Tuesday, July 25, 2017

hooker eyes

this image of tiny, thin childish limbs through the crowd

grabbing it with deference, beating me to my half-hearted attempt

her eyes looked like an animal in clouded amber

this hippie child. Shoeless and filthy

reverent and resolved, throwing herself to her knees before me

snatching up that huge dusty cricket

vanishing into a desert of memory

between meaning and curiosity

casting a dirty hand down upon the creature

this idea of mechanized  technology

rising through azure banners

Chains writhe and stretch

wings treacherously spread as dark fingers across the sky

as a ruthlessness that never tires

in triumphs of self

become the corrupted and the corruption

like hookers eyes vacantly looking  

into nothing of significance

this feeling of failure

pours into me like a hull breach

erodes the enamel of my will where loyalties evaporate

through various lenses

a symphony of savagery takes hold

playing out the story of my past transgressions

where so little seeks recognition

save for the grace of time

refracting us apart into possibility.

Saturday, July 15, 2017

Nothing of forgiveness

It feels like the slight drag before a blade cuts flesh

In diligence I rend the fat from meat

Articulation separating sinew from product.

Where there is nothing more savage than grace

Held together in the tensions

Dreaming of the cannibalization of self

how worn these monuments have become

as tattered flags

pollution fraying the fabric of my banner

forgetfully injecting value in disdain

a sweeping landscape where I outlast

in silent relentless triumph

more perfectly synergized it cannot be unlearned

remaining inherent in its discipline

like an arid desert landscape

that knows nothing of forgiveness.

Saturday, June 24, 2017


I’m seeking to coalesce

varieties of thoughts

how might this work

how do I bring up

the words I’m too shy to say

I dreamt of you every night this week

consumed in this


How many words, years, thoughts

How many empires of self rise and fall

Flowing like choppy waves 

In an expansive ocean

I feel so many things

As the pull of moon and tide

put this to æffect  

How deeply I desire the dreams I have

Of us coming true

As if trying to harness a thing I cannot name.

As we are akin

In dexterous propensity

I feel you so clearly

In all the ways

I have not yet resolved

We are the herons of Esper

we are the dreams I wish to have.

On great wings,

lifted from some other spirited place

how deeply I wish for this to take flight

Wednesday, June 21, 2017


I would say its powerful.

I’ve become

In the liquid an texture

In the tense and tension

Thunder breaks

As our minds penetrating the æther

Electric and sudden

As lightning twitching across the sky

Feinting in feathers and rhetoric

It is the absence that has made compleat

As Triumphs of ruthlessness

Reverberate in time

Awoken in such a way that

Possibilities collapsed

Until we were left with the ever present now

How ridiculous and familiar this seems

the weapon has not grown weaker

Only more acute

As if articulating a liquid

As if efficiently weaving ideas

Like moss in the jungle

Carefully laminating everything in a verdant, gentle embrace

Such instances of connectedness

Can overrule even the strongest lines

lacerated in scars passed

We lift ourselves from the wreckage of this life

Absolving our wounds to the sands of time

How I wish in this moment

I could heal my mind

As quickly as flesh

In a kind of pattern recognition

to seek out faults

exploiting cracks in the carapace

unraveling something ethereal

into the waking eye of a hurricane

making landfall  

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

such behaviors

In poor decisions

again and again  

until it matters

with mind rending moments

having lived through

stupid rhetorical questions


without purpose

what then does this mean

from one moment to the next

plane after plane crumble

in the behaviors

exhibited and advertised  

ire and sorrow

mingle into these

bitter moments

that you have brought me.

How disappointed I feel

For having loved you.

Wednesday, June 7, 2017


relentlessly traversing the desert

In confusion and memory

How lasting has the ache become?

Where I fear there is nothing left

But the rotten parts of my spirit

I have given it all away

the vacancy of space like stars in the sky

In the rhythm of experience

beyond the electrical impulses that make up this reality

when there is nothing left to see and everything left to be felt.

