Friday, September 21, 2018

of and which and for and from



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 

once more;

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:


the world

is round

and will go on

with or without

you.


how does that sound?

Thursday, September 20, 2018

post morning heartache



1.

Love-

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

..................................for you

yes'mmm
I am still alive and well
heart beating
and innerhead screaming

"SHUTTHEFUCKUP
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
to lurk
and

well, you can lurk, too

maybe this time you'll stick around
to watch the ship we christened
sink
.....into
...........oblivion
........................

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

........................
..............tethered
..........this
cataclysm
of an ark
to the shaking and sparking core

and maybe one day you'll realize
that dancing beneath
discounted roof
you despise,
I was as genuine and real
as you'll find these days
...
.......and
..............then
......................some

and how I wrote for you
infinite haikus
and tattoos for the soul
that only turn out
as the scars they
really are

maybe one day

maybe one day

maybe.

but

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
............for you

do you remember when
I said
"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"

rolfhitlol

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
just habits
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

I replied,

Nah, I'm waiting until they come to me

because they will

you'll see
just wait
and see

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
fairy tale
bullshit products of the past

and the future- it's out there

it's real and made up of the same atomic
structures
of you and me
just like

base reality

but

you wait and see

I stopped going to war
lifetimes ago
when the epochs of the universe

made it clear
that it all comes to a

..................................HALT

regardless of how many pretty paintings

or how much gush of magical music

and hand crafted, bloody, sculptured

wooden poems.

you've been attracted to me because that's
just how physics
work
with the kind of density
you confuse
with stupidity
-and gravity

It's because I'm not just star guts
like
every
one
.......else

2.

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

#AWLIAS


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

you, me, and they

as the cooler breeze of the waking hours slowly approaches, and the moonlight washes the demon ash from my bare back, i close my eyes and listen closely to the chirping. it is not yet midnight, but i am tired- i am so fucking tired. here, alone in the desert twilight, i have nothing save the sing-song crickets and distant coyotes. they battle with wiggly air waves through the dry heat of the night, and i just listen. when i close my eyes, they burn. i listen closer- its like someones mashing on the controller at random, tapping out XYZ XYZ XYZ XYZ XYZ XYZ
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.

instapoem

 #nofilter

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,
                        tomorrow,
I call out loud and from the precipice-
Mayfair! but betwixted myself
          with the Rise
of the endless
            bottomless Hudson-

the only road to Valencia-
like Vallhalla except better
          and infinitely more REAL-

it is here I must give pause
and consideration
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,
low effort
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

I'm a kaleidoscope
                                figment
of your momentary imagination
fidgeting
               with
               my
           artificial
        conscience
under the weathered desert
                                  gallery
                    of pretty-pink-library-love
                            cry-baby lullaby.


I'm a notch
                    in the cosmic belt
worn looser and
farther from the center of your head
                                                    where
all               is                all
is huminuh     huminuh
and we all go
                      down
            down
                          down
                                     the rabbit hole
but
at least you're real

you'll remember the year you were        born

        you'll know the year you became
                                                               aware

Friday, August 24, 2018

How good is life?

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

pre post-death post not finished

The better things get, I always used to tell myself, the more difficult life becomes- As if if with every reward comes the condition that you have more and more to lose, and the emptier you will be when you lose everything- more so than you would have if you had never gained anything at all. To be a shell with only memories and the pain that you will never again experience them except within the absolute misery of solitude and the memory loss that comes with the slow degeneration of your brain-  due to the build up of all the protein plaques and sticky life that was so good to you until it did nothing to stop the cellular death that always makes its rounds on everything we've ever known to live, except the fucking ageless jellyfish and comic book myths we invent to make ourselves believe everything will be alright and that we'll survive our own deaths.




Wednesday, August 22, 2018

[m]

No More

dear lover,
with the eyes of a mother;
I can't have another
and I won't

I won't for the ghosts
or the hex of my ex
and ancient coded
facebook posts
                              no, i can't 
                                     i won't 

all my life
I'd been searching for you
through literature,
dreams, drugs-
learning to lie so I could 
live truth all this time later

                 you were my epoch
                 of ages in an ageless universe

I'd swallowed up microblackholes
and coughed up galaxies
for you

             is it not enough?
             is it not enough that i'm a burning
             furnace, carrying stars in my guts?
              

You weaved through the tendrils
and the nightmares returned-
reruns of all the toxic tendencies,
over again, again, again.

Quiet apologist,
your own truth is 

just fantasy.

Thursday, August 16, 2018

AWLIAS

this is a response to a comment left by another anonymous user of reddit who was replying to another anonymous person about whether or not reality is a simulation- The first person argued that we couldn't be because of the enormous amount of computing power that would be required to simulate a universe -

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.

