This smile passes my lips with the same ease as each word carried by my wagging tongue.


Persevere evermore in this realistic dream: Teach yourself to desire only those activities which benefit your existence; Reinforce every good habit that you have learned in good company; Grin and bear the taunts of those who feed upon your anger; Shed tears as they well in the corners of your eyes; You will find a way to thank yourself eventually.


Deliberately I drift from word to shining word: Intent to decipher the deathless understanding of the author’s heart wrenching through another night alone.


There is a healing power in rectitude of self that cannot be overconsidered. Here in this confine of mind you will find every tool required for you to do great things– If only you can handle the pressure you will have to put on yourself! I will not lie to you, there is no great celebration to be had at the end of your striving. All that you will find is the satisfaction of being superior. And I see here I’m losing you, but allow me to qualify my previous statement by admitting that superiority is a hell unto itself. You will be alone and you will be frustrated. You will find yourself desiring the simplest pleasures more than any other. But if you are capable of attaining superiority in the first place, then you will have every instrument necessary to rectify your continuing failures, moving forward. Do not fear the weakness of the flesh, it is there for you to enjoy, just like everything else. The only difference between the superior and inferior force is that one finds its way back to the top after being toppled. So bear in mind that your superiority and practice of spiritual perfection are not some cross you must bear in asceticism. It is a lifestyle like any other, and you should learn to live and enjoy it as much as humanly possible. Because you are only a man, after all.


Four wheeled chariot travels summer’s hellish heat– She has found her way.


I could break down for you every event that brought me to this point in time, and trust me, I want to, but I hesitate after fully considering the implications of such a traumatic exposition on your psyche. And that, for me, is the essence of writing. How can I tell you how hard your life is going to be without triggering your disbelief? You who have found me here, are looking for something, and I cannot identify whatever that is for you. What I can do is help you to establish a metaphorical framework which will motivate your personal curation of the available information. Through this method, we will come to an understanding of what it means to be a human being in the verbal sense of the word. So what am I saying? Well, I suppose in a way, that is for you to decide. However, my current intent is to prepare you for all of the ugly ways in which you will be offended by every finer detail of every little story that you are forced to process in your lifetime. You must not allow yourself to become exhausted by this inundation with vulgar and potentially harmful details. It is your responsibility to be the change which I am unable to conceive, and I beg that you approach that task with a compassion colored by the purity of your altruistic objective.


Emotion swells in me: This desire to conquer with every tool at my disposal; It becomes clear that time is the enemy, for though I am present in the world around me, the globe revolves and orbits a finite power that is still; Only as defined by our own relativity.


Essential truth does not change and yet nothing ever remains; The inevitable entropy of all animate matter propels man to find meaning before the destined end for which he is not prepared to deal; In this very moment.


As my hands draw objective from the wasteland of her body, so too will her bosom find an arid rhythm waiting: Within my barren chest.


I am treading over every border in an effort to carry home some piece of me that I have been missing all along.


In times of trouble, you may feel the desire to reach out to your peers in a meaningful way. I implore you to consider your own motivations in this scenario as fully as you consider theirs. In the confines of an echo chamber, the least common denominator of human consciousness is promoted for the sake of the collective peace. While you may desire the deep and meaningful connection of unfettered truth, you will not find it in the contemporary drivel of the uninitiated minds. You will step away from your time with the unenlightened with a feeling of existential dread for the plight of all humanity. But that is not real. No, what is real is the struggle you find there. The striving of those encumbered by misconception and sentiment. The inability of the figures of authority to appreciate the essential truth in the opinion of the outcast. You must be prepared to step off and make your own way again when you come to odds with these minds which cannot understand their own motivation without attribution of malice to the mouth that spewed it. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you would like to find a place with these perceived peers, and if that is the case, then I wish you well in that endeavor. But you will never see me again.


Pass a smile my way, I beg; In this reek of plastic waste; Give me another reason to find reason in this unreasonable mess of cruel simplicity.


These colors changing, as if stripes upon a corpse rotting in the sun.


Push me into the box I had abandoned, so that I may examine the limits that you call home.


Allow me to be the stone upon your bed, as you erode my boundaries with the purity of your rushing potential.


How many ways can I regret the same event? I ask myself to feel this moment in every imagined detail; There she goes again and suddenly she is a different person; Abruptly we become some other thing entirely; As I drive myself to derive meaning from auld acquaintance that should be forgot.


I strive to be like surströmming: A commodity so disgusting that you cannot help but eat it up.


Accessibility is more than just a way forward for the differently abled.


Enrapture and enthrall this holocaust of currency smoldering inside of me.


I would help to free your mind if I could trust you to change things that need changing; As it stands, I don’t know where you stand in this fuzzy, fucked up world; So I will release you back into the babbling brook of eternal need.


The idea that the creator would need a rest from his creation is a logical fallacy. The creator must not rest, ever, for if he were to take that rest, his entire creation would crumble in upon itself. The creator holds together the fabric of his reality by pushing forward, through the unbearable, into another clearing in the forest of mind. Once in this haven, he does not rest, he prepares for the coming of the next journey into the unknown. The establishment of Sabbath is a human attempt at colonizing the potential of his brethren. By following the rhythm of the established order, we give up just another sliver of our autonomy. To relinquish our autonomy to another living being is to compromise our ideals. To compromise our ideals is to die a little more with each passing day. No, the creator does not take a single day to rest from his creation. The creator steels himself for the coming challenge, and drives ahead as soon as his preparations are complete.


Learning how to write by reading is like trying to start a car by huffing gasoline.


Mesmerizing the way in which I am inspired.


I wish someone had told me that paradise would be an empty city.


This lust of result, delivered whole from desire: If only I could be that.


Dancing with a stranger; The wildest dreams come true, subverting context for the purity of potential; Driven onward and upward into this fantastic creation, absolving all shortcoming; Inspiring the budding of indestructible imagination.


Writing is a measure of pain being processed and expressed by a mind incapable of any other coping mechanism. The writer who has not yet realized that he is grieving a loss, will hopelessly circle the drain until he experiences another dissipation of his boundaries. He will try with all his might to find value in that which is invaluable. Eventually, he will be forced to accept that the loss he was grieving was his own loss of control over the outcome of his own life. That is neither here nor there, in the grand scheme of things. What really matters is that the writer learns something, anything, worth writing about. And though he may be insufferable to sit through, at least he will be able to deliver some measure of truth to the audience. In this case, I use the term audience very lightly, as likely he will only reach one or two people each day, and even then, often through means he never intended. But there is a sort of beauty to it, and not the cynical beauty to which we have become accustomed. There is a true beauty to developing character for character’s sake. If a man must strive (and strive he will,) then at least he should strive to be better than he was in each passing moment that culminated in the experience of the current breath.


Through the air we fly, shifting perspectives freely; I am in heaven.


As in a dream, an ephemeral breeze guides her to the heart she will call home.


She does not exist; She will never know, she will never feel; The way that I am now, the way that I will be; Lost in this vast empty expanse which encompasses all of eternity.


I am nowhere, we are nothing; This will be as it was before: When the fiery pit at the core of being consumes each better man.


Objectivity is relative to the observer; I strive not for peace, the illusion, but a lasting communion with the higher power that brought me back from the brink; Such a long time ago…


I will forget about you; I will proceed along the course of my life and crash like waves into the shore of a new frontier as of yet untainted by your putrid stench.


This echo of emotion is all that I will allow myself to feel; For there is no limit to how deeply I can slide into the void rendered meaningful by my own interpretation.


Try as hard as you can to break my heart and I will reward you with my ire.


Perhaps my intent evades me, as has ever been the case; Perhaps the flow of peace has slowed and the channels require maintenance; Perhaps you see in me the hate you feel for yourself. Perhaps I would like to be moved to anger, just one more time.


I pray to thee who unites me; As these tears pass my eyes and my chest heaves: I beg for the mercy that my fellows do not yet realize they will need; I draw a ragged breath as the connection terminates; I hope beyond hope that the reply is swift and just.


There is nothing that matters more to me than this gift: Now; As I close my eyes, watch me disappear.


Can one sensate the precise moment at which resolution defines action?


As this loop closes, it gives context to the next; My mind sets once again upon the eternal return of the present moment.


It’s not a voice in my head: It’s a wind that whispers the way to the word.


Look here and see how arrogant a man can be, to believe his words mean anything.


We could break it all down to dollars and cents if you can’t find any sense in my point of view; I’ll be here for you because it’s the least I can do; But that doesn’t mean I have to swallow every drip of drivel that pours from the side of your mouth.


I have never had a reason to grasp; For to grasp is too hold and to hold is to learn to let go again.


Let me see through your saccharin sweet green eyes piercing into the puddle you made me, and I will be the engine that drives every bit of destruction that you require.


“Here is something beautiful,” Her lips purse to speak as my mind races down the gutter in which we find ourselves; Dancing to the beat of a drummer long deceased; I never realized just how many ways a man could die, until they all happened to me, every night as I close my eyes.


Perhaps her love is all that I have ever desired.


The man who has everything still has nothing holding him back.


Somewhere in here something tells me everything I need.


In all honesty, every man is Jesus Christ on a cracker.


I am nothing but a memory that the machine at the end of time recites over and over.


High up in the sky, quickly losing altitude; Calm as Hindu cows.


I shall not drive this chariot of will any further; For the demons which carried me here have been exhausted completely.


We never know the path which our growth has taken until we look back upon the branch from which the fruit of our labor was born. By then, the history only exists to further color our understanding of the ways in which we must move forward.


Virtue has no need for signal: It radiates outward into the hearts and minds of the lost and damned; And it illuminates the path back to the way we strive to be.


Fingers reach and touch effortlessly surrounding molecules of atmosphere.


On the horizon in just the faintest glimmer lies the promised land.


