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.