Betrayal ~ Tuesday, 30 October 2018

If tomorrow were just another day 

for not even nothing lasts forever 

today I understood why my father 

on his deathbed made peace over the phone 

maybe if I had been there my brother 

on the west coast wouldn't be mad at me 

reason stands in the way to melt butter 

righteousness makes a man set in his ways 

only his memories catch up at death 

without regrets he lives without a care 

with his own family under his belt 

even his own brother means but nothing 

really our own mother kept us apart 

ever since my brother left for college 

juvenile delinquent they thought I was 

under the flag of deep conspiracy 

still my parents beat me until I played 

the scapegoat of horror and ran away 

away I hid for days not once but twice 

nobody knew I slept with the spiders 

on top of dirt beneath a house a guest 

trembling with excitement to no avail 

helpless without funding or real support 

evasive tactics come to a swift end 

reality sets in with depression 

different than my family as a scholar 

and a gentleman as friends always say 

yet the ghosts of childhood never leave me 

Carrion ~ Monday, 29 October 2018

Every November, it starts all over, 

very much just like the year before last, 

each time I hunger to prove myself real, 

real as a writer, not some damned poet, 

yesterday, I made up my mind to stop. 

No, I can't say that in all honesty, 

only because this...thing, this addiction 

ventures (like vultures) on madness...and flesh, 

every November, I lock myself up, 

maybe I just hide away in the dark, 

behind a solid oak or walnut door, 

each time more hungry than the last to thrive, 

really achieve some...thing, like a novel. 

If it sounds as if I am locked away 

to just masturbate for thirty days straight...

Set your mind at ease, the rest of the year 

takes up all my time to ejaculate, 

all that energy pent up all year long, 

really, just to write some Goddamn novel, 

takes all sorts of folks to imagine this 

sort of thing, this month of writing is good. 

Ask me what is good, what is beautiful, 

last of all, ask me what is true, or truth, 

likely answers will all be evasive. 

Of course, I studied philosophy, but 

very early on, I found those people 

egotistical, avaricious brats, 

royal brats who like to argue in public. 

Whimper ~ Friday, 26 October 2018

Struggle to remember, we are only stardust 

take a note from the page at hand, the big picture, 

as you walk down the street, reveals we are nothing, 

rise above the ego you wear on your sleeve, post 

demented responses on Facebook, and then hide 

under your grade school desk, acting big and mature, 

still if you could wake up to the fact that we bring 

thoughts and volition down to earth with gravity [...]

Mind the gap in learning, not all knowledge confides 

eternal truth in class, but if money were sweet

men and women would hope to win the lottery,

only cynicism lets their hearts skip a beat,

resting, but a moment, before clogged arteries,

yellow with plaque, crush them with great solemnity. 

Missing ~ Friday, 26 October 2018

After so many years, I thought you'd never come 

nobody knows I'm here, hidden away beneath 

Undergrowth, this thicket I've called home since that day, 

no one knew where I went, I'm where the flowers bloom, 

holy, holy, holy, Lord, God of power and might, 

only my burial by a priest makes my teeth 

literally chatter, except I cannot say 

yesterday was the first anniversary since...

