feathercraft

At times it seems beyond description

--But I know it isn’t

The dimensional nature of our world

ideas of dimension.

visions of Esper

Esper; just an analogy for something else

Words; just vocalizable representations

fantasies of rendered flesh—

Articulately.

Methodically.

a million little mycelia

Proliferating every facet of heart

And mind

And spirit

My love is the wilderness that never ceases.

the dream-owl dusk

Where clocks wind back

And come apart into their constituents

Gears and springs eroding into dust

Mountains rising and falling like earthen waves

Human forms contort to the ballet of life and death

eternal.

I am the hallucination,

Machine and rock

Crumbling sierras gnashing into the sky

the variegated falcon feathers falling on diamond plate

animals ripping apart other animals

I am the raptor

Electric and decisive

tearing at the psychological constructs

holding our world in chains

frozen in three dimensions

a part of me fantasizes the return

frustrated with this human form

with these bones I am made visceral.

It materializes up out of nothing

A swirling shape of the void

The low-pressure spiral

Pulling everything into it

shocking the æther

connecting the imaginary with reality

the curse is this:

I remember love absently

Retroactively, as if overly familiar

Worn rugged Through time  

From all the beings I have been in the past

And all the beings I am to become

I dream of an æsthetic

Involving my own offspring

I dream of a day where I find peace

I dream of a world like none I have ever known.

And it is the truth:

I am the hallucination 

Of warrior kings—

Homicidal darkweb sophistication

their existence is but a whisper in the coliseum of my great thoughts

Where I am the chaos of empires

the hate of the earth, incarnate

everything I know

has led me to this titular moment.

I had not realized how powerful I had become

Relentless & vicious,  

The liquid distillate of my own beliefs

Unique.

in every sense of the word.

How humbled and overwhelmed I feel in these moments

To stand at the helm

Surrounded by those loyal to my throne

We become the anthem of beautiful rage

A west-coast Californian empire

That makes me nothing less than

Utterly complete

As if: the abstraction

Of a fourth dimension

makes us whole.  

on Nostalgia

As I watch the sunset over the pier

The rippling waves connected in the liquid bass

And I think of the past

The past lives I have been

The past dreams I have held

The past.

Gone.

Evaporated into nothingness.

The machines in the distance

Stand like exotic animals

Backlit to an orange sky

It is beautiful because it is rife with pollution.

It is beautiful because it is ephemeral.

It is beautiful because it has to be:

Because it masks something so sinister and wicked.

I feel the drugs start to kick in.

I feel the walls of my mind eroding

To the sound

And I must go take my place among the trees

At the center of this jungle

Bees hanging from my branches

I condense honey

And feel whole.

No matter how ancient I become

I will always love

You.

This.

Us.

I will always be made complete in my humanity

In the echoes of what I have become

In the rage

And the hate.

And the power

of my own dimension,

Snatched from thin air

 

Its that déjà vu

And reality begin to intermingle

Where I know it will make me sound weird

Asking if I’ve been here before.

with the designed æffect in mind

it becomes the redundant choppy waves,

licking away an orange and retiring sun

echoes of darkness reverberating through human forms

as we awaken in the night

I am whole.

In the electric jungles of man.

I am whole

in the echoes of memory

I am whole .

  

Obsession

On ethereal shores, Visions of Esper come to mind

Us stalking like herons

Through listless waves mirroring a clouded sky

In memory I was elsewhere

Grace and sorrow fluctuating within me

what a new emotion,

Feeling as though the words were foolish before they came out

As Interruptions of Om absolved in sacred geometry

My feet traversing the pools,

little echoes of my steps spreading outward

spreading as circles across silver water

my thoughts spreading out

upon the surface of some other plane

ephemerality conducing each moment

into brilliant symphony

remembering things sentimentally

when I was not like this:

and the thought of those that would not be here with us

in the same context

Absolved of this reality

Forgotten to the nature of time

I felt my flow draw suddenly to my wrists—

These ethereal invisible whips,

utterly familiar

where the wings of my being spread like fractals

liquid and crystal

clairvoyant and new

eloquent to the vibration of existence

within many dimensions I am made whole

time unfolds as it must

like a dream of the future

exacting its own being

as if waves of myself rippling invisibly through the pools of our mutual reality

out into all of the spaces I do not yet know

this is how I have come to spend my time—

dreaming of things that have not yet come to be

of storms

I shoot a Xanax with a monster

And walk outside to pee

Behind the garage

As an excuse to go outside

The balconies never have people on them

It feels a bit like gardening

But without plants I can’t draw power

No matter how many times I urinate in the same spot

Its nothing like gardening.

The plants don’t make me anxious like the people do

Everywhere, all the time

there is a siren,

or a car alarm

or a helicopter

and I stand there

trying to reign it all in.

Don’t. be. Fucking. crazy.  

And the words

Anthem and Acheron and pantheon

And a haiku-esque poem comes on suddenly.

I say it out loud to nobody

And feel free of a kind of tyranny

If only for an instant.