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.

Tensions of Time

I feel a shift in the æther

Something is stirring

I feel… so frail

There is something

Within me

Consuming me

I can’t focus

I can’t ...language

As if putting an era to words

It feels… like a legacy

I am destined to live into

like destiny spurring me forward

beckoning me into what I am to become

I am afraid.

There are no others like me

I am afraid that there are no others like me

And time stretches before me

It feels… Like hammering the gas on a turbo-charged rx-8

While high on ecstasy and ketamine

flicking the paddle-shifters

as she hold a key to your nose

Through LA traffic.

it feels… like synapses firing

through the language-centers of my brain

where the words

Ascension, Deception, contention

Come to mind

Can you imagine

fires that consume mountains

jagged stone teeth

screaming out in immolation

Masochistically.  

the desert makes you strong

in the worst way

and the words

infectious, and venomous, and deception

come to mind.

it feels… like the rising tide

where the rules dissolve in an alien way

a blossoming psychosis

a completion of form

birthing power

breeding influence

touching propensity,






it feels... like being the oldest tree in the forest

while the fires of man destroy

everything you've ever known

while hearing members of your forest scream out in agony

powerless to help them
  

and yet I feel…

elegance and excellence and honor

to be prescient in this moment with you  

Bukowski

Waiting for the paint to dry

I read poems by some old, recently dead guy

The sirens wail in the distance And I’m still salty about the election results

It’s going to be hot as dicks today

It’s always hot as dicks

As I grow frustrated with the monotony of this city

There’s always another musician, chirping like a hungry bird

Pay attention!

Pay attention to me!

I eat bugs!

I’m fucking hungry!

My story is really sad!

And they never realize: I am a hungry owl.

Who is trying to sleep off this day, so I can make a kill tonight.

What I see when I look at these hungry birds is beyond description.

It is not meant to be put into words.

In owl terms—

I want to maim their fragile frames,

then swallow them whole.

Where I will return to my nest and vomit up their partially dissolved corpses

To feed my ego

In misconceptions of the future.



from the other side of the harbor

somewhere beneath the growl of helicopters

I feel a vicious wave

rising in me like a tide

paralleling clustered the traffic patterns

 on an idle Friday afternoon
















  

33/100

Traversing the endless night

Happening upon an orchid bathed in silver light

what beings I have stumbled upon

in this and other realities

delve my electric soul

awaken the fires of the forest

as we are the ballet of contorting forms

illuminated in darkness

like drums erupting from the supercell

within the manifold of theaters

my sovereignty echoes

into the dimensions of these beings

where I am classic and carnal

rife in privileged savagery

economized like stone

submerged in rushing crystal-clear, liquid

the future comes to me

in the taste of the green

rivers of black smoke breaking the sky

in coiled electric dimensions

in the thunder of being

I feel it like an ache

Our world growing weak

In the sickness of our obsessions

In a manic rebirth

These blossoms of perspective

Awakening madness

Proliferating tension

I feel it in the water and the wake

A convergence of the time

That has refracted our beings

Humilifying with psychosis

I am to be made compleat

In the textures of implication

In the fervency of desire

desperate and mired in hegemony

conflicted tension

Interim, I am moving pieces in my agenda

composing the sound,

drinking in the æther

there Is a kind of nuance with the delicacy to fragile moments

am I, am I fetishizing them?

Converting meaning in the tryst of the moment

Am I simply fetishizing everything?

The early morning light

Gently tinting the sky

How infinite and eternal

With delicate persistence

I yearn for your form

Pull me from this torpor

Remove these layers of implication

How I wish for the simplicity of the past

weighed against the complexity of the future  

affixed with the tension of the moment

frozen to the sensation of desire

I am caught up in the conflict

Where the marks that make reality

Litter my human form.