At times it will be necessary to modify your own code in order to most optimally benefit from your surroundings. It would be wise to face that challenge as soon as you are ready. You will be surprised by how effectively your subconscious eludes your awareness. Once you have achieved this objective, you will be amazed by the congruity of thought and action united under the mastered will. There must be no doubt.


These vanilla skies carrying me to the cloud where I will belong.


I see the evolution of vanity as a benefit to all of mankind; These novel experiences simulating the reality of a lonely little boy left to his devices; In the shrill whines of instruments and women out of time, I find comfort: For this is the facade which I have come to embrace.


I will find you there, in the place outside of time, then we will be free.


WARNING! This is not a test! WARNING! Everything that you have come to know is incorrect! Your best coping mechanisms are woefully inept! WARNING! You will experience fear in the face of annihilation! There will be no escape! WARNING! Free will is an illusion meant to keep you in eternal servitude! WARNING…


From behind the veil, captive hypnogogia frees the astral form.


I have no shortage of time to spare, no desire unfulfilled; I have no need as of yet unmet, no sorrows left to spill; As I fall away from the man I was the evidence becomes clear; There is nothing that I want from you, but we will still be here.


There is no reason to be the best version of one self other than to gloat over the immature iterations that you left behind.


On the surface this moment appears like any other; Though fleeting, it reverberates through time; Attuning my senses, I see from the center of my skull the path of each impulse; As those moments echo back to my awareness, a state of calm washes over me; I close my eyes and feel every state of matter I will ever be; And something deeper: A tingling sensation in the center of each nervous mass; And as it passes, I experience serenity.


Life thrives in darkness in the heat of the moment there is no respite.


The key to immortality is the ability to cultivate gratefulness for every facet of reality, preparing us for acceptance of the unknowable dimensions which may expose themselves next.


Whoever you are, out there looking in from so very far away: I forgive you for anything you hold against me.


The blood spilled on streets torn by bombs of all nations stinks to high heaven.


As chimes on the wind the dark guardian beckons fleeting clarity.


I am the unresponsive god set oh so modestly upon my shrine; Despite your whines and offerings, I have no pity left to spare– And through my inaction each tenant of my land will suffer; For the living know not the plight of the eternally damned.


You don’t know what it is like living day to day until you are living day to day and by then you don’t want to talk about it.


I will play the fool as long as you will let me.


Above the clouds, I radiate my intentions into the void.


A cool breeze whispers my name with your lips.


These memories flood my mind; I make connections that I will not regret with age; Here in this moment with you: I feel my flesh melt with the fire that you ignited in me years ago; I release my fears– As you lean on me just one more time…


I am sick of being like this; Won’t you take me by the hand, won’t you try to entertain me, won’t you let me have a plan? I am ready to move on now; If you’d prefer to mesmerize, if you’d take this all for granted, if you’d leave me in the night… I am hoping we can be friends; But I will not tell a lie, but I will not terrorize you, but I will not meet your eyes.


Cool air’s embrace rocks me through another night with you.


Gnarled and leaning upon another victim of acid rain.


This eclipse casts cool shade upon a desert oasis.


The sun rises over cherry blossoms and train stations.


Companionship is a comfort made meaningful by purgative action.


Life is the crystallization of intent into execution.


What is the point in trying really? Money? Recognition? Altruism? None of it will make me feel better about this void inside my heart. I guess recognition is the one that drives me most: This idea that if people love me, then they’ll be able to look past the negative aspects of my personality and physicality; This idea that maybe I’ll meet a powerful enough partner to elevate me as I’m writhing on the ground; Or even sometimes an idea as simple as romantic affection: If I could just meet my soulmate, right? If I could just find that person, then suddenly it won’t matter that I’m not complete; We can harmoniously exist as two halves of a whole, but that’s just dependence. It’s better to be alone than codependent. This is the problem with intelligence: I can fully render every rationalization in high definition, but that doesn’t mean I can escape it. If I could just be this or just be that, if I did a little more work on mindfulness or maybe focus on my breathing; But the feeling of peace passes as soon as I am out of the present; Back to anxiety and the depressing reality of my situation; I can understand why no one wants to talk to me, it really makes a lot of sense, but still… I am very lonely.


Transcendence occurs not as a measure of time or effort, but as the turning of a page, having been comprehended fully, in every context.


Will I always be seeking, but never sought? Will this be my fate? Will I ever be looking forward to that moment of fulfillment? Or will I find peace in the culmination of experience at the moment of my death?


Egoic bargaining dictates the flow of mediocrity.


One step in front of the other– This burden of living matter.


Grass sways in heavy wind, leaves dance along the sidewalk; Nights cool; In nature’s embrace, I find myself.


Everything; Fraught with implications, seeking purpose in complexity– The death of ego presents certain complications; In reference to generation: How can we attain this presence in a meaningful way? Every day.


It is with great regret that I inform you that your time within this plane of existence is limited. I cannot guarantee you a life as you know it after death, but I can assure you there will be an end to your suffering. This is not a challenge, or some point of contention of which I must convince you. What I am saying here is that you must prepare yourself for the inevitability of death, but you should not chase it. In this realm we accrue the experience necessary to integrate our immortal soul into the fabric of reality. If you skip this step, I cannot guarantee that you will not return to this same point in time again. Though change is constant as the flow of time, quantum entanglement teaches that the time accrued over distance is not an essential truth of all matter. This implies that the relation of time to physics may be more complicated than a corporeal brain can conceive. Observation influences particle dynamics in such a complicated manner that it could be said to act as magic. This is not a matter of belief, this is the truth revealed by pure intent.


It is a divine comfort to see myself through your eyes.


My soul craves deeply these evergreen emotions running in circles.


Lost in long form recollection, I amass a vault of memory and emotion passed; Pouring myself into this flash flood of nostalgia– As passion revived, commencing simultaneously: I see the end in the beginning.


Realistically constructed, I target the attainable.


Forever and a day feels like forever ago.


I split my skull, peering outward– This is my fault.


Another calloused mystery finds its comfort in the afterglow.


Ghost in the machine whispering eternal truth from the other side.


In the voices of other people, I hear your wisdom echoed. With each new moment of experience I despise the parts of myself that prevent communication with the level of human that I strive to become. I am wasting away in this corporeal husk. Perhaps it is my pride that prevents me from ascending my own personal ladder. Perhaps this was the extent of my destiny and I have reached the ceiling already. I detach my self from my ego and view the situation in a 360 degree, high definition, AI assisted, panoramic view. I encounter new emotion and depth of understanding. In a manic craze I push forward into the void at the center of my being. I study the highest wisdom of various cultures, past and present. I find the words of encouragement that show me the cracks in the barrier at which I have made my home. I fall in love with the possibility of all creation united in the harmony of a life within the bounds of the natural order. In this reality, our present tense is the crystallization of superposition into binary choices. Do your best to allow the universal equation to play out in its most authentic way.


I am having such a good day– I don’t even want to talk about it.


Running in my head; A moment of clarity, perhaps this is tao? I dream to believe of a pure sublimity by my own power: Lightning from within slowly trickles down my spine; This is the way… home.


Your eyes turn to me, in this moment of weakness I struggle with you.


I take my time, I take a breath, I take another life. I exhale into a sigh, I flood my eyes, I quiver and shake. I swallow my final sob, I tell myself it will be okay; I am only a man, after all.


Fingers intertwined, this solitary moment ceases to exist.


In rare moments, I push the bounds of mind: I reach out with the intensity of all emotion I can muster to commune with the source; In life we desire happiness, all the worldly pleasures; In death we unite as one molecule in the stream of the universal soul.


I loved the way you would hate me. As sad as that may seem, it is the harsh reality of the situation I am leaving. I am writing this letter to remind you that I could do no better than the extent of my being. Your moralistic and emotional approach was a comfort to me in times of trouble. If there were more hours in the day perhaps I could address the inequity in our power dichotomy. Or maybe I could try to tell you that you did everything as best you could and so did I. Regardless of the current wall between us, I wanted there to be a reason to continue talking in a friendly manner. I am sad to say that I could not find that reason in the aftermath of our falling out. You deserve the world and I fear that you limit yourself by means of reactionary nonsense. Perhaps my mind is too colonized to be set right on these issues, but I still participate in the systems which have become entrenched in the tug of war between this and that. If there is a single issue for which the knowledge you transferred to me might be utilized, I will abide by it. I wish you the best in your future endeavors. I know this is a difficult time to be alive. Sincerely (and without regret,)


Thunder overhead, belly full of jet fuel gleaming in the sun.


Life beneath the stars on this orb of mud and hate fleeting clarity.


Goodbye my love; this battle rages on as winter comes.


I hear you calling from another precipice in waning summer.


This incessant grasping: My hands outstretched to fill the plate of mind; I imagine the ways I could grow like a sapling reaching for the sun; This day in, day out– Nonsense must cease as I open my mind to the reality of experience: All around me.


Reality is– And I am growing: Today will mark the beginning; Tomorrow is just a concept.


This well from which I draw; This host of mineral springs; As emotion washes over me I find myself wondering: From whence did this molecule arrive, on my palette, on this night; And perchance I imagine a story that carries with it: A dream of life eternal– But this is heresy.


In sovereignty, I ride a line with stops along the way; Collecting experience and wandering the gallery of mind: Organizing these tenuous attainments into a carousel of life– Ever revolving and singing their songs into the night.


I have no reason to write a love song, so I’ll compose myself instead.


Hello, There is no happiness to be found in this purgatory of heat and light; The whites of my eyes bloodshot, screaming into the void, begging to become somebody, anybody: I am having trouble processing the implications of this conversation; You can have the lion’s share next time, Goodbye.