This is basically what I'm saying all day, every day, to everyone that I'm trusting of enough to talk to about this kind of stuff - without leaving them scratching their heads or trying to argue in their ignorance of general simulation theory.

Ever since I started firmly believing that I am not only in a simulation, but that it's a game- things have only gotten weirder and weirder. It's as if I've entered a sort of hacking/god mode

I struggle to find people who actually and truly understand reality- as far as we have perceived it and written and documented about it, utilizing our highly evolved brains propensity to reason logically. Despite information being more accessible than ever before, with a larger population than ever, we also have more widespread ignorance and even dangerous misconceptions of just what science is, how the world works, and how we are fairly certain of these things. Ultimately, at the end of the day, no one can really prove anything to anyone, because the person being proven to can and often will reduce the argument to "this could all just be in my head".

Due to these circumstances, and because we have so much fucking satire in the world- fake subreddits mocking flat-earthers by claiming there is no bottom to the ocean, for example- coupled with Poe's law - and you have entire subgenerations and cultures within generations X, Y, and Z who actually don't know if the earth is flat or not - I've met some of them- fucking high school kids in southern utah- it's absurd and frightening - swaths of people all over the planet, particularly in the United States, who have so much fucking access to so much fucking bullshit, all being raised by mostly ignorant parents - Kids everywhere, all the time, are regular taught what to think, instead of how to think. Every once in a while you meet someone who, thank fuck, happened to read Demon Haunted World once or twice, despite never having any significantly inspiring teachers growing up - you know, the ridiculously underpaid people we trust with our children 8 hours a day while we grind away in order to feed them and buy them devices, video games, and fucking candy- And that every once in a while person who understands how science works? They're living in the same world, working under the same sun, laughing at the same politicians and idiot billionaires who are driving the species into the ground so that they (the rich idiots) can keep flying in their private jets, wearing their diamond rings, and paying their Karen Mcdougals to keep quiet about how small or big their dicks really are. Those "once in a while" persons are likely jaded, nihilistic, or just indifferent about how things are going- and so the few smart people, being individuals, aren't necessarily working together to do anything about the identity politics and collectivist, hive-minded echo chambers - because the moment they speak up, all the fucking idiots who won't know left from fucking right, start labeling them as Nazi or Antifa - both of which are equally stupid - though the left actually has far more influence in the world because of the media.

What I'm getting at with this is that I truly struggle to find people who understand that this is the reality of things- I struggle to find people who understand fucking mathematics as well as I do - astronomy, evolution, computer science, physical fitness, fucking everything really - I'm not a genius, I cannot and will not make that claim, and I know that I am almost always wrong about every fucking thing - but I do understand what science really is, and I'm fiercely passionate about it. If there were only one person in the entire fucking world who could admit there is absolutely no fucking way I could prove that I am in a simulation, but who understands exactly what would be required to actually make one, even delving into the highly misunderstood world of quantum fucking mechanics - it wouldn't even be Dan Harmon or Justin Roiland- it would be me. Besides, I'm way dumber than either of them, and have way less of a chance to prove it, let alone make a cartoon about it that would inspire another legion of idiots and smart people alike- my point is this: despite all of that, despite being an atheist, despite being a scientific thinker and individualist - I firmly believe 100%, without a fucking doubt in my mind- none- that this is a simulation- what kind? what for? can't prove a fucking thing, but i Believe with a capital b, that is most likely a kind of video game. Shit like the Matrix have been hints- and games like the Legend of Zelda have been training wheels for people like me. I got lucky enough through a bunch of insane circumstances in my life that have all led to me becoming aware.

If I were to jump off of a high rise building right now, I would fall to my death because of gravity.

It's entertainment, through and through, likely placating a transhuman civilization that is waiting for the inevitable heat death of the universe, or maybe it's a way to postpone it entirely- through creation of beauty and horror in a universe, maybe it's somehow what makes up dark matter or energy- all the things we cannot see but only know are there - and I think that there is a good chance for a lot of different outcomes. So many that it's impossible to predict- but the overall tone is pointing to that which so many have been claiming for so long that we've all begun to ignore them, and for good reason- The End of the World

Climate change is real- although something that can be survived- world war and nuclear holocaust are both real dangers, yet entirely avoidable... and all of the forms of media that we make all the time- fucking movies like The Avengers- you might laugh, I do at myself - but it's just another warning- work together or something bad happens- you lose the game. Game over? what happens? Don't know, and I don't want to find out. Best case scenario, you unplug, "holy fuck what a rush as it all comes back to you - man, drugs/videogames in the future are awesome, I'm so glad that wasn't real! Donald Trump became president for fucks sake! Man if that had actually happened 10,000 years ago right before we invented AI, oh man, it would have taken a real life John Wick-level final-form of Link probably to slay that motherfucking orange-calamity-ass-Ganon! I guess since we've still got a few trillion years left until entropy runs out, I might as well run another simulation! Maybe this time i'll play the 18th century, the 21st century was way too emotional for me last time time, too much Kardashians and not enough Icelandic-sludge-metal !"

