectively waved it produced a myriad
Of realties notable connections a display that reaches the far borders of wonder pleasantness infringes
On the harder order of the desert’s hotter principles farther east the great desert sentry looms above
All else the saguaro cactus also raises its arms as the Joshua giving thanks for life in a stark and
Burdensome land rock and scrub fills this place it takes time to appreciate such bitter circumstances
But you can sink thoughtful roots that will play a symphony between sun and shadow and all the living
Things that eke out a living there are a breed of people that thrive here also they can teach a lot to
Others live on less you would be amazed how refreshing simple living can be get to much you find
Fun squeezed out of the seams of the so called good life just think in this term when does water taste
Like heavenly nectar when you have been deprived and are at a loss to find it the abundance of anything
Can temper its value death swiftly occurs when the spirit of taking things for granted pervades those
Times that are riveting and create completeness in us are by nature rare and treasured you don’t have
To trek to far off deserts or faraway places a child’s youthful smile that is slipping away When tenderness flows and she makes your heart glow know my friend you are blessed with God’s best for all of earths time a husbands
Gentle laugh his look that stirs you deeply these are but three of rarified finds that are in your life
Enjoy treasure them they are personal gifts you possess today

My mind is a totalitarian regime.

I build up walls, paranoia, panopticon. (And to me, Denmark is a prison.)

Keep the voices, the evils of the world out.

An ideology, power, purpose,

Convinces me of the diseases, the deviants,

That risks an illusion to be shattered.

I am my own dictator, hail.

I control words—words are power—

I write my own narratives, make my own excuses,

Create heroines and gods to populate the prison walls. (He was a son of God—a phrase which, if it means anything, means just that—and he must be about his Father’s business, the service of a vast, ******, and meretricious beauty.)

I rewrite constellations, make them smaller,

Build babels, buying more time.  

I tell that amnesiac blackness: that it cannot hurt me; it can’t touch me.

Those labyrinthian libraries of sky charts and lovely flower dictionaries, rooms of polychromatic paintings, which I gathered with gayety as a child—I’m still a child—I haul into the fire,

Ignorant wretch.

We live a part of a global economy, where inclusivity and transparency criticize, perfect.

I can’t stand the critics, I cry, ******!,

Condemn them to death by a thousand cuts,

Slicing and dicing, I can hear their silent pleas,

They speak to me, You are loved, Let your family in, Please stop

Please please please stop please stop stop stop speak to please stop speak to me

Horrible hungry faces, they don’t cry as I peal skin from bone,

With shards I crush those voices, with glass, broken mirrors,

Me to speak stop please to speak stop stop stop please stop please please please  

Break down the walls,

why should you die before your time?
An open market is prone to crisis,

These newcomers, it only takes one to break your heart.

Things with merit are gems; scarcity creates value.

Enjoy the labour of love and life, it is a gift of God,

Dance under pixel skies, they **** pride, ****,

Open the floodgates, the dictatorship crumbles and crumples under the weight of these tired eyes

That see light rushing out from the cell window as visions and vicissitudes

A cry from the streets outside

The end is nigh, Night is coming!

One cannot sleep with starry skies in the eyes.

Stay awake, because the guards are coming,

Remember—you are to be tried for warcrimes, hail.

You and me, we can shuffle off this mortal coil, our self slaughter a mere trifle

In this ocean of failed realties, as man to cosmos.  (All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.)

Cause this flesh to melt I beg,

Keep cutting, smaller pieces,

No, the sunrises, it’s ****** and orange,

Citrus, it burns in these wounds,

I feel pain, I feel, warm with this ambiance,

A jacket to prevent morning chill, breathing wisps,

I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to die,

I don’t I don’t now don’t don’t don’t no I don’t want to leave no leave me

Wait!—


(Feb 7 2016)

Time aged in millenniums breath, eternities
Upon it did the juncture's of a breach offer
A glimpse in others minds of reality's thoughts.
Whirlpools of confused visons, then calm.

To walk on the moments of each surge that
Washed upon realties exhalation. I talked to
Younger versions and like a paradox, repeated
Reflections I saw ourselves in memory and word.

There is an etched pathway of conscious thought
With each decision does a new pool open its
Moment creating fresh essence now as the other
But diverged time is a ripple that always falls.

The invisible hand that stretches across
Oceans and  barbed wire boundaries
Has more fingers than the streams of light that cascade
from the heavens into the dark recesses
of your magnificence.

There are moments when all seems lost
But the shadow of darkness is dispelled
And replaced by this glimmer of hope
That softly and subtly invades
Your magnificence

Even as we explore the faint avenues
That wound their way into our consciousness
We clearly seem to understand how our journeys
Criss-crossed over exotic landscapes
And stark desolate realties
To merge into a moment of  mystery.

