Notes of a Stubborn Subject.

To stand
here, powerless,
and watch it as it all falls

I must imagine
what this sequence
represents is horrifying,
so I freely confess
my agonizing ignorance.

Is it fiction or fact?

Is this on a screen
in an otherwise dark,
cool, cavernous room,
or projected directly
into my mind?

And, regardless:
is intelligence truly a fatal mutation,
or can we embrace

the truth, fly and soar
to a place
so far beyond this?

And are you truly
the best route,
or are you here to save
and in the process,
fuck us?


Don’t tell me I’m you.
I’m not one of you,
part of this:

only your prey,

just a victim of your process.
By no means a willing participant
in all of this. Just a passionate
and stubborn subject.

I’ll find a way to stop this, inspire
some vague semblance
of justice
doomed to take hold.



Test me for faith.

If found, by all means, eliminate.
I need no blind, constipating
platitudes, nor ignorant embrace
and subsequent evangelism.

Truth is fixed
as the target
here. Make no mistakes,
my dear.

Honesty, reality:
this is what I strive for.

in silence,
show me, let

me listen to what I’ve been,
so I know

what to veer
from as I
aim for…

Evolve or Die.

Another nail forged
by passion
impaling the coffin,
hammered in
by thundering fists.

I don’t mind the blood.
This relentless
storm of sweat,
intense emotion
and tears

will dilute it,
and the scars? They mark
a moment: tattoos
of a bygone age:

for mind-files.

And I need to remember.
I must remember.

Never feel this way.
Never let
yourself slip back
into this place.

Just evolve.
Evolve or die again.

You can never
run and hide,
at least not once
you are in there,

and fuck them all:
you are more than this.
You need not be
a part of this.

You can rise
above it, respect
their choices but draw
your own goddamned
line for once.

Not this.
Anywhere but here.
Never again.

Never feel powerless.
Never let yourself look up
to them, craning
your neck
so far

that you’re stuck
there, no hope
of seeing,

much less saving

Under the Skin.

Lacerate, tear it all away.
Beneath insatiable attraction,
revulsion to the core. A monster
gift-wrapped in seduction.

Behold the instincts
and their enticing illusions.

Satisfied now
that you have stumbled foolishly
along your journey

into the belly of the whale,
incubated in this womb
you enter when taking shelter
under the skin

the prerequisite
for greater enlightenment,

or must
you suffer
bear the return
of this circle?

Bad Omens (Creep & Pounce).

resisting the aching
urge to look
over my shoulder.

Alerted to movement
in my peripheral
that stood as convincing
enough to inspire

me to turn
my head in expectation,
only to find
no one and nothing
was there to be found.

Still, that potent,
overwhelming sense
of being watched persists.

Though strangely
it better than ever,
I feel myself
on edge,

battling for balance.
Am I on the cusp again?

Signs that serve
as bad omens 
clearly creeping

in, flaunting
their wretched,
alien faces,

however briefly

between their creep
and pounce.

Make Haste.

Atheist to the core,
still you strive
to see an angel
in every being,

a light at the end
of every tunnel.

Well, sorry.
It was not meant to be.

Silly, you see:
you aimed
for reality.

So tell me:
is the most vile
of enemies governed
by a conscience, sincerely

that they are doing
the right thing?

and a darkness smiles

not the least
bit comforting.

So make haste,
cover your ass…

Don’t Blink.

Missing time.
Lost mind.
Quickly, I strive

to gather up the pieces,
trap them in amber,
bookmark the moment
to help me remember,

anchor the remnants
through ink:
and swiftly, faithfully.

No distractions.
Don’t you dare breathe.
don’t you fucking blink.

It’s like trying to grip
a hold of water,
like chasing down
a fading dream,

only in this case
it certainly seems
to be sprinting away
with a haunting urgency,

leaving me
with next to nothing.

Another battle lost
in the war to remember.

What do I bury? What hells
are you hiding in me?

I have a need to know.

A Question of Identity.

I’m such a liar,
such a thief,
claiming experience
as my own
and letting it define

me. So amnesiac,
to mentally compartmentalize
things to such a size

and complexity
that it generates autotomy,
a separate personality,
a distinct identity state that claims

this compartmentalized
experience as its own
and defines
itself by it.

And as I slip
into it I must wonder:
really, who am I?

Hung before a mirror,
I meet with dark, slanted eyes.

Upsides and Downsides of Spoilers.

Face it:
we’re on our last leg,
trembling, wobbling
to and fro.

Yeah, yeah. Admirable balance so far.
Congrats. Now, spoiler alert:
nonetheless, we’re all doomed to fall.

Would it make a difference
if we gazed
up and deep into the cosmos
and realized

that here, on our lush island,
we are not only
not alone but not at all unique
in the way we fall?

It’s sad,
but they say misery
loves company…

Still: disclosure
could serve as a wake-up call —
but don’t you dare
hold your breath, as that time, 
it will never come…