The Truth about Animals ~ Friday, October 29, 2021

As I run on the Lakefront Trail, sometimes I pass the ducks and smile

Seeing non-menacing creatures like ducks, (as opposed to the geese),

I feel genuine innocence, especially with ducklings near

Running takes up much of my time but I often see such beauty

Until you pass a fisherman with a crane just twelve feet away

Nonchalantly waiting for fish to pull the line in the water

Only then will you understand why I run around Chicago

Not only do I see wildlife acting normal around people

To bear witness with my presence, ever-fleeting, ephemeral

Holding neither a camera nor my breath as I pass such marvels

Emerging out of nothingness and returning to emptiness

Lightning strikes on a stormy day and I am there to bear witness

Animals appear in the night like a nursery of raccoons

Kissing cousins to bears, I am afraid and slow down as I pass

Every animal exhibits defensive behaviors at times

From my vantage point, I have seen coyotes wary of my steps

Rabbits appear ubiquitous as I run north to Evanston

On a good day, I see squirrels frolic and play with each other

Nevermind the urban rodents, huge rats as big as a small dog

To run at night or in the day, I see all sorts of animals

To think of us as rational animals as Aristotle

Reminded us that we all share in the wilderness of nature

As we use words to help define our place within the universe

I imagine the fisherman feeding the crane fish he catches

Like a subtle symbiotic relationship that cares for needs

Since I was a boy, I ran fast and for long distances as such

Only as an adult, I run further away to see the sights

Maybe I witness not a thing worth mentioning to my girlfriend

Ever since I was laid off from working at the bookstore, I ran

To say I picked up the habit again to help me think clearly

I know it sounds strange but illness covers the mind like a blanket

Made of snow that melts with the spring and returns again in winter

Even my chronic depression hides during marathon training

So I train year-round in the snow and ice, the rain, the heat, the wind

I wish I could go train elsewhere at times but Chicago is home

Perhaps one day, I will go see wildlife, the animals, elsewhere

As I grow older, my body becomes less flexible like trees

Still, I stretch and work on balance to maintain this lifestyle for years

Some people are in awe of what I do in my spare time, I run

To see the sights, the animals, free within their own habitat

Hungry for solitude to think, some quiet time to remember

Emotions that make me upset embedded in lost memories

Difficult to process alone, I listen to my breath, let go

Ugly hateful ideas of past experiences, the beauty

Culled up in my experience while running effaces the past

Kiss painful emotions goodbye, better than psychotherapy

Still it helps to have a sober mind and outlook as moderate

Aristotle helped shape our minds with logic from Antiquity

Not to belittle therapy, behind closed doors with lock and key

Ducklings waddle behind mothers and fathers to form a family

Since my own idea of family was distorted since my childhood

Maybe I can imagine ducks as good parents to their ducklings

I am, of course, being facile, simple-minded and neglectful

Let go of all the misery this world has to offer, these ducks

Elicit smiles from all who pass, their innocence, non-menacing

The Truth about Animals ~ Thursday, October 28, 2021

What we believe is true is make-believe

how we see a family of Mallard ducks

as we pass the ducklings along the bay

to say 'family' and believe what we hear

we use words to paint a picture of life

exactly as we see a photograph

believe what you will, I won't dissuade you

even if this concept we call 'family'