We have finally met.
Now more human than before
The pages  of our past turn slowly
The notes we compare are cryptic and careless
But what we share seems to have been sculpted
By the same pen filled with the same ink of wisdom.

What we had didn't matter to me.
Didn't mean anything to me.
Without you I feel free.

Your touch of my skin didn't make me feel.
Because I knew it wasn't real.
You're nothing to me.

The words you said didn't captivate me.
Enamor me.
It was just an act,
I'm sure you'll agree.

You were just a game to play.
A heart to betray.
You're worthless to me.

You're a ghost to me.
At most you'd be,
nothing more than
a mind to ****.
A stupid schmuck.

Sorry.
Sorry.
I just needed to lie for a second.

Because my lies are your realties.
I'm done with the formalities.

It hurts. Because I cared and shared
all that was the mess of me with
somebody as unworthy as you
because I thought I knew
who you were and your intent with my heart.

I should've seen from the get that I was
just another
twit you could mold and fool.

I'm sorry.
I just need to lie again.
For a moment.

I'm fine now.
I'm strong now.
It doesn't hurt.
I'm moving on.
I'm better off.
I feel alive.
I'll be okay.

Sorry.
Sorry.
I just need to lie for a second.

I'm glad we had it.
I don't regret it.
I'm glad I opened up.
I'm glad I shared my trust.

Sorry.
Sorry.
Sorry for the lies.

Recording that of which time was spent,
It must be stated with some lament,
Mankind was never prepared for that
Which they saught so vehemently sat,
Upon the throne of their own faults,
Theology differentiated by default,
And by which we would derive
The definition of demise.
-
Annihilate me through my own inner goals,
And press upon my morals once told,
To keep my kin so lively and free,
Rid them of their depraved disease,
The freedoms and liberties of once passed down,
Caress the minds of a generation endowed,
Subject to sin and objectification,
Of an overly popular, judgmental nation,
An internal strife "To thineself always be true"
Yet knowing not what realties imbue,
Distressed, ingested ideals are formed
And peaceful requisitions are abhorred,
Selection is distraught and vague,
Left frustrated are those who live for today,
I must comment, request, and repent
That in honor of life, meaning is spent,
Lifeless are we, all left longing,
Know that in this life, there is nothing.

Sorry no poetry today!
We’ll try again.

Weeks pass. Nothing to say-
is it not yet thought of-
sprouting, not yet budded.

We treat the sprout
the radicle deepens
budding begins
we have a seedling
on the rise.

This is the poem-
You sit there and wonder
what a wonderful change.
From ignorance of beginnings
to glorious realization:

The menthol Newport n our hands,
Orion overhead, dull street lights,
smoke from our lungs distorting the lake.
I wonder what it is like-
Like what?
how the world looks,
through your eyes.

I see playfulness
my imagination runs rampant,
merging realties to become-
surreal. I disrupt the compliant
by paving the roads with
trees of broccoli-

So that is your world-
we share the desire,
to glorify our imaginations
surrealism you say-
romanticism I suggest.

I have to tell you.
I do hate broccoli.

They were always within each's grasp hand in hand
Sewn in eternity twine. Wondering the forsaken road
Of deadwood fences,they were a distortion of the before
When they weren't always observing in sight upwards.

Blurred realties of gazing on the paradox of  what they
Always walked towards. These two little ones so tiny
In stature but heavy in soul. One would not leave the
Others needing, to never letting each go.

Perpetually stagnant on this long road, no crossroads
To change views. But still they look up in blurred necessity.
They still want to walk in hand, sewn to each others
Path, and so they dwindle into the distance Never letting go

Each other yearning upon the others palm, just two little ones
On the path of deadwood with fields of plentiful nothing.
Distorted they look up to vacant spaces where they wish to
Be, but walk dirt roads that never end within each others hand.

High

The mountain

takes the sky above it and the black sand below

and raps them in his breath.

Rolling high above the waves and barnacles

My cheeks sting red from the skipping ride across the cove.

the mountain hasn’t changing, a constant.

I have traveled its omnipotent rode, many times.

My innocence scattered along the path

like dew.

The trek is easier now.

I am stronger. The mystery is gone now.

Once the woods held secrets and treasures for thought

and every step was a triumph.

The winding path was

an epic journey

and the elements threatened defeat.

Stumbling and sweated I’d reach the top.

The all encompassing spirit

would rap me up in her arms

and whispered sweet dreams of the future

the brevity of life

disappeared in my greatness and significant being.


Harder times sold the wonder from beneath my resting head

and here, at the foot of this mountain,

I stand in confidence

no longer amazed by natures omnipotent hight.

I see the shadows in the wood and feel no curiosity

and when nature sings I feel no desire to listen to its honesty.

