be intrigued not empathetically thrust toward the initial reaction of sympathy. you know i know i am far below any semblance of a decent health. years of cultivation in the basement on the circle, years of growing pains has made me numb to you. and i had forgotten your prospective concern. i had forgotten that i was just blood and bones too, or maybe that was all i remembered myself as with just the sound of my own heart and a reflection of a dying figure what could you expect?

destined for the rags.

its curious diffidence
just coping with the inevitable.

Steeped in atrophy
I am
By no means exhaustive
Merely a lifeless yet optimistic, hyphenate
The bastards son of holes, and holes and holes and holes
And
Holes
And mechanization.
But I've got water, so goes the scale of C.
Limbless exploration, limbless extirpation
I am an unholy son.
On the cross, you saw my skin.
See my eyes, see my sin
The bastard son of holes and holes and holes and holes
And water.
I feel ugly under the palms of the oligarchy of religiosity
I feel ugly under the palms of the democracy
I feel ugly under the palms of the matriarchy
It is the trappings of sunlight in every breath, expiration
Emancipation that comes with mortality that comes with sunrise, sunset
That comes with the pangs of growing up and old.
That comes with the pangs of growing sedentary
That comes with the pangs of shedding plumage undesireable
That comes with the pangs of growing beneath the skin covered earth
That comes with the pangs of growing limbs
Lifeless yet optimistic
I am not a hyphenate

i think i am rejecting the donated parts again. i am very fond of your happiness however kind as it is. the rosy lenses the circle frames just subscribe anyone who wishes some certain fate. i never want to be a hyphenate. it seems we all succumb to this consumerist ideology that more is certainty better than less. doctor-lawyer. this term is prestigious because it takes brains to be both, and together means a helluva whole lot of brains. which is good. its good because we need people to passionately care so dearly about the twisted tendrils of our legal system and how to make it and people in it better when illness infests. we need these tepid souls. and of course humanity cannot move forward without growing pains, with out forces pushing in all directions at once, attempting to find the corners of the dark room called the universe and its conspiracy for our experiment and condition.

i imagine someday people will ask me, "wherever do you find inspiration in this terribly, terribly trite experiment of the human condition." i am not sure how i will respond, probably in a lie of some sorts, because of the indwelt hilarity and irony of course. honestly, inspiration comes from love of monotony--from timeless entitites. whiskey, beer, girls, the collective unconscious, impending unanswered questions such as the unknown, outer space (however metaphorical this is), a dire want, ill obsessions with deprivation and self-deprecation, emulation, possessing the meaningful things, always asking why, people, the idea of meaning, etc etc.

nothing to do, nothing to do. what a happy thought.
- a wise, silly old bear

i see letters conversing in steps and clefts.


so i guess it was pretty nice, a bittersweet punch in the face
dwell as a tightrope walker addicted to the dead weight trance

i suppose it was the chemicals.


when the curtains we're drawn, i remained.

i saw the infinite jest in irony, in paradoxical things, in the troughs and peaks.

and so sanity is only as sane as it seems, then because you are what you willst you will and shall be obligated to suddenly just be, to consign it all and simply be
just simply be

i am slightly turbulent beneath the chest.


wild and uncivil was desirable,
and mending walls are never so wide as they are tall.


connecting dots. . . . .
to the next annunciation.

the divide was so eerily similar, it was merely the

it was simply, space and the idea that remained behind everything that decided fate.

it
scared
me
senseless.

Geoff said this. I responded,

rightly, so.
you cannot go about
simply parading as some obscene novelist
flaunting some civil and largely respectable demeanor
only to turn your back on the masses of youthful african eyes

at the mere mention of Elbaz's .45.
dammit man, have some back bone

he just knodded. the savannah was different now than it was 10 years ago. we both knew it. we both felt it. the star and lemon grasses didnt whisper back with the wind anymore. the waters once animate and crystal now anemic and obfuscatory--tainted by the collective apathy and negligence of people who had succumb to the villainy of the machine. some one always paid a price. for the people of laikipia it was 1.00 USD a day clearing traps and gutting carcasses.

i see people throw thier lives away. i see them indulge in the sick shallow transience of consciousness, of moving from breath to breath however metaphoric that may be. i see the sad sick sorrow played on a recycled hymn over and over. fucking, drinking, smoking, they all tattoo sin on their skin, tattoo love on their arms, written in blood and ink, in tears and alcohol. numb.

iron and yellow and white.

bell shaped blossom, sun shaped exposure of spring.



see me run.


i climb to temporize.

i climb to listen to whispering.

so seeing grows small.
and hearing is consumed within the wild wild bloom of wind, of life.



so trite.
so cliche.
this is what they want,
nothing new.
nothing changed,
only cast in blue and rearranged,
they cannot withstand the edge of exfinity
of impertinence they float and gaunt they stand, sunken and sickly waiting to grasp ahold of the newest imagry to conform to


these paracites are sick, and i am one of them

so i need a mould to call my own because confidance is a brush stroak of humanity and i stole mine.

so no one is like me now.


because they seldom doubt their immortality, when i doubt the breath just expired as a feat of anything but a gift of miraculous

spoke harsh and slow. lips stained red from a bottle of wine, seamy lines defined the contours of her face. the hair was evident at this age, white and gray, like the pelt of a peach, subtleness and blantancy combined into some mutually constitutent characteristic privy to distance. the teeth were crooked. they were faded brown to yellow and black. gums worn low. i suppose disease had set in. the hour glass had been let to run regardless behind the rib cage in her shallow chest. she said "frivolity, makes the distance longer. absence makes the maintenance nothing more than a chore." this was 80 years wise of a adage. and so we have fallen




ferry across fellow souls.


ill keep mine. tomorrow, tomorrow there lies a

sun
blood strained from stones
under it

chemicals stressed and unowned
under it

green displaced and covered in that blood
under it

i see 3 clover leaves
but how lucky am i to be the 4th?

let me first say, i am so sad i missed the 90's. it was such an exciting time in our history as a human race with everything from liberalism triumphing over socialism to elliott smith still being alive and at the pinnacle of his career, to the penultimate slap in the face of public faux pas with zubas being the epitome of cool--i would have thoroughly enjoyed launching a foray of criticism on the wearers.

when i was a kid i dreamt many quixotic fantasies of becoming a super hero this or a war hero that or an awesome whatever. one dream that recycled perpetually in my head was playing music. music for some reason or another stuck me so profoundly as a child. no one seemed to be so obsessed with a melody line or orchestration of sound more than me at my age. being reared on musicals, classical and rock legends like hootie and the blowfish, the eagles, U2, sting, the police and the like i was enveloped in a blanket of sound since childhood. bouts deprivation saw me sad and sick, beside myself most of the time. perhaps it is because i am slightly autistic and suffer from a chronic lack of stability (at least much less now than it ever was growing up) music became some great equalizer for me. music is the reason i am at a top 20 university right now. its also the reason i dont know what i want to do with my life now at this point where the options are few. music is a profession that is a parasite to someother ability before it can take a life of its own. i was hoping to launch its own life from college but i have created an atmosphere where work alone can set me free, where doing school work and doing it well is the only way i can provide for the best opportunity for me to support and continue my addiction to music my love of music, in the way that i do now. i dont know why i make it anymore, for the fun, for the love of feeling ephemerally fulfilled and the hope that it can help someone else become fulfilled or lead them to discovering something about themselves or the world.