Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Non-Transferable Value

He sits signing autographs for the mass of fat acne-backed bespectacled bearded men.
Cancer gnaws on his prostate and he takes a smoke break, face pale as the cigarette wrapper.
An interviewer catches him outside and asks about a denied affair.
He hides inside the convention hall.
Every vlog-jockey knows his face; it isn't fair.
The cigarette hisses its' death-rattle in a lemon-scented urinal.
The fans don't care about how shaky his linework has become.
He returns their smiles.
The showfloor roars with scores of visitors but he doesn't notice.
To him it's quiet.
Strangers' enthusiasm, which used to excite him so, now's ignored, as he thinks on how he'll go.
Like a distant planet in a cold black universe, there's a ball of bitterness within him.
Never before had he such grandeur in his mind! Amazing ideas abound -demanding to be shared.
But he'll be put down before them.
His manager says it's time to attend the panel.
Security guarded hallways channel him to meeting room A's back entrance.
He's expected to speak for hours.
He doesn't want to say a sentence.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Scheduling Depicts

Immense meteors soar over Earth.
Plagues prey a sneeze's reach away from infirm seniors and vulnerable newborns.
An old van slowly circles outside streetlamps' impotent warding light, purring, nearer a bleary-eyed babe, drink-blushed, curled in a friend's parent's car.
Mere hours buffer retreating scrappy killers and army-bred Americans.
A warning word, a gut feeling, instinct reeling, senses shouting, a moment's doubt, and the divides of Chance&Luck space death and lifetimes.

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Finite Sailing

Shark fins part the dark waters we swim. Circling
the shadows lumber larger beneath white waves. Gathering
gaping maws reek of rancid meat,
rotting between rows of teeth.

This shifting square of ocean air will mark our graves.
Our boat floats above a beautiful emerald reef.
In this game there are no saves to roll master chief.

They bash our boat with stupid primal charges no shore in sight or flares to light,
our barge bulges, tilts, dented,
no emergency rescue or harpoon.
Friends await afar to meet anon
but death comes soon
glee-faced and beady-eyed.
When the fight joins they'll chew us to bits;
our legacy in this sea will be two shark shits.

Thrown overboard by the latest lurch I search for the deck.
Knives shred my arm!
I feel stinging cooling bicep
[He paddles in bloodied water,
screaming while large bodies press against him from below.
Frenzied, they rend him thoughtless.
He's (jerked {underwater) tackled} -tangled in fishing lines.
A tacklebox knocks out dread.
Froth churns, turns red...]

Sunday, October 31, 2010

Slouches Publicize Private Wounds

I hide beneath tattoos.
You embarrass me publicly, "get in the car".
The blues are a bruise.
"Why're your nails black?"
Depression's a scar.
I dress like a thief to be as seen as a star.
I mar my face with metal cleaner than my clogged pores.
Vampiric, I lick to taste the iron bolted through my tongue.
I could dress any way but you only think of your young son to worry if he's gay.
Awkward as they may be, at concerts I find my we.

Monday, September 13, 2010

There Oughtta be a Law

During the commute home I drove behind a truck laden with dry grass and/or some other vegetable matter. Behind it a trailer swung with a tree. It didn't really swing but the description reads nice, yeah?
I was wary of this truck. It was leaving alotta space infrontof itself so I wanted to pass it anyway but also, nothing strapped these plants down. The back end of the truck was open, ungated. With only their weight keeping them on you gained the impression a sudden enough brake or acceleration would throw a tree and company at the left lane behind this truck. Pileup.
To amuse myself (gotta do something during traffic) I thought, "there oughtta be a law..." implicitly against such a situation. That the trucks shouldn't be allowed to drive except in the right-most lane. Those people drive too slow to be looking forward to living.
In summoning this thought I became conscious of an association I already had: laws are the refuge of people uncomfortable with the awareness of their own decisiveness. Despite the fact I preferred not being behind cargo suspect in its' security I remained in my place. If I believed a crash a likelihood rather than a distant possibility I would leave the lane. The options were available to me and I had chosen. Speed and danger go together. Better both than neither.
Such a situation can't be relegated out of reality by legality. No motion by congress will relieve the populace of being aware they have made discomforting decisions. But by externalizing the process of decision-making people are more secure within themselves.
In a way, preference for a stronger state is a preference for a prominent external division versus an internal one. Part of us wants one thing, another part of us wants a different thing, our motivations clash and we're not sure what's the optimal decision. Will we regret doing this? Would it be better if we had? And the option, the ability to switch, perpetuates this state of unease. So long as we could do something different the way currently untried is a temptation. Some men love the state, even as they hate it, because it settles arguments in themselves.
The want to silence opposition is similar. However outlandish or wrong an idea is: once you have taken it in, it's in you. An oppressive rule muffles certain opinions, making it easier to remain ignorant of beliefs contradicting your own. States prevent communication. I mean not person to person as much as segment to segment, clique to clique. States let us understand each other less. We feel finalized.
The consensus is that freedom's a burden and bondage a relief.

Friday, August 27, 2010

Dissipated into Nothing

I hear the echoes fading
-far off sounds swallowed by the chairs:
near the carpet (in darkness) where senses don't reach.
Noise is the thing silence will impeach.

The empty crowd is calling.
A house kept clean for machines
bars the living crickets chirping with wings.

Pale shadows perpindicular to their origins,
light tries to penetrate but sins;
it's stopped by the opaque, reflecting and refracting.

Is light endless, moved yet unending?
Does light have limit like life?

