Fever Pitch

Waves dancing over
Crashing slower
Oceans burble in
White noise circles
Droplets like white
Tidal waves might
Burn like fires
For drowning pyres.

Smolder, flaming,
Sulfur’s raining
Burning on edge
Water looks red
Lights so abstract
God in all black
Let the world die
The end is nigh.

Pulsing, shaking,
Throbbing, quaking,
The earth moves slightly
We die nightly
Nothing more and
Nothing at hand
Nothing less for
Them to cry for
Nothing in store
After this war.

Where’s your rapture
Christ is captured
Your cathedral of lights
Is just a blight
Sacrilege like claiming God’s touch
In your soul like you need a crutch
Descend into chaos and order
Fuck the blind-sight on the border
Look in hindsight, just a quarter
Of what we are lost as mortar.

On and on it just gets longer
Growing weaker, never stronger,
More complex with less to say but
We’ve become more afraid of what?
Life moves and nothing changes
Life moves on and we’ll be strangers
The metronome is off beat but we’ll
Finger frets and still turn that wheel
‘Til the day when it all ends and
We’ll be left without our dry land.

Break down
No ground
Clover’s
Over
Luck of
Above
No more
No love.

Single Serving Life

One tree
Surrounded by ashes
Its leaves flutter
On the warm spring wind.

A wolf
Howling at the full moon
Memories it will
Never understand.

A boy
Crying in a park
He doesn’t know
Who he’s waiting for.

Cities
Full of cars and buildings
Where nothing stirs
And there’s no life at all.

One world
Surrounded on all sides
The infinite of space and
Yet it’s all alone.

Deus Ex Omnis

I know of god in every paradox
Every lie that becomes the truth
Every evil from Pandora’s box
Existing to be good.

I feel god in the frigid air
Of a warm spring’s eve
It’s perfect scent, as I stand there,
Is chilling and killing me.

I see god in my city sprawled
Lain out before my eyes
Above the chaos, above the brawl,
I see no order in its life.

Within the calm I see the storm
Of my ambiguous, faithless thoughts,
In their struggle to be born
I know and see and feel my god.

A Happy Painting

Your life’s a picture
A pastel painting; a fixture
On an empty wall
Next to nothing at all.
So picturesque it’s
Perfect in every way
And time won’t mar you
Won’t burn and scar you
Just leave you hanging alone.

An empty museum
With just one exhibit
You have it all
To roam the halls
Late at night when you’re alone.
Day breaks; no one ever comes
Why would they?
What do you have to say?

A happy painting has no appeal
A happy painting isn’t real.

Time is leaving you behind as
You grow old it’ll just get worse:
It’s been too good
Far too good for the likes of you.
Nowhere to go, to run away to
The paint, as it’s dying it cracks.
Perfection rarely ever lasts
So end it, end it all before you,
Lose control; you’ve peaked
There’s nowhere left to go.

End it, end it all now
You can only go down.

Iatrophobia

How do you tell a doctor that
You don’t care if you live or you die?
How do you tell someone
So afraid of death, who’s purpose is
Just to prolong lives
That longevity is not the driving force
Behind what you do
That living longer is not why you do it.

How do you tell a doctor that
You disagree with what they do
That they’re just playing god
Deciding what’s good for you
And tampering with nature
And tempering your free will,
How do you tell someone so hell-bent on doing good
That what they’re doing is bad?

How do you tell a doctor that
They’re arrogance goes beyond
Pride of a job well done,
Pride for their charity and altruism,
That they now lack the most fundamental
Human feelings, that they see us
As no more than their quarry.
How do you tell someone, anyone,
That they are evil, obsolete, mindless,
Pointless?

More importantly,
Will you believe it?
When you are sick and dying
And pain wracks your body
Will you give in and make amends?
Or will you just let it run its course
Knowing that if its time
Then it is time
And you won’t let no damn
Hindu in a lab coat
Be your god.

One World

One event seen twenty times
Is twenty memories in twenty minds
Of things not happening the way that they say
Cuz half of them weren’t there anyways.

It was misrecollected and blown out of proportion
A victim of their cerebral distortion
Reality warped whether they knew it or not
Folded and molded to fit their own thoughts.

