Monday, February 28, 2022

THE MUTISTIC ANSWER MYSTIQUE

grief is cold, loss dark, regret stings, memories bark,
fears simmer, judgments stab, reminders niggle, wounds scab,
sadness heaves, time crawls, life dulls, skies squall,
desperate days, empty nights, tormented dreams, fate bites,
reaching bottom, despair ignited, search for answer, hope excited,
grace descends, answer given, must grasp, relief driven, 
solution dangles, answer wanes, can’t escape, reality chains,
grief is cold, loss dark, regret stings, memories bark,
fears simmer, judgments stab, reminders niggle, wounds scab,
patterns form, ruts made, nothing gained, no one saved.

Sunday, February 6, 2022


OBSERVING BLUE

The alien had never seen blue and that’s why it came here.
It knew, as a matter of fact, there’s very little blue in the universe and yet
this one place was covered with it. Some might ask why?
But the alien didn’t ask such questions. It didn’t think like that.
It was more interested in observing than thinking.
It knew thinking stopped the process of observing.
In the alien’s experience, it always knew more when it simply observed
and by knowing more it then made better choices of what to observe.
One thing the alien liked best about observing was unintended consequences.
The main thing unintended was how much more it discovered
than it ever imagined it would when it simply observed completely.
And the trip to Earth to see blue did not disappoint in that regard.

The alien was astounded to find so much more than blue to look at while here.
It knew that observing anything closer brought out more detail, and so it came near.
The nearer it got, the more it found. The more it found, the more it observed.
The more it observed, the closer it came. The closer it came, the more amazed it was.
It scanned for local concepts to match all the newness it saw.
It discovered mountains and buildings and tigers and airplanes,
it absorbed the notion of submarines and lawnmowers and diet pills and handguns,
it amazed at placentas and mitochondria and phlegm and apoptosis,
it encountered butter and balloons and ballerinas and buses, 
it perceived cascading style sheets and trestles and wing nuts and tee-pees,
it realized plasma and coral and bungee-cords and emojis,
it detected volcanoes and crystals and rainbows, and so much more.
Even with the alien’s advanced powers of observation, this was a lot to fathom.

And then the alien scanned something quite peculiar.
This thing was universally used by the planet’s dominate species of life
and yet despite being ubiquitous, this something was malleable to the extreme.
There was no one concept or use for it. Everyone took it to mean something different.
Everyone applied the concept in a way that suited them best despite
what others felt it meant or even what they told others it meant to them.
This thing promised to be something to behold, much more interesting than blue.
But beholding this thing was a problem. It had so many uses and definitions.
It couldn’t be seen or measured or transported in the alien’s spacecraft.
The alien could only observe this through the experience of the planet’s dominant species.
As such, it was an anomaly, something taken to be so meaningful or useful,
so universally known, and yet so disparate in its scope, application, and power. 
At any given time it could be purpose, influence, feeling, leverage, concern, manipulation,
devotion, desire, beguilement, attachment, or reproduction, and so much more.
The alien needed to observe more of this thing called love.

The alien swept the planet, gathering billions of impressions,
sampling every which way how this thing called love got manifested.
It was strange to observe how much of what happened on the blue planet 
was entirely immaterial, existing nowhere but in transient energy patterns called
thought and feeling, all of which ebbed and flowed with no certain justification.
The alien observed beliefs and behavior, deliberate motives and subconscious intentions, 
sincerity and pretense, all of which had instantaneous valences, values that often changed
in a moment. The alien saw how these creatures called people could say one thing 
and think another while feeling something else. It was amazed how the agitated substrate 
of this immaterial energy played out as a fascinating but perplexing puzzle, 
particularly when it came to love. Incredibly, love was not one thing,
and not for one purpose only. There was self love, familial love, philial love, unrequited love,
agape love, affectionate love, romantic love, sexual love, obsessive love, even love of country.

At times, without objective evidence, love was qualified as true love which implied 
there existed love that wasn’t true. True love to some was unconditional love 
and yet true lovers had to make conditional vows to each other to ensure 
their love was true and lasting. These vows sanctified their copulation henceforth 
as exclusive and special while negating all copulation with others before the vows 
as unimportant to the vows. This thing called love could be offered to another 
in pretense before the vows in order to achieve a willingness to copulate, 
then love could fade once the copulation act was done and no vows were necessary. 

