Tuesday, August 6, 2019

Fault Lines

    For Amy

Out of the womb of curiosity lies I,

a child

crawling on flatland,

walking into a world of my own,

painted in spray cans and skateboards,

illustrated in antidisestablishmentarianism,

rendered in the sound of my skull hitting concrete,

shown in TV Science, juvenile hall, and dial-up internet.

I’m slowing learning to walk,

heading heterodoxically towards your path,

towards our future together where we’ll be focused and infinite.

But some decades later, its mountains and muses,

tall rocks, 

disorganized patterns and relationships,

yet our minds create the greatest ranges of topography.

From the clearing of trees

your towering figure arises, 

reaching past the sky,

desiring that deep deep space, 

ever yearning with fingers of earth and rock

to be closer to the starlight.

A creature who creates valleys,

between peers and my person,

flowing higher from father sent magma,

a prominence commanding humility.

A blessed range.

Enticing the ravens and I with satanic apples,

inside lay knowledge golden – partnerships foreboding,

sweet sweet sustaining sugar,

an ephemeral energy I hope is everlasting,

As I ascend up your fault lines

we have hard conversations,

abuse, adorations, children, capitalism,

even this path of least resistance is hard,

we delayer clothes and old cardiac scar tissue,

exfoliating rock — nude smooth surfaces emerge.

it’s as elegant a path as I’ve ever known,

our repertoire of movements,

this interaction of intellect and action,

geological meeting rational meeting masses dancing.

Your platforms form a purgatory,

an oasis,

I hide from the sun in your tears,

naked in pools,

I close my eyes,

comforted by balmy saltwater,

I drift into another dream.

Someone in my mind attempts to remember you in my dreams,

a mind in mind materializes

this ghostly figure of you,

it’s turning into a fog,

it’s turning into this harpoon between my teeth.

I don’t remember falling,

it was a dream disconnected,

stone slid asunder

and I was gone.

I awoke and a world was gone,

you were gone,

to unroot and float across a whole ocean,

closer to autonomy and creation,

nourished by jungle fruit and science.

The air around your void still moves,

as if you still stood tall,

A negative image written in smoke,

your range and your hips still commanding the sky,

an aerial wake I can no longer escape.

I can't climb over your nooks anymore,

I'm not one of your angelic ravens,

Those black birds who still swoop into those old valleys, 

standing as reapers do over craggy vistas, 

small figures of death,

reminders of our relative staticity.

These unspeakable faults forged by my fallibility,

my failures,

my attempts left me only looking at summits,

and now only in memories,

a witness to your grace,

a witness to your immensity,

rendering my energy into scarcity.

I stumble into the fog that settles in that void,

searching for life,

for the possibility of flowers,

standing in the understanding that forgiveness is possible,

that rain will come and good people will come to deal with the damage.

Those tangled vines I had laid over your ridges,

intertwined delicately over your breasts

are rearranging into other things,

a transformation, an evolution,

breaking down into soil,

into fragments,

I sit on the surface pausing patiently for understanding.

This Earth is ever fertile,

the worms till and turn tirelessly.

In the emergence, I awaken,

this overly intrepid individual,

walking over flat topography,

forever seeking...

Monday, June 10, 2019

The Lost Boys

Lost boys

an evolution

a focusing

on people

on individuals


in fog,
– distortion –
It ain't in voice,
it's only in your mind,
clustered and conscious,
where it isn't just a mear fucking numbers game.

you are not free,
you are pseudo symmetries,
fragments and forgeries,

only adjoining the paths,
to changes that’d charge you,
that would propel you,
that would propel the world
to a state of True vitality
that could reach biological escape velocity,
to the beginning of death being a dimestore curiosity.

