Whispers of Hypnos By Joshua Lee Andrew Jones Published by Joshua Lee Andrew Jones at Smashwords @copyright 2010 Joshua Lee Andrew Jones Whispers of Hypnos When dreams become…? How did Einstein ride the photon? Is there more? Somnambulism affects how many? Perspective is…? Eventually we do what? Reality consists of delusions and…? Sleep is…? Omnipresent, Omniscient, Omnipotent, how do you resolve this? For one more restful moment, you would…? How did they bury you, Pablo Neruda? Youth is wasted on…? Parallax or parallel position, which do you prefer? Never quite remembered are…? Of a butterfly dream or a celestial concussion, we are…? Survival is worth more than what? Empty Easel The empty easel, stained and dry as time, waits bereft in the corner The braces deflect parallels in a curvilinear warped display producing four dull points that converge on the horizon. The center beam bows, like a pendant’s pull on a golden chain after embracing the years of white space that daunts the artist with taunts of genius as the center of the track barely supports its own mass as the brackets tenuously strain to grip the prevailing ledge as it struggles to slip, slip, one space, slip as the hook catches over the faded blots of burnt sienna and eggshell white tear like drips as the a-frame behind is a barren chevron pointing to the low ceiling, flaking as the rusted wing-nuts wish to fall as they are slightly off-thread under the adjustable canvas support brace as they, unwanted and unused, have fused with the bolts. The grain of the wood has risen and expelled its stain, rough and splintering veneers try to separate themselves slowly as the tin and nickel backbone supports itself with futility. The empty easel, reticent in perpetuity, still has a vibrant white seal a trademark of memories that has not faded in name and is bright and bold but no longer holds the smallest canvas or frame. Relegated to a collectible, a fragile memento mori, to the past of the delicate imperfect hand made majesty. In the down town evening The epileptic night seizes city sounds strangle into silence the sharp buzz snaps lights on streaming advertisements blink, not to be perceived as gawkers and onlookers planted in stone cease mid-sentence between the plastic realities bubbling up only to burst the touch screen implants as sylvan transplants lift their feet sidewalk weary feet just above gravity and halt The unctuous streets slide away… The wrought iron sky ratchets down, click… click… click The match head stars flicker in an inchoate fit*** * *** ** The epileptic night bites its tongue flashes of furious motion, slash the frozen hustle and bustle that allows the city’s synapses to stabilize. Balance is temporary. The horns honk deadly dares as heels clack on the cured cement The pause is brief The cityscape in repose awakens in an instant and just as one experiences apoplexy it escapes, only to infiltrate another. It never ends There’s not enough Ativan for everyone downtown. Burned brightly The tiger can no longer burn bright the proud predator yearns to slumber as the breath is labored and reluctant catabolic cancer consumes all, evenly alike-the cat that once dreamt of fire now waits while the embers are fated to be as the frost on the glass of the smudged window beckons the smoke to stain the view-bright, so bright to be dull- The asymmetry of the palsied face invokes memories as the tiger pounces on to a silk pillow’s sheen and Purrs, and Primps, and Watches the prey parade on the dying lawn of autumn. The tiger is fed claws retract. The breath is labored The slumber is not. Strum? The guitar does not roar suspended, diminished tones supplicate silence. Chords wait in the wood wondering, withering, waiting as the steely strings become tarnished and frail. The neck and pegs have strained so long that they could not relax if unbound. The hollow body and solid spine are fused. The bolts have never been unfastened and the frets fret to let loose a nervous chuckle as the steely strings become tarnished and frail and cannot be tightened to tune up, only down. No standard key will hold the lock to allow the notes to flee the steely stings reverberate with memory and will not be replaced easily as they become tarnished and frail withering, wondering, waiting SNAP Under Synesthesia Sight stretched to a thread tied behind the mind the knot tightens and cuts into the available light. (masked marauders mime a play of cruelty). Taste with the texture of sand melts in the forge of breath and drops as tears to burn away the memories. (trembling and thirsty, no water is given). Sounds of bitter harmony blend into thick vinegar a sour damp flavor rings with the hiss of air. (the bells and whistles mock rhythm). Touching the fragrant white pressure, lavender bleeds in germinating roots, thin tendrils, along stale still appendages. (blood is drawn on the wall). Scents of violet and platinum light scatters through a prismatic field and attaches to the attendants as they become a transparent illuminated stench. Seep The deep gorge hides the ebullient warm spring That runs slowly dissolving the surround stone In rivulets the aquifer bleeds and drains into clear cold pools formed by jagged basalt. *** One eroded plain fills once more with rain and mingles the waters of Gaia’s perspiration Rotating languidly like a second hand of a clock reflecting the moonlight and daylight as a sliver in the cracked scaled slate surface pulls the pristine water into an expanding fissure a liquid vortex seeps down through the stone where the hour hand of sunlight cannot reach. *** The shifting ground drinks and saturates the porous rock a gentle penetration and filtration The solvent bonds willingly with minerals. *** Spiraling down into the depths to become steam and building pressure in the heat, only to rise again in another spring. Ink Where are the pens clenched in fists? So many sentimental sobs roll across the page leaving dilute rivulets of watery lettering Profound rage is not outrage It can’t be controlled The pen is mightier than the sword But both stab, and the sword Is mightier When the pens have no ink *&%#! The scream is frozen in mid-wave It is still, fast holding to the open space It crests but will not fall, silent to the ruptured ears to the ground The cheers cease and remain aloft in refrain before the adulation inspires the children on the field The yell is in stasis riding the Wind up and down but Not forward To resound and vibrate the membranes The scream is frozen in mid-air The atmosphere is so thin It cannot sustain the life of warning The cheers wait, aloft and insolent momentarily silent waiting, watching for the air to thicken and become moist, it is easier to travel through. Screams fall silent in absence. Soaking The waterfall goes cold The wine bottle slips The attempt fails Chipped shards of glass Jagged as shark’s teeth, sharp as tears cry as they beckon my plump feet to pop the skin and free sweet sanguine sweat of iron as they puncture and crush and crush and crush and crack as the checkerboard tile floor aches for the pulsing blood as it dries with warm gasps as the tingles are tossed from under foot to over head as pings ripple through the embedded glass hooks one jump, to the balls of my feet the glass attached as a tick, rides the clumped toes the dusty glittering glass macerates and lacerates awash in crimson scarlet stains, the red dries to black as the doors swing open to let in the light and burn the cuts that never reach the wrist Pathetic fallacy Yellow ebbs and breaches the rounded edge as potent whispers of magnesium white light gasp and burn the mist of the greedy morning New sprouts and shoots search Among the vast verdant vistas to view, a stronger sun shining silently eating the splendor of another revolution as the heat’s and hell’s fury is called forth, invoked to illuminate the path the plow must follow the fold of the soil as it releases its eager moisture. The sun at its longest hour seethes and spasms With reluctant annoyance as reserved animosity rises for the parched plants and animals hiding in the shade. In vino veritas Drink in the past of the particular grain and mineral of the soil Drink in the day, consume the humidity of the air and the tilt of the Earth. The Sun’s peculiar angle is trapped so delicately when the bottle is right Time is stored on the vine and released so we can remember. Sip from the fluted glass That chimes with fire and were forged by the hands that pluck the grape and expel seed Be intoxicated by the will of the vineyard envision the ancient amphoras sailing the seas bringing cultivated celebration and tidings from those long gone. Let there be light Unstable sable sooty skies shimmer with silver slices and streaks of bone white, absent of marrow cracks of electric arcs weld the ether and darkness fusing the ground to glass and extending the tether through all the jubilant and solemn states of matter *** Deadly holy hallows, baneful yet sacred soil littered with shards of light, flickers a mosaic of deep stellar pin pricks, scamper, glitter and gleam the captive emission of the empyrean as darkness injects the stone with a mild delirium *** The cure for divinity came at the Trinity Site Hyperion rises and falls with elegant strides in the perpetual escalating titanomachy the heralds proclaim “Let there be light” as energy only fathomed by stars fills the night *** Mourners at the final funeral eulogize the Jinn and their last exhausted flames tremble and drip as fluorescent tears, only to dry in eons are buried Japanese paper lamps glow red and are set adrift on the sea of sackcloth as the seams are backlit *** The divine wind stalls but ripples ride ripples and hide underneath the turbulent turbid waters the last pieces of parchment fall in flakes to the primordial depths where the first step and last step of creation cannot easily be kept Space –Time, we exist between the Divine The biggest of bangs booms-the expansion begins with the singularity-the heart of God time, matter and space are created-with one beat up until now and the future-when it beats again dark Ichor fill the cavity-cosmic valves close mankind-tachycardia *** Dark matter-the synapses of the divine mind Light- is the breath of life *** You know light-takes time The impulses of the senses-take time The interpretation-takes time to occur. Then it is sight. Then it is touch. Nothing is instantaneous. We always exist in the past forever just behind trying to catch up to the present. The void of experience winks and taunts us For we can never exist in the absolute now. *** God-man Past-present Space-Time P-wave-flatline Memory Atmospheric lesions, ghosts of experience sliced and sawed off by spectral knives dull blades, spoons scoop the senses in as series of sedated speculations the gray matter is dust the mind still sits vibrating at idle, the one second becomes infinitely lost in between the firing neuron and the chemical bridge *** Scars