Hold tight.

Hold tight to what can’t be held. Fleeting moments dancing drunkely away like a mirrored version of yourself. A wild beast in time with the spirit of the unlabled. Cling tight to these untouchable events. Speak true and bravely to the void that calls and then hang up on it. Live loudly and brightly with all passions in your heart. Be what you want. Don’t listen to me. Cling to your own words. Live by rules set upon yourself. But, don’t be a dick about it. Or do. I don’t care. Cling to nothing that doesn’t matters. Cause what matters will cling to you.  Hold tight to be held tight. Remember to be remembered. Love to be loved. Hold tight to what can’t be held. Hold your memories and hold them well, but don’t let them be your jail. I don’t know much about heaven or hell, but I think I can tell that I am what I am.

Ain’t that Neat

Y’all go to church, but don’t get it’s on the sun’s day.

Y’all get upset at night cause y’all dont like how the moon plays.

Claim to see the light, but act like these trees don’t give life to you.

How the fuck is that? We understood that shit as baboons.

Why’s this real ass shit make me laugh like it’s a cartoon?

Why’s the deal wrapped up before everyone gets to the damn room?

Why the fuck the ice caps letting me say, “I told you so,” so soon?

Where are the other seasons?

Does evil even have reason?

Ain’t no cause that get’s blood washed off.

Watch you words, they make hearts hard or soft.

Be a boat that’s been to a port or two,

hold tight things that are important to you.

Understand things will sort out.

Understand all lights go out.

And all darkness sparkles.

And all things are marvelous.

It’s all probably just a part of this.

Life polishes up a mighty bit

of shine, time, and rhyme.

You live that life that’s fine.

I express this mind of mine.

And feel grasses slide like itching deities between my fingers.

Eyes up, skies touch the ground if you think about it.

Wrapped up, blanket around my mind, and I can’t get out it.

The race to the stars began at the bottom of our feet.

In our soles.

Ain’t that neat?

 

I existed

I laid back on my bed and existed.

I looked up at the ceiling fan,

I saw the dust on the fan,

and I wished I could eat it

Cause I was hungry.

I existed,

I saw the flower-shaped nail coverings on my panel ceiling.

I had my hand behind my head

and that felt good.

I had my other arm bent at a right angle,

and my legs we totally relaxed.

As they hung off the side of the bed,

I existed.

And I thought back on my day.

As I existed.

Where I played music,

Watched movies,

Ate cold refried beans and cheese

Out of a tortilla boat,

And drank sake bombs.

Smoked weed.

Walked my dog.

With no particular order or number of times to any of it,

I existed.

By taking deep breaths,

by not letting my mind move,

avoiding any thought of my day,

I existed.

I wrote an entirely different poem

than this one you’re reading.

I tried to stay still.

I tried to only exist.

By forgetting everything I was trying to remember,

Escaping my clutches on myself.

I existed.

I don’t get philosophy.

“Democritus, why you laughing? Is it for these atoms uplift you, and the world taken on is paltry game? Is it because you do not burden with the prime mover? Does your mind not dwell on what happens, when you are no longer here to ponder mere puzzles? Democritus,” said the weeping philosopher to the sleeve of his robe. “How is it, that I’m freed from all, in my reality which moves so freely? Yet, wholly lost within my own melancholy pathos. How do you laugh, when you only delusion yourself with understanding the logos? You formulate, but feel no personality in the formula. You’re like a smart raven repeating reoccurring events. Of course, you deserve to laugh. Perhaps, I am obscured. For being immovable, witnessing strife derived by source’s flow as justice and penance. Not as effect prior effect. For seeing the path of up and down as one and the same. For seeing that everything. Flows. You remove yourself from everything to measure it. I swim concluded with it. You laugh; they will bury me in my own poop.”

 

“I dunno, Heraclitus,” the laughing philosopher said, “it was just funny.”

That’s love, baby.

The force of power derived from the momentum of our engagement lingers on my mind’s lips. To this day.

Like the dew right before noon; it begins to fade, but I find myself still damp every morning, realizing the feelings reoccur on me.

It’s not the way your thighs do. Or what’s between.

It’s not the way your eyes do. Or the sex’s shade of gleam.

It’s not the way your black hair. Falls between your red lips and gets stuck to them.

While you sleep in my bed in a romanticized semi-fictional memory.

It’s because you don’t give a fuck about me, but are unable perform as a bitch do.

Or how you hate the world, but still love life.

How you detach from us all and still have compassion.

How you do absolutely nothing, but still draw a reaction.

How these words turn you off.

How, for you, I can bleed on every page

Only to have you throw them all away.

Because you’re embarrassed.

That’s adorable.

Know it doesn’t matter.

Caught in an eternal

one night stand.

We will always be naked

No matter the layers

We put between us.

No matter the distance,

No matter how much matter separates us

The mattress

Is what matters.

So I’ve created my own life,

But named it after you.

Discovered other delights

And engaged thinking of you.

We could have been young

And drowned in ourselves.

Burned out love

like searing skin touched by a cattle iron. Branded each other to each other with scarring.

Instead.

One smothered.

One escaped.

Now it’s like lightning and thunder.

Always together, but never perceived to touch.

The muse

And the pen.

The poet and the lover.

I’ve tried to forget her.

I’ve tried to bring her back.

I’ve tried to push her away

To get a view of what she really is.

But I am a Baudelaire,

and she doesn’t care.

I am A Rousseau.

And she is the

nameless girl

in my poem.

Sunset>Traffic

The taillights,

in front of my lights,

light up,

as they close in on the red light ahead of them.

