A poison seed is furtive in neglected soil.

From scorched earth it emerges with the aroma of cunning veracity.

But no truth will grow.

Tired of the
People
Rapping
on the window.
Running through
Room,
After empty room,
After empty room.
Where
did all the people go?

I've searched all ways
but behind me.
I hope
they never find me.
Do Not Turn Around.
I run through empty room,
After empty room,
Do Not Turn Around.
After empty room,
I Am Found—

A planet of trash,
I lay underneath.
The filth runneth over
to where I sleep.
In humanity's discarded
roiling heap,
a toll of their sins
is what I keep.

-

On Planet Trash,
I live beneath,
a most revolting,
and glorious heap.
No one can see me
where I sleep,
but my acquaintances,
they soon will meet.

-

My Planet of Trash,
I give to thee,
more than I
could ever keep.
You know now where
my secret sleeps.
Take all
that's left of me.

whenever your master
tells you to celebrate,
you have found glory
within the context of
submission

You're not dumb.
You're not blind.
You know what you see.
You're not half as weak
as they claim you to be.
So Speak.
Speak your mind.
Be free.

Looking inward
And feeling down
Doing all this self-searching.

In brainy head
I'm digging 'round
while querulously lurching.

"Self, O' Self,
Cannot you say...
What it is that is that 'I'?"

Answers came,
(but two or three)
And surely didn't satisfy...

So, I peeked that brain
outside my cave,
to see myself externally.

Calamity!
The Earth's aflame!
And someone else has seen me!

I must abscond
in quick retreat,
while abandoning my query.

I shall pivot then,
in mock defeat.
To Escapism, my Sanctuary!

They build hell and wish for heaven.
They seek their glory after death.
They focus their intention
Toward the only fixed point in time:
The End

I shall watch them all fall.

My spire has no guardian.
My soul no judgement.

Glory is a peak to crumble.

I know you're tired.
Do not worry.
I'll do the thinking for you.

Not inspired?
There's no hurry.
Just sip another snake-juice.

When prescribed
that sweetest slurry,
you'll know exactly what to do .

Your tongues were tied
in fervent worry,
but these words will see you through.

Your greatest enemy is doubt.
You can choose what you believe.
Know only what's in your heart,
Do not trust the truth you see.

Know my name,
and spread it well.
But salvation has a fee.

With your payment
made in full,
Drink salvation on thy tiny screen.

Boogey boogey boo
the government's coming for you.

You claim to speak the truth,
but I can smell the bull-doo.

Suckered into algorithmic chat,
you swapped out your foil hat.

Yeah,
you got plenty to say about that...

"Do your own research," you say
in that smarmy, satisfied way.

A Cheshire grin of vapidity
stretching across the infinity

of your insipid, stifled ignorance.
Well, maybe just for once,

instead of condemning us to hell,
you could try questioning yourself.

I'd say a character with no self doubt
is guaranteed to be wrong about

quite
a
lot.

Sipping black bitterness to read more bad news I should spit it out!

Still, there's a coffee in my hand.

The film of shame atop my tiny pleasure does not compel my altruism to drop it.

Still, there's a coffee in my hand.

Is my consumerist loop inertia
to imbibe that which I know is wrong
So beguiling it has become
my greatest good?

Shut up and Enjoy
Shut up and Enjoy

Hedonistic nihilism
Fervent anti-capitalism
Humanistic utilitarianism
Democratic socialism

All better with a coffee in my hand.

Coffee coffee coffee
The bitter swill enlightening,
delighting my daily misery.

That dragon's not my adversary,
That dragon's my most loyal friend.

Always there to catch me,
(Like the bottom of a well)

I descend,
and it's leathered wings curl
around my mind.

In that place
   I am fine.

   I am
      at ease.

(But it's not me.)

When allowed,
that spooling dragon wraps
into my consciousness.
It feels like bliss.

We sail through every fantasy
delighted by each novelty,
subtle and obscure,
permissive and demure.
That dragon purrs.

The sound,
a grating staccato,
withering heartbeat,
with a red face of glory.

I vanquish and devour,
but as I conquer I'm consumed.

It's too late to pull away.

