Day Zero with Love

What’s being seen now isn’t a Bad thing… Well, yes its terrible. So. So. Terrible… but that’s beyond the scope of changing right now. What I will observe however, isn’t a country losing its mind, its a world that’s bucking at the notion that the United States president’s role is actually that of “Leader of the free world.”
For so long as an American, or rather someone who’s spent the just around 97% of my life time somewhere within, I’ve taken advantage of the notion that being here it just was what it was, and but everywhere but here, got “this” because some world wars happened and everyone fell in line to the notion that world was no longer the particular nations/state cultures occupied, but collective psyches linked by but a tendril of globalization.
Problem is for the most part those living in the US had a choice about how to feel about the world, but the world didn’t. Our Leader, the most powerful single point on a global map of sovereignty, regardless of military might. The economy they are tasked with, consumes at a rate fueling the rest of the worlds absorption of it, and attempts to replicate it.
But they didn’t have a choice, they were just shown what they had to reach for and they started reaching for it. While the US slowed in progress, everyone else started surpassing it, including those who defined so much of what they US stood for. So they reached and reached, but with the encumbrance of the fact that they weren’t the few who had a voice heard beyond the hearts of of legitimacy.
So what we’re seeing now isn’t a Bad thing. What we’re seeing is social survivalism, every group with enough of a soap box and grievance towards diversification of a singular Human identity into, something more primitive, but also a step back from the notion that the US has sovereignty over pretty much anything that happens on this big old rock.
Yes, whats going to happen here will not be easy, especially for myself and everyone I love, no matter their place in the world. But it might, just might, give the right (conscious) people the kick in the ass they need to drop the constraints of this rigidly classist world as their limiting factor and see that its officially open season to take the reigns of their own destiny, since Lo’ there no longer exists the leader of a the free world but the leader of the free world that would rather trade it for a time when we really did believe in the health effects of cigarettes
The fear for what will come next was inevitable, but I’ve had this fear since the rallying cry of the modern western (white) world became, “blame the other!”
But I mean shit I’d be lying if there wasn’t just an extra shmear of panic at the prospect of what really comes next. Do we go further and further into it? Into the machinations of how we’re different and who’s better? or do we take all the false hope and idealism we were all told as chidlren an adults, and finally fucking put it to good use?
Do we finally take that step forward into what matters, because we can’t do enough in a day after the hours and hours we destroy our selves at jobs we took to keep us stable in this machine? Do we finally look at the machine and say: “you can pay me, but I’m going to work with other parts of other machines and collectively make sure they machines aren’t as oiled as they once were?”
Wherein we as a collective can say we want better for everyone even the ones who would do us harm? Where we can forgive them, but never forget what made them in the first place? Where we can finally look ourselves in the mirror and say: “Hey, the worlds not okay, but I am, so who can i help today?”
Do we want to live in a world where we just complain about the madness but allow the distractions and comforts of modernity, to strip even the most bare of comforts for the future?
I’m gonna say how about we not. How about we accept that the Us v Them thought processes that have been so prevalent, and work in the service of loving the ones who matter. Leaving hate, where it belongs with the fear and panic of the ego.
How about we look at the what we do with our days, and fill them with and answering the the questions of:”What world do we want 10 years from now?”
Still worried about death and the scarcity of resources that plague our pale blue dot? Do something that isn’t “leaving” it to the politicians or someone else, if you see something, do something. Help out your neighbors no matter how much they threaten to call the cops cause their driveway is also their driveway and they always want access, it’ll just make it worse unless we break the cycle of reacting.

Respond to what’s before you with a clear head about what you want, hopefully its love for everything and everyone even if in the end they’ll isolate you. Don’t let the fear win or lose, let it be and observe what really matters, its triumph or our triumph over it.
Yea, the United States president is well… Him. But the schisms of the world just deepened, and maybe, it’ll teach us to remember that all we have are each other, and if we let the monologues of the media dictate our movements, the dialogues that need to happen will always been superficial.

No go, do something for the sake of love, vent your frustrations by putting it into something that matters. Your social media posts will be seen and liked and reposted, but all they’ll do is echo in the vast chamber of the internet. So make your posts, as I am now and remember this is the beginning of the future, how it turns out is up to us, not the people with the red and blue ties, and flag pins.

I love you all, go in peace.

Deolation Sermon vol. 4: Nexus Variants


Sit in simplicity behind the freedom of choice as this is not where you could be, but are anyway to bide time inside the idea of the self determination you had hoped to see. Layering slowly a CV longer than psychological dependency on being more than a database key floating on magnetic tapes hundreds mile away in bunkers designed to survive longer than this race. Wouldn’t you want a little more?