As revolting and magnificent animals

Feeding on the carrion of lives

Tearing into the leftovers of self

Where I still wish to soar

In light and dark

Facing extinction and bounty

As if the last dance of ourselves

Carries out a life that we deserve

Feeding on trash and dodging cars

And yet, what else would I be

If not a rare and ominous figure

Alone in the sky

Lifted by great wings

above the backdrop 

trying to escape

the ruins of myself

Wednesday, May 31, 2017


Impatience I have toward others.

ruthlessly I have dealt them.

Spread my black wings against their surfaces

dismissed them as nothing

In graceless façades

shattered their possessions of psyche

eviscerating with language

In assimilations of mercilessness

hinging nuanced experiences

on single expressions of dissent

consequently, such lessons are clear

evidently, with conversation to follow


weaknesses speaking something ancient

in connotations of excellence

something relentless is patient

in sensation, as a kingdom of night.

Monday, May 22, 2017

lost connection

Once the train left the station,

I wanted to wave my hand and cause a car accident.

destroying something violently

to mar my enemies so completely they could never heal.

like a debilitating black streak
defacing everything I don't control
as my hate for what our lives represent

our place in time

our poverty

Where I feel so unbelievably powerless to help
anyone, even myself.

And yet, I feel so strong when you are near.

And I felt that power riding north

Away from me

Without me

I wanted to lay waste to an invisible enemy

That brings us these painful moments,

Drowning in the helicopters and the car alarms

where pieces of me die
like a shattered flophouse bathroom mirror

When the doors roll shut and I worry about your safety

  what fresh hell awaits when you get there

where the dreams we have of us are always put away on the top shelf,

like a bottle of wine we keep and never open.

And I wiped my eyes and dissuaded a crackhead for change

I want change too, man. 

I want everything to fucking change.

And if it means burning this city to ashes

I am willing.

And honestly, what it really means is keeping my chin up

And being brave enough

waiting on those empty tracks

For you to return.

Monday, May 15, 2017

of you.

As rising suns

And setting moons

I Can hear their calls in the night

As if Running down prey

The last grain of sand falling out of the hourglass

The last tear that I have to shed

For all of this to be absolved into memory

Forget me in the whispering sands

In the Howling wind of the night

I am but dust to this place and its ilk

I am but wreckage in the dunes

The nausea of dehydration

The thirst of an ideal

In the ceaseless search

For you.

how they have felt me through dimension

we are quickened and whispers

song and sonder

in some immaculate dream where the details

played out into some coincidence of time

framed in sound and fury

struggle and strife

where I cannot know what the futures hold

only shape how I will persist into them

and the motivations that  I have

are as captured satellites

around you.

As I am a craft upon reentry

Coming apart in a cone of flame

Shearing of metal and machine   

As this has somehow become customary

To make impact and then proliferate

Becoming the reign of myself

Repeatedly and relentlessly

Awakening on foreign shores and foreign landscapes

Adventures within adventures

Dreaming the dream of the life that I have

Woken in the experience

between sanctuary and solitude
with you.

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Worst latté ever.


It feels like holding an object from another plane

In my coat. I feel it weigh like disappointment incarnate.

This, this shit. Comes from another place.

And that place is made of fire

This shit, is what burns that one girl’s forests to ashes.

It has decimated your landscape

That much is obvious; when looked upon.

And I walked it out to the rainbow road

And turned it into dust, in the middle of the street.

To go and poison the city some more

In little glittery glass fragments

That get stuck under the feet

Of people trying to walk barefoot to the beach.

There is a kind of gentle spite to the lay of it

A sort of passive-aggressive control.

And just eons of miserable nostalgia.

-I have time for none of it.

-Just, the hopelessness of it

And there’s a reason why—

And the answer to that is

More hopeless.

And then erodes into

Some other nonsense

-And I’ve got time for none of it—

Because I know

that every second I spend feeling hopeless is a second I have lost

to feel excited, or happy, or orgasmic.