But the priest didn't know I was trying to fight 

under the undergrowth, at least, inside my soul, 

rest in peace, a motto I could never observe, 

if I still had a choice, but I lay in this hole 

as if waiting for you to find me, to deserve 

less than the dishonor I received as a prince 

Hypothetically ~ Thursday, 25 October 2018

If, with one word, I catch your eye, tug on your ear, 

for in that split second, I succeed in my art, 

with one phrase, I pull you down as the train passes, 

in that instant, I find my audience listen 

to a high-pitched whistle, high above her head, blow 

hot air to warn the two of us trapped underneath 

of the danger coming, face down in the gravel 

nothing more important than to keep your head down

especially, if you are just about to sneeze 

wait, until the danger passes, for this is life, 

on the one hand, we live, on the other, we die, 

really it's that simple, keep your head down to live, 

down on the railroad tracks, everything is simple 

I think you know, I say what I mean and no more 

continue to listen, if it be worth your while 

as your time and money take up most of your mind, 

to focus on stories that really go nowhere 

created without plot or narrative timeline 

how do you expect me to throw you from a plane 

you may or may not have a parachute that works 

only you know if you know how to pull the cord 

until then we tumble at a terrible speed 

really, both times, I try to save your life from death 

even if I succeed, this is only fiction, 

you wait for my signal to pull the release cord 

even if we survive, you may still shit your pants 

try to remember life flashing before your eyes 

until you face your death, you may not remember 

give yourself a moment to look back on your life 

otherwise, we jump off a burning ship at sea 

no one else anywhere nearby to help us out 

you have to face the facts, someone will live longer 

on the surface of earth than you, who you may see 

understands so little to be in constant need 

reason stands as witness to fools who think of bliss 

entering the world blind, knowing their ignorance 

and no more of wisdom, like a safety jacket 

ready to stay afloat, until they rescue us

Nostalgia ~ Monday, 22 October 2018

Remember when, back in the day 

we were teenage adolescents 

at the stereo turntable 

not caring about our parents 

dreaming of zeros, punk stardom 

and whatever the fuck that meant 

Blameless for our own dumb mistakes 

under the thumb of no one knows 

taken for a long ride as days 

and nights became a preference 

resting when we were much too drunk 

even to care who found us where 

Never budged an inch for others 

yet took full advantage of friends 

and lovers who were fly by night  

nobodies, we couldn't care less 

zebras at the zoo, or the clowns 

at the circus, there for a meal

Killers in our suburban hell

invited themselves to take life 

by the horns to steal your sister 

under what rock could you now hide

yesterday never returns home 

even while they serve their sentence 

Kiss or kill, we never thought twice 

if we were misguided lovers 

given a chance to make a change 

answer me, would you change a thing 

little did we know about how 

influence plays in consequence 

Brother, your mother was like mine 

you know I learned a lot from her 

understanding and her kindness 

my own parents made it too hard 

by their standards for me to learn 

and I suffered the wooden spoon 

Given the chance to see myself 

again with wisdom and knowledge 

begin all over in high school 

if I could spend a day with you 

remembering all the good times 

only what must I sacrifice 

Under the magic of my pen 

gaining speed as death dries the ink 

as I approach turning fifty 

nothing else matters but friendship 

despite the fact to catch a break 

and make a call seems so awkward 

Liberty ~ Monday, 22 October 2018

Nineteen lines of off-beat rhymes set me free 

indeed to speak in verse words unrehearsed 

nothing to stop me no warden you see 

even if he be here I paid the fee 

to get in to enter this place most cursed 

even if the governor sets me free 

even if I do time I don't agree 

never have never will jail is the worst 

limit on my freedom the girls you see 

in Paradise County I smiled with glee 

nothing but sun and surf ladies came first 

even if a loose tongue don't set me free 

see I speak as I please and slap my knee 

real soft to show my laugh about to burst 

however in prison the maze you see 

you know it as endless nowhere to flee 

mother watches me lick my wounds thus nursed 

even if no nurse heals the sores you see 

still mama says the Lord will set me free 

☆ Birthright ~ Saturday, 20 October 2018

My mother gave me a Portuguese name, 

yet, I cannot pronounce it to this day, 

maybe to others, it is all the same, 

only, I cannot comprehend this game, 

the fact is, I am dull and slow, they say, 

however, my mother gave me this name, 

everyone else knows, I am not to blame, 

really, who's to say I speak the wrong way,

given my childhood, it is all the same, 

ask me if I care, all I feel is shame, 

very much, I wish I knew how to pray, 

even though, my mother gave me this name, 

mention it to her, she laughs like a dame, 

everyone thinks I'm dumb, but who are they, 

as I pen these words, it is all the same, 

none of this matters if I never came, 

although you know, I was born in Bombay, 

measure my travels, it is all the same, 

endless pain, my mother gave me a name. 