If blasphemously asking the questions: “what else?” is your motto, maybe you’re willing to be happy with what is after all. To understand the fundamental alterations of the code we assumed was cracked, but experimentation was never granted ethical continuity. Bless your heart child, you’ve seen hell, and its not for you, come see where the confusion might lead you.
Smell mornings of regret, as sleep is lacked are supplemented without forcing tension as caffeine drips are simpler, with the roasted mud comfort of diuretic reminders of chemical dependencies. Don’t feel bad, coffee is the best, external dependencies are easily held onto hands of comforting high voltage charge or neurotransmitters explosions attempting to hold true through panicking from wasting civilized energies.
To commutes riding a pretentiousness of having what others seem to lack, from belief that self determination was the qualifying factor to lifetimes lived for the lives of others. Sitting behind desks, and gossiping for simplicity of happiness through grape vines office IM clients, with giant emoji lists, giving those permissions to user to end the lack of emotional banality in email exchange.
Ask silently if revisionist history is the worst thing as any dream of a better world, cause it is now the noose around another’s neck as the ones being lived is better than the next person’s so why mess with a formulation of tried and true financial attributes. Probably because alarms have been going off so long, that the background dullness of its urgency bleeds into those still willing to accept the pain all together without knowing what to expect. Yet who is anyone to judge the criterion by which everyone was given a leg up or a knuckle dusted punch to the gut, asking the truly pointless question of assigning worth to what might actually be something.
You’re humans goddammit, a thousand million pardons for taking the All Mighty’s name in vain, yet, where are you lost to normalcies indelibly silent rage. Where times commodity is valued in quantum conservatism holding onto silence for the worthless tendencies of the bureaucracies lived and feared, tell us how you fear the unknown.
How do you fear anything that isn’t made of dust and bone, as entropy opens and closes the infinite doors of a trillion star bits hemming existing through the patchwork sense of belonging grounded in impressing ones self. Hypocrisy is a powerful entity that leans into hopes of being free with the caveat of presumed esteem. Fall off your equestrian dreams, move the fuck away from them, look at them, will they survive the apocalypse? Pass your happiness test of having enough, feeling fulfilled by understanding that one is a symbol, like two, that multiplied zeros and quantifiable memories are only good enough to feed baseless shrewd multinational think tanks designed wholly by one or two hoping you’ll fixate the wavelengths of cones and rods upon their constructed stars of undeliverable expectation.
Feel the desolation, the constant obliteration of the fury of life inside the venter or cardiac space, assimilating black thoughts fed from tried methods of words built go poke holes in truths one should always know. Flail in the pity of not knowing that you’re okay, things might be bad but their freedom to be so is a wonderful thing, tis the :
Way of the world
The bliss of being
The furthest from untruths
Sense filled consummation
Entropy of random reality
Everything in its right place
Forgiveness in a glace to the Inconsistencies of blindness
Falling into time crossed tempos lost to past ages
Reverberations bouncing slowly to key into melodies of the soul

They know go well to believe anything will ever change, since change is an impossibility to fit the butt hurt captains of enterprise data siege. Same way entertainment knows better than itself to ensure trust amongst the groups of millions or billions take the plunge into one minds manipulated derricks drilling to the deep crust, extracting primal fluids to garner loyal vestiges hoping to fill us all up. Isometric viewing angles observing the rat race to the cyclical tunnels dug into by tell tale heart strings tugged in sensory freedom, afraid to admit any wrong.
This will do maybe one good thing, remind a fool where they might be, right now in front of a keyboard as Gods breathe fills me, expanding side by side with the version who’d want to be somebody happy in helping others achieve a simple dream of goals lived within this existence. But where to begin?
A Decision, to admit that forgiveness is where it will begin, as the Nexus of of old absorbs everything there once was in the high tide of given opportunity.
Take not the words of a madman, lost in the throws of misrepresented love in historical hope for a better tomorrow, grounded in understanding of the majesty of playing fair. Believe not words as they flow quickly upon paper and data bits, they mean not to guide but shepherd your thoughts away from believing everything is law. Swim in the bliss of uncharted waters, unafraid of the lessons not learned from mistakes currents swaying on all sides.
Start somewhere, somewhere terrible, is still somewhere, placing steps on stepping stones of metaphors covered in moss of interpretation, you will slip and fall, but it will not end, put on you’re shoes just keep walking, as mud covered and slimy it might all seem.
Heed no warnings told through the filter of tomorrow, yesterday is so far away, and today is nearly gone, Hoyle road looking for enlightenment.

Go. In Peace.

Desolation Sermon Vol. 3 Void Walkers Paradox


Etched in tabulation conceived by infinite graces with a finite traces of reality scouring behind, center quakes with seismic inevitabilities. Venter finds life mildly separated from an illogical whole that codifies fiery fortitude, to return from the waters from whence they once came into light . The noise is truer than false promises of our own self determined youthful glow, verily tracking the infinity beyond those moments neither of us could see.

Holding together these limitless thoughts we might see how the quest for peace has lost its way. How war is peace and peace is pacafistic idealism, meant to engage disappointment at a very young age. Blame the video games and the television streams, but the inevitable end is here to stay.

Why then to contain these lashing tendrils of fury and rage, we must ground ourselves in pointless attempts at being just angry enough for those we want to lure to take notice but quiet enough not to make any noise. Are we not men, not machines programmed by simplistic ideals told to us by those we believe will stand representative of the best of our fucked up reality?

Do we not stand for individuals, regardless of the constant mistakes? Propelled through existencs on a singular idea, just to do some good, yet told consistently, “the trouble isn’t with the reward ” the trouble IS the reward, to have lived to see what life has in store to never know what could come next. to live in the paradox of the Almighty’s graces consistently prevading forward through the sin that is existences inevitable query. We are life, we are the spaces in between the letters of history more important than curvatures and ampersand’s, the form that holds all together, the mystery of everyday conversation.

Willingly taken by fates consistent seminars and keynote speeches, the conference is meant to teach, make believe that what we learn might haunt us more than beseech us to a call to everything. To explode into a million different accounts of what it might feel like, this new found reality, of uncharted fear and anxiety, coupled with unspeakable happiness and mystery. Do we chose to live in this place, where rust and bone only prevade when why we felt in the first place is forgotten?

