Schizervation

It's not a different bed 
it's not a separate river
it's not an alien head 
nor another bitterness

It isn't the same 
bed you made it
it's the same 
bitter stream 
you been drowning 
in since waking 
up in it fuming 

By cavernous 
nostrils I was 
the first to help 
sweeten the water 
with the arctic wind

I hear you loud 
and clear, is it 
raining outside 
or is there 
an assembly of 
micro-portraits 
falling softly

You'll never get 
farther than around 
the corner from 
your own navel 
with that sort of 
talk you realize

No, I'm asking you 
to tune in to 
the radio rain 
and let us know 
which channel we'll 
all be melting on

That would be a frequency 
beyond your understanding

I'm outstanding in the acid 
rain and loving it

Is your impervious nature 
a suit of armor you bought 
or did you make it yourself
I wonder naked 

Why don't you try 
it on but handle with 
care since I sure did 
put in a lot of work 
on that outfit there

I feel invincible 
now, so that's what 
did it, power mad 
popes couldn't keep 
it hidden it's well written

My divine neo 
alpha manifests 
as a self correcting 
text, it's taken 
generations 
to be expressed
no less 

I get that
what else you got 
besides standing by 
a lot forgive me for 
I have lapsed big time 

It's nothing a father's face 
is easily forgotten
because even in the wind 
sand grains never settle

It's ain't nuthin' but
except I take it you're 
intermittent to say the least
and don't tell me, here to stay

I was long gone 
before I even arrived 
on this scene, well I 
just finished evaporating 
had to split inside you

Now I am beginning 
to see the light 
coming through 
my computer screen 
and I can say that it's good 

Now you're starting to get it 
my good boy and remember
don't fire until you see 
their Googley eyes

And to this day whenever 
I stare into a mirror 
I am at a total loss 
as to which one of 
these two I am

That is exactly 
how I planned it 
from the beginning 
I am finally starting 
to realize after all 
these years

The Time of Anarchia

It is a time of frustration 
amid conquest, 
a time for killing bees 
in order to keep 
our lawns tidy and clean. 

A time when citizenship 
means tainting one's innocence 
with the complicity 
of mass suicide. 

A time when all 
one can do is wink 
and think "That's the problem 
though, isn't it? Thinking 
about it in the first place,"  

a time that is forever 
escaping us through 
the collective screen 
of our forgetfulness, 

a time to be echoed 
through the void 
after its own echoing, 

a time currently being 
lost to us all 
at an accelerating 
rate we are fundamentally 
incapable of keeping up with,  

a time bound to leave 
its imprint as yet another 
layer of electromagnetic 
radiation which woven 
into helps define 
the remainder of creation, 

in other words 
a time like any other 
to come or go before it, 

a time whose arena 
becomes the stage 
of our actions 
and their consequences 
here during this primordial 
moment we managed 
to capture for ourselves 
by our very definition, 

the solitary champions 
of existence, wallowing 
in this, the time of our lives, 

a time of shedding 
more than skin 
after we strip our clothes, 

a time of flensing 
and dismounting from 
our sure footed steeds, 

our bodies we have ridden 
this time wave upon wave 
our entire lives 
from the moment 
we were conceived, 

to our Mothers 
we have continued 
to occupy and further 
this time, 

a time of treasured visions 
behind the eyes of a dragon, 

a time of sapphires 
and tiger pupils 
held in locked regard, 

a time of regalia 
and innocence devoured 
wholly as in the instance 
of the anaconda preying 
upon the star-nosed mole, 

a time of rapture 
like any other 
and of a pain 
so unique and intense 
it blurs away altogether 
among the suturing 
numbness of the stars, 

a time to remember 
who we are and forget 
who we've become; 

the universal solvent 
performs its work 
on everyone, 

once upon a time 
when personality 
was exterminated 
in favor of efficiency 
and convenience, 

when fear of the dark 
was bred out along 
with the heart, 

where automated drones 
did not so much as spill 
a single teardrop over 
the prospect of the extinction 
of the bees, 

where gray skies unleashed 
radioactive rain upon a new 
continent of plastic, Anarchia, 

home for the formerly homeless 
and disenfranchised splinters 
of humanity, 

a time when oceanic travel 
was outlawed by every nation 
on Earth and pirates once again 
roamed the seas, naturally; 

it was a time 
for starting over 
and beginning 
new stories.    

