Tingly under the daisies;
   Glassy-eyed, glazed, greasy;
   Shaking, shivering, shuddering,
   Wishing, wandering, whimpering,
   Westernizing—
   Romanizing—
   Constitutionalizing—
   Institutionalizing—
   Perpetually searching
   And dying
   And living,
   Watching Death survive
   And scythe the frolickers,
   The prancers,
   The rompers,
   The merrymakers.
   A rose clamped between his
   Grinning teeth glistens brightly,
   And he dances so joyously.
   “Yes!” say the naysayers,
   Confused are the soothsayers,
   Lost are the cartographers.
   Oh, Utopia!
   The monks are extravagant;
   The meditations are a farce!
   The preachers are beggars
   And swindlers and chargers,
   And Machiavelli fulfills his wishes!
   Babies are stillborn, stabbed, and
   Ritualistically sacrificed,
   And their blood is spilled, drunk,
   Slathered over the ***** man.
   The evangelists scream and lie:
   “You are all predestined to die!”
   Oh, hail Utopia!
   Wedded are the girls to the girls;
   Wedded are the boys to the boys;
   Wedded is Death to Death,
   Life to Life,
   And Life to Death.
   Wedded are the living to the existent.
   And the milking babes are slaughtered
   Ceremoniously,
   Surreptitiously,
   Ostentatiously.
   Oh, hail great Utopia!
   We are all dead and unintelligent:
   Laugh, laugh, Einstein, at your
   Stupidity.
   Laugh, laugh, Temple Grandin at
   Your retardation.
   Laugh, laugh, laugh!
   Look at the sluggard, thou ant;
   Look at the boy, sobbing wolf;
   Aesop was drunk,
   Aristotle was delusional,
   Michelangelo was blind,
   Beethoven could hear,
   Poe was sane.
   And I can't read.
   They ramble,
   I watch.
   They sleep,
   I watch.
   They dream,
   I watch.
   They sleep-talk,
   I watch.
   They scream,
   I watch.
   They choke,
   I watch.
   They suffocate,
   I watch.
   Stone-faced, I stare;
   Raspingly, I breathe;
   Uncontrollably, I twitch;
   Inwardly, I rage.
   I hope you die, I hope you die.
   I hope you bleed, I hope you die.
   I want you begging and crying,
   I want you blubbering at my feet,
   I want you gnashing at my ankles,
   I want you writhing in pain,
   I want your arm twisted off,
   Cracking with the snapping sinews, I want your beating heart in my hands, I want your genitals uprooted and stuffed in your throat, I want your stomach so I can eat the still-digesting food, I want your shrunken head and I want to force my thumbs into your unblinking eyes and I want to tear your face in two and I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, I want you to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die, to die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die and die.

i think its weird
the cacophony and the swirling
bodies that ritualistically
converse and bend.
almost as if they were taught it.

Friendship requested and accepted
Avoidance seems more accurate
Constantly, I see her green dot
Excitedly, I begin to type
Benevolently, she sends a message
Openness has given way to casualness
Obsessively, I cling to words
Knowing the outcome, I profess my feelings

Nervously, I await the check mark
Ever so eager for a response
Ritualistically, I keep reading my message
Voyeuristically, I scroll through her page
Obsession has me trembling
Uncertainty controls my mind
Stop is the one word response
Namesakes who cannot talk
Excessively, I look at old pictures
Silent cries are what remain
Seeing her online breaks my heart

© Christopher Chronister. All rights reserved

The motions--
We're going through emotions (right?)
'Cuz there's not a better thing
           to do on Sunday
night. This place has lost
            religion
            ritualistically
And I think, realistically, it's time to do
                                                 the same

Overbooked, yet, overlooked
And on the hook for debts
                       outstanding
But you commanded my attention
            So stay unstained
I've been attaining second chances
     for unforeseen circumstances
So I'll drum if you keep dancing
             Just stay unstained

Intentions--
Can undergo declension
Yours and Mine are genitive
                  on dative Friday
nights. Some folks can lose
              their vision
              visionarily
So I'd say, cautionarily, "forget to do
                                            the same."

