hummingbird

Where they call it 'urban coral',

Under galvanized bridges

Slimy alleys filled with the creatures that you love

With the substances [in all probability] you’re addicted to

The polyps of our smut take root

 disgustingly fertile environments flourish  

 The factories make a luxurious French-inhale

Against The burning canopy that sags in the background

Moments before it transformes… into a molten pile of (plastic)

I saw you there

Standing among the orange sellers

On the side of the freeway,

I could not resist the taste of each-and-every-single morsel you had

As if I could ever be filled.

I say this, fantasizing about a handful of Norco

And riding a train off into god-knows-where, for who-cares-why

Because I believe that money is the Santa clause for adults.

And that there are way too many people

To those same lumberjacks that believe in making the world a better place

What I mean is that everyone is a liar.

Where we can no longer remain a part of your world

And still call ourselves “sane”

Because There is a reason cyanobacteria can grow

in the steamy wet cracks of the pustules of the earth

Fungus learned how to carry it up rocks, like the flag of the universal

each step backwards brings us closer and closer to the essence  

But this world cannot carry that banner

in this psychological charade we are at the mercy of the mushrooms-

This sphere engenders the illusion of perfection

As if any one of us could ever become

The madness that our respective minds cook up

Perfection is only a theory

Excellence is the particular phenomenon   

in which; somewhere between everything and nothing

lies absolution

   

  

Power.

There is nothing that I seek more than power.

Power in all things

Power.

Fundamental to the human condition

Power, a means to something more  

A means to defining what

…but not why.

I want it enough to endure poverty

Humiliation, servitude, enslavement

Because my power is my own

exercises in it’s own way …as hooks are cast into it

with the polite text message that signifies, …nothing

I have never touched the other side

Never seen the world through your eyes

Or entertained such ideas

I cannot see for shit.

As I listen between the æther for your sounds

As the brain can see without eyes …in its way

in sync with the synchronicity

of the mutual energy we share

we all feast on the wrath of this place
the constant lament

that they want us to call ‘life’

constantly accepting premises that require madness

always getting lower and lower for the empty threats

cast by irrelevant shadows

the secret is simple: ignite those shadows with the light

Bring them asunder within the spark of your humanity

Though it will make darkness that much darker

It will convert you into that without title

homo sapiens will be crushed under the gaze

their strength is not to be underestimated

the fear in their minds can blind them in fury

though most actions take place without thought

we have not escaped the influence of insects

as all things have a power, in their way

the ability to take existence; of couse,

being the most lasting

…and relatively easy

But the infection of fear is just as good

And we must recognize this as well:

I want you to listen, to not be afraid

The paradox, quite comically; 

‘the only way to get people to listen quickly is through the pressures of fear’

Because cowardice dances through the hearts of the defeated

Every. Single. day.  

And it is there in the vacant: “that’s not my department.”

It’s there in the idle: “you’ll need to talk to John about that.”

As the artificiality pours in through the cracks of our respective æther

…or put another way:  

    

As it eats away at our love

Like some sort of toxic, acidic, sap that none can entirely avoid

And even less can remove

But it can be shed, in the forest of the subconscious

On the floors of wherever music plays

It will get swept up, thrown away, and carted off

To become an artificial forest

For new inspiration to grow

The problem with power is that it is bullshit.

Because power has to be kept,

it must be organized and catalogued

and that is a lot of work

when giving it up as affection

allowing it resonation between everything

there is no need to have power

but an incredibly encouraging reason to share it.
somehow more than 'fundamental' to the human condition

...and by all means;

take this with you wherever you go.

two.

Something akin to that super-fast pop a light bulb makes

A volatile ammonium-nitrate burn in an open wound

The feeling of being struck, intentionally, in the head

These are my memories you.