Love could be inspirational, philosophical, hormonal, situational, universal, specific,
and exclusive vows of forever love in the present didn’t by necessity erase the forever love 
promised to others in the past, since it was totally fine to hold the past love in one’s heart 
even as one vowed exclusive love to another in the present. Romantic love could 
“sweep one off one’s feet” and oxytocin effects could create a delusional pair-bond 
which, when faded, revealed true incompatibilities and a mirage of love.
The vows of unconditional love didn’t require continuing to love if an affair 
broke the vows of fidelity. Brotherly love, universal love, all you need is love
God is love and everyone is a part of God, love conquers all made no difference 
if the vows to be exclusive with one’s genitals after a short ceremony were trammeled
by a single sexual liaison with another outside the vows. Sex with someone else 
in the present was unforgivable and hurtful and the worst betrayal because 
one’s genitals were conditionally promised to only one, even if those same genitals
had been shared many times with others before the promise. 
Love connected to sexual exclusivity only mattered in the present. 
One could experience as many love-sexual exclusivities as one wanted 
just as long as, for the sake of love, one reserved the genitals in line with current vows.
Some didn’t need vows to establish this exclusivity and relied on a civil contract instead.
Others eschewed vows and contracts and relied on person-to-person promises
which were only statements in the present that could be true for now but 
might change at any time for any reason deemed true subjectively.
Even lifetime vows and contracts were easily erased via the correct bureaucratic channels
and exclusive rights to one's genitals could be rented by the hour without love.
Love and intimacy were intricately linked but sex and love didn't have to be
but sex was linked to the exclusive vow of unconditional love,
and one who rented their genitals may not want to kiss their client
because kissing would be too intimate whereas
the sharing of genitals would not be,
but the act itself was often called making love.

The alien found it hard to settle on a consistent view of everything observed 
when it came to love. In some places on the planet, a person could romantically love 
someone as soon as they gained eighteen years of maturity, but not a day sooner.
In other places the age was sixteen, and there were places with even lower ages.
Loving them earlier was a crime. Loving too early or loving the wrong sex could be crimes, 
but not each place on the planet agreed about these crimes. Some people believed 
crimes of love meant eternal damnation after a person died and yet those who preached 
this policy were often just as guilty of these crimes. It was not a crime for a male
to be lovingly attracted to a female of the species, but if a male over a certain age 
was attracted to a younger female, that male was guilty of being a pervert, even though
younger males could express the same prurient interest and that would be flattering.
Older females were also disparaged if they found younger men lovingly attractive, 
but a younger woman finding the same man lovingly attractive was expected.
Some places allowed the same sex to love, others did not. Many people didn’t know
which gender they preferred since they saw themselves as both and any which way
they identified that day determined who must be attracted lovingly to them or else 
that person would be hated for not loving them, and hate was the opposite of love.
Other people said the only way to end hate was through love, but if you didn’t love
the way they wanted, then you would be hated. Even if you still had male genitals,
if you identified as female then those around you attracted to females needed to be
attracted to you. For some reason, unconditional love could not be exempt from the 
conditions of proper age and orientation, and of course children could only be loved 
one way, a platonic way, but not all ways, otherwise that was a crime and sin too.
People were encourage to love their neighbor but only some kinds of love
were permitted. A ritual day was even enshrined on the calendar devoted to love
and yet most actions taken on that day were dictated by commercial convention
aimed at profit and exclusively directed to only one kind of love, romantic love.
Why the day dedicated to love should only be about romance was unclear
since the other kinds of love were said to be held in equal or higher esteem.
People set up organizations to spread universal love but spent a great deal of time
calculating how much profit they would garner from it and hated those people
who interfered as competition for them. People presented
themselves as persons of love and drew large followings to hear the message of love
but they orchestrated ever more sophisticated ways to receive donations all the while 
they convinced some followers that heavenly love meant sexual love with them.
Even motherly love had a pathological side when smothering mothering
prevented the offspring from maturing. One thing was sure, virtually
everyone said they knew what love meant and used the word when it suited them.
Billions of these people still loved the Son of God, the ultimate example of incarnate love,
who, when he came to Earth, was promptly tortured and killed by a world 
full of people striving for love.

All of this was quite confusing for the alien, yet most interesting.
Here was a planet of unique and rare blue, a place unlike any other in the universe,
a remarkable oasis, a special gem of wonder where blue provided an aqueous medium 
from which a profusion of life had sprung forth in a myriad of creative expressions.
One dominant species ruled the planet by creating its own plenitude of devices
which people loved and obsessed over, and yet the alien observed a hungry restlessness 
and madness of conscious intent among this group. 
The alien didn’t think, it learned by observing, and it saw clearly that these people 
did not live in the blue, they could only live in places that weren’t blue,
and yet they fed off life in the blue. The alien could see where they were headed
and it wasn’t going to turn out well for them. Everywhere the alien looked it witnessed 
the massive confusion people had over their concept of love. It was obvious this concept 
was their attempt to self-correct their madness, and yet in their race to use love
for any and every purpose anyone had, ultimately they only managed to turn love itself mad.