Aptitude for rectitude:
That may be shrewd, and yet--
                    while prudent
Rings no bells 'til midnight chimes out one
                more mortal year
Afeared, I fear, ad mortum. But we
     just keep pounding on pulsing heads
So let's drum on; keep on dancing--
                       Remain unstained.

His courtiers all, were blind,
though their eyes seemed
quiet normal, full of glint

ay, there is the rub,

On his proud countenance,
the king plastered for ever
an expression of thoughtfulness
a make believe, a clever construct,
Wasn't it the curse of the lineage?

"May the powerful suffer
the constant fear of fall,
unless courageous to fulfill
the karma truly assigned
without fear or favor"

Every successive king
would ritualistically burn,
his copy of leather bound parchment
written this in lilting Latin verse.

"*******,what would
the evil genius of the universe
would think of me, am I
just a pusillanimous *****?
the thirst for war runs in my veins!"

Sneering he lets out a war cry
perfectly pitched and phrased
in the tradition of heroes of yore!

It sounds odd even to himself
"No escape from the rut" he murmurs

Everybody pretend not to see
the big ***** in his armor.
who would take arms against
the kingdom's sea of troubles?

The king was in fact a lonely being
fear alone kept him company,
in person of the lord, his man Friday
in an armor that made him seem fearless!

Dame fear was his true consort
the queen only a substitute, wearing crown,
she was truly appreciated
only when she acted as his tranquilizer,
helping his worries galore go to sleep,
employing complex strategies.

Her favorite one for the final lap
was a lullaby that goes thus,
"Uneasy lies the head
that wears a  crown"
in his nightmares regular,
mighty empires crumbled.

So he did the best he can
not anything for love to spread
but to consolidate destructive instinct;
he invented weapons,
went on upgrading it
day in and day out to freeze fear
blacksmiths, knights,
horsemen, cannons, guns
his fear took many forms
and he used them to feel powerful
while trembling with fear.

we're getting older
too
time is slipping past us
permeating through our bones
making them as fragile as the
peanut brittle my grandmother munches
every Sunday afternoon

Ritualistically
i scan your social media
secretly check up on your well being

i long to savor your skin once again
i want our legs to intermingle
and our hair to tangle
i want sweat coating our bare bodies

i want you
in the simplest ways
i want you
in every crevice of my being

come now
i welcome you
and as the sign of my invitation
i’ll smear some of my blood over my thoughts
before i write them down

come burning
like the ember at the end of my cigarette
which i burn ritualistically
like a sacrifice for sin

come, i’ll slay swine and serpents
to lay out for you
forgive me, it is all i have to give
but i understand that it is the sincerity of the giving
and not the gift
which you desire

and for your thirst
i’ll give a bitter gall
that is all
i have, for your thirst or for mine

but come
come in time
i pine
away
like every day
you ever made

i ask for no angels to herald your arrival
lest wiser men arrive
and present you with better gifts
than i can afford

come Lord

That lunar sphere hangs
like a sliver of silver.
It boils my thin blood & nullifies my exotic fear until
We can dance ritualistically
through cobweb covered streets towards those
Blissfully
Rejuvenating steps backwards.
This nocturnal plague intoxicates us  
into a fugue state of ruthless fever dreams
that visualize memories of our young past.
Grip me close for this ferocious leap into
the Night's chill.
Breath me like you never have.
I try to scream.
I only howl.

