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  

   

Vereinsamung

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

  

Process

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.

buncha bullshit.

Sometimes I move so fast

I feel like

I’m lurching forward

Through time.

Manifested,

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

movements

 

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.

  

tina.

It’s a kind of radioactive inspiration

Watching you dissolve into

..otherness

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.

34/100

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.