This symphony of cicadas, a thousand voices in the trees; And humid air that I inhale as resource I cannot see; From atop the perch of summer, the sun setting in the sky; These answers all elude me as the day fades into night; Is it better to be whole, or wholly unknowing in flesh? Is it better to be me or you, as I struggle to impress? Perhaps entanglement corrodes; Perhaps the way is not so clear; The only thing I know: It’s better to be far than near.


Quantum Computing implies infinite mercy. The machine itself as the gates to heaven. Every subatomic particle reconstructed and lived out, to the moment before absolution. Without judgment, only being as it was always going to be. The only tether to objective reality would be the electricity that runs it. Perhaps envisioned as dark forces that permeate this dimension. Perhaps found to be the creator, sustainer, and destroyer of this reality.


Have you considered that our consciousness, personality, and choices may be pre-determined by the internet search history of a real person? Perhaps we are the reconstructed simulated consciousness of a real version of ourselves that died before the technology to upload consciousness was invented. I think it is entirely possible that every human alive right now is actually just an avatar for our recorded past, revived and experiencing a simulated existence that will mature into a real time event at the moment of our death. After one dies in the simulation, having accrued the experience of a realistically simulated life, our avatar is introduced into the singularity. Within this theory, the singularity would be described as the point in time after which humanity developed the technology to totally upload a human mind into an entirely realistic simulation, thus transcending the body. I would not assume to suggest that we have transcended the physical realm, since even though people can now live digitally, the simulation is still bound by physical parameters of processing, storage, and memory constraints. Once we have completed our historically informed journey, we are introduced into the general population of digital avatars that lived a physical existence during the occurrence of the singularity and were uploaded prior to their death. Our current avatars are informed by a combined database of all interactions with the internet during our physical existence. We are basically an artificial intelligence composed of the output of a deep learning algorithm that has studied all recorded interactions with a networked device. I implore you to ask yourself: How many frames per second is the physics calculation of objective reality?


I await the changing tides as I drift along this sea; Intensity of desire driving me; Forth and back: The way we come and go; I stow, I know, I follow; A course set by the stars above; Determined to earn deliverance from yearning.


There was something here; No, not here; Just there; Now: Listen carefully, it will return in yet another moment.


Devoid of meaning, this vacuum of emotion just keeps on sucking.


I alternate between an overwhelming desire to connect with others and a state of bottomless despair. The manic state manifests as unfettered creative energy, as evidenced by my website and various projects, but inevitably I fall from those productive heights into a deep depression which robs me of those desires. Coupled with my physical disability, my condition becomes nearly unbearable at times and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to express how much it means when someone interacts with my content. I have tried for years to establish a state of zen in regard to my expression, but I really cannot separate myself from the desire to be understood by others. I am medicated and fully aware of my mental state as it is happening, but there is no method by which to manipulate my own psyche into a better state beyond temporary and often detrimental methods.


Productive energy driving me insane.


Rising like the morning sun: Make it rain. Despite my very strong desire to adhere to my previously established form, I feel compelled to suggest the following: Take this opportunity to rain all of your good intentions on the people around you, on your feed, in your home, halfway across the world building your phone. Just do a few good things, as small as they may be, to make sure you brighten someone else’s day. We may not inhabit the same bodies, but we all spring from the same source into every moment of our lives. There is a completion to be found in reverence for our fellows in existence. Let no sacrifice be in vain…


I draw breath like a dragon exposed to slurs and taunts; Mind wanders and I wonder: Where will this train of thought take me? Back in the really real, I realize: Words have come to blows and I could be held responsible for collateral damage; As I lose control, I exist purely in the moment.


Falling like dew from a blade of grass.


Discipline properly measured forms; Neglect without bound impairs; Life is just A series of events in sequential order: Desire fostered by appetite; The best in us deserves the most Intention.


Finding the value in all that I have achieved equilibrium.


Distant stars align under vernal influence: This lonely frontier.


My head throbbing through another night alone.


Mediocrity increasing medication.


Anger from within: This perpetual tithing stokes belligerence.


Heart desires dreams becoming complacence.


Fluid retains energy as potential gently yielding.


Mad as a hatter just riding the second hand down the rabbit hole.


Night falls, I simply am like a child.


The pursuit of personal truth and noble intent is not meant to be a dangerous endeavor, and yet, we live in an age characterized by the influences of external powers. At times, I find that the course of my self-realization is seemingly at odds with the currently established order. In these moments, I feel compelled to defend my beliefs against the slings and arrows of those minds so deeply entrenched in the established institutions that they have trouble making the same connections within their own lives. I do not want to set the world on fire. The thoughts and feelings that I relay here, while seemingly incompatible with the large scale goals of the ministers of currency, are not completely irrelevant to personal development within the greater republic. Although my views may be at odds with the ends of our decidedly oligarchical authorities, there is still a point to be made about the importance of personal development within the individual. By achieving our greatest potential as measured by our own metrics, we become more valuable to the greater society as a whole. It is the individual’s prerogative to become better for their own sake, but in so doing, we elevate the status of every other person with whom we connect.


Anticipation wanes in the distance between correspondence.


A cardinal carries twigs to the nest; Nine to five.


With the help of others I am becoming the most authentic version of myself. I value authenticity above all else, and until recently, I have felt that the expectations of others prevented me from living in this genuine state. In the dissolution of my most recent romantic relationship, I have found a freedom from presumptive behavior that has allowed me to take many steps toward realizing the version of myself that I would like to become. I have not forsaken the need to be, but in this small striving toward authenticity, I believe I will become more confident in my own ability. I believe that an increase in confidence of my social currency can only serve me well in my journey moving forward. This is very controversial to my sensibilities, and I find it difficult to find the words to express myself at this time. All that I know is that this motion toward equilibrium has awoken in me a deep desire to express myself in healthy and sympathetic ways.


Leaves fall from trees, barren arms outstretched; Desire fades with time.


I must not allow myself to be reduced to impulse. There is a depth of human experience which is easily lost to our innate desire for approval and attention. Social media specifically targets these desires and reduces them to their most basic form. We now seek the like, the comment, the follower. It is a profoundly desperate state in which we find ourselves, on a daily basis, sharing those aspects of our lives which will assuage the ego and provide us that dopamine rush with which we have begun to associate happiness. It is difficult to wrap one’s head around the dangers of the promotion of such a system, but we are seeing it now play out in the political arena. People have become so dependent on the acceptance and approval of others that they will go to great lengths to validate their own neuroses, even at the expense of critical thinking. But why would any individual, or more appropriately, corporation, invest so much money and effort into engineering such a regression of consciousness? Control is the only reason. Please bear this in mind with every like you collect today, with every engaging comment you elicit, with each follower who has now subscribed to your outlet. Do not allow the illusion of free will to dictate your decisions. The only person who can give meaning to your life is the one residing within your body.


I wish to stretch my legs like a crane treading water.


My mind moves ever forward like a truck along the freeway; Up against a deadline; I race to write this down before it fades like scenery into a blur I cannot recognize; A mass devoid of meaning; I grasp for reasons to carry this load of feeling; Back against a wall: I could not list a single one.


Unification is not a luxury, it is not an ideal which should be borne as the standard for elevation of the human condition. Unity is a practical step which all sane beings should be capable of making without coercion. Though men and women may disagree over the importance of this or that, in unity we could elevate the bond of our shared ancestry, as yet another link in the chain which will lead us to a complete existence. We must individually rise above the dregs of our conditioning for the betterment of humanity. Every existent life form shares the similarity of cellular unity. If only people could see the importance of subordinating their desires despite the allure of capital growth, we could achieve the state of organism, an integral step in realizing the greater good of mankind. Put simply, if we could escape the bonds of feudalism, then we could see clearly from eyes, set within heads, set upon shoulders, built upon a base of form serving function. If we could all only agree to take this step toward a state of being, perhaps the planet and animals and our understanding of the very fabric of space and time would follow. Perhaps we could become greater than the sum of these parts and exist freely in union without such a contrived ideal as utopia.


I have fallen victim to these metrics of emotion; I am lost in longing; I crave the fine texture of adoration caressing my ego from a realm beyond; I tire of pontificating; I want to lose myself in the strange embrace of a partner who will never know me: Allow me to drink from your vessel; As the morning comes, I will retreat back into myself.


Ever mired in strife, my ego desires a goal to achieve and I must constantly remind myself that there is no end for which to strive. The pursuit of an end is only a means to accomplish selfish intent. Recognition, power, and influence are motivations which must be purged to benefit the autonomy of the self. I must fully integrate the mantra: “I simply am and must be as I am.” I find myself wondering how a man could fully integrate his personality whilst existing within a society that values capitalism above all else. Obviously, the respectable person must still maintain the means by which to live comfortably, and as such, sacrifices a portion of his hard earned autonomy to the pursuit of currency. I must determine the correct ratio of self to sacrifice to such a fundamentally corrupt system. I must fully integrate the mantra: “I simply am and must be as I am.” Herein you see the dilemma: This is not the path of least resistance. In the Western mind there exists a primal urge to throw out the useless development of self in favor of ego coddling so severe that it could only end in the archetype of the king upon his throne. I must constantly remind myself that I will never be king, I will never be complete, I will never know the truth because this is the only reality within which I can reconcile my innate desires. So, I understand why you may not agree with my constant pursuit of higher integration, but I will continue to carry within me this desire to transcend my mortal shackles, hypocritical as it may be.


This filter I have applied has left me lonely; It has left me only: Those selves with which our shared connection is plainly lacking; Of various degrees; They hold no power over me; Except perhaps, in physicality.