Yet, the fear will always return the dark, the void. Even as flowers bloom from evening to morning as the landscapes kick the air from our lungs, the memories of the monsters obliterating all, concussing the sanitariums of deference into planetary dislocations of orbital desires. Faceless traits give away whimsical mindsets, leaving behind nuggets of prayed for good graces, as we live in sin, asking for unearned forgiveness. Ravaging ourselves with guilt lost not on time, wriggling its way under our fingers, as we do under cover of privacy. Holding in desires, making sure the armor is still holding out against the life we had chosen to architect.

Yet the paradox holds true, where life and sin are the same with intentions wrapped in ignorance, to justify doing harm. Self determined social hierarchical traits, never assigned rationally, since objectivity is taught with a set of rules in mind.Walking out humble paths, in and out of youthful mindsets, juxtaposed with furious destructive wrath. Going nuclear on past hurts, that can’t be amended, a vendetta against those that would make today less loving for those whom we’d collapse empires for.

Walking in and out of the void, contradictions abound, homeostatic paradoxes ever changing. Adjusting to realities infinitive’s, we talk a moment to know that we are under grace, under the watchful eye of these sermons we have to tell ourselves.

This paradise walked alone, echoing thoughts of of heavenly intentions formed not yet recognized by sanity, thinking about thinking about an idea, not thought since a billion moments ago. Where past malicious intents we’re told they could stay, cause maybe they’d give us a reason to have a reason.

Yet the other side of the coin flips into existence, never bound by restrictive common place of the localities we chose to grace. Individual thought forms might dislocate immediate goals to deference not previously assessed, the infinite begins to manifest. And maybe we’ll flip into thoughts never held truer, but engage fears never thought needed to be dealt. We are bigger than universes collapsing a billion million stars, and that’s in our eyes.

What might seem like the mystery we never wanted to solve, becomes the mystery we hold and never Want to let go. As we walk the plank over the void, falling into nothing we can rationally contain let float the wonders of the paradox. Living inside the difference inside the unknown, like pioneers seeking no more than the place we never knew could be known.

Left, Faisal

Trouble will Find me

This is strange.
This is barely going to be coherent.
This is sobriety taking hold of every aspect of my being and question whether or not my life can handle this infinite idea once again.
This is verily the time which i will take as the paths cross at the point of all consuming thoughts.
This is how it has alway been, the fury of the subatomic transmutation calling unto my life to change everything.
This is what it looks like as i gaze into the color changing eyes of cats leading to arteries lined with the joys of butter and cheese.
This is what becomes of my ego as it questions why things are as they might be.
This is who i become when i’ve been given too many reasons to keep on keeping on.
this is not honesty built through my own destruction.
This is reality collapsing all around me, trying to divine a truth that even the baritones of a tall white man can’t negate.
This is not me accepting what is and moving on.
This is something fighting back against every aspect of my reality i know I have to consider.
This is the unfamiliar pang of the universe telling me I if I want I can take all of it.
This is the line I dared not cross.
This is where I’ve never really considered beyond a version of myself i buried a long time ago.
This is not fair, to the entitled parts of me, the glacial artifacts of a past not held to any regard but to hold up compassionate structures.
This is that place in time history where admitting victory and confidence don’t do much but misconstrue disadvantaged youths.
This is the last time.
This is where trouble will find me.
This is the soundtrack start something bigger than anything I could ever have imagine possible as my former self.
This is going to be vindictive and brash, and frightening to everyone and everything around me.
This is the system mapped to our base existences set a blaze with the fury of one, pissed off enough to want something different.
This is violence questioning its limited fruitfulness.
This is admitting I have no idea what I’m doing, and guessing a whole lot.
This is a place where I never expected to be, never expected to know beyond the typing of a keyboard.
This is hindsights rearing its head, showing me what I’ve been up to, the last few year.
This is excepting that time is relative and money is pizza.
This is listening to your own noise at the air port giving you a headache.
This is waiting for a secret meeting, bound up in supervision of familial trust.
This is showing them everything hoping they’re accepting of the fact that you’re not all together just yet.
This is wanton desire to burn brighter than the sun, just for yourself.
This is wanting to as much as light will allow for ay any given moment.
This is life converging at all times, reminding me, there is no such thing as time to do the next thing, to moment better than right not to do everything there is to do.
This is why trouble will find me
This is how I might fall into the All- Mighty’s eternal graces, praying i might be as I hope I might be.
This is what it is.


Desolation Sermon Vol. 2 : Pandora’s Dreamscape

The books will end with nothing more than questions about which chapter really happened, while questioning nothing but the how it could have been done slightly differently with precisely the same outcome. Ruminating thought forms waiting to be passed around the dinner table of closest critics, loaded with embellishments and dreams along the side. Playing the music of yesterday over razor blade fire coal walks of tip toed zen like ignorance.

Trains ridden through the end of days, concocted by overlords just looking for the biggest numbers, to fit the idea of something in their heads. Victim to self actualized explorative non sequiturs with no real vision for where to go next but up above and all around the visages of old gods born anew. Vivisecting the subcultures of cultures to understand under ideal lenses whether or not everyone else thinks their cool or not. Unbeknownst to one another’s missing burdens the remnants of old thoughts dusted off and reused anew.

Claiming we were once pioneers was a nice way of reminding those who’d never remembered what if felt like to feel a new, that leading the way hurt a lot more sometimes than reusing the old tried and true. Relative to their thirst for adventure of course, possibly of the flesh, occasionally of the mind, but mostly to fill the time, to stop the narration and recollection of moments once had. Tested incessantly for the scale tips where the philosopher grants most the voodoo through visages of self.

