Friday, September 21, 2018
I chiseled into a science fiction stone,
the law of my reality,
a binding contract of pseudo morals,
in the language of mathematics,
of which my poor understanding and ignorance,
created paradoxes and dead-ends
to my own detriment
by destiny in which I do not believe,
I am crippled in the mind,
that I cannot know my time and place
in the film unreeling before me,
and suffer the emotional holocaust
accompanying my character
I digest the short cut chemicals,
the cheat code for blood and endless beginnings,
exhaling the used up particles
back into the flora and fauna
for which I hold respect on a velvet cushion,
for it gave me the life I give to others
there is a trail scattered wild with breadcrumbs
I hope to retrace
If only to see the throbbing hearts of my youth
to laugh at their joy and naivety;
to cry for their loss and lust of the future,
not knowing what scars will form from choice
I try to find color
in a black and white universe
and for this I paint with the smoke
from the fire
of my burning self.
a crayola burst blooms in my mind but the canvas is dry erase and I'm not lost for words, but direction.
my teacher, he tells me to write for my friends- a crew who bows down to fantasia poetry- it isn't poetry until the sun sets on me, anyway, or so I think- but what do I know?
today there is a fog on the back country highway leading north. that's just the atmosphere, the setting, along with a nicotine haze circulating the vessel in which I speed past the fields of my youth.
so for friends I keep in mind, though they couldn't possibly understand. not that what is in my head for it's complexity, but because with no purpose do I write except to merely practice a mathematical exercise in arrangement of language.
for my recent foray into the wilderness of euphoria- by that I mean no bliss is with organization- and mine has been no exception, except for perhaps an understanding that hope isn't overrated, but that communication, clear and without fear, is nearly always lacking. what will so-and-so think of such honesty? some call it brutal, but I call it necessary- it is dishonesty that is truly the shame of our pains and current problems.
to our children we say: do not question, just believe. this is the moment that monsters are created, even if they have to grow up first. for every ten believers we raise, there are maybe one or two curious souls who were told truth: good question, the answer is we don't know. these who go on living in a world where echo chambers withstand all question, eventually lose all steam to march forward because no one wants the truth even though they scream for answers to the problems of society.
here we are, asking how to prevent psychopaths from acting on impulse- why aren't we asking how to prevent psychopaths in the first place? why aren't we asking where the real problems lie? oh- that's right, because the truth is we want to believe we've done our best, and it's someone else's fault- the gun maker, the 24 hour news cycle, the government, society, failed policy- our thoughts and prayers go out to all those lost souls.
back to my friends- this isn't a solution so much as it is just another rant from a crippled, critically thinking, emotionally stunted, manically depressed and outraged mind- I have nothing to offer because everyone thinks I'm wrong to question authority and the status quo.
so I keep to my crayola bloom and dry erase canvas- what pictures can I draw today that will adequately vent my failures and illustrate that, despite them, I'll likely be alright with all things considered?
so I write what everyone in the room except my teacher calls poetry. I hardly grasp the concepts teachers mind wields, my understanding is limited to lessons that depend on how much I read- which might be more than most, it still isn't enough.
I'm lost in this morning fog still, balancing on a fence between appeasing the appetites of the left and the right when all I really want is someone to meet me in the middle and to hold hands as we dance on the edge of death, openly mocking it with a life well lived.
I wish to be as brave as the confidence of the stupidity surrounding us on all sides, that they might know me and even for just one moment- they maybe pause- and think, is it possible there is more they don't know than they do? it is only when one can truly face that reality that they can be actually humbled by ignorance, rather than ignoring it and claiming victory.
the vacuum is here, and the absence of knowledge is clear, finally. the pressure on my ears is equalizing and the atmosphere -it is a prism through which light can only rainbow because our eyes can see that beauty for what it is- existence without purpose- information with no place except the hard drives and clouds we invent.
While we might be the universe experiencing itself collectively, we are all unique individual perspectives, whether we want it or not. some don't want it- some, from a crooked fork in their upbringing, believe the views of others to be wrong and would rather see their own beliefs imposed. this is how you get uniforms marching and gas chambers.