What i should do is a product of the mind
when enlightenment hits its like these eyes go blind
And I find, in our bind, we are ones who knew
just along for the ride in the same canoe

releasing that aura so black , when i hack
the realization far from knowing no I can’t go back

animal sign in that creature may you reach your spirit with a clarity
to find that YOU ARE YOUR OWN TEACHER
the feeling from this healing
so sensitive I’m numb
the pounding of my heart  is like a silent soul drum

This travel of a trance, unraveled from a glance
the false turntables, a mt Everest avalanche.
____
Words, phrases and meanings
is what my unconscious is seeing
tendencies leaving, no harm meant
started with good intent

then  was haunted by demons
I then repressed, was oppressed
next regressed but stepped, leaving negative feelings dis/integrated
…..
ritualistically disgustipated
with the feelings that exists
for the double harmonix 5ths

1 heal the knows that stick
2 rewind the now realized fallacy
3 circle ceremony of sanciti
dedicated to the greatest ME

holotropic state lacks eviscerate
imported government a copy of a state
…..

concentrate at a constant pace
can’t stop nor wait
but modulate out of figure 8s
as we conquer stakes
know we’re found, hold it down
or regurgitate.

Before a studded alter, I kneel.  
I have been here an eternity.

A single sphere traps me in the moment,
and slows my understanding to the meter of the sacred moment.  
Judging proceeds.  

Every possibility of my

responses to be analyzed in their intention.  
I shall prove
worthy.  

My intention is pure and I only try to harmonize with the true frequency of the highest reality.  

I shall know what I look for.  
Know it intimately and deeply, to the point of full empathy between the object and self.

Realize the truth of myself.

Dream.  My credence.  
Love.  My code.

I'm hidden in the lies
Cascading the mountains of truth
You so blindly try to climb
You can't seem to comprehend
I'm the master of death
The father of the gods
You ritualistically worship
I'm the truth in the lies
I'm the lies in the truth
I'm everything but what are you
A flea biting a dog
A dog in the sewers
A rotting corpse sailing on the sands of time
Lies hold my truth my existence
My way to say
I'm just a nothing

My grandmother taught me
how to rinse period blood
out of my *******
taught me how to sweep
the veranda with my clothes
sticking to my skin

My grandmother taught me
how to hang up soap-water-soaked
house dresses, frocks, slips, and bras
on a clothes line and take them all down
before the sky turns too gray with almost-rain

My grandfather taught me how to recite
the times table as I read from a small school book
my writing is small and quiet and does not yet
demand to be read or known

My grandfather taught me that disobedience
means a stern brown eye, a grim mouth,
a sharp snapping crack of leather belt

My father taught me that not all men
are men, that some men are boys
and they will leave their daughters
waiting, legs folded underneath them,
toes curled as they watch for their father's
car that never drives down the quiet road

My father taught me that some men,
some boys will leave and they will close
your front door, leave your third text
unanswered on your phone, and you
will taste their lies on your tongue

My mother taught me to be loud
assertive, that every word holds heavy
resonant power and can be a piercing bullet

My mother taught me how to bathe in water,
burn papers scrawled with ex lovers' names
rinse my mouth with salt and water
flick my clean tongue over white teeth
how to write love into my palms
ritualistically pass it over my body

I walk around with my heart
suspended outside of my body
like the deep sea anglerfish and its light.
It hovers in front of my chest
waiting to be noticed by another,
expecting to go unseen by all.

I stare at the 7-11 clerk
under the fluorescent glow,
the harsh brightness exposes the ugliness around us and yet his face is beautiful.
I want to ask if he can see
the muscle floating mid-air in front of me,
does he see how dull its beat has become,
and Has his heart ever left his body?
If so, how did he put it back into place?
He does not look at me.
I leave with my heart trailing behind
reluctantly,
a stray wanting to be fed
and then left alone.

Later that night I lie in bed and sob ritualistically
until my eyes are swollen orbs,
until I breathe in shallow
gasping crying breaths.
I lift my arms and grasp
at the darkness of the room,
as though I am reaching to retrieve
my runaway heart,
But of what use could it be,
once it's back in my chest?
I've a mind full of anger and
God abandoned my heart
long before it abandoned my body.

Swami Krishna's eyes flashed
lightning bolts illumining his round, brahmin
raincloud colored face.

Igniting logs in the huge fire pit
for our ancestral puja
he chanted ancient vedic hymns,
it was a beautiful offering on
this venerable Sunday morning.