leaves much to be desired, a projection

in words creates the idea or feeling

emerging deep from the darkness within

vision sees the world one way in the brain

each sensation the mind flips upside-down

if you see a photograph in a frame

stuck to the wall, hung in a museum

to see the title say, "Family" and think

reflectively, the image is reversed

undone by mirrors inside a chamber

energy as photoelectric light

in that moment a room inside a room

still-life captured inside a museum

maybe the ducks in the image in pairs

along the lake waddle in the water

kin or not kin, can we be sure for sure

even so, do they see themselves as kin

babble on and on about language games

egocentric human beings, we see

literally what we want to believe

in using value-laden words, we lose

exactly this connection from the ducks

veritably, they do not see themselves

even for a moment as we see them

The Truth about Animals ~ Thursday, October 28, 2021

Family means the most to

almost everyone except

me now why that

is the way it is

leaves much to the imagination

yet these ducks in a pond

make-believe we believe is

exactly what we see but it

ain't 'cuz let me tell you cuz

nothing is as we believe you

see the mind is full of deception

to snap a photo of passing ducks

however cute however quaint

elicits a reaction or a response

make believe the ducks are real

only caught up in a moment

still-life projection of the mind

to call what we assume is real

to call it "Family" in a frame

on a wall makes it art but not true

Twisted Nerve ~ Monday, October 25, 2021

This is why my family hates me. I'm cold hearted, a right bastard, as the Brits say.

When I see a person in need, I imagine what someone else would do to help.

I can't imagine what the other person feels. I sympathize but I lack empathy.

Sympathy is patronizing, like handing a couple of bucks to a homeless person.

To effect change takes concerted effort. I may be too disconcerted to care enough.

Even if I could turn back time to figure out what went wrong in my head or heart...

Different people respond differently to circumstances requiring a level of patience.

Not that I could rewire my brain or rewrite my childhood so I could be a good person.

Everyone is different but my family took offense I wasn't more like they were.

Really, I'm not such a bad guy, just eccentric in my detachment from others.

Veritably, I had to move away to not play the scapegoat, a role well-suited to pity.

Even if I could make amends, it's not entirely my fault my character lacks care.

Cloudburst ~ Saturday, October 23, 2021

Stuck in a dream sequence without resolution, neither shock nor terror

Trapped in situations without resolution, no hope for the future

Underneath the facade without resolution to problems within sleep

Comatose in this life without resolution to problems of this world

Killed by an avalanche without resolution, I survived by God's grace

In this world, I appear on a hospital bed, I cannot see myself

No one can help but God, but God doesn't exist, at least, that's what she said

A sister kneels by me, no relation, a nun, prays beside my bedside

Despite my condition, I imagine all this, a nun down on her knees

Remember, I'm in bed, on a hospital bed, after an avalanche

Each minute, the blanket of snow covers my corpse, it lets me live longer

Ask me why I was there on the mountain covered in a blanket of snow

My dream to climb the Alps, to climb Mt. Everest and Kilimanjaro

"Suck my cock you dumb bitch!" She just prays on her knees for a damn miracle

Everyone has problems. Look at me here in bed. I was a millionaire

Question my sympathy, my lack of compassion, I just want to eat steak

Until you sleep in bed, not awake and not dead, for more than one long year

Even my state of mind remembers what it's like to be alive and well

Nothing better than me face down after a night of drinking in some pie

Call me a so-and-so, whatever you call me reflects your own complex

Except kindness kills me, I see people being nice to homeless people

Wonders never cease, no but I find charity and generosity

In equal parts, wicked to the struggle to strive, it kicks me in the balls

To say we help homeless people with a handout, when they ask for spare change

Hold it! Hold it right there, I might be stuck in bed with these horrible dreams

Obviously, I'm fucked. If I could clean my ass I'd be okay, but no

Until you're stuck in bed for over seven years, you won't see my problem

To say the homeless guy doesn't have a snowball's chance in Hell, doesn't know

Real struggle is to live life to the fullest, no? The homeless guy is fucked

Even with everything taken care of for him, he does nothing worthwhile

Solving problems, seeking resolutions, helps me help others to survive

Only they don't survive if they don't do their part in helping themselves live

Life is full of struggle, some accept the challenge, some let others decide

Until you climb the Alps and see the sheer beauty in the struggle to climb

To say you accept life with all of its struggles, you just don't have a clue

If you slave at a job to make a decent wage and one day they cut you

Of course, you will bounce back but maybe with less hope, with less understanding