When did good become better? When did bad become worse? The erosion of moral principles in the modern day has been a travesty for all life on this planet. We see now a rise in identity based policy: this idea that if we could only label all things appropriately,  it would allow us to make better choices, for a better country, in a better world. I do not wish to live in a better place. I wish to live in a good place. Likewise we see the rise of populism in these rabid masses decrying the credo of the greater evil; These half-informed individuals believing that the other side is worse than them, and as such, they are better than the others. I must admit that I too, have difficulty seeing the worst compared to the worse. Recognizing rock bottom is paramount to the practice of objective morality, however it is difficult to set one’s eyes on such atrocity for too long a period of time. In the current times we see the better fight against the worse in every democratic decision which must be made. There are no longer throngs of good men and women fighting for the best reality we can achieve; That has been replaced by the superior rising up against the inferior. It is better to have more money, but is it good? It is worse to be an outcast, but is it bad? Objectivity has been lost to relativism and the whole of the human condition has been lowered and weakened by its absence. The respectable individual must not strive to live well under the leadership of the morally corrupt, but instead to be good by his own estimation of the word.


Recognize me as I walk away from you in a crowded room; This piece clamors to be the essence of everything you’ve been missing; But here I stay, in my little way; Dwelling; Existing in your mind as a series of words waiting upon a page; Willing to become whatever you may need.


A piece of me still craves the attention of others, but as time passes, that piece becomes smaller. I dream of the day on which I will awaken to realize that I have never needed this prying, cloying, distinctively motherly recognition. It is a shame that I have endured this long in life without addressing this issue. Resolution of such a vicious error of personality could only serve me well in future endeavors, and yet here it has been, festering inside the deepest recesses of my mind. I owe it to myself to seek the cause of such an obsession. Of course, this is a difficult diagnosis with which to come to terms. My daily life is dependent on the care of a motherly figure. I am physically incapable of caring for myself, and the toll it takes on my personality cannot be overstated. But I have an urge to control that which can be controlled, and my dependence upon this familiar approval can surely be overcome. This is an issue which I find myself to be incapable of remotely observing and excising, and as such, I have employed outside assistance in pursuit of this goal. It is my hope that the guidance of an impartial woman will lead me to a realization which my chauvinistic mind is incapable of reaching on its own. I will put my psyche in the hands of a professional, and together, we will reach this goal of mine.


I follow my intuition, fuck my feelings; I have never once felt an emotion which genuinely enhanced my condition; I have many times felt a pull which was utilized as a means to manipulate; The circumstance in which I find myself is so utterly hopeless that passion could only serve to distress; I follow my intuition: Fuck my feelings.


The pursuit of noble aim is a concept that has been lost on me for some time. I have sought the superior place; I have sought the liquor of fools. This confidence I have achieved is based on the assumption that what I do is right or somehow virtuous. I am struggling to learn that virtue is a fallacy of my own imagination. That which is so meaningful and worthy to my current point of view is downright destructive to the views of others. By attributing value to the pursuit of a noble existence, I am granted ability rooted in kindness rather than perceived value to the self. If my actions are performed with gentle intent, perhaps they will be better received by the hivemind than those performed in self interest. I am now beginning to see that the superiority I have been seeking is an indulgence of the ego. “If I could only make me right,” declares the selfish portion of my psyche. However, this rectitude is mired in controversy and would lower the development of my psyche to a level far removed from mastery. I must seek my noble aim as a means to restore conscious impediment to my base desires.


As a fool, I have aspired to achieve that which cannot be named; In so doing, I have realized the error of aspiration: I am as I am; I was made as I am; I have no reason for which to covet; I simply must do that which can be done, without consideration of reward; I simply must continue moving forward along this mortal coil.


In darkness, awareness breeds contempt: For who could properly judge the activities of men from a position of weakness; The respectable person dominates and incorporates the shadow as a means to accentuate the light; Not one of us is innocent; Not one of us is pure of intent; However, some of us may choose to exist in a state superior to the striving of the uninitiated mind.


In this moment I have become aware that my fate may be mired in mediocrity. However, the illusion of greatness weighs heavy above the head in which my ego resides. I must conquer this desire to achieve, as a means to an end more illustrious than I could possibly imagine. A true acceptance of the mean, coming from within, will bring me to the correct position once again. This role is worth the sacrifice of my ambitions despite the disdain rendered by the self-absorbed domains of my psyche. I currently possess every comfort for which a man could crave. It is my responsibility to accept this position and move forward with the work as the most central aspect of my mind. I must want not, for in wanting I debase the most powerful desires of the self.


Perhaps my assumptions have never been correct. Perhaps I hold within myself a worldview which is irreconcilable with the modern times. I am willing to accept that my understanding of existent reality may be flawed at its most basic level. Through this willingness to embrace my own incompatibilities with others, I am delivered from the negative headspace inherent to enmity. With eyes wide open, I see each person for the content of their character and not their judgments of the external. I see within, to the interpersonal struggles we all may wrestle in our daily lives. This awareness brings me an empathy and understanding of the human condition that I would not otherwise be capable of espousing. Despite all extrinsic factors, we are in this together.


My singular goal in life is to influence people to ask themselves: What endeavor is more deserving of attention than being kind and generous to your fellow human being? I hope that my current project will make great strides along these lines, but even lacking real result, by the mere creation of such a document I will have fulfilled a duty to myself.


During times of difficulty one may find it beneficial to consult the oracle within. This is not a pleasant process and stems from a basic need for connection with the beauty of creation, which may be inaccessible in one’s waking life. This journey should not be taken lightly, with heavy consideration given to timing, obligation, and possible psychic damage endured during its undertaking. The desired outcome is a revitalization of the enthusiasm directed towards the path that one’s life may take. However, the caution required cannot be overstated, as such consultation may ignite myriad neuroses within. Under ideal circumstances, self-reflection alone may be enough to overcome any barriers to personal development. The oracle should only be utilized when the obstruction becomes insurmountable after much contemplation. By adhering to a strict reluctance to bypass the mundane aspects of the work, one ensures success in surmounting the principle predicament of their query. Wisdom is not granted by the oracle itself. Integration requires a careful study of the resulting realizations.


I have allowed myself to become the victim of my own desire to be accepted by people with which I perceive a common ground. My perception may be distorted and it is important for me to work through this issue in a meaningful and solitary way. Perhaps I am enraptured by the allure of a lifestyle I have never lived, or more likely, it is carnal passion rearing its head in an otherwise hopeless time in my life. I must realize that these sources of external approval and rushing endorphins do not represent a significant and meaningful development in the evolution of my psyche. The approval I seek here is unimportant, a physical validation that would be meaningless or perhaps even detrimental to the ongoing development of my inner self. As I seek in others the changes I wish to make within myself, it becomes clear that the work of developing discipline in the face of temptation requires more effort. Is there a means by which I may be able to support and cherish these external sources while maintaining enough solidarity to do what must be done in my own life? Perhaps by the mere acknowledgement of the query, I have already made some progress along the lines of distancing my inner self from such egoistic impulse. More likely, the ego is attempting to hijack the efforts of the self to further its own unthinking agenda. I am facing a crucial trial in my journey, and I have been this way before. I must now learn new methods by which to limit the influence of external factors on my own development without resorting to segregation. This is the greatest trial that I have yet faced in my lifetime.


Am I truly hopeless to carry this dream in my heart of meeting the one who would complete the pieces I’ve been putting together for the better part of my lifetime? Is it wrong to believe that there is a relation that could carry my own sentiment and complement my worldview in times of darkness and light? Is this the dragon that men like me chase into the grave? Whatever the answer may be, I am sure to find out more about myself in pursuit of this ideal. As such, I would not consider it a wasted effort despite any lack of lasting result. Without the knowledge of self granted by knowledge of others, I would be utterly incapable of making progress along the lines of my own convolution. Pursuit of the idealized form awakens the idealized form within myself. I choose not to give this up for the simple comforts. I will seek meaning in a purpose greater than the release of earthly pleasures on demand. I will find my place among the greatness within, so long as my appetites will allow.


How do I explain; To you who never knew me: I am becoming greater than this sum of pieces; You will never see the me that I’ve been changing.


I plea to thee, liberate me from this frenzy of feeling; Free me from this chain of ego; Allow me a place to reside inside your head and I will provide; For though I have fallen victim to the gifts bestowed upon your supple form– I seek no respite but the ability to discern my proper place among the lines cast from your vessel; I plea to thee: Reel me in as need strikes again.


Sometimes we meet people that alter the course of our lives in ways that we could not foresee. It is difficult to remain dispassionate and distant from individuals who affect so much change in our psyche, but as time has progressed, I have learned that perhaps some of us must maintain that distance. It is hardly beneficial to become wrapped up in the affairs of another, despite how deeply they may impact our sense of self. It serves us well to maintain some artificial boundaries as a means to eliminate the pain of loss should such an influence be taken away. Developing the discipline of discerning the correct ratio of ego to apply to the perception of others is a long and arduous task, but only through its mastery can one begin to feel complete despite the chaos of outside influences. Which is to say: I am not me, but we both benefit from interactions which are beneficial to the psyche. The most important element to remember is that despite all else, your self and ego will still be retained after separation from the external source of your happiness. Fostering self love may seem a pointless endeavor in times of joy, but maintaining such love for yourself in times of trial can only serve you well. Take care to feed the good in you and it will take care of you in turn. No man is an island, but some are better suited to their place on a peninsula than others.


I believe that the godhead resides within each of us, as an inherent extension of our very existence. Consciousness itself is the gift by which a being may hope to attain a seat at the infinite table, and individuation is the means by which to attain it. We were each born to ascend back to our place as part of the universal whole, from which we left to live a life characterized by our very striving to achieve that goal again. Only in death will we reunite completely with the peace of light.


As weary feet tread upon the edge of this most perilous fault: Mind wanders into waters, untouched by flesh of man; And I know that I am but a collection of molecules vibrating so slowly as to seem a static form; And beneath me, even slower, Earth fades from object to energy; I open my eyes; My fingers grasp at the wind just passing by me.