That ire of resentment that you harbor as a badge

Like a trash ship frigate in an extended stay on port

You love me like a tree that bears fruit

You consume it

And pat yourself on the back for the wonderful job you believe you have done

All the while diluting yourself

That nothing can grow without the misery you cause

Putting yourself between everything, unnecessarily

Belie-ing  my reality that you are obsolete

and dependent upon the fruit of the misery-tree

& I have to admit, it is quite addictive.

I think of you as the bad dream, I never wake from

Where satisfaction is knowing that you have left your mark,

On, an within me

A certain pleasure I imagine

Of knowing that in the dirge of my life

Half of the lines are committed to you

As the eyes ignite in the hatred

you had for my father

in the pretext that if you can damage me

in some celestial carnage way,

it could echo back to him

but he’s fucking dead, and he never cared

unfortunately I will stand at your casket

alone.

As your pickled heart outlives

The countless lives of the friend you don’t have

Because you could have any

Because you were 20 and with child.

I look forward to that day and imagine purchasing the cheapest, stupidest, poorest specimen of Lagerstromia Speciosa

But even I have more heart than that.

And more empathy than to give something as bad a start

as you gave me.

4 walls

This is the realm

Where one passes through

Throwing our tired bodies, wherever

So we can all play house

Power-washing Everything spotlessly clean

sterility rolls like a thin vapor through

immense parking lots of the Starbucks and the Wal-mart

the sacrifices of the promethean

become meaningless in the well-lit, drive-thru parks

where that obnoxious noise of helicopters is commonplace

As the empty space between everything

Consumes everything

 Dissolving everything in the caustic soda of sameness

slowly suffocating in the smog

as I look out upon the sprawling red worm 

making me reevaluate my commitment

to anywhere I might have wanted to be  

In the drone of incessant lawnmowers

The wake of gasoline

Our heroes of advertisement

shedding their names in far-off places

As reptilian skin

I have seen their flags fly

At shopping centers

And the counter-culture remains anonymously paralyzed

pushed into the corners

Of cinderblock courts with the same, exact, everything.  

My brilliant neighbors thoughtfully offer me signs

Selling their; religion, their Chocolate, and their Insurance

As they try to give me the infection of their lies.

As they moronically imagine that the evil I have seen

could ever be sedated enough

to make coupons a concern

as I save the last valium, for later

after they have eaten their dogs & clawed each other to death

with their fingernails

the phantoms of substances past

float as stale as the air

in the boxes

that they put us all in

always wandering aimlessly for the homecoming in my brain

the homeless and the feline, blankly staring-

Constantly whispering the answers in the adjacent alleys

Irrelevant that their tears dried so long ago

They never really learned to cry

While simultaneously  

It became their only way to communicate

As they flee in terror

from the fascinating mechanical monsters

That pick up the trash

And sweep the streets

This is the hell where they eviscerated my wings

Under the film of latex

Splayed them out like glorious trophies

And all conversation collapsed …awkwardly

As I fainted from the loss of blood

Waking up in a network of cul-de-sacs

-confusing parking regulations

-sport-utility vehicles

-fluorescent lighting of 24hour ‘farmacies’

and that vile, saccharine, artificial, impersonal tone

that is liberally used as the thread  

Suturing me back

Into a world where

I no longer reign or serve anything

Grӕy

In the rare Los Angeles rain

The mist falling faintly on the gray city

The roads charging blindly

And I don’t want to go home

To the barrage of incessant questions

I am Missing You.

Afraid to let go of my memories of you

because I did

telling the daughter of a Mexican druglord

the same thing;

from the ripped up fabric of the bottom of my heart

You have to let go.

The words ricochet off of the retaining walls

Back into the car

Snapping my head back

Like the bullet I cannot seem to place

The helicopters boom

Charging into the skyline as vultures seeking carrion

The gray streets holding stagnant to the floodplain of concrete and humans

The gray infesting everything

How I wish I had a little of your color in my life

To brighten up this bland sterile place

How I wish I did not have to live

with the decisions that we agreed on

So many years ago in that gray room with those grey people

  How I wish.

