fisher king's wasteland

our relationship is just like schrödinger's cat though it all seems quite perfect right off of the bat as we sit on our seats right in front of our screens while we each screen each other to see if our dreams can be matched without needing a patch for the seams like a thatched roof erected without using beams i see you, you see me, though it's not in 3D it's a representation that's as real as it's free to be opened and angled and zoomed in and out we can judge and pass sentence while the jury is out and the treehouse we build on this fantastic tree with its limbs that have branched out between you and me gets more grand by the day, till it gets in the way and we're trapped by the walls that we build when say that we're so far away; then we should meet and play in our treehouse so that we can take such a day to cut out a window that'll let us see in and decide if what was is a fail or a win

you tell me that i should try to keep my perspective objective as if i could somehow coerce my consciousness to traverse the boundaries of my me-niverse and rush, unprotected into the crazy, overwhelming crush of unfiltered particles and waves with such a gaze as i've been training since i was born to avoid and in so doing formed the very void that has become my sacred "i" of the storm three eyes have i, to be precise one, looking back in high-definition retro-vision one, now, with myopia and my third eye, my ocular oracle with sight beyond sight the one that sees all the possible futures and fantasies of both fright and flight and i've but barely begun to discover which buttons on my remote control do more than simply select the source or show a picture-in-picture view of my soul how very droll, all this you think that i should leave behind somehow unzip my skin and evacuate my mind to pick some dull, tumbled-out tiss

it was all too subtle, what she did to me. i'd had a bit to drink and a pleasant afternoon and was on my way home when the metro doors suddenly opened and i found myself quickly crossing to the opposite car where she sat smiling at me. she was tall, with glossy black hair and smooth skin covering pretty features and almond-shaped eyes. as i sat down next to her i realized that i'd been on the right train before and was now going the wrong way. i laughed quietly, and we sat in silence until the next stop. we stood up in unison, and she smiled as she stepped out, her hips swinging gracefully from side to side in an expression of summer sunshine and flowers in bloom. as she passed the stairs she knew i'd need to take to return, she paused to look down as if waiting for someone. perhaps she wanted to see if i knew how to teleport yet? perhaps she was testing me. i only knew that i had to be where she was looking, and so down the stairs i went. would i see her again?

i shuffle through the alleyways where i feel at home with my ghosts at my shoulders i'm not walking alone the brightest day can't reach me here i'm too far gone 'cause i'm a man of the moon and i can't stand the sun a doorway pops out in the wall that's right by my side the door's lock clicks and then i hear a voice from inside telling me to open it and find space to hide from a tired world of lies that killed those ghosts who have died … i take it 'cause you're offering, it makes me feel good it lets me close my eyes and feel the warmth that i should there's love in my heart and some rest for my soul there's nowhere i need to run to and no-one's in control … i'm empty and alone as i walk back to the street where the man who would dance around no longer has feet he's passed by another who's got food but can't eat who won't spare him a coin, 'cause he's thinking "dead-beat" b

he's good, people say, but we don't like him 'cause he's preaching no-one wants to hear that shit, who is he to be teaching? and reaching for some bullshit ideal form of art what's whose art? art is dead, throw its corpse on the cart wheel it out to the fire that we've set in the streets while we dance around in circles in praise of the beats we can't hear, we can't feel, 'cause none of this is real through the crazed hazy daze of the drugs that we deal these are drugs that replace other drugs that are bad if we label them so, the government will be glad to step on our feet, tie our hands behind our backs thought police busting in, stopping us in our tracks from figuring our way out of the cage that we've voted by picking rich liars, who our taxes have toted as capable men with our interests in mind but what kind of a man, wise and caring and kind could stand up and be counted in a nest full of vipers play political games, while

in my crisp, white uniform and cute little hat red and gold crosses all around i stare at my patient who cannot stare back his strong, black body that could easily overpower my tiny frame even the cold froth seeping over his hard lip cannot subtract from the boldness of his beautiful visage i will do my job i will nurse him i will consume him leaving nothing but his memory in my giddiness

i close my fist and feel a surge i open my hand again first feeling, then seeing a shimmering a tingling an aura of power which will fade as i grow older

a fortress in shallow greys and blonde tresses a fortress empty as the surrounding desert the giant face of the entrance wall with eyes, wide, penetrating barbed lashes at the ready granite-lipped drawbridge sealed tight the mouth snaps creaking shrilly in the wind a whispering, questioning breeze blowing ever out, sometimes gently but sometimes a blasting gale those mocking eyes brook no entry that sharp-toothed mouth denies all refuge that emptiness will not be stained by the passage of travellers

slow spiral up or down moves me pushes pulls me to dizzy abandon i hear soft voices whispering sweetly to go back, or forward but none are yours and none are mine my own sweet whispers long ago silenced by the spiral moving me pushing pulling me

