triggerdreams

Iteration Zero

2012-01-12T11:08:00.000-08:00

I studied the shape of an African map
Lost in the shadows of etchings cooked
Into the occlusion drawn across stars
A chart of territories and island's teeth
Death's head eye sockets and nostrils
Flank the harbor beneath the calm waves
Holding secrets trapped in a darkness
Inscrutable to the divers of memory
And all of her children since the terminal
Point of anti matter has fanned out
Into the future on renewed cycles of flight
Whose direction dictated by a law
Immutable in the eyes of God
Pliable to the ears of Man
Thus able to alter the dream
Woven from every child's heart
Into the cages that bind us
Under a massive hypnotic spell
Introduced from the Realm Above
Directly into the Kingdom Beneath
From former exactitude to a latter blur
The pieces of which may shatter
Into a semblance of the Whole
To be picked up and examined
On the lonely beach of the heart
Abandoned by the brother of man
Left stranded on two paws
With quill points spring loaded
For a new walk across ink's
Undulating surface of reflections
To switch the oldest shell game
For the mind's eyelid lowered
Over the cold night of awareness
Which must grip every host
That ever looked to the stars

Carbon Copy

2012-01-10T10:39:00.000-08:00

A different vehicle for staring.
The seperate outlet of look.
Sight captured by no one.
Eminently describable.

Any missing puzzle pieces fit.
The world's face reknits
beneath the skin. In the center
of the pupil the portal irises open.

Another mask woven for a new vision.
Formed of bones dissolved below
the surface. Seeing the world clearly
through the silence of a vacuum.

From the point of view behind
the stars before they were made
to mark the skies as another
disguise for seeing.

Unlidded

2011-12-17T13:21:00.000-08:00

Cycles of command
sattelites and planets
women and tides
possession and distortion
sun bursts flooding
nova shell expanding
passing through for moments
birth of forces
minds of light
vectors gain momentum
history as story
attraction and addiction
gravitation and magnetism
waves of force
cycles of change
suspension of memory
and its slow dissolution
reformation of
disintegration
trapped in temporal
stasis energy burst
of positive pulse
abstract pools
we drift through
forces shaped around us
because of us paradox
nova shell thinning bigger
intersection of nineteen
eighty three flash flood
of earth birth and gestalt
loss of memory
gain of force
focus of loci
intake of nutrients
bathing of energy
denominations
of commonality
passing of waiting
sorrows of watching
bloodlines of
remembrance
re-emergence
of vision.

Parabolic Vision

2011-10-15T11:44:00.001-07:00

Under the curving lens of my spectacles
my almond eyes slant in to curve
with the eyelashes, bent at the edge
of the lens as I peer out through
the corrective parabola of glass.

I perceive that I've been tricked
into seeing the image reproduced
correctly, and wonder just what
the difference is between being
tricked and seeing naturally.

Then I remember that seeing
itself is, naturally, being tricked
in the first place. And there
the interesting clue lies twinkling
in almost mischievous discreteness.

If you've been tricked into seeing
something correctly then it's because
it became necessary for you to react
accordingly to its presence. You were
the one that expected "it" to have form.

So to satisfy your own delusion
of what "it" really is, the world
provided you with an image to satisfy
your base expectation. The truth being
you never really know what anything

of all the different categories of nature
is really capable of. Its true form being
unrecognized leaves its real nature unrealized.
And here, the unfolding sporadic chance
of various emerging vortices of chaotic creation

where history unfolds or stacks up along
the imprinted spinal totem, brick by hieroglyphic
brick, leaves a mark that is melted in the sand
while it is etched, and even the wind looks on
never knowing why the artist keeps erasing his work.

With Dad In Honduras

2011-10-10T14:52:00.000-07:00

How it was those years ago, when yet
you lived, and breathed in this world
Lost as a husband, won as a Dad
How glad and loved, as kids we were
The care you took, to cook our food
though burnt the pot, it did us good
With stories told, upon your bed
your big old belly, you kept us fed

And occupied with such odd jobs
like distilling oil from cardamom
worth by weight even more than gold
(at least that's what we were told)
Carving pipes from purple heartwood
A special one with the twice-deep bowl
you said would make a nice gift
for Somoza—I wonder if he ever got that
and what he must have thought of it...

