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softcomponent May 2014
Find the lighter, use it as a lighthouse on a walk below the wall you watch along the wave-formations. Who Wants a Cold One? a Coors Light ad corrects.. When it comes to your home, the little things matter.. an insurance ad blares.. my computer is infected with 3rd party applications unremovable to my meagre tech-ability.. there is a hero as Joseph Campbell once theorized.. in myself like a sick bastardly virus waiting for moments to prove to me "I AM THE SAVIOR, I AM THE CHRIST, I AM THE WARLORD, MICE, MAN, AND VICE".. the windows of opportunity close, I am left waiting the door

& the elevator.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's always best describing life in form of Disembodied Poetics.. sure some Philistines won't understand '*** their minds are made of Clockwork, Digits, and Blockthought.. but the general psychic underly implied in all with human faculty will ring-a-ding-ding! and remember all such ancient thoughts and feels as forgotten as a child, locked away until the Spirit rose-up from a rosey thorn prickle to flower straight-up into a Rose! or so I hope as a one-of-many writers-- all of which will write so-as to speak on your behalf.. all floaty and marking a purpose.
Onoma Oct 2014
The forgotten bedrock gleams...surrendering
crowns deep in majesty.
As breath comes and goes freely...what of
your fashioned cage?
Your multiplying extremities by mind's might
to touch the untouchable...allows religiosity of
fragmentation.
******* recalls of salvation...coasting still lifes
who blackened an etheric sea.
Seven Days in, and Seven Days out...clockwise/
counterclockwise, a Black and White Hole.
God of thy God in doses...whose meager One
be death at Once.
In the subtlety of trillionth aspect a clearing
may resolve as it were...what's point blank stands
as you Are.
R Sep 2013
wormholes.
they are so tiny--
a trillionth of a
millimeter.
maybe even less.
you cant see them,
you cant touch them.
but with them,
time slows
and everything
becomes new.
i dont mean like
a shiny new toy "new".
i mean like for a trillionth of
a second, things in our
universe change.
they change not by much,
but by how they are supposed
to originally be.
like port keys,
they take you to a new place
in space and time.
they open up a
whole new universe.
wormholes.
arent they beautiful?
tia Nov 2011
Ice blue-gray eyes,
that laugh, especially with
a semi-crooked smile.

A kind sort of smile, the semi-
crooked one, and a kind
sort of laughing.
Makes you feel like you’ve done
something pretty ****
great to deserve it.
(just pretend.)

And like you want to do it again,
so that maybe your eyes will laugh
with his.
Just maybe.
And if not, hopefully he likes you
anyways.
A millionth as much as you
like him.
Or a trillionth as much as
you sometimes, barely, dare
to wish.
(upon many a shooting
airplane, birthday candle, and
wish bracelet knot.)

Strong tennis-player muscles
of implied lines, not bulk.
At the same time, arms that
look comforting, make you long
to be held.
Doesn’t matter what catastrophe
strikes, bet it’s worth it.
Not from experience, but here’s to
hoping.

Accompanied by a mild yet male
scent. Unique with its inevitable,
accompanying trace of extra polar ice.
(be sure to buy some.)
Chewed in a surprisingly
acceptable way.
And a piece shared, with a kind
sort of smile,
always.

A laugh for real.
That always laughs with you, never
at you, at whatever is deemed
worthy, not just when others laugh,
even if it’s dorky, or lame,
or whatever.
Infused with honesty.

A personality to match that genuine
laugh.
The person you just want to talk to
because you just know
he’ll understand.
And if he thinks it’s stupid, it’s
ok, because
it probably is.
(definitely is.)
And why be unhappy when talking to
him?

Besides, he's not judging
anyways. Just
gets it. Maybe because you
have so much in common.
Though it's more than that.
More than those "commonalities."
Or whatever.

Assumes the best,
though that phrase is still
just not right.
(like all of them.
nothing's right.)
Though you think you're nothing,
he treats you like you're...
someone. Special.
(but maybe not quite someone special.)
Dont know how that
happened.
But it's nice.

Nice that he's always there.
(until when you expect it.)
Dependable and trustworthy.
Can't believe he's more stranger
than the best friend he feels like.
The best friend he
should be.
He's always there,
and now he's the one you always
want with you, more
than anything.
More than everything.
Who'd ever need anything else?
Who'd ever want everything else?
(maybe it's just me.)