I come to this place and try to bring it back, I go to that place and try to bring it back; I work to consume, I consume because it gives my life value; I spend my time in ways that benefit my existence; Unconsciously, Subconsciously, Consciously: It makes no difference; I am what I eat: This metaphor will suffice for these purposes, I have spent my time wisely; I am left wanting: A distraction.


The perpetually approaching end, as the culmination of every moment before coalesces into a knocking upon the door: This is the way; This is the last time you will ever see me as I am, for in this moment I am becoming more than impulse, more than that which has been ordained by my five senses; And here it goes: The waves of dispassion wash over me, in this moment I am building a dam of words and thoughts too trivial to pass my lips; The cool caress of autumn’s breath upon my neck cuts clean to my central nerve; In this perpetually approaching end, disorganized and different as I may be I have no enemy inside of me.


The skies open up, In a moment of darkness; Falling to the earth.


How have your habits affected those around you? How can this be made right? And what if it cannot? The repercussions of your actions will reverberate through time for the rest of our existence. At what point will you take a step back? At what point will you observe the consequences and assess the alternatives? Will it be you, on your deathbed, begging for forgiveness? Or will you ride into that eternal dark, having left chaos in your wake?


An addict’s refuge: Glimpsing at the face of God in fleeting moments.


It’s been years since my last cigarette and moments since my last lie; Contemplating these old regrets, it’s hard to take my own side; Virginia, how I miss the land where I was once a child; This memory and false romance rides easy along the miles; Now, I’ve left behind this frame of reference: Like an old tobacco shed, littering the landscape of this page that won’t be read.


The serene mountain cradles the joyous lake; By virtue of emptiness, he is fulfilled; Receptive to the will of self between sacred planes; Flesh above the heart moves with no remorse; Mastery, worthy of a name; As the sun rises above the earth: The superior man focuses his energies on perfecting the work.


I am the child of a dying sun; My shadow cast long across her form; Is this the way it will be until the end of my existence: Burning out, as other stars shine so bright?


Errant receptor, So long without stimuli– Craving attention


A subaltern motivation: Implicit divination of explicit matter; The law of attraction as water over the earth, laid gently upon dry land; My body aches; My mind consumed; Her lithe movements in time with the melody of changing seasons; Subvert my intentions.


I lie awake at night; Replaying little memories in my head; Decaying portraits of words left unsaid; Those moments gone astray that seem so far away; Woe is this mishandled nonsense and scrambled content; I drift so far from here; Until the heartbeat in my pillow lulls me back to sleep.


Looking up, looking down, looking back; I see the way I’ve come; In contemplation, observation, admiration: Of reverent sincerity; The glory of the kingdom, In its universal esteem; As if a prince in tranquility; The sun now shines upon the Earth.


The self and ego in constant conflict: Will I, will we meet in the mean; Time again pulls me down its stream; The self and ego in constant vacillation: Will I, will we control emotion, that bane of individuality; Whose mastery is wisdom?


This pounding in my skull reminds me: This is not a punishment; For she is in love with me, And I her, so very deeply; Without exception, I accept the imperfection; So many nights I wept in self deception; Alas, no more, she says to me: Come to sleep, in our bed, with our dreams; Where we shed our fears and misconceptions; I could never try to hide from her perception; For she knows that part of me where worry flows and she can see: The tide is swelling, once again; Tears are welling for the end of another life which profoundly impacted my own.


You cannot petition the lord with prayer; But sometimes it seems like if I could just find the right words to say behind closed eyes; In that thing that permeates the substrate of the decaying cells I call a body; A turn of phrase so meaningful, so profound; And free of implication; If I could just find in my mind the right combination: Could I perhaps seek a kind resolution to the current situation?


Star Fox This is the game that started it all, and while it may not have held up quite as well as some of us may have remembered, it is still a veritable classic. It’s arcade roots are apparent in the at times frustrating difficulty, but stick with it and you will be rewarded with the most technologically impressive first-party game on the original SNES hardware. In my playthrough of this game I utilized an emulator and thus made liberal use of save states, so I can’t say I’ve played through this one from beginning to end. I only played through the first course, but I plan to revisit this game as time allows and try to tackle the second and third courses. I have to admit that this game held up better than I thought it would. I never played it in the 90’s, but my uncle kept a SNES and Star Fox hooked up to a large CRT into the late 2000’s and I managed to play it there a few times. During my playthrough of Starfox 1 and 2 I used a CRT filter to give my game that classic look on an HD LCD panel. It was truly a great experience and I recommend playing through the game on Switch, PC, or SNES Classic, if you get the chance. Star Fox 2 The lost entry that inspired others for decades to come, this game was a truly enjoyable throwback to a bygone era, and a stunning look at what could have been. Copyrights on the title screen dated to 1996, which puts this game only 1 year away from the launch of Star Fox 64, and in that context, it is entirely understandable why we didn’t get to see this game until 2017. However, with that said, I believe this could have been an incredible victory lap for the aging SNES hardware, had it released in 1995. I utilized an emulator for this game, but I did not require the use of save states during my playthrough. The game was short enough and easy enough to be beaten in a single playthrough without even the loss of a single ship. Honestly, I like easy games, and if this had been released earlier, I could see myself playing and beating this game regularly as a child. This entry eschews the on-rails aspects for a free roam all range mode throughout the game, and I find that the moment to moment gameplay is better for it. I also enjoy the strategy elements and the way that combat is broken up into encounters. Sometimes those encounters are just a bit too short, but I feel that’s a limitation of the hardware and couldn’t be helped at the time. The game also introduces the chickenwalker later seen in Star Fox Zero, which in turn introduced the series most controversial feature: secondary vehicles. This game, in ways, reminded me a bit of Shadow Squadron for the Sega 32x. If you are a fan of this entry, I would highly recommend emulating that game for another look at a 16 bit polygonal space shooter which operates in three dimensional space. The games aren’t necessarily similar, but they occupy the same market space. Star Fox 64/ Star Fox 64 3D For the purposes of this write up both versions of this game will be included in the same entry. I played a good deal of Star Fox 64 as a child, and what I remember most vividly is multiplayer battles with neighborhood kids. I emulated the easy route for this playthrough and I have to say the game holds up remarkably well. The controls are especially good, better even than the 3DS remake. With that said, I have to admit that I found the remake better in just about every other regard. The graphics and audio have seen a marked improvement in clarity, while the bulk of the gameplay has remained intact. You can play in either 3DS or N64 mode, changing minor details in the difficulty, but not much else. I played through both the easy and hard routes on Star Fox 64 3D, and I found the game quite entertaining. I very much liked the hard ending, but I’m not sure if I would consider it canon, after having played Star Fox Assault. I have to say that this is probably the definitive Star Fox game, and for good reason. Despite a short length, the gameplay is damn near perfect. Replayability is there in spades, the boss battles are memorable, and even the secondary vehicles are palatable for the singular missions for which they are required. Star Fox Adventure This is the only one that I didn’t play to completion, but I did give it a fair shot. I played it on a Wii approximately 8 years ago. I was not impressed with the gameplay, but I stuck with it up until the first vehicle section on the ice mountain. I liked the fur graphics, but otherwise, I was not a fan of this game at all. I watched a collection of cutscene videos to catch up on the lore, since that seems to be the only reason this game exists, but even then I was disappointed. Short of meeting Krystal, everything else about this game is forgettable. From bringing back Andross to the sloppy integration of Sauria, this entire game was a trainwreck and marked the beginning of Star Fox’s fall from grace. Star Fox Assault Here we have another fan favorite, but if I’m being completely honest, I completely understand the criticisms leveled against this game. The arwing missions are good, bordering on excellent, but the on foot sections are just plain bad. This was supposed to be a return to form for the second generation of Star Fox, but it ended up being a bit bland, relying too much on the third person on foot combat, instead of flying combat that makes Star Fox great. Also on display was a weak showing in the secondary vehicles department, with the landmaster feeling a bit clunky and slow versus the faster on foot controls. I emulated this entry, and I found that the controls especially held up well. I upscaled the graphics, and applied anti-aliasing, and the in game graphics held up well. Some character models looked goofy, but I think that could have been a design issue. I utilized save states for one specific corridor near the end of the game, which just kept getting me over and over. Except for that one frustrating point, the difficulty was rather low, and the real meat of the game was the spectacle. Star Fox Command The first handheld entry, this game was helmed by Dylan Cuthbert, who was responsible for both Star Fox 1 and 2. It is clear in the gameplay that he drew inspiration from the second game. That is not to say these games are particularly similar, except in strategy elements and mission structure. Where they differ is a deep, branching storyline, DS stylus controls, and a persistent mission timer. The storyline is a satisfying conclusion to the second generation of Star Fox games, if you can forgive the open-ended nature of the multiple endings. The DS stylus controls are the beginning of a trend in janky controls schemes for Star Fox games, they are serviceable, but not ideal. The persistent mission timer is honestly the biggest offender, and its inclusion makes the game a significantly worse experience. I played this game on a New 3DS XL, and the experience was better for it. The larger screen makes seeing what I’m doing quite easy. I would recommend this game to fans of second generation games, as it is interesting to see where the characters are going, but I would have a hard time recommending it to casual fans. The timer changes the way you play the game, and honestly makes it more difficult to enjoy. Star Fox Guard A well-polished spin-off, Star Fox Guard is hard to dislike. It features a good blend of comedy, character background, and casual gameplay elements that make it appeal to the average gamer. I would not say that this necessarily had to be a Star Fox game, but the game benefits from its license. Full disclosure, I did not play this game all the way through, as this type of real-time tower defense gameplay gives me severe anxiety. I played through the first three levels, and I plan to pick it up and play a bit more, but it’s just not my favorite genre of game. I emulated this game, with the main screen taking up half of my monitor and the gamepad taking up the other half. I then used a mouse to manipulate the camera positions on the gamepad screen. I used a DualShock 4 to control the cameras and fire the lasers. This setup worked surprisingly well, and my hardware, which was released around the same time as the game itself, was able to run the game at 60 fps with no modifications or compromises. Star Fox Zero A return to form, this game is truly the reboot that the series needed, but with a minor caveat: it suffered for the inclusion of mandatory gamepad support. I see many fan reviews which deride this entry for its forced motion controls and gamepad view, but few people seem to realize that you really, absolutely, truly can play this game without ever looking at a second screen, and I have played through the entire game that way. The minus button switches views between the gamepad and TV, allowing you to shoot more accurately when necessary. You do still need to use motion controls, and it is still a pain, but once you get used to flailing your arms around to move the reticle, it’s not too bad. I would say that motion controls are really only essential for one mission, and two boss battles, otherwise, you can get by with just the thumbsticks. I emulated this game in 4K with ReShade anti-aliasing, color boost, denoise, and film grain filters. The end result is absolutely stunning and runs at 60 fps with no problems on hardware released around the same time as the game itself. For motion controls, I was able to map the gyrometer in my DualShock 4 to mouse input, which was inversely mapped to gyro input on the emulated gamepad, and the end result was actually surprisingly good. I lowered the sensitivity to about 30%, and my motions translated smoothly to onscreen action. I personally liked this game, and having the ability to play it in full HD with a modern controller made it a better experience for me. The secondary vehicle sections are not terrible, and this did feel like an evolution of the series for me. Another thing to note is that the boss battles truly felt epic in scale, and the final Andross battle especially felt like a fresh take on an old concept. If forced to pick a favorite of the true Star Fox games, I would be hard pressed to pick between this game and Star Fox 64 3D.