Nothing is for certain, every corner is blind, deals made behind closed doors

Never take the future for granted, this moment drifts back into the sea

Even in a coma, I dream about the past but still I can't wake up

I was born ambitious but now I am nothing but a body in bed

To imagine my past as a financier or a mountain climber

However difficult the challenge presented, I grasped it with both horns

Every dilemma comes with conditions no one would seek unless forced to

Reason is beyond me as my capacity to think is diminished

Shock, cardiac arrest, my body understood under a shelf of snow

How profound the weight, no? I lost consciousness, slept the stuff dreams are made of

Ordinary people under such conditions don't survive easily

Call me a lucky duck except for the fact that I'm still in a coma

Kiss me goodnight, eight years, this nun, I'm like her son, the son she never had

Nothing makes sense in dreams, the real world disappears when you're out like a light

Of course, muscle mass shrinks, my body atrophies like an MS patient

Recovery becomes a game of waking up, of lifting my eyelids

Terror to pull the plug, am I a vegetable as my grown children say

Even my wife gave up after nine years, divorce, all I have is this nun

Recently, I've started to speak but not as a reply, I'd say the damnedest things

Really, this nun just prays and weeps beside my bed every day for an hour

Of course, I learned all this after eleven years, I finally woke up

Real consciousness seems strange after so many years being stuck in a dream

Star-crossed Lovers ~ Wednesday, October 20, 2021

I am (not) a monster. Or am I? I don't know. Or do I? Maybe so...

So maybe I sought love from my family and friends and failed well to succeed

Ought I to know the truth? In the mirror, I see a human with two horns.

Until somebody said, "Maybe you should hide those under a French beret."

Guessing I was different than the rest of the crowd that I stand out with horns.

How people would freak out if they could see my tail or my legs like a bull.

Tailor-made pantalons with specially-made shoes hide my bovine physique.

Fit like an athlete, women want to make love with me until they see

In the darkness of night, what I am is no man, nor simply animal.

To say I am a beast, a monster is too much, such indelicate words.

Words, words, words, words, words, words, words. I just want to fuck, to succumb to desire.

Ordinary people without horns or a tail get to live sexy lives.

Rivers of blood, I spill when I go down to feast on the flesh of women.

Despite my black beret, my horns get in the way and gut my love interests.

Silly women think me the devil in disguise, but I'm the Minotaur.

Trouble is everyone thinks that I'm a monster and that I should be killed.

Obviously, monsters don't exist but I do. I am a real person.

Paint the blackest picture that you could imagine. I am dead to the world.

Antiquity killed me, puerile mythology, for children and adults.

In the mirror, I see a handsome gentleman and on All Hallows' Eve.

Not the monster I am in the eyes of others because of my ethics.

To say I've made mistakes is an understatement but then I have these horns.

To kill another man with these pointed bull horns would be mea culpa.

However to murder a woman by mistake within carnal pleasure

Even this is frowned down upon within the courts but I am an outcast.

Blackest sheep among wolves, innocence is cutthroat, predators are victims.

Lackluster, a long life, if only I had died when Theseus found me.

Absent-minded heroes accept the truth they see, they believe deception.

Clarity, mindfulness occurs inside a cave, total darkness from light.

Kill a make-believe bull by decapitation and everyone loves you.

Escape was my release from my dark confinement on the Island of Crete.

Still, fitting in was hard, so I hid in England though I am very tall.

To find a ten foot man in a crowd is easy, but I hid nonetheless.

Face my blackest mistakes as an immortal god, I am beyond all sin.

Although, criminals think I'm a bad ass killer as I have no restraint.

Cutthroat, I joined the monks to learn philosophy, politics and econ.

Economics is lies with a cube of sugar in order to gain wealth.

Obviously, I think differently than people as I am a monster.

Face my blackest mistakes, I'm not even human except for my torso.

Woe be to Minotaurs who bear a human heart, it is so confusing.

Ordinary people don't know what I have learned from my experience.