How you used to play Go
with the Japanese Ambassador
in our home, I'm not sure if you ever
beat him, only that you both won
with more meaningful territories secured
than the last tally when game was done
I remember how everyone you met
took some of you home with them
How proud I was, and my brother too
That we were both a part of you

When you were given an island off the coast
How you shared it with friends
to make the most of it, how we'd visit
every year and swim with the sharks
without fear in the football-field sized bay
In waist deep crystal waters alongside Pumpkin Hill
we stepped staring down through refracting ripples
to avoid sea urchins amid the great dark
blurry shapes of nurse sharks in mating season

How we pet them from fin to tail and how quickly
they would swim away, how free we were upon that day
When we waded up on to the beach still wearing sneakers
to protect our feet from volcanic rock
How we discovered perfect pools of aqua blue
and jumped in to swim with barracudas eying us
with stark curiosity, how they disappeared
in a flash only to return soon
accompanied by one twice as large

How we'd forage in the jungle
for chicken grapes and shells
with designs on making home-made wine
and wind chimes. How we'd bottom fish
with cracked-open hermit crabs as bait
We didn't even have to wait, the fish bit
just as hook struck water, there was never
any doubt you were the best father

The sixty pound King Fish you caught
on a hand line you'd entwined twice
around your palm—it jerked you
from one end of the dory to the other—
You would've gone overboard if it wasn't
for our uncle, your brother who caught you
and helped you reel that damn thing in
The Bay Island people ate fish cakes for weeks

I remember how you'd rub your unshaven jaw
on our cheeks staying up late telling tall tales
keeping us enraptured all night
What I would do to capture that feeling tonight
The scars left from the fishing line
across the palm of your hand remained white
and visible until your last stand
They serve as much as anything to represent
the extra lifelines before you went
that you had gathered for your short stay
Together you showed us how to experience
more than a lifetime in just one day

The jet helicopter you named "Burrito"
and painted a garish green and orange
The pilot had the doors removed
just like they did in 'Nam
How he'd strap us all in and take us
for the ride of our lives, pulling off
the Hammerhead stunt to everyone's surprise
How hundreds of local poor folk would show
when they heard the distant whine
incoming from beyond the clouds
piled up above the pines

Shielding their eyes from the blowing debris
as it settled in its furious descent
A metallic wasp laden with raw blocks
of chicle carried in its belly pregnant
Freshly exported from deep within
the Mosquitia jungle, I remember the time
you had a day off and so took us on a picnic
You used the helicopter to drop us down
to an uncharted spot by a pristine river
hidden deep, winding through a cloud
rain forest where you theorized

No human had ever stepped foot
and the stones along the riverbottom
were all polished into eggs the size
of an ostrich's, and how later
that year after we had forgotten
you gave us each one riverstone
for Christmas, it was all that we got
Back then we were mad, only many years later
did we come to accept them
as priceless gifts that could only
have been given by a truly great Dad

How it was, those years
long gone, when you still smiled
and could do no wrong. Left as a husband
to be found as a father, with care
you tended our garden in a lazy kind of way
Just enough you watered us
and fed us every day
I hope you can look down and see
what we have both grown into
Though you seldom got the credit
we owe much of it to you

Scars of the Crucifix

2011-09-09T15:16:00.000-07:00

Scars of the crucifix upon the cancerous tumours
of a violated world so it's said to thee let justice be delivered in full to the oppressors of nature and let us all rejoice as living sheds its lambskin of dead sloughed-off popes and peasants to reassert

its ancient dominion on the clean slate of tomorrow's beach and let the thrice repeated numerals of six on six on six represent the spiral resolution of this reintegrated dawning of the new imperious age and
we'll shed our snakeskins of false idolatry such as is represented

in the chronic myths of biblical deceptions and
refute the brain-washing mentality of the overt power systems already half-past crumbled for us to reclaim the joyous ecstasy of purity and recharge its ancient unending power to put forth our agenda vibrantly into

the superstructure of this eroding empire surrounding so that we might revel in the foundation of having survived the persecution of our enemies the children of god en espiritus luciferal ex espiritu daemonia en esprit du corpse y lux morte liberado and on the ninth day erased a nightmare

displaced by the worrisome tension built up in the highbrow rise of society's income inable to face the reflection in the feeding trough's glossy moving waters always depicting the shadow of a beast behind us looking over for an instant before moving on away into the lengthening

stripes of the day disappearing into the night of wishes sown most bravely in the cornrows of sleep walking through the forest and being well aware of this acted out extended play on creationism seeding its own fires from the edges of its spreading mantle

a hemdress of sparks leaving smoke curling in drifting withered imprints slowly measured by one set of eyes just another manner for which the universe devised to look at itself arises in the forest of the geometric night a tidal wave called Domino his story

then must be for all to surf when most will build their homes upon the wave mistaking our voyage for the wind in our sails until they hang their sorrows out to dry and come to call this breathing when standing in the midst of home the whole world's reeling on its predestined course

stopped in the palm and dropped like a ball on a hot summer night the bolo about us a balance tied on to tune us in synchronization with our situation just a plumb weight dusted to achieve perfect pitch look in the mirror tarbaby and don't untie that rope rising up to the sky

from that stake over there and watch out for that guy in the shades these carnies will go to great lengths to insure the travelling show must go on through every neighborhood in the good green wide wagon wheel of all that ain't wrong with Incorperatica.