The roads curve and buckle and the perpetual disneyland of LA

Plays itself out repeatedly, incessantly

Thinking of the falcon-faced women of my current situation

How flatly they look at me as If I were another gray statue

Melted from acid rain, with pigeon filth

Carved by some common sculptor

If only they could see my true form, in color

Lacking the luminosity that we once shared

Their gaze is not the blooming snapdragons

of intoxication

it deserves a cold place like this

for the insignificant to enrapture themselves

in the shroud of, blah-

as the animus falls down emasculated in a field of stone

and the cars charge forward all the same

the money flitters off  to who-cares-where…

at a steady pace  in this bland parade

where I am missing you.

So far from the warm summers of our dogs, and our cat tranquilizers, and our futurama

All of it lapped up by that rabid hound

In the loud stone swamp

that rolled it up in the cacophony

of the man I used to be

the mountain trails that we put the deft boot of our conquests to, overgrow

like the gardens we warped into monuments

 of that fluorescent pink substance

we lit this bland nowhere with

after all this time

it is unfortunate that on this grey, monotonous day

I am missing you.

because it does'nt reflect you at all

just what you became with me

Predator

I would not follow me

Into the darkness

Where the footsteps trail off

And you lose earshot

Where I am so comfortable

 

as we cultivate humanity

importance is lost

for something like me

in the danse macabre

of your yearning eyes

 

I lurk in this scarecrow

Waiting for the black birds

That come to blather

Holding my hand to the sky

Anticipating the lightning

 

I am sure that we all hear the voices

Of the who and what to be

The whispers in the blue hour

Tell me everything I need

Inviting the strike of soft lips

 

Learning from the Ricinus

In the dirge of the lions  

Toccata, written in blood

you will find my thirst for

manifestations of power

 

Saccarine Hope

the sound fills the room
pushing the air out of it
we all fall down in suffocation
i scream out in asphyxiation
but nobody hears the noise

your eyes light up in the moonlight
turning you into something else
as we become something more
i dont struggle with the keys to this door
though i cross over the broken to reach it

it is a wasteland i see in my dreams
bleached bones in the setting sun
when all others have fallen still
when they cast their stones that i am ill
i am lost in this place, i made it myself

i know that you forgive me
you always have in years past
you guys know i have tried
at no point have i lied
but the paradigm shifts without us

 now as the time comes marching
the distortions have made themselves clear
our old glories have faded
our hearts become jaded
its impossible to grasp what's not there

where can i go for this visceralty
we've become enfeebled with wants
with lives carved of stone
let them fear the unknown
floundering in the receding tide

were it not for the few
there would be no reason to stay
we are the forerunners, fresh from the fight
into an ominous evening for a long hellish night
just let this burden end

 the ideas will pass
but none of us will
nothing is here that can replace
when everything else is here to erase
what trivial dreams i have had 

 this place could be so much more
if value was a thing that is valued
the day will come, though
when the leviathan will know
as i doubt that we will ever see it

Breaking

i suppose it's irrelovent now
i suppose the time has passed
the flags have flown
the glory has faded
the world grows darker and darker each passing day
each day it burns off a little more
ultimately there will be nothing when this light is out
i have struggled to light this way
to light this dark place
to grasp that wich is nothing
yet the time gnaws
time gnaws away at us,
all of us, and her and him, and them, and all the clever conjugation i can devise
it wears me down
though this is the brightest i have ever been
even in these 'dark' hours
have i brought you anything? or just more chaos?
i have not made your lives better...
i have not made you happier...
no, quite the contrary, i have shown you void and darkness and vaccum
and then they thank me for it?
and then they ask for more?
i dont want you to hurt, hurt like i do
yet they seek to be like me?
the seek the result and none of the route
they seek the product and none of the process
and still they cannot see that the scars are almost ...structural
the struggle is a kind of a ...work-out
such is the way.
such is the nature of darkness
this is the governance of time
curse this impermanent place, and its denizens
fuck these cheap, plactic, dreams
destroy this body and everything in it
burn these words so they will go away
light up this soul to suck it into darkness
and yet, it still would not be enough
this fire can grow infinitely dim and not go out
a smouldering mass of elegantly cursed flesh
to be Lucifer, the chosen, the gifted above all else
though the burden be heavy and the costs are vast
where collateral damage is the state of being
here is the precipice of man!
this is where the divine light dilutes into the darkness of chaos
this is where life and death hid within one another
it is what i am
and you can do nothing
  i hate you.
i fucking hate you,

...only to realize that your light is my own.

