Wednesday, September 28, 2016

search through cabinets ceaseless
in bitter need of sweet relief
glance across cans and pouches, bags
wanting none, needing more
fingertips atop crinkling plastic
reaching, wishing, almost pleading
an ice cream bar, marshmallow poptart,
or some sense of closure, of safety, even of weeping
comfort might taste sweet

but we will never know

Friday, September 23, 2016

Good Morning Ember

There is no fear in the dark
Creation bends along, rends along,
moves along just fine.
Pressure, forceful, blasting free
She makes her own time
She takes no time
She squeaks, suckles, does not cry.
She sees no need to open eyes.
Ember burns, sprouting fire,
Breaking bonds,
pink Phrygian, freedom capped.
She naps.
I die.
She wakes,
I live.
She squeaks and does not cry.
She sees no need to show gray eyes.

Thursday, September 22, 2016

marks on my mind

Pain, and flame, and fire.
Mazes in minds
devouring dreams.

Salt cellars in the basement
It was not the cellar.
why is the cellar door so...

on the floor in the bathroom

marks on my knees

pus and splinters in my hand

marks on my knees

marks on my knees

marks on my mind
I didn't mind?!
marks on my mind

psyche surrender quiet black
never go back
never go back

marks on my knees
marks on my knees
forgotten and spread

Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Terror sunshine vomit pain
Breaking image drown disdain

Vines and knots ever again
Shining houses crash within

A mind beyond such mortal heights
To moral depths and ring’d with light.
Red upon black
The room with the masque

Disease freedom brings,
Pestilent chains.

Monstrous pangs
Dead to memory

Nothing  bring.
Nothing bring...

Sunday, September 18, 2016

always true

In a few hours, I might die. This is always true.
I didn't make this and forgot to note who did. I'll attribute properly tomorrow, maybe.
 I probably won’t though. Die, that is. Soon, at least.

General anesthesia is a new drug for me, though.
(Even for my eyeballs surgery I was awake. I’ve had to stay awake through many awful things.)

No way to know how it will go. This is always true, too.

Anyway, I love you all. 
Except for you…

Jesus fucking fuckhat I’m a bitch.

If you’re reading this I probably do love you.

My “last one” playlist turned out equal parts emo/goth and punk and weird.
I’ll probably get to hear it again…

Certainty is laughable all the way down to parts of pieces of molecules.
I purposely put off listening to the new Episode of Nightvale so I expect I’ll stick around just for that.

‘Cause that shit would bug if I died.
Just kidding.
I won’t exist anymore.

I might die very soon. This is always true.
I ate a donut stick late last night even though the gluten tore me up.
I walked in sunshine with Olan today.
I felt Sprouty move underneath my arm.
I finished writing my book.
I read some Heinlein.
I did some living today. I might die very soon.
I’m gonna focus on making that first declaration as always true as the second.

I wonder, will the grave pit be shallow or deep?

Anyway, in like 7 hours, I will be unconscious with a camera up my ass. Which sounds a lot more fun that it will be.

Peace out, beansprouts.


Saturday, September 17, 2016

Olan Expectant, Smiles beside a stream.
Hidden in silken hair and light,
wonderful wonder in his eyes, alive!

Friday, September 16, 2016

fuck a truckload of today so far

Doorbells make me want to die.
Every time.
Terror of the everyday,
Broken parts
klaxon, catastrophe
Terror Dreams of doing
needing seeing believing
impossible pangs
quite possible pains.

it drains
but always, always remembers
me. remembers me.
dying quiet
take me away
a nest built in lavender
and passiflora.
musty roots remember,
vegetal glory
cold days underground
without a sound above
the sifting settling voice of earth
a dearth, a dearth, a beautiful dearth. 

Thursday, September 15, 2016

Evey Shrugs

This essay is telling. Go read it then come back to me, Please?

I am a malfunctioning machine.

There was a time when we were netting $300 every two weeks, with a wife and newborn, and still refused to get foodstamps or any other aid. All under the guise of morality.

I hurt nothing but myself, and my family, with such nonsease.

I was once irrationally angry that a woman was buying a birthday cake via EBT. (I certainly didn't verbally assault her, however.)

Previously, I had been morally outraged by overhearing a conversation in which one woman told another something to the effect of, "I got my foodstamps. I don't need his ass." She said it with a sense of pride, HOW DARE SHE?! To my shame, I thoroughly ignored the second piece of that statement and all the beautiful and terrible implications thereof. I sincerely hope she is well and not with whoever the fuck made her feel that way.