The world breaks down and their heads reassemble
The fragmented bits until it resembles
A semblance of the world that they knew
With tiny touches they each misconstrue.

They say frame of reference or personal preference
Cautious and trite, it’s done out of deference,
Too wary to doubt that it happened that way,
Even though you can't trust the things that they say.

Of World Eating God Whales

Logic tells you that everything was made by something else, and for the most part that has been true. But because of the way we are structured, because of the way our lives work, we can never understand that some things, inexplicable and ancient, were never made, and just WERE. Long before atoms and energy and things like that, there was something else. And there was nothing before that. I don’t mean to say that the “something else” appeared out of nothing, I literally mean that there was nothing before it, that the concept of “before” does not apply here. What I mean is that this “something else” always has, and always will exist. It’s not God or gods, if that’s what you’re thinking. In fact, it’s so ANCIENT that nothing really knows what it is. It’s just one of the THINGS of life, undeniable, unquestionable, and unperceivable.

Earth was not one of those italicized THINGS of life. In fact, Earth was tiny and completely insignificant by comparison, and though no one living there would agree, its inhabitants were too. But they thought they were important. They feared their own deaths as the loss of something great, not knowing that once they died they will have always been dead, and would have been in no condition to ponder the implications of such a concept. Once the World-Eating-God-Whale had eaten the planet and all its inhabitants, it had always been eaten and would never be missed or seen again, at least until the God-Whale felt the need to expel waste, as all living creatures must.

It was a hard concept to grasp, that the invariable “truths” of the universe found after eons of development did not apply to the universe at all, but only to the miniscule microcosm of the finders’ existences. Basically, what I mean is that the way things work in one planet doesn’t work the same way on all others. There are planets where energy can be created and destroyed, just as there are flat planets orbited by suns. Like I said, it was a hard thing to understand, that nothing was under your control and that you really didn’t know anything at all. It was particularly hard for the people of Earth, because we were, if nothing else, immensely proud of what we knew. So proud, in fact, that mere moments before the W-E-G-W devoured the planet and killed everyone on it, the greatest minds alive were all joined together in an attempt to disprove the God-Whale existence. Imagine their shock then, when they found themselves slowly and painfully being digested by WHAT WAS NOT THERE.

I know what you’re thinking, all of it, and I’ll address the questions one by one. The first question you have is, “Why was this quaint little planet destroyed?” Well let me explain. The God-Whale was hungry. That’s it. On earth we had two abstract concepts known as Good and Evil. I expect you people also have similar concepts. Well the God-Whale is not evil, far from it in fact. Evil requires a sentience and a distinct knowledge of “Goodness”, both of which it lacks. There was no malicious intent in the eating, and once the world had been eaten, nothing was thought of it. These things just happen. The second question you have is, of course, “Who is this doing all the talking?” Well, I am an earthling, and the only one to escape death. It may seem to almost be a betrayal of my kind, surviving while everyone else dies, but I say in mitigation that it would have been impossible to save anyone and that trying to do so would have resulted in failure to save myself.

Addiction

Smokey spirals
The smell is viral
It has you once
And you can’t let go

It’s what you know
You’ve been brung low
You hate the bitch
But you can’t let go.

In blinking cursors
The time grows worser
Where’s relief
When you can’t write?

It’s not coming to light,
It’s a sad, sad sight,
‘Cuz you were prolific
But now you can’t write.

Imagine cliffs
And Mafia stiffs
You’ve done it all
And it was better before.

Your ideas are poor
And you're not getting any more
So you recycle the old stuff
But it was better before.

The cycle is vicious
But oh-so delicious
Like another cigarette
After failing to quit.

Sometimes it’s just shit
At least you wrote for a bit
Even though you told yourself
That you’d try to quit.

What you couldn’t say
For days and days
You put it all together
On one single page.

Cuz you’re so happy and gay
That the block went away
You forget it’s just temporary
And fill up the page.

You lose some stuff
Some ideas are gone
And the end result
You feel is just wrong

But whatever you know?
It’s real at heart
And that’s all that matters
When you suck at your art.