The alien zapped its spacecraft out to the moon, a place without blue, without people,
without scrambled confusion and desperate emotion, without the enigma of love. 
The alien pulled back its wide-field scan, letting all but one observation subside.
It settled within itself and beheld the rare pearl of blue, the place that madness called Earth.
The experience of observing here was full of unintended consequences, 
and so the alien was pleased. But observing blue was what the alien came for 
and it knew blue would suffice. Everything else, the alien observed, 
was unsustainable.    

Friday, December 17, 2021


The Human Neurosis

A man had a relationship like no other. We’ll call him Adam.
He loved a woman who was so close to him she was a part of him.
We’ll call her Eve. Together they shared a garden of delight created for them alone.
Their time in Eden was paradise, unparalleled delight.
But someone else entered their garden and then there were three.
Eve was beguiled by this someone and soon was drawn 
to a part of Eden no one was allowed to visit.
There she gained a type of knowledge she wasn’t supposed to have.
She shared the location of this knowledge with Adam
and he too had his eyes opened and knew the forbidden.
Nothing was the same after that.
The knowledge made it impossible for either of them 
to remain in Eden and have the life they enjoyed before.
Outside of Eden they struggled to regain the feeling they once had.
But he knew that she knew that he knew that she knew.
Their counselor told them it was neurotic to dwell on it,
simply let it go, but how do you let go of a dream
that was more than a dream for once it was true and you lived it?
How could they let go of wanting Eden?
What in goddamn creation could they try to put in its place?
And the rest is history.

 

After the End

Razor future, sticky past.
A fuzzy now where nothing lasts.
Delusion of reference for all that matters,
Hallowed veil now in tatters.
Knot of eternity pulling tighter.
Light in shadow, darkness brighter.
Music swells, drowning the wails.
Memories to forget, lingering tales.
Making no sense, emotions strong.
Stuffing the soul, just go along.
Nothing to do to make it better.
Anima runs, so let her.

Monday, December 13, 2021

 
Dark Lightning

There’s nothing but cold silence after the battle. It rattles the heart.
Something ended and something is left eternal. Something has moved apart.
No one survived and only me, a ghost of myself, passes over the scene.
Not long ago there was passion and fury here,
passion of the body, fury of the spirit.
Both existed joyously before the battle started. 
Both continued achingly when hostilities commenced.
Both sides were right, both sides were wrong,
In the end neither side got what they wanted,
for war is not about redemption no matter what anyone says.
Each side had fervent soldiers who rallied and 
each side had civilians who hid away at home.
The soldiers were activating complexes of a feeling-toned drive,
they needed to risk all for the loftiness of their mythic cause.
The civilians prayed for peace in the now but remained conflicted
by a troubled past at odds with an idealized future 
that hope alone could not reconcile.
The two combatants were once united as close as can be,
they identified as one, they relished being together.
But then a dark wedge fell between them,
a bolt of black lightning, a crippling charge of horrendous fate.
It was nothing either of them could foresee,
but it was also nothing they would ignore.
A down spiral of attacks and traumas, reopened wounds 
and strategic retreats led them from argument to mortal combat.
They prayed they were fighting to restore the union they once had.
They felt they were fighting for the truth each held within. 
But their union and their truth simply could not coincide
with the dark wedge gouging out a space between them.
Overnight each night, traces of hope mixed with exhaustion between skirmishes.
They dreamed that victory or divine intervention simply had to appear
to rescue the situation, make a truce, and affect a miracle restoration.
But the stinging glare of morning always reappeared 
and the stone-faced ramparts were engaged again.
As before, slings and arrows were hustled into the fray.
Rage and shouts and bloody chaos escalated beyond all defenses.
Eventually, both sides outflanked the other and struck swift and true.
And now there is silence. No passion or fury to be felt.
The battlefield lays fallow. A dank afternoon fog rolls in.
Only ghosts are left to wander and dream of a love that once was. 