across starry eyes Leech out and spread as the mind seeks contrast in the light and dark horizon *** The betrayal of the cell is revealed and lightens the view as the smooth agreeable sheen of childish soft cornered scenarios are offended by adult content Buried as a stillbirth, in the dust The ghosts are lost and seek their place on the other side of the bridge Death Penalty Paradox Capital (the top of a column) Punishment is defined as the State execution of murderers Our State (the condition of) is defined as we the people and the representative placed at the Capital. Murder is the slaughter of an innocent. Humanity is flawed (perfection is conceptual) *** Those who believe in divine judgment rest their hands on the Bible as Witnesses (those who observe) to others it is just a book. They Testify but not with the holy spirit in a church of their peers singing Hallelujah *** Some in shackles have their restraints unlocked as new pens write their names with clear legible letters Flawed (perfection is conceptual) accusations and pressures from the approaching hoards hastily line up the rows of the abbatoir…As we make mistakes and we will, innocence dies. State (we the people) sponsored (endorsed like athletes) Capital Punishment will therefore kill the innocent Killing an innocent is murder Murderers shall be put to death but there are not enough bullets for The firing squads to shoot us all, well not yet. Lottery Lessons learned in fallen time lost faceless yearning preserved in the frost of belittled hope and magnanimous dreams expectations of elevation torn asunder from its seams *** The slow consistent vibration of all connected elements Energy pulsing displaying solidity as illusory components Valueless time used in vapid vociferous pursuit Of surface numbing activities and all things moot *** Wishing for numbers that create a fallacy of freedom As if life owes anyone anything in this chaotic contagion Awake from oppressive opposing cramping sleep Become lucid of thought emerge from the deep Cold dark haze of simplistic insensitivity’s hold Upon true flowing consciousness and life’s bold Meaning in the reflected light of perspective and the subjective Symbols contained in all, seen by few, an intertwined collective Wings The last of the Monarchs rested too long in a grassy field and was is left behind by the eager winds as autumn flutters from a long summer of heavy shade and cloud cover as a few updrafts finally found their base at the random columns of transparent golden sheets of sun. The leaves have relinquished their green for tones of gaunt yellow and blood red only purple blooms remain as the last vestige of an insolent season of bitter blossoms where the butterflies speckled with inkblot white leaf shaped wings cavort and compete for the prime pistil overburdened by pollen. *** The last Monarch flutters, falls and rises in the throws of failure into a stone shingled roof. One wing torn, the wind blows with animosity and the king spirals down the slope of the gable as one wing turns to dust and rides the breeze. *** On the thinning grass, it flops as a fish on the dry ground that is close to water as one last effort to recapture the past, and find balance, the insolent atmosphere grants a wish and lifts the butterfly off the thinning grass into the shade of the last violet flowers. *** Dashed into the thick growth beginning its cycle of hibernation, the chill comes and in the shades of noon, there is frost. All oranges evaporate to brown and the leaves fall into piles. Proto-Voltaic In the failing unfathomable furnace balance is defeated heaviness prevails and synthesis ceases ichor becomes a chain that links the divine wind to the breath of the empyrean. *** The dusty solar furnace reignites after a few clouds pass by the cosmic wick glows under the kiln, as the potter’s wheel spins over the eons. *** The wanderers gather to build the galactic galleries the sculptures of stellar cartography plot the axis. *** Dust is spread unevenly as stone becomes David and desert gas glows with signs of electricity ice giants of the Norse live silently around certain pieces, Diana spins in delight. *** Out of the scattered remains sentient beings stand and stare to collect the dust as they spit into the mound to make clay plates that embrace the heat again and set free the frigid breath from the first unfathomable furnace. *** Will balance be defeated again? ITCH! ITCH, itch, itch, ITCH! Desiccated deserted digits digging at the shallow surface The simple spike pierces the sensitive reactive skin *** Separated isolated space of overwhelming annoyance A diluvium obsession of a moment’s envelopment *** GOUGE RENDER FLESH ASUNDER, excoriate efficiently Surrender to the pains warm release (damned contained cell) *** Scratch for an instant, mild relief, emotive thief Consequences of irritation last of moments seem weeks Satiety in red drops, crimson flakes drifting, coalescing to surroundings *** Pulse, short breath, hesitation, is it gone? It is back, frustration to collapse! *** It has evanesced, deep breath? *** SCRATCH Tableau Vacant Snow sifting through the shadowy sky Dancing down waltzing with winnowing winds making equal park and stone, no divisible line. *** The empyrean empties, individuality to singularity Forms are held by the immured atmosphere of rime A season of reasons, a necessary purging polarity. *** Snow sifting through the shadowy sky Dancing down waltzing with wanton winds making equal park and stone, all at one time. *** Children wait with anticipation for the first flakes Unscheduled vacations, sliding with elation, free fortresses Adults see the slippery conditions, all the potential mistakes. *** Snow and chill fell from the shadowy sky The dance is done, the wind has blown an ashen serenity that comes at the end when storms slowly die. Ad Infinitum Nyx and morning cycles revolve and unfurl Pleiades and Helios radiate into destiny Projecting light, streams as violations through the void Mirror into mirror, a second a measure of tick tock but all numbers go from zero to plus or minus eternity A second is infinite when fractions are fractured Questions of ontology and cosmology boggle consistently Music of the nature of the universe echoes exponentially Energy of stars, carbon as tears of a supernova cry for humanity From the death of past light the organic manifests, strategically phasing, introducing, producing maybe polluting consciousness, or a rip in time and space Quantum mind reaching omni-directionally- Ad Hoc Ad Nauseam … Ad Infinitum BLOOM Delicate streamline tendrils holding firmly into familiar soil A stable flexible base to stand in the rain and unrelenting zephyrs A staff of veins and smooth shiny skin reflecting and absorbing The individual coming together as the collective organism Each process and purpose in sequence and balance A simple saturation of sunlight as strength but shade is comforting in the heat of midday When Hyperion is at zenith and projects and radiates the cosmic wind the stem grows straight as the leaves extend to embrace Tellus Petals spun in beauty’s loom and fragility’s thread remind the elements of the persistent instinct The eventualities of withering and desiccation of form exist in the certainty of winter imbuing the frail fabric A scent wafting, permeating all inquiring olfactory beings drawing each closer to be present in the full potential, efflorescence of the aromatic sensations and memories created and stored its effect momentary, the intended eternal aim is true Pistil, Sepal, Stamen, Anther, Pollen, Pollinium, Pedicel, transportation is an act of desperation and never assured by numbers The petals discolor, leaves recoil and fall in sequence to the greeting earth, where the worms wait in the first layers of soil. *** The cold surrounds, halting all growth instantly To cease to be annual or perennial, a determination of birth Some fortuitous fruits are born in the perpetual summer where the waves of rays may not lose intensity and frequency so is the luck of the equatorial tropical zone Where the winter’s wrath is never known Vox clamantis in the disco Bombastic blowhards bombarded with recollections Instigating conversations of confusing conflict Beer to Absinthe the indulgences pour Unmitigated circumstances for revelry Lascivious debauch as Bacchus and Dionysus Out and about vibrating and drooling Unaware of the stares and the whispers in the haze Singing praises to poisons and impulses *** Obstinate obstacles chauffeur the lanes and the door Braggarts and haggard nosed vagabond bonding Sexual dynamic laws inverse the equation Tracks unfamiliar tripping over flopping feet Reasons for conscious unconsciousness vary Erections tend to fail when whiskey prevails Potent potables and irate individuals find each other Enjoying imbibing and the pungent weed Reviving old traditions of vine and seed Orgasms simulated by biochemical means Underestimated locks on the chains Singing praises to poisons and impulses *** Defying death’s invincible state Return to confidence a liquid creates Ubiquitous affection, a sneer in the other direction Naked ambitions barely arise Kettles burnt black bang as they are called Always a synthetic state in which to relate Reacting to stressors slowly, if not at all Dying to have fun as fun may be dying Singing praises to poisons and impulses Humpty Dumpty and Chaos Theory Asunder from the center a crack, a fracture in crystal Insular integrity dispersed with contact A separation, a simple seam becomes a slow rift Explosion in all directions, spherical expansion Cessation of acceleration a setting to rest A riddle to reassemble as broken eggshells *** Attracted back to the focus an incompletion occurs Instability once shattered is naturally imbued Geometric glass shards refracting inward, reflecting outward give light The fallen’s flight and depth to quizzical quandaries of recombination Recuperation a task of time, adjustment a feat of the mind The total is less for the collision Never the same previous precision *** Pieces of the puzzle present a picture of the few And it is recognizable but still slightly askew *** Continuity compromised With shattered potential Anti-Aphrodite Why so much anger towards those without children? Why such suspicion against those not fulfilled by others? Why do so many smirk when they are told romantic love is fleeting? *** To accept the greatest gift even if transient is understood but it is lost in the shuffle of the everyday and loses potency The corrupter-routine and mediocrity-a haze never to burn away An insult to intellect forever pushes from the cosmic egg A wish, wasted away, is granted as it dissolves as the unrequited love lasts only in insolence and an undeveloped sense of reality is simpler to chew Romanticized romantic Roman myths, stolen from Pericles’ forefathers mutate in the courts of France and fly away with Mercury we now know it poisonous like lead, and some of us will not