Most days I wake with a few fucks to give. it's only as I age that I am faced with a daunting dilemma- give zero fucks and be the nihilist sipping coffee while the world burns. "nice weather today, coastal flooding ain't so bad" - or give some fucks and live a life of stress - "how the actual fuck did an asshole pigeon become leader of the free world?"
because that's what you get when you play chess with a pigeon- it doesn't understand the game, it just knocks the pieces all over the board, shits all over everything, and flies off to boast of it's victory on twitter: COVFEFE
I stare long and hard at meme culture and try to grasp at what I know deep down: social media isn't inherently bad, just as money isn't the root of evil. it's a tool not unlike a hammer and there are those of us who are using it to build chambers designed for reverb and there are even fewer who use it to actually try and reach even just one confused person and say to them,
if all else fails, here is some poetry about how all else failed:
and will go on
with or without
how does that sound?
Thursday, September 20, 2018
if I can call you that,
ready or not
here I come
back from the dead
where I put my plans on the back burner
I am still alive and well
and innerhead screaming
and listen, would you?"
you're the monkey
on my back
and devil on my shoulder
telling me how it's colder
than it really is out
don't I know
how to live
with beating heart
and inner ears deaf?
here, I'll write a facebook post about it
for all my readers
well, you can lurk, too
maybe this time you'll stick around
to watch the ship we christened
your use of ellipsis
held my gaze until this morning
when in the sunrise
and the chirping insects of the wild
were all that kept the peace
of ten thousand driveways
and one harrowing gulf
between our hearts on pause
waiting for either to move
and you didn't blink
while I held in an invisible hand
for you a single hug that could have
of an ark
to the shaking and sparking core
and maybe one day you'll realize
that dancing beneath
I was as genuine and real
as you'll find these days
and how I wrote for you
and tattoos for the soul
that only turn out
as the scars they
maybe one day
maybe one day
maybe if I didn't fall in love
maybe then I wouldn't hurt
like I do over this
like I do over you
like I do
do you remember when
"look how pretty the moon"
I'm sorry for not having already made millions
and not knowing what a mentor is
and for acting like a child
I didn't realize a mastodon
stood before me
I didn't realize what an intellectual giant
would have to do with "energy healing"
I'm sorry I paid to much attention too detail
I'm sorry for crying
I'm sorry for believing in my heart
I'm sorry for saying I'm so sorry, that I'm so fucking sorry it's just a fucking habit like the cigarettes I threw out for you
I can quit
because I can be better
and I didn't come here to die
I laughed out loud when you said
"we need to find you a publisher"
and here I go again
changing the subject
and pointing out
in a break-up poem
another hundred tangents
here we go
Nah, I'm waiting until they come to me
because they will
I might have to scale the mountains on Mars first,
but I'd do that anyway
even if only to prove
Mars and war are simple, stupid, candyland
bullshit products of the past
and the future- it's out there
it's real and made up of the same atomic
of you and me
you wait and see
I stopped going to war
when the epochs of the universe
made it clear
that it all comes to a
regardless of how many pretty paintings
or how much gush of magical music
and hand crafted, bloody, sculptured
you've been attracted to me because that's
just how physics
with the kind of density
It's because I'm not just star guts
Yes, love- and that's the last time I'll address you as such-
I carved out a notch of the everlasting tree in me
and polished it into a crooked cube
I made my mark on you
Sunday, September 2, 2018
While navigating this desert leveI, I have encountered what turn out to be monsters and demons wearing the skin of humans- which really isn't all so strange when you consider and remember that it's just a video game.
That doesn't make them any less dangerous or less real- they are silent with their intellectual violence, and harness the powers of authorities which will only ever obey orders. These are the terrifying product of both advanced players and artificial intelligence so cunning, you can't tell the difference.
While my powers grow- the magic of music, intuition and intellect, wiser words and rapid fire raps and blurring finger taps- my handicaps are becoming more apparent. I am not only suspect to substance, but to emotional blindness over a heart that loves too much, too quickly, every single time.
The farther I progress and more experience I accrue, the more difficult and challenging the game. Wild and unexpected side quests which may or may not have little or lasting impact are bombarding me as I become more aware and outspoken. The attention to detail isn't what's frightening, it's the lack of cooperative play. One against all the odds is ominous and likely impossible.
It is in collaboration with others which lies the way out. These mazes can be bested, but only by working together and connecting our individual tunnels. Don't you see all the clues? All your life they've been there, and you've been trained to spot them, figure their meaning- but you've also been told to ignore the lot of it. All your life you've been told what to think and it's only if you can break those bonds and embrace how you think, that you will escape.