Claims upon ideas from ideas and concepts that assign idealic variations where the skin meets fire, mediating fellowships when it was presumed that time could be made to stand still. Crayon line markers, assuming no one can see them, peppered in and out of self imposed determination, revisited only by the alley cats scratch. Fault lines, but tectonics sometimes have to do with this, possibly more? Who knows?

Convinced that existence thrives on rational understanding of meerkats natural habitats will lead to curious doubt’s of college acceptance. Assigned cardinalities on unlike criteria giving context to “never agains” or the occasional misinterpreted endearing stare, no apologies for trying to be repugnant. Failing to grasp fundamental aesthetics for archetypal infrastructures, the glass will bend, while the metal should shatter.

Sentimental myth breaks reality into manageable mush, spoon fed the minted symbols of modern times refusal to be swayed by anything but things to wipe their asses with. Parted seas of ungrateful foresight recouped by vented sterilization chambers on land no one REALLY owns. Commodified necessities relishing their right to quantify the incalculable here and now, fraught with sinking comparisons to yesteryears post structural pedagogy.

The box was really a vessel for the inconceivable ideas implanted by the God’s to introduce flaws to our already perfect outlooks. Unwilling, but all to able to reconcile the day and age where we as for our humanity back from the beyond this firmware currently wreaking havoc on systems beyond repair. Written to introduce haste to matters of the eternally in flux, hoping it might one day end just to let peace and the good name misused by time, die.

Melatonin fortnights of hallucinatory background noises trying to find the way back to inception, following the bread crumb scars through Hephaestus’ creations. Belief rendered absolute to resolve any outstanding tickets to manage curiosity’s without paying into the laws of thermodynamics. Kick drums flare up, slamming, vibrating, changing everything just to make sure memory will lapse, persistent in knowing exactly how it is.

Original sin will creep back into life’s best surprises, when leaving things as they might be never resolves the feelings of wanting and lust. Black thoughts scour the pieces of the soul occasionally forgotten, living in that peaceful place, beyond the dreamscapes neurological bonds, Far from times erosion. Attempting for but a moment to enjoy the sights…

Yet the buzzer will sound with enlightenment upon the crown, so close, it will seem to ignore the cacophony that myth breaks. The wavelengths imbibing what is, with photons and steadiness of sight not seen behind the crimson decay, letting in the movies never deemed worthy of viewing. What questions may come? As lightness reveals the shadow was just lost. A part of that story, the one too familiar to give up, changes ever so slightly.

Grain no longer indicative of quality, just a healthy reminder if Pandoras gift. Alive as we might be, fuck up we will occasionally, but never more than believing that the story is what we might be. To borrow A saying, “Rage against the dying of the light” do not let phosphorescence fool, true light is eternal and absolute. Generated beyond the nightmares, beyond the boxes we know can rift, it will dim only as myth takes hold. Should that be the case, might the heaviness remind the body to shake the dust, out from the above the eye lids as particles flew away as the idea whither and float with the wind.

Wild is the world inhabited by prehistoric tendencies, tame lies the world labeled for SIGINT, to decipher the watch lists never taken off. Take a walk outside, the world is life, beauty and infinity embodied inside a collection of adventitiousness, sometimes flowers, other times the sunset. Forgive them for not being the end all solution, for holding the scattered pieces together enough only to validate some tertiary things. Love might just be a word, but its who we are, so lets start to mean it.


True, true...

True, true…

Desolation Sermon Vol. 1: Sanities Requiem

Woke up feeling disconnected, as though the universe was just off by about 10 centimeters. Each milometer distorting reality further and further into delusions of grandeur… or insignificance, not sure, really the connections are severed. Its like the all the mantras singing and repeating as they arise from the lullabies of yesteryear’s post coital realizations, coming to the finite point of nothing.

The World will ask “where to?” today, and all that can be generated: anywhere that’s not here. Filling the air with cliches about sitting around being busy with nothing, cause busy is better than quiet alone with thoughts that seem to only evolve in their elaborate creative demise. The more elaborate the more complex the explanation of the fall. Maybe so complex in fact, the explanation is the maddening descent into the primary exhibition of self interrogation, doubting the doubts ability to accurately not know something.

Suffocating under the collapsed pillow forts of days gone by, questioning the worthiness of extracurricular nap times that don’t seem to end. Playing: ring around the issues of our dead, filling our heads with questions no one will ever need answers to, but ask anyway cause what else is there to do? Bearing in mind that triumph through necessity isn’t a feeling that’s particularly useful it reminds the players of the cool, never to stay too long, never to intrude on what already was.

Self imposed cynicism through, contradictory disintegration of systems that were built to hold one another hands, yet fell through the cracks of kingdoms and role based org structures. No amount of delegation imbibing these empty sets of rumination’s and assumptions to radical ideological change. Never too big to be a cog in a system that can’t be controlled through logical protocols or what the business wants.

“The night is darkest just before the dawn”, is bullshit. The darkness is perpetual and lives in the day as well, teaching the rules of light and how finite it might be. No one loses themselves in the dark anymore, the fear of never being found overwhelms a sense of faith that seems to know where to go but just isn’t loud enough to explain, to narrate.

Once in a while the dark will consume. Once in a good long while, while forgetting that time is a constant always changing never in flux, it’ll wriggle in between the quiet to live as the soul does, while holding its best impressions of what could be better. Reminiscing about the worst of times, because the best of times will maybe invoke something better, and who could possibly want that? Who could want something that might seem okay in the end anyway, where’s the fun if self-immolation isn’t a thing?

When the boredom hits, the cascade of incessant self-delusions of grandeur dance around the nights sky, concussing the empty space, with gravity pulling it below the surface of the daylight, keeping the long days blind. Tell them all it’ll be alright, when the molecules inside won’t hold together, as they try to explode out of every part of natural existence. They’ll be called hypocrites for trying to go against what they feel as the natural order to things. They’ll believe but it won’t feel like enough.