I spend years (it seems) in book and introverted realties

which strip me of the purest form of humanity.

Where once I stood on the top of a mountain

and thought of the greatness of self

I now question all forms of lively hood

and fear the swelling waves of future.


As a child I bounded on wings of joy

into the wooden cabin on the mountain

and sang while time floated by

and tea boiled in kettle and I had time to dream.

Now here I stand where I have stood so many times before

and I can’t help feeling nostalgia

and longing for my innocence

where things where easy.

Innocence flies, it really does,

and once the sky has fallen the birds don’t sing.

and questions

why does experience create so many questions?

shouldn’t time resolve?

In the morning I’d awake and speed down to the shore catch

the glimmering fishes twisting in the light and make sculptures

from salty stones.

Now I awake in a cabin I have slept in many times

there is no novelty

and my privileges makes the exceptional ordinary.

I drowsily remove myself from sleep

and sit on the porch with a view of the cove.

I see a view which I have seen many times before

yet the incomprehensible contrast of the world

still strikes

hard

like a bullet through a chest.


In the years that come

I want life to crystalize

to form diamonds

hard, durable, and divine.

so when I sit here

I will have my future

and I will know some answers.

at least some

more than now.

I want the sea of fears to part

and let my spirit free.

I will sit on this wooden porch

weather worn and historied

and I will see through fresh eyes

and again feel the strength from within.

I was a mosaic collected
in scratched nails
                  imbedded, bleeding
like I was meant to be touched
but can you really grasp a reflection..

How could you identify what
          I see, within the fallen feathers
of a crows smiles.
                               I'm hidden within,
a pile of dead bones wishing to fly again.

I could walk within the footsteps of those
in front of me on calm sands.
                               But I choose to run on
a beach of shattered shells, this is life!
broken dreams never really washing away.

I see smiles kept aloft by matchsticks,
                                       ready to ignite.
Within there embers embracing the true
               reflection of how I see others.
Parched realties of never really loving you
or another for the failures of there integrity.

I could love,
             in blindness.
But what is seen is nothingness..
I could love,
             in thought.
But memories will always lie to oneself.
I could have love,
             in myself.
But nothing ever comes from that..

Until I realize that I'm not in control
of this collage of moments.
                    I'm a Paper-Mache,
randomly collecting on a frame work
           of contemplation, that I will only
see on the completion of my life.

I'm but a part that I thought was
                                 irrelevant, immaterial.
But I'm just a piece of life collecting on
the shattered shells slowly reforming to
realize there is more to life than sandy shores.

by Ryan P. Kinney

This is a dream I had the night of May 27, 2013.

The dream opens to me in a booth at a restaurant with an unknown faceless female friend. I begin to notice at other booths across me a single woman sitting in several different booths. I slowly begin to realize that all of these woman look like Lisa, although each unique and different. These very similar women were sitting by themselves, and freaking out people around them with how similar they looked. I instantly rationalize that they are all Lisa’s from alternate realties, different possibilities of what they could be.
I am talking with my friend as I notice these women. My friend gets up to go to the bathroom and I approach these Lisa’s, addressing them all at once. I ask them to join me at my table (there are 3 of them that I can identify, but my mind told me there were 3 more there, a total of 6). They all come to my booth without a word, as though they were expecting this. I bring them to my table and add a chair for my friend at the end. The friend never returns and despite my mind telling me there were 6 Lisa’s, there was only space for 3 of them. They sit down.
One Lisa is very similar to mine, although very thin and pale. Another Lisa is rather chubby. A third Lisa sits down a few minutes after the others. She returned in place of my former friend. She was dressed in cyber goth clothing with black contacts that made her pupils appear to be constricted solid black circles. I exclaimed, “Ooo, there’s a goth Lisa.”
I addressed the Lisa most like mine and began asking her questions to gauge how like mine she was, almost suspecting that she was. The only question I can remember was, “What kind of car do you drive?” She told me a story about her white car, but I cannot remember the details. I told her the story of my breakup with my Lisa. Somewhere in the conversation I grabbed the thin Lisa’s wrist and she asked me, “Do you want to break that wrist?” I asked, “Problems with an eating disorder?” She nodded.

The chair at the end of the booth remained empty.

I awoke…

Maybe I shouldn’t drink before bed.