Rites for remembering ancestors
is a tradition in many cultures,
not so much in the west.

Swami Krishna elaborated on its
importance:
We thank them for the good,
for laying the groundwork and support of
our lineage.

We remember them with
love and gratitude,
he stated, wrapping the yellow and red
priestly shawl closer to his body.

Strong, musky, acrid, odor of wood burning
stung our nostrils
one by one, ritualistically we added
ghee, incense sticks, flowers, herbs
and rice to the auspicious serpentine
flames

I could sense my mother near
spicy whiff of curry and channel no. 5
mixing with clouds of smoke

A secret door slowly opened in the heavens
as a procession of ghostly relatives
took their place around the blazing havan

It was almost high noon
and Surya, the Sun God
halted His brilliant chariot
driven by 7 rainbow hued horses

Hovering mid-air over our holy gathering
He raised His Golden Hands in Blessing

I fell in love when I was six,

looked straight up into the dark void
and found gravity did not exist,

threw my hands ritualistically to the stars,

to hear their stories

I finally beg my father
To bury me so far below
To absolve the earth once again
Let my body be the growth

And when the demons rise
And when the flood begins
And when the turning tides
Bleed those still with sin
The horses will spit acid
And blood and fire and death
And the willpower to continue
Will be met with unstoppable ends.

Just remember my will after.
The humans will inherit lands
The ones who can't be slaves
Will ritualistically lose their hands

The epiphany that we all sought
Will be buried within the sand
Time will march with the evil army
And they will curse our lands

The end will be televised
While earth will be consumed
By the fire that has been prophesied
Since we were introduced.

Let the burning begin and the end commence
The heavens had their chance to build a defense
Hollow husks of hell will run like lambs of gods to be slaughtered
Souls will be consumed upon your unborn unknown daughter
And when the end seems like it will never be in sight
Everyone will be consumed tonight
And the only one to survive will be you
To discover an entire hell anew.

All that i did was for the hate i feel for humanity
An incalculable number isn't even close to my malicious desire
I'll keep the entirety of your ambitions in this insanity
And you'll know the impossibility of speech when you're caught in the fires.

Hell is now.
And it's all your fault.

It creeps in with the dead of the night
Every thought, every emotion throughout the day she silently fights
Some one once said “it comes in waves”
Memories mixed with self inflicting voices, leave her in a daze
Ritualistically tossing & turning throughout the witching hour
Nothing left, but her own heart to empower

i have been graced with
a voice so sweet
and this voice rings like a bell.
a church bell, to be precise.

i know others hear this
comforting sound.
the words she speaks and sings
so pleasantly
stick in our minds
like the golden honey she
does not allow.

she commands us to ritualistically douse ourselves
in water
as if it were holy.
as if it will cleanse our wrongdoings.

every day is accompanied by her singsong voice
in the background,
whispering in our ears.

and even though this voice is angelic
the words it professes are
not so polite.

this voice is a ringing in my ears
that will not leave.

I am long legs and big feet.

She is lady-like,
legs crossed
and curled
under a skirt,
under a swing.

I push her away from me
knowing she will return.

I watch loose black strands
escape from the butterfly clip
and dance
ritualistically
across her neck,
frenzied and forbidden.

When she is alone
her eyes cry
but she doesn’t

yet know why.

My body is mechanical
like this swing
her body is natural
like the wind.

I can hear them calling my name
the older boys
the men
for softball softball
church softball

but I ignore them.

I can’t touch her yet
but I can talk to her
like I am.