Enough, the all elusive goal, never picked up or achieved or sensed to be deemed a legitimate gateway into the prehistoric caverns we only occasionally explore to echo the sentiments of travelers too frightened by it to enter but bellow to see what screams back. The feedback fissures homeostasic pockets of sanity that might hide behind stalagmites of mistrust succumbing to gravity’s call. It will close in maybe a decade due to instability and general inaccessibility, but the tickets of the fall from grace will sell faster than Fleetwood Mac on a reunion tour.

Tempting as it may seem, excavation will cost 4 lives, multiple super compute clusters, and a reimagined Pangaea. So the mystery will stay buried like a hipsters wet dream too cool to talk about, cause no one will know, except the all knowing, but sometimes maybe even that’s ignored. Maybe finally someone might not fall to folly, go expect anything more than the flowers that grow from below, all the colors cross pollinating from thoughts decaying.

Yet as buried it may be, under millions of lifetimes passed, the molten flow of its contents eventually erupt out as a problem with the source code reemerges as tectonic shifts task themselves with bringing everything to light, while the compiler try’s to fight through the nested loops to find itself decompiled again. Everything comes back to the light until only the desolation remains, floating across the snow to remind the moisture it must once again evaporate.

What was lost, never really was, but always just a text message away, not sought after, but deemed necessary as water flows. Nothing will change this, these are facts of undeniable dishonesty, of falling into a star hoping to be forged a new. Continue along young padawan, let the Darkside consume you, maybe one day the questions will be answered, maybe you’re mind might leave you alone.

White night....

White night….


Sunday afternoon dining table workstations
trying to sort through imagination
developing a shitty application
to increase visibility.

Trying to remember whether or not I’ve got my macros
my muscles ache from trying be tamed again
supplements encroaching on need based
maybe I’ll just eat eggs all day.

Slush puddle game strong with it bottomless lakes sprawling the dense driveways
shoveling won’t do shit but disprove the theory that those boots waterproof
maybe you should have just been okay with letting them melt and evaporate
or maybe you just had nothing better to do, pushing it ain’t doing shit.

Procrastinating myself into a stupor
test scripts screaming out: passed
but really i don’t know it
cause they all failing.

Appreciating sunlight after snow drifts falling and crawling across highway nights
wasn’t trying to over take that ambulance that was driving all together too slow
but snow fell faster than my tires could tell them they aren’t new no more
Sixty miles through that shit, and all I let myself have; fries.

French spy parodies bringing a semblance of sanity back into my life
we’re all a little ridiculous, but our delusions are our own
I know the world won’t accept such things readily
but they gave him an Oscar a few years later.

Angst ridden pits of anxiety and perplexed conscious insufficiency readily inside
we take steps to over ride them, sometimes lie, sometimes getting really high
but most days all it takes is a couple breaths and few notes from Rubab
i’ll play them indefinitely, someday they’ll make sense again.

The slow hum of the organ plugging away, i still can understand how to play
concussed with pulsating theories about how i should spend my days
the low echo of the reverb reminded me that today won’t stay
while tomorrow and yesterday are already gone.

Happiness reminds the occasional thought, the ones refused by time and memory
the home movies repeatedly projected behind my visual cortex indefinitely
soundtracks ruled by the shuffle button iTunes never really figured out
maybe its okay I’m this way, maybe I won’t hurt anyone else.

Sunlight creeping onto this carbon catastrophe
they really should figure out all this glare
but I’m no engineer, they’re smarter
Dammit they have one track minds

Remind me again Words, why I Do this to myself
set arbitrarily out to prove something wrong
looking for the idea that no one knew
but really it was me the whole time.

Narcissism creeps along the hallowed line of self evidence of heart and mind
I’m no spiritual teacher, but I see the thoughts creep as I’ve fallen behind
lost the spark to remind the entire system, lost time it couldn’t wait to die
maybe one day it’ll be easier, or it’ll be the same, i don’t know

Finger tips and cuticles covered in crusty scabs the even crabs won’t hold down
no matter what I do I’m reminded of the idea that I am never completely there
sometimes I let the parasympathetic take over and rule for a little bit
gently reminding me that I just live in this body its got rules too.

Physical world reminding me that spirit stronger than matter
caring a little bit more about doing the best that can be
the best is what it is but it ain’t a standard i can set
I’m talking mad, trying to convince myself second is OK.

Waves oscillating as they always will telling my mind that even writing takes time
these text documents fill them selves with macros and unsolicited data sets
readying ourselves for the truth of the matter as it would  matter to us
it not as obvious as it seems, sometimes i just want to flat line.

Sit up straight they’ll tell you to command the respect of gentleman
of men with more power and stature and financial standing than you
breathing the words they’ll regurgitate condescendingly back
but i’m just sitting here sequencing symphonies in my head.

Some day I’ll remember why I memorize the numbers in my head
maybe they’ll tell me the meaning of life one day
possibly sign my the warrant for my arrest
or very possibly: they’re just numbers.

Stomping grounds of yesterday’s decades past, filled with inconsistent safety nets
blindly walking around this mess as of normalcy, jealous of their contentedness
I got lucky enough to never want what everyone else had, maybe I’m just tired
either way I’m not wishing to return, the haunt doesn’t curse any more.

I’ll believe in the mercy of the almighty more than I believe it will ever be fore me
I’m just a vessel for words and pointless thoughts concussing this keyboard
I’ll dull the feeling of anything more, pointless trying anything else really
maybe It’ll take me longer to remember what I’m doing than doing it.

