Sunday, March 18, 2018


Sometimes it feels like

The manufacture of culture

Stone cold

Peeling ribbons of cloth on the winds of self

Festering maggots on the carrion of their dreams

Thundering hooves on the soil of my soul.

They have no idea what awaits them.

How simple it is—

How savage. and ruthless. and raw.

I didn’t come here to fuck around.

I didn’t come here to listen to your beta-boy story about who gives a shit—

You made it this far into the woods and now you have me.

In all of my filth.

In all of my ruthless glory,

With all of the human abuse  

Inflicted with open hands

In woken minds.

They eat my cum out of one another.

Tonguing at it like nymphs for ambrosia.

Devouring these fabricated ideas of humanity.  

In the thousand-yard stare

Where I have forgotten everything that once was

As they compete for a thing they cannot name

struggling against a thing they do not understand

unable to grasp the power of infliction.

power of affliction

I have seen the terrain between these spaces

As the stars on a freezing night

Contorting flesh splashing through the river.

Fingers down throat, lordosis effect.

Where the talons of my mind

Rend everything in a way that seems beyond familiar.

What are they to me but refuse—

Disposable meat to be held

Marrow to be eaten

As if tasting the intoxicating nectar of some imperfect flower

That grows deep in the jungles of self.

Sometimes it feels like

Lightning touching down

Electric and visceral

As if I am surfacing upon other realms

As swarms of insects taking flight

 As if hearing two conversations running at once

Like two songs playing at the same time

As narrative and dialogue unfold together

To realize that they,


Look upon us like so many filthy children

Ragged and abused

Pliable and simple

As if pitiful deer left in the forest

Have you not seen their craft?

So utterly beyond comprehension, 

Beyond this

There is something else—

Esoteric in a way, but not impossible  

Like tendrils climbing the lattices of time

our many dimensions unravel

in a gracefulness beyond the limitations

of these human forms  

Tuesday, March 13, 2018


Pour into me

As the river

In the moments that I am whole

As if flowing water is something that I know.

In concepts of home

And peace

abandoned like footprints in time

That never lead anywhere

empty as their apathy

sensitive to their nature.

Experiencing it more as time than as space

As though existence for all is a kind of frustration

No matter how it’s sliced

Like so many nicks

in our fingertips,

Bruises on our psyche,

Chainsaws to our limbs  

allocations of nervous tissue

empty beyond our personal experience  

as if I am hearing them shriek in terror

worthless to come to their aid

Tuesday, March 6, 2018


Like I,

Resistant to the end.

Although, by now, how would I even know?

Where does the fiction end and the reality begin?

the narrative

the dialogue?

When am I too deep—

Lost at sea

Where does sailing become drifting

When does drifting become, adrift?

In those moments of fragility

Enduring and driven.

Talented in nuance

What never-ending fetish this has become

Bearing the masks that hide our ruthlessness

Where I envision my enemies devoured by ants.

Picked clean by vultures

Worn thin by the endlessness

And I know my kind is like this,

Barren in a gentle way

As if dying from exposure

the sharpness of the weapon

only shows when composure is lost

Resourceful and resilient

Conversant and clear.

And yet, deluded.

As if any of them are anything like this

Where I feel more at home, alone in my mind

In the sense that writing about isolation does nothing to bring about its end.

There is an emptiness to this

That has become familiar

Like a king vocalizing epithets

Into an empty castle.


And in a moment of discontent

I marched out into the rain

To draw deep breaths—

To try and center

And in the breaking storm

A family of vultures flew by

And I was torn

Between seeing it as a sign of the future—

or a reminder of the past

In the shifting rain

Their huge spread wings casually

Surveying the landscape

As if a group of observant kites

Flying through a gentle mist

And I realized the nexus

Spawning this moment

Was Particular and intricate. 

And beautiful.

Tuesday, February 27, 2018


Akin to having written

some piece of RNA

that now needs to code for a protein.

Several, even.

and I need to organize them

In such a way that—

They assemble into a virus

And start infecting their minds

Ripping them apart from within

As they are forced to question everything

they once believed themselves to be.

I need to reign

Forever and ever

Like I have nothing to lose and nothing at stake.

Where the future seems like fetish

That I dream of at my core

And I’m asking in both a raw and empty way—

Why are we like this?

Why are we so broken—

So shit—

So empty beyond redemption

Where our minds tear away

at so much peeling wall paper

In the abandoned edifices of ourselves.

Crazed from the isolation

As if hallucinated whispers

Mumbling in darkness.

Even in context- 

Prions are a kind of existence  

Like some imperfect god’s

Flawed attempt at creation,

our failures mock us

with the memory of their existence

ruthlessly we scour their shame  

overcome with embarrassment

to show others the veneer

of a seasoned psyche

afraid to articulate

how desperately

we need to let go.


Sunday, February 11, 2018


Within the Fragile Moments

In sensations of some kind of otherness

In some kind of attempt at words without time

I feel it like a rising tide

in the depths of the jungle

As if the mycelia spreading

Out into the forest

Where darkness pours between the trees

the green takes hold in the recesses of my mind.

sensitive in some other dimension and still familiar 

I feel you in my depths

You have my heart, in its entirety

We are the condors of the desert

Wings spread wide under the burning sun

As we dance in a gyre

Landing upon carrion

Where the talons of our species tear at the vulnerabilities of opportunity

Across great expanses of sweltering heat

I feel you in an emptiness I cannot place

Where the journey to where we are whole

Is far from over.

And I keep you in my thoughts on these lonely nights

in dreams of a future aesthetic 

We are as whales in the endless ocean

Where I hear your song over any distance

Like a siren across the sea

Lyrical and woken as if I am its only recipient

Where we put meaning to sound

swimming inside the leagues of each other

as I am only now beginning to learn

to vocalize the depths my feelings for you

Monday, January 29, 2018



To me in a way that seems so unfamiliar

I want to reach out

Say the words correctly



Into scenes and spectra

Where the tears rise up in me

Knowing how alone I am

Holding another,

Trying to overcome their loss


We are all of factions

That confirm some type of thing

We are all trying to move forward

In simple steps and words


Over these wounds

Heal the places that hurt

Where the future is magnificent

As long as we are in it.