be. *** Why can’t self-destruction be an aspiration? Why can’t many accept that for some standard success is defeat? *** Echoes of anguish reverberate and blend to thoughtful paralysis as we also feel the lacerating instinct to pair bond and fuck Sensitivity is the access to the torture… we can’t un-know as an organized, single minded cell, a generation of numbers waits to propagate, abstain from promoted vice, to acquire the device to dilute the masses of media, information as blissful stress to the senses Poor misunderstood stoics, foolish hedonistic hippies and flower kids Allergens are regurgitated hourly with a succession of clipping and grafts Cultivated and fertilized versions of Iphigenia and Telemachus are planted by Lancelot riding a plow horse as he puts on his shiny helmet Wretched masks of manipulation, seldom known they are worn Cracks form from bouncing the alpha waves that do not cease and sleep of routine is not restful, but continues to makes promise of an epic poem as the journey is to the office and daycare Love is a laughable word, no less a humorous notion Loneliness is more comedy, Aristophanes knew, HA, ha! Some can refrain from the viral strain of DNA but the call of the incantation is mellifluous as the witches’ brew of biology boils over as Aphrodite bottles and sells her drug that some will not buy but it is always advertised. Imperfect Crystals Black stained diamonds weeping on the road Machines milling millions taking what is tolled Hands bound if they are left to wash The ore’s wrath explodes to slice the naked tympani The membrane tears and the bells constantly resound Fire from the Earth moves dust to dust and penetrates the ancient coal *** Agencies of western vision close eyes violently to ignore all of the manifestations of their sub-consciousness to abhor Silk lined pockets pulled out to release the sand Loud laughing corpulent corpses pollute the promised land As the crimson card dealers shuffle for Croesus a black hearted straight wins the pot of ash *** Our fields of the night can never be re-sewn Bones are reabsorbed to become minerals again Signs and symbols decry destiny’s plan To be is to be perceived in the great sunset’s industry Eyes shut and ears closed, never removed if never known Seethes, bleeding in the streets of Freedom bondage is never just a rusted chain Museum A suggested donation is paid as paint dust, dried rainbow, faded flakes flutter in the columns of over head light bouncing off the tile floors dispersing the diamond flecks of inspiration in the pristine recycled air. Avenues of captured sight are lined with the painted and engraved mirrors in which few dare to truly gaze. Plug in and be guided along. Theories and educated guesses swirl as invisible smoke that is present as real forestalling silence. A boy dressed in a business suit says “That picture with the lady and the baby is pretty.” As his father listens to the prerecorded commentary from his white plastic covered earphones. The boy loosens his tie as a pot has caught his eye and he rushes to the pedestal. He tries to stop but the body and base collide. The pendulum once in motion cannot find its center. On to the tile, the Grecian Urn falls to become pieces, parts of a sum that litter the avenue so none shall pass as a claxon call terrifies the patrons and alerts the curator to call the insurer but the father cannot hear. Guards in gray, underpaid and sleepy in their cells converge upon the disintegrated past as the reflection of a badge glitters in the father’s eyes. Light takes time to deliver the dance of inverted images into the mind and we forever chase the present and live in passed by moments. The urn was broken before the boy saw it shatter. BANG Elemental silence, the first imbalanced form A pervading absterged clarity of the unsounded Vibration ceased and in a stasis to be held motionless Nothing to be without and nothing to conform To listen for the secret silence will just confound Its place is omnipresent, atmospheric and frequenciless *** Stop and unleash the vehement behemoth The deluge of waves of vociferous vibratory blasts Shattering all solidity and casting all of the taciturn asunder Not in all feats contrived by imagination parallel the violence Of a single concentrated calm explosion of light from the silence Displaying scenes of time’s dreams and distant solar thunder *** A centered mass collects, coalesces and correlates Collapsing, crushing, changing from nebulous to geometric The quiet has since faded but restores as expansion relaxes No graduated segments of distinction, nothing yet to be dated Extra-universal complexities following the only plain super-symmetry Changing the degree of rotation and all spins away from the center Outward, onward, forward and toward forever together Gravitation holds, fusion puts up its fists Creation came about well enough This cosmic play had no rehearsal In this dimension anyway. Breath and whispers The atmosphere condenses and holds a heavy hand upon the friction of simple gestures that engorge the fool Both are lost for a handle to grip the moment The symbols of alchemy are written, the scene resolves and reality pauses slightly as the apparition in this daydream winks Knees quake and become gelatinous as the floor pushes upward Sweat releases in torrents of putrid pheromones on to clenched digits The flight of fear flees into the shadowy inchoate night The circle completes as one combatant exists in defeat Embers are pitched and fall from the surrounding chorus The blinded and distorted course into each other Release, release control and act Release, release fear and fight, no the drain has no plug Give up and slip away silently, so sadly, whirl in the vortex A complex embrace with sympathetic intonation of a night’s nihilistic void unavoided Something filled something lost Bereft of breath, chest in ever tightening chains The old nemesis comes suddenly, sharply back again Pressed violently into the back of the unforgiving chair The apparition winks once again. Gravity intensifies and all sounds amplify To feel the stop of your heart between beats To think each pulse is the final push *** The temperature increases and the flash flood breaches No one would wants to be shot down and die as gossip The deep breaths become saviors of sanity The internal attack makes the simple just survival as apprehension ambushes the soldier before the field of battle The apparition does not know it is a daydream and dances on top of the altar of worship The end is eminent The seizure is paralysis The fight was exhausting Leaving crippling corrosives behind in pools that consume the shackles that bind The second hour to the seconds Exhausted A coal colored canvas of black streaks and hazy gray hues takes in all views and obscures the background scenes small staggered and forced steps falter and the hands of doubt hold firmly A quick slap strikes hope into shards And rips away at the soul’s complexity Repose, the quiet escape draws motivation away Simple sighs and unreasoned tears stain the head holding pillow gripped so tight the joints press through the elastic flesh White knuckled, face down, sunken screams silenced by the density The exhausted pants and hoarse voiced whimpers evanesce *** Damp recollections drift through the gaps of regret As they shift in size and space exponentially widens Vacuous, raucous numb visions leak in and out Concentration fails as the will diminishes Nothing but pressure at the compass points Echoes in an empty room resonate, deflect and end Pulses of light through dirty panes of glass Refract unevenly and leave foggy glares *** The clouds combine to block the rays as black to gray surrounds completely at every waking moment at every attempt an opportunity to flee The diaphragm struggles with shallow gasps and the lack of color is all that is seen. Exhausted. A Soul Solution An angelic primordial ethereal essence glowing from the great beyond and bye and bye Amalgamated light before there was time and movement A cheerful cherub no more, it only exists at the core Now it is encased and smeared in blood, mud and filth not to be washed away and cleansed, these are badges tattered and stained, remnants and remains Lessons learned from the splinters still stab while walking the plank of treachery. *** A joke not to be gotten, a code to be forgotten An observer of the superstition, symmetry, and antiquity A being of light can only be seen in contrast and backgrounds dark as a trenches are dug with glee as the void has no real power unless the light allows In nothingness one will find a bland balance beyond comprehension Just a warm squeeze of the vacant, vapid stare Into the glare of infinite, the mind must become an empty room *** Just an angel’s shroud to burn and turn to vapor in the sun’s ultra-violet waves, the clouds break up and weep Drenched by a lye soap sud solution, convoluted and saturated 99 and 5 percent away from eternity and seeping pure sores washing away sin is done by ingesting a soul solution only the pursuit is guaranteed revolution is a germinating seed and Icarus found humility perjury or purgatory? Patience Control……… The struggle began from a series of events The birth, the death, the relevance Contact…… *** Fighting through the solid ice wall And it is only getting colder and the movements slower When motion ceases, absolute zero, the sleep begins Don’t wake up, it is calm in the cold No action or response; elicit… Explosion….. *** Release elastic potential into the kinetic Learning from visual implants to phonetics Constricting manacles manifested from fear Motives of the future pathways become unclear Resolution…… *** The intertwine of space and time In a convection transformed into a linear state An implosion of introspection, expel to create Freedom through the wall From the voice of the sun Movement to momentum Vices finally fall Completion……! Waves and Particles A reciprocal recalcitrant surge ebbs Currents created flow upstream to mix the waters A stratification in the blend warm to cold Water breaking down stone into liquescent sand Combining, petrifying, back to the origins again Cycles of tides, mist to rain and the draw of the land In the simple natural circles, nascent to recycling Compression, release, and emission of radiant heat Diffusion , homeostasis and all elements meet All equilibrium eventually fails entropy is the only certainty In perpetual motion…….. nothing from everything…. Everything to essence, essentially… A Repeat Fractured reality implodes but readily recomposes Laughter rumbles, brewing to percolation A completely encompassing auditory assault Comes from a previously recorded track The protagonist can only escape in two directions As the light’s projections flicker and disperse The show must go on. *** A song’s cadence from hours ago will not stop its performance Repeating, repeating, repeating, repeating, endless subdued torture The havoc and hollers wish to burst from the control, but it is remote To wreak lies, as devilish children malicious, magical, mythical Adventures in the twilight does not allow the shades invisibility Safety-delusional, illusory function, repeat. repeat, Repeat A compression, comprehension of dimension, pursuit and pressure Fall from all sides, one direction, direct affliction of conscious behavior Can there be peace and quiet? Can there be a silent night? Repeat?