the godless invisceral

some articulate helix

words crumble in this plane

will of men wanes in the darkness

Where they are faced to confront

All of the realities that lies beyond this single sheet world

my reality, willing to extinguish others

My reality willing to triumph into the night

Willing to conquer and conquest over, and within, and under…

What exactly?

My reality; unable to conquer itself

Unable to find the batteries after the flood

After the combat that led our ship so far astray into this vaguely charted sea

when I say the words

The response is cheap, and honest

the truth is the truth

violence is real in a way that this invisceral sphere is not

this life is not even sustainable-

written in arcane language that becomes obsolete by the time its printed

 There are places that your god cannot reach

there are depths to this world that are reaching for you

in light and in darkness

it is unfair and unlikely that things will change

it is unfair and unlikely that things will remain as they are

all the unraveling of this world will be trite and forgotten

in the instant all present realities are extinguished  

Lich

As if unraveling mistakes in ambition

 ambitiously unraveling mistakes

pulling from within, by pulling externally

the term for which penetrates this reality

as I invest myself into external things

investing upon investment

and penetrate through time

like a worm boring through thick earth

as those before me experienced

a transmutation of those feelings that we once held dear

a transformation of belief that once mattered in a past life

learning to live forever by learning that life is meaningless

becoming immortal by dying

but within this reality

there are doors to the others

and some of them lead nowhere

and some of them lead to strange and forgotten places

and all of them lead to places external to this reality

as external as my reality must be to you

in the way that the mind can be manipulated and feelings can betray us

realities open and close all around you

if we could only open our eyes to see them.

September Harvest

It’s come to this.

more peace. More peace of mind

jutting suddenly to the left 

as if being struck by an invisible object

obsessed with carnage

violence and impunity

like oil seeping into tiny fissures  

and all I have to say

The thing about power is: it’s not even

Where radiation pours down on my terrain incessantly;

With a match this would be a firestorm

and I bleed water here

at a great expense that cannot be fully understood

in the way that I love to vandalize things

is not so apparent to the layman

however

it takes a lot to lift oneself

and it’s always proportional 

It’s not what you want it’s what you need.

And you Fucking Need to understand this

As if each foreign noise is cause for suspicion

There is nowhere to run, that matters

As I am constantly overwhelmed by the thought that I cannot articulate how I feel in this reality

It drives me fucking crazy

In a world of piety and righteousness, (I am the Golgari)

We defeat things by making a mockery of them

And seek to entrench ourselves; so that others will not make a mockery of us

the answer is apparent : : take the initiative

in any direction

that leads you where you need to be 

along this road, I have learned to exhume some kind of strength

because a twitching hand sequesters a shaking one,

in a way like chasing a phoenix through the dark places of your mind

becomes an insatiable search for perfection

like crushing a snowball into ice

the problem that presents itself then is a systemic one:

practice pursues perfection forever

you can never do anything too right

a fatal blow can never be too clean, a tree can never grow too  well

(a love can never be too perfect)

  like all nerves, they must make connections

and in this fractalated universe

the dimensions that must be traversed

are difficult to express with words

in a frivolous attempt to conceptualize

a thing that must be experienced  

22/100

It all comes out as the same note.

The same space where everything seems to be of one color

Where the most adventurous dreams end in a time-consumptive lesson

And all that was and is are the same

Passing some thoughtless nexus
traveling through entrophy

As time destroys us all

Each to our own design

The madness blooms under feral sun

Suspicions boil where affirmation once held sway

Under the reign of the sun

Everything becomes a competition

As the proliferation of self is all-consuming

surfacing

This constant ballet of resources

Money there, funding here, gas, food, weed, blow

It’s a life of constant allocation

When I want to understand more than I already do

In this void from which all things come

That needs to expressed: like an infection

Where everyone’s right. I’m just being lazy.

But I too know. That this is all nothing.

When the thunder breaks the sky

Breaking through everyone’s

sense of self-importance.

I have not learned anything if not to save.

 subsist on little in this desert of violence and meth

control is a farce. Like human constructs built on constructs

dreams within realities. We are the forgotten. We are the underclassed. We are the expendables in a time of excess.

And yet we persist indulgently.

some fevered corruption of reality that sustains itself

in the way that self-actualization

becomes the last kind of orgasm you need

but don’t want to have

In the dark

Behind the coyote lines

The hinnies if the young burros fall silent

The as I stand there

In the darkness overwhelmed by an emotion

Akin to terrified. Akin to fear.

in a large drain some doppelganger

unnervingly emulates what I do.

what brought me here:

It was the cinderblock courtyard in the middle of the night

Lit by one single halogen bulb that hummed into the encircling darkness

Generators underneath steel plates

Guarded a quarter mile to the west by novice security

What-the-fuck-does-that-door-into-the-ground-open?

What brought me here:

curiosity greater than anxiety that dominates

every space in my mind

behind me headlights don’t even realize they are perusing

and I sweat to get away,

to upper ground that they never seem to see  

Unable to express their own demise

As innocent as children that reach out yearningly

Their hearts are so haplessly underdeveloped

And I am not a good player in this

recognizing your own shortcomings

is the worst.

But it’s true.

Its honest and it’s self-actualizing

And it’s uncomfortable

we prevail. In such a way

on heavy tracks

they saunter

into the unknown

unable to perceive the forest for the trees

I ask myself

What my role in this matter should be.

Often.