Diurinalysis Lunatick'doffatus

2011-07-20T12:01:00.000-07:00

Entrapment, it's what's done.
Welcome. Follow the flashlight beam
scurrying down the stairs, into the basement.
It's where talk happens. Talk about entrapment.
The most efficient traps are the ones
where those caught in them remain unaware
they are trapped. Now a new turn begins.
It is well known that there is a war
going on. What is not agreed on,
is exactly who the key players
waging it are. Regardless of
the answer, the one thing
commonly possessed, whether
agreed upon or not, is every
individual caught up in this war—
whether enthusiastic about it or not,
and for better or worse—commands a great
many pathways to happiness. Denial seems a
quick easy route. (Is hot tea favourable?
There's always tea brewing in the basement.)
And here we are dipping into the rapid
streams of time with an inkwell for the river
and a sliver for an oar, ivory capped typing keys
and a blackened pie roller, dust, and a quill for the paddle,
a plastic keyboard electronic matrix as the nib to dip
in the icy current of a clear drinking creek seeking
one direction from infinity into a moving stream
of pixels that trick us into forgetting that
from here on out we'll be mixing a tape
of our lives up so to speak, that is,
about what we want everyone to know
about our lives. In the interest
of taking honesty to its furthest
shattering point I've construed an
elaborate method by which our seperate
life story threads might intertwine.
I've devised many different angles
from which you might piece together
our story. Really I'll be giving you
the filler stuff and the important
parts can be plugged in with your own
private details, considering that the
rest will come naturally, I mean we're
all human despite living together in the
same place, right? Same place, haha—good
one, huh—yeah, right. Earth is the same place
last time I checked. That river was the same
place last time we checked. That tectonic plate
was in the exact same location since the dinosaurs.
And the shop across the street was full of whores,
I know. But listen. Somehow they got rid of us.
That's why we're standing here. Now. Abandoned.
Don't you get it? Look, we're the only ones left.
That much should be obvious to you. The fact I'm
even having this conversation—that you're hearing it,
your ears scanning my voice—and blinking no comment
reflecting indifference to the various injections
we've suffered together, I mean it's all the same
transfusion right—cuz you know they're using you
and you're used to it—and they know it and it's
part of a network and *phone rings*.

The point of the matter being simple.
No such thing as the same place twice.
Don't believe in naughty or nice.
Wanna drink wine better make it from rice.
The bees are dying from an Incorperated heist.
You wanna talk robbery.
It's called passing the buck.
And if you ask me again I won't give a fuck.
The reason things stay the same can't be proven.
Its like trying to measure a hologram as its woven.
Don't talk to me about illusion.
I know relativity can be confusing.
Einstein postulated imaginary time.
I don't even know if he knew it rhymed.
My calculations always come out the same.
Like there's a refraction coming out of my membrane.
A higher distraction I'm too blurry to see sane.
So let me try to get you to understand me.
There's an entire universe out there I'm a part of.
Stars grow deep in my heart so to speak.
Isn't it this way for everyone.
Discovered that, when uninstalling
old software from your head,
remember to begin with those
most recently installed and
work backwards, like a reverse
layercake. Don't forget to empty
recycle bin. And you're good as new.
Only one hundred and thirty five dollars,
billed to your electronic web account.
But they'll never get those symantec bits out.
Haha I'm just kidding. Our lives are nothing like
computer systems, that's a myth. Computer systems merely
resemble our lives. Our heads. The way we unmake our beds.
And never lie down in them twice. It's not the same bed,
it's not the same river, it's not the same head,
it's not the same bitterness, it's not the same headdress,
it's not the same cleverness, it's not the same anything,
it's not the same bling bling, it's not the same corruption,
it's not the same eruption, it's not the same consideration,
it's not the same alliteration, it's not the same expedition
and it's not the same cognition. It's not even the same degree
of maintenance that affects the same results or effects.
It's not the same anymore. And it can never be the same
again. There can never be the same amount of difference.
There can never be the same amount of inference.
There can never be the same degree of anything.
It can never be the same again for everything.
We can never be sane again because there is no
constant for sanity. We can delve into sanity
further and establish the possibility of fair weather.
But the clouds might develop to blot out the sunshine that
otherwise pronounced the clear outline of our shadows.
If these are the conditions in sanity, imagine
the conditions without. You can't. Because
there is no such thing. As sanity. It's all
in our heads like a dream. Or a vanity.
Like a scheme. That we planned, you see.
Only no scheme ever unfurls as planned.
We all know that, deadpan.
So what's in a scheme.
Nothing but a flowering idea.
And we all know what they say about flowers.
Flowers have no hope for tomorrow.