Saturday, August 21, 2010

Ineluctable

Green cornfed lake,
clouds arrayed around their sunny lord,
bitably ripe and designated red,
hissing subterranean flame-spring,
useless incomplete assembly.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Redecorating

Rotted wreaths ring the king's halls' candles,
the largest sheds its' needles above the mantle,
green pine leaves pop in the chamber fire,
stacks of wrapped gifts sit unadmired.

The grandest wreath sheds its' dead leaves atop the mantle,
it was full of bells, cinnamon sticks, and red ribbons,
'twas placed against the cracked brick quite gentle,
where a princess sips tea and sups bon-bons.

This wreath was full of bells, cinnamon sticks, and red ribbons,
the decorator took the baubles out and soon will toss the wreath,
the princess offers her candy to her youngest sibling,
then stands and leaves the fire's heat.

The decorator brings things from the country and further,
new paintings to hang in the halls,
new candles to light up the walls,
new arrangements with which to bother.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Possessing

Your degree of ownership is determined by your ability (directly or through proxies) to cause harm.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Then Exploding

two burgers, two brats
two shots, two beers
with dear friends
under fireworks,
alighting in the night like spaceships heading for the stars.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Not Even Krunk

He told me he hit a rough patch, covering a path so weathered it stretched like bubblegum, all the sweetness chewed out. He continued and said above a flatland wider than middle America was a visage which contorted horribly the happier it was made to be. The only detail of his story I wanted to know, was why?

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Blowfire

A rabble of lepers gather, mouths garbling under ratty raiment, to propagate their hateful illness to the rest of us.
City elders had not the sagacity to foresee this company's coming.
The army ranks swelled and the sick were felled but naught will be well anon.
Reeking bodies, raked aside, poison the air where infirmity rides ill winds to deposit (hidden) inside victors' lungs.
Those who fought to stay the plague bring it through our gates.
Our walls are no barriers, our soldiers no safe keepers, our leaders no problem solvers.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Fatherless Day

Two new fathers
I'm far from one
still young
with work to be done.

Babies flow like honey
supping milk-form mummy
clothed in daddy's money
crawling on fat tummies.

The widows winnowed from husbands
lead men on
they don't want replacements
they don't want to be alone.

Saturday, June 19, 2010

Hobby

Loaded, locked, safety off a rifle is a grown man's blue safety blanky.
It's hot as a handmade holster or silencer, flat black or matte gray: shiny machined lightweight weaponry.
They're works of art; simple ridges and minimal lines style fine profiles.
The opposite #, armor, gets medieval with dragonscale, good enough for generals but none for all the jarheads.
Tracer round casings tinkle, tumbling through the air, sunlight sparkling sharply.
Blaming the tool thoughtful fingers pulled is a (cop [out) as San Fran's fannie].
No fellow should be zen with them citizen-harming firearms.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Foreswore

Spiderweb veins in the wrinkled old mountain dragged assembled pellets of rain to the lumpy hills and blend with soft white expanses.
The smallest quirky clockwork gear grinds slightly with every spin, in sleep locking teeth, and the many-toothed tiny gears' motion allows the larger gears to function. Every part must be played in circuitous sequence for the pendulum to swing.
An over-filled glass carried by a drunk, the ocean sloshes towards one continent's coast then another's, back and forth, left and right.
The accrued drops' actions cause some variation in the oceans behavior. Choose a minimum position from the froth to stand at and standing there for the same minute in each day's cycle observe the water sometimes reaches and sometimes does not.
Our emotions bleed through our contacts, coloring our moods like celery sucking up blue die in a food-coloring-tinted water glass.
Lightning-strike cracks in the glass from differences in pressure let seepage spread.
Ideas roam as cattle through our minds, foraging for their feed, and what has died in us before now provides their supper.

Monday, June 7, 2010

Hobo during Prohibition

Dis here distillery will sooth ye, drain away the pain plain upon your face, have a taste. A drop of white lightnin has a mighty power to right wrongs. When my boy was runnin a truckload the police unloaded without so much as inspectin his trunk. What they didn't confiscate I drank. Hate to let good booze go. They demanded I show them all my stills, insisted I desist and cease. After they drove off I drank til I felt deceased. Alky-hall-ism's a disease we's always had in my family.
Atleast my boy went in modern days, in cleaner ways. Back in the day, a man may feel cold steel steal his breath with the seal of a sword's edge. Or at the start of things, the cops would lift large stones honed to sharpened spear tips and slip them in past your skin, bust your guts wide open buddy. Ya see, an electric chair don't sound so bad now, do it?
Alright, maybe your life's all gravy and ya don't need this tumbler like this bumbler that I am. Heh, maybe you're a tea towler and can't slam them back like I's kin. But this drink's free, all on me, cause it's shore lonesome without someone sharing this medicinal poison. They call it a sin son, "lips which touch liquor will never touch mine". Well, how in the hell would you know?

Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Water, Barley, Hops, Yeast

Oh Man! We eat German wheat grain beer because it beats any other brew you bothered to grow.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

We Average Each Other Out

Chewin snuff fresh from the tin,
wearin flannel and cowboy hats,
tight blue jeans show you're thin,
drivin a mac truck with tire flaps,
women's silhouettes on the rubber,
at church in a chorus of claps,
macho men drinkin american brew:
moonshine and pale ale,
hunting defenseless antlered deer,
punctuatin sentences with a swear,
walkin the straight man's narrow mindin trail,
what are they compensatin for?