For a split fucking second,

I look to my right.

For a split fucking second, I’m lost.

Sunset.

The sun is orange, dimmed, and low enough to look into.

A purple sky above the trees, rinses to pink, as it stretches towards the glowing orb, and fades into orange, red, then blue.

The taillights in front of me turn off

and begin to move forward

under the green light on a wire.

I follow them.

In the corner of my eye, there is a narrow shine of light, and I look.

To the sun and the setting: the trees, the field, the lakes, decay, the growth, the grass, wind, the space, the scene.

Water in my eyes from the beauty and brightness.

Clench my teeth and see the golden flakes of light reflecting off the glass like water.

Red Light.

Red Lights.

The taillights in front have stopped.

I slam on breaks and curse.

My headlights stop just in front a bumper.

My leg drums the constant boom of a heavy metal double bass.

But I don’t get out.

My chest rattles smoke, as I envision running laps around my car. Breathing in the dusk with my fire starter lungs.

My eyes meet seamlessly aligned with the sun’s rays.

Climbing on top and jumping up and down until the hood caves in like the cheap piece of shit it is.

Fall on my knees and hug the roof of my car.

Until the inside of my elbows bleed, and I

bite into the roof until my teeth break,

or my mouth bloodies by metal.

Screaming and pointing at the sun until all the honking and beeping enraged carzmanauts take the fucking time to look at the God damned sunset.

Basking in it with all my might relinquished

In awe at how feeble I am to the cosmos.

Realizing how powerful I am internally.

Spawned by such a tremendous force.

Birthed from universe.

Green light.

No break lights.

The taillights go off and move forward.

In a few feet it will stop again.

I don’t mind so much anymore.

Color of the moment

The bee looks to get some eats

And stumbles into menage-a-trios

With flowers.

Spring is here and yellow seems to be the color of the moment.

Pollen leaves layers over just about anything

Tree sexed juice pools in the puddles

Of rain water.

Spring is here and blue seems to be the color of the moment.

The air, crisp, slides through our nostrils, and

we feel clearer than all winter. Unless

you have allergies.

Spring is here and green seems to be the color of the moment.

Against the leaves, we see a shine

We haven’t seen in months, or maybe

You’ve never noticed.

Spring is here and pink seems to be the color of the moment.

The flowers always took your attention instead

Which is perfectly understandable as they

Perfectly stand under you.

Spring is here and purple seems to be the color of the moment.

When you realize we are not kings or royalty.

We do not stand above the flowers, we

Bow below the sky.

Spring is here and this seems to be the color of the moment.

A feeling causing you to smile.

Spring is here and beauty seems to be the color of the moment.

A feeling making your blood flow easier.

Spring is here and youth seems to be the color of the moment.

An age forming the feeling to jump.

Spring is here and life seems to be the color of the moment.

So live with connections that overflow like a runny nose and notice the beauty below you, the grandness above you, smile, and flow freely as you jump into life.

Fractals of passed immaturities.

Explaining bullshit life philosophies.
A picture of me in a night I don’t remember,
black out drunk a few days before the fire extinguisher went off in my car.
A drunk Christian boldly sprays a bit onto the bar floor as he walks out. Not like the church ones, my friend one.
The red velvet ropes stayed in the apartment for months.
A gang of three or four of us come to this bar for the free food. We leave without buying drinks.
Like some shitty bums.
That’s the way I’ll remember it.
Broke and hungry. No cover, no problem.
The canister exploded, I rolled out my car into the dark street,
lungs filled with white chemicals.
I push the smoking vehicle down the road to the parking lot of my apartment.
I prayed for justice to pass over me that night
For police to stay the fuck away from that street and me.
For my car,
not to be discovered.
Ironic and semi-innocent criminal activity.
Another pointless night.
Lost in the flash book of my mind.
Pages torn from the record.
A hazely bit of a bar I went to several nights,
lazily wrapped in one night’s bit of experiences.
To be the me I see in old pictures.
To be anything, but now. Caught in these integrated moments of
out of control.
Losing the battle of memory to living forward.
Good times, blank times, my times.

Daily Entry

Earth has been around for four billion years,
the universe formed faster than light
inside a bubble of inflation.
Before that there are only words:
Nothing.
God.
Math.
Words and numbers, I guess then.
Beyond a cosmic microwave background.
is fake words and eternity.
Humans have been alive for two-hundred thousand years,
but that’s controversial.
I’ll live here for about hundred at the max.
Each day it’s own life-time.
Separated by brief states inside the outer body.
In the dream we are seamed in. Eternity combined with the mind
and what is seen.
Combined with what the heart
feels.
What the body wants.
What the ego screams.
Ate the blue pill I see.
Pay attention to the movie.
Outside the matrix is a matrix.
Face it, you gotta be in it to taste it.
But, those highlighted outer lives are still in sight too
inside you.
And you can project it too.
Make a matrix that’s made by you.
Inside you are roughly fourteen billion lightyears
moving faster than light and years
inside something inconceivable.
And that’s you.
You’re it.
And it chilled on that.
And it made woman then man
and said,
“Inside you I am,
rebellious wielders of the magic of math,
welcome to nothing.
Fight the Evil or join him.
He’s my personal programmed NPC .
I made the game’s storyline open world free.
A game creates a gamer.
The gamer creates the game.
alpha and omega, do the two-way minds get unity yet?”
Me is you
You is me
I am them
Them are me.
We is we
like the french.
Bees be bess
just to quench.
All trees are all trees,
and we cut them down just to make a fucking bench.
To save water is to save god.
To end life is to kill god.
so like c’mon, dude, chill out.

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