That one in particular.
Who gives you that feeling you
thought only existed in romance
novels.
Who looks at you and something just
happens.
Who’s just different than everyone
else.
For who knows what reason.
But you just know.
Since forever.
As in love at first sight.
And all those other clichés which you
now know are apparently true.

Who, if they leave, take you away
with them, a part of yourself never
to be recovered. Once you give
yourself away, you don’t get any
back.

Leaving you in pieces, shambles, a
wreck , a disaster, broken,
confused, angry,
alone.

And all the songs make sense now.
About love and heartache. (both of
the above.)

Wish you’d receive the matching
piece of him, so that if you left, he’d
feel the songs too.

Who makes you feel like an idiot for
letting this happen. (because
obviously you are one.)
Who could never possibly like you
back, because no way
you deserve it.

The reason you’re up at two
AM on a Wednesday night/Thursday
morning, writing about
you know who. (as in not Voldemort.)
Who’s reduced you to an idiotic and
hopeless romantic, crying over lost
love and sappy movies.
The one everyone makes fun of.
Stupid pragmas.
(you think I chose this?)

Who’s also made you so much more,
so much better.
(to use yet another cliché.)

Who you can’t help but hoping,
wishing, dreaming for.
No matter what. Because it’s
all you know.
And all you can do.

(please come back.)
long poem...
i call this my rock bottom poem...
in my defense, i was probably around fourteen and a half when i wrote it...
just needed to get it out there though. so here it is.
Decisions. Decisions.
There is just too much for you to choose.
You see it,
You love it.
You get it,
You hate it.
Pick a **** side,
Enough wasting my time.
You stare at the pictures for months,
and it rusts in your closet for the next trillionth.
What was wrong with it?
Does the glove not fit?
Okay, you know what?
I quit.
I don't need your approval to feel like I'm worth it.
I gave you the Earth,
The next day you wanted mars.
When I gave you that planet,
You demanded the stars.
Go ahead and live an indecisive life you little twit.
I'm so done with you, you indecisive *****.
Zumwalt Fan Aug 2011
She radiates brilliance based on fine features, good form and skillfully applied cosmetics.
He balances confidence and accessibility with an unerring certainty of success.
The universe is expanding, Inflation rampant,
Stretching everything more than any yoga instructor would allow.

Our planet is stuck in motion at hundreds of thousands kilometers per second.
I stock up on Dramamine and Ginger Ale.

She worries that she will never see him again.
He is lost in the business of the day.
These galaxies race away from us faster than the speed of light
And are accelerating more each trillionth of a second.

Some Alien out there has calculated that this is the last week to DVR an episode of the Game of Thrones before losing all contact.
Some Star Watcher is now stuck with a static picture of this faraway galaxy
from here on out.

She is not simply a set of particles:
                                she is moving very fast.
In relation to her changing position in space,
                                he is moving even faster.

This universe is not stable;
It strays too far from itself
Running away from a past that was too small.

This universe is accelerating
As if it has immunity from moving violations
Or has appropriately mounted a very good radar detector.

One day her particles and his
Will dance tumultuously in the debris encircling some infant sun
Or get pulled into a black hole.

She radiates,
He balances,
The universe inflates,
Stretching everything way beyond belief
And ultimately, slightly out of reach.

-- Zumwalt (copied from www.zumpoems.com)
Alan McClure Feb 2011
After the fifty-seven-trillionth year
of my damnation,
I couldn't even remember
what had been so great
about my neighbour's ox.
vanessa ann Apr 2020
god does not love me
i think he doesn’t even know my name,
yet i still wonder what he’d call me by once i arrive
at the gates of afterlife,
would he disregard what he wrote in the book of life,
look me in the eye
and call me by the name
my parents christened me with
instead of human number 99560000c, earth #05?

but who am i fooling;
i am but a donut flying across infinity in lightspeeds
one moment there, a moment later swallowed by the hungry monster who awaits
in the black hole

am i a snack for idle gods?
a cut of chicken running from the jaws of earth, unaware
that it is merely flopping from one bowl to another,
flour to egg to crumbs—
a breading offering for the deities

most people have come to accept that, i think
as i jump yet again into the bowl of flour
but i am not most people, as i refuse to believe
the reality that i am but a speck of dust fleeting through life,
an insignificant bug easily quashed by the stinking
foot of infinity,
that old hag.