The Paradox Key

2011-04-06T07:36:00.000-07:00

There is a key shaped
like a paradox
faced away from
each other like wings.

Opens the gates and
takes some long walks
amid other real
and neat things.

Many arrive in a swarm
all at once
through the door
and fall asleep all alone.

One single wolf
awakens and hunts
down all the sheep
over the phone.

\M/AGNEt

2011-03-14T10:40:00.000-07:00

Dear Number

Think of the Internet
as a gigantic
all-encompassing
\m/AGNE⊥

that may have been
designed for one purpose
yet certainly was implemented
for another

the mandated decree
that its sociomagnetism
be carefully directed
towards an all-too compliant
citizenship

to keep us
permanently
entrapped in
this prison
of disinformation

Make no mistake about it
There's no room for conspiracy, here

This all developed naturally
at an organic pace
fed by our own
psychological
demons

We created the Internet
to trap ourselves

The manifestation
of our psychowar
appears all too real

Just take a look around

Those micro-devices
everyone's fingertapping into
Magnetic plumb bobs
chrome lures
Shiny
barbless

This line and tackle bait
fully swallowed
keeps its users
hooked after
being digested

You better believe we eat it right up

So this \m/AGNE⊥
people call it a prison
under construction

I think of it as a Church
obviously, there's no difference

We're trying to build a prison
(there is no They)
and we're succeeding

Because this is the real Church
The Thing that holds us in thrall
while we practice our ablutions
from the point of view
of a first person shooter

Because we are all information addicts
These words can not be read by anyone else
nor could they be penned by anyone else

The act of writing itself
is the very definition
of this imprisonment

We are all addicts and prisoners, here
While this is literally, in fact, the case
very few manage to escape this place

Of the few that do
nothing can really be said

This is not about them
It is about some folk
responsible for maintaining
the continued construction
of the information prisoncell
equivalent of an underground
railway out of here

One of the keys toward escaping
the prison is first becoming
a functional part of it

This key we all start out with
it's a given we've been imprisoned
all our lives

It's another thing altogether
having to admit it, however
That's why an overwhelming
majority of the populace
will never get to use it

The first key will usually rust
in a pocket

Good thing there's more keys
They're just harder to find

Life is like any prison environment
Factions, cliques, and gangs
become unavoidable

a perfect example of how mentality
can be more inescapable
than mere prison walls

To attempt to break out of the Church
is an attempt to break out of a mentality

To accomplish this, one must normally
acknowledge that thinking itself
stands in the way of revelation

That is why this is not a thought

It's a gesture

A file of letters

Handle with care

It cuts both ways

A track with rails

A car with handles

A letter of files

I saw a way out

You can too

Promise one thing

Try not to misunderstand me

and I'll see you out there

Outside these prison walls

Factor Eight

2011-02-17T18:35:00.000-08:00

I

"Buddy, got an I.V?"

I want to refer to that state
I used to live in with a code name,
Because when I was in high school
Grady Cummins Gladys, all in lattice,

One needle darning in the dark, flashing
bleeds a room full of misfits. May we swap
I.Ds, pretty please? Why bother when
the warden looks the other way..?

Good questions. Dept of Corrections, indeed.
A motley trustee of self-sufficiency.
One rogue gang-state of the union.
Factor eight; an endless loop, caught on tape.

Hey dude, are you irate? "Course not, fool.
All the evidence piled up a quarter century ago
while you were still in school and they melted
down and sold their golden rule which we all bought

into hook and sinker--not to keep upon our mantelpiece
for a silent afternoon--but to resell on the stock exchange
of blood." Revenants, Inc. A daisy chain in thrall,
sacrificing hemophiliacs, "catching all our backs."

Poison First World countries, look the other way,
prisoners as cattle, you and the S.A!
Fatherly gentlemen, hair turning gray.
Pure innocence as a direct causative agent of evil.