Liberals, doubled over at the waist,
spread asscheeks above his face,
giving pink winkers a kiss,
takes it,
can't taste shit,
cause bull's what he speaks,
organic as what he eats,
when he can't afford to tweak,
he seeks sumthin dank,
apologizing for his ancestors,
successful white conquerors,
he wants to take care of everyone,
(less so a christian)
if everyone takes care of him.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Pre

Bark-coated limbs in airy sky rack up the leaves teased by playful zephyr fingers. Then naked bunches of branches bend their ends to the white-frosted firmament.
Kids are unchained slave gangs gathered in desk grids.
Later they're decked in debt, diploma-loaded and cap-equipped.
Trembles, rumbles, shaking ground, the planet's plates scrape randomly.
Magma climbs to the max: a lava climate is ash.

Monday, May 10, 2010

Score/ned

Quiet, guarded, disconnected, churning out words from batteries of auto-chatter tracks.
Boredom: freeform frustration, an aggravated assault on senses of salty incensed bitterness.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

We Digidance

I look into the lens to see your soul.
I want what I see, not the whole.
I see mentally, imagining you with my image
and watch your visage vis a lightning trickle.

Track my patterns across your retina
(speakers patter neural paths).
Basilar math man's this mannequin's axon strings,
imposing voltage on our opiate-overwhelmed selves.

Tune in to the sodium channel,
a circuit to board,
checkered with textures like audible flannel
minds waving full-bore.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Despairity

I liked to think when a newer form, and now mourn, that words may arrange as formulas to bring about a chosen result.
All things being equal, the modification of any one thing, may affect any other thing, in any way.
Yet no assemblage of sounds is legible to existence as the reactants needed to conclude dunnest items to their occluded finish.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Prompt

In an experiment I've failed to recover documentation for so far (aside from a lecture at Stanton on the Uniqueness of Humans) the dopamine levels of chimps were recorded over time in relation to how often pressing a button gave them a banana. When bananas were given every other button press, instead of every button press, dopamine levels went up. Excluding the possibility that chimps love pressing buttons, this implies the chance of getting a reward (banana) being reduced increases the enjoyment of trying to attain that reward. Concluding humans behave likewise would explain several human traits.


1 Gambling Addiction

Firstly, it would mean we are hard-wired to favor risks. Surely we interpret the risks of the same situations differently, the available options and difficulty of executing plans varies between individuals so the estimation of risk is different in otherwise identical situations, and there's some tipping point at which the amount of risk increasing no longer increases the amount of fun being had but the basic premise that an unsure thing is more enjoyable than a sure thing innately incentivises risk taking in man. Because man takes more risks he discovers more and varies his behavior more. Because man varies his behavior and discovers more he grows in a greater multitude of ways, investing his health in a diverse portfolio.
Consider the implications were this not the case. People find picking berries yields a meal. They're completely satisfied w/this arrangement w/no curiosity or other desire to prompt attempts at alternative methods of gaining meals. Thereby man may continually be subject to predation (as he hunts no meat-eaters), never discover farming, and wander in huge hoards which forage very efficiently yet relegate mankind to a locust lifestyle.


2 Give an Inch, they Take a Mile

The furtherance of abuse by dominant parties in relationships. From governments instituting new oppressions at the highest levels to babies playing fetch w/their parents at the lower levels the abuser who enjoys his dominance is only really dominant so long as the submission is fresh. As a behavior becomes habitual and the oppressed accepts it comfortably, pulling to the side of the road when blue and red lights flash, it is more a stagnant than a living proof of the ruler's superiority. The subject has accepted his bondage as a fact of life, dissociated from himself and his captor, so the captor is no longer interpreted as a ruler but an enforcer of higher laws. The man who craves other men kneel before and be broken by him must push his abuse ever further so that the oppressed never gets used to it, never may rest, acculturate, and come to peace, but always feels his wounds unclosed, raw, cut open deeper than before. Thereby new laws are always imposed, the toy is thrown further from the cradle, a more important possession is going to be borrowed longer, no apology is offered for trashing your house at a party, etc.


3 Maybe He Really Has Changed

The lack of assurance that a promise will be kept to the abused makes playing along more exciting. A state of jeopardy is a turn on. Will your boyfriend really be gentle? Will he pull out in time? Will he move less forcefully lest your parents hear? Will your friend really return your hairbrush even though she still hasn't given back your makeup kit? Is he going to pay you back for that latest box of booze? If you let them force you to the ground and place their knees in your back, will the cops stop hitting you w/batons? If you vacate the swing for him will the bully do the same for you later? If you "share" your toys will you play with them as much as the borrowers?


4 Do you Wanna Live Forever?

Danger is the spice of life. Those fighting for their lives have their love of life, the ideal that life is good, more reaffirmed than anyone else. We all experience this situation through sickness. Never do we want health more than when we lack it. Never do we appreciate health more than at its' return. The soldier risking his life in lethal exchanges is more sure he's glad to be alive than the cushiest chair and tastiest food could make him. The novelty of a taste of sensation too is a lack of security. Will you ever taste such fine food again? But when it has come to be expected excitement leaves. Kobe beef again.
The man used to combat, who feels much skilled, seeks greater challenges. To be promoted. To be attached to more dangerous groups. To be assigned missions less likely to suceed. Men sacrifice themselves more often from taking on a threat they couldn't counter and being slain in a final rush than with the love of others in their breast.
Yet by danger I do not mean a risk of death. I mean any unsure situation. A housewife's thrill may be holding off on cooking for a while longer, waiting on checking the roast to converse with friends. Will the food be ready in time for when the party guests arrive? Will the roast be burnt? It's more fun to have doubt so the deciding facts seem truer. When you knew the meal would turn out fine and executed it well the truth of your fine meal is bland. What of chef's proud of their work, you may ask? Well, where does their final pride come from? The approval of others. Socializing is a great way to increase doubt. He knows he cooked it right but do the dinner guests like it? How much? When a man sees his end he hasn't anything to look forward to. Like opening presents before Christmas morning. The roar of a crowd's a thrill for the boos it masks or could become.