………repeat! REPEAT: REPEAT Song please stop. Halt for one second without the demon Belial’s aria No gentle nights or violent days dawning, faces pathetic frowning Just a list of channels a T.V guiding page perhaps Heat just escapes so readily and the sweat just collects and brews Just like the laughter that just might not escape *** A guffaw, repeat A scream, repeat An enveloping pervading simple total absence How can you say silence is not violent? Absence is abuse Sometimes there is nothing left to watch but boredom Repeat, repeat, repeat. Epistolary Exposition to the Eventual End Where does genius lie? Does it lies in wait? Does it stand with those who try to defy fate? Can consciousness control the path of evolution? Or is it an indifferent direction fulfilled in apathy? Is the nature of our reality formed in a forged will Interacting and mutating within and without of us all? Are the boundless primordial fears conquered when life is quenched? It is a fact that in time all meet in the same place? The question of the void or the dichotomy of the afterlife prevails Can there be individual fabrications from the arrested biology? *** To preview the dispensation for the few returning faces is a hopeful philosophical safety veil Some accomplishments can be added to the living chronology Maybe immortality comes in memory A second can be broken down infinitely exist between the seconds *** Keeper of the endless dark or forever light Where do these questions lead? Should in life we continue the good fight? Or dissolve into depravity, and take no heed? *** Dear friend, the eventual end, *** Everyday must be such an overwhelming deluge, chaos overflowing There is no rest and no sympathy for the purpose Someday hurried humans may decide not to die And a select species simply stops ceasing to acknowledge you But without care, the universal statements are pleasing to you In a short list: dilapidate, dissipate, diffuses and evaporate People live in fear of you and your diverse manifestations With good reason for you are the frozen winter season You know all men and beasts and seen them in slumber and feasts You are the invisible inevitability, the edge of an eclipse and the noonday light. *** P.S The becoming begins as we end *** Clarity from the center creating concentration Confusion ceasing from calm cognition Patience can save your soul and friends But is this advice always effective the eventual end? *** Covered in gold and cement the silent sepulchers are sealed Are you living roomy? Wafting wavering scents of dismal decay stall in cloud formations of gloom Of the everyday job, such a voluminous vocation A growth industry with no ceiling *** Some of us foolish friends wish you would just take a damned vacation But there is no rest for the iniquitous, as the employment dictates But we all know it is not wicked to do your role well So no rest in sight, don’t worry about the spite For you are our greatest impetus and motivation so it is better you do not halt and take a vacation we are just wearied Sorry just one more question. As the eternal jester mockingly sparingly speaks Softly, a whisper flowing from parched lips States like the season as the moisture departs but what if you no longer served a purpose? Where would we be? *** Thank you for listening, see ya soon. Shoeless I cannot walk without pain in the middle of the road the path is so worn that the ruts have become stone On the west-side a rampant river and the eastside a cliff A current too swift, the precipice wall a perfect sheer I must go forward; the sun will be set in moments There is shade ahead just a few steps in sight A tree of green and white had dropped its ripened fruit It is rotten and has lured frenetic yellow jackets, no shade today I cannot stop, cease, desist or diminish my flow a rhythm so comfortable, numb and coercing A foot to the east, a foot to the west, north-south not apropos Feet have become flat nothing much more than pavement to clap clop I must push on, I have been pushed too much Balder at the reigns is struck by Thor’s thunder The hammer flies with the winds and the light retreats There is no rainbow bridge to Asgard here just a brown beaten path Other travelers pass without salutations or acknowledgement They tread where so many have been before no messages are sent as warnings, they stomp down the trail, unknowingly the passers-by press the dust to clay, to stone, to increase the ruts density to make my feet hurt more and I cannot go shoeless today. Polymer Envy Melted, formed, imprinted purposes Momentary freedom instantly purchased A zip and a current of electrons and digits Fake flowers, twine, medications and power Something unseen, seemed distant and unreal Processes unaware, systems don’t care, unfeeling Accumulate, accrue, accept the compounded problems A polymer trap, spun into a fine fibrous web Celluloid superstitions projected, reflected, absorbed Serial celebrity promising, reassuring, absent Wishes and aspirations evaporated and vented Nothing is larger than life… Thin laminated screens and light flat consoles Commerce adverted, three minutes, credits Operas of the ridiculous and heroes of pretenders Respect the projection, instead of the reflection Moving walls and windows whispering wishes… Aspirations aspirated, spiritus asper *** A cut, tuck, snip a slice and now everything is nice Or what others saw in the mirror and smashed it Dolls of human frailty share true similarity The spin doctors weave threads of Teflon fiber Silicon survivors, a simple insecurity may kill On a vanity a doll rests *** Prosthetic, unnecessary posing, positioning to polymers Plagiarism of porcelain masks and figurines Film featuring fraudulent faces grimace and gleam Garrisons of gleeful drama and uplifting idiocy Plastic people playing on soulless celluloid and screens Perpetuating pathetic projections without responsibility *** Illumination of electric fluidity and radiation entertainment Traveling at the speed of invention, overwhelming information blooms Distillates, isomers, refraction contraption enlightens the heavens Resistant to rust and some flames, fire resistant extinguishers Cultivated toxins as mistaken panaceas, a synthetic lifestyle Leading to synthesis, symbiosis---evolution in the Process the small ripples get lost in the proceeding waves Of delusion. *** To sell the synthetic to the synthetic? To create the more consistent synthetic aesthetic because they don’t Believe in their owned authenticity Remiss we will see permutation of disparate disparities Money a creation, plastic credit inventors, insecure ideals of beauty Caused by what? Celebrity and misery certainly Cleft palate is one thing, But to have surgery to just fix a bump on your nose? AND YOU CAN DIE, AUTHENTICALLY, Really. Conference The ruffle of suede and faux fur being hung up diminishes in the echo of eager voices awaiting the recital and reveal of the salutations The plain podium rattles with cascades of coffee stained papers the ruffle stops, the silence forebodes the mechanical mouth of the ancient orator that opens with a cough the speech is chewed vigorously professors count the letters as scribes with ink saturated palms smearing images on ledgers made of dust and slate they talk to themselves and describe the faulty bridges, verses and lack of philosophy as they all go over the transom as wonderful wisps of waxing and waning bewilderment building tension and stress as the seated audience feel their backs bend and crack and soon they will seize The orator slips on his embroider jacket made of dog hair linen and lion’s regret, it falls and fits A quietude resumes, the words are counted, spoken, and placed Under shoe and step To be ground down into paste to fill the wrinkles on their faces and in a casket of ancient resolve the feast of language is consumed with soft sensitive dentures and ready bent forks The ruffle of suede and faux fur is furious as the flight from the benediction is swift out into the winter gates No longer do the pundits read from the stained pages that fell the rattle of wooden shoes stomp off and diminish with distance. Crossing Multi-lane gray confusion moving regretfully forward Separated by barriers broken and scared with paint Sacrosanct people marching in opposing direction with flags toward the past with inverted heraldic crests faint and disintegrating The two dimensional highway merges with the z-axis horizon Inchoate effluent drifting with parallel protrusions into the future Pendulum scenery blurred with the speed of life’s deception Gazing to the sky’s break with the temporal torture of rising and setting *** Pulling on, pushed, projected and vectored in null space Insouciant rushes and stereotype facelessness races to the industries evaporating wealth from blighted cities reverting, fleeing back from a translucency to fallacy *** Envenomed by foolish ideas of destiny the signal lost charge so quickly Back and forth in cerebral cables the crossing stations relay nothing stable as the multi-lane gray confusion merges Trial by Ordeal Divine intervention does not persuade equally to the flesh Inquisitors torment the torturers dunked in the waters, floating a way in droplets. Repent and be guilty is the reverence aspired. The trial of the centuries’ past, passes off the ordeals so to separate truth from ratings on an imbalanced, graduated, rusted scale etched with raised scarlet lettering *** Interviewers and photogenic barristers duel as cameras project predictions of astrologers the servants of anxiety linger and transcribe. The grand jurisdiction is set apart in two rooms of equal size and mass A hearing is no true place to listen when we see no righteousness hear no righteousness and just speak. *** The hand over the flaming book does not leave a blister An iron brands, the verdict is a muted, fettered scream There is more shame in accusation than lingering in the immured palaces of eggshell walls, portable cell phone towers, good behavior and cotton sheets Exoneration comes with but a minor disfigurement. Conatus A cast of winter friends are called to the holiday table bejeweled with the merriment of delicate Venetian glass and cheeky Chippendale chairs that carry our bodies, seated in luxuriance, as our mortal words flank each other The polished oak plateau bounces the conversations on its straight back through the transparent witnesses forever holding fast to their colors in the descending particles of light scattering from the teardrop crystal chandelier that never falls from grace, the fastener is stainless, as