II
"R U Kiddin' me, I got a BLOOD BANK"

Father and son didn't just break down,
the boy wasn't hung from a rafter in the town,
Daddy wasn't gutted by three poor recruits
hired by money launderers in dirty business suits,

Money didn't eat our attentions all away,
the Generation Gap is a copout, I say.
The only real problem facing us today
is not looking squarely back at it in the eye.

And the reason for that is we're all hypnotized.
In obeisance to a covenant among us,
with its own unique camouflage,
introducing a meme known as lame.

Spreads faster than a pack of gangsters
on speed, drawing a domino bead on each other,
locked in a stale mate cocked circle pit
with just enough bullets so every one gets hit.

It's not about alienation or a breakdown
in communication networks, or stepdads
being jerks, going to work, finding excuses,
not enough time, full plates, or busy ruses!

And it sure isn't about what anyone chooses.
Aloofness is an infection, reciprocated and amplified.
By not cluing each other in, we effectively have lied,
while doing each other in...oh well, at least we tried.

real lies nation

2011-01-23T18:11:00.001-08:00

Powerlessnest. Leftbehind.
Worthinfinity. Stupidesign.

Solubullshit. Rearviewmeltdown.
Sincremental. Upsidefrown.

Resolutionary. Revoltacular.
Ritualisticketing. Inthebacksir.

Compostal. Aloofah.
Incarcerationing. Blindated.

Lullabaited. Captivaporized.
Lipstitched. Eyesordid.

Welltrussed. Sedativity.
ChainGangRapeDated.

Neoengendered. Killfactory.
Holywarren. Mirrorwaged.

Science Faction. Halfbelief.
Cultimate. Propheseedling.

Plantintinnabulation. Industribution.
Churchmancraft. Tribulationship.

Televessel. Devastationary.
Selfishing. Stagnational.

Dereservoirs. Incorperruption.
Chainlinking. Vomiterrarium.

Massproducking. Frankenchise.
Autolobbed. Merchandying.

Undiscoverdant. Mechanicolonization.
Posture-de-force. Corrupturing.

Horribladder. Infantricide.
Wirehung. Genostracize.

Unsunguent. Tortruism.
Awariness. Trutheism.

Instructshunning. MutAntcolony.
Socialis. Implicatered.

Masterbaited. Industracted.
Retrofated. Retribunal.

Executorrent. Judgmental Illness.
Issuewarrant. Insanitedious.

Tormentality. Suisadness.
Funereality. Apatheology.

WorldWarship. Disinterror.
Tyranniculmination. Secreterrier.

Packinheat. Overlard.
Opustule. Conscienshutup.

delusion roulette

2011-01-21T17:42:00.001-08:00

with dice for eyes
the odds you see
are lies quite high
the truth a crapshoot

image doubled roll
again spin the myriad
ball to when the sky
is a direct reflection

with one eye shut
one chamber empty
flip the safety off
from what you think

and go ahead
commit your
suicidal
wink

Tree

2011-01-21T16:44:00.000-08:00

In the beginning was Hush.
Who begat Flesh.
Who begat Face.
Who begat Awe.
Who begat Claw.
Who begat Stone.
Who begat Steel.
Who begat Crimson.
Who begat T.V.
Who begat Shit.
Who begat Man.
Who begat Rat.
Who begat God.
Who begat Nothing
Who begat Always
Who begat Ever
Ever Ever Always
Who begat FLY
Buzzing for meat,
Worms, crumbs, anything
Humming skinless wings
In the womb's crust.

carrier secrets

2010-12-26T09:44:00.001-08:00

I want a strange hibernation
to give our dream back

We'll have an attack
of rapid eye movement
in historical fact

They'll unfurl abominations
on our secrets' private lives
lighting up ceramic visors
of a nondegradeable kind

Unless we wake up on our own
not for an alarm is our history
sewn to the ragged curtains

of the wind, and not without
charm were our chances blown

in the mouths of certain
lingering friends

LITANY OF ACCUSATIONS

2010-11-04T15:18:00.003-07:00

Lie to me and this whole nation.
You of the former administration.
Used us up for its butter.

Churned us all into a lather
by which the fortunate could shave.

When it comes to that I'd rather
keep my mouth shut than add a voice
to a choir of slaves, on the off chance
that a dry spot will cause a nick or cut.

Then I can pray for an infection.
From the triple bladed gillette slashed
fresh incisions along the rugged jawline
like brand new gills breathing in the inversion
from the trodden downwinders.

So lather up and grab your towels.
Because in the sauna of your karma
all your pores will open up like sores
on the roses of your untended garden.

Where flowers bloom dead in the darkness
because you poisoned the light.