5 But I love My Safety Blanket

Now I see one of the counter-arguments that may be made. I use gov. as an example of this human behavior at the largest scale. But what about mothers against videogames? What about the nanny state? Isn't all this attempted hand-holding proof of a desire for security? No. The women involved convince themselves their children are in danger. They're already getting off to the thought little Timmy might be corrupted from Crackwhore Killers 5. They then hype in their minds their enemy: drugs, drunk drivivng, heavy metal, heathens, or whatever seeming threat, as something monolithic. It's so infectious, pervasive, monied, entrenched, etc. that it'll be difficult to root out. But these gals have the gumption to try! The actual protests, complaints on national tv about books never read, movies never seen, songs their friends told them about, videogames they heard a rumor of once, never-documented rainbow parties, etc. is just the motion coming after the excitement. Perhaps they're a-tingle at confrontation. Then, when nothing happens or changes, they can gear up to battle again, feeling the odds are even higher. If they get one repressive law passed they'll take it as evidence they can get a worse one through and move on to that. These are women who do not burn their roasts.


Conclusion:
Man does not want to know as much as he wants to know something new.


Here's the lecture, which I enjoyed, though the study prompting this rant is only briefly discussed.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Mortality's Watered Down Immortality

B/c water makes things worse right?
Never do you hear the burning man complain about being watered-down.
Never do you hear the burning man's voice, only flames speaking in tongues.
Orange and red tipped whips sinuously spreading in threads, on bare skin.
Blue centers hotter than our own core body temperature.
Yellow sparks blacken and die, long lived as may flies, through nitrous wind.

April O'Neil showers then brings Aunt May flowers to lift the glower from her sour puss a dexterous surgeon couldn't eliminate.
Peter Parker picks a pinch of pepper pressed 'tween thumb and forefinger from his tweed overcoat's folds. He's protected from the cold and cooking for good-looking Mary Jane. Her green thumb has nothing on her green tongue; it has tarred her pink lungs black. She will relax in slacks with a glass of ice cool water.

Victoria's a model citizen.
She lives in a slum the first job's paycheck blankets.
Her fatherless baby craves attention only the tv is lazy enough to sit and give.
She collects stamps to pay for Chex cereal and checks her PO box for poor William's alimony (he's not the sperm donor).
After passing out, "I Voted" stickers to suckers she serves her civic duty as the cute girl in a jury.
Other members gather glad to see her and if they were hung with better stature than indecision she'd give them a smile, atleast.
A bit of drip slipped past her lips leaves a trail of dark stains in plain view down her white undershirt.
Worked-up fellas, behaved for da dames, look away physically and mentally shame Vicky with a wet-t-shirt situation.

"Sit u ass down" said the clown w/a frown to the chimp in a gown.
He was trying his gloved hands at untying the pink ribbons.
The ignorant gibbon was resistant.
Not more than 7 minutes to showtime and wouldn't you know the troublesome troglodyte ran about the room, refusing to be stripped of his costume.
Pausing to sniff his finger the wee hairy beast lingered long enough for Eeno the Clown to tear down that gown.
Mr.Bibbons slapped Eeno for being fresh.
Despite the duress, the chimp was changed from a chump to a champ, and Eeno, damp with sweat, watched from backstage while the performance was made.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

No Solutions

Wasn't Jesus love that God above, the greater being, He leaves the righteous recesses of Heaven to lands unleavened, unraised by the yeast of holyness, to raise those below a slight mite closer to his Father's sight with nine inch nail-pierced hands?
Then it is somewhat similar to a parent, devoting his being to raising a child, causing its' virtue to rise in tandem with its' body, maturity keeping up with physical growth.
Yet Jesus had his Father, against who all else is powerless and can not contend against, to reach down and pull him back up. He was like a deep sea diver, needing only to tug on his rope when out of breath to be brought from the depths and returned to a boat's secure deck.
There is no Deliverer for us to call upon.
If you think otherwise, ask yourself, has no woman, in our rape-filled history, called for holy deliverance from her attacker?
Yet you've never heard of a woman angel-saved mid-assault.
Did they say the wrong name? Not call out loud enough? Were they not sufficiently sincere? Was their faith too little? Parents pleading for the lives of their dying, cradled children, did they have bad dharma? Did their kids do evil in a past life? Did they not meditate enough? Are they just distracted by the illusory life of suffering they hold onto? Are we just fools then, the man tortured for intelligence just needs to realize the jumper cables on his testicles aren't real, right? He just needs to ignore that surge of electricity causing his body to spasm, the smell of singed pubes, the cool of the metal, digging and cutting in with a firm grip. Have we not sacrificed enough to some pantheon or spirit, chanted insufficiently, forgotten to burn enough incense or bow enough to carved statutes to be saved from monsoons that carry them away and break them? Were the stars never properly aligned for the old man weak from cancer wishing he could stay around long enough to see his grandchild born? Is it the law of attraction? Did African children have getting raped on their mind all day before the jeep full of soldiers pulled up? Is it for lack of governance? Did we just need a politician to grant his blessing to be healthy forever, free from poverty, and fulfilled? Don't our votes make them gods? How big an army do we need to stop thieving? Our scientists are saviors? Should the boy bleeding out from a stray bullet have studied harder in school so the lead wouldn't pierce his flesh? Did we not give enough of our earnings to laboratories writing down measurements of cow farts to gain the cure to aging? Did the man who ate his wife's poisoned dinner plate not believe enough in the goodness of his fellow man? Was his love too small, the flowers he bought too few?