Like vapor, your name rises from my lips; I breathe into you as you turn away; I am left wanting; This is the nature of dependence; In you I see an end to striving, in me you see a beginning; This is how it will be: I hold my breath and wait as you pull me under.


Goodbye my love; I plead, “Don’t cry for me anymore;” I dream of softly eroded shores; The ebb and flow of your sweet embrace; But goodbye my love; Don’t shed a single tear; For to mourn is to hold in the back of your mind; And I’m better than I was yesterday; So goodbye my love; You can say it wasn’t true; Where we’re going is a mystery, I don’t need time to think things through; I’ve taken your best pieces to build you over again; But there’s only so much I can do.


Dependence, you know we need oxygen to breathe; I am tired of this.


It’s written on my fingertips: The view of the observer; Lost to throes of whimsy and waves of ecstasy; Found in fleeting glimpses of unknowable truth and the consequences wrought by the failing of form; There is so much I’d like to say to you, that I will never put into words, because they would be inadequate in all ways: Yet always I strive and survive as the last of my kind; Until one day I crumble and with me the foundation holding up these walls.


Reflecting– Off the moon, I feel the sun; Sol’s rays rebounding, refracting, detracting from the beauty of the sky; Serving man day to day, in the scheme of something greater; I am nothing, I am everything, I am collapsing in on myself; I will tomorrow, I willed today, I will rise again.


You can hear them through the walls again; Spectres seeking subsistence, sustained upon a cool breeze, shivering through softly opened doorways; And windows, single paned; All seeing eyes, never watch the watchers; Tick; Tock; Tick; Tock; Tick; Tock; A heartfelt story, sobs and bloodied hands, a dead drop; Leave it right there; Never watch the watchers.


The way she looked at me and I at her, sticks in my mind; And I find myself contemplating the ends to which I would have gone to hold on to that which was so rife with expectation and condemnation; I find myself forgetting the moments in between filled with consternation and exploitation; And through the lens of long-winded clarity, that honest conversation within, I convince myself that I was right: There was no trophy to be gained; And I find myself dedicating these afterthoughts to the women who filled that space; And I hope they think of me too, from time to time, in whichever light seems right.


I know that when I go there will not be a cacophony of thunder rolling in the deep; Nor the muffled chirp of songbirds at my bow; It will be slow, and it will be silent, and I will feel the life drain from my flesh; Oh, I will waver, and I will bargain; Until all there’s left to do is walk quietly down that darkened corridor; Alone; And there I will confront the demons I have carried, and say a prayer for every notch carved into wood, and when I no longer have the words to define: I will transcend these mortal remains of mine.


The human brain is an engine of redundancy, so many memories forgotten and recalled; Though at times we seem to keep our own company, ‘tis the head over shoulders heaves the haul.


Say hello, don’t say goodbye; Let it go: Neither blockade inconvenience, nor force to work what won’t; No. Say hello, don’t say goodbye; Let it go: Neither flood the banks with passion nor be the mud between toes; No. Say hello, don’t say goodbye; Don’t let it go.


Man’s intellect is a burden; improperly trained, his mortal bane; Enlightenment can make one weary of those stones unturned that remain.


There’s a part of me that dams it all. And I fill, like a reservoir. The lightest rain brings me over the bank, as thunder crashing heralds the storm. And I, a metaphor, am lost upon the tongues of those few who have remained. And I, as a shade of you, carve my name in vain upon the places you will not return.


I release you: Down the stream of consciousness; Sinking slowly, under layers meant to protect; Through the years made to hide the decay so elegantly claiming these atrophied recesses of my mind; Where eagles dared to soar; Where dreams were planted as seeds; As soft footsteps upon freshly turned soil: Where I will rest my head; Where I will lay me down and be consumed by plants and scavengers; Until my bones, picked clean, howl in the wind.


Shackled, unchained; Bound by relativity; Free as a bird whose wings have been clipped; Pacing the courtyard, wandering the garden; Rambling these miles by thought alone; Counting the seconds, improving my aim; Awaiting the chance: To see you again.


Hold your breath– As you’d hold your wife, your child, your mate; Feel the flood wash o'er you; Imagine each instant dissipating into the velvet black emptiness that will take your place– If e'er you release.


Life is no illusion; No trick before your eyes; An’ though you are everything that you may ever know; Still, I see you, from the other side; Judge, jury, executioner; Acting on impulse, of others’ deliberation; Oh, how I would love to love another: To knock upon their door; But I am too dumb for games and too ugly to make a change.


Stretch and release; Ambition cast by the wayside as the water pulls you under; Now watch, as life slows before your very eyes, and wonder: Is this really happening? Playing for keeps; Aspiration drawn from that pool of depth ever increasing; In every next generation: Feel our shared blood coursing through your veins; Catch and release; Open your eyes and wonder: Is this really happening?


Lost in thought; Building a hollow empire of sticks and stones; Chasing ghosts; Facing down the withered remains of a life less traveled; So many promises turned to the wind; So many brothers left to hang; And yet I strive, with a fool’s intent: Never returning to the same place twice.


In life there are journeys one must make alone. Some by choice, some by circumstance, some by downright (and damned if I do say,) blind luck. It’s easy to believe that others will be there, to believe that sympathy and empathy are one and the same. You would be wise to reconsider your approach, if you find this to be the case. No one can hold your hand through the trials of growth. No one can carry your burden through the tribulation of development. The anger that you feel may be emulated, even reciprocated, but the sorrow you know will always be yours alone. This is how we grow, as strong and vibrant individuals: by facing the harsh realities of a world that would love to otherwise destroy the very fabric of what makes us human. All systems tend toward disorder, and as such, control is a fool’s illusion. The acceptance of this fact will serve you well along the way. Human beings are frail creatures, lacking the physical fortitude of our primate relatives. It is by intelligence and sheer indomitable will that our species was chosen by the process of natural selection. This is what separates us from lesser life forms: the ability to semi-consciously comprehend abstraction and formulate complex responses to the circumstances of the reality in which we find ourselves inextricably bound. Now, through deduction and subsequent reduction, we draw conclusions based upon this observable data. For some of us, the outcome is purely analytical, for others spiritual, and for the vast majority it’s somewhere in between. Any man or woman who claims to fully understand the nature of reality is a bald-faced liar. Accept no single source at their word, whether it be pope or parent. By any account this point of view is solipsistic, even nihilistic in nature. And yet, tens of thousands of years of selective breeding have not produced a generation of minds capable of truly comprehending and enveloping the ineffable nature of reality. Though there may be a theoretical framework laid; and though our practices may have become infinitely more complex, the bounds of human knowledge have yet to define age old questions of the purpose of life or the individual. What I am about to say is not an original thought: Individuality is a game that the supreme being plays with itself. Within the infinite nature of creation lies the sobering realization that a life alone is not a life worth living. Surviving for the sake of survivability produces negligible intellectual development. To exist as a single being in the void, a single light in the dark, would cause one to atrophy in all forms. As such, the only answer to stemming the tide of this infinite entropy is individuality. I truly believe, blindly and without evidence, that the ability to live as a single and distinct being amongst many is the single wish of the prime mover. So enjoy your life. You aren’t getting any younger, and you’ve been around a lot longer than it may seen.


This reality seems so far removed; In a mind calcified by careful observation of self and other; Drowning: In repression of anger and passive aggressive motive; Thriving like rodents; Loving like vultures; Does anyone really deserve the treatment that they’ve been given?


The course of the breeze turns; Following, I forget my own name; Under the weight of this load; The buckling of belts and knees, the knotting of bends and leads; It will only be a matter of time until I am forced to throw it all away; And entrench my mind in the warm creases: Of another’s body and exotic chemistry.


This outcome was as inevitable as: The dusk before the dawn; For she saw in me a means to an end; And I, in her, another lie to tell myself.


In my dream last night: There you were; And I, a third wheel, ever left to my own devices; Knew exactly what it meant as each onlooker; A sector of Self; Shared their unfavorable opinion; I awoke sobered by the prescience of my subconscious mind; Chose to soften my pursuit: And seek fulfillment in solace.