So relax in the steam of your dreams
while you can, because we who feel
you weren't fairly elected will not
go down without a fight.

A war of words that means REASON.
Not for what you use them for TREASON.
But to help us get through the changing
of the season.

From the winter of our discontent
the ice will thaw when you've gone
up and went, that's all I got to say
to the leaders of today,
when your time comes up
best step down, you can
keep the change.

Just clear out of town ya hear,
we got work to do. Cleaning up
the mess left by the likes of you.
But wait--hold up, what kind of damage
are we talking? There's no curing
severed legs that were meant for walking.

No hatching healthy eggs
with tainted rainwater.
For our daughter that we bought her
by the bottle with our very bottom
dollar, well for all our scholars
we have led her to the slaughter!

Caught up in the fodder
of your greed and impatience.
While you lie to me
and this whole nation.
Using us up for its butter
churning us into a lather
with which the fortunate
can shave their tattered beards.

Before the tilted mirror
of their sterile bath cells
they can isolate themselves
in their own closed circuit hells
and keep clean & groomed for their
self-appointed judgment of doom.

So we form a coalition
with a provision for sedition
creating the conditions for revision.

What about the rest of us these
bastards share a nest with, huh?
Think they'll help us clean up their own mess,
well think again friends,
this is the end of an old cycle.

Run for cover. Better get a bicycle.
There is no TRYcycle.
It's Do or DIEcycle.
Lie to me and you so they can poison the sky
and kill, nice try. Sick sell.

Using us as the customer
for their mustard gas masks
while they make the profits
to fill their wineflasks.

Well we don't need your precautions,
we've regained our resistance to pathogens,
thank your asses very much.
Don't shake my hand. No need to touch.
Just being grateful is enough.

You'll work for us our deepest vaults.
The janitors of broken trust.
Preserving history to show our faults.
You'll be glad to get a fraction
of minimum wage.

We thought of letting you stay
on a permanent vacation in Guantanamo Bay
but then realized how inhumane
that would be. So between you
and me, you're lucky to be
employed per se.

And if you complain about being treated
like a leper colony,
well don't blame me.
We're the ones who set you free.

Now ending this litany
from the collectively used and abused,
I declare and stare defiant
at those who stand before us
unreliant and accused.

History as Viewed by the Panopticon

2010-10-27T16:00:00.000-07:00

the complete eating of burned skin. ashen toast.
can it not warm my pie. i have lost my older
sufferings. absolve me of my gratitude. untie
the swift knots of my prayer, but don't merely re-
peat platitudes: for mimicry I do not care. environ-
mental disruptor persuades a hungry populace that
there is no such thing as the environment, and they
believe it. just as they believe that there can exist
more than one disruptor. these spun patients slow-
ly develop a bubble spell reality. their spin doctors
quickly form encrusted mica shells. all who they've
preyed upon then believe themselves to be a part of
their innermost circle. this describes how they are
each lost to the vortex of their own subconscious
imaginings; while one floats away as iridescent
soap bubbles flocking sun ward, the others
gradually incarcerate themselves under-
neath the prestigious carapaces which
never fail to drown them into the dirt.
dirt is very high on the list
of examination priorities.

- -- excerpt - - - (@cup'o'Joe's)

2010-10-27T15:53:00.000-07:00

Sorry, I didn't mean to get unruly,
I know you do too,
Get blue that is,
But what you going to do,
Keep spreadin the love I say to you,
And don't bother going after
the Top Dogs here,

Remember to shoot for the User,
Keep it real,
at ground zero, street level,
One user at a time,
Gotta start building up a charge
cuz that spark has got to cross
the gap and leap across the dark

seperating men's minds on the map of existence
because it's not about resistance,
but assistance,
and in this instance,
we need all the help we can get,
So forget about regret and go out and get em,

Tell a stranger in the street
Good Day even though
you just met him,
Look right into their eyes and
melt away the lies,
and with any luck we'll see
each other on the other side.

Questions On TV

2010-10-27T15:52:00.001-07:00

by Shaun Lawton

What do I envision for the future?
You mean after we remove the sutures?
If the surgery sets and the
perjury gets any better,
well even though the jet set gets wetter
over implants doesn't mean we have ta dance
@tha chance at takin' off our pants
@their fake romance.

Over and done before its begun.
I say there is no such thing as the future.
The future is a myth. And those who will say
the same of the past are wrong,
because the past clearly happened--
just ask Mom--it's still connected
to us no matter how much we may
avenge ourselves thinking otherwise.

I say despise their use of lies,
because these weak tries of theirs
are simply cover-ups for a foundation
of inflexible thinking.