With nothing above us to appeal to, when we lower ourselves, we may raise others, but we stay low. We have no friend sending angels to roll the stone from our graves. There is no tree under which we'll finally reach enlightenment. Our father wasn't Shiva, finding a loophole in a blessing so our arrow will slay the enemy of heaven. The plan for our life is our enemies, our rulers, they could always use more slaves.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

Kids' Heavy Eyelids

This life don't begin never
finishes off far before it gets better
your heavenliest days fall by the wayside
leased out at the cost of a lowered guard
debts of downers hit more hard
if you're dead inside make the outside match
life's a virus the universe did catch
and we mechanically splinter more than last
various multipliers in a boundless satchel
cracking the coffin lid on the past
waking sleeping dogs which do tell
in yowls, howls, and voided bowels
how they fear the phantom stranger
absent yet approaching.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Eye Rich

You're a blighter, a bleeder, an old pickled egg eater
and I knew you was bad from the first
I've had rivets and privets dropped in ta my spirits
by far and wide your bald lies are the worst

like a rat led by a fife
I let you guide my life
staying in my house
'til we be wed man and wife
you played timid mouse

I work on the docks
moving package box
and barely pause at the pub
before seein my luv

You're a bleeder, a blighter, a godless man-spiter
and I knew you was bad from the first
I've had fevers and flowers left for kin spirits
by far and wide your bald lies are worse

I seen your sweet cheeks bore a whore's marker
your pretty face had a touch of disgrace
painting your lids a shade darker
to age your tender young frown

knew you'd be good for fookin
when I had my first look
and with you cookin
my rest could be took

came home and sure enuff
you were sweaty in the buff
as the neighbors had told
you liked fellas real old

before you could plead 'meister'
I kicked out your keister
poonched the jaw that had kissed her
and slammed the damn front door
I knew it was comin
but I was dumb and done in
I should've thrown her out earlier

You're a blighter, a bleeder, an old pickled egg eater
and I knew you was bad from the start
I've had rivets and fevers in my few years
but your wild lies were the worst part

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Physically Online, Mentally Shutting Down

For every killer there's a fan.
For every achiever a hater.
Man's coveted by woman,
teens by children,
adults by teens.

For every sin there're practitioners and intellectual inexperienced supporters.
For every good there're failures attempting and quitters denouncing.
For every work there's an inheritor, whether he knows his father or no.
For every thought there's an external prompt; where are you?

Palaces turn to ruins to visit.
Away from many you're freer to act and it's harder to get supplies.
In the midst of the hoard a hole bore hews you to the board of law and cultural norms.

A martyr needs a persecutor.
[A helicopter hovers outside].
I'm too tired to write.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Racket

Buzzing saws dust trees,
windy tubes blow leaves,
clippings on the street,
complete the clean homes.

At high frequencies,
dowstairs tv screens,
not once getting sleep,
ring out constantly.

Pups outside past dark,
will howl, growl, and bark.
Birds with voices sweet,
in morn early tweet.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Special

You're the only unique you.
How special your partial match.
Why partial?
Part of your heart must latch and lock with similar individuals by shared components.
You can't synch w/out a shared category with which to compare your measure.
Then what's different, distinct?
Things extinct soon as they're witnessed.
To even know them we must exist on the same plane.
In one dimension we're held in suspension.
If your singular aspect/s can't be conceived what relief is there from a sense of predestination, the feeling we're matching mechanisms?
What's the difference between a thing unobservable and a thing nonexistent?
Semi-quasi-non-sense-able things are proved real by their effects.
We neglect.
We can't help but ignore the unnoticeable.
What's the importance of aspects missed?
They're (if they are) you.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Indirect

Republics are bad for government and good for society. The more men are involved in deciding what's to be done the more the enaction of laws is retarded. Slowing government processes grants subjects more time to be efficient and prosper before the next stumbling block is placed at their feet. Similarly, shareholders are good for competition.

Monday, February 22, 2010

Implicit Overlords

No two men agree completely. In any country where one man legitimately claims power from another he'll counter and alter the policies and plans of the last ruler. When a line of rulers do not countermand one another's orders but instead build upon them, so the periods of their rule function as an agenda staged without interruption, it should be suspected that none of these men were the end of the nations hierarchy. Their rules acting not to waste resources by cutting off mobilizations midway but to heap more material towards old projects and pass more extreme laws than before indicate these rulers are in collusion. At the least there's some faction in the land that a succession of bosses would rather serve than antagonize. At the most the land has been under 1 rule for some time and the new faces proclaimed president are a changing of the guard to hide the master.