Really though, I was mad because I was going to have ask to borrow money from somebody soon. I was mad because, with the insurance we had to have to stay safe, I didn't have a paycheck. (Obviously medicaid was not an option.) I was mad because the untreated mental illnesses that had haunted me since early childhood still screamed in the background. I was mad because I couldn't afford the beer necessary to quiet its screaming. (Both figuratively and literally.)

I'm pretty certain I was mad the entire time I was a libertarian and Objectivist. It felt good to get blitzed and rant about all sorts of shit I didn't really understand. Maybe I did know better, I just couldn't admit it. (It was hard to quit that view of humanity. I still find it beautiful if inept. Every man and woman and child an independent hero, needing no one, smiling at dollar signs and the fading sun...)

I kind of knew that the Austrian school of economics didn't pan out in reality... but it was a version of economics I could actually comprehend. That made it the right one, right?

I was mad because Republicans were evil. I was mad because Democrats were evil. I was mad because I wanted to impress freedom upon the world, and could not. No matter who starved. No matter the cost in lives, Freedom bloody Freedom, John Wayne into the sunset, motherfucking Freedom!

But is there any such thing as freedom when 40 hours a week doesn't result in a living wage? Fucking medieval serfs didn't work hours like that. How free was I to act and find myself when I had to beg for help every few months? Often from folk opposed to my own values, folks openly opposed to my sexuality, my very identity?

I don't have any definitive answers anymore, maybe I'll get some. I know I'll keep looking.

By every measure I'm aware of, rubrics of business growth, economic viability, and, importantly, quality of life, democratic socialism is the most functional form of government. It's where we need to begin if we're to sort this shitshow of American government out.

I'm still a minarchist at heart. I still don't trust the government or really anyone that seeks positions of authority. I am, however, pragmatic enough to believe it's our moral duty to begin with the most functional model of government available. With perfect transparency we can see what works and have healthy, fact based debates.

Crony capitalism doesn't work for most folks. Capitalism, raw and naked, has never existed. It probably would not be conducive to a healthy, kind, and happy nation. (When America has been close to naked capitalism, amazing things have been done: the railroads for instance. However, there have also been terrible, terrible costs: the railroads for instance.)

So it took homelessness and a lifelong dedication towards truth to sort it out, but I guess I'm a pinko commie faggot. You were right, guy who threatened to kill me on the internet. Congratulations? I guess.

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Depressing the sieve. Collecting detritus.

Things like hopes and dreams and running seams.

Fall away. Do not float, depress.

Express only oils and honest experience. Purified of childish things, we bring only truth coloured like jade.

Mistakes have been made.

It's hard to explain.

Where, oh where, to begin? The benign? The end?

The days and ways of shattered faith, and other trash. 

Remain only bitters, let's make an Old Fashion.
Manhattan? I had different drives.

Still here we are, in such a dive, delightful.

Oh let's just make it a whiskey and gin.

You grin and we taste.

It's awful.

We ordered them all night.

Nothing's alright and we smile.

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

The glass ogress is best expressed
in sundry verses quite complex.

chaos eye, digital sigil

Could the eye have been made without algorithms?


I find it unlikely.

Hand skewed numbers, were necessary. N'est-ce pas?

Dance with SierpiƄski, but get him tilting drunk.

Atomic Gardens are all the rage.

Radiating rings away from beta-decay,
but not gamma today.

Tomorrow though, it may, it may.

It needs to be just wrong, proper skewed, at odds.

The chaos, the chaos gods.

Happenstance and peradventure,

Running free from helix indentured.


Effectively, though not quite.

Shaking hands perceptible,
fighting impalpable memories 
shaking melodies at odds, cacophonous.

It heaves. It sleeps. It dies. It eats.

It sees. It sees. It seizes.  

Works too grand.

Peradventure, and you will pass that gate,
past the garden, Hypnos waits.

Red eyes, rimmed in dry lashes.

Cold still and blowing.
Haphazard reaps to sewing.

Do you believe in sanity?

Distant prince. Hyperglow eye. Forever never more and five.

Sounds, feedback and static
Message an echo of creation
Haphazard snow, electromagnetic.
Universe as a show
Just heavy breathing on the other line
Microwave radiating outward
In all directions
No exceptions
What once was will ever yet never still be.
A memory of a moment long gone
Ready to be received, always.
Broadcast forever in all directions
Breathsome labor pains
All things were born in hot violence
We are but a cold echo.
Crashing against cold stones
For kinetic heat.