Or just anything but hopeless.

And I can only imagine

What that must feel like:

To be the thing that is difficult to put to language

And you’ll go on setting fire to your plane

With shit like this.

It is part of you at this point

as if a child that still plays with matches

after the house has burned down

no we cant get a new puppy. no honey he's not coming back.

As if fire has shaped the landscape

to the point of tectonic instability

it cannot even conceive of something

stable enough to grow moss

as if:

the rapid consumption of landscape

never establishes anything of permanence.

We are the evenings of city life

Drunken adventures by the sea

Beneath the lights of lifestyles we can’t afford

In spheres of people we will never know

As we, ourselves occupy spheres

Dreams must be made into reality

And for this we must awaken.


Everyday, for as long as we can.

Putting one foot in front of the other

No matter what size our feet might be

And being brave enough to progress into the future

One step at a time



Saturday, April 22, 2017


Like a falcon

Falling from the sky

Tissues of psychosis

In the searing sun

There is some paradox

Within my soul

That answers to the question

Why we are the jungle:

As if the confession:

I live for the carnage.

Like thunder in the desert

Insulated in the dust and wreckage

As blossoms in the night

Ephemeral and deft

How many æons has it been?

At the helm of my voice

Consumed in pointless conversations

As a perverse misuse of language

In tears of man

I have seen the mind lacerated

it scars in time, I guess,

Yet, this is not of my concern

Like tearing at carrion

recognizing opportunity

where articulating

is a survival tactic

on par with poisons and thorns

reducing us to bones in the merciless sun

Thursday, April 20, 2017


I wish to grow with you
For many changing seasons to come
Where we put the chaos of our current lives behind us
And shape a timeless future
As dreams where you are with me
awoken and new
to the ballet of a beautiful life.

Wednesday, April 19, 2017


Running scared through a forest fire

They thunder on hooves and paw

Embers whipped up with each panicked step

As sparks erupt from immolating trees

How has otherness decimated your landscape?

Deceptive and foolish

Immature in every facet

And I watch it burn from a distance and feel an indescribable ache

How has sorrow graced this landscape so completely?

Trampling all that I have sought so desperately to cultivate

The jungle shrieks but only I can hear it—

And I feel nothing but alone.

I don’t deserve this—

to be treated in this manner

To endure some other eon of heartache

Against the grain of the world that I have become so accustomed to

And why? Why is my love never enough?

Why is everything always at odds?

as bairn destroying everything in carelessness

how I have come to fetishize and end to heartache

the word is tolerate—

like a weakness that I have felt exploited so many times before

I feel the language refract and reverberate

As if toleration is a fulcrum of my electric ire

Tolerance as bolts of lightning consuming some cathode

a nexus of my own disgust rendered in a crackling, illuminating plasma,

twitching off in all directions into darkness

setting fire to all that I hold sacred

as if I am retreating into myself

where the trees forget my name

overcome with regret

for all the effort I put into going nowhere.   



Saturday, April 8, 2017


like echoes

I remember

The twisted vindictive

my grandmother’s eyes

turning their minds

into sandcastles

the origins of savagery

some dreamscape

of long sweeping tides

 we are owls in trees

looking upon vastness

as I was taught

what is suffering?

In the ebb and flow

Of time

Eroding human weakness

Like some childish activity

As if awakening

Thursday, March 30, 2017

movements of self

In visions of charging wolves
And the fetishization of being eaten by them—
Beating wings press against an afternoon sun
And I am cutting people off in traffic

“they’re fucking idiots.”
No idea where they are.
Lost in the woods.
circuits and synapse
Dreaming of the jungles
Where these people are torn apart by wild animals