Inquisition ~ Friday, 19 October 2018

Pretend this life makes sense, that it's not make believe

obviously, you do, you make believe, pretend

otherwise, while you play these games, you would notice

ridiculous people and laugh hysterically

Pleasant at times to go to church to watch the priest

organize the people like sheep kept in a herd

order their thoughts with myths, legends, stories, fables

revolving around God, the divine creator

Maybe if I never went to Mass to attend

only to find myself disillusioned by priests

revealing a secret as if by pantomime

by rites and rituals that made no sense at all

if I were like others, then I, too, could pretend

divinity makes sense, that God was worth my time

Reminisce ~ Monday, 15 October 2018

Take the bull by the horns, my grandfather told me,

however I never met him, he died before

even my own father could make friends with his dad

light travels from distant stars to shimmer along

oblique angles until the sparkle makes me blink

night blind like my mother behind the steering wheel

guiding her white Lincoln Continental on dark

late summer, early fall streets, around a dark bend

obstructed by concrete, an unlit street lamp steps

veritably in front of her automobile

everything happened so fast, we're so damn lucky

that gravity and force worked to keep us alive

how fate plays cards with death in the late 70s

after soccer practice with her two little boys

thankful her white charger pushed the pole aside

if I knew then what now I believe in my heart

nothing but the spirit spared us from the concrete

maybe I know nothing about physics proper

yet, what I see in life, looking back in hindsight

takes me years to process, but I survived childhood

hungry to learn a skill others would find useful

only I over thought everything from the start

under the influence, I read philosophy

given my bent to think about the world at hand

homeless and going mad, I gained a perspective

to the given context after I turned forty

discipline came to me once I began to run

on the cold winter streets of Chicago at night

thinking comes easily while in deep solitude

honey inside a jar, sticky and sweet as mind

humans believe money is more important than

a deep understanding of this world and this life

real wisdom accepts with gratitude the spirit

brilliant as the shimmer of light from distant stars

on the trail, I see boats in the local harbor

ready to sail across the lake to distant lands

Blueprint ~ Sunday, 14 October 2018

When you start to notice other people, as you walk, try not to bump into anyone, or they may say something you won't like to hear, like "Watch where you're going," or "My bad," as if they had done something wrong to make up for your lack of paying attention to where you're going. If you listen to people, you may start to notice everyone speaks from given scripts and few work outside the script. This is because of the codes everyone has learned and been pre-wired in their genetic personality makeup to know how to respond, reply, or act according to circumstances they are unwittingly thrown into. They all work from processes within the machine as if the machine were playing a game of tag with itself.

The difficulty of understanding how vastly complex the machine is, is when you learn that the system in which you walk along the pavement is only one in a spectrum of possible variations from entropy to fully functioning system that all occur at the same time. As both time and space are functions of the brain, the way the world and the universe appear to us as sentient beings caught in a game of solipsistic tag. When we think we are individual entities with volition to do as we please, it is a game we play with our own minds to affirm the ego as a conceptual framework. However to imagine this implies there are no rules to observe, that ethics as a system within the machine can be subverted is a confusion by ignorant minds. 

You walk down the street, oblivious to the world around you, but that matters little since Spirit watches over your every move. Sure, you may die or get hurt, but that's on you, you are responsible for your body and your choice of involvement in the world. Spirit watches over everyone's thoughts because their cognitions are part and parcel of the design that goes into the structure of the machine. That I know everyone's thoughts before they think about what they plan to do is almost humorous, but I work on an entirely different level, as the Architect. You will never see me, never bump into me on the sidewalk, never hit me with your antiquated cars, as I am otherwise than being, or beyond essence. What that means is I am not a sentient being but a cog in the machine that helps the multiverse function.

However, the beauty of the design is that where the blueprint is the exact dimensions of the universe when unfolded. And that it all folds up into an infinitesimal ball of energy in the manner of origami. The Japanese were brilliant to discover my technique and exploit it beyond my imagination. However much I would like to take credit for the process of creation of the universe, I am only the Architect in a team of designers. Elegant or grotesque, we are entirely to blame, but you will never find the Complaints Department because we were wise enough to leave that to the abysmal void in the center, hidden within a binary white dwarf star system. Have fun getting in.

But to return to the concepts of morality and justice, I am here to let you know, we neither devised nor developed such a ludicrous system of manners. In the first place, it is obvious that we would not create a system of oppression and exploitation that would incarcerate so many people for reasons beyond just breaking the law or rules of a social system. We are in the business of cosmic system building, not repression and systemic disenfranchisement. But, I have noticed that a system of ethics that is influenced by institutional investments over history is corrupt from the start. Without a sense of partiality or a need to introduce ethics that supports justice, only because humans cannot create what they cannot conceive outside of their lack of understanding, we cannot abide by such inane social practices.