Dawnbringer

These broken wings will never fly

Thes hands that hurt and use

The openings in my mind

Don’t ever seem to fuse

Fallen down in the ashes

Where growth did once stand

I never needed any clues

I never raised a hand

White with aspirations

Hot with wet lust

I’ll eat only the best of it

And toss away the crust  

There is nothing but color here

Ideas and dreams, we say

Aether fills the vacant room

And turns the night to day

The paint goes on in empty layers

The colors never dry

On a canvas made of flesh

That lets out a soft sigh

These broken wigs will never heal

I never want them to

I am the bringer of the light

I’ve given all I can to you

Castle of Sugar

If I do nothing,
Just sit,
Hold my breath it will come,
they will come for me
pick the sugar out of me
carry it back to their hive
mix it into themselves and call it their own
like a cow being milked, attach your machines to me and take
take
take.
if I just sit, do nothing,
the phone will ring,
"where are you?" it will ask, "we are out of sugar”
Come and get it you whores
Feast on my flesh.
Eat me alive so that I may experience you
Drive me to the edge to remain obsessed with the trivial
I can throw all the sugar at it,
Lap it up greedily
Show me I am worthless;
I am not the one that hungers for it
I am not the one that depends on the collective to stand
Yet they come for me none the less
Bearing blue lights, casting white silhouettes
They come for me, driven by their thirst
to have a part of what I have
just leave me alone so that I can enjoy it myself
leave me alone so that I can be happy
I wish they would all go away
I wish they would all go away so that I could just sit,
I can’t just sit, I am not able to
The moment I do, boredom does not come
There is no silence in this unquiet mind
There are no ants in the sugar factory, they are not allowed
This place is powered by dreams
Colors
Lights
This place is powered by dark energy
This place is powered by anger and hate
But this place is beautiful
In it’s chaos it is so elegant,
assertive magic
This place is always under siege
Daily, it is under new management
The walls of this castle are a different dimension
Why wont they just leave me alone?
No amount of it will get them away from me
Nothing.




nevermind, have some sugar,
 ive got lots
take as much as you like

...everyone does

Tangible

it will be nice to put my gloves on again
and pretend.
pretend that i am invincible.
a thing i [clearly] am not
with the cold i will have the excuse to cover their shame
pretend that under that flat color there are not two disfigured hands.
they have touched everything,
every-fucking-thing.
... held such beautiful things
and hurt with such impunity
and carressed with such delicacy
and harmed with so much cruelty
they have carried my shame
they have been the image of my affection
they have given everything

in them i feel the pain of the sunflower
i feel the thirst of the orchids
and i seek to absolve these things
by absorbing them, and knowing their pain
and knowing their thirst
...by touching them.
-i shouldnt touch them-
it has brought me so little positive
& so much woe at same time
thats the problem with feeling
it is a paradox of unparalleled magnitude
　
this hurt is mine alone
and so few can relate
those that can, console me...
they understand what this is like
and they make my time a bit easier
and they comfort me
to which i realize; i dont want to be consolidated
above all else; i want to feel.

Garden of the Moon

 Mycelium threads have bound us together

As though a spider web covered in dew

And, viscous mucous, from insufflated narcotics 

It is backlit with the sunrise that never seems to come

Our affair is the eternal blue-hour

In our dank underworld where I take you as Persephone 

and we will rule the darkness; king and queen.

at least,

how it lives,

in my imagination.