the soot from the candles begins to touch the shards with grimy hands but the frozen tears tinkle in the draft that leaks ribbons across the festive eve *** We clang over Game theory We clash over M-theory but each theory is but a theory as Voltaire and Thales saturate the air and linger in the ruins of a half-eaten meal *** The wine stumbles out of buxom bottles pieces of bitter cork mock those who are disappointed by not having a perfect pour but as murmurs become memories and grand proclamations sing paeans to the sheets of the night’s intellect a small child, bare chested, creeps behind with a chocolate smeared smile A hot airy spray seasoned by strained peas fermenting for hours in the soft new bowels is filtered by an arrogant cloth diaper and scalds my weary calf The miasma embraces my slacks it bonds with the very weave as fluted glasses raised in winnowed half-light toll in tangled chimes the child crawls under the elaborate ritual bumping into the central support of the table *** The players of the play of pageantry retire to the den where children should dare to fare and smoky scotch weeps into rocks glasses as French doors unlocked, but they should be, flash open as one knob jostled by the whirlwind of youth cracks the frustrated window framing the evergreen outside flocked with snow The bare chested babe slides across the hardwood like a chick coming in for its first landing as an avuncular sheen drapes over this weary soul who only wishes to reminisce and discuss coming days at hand, but no, all must wait as the father, my friend now tamed by time hoists the child up from under his armpits and is held at arm’s length they smile devilishly at each other as the mother, encased in drama, sweeps through sky blue pajama top in hand The boy kicks his tiny raccoon paw feet the cloth gleefully falls away and a stream that will never know the chilling ice of winter soaks his father’s Egyptian cotton shirt like the Nile during a flood nothing can be done as he says, “Ah, this is actually progress”. Defying Born into a glossy picture framed by glass and mottled stone She knew the secret to defying time’s fading. Avoid sorrow, joy, confusion and choice And wear the mask but never frown or smile behind it. Ritually standing on her head for half of each day To counter act gravity as it reminded her of the tug of precocious toddler and she never allowed any wizened aunt pinch her cheeks. Never to stand in direct sunlight The rays and dry heat crisp The skin to crumpled sheets. Getting old is her greatest fear And her therapy is not living. Drink lots of water and stay indoors And eventually you have a pristine Well preserved corpse as they Lament over her casket she gets her final reward. “She’s much too young to have died. Mortis Rift Sometimes to be is not being Without any questions just quiet Not to be may be the answer to recover a semblance of humanity Noble or not … I will find the mechanisms that created and store your will I will take what fulcrum of thought and perception you have And steal its axis to construct cavitation. I will see what is internal, the lonely places where you hide And take the ersatz essence and megalomania you allow in your being I will implode your core and manifest a new center and rotate It seems like destruction but it is elevation, transcendence, when You are controlled by phantasms, saturated by materialism, Americana It is altruism because I tear asunder the countenance of contamination. Security is illusory; the sooner the dissolution the harder life is To take but no longer are you distracted by visions of others And the first step to freedom is seeing the invisible, indivisible networks which do not allow motion in the viscous emulsion. The machinations have been there all your life you are impervious to the emotive crank of the pulley and once removed there is not a direction you cannot step or stumble. True Freedom is Terrifying and fascinating, and this not a threat! Assassinate thy avuncular certainty, the solutions poured in your ears Whilst you slept have antidotes and Polonius was in on it. FUEL An interjected fued created by fumes Evaporating and contaminating the open room A spark ignites a vapor to a flash A simple regretful tumultuous clash Easier just to let it go amongst the flames All but an idiotic, egocentric, grudge remains Apologies are sometimes harder than adamant stone The resolution is left to decay with the bones Of the atmosphere; of the stalled scene Of the sarcophagus, the shroud rips To be wrong is never the worst thing in this transient life Mistakes are everyone’s universal movement through the strife Awareness is the potent potential to the allegorical dreams To let confusion reign is anathema to the kinetic means A single signal echoes evenly through the serenity A projected protagonist’s proposition extant to infinite Release or be dry kindling that will know the vengeful spark To the little temporary tocks Quiet down you noisy wooden clock QUIETUS Blessed Curse Chaotic cacophony centralized controlled Reorganized into streams of perception To categorize and analyze external forms Recognition of ambitions through volition *** Simple signals to symbols as solutions The confusion between the factions Evolve to pulsating waves and fragments of light The more illuminated the more to affright *** A blessed curse to burn away the blissful shadows A blessed curse to change the reality of Nature A blessed curse to be burdened *** The pretense is acknowledged so glimpse behind the obvious The accumulation of outcomes splinters from cause and reaction A process of progression and plausible prediction An ascension from the abyss of the oblivious and instinct alone *** A blessed curse and a cursed blessing it is A blessed curse until we… Bee bop or what we thought Growing intoxicated as masses The sound flows and grows The patterns amongst the organic seem unsolvable Watching the bird soar and fall We all become dizzy strolling in the park with Dukes and Ladies A thing becomes as we sway and swing in the wind A maelstrom rolls as our arms grow weary but stronger with gasps A thunderous reverberation of a wordsmith songstress A field of what seems melts with the dreams And the vibrations sound with meaning An ode to the changes in created chords, chaos and order Killing the Czar’s Dog All the confident comrades vent venom’s fumes No longer people, no longer power, no longer living Bullets off of jewels, blood embroidered tapestries Regicide is not enough the dog must die too *** The assassins of Islam armed by Allah with hashish The red devotion flows over mountains to the Mongols’ connection Black and red books, hand delivered righteousness *** Onward Christian soldiers, only children, falling into slaughter Inquisitive minds want to see and know heretical theoreticals Burn away the difference in the smells of offerings and smoke The savaged souls were saved, weren’t they? *** Ghost dancing on the open arms of the great embrace One shot injects fear and decimates this ragged, runned race. The red revolution’s devotion abdicates the throne of reincarnation *** Dylan knows God is on everyone’s side, or at least behind them Surrounding surreptitiously for no one to see Unless like eyes blink synchronistically As the Diminished As the poet’s words turn to contorted scribbles and sighs As the painter’s pallet colors merge sadly and dry As the Sun’s light at night is a reflection on the Moon As the summer’s breeze is taciturn to the rage of the monsoon As the daredevil’s action without their own fear As the archer’s aim when they cannot see clear As the singer’s song without an audience to feel As the film projector’s movement without a movie reel As the guitar plays with rusted broken strings As the notion of calm while the tornado screams As the shadows’ ability to conceal when dawn’s light reveals As the control of illusion when truth’s key turns to unseal As we are. A Royal Execution Prince Valium and Princess Halcyon took a midnight stroll Around and down a darkened topiary to a poppy lined path It is so soothing to lie down in the hazy fields and see the meta-atomic atmosphere obscure the stars hand in hand the royalty venture into the streams surrounding the path dissolving the dirt from their shoes and their bodies feel the cold flow a beautiful, uneventful night to go for a stroll so similar to the last it is humorous how time merges to a moment of mechanism and all of the dreams and fears collapse into a point on the pivotal plain where all things begin with a breath or end with the same. As our heroes’ journey began to wane they feel like they should move on and not stay on the poppy path, but transfer their first direction to the electrically charged forest of vines and gray leaves to venture forth and see the lacerating cliffs that were promised to be from childhood. *** The Princess asked the Prince, “Should we dance on the edge?” In vociferous response the Prince states, “We have already begun.” The unstable, lacerating geometry thrusts at the evening Organic orgasmic murky stream’s current converge with the shale shade of the ground and black Amorphous sea Footing is unstable in the obscured starlight, the lands shake From the river’s erosion and the potent pollution the crystals lined peaks had previously frozen as the barriers of the living waters and the tired land rumble. *** They dance in a violent trance waxing and waning to the emotions Of the celestial spheres and then the royalty stops to face their fears In unison they yell, “Should we jump over the edge of the cliff and be forever young and fearless?” A question in vain as they were already plummeting and are absorbed by the waste and the Amorphous sea both wave, hand in hand, and sink. Cemetery Inner pressure expands the seams until lucid leaks deluge Exhausted fumes violently vent Collapsed in potential inevitability Engraved stones were kicked over by children As petulant specters hide in the family tombs *** An indifferent sun diffused in silver gray clouds Delicate storms invade the helpless horizon Innocuous aftermath leaves disrepair Incessant laughter pervades the devoid ruins Equal in capacity to all of the joys of men Deafening visions of nature’s dismissal *** Corporeal centralized civilized clarity Created in silence Insulated Days Silver gray clouds become sullen shrouds over the potential and promise of the day A crushing crash straight to the petrified ground are any flights of ambition, to any heights Accused of inaction when movement obliterates possibilities that may ascend randomly but in less complex avatars? Manic, purposeless pacing depletes the reserves of creation not agitated to change position for the sake of such, redundant quietly concealed but the direct pathway is obtrusively revealed that shouts supplication for termination not to be trapped, compressed. *** Altered light, by the gravity of parallax sight soaks visions, estranged hallucinations, bicker