Elder in the Russian mob, sitting where the barber’ll cut my brothers hair
the tats and the ring are giveaways, beyond that it’s in his eyes, I see
wish he’d just been the grandpa of second generations immigrants
keeps trying to kill me with his eyes, wouldn’t be surprised.

Myth takes, as I finally get to use the words from songs that always mean more
mixing around like the brownie batter that’s altogether too much chocolate
they’re not what they used to be the things that held reality up
they don’t need to be anymore, we are the children of the dirt.

I won’t proofread this
Might reread it

Falling heavy

Falling heavy


Eerie, smoky alley I can’t help but walk down, as I look for
the lost souls of the light people, lost to the negative space. They hide in
unfortunate phone calls and rusty bicycles, the ones we can always ignore,
attention would bring memory back to a fading world. Hidden in plain sight, the
very thing I seek is lurking behind the dumpster that you threw that cherry
bomb in that one time. Really it was two cherry bombs, and 3 smoke grenades all
tied at the wick just to see if you could get the lid to fly off.

It was always about
the run though. To see how far you could get before you heard that burst of the
lid and the faded hues of the red, yellow and blue smoke billow out from 3
blocks away, because you’ve managed to run faster than you thought you knew
how. Even as a fat kid skateboarding, sucking down oxygen faster than should be
allowed, the thrill of being one of belonging to something I knew would have to
end, driving the engine that was my confused existence.

The smoke in the alley isn’t of gun powder and burning chalk
though is it, it’s from the decay of the warm flesh all around, being torn to
bits by the decay of the cold, dark night. I look behind to see the decades of
wear and maintenance left abandoned to the elements of the cold city night,
holding still the remnants of regret and acceptance, never reconciled to be
seen as one in the same, past. The wafting scent barely noticeable behind the
thoughts of the memories they conjure, rapaciously getting to the point for
which I stand in such a place.

I never thought this is what I’d see when I’d let go. Taking
the leap into a future of things and “almost had its.” Thought of the memories
but the sights of the dark side of the soul would illuminate in the only place
the feels like home, the vast cavernous emptiness of a city alley, or block,
where everyone can watch from their apartment buildings and their commutes that
waste them so much time. Crushing confectionary objects of vivid super sensory
appeal, while swiping right to feel something once again, as they walk staring
in excitement as they now have a story to fly high above their mast of
connections and perceived plateaus.

This place FEEL’s like home. But home’s not real, it’s just
a figment of a habitual pattern that would resemble something like determination,
scarcely leading into habit that could be mistaken for hope, quickly reminded
that it’s just wishful mis-perception of inaccurate assumptions. It’s an
enticing thought to think, never really acknowledging that this place I’ve
never been, but feels more alive with the deterioration of the world that felt
like it would always just end.

Like driving around in a cab with a former model who
reminded you that the world will always try to fuck you, looking for a place to
sleep. Maybe for one night, maybe two? Sitting there with my entire life in a
duffel bag, and my world in a backpack, I’m reminded that that sitting there
felt better than the bed in the house trying really hard not to kill me but not
trying to stop anyway. So nowhere seems like a good place. To sleep, to dream.

This alley will have to do. I’ve managed to come this far,
how much more will I decipher in an effort to define where it is that I think I
am? Time will continue to pass as I search for the ultimate question to get the
ultimate answer. Only to be told it lives at the tip of my tongue, between the
moments I look at a bright sunny day, while the cool summer wind dances across
my face whispering the jokes God forgets to mention that life is sometimes.
Yes, the razor wind of the alley blows intensely through this valley of annihilation
I’ve chosen to walk, and these are the things I remember, the good times, while
I search for the worst.

The smell grows faint as the physical world returns back to
its realist form, the progressive decay of everything that was once built.
Sustained by external prescriptions of sprays, pills, and the promise of a comfortable
life, the medication everyone knows is killing them, continues to be refilled
for the fear of anything else filling the crater of that void that explodes
into the dust cloud that could haunt your tomorrows. Its smell is fading. The
normality settles into the brackets of the threshold unconcerned with the end
point sought, as a conscious life, dims its ideological waves as the room

I think I’ve taken ten steps, each one another person I’m
forced to become as this alley’s jagged ground, rattles the pieces of a
consistent mind as the end draws closer. Harder and harder to keep up with the changes, as interactions are repeated through the fog of self-hindrance, guided by blind acceptance of the unknown guiding the unknown, where could it lead? Nobody knows.

Bad jokes are the only language left to speak. Simplicity
lacks context, with its implied subtlety, but maybe sometimes we mean what we say. But we’ve fucked around with it, trying to get it to make sense, and what we think sticks, sticks. The mush of the ground unstable below as the words seem to seep deep into my psyche, without leaving treads along the way.

Habitual over indulgence of negative absolution has left me empty to the voices I know can remind me that from the darkness comes the light. As the lone light of the alley fades its easy to see the logical missteps of breaking things down into their logical paradigms of the pointless meanings sought to impress the next unimpressed perceiver of false accounts.

The fogs thickened, when I wasn’t paying attention. The door i’d forgotten was my final destination doesn’t seem as fun to get to anymore. I’ve been worn inside and out and there’s nothing left of what was there those times of powerful resentment of incongruous outcomes. Shaken to my core, the insert button still hasn’t been turned off, everything overwrites the half finished code that would execute a protocol to become something solidly rickety.

