Saturday, March 28, 2015

Never, Never Land

Everyday's a test
A test of your resolve
Flyin' away from nest
Tryin' to put it whole
Search for missing pieces
Rarely goes as planned
As your strength decreases
Lose fragments of your mind
What's setting you apart
Things you can withstand
Never have a change of heart
And you never, never land

Every moment, every second
Every moment goes on record
Can't rewind the tape; it's broken
Can't unwind, no rest, but hopin'
Holding on can strain the body
Adding pain to the weight you carry
Cast your light on shadow's surface
Cast away your fears and burdens

Constant looking back
Is what drags you down
Wings start showing cracks
Past follows you around
Struggle against the wind
Have a reckless streak
Thrown into a tailspin
Afraid, yet never weak
 What's setting you apart
All of it you withstand
Never have a change of heart
And you never, never land

Every moment, every second
Every moment goes on record
Can't rewind the tape; it's broken
Can't unwind, no rest, but hopin'
Holding on can strain the body
Adding pain to the weight you carry
Cast your light on shadow's surface
Cast away your fears and burdens

Sunday, March 22, 2015


She's always there. Even though you can rarely catch a fleeting glimpse of her. Hidden in the finer points of the night. Dressed in darkness.

She's never said a word yet somehow speaks to you. Uses language that has no words but is full of meaning. Evokes a mental response. Awakens.

She's turning sounds that don't exist into audible breath of a morning breeze. She's well aware you're longing for this soothing relief. She delivers.

She's an ocean you sink into. Impenetrable depths of green. Can't begin to guess what lies beyond. Can't imagine.

She's cold fire. She consumes you yet your body and mind remain unscorched. She lits you up as if you were a solitary beacon stood at the brink of a cliffside. Pulls you back.

She's leading you somewhere. You're crawling in desperate search of her subtle footsteps. Hypnotized. Spellbound. You don't panic. She won't let you.

She knows you'll find them. Find her. It's inevitable.

What's the deal with her? Is it all just a game? To her? Is she real? Is any of this even real? Are you...

Wednesday, March 18, 2015


not bound by any ties
sheer freedom from exposure
pressure no longer applied
safe sense of true closure

self-promise of no reprise
stand tall; weakness long over
yet one look into your eyes
an uppercut to my composure

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

How Early Ol' Days, Spinach, Cupids and Geometrical Tolerance Can Shape a Baby Into a Person

When I was being born I promised to myself to spend the first few years of my life as a baby. My thought process amounted to more or less the following: "Fuck it, been stuck for months up in here stewing like a beheaded chicken carcass thrown into a boiling cauldron somewhere in a witch's hut in the far corner of the world. Might as well treat myself to some free service twenty-four seven. Year in, year out. Baby."

I was a good, sweet child o' my parents. Sweet like a bag of sweets and good like a person who jumps in front of another person to take a bullet for them and save their life even though this scenario's portrayal in movies and television has shifted our perception of it to be entirely believable where in truth it is impossible to intercept a fired round unless someone is an absolute Wizard of Anticipation and knows exactly when to undertake appropriate muscle motions. Even then, depending on numerous factors such as distance, velocity and shot placing among others, it is possible for the bullet to pierce through the first body and hit the second one as well. One would have to be really unlucky. Well, two people would have to be really unlucky but the person behind would have to be more unlucky. On second thought, the first person gets killed in almost every scenario so... Nevermind.

Point is, well, maybe I wasn't THAT good but I always slept during nights except when I didn't in which case I was awake. Was never one for crying either except rare instances when I had tears in my eyes. If that ever occurred then I usually had a damn good reason for it. For example, I was uncomfortable a lot of the time. Uncomfortable like a tired old sofa that even the blind family dog refuses to lie on anymore because it's creaky (noisy) and it smells. Creaky and smells. If I was a nut, these would be the contents of my shell. Creaky and Smells. Sounds like a children's cartoon jingle about cupid detectives.

Creaky and Smells solving some crii-ii-imes
Always alert, bit goofy at tii-ii-imes
Friends for life, doing good, having fun!
Using the power of love instead of a gun!
Creaky and Smells oh Creaky and Sme-e-ells
Cupid detectives on their way to he-e-elp
We need them because they're so nice and good!
Chasing down baddies like real lawmen should!

Which is great because there's plenty of bad men SATANS EVEN! in the world who WANT TO HURT YOU AND YOUR FAMILY. YES YOU IN PARTICULAR. AND YOUR FAMILY. They hacked into the NSA satellites and are targeting you as we speak. One of their HQs just dispatched a black van headed for your address. You can't do shit now and IMAGINARY CUPID DETECTIVES WON'T HELP. TOO LATE NOW. REST IN PEACE FUCKERSSS! HATE cupids and bastards and cupid bastards and this stupid motherfuckin' job.

"Oh for shit's bells, who's been fucking around with the recorder?! Jim, you again?! That was your last chance. Your ass is fired!" an authoritative voice would yell.

Creaky and smells. Basically, I was an old person.

Except I was technically young. But I will be creaky and I will smell once again, I guess. If I live long enough. If I die before I reach that state it won't make any difference anyway. Right before my death, in the final moments of my life, I'll be old. As old as I can ever be. Then I'll know. I'll understand. I think. Something.

People say we as humans always go full circle. I find this casual geometrical racism quite upsetting. What's wrong with a square? Does every square look the same to you, you round, boring, geometrically insensitive people? Fuck. When I was eighteen months old I first started to notice the ever-present discrimination in all areas of life and death. I would sit at the table on my special chair and muse about the state of the society and sometimes... Sometimes I'd break down. I would cry out, I would weep and I would spit out that awful spinach mash that was being forced down my throat by people who had "PARENT" written on their life uniforms, just like mechanics have "MECHANIC" written on their job uniforms. Everyone has to have a title in this world. Everything needs a branding, like a cattle, a hot iron induced burn mark that renders people more easily identifiable and cataloguable.

I do like spinach now, though.

Spinach has changed me, actually. It's my buddy now. When I was a baby I didn't see myself ever changing. Always thought I'll grow old just the way I was. Old. And when I become old, I'll be young again. But when I reached my fifth year on this sorry-ass planet it all began to unravel in my head. Realizations came flooding in like previously suppressed large amounts of water that now consumed and devoured defenseless, hopeless villages and villagers, villagers in villages built at the base of the mental dam. Change. There blew a wind. It was of change. I suddenly found myself understanding spinach, hell, liking it. I would sit for hours chewing baby spinach leaves which was ironic because I just stopped being a baby and I was basically eating babies and the thought of me being eaten by a grown up spinach just a year earlier when I still qualified for it... Ugh.

But it wasn't all bad though. Those were good times. There were good times. Fuck yeah, I swear. I could do things and get away with them. I could fiddle with toys and objects and human emotions and everyone would just laugh it off because I was a baby. I didn't have to worry about a great deal of things except for the world and the direction it's heading in and the overall deterioration of humanity and the beckoning downfall of civilization. I think I saw it first. At the age of three I became Harbinger of Doom so it was a lot to take in in my first few years but, well, I managed. It made me stronger. Looking back, I can't really complain. After all, I was being fed food for free, put to bed with love and care, had my ass wiped for me without a flinch of an eye.

Can't wait to grow old/young.

Creaky and Smells oh Creaky and Sme-e-ells

Full circle. Square. Triangle. Trapeze. Et cetera. Full et cetera.

We have to remember. Geometrical tolerance will shape our new, better tomorrow. It's the only way we can still save this planet. Should we fail, we will be back to square one. Circle. Triangle. Trapeze. Rhombus. Motherfuckin' rhombus.