Above These Muddy Waters.

Recurrent experience forges
a hypothesis that can only
hope to approximate
actuality — built

as it is
from the bricks
forged in the fires
of passion,
determination,

to rise
above these muddy waters
through ingenuity

wed to the material
collected in a net
set up at the mouth

of all known
relentless data streams.

As we all do,
I desperately want to feel sure:

I do the very
fucking best that I can
with What Is, given
and What I Am.

Tattoo for the Void.

I am
nothing, going
nowhere:

bleached canvas,
empty plates, naked
and lonely walls:
living, aching
tabula rasa.

I know. I’m self
aware and, I think
you would see,
quite adept
at self-loathing.

I don’t need your help.
Just fuck off.
Eat shit and leave.
I can tell my own tale.
Paint my own life.

Go ahead.
Brand me,
get creative
and colorful

with the ink,
quill bleeding profusely
in expert designs
and wicked symbols,

analogies, visually-translated
expressions
and metaphors
galore.

Mark the moment.
It’s as good as any.
Why should give a flying
rat’s ass anymore?

Plead from the Gray.

Straight, raw,
from my uninformed,
misinformed,
disoriented meanderings,

I plead: 
please

do not judge me,
just do not judge
me. I vow
to: take
you into consideration:

chew and swallow you so
you must rise
as something else,

integrated.
At peace with the mirror.
Black, shining, almond eyes

staring back,

eclipsed
in an aura
of indigo.

Lullaby in a Segue.

Sorrows,
how they swallow
us here,

trembling
in the darkness,
resting on our bed
of fears.

We made it. It’s our
responsibility to lay down
on it, after all, and it feels
so close to the end…

Bridges burnt.
Fat lady sang
like a goddamned angel.
Pork soars above.

All signs point
to the fact that its over.
Dead and gone.
Last nail in the coffin,
last shovel of rich soil.

High time
we accept it,
adapt to this, for

really: what could
there possibly be left
to wait for?

Rest now, my friend.
I will endure for all of us.
We will meet again.

Somehow, I feel
certain of it.

Wander the Earth.

What is this?

Just the natural culmination
of a psychological
fragmentation
that began when I was
only a child?

Tragedy buried in me.

Searching for meaning
amidst the madness.
Sift through the ashes,
find the cause, ascertain

the reason as I try
to find a way to cure
this surreal tragedy.

Only sixteen.
Overwhelmed
with revelation.

Watching my world fall away.
Lies expose themselves
and die, leave no sign
of truths fit to replace,

so I wander
the earth forever.

Hunting down
the phantom facts,
a part of me, severed
and astray.

Relentless Vigilance & Blueprints.

Psyche split
like a cell. Chimeric
attempts
once again. Divide

and conquer, now dissolve
and reform: into a state
of synthesis

(unity again, finally,
fucking radiating)

that brings
all you have to the table,
for you need it. Do you see

the growing storm,
creeping in over
the horizon, drawing
close? Pull

yourself together, man:
wake up, turn off
the alarm.

Be sure to know
your way, load your gun,
ready all your weapons,
one with relentless
vigilance.

Chaos comes first.
Count on it.

Utter destruction
precedes creation,
brings attention back

to the blueprints
that evolve
along the way.