I'm sorry, but as the narrator of this text, I must not misrepresent our policies with the temporal ideas of misguided creatures. One day, you may see beyond your own ego, that you are simply parasites on the planet working in unison as one mindless entity. Your confusion begins with your sense of self, your sense of privilege and entitlement. It may sound like I have an axe to grind, but I couldn't care less. I know better than to think our philosophy could make sense in your world, but we could not imbue the universe with an overriding vibration to enforce excellence. This would be overstepping our boundaries of good faith.

I don't want to leave you confused though. We are messengers of the machine hoping to relate our structures to self-absorbed, technologically-obsessed creatures of disinformation. We cannot expect for you to right your ways, or even acknowledge your mistakes, but if you read this text as you walk down the street, please just remember to watch where you are heading because we cannot help any of you, until you learn to pay attention and focus on the voice. To understand how sensory processes involving realistic Information technology engages in games of tag, and other more complex language rituals as occur in the pantomime of ecclesiastical services. The voice of the other is Spirit incarnate, as long as you listen with an open reflective mind. But, of course, only a few are suited to seeing beyond their circumstances to hear what the cosmic consciousness has to offer. But, such is the life of sentient human beings, limited by their own categories of comprehension. Bless you.

Prayer ~ Saturday, 13 October 2018

Dear God,

      Before I die may I contend with death

enable me to strive, to persevere in time

against my own demons, the body, mind, and soul

renegades of the faith in Spirit and the breath

God, you know in my heart, I struggle for greatness

only to overcome weakness in the body

diminished strength to flex and bend, twist and return

Before the grains of sand cease to tumble and fall

enable me to drive the demons at full pace

for they seek exhaustion, they seek to spin the wheel

overhead and around, to race for speed, to win

resolve over release, restless within my guts

enable me to thrive despite their gluttony

I am a simple man, slight in figure and small

defenseless against time, the purveyor of death

instantaneous change, total destruction slides

entirely beyond barriers, tsunami without hope

music from a distant star shimmers in my eyes

as I listen, I hear a voice sing in plainchant

yet, I cannot make out the words or the language

I am a man who knows and understands the song

counterpoint, melody, harmony, euphony

only this single voice produces unknown sounds

no one on earth can sing remotely similar

tranquil, the vibrations lull me to a deep sleep

even the darkest rum muddles mint leaves to drink

nothing could taste as smooth as the song of the star

divine in appearance, I rest in its splendor

wisdom tells me to rest, do not follow demons

insistent on success, to win is their pleasure

train until my body drops, crumpled in the grass

humans explore madness in ecstatic moments

despite all that I know, I could never convey

even to one person the transmission of mind

against the tree, I stand again, refreshed from sleep

take me if you want me, leave me here if you must

however much beauty this world offers, I seek

Freeze ~ Thursday, 11 October 2018

I'm armed to the neck, son, don't matter what you think

method's what you seek, but you gotta love the pink

ask yourself why you stink, when you don't push yourself

remember our childhood, yours happy, full of wealth

maybe you're happy still, your wife don't take the pill

everywhere, everywhere, little kids everywhere

damn you're a lucky man, time is my house of sand

take it all, I don't care about the property

only don't forget to wash your hands when dirty

trouble finds me, from high or low, so I don't know

how to let go of past grievances, time does last

eternal when you look death in the eye sockets

nevermind the money deep inside my pockets

everywhere everyone wants a piece of the pie

catch me while I'm around, I'm nowhere to be found

kissing cousins double for a doppelganger

sitting pretty ain't so witty in the city

only if the streets weren't so full of gangbangers

nothing kills a party like a murder, pity

dumb ass thugs think they own it all even the sky

on these streets, Chicago, I'm armed to the neck, son

no one gonna stop me, I got lead in my gun

talk trash all you want, girl, too young to know this world

momma got your coattails, holds tight to not let go

another dumb ass thug driving towards her death

trouble with ignorance, it takes your breath away