Experience cannot be conveyed to people who dwell inside dark caves.

Heliocentric Buddha ~ Tuesday, October 19, 2021

Experience, whether of body or mind, is but another argument

Xerox the tradition in the wake of wisdom to find flaws in reason

Point out to followers that the words of wisdom are curated nonsense

Expect slaps on the back, no, but across the face, perhaps or perhaps not

Reason creates structures for narrative fiction to bolster arguments

Indeed, what better way to change the world than lie about what you may know

Even if he did know as he was purported to attain clarity

No one else who follows in his footsteps attained the same without question

Conditions of knowledge are that they can be known as universal truths

Exceptions to the rule occur over eons, no one knows the whole truth

Witness testimony still cannot convey truth, knowledge as understood

Humans believe to have faith, for faith leads to great hope in possibility

Even belief without reason can guide people to achieve great success

Trouble is ... faith has no foundation to succeed in itself for people

Humans create mind games with language as a tool to overcome blindness

Even if said blindness is metaphorical as the future is dark

Reason allows fiction to build other planets of imagination

Order the universe as you choose for the stars become constellations

For then constellations guide our navigation in darkness through the world

Body is all we know, all else is accident, thoughts arise from thin air

Our conceptions structure and shape experience, the flashing of neurons

Despite our thoughts being prevalent in our lives, all we know is body

Yet we harm our bodies as if nothing matters but ethereal mind

Organize the structures of our understanding as if mind were linchpin

Reason forms chariots from imagination, the function of matter

Mind is not clay to shape but a vessel given by our uncertainty

In order to accept our inability to foretell the future

Nothing but language games and blockages of thought that hamper our actions

Despite the privilege words offer their creator, mind can't overcome mind

In the same way, body cannot transform itself without playing mind games

Still, for body to know clarity, purity is the path it must walk

Body and mind exist in tandem like a bike, one in front, one behind

Understanding reshapes words into language games that affect the body

To ride this bicycle, one must know which comes first, though time is relative

Asinine followers never question structures, they accept with blind faith

No one argues the truth, only their opinion based on their narrative

Obedience to law is not the law itself but a lack of respect

To never recognize the arbitrary facts of significations

How arbitrary signs may alter the meaning and cause repercussions

Even double meanings create consequences with the words right and left

Right is always simply right and thus good and true but left is sinister

Arguments re-create the world as a fiction, as make-believe, as faith

Reason acts as a sword to cut through the darkness within a polemic

Guile in faith persuades us to believe in fiction, in what we cannot know

Understanding resorts to accepting structures of mind games as given

Master reality to know the body is in itself without guile

Ever since time began, humans mark our presence as highest in value

Not seeing the falsehood of Ptolemaic thought in our own condition

To see the universe as Copernicus did, we drive the chariot

Star-crossed Lovers ~ Thursday, October 14, 2021

Knowledge is double-edged; in its authority, it plays a game with flesh.

Noble swordplay masters do not mince words with sheaths set aside for battle.

Objectives to swordplay are manifold as love, but not to die is prime.

Wicked is the candle that flickers with its tongue a luminescent flame.

Lightning-fast, the master strikes an opponent dead on the field of battle.

Enter the house of death, the hostel of the damned, victims of the light sword.

Decisive and certain, the grandmaster plays games with lesser opponents.

God grants the gifts of strength and fortitude to few of virtuous privilege.

Exit the house of death, where knowledge is fruitless as serpentine wisdom.

Might walks the double-edged banter of grandmasters unscathed by wicked tongues.

Ignorance of the sword is to accept the law of mere consequences.

God grant me the wisdom to avoid the master on the field of battle.

Hubris offers swift death by slashing through mere flesh for a thirst for blood grows.

Tastes differ by and large, the vast majority drowns the minority.

Pity bids us adieu while masters are at play; compassion hides her face.

Insistence on winning no matter the result abandons all fair play.

Tomorrow, like today, will differ in moments, but mind remains the same.

