Still Eating Thorns.

All this time

in between

then and now

been simmering

been building up

rather patiently

brooding silently

been grinding teeth

been stomping feet

been digging holes

with an upward swing

eating poisonous things,

picking thorns from trees,

like a blended sugarcane,

DMT, bonfires and peyote,

cigars and syringes,

sparkling fringes,

champagne, cocaine,

and pornography,

somewhere out there,

fathomed too deep,

Where I hardly sleep,

And maybe it’s killing me,

how my eyes stay closed,

mouth neatly sewn,

over words of my own,

this place is forsaken,

this space can’t be taken,

the loose change shaken,

from the secret pockets,

sewn neatly in my cheeks.

Flounder.

I’ve been circling the moldy, plankton encrusted bottom layers of life; feeding off of the slowly sinking debris that once littered the surface layers: the leftovers of a long-ago feast that I attended up there.

My vision has adapted to the murk; my breathing has adjusted to the oxygen depletion of dangerous depths and harrowing heights; my skin has settled into the wrinkled prune-esqueness of an over-long bubble bath; my hair now growing shafts of seaweed and tangly kelp in place of it’s natural fibers.

I’m a flounder, living with a great white shark who is lazy with a eating disorder; I am stuck in the suction of his hefty submerged wake; I am seemingly happy to gobble up the chunks of shit that fall from the sides of his razor sharp bite as he chews incessantly; I am his shadow down here.

Go On.

Scratch every single thing
That ever held meaning
Swipe away the empty words
All Ive said and all Ive heard
Make it rain with truthfulness
Wash the stain of uselessness
I dont need the toxic lies
The well concealed goodbyes
Its all a joke told cruelly
Behind the trusting back of me
Just go on and get in line
And take your place in kind
Youre all the sorry same
Point fingers and place blame
In the face of reality
Incapable of solidity
Its like a giant oozing wound
Stitches opened far too soon
Im alone in the responsibility
Of letting mutants close to me
Days and nights between
The lies fed forcefully
I vomit each and every breath
Until nothingness is all thats left
Go on.
Go live your life.

A Fucking Rant #2.

Why doesn’t anyone just come out and say it? …That our country is RUINED in terms of political standing with itself; that our country is no nation in the true sense of the word; that our country is, indeed, the quite laughable notion made in jest during a drunken gathering of the Gods or whatever…that we have fallen to shambles from the top to the bottom of the stars and the stripes.

Nobody admits out loud how telling it is that this election has been responsible for the drawing of countless distinctive lines in the dirt between countless formerly undivided unions of all sorts.

Nobody admits out loud that we are each scared as Hell by the choices put out before us to choose this country’s future President from.

Nobody seems to want to acknowledge the deeply disturbing realities attached to the fact that we have reached such a low point in our nation’s history in the first place; not to mention talking about how at the end of the day, it’s US who have allowed this atrocity to unfold.

Nobody talks about how divided we are by the same things that divide every nation everywhere, throughout history, tried and true: class, greed, and religion.

Religion = politics;

Politics = religion;

The class you fall into ultimately decides which level of education you receive, your education forms your own notions and opinions about the world around you, you either become a greedy victimizer of others or you are repeatedly victimized by greed, you pay taxes to a chauvinistic hypocrite with two air holes in his head like a fucking whale hybrid or something, and then you die and are interred according to your religious beliefs. The end.

“A Dream within a Dream”.

Poe has always written words that spoke directly to my heart, creepy as he was…

 

 Take this kiss upon the brow!

And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow–

You are not wrong, who deem

That my days have been a dream;

Yet if hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,

In a vision, or in none,

Is it therefore the less gone?

All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar

Of a surf-tormented shore,

And I hold within my hand

Grains of the golden sand–

How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weep–while I weep!

O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?

God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?

Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?

EA Poe

(1809 – 1849)