The talons found their purchase.
The flames their tinder.
Ignition.


And once the ash has cleared
And all's laid bare to see...

That dragon's not my friend.
It's not my enemy.
(It's me.)

"I don't miss her, I swear!"
"We were miserable in the end."
"But I fear I may never feel that way again."

"Each new love
that follows the last
is so much nuance wrapped in intention."

—

What was easy before,
could be so much more,
if he could reach beyond his ignorance.

But his inherent void
drives him toward
the desire of pre-oedipal innocence.

Every day I'm closer to the who I am that I may truly be, and no one else.

Or I've made the muscles weaker that I used to use to hide myself.

I have failures to endure,
and lessons to learn.
The greatest of burdens
are laurels I did not earn.

Engrained in my aspect
On the verge, the precipice
A cathartic reject
A failed hedonist
Forever and endless
Not even emptiness
A mess.

Stopped the car before arrived.
Smeared the paint before it dried.
Closed the book before the ******.
Set the clock, but didn't wind it.
Not unpacked the last few boxes.
Never found the matching socks-es.
Burn the bridges 'fore they're built.
Still the hole you dig is filled.
Lots to do, but nothing finished.
Half a life with nothing in it.
Forget the chicken and the egg.
I'm as big a quitter as there is.

Your face is familiar to me.
This light before has played along your contours.
This air has molded to your voice.

Your shadows are reflections,
And your echoes are embedded
In my stone.
In our stone.

I don't know why I've gone so far.
Nobody's stopping me.

I know that I'm a better man
when in proximity.

I need you to activate, or appropriate.
Create me.

Alone,
I tear the walls down.
Naked to myself.
Trying not to dream.

Allow me to disseminate
my messages of hate.
Do not deny me
my misinformation.

You have no right to regulate
the falsehood that I state.
Do not attack
my fabrication.

The People must participate
in my bad-faith debate.
Do not obstruct
my obfuscation.

Take me at my word.
(Or don't.)

Your voice cannot be heard.
(Or won't.)

The lies I spoke,
are only jokes.
And you will indulge
my exaggeration.

Pick the news
that best suits you.
And you will hear
my proclamation.

The only truth
is what you choose.
And you will accept
my validation.

No matter what you do,
you will hear the words I say.

No matter what, or who,
you will thank me as you obey.

It happened matter of factly
Exactly as proclaimed to be

Before I had the time to see
I chose the path they chose for me.

Now...
I'm their worst enemy.

the further i stretch
the more painful the retraction
and the more brittle the substrate
it feels too late for
discipline and temperance
to slow this roll
it needs to break

I fell right down the stairs.
With a tumbling joy.
And laughed at the bottom.

Then atrocity was done,
In the name of everyone.

Forget not what they did to you.
Forgiveness is the new taboo.

Eye takes eye. Hand takes hand.
Never be the better man.

On the high road walks the scorned,
and ******.
Turned cheeks well worn, their tears well ran.

Know not peace, but know thy enemy,
then burn thyself in his effigy.

You got a taste as
The teeth sank in.
A Mouthful of guts.
Spitting Ravenous,
Hungry savage.

Chase em with
the noose tied.
Burn a house down
with a family inside.
No escaping this time.

Sparks. Shatter. Glass.
The hateful gather.
Tongues pointed, lusted.
Mob Justice...

Deny. Deny.
A distended death cry.
Woke with the taste of blood,
and never know why.

"Got carried away"
"Just a little mistake."
"A good person, I swear."
"You just had to be there."

"The blood. The blood."
"Was all up in my head"
"You didn't hear what they said."
"Guilt is dispersed."
"You can't blame me."
"I'm just one of the many."

Retract. Retract.
Rejects those facts.
"What you saw was fake."
"We were heroes that day."
"Propaganda, you see."
"What was done unto them,
was done unto me!"

Forgive and Full Pardon.
"We were right! We were right!"
"What fire? What night?"
No screams. No bodies.
No guilt in sight.
No Justice.
No...
Just...