Respond, react in all your instances,
to choose your life,
your choices,
to the creation of the container and contents,

shape the bowl,
throw yourself at the project,
dig your hands in the muddy grooves
as they sink into the features that are your moments,
make a choice to reattach the forgotten parts of your life,
score and slip the friends and lovers lost
into a new cast,
into the kiln,

break every flawed fabrication,
know that the resources are infinite,
although the components have cost,

they are still limitless:
in practice - dwindling,
in principle - ever dawning,
ever flowing into another entity
somewhere within the multiverse.

Take the responsibility to respond,
take every joule,
every bit of your lifeforce,
and act in accordance with the principle that they matter,

they are life.

Where every evasion deprives recreation.

Think of a world without scarcity,
that is our world.
Think of the lightyears of untapped energy,
the cities among the stars yet built,
the beings of godly health,
of universal reach,
of a renaissance anew.

We are the terrestrial lost boys
and will always be.
At the brink,
at the edge of understanding,
persistent on truly becoming
a Focused People.

Monday, April 8, 2019

Hum of Humanity

A simple beat,
each member playing their part,
and when the beat and banter becomes obnoxious,
when the psilocybin peaks,
we can sink into this soaking tub,
drowning out the noise into a hum,
of woe and excessive wonder,

a human humming,
the hum of humanity.
now distant discussions
diffusing our divergences.

In hegemonic pools,
lording over my eardrums,
regulating the earth’s hot water,
this chain of the collectives choices,
some people voted someone to make this mountain spring
They set it in o-so-smashable concrete,
yet we align betwixt cloudly blue tile

Patterns and background ergonomics,
state-funded play places plant people
to grow into themselves,
layer by layer, drip by drip
becoming raisins or contemplatives,

until we engage with the drain,
sucked down until we’re left with better problems to ponder.

Tuesday, March 12, 2019

This is My Little Life

Let me scream in complete isolation,
give me an ocean and let me run the waves,
like, just for a day, you don’t have to tell anyone.

Tell me I should be afraid,
but I’ll tell you the chance of growth was worth the risk,
I’ll tell you the pain of these possessions were worth it,
my life,
my cherished scars,
my intentions
are worth the effort,
my impact
will be positive,
because I prioritize joy over pleasure.

Tell me I'm a robot,
just another slave program running in the matrix,
well, with respect, fuck that,
but I still love you,
and everyone who contains slivers of understanding,
we are always equal in the endless errors we house unknowingly,
our capacity and potential is endless,
we are all vessels for value creation,
so I’ll be there for you – if you want to learn,
I’ll take up the slack in the rope,
in my simple states,

to keep you safe for the path you choose.

I turned 30 today,
my birthday present to myself is that I want to be alone,
I want to wash away the decades in desolation,

to be
to exist in my hovel on four wheels,
in my world,
with my perfect dog Cash,

with my neglected books,
on my computer,
reading how infinite the world is,
that ol’ multiverse,
which I write my verses in
is my life.

Free to do as I wish,
Bathing in all the choices
Seeking understanding,
because asking why never became unsatisfying.

but accepting of reality's constraints
as glowing truths to play between.

Thursday, February 21, 2019

Newt Life


copy copy copy copy

a selection,
a test,
the most gentle force
moving in microns, making the most monumental alterations
in these pre human beings.
This granular velocity of knowledge without a knower.

A new being brought against the force of falsification,
in conditions that wash away all bias,
focusing in on errors in eternities.

living each second as an expression of organic codes,
before organic thought,
abstract patterns adapting to no end,
weighted wandering into different forms,
endless diversity, complete universality
of shape, of environment and niche.

Nature’s cutting force
that brings beings into benevolence or breakdown:
a population sentenced without a sentencer–
to be painted into a existential corner.

Organizing at the level of a life,
structured in a chain of knowledge accumulation,
insightful code created creatures to no end,
no end goal.
Awesome mindlessness,
peaking at people,
atop mount improbable.

That is power,
of nature
and us as it’s extension:
purporting conjectures
in memetic explanations
detached from genetic language

staring back at the tangled chains of genealogy,
stopping at the crest of mystery
of what created this universality,
knowing that somewhere beyond the clouds lay simplicity.