in the corner Subduced motives all vitality seeps away maliciously Seduced operatic hearts play as the master conducts the ventricles A cramping fit comes through slicing the hanging vestment of youth to ribbons A forfeit is announced as mixed metaphors mate and reproduce in a more opportune daybreak The glaucoma shuts the eyes and struggles with resistant lids as repose that readily grasps and squeezes neurons to implosion oozes away through the spaces and rises to the insulated day of tomorrow. Today is replete with nothing complete. *** A mild nap watches time mock the Grand Guignol radio play Jagged sharp shards of reality target the tracking eyes full of neurotoxins’ baneful wishes toward the halting of a gossamer speculation that fulfills the space without seams The sullen shroud drapes with little concern and tears between self and intention of will The desultory sonorous screams to be still compresses, and pressurized time slowly dims the lights That lead from platonic caves for transcendence we fight Phoenix fire’s flames burn and singe the past allowing evolution into a state of creativity that lasts Repudiate rescind this war of attrition It doesn’t matter if yesterday was not a completion The silver gray clouds become the shrouds of the potential and promise of the insulated days The problem with clouds is that they break. Circulatory A single solitary cell venturing In a unidirectional pulsating pathway Leading eventually back to the same point of origin Impure metals and minerals bonding with rage Speeding together at pace. *** Surrounded by momentum perpetually pulling Away and down swirling around the drain *** Motivation becoming cholesterol Collecting on the arterial wall Emotion is an allergen Invading but a catalyst Sadness in the sneeze or the soul *** A progression and a path is the state Of life contained in a nucleus, or fate Cells fusion and releases elements Energy, exhaust, and waste And yet it is the state… into cycles we will revolve *** And circulate Sinking The spinnaker aloft, folds over as the winds stop and casts the sail as a blanket tucking in the passengers submerged into sleep the sail is a semaphore flown flat a vivid sign that can only be seen from above The clipper has clipped the jetty A deconstruction, a cultivated crunching crash No flames to consume the sense wreckage just the syringe currents sucking, straining and draining consciousness The flag of fate flutters with a few flashes to the beachside onlookers The drunken boat capsizes The bodies neutrally buoyant fight to remain in the last layer of light as they descend to the hues of ink immature silverfish nibble on noses and toes as a insolent rip current sweeps through The ballast reaches the benthic realm The sail detaches in an errant gust and rides the waves to the shore The rest sinks. Mutually Inclusive Breath without oxygen is suffocation Light without sight is still reflecting Thought without purpose recesses to memory *** Muses’ magical majesty in mythopoeic places of insight touch the heat of the solitary spark of emotion melting pulses of impulses, spasm into spacious expatiation The center elliptical, the forces grab hold towards the end Souls greet with a heart arhythmic, the mind expanding thoughts were in fibrillation and were too demanding *** In the throws of continual separation without permission Aches in places that never existed before admission Combined propulsion from fusion to violent fission *** Is God without conscience still divinity? As a heart without blood still beating Without you it was always a Tabla Rasa feeling Were we truly symbiotic, a beneficial being? More like a sapphire that lost its glitter and gleam *** Relations were obviously not as they seemed Breath without oxygen is still suffocation Light without sight is still reflecting. Tribute to Time The quaking and seizure of a fortress far on an undiscovered forest The surrounding bastion’s walls are made of atavis skulls The mortar is of decomposed powder of their skeletons planed smooth and without spaces, squared evenly Unspoken ancient languages echo profound proclamations of remorse filled with sympathetic frequency that vibrates all molecules equally Parapets and crenulations built of vertebrae and sinews all outlined and enthusiastically bordered with artery and vein Atriums abolished the garden gateways are burnt by acidic sunlight Foliage defoliated by volcanic breath and crimson released by Earthquakes, the interned forest sinks into the savaged and raped hills The breath is followed by Earth’s vomitus volcanic lava, a larva Covering, cocoon like chrysalis, filling crevices solidifying, heat rises into the caustic atmosphere The embattled fortress walls made of ancient cranium whistle with the bellows gray matter smeared as fertilizer, legends of youth Debunked, rebuke thee forces of pastoral pendulum Forest to bone architecture and the grasses growth replenishes and conceals as the walls fall into disrepair Again falling into the Earth to be vented to caustic atmosphere The quaking, a shaking, a sifter to distribute what is always left behind as tribute. Sympathy for Who? Singular separate secular state, synods petitioning irate proposals A conflagration of all the congregations and stations A blaze, incendiary devices to the vices of man Incineration of contemporary and past contradictions Accept the science of Mendel, Einstein, Copernicus and Diogenes No need to prognosticate for Armageddon or an Anti-Christ Humans need no such help with self-induced oblivion Helpless to help along our single quantum event Lucifer laughs loudly at the speculation of involvement Instinct can be overwritten in the spiral code We destroy ourselves by ignorance of actions with the whining about whom is right or the chosen All things are as they are and will be The universe records all experiences that ever existed all at once, we but a fraction of a section A slice, a sliver of emotion our frail mental symmetry would splinter and be projected outward to the edge of comprehension by the reticent lightning strikes of the overwhelming possibilities We destroy ourselves without any help, nothing could help us Ecclesiastical versus secular A proposal that we should not blur Satan is an idea that tempts and not a controlling being to be blamed You have freewill don’t you? Laughable Lunatics Flights of fancy across international time zones Seeing pariah messiahs messages of delivery To seat themselves on mountainous thrones Explaining that they alone know all of the mysteries Dedicating and dictating direction to the enemies The tip of a spear punctures the membrane with a snap A pop and a thrust into muscle serrated flesh carnage slivering off and shredding into the tunnel structure of vein and the coursing of oxygenated cells flow with rage as the receptors light up and pass the chemical past the gap, the exit of the artifice of metallic forgery and the seal of the membrane fails and the junction Resolve eludes as the passion exudes a function and nothing but the precision of the malicious surgery of Ego and Id into idiocy of aggression Stab into threats, threats unto the fool as the molecules disperse on the edges of these nocturnal emissions of distorted suspicion and meditations become blood Flights of fanciful ambition expands, demands and then bursts the meditations of the orators Blessed mystical maniacs in a crystal menagerie quoting Goethe and Ginsberg as they reflect at their own greatness burning emblems into their shriveled arms Sturm und Drang Dynamos explode as we watch the madness As laughter manifests uncultivated nervous slander No menace painted on mirrors and black mud on the floor as chants of invocation and supplication stall. Out of Thick Air Pyroclastic flow of volcanic glass and ash From the terror of the captive Islanders Held and thrown across the city sky Symbols of the civil centerpiece die Thunder of madmen’s metaphors a compression and then percussion Compassion is the basis of religious gospel, never ignorant terrorism *** Pompeii and Pearl Harbor memories fall from the clouds and meet Streams of animosities smoke cover and dust the earth with heat A siege that cannot halt prayers to the towers as the death toll accumulates by the hours Civilian shields as wings and unwilling weapons and the invincible heights are reduced in seconds *** Shock of sound waves and the final flames destroys a view from the edifice as the violence is deployed A disgusting revolting dance in the streets where the holy sites of the major three meet Joy about carnage? How can this contradiction be so? They have witnessed such damage and so they know Remember reasons for those setting the triggers for the demolition *** Empathy and understanding to all, for they know not what they do. *** Weep and grieve for all that fell from the heights Innocent without option and without hope’s device The perpetrators made their choices to be burned with They wrote doom in the scrolls, retribution will be more than the first born Awareness is the only diligent defense against all evils, as evil knows this We forgot eternal vigilance has a dangling price tag attached and the pain is felt by everyone and used by those who shade themselves in the past, waiting for the sun that has not existed for many years to shine at their feet. As the rubble smolders and human ash covers the scarlet sun the historic horizon becomes a haze of stone dust falling and settling As history beckons new beginnings…it will rise again built with the same steel, retribution will continue to sharpen its blade and cut across memory and the face of the world. Happy A past polluted predilection An ignorant silly procrastination A voice vibrating the water to evaporation A rain torrentially tormenting until saturation No more to give just one last fit Not even enough energy to let go a sigh Just simply a final urge to quit Too much effort to watch the day go by! Nothing more to express Nothing left to say Everything is gone Everything is nothing *** Forget and fall flat on your face All the anguish will not be erased Indifference is the only lingering taste Left in my mouth in which to feast Optimism exists not in the least *** The demons attack without remorse I have screamed “Please!” until hoarse There is no directive to change my course All has become dry at potentials source *** Oh happy day*#%!