Disbelief
is not reflection
nor reaction
It is the natural state

Divine bolts and
Watchers from above
Below flaming chariots
And squealing torment

Before I met you
Fear and wonder
Were not absent in me

But now even those
I temper with doubt

Yet disbelieve
and all
  I know
   is this

     A champion of reason
       is alone in the abyss

Why is the bottom always there?
Climb or jump, or flee in terror.

It rises with me and within,
and compels me to ascend.

Forty years, the tower rise—
Just a plaque that says, “Here lies...

Human, tyrant, coward, sleeper.
Only fear is digging deeper.

Disappear in your
new delusion.

Fear.
Hate.
Money.
God.

Consume.
Consume.
Doom.
Doom.

You bought it.
You ate it.
But who is eating whom?

Delusion.
Delusion.
Delirium.
Obsession.

Tiki torches are on sale
for seven ninety seven.

You swallowed
your ideology
whole.

But, you'll never
be full again.

So, where do you go,
when crossroads
circle back to where
you began?

Oh, I know.

Until I look I'm happy
And then, y'know... I see.

It's so much nicer without
that shallow corporate "squee".

The diatribe of private dictators
so self-servingly

Proclaiming that their failure is
the fault of their employee.

Their mistake is in the hiring
of those who will not sip

That rancid, unappealing
Kool-aid fed by drip.

It's a big cartoon map of the world.
Tragedy emblazoned with bright colors.
The patriotic eagle selling you fluff.
Ornaments of suffering.
Divided by thick red lines,
Each nation is reduced into an effigy.
Remember when this waterslide
was a mass grave?
You bow your head
for a moment
of silence.

Then...

get up,
get down,
dig deep!
turn 'round!
Ya can't stop!  
raise ya hands!
get on, y'all
tragedy dance!

This flag, ya!
You know the one.
Hee-ya! (kicks)
Gonna get you!
Alright.

sleep and dream of sugar plum dumplings
and dripping ******* dangling to suckle
with your pursed mouth in a perfect “euuuooo”.

what troubles you, o perfect man?
cause man you are,
and man, you are a ****,
and also the president.

They wreck themselves a thousand times
upon the shores of their own making.

Each quest they fraught to find themselves
returned, annihilated.

Embarked upon an odyssey,
to plumb the inner depths.

Adrift upon an endless sea
of monolithic conquest.

An ocean tide within a being
contains an empty void,

That threatens all who venture there
to see themselves destroyed.

A self that's sought may never be,
found when looking for.

Traverse the thought of self-that's-seen,
beyond the narrow corridor.

and
though aware,
the absurdity overflows
to despair

my life
has only trained me
to feel at odds
with what's out there

Abandon all ye subtext
all them who dare enter there.

They do deserve to be picked apart,
not to be danced around.

Look a Neo-Fascist in the eye
and tell them who they are.

Make them Sieg Heil
as many times as it takes
for them to know
they actually mean it.

Like a little child who
smokes a pack of cigarettes.
They're gonna like it
or *****.

Narcissist, I could not be,
for I don't love the one I see.

A subject greedy for introspection,
delightedly needy for inner-reflection.

Whose deeds or needs will always depend
upon on how they feel right now, or when

the gleaming impulse sends its signals
into the open, gaping, waiting amygdala.

Opportunity, I wait for me.
Myself, exploiting me, for money.
Six billion mouths to feed.
Or a ---thousand. (that was hyperbole)

Do you see how I self-deflected?
When my inner introspec-detective,
Neared too close to the inner-inner-reflective
introspective objective?
****.
I'm a narcissist.

Sunyata i will never be
Though the path is clear before me...

You wouldn't like this body without its
conscious integrity.

Can you show me
The only way?
Do you know it?
Can we go
Together?
Is it heaven today
When it rains forever?

To true believe
Consciously,
I sleep under
Hypocrisy,

And wonder.

Hypocrisy
Make a fool of me.

And the good will acting,
Acting selfishly,
And the boulder rolling,
rolling, falling.

No real desire,
But to push again.
The myth of nihilism.
Where all I find is much
too much.

Then what is this call?

I need another name,
but "God".
Of "Him" I cannot drink.
Or "death drive", or "entropy",
Or a "sharp wave cascade",
Or the "heat death of the universe"
Theory.

Belief.

Hypocrisy.