[written to a tune from the evening ceremony in veranassi that got stuck in my head] we want your money, we want your cash, so please give us leave to sell you our trash, to shave your beard, to tell you you're weird, we'll give you our food so your mouth will be seared. can you count our gods, or our people? there'll always be more once you've had your fill! we'll keep on pushing and never stop not caring or worrying if you've blown your top. don't you want to buy flowers? it's good for your karma and earns you powers! we'll take some more money to let you bathe; the ganga will cleanse you: hey, look! you're saved! fecal matter is strewn on the floor enhancing the smell of the wretchedly poor; our holy men, they all stare vacantly, surrounded by vermin, and louts, and pee. how did you know that i'm selling things? what gave it away? is it all of my rings? don't worry, no business, just come with me - to my brothe

resigned, it's just a letter nothing special, could be better that, once sent, becomes a word it's my voicelessness heard like all others, it's a process it's a way that i can possess a state, both past and present something else, or something latent that's together, that's apart in the wrong order, in the dark when the giant, crushing fist coming out from the mist to squeeze my head tight to squeeze with all it's might i'm peeking out through the gaps in these thick finger-traps i call out, my voice firm though my damned soul does burn there's no suffering, there's no pain i won't do this again i'm somewhere else. i'm someone else. i walk through the cold and dark alone, my eyes on the moon and the stars, my brain sticks to the realities of now like chewed gum i've been pretending not to notice.

here i stand on the street rapping off a neat beat tapping off with my feet tightly saving the seat for the king, with his crown the best meter in town more imperial than feet are the words i don't eat i just pick at the bones and avoid all the clones they're the rhymes that i've heard heard again, they're absurd it's the dirt of the word like a cheap, plastic bird in the mouth, it's worth less than the sound that you heard so i'll change what i'm saying it's the game that we're playing it's you wanting to think and my wanting to sink all these bombs that have failed to explode, to have nailed all my dreams to your mind in full colour, make you blind yes, i want them to sink into you, but they won't, so i'm calling it quits once i cared, but you don't

welcome to my sweet little mechanized state where the military industrial complex churns out weapons of hate we can wipe out all our neighbours before it's too late but only if we're weak enough to take their bullshit bait we march down perfect beachfronts singing ditties and love while panic and terror rain on from above when there's nothing to do but take off the glove and swing out at ghosts while we strangle the dove the macho men swagger while frail women swoon all stare disapprovingly as they pass by the loon he's smiling and laughing, what a buffoon! 'cause he's not willing to feed off the lies on their spoon for breathing and sighing there's definitely no time we're all paying the penalty for a victimless crime as our air and our water's fates turn on a dime and our fine arts are going the way of the mime [ original post ]

the wind blows blue sunshine into my heart as the seagulls sing that it's spring my jacket and windows are open to breathe it's the air of life living that's the thing right here and right now things will only improve and much later we can worry about ends it's a sine wave of life that we climb filled with joy to make up for the deaths and the steep downward trends the universe is as manic depressive as we it can't help it, you see, 'cause it's you so if you're alive and the world is in love then know that you're loving anew

ash? snow. whisps. then hints. a few more, followed on, by swirling gusts, like schools of fish, chased by the wind, fleeing the stars. then came the blizzard.

the epic eighties call me back into the dark beside the tracks chains rattle, steel grinds against steel the skies are open, and i feel . the winds of change blow through my soul which still exists, though not as whole its shattered pieces sucked straight through into the portal, shimmering blue . that connects here and now to you in future broken, remade new to order, by the devil's crew whose screeching dreams have become true i'm underground, trapped in a lair of sheltered homeless in despair transported daily to their rooms where they count hours into dooms . each quietly keeping their selves hid although sometimes they'll lift a lid to peek out, stare straight into you as you observe, they see a few . conceited, righteous, greedy folks who'd complain of some broken yolks when theirs are empty basket stews their solace trapped in cheap foul brews they don't know who, or where, or why inside they're warm, out there they die to

a cold wind blows from a navy sky, i face it, gloved hands in my pockets swaying along with hanging traffic lights the reality cut off by sixties memories soft recordings telling me how disconnected heres and nows whys and hows break vows and build eternal truths but only for a moment

poetry is when you make perfect sense and it's completely incomprehensible or is it the other way around? [ original post ]

the cold wind in my eyes does nothing to chill the warmth of a bright blue and white morning crunching beneath my feet [ original post ]