“Breathe” the pores of my skin scream, as the nerves fire adrenaline straight to what I can’t see, becoming plainly obvious that where I am is road I chose never to always be. I wanted to visit the valley of the shadow of death to die in front of myself, not inside myself. There is a beating in my chest once more, one more pulse, I’ll try not to give in, but I’ve already sprinted three blocks back the other way. I haven’t yet taken a breathe, but the smoke behind me rises painting the cloud over the fog I thought I could tempt. Far enough I’ll fade, into anything that seems okay. Fade, and fade, as memories do, I will follow. As I fade into something. New maybe, but mostly what I need.

Clouds bleed, sometimes.

Clouds bleed, sometimes.

Days Late but a Little More Thankful

For the things I’m thankful for, I give everything I can. I

For everything that I’m grateful for, there are a million and
a half things that I always forget to acknowledge.

Here are a few…

The cracks in the sidewalk that serve as reminders that lava
flows even in New York.

The snow that makes me as excited as seeing an old friend
for the first time.

The sun bouncing across horizons, as a train pushes forward
to a destination I never expected.

The ability to walk down the street and feel my muscles
tense as I can feel that my body is working.

The breaths I take to remind myself that everything is in
its right place.

The emotions I feel when I realize I haven’t felt them in a
while, again like an old friend but maybe with this one I chose not say anything.

The time waiting on the escalator when I get off the train before I have to walk down the street to my desk, the song’s that I’m able to cram into the journey to coffee.

The benches I need during the spaces in my day that let me sit down and fade.

The neighborhoods, that never remain the same, but the people that always are always hiding the pain, reminding us we’re all one in the same.

The fact that Muji ball point pens are just viscus enough with their ink that they glide better than almost anything that’s come before.

The text messages that come out of nowhere, and smack you in the face with a grin you can’t help but show off.

The evenings when nothing makes sense, and you’re friends decide to just come out to shoot the shit while in agreement that we’re fucked up, but that’s okay.

The things on the internet that I read that knock the wind out of me, I didn’t that… who am I kidding, of course I did.

The people I meet that I never would have dreamed I could just a few years ago, the adventures in hilarity, or just sitting there.

The walnut brownies that fuck me up, but I still eat them cause they’re powerful, anyway.

The incredible impulse to live overriding the impulse to be safe, safety is kept for the ones I love, I can’t afford it.

The nuances of not knowing when I’m Falling into oblivion, but inevitably finding my way out.

The needles that hold together my mind after weeks of explosions and out of context conversations, the hour of silence in which I find refuge.

The time I spend marveling at the leaves as they slowly change their pigment, abdicating to the natural way of their existence.

The hazard lights as they blink while I wait for an unending amount of time outside for someone I love coming in and join me on an adventure I couldn’t help but follow.

The space between moments when I’m consciously able to put words on paper, that gives me the voice to say something the next time.

The thoughts that I cannot seem to get out pointing me towards the things I should say or should have, I’m not sure anymore.

The flowers growing in the planter set in the middle of the this effigy of the end of humanity.

The routine that is never the same, random people here and there, but always puts me back in the same place.

The rain as it hits the windows as it rides the wind like an old companion down to the sound shop where it will trade speed for the sound it will make.

The assumptions people have made about who I am, keep guessing, cause I don’t even know.

The laugh that my mother gives when she’s truly more happy than concerned with one thing or another.

The warmth I feel when even my limited idea of a family is happy just smiling with one another.

The confused bewilderment my brother is able to remind me of every time he shows me he’ll be alright with just smiling.

The cat as she sits with me, while we eat our breakfasts of turkey and eggs.

The Batista with the awesome hat, who likes Oscar Wao , and seems to always be smiling.

The books that teach the ways of the mechanics of the mind, reminding me to go easy on my so unreasonable taxation that I’ve levied with heavy fines.

The coffee that I shouldn’t drink anymore, cause its just a habit now, one of simplicity within the complex.

The uncharacteristic frankness that I unknowingly have become accustomed to, many call it being too blunt, I call it a blister after being rubbed the wrong way too much.

The Boosh, cause one does not know joy unless they can appreciate the sublime glory of multi role screen time.

The alt key, because the amount of alt+tabbing that I require on a daily basis is truly disgusting, but fascinating nonetheless.

The fights I get into over the fact that I’m not as happy as I should be, It’ll happen when it happens, I know that.

The pain that reminds me that I a complex series of processes, governed by laws I understand but can’t even being to explain, reminding me sometimes to stand still.

The consistency of a hard drive that won’t fail, really though its about the stickers I get to cover them in afterwards.

The Everyone who I can no longer sit, lay, or tell stories with, those times happened, I might wish there were more, but all I need were those (sometimes toothless) smiles.

The haze that accompanies my body everywhere it goes, floodlighting the obvious, I’m alive.

The fact that I feel like nothing I ever do is finished. It always has something to be followed up on, a snare that needs tightening or a mix that needs, well, proper mixing. It baffles me so that, it takes me so long to write out these lines, probably because phones are conducive to focused sit down writing, but that’s all I have most of the time. Than again, I could have no time. No period of occasional wellness that puts me in the position to even put two words together, albeit, while waiting for one thing or another.

It makes my willingness tempered and expected to falter, for: “What’s the point?”

To which I must be reminded: “Whats not?”

Love, be, and remember to live to live. Not for any one/thing/else.


I am Alive

I am Alive

Its just Guy love (and Love in General)

They done did it.

They done did it.

I’m sitting here, I should be shivering my face off. Its finally gotten cold in mid-November. Finally, as if I was looking forward to air biting me as i walk down these monolithic streets ignoring every sensory explosion I relive, with every step I take.