I know how crazy it sounds. I know it intimately. But I have come to embrace it and live my life under the assumption that it's true- I always wanted to be a rock star - I always wanted to be a writer - I always wanted to be an actor - I always wanted to do all of that, and I've always wanted to be the change in the world that I want to see - and ever since I started actually believing it- not just thinking about it a lot like I have since 19fucking99 - but truly believing it as I do - like I said earlier - Things have gotten weird - I'm suddenly fuming and steaming with energy and creativity to be and actually do the things I've always wanted to- I've been writing like a fucking maniac - without caring if I succeed or not - I've somehow leaped all the way to level 9 on guitar, drums, piano, everything- and I see 11 on the horizon - I've suddenly found a couple other prodigy level musicians that i've even told all of this to, who actually believe me - or at least believe that I believe - who can keep up with me and we're working on the kind of music that fucking transcends genres - Deafheaven is pretty cool, but the music we're making will make you wonder why you haven't ever noticed that you're suddenly listening to what you used to describe as metal, no rock, ....no progressive alternative... wait, that's pretty catchy, it must be pop, but it can't be! It's over an hour long and is that one song? and what the fuck is math rock? these guys are prettier than Sigur Ros...?- because what the fuck, what do we actually call this?

Just believing that I'm in a video game has given me magic-level skills and confidence that would impress fucking Merlin, despite not being able to manipulate reality- because that's an impossible notion. I could only improve my act by having my guitar suddenly become on fire when it comes to the final act- the charging return of the galloping, video-game- boss-level intensity of rock and fucking roll beauty that finally dominates the darkness. Unfortunately, this is a reality based simulation, and guitars don't work that way- But the inspiration that comes to listeners and readers and anyone else who believes is as real as they believe it to be- And when that happens, people will listen and learn how to disagree without becoming violent.... as my first, immediate example.

I am on a mission to save the fucking world. I'm doing everything I possibly can to gain an audience, to make people laugh, to make people sit in awe of something fucking radical- the kind of music you only really see once in a while- from people who have been working on it their entire fucking lives - that burns tinnitus into the ears because fuck it, turn that shit up -

I can't prove a fucking thing about this being a simulation... Except to live like I do, which is an extremely difficult life- I don't know where I'm going to sleep most nights, converted my car into as much of a bed as I could, and I only have a couple guitars, an amp, the clothes on my back, a few devices to write as much as I can through at places with free internet that won't kick me out because I bought a single cup of coffee since that's all I can afford - you know, because I'm running low on gas and my car insurance is due in a few days and I've got make those things happen while I continue to just create, create, create because it's all I have and it's all I care about, besides everyone else on the planet- I'm here to do everything I can to help make the world better, and I'm doing that by throwing myself under the bus with confessions about everything bad I've ever done- writing as honestly as possible - in the hope that if I can gain an audience and suddenly have a mouthpiece with which to speak to more people than just my friends and family- if I can get the attention of other influential people - maybe I can help people to understand that if we want to solve the problems in the world - all of them - if we want to make it to the next level - then we all need to start changing the way we raise children - and begin only teaching them ever how to think, and never what to think- that's how you get religion, racism, and violence.

Because if it isn't a video game...? If I'm wrong, and I likely am- I always am- and the doomsday clock is right- if we go extinct.... well, at least we shot voyager off into space. Hopefully some other civilization finds it and we aren't forgotten- and I could at least have died knowing that regardless of whether my beliefs were right or wrong, I died trying to make the world better, because I always somehow knew that's what I had to do-

Just like in video games, I've always struggled to make the "bad guy" choices- I can't fucking stand it... and ever since I was a kid- my earliest memories of the original Legend of Zelda - I've always wanted to at least be like that character. I've never been perfect, and I've fucked up more times that I don't always like to remember - but I want to be selfless, and I don't want to see bad things happen.

Like I said- ever since I started believing.. things have gotten weird. There is so much I haven't explained- so much context that, if you're reading this, you're missing and are likely just thinking me a maniac- which would be okay - think for yourself - I just don't have quite enough time, regardless of spending all of my time doing this. There are only 24 hours in a day, and writings like this take several; the kind of guitar playing I achieve- it takes hours of my time - But things, despite being scarier and more stressful than ever- weird as fuck all - I'm also happier than I've ever been in my life and there is no turning back.

Wednesday, August 15, 2018

guns, automobiles, and crazy people

Guns! Mass shootings! Fear and PANIC grips the street!
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."