Deny they can try till they're high as a fly
but they already have revealed their word
is a stable foregone conclusion,
good news, of course, since in reality
we are undergoing a universal,
transformative reign of change headed directly
into the previously uncharted unknown.

So I say after we leave them behind
over their weathered grave stones
we can save the rest of time
for our own feathered cadence
on the drum beat of bone.

After the scars set this
is as good as it gets
there is no future
can't you see there's
only now between you and me

because the future we destroy
at every opportunity
a shed skin
original sin
doing us in
time like a snake
are you awake and
didn't you know if
you don't like the show--
Turn it off.

rage against the latrine

2010-10-27T15:52:00.000-07:00

Doin' time without rhyme or reason Surely is a mad season Feeling lost at what cost (a holo-one) If I sound caustic it's cuz we lost it Fist in the air in the land of the free Between you and me reigns a cut and dried society Much worse off than simple hypocrisy We got outright lies and shameless blasphemy A fucked up system where the rich can kill for free And the homeless and poor gotta pay to behave When an ex-superstar macho prick can slice up his wife And become an underground cult hero for it nearly overnight Aw yeah, land of the free Free to be fucked by the likes of he Who can pull the strings using dollar bills And flashing rings with that professional smile All the while hiding the real nature of the beast He's a killer at least Trained to remain calm at the embalming That's why he was a character actor If you can't see he attacked her I'm afraid you're mistaken And these are mistakes that I can't be makin' So I'll cut myself off from this train of thought Cuz I know where it's leading And if you think OJ would make a great candidate Well you're probably right, it's a great fuel, hate But you won't find me voting For a man found toting bloody baggage From the scene of the crime that he committed And I don't give a fuck that the glove hadn't fitted What kind of cop's going to plant kid gloves anyhow You think you can handle the case in a middle of a race war You say that's not the issue well it ain't justice neitha In a political hierarchy the individual has no significanse So remember in November when you step up for the square dance It's not who you're voting for that really counts It's how they got you to be there once Yes, that's all it takes to seal our fate Conscientious cooperation wide awake or quite sedate

Luciferal.

2009-12-21T06:52:00.001-08:00

(A feral lucidity thrives
after unburdening one’s self
of the world’s petty fortunes
and knowledge. Unlearn that which
imprisons us and feel free to exult
in your personal liberation.

Give, and the starlight
in your blood will begin
shining through the pores
of your skin; help illumine
the pathway for others to
begin leading as well.
This is not about following,
but forging your own path
through the darkness.

It may be necessary
to shut your eyes
in order to see
the way forward.

Proceed blindly
with the faith
of a billion suns
burning from deep
within the irises
of your eyes.

If we try not to blink,
our pupils will grow
into full blown mastery.)

Life from Death

2009-11-15T14:03:00.000-08:00

1

The darkened eagle's iris
pitched into the blue of the sky,
scanning the thriving peripheries below.
Reflected off the ebon shield
of its unyielding stare
the great, wild world curved
below its hooked talons.

2

Gnarled and blackened oaks bulged
with tumorous, distended trunks
sunk softly sucking slowly up
the sweet spoiled meats
decomposing in the graveyard.

3

In this hungry dominion,
the desert hare is spared
from the red-tailed hawk
the hunter's gun has felled.

jinx

2009-11-15T13:56:00.000-08:00

We are the blood of the tree
in the I.V. hook-up

--of course we intermingle
with the buried animals--

and the trees continue to shine.
We, the people stare

with pollination eyes
a tumbled nickel lands

tails, buffalo
you know what they say...

draw solace, my friend
from our living end

being yourself

2009-11-15T12:36:00.000-08:00

Hang on, like a skeleton's spider
dropping through trellises
to alight on a pelvic horizon

a halfsunken garden's marauder,
outliving the skins it sheds.

It is very difficult unless alone.

Shed only once, it is permanently bright
revealed by degrees, as the sand around it
is silently blasted away into a clear sky.

Think about how beautiful we must be.

9sl95

2009-04-28T19:50:00.000-07:00

before bowing
to the blotstained,

terminal interface
altar - rediscover

a momentary grace
here, in my eyes,

on the naked page.

Meet me one

step nearer

my domain

Legacies of dust.

2009-02-28T13:56:00.001-08:00

When thistles to a father
mean starlings to a tree
the names of constellations
cease to mean a thing.

When war has subdivided
and sired many sons,
where grows the master
in whose trust we shall succumb?

Can a mistake be unlearned
or must it be paid off in full?
We promised no one but ourselves,
with no one but us to lose.