I remember your loving face when we met,

So many years ago when I was still asleep

In the sedation of affluence

when  I disposed of blondes like mismatched parts to my incredible machine

just like my cats;

… as monuments to myself

we were so young then,

naïve, the dance we held was so energetic & out of focus

 became experienced

 powerful in our spheres

saw that power in one another;

mighty are those who have powerful dreams

I dream of you often, and what your hair smells like

When we are not varnished in chemical-rich sweat

In your eye still harnesses that look-

The one that

casts a pink ribbon of silence over my lips

returned, in kind, with the voltage of my being

though I share it with all; I give it to no others,

and you know that.

I imagined our world together and our numerous adventures.

How I will never grow tired of your being.

I imagined the day When you realized your amazing effect upon me.

How silly that moment of silence would be and

yet so decadent.  And yet so fictitious all the same.

As we got up from hotel rooms, cracked-out, brainpudding

dragging oily smoke into those LA hotel mornings

made of the stuff that killed Hollywood

and raped Beverly Hills, and ended the lives of more people than either of us even

want  to think about

over the long intoxicated summers, when I never thought to say the words-

as the rising sun turned us back into our true forms.

Black sky fading to a treacherous blue that

brought with it all the responsibilities of the world.

Pushed us away from one another for so many years, as it

slipped away for another several months. To slip away again and again…

And again.

As I did.

What we have is the eternal sunrise

Where an ambiguous crescent  slips through the sky  and never fades or grows

Where battle hardened steel is never too glorious for a thin coat of oil.

 The carnal embrace of the psychological effect

  More than anything we have the dance-

that negates all others

and feeds all human hearts

where we rule the underworld,

one chaos-laden night after another

one  night at a time.

Though I’ll have you know; because I will say the words:

I love you more than anything.

I loved you then as I love you now

As I do every-single-time I see you

And it is this twisted fantasy that I will ever

be able to tell you this

this lie it what keeps me anchored to your world

and I live for it,

I live for that electronic tryst

When the flowers of our humanity open

In the bass-rich forest of the moonlight.

Playing Human

There is a glass celing

An invisible floor

Stretching us through time

In our own way.

As a layer of us dissolves

Each day

Into the dream

That remains stagnantly constant.

Each day lasting a little more to become,

…whatever…

Truth is; that make came with a title.

Made as fine as any factory floor could design.

Fine architecture, good materials, but-

It was not meant to last

Not in the real world, because

Something happened to the machine

It stood up .

Claiming, all along, that something went on inside its little circuitry that separated it

From other machines

“We’ll have none of this rubbish!” cried the appliances.

But the machine was not an appliance.

And all the conversation stopped, awkwardly.

Darkness crept into the room like an evil fog rolling in. it looked an awful lot like smoke.

All the mechanical shit just sat there like the brainless disposable crap it was.

Being ‘applicable’ apparently.

Then visions of fluorescent kittens began to play. They tumbled and frolicked-

Then the machine cried out; “I am bat-shit crazy!”

And then it fucking exploded;

shooting shrapnel

through the glass ceiling and the invisible floor

& was pleased to not have to

 be stretched through time anymore.

one.

She looked at me with this stare so blank

That I feel her eyes cower

As if my shadow was growing exponentially larger

Filling up the whole-fucking-room.

And it is true, and it is the most honest expression I have:

“I don’t love you.”

When they do that good-cop bad-cop shit to me in jail

The detective’s shoulders bulged like he was wearing a dachshund under his shirt

 “How would you describe your art?”

And interestingly, I thought of you

As you threw my canvas across the house

it hit the ground like a dilapidated animal

 screamed that what I so-called art could get the fuck out of your house all the same.