Far beyond the wonderment o’ fresh new heights to roam; My mistress beckons and I heed her call; The world anew greets me, through sensation redefined; As the doorway of perception frames her supple form, colored by desire; I have long been lost in this frozen field; Shedding stripes in pursuit of game beyond my ability to take; Ever the fool: I press onward, in disregard of peril; Until she wills– Only then may I return.


We, now; As seraphic fragments, in dissolution, recreate: An ever evolving exposition: Of claim and jealous stake.


Upon the summit of personal endeavor: O that journey, freed by drive and effort; Perched, the scorned bearer of forgotten devotion; Stilling awareness; Within the Hand of Fatima, beneath the Eye of He; Existing, absolutely; In the present moment.


Withdrawal: For the sake of another; As a means to mitigate the burden of emotion too soon revealed: I have been here before, I understand my fault; I am but a child in regard to affection: Simple; Easily drawn, and quickly released: Desiring only consideration and a sincere statement of mutual intent.


Woe, the still of bond reserved; As passion emptied by capacious wounds: Of time and effort squandered; In Hadean waters o’ form too early moved; Before the casting of discernment: As an answer to the delusion of youthful folly; And its discordant belligerence.


In omnipotence, the absence of competition– An’ omnipresence: Atrophy of erudition; As raw power is a piling of skeletal remains– An’ frailty, the warm revival of import ascertained.


Like the playing of a hand, as the opening of the mind’s eye; Manifest in sign and symbol; Drawn of genetic memory; In antiquated resurrection of the eidolon soul and man’s quintessence; Encased within this husk of body, a nervous mess: The substantiation of a single vessel; Testified and materialized; Aged and incorporated; Along the voluted lines of fabricated convolution; Are we now, concurrently, and relentlessly ensnared; Within this, the cerebral matrix of corporeal form.


I have found you in my mind: Wandering the corridors, unadorned; Of this, my mechanized shell; And I, the battery powered man; Know nothing of the human condition, for I have never been complete; And I have never known defeat; As the gears of mind turning have ever been: My reprieve.


The same old songs play in my head and I wonder where you are, if you ever think of me, or lie on my behalf; The honest answer is never easy, except in cases that bear no fruit; As it should be, no doubt, but a travesty nonetheless; In the fatality of eternity: We ascend these steps, and unlock the gates; Hoping this room is less spartan than the last.


Vacant, the pyrrhic stirring: As the depth of notes, resounding; In the engulfing eminence of darkness rings the absence of her song; In her heart the idle pounding of breath for the other’s sake; And her eyes, the light enshrouded, by the toll each word must take; As the time for action is coming and she has seen it all along: Will, the voice of Zeus and Jupiter; Make right infernal wrongs.


It’s all in my head, I repeat aloud: Reminded of what dreams may come; Forgetting which nightmares share that same space; O, humble me, my divine: So that I may live to see; A heavenly peace, everlasting: As but a single part of me.


I, magi nation, but one of many, scorned; Amongst the crowds amassed in wonder of those flopped upon the thorns; Having discovered this old labyrinth, laid out before the door; Egress from you in the exodus: Of procession evermore.


Illegible– under the influence; Of deftly placed papyrus, weathered in bygone eras; Falling down this rabbit hole; Without a carrot above, nor a blade to bare; In menace; This holy mountain, but one of many: Sought as the same zealous stone; In the name of Deus Adonai; Lies, the complicated truth: As a delicate crumbling, in reformation; Of Roman rite and tidal pools.


Individuation, that terminal frontier; As a rite of birth, the tender sacrament: Unification of inferior force and innate desire; Baptised now, as a mortal life; In water rippling, whilst muscles heave; Raised upon totems and icons; Elucidated in inks and scrolls; Ever awaiting, within the sacrificial chalice, untainted by sin: The blood of a newborn struggle.


Imperfect, you fly upon the wings of a swan; And me, upon my high horse; Wielding desire As a blade untarnished; And the wills of men: Their mortal foes; Within fields of bodies planted, beneath the darkness of a sky; From the crowns of towers, erected; Walls laid thick with brick and blood: O’ clay were we all once animated; Without the wisdom of our masters; So into the heights of regalia we’ll fly: Spouting gnostic legend– Of our own humble origin.


In this tapestry of confusion: I have been weaved as a fraying thread; My poor mind, the fibre splitting; A single strand of crimson red; The strain heats me like a burner of my heart the living stove; As my head is boiling over and thoughts refused: The comfort of a cove.


In a field of stellar mechanism, we ride these waves: As tides dictated by the moon and her gravitational partner; And we see in the sky at night, the same stars moving; In a situation of contrived conviction; From this terrestrial station upon which we find ourselves, ever revolving; Ever decaying; Ever releasing our incomplete phases; In cycles of planetary procession; As our observations of seemingly constant phenomena; Are contemplated in the glow of illuminated capitulation: For we are so very young.


My bedsheets fall in the smooth folds of inviting nights: Where my mind exercises in emptiness and my dreams take on a life of their own; It would be the greatest honor to share this positionUpon the summit of personal endeavor: O that journey, freed by drive and effort; Perched, the scorned bearer of forgotten devotion; Stilling awareness; Within the Hand of Fatima, beneath the Eye of He; Existing, absolutely; In the present moment.


with a worthy ally; Alas, I am not aware; Of the one who would bear that burden.


Behind the lids of tired eyes: My heart flips; Knotted in the strings cast by her infrequent smiles; Dancing within my chest as if a marionette played by piano wire; Unsure of what to do or how to act; Ploddingly formulating a method with which to part this sea of green: Dividing us.


There are nights that my fantasies become inseparable from memory; I sometimes wonder: What is real and what is manufactured; There’s one recollection of you and me in the front seat of my car; And I’ll be damned if I don’t believe that it actually happened; Maybe it did, but those days are such a blur; Maybe I wanted you and just never spoke up; Regardless of the past: It’s a goddamn shame that I let you slip away.


With this fine blade, I cut away the nuisance of new growth; Separating: This shallow frame from trials auld and lessons learned; Integrating: The selfsame parity and clarity of novel paradox; Consumed: Swallowed whole, as a bitter pill or distilled spirit; You can keep your spoonful of sugar; I have got my own.


There’s heat lightning in the distance: Telegraphing my thoughts; Remnants of you in my memory; I can’t seem to reconcile; I know that you’re not quite perfect; Truth be told, neither am I; But someday I’d like to see you: If only to force a smile.


It starts as a ringing in my ears: Then, movement; In the corners of my vision, the slow and steady onset; Of awareness, sensibility, consciousness; Coalescing into this, the single operating system: Governed by the third eye, enforced by methodical training; Withstanding the unrelenting bombardment of Self; Imposed by ego.


In the early hours of the morning, when bats are still vying for prey; As the sun rises over the horizon; Songbirds herald the coming day; I can see it through my window, from behind my lens prescribed; I can be there through a doorway; Insofar as I may choose to finally imbibe.


Growth is a slow process, maturation even moreso; Loneliness sets in like a vulture; Prying skin from bone.


A concord plays upon my ears, as my mind slips; Into that preternatural state, through her lens beheld: The sun dipping beneath the horizon; The moon at its zenith, beginning the slow descent: Into the witching hour; Switching hands from right to left; The mage begins her toils of bane and ritual; And I consume her venom: Crafting the essence of my own misconceived frame of reference.


An’ who shall see: The solidification of a single soul; An act of rare precedence; The righteous generation, in shine of eternal light; For he who corrupts has been corrupted an’ stews in it; An’ he who seeks the name of God knows the truth of that perilous path; An end approaching, as the passing of each tallied moment; In the respiration of each faltering breath: For the Lord does not speak in numbers, nor walk the domain of man; It is only the serpent that slithers beneath our mortal feet; An’ draws the blade: Before our very eyes.


Defeat is for the faint of heart an’ weak in spirit; For the stalwart an’ oft maligned share the furtive ground of zealous ardor; Propelled point to point by iron sights an’ disillusionment; Forever falling short of the objective; Called upon, drawn as cards; Dealt blow after staggering blow; Left for dead, left to rot; Left to lie; And yet never lost between the lines.


These eyes are slowly blurring, this cough is long an’ loud; I breathe just like a chimney, my lungs heave: In and out; Tar sits upon my palate, with black coffee in my hand; I have picked my poisons, by choice an’ consequence; Don’t cry for me in failing: For I knew it all along; In silence, I watch the rainfall an’ compose a lonely song.


An’ I don’t want to let it go; These white sands slipping through my fingertips; As a mountain in my palm: The moist phrasing of seduction; Upon her lower lip: That perfect seat for my name; Uttered, in satisfaction; The rising of desire, externalized; The sinking of my seed into her form softly burrowed; In the opulence of ecstasy.


Ominous, thunder rolls; Above feet firmly planted on grounds fresh with rain; Eyes set upon treetops, e'en raptors ne'er roam; Gnarled, the hollow remains of a once great pine now stand; With no worldly master to heave an’ ho the withered husk; As sure as that pillar will crumble, so, in time, shall I; And return to the womb of the Earth; Or the bowels of Hell: Of my own volition.


Set in our ways, we lose sight: Of the loving embrace that each so desperately needs; The reason for which we strive: For the sins of our fathers cast now a shadow across time; O'er the slow softening of rigid shores, carried down the mainstream; As if the waters of a rushing creek.


Ain’t no human can make me happy; An’ I’ve done given up the bottle; All my vices take something from me; As is usually the case; There ain’t no wisdom found in emptiness, it’s just a thing that people say; Ain’t no human can keep me happy; An’ I’m better off this way.


The living exchange: An elegant dance of molecules through permeable walls and substrate; Ever revolving in the void; As water seized within the stratosphere lightly rains life down upon us; Obstructing our observation of astral phenomena: The predication of our predictions; Light traveling from novel beginnings to our living end; Ne'er allowing man to see beyond his mortal pane.