As man and machine fused into one
Patiently sitting, frozen in stupidity
They fade behind me
a collective and pointless memory

as a dream of some foreign entity
crawling across the sky
thunderbolts descending
into a silent, merciless wasteland
as some erupting proclamation

bring life to these empty places
ignite the fires of imagination
awaken them in these times
within concepts of credibility

in time and in rhythm
a rolling thunder in the distance
 as water begging to fall
as insatiable thirst

as if bloodlust for the kill
hunger for knowledge and spirit
running down some exhausted elk
like violent wreckage on the side of the road

in dreams they come
repetitively scrolling
between past and future
living the nightmare of prescience
rendered within innumerable teeth
the impossible jaws of time
gnawing away at every facet of being  

Monday, March 27, 2017


What course of events has brought me here

Into the depths of these woods

What vacuum of self has led me so far astray

Into the ancient and mystical places

Where my thoughts reach—

Within some more finite space

have I become such a being ?

How powerful have I truly become?

In the multitude theaters

In the liquid of being

In the depth of the forest

How have I grown so tall?

How have I become so alone?

the sky above and the soil below

I am the theater for which these things are made manifest

And yet, deep at its core, I am still searching

Diligently, endlessly

I don’t feel loneliness as I have in the past

Like some semblance of nostalgia

When I was younger; more primitive

And I see things now, clearly  

Woken and actualized

And I still feel the urge to fight—

Because it is my nature

And I feel the tension of everything

Weighing in

As I feel the universe breathe

And realize I am never truly alone

As tendrils of self are always elsewhere

My mind slips to the myriad dimensions

dreaming of some future aesthetic

As déjà vu

Familiar, and yet foreign

Close, and yet enigmatic

Intimate, and isolating

shall I wander forever?

becoming the dream of some design
holding within the concept of some greater nature


Thursday, March 23, 2017


I never really know where to begin.

The tense of regret for staring at a blank page eventually bothers me enough into action.

I am compelled for one reason or another

I am driven into it.

And so much of it is so obvious

So apparent—

The sound and the sensation

As gravity pulls in from all directions

As if we are but ripples

Superimposed upon the surface

of our own event horizon

how relevant are these instances

where chemicals release into cerebral-spinal fluid

imaginings of potential futures

within the distortions of space and time

as the berth of a ship

as viewed from underwater

what dreams await the futures

that have not yet come to pass

textured as if tissues

the layers of existence remain proportional

as dream of eons

only lasts until we wake

and in some quantum way—

I am collapsing the possibilities

Syllable by syllable

Into the future that has brought

the propensity of this moment.

Monday, March 20, 2017

buncha bullshit.

Sometimes I move so fast

I feel like

I’m lurching forward

Through time.


It appears

as clairvoyance

in a way.

I feel them

Through the æther

And grow bored

With my limitations

a king to my people

In a way

so human,

am I brave or just stupid

is this strength, or madness?

And I persist, from one second into the next

In the trillions of possibilities

Shaping the reality

Into whatever the hell

Like I have answers

Thursday, March 9, 2017


I envision raptors circling overhead
The rain falling
As we dance
This is what we came for—
This is the thing.
The melliferous thing

Because power in this manner is manifested as void
How sweeping have become our feathers
And diligent our mannerisms
How moving has my anger for all things not this become
By all means—
bathe me in drugs
endow me in importance
and I shall reign in the power
like a thunderhead crawling across the desert

windswept hair and rutted fingernails
dust in scarves and sleeves
rested and centered
pit bulls wrestle and play
chasing unknown creatures in the distance—
to which the raptors that linger in a Eucalyptus
have begun to follow
in the hope that a wayward rabbit becomes complacent
that it’s only threat comes from the ground
and they are this coiling column of birds
patiently dancing with us in the sky.
I envision the electronics that bring us this moment
Wires draped over metal trash barrels haphazardly
some huge oak tree that has always been the spot
Nine-thousand dollars in equipment
Sitting in the shade,
With liquor bottles flanking it
With the ash from a cigarettes
marking it as warpaint
ketamine, cocaine, ecstasy
have been snorted off this device in times of bounty

this device has been defended in front of authority in times of desperation

our devices// are salvation.