*&% off. Journal (plus or minus a day) I want to crush happiness today and the hallucinations continue along with the overwhelming over-developed sleep and circadian rhythms. I am never slightly rested and refreshed and reality seems to be slightly out-of-phase-and-pace with the natural world. I wish and supplicate for forgiveness and ascendancy to another avatar or incarnation or whatever the letters of the day say. I am profound and profoundly sad with absconding bits of trivia called happy thoughts and it needs to be a cognitive transcendence. I in physical means, I mean nothing and must move to another state and it is not California. *** I mean, maybe, a sensual suicide to the instinct drive can take us beyond Nirvana. Happiness is relative and not a right as the foolish, antiquated Constitution contends as it edges are foxed and brown. Emotions seem to have evolved to be the causation of behavioral changes and controls to create cohesion in the family and individual ties. Emotions are too dangerous for this simplistic species or maybe that is why? They will destroy themselves with their own hands masturbating away until the universe turns off the porn and sends them into a stammer with a quick slap to the groin. Auto-erotic chokers swing themselves because they believe it will get just a little more. A sensual suicide, I wish not to indulge but they do it because they feel it might be their last so they must get more, and more and eventual it will kill them but save them from further fears. Without elevated consciousness, species wide, then this world is doomed, as a term for destiny, for homo-sapiens and hopefully. I am not so hopeful for myself, but my own fears keep me from doing what I should have done years ago. I am afraid. I am afraid of what I need to do to grow and become. I know what they are and I am being an irrational fucking hypocrite. *** I need to hyper-hydrate and cleanse my frayed mind as the body has a liver. My temple is in shambles, the marble ruins melt in the acidic storm of the cerebral, cerebellum, pons, corpus callosum, and whatever lobes frontal or occipital but they all get inebriated, drunkard brain Bullshit intoxication hypocrisy but I keep doing it again and over along with another time. I do it again and do it to forget that I did it before and will do it again. Guilt is oppressive but also can be impetus for great change. There are better reasons for that though. If it wasn’t me I would probably think myself a cock sure, arrogant plebe in the sense that I believe I can be more than, even with the bibulous behavior. *** Romantic LOVE is impossible for me now as one must trust thier guts and Betrayal is my tapeworm. I don’t feel much of anything until I get sedated and intellectually abated. Maybe that is why I get so wasted to not feel so wasted. No EMOTION without coercion. Numbness, Hate, Anger, Sorrow, Rage. I can do that sometimes without it. Hope, love, happiness, optimism, compassion, empathy I need something for these things either to bring it on or destroy because it may be better without them. Live or die, I know what to do and it is up to me now. It is all right to be afraid. It better be, but all things come to a divergence or convergence. It is up to me now. I will or maybe I won’t? Tempest Unsettling stillness taunts every dry leaf, and insults the trees Stagnant air awaits quietly for an injections of rage Nature’s contraction eagerly turns the lock to our cage Grayness gives way to pitch as the impetuous sky bleeds vital unrefined origins **** Humidity grips the skin and fills the lungs So hard to inhale and feel through the slime Wind out of the west emancipates the senses peeling the layered clothing of the ambient spirit Outlook returns back where it should always belong Sight is lucid and aware of the time The ensuing cataclysm cleans and instills a song Decomposing death feeds The puddles dance with ripples and growth Grass flattens and the thirst is quenched The howls of the vegetation fall silent The white noise, the hum of clouds and the gulps of the Earth Tell the residents that are listening repent *** Hide or embrace the tempest *** In one second the humid atmosphere is denser than child like fright Come outside the clouds have freed the Titans and it is raining Purifying cool clarity submerging drowning flowing Droplets to fugacious rivers, oceans and trickling tepid streams Water fills containers, dissolves igneous stone like being awakened in a night terrors’ apoplexy As all is transitory, all is fluid in one form and moveable, all is mutable to new states, as the rain slowly changes mass and speed in different skies at sullen rates Misleading promises of the longest day, concealment of the starry night The firmament filters variable light so the fogged beacon gives sight to tell the residents that are listening become Leave your shelters and watch the weather egress Live in beauty, and exude astonishment, the trappings will flee someday Reflect in baths of light, absorb the wisdom which you have strayed Gem like order shattered and splintered thrown in all directions Unique form takes a liquid approach to time’s tempest corrections No more rage, no more cage the latch is not fused The leaves have dropped and the Earth is renewed. Blame it on… Contrary to what is deemed liminal Understanding of subjects subliminal As an opposition may appear criminal (opinionated) Moving mindfully past a threshold As a divine act to witness and behold (actions) Personalities abound to the virulent As a personal preserving stimulant So not to consume a contaminant (be on guard) Confidence as an integument to feign All from a loathing, facial disdain (the theater) Political policies ride the continuum for special interest there is no serum To alleviate a damaged society’s delirium (of the absurd) In God no, in tokens we trust To increase potency is the lust From which displays are never taciturn Along the demented, fragmented sojourn (continues) Camels of a coat create a caravan Trotting from cities to the suburban Nostril snorts are no less urbane As man is to mankind humane This notion of ideal ideals is insane (into the future). Journal 2 Vacillations and vicissitudes going to places in my thoughts and dismal daydreams of layered fabric into tapestries of time and a place with no space, a perfect plenum. Seeing seas and storms flowing, sitting at tops of trees with the fragile mist chilling the organs and the blood. Surrounded by myths and obstructions and monoliths are signs of realness at every edge of the realm on the crooked brick stairs in the back of an ancient sullen house made of uneven stone cold as the mist, but without greetings and sensation. Droplets of reminders course down my back, a tingle as recollections of the coarse experience in the depths of a moonless night where proclamations of the one question and supplications for help relayed the sonorous fright. Voices that are never heard drown and fade away automatically and proceed backwards. Sometimes I hate pathetic fallacy. In the beginning we are alone but individuality is a test; the separateness searching for a station in life or at least a place to sleep without interruption. No, there are no divine exams. Mostly these illuminations are never found in daydreams, no radiance before the dawn. It is the search that drives primal suggestion to the pointed faculties of mind in the climax that there is struggle, strain, strenuous suffrage, and to wear this is too much to bare. Bombarded by blocking thoughts or meditations unnerved by anxious hooks in the stomach reel us into physicality. Uncertainty looms as a weaver in the back of the mind stringing the high strung, dangling a statement, “It is a waste of time”. Go on like the dreaming ocean of ensuing devotion and to do all that others say is impossibility, in the eventual outcome it is will or the lack of that will kill. Or are we all lying? Are we creations and creators? Maybe just some infernal joke or an excuse of some other? Artists, we all are! Damnable polysyndetonic syntax. We must take a step out of life as the snake out of its skin, oh no, sexual symbolism, so to shed the opaque covering of the eyes, and see the hive hunting its impervious prey in the forest of the twilight as we are tinted a King Cobra gray. Sorry William! No tiger. When you are on the safari yourself you never see anything but the targeted, and everything is a target as you are and will be. To be an artist might be to document behavior, culture, social problems, perceptions, deviations, and the vile as well as pitiful conditions. These are targets and artists are fundamental targets. Maybe artists are simply sociopaths with outlets besides human destruction medicated with a placebo? Naughty, naughty, don’t worry it is all bullshit made up as we go along with the influence of the past astonishment and creation. In all media they trying not to overtly plagiarize. Artists are just thieves stealing from others’ lives as well as their own and other artist’s work, just recombinant conditions. Everything is communication through symbolism and that is what people do so we let you do it and then modify and regurgitate it back to you in a nice mix of acid and beauty. Sometimes we pretend that we know what we are doing. Maybe it is about deliverance from insignificance and the token realization that the metaphysical connotation of living may not be anything but us fish swimming from danger and a flight into the open sea’s light or no? The insatiable calamity has no relief as stars, designated constellations, or personal suns. It is just the universe mumbling and self-esteem draws death, as said before life is a theft but death is something life lives in. I don’t want to be this mumble or this simple horrible mortality. Fraud is the most genuine thing we have. Love, emotions, plastic moldings of the face. Truth, beauty continually erased but seldom ugly. Trite, banality never fugacious these things are to determined to exist through comfort. Once we are engaged, we are too blinded to redeem identity. Even the silly plastic moldings on my face find their ways to violate the daydreams and rip the layered fabric. Targets are acquired but life never concludes while you are watching as absolutes never existed anyway. An artist’s creation? Or a bullshit excuse? A plagiarized science experiment forgotten to its own devices? *** Creators and creations are developed myths of martyrs and meeker manifestations. And by the way, Beauty is not all we need to know ugliness is just as relevant. Everything once was and will be symbolism and if GOD exists and knows all pain I am sorry it had to feel mine, but I didn’t want to be this way it is too convoluted without prenatal talent displaying itself so not to decide. The act of deciding is probably the point but how trite is that because everyone must do it except…….. *** GENIUSES and trust fund babies. *** Nope, I wanted to be something else. I wanted to be Nietzsche, Jimi Hendrix and Bruce Lee. I wanted my ideas to manifest and spread for all to see. I want my will to be fulfilled and be an earthly guru. I want to be an evangelistic with philosophy and music and to be feared so nobody will try to fight me. I want others to add to my images and progress in a radiant form of talent of soul, mind and body. My shadow would cast darkness and doubt on deluded ambition and would create a resolute condition of creativity. Meeting the godhead and conversing having power without corruption. Thoughts could be mutable flesh. *** Once in a time before