Yesterday, I woke up to find a grandmaster on the field of battle.

Win the war with wicked flames, whisper sweet nothings in ears burning with ice.

Ice melts the candle wax cool fire blue at both ends, who plays with swords of ice.

Neutral lines of assault disengage tacticians in double-edged swordplay.

And the essence of truth discovered in knowledge, knowing nothing is best.

Nothing more innocent than a know-nothing fool facing a grandmaster.

Deliberate killing of a fool in swordplay, akin to swatting flies.

Pity less fortunate creatures of misfortune lacking in compassion.

Independence of mind takes years of discipline, the fool hasn't the time.

Time is no illusion but for the ignorant who make up their own rules.

Yesterday, I arrived late for the umpteenth time for work, I'm but a fool.

Grace guides our gratitude as a daimonion mentors Tēlemakhos.

Rigorous discipline, a specialized knowledge, not for inferiors.

Art argues against truth, against knowledge, wisdom creating illusions.

Creation opens doors to the swordplay of words, the grandmasters listen.

Enlist the grandmasters in a contest of wills; feed them their daily swill.

Obtain for the boatswain what was there to retain interaction with swine.

But can the boatswain beat grandmasters at their game on the field of battle?

Tricky to say how love attracts violent games of both mind and swordplay.

Answers to the question are neither yes nor no but with a little help.

Interest in a sword fight on a ship with sailors as seen in a movie

Not only gains in appeal from total strangers but from grandmasters themselves.

Quarrels with Squirrels ~ Sunday, October 10, 2021

Arguments pro and con

go on and on

ad

infinitum,

nothing remains but a wasteland;

and we start all over again,

nothing but nothingness

despite the desert being dry

as a thigh bone,

go on, she said, humor me,

and

I could not help myself,

nothing doing, nothing to do in the desert,

until the sun expands beyond the horizon,

nothing but sand and clouds of dust,

talk until the vultures quit their squawking

in the turrets,

little castles in our desert wasteland;

talk about nothing at all, about sand

hitting the blasted wall,

ever-present, le maintenant-ici,

every instant of each moment being

nothing but occurrences always here

despite vultures always being the same.

Star-crossed Lovers ~ Thursday, October 7, 2021

Pleasure to write, to read, to study and to run, to accomplish my best.

Leave the stars in the sky, in the darkness of night, the lights from outer space.

Emptiness in my heart, I remember your death, your intention to die.

Ask me how many stars I count among the dead, and still I live, undead.

Struggle to overcome the problems of this life, this world is suffering.

Under the sun, we shine as children, as adults, as we grow to become.

Remember memories, the good, the bad, forget nothing, remember this lifetime.

Even if I could still remember the good times overwhelmed by bad times.

Might I find the strength in sorrow to overcome the hopelessness of life.

Imagine other worlds, other lives in fiction to re-create the truth.

Given the blockages that shackle memories to imprison my mind.

Hungry for accolades, for some recognition, for a little success.

Trauma weighs down the heart, emotions, a dark veil, low clouds hide the buildings.

Cause the eyes not to see, the mind not to believe that the sun always shines.

Ask me if I knew then you were Schrödinger's cat, both alive and not dead.

Until we are certain we cannot know the truth of a situation.

Still, I stood there knocking, were you alive inside, or by then, suicide.

Even now I wonder what could I do to help save you from your own mind.

Her Karmann Ghia lost deep in my nostalgia, orange in her driveway.

Even if I could save her life, at this point now, a moot point; she saved me.

Remember my sorrow back then was depression before I found running.

Read poetry, read books of fiction, non-fiction, read whatever you want.

Each to their own, read books, read magazines, read minds, the writing on the wall.

Angelic graffiti in the Book of Daniel, is this the first instance?

Devotees vow to know the meaning of omens as interpretation.

Reading illegible scripts by the hand of God, Maradona knows well.

Every time I look back, I re-create my thoughts, memories imagine.