life is temporary
too much breading does not do any good
i will soon be the trillionth dumped into that pool of hot oil

but **** if i’m not going to try scorching the tongue of a god,
and while i’m at it,
be the most delicious flying donut in the galaxy.
―a feast for the gods
Arfah Afaqi Zia Jan 2016
The degree at which I seek,
In terms to keep;
Our relationship at peace,
Paradox it may seem,
To be a part of thee,
My life begins and ends in thy arms,
My forevermore,
My sweet temptation,
My final destination,

Eroding beside the shore,
On the corners,
Along the curves,
Candor you are,
And your heart at its worse,
Dysfunctional as it works slow,
Killing a millionth part of me,
My lips sealed,
And my love ceased,

My attempts to proceed,
Ignoring the mishap,
And a trillionth deceive,
Aggravating me indeed,
Seldom I see you weep,
For me to escort with thee,
I lose my hurt instantly,
Giving away my body,
My final destination.
Satsih Verma Mar 2017
I was preparing myself
for a Socratic dialogue, when
you come unannounced.

If lie was the answer,
then where was the truth.

Meet me night before
night with naked names,
smashing the space and time.

The invisible particles at last are in view.
Can you count after the
trillionth number, eighteenth
digits and beyond.

Nothing gives me peace.
I want to say, I am the God
to end the discussion.

That ignites an explosion
and we begin our journey again.
Unprecedented and infinitely condensed:
Oscillating over the expanse, most deep.
Heat colder than the coldest unknown,
And cold hotter than the hottest of heat.
Overwhelming energy and power squeezed into a finite space,
Fitting for an electron a trillionth divided.
For a singularity, being just one,
Such profuse diversity of one undone.
With gravity hosting the gravitas of God’s venue,
The particle party gets underway,
With conventions abundant.
Brand new guests, unknown to man, arrive,
With the fusion of their making,
Which causes them to be,
Delivered to their waking,
Yet to be governed by He,
Whose government from 1914,
Have been preparing for this time,
When need of judgement is called for,
Judgement will be yours and mine.
Never again will we be,
An infinitely condensed singularity
Devon Lane May 2018
Rome wasn't built in a day,

comparatively to the age of earth,
a single day is just a trillionth of a grain of sand.

Making me about 0.00000007435 grains of sand in the hourglass.

I am not your Athena and my studio apartment is not the Parthenon.

I consider myself a Modernist, modular.
No columns, pillars, domes, ornaments.

Just fire and cheap nicotine.

My bones and flesh will never be immaculate, my body is concrete and corrugated steel.

Based on classical mathematics I will never be perfect, yet I am still a perfectionist.

That is the infinite burden I bare.
Jonathan Moya Sep 2020
The sand holds our faces.
Every thousand grains
forms a man, a woman, a child.

Every millionth there is your mother-
young, stunning, beauty mark
perfectly spotted on right cheek.

Every billionth adds a little weight,
gray, tears and beaches of separation.

Every trillionth might be the dirt
blown away at her funeral.  

It’s not hard to find a thousand
coffins nesting in the shoreline.
You just need to adjust your eyes
to focus on the tiny-ness below,
to see every relative particle.  

Sand is but the erosion
of the once impenetrable.

You may find your father
coasts away from your mother,
his bald-headed frown
etched into a tableaux
of a thousand grains.

The semblance of
your sister’s smile
and your brother’s jeer
not embracing each other
are also there,
shifting closer
or farther away,
based on the whims
of tide and wind.

Your history has been
etched into the grains
centuries before your birth,
yet your fate remains beyond
their sway and maybe even time.

No  one can explain
why vast deserts exist.
Why their very ash
is forever tendered
and remembered.

All we know is that
the shifting sands
will be there to always
greet and bury us.
Dennis Willis Aug 2022
I've recently become
less than a less than a
less than a
grain as a galaxy
one in two
to six
trillion of them
has become less than a
trillionth of all
and I compared
to a galaxy
am small enough
to be free even if
we are voices
of these stars
I must shave my tawny undersides with a razor and be quick before
F.E.M.A. arrives to ****** me with inoculants that'll make me sick
& exhausted like an anemical ***** just after her 54 trillionth trick

— The End —