Posts Tagged ‘existential’


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Right now,
as you are reading  this,
a hundred trillion neurons are phase locking to billions of different frequencies to fire synapses that will create a single thought that is entangled in the very fabric of being that radiates from all consciousness.

When we breathe,
we are not merely breathing oxygen molecules
–our breath is an integral part of the vast atmosphere around us.

We are the butterfly that flaps it wings and causes tidal waves.

We are of the four mighty winds that move the oceans & cut through solid stone over infinite time.

Lean with it…


I have scathed the esoteric and the mainstream.
Studied the great literary efforts.
Worked tirelessly to build a lexicon worthy of a true pedant.
I abandon it all.
–for  I was only regurgitating a preordained formula —
telling another story;
instead of my way.

It became a question of:
Who am I trying to impress with this poetic foray? Who is the target audience? Is it the academics? Other writers? Publishers?

Why do we concern ourselves with impressing people who aren/t even a part of our individual realities?

We let the glamor of a commercial reality contaminate our definition of success.

What about the people out there grinding it out on a daily basis, who we are intimately involved with?

Parents who hardly have the energy to play with their children when they get home from work; yet, somehow find the time to trudge through my writing, some craziness that I deemed crazy enough to warrant their undivided attention in a very crazy world.

What a big head us writers have, as if the world should just go on pause to take in what we have to say.

Who the hell am I anyway?
–exactly what this poetry thing is trying to work out.

The end result is for anyone who took part in this crazy life; either, directly or indirectly.
Those who have lived it, will know it when they see it.
We smell our own kind down here.
Just follow the stench of burning flesh.

My entire body of work is dedicated to the beaten and broken.
All the single mothers who/ve been beat on and called stupid all their lives; who live for the hope that one day, life will work out better for their child, than it had for them.
The guy that is working for nine dollars an hour at a job he used to make twelve dollars an hour at.
The millions of people whose lives are obliterated for crimes, that were not even crimes ten years ago, for the sake of sustaining and cultivating a flourishing industry of privatized prisons.
And of course the addicts, the great tricksters, who have been convoluted from their true destiny by a commercial directive that is preening our youth for dependency.
All the people who have faced the cold reality of this corporate world long ago.
People who cashed in their dreams, to give someone else the life they had wanted.

My words are for all of them, as much as they are for my sake, and my soul.

There will always be the future to sell out in.
But right now, let us un-riddle the enigmas of this pain together, shall we?

Why am I even alive?
Why did someone else die, doing a fraction of what I did?
For that I am sorry.
My number should have been up a long time ago, and I plan to make the most of the resurrection bestowed upon me.

It is a peculiar make-up of personalities that I attribute my survival to.
The combination of the right people around at the right time.
Sometimes, the right people aren/t always the positive people.

We are refined and tried by fire.
The fire ends up defining us.
Let your blaze burn you true.

A Soft Hard-Break

Posted: September 1, 2013 in Poetry
Tags: , , ,


she says it
 not be
fault if he
were to fall
in love with her
he thanks his
stars that she
looks away
for such a smile
is a sun
the brightest day
fire for trial

paper heart
scars & burns
pain it gives
but time it takes
wait in turn
stones & sticks
& clever tricks
all we have


Paid for the ticket

Did any body show?

We were far too busy

Casting out the first stone

Acting as if we know

Whether we’re alone

Like we’re not spinning

In a child’s snow globe

An abandoned exhibit

Overgrown thorn thicket

Where plastic flowers grow

Animated pin cushions

Terminally collapsed

Scar tissue…still pushin/

We all re-lapsed

Down, we all fall

Come one, come all

Claw & crawl

For the mysteriously ambiguous

Pretending to be pretentious

Poetic inventions

Of rationalized intentions

Too old to be precocious