I envision wave forms
flexing through space and time
I envision feathers and machines
through a psychic universe
I am merely the banner of a man
Juxtaposed between many extremes
Animated under a MIDI controller
To be embraced:
Our fusion of mind and machine
I think the same thing that I always think

Lay waste—

Crack the fucking ground—
Uproot this tree—
Scare those birds—

I want the sound. The drug, my one true addiction.
Feed me this substance
Give it to me and bring my form into motion
One that is good to its people
A shape that stands when others cannot
Grant me this substance
Let’s do the things—
Let’s get there.

time slips away
As we dance
in the falling sun
with family and loved ones
Village and tribe moves as an electric forest
Where we are all raptors and trees and people
In some other dimension.
And I feel so close
To something I can never quite touch.


Wednesday, March 8, 2017


It’s a kind of radioactive inspiration

Watching you dissolve into


But I am not without my own vortecies

And I am made of a thing

A thing of grace and savagery

A thing of anger

A thing of might

And never forget that this electric soul

Will strike you

And I will strike you

& I will strike you

& I will strike you

& I will strike you dead.

Thursday, March 2, 2017


Who determines when the seasons change?

When the rain falls…

In the places of memory

Where I see my dreams

Do they call it a memory if it’s from the future?

when you left us

I felt a tear before I heard the news

As a tree falling in the forest

So too shall you return

To the undergrowth of existence  

 into the æons of memory

to all the things that could have been.  

Saturday, February 25, 2017

of ages


Let us compose the symphony

of betrayal, and deception, and lust
of carnage and combat and consequence

In some neo-classical tryst
where the voices of cacophony are drowned out in a timeless sound
mesmerized in the transcendence
of what it means to be carnal and sublime

I don’t have to know things
I just have to get there.
Lay them down like extinguishing candles
Outlast them as they cower in the storm

Making them weak as I grow stronger
Soaking up torrents
As roots grappling the ruins of religion

As an acropolis of rage
We erupt of the cultural nexus
Drawn from an empire of nothingness
How clearly I awaken to this theater
Its actors and players all enchanting
as an emergent viscerality
I envision them consumed
as falling ones and zeroes
deleted from the script of existence

let us dance the dance

where artillery and explosives
lay waste to perceptions of structure and purpose
where they are lost in the woods,   
 make no mistake
the weapon and I are one—
we are the waltz and the warfare
I am the dream of the future

earned as if bleeding venom
words in smeared in blood
I’m not trying to hurt your body
I have come to take everything—

& in this reality…
Of power and photons
Everything is relative.

Let us fight the fight

Psychic warfare
the tetraploids
At my disposal
mutants of man and grace
that speak
in dimension—
my dimension—
my planet.

In spheres of petty human aggression.
Fragile Anger
the sizzle of a tattooing needle
Sewing us into this
In ink and words and language
we are the nexsi
we design of the future.

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Liquid Empire

Casting a wide net as an arachnid

Against the rising and setting sun

With the poisons coursing through my veins

Becoming the nuance of dream

How esoteric this all feels

Against the skyline from a rooftop

We are the tryst of entourage

We are the dream of influence

Nocturnal west coast kingdoms

Awaken in the tension of belief

Meticulously methodically

Emergent assault and violence

We are as siblings

Woven of a kind of liquid

Transcendent of nature and tech

In venomous movements

We awaken the fires of action

In tears and conflict and strife

wings spread against the backdrop of The ghetto

only to taste the suffering of the earth, like a whisper

haunting me through the halls of club to warehouse to club

and the affairs of the moment have become all I know

in such a way that the dream

and the reality have become inseparable

I yearn for the days when it is not like this

When the empire of what we are to become is made visceral

As a dream of transcending ferocity

Like a static sizzle of contention  

In visions of a future æsthetic

I see a world woken and new

Consumed in the sound

One in the vibrations of the universe.