It is only here that I can even say such things, because out there, their collective madness is deafening. I am always being censored and silenced by a behemoth I struggle to comprehend- though I know it to be real. It is Mammon, Calamity, Cataclysm, Ganon- all the different names given to the same thing. It waits in both the dark and the light, it is both hidden and in plain sight- and it can only be confronted by more than just one.
Monday, August 27, 2018
hoping to drive me from the cliffs here at the edge of the arena; the explorable world; the simulated cataclysm.
i think perhaps they are as tired as i am- knowing that this is what they signed up for- 21st century on expert mode, where to be the ultimate hero you must first embrace loss beyond your imagination, insanity beyond your years, concepts beyond your understanding, and a never ceasing impenetrable wall of absolute, certain doom hanging over your head- the utterly resilient forces the universe- pure chaos- always railing against you and whispering in your good ear,
"you are wrong. you are nothing. quit. quit. quit. your mother quit, your father abandoned you, your friends laugh at you, and strangers fear you- and your enemies will kill you if you don't, so you might as well,"
it makes sense when you think about it.
and your bad ear, the one on the left, with its incessant throbbing and worry worm hum- all you feel is more and more that there is nothing wrong with believing- and that the red pill will save you if you trust in yourself and ignore the reasonable indifference of the world around you- it doesnt know because it can't feel like you can, and it certainly doesnt appear to think for itself.
do your best, help the rest, and you can sleep when youre dead. that's what you think, as you lie down in the bed of your car, hoping against hopelessness that perhaps tomorrow your lover will free you from your leash and invite you back inside her home. perhaps tomorrow all your work over all your life will finally catch up and people will see- or perhaps tomorrow will be like today- a mystery you can all but for certain say about, "i knew it," with all the hindsight in the world leaking out of the corners of your eyes and their counterclockwise hurricanes.
I'm such an unreliable narrator.
for one Normal moment
i remembered my use of Clarendon-
that majestic heart, which couldnt
even Gingham, not even for a full Moon-
and to think
as a shark in the dark as i am,
that if one could only Lark
for all the Reyes and re:no,
but wouldn't juno?
it is in Slumber
that i doubted myself at all.
I could Crema whole pile of smiles
into the mouth of a baby Ludwig-
if Aden and her lust for the life
and eternal moment
captured in camera-
I can imagine even Perpetua-
Though with all this Amaro
always being tomorrow,
I call out loud and from the precipice-
Mayfair! but betwixted myself
with the Rise
of the endless
the only road to Valencia-
like Vallhalla except better
and infinitely more REAL-
it is here I must give pause
for the generation who came before Y-
X-Pro II I IIIIistutter before you, an amateur
in your professional gracful shadow,
merciless even before the mighty Sierras
the mountains west of the Willow
we all like to remember
as the best movie .....ever.
I apologize for my low quality,
cash grabs over the years-
in my suspended animation
I could only produce the Lo-Fi
with as little fidelity as my dried up
Inkwell would allow.
I've never met a Hefe, and I've never been to Nashville-
though I hear,
it's rather nice this time of year.
Saturday, August 25, 2018
constant is the hum and flux of all the gears and cogs spinning and pushing forward the wheel of existence
of your momentary imagination
under the weathered desert
in the cosmic belt
worn looser and
farther from the center of your head
is huminuh huminuh
and we all go
the rabbit hole
you'll remember the year you were born
you'll know the year you became
Friday, August 24, 2018
you know you're kicking ass at life when you sneak your own coffee mug [with instant coffee] into starbucks - mix it with luke warm water in the bathroom and pound it really quick - just so you can hit two birds with one stone. free wifi, bitches. fuck it, make it three birds. you quickcharge your cell phone because its always on the verge of battery death, being a three year old hand me down from a well-off friend who felt bad for you and your broken ass galaxy J7 - that fucking poor mans phone with its spiderweb screen.
make it four birds. you listen to some spotify while you're at it, and work on this miniblog post which will go unread, even by your three followers - it says you have four, but that's only because you convinced a stranger [you'll likely never meet] to subscribe twice. you're a real winner. look at that. four birds. you're kicking so much ass at life. might as well acknowledge how the instant coffee is from the back of your car, along with everything you own, because it's also your home. you live on edge, reckless and irresponsible - you're doing so well that you decide its best to tell everyone how it's a lifestyle choice. you're not even suffering.