But I’m not shivering, hell I’m not even feeling remotely tense, my hat my have been the wrong choice, a slouch, but because of the lack of static electricity generated to produce any sort of warmth, though, but it has always looked cool.

So, I’m sitting here un front of this incredibly modern piece of art, in front of the aptly placed MOMA across the street. What the hell am I doing here, aside from attempting to fulfill and unrequited death wish I’d hoped dispersed years prior.

Well as it so happens, there is work to be done, and words written for people i find so easy to neglect and so hard to ever not love. In particular one persons, or better yet a single whole.

I cannot claim to understand humans, as well as people far more qualified than myself. I mean thats just what they do, though i do take a morally insensitive stance towards looking at them. I mean there’s very little I can truly grasp that the next person that passes me by won’t immediately refute because such is the wonderful randomness of the people I meet.

So, it goes without saying, that I make a lot of grandiose statements about infinity and the fantastic insignificance towards the fact that I bring nothing to the table of this existence.

I feel some days I’m not meant to even belong for my existence is so small ,so infinitesimally bleek in the pantheon of rational thought that, that maybe I would be better served thinking about the inconceivably insignificant, as to appreciate the things that I can’t seem to affect.

Then I think about the insignificant things I never thought I’d be able to appreciate, until it was too late to accept the incredible awe and wonderment that it was while it was there.

Now i may sound like I’m waxing poetic about my own self loathing indignations that i’ve managed to assault myself with. But no this is the truth about the person, who i know to be better, kinder, smarter, and more tolerant of the world, and grounded in a sort of zen in what needs to be done sometimes.

My best friend, now i’ve been using that phrase a lot lately. My right hand as it was for the longest time. I’m not exactly sure what we’ve had to accept and become over the last year alone, i mean we were supposed to have finished a couple albums, and a concept EP by now. But here we are.

Barely, really nothing under our belt except maybe a couple of sampled times while utilizing the street outside my house or the park across the street from yours. The tracks were never really reason we got together, just really an excuse to work together on a thing neither of us had really delved into.

Thats just what we’ve always done though isn’t it. Just jump right in, bright eyed and bushy tailed to fields neither of us could have ever comprehended.
But always having each others proverbial backs. Didn’t matter if it was the occasional existential crisis about how we could possibly be part of the machine we’d always talked about we’d never be a part of but alas here we are working away.

When our hearts were shattered, for one thing or the other, falling inconceivably for the right person at the wrong time, time after time (mostly me really), thank you man. I know i can be an overly emotional ball of what the fuck, and how the fuck did we manage to get here, but you’ve always held yourself firm even in the face of maddening situations and scenarios.

I mean seriously how the hell did we manage to get almost robbed or robbed in the strangest moments.

Or how our own inconceivable naiveté always managed to do things with some sort of disdain, yet you could always hold the wonder and amazement more than I ever could. Cause you saw just a bit more than I did, as I sit behind these crimson glasses i can’t help but cut up everything in my head. You keep me sane man, so again thank you for that.

I love you Brother, because through every insane turn life taken mean more importantly us, we were.

Now, though you say it won’t, you must keep all those things you hold together and give it about 150% more to another person, even though i don’t approve of this overly wishy washy Xanthan gum level of overly excessive and partially self loathing level of emotional acquiescence.

She loves you more than anything and I totally understand why. So I need for you to do me a favor man. I need something from you selfishly, and without protest. Its a request I often relegate to making myself work at but I won’t trust anyone but my most trusted with it.

I request, as all men who seek nothing more than the joys of those around them would hopefully ask. A request I can’t must up the heart to say, and so keep putting expository words in front of one another in an attempt to delay the words being scribbled across this notebook as i sit here on this train.
A request that could change a person, in the time it took for a street light to change. A request so specific and unlike me, with all my fucked up subtlety and warpedness i can’t seem to fuck up saying.

By the powers vested in my by nothing and no one, through the 25th circuit court of wherever, I need to be by the sounds that carry in this universe perpetually, infinitesimally and the beauty that i can’t even begin to describe in words, as they would not do it justice, by my God’s will and so on and the such.

I request that you Love.

Love as if time stopped and eternity was a tiny midi keyboard you plugged into all the sounds of life in all the moments that ever were in that moment that this moment that time had frozen.

Love like gravity on earth wasn’t a fixed constant of acceleration, that you could feel it anchor you as if falling into the sun. A million Billion kinds of chemical reactions wouldn’t understand how not to perfectly acquiesce as you love her til the end of everything. Because the relativity of time should not stop you either, I hope you even love at the tip of a singularity so the love you have can never fade, for it will never end as gravity well will let you drink in each other for eternity and beyond.

Never let the little things get in the way either, but use them as the things to remind you to always love. Don’t not love life, cause sometimes it really hard, I know, but with you the you two there’s enough strength, power, (and most important of all) because of that love and care feel ever so rare these days.

Love the adventures, the unwanted,sometimes unpleasant. And never let having to NOT love some parts, change your love. Never let things that love cannot spread with dilution, it is there an it should always be.

To my best friend, through the thick and the thin (Literally), thank you for being there, and with all the love I can give, congratulations mother fucker!

And don’t think I forgot about you, Miss.
She who turned my best friends into one of the best people, thank you for everything you’ve done.

I already loved you as much as I love Ed, but if I missed any of that love through my own misadventures and sometimes overly confusing life, I give that you as well.

You two are the best, and if you know anything about me, its that I keep my standards obscenely high: my standards don’t come close to who you two really are. Congratulations kids.

So much of it.

So much of it.