Associates aging imagine memories as past events they lived.

Double reverse logic, memories remember past events in themselves.

In a world without selves, we are only bodies, perceptions-sensations.

Nothing makes sense to us because it's not supposed to make sense to our minds.

Given we don't know God, nor know the mind of God, how do we perceive self?

Magnanimous ego perceives the self in light of the image of God.

Indeed, I laugh at sleeves dripping with shit, egos worn to serve no purpose.

Grant me but a moment to compose my guffaw, I cannot help but laugh.

How it comes out sideways, I cannot hide my self, true or false to the world.

Talking with an old fox, he let me bear my soul asking about my life.

Make merry, make merry, drink Bourbon neat, no ice to adulterate love.

Aching to see the past, to open the front door, to answer my questions.

Kiss the corpse, she made me cry in my solitude, in my car, I wailed death.

Even though she saved me, saved me from suicide, I became a monster.

Her life was more precious than my own as a man, thus I am a monster.

Even if no one else sees or believes these words, they dismiss me outright.

Restless as buzzing flies, I hover over death as the lord of the flies.

Know that I am not what I say I am, I lie as words are my tender.

Nothing is made legal without a certain point to pivot a lever.

Obsequious fawning, I am and I am not servile with a brown tongue.

Witness solemnity, I suffer in silence, my red dwarf shines crimson.

Star-crossed Lovers ~ Wednesday, October 6, 2021

Today, I realized why people need to go find themselves; they are lost.

How they have lost something within themselves, their past, a time of innocence.

As they need to take time to get away from this, our mundane existence.

Their need to reassess their goals and their future lies in a self they lost.

Seldom do people need to get far, far away unless on vacation.

Helpless from the get-go, we humans are hapless, lacking in good fortune.

Even Adam and Eve were burdened with bad faith, their small demographic.

Desperate souls deserve fine accommodations, better than the cold streets.

Ever in our presence, they lose sight of our love, fly beneath our radar.

Absence creates distance, proximity... closeness, time takes understanding.

Remember, I lost you when I knocked at your door, you disappeared for good.

Shining stars in darkness, empty in the night sky, the light travels lifetimes.

Horrible your absence, our friendship ends in tears, I lost you forever.

Even though people die, you didn't have to go, your problems weren't so bad.

Maybe I could help you still by helping others in your predicament.

I never understood why you left, took your life, still I knock on your door.

Generosity grants the opportunity to take care of others.

How we care for others displays our gratitude, our strength of character.

Take solace in sorrow that everyone suffers, some are less fortunate.

To think we lose focus, some of us lose ourselves, what is our place on earth?

Anger distracts our minds trapping us in trauma, a past we can't forget.

Kiss the long days goodbye, summer turns to autumn, autumn turns to winter.

Emptiness in our hearts, when generosity ceases, we show contempt.

Sickness is quite normal, normal people become neglectful of others.

Obviously, healthy people enjoy sickness, outside the hospital.

Maybe an asylum, is where I found myself, the sorrow of others.

Emotions, I sustain the trauma of childhood but not the innocence.

Pleasure, to take pleasure in other's suffering, witness schadenfreude.

Little did I know then, my brother and cousin warped the rest of my life.

Even if I could help others, I am broken, I feel ugly inside.

As limitations end claims of wrongdoing stop the victims in their tracks.

Suffer, suffer, suffer the little children, pain, trauma and suffering.

Understanding my pain makes sense of their torture, their laughter and my tears.

Remember, I am dead, I died as a small boy, I died of heartlessness.

Even if I'm alive, I am a walking corpse, alive and well, undead.

Offer restitution for injury and loss, restore my innocence.

Forget the fact, time stopped, time stands still for me still, I wait to make a move.

Monsters create our minds, our minds create monsters, imagine hell on earth.

Yet, I'm not a monster though I lost my soul, then and accepted my role.

Perpetrators suffer in their isolation, they play a role as well.