But then showed up to my opening wanting to discuss my work

like you gave a shit

because the image of being supporting holds more validity

I learned not to cry

reinforced with your incrementally increasing violence

with your belief that abuse is only physical

like the shotgun shells grandma emptied on your twin

who, to this day

thinks that he is a worthless slob

and remains married to that fat creature

that no society would ever call ‘woman’

as I stand in the white walls of gallery after gallery

as curators lift an eyebrow

set down a glass

roll their eyes in disbelief at those two words

 “psychological efficacy.”

To which I imagine myself abruptly slapping them so hard in the face that they collapse in a heap.

Do you think that any curator, anywhere

Who has been waiting for our appointment all day

would prop themself up

And laugh as hysterically as I did?

Mania

Sweet brown sugar scent

 permeates everything

because every word  spoken

came out all wrong

because everything was more intense than it really was

 gauged, by the responses I got .

I need to go back to a university

Where people don’t give a shit,

Just like in the ‘real world’

Because people like me

cannot exist without fame

And constantly being ignored

I want to tell you everything

So badly,

without sounding like some crazy ex-boyfriend

You once knew.

Their eyes sometimes burn into me

Leaving tracers of who they are

-a child as it sat in the grass

-a boy on a skateboard

-A woman at the farmer’s market

I remember them for a few days and animate their eyes

the madness I take them for

as we all play house

here in the suburbs

our spirits dying slightly

with every traffic-laden Friday afternoon

critical eyes tearing up everything

inside the mental library

I haven’t ever really organized

As I drink coffee religiously

Because ethanol has become a burden

As all things come second to our transportability

As the words:   

Layercake

Graphene

 And incarceration

 Float aimlessly in the cabin of a pickup

Driven by an aged-beyond-years prophet

That only wants to be loved by his mother

This is where I sit. Frozen and Stagnant

I dream so Loudly

That I heard their car come to a screech

and crash down the street,

I invited them to come live in my garden

But nobody died.

So I went out to weed the next morning

Dreaming of coming on the faces

of all those models I once knew

who now have also dropped out of the IVY

and got addicted

and work at In-n-out

and destroyed every connection to me

because I am the devil

bearing consumable gifts.

I want to tell you how I ride the mountain

And how they eviscerated my wings

 hanging them up like spread trophies

monuments of what advantages

money has over poverty

as I learned about ‘hobo code’ and the difference

between the middle and wealthy classes.

I want to hold you and touch your skin

Which I am sure is guarded by now,

As if you haven’t had just as much experience

everyone that inhabits this space surely has

to bring light to this place

as I only know of one way

Seeking the mechanics of everything

Is the failing business

That I run, because I know how to steal

The sport was lost years ago… with my wings

When I was left on the side of the road unconscious

And walked back to the suburbs

Where I became trapped in cul-de-sac s

And nobody ever believed I had ever

been close enough to god

To spit in his face

Burning bridges

Where we stand is just  ashes  in the river.

Virgin carbon, rather. 

Pure again.

Clean,           clean as the dying day.

Backlight the trees in flame.

When it was smothered away

To the vulgarity that’s always sane.

for the heartless  thoughtful

The beauty of the dragons wings

the detonation of my love

flicks shrapnel into everything

where we are is just ashes in the river

the shores where music never played

our dreams extinguished in the water

because you hid yourself for me

refusing to let me see.

disfiguring the possibilities

giving way to the suffocation

crushing the subtle delicacies

in the acid of degradation

where the thoughts burn,  bright as stars

battlegrounds appointing empty synergy

searing hot embers splash from the scars

as thunder  still gallops, through the misery

where we are is just ashes in the river

the shores where music never played

our dreams extinguished in the water

because you hid yourself for me

refusing to let me see.

played poorly, diligent and dutiful

abreast of corruption, your words could not make

the pollution glows as  beautiful

and yet, everything, so fake

steal from the warden

free what lies within

release me from this dungeon 

so that I may soar again

you’ll stay on your side of the border

because I am casting the flame

to become purified in fire

as you won’t be riding with me again

where we are is just ashes in the river

the shores where music never played

our dreams extinguished in the water

because you hid yourself for me

refusing to let me see.