thoughts escaped and became. They fell to freedom on their own. We went on in different stratified existence and they went on in an innocuous form independent from us. As once they were just ideas as we were just ideas and it could happen again. We might encounter a thought from GOD and the infinite choir as GOD Maybe? or even something beyond comprehension. But on a side note I don’t want to die of syphilis or any remiss vomiting events. I don’t want to die from some death touch or allergic reactions. *** Hell’s fury can come from women but it is not the only scorn, I don’t want to die at all and maybe in the future of genetics and bio-engineering I won’t. Probably not in my lifetime I want to be delivered into my daydreams without plastic moldings and cold stones. It is just another stupid opinion on another earthly rotation in this mortal condition. Situation Tragedy The gleam fails as dialogue distorts A clear crystalline shattered scream A mosaic of prosaic storytelling falters and flickers. The circuit breaks and the lights fail spiraling outward to a single burnt image History records a symbol The symbol is intended Instantaneous folly fools the frivolous enraptured captured voyage of digits The gleam fails The signal goes down and all are symbols Burnt down again in the prescribed warning DON’T ATTMEPT THIS AT HOME A mold Tears of bile and urine run in thin rivulets down the Smooth pore-less pellucid plastic veneer, a mask of elastic membranes A blink behind the eyes lets slip the wink of coy renewable promises The molded, formed, seamless, seemingly surreptitious screen is seen simply As it casts a shadow where the smile meets the sky and the Hominid and homunculus hand in hand happily wipe the lines From the map of age and memory Journal thrice The everyday seem to be innately dumb at first, so blessed are those few contrived moments. My days are called to grief by just waking up. I have overseers that tap their feet on the thinning plush carpet. It begins with the feeling of when your first crush was crushed. The first love coming over and saying indifferently “no more” and the ache in the pericardium is amplified ten fold. The cavity left is iced over and as empty as the space between galaxies. This is the everyday. Then the apprehension of doubt of the dilemma comes quickly like that the significant other was reconsidering, but that is just a feeble mistake and miscalculation. It is not a state of feeling sorry for oneself. Thus accepted and acknowledged, the ability to move hurts to even think about over the torturous heart cracks and beats as it brings tears to the dry ducts that should have been deluged years before. The only way to survive is to turn it into itself and modify into anger; anger is a motivation and something is better than oblivion. I just want to become. Sometimes. I feel as a waste of carbon and water. Carbon better off as a filament in a light-bulb; water better suited in a fish tank filled with the string like feces and ammonia. *** Then as if submission did not count for anything, the humidity of the day increases and no matter how much I towel off there never is an obtainable sense of dry. Clothes will put up a struggle also but they always win. There is a tug on one side to fix a wrinkle and that in fact causes a worse event. Try and straighten it and the back comes undone. Fix that and you know what will happen next, but it is hard to be naked in public. Frustration. Castration. Asphyxiation. *** During the days of summer, I try to stay inside the sun burns so easily and cancer is. Then you go out just as a glimmer of hope glimpses and tears through the layers of humid skin and your olfactory senses have been depleted by under use. To go up and smell the wild flowers you must get close. The majestic bewilderment of nature takes a slight chance to kiss you delicately on the forehead and inspiration becomes. Insipid inspiration I should have known such trickery was involved. Kneel down to smell the blooms and a squishy squash gives under the knees. How beautiful it is when the growths have just been fertilized with manure The scent is truly the combination of mammal and plant. Then a notice of puffiness swells the nose and reddens the eyes, thank you dear pollen and confused immune system. An affirmation that nature can smell awful and be implicitly painful. Inspiration come and divine this life, wash and evaporate the mundane ever-present stain and release the trade winds to take this stench to the doldrums and maybe off to the distance of the jet stream. Intrepidation and passion rise in the uplifting thermals of ethereal emotion that find spaces between the heights and the fall. We must survey the scene from all possibilities and be quiet in calm and serene in the connection. Beneficence of being can melt away from the mind’s antipode when sensation not contained reveals its form verily. Bequeath the bountiful external worry to the dissidents and when driven by other’s, hindered and ashamed, to thine own self be true. Fucking Hamlet, yes perception is a problem and dreams and insanity seem to be the same sketch. *** With every Moon’s suicide, seppuku, and resurrection, the Sun plays dirty games of treachery because they die and rise again. I cannot shout at them to stop because I don’t speak to anyone anymore. I had a singing voice once with quite a range and sustain with vibrato. I have since lacked lacked lacked lacked lacked lacked lacked…lost lost lost lost lost lost lost the ambition to practice vocally and they, the chords have atrophied. I can hardly speak and only whisper penetrates as a myriad of mumbles under the soothing blankets. The only resonance there is for me is as a hum and a facial expression. The hum of the chambers filled with the summer wind drowns my projection. That there is any resonance at all from an honest place is befuddling and time is running away like a castigated mut. The summer Sun once again has allowed the shadows to be in the only place that retains composure from the frustration instilled by vengeful cherubs. The violet, violent strobes of bright and bold violations shine with such arrogance. The surges and pressure builds to the stress points. It would be reassuring to be a balloon or a bomb. A feeling so strong that all is needed is an object, oh pitied object but there never is a suitable opponent deserving of this disturbance. Like a whip uncoiling and breaking the sound barrier the air is punched and the sirens and screams of uncontrolled being resonate and resound the question. React or be dormant? Which will prove? Which will suffer? Which will cure? The causation is the primer to action with the consequence of responding. Sleeping an escape from the heat of the day and in night terrors there are no beings to talk to but demons and peons. Looking to dreams blinded by moonlight, coming from an acute angle, the shade is drawn. *** So comes a change of state and a click of a button. Answers to questions conflicting sources on the television. Conspiracy of silence and the black and white static bleeds into red. Zion, Blitzkrieg the shipbuilder prophet isn’t dead. Lions of Judah on the mountain cry and are pushed into a salty sea. Zeal as a shield to destroy indiscriminately, how pathetic not to think for one’s self. Horse worshippers in Japan and it is only eleven fifty nine on the subatomic clock as the time goes on this channel dedicated to history and development. Omni abstruse is no excuse to the abuse and bias. These narcissistic nirvanas are negated nocturnally. A press of another button and the narrow road comes to an intersection a tree and a human dangle slowly and dry as the dust builds. A solitary fruit that was once ripe as the night, falls in the western direction, how dramatic. Surfing without standing and the ramifications of regal recession and abdication shown as the rising day delivers their heads. The spiraling sun sets as the tube just warms up. Drunken jesters running on to battlefields, Earthlings sorry for such seemingly bad narratives but the surface is not the truth and while searching for a link on this broken chain of events, the links are made of balsa wood painted by another institution involved in revolution surface reality is in conception on a back lot somewhere. God I hate euphemisms and lowest common demons. The Sun shines again to laugh arrogantly so the repose will wait for another date but the feeling of my first crush being crushed remains. A void, an unavoided day without time and lunacy without action is nothing more than non-existence. I crush the crush myself along with all other compact Mayflowers or Continental breakfasts in a crowded congress of conversations in my head. Wait! that is what we are, in our heads is redundancy. Never completely dark Close your eyes Watch the world thin Close off the spears of sight to open the expanse of unspooling night that is the imagination unleashed *** Slow the insistent breath and listen The lower the threshold the more We know there is never pure silence Only degrees of dismissal as the air Molecules ring from high to low, it takes a constant toll *** The fulcrum of smooth imprints dissolve to pixels, there is no need to blink, the eyes are closed, the fight to see faces begins, they are sketches in shadow, negative relief, the engravings digest each other a panoply of pandering stills seize in black and light slow the breath and look there is no pitch filled pool in which meditation can gaily swim with eyes closed open to spontaneous combustion Withering depths/dried Yellow rose without life Does not relinquish its beauty As petals become dry paper Pigments change from sun to sunset The fragility commands distance as the setting beckons. *** In the frosted leaded crystal vase The sands of the past solidify The rosy stained imperfect grains that holds the thorny bent stem As the leaves sharpen to points The indifferent container mocks the rosy sand As sunshine through the dirty window High-lights the death when beauty intensifies post-bloom. Bladed weapons Occam’s razor dulls on the sharpening stone of ego Easily chipped if hit hard enough A slice, a laceration of logic seems straight But a cut of truth can be infected. As those who hold the blade wield it without regard for their safety As the razor can cut the throat of an opponent as effortlessly as their hand. All things are never equal as humanity is not simple but simpler than they surmise and nothing must be so. As sometimes that which is evident still insolently remains beneath The dull blade shatters as flint On the granite will of ego. Gray Dreams In complementary light of hazy shadows we gaze into the mirror, twilight gasps The furrows dug so effortlessly in the face blend into gray as the placid pond has no ripples There is no artic wind from the north, there are no humid doldrums from the south, the surface is calm Dreams of silver and gray silent reflection are banished with cold halogen stares.