As I search for myself, as a middle-aged man, I remain lost, so lost.

I believe no one cares, I became the scapegoat in my family, my role.

No one knows what happened in that room way back when but I remember pain.

Star-crossed Lovers ~ Monday, October 4, 2021

Live life to the fullest, whatever that may mean, climbing Mount Everest

Or sleeping in til dusk, whatever floats your boat, be that water or wine.

Visions of loveliness, a museum of nudes, beauty in nakedness,

In the eye of a lens, the beholder hunts prey with telephoto sights.

Nothing under the sun, not at such a distance, these phrases we abuse,

Granted, we get the point, no sunrise, nor sunset, as the sun always shines.

Ignorance is not bliss, but laziness to seek the source of the problem.

No solution without the origin of sin, so to speak, without God.

Truth, a hard-won battle, a contest of two wills within self-delusion.

Riddle the mind with holes, bullet casings empty on streets in Chicago.

Until we smell the cheese does perception make sense, the eyes of Emmental.

Trouble is, with a sieve, the water flows away, down the drain, forever.

However, it makes sense, perceptions-sensations, phenomena of mind.

And mind bursts with flavor, with fruit chews in my mouth, this, this evanescence.

Nothing to hold onto, we spin on an axis, tilted merry-go-round.

Despite our speed, our haste, for this velocity, we still walk a straight line.

Forever will I see squadrons of geese landing deep in my memory.

Aspects of a moment, fleeting, ephemeral, nothing to grasp, let go.

In truth, it takes decades to let go of ego, the desire to control.

Nevermind Nirvāṇa, Saṃsāra, the return of the same is a game.

Internal, eternal hell but a metaphor, a warning to be good.

No one ever had fun never breaking the rules, but the consequences!

Verses no one will read, what's the point in success, perforce then to conform.

Ego worn on my sleeve, an ideology, my faith, my beliefs warped.

Reason hides in darkness, does not care to shine light on the matter at hand.

Sever the hand quickly and cleanly at the wrist with a cleaver, Mother.

Everyone knows, who cares, idle threats, a child cries, haunted by his desire.

My desire not to die before I disappear, to understand this world.

Yet in complexity do I find simple truths, the smallest acts of faith.

Love is our creation, we define it ourselves to our own devices.

Orders create systems, erroneous ideas, conceptions lead astray.

Versions of dub reggae create the universe in parallel motion.

Even to lose my way as a child, lose my mind as an adult is good.

Trust in the manifold conditions of space-time to bring me back to now.

Obviously, my mind is sound, loopy but sound, I climb my own mountains.

Show me the capital, Mr. Gabidar, close the lid to Zen cookies.

Holding the cookie jar, all I feel, emptiness, even when it is full.

Order the universe with false explanations, brazen mythology.

Wonders never cease, stop making sense, perceptions-sensations, I find mind.

Fennel, the Fire Bearer ~ Monday, October 4, 2021

When the left hand doesn't communicate with the right hand,

Hell breaks loose the confines of nine circles, the depths we plumb

Entertaining the masses of minions of the devil;

No one knows how bad things can get until all hell breaks loose.

The left hand path is diabolical and uncertain,

Hell breaks loose, the hangman's noose unravels, justice undone,

Enter the world of the disappointed, we let you down.

Little do we know of the unseen world, invisible,

Eternal darkness, the back of the mind, unreflective,

Forgotten by science, left to fiction as medieval,

Transient in itself as time allows, the life of words.

Handsome Demons play Club Epileptic, all the strobe lights,

All night long, the music --- Joy Division, of course, what else?

Nothing but convulsive literature, Dostoyevsky,

Diminished fourths, augmented fifths, tri-tones for Ha-Satan.

Daimonion in the words of Miłosz, the rebel son

On Earth as it is in Heaven, bless us Unholy One,

Eagles dare to eat your liver, sautéed with sweet onions;

Sisyphus struggles with his punishment, a huge boulder,

Nervous dark energy splits the corpus callosum thus,

'Twas the night before All Saints Day, we call it Halloween.