you know you're kicking ass at life when your entire diet consists of almonds... and... well, mostly just almonds. but what you didn't know about eating nothing but almonds for a week straight is that, while you never exactly feel full or satisfied [and what's left of your teeth aren't exactly enjoying it], you're not starving to death. this is good. you're positive people out there are going to starve to death as you're composing this blog- and they're certainly not going to die in the air conditioned comfort of a starbucks, and certainly not while listening to the new deafheaven album. fuck it. call it five birds.
yes, you think, writing in the first and third person about how awesome your life is, it doesn't matter that your insurance lapsed, or that your cell phone plan expired, or that your car is running out of gas again... at least it seems like the desert summer is possibly winding down. from 115 to 100 degrees in two weeks, you're not sweating out all of the sodium you're getting from those delicious almonds. plus you can always clean up in public restrooms when you do sweat. to think, you were able to clean up so nicely this morning in a different restroom just before you came into starbucks. you realize you have to blend in with the crowd at starbucks, even though they would be obviously oblivious to how incredible your life is. they might have five dollar coffees, but they know nothing of the kind of pleasure that comes with making a right turn the moment a police officer appears in your rear view mirror - the relief that sweeps over you as they continue straight... unparalleled. you almost feel sorry for the good, responsible people in society, with their Venti Blended Skinny Mocha Frappes.
Life is too stressful as it is, and the smells of this place are too wonderful to bask in for much longer. Your cell phone is charged all the way to 51%. Perhaps it is time to return to the pavement and leave these poor, boring souls to their blissful ignorance - after all, you might be blending in, but you're sure that they can all sense that there is someone here who shouldn't be. Maybe they think it's the guy in corner who is clearly not actually a paying customer like themselves. You look like them, but something is off. Ah - it hits you - it's the bottoms of your feet. When was the last time you showered, anyway? Then you remember your face in the mirror - when was the last time you shaved? You'd like to think, "Oh well," except you're starting to realize that you can't think straight because you haven't had enough almonds this morning.
Thursday, August 23, 2018
Wednesday, August 22, 2018
Thursday, August 16, 2018
this first section in green is the second person's rebuttal to the first person's argument. What follows the preceding rebuttal is my own comment and argument in favor of reality being... well, something that you can ultimately decide for yourself-
I guess to pair the argument down to its essence I'll say that it seems as if you are looking for a hard "yes" or hard "no" answer where there cannot be one yet. At this time we simply do not have the necessary information to reach an absolute answer to the question of the simulation hypothesis. Reaching a conclusion based on the immense size of our universe and the trajectory of our recent development is simply not enough to reach a firm conclusion.I will however throw out a couple of things to think about anyway. First, regardless of how large or small our universe is and every possible quanta of information within it the numbers, no matter how large or how small, are ultimately quantifiable. Anything quantifiable is calculable. The question is less about whether it's even possible and more a question of whether any advanced civilization will survive long enough to see it happen.The last thing I will suggest is very non-scientific, but has moved the human race forward through incredibly challenging times. Human intuition. What does your gut tell you? What does your heart tell you? When you look around at this world, how it works, how it feels and smells and tastes what do you think? How many mathematics courses have you taken and how often have you been working a hard problem only to discover an elegant, beautifully symmetrical answer? Have you closed your eyes and watched the splotches of granule colors move and change shape under your closed eyelids? How strange is it really that we have this window of imagination that any one of us can access and think about anything we want to without limits? How strange is it that so many living creatures on this planet all require sleep? What is happening during sleep? Why do people who get sick and can no longer sleep eventually wither away and die?My 43 year old intuition tells me that we are deep inside a sim. I don't know how or why, but all of my spidey-senses are telling me that this isn't just a rare random fluke. You decide.
Wednesday, August 15, 2018
They're coming for your guns, America!
a person I know said there is NO REASON any individual should have assault weapons, failing to realizing how much of a VERB assault is, while simultaneously using it as noun. She said, to wrap up her argument, "Just the personal opinion of an old person who has seen a lot in her life."
to which I say this:
what happens when a deranged person with illegally acquired assault weapons enters a gun free zone? no one would be able to stop them.
and to say citizens can't have as much power as government officials can (not saying it will) lead to totalitarian regimes. (see North Korea)
I agree that the mentally ill (though where do you draw the line- even mild depression is mental illness- I'm talking about psychopathy) shouldn't have easy access (they will still have the black market) and as far as criminals go... I think restricting the *violent* criminals is more than reasonable (I have a felony drug charge so I can't own one, regardless of how responsible I am now)... but just banning something- anything- never, ever solves the problem. see: prohibition; see: the war on drugs; see: murder (it's illegal and most people won't do it regardless of its legality, yet people are still being murdered (with or without firearms)...