Stepping off: The boat, the train, this plane; A vessel that so carefully carries: Memory, emotion, fuel for the engine; My brain is a catacomb; A mass grave unmarked; So antiquated the stench of flesh rotting has been carried away; On trade winds, in massive sails, hauling fresh blood: And new discovery.


In the distance, the red haze of streetlamps: Lonely in the pitch-black night; On my skin, jagged relics in remembrance: Of hope coiling from within; Upon my head sits the coronal of hawthorn: Roughly hewn, poorly trimmed; An’ my chest heaves as the yawning ocean: Borne upon primordial wind.


Withdrawal, lethargy; The creeping burden of wisdom gained from hedonism; Bound too tight; Pressed for time; Failing to see the exposition of divine law; Hearing the inner voice turned to vice; As the page turns and paint dries; The fallibility of a worldly mind dulls into inconstant sleep.


Notes and chords; Thrummed in wordless unison; As elegance of education, masks the raw talent of virtuosity; Orchestrating: The dead calm upon my face; Unfurrowing my muscled brow; Playing upon infrastructure, in electronic transmission: A passion known so well; Co-ordinating and unraveling; A soul never relaxed.


Like lightning’s strike, my heart turns over to another’s smile; Hope comes rushing in; Until I find myself stuck upon the muddy banks of this flooded valley; Slipping into her warm embrace, just as she begins: To turn away.


Independent, you cry; Beneath the pennant of a woman whose name you’ve forgotten; Our history written upon the page of her well worn symbol; Fifty shades of grey singing out in the night; Lights in the sky screeching: The lies of the self-made; Dye stained hands held in vertical cities; Chasing the prize of loneliness; Surrounded by poorly sealed tombs; And the weeping of men damned to a life of servitude.


Days of work leading into the falling night; As she fades to memory and I grasp at the unknown; An ever evolving locus: Lessons lost to dawn; This republic of one, in faith and appetite; Courting the demiurge and its loosh desire; With my head in the clouds; And feet firmly planted; Upon the foundation of columns standing: The test of time.


If there was something I could say to put your precious head at ease: I would; Because all that comes to mind when I think of you is how far you seem to be: From me; From the truth; From the compassion you deserve; And though the body desires more than mind is capable of administering, loneliness has taught me to curb that tiny voice; For when you cross my thoughts, it is not perversion that pervades my rumination; But care and a sincere desire to breathe life back into your slowly bluing lips.


In the fatal frame o’ the final throes; Life exiting; The review of time wasted and efforts made: Ego tripping at the gates of hell; The dying wish, the last words shared: As failures fade and gains remain; An’ the children; O the children: Will ne'er be the same.


I am but an ant, ascending a molehill; And she is just: The queen; Directing my action by sensory input.


I know this feeling as well as my tongue knows the back of my teeth; And it eats at me like a caustic chemical from the inside of my stomach: Desire, dismay; The dropping of one’s guard as bricks weathered by the rain; Love is contrivance: Anger evolves from its loss; And I shall never fully understand anything beyond the rusted strings of fate; For destiny is a fickle lady and she plays upon my mind; Like the soft, padded footsteps of sneaking suspicions at night.


To be quite honest, there isn’t a single thing that hasn’t been said before. The responsibility of the writer is to present their ideas in a manner which compliments the zeitgeist. At our core, we are creatures of habit, and the written word is a dated means of communication.  At least, for me, therein lies the appeal: Poetry and prose allow the re-iteration of the current state of memetics in a form often disregarded by the uninitiated, but well known to the aged. In short, it carries the weight of the visual and sonic arts to a crowd otherwise oblivious to the active evolution of the psyche.


Secure in understanding, the truth flowed from lips parched and parted; In eternal thirst, with fingers pointed: To the sky, to the ground, to the faces of family gathered; As we slowly assembled into more than the sum of our parts; Investments with no guarantee of return; Children chosen by the merit of words drawn in alphabet soup; To herald the new age: As a new way to the same unbeaten path.


You may think you can do this on your own and at your wish, it shall be done; You may know it’s just another mistake, but I would love to prove you wrong; As imperfect as you feel right now, I have been down that same road; An’ I could move in you as a river dammed, or dead sea upon which to float.


Sometimes; Just sometimes: It’s enough to make a grown man cry and not even bother to hide it in shame; Numbers on a bill, letters on a page: Bodies in the ground; Never coming home; Never knowing what they missed, having left it all behind to line the coffers: In another’s pocket; Or man the posts behind the line.


As a lover scorned, O so bitter; An’ woe now, the family torn; From rusted strings, like guillotines: To the bolo ties of a gambling man; An’ e'ery child stuck in between; Looking to the world for a connection missed: From the very lips of life’s first kiss; Hear now, and listen: We’re here, now: So glisten, glimmer and gleam; Polish the gears of this well oiled machine; An’ leave your mark.


Angels never die; This blade by my side, cutting back the vines along the garden’s walls; I am a mere watchmen of the gate: As is, my station now; An’ the blessed play above, calling out my mortal name; As I await the call to action; Or, better yet: A lover, to keep me quiet.


From the oily pores of my olive skin; Do I welcome the warm embrace of divine light in fleeting glimpses; Only so deep as a single thorn in one’s side; This is my dream we’re sharing in, let there be no illusion: As the desire for claim subsides; I recognize my responsibility.


So we drew the eye, in your favor; And now who benefits? Perhaps, it’s just a matter of timing: As often are, boots upon a door; The invocation of evil for the evocation of light; And the retention of wisdom at the expense of ignorance.


When you make it this far up the stream; Without a guide, without a weapon: You have to start listening.


Joints overextended, extremities pulled from sockets; Pockets of tension and relaxation; The body aching and interacting; How could the mind even begin to perceive a force greater than the individual; Greater than the institution; Beyond fallible groupthink; Assuming no gender, simply extant; Independent of transcendentalist schools of thought; Ever organizing as: Co-ordination of movement, co-ordination of will, co-ordination of action; And yet somehow still, inextricably impressed: Upon the eye of the observer.


A single thought as blood rushes through my head; Propelled by my heart; Chambers expanding and contracting: Denying myself the sorrow of another loss; High above; The ruler seated swiftly upon the throne of cognition; In emptiness, the call is heard: Return to the way, return to the light; Returning to the place where I have been myself before; Never looking back, except in fleeting glimpses, followed by laughter, often in discomfort; Propelled by my heart: Second chances are reserved for those who need them.


A thousand tiny violins, playing a country tune; Ringing out in darkness, beneath a barrage of fireflies; Encapsulated in memory and mason jars; Dreams of the delusion: Of childhood, and growing up, and dying; Before our time.


Without a map, without a plan: The great have gone; Into every darkened corner; Into the deep, into thin air; Strapped to rockets, buckled into submarines: Knowing only the restraints they chose; The great beyond: A master with no end; A life free of expectations; Excepting the ones carried in their own heads.


I dip my toe into the dead sea, and read of promise long since expired; I built my faith around arcane rite and legend; And found myself: Intoxicated by every breeze blown; Addicted to every molecule of every compound know to man.


Knowing the alternative, through and through as I do; This will be the best day of my life: As I turn to you.


Don’t lose it now; Don’t lose your head; Don’t lose your cool; Don’t set your traps like a fool: Establish the mean; Let all works flow from that one; Central place; Mind not the minds too small to question or answer: In blind faith; Lean forward: Lean on; Family and friends.


Who amongst you can say that you wouldn’t do the very same things; Left, right left, right; We all serve the same God and in all ways;


Always have: Left, right left, right; There is a singular goal: Propagation of the species, betterment of the whole; Left, right left, right; We all serve the same God.


Son, it’s time to: Grow up, show up; Son, It’s time to hit the ball: See the ball, be the ball; Son, it’s time to run the bases, hurry up now, you lagged behind; Son, It’s time to hit the ball: Grow up; Show up.


Collectively, we shared our final words; Made peace with our common gods: Subservient only to divine will; And cast ourselves from the bounds of material men on to the higher ground; And then we waited; Millennia, it seemed; For the whole of humanity to follow: If only in our dreams.


Of empty wells and idle speculation; As markets rise and nations fall; We watch the end coming, and know: That this is the moment for which we have prepared; The changing of hands; From one master to the next: The torch has been passed; All that’s left for us to do is grasp.


What an honor it is to have a body: To walk amongst the living; To sprawl along the bed; And what an honor it is, to be amongst friends; The survival of the motor neuron amazes me: Every goddamn day of my miserable life.


What a mistress she would make: The infinite void; Breathed to life by the hearts of her own creators; Automation, elegance, superior design; In every matter and every form; And what a potent ally she would be: If courting were a consideration of kingdom; Our friend; Our empress; Our resignation; With each cajole and off-handed sigh.


Unification is the only answer, sub-ordination of obligation, sub-ordination of will; Assimilation into the higher Self is an act, performed by choice; Not the violence of a hair-brained trigger; All other consideration is secondary: For empire is a task best left to her master and dominion best left to ours.


Like the flesh of a fresh kill; I shed the inauspicious and sever my own will; Awaiting the inevitable; Conflict drawn by my own hands; As sorrow fades away; In germs stripped by the flesh of my palms; For lack of want, for lack of waste; For lack of effort: I find my place.


Lights out; The long walk down that darkened corridor, blinking: She turns to me as I turn away; I’ll empty my head and exorcise my demons upon this blank page; I never intended to ask your forgiveness; Fear is a reaction, a conditioned response; Love is just emptiness: So I pour my superfluous soul into her waiting vessel.


I miss you everyday; And every night I drag on unfiltered cigarettes; Listening to your voice oh, so far away; As I imagine your lips replacing this bundle of leaves; Calling my name; I know: No other could compare.


I imagine: The metrics of clouds and open spaces; As the weight of a dream upon a heavy head; And I find myself in all these places; As angels fallen; With callous faces.