Thursday, February 18, 2010

Camp Infiltration

When Americans were better they lent the Federalist party so little support it died. But its' corpse moved on and corrupted the Democrat-Republicans. The party split in two and both new factions were more pro-federal than before.
A problem in America's political system was that as no one's killed the wicked men moved from their sinking ship like rats. They brought the plague of federalism to the parties they joined. So where there was an anti-federalist party there became two federalist parties.
Likewise more recently this process repeated when conservatives became neo-cons. Warmongers in the Democrat's camp were ignored by their brethren, content to oppress their countrymen. So these warmongers broke into the Republican's house and now live there. So we've two Democratic parties. One which prefers hurting locals and one which prefers hurting foreigners.
When men set rules between themselves someone/s in the group is lying. The only rules to life are physical laws. When someone seems to cheat the game, like Clay in the corrupt bargain, he should be made to quite the game. No more political involvement for him under threat of death. But then we'd be back to settling everything by violence. Well, that state is the state of man. If good men don't kill evil men, evil men will kill good men. As Lincoln invaded the Confederacy (named for what America was before federalists like Washington, who lost most of his battles and promised soldiers the rest of America would pay them (no taxation w/out representation), took control of the gov.) and knocked the union from its' feet.
It's inevitable that the men w/the least integrity, who value the lives of their fellow man the least, will rule. They'll deal with anyone b/c they've no compunctions. They'll commit any abuse to ensure their power. Righteous men are handicapped by conscience. So long as they're the dominant in a group most men w/in the group will prosper, as man tends to prosper and left to his own devices will produce wealth. But wicked men will rob all others in a group as well they can and as more noses close with the grindstone men can no longer see the conflict between the kinder and meaner men who'd rule them. As more men become uninvolved in these conflicts the evil are left to destroy the good, the greatest obstacle to their perversion of labor.
I see no aversion to this pattern of development. For a man to kill he must become somewhat meaner. A man will not stay balanced. As he kills he'll harden, killing for less, minding death less, sympathizing less. So for the good to halt the progress of evil they must poison themselves and then some among them will act as the dispatched did. As the world has been united in one system of thieving (banking), subjugating more men to one rule than ever before, the collapse of this rule is unprecedented. It is larger than the bucking of any empire past. We can only vainly speculate on what we're in the midst of.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

linealأمة

A conquered people is marginalized. As it blends with the conquerors, peoples from further away see the ruling people and subjected people as one. The subsumed and dwindling subjugated become a quirk -a subculture- within the wider victorious culture. There's habit-drift: defining traits of the subjects join the practices of the masters and vice versa. Traditions are shared and connect people in an amalgam culture.
Take the name of any nation. Where did its' people come from? One assemblage of tribes conquered others. Both blend together until they forget the names of their clans. Borders are islands where enemy garrisons sit across from one another in an ocean of peoples.
Sometimes the newborn culture takes after its' father, the conqueror, and bears his name. Like Tsaritsyn became Stalingrad became Volgograd. Sometimes the amalgamation takes after its' mother, the subjected people/s, like England stayed English after the Norman Conquest.
A conquering people are carriers. They harbor fragments of other peoples' personalities in their psyche. Over time some fragments spread, transforming the host from the inside out. Like Romans became Greek then Christian.
People who know themselves to be a separate culture but don't know their ancestors ways have a tabula rasa to be iconates. Like America's freedmen buying clothes it'd take years to grow into.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Magesicle

He has magic hands
the magic touch
he exaggerates
a little much
saw the last dodo
ate it for lunch
made a clever promo
earned mucha mulla
taught Islam
before the Qu'ran
swam the Nile
dressed in style
bought a museum
to exhibit his art
there're many pieces
it hurt him to part with
the exhibit's width
could fit football stadiums
its' power source plutonium
this gallery cast its' shadow on NY
but he can't tell the location
of this great work
he prophesied Diana'd die
and every royal family
it's a fact y'all
the beauty of a lily
fades and ends surely
as a man's days
he tells us his wisdom
which is base and common
shares the stories
of many things he's seen
each is to his glory
as he figures
he led the 36th Infantry
in the American Civil War
but he doesn't talk yankee
and didn't mention it before
doesn't look too old
and though he talks of yore
won't tell his birthplace
only things he has done
sounds like he's been 'round
since the Earth was young
he invented electricity
but gets no credit
it's a form of wizardry
most haven't learned yet
I finally laugh
and call him liar
he lifts a staff
and forms fire
in his palm
lightning on his fingertips
and sings a psalm
which shakes the ground
with its' ancient sound
he turns and leaves
then I chase after
and 'mongst the leaves
find prank shop items
to make fake wonders
in the night I listen
catch no sight nor sound of him
and I believe.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Midlife

A life at parity with tragedy
ends on a ragged edge.
If a life's uplifting
it floats above grit from birth.

Cardinal Church (North East West South)

Pliant is the mind pickled in media porridge
pulse invitingly do the pores
information pours in
giving smell to the mind in brine
an invisible ephemeral scent dancing ascendant and descendant for a chance at delivering its' pheromone message
the wind winds from speaker to paper in people and screens
data pops mechanical and fleshy, digital and tangible
from Marrakesh to dirigibles and billboards the word spreads
a susceptible receptacle is the mind unfamiliar with proselytizing
prose is another part of a synthetic effigy
statues, idols, and icons are made to glorify beings separated by a degree or more from our perception
'cept folks forgot the reminder-representations created purpose and trusted them with devotion to things greater than man
like a rag read after it stops stalking your famous love interest
so what does this infrastructure resemble the form of?
does it or they consider our nightly attendance at the anchors' service praise or offense?
What do we owe for our works?