A sculptor sees form beneath stone,
and essence emerges from discarding.

But this hammer was not wielded by expert hands.
Material has been carelessly cast away.

What remains is fractured, uneven, and lopsided,
with one eye far lower than the other,
and a contorted expression that is both
proud in posture, but slack in repose.

A master sculptor would call it a lost cause.
A sophomoric effort.
An amateur's attempt at boldness.

And they are correct.

But perhaps the medium can be changed.
Alchemical processes can turn stone to plasticine—
elastic plasticity that graciously conforms
to the will that shapes it.

Though there is little to work with,
the stone can be softened,
and new forms can be.

See.
See The Prophecy.
The self-fulfilled
apocalypse,
waving the flag
of surrender
before the
blow lands.

They stand,
posturing,
fist raised,
waiting,
for you
to cower,
before they
press it down.

Outrage,
hammered silent
by the one
who proclaims
their own
valor.
Villainous.
See no other.

Love the butterfly.
Set it free.

You.
Know.
There is real
"Truth"
to be found
outside
quotations.

Don't abandon me.

Pardon me, sir.
Could you direct me toward the exit?
I seem to be lost in here—
oh...
You're just my shadow.
Well...
do you know?

(Shadow Sighing)
Of course, sir.
Follow me.
Right this way.
Mind the gap.
Mind the trash.
Mind the forty year impasse.
Mind the—

(Interrupting)
Pardon me, Sir
I was asking for the exit,
not a lecture—
oh...
Hold on,
there's a phone call.

(Shadow Waits)
I—think you have the wrong number.
Uh, Shadow, do you know a Jod—I mean God?

(Shadow shrugs)
Yeah. No. Sorry.
Uh, y—you have a blessed day, too.
So...

About that exit.
Wh—
Shadow?

Where'd you go?

Ah,
I'll ne're be empty
When I'm so bottleful.
Drink to the heathens,
And sip to the ne're-do-well.
Cheers to seers, scheming
Lewd in their freshed hell.
Give thy sighs arresting
Forthwith with them a thpell.
Bartled body brandyful,
a bottled bag of burgundy.
Bourbon, bourbon, bourbon
bourbon, brandy, brandy,
Yup.

Digging unexploded ordnance
on a mountain of corpses,
but the view is amazing.

I'm very lucky
I've always had a family
In the back of my mind
I don't know why
I can't
Reach them

I've been a dismantler
Half deceiver
Wannabe wanderer
Part drifter schemer
That's just who I say I am

Really I'm so frightened
I've run so much from loss
That all my days I live in grief
For things I never had

Drifting further
That reach
stretches
But they're
still there.
My family.

Ah with each new thing i see
a fresh surcease of novelty
Passion led me to the end...
again again again again

I forgot. I forgot.
There's a war.
There's all those things
I said and did,
but I still dig,
unironically, elevator music,
or the cheesiest 1950s tiki.
Half-Whitest Wannabe
Jazz Enthusiast
innocently appropriating
joy.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
There's a war.
There's an endless culture of consumption
of which i find myself embedded,
but I must head to joy,
whenever, wherever,
or find myself indulging
in murkier depths of idiot longing.
Please.

I need permission.

Though we are of the same substance,
the space between our atoms
can never be together.

To bridge this void, I invented meaning,
shouting animal sounds and symbols.

We press our bodies to one another,

but this fantasy is an interpretation
of your movement,

and this dance is an attempt
to realize unconscious ideals.

Knowing or unknowing...
this distance can never be crossed...

But the void draws me close.

I think I’ll still call this love.

The leaky dam looks fine from here.
Just— stand right there.
Can you believe, there've been thirty accidents
since last September.

Statistically, for this facility,
that's rather subdued.
Oh, ignore that light.  
It won't stop blinking,
so we're having it removed.

A hat is made from a heart.
The marrow becomes electricity.
Streaking red blood and bone.
Fortune's tenacity.

Well, so long. Arrivederci.
This ending was foretold
—quite early.

It's just how life goes,
tip-toeing about.

A friend here, a friend there.
In my heart they've not gone anywhere.

I may see them next Tuesday,
or perhaps, never again,

but in my heart
I always call them friend.