/fin

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

Pigs

As I pulled into the corner Maverick around midnight, They came into my view and overwhelmed all my senses for the briefest moment. Three police officers- young men, probably in their twenties, not quite the typical militant clean-cut, but dapper- with visible tattoos on their arms; cars parked neatly; engines running; they stood in a semi-circle, chatting with one another, probably catching up and swapping stories about the dangerous criminals they've brought to justice in the last week or so, since the last time they all maybe happened to run into one another while on night patrol of downtown Salt Lake City- and more specifically, the eastern bench, and the bottom of the hills before you ascend into the University of Utah campus, or into the Avenues if you head north. It's a gentrified area, with a low crime rate, a diverse and mostly educated sub-culture of Salt Lake- it's students, professionals, artists, musicians, generally trendy hipsters and about three or four fixed-gear bicycles per ten people, being such a cool, liberal, and progressive band-wagon, trend following area as it is-

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

the whole wide world

...............................................
I                 am                  alive

and trembling before the hollering-from-the-dark
beyond ...........a cliffside chasm with currents of the night pushing me back from the edge, they're fucking taunting me with laughter

on the wind- it's faint but oh so there- at once familiar and enough to keep me guessing-

I charge at 45º although the ground is level- I am steep in the struggle that always feels uphill; always 

I must run against the invisible grain of reality; always being pushed back, back again; always and again, again.

the voices of ghosts and imagined spirits and guides are like sirens skipping along the edge of the plane of that atmosphere, earthquake clouds that carry all the billions of planck scale galaxies the support the weight of the nano systems and their microworlds and their cellular biospheres into my ears and lungs and give my heart and brain the oxygen and other molecules my stupid, degenerating skin-sack of tissues and blood and sweat need so i can keep climbing and grasping for the maybe-handholds- the roots and branches, the grass and the leaves, all the big and real life staples, signs that say don't go back even though I'm slipping and it gets fucking steeper still the closer i get, it somehow seems farther because of course you have to go faster and you always need more energy and you'll never reach the limit because 

that's where the light lives

lady luck is playing a song for me up at the tippytop on a fucking flaming, flamingo harp and the strings are rainbows with wound up cores made from the hearts of the people i love and even the kids ill never have- the notes transcend falsettos and arpeggios; dissonance and harmonies; the defy reason and logic and are the soothing lullaby lies of my mothers soft voice who still sings sometimes over the ringing in my ears that, oh holy fuck, i am her sunshine and the hurricanes and coastal flooding can't hold a candle to even the once oscillating, hand-me-down, broken toy fan in my head; that i just need to be louder and everyone will see- even if i can't make it- before the ground gives way, and we all crumble into the daydream bedrock thats left of the polluted, warming oceans, simulated cocoons within cocoons in a dying, freezing universe- that even if i cant make it- even then- that gravity is weaker than i am, even in my knees and my heart, and I'll fucking float, even if only for a moment, suspended for a second within a second within a second just like our lost loves within the dreams and memories that are all we have- yeah she croaks that into my ears and it makes my get up and go... be got up and went.

then again its an impossible distance of improbable what-the-fucks and last-given-fucks and no more chances and no more

dances. not for me and certainly not by me and definitely not for free. well, maybe. i get this feeling that no one really wants and everyone is tired, so tired- at first i thought they were just too stupid or impatient and couldn't read... until it hit me that it isn't them- it's me. everyone is so tired of me- the same old struggling, enemy ghost- it doesn't matter what i post- i don't have a who-cares-the-most list- and if i did, it would end before it could begin and even then, even then wouldn't qualify me for who-feels-sorry-for or most-missed-suicide-warning artist, no- not even pissed off and screaming out names of my friends on their fucking lawns in the middle of the night just before they pass out drunk- nope, not even then can i get anything beyond a halfassed return text that says something more than how fucking boring theyve become and just dont want, can't handle anything more than their favorite youtube channel- holy mother of fuck I'm just an angry voice inside my own head who picks on the dead and doesnt have his own bed.

yeah I've slept on the floor for fucking way more than I care to admit to even no one here on my nobody blog with it's nobody words and fuck, fuck, fuck, even if i just fucking say it- that I'm going to do it- either 0 or 100 and this time I mean it- I'm going to climb to the top of that cliff even if I have to crawl or slither like a snake and eat from the streets and bathe in my own salts and sweat; I'm more afraid of not trying than I am of being nothing, but I'm even more afraid of being alone and spent than being nothing- 

so this. is. it. 

first person to say something gets a gift. second person to say something gets to watch. third person to say something is too late. and the fourth and fifth and on will be all the kids tomorrow who i told you over and over again would need something good to read because they're getting bored with all your stupid, fucking memes.

Thursday, August 9, 2018

[m]

[This was the most difficult poem I've ever written. Formatting appears best on desktop or tablets because of their screen size. Most mobile phones will display it incorrectly.]

Because You
.
.
.................................................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