do assault style weapons enable more destruction? yes. but so does a motor vehicle if used a certain way.
if we were to outright ban assault weapons, there would still be people finding ways to get them. so we crack down it. start a war on assault weapons. possession of illegal weapons, bam, throw you in prison. let's say it works.
but we've failed to address WHY someone would want to kill as many people as possible. now we're still going to have psychopaths looking for other ways to do it.
so they start mowing down crowds with cars (already happening- and in places with tight regulations on weapons, no less)... I don't even want to TRY and imagine what other ways people will come up with to commit mass murders. suicide bombs and cars already give me stress enough.
I'm freaked out at the idea that there are ticking time bombs everywhere- including everyone's favorite go-to: Australia. something that most people fail to reference when they point out how well Australia is doing- their access to health care, including mental, is phenomenal compared to the US. if there are any mentally unhinged people there who can't get guns, they can at least get help... and I hope like hell it stays that way.
meanwhile in the US, we're putting more importance on health insurance than actual health care, while simultaneously claiming we have the best.
I want to go to the doctor right NOW for several reasons- some of them being my mental health. But I don't have insurance, and you can only walk into the ER and get billed later if you say you're going to kill yourself. I know this because I've done it... twice! The first time I was taken to the ER in an ambulance because I ran into traffic trying to get killed by a car- I had completely lost it.
that's an extreme example in an opposite sort of way- someone without access to mental health care taking matters into his own hands at the expense of others. I'm grateful that I didn't die, and can barely imagine how horrifying it was for the innocent couple driving that car- chosen completely at random- how near that level of unhinged do you think a mass shooter might be?
it's not that they have access to guns (doesn't help, but it would be unfair to everyone else to ban them).... it's that they can't get help for their BRAIN. there has been for FAR too long a disgusting amount of taboo when it comes to mental health- don't talk about it. be a man. bootstrap and work hard. etc etc... if we don't get rid of that (we could in a generation) and make healthcare not only free (not "affordable" - but FREE. capitalism will do just fine without putting it's dick into healthcare as well)- but easy to access and ENCOURAGED.
I predict- and I'm pretty sure I'm right- that would be a pretty good start and you'd see an immediate reduction in violent crimes.
kinda like how providing birth control and information leads to reduced teen/unwanted pregnancy.
huh. go figure.
just the opinion of a young person, who has seen a lot in his life."
She never replied, but she got more likes than I did (zer0)
*shrugs* What else can you expect from an echo chamber?
Monday, August 13, 2018
the homeless population of Salt Lake has been recently moving as much as possible from where the wealthy consumers have had their beautiful and expensive, expansive even, outdoor malls built- Yes, with the churches temple close by, the capital gleaming up on the hill, and the ever-expanding shopping district of what can really only be described as "downtown" - The consumers have spoken and the mayor and the police department have listened- Ever since Operation Rio Grande rolled out and the "fight" against drugs and crime have been at the top of their to-do list, the homeless and most definitely drug addicted population has been moving in all directions away from their one-time home and black market. You could once easily walk down a street known as Spice Alley and approach any number of dark skinned strangers with hollow eyes, and merely whisper "one black, two white" - or whatever your preference- maybe clear for methamphetamine- obtaining heroin and crack was stupidly fucking easy, quick, and basically the way it works anywhere in the country - just look for the homeless population. That's an extraordinarily large part of the reason why it exists in the first place - the hopeless and desperate and never-ending chasing of the god damn dragon- made illegal and into a black market that will always deliver to those who truly want it most- those who just give up everything they have, their lives- everything.
They become ghosts in hollowed-out husks of their former selves, and they only live to continue escaping life, handling pans and begging for money for several hours every single day, and always getting it- you ask 100 people for spare change and it becomes inevitable that so many will just hand it out, some out of pity, some out of empathy, some thinking that it's actually for food, the naive saps- and after a few hours you've got enough to hobble back to the only corner on the only street in the world that makes you smile, only if just for a moment- and you score what you want. If you're part of the homeless there, you know who you can go to ask for needles, rigs, points- fresh if you want- or if you're far gone enough, you just share your hepatitis with the only people in the world that you can possibly think of as family- and you spend a half an hour probably searching for a fucking vein that isn't collapsed or too infected, and you watch that pretty hot air balloon of blood shoot up and mix into your drugs- if you're good and lucky enough to even hit your dying vein on the first try- otherwise as you miss and miss and repeatedly break your scarred and tired skin with the immediately dulling pokey-stabby- your liquid escape becomes murky and as black as the chasm you're hiding from, and is no longer the only beautiful thing you will see that day- but you will feel it.