Sunday, December 12, 2021


Shank Rainbow Fugue

My God, this is really happening!
In a flash, rancorous lucidity reveals the world as it is, as never seen before.
Crass illusions in this place are solid in a way that sticks to your bones.
Prescriptive Goo smeared on delicate private parts by strangers in lab coats 
fulfills wishes for deliverance, or so the television says. 
Clarity flows through cracks in fluid objectivity in search of transparency. 
There are bars on the dirty windows of belief and someone is scratching to get in.
Why do the dead keep making noise on the stage where we rush to have our encore?
Individual core meaning is stranger than can be supposed.
Certainty in intellect lacks the odd seminal attractor, the necessary opening
to the creative option. An open heart’s pathetic sensitivity as holy mission pales
in the glare of brass facts. Only fools cast aspersions on the insanity 
of the thornless hybrid rose. Dare to fathom the shallowness of daily reality. 
Stroll among deep fake constructs grooming feckless souls for their blessed seduction.
They will never realize they’ve been seduced until they lie bruised and bewildered
oozing spunk and blood from places they usually hide from the world.
To save themselves from admitting shame they will proclaim the violation love.
They’ll harbor that love in a dear and wounded part of their shadow’s heart 
then shout the same guttural love into the face 
of the one who dares to bear witness to the crime.
There is no healing for the prescient divine madness of proclaiming 
psychotic profane indulgence as the standard role-model for a feared future.
Genuflect before the horny false idol of loving embrace. 
Revel in the phantom appreciation you make yourself believe in.
Feel how complete all of it turns out to be after being so completely a romantic delusion.
Rub your nose into yourself, six square inches of fetid shadow soil tumbling 
through a bottomless hole in route to a fabled Source advertised as everywhere. 
If something touches me I must go to the root of it, chasing a complete picture 
of attaching to non-judgment with subject matter that fails to logically focus. 
Allow the cut from the fine edge of allowing, a surrender of disassociation.
Wallowing is not finding balance yet off-center creative immersion be praised, 
be brave enough to assault your variations in valueless social toxicity.
The sympathetic magic of mercurial mood countermands an epidemic 
of boundary thickening spasms in light of finally found but wounded hidden places.
A whisper becomes a fading call to moral responsibility no longer recognized.
The insight is stark – fabled individuation is but the first step of shamanic initiation.
When achieved, one’s wholeness must next attempt to discover something authentic.
If nothing lasts then the value of seizing the authentic is a genuine distraction. 
My Self as Soul, if it dares to reflect on itself, is eagerly remanded to a clique of experts,
their cleverness abounds in the ruined temple of reflexive self-absorption.
If we’re all asleep and need to wake up then we risk losing the dream.
While sleeping we watch, while dreaming we expand,
deep magic or madness appears as tragic love held too close within.
Soul becomes a vacuous character in a passion play bent by delusional trauma.
The third eye looks within into spaces made from dimensions unable
to be understood by a wandering mind confined to itself and its projections.
Push where there is mush commands the manipulator.
Double-down-on-stupid rolls up and loops on the teleprompter.
The Ergriffenheit of dictated ideology is stamped on hypnotized consciousness.
We’re ruled by damaged children playing God with their genitals
as instruments of manifested will. Sacred predilections of our once holy magic 
disappear with formulation of an ego equation too long 
for people who live in the now to follow into their unconscious.
Teleology asserts quips from bygone sages, “if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.”
Delysid hits a glide path along 5HT2A in stormy crosswinds of delayed panic.
Shock impacts the cortex. Simplicity is realized as being most complex, 
complex in manifesting a removal of all that is not simple from its process. 
There is no easy way to affect simplicity and so easy is not simple, 
therefore simplicity is out of reach. Nothing remains but false starts of everything 
randomness has in store in another timeline we once wished for.
You can’t go back but nothing will let you leave it behind.
Try telling yourself you merely stray into your destiny as you rationalize your impulses.
Believe it simply because it’s absurd. Resurrect your hope that hope is more than wishful thinking.
Analogs of enlightenment only require a synthetic litmus test of faith.
Shout into the void where past lovers wait for you with eager sweat and groping satisfaction.
There is no escape from fate when we relish the prison of our desires.
Turn back to your future, make the attempt to leave the eternal now.
Now is the sticking place where all that you were makes you the one who loses yourself
when you succeed in letting go of the pain and bother in shame and regret.
Nowhere in this place exists the star that guides to the ideal state of contentment.
Cast aside your romantic illusions that one day such things can be realized.
Everything here is intent to prove the opposite. Everywhere time moves you
reflects the folly of your dreams. Give into the resistance pulling you apart.
Only by letting life have its lustful way with you will you have a chance to feel its love.
Life will convince you that such love is real and if you surrender your intimacy to it
you might be allowed to journey through your days in a mirage most pure.
For purity in life is coarse and raw, it exists only as a joyful euphemism that’s expedient.
It feigns as the hidden magic no one speaks about for it has no use here 
except when making wishes. It flows in jagged channels of sticky desperation. 
It feeds our dreams but starves our experience.
It gleams as a shard fallen from a rainbow and lodged in the heart.
It will stake you to the ground of being even as you feel chosen by it
as if sacred grace was destined to make you feel so complete.
There is nothing more special than desire fulfilled when the fulfillment is believed.
While belief is the key, believing ourselves is the magic trick without purity,
for however we manage to make ourselves believe in the elusive magic is good enough
to spark the illusion alive in a place such as this, a tortured realm 
of make-believe for everything that pretends-for-real something it wasn’t.
In time even the illusion fades and passes away. Passing days steal precious meaning 
from painful memories of that pure love in life that haunts us as the source 
of our neurotic tears. Of course we have no choice but generate it all again. 
A slave to wishes, we hold onto the new belief that the magic was real.
No no, it couldn’t have been oozing spunk and blood on the spreadsheets of our ecstasy,
It was true love connection (that wasn’t lasting)
it was tremendous intimacy (that retained no depth).
Each wish begets another as the shard of purity falls from the sky above us.
Whisper to ourselves – the rainbow was real, for a while it truly was a part of our now.
Turn your back on where it went and why it faded even if the wound in your heart persists. 
Try to realize, one dwells on anything but the shard at their peril. 
There is nothing to do but await the penetration of belief again, the piercing of the veil, 
the promise of the joyful euphemism striking the heart in a way only life can manage, 
a moment when bruised and bewildered you slide on icy roads and shout inside 
to the manipulating ghost of your ironic wish crashing over you,
My God, this is really happening!