Against the backdrop of the beings we are to become

How deeply I need you in this instant

Where the time has dilated

Rendered like marrow

From the ethereal corners of memory

The propensity of these seconds

Where the fabric of the future is made manifest

I am conflicted

Within the prowess of my person

Levying against the purpose of my being

Consumed in an endlessness of integration

How badly I seek to shape the future

With you in mind

As a tense of actualization

That deserves to be relinquished

Windsong

    I

The wind has blown

This song to my ear

Brilliant choruses

everything I hold dear

The fire has burned

Everything out from within

becoming sparkling embers

carried off in the wind

The flow has been strong

Causing powerful waves

pounding at my heart

In such foreign ways

The earth, with my hand

I can help her heal

speak out my words

And teach them to feel

The eclipse in the sky

Has said volumes more

the way things are

On some foreign shore

               II

The heat of the night

Is the frost of my day

Where loving whispers

Become electrical play

The push of the air

Blasts my warmth away

the peaks of those mountains

rending hearts in the fray

I’ll return to her

because she never forgets

all have to go back

we all pay out our debits

but I can escape

I could return to the flow

a beautiful secret

that I do not yet know

I will love forever

And that will hold true

For as long as there is hope

I will always love you

           III

The water will rain

washing their faces

The torrents come down

erase these sad places

let them burn in apathy

let them die in hot coals

roasting in shellfire

try to fill empty holes

the wind will pick up

as it always has done

dispersing the life

bringing back all the fun

the ground will recover

the earth will still heal

let them go forth

and lead a life that is real

I cannot say how I know this

It is my choice as a bet

An ideal worth having

And worth dying to protect

           IV

She gave me everything

My body and embrace

To have this existence

And share in this place

He gave me this heart

burning within

A passionate cauldron

Of juxtaposable sin

She gave me her voice

Her play and her smile

So we could not stress

In a world of such guile

She is my right hand

How I connect to this place

With so much admiration

I give it a face

And then there is this:

Only void and chance

I’ll celebrate you in kind

You know how I dance

isolated

I often wonder:
If confined is the right word.
If chaotic is the right feeling.
I taste the relentlessness of isolation.
I make the best of it with social media.
I cannot share the green.
I cannot compromise the vault of my infinite thoughts
The fields of space.
The theaters of time.
I hurt,
and I ache,
and I burn.
I immolate pieces of myself
Regularly.
And I have to--
In the tireless
I am spurred into compliance
& the rain falls in a myopic myst
Invisibly. In the shadows of reaching out to others
They see the obscure visage of a black claw reaching toward them and reel in fear.
I am the obscurity
of many moments
beyond the comprehension of self

Full circle

Sterling silver

gesture of conquest

from a being I have become familiar with

that has come to know this universe

so much more deeply than I—

they will scatter you at the end of this

weaving your little glittery bits into the architecture

becoming the fabric of our plain

how honored I am to have known you—

how blessed I am to have felt your human form

in you I feel the liquid weapon more than ever

as a tinge of the savage

flowing like the incoming tide

waves sparkling in the moonlight

glimmering facets like treasure in the eternity of lifetimes you have against me

and still, my words feel small, and short , and human—

I see why they will scatter you

Where the depth of my lament is selfishness

Making my own crystalline consciousness ache unbearably

Knowing that my memories of you will outlast your soul

Grant me the volta—

Return to me—

Help me bend the universe

With my many more lifetimes

 Grant me this beautiful energy

Hold it in the tension between infinity and annihilation

As wafting bubbles flittering through a void

we are made whole in the ballet of our human forms

If only for moments so fleeting as this

Acheron

You; my love

 the woman who stands backlit in setting sun

slender and regal

wreathed in the elegance of your daring

whose silhouette stretches against windswept desert

in a drawn shadow that falls back

into the recesses of memory

how I now suddenly yearn for the past

how suddenly I yearn for the fire

incinerate everything that has transpired.

flames licking the erosion from our forms.

Restore us in brilliant light

this chasm between us—

more transcendent than desire

beyond tenacity and temerity

I would have battled demons

Razed empire.

Languished in chaos for a taste of your ambrosia

We have become hardened

Like female heroes, you inject into yourself

Where you have reigned among the divine

Your visage; like a deity

Your beauty; uncompared

I would have you—

 just as you are

Slower since the accident, addicted as ever

Yet still my species

magnificent and visceral,

 able to awaken at the core

I feel the compulsion  

To heal the damage of man

heal your mind and your memories; yourself and your being

on distant shores

I dream of you whole,    

contemplative of the complete

I would have you—

Your strand woven into mine

proliferating into the future

conquering all of the dimensions that we are destined to reign.

Lullaby

Once I have gone

the ghosts of your discontent will devour the landscape entirely.

As an imitation of the genuine, the world will unfold as a stage that you have set for yourself, and yourself alone.

As eating in isolation has the effect of being eaten

this over-acted tragedy with no chorus and no audience.

Playing the victim, like a performance where all parties are playing the victim

Pantomime Rendering the mask of your own lies,

confronting the masks of yourself.