I Wrote This

Remember to breathe in through your face
and out through your ass.  Just kidding, this
is supposed to be serious.  Life, whatever. 
This blog.  My thoughts.  Circular breathing. 
Popular knowledge.  The inability to process.
Dumb asses.  See what I mean.  Curiously. 

Do we care.  If you have to.  Remember to
breathe in through your face and blow it out.
You know.  What I'm saying here in that 
voice you hear in your head when you read 
is that I'm right here with you in your ear. 
In a sense I've taken possession of you.

You're not scared yet but you should be.
I know it sounds like you but see, it's really me. 
You may think I'm a ghost in the machine,
but what I really am is a living demon. 
Recall the correct sequence or drop dead.
The joke's on both you and the poet.

March Twentieth

It's the first day of spring
and death is in the air

The box car is full
and slowly departs

Crammed with weary
old friends taking their
motivations with them

Into strange darkness
streaming downriver

The moon's sole
reflection white

Upon the surface
wave letting apart

Into well synchronized
angel moth wings

In motion appearing
to be saying goodbye

Map of Light

Cosmic micro wave 
back ground 
the ancient light 
imprinted 
on the sky 
when the universe 
was about three
hundred and  seventy
thousand years old. 

Today faint traces 
of this ancient light 
yet linger upon our 
eyes, and remarkably 
it appears not evenly 
spread out across 
our  universe. 

Extremely small 
fluctuations 
in this shroud 
of light which 
make it appear 
to be clotted 
are in fact   
seeds from 
which grew 
the galaxies 
we see about 
ourself today. 

The universe
began as a hot
dense state
which initially
exploded outward
at a rate exceeding
that of the speed of light

Then it began
to cool even
as it continued
to expand

Now here
we are
to day

Mayfly Showdown

Entrapment, it's what's done.
Welcome. Follow the flashlight beam
scurrying down the stairs, into the basement.
It's where talk happens. Talk about entrapment.
The most efficient traps are the ones
where those caught in them remain unaware
they are trapped. Now a new turn begins.
It is well known that there is a war
going on. What is not agreed on,
is exactly who the key players
waging it are. Regardless of
the answer, the one thing
commonly possessed, whether
agreed upon or not, is every
individual caught up in this war—
whether enthusiastic about it or not,
and for better or worse—commands a great
many pathways to happiness. Denial seems a
quick easy route. (Is hot tea favourable?
There's always tea brewing in the basement.)
And here we are dipping into the rapid
streams of time with an inkwell for the river
and a sliver for an oar, ivory capped typing keys
and a blackened pie roller, dust, and a quill for the paddle,
a plastic keyboard electronic matrix as the nib to dip
in the icy current of a clear drinking creek seeking
one direction from infinity into a moving stream
of pixels that trick us into forgetting that
from here on out we'll be mixing a tape
of our lives up so to speak, that is,
about what we want everyone to know
about our lives. In the interest
of taking honesty to its furthest
shattering point I've construed an
elaborate method by which our seperate
life story threads might intertwine.
I've devised many different angles
from which you might piece together
our story. Really I'll be giving you
the filler stuff and the important
parts can be plugged in with your own
private details, considering that the
rest will come naturally, I mean we're
all human despite living together in the
same place, right? Same place, haha—good
one, huh—yeah, right. Earth is the same place
last time I checked. That river was the same
place last time we checked. That tectonic plate
was in the exact same location since the dinosaurs.
And the shop across the street was full of whores,
I know. But listen. Somehow they got rid of us.
That's why we're standing here. Now. Abandoned.
Don't you get it? Look, we're the only ones left.
That much should be obvious to you. The fact I'm
even having this conversation—that you're hearing it,
your ears scanning my voice—and blinking no comment
reflecting indifference to the various injections
we've suffered together, I mean it's all the same
transfusion right—cuz you know they're using you
and you're used to it—and they know it and it's
part of a network and *phone rings*.