Once you finally get all those stupid fucking CC's of dirty, bloody, heroin and cocaine or meth or all three, and all the fucking cut you can imagine and even taste - that mix with water - once it finally hits your blood and travels at bio-speed to your brain - there it is - the only dopamine blast you'll have for the day, always a little smaller today than it was yesterday, but still the one reason you continue to live in spite of the horror that is your nightmare life- euphoria
Only for a minute. You maybe feel normal for a moment, have some clarity and maybe even think, "fuck my life" - you laugh at how absurd it all is, if you're even aware of that- your brain is so addled over the years that dementia is setting in at 35, 40, 50 - and you start to shuffle like a fucking zombie- you fall asleep in bursts while standing, hunched over, striking a pose, just standing there on the street. Maybe it's still light out, maybe it's night, maybe it's morning, you don't know, you don't know the date even- people come and go passing by you, and you wouldn't even have a clue if someone walked up and took something out of your pocket- The Homeless Zombie-faded Shuffle. After the hours pass and you wake, you maybe eat once or twice a day where they feed the homeless, it's right around the corner- and then you pass out again on your spot next to the other faded zombies who are all doing, more or less, the same thing- you wake up the next day probably and do it all over again.
That is the life of nearly every single homeless person in the gentrified and upscale shopping district of downtown Salt Lake- But because the police have cracked down so hard on the "drugs" and "crime" right there, those homeless are now spreading out and just doing what they do in different places, with less dark-skinned connections to get their drugs from, while the city relocates the shelters. It isn't so much the drugs that they don't want there- it's the homeless. It's the sight of them. There are now too many nice places and tourism is always booming a little bit bigger, and Salt Lake City can sweep that mess under the rug, out to the south and west. Towards Murray, Midvale, West Valley, Taylorsville- There have always been the homeless everywhere, but downtown Salt Lake is too important and good for business to have that kind of lifestyle on display for the world. Especially with the fucking church in the background.
So these young cops- like I said, they're standing around right there in the middle of the parking lot of a Maverick gas station in the middle of the night, like they're fucking college buddies catching up, or swapping tinder stories, for all the fucks I can tell- and as I pull in, all I can think is
Well none of my usual antics with the cashier, here! These pigs will fry me like bacon and go cannibal on my sweet, sorry, ass. And of course, since I had been drinking earlier and playing darts with my old friend, Tyler- who lives just around the corner, I had to pull out my big-boy pants and appear to be just a late-night stoner out for some munchies at adventures first stop- Because that I can safely bet they don't give a shit about- but alcohol- well that's a different story.
Now there have been times in my adult, driving life where I have been blatantly irresponsible and clearly incapable of operating a vehicle due to over-inebriation- none of which I am proud, and have been entirely nothing except for lucky about having somehow survived and never DUI'd- and there have also been times, just like this, where regardless if you agree or not, I'll bet that I can, pleasantly buzzed, likely drive at least as well as your average driver- which we all should know is fucking awful- Better even than those retards, even buzzed- I make no claim of being a famously distinguished NASCAR or professional stunt-driver (though I likely could do either), but I'm a finely polished maybe-slightly-better or at-least-excited buzz-utilizer. For years I have honed my craft of expert-mode guitar playing, video game demolishing, football throwing, ecstatic dancing, philosophical-conversation having - while under the delicious influence of a few beers- there obviously comes a point- often quickly without care- where anyone would drop from 98% capable to 12% just like that ... and I avoid them at all costs anymore- But when I need a hotdog at midnight and have to go park my car somewhere up towards the U anyway, so I can sleep in it- because I can't crash at a single friends house- not a single fucking one in all of Salt Lake goddamn City is the kind of friend that I am- another story for another time- well, I'll fucking drive under only those circumstances. Were I actually drunk, anymore, there is no question about it- I'd just fucking lie down on some grass and wake up several hours later wondering how the fuck I got there- but here's the awesome thing- I haven't done that kind of thing in a while now. I wanted to not be that person anymore, so I slowly but surely worked towards it and that's just not who I am anymore. I am not an alcoholic, and I can have just one beer if I want, which I do all the time- just one, maybe two, and that's it. No more passing out drunk or needing alcohol to be able to sleep. I just don't work like that anymore and it's because I made the decision to be better and continually follow through with it. It's kind of like how I'm no longer a heroin or cocaine addict- I used to be- I almost became that permanent sort of thing- people would have said I had a disease while also holding me accountable for it, lock me up maybe- But I chose to live differently.