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Scaring Yourself Serious

In twig-split midnight sky I hear howls.
Pale yellow moon bathes the branches.
Yale campus soon dews and frost creeps across acorn, blade, and sidewalk.
Wind slides, turning shade light and back.
Students flip in layered sheets, chasing sleep in chill illumination.
Their souls jump the mind's track.
Scraps, hatred and sorrow leftover from murdered men.
They've lost their sense of name and when.
Spirits are dense as the swollen fog.
Quasi-voices scratch psyches enveloped in brows now moist.
Quality normality is sent far from foreheads soggy.
Squishy human anatomy feels the pressure.
Worlds, living and dead, press closer to amalgamation.
Wood moans and groans, beds send sleepwalkers to cool witching-hour-air.
Analog ambulation retraces the tread of folk long dead.
Fat faculty actively unearth locals' caskets.
Girls lose their maidenheads to a red-dressed hot mess of a man.
Youths' animus corrupt bodies through oils and allegiance to the oldest foe.
Robed men chant to bless el diablo.
Planets properly aligned, circles in wax and blood inscribed, pacts are made.
Powers of the fallen host toast the health of Anglos ignoring their better angels.
A cult carves shapes for sounds plain English can't produce.
Dug up embalmed puddles struggle to stand.
Slumbering mugs in local pajamas won't taste the morning's orange juice.
The cowled chanters and the powers reached a truce.
Vacant vessels are steered through waxblood circles for infernal use.
I wander, looking for my body, lost 'tween live and dead lands.

The Lie Never Experienced

Shake hands in a shaken cradle while shells crater the burning cities.
Making an armistice requires armed soldiers shooting citizens.
Policemen obey their captains like pirates charmed and sold on intimidation.
Bankers release no nations from debts and mutineers are taught regret.
Bandits cease raiding when they're colder than a disarmed NRA.
Thieves sneak food from farmers' yards, traveling far and working hard.
Every administration kills for a rumor. Where were you during the revolution?
Resentment or acceptance grow; both responses impoverish hearts of soothing lotion.
Love's a balm bombs turn to fuel, burning earnest optimists, would-be pacifists.
Whether or not the Bible's true one brother slew another in man's 2nd generation.
Very many are born straight slayers. Survivors convert to the movement.

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Realize I'm the Prize

This drink has me think I'm happy.
These numbers say I'm wealthy.
My hand makes me feel sexy.
The shadows whisper I'm stealthy.
In an empty space I'm lonely.
With glasses I'm intelligent.
First time she's one and only.
A parade shows I'm magnificent.
Mustache and beard give me a wise face.
With a crowd I'm social.
Sympathy brings me to a nice place.
Pregnancy finds me emotional.
Death turns me numb.
When hope flees I chase.
Poverty leaves me some.
Worry instills idiocy.
Then I am dumb.
Together we are democracy.
Her body heats mine horny.
Moods' lances are sensory at the tourney.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Waterworks

Salty rhines, my cheeks are raw from tears,
brimming over heavy lids.
My still tongue tastes them.
An august end: yawning throat;
where light can't reach.
Mouth silent, closed.
Open are the reds of the eyes,
bright as flush cheeks brushed.
Every snuffling breath beats against a mucus membrane.
Air, stifled by leaks,
rushes upstream like horny salmon.
As crime from a ghetto,
lymph through the body,
bacteria overflow its' filters,
sinuses turned to foreign enemies,
slayers of the gate guards,
breeding in their homes,
rioting in the streets,
I leak, and leak then leak.

Saturday, January 30, 2010

Rebel Rules

The tyrant weakens his rule by weakening what he rules with his rules. The rebel is as evil as the tyrant overthrown but until he is maintaining enough institutions to cripple other people as much as the tyrant did there's a period of freer living which allows greater prosperity. If there's a boom and bust cycle it's the rise and fall of states. Humanity's booming then cancerous elements grow their unneeded tissue, disrupting healthy processes, until the body they keep with them decays, they're removed from the larger human society, and with healthy forms of laborers left the pace of man's ascent quickens again.

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Lent

See the crown is blemished,
tarnished, scratched and sullied,
it reflects a littered dirty floor,
has gaps where were stones,
the points are bent,
its' sides cracked,
the old face wearing the symbol knows it holds no power,
and I look 'tween his wrinkles rimmed by white hair
and see no hope glimmering there.

The joker laughs and prances near,
he speaks riddles the king can't hear,
their answers insults to raise noble moods,
lament rules their hearts and cheer can't intrude,
starved as it is,
in this famished land,
where smiths turn panhandlers,
and only coiners keep clean hands.

Monday, January 25, 2010

To: Address From: Sender

Dear Despair,

Bosom companion blossom again,
be new, renew the revenue you draw directly from my breast rubbed raw,
emotions are rapids eroding will, breaking apart self and flesh into sedentary segments,
fish swim in rivers and feed on macerated joy,
fuel destroyed by the flow,
surging, course directed by the stone though stone is honed, coursing o'er to the ocean,
errybody learns the worst feeling is absence,
souls turn, tossed in a spiral 'round the void,
and I laud
as did God
the counter-rebel Want,
winning the fight for light against cold simplicity,
let life abound
complicated and procreated for recreation.