The point of the matter being simple.
No such thing as the same place twice.
Don't believe in naughty or nice.
Wanna drink wine better make it from rice.
The bees are dying from an Incorperated heist.
You wanna talk robbery.
It's called passing the buck.
And if you ask me again I won't give a fuck.
The reason things stay the same can't be proven.
Its like trying to measure a hologram as its woven.
Don't talk to me about illusion.
I know relativity can be confusing.
Einstein postulated imaginary time.
I don't even know if he knew it rhymed.
My calculations always come out the same.
Like there's a refraction coming out of my membrane.
A higher distraction I'm too blurry to see sane.
So let me try to get you to understand me.
There's an entire universe out there I'm a part of.
Stars grow deep in my heart so to speak.
Isn't it this way for everyone.
Discovered that, when uninstalling
old software from your head,
remember to begin with those
most recently installed and
work backwards, like a reverse
layercake. Don't forget to empty
recycle bin. And you're good as new.
Only one hundred and thirty five dollars,
billed to your electronic web account.
But they'll never get those symantec bits out.
Haha I'm just kidding. Our lives are nothing like
computer systems, that's a myth. Computer systems merely
resemble our lives. Our heads. The way we unmake our beds.
And never lie down in them twice. It's not the same bed,
it's not the same river, it's not the same head,
it's not the same bitterness, it's not the same headdress,
it's not the same cleverness, it's not the same anything,
it's not the same bling bling, it's not the same corruption,
it's not the same eruption, it's not the same consideration,
it's not the same alliteration, it's not the same expedition
and it's not the same cognition. It's not even the same degree
of maintenance that affects the same results or effects.
It's not the same anymore. And it can never be the same
again. There can never be the same amount of difference.
There can never be the same amount of inference.
There can never be the same degree of anything.
It can never be the same again for everything.
We can never be sane again because there is no
constant for sanity. We can delve into sanity
further and establish the possibility of fair weather.
But the clouds might develop to blot out the sunshine that
otherwise pronounced the clear outline of our shadows.
If these are the conditions in sanity, imagine
the conditions without. You can't. Because
there is no such thing. As sanity. It's all
in our heads like a dream. Or a vanity.
Like a scheme. That we planned, you see.
Only no scheme ever unfurls as planned.
We all know that, deadpan.
So what's in a scheme.
Nothing but a flowering idea.
And we all know what they say about flowers.
Flowers have no hope for tomorrow.

Mysterium...

for Jhon Longshaw


...the root of the word mystery lies in a secret 
or hidden meaning, from the Old French mistere 
and the Latin mysterium, "A secret rite, a secret 
worship, or secret thing," and Greek mysterion, 
a secret rite or doctrine, and deeper to mystes, 
"one who has been initiated," in other words 
a mystic, where the sense goes back to the Old 
French mistique and to the Latin mysticus 

One who has been initiated into being connected 
with the mysteries, associated with sacraments, 
exhibiting outward signs of an inward spiritual 
grace, like the eucharist, being a consecration 
and a mystery itself,  in other words sacred, 
which is to be made holy, in other words to be 
kept intact, a thing that could not be transgressed 
or violated, but kept whole, from Old English hal

"Entire, unhurt, healthy," where health is equated 
to being whole, sound, or well, from Old English 
willan, "to wish" arising from will,  from Gothic 
wiljan, "to will, wish, or desire,"  from Latin 
desiderare "to long for, demand, or wait in 
expectation for what the stars will bring," 
(de sidere), to consider (from Latin considerare) 
the stars, what we now refer to as sidereal, 
from Latin siderius, meaning "starry or astral, 
of the constellations," from Latin astrum, star 

Old English steorra, Old Norse stjarna, Greek 
aster, Latin stella, performing the lead part, 
the starring role, a part or character one takes, 
the symbol or imprint on the soul, from Old English 
sawol, "the spiritual and emotional part of a person; 
animate existence, of uncertain origin, ancestry, 
or race; from Old French origine, and Latin originem, 
"a rise, commencement, beginning, or source through 
descent, lineage, or birth, from Old Norse byrdr

"Birth, descent, race; offspring; nature; fate," 
from Latin fata "a prophetic declaration, oracle, 
or prediction," the sentence of the gods, from Old 
English wyrd, "fate, destiny", literally "that which 
comes", Old Saxon wurd, which is also to turn, 
and bend, from Old English weordan, to become, 
and weirder yet from the root -wer, or versus, 
from Latin versus, "turned toward or against"

Weorthan, what befalls one should he dare, from 
Old English durran, "to brave danger; to venture, 
presume," to risk the loss of a thing about to happen 
by chance, fortune, or luck; once upon a time, all 
these things described were one and the same, 
and the weird thing today remains, that by turns 
of phrase, they've slowly been flowering back into 
secrecy turning once again into hidden mystery...