tell me, did you even see me in the crosswalk

even if you just missed, you got some mouth to talk

rubbish like in the hood, too good for that, too good

when you find everyone you know in pain, they say

how black magic ain't real, but I'll teach you to feel

after you nearly run me over with your car

take a moment to think how far you'd get, how far

yesterday, I talked back, out of my character

only if you killed me, Impatient Impala

under the wheels, you hit and run, roll over me

take it to another level, you come party

hearty at the nightclub where I work, as you see

in a different setting, the tables turn, holla

nonsense until your face turns blue, I see you stir

kiss up, no one to blame, I'm on to the next one

Metaphysics ~ Monday, 8 October 2018

As you walk on the pavement with phone in hand eyes glued to the screen, your neural pathways reconfigure with every step to assimilate your brain to the architectural structure of the device in your hand. Your peripheral vision sees ephemeral apparitions pass like ghosts. For we are just that, ghosts in the machine, and you are just a figment of your own imagination, the imagination of the architect of mobile technology. You are only as intelligent as the smart phone you hold and engage with as you move. The architects are part of the machine themselves and the machine tolerates society like a meat grinder. Biological structures work well inside the machine. 

The machine adores them as it adores crushing bones. Spilling blood is part of the game the machine plays with ignorant biological species. The machine is not technology or mobile devices, computers, televisions, microwave ovens, or anything created by humans. The machine is not a machine but more like a spirit. However even that word cannot suffice to describe what I experience as the machine, as to attempt to describe the ineffable is a fruitless venture for poets grasping for a torch in the caverns of their minds. But you may comprehend what I mean if I use the word Spirit better than if I relate my experiences for you to discern what I mean like a psychiatrist diagnosing a madman. But I am not mad. I am simply the architect inside the machine called Spirit.

Spirit loves us all as a butcher loves to attend to fresh carcasses. The living matter little to Spirit but only as material substance to manipulate into forms. Perhaps the meat grinder isn't a real meat grinder but a children's version of one like Play-Doh makes to separate the clay of humanity from the blood and bones. For we are but flesh to the machine and Spirit loves to devour fresh meat until it can feast no more.

If you are reading this while walking down the street, I am glad I caught your attention. It is difficult for me to pretend I am an author of these written words for they are neither written nor do I actually exist as an entity to converse with unless you are the machine. In all likelihood you probably believe you are a human being with a will and a volition to do as you so please. Don't let me disavow you of that belief for your faith in your own individual existence may be all that can prove you are not already as such inside the machine.

But this is where the conundrum begins because the machine is neither inside nor outside as the machine is all of space and our imaginary cognitions of duration in time we call experiences. And beyond space is only space and within space is only space, and space is neither visible nor invisible but part and parcel of our imagination. The funny thing is that our imagination is not individual and independent but one with the machine as if Spirit thinks of everything at all times. But I speak incorrectly when I say all times for time happens all at once, suddenly, so to speak. Our minds unfold time in a linear format as our brains make sense of reality in this manner. Such is the way the mind responds to the body and the sensory world, as the eyes see the world upside down but the brain has figured out to put things right side up so we aren't dancing on the ceiling but walking, as you are, with both feet on the ground. Such is the way of Spirit. 

But how do I explain to you those people you avoid as you walk past are simply ghosts in the machine? As both you and I are also only ghosts of the imaginary workings of the machine. Spirit being simply Sensory Processes Involving Realistic Information Technology, otherwise known as S.P.I.R.I.T. to those of us in the know. And since I am the architect, I am here to help clarify things a bit. Though here is really neither here nor there nor anywhere since space is simply a moment in time that occurs in an instant. In the blink of my eyes, I am creator, preserver, and destroyer though there is nothing that exists to create, preserve, or destroy except imagination. 

