Pick Your Poison

you arent real you arent really seeing this you have no idea what it means to be a person an individual a reasoning center in the grand scheme of this fucking madness you have no self no reflection no idea you are meaningless worthless and alone
nothing to say
nowhere to go
something this way aches

words are stifled
and ideas are lost

twisting towards the bottom
my momentum runs its course

I want to be noble, honest, virtuous and whole.
I'm not there yet; too much hate and fear still cling to my palette.
Incomplete man with far more blame for others than for himself, I wander forwards without tact.

Stale Winds Washed Away

snake oil sundays
guide this empowerment
to new plateaus
and here i've been
just hoping to stay up

dont come back
and joy might fester
or instead
might i just run

something quivers
in depths unhinged
by all departure
of faith and

the darkened magics
of psychosis incarnate
weave like webs
that cover
my blind eyes

then dawn approaches
and she's gone

this is where
new smiles
are born
Function over form. Yeah, you're beautiful, but can you make it work?


As the stage lights dim
the chatter swiftly thins out;
you will find me here,
remembering that I've been meaning to send them all letters,
each one carefully worded
and smelling of amber oils and stale cigarette butts.
The actors take their positions all around
as the story unfolds;
life has a funny way
of changing most profoundly
in the blink of an eye,
and yet the world seems so still
when I gaze with a careful sight.
Such an odd day,
to have a flashback kick in to full swing
at this tiny local theater
behind the bakery and to the left.
Things begin to glimmer
and the laughter bubbles up;
I am in a room that is on top of the world,
looking down
towards freedom,
though sometimes glancing back
because I might one day return.
The players play and then bow and we leave,
holding only memories to explain these acts.
I am legion,
host to many plot lines that are left to plot my lines
as well as several thespians
that dance their dance of swords
the same way that I fence my reflections:
with one retort too many and a solid wit just behind the eyes.

Alt + F4

I see you;
not the facade of kindness and concern that you display for anyone else,
not the 'peace and happiness' herbal shaman-in-the-making,
but the you that flows beneath the skin:
I see you;
entitlement is your burden, it will bind you to this existence for eternity.
Judgemental spite will be your undoing
for you are your own worst enemy.
You can do as well as you want in this segment of your life,
but nothing will protect you from the beast that slumbers within;
the advancement of your age will inevitably weaken the cage in which it lies
until it bursts forth irretrievably into the valley of your precious delights.
I will no longer look upon you with these open eyes,
at least not with any concern
as to what it is that I perceive.
I will look right through you
and hope that I am wrong.


a thousand questions swell towards a sudden surrender
pointed snarling death-worshipping arachnids circling in the sky
flames erupting into fire at my feet as i march up to face them
teeth gnashing and blood boiling
i can taste their hunger

and with certitude i understand that there is no greater clarity to be exhumed
as i continue the march of a mad man towards certain oblivion

then, suddenly
i open my eyes and look up
and my skies no longer swirl with terror and dismay

it is possible that i am seeing the horizon for the first time with these fragile eyes

the sun is setting
the day is done

i am no longer beseeched nor presented with such inquiries
and the sky holds brilliant colors
as i march up to face them

Finally, the feeling returns to my fingers;
Windy chill when Summer's somewhere else. 
No chance at hibernation 
as the caves have all filled up. 
Yet even after the coldest night, 
the sun's light still peeks through.
plugged in for the first time
writhing, pushing higher, spreading into infinity
every inch enraptured
this is vastly deeper than i'd ever seek to swim
though i'm wrapped up in cosmic release

every emotion triggered in cacophony
i am pulsing light spreading warmth
deeper, higher, deeper,
into the vast expanse
of every in-between

tear soaked
blood drenched heart
flooding my soul with fire, love,
and unending entropy
as i cum amidst the stars

what sorcery might have inspired this voyage;
be it of my inner channel,
or an incantation of these interwoven souls
brought to the peak of exaltation
in this respite from what we'd have ever thought life could be

Falling star, like a kiss from the moon,
Left its lavender trails;
Now my winter is frozen with delight
I will do absolutely everything I can possibly do to maintain my creative momentum. I will make a thousand song full of promise that just barely fall short of adequacy; i will erase each one of these. I will draw and paint and sing and cry and fall apart, because this is the only life I have to do it in.

Into Spirals Filtered Space

Back into a world where the walls aren't supposed to be moving
and the colors wont swirl for sight,
I press my skin against the cool surface
of the mirror with delight.
Returned from space, from atmosphere,
from floating in the sky;
I could tell you of my journeys
if my thoughts could reach your eye.

There had been new magic in the journey within,
shared between the smiles and intensity.
Several humans met in congregation in the confines of my home;
we had soaked our wildness' in psychedelia,
and our empathies in more predictable chemical sanctuaries.

Ascension's chords were plucked freely in the essence of our light
as all reflections pass through rainbows towards the sweet of abyss of time and space.

A toast rang forth from lovers' lips
(whose intimacy is of the soul rather than the flesh)
to send forth with pleasured incantation
the conceptual mobility of the spirit
trickling through our every layer.

Deeper and stronger and ever more drenched in the colors light composes, 
there was a surreal sense of heat from the morning's sunshine, 
despite the hour preceding dawn 
and the moon deceived by clouds; 
eyelids sealed shut and tabla drums softly splintering the silence, 
feeling far less alone in these visions of space than one might predict in such isolation, 
being cradled by the dancing vibrance of patterned hallucinations. 

It had become so profoundly simple to sink deeper into the unknown crevasses of the mind,
to speak with the secrets held down under our functional comprehension
and to commune with the remnants of our celestial existence.

Here were visions drenched in beauty, 
steeped in the rawness of intrinsic lusciousness. 
Stretching limbs had found their comforted balance,
flexing spirit shared by the resounding voice of guidance.

And although the sun never rose,
night turned back into day
and these astral subjects fell back into their bodies.

Now and here back into the flow of days preceding such journeys,
we had all returned to sobriety
accompanied by fresh gratitudes.


The fear was a catalyst, my endurance the test. 
Bubbling over with everything; all of it feelings to the bone. 
The blessings of a righteous path might accrue with great momentum, 
and I'm praying to my sweet higher goddess that the dosage was correct. 

I asked to receive the truth, 
and it hurts like its inside; 
there is no other way to get closer to earth, 
for my instincts lead me to hallowed ground. 

There are many lives I could have lived, 
perhaps there are many more still left to unravel. 
I feel it all. 
I feel it. 
When I'm with her, I never need to hide from the pain. 
There's no reason to run away and cower in madness when she is around, 
and I am healed in the light that spills from her every crevasse. 

Γκρεμό του γίνει

I've been waiting to soar all along
but have yet to take off.
Grounded still in this blanketing realm,
my wings shake off
the tiny beads of sweat
that pull the cold from the wind.
The river Styx bleeds on for miles
before my quivering claws.

I will leave here some day;
to take flight for the first time,
soaring restlessly away
into new potentials
of peril and delight.

Breathing in the Stygian vapors
of this dark flow,
I remain confused.
Without memory to cohere my sight
to circumstance,
what understanding might inform
the journey ahead?

Alone and consumed with the impulse to launch,
my beak gnashes nervously.
No self, no reason for such desires,
it feels as though I've been tensing for flight
for an open infinity.

I want to know
what I am.

I've been waiting to soar all along
but have yet to take off.