Believer

I don't now need
to believe
as hard as I once so truly did
when I was all angst and invective
against the gods
and all their sundry
creators

Is it insensitive
to care far more
for your mortal coil
then for the spin which life
for you has propelled
some kind of order to
this madness

Essences frothing
foaming and devoting
countless little nothings
each of their own
beyond the pail
each with grasping
hands and minds
believing

Awareness settles in
at last I see
at least I see
something more than mere belief
erupting like a plume
of magma from a new land's
birthing cauldron

In salt and wet
unwholesome sweat
and benign accompaniment
of little things
which no one thinks about
lest we be rousted
from our sleeping

For now too long
I have thought about them
though there can never be
enough of thought
expressions of a mind
evolved in trees and
the floor of the world
wide and free and terrifying

Is dreaming still
the night's watchman
the guard upon whom
all lives depend
to waken them
when hyenas roam and salivate
for childrens' flesh and marrow

I believe it's so
but let me be the first
to say that I know not
what favors
mystical unknowns
might deign to bestow upon
our fair and foul
family of humanity
within the jungles
of our complex minds

So wherein lies
the tale teller's crux
that oh so many
believe his sorry tellings
on the screens
and waves of modernity
and soiled by sellings
of mere things to boost morale
to slaver for new needs
to be fulfilled

It's all in the enigma
it's three slight pounds
it's lobes too three
it's aloneness
in the darks of nights
intent on being
someone something gleaming
chrome and bright
which all might to believe in

A portion of our time
elapsed and lost and ruined
yet still alabaster
in pristine and innocent
unconsciousness
alone together
none as one except
in special circumstances

How is the end
to ever come
for ever and the new beginnings
the airs we breathe
and sighing leave behind
to those who
come after all unwilling
until each shall find
our own means to believe

And with believing
cold willing
or the passion of
the fireplace on plains of
ancient dusks' heartless landscapes
and god's
relentless
laughing

Believe believers
or failing that
buy your ways from darkness
it's only what we each are owed
for this life with which we're playing
whether by the rules
we're given to believe in
Or simply until our leaving

shame and remorse - four innocents lost

I want it out of my head
I want it done with my life
I want it over and done with
I want it finished influencing me

Nine with a need to discover
Seven the guard above covers
Five in blissful attendance upon her
Four an annoyance why must he be here

Two for my own at her pleasure
One mystery to unfold at my leisure
Oh but Four has gone and befouled her
Repulsive a longed for and beautiful treasure

So back to the start again groping
What was it for which I was hoping
A mere child without tools for coping
Alone with three other souls all unknowing

Forty years later and the denial
From others who'd failed this trial
For they in their innocence fading away
Found comfort in letting go of any such day

As might lead to their failure being forced into the open

Where she on her own had already let go
Of the other who couldn't be told since his rage
Uncontrolled would betray them all and destroy them
Denying their chance to recover their sweetly lost full potential

Forty years on and still holding
Candles unlit and shadows unfolding
Peace nearly here my pace finally slowing
As griefs piled high are the proof of unknowing

Innocence lost is not lost for all time
Tragedies' costs carry interest that's fine
For the truth is always available to the mind
Which opens itself fully in hope of some sublime

Ascendancy into the knowing
Life free again to grow how it may
No remorse shame or fear of not knowing
No remorse shame or fear of not knowing

in the empty bottle

i'm not going to murder
this man that I love

but I know him like few others
no
like no other

and i loathe him
with all my heart

i am wounded and not afraid
to cry about it

like a little girl
forget the boy i've always been
never had a chance
to truly be

exalted in my pain
i am pathetic and deserve ...

far from in love and there
always there
and alone

in dreams and other blissful days
when manic i am

in reality abolished nightly
daily recriminations boil up

falling down the rabbit hole of
my poor me poor me poor me

empty
nothing left to pour

emo mojo rhyme

Somewhere in the middle
of nowhere, senseless
at the bottom of the top
or the top of the bottom,

Against a backdrop of two score
and three years of greyness
filled with spots of light and darkness
stars and holes;
Bright stars, pitch dark holes,

I would as soon press God into my service
as service such an ogre myself.
E'en as Lucifer, Prince of Lies though he Reign,
would cast away his chance for His love.

An be there Prologue
should beget such horrid honor?
All things have their precedents
in wishes and chance.

Would that I could explain
in Truth, with fictions left to day dreams,
then so might I understand
faults, unrepentant,
and return, at last, to Heaven.

Yet, when Passion is diminished
and the font of Hope turned dry,
some glamouries fetch me back
to sit upon the stones, in doubt.

Would that If would end;
that pity and its fuel, hope,
would leave off and send me no more rope,
hovering relentlessly.
The Morningstar sets free whom He saves.
-

Fucker... what a waste.

Two Haiku

My foot, tasting burned
Still I munch it. Ecstasy!
No rare occurrence

For a friend.

Sanity subsumed
True/False light envelopes me
Hopeless? Not as such

For me.

Wish I Was Here . .

. .



fasm push 'em
lost an' roll
crock-a-dill
dilly
over the pole
holp
nope
I can't
but would I
could I
nonsense
none of it
all, now,
run dry
"Pinklequickle", my ass...

tumult

Rantamble? How 'bout strollin'...
'round about and
far too much lollin'
but that's alright
may be should be
which is oh! so frequently
how it's done
anyhow

along I came
and there I go
succeeding
failing
what's to know
that I can't grasp when
times do come
until it's done
damn! it's done

so now to truth
and sense it so
the wind inside
it swirls slow
as longer
shorter
fuller now
I am again
what once
was how

but all of that
is not to say
that things once done
have gone the way
of dreams and potions
taking lightly
sweetly sipped
no longer nightly

pain escapes
and eases me
into the past
the futures be
all of my time
though wasted still

or what
what will ...

acCid3nt 0f b1rt4

just this once
nevermore and only
unless because
because well
you know
what if I didn't

what if I didn't take that chance
and I was left
yet again
hanging in the wind
the cold
the emptiness of being
me
alone
as usual

and then again
I feel that I'll change
I don't
I don't have any reason
for that feeling
maybe it's just hope
that shit I won't abandon

even on the edge
so far away now
so far away



On Wikipedia, it goes like this:

"The artist is nothing without gift, but the gift is nothing without work." - Émile Zola

Either way, I'm still one lazy, unmotivated sumnabitch... Catch freakin' 22, eh.

Silence

I'm so fucking messed up. I mean, sure, most of us are to some extent. I know that. I'm just more so and further along then most "normal" crazy people.

Even explaining that makes it seem enormously apparent.

C'est la fucking vie.

I can't help this longing
...
and I wanted to believe ...

I need a white wave.
I need ...

ego distended

...in vainglory
emptied of all but life's shade
...gladly let go by the way

sadly informed
...of madness in grey
and spectral colors

...lonely for all
and slept in
...unatoned, bereft

seduced by others'
...realities long lost
vacant and unadorned

...simplicity answers
mocking
...in the know and smug

lest somehow
...somewhere
......everything falls into place

and I breathe again
...still yet to sample
the silence of forever