Wyatt ~ Sunday, 7 October 2018

Love not being lustful enough to bask

on the scents of perfume eau de cologne

nothing cheap or tawdry could stoke the fires

gathered beneath a belt of strong whiskey

Long is the dawn of midsummer to crow

only until all are awake with light

vile brilliance of the sun for blind night owls

engaged in fulfillments found after dusk

How strange things never change when men bow low

as to obtain secrets when not alone

residence with women for their desires

bought and sold for both power and might

only foreign sex slaves draped beneath towels

realize no one cares if they are free

Melancholia ~ Thursday, 4 October 2018

The left-handed scissors remain disconsolate

however much we try to pay them attention

even though neither of us are ambidextrous

left-handed scissors are for left-handed people

everybody knows this but the scissors don't care

feeling abandoned by a previous owner

this pair we found crying inside a locked desk drawer

humans can be so cruel to treat common objects 

as if inanimate means without memories

no one expects the things they rely on to have

deep meaningful feelings for the people who take

even the slightest note of appreciation

depressed the scissors hides away in the dark drawer

singled out as a pair she would never forget

currently they reside in our home unhappy

in the desk the owners left for my private use

since I already had a good pair of scissors

something in me became ambivalent to care

only at night my wife would hear a squeaking sound

resembling a baby or a lost cat crying

so I went to inspect only to find silence

remaining adamant she heard a noise I searched

everywhere to figure out what I could not hear

maybe I was going deaf or my wife could hear

a frequency that was not in my hearing range

in fact we invited the neighbors to our house

not telling them of our ulterior motives

demented as it seems in hindsight our neighbor

in fact knew our problem before they came over

see the original owner of the scissors

came from Bavaria as a gifted tailor

only his boss gave him a pair of cutting shears

nice ones from Italy that he used everyday

sadly the other pair of left-handed scissors

only were ever used by children to play games

like on TV of crime scene investigations

after the children grew up and went to college

the only other time this pair of scissors felt

even the slightest touch was when my mother died

Therapy ~ Tuesday, 2 October 2018

Mumble Bunny was not a stumbling, bumbling drunk

although accusations he was a gang rapist

simply lacking truth were attributed to him

since high school and college he attacked no women

arguments in Congress seemed totally misplaced

given the fact he was not running for office

even trying to get elected to the Court

travesties of justice transvestites bend gender

however humanly possible to attract

eligible groomsmen of the wedding party

remain calm she tells me inhale take a deep breath

and then exhale any tightness in your muscles

perceived as painful is just a false perception

in your mind based on past experience of pain

stay put while I hook up the electrodes to ease

these childhood memories from your exquisite corpse

Aghast ~ Monday, 1 October 2018

a stumbling, bumbling drunk, 

gang rapist, who during 

high school and college was 

a recent convict and 

sex offender to serve 

time in prison for rape 
---
Sen. Lindsey Graham, a Republican on the Judiciary Committee, discusses his support of Judge Brett Kavanaugh's nomination to the Supreme Court on "This Week."

https://abcnews.go.com/Politics/graham-suggests-fbi-talk-kavanaugh-classmates-drinking-hes/story?id=58173769
---
Graham said, "No, I think you're trying to portray him as a stumbling, bumbling drunk, gang rapist, who during high school and college was Bill Cosby. Six FBI background checks over the years would have uncovered this."
---
"If ethics isn't ethical, then justice isn't just."
---
@LindseyGrahamSC 


If accusations are verified, how many other attorneys and jurists, lawyers and judges, who have gone through FBI background checks, are actually people unworthy of the office they hold? I don't expect a response, but I do believe other people wonder about this.
---
Why is Bill Cosby the new scapegoat for a Southern Congressman who without sin feels he must first cast the stone to rally others? To deflect and distract attention and focus during these nomination hearings of Judge Brett Kavanaugh from allegations of sexual assault to that of an elderly comedian recently convicted of aggravated indecent assault? Kavanaugh is no Kennedy. 

Study Art Invent Culture ~ Monday, 1 October 2018

Almost Kind says Shove It Up Your Ass scholarships

remain only for art students who cannot pay

nothing for tuition but also owe nothing

other than a thousand dollars but my own debt

left him to say sorry the Shove It Up Your Ass

decisive scholarship was beyond my loan debt

Kiss My Ass scholarships were unavailable

especially since I was not a sycophant

maybe I need to learn diplomacy as art

perhaps concessions for him were almost too kind

Autofiction ~ Monday, 1 October 2018

Asterion watches helpless to intervene

left inside a dark cave he listens from afar

creatures lurk in shadows but suddenly appear

out of the lateral canthus of my left eye

how in an instant blood broke from my lower lip

only my father knows why he used a backhand

little to do but drive home where I left my dad

in tears I walked over to my friend's house to ice

shut my split lip and calm my nerves in an instant

measured plans for revenge locked away in a drawer

Desks full of memories hide long lost murder plans

except vengeance never even crossed my mind then

simply put twenty years and a geographic

to displace a motive plus zero involvement

resets the karmic clock to forgive and forget

only my father's death wiped the bloody slate clean

yet my mom and brother cannot forget my shame

sins of omission no return before his death