Blaze

Hollow words will burn.

Hollow men will burn.

Set your body ablaze.

Mushrooms

The other day, I ate mushrooms. It was a magical time, as always. This was the first time I was near a keyboard while in that state. What follows, most won’t understand. I don’t, really. It’s a full on stream of consciousness. You have been warned.

Everything we do with modern life is a form of contraception. We have glasses with which to help us see, we have shoes with which to protect our feet, we have headphones so that we can continually be immersed in something else. Modern life is all about not experiencing things the way they are naturally. I have glasses to help me see, but they are still guarding my eyes from seeing the world the way they should. Condoms, but in every aspect of our lives. Nothing is experienced as it should be. We can’t even have sex the way nature intended. Everything is guarded, protected, sealed off. Why are we waiting for later? We are always saving things for that wondrous time “Later”. I will get to that later. I am saving this for later. I am waiting for that one person. Why do we all insist on such nonsense? I can’t even say these words without using the condom of my glowing computer screen. Writing it all down does help narrow their focus and help me weed out the static and background, but is that what we really intend with society?

Smirking and giggling in the cool basement while drones of musical waves wash over us, the colorful interwoven lights snaking their paths along various exposed pipes and cables, I can feel my ass growing numb while sitting on this Gatorade jug.

We don’t even eat the way our ancestors did for millions of years, we have small glasses full of a flavored drink and wash down every other bite. While living in the trees we would find food, eat what we could, and then seek out some water to quench our collective thirsts. People wonder why this nation is so obese, and we only need to look at our eating habits. Deep fried this with a side of gravy and a 900oz keg of only the highest of fructosed syrups. Wash it all down, big guy, don’t worry, we offer free refills. Is that soda pop too strong for you? Don’t worry, here’s some ice. Water it down to make sure that you can get all of the sugars.

Experimentation happens when something comfortable is accidentally changed. We don’t know that it even happened, while it is occurring, but only on the reflection can we see how far everything actually explored. Documenting these variables and prodding them into happening again is the basis of scientific thought, in its most infantile of explanations.

Father-D2

Why can’t I write? Why am I unable to convey?

I have whispers, voices, ideas of power.

They don’t capture what I crave.

My own cravings of uniquely crafted thoughts, Is not enough.

My head is a thought-tornado, every-which direction is up.

In under 5 lines Picasso could make a perfect human form.

Detail escapes me even with thousands.

A man has given birth to his successor.

For years this child is taught.

The child’s goal is one is one we all know:
To be as great as my father.

Father is our first sense of perfect.

Father is who we strive to match.

Father is that intangible, untouchable.

He who has guided us all.

He taught me to be a good person. You?

Sleep

“When I was a kid, I remember having troubles sleeping. My mom used to come in and sit on the edge of the bed, tell me about how she also had insomnia and had ways of curing it. She could fall asleep if she really put some effort into it. She told me that there were dumb little things that I could do to help me if it was an average night and just gassing out wasn’t working, I could try to do math, I could think of boring things, the normal stuff. But, and she was very specific about this, if I was facing a night that was just unlike anything else I had come upon, and sleep was something I couldn’t even think about missing out on, to listen to what was going on in the room and turn that into a story. Not what was going on in my head and just ramble on about some vague tangent, but take what I heard and make that into something. The first time I ever put it to test was only a few weeks later, I had some stupid presentation about Big-Horn Sheep coming up and was freaking out that I would not be able to survive it. I looked at the clock flying through the minutes, and around five in the morning I decided to give her secret tactic a shot. I remember becoming silent, feeling the already twelve times flipped pillow radiate heat back onto my cheek, moving as little as possible, waiting for the ambient sounds of the room to come to life. That is when I finally heard it; the snow. I jumped out of bed and looked out the window, but the fact that it was May won out. There was no snow. Broken-hearted I walked back to bed, put my head back on the pillow, and pulled the blankets up. The sound resumed, I sat up like a jolt, and still no snow. It was then that I realized what was making the sound; the blood coursing through my body was making my ear ever so slightly flex in and out, but I could hear it. It sounded like someone walking in snow. I came up with a quick story about some guy walking through the snow, trying to find a girl he loved, and set it to the pace my heart had demanded. I can remember that he caught her, they were forced into an alley for reasons I don’t recall, and everything was ok. And, before I could really explore the plot, I passed out. It was magical. To this day I still only use her advice only if sleep gets impossible.”

She had at some point started listening, and stopped fighting. Once I was done talking I realized that she had somehow fallen asleep and curled up. I rolled over, breathed her deep, and we slept.

YIKES!

Fuck. This is all for real.

You have yet to show me real.

The creations grow, the facts die from suffocation.

Extremophiles, this is how you survive.

Solace among the jellyfish, the cockroaches, the bacteria.

How have you constructed such a life of insanity,

such a burden should be a thing which you avoid.

Yet, here you are. Thriving.

Your madness is something few question.

You may be a muse to the right one,

He need only ask when you had the last drink.

Then avoid the slaps.

I ask again and again:

“Do you know what is real, and what you have made up?”
You only answer with anger.

Poems are so eloquent with how they face subjects.

You punch and kick and swear and lie.

Horror is how you thrive.

Cunt, twat, whore, liar, fuck, slut, all applicable.

Disgrace, dishonorable, despicable.

All applicable.

Thief, con, burglar, predator.

All applicable.

I almost feel sorry for you.

Please, notice the connections, the faults, the ends.
Please, stop fucking blaming your issues on chemicals.

Please, stop being a bad person.

Please, take these words as honest, and not just cynical.

For fuck sake, find help.

Stop being a bad person.

Do not take this as a sign that I am missing.

We are dead.