The core of your emotionally charged vibration gives me shivers,
then evens me out, like an illegal drug shocks the system.
You calm me down like a deep ****** after an exhausting ******* primal event!
I can’t say when, why, or the exact moment in time,
when you entered into my solitary world.
I can’t seem to let this go, the feeling of passion, the warmth of unity,
the wholesome finality of not feeling alone.
I don’t want to wake from my fragmented sleep,
because I feel you deeper when my eyes are closed.
I know it takes time and patience to hone in on what you feel.
I’ve waited so long for this slow dance to happen,
and I’m not about to give up now.
You make me feel like a female dragon in ****** heat,
expelling thunder like an old-time flashcube, dancing within my murky emotions.
Brandy filled chocolate covered cherries; melt from the heat inside of me,
Intoxicating the alcoholic burn on my tongue.
You’ve become a distillery of thoughtful contentment, that slowly releases
a flowing continuum of deliberate desires.
I’ve had some ups and I’ve had some downs, when it comes
to relationships and emotional intensities.
The air around you have pierced my reality and rebuilt the broken
chambers of my heart.
Feelings have been set free, with re-deposits of evaporated pain;
changing charged up devotions into kinetic realties.
My Mister Devine you bring out my divinity,
from the safety of your embrace to the finesse of your masculinity.

Porcelain features woven
                                  in satin smiles.

Suppressing realties undertones,
                       cracks eventually appearing.

The invisible hand that stretches across
Oceans and  barbed wire boundaries
has more fingers than the streams of light that cascade
from the heavens into the darker recesses
of your magnificence.

There are moments when all seems lost
but the shadow of darkness is dispelled
and replaced by this glimmer of hope
that softly and subtly invades
your magnificence

Even as we explore the faint avenues
that wound their way into our consciousness
we clearly seem to understand how our journeys
criss-crossed over exotic landscapes
and stark desolate realties
to merge into a moment of  mystery.

We have finally met.

Now more human than before
the pages  of our past turn slowly
the notes we compare are cryptic and careless
but what we share seems to have been sculpted
by the same pen filled with the same ink of wisdom.

Author Notes
for MJH. Thank you.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.

The rain isn’t just for you
The sun doesn’t belong to me
We all grow from the same root
Planted in the soil beneath our feet
Though our flower may look different
It requires the same life necessities
In order to flourish, live and thrive
No matter how different we try to be  
Separation and division
Are man made realties
Sometime we just need to close our eyes
To blind us from these casualties
And prevent our heart from hardening
From the perception casted by falsities
Because the human truth is
We will all struggle to prosper in some way
If we don’t rally around community

The cosmic touch.
I was facing moon,
thinking, about the end of
universe and millions
of blue butterflies.

Someone didn't want to die
in snow-white shroud.
A severed hand
fires a gun.

How much was your timeless
wait? I may disappear
in the dots and dashes. Would you
be asking for courage to come?

The cruel realties. You
don't want to look back. The
weeping willow will not
stand *****.

The temple was waste
without a goddess of love.
The return of requiem
makes me sad.

Her eyes were windows to her soul,
Aching sight of lovelinesses
Could see.

Realties were her black eyes,
Shaped only to look fascinating
And cold.

How liberating is Freedom
If you did not know you were trapped?
My Soul has been in an Invisible Cage;
Thrown around, beaten, bruised.
A crab without its shell in a pile of sand
Left over from the fallen castles,
Thought to be made of steel.

Lies.
The world around me, my experiences,
My thoughts, my feelings. Lies.
I have awoken from a simulation only I was in;
The experiences fake, the feelings real.
I carry the pain of false realties.

A nightmare in real life.
In dreams we experience the unexperienced;
You suffer as loved ones die, monsters chase you,
Storms destroy everything you have,
Unaware of the sleep you are in.
You jolt up in a panic that quickly turns into relief.
I don't get that relief; I didn't wake up.
I was never asleep.

The cage is open; I am free.  
But how liberating is Freedom
If you did not know you were trapped?

The movie plays
Actors become the characters they play
We remain we
Aware Its an illusion

Our reality doesn't change
But fictional reality inspires us
This emotion makes Superstars out of actors
The reason that the house gets sold out


We worship the hero
Knowing that Its acting
Nothing about it real
Acting the word says it all

The happy and sad events
We know is unique to this movie
Our problems remain the same
And do not change

Movie making is no secret
Universities and books teach you that talent
They've made it hoping you'd like it
Planned out move to circumvent reality

Identification with the star of the film
Is their objective from the beginning you took
It was an actor before he became a Superstar
Performance of unreal things
Makes him the superstar


The Mirage projected
We assimilate inside
Believe it for a period
Come out with an altered subconscious

Reality and fantasy
The brain acting selectively
Fantasy becomes reality
Reality not taken so seriously


Akin to having a drink
A high that happens
Everything seems better than what is
There's no hangover is the positive

Transported to places
Riding in a horse along in a western
Flying Wingman in a war picture
Falken for love with a beautiful woman in a Romance
Laughing hearts out in a comedy

Lights on Screen blank
Merged both realties
Wanting to see it again
Is exactly what the makers want it

Out of the cinemas
Feeling good about life
How long does the feeling last
Depends on how many drinks you've had