Commune with the devil, God's creation, his own image,

On the wings of angels, we fall into bottomless hell,

Muster up the courage to walk a mile in his black shoes,

Muster up the courage to ask her out on a blind date,

Until the air smells of singed wings, 'Blackened' plays at full tilt,

Nevermind Nibbāna, Ian Curtis sings all the songs,

Indecent puns, improper use of words, the censor waits,

Catastrophe, as bad as The Shoah, not nearly, no;

Ask Sweet Jesus to borrow his halo for the sparrows;

The devil cannot help but recognize his twin brother;

Even metaphysics can't separate the Trinity.

Wicked, nasty boy, I cut off your hand for stealing fire;

Ignorant, morbid woman, I shall call you, Salomé,

Time is on my side, I apologize to everyone;

However, words fall flat with mistakes made not once but twice.

Then lightning strikes a tree on stage, nothing happens twice, yes;

Humans cannot understand Mercury in retrograde,

Even though mythology in ancient times explains mind.

Religion is a joke for atheists to ponder God,

In the right light, our mind is no different than ancient times,

God takes a backseat to science...icepick lobotomies;

"Heaven help us," exclaims the agnostic on the good fence,

Trouble is, we have lost the right hand path to religion.

Hard of hearing or selective hearing, no one listens

Anymore to details laid out before the other's eyes;

No one's fault but my own, experience, I own myself;

Despite mistakes being made foolishly, I let it go.

The Scapegoat ~ Saturday, October 2, 2021

My mother loved me with a wooden spoon

yet better than that was my father's fist.

Make up this shit... I wish I could, it blocks

ordinary access to memories,

to imagine the world as otherwise,

haunted by ghosts, I wander through this life,

ephemeral and evanescent dreams,

reality disciplines with a kick.

Love is a long-distance relationship,

only this way, the long arm of the law

ventures not to punish me unto death,

even though this mind is now a prison,

despite studying fiction and logic.

Murder me as an infant would be best,

eternal return of the same kills me.

Witness my torture as testimony,

in a word, twisted roots warp the tree trunk,

troubled minds seek escape from empty nests,

hallucinogens once my brother left.

Alone in a family of sadism.

Without hope, without dreams, stuck in the past,

obsessed with pain, suffering and trauma,

ordinary people see an old soul,

difficulties taste emotionally,

ever-present sorrow in happiness,

never to feel joy without emptiness.

Sordid childhood in paradise, absent

parents at work full-time, sadist brother

of mine, gone forever with my stigma

of madness, of mental health unbalanced,

nope, keep the eternal sunshine, kill me.

Yet now, my reflections are vampiric,

essentially invisible, a man

taunted by memories, longing for death.

Bitter roots along the trail, I taste sweet

except then comes the sour, an old mountain,

to embrace nature helps me to forget,

to observe people torments my old soul,

enter into dialectical thoughts,

retrieve the past to rewrite the future.

Toss away this biological game,

holding family above all, even God,

access the files, hidden, behind closed doors,

nothing noted beyond the lock and key.

Track down the good moments, I remember

how I had my own friends but could not tell

anyone of the pain or the trauma,

to speak was to flesh out an open wound.

Welcome my lifelong solitude, alone

as my partners come and go, as friends leave,

surgically tied to the womb, omphalos.

My mother enabled the alcohol,

yet my father acted the pugilist.

First a slap, then a fist, then a wild punch,

actors sometimes forget their lines and rage,

their roles as parents were to abjure love,

hate was a game to project and protect,

ever-present was the bottle of shame,

remember stuffing my feelings down deep,

sleep on my pillow covered with dried tears.

Forget the rage as my inheritance,

in pounding fists, in violence so sweet,

suckle the boy, his adolescent mouth

trembles to speak, to cry out, bleeds no more.