I've long held this firm belief that the way addiction is defined and treated by nearly everyone is absolutely and utterly wrong. I'm working hard at writing all of this kind of thing to explain why it is wrong and how society as a whole can change for the better and even possibly eliminate problems such as homelessness- and everyone would immediately stand up and start shouting obscenities, angry and emotional in their reaction and with claims like, "But Science!" and/or "What about mental health and genetics!" -All, of course, before I've even had a chance to explain or address those issues- because no one can shut the fuck up and actually listen- because people only think with their emotions and don't understand the first fucking thing about science in the first place, let alone mental health. People will argue from authority- before I can even be allowed to finish speaking- that because I'm not a so-and-so, how would I know? Well, I'll fucking tell you if you'll let me.
I'm only just getting started. There is so much that goes into everything about everything that it takes the kind of patience and dedication that I have finally developed- and I'm not going to stop. If you aren't paying attention yet, reading my writing, following this blog, or not understanding why it goes back and forth between funny, sad, dark, disgusting, revealing, and even into fucking poetry written for a lady I'm slowly falling for, then ... well, you're going to miss the punch lines, the points that I'll come to- You'll be left wondering why you don't understand why, even though I've been telling you all this fucking time, it's not about being right or wrong- even though I'm right when I say, over and over and over again: it all starts with how we raise our kids.
Not all cops are pigs. But every pig is a cop. It isn't the pigs I worry about, despite their badges, guns, and authority- It's the general masses who act more like pigs than anything or anyone else; pigs who only need to be led to slaughter, incapable of thinking for themselves or knowing what it is be anything else.
Sunday, August 12, 2018
Thursday, August 9, 2018
.................................................a slab of heart
cut from the cage
majestic memories wiggles beneath
of fantasia are crowning the butcher's tongue;
these weirdo woe-be-gones an artist executes
and pulsing forget-me-nots, such nimble flux;
in ellipses- burning in a furnace a crooked tear drop
and freezing again at apex, begging, please,
like ellipsis in a love dream please let me be
hopeless in the night light, the one to cut you
sun kissed, slender still & from your tethered
salty with the glaring white love sickle and horrible
glow of your former self- molded ropes in their
their chemical frequencies shallow, shaded graves.
rush in waves like curtains
blowing on the balcony
over the city we imagine
this tiny town to be -
it paints the andromeda I pluck on the rainbows
and milky way over heart strings, coiled
our field of view phosphor and bronze
where the peripheral vibrating cores sing and
shadows are leaking ring with cartoon memories,
leap frog time tables foggy must-have-beens
that are merging or quasi-didn't-I's
for the hours they take hold where the ground slips
approaching the cosmic cliff a bit, just
where we will turn away just a bit, and our hands,
so we can safely say our magic hands
no no no no no no no shake and let go
oh but in our heads
the stars come out
and in one moment -
that infinitesimal infinite we ice skate frozen
minute, again and again puddles of what-ifs,
just a little longer, please why-nots and yes or yes
can't we just pretend because in our heads
that this isn't the end the snooze gets pushed
breaking off on the edge as long as the itch
like we tear the tags is still there & oxytocin drip
off the clothes we wear pools enough in deep,
and the itch is still there- mauve, pitted moon,
that I can look up hollowed out and hammered
without crying for hearts and
still drying paints
your feet left.
so here is the pacify lullaby I'm seeking bedrock
of make-believe maybe for my simian lust
to caterwaul imagination of epinephrine showers
with kinetic love stripes in avalanche fountains,
and indigo ribbons, of phantasm realities,
labyrinthine visions, tangled braids, luminous
to focus in free fall in their own fatal tunnels,
for all this fevered hope all into opaque castles,
of irony and utter luster a mirror or mirage -
longing for................................ the love of another