It’s hard to care when you constantly consume
And casually crawl to your next careless doom.
Drown the dreadful sound of death and distresses
With doing diligent duties of deadlifts and presses.
Present your body, perfect your posture,
Purposely pose and perform, what do you offer?
Over and over, overlook the overlooked
And over emphasize and obsess over our looks.
Life is lost; lifeless ,limp and not much left,
Their little limbs lie still and lose all red,
Yet I read and ritualistically refuse to realize
The reality of death, the relentless killing reeling past my eyes.
Everything feels ephemeral, even eons feel like they evaporate;
Every evil event blinds me more and expresses empathy into a concentrate
Which I don’t take;
Which I waste;
My empathetic blood over coagulates-
I’m hardened,
I’m numb,
I’m used to seeing darkness overcome,
But I’m hurting
With head hung;
Is there no way to protect the young?
Is there no way to make a change?
It feels like everything stays the same!
It feels like the west has left this plane
With no plans for right east days.
A mentality of me means we must make
Sure this sense of self is seated in a superior way.
Western ways, wave goodbye, wave your waste-
We are all walking westward without willingly changing pace!
We’re unaware of our own blazed trails,
We’re unaware of the paths we take.
We’re barely even taking a path in the first place.
We’re barely moving, barely speaking,
Barely seeing or even breathing.
I say we, but I mean me, because I know I’m barely feeling,
But conviction in spirit makes all the burying less appealing;
I’m finally folding open each eyelid one at a time,
Prying my eyes into a state that they don’t normally provide;
And I will watch the world for what it really is;
And I will watch the church for what it really is;
And I will watch the body for what it really is;
And I will watch the Christians for who they really are;
And I will watch my brothers and see who they really are;
And I will weep for what I watch and see what really is and who really are,
And how far we’ve fallen from where we say we’ve been,
When we haven’t moved in centuries past the threshold of our own doors,
Or invited others in need to come stand upon our floors.
I imagine what it would be like to believe over seas,
Brought up in darkness, poverty, plagued by disease;
I saw it said the other day,“lord let my next trial be how well can I handle money”
But they are blind to the root of many evils, the toxicity of greed.
Because getting what you can and given little is all we breed
And carve into the hearts of families, worshiping capitalistic means!
“God made capitalism” is such a funny thing to see,
It’s as if we never read an ounce of what we preach.
As if all other nations are dammed by man made decrees,
Divided on how to govern, how to create freedom, or how to eat.
These are tedious things that have no worth.
Tedious things will end up burnt;
Tedious tidy-ups and tie-ups to tuning life will leave you hurt-
It’s overwhelming being caught in the web of pseudo Christianity, pseudo faith and fruit;
Believing what they say as absolute-
At the same time I ponder the reality that my faith has doubts too,
Like how the Bible is made by man, and God’s  hands,
Yet infallible, with pure intentions and plans.
Can I accept that?
I know some of you can’t?
But then what is left that can stand?
Do we determine the character of God like west-wing prophets?
Do we trust ourselves to know God’s thoughts and process?
Pick and choose then pick and lose?
Pick a faulty step and then pick a noose?
Do I trust in you?
You who also say that they’re happy with Alligator Alcatraz?
Who laugh when families are taken from their dads?
Who cheer for pain and suffering of others?
Who don’t know even the slightest meaning to the word brother?
Or do I follow you who worships the endless pit of consumption?
The one who can’t live without getting something?
Never content because you are chasing around a doorless fence;
Worshiping the air, the particles, or even the sound of your breath.
Always hungry, always changing, never considering the emptiness.




In all of this I find comfort in two greatly forsaken ways:
Laying down my life for others,
And in my demise giving thanks.
I am thankful for my pain.
I am thankful for suffering when I do.
I would rather suffer than watching it happen to you.
My prayers recently have been along the lines of this:
“Jesus may you save those in pain and show me how I can help.
May you bring peace to all who are suffering, even though their lives are hell.
Open my eyes to see the ways that I ignore their yells,
And may you help me to love greatly, even if it hurts myself.
Thank you for my family, my son, my wife, my home.
Thank you for being here with me even when I feel alone.
Thank you for your blessings and I trust you always provide.
Even when I have nothing, I know you’re by my side.
Help me to endure what is needed to break off the heavy spells
That this world is casting day by day to make me hate myself.
I love you Lord and how your word has never let me down;
Pastors, brothers, and friends all will; in you, help me have no doubts”.