Sometimes Yours,
Luck-Dodger

Monday, January 18, 2010

Ad Personam

Do you remember Pikablu,
the rumored pokemon?
It existed in our social imagination:
a wild grown lawn
which none can shun
but sobriety mows
and I'm like Barney at Moe's
planting seeds
between heads of grain
eating like it's Eid
from the mind's mane.
An earthquake, a roar
for stress causes tremors
in the sub-strata
(turned batter)
of popular fantasy.
Real as a cootie
is our country,
the virtue of submissiveness,
and love.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Ed the Poet

Here are the B-sides. If you think that other shit's bad here's the worst. If you love my stuff here's more! The following are selections of poems and thangs I started to write and gave up on. They're pretty bad which's why I abandoned them. Also, I forgot what I had planned, subjects, rhyme schemes, etc. for them all (and some I'd no plan and thought a line would be potent enough to set me off).



Submissive floor lets me walk all over it and sprinkle crumbs



Grass-rilled hills thrill at the thunderous touch of exploding napalm.
Dirt were there was a farm.
Smoking jelly where there was a farmer.
Their skin and fat flow thin and wax, popping crisply in the chemical mixture.
Bubbles of lymph steam on short blackened blades.
The Vietnamese have seen better days.



Wisdom is poison lived in and tested, wistfully remembered.
Pain's presence a comfort familiar as romantic essence.
We're between mortar and pestle, stirred, mixed, shrinking into tinier easier to dilute pieces.



Apple's a flavor
and strawberry too
versions of taste



In your provinces are piled high
beliefs in many insubstantial lies
the light of electricity dispels no darkness
of the sort thick as fog in minds without sense
Crushed by seven gables
was the shaggy mantis
who Abe's 8th general
shaved and skinned in public.

The exoskeletal clips
piled in chitinous heaps
were listed as raw walls
(industrial matter).



Dry circuit boards, childless mothers, present an article on water boarding, what we're learning at our boarding school, leaving pretensions of

One out the Chamber

got a crick in my neck
my own body gives me no respect

Friday, January 8, 2010

Deproduce

Shatter a pane at the point atop
the wall-clinging ivy stalk
strong enough to support my weight
for the time taken to climb
at a gait less than walking
above the west gate where
guards talk about their
family troubles and shallow caches
while I undo their ward's window latch
coming from a bar far-off to snatch
what my fence's middleman said awaited.

On tips of toes and hunched
I slowly step on carpets
costlier than my clothes
blowing darts in guard-pets
I wait for the sleeping poison
shipped from the river Poseidon
when the death-froth bubbles
on puppy's large lips
I know the way's cleared.

Humans surpassed and animals slain
I steal on with open tread
still I'm quite quiet so she
stays asleep unaware of me.
Too heavy to carry: the many baubles
which make her wealthy,
yet I look for one trinket only
and spy it glowing o'er yonder
and have to avert my eyes
lest the staring spell compel me.

In a sack which breathes
made for the task
seething with hatred at the light
eager to smother the sight
I stuff the unwatched tingle-in-hand
turning to cheerily be on my way.

Behind me upright sits the daughter
aware her tower's invaded
though I'm experienced in my craft
and would kill for a laugh
I hesitated and heard her say,
"stranger if you are a man
then I can not understand
yet now wonder...
yes surely your employer
lied to you of the item
by robbery in your possession"
straight standing I strode
and pressed 'gainst her robe
a knife and knicked her left lobe.
With composure unseen in some men
she let out not a whimper but grinned,
"up close I know you are a man
and so will return Eskrigan,
so long as it shines
the Dutla are confined
to beyond my father's borders"
inside I said to myself,
"kill her and follow your orders!"
but she'd cried for no help
and if I had dealt
the Dutla an aid
my debt'd need repaid.
She pointed at the window,
above a carpet cast with glass,
I dragged her along
warned she'd sing her swan-song
if this were a trick of her class.

Boldly she opened the frames
holding intact window panes
and pointed to the horizon
where we could see Bayon's Canyon.
At first I stared in darkness
and sensed something but saw naught
but slowly I noticed
winged shapes in the blackness
spreading from the canyon
like a pulsing cloud.
Horror hurt my heart
so even a frail's voice gave me start,
"before they kill my people
please release the symbol"
and feeling it right
by every gut I've survived by trusting
I tore at the bag.

It would not open
again I tried
to ply the threads
they sucked in
like turtle heads
and the mouth puckered
a kiss for a sucker
then in anger I stabbed
grabbing tight the bag
slashing and cutting
'til it bled and died
with a haunting outcry
then shriveled to a husk
ripped open untrussed
and flying out thrust
Eskrigan.

It flew above the tower
and made the land look as day
flash!
flash!
light dark light/dark lightdark
and with screeches miles distant
the Dutla became scant
and I saw she
was a beauty
past the pretties
I'd collected.

Next time it went dark
she ran from her room
I chased in the gloom
but from the stark variance
in luminance
was blinded
I couldn't find her
and she familiar
with her home
ran on ahead
then I was struck dead.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

Mazed Man's Dilemma

He sees lightless black. He walks forward. It is possible he may freely move in any direction. Any way which is blocked is perennially blocked. He is weary of only going straight ahead. He suspects to his left is a wall. He hasn't reached out left to confirm the presence or absence of a wall. If he reaches to the left and finds a wall he will always know he can't go left. If he doesn't check he may always think he could go left.

What should the Mazed Man do?

1) Should he be content going straight?
2) Should he reach in every direction to define his options?
3) Should he stop checking for alternate routes lest he be aware he has no choice?
4) Should he want to go a different way?
5) Should blockages spur him to search for openings?
6) Should he take a turn if one's available?
7) Should he change his policy after a certain outcome?
8) What would you do as the mazed man?