Monday, December 6, 2021

Imago Guilty Soul Innocent

I enter an elevator on the 66th floor only to find 
a complete criminal court 
squeezed into the space and awaiting my arrival.
The proceedings are clear – I have to represent myself, 
no one else will stand up with me.
In the time it takes the elevator to descend to the lobby
I must make my case for why I feel about my life the way I do.
Feelings need to be justified, 
thoughts need to be analyzed, 
actions reviewed in gory detail.
I stammer through an opening statement, 
mumbling to myself, overwhelmed and dismayed.
I try to explain – my life has been a one-legged ballet in a war zone,
a muddy operating room at a country carnival, 
a bad psychedelic trip atop fornicating hippos,
a sacred initiation in a pirate ship’s rape room, 
a delirious pixie flight into a supernova,
a spinning waiting room without furniture, 
a fiery tornado at the eye of a hurricane,
but that’s not the half of it, my life has been so much more, 
the chaotic motion of it took me by surprise, 
so much energy, I don’t know where to start.
I only have dozens of faded 3-by-3 black and white photos
tossed haphazardly in a moldy cigar box to present as evidence.
There is no way to convey my story, 
not so the sweep and impact of all those years is felt by others, 
not with such blurry snapshot trivia, not in the time allowed.
I fumble through the faded photos; they drop in bunches at my feet.
Part of me braces with anxiety as I call myself to the stand.
I cross examine myself and trick the truth out of me.
The irony of it is raw – this world honors no oaths 
yet I cannot find it in me to perjure myself.
Part of me wants to go to the roof alone and gaze at the sky.
I feel a sinking feeling, going down, the quickening reminds me
of a repeating theme in my dreams, a haunting motion sickness
of dropping into a dark void where things appear, 
they interact with me in confusing but heartrending ways.
I know when I get to the lobby nothing will change.
I will still be guilty of not being understood, 
not by others and not by myself.
I will still have to face the verdict of blind and deaf and dumb justice.
The elevator stops, the doors open, 
my debit card is swiped for the use of the court,
I’m forcefully ushered out of the building and given a warning 
follow the rules, you’re under house arrest.
But I have nowhere to go, no place that’s home.
I stand on the sidewalk and start singing a song, 
my upturned hat in hand.
People pass every which way, they can’t be bothered.
As I sing I try to translate the words to my song.
It’s no use – I don’t understand them even if I feel them, 
it’s just something in me I have to sing.
Some clown across the street snaps a photo of me 
then hands me a print on his way by.
I stuff it in my hat. He’s laughing with a sad painted face. 
Immediately the image starts to fade.
I don’t know why I feel I need to keep it. 
It’s a pale imago without a soul.
It doesn’t prove anything. It’s not evidence of anything.
It’s a snapshot of me singing, an idealized specter hinting at a meaning.
I might as well be dancing in the dark on an alpine ridgeline.
I might as well be making love to one who shouts at me they love another.
I look to the sky. It’s still striking blue for now. But night is coming. 
Soon stark neon will burn the darkness into starless ashes. 
The elevator doors will open once more.
Then it will begin again.