You will break, because you are soft.

crumble in the moment,

realistically never reaching the moment at all

lacking in the capacity to do so.  

Knowing this grants me no solace,

Sharing in some derogatory atonement.

to be released of this charade

where sirens wail in the distance

the low rumble of the streets

putting the proletariat to sleep in mechanical whispers

Glass beads

It is foreign to me

That’s why I like it

The glass-bead-game

Being played out in its most articulated level

These young men

Brought here for different reasons

Competing for different thin

Weaving it from the membranous thoughts

It is the mystery

And I pursue, stupidly

There is so much I don’t know

There is so much to understand

As I am wrought and rendered

These stupid activities

That have come to consume my life

in their complexity

I am made

simple.

  

thirst

devouring my resources like vultures

emaciated and emaciation

they land upon me like a vacant scarecrow

as a carcass being rendered by crustaceans

pulled apart with diligent little claws

I am suffocating under this veil of incompetence

And the tears are all but a play at catharsis

Pantomime silhouettes at reality

As a delectable tryst

I hunger, for the effervescent soul

Awaken something within me

As thunderous hooves rumbling against sun-scorched earth

The regency of all of my ideas

Bearing down like a raptor on fleeing prey

I am overwhelmed in the asphyxiation

How long it has been without love

My visage casting a tremendous shadow

Against the manufacture

A wild heart proliferates endlessly

Unrefined, unconquerable

yet crippled with yearning

my life is this endless, relentless adventure

with nobody to share it with

like a vortex

that holds a billion stars in place

invisible in its own magnitude

Night Cranes

There are those crepuscular moments

Where all seems right

In the setting sun

When the cranes come out to feed

Flying low over the bay

Their dark forms cutting

through the sunset

like silent black kites

they are yachts of dusky skies

behind a stiff cocktail

and hilarious company

we are made ephemeral in the laughter

shimmering in the distant darkness

they drop into the harbor

plucking fish out of the

reflective membrane of an upside-down world

they harp into obscurity

their casual patience paying off fortuitously

with the distant strumming of a guitar

I am plucking the waves of their minds

we rock through the wake

where brevity is a lantern in the darkness

effectively illuminating their humanity

in simple wisdom

framed in simple emotions

genuine and loving

unable to see the emergent night creatures

perhaps unable to see the darkness at all

Degenerate King of the Desert

 

They move like fidgety mannequins

Under the pale sunrise

That came upon Suddenly

dancing smoke clouds in the distance

shaded into the sky,

the never-ending desert

creepily quiet

with the ability to juxtapose

the macro and micro

in the same instant.  

Of feathers and fabric

I feel you through my being

you call me here before the

depths and the darkness

the light and the beauty

and all of the spaces between

to what do I owe this occasion?

I did it entirely of myself—

Because you made me this way.

Haughty and powerful

An unhallowed stamina captured

Envisioned through obscurity

We move though the vapor

This danse macabre

Wrought in fervor and mayhem.

like the volume being turned up

the sky fades in gradients

holding a magnificent pink  

that Exposes our human forms

In our worn frames

Degenerate and regal

With all of the privilege that comes with it

king of the underworld

Framed in the writhing sisters of fate

To the sound of mortal whispers

Their visages looking delicious—

until you see their ancient faces

eyes as vast as the wreckage of man

infinite in ephemerality

ancient in persistence

combatant and competitor

The game and the player

Complete, within this kingdom

the last raptor of the desert

Lekking without equal

Bathed in filth & prowess

God of a realm reduced to memory  

August 18, 2016

Guys, I cant do this.

I cant sit here and comb through this—

Looking at whatever emotional angle

As I return to the house I live at

Where discontent floats like a ghost

through a cat-scented museum

where every day is spun into the one before… and after.

I can’t care—

For the injustice, the anger, the emotion

I’m so sorry.

I can’t feel right now. In some kind of cyclical sandstorm within the depths of myself. My apathy to your perspective condition, makes me feel barren

As if; burning

in the firestorm of my everyday

hardened over my fragility

I can’t love—

I’m overwhelmed in the rage.

Consumed and distracted

In this cacophony

I want to cry out:

Relieve me of my thoughts

Lift me from this wreckage

Heal my wounds

make me whole

but my voice is swept away in the sound

diluted into absurdity

lost to conversation.

Beauty is not something to be obsessed over—

It is something that is experienced

Chiseled into us as we pass through it

And I realize so painfully
this has become integrated within me

the inconsequentiality

of any two-dimensional world.