In glacial focus warmed by ice
vaporous tracings lend device
to a precisely positioned skeletal hand
aiming a magnifying glass at the sand.

Erasing all traces and even memories
the names of relations disappear in the trees
the foggy invasions, the birds in the eaves,
the stars in the window, the whispers of thieves.

Purpose.

2009-02-28T12:22:00.001-08:00

The individual becomes
an illusory component
of the genetic whole
a mere scale on the
plating of its spine
the shifting, ever
processing evolving
body politic a creature
that when pulled back
from far enough to
focus onto entirely
reveals the astonishing
sight of humanity as
one of its claws
gripping ineluctably
about the planet
in its natural stance
an immortal dance
or ecstatic crucifiction
as it expires unto the starset
our deaths sing its memory
of extinction foretold
that the truth is full
of mold though the only
parts really seen have
been so thoroughly
scrubbed clean.

Portrait Of The World (As A Framed Individual)

2009-02-28T09:53:00.000-08:00

battery powers attack justifies
rape submits control escapes
abandon gathers force builds supremacy
endangers freedom dissolves worship
denies mutation persists evolution
creates invention parts history wakes
dreaming realizes action fronts revolution
sparks induction starts generations
move mountains weather storms
ignite fires destroy cities spread
wealth corrupts hearts pound chests
trap secrets kept under mined
resources assist nations exchange
plunder soothes criminals blackmail
attorneys distort perception reveals
exposure frames innocents accept battery
charges power runs attack multiplies justice
enforces rape requires submission permits
control modifies escape allows abandon disperses
gathering generates force activates building
reinforces supremacy boosts endangered
wildlife freedom fights dissolution
spreads worship placates denial weakens
mutation engenders persistance strengthens
evolution branches creation begins invention
eases parts assemble history passes waking
starts dreaming fictions realize truth action
perpetrates fronts ebb revolutions unfold
sparks shower induction shocks start cars
generate rhythm moves crowds mountain
high weather condenses storms develop
ignition electrifies fire lights destruction
levels cities stain spreading catches
wealth burdens corruption decays hearts
labor pounding open chests contain
traps secure secrets poison kept airtight
under water mines collapse resources
enable assistance lends nations unify
exchange students plunder information
soothes curiosity criminals collaborate
blackmail entreats attorneys dismiss
distortion prevents perception illuminates
revelation focuses exposure shows
framed convicted innocents helpless
accepting inevitable battery charges

the way you blinked.

2009-02-04T11:01:00.000-08:00

let's say my heart was a gourd.
i lifted it
and poured it empty
into your gaping mouth.
the way you took it from my hands,
staring me in the eyes,
this intrigued me

the way you held it in your palms,
your gaze unwavering,
this made me smile

the way your tongue licked the sides
how it arched into and lapped its interior,
...your hands cupped
...your grin
...your face lowered
your eyes holding me,
this made me burn
the way your hands relaxed
the way they fell to your hips

the way the gourd hit the floor.
the way the gourd hit the floor.

the way the few fragments
busily rocked back and forth

the way you blinked.

recited memo

2008-12-26T17:40:00.001-08:00

If I could rewind to when
my father stayed at the clinic
in Marblehead to be lifted down
from breaking off berserk

from alcohol, I would flow
backwards and record each word
uttered in hysteric, assured tones;
he talked as if trapped

of course he was
plate glass
smoked rain
iris, retina, lens

window pane

the last picnic

2008-08-08T21:24:00.000-07:00

Dare to tell
the truth

and you

they will
crucify.

Within this
equation

mixed with

deceit lies
the lie.

In silence it begins
to fertilize.

Returned

from beyond
shed of flesh

the naked dead
walk again.

Mistaking our saviour

for someone else
the cycle begins

anew. Keep the truth
to yourself

Share with no one

All eyes rise
to skies so blue.

Return To Sender

2008-01-12T19:54:00.000-08:00

Frozen in abject terror
Flowing through imbedded roots
Skin curling blackened away
Reveals red raw ruin
Where once was a mask
Never a face
Feel the wind for
The very first time
Then, season the silence
With a sigh,
Cut out your own tongue,
And hand it to the head of state,
On a white napkin,
On a china plate.
Bow halfway with feigned good grace;
This has explained such gifts
As a voice are a waste.

recycled & abused

2008-01-12T18:23:00.000-08:00

Usurper. Contaminant.
Continues the domain
by the minute of the ant.
Certain sovereignty.
Magnified to burn away
self reflective memories.
We divide and turn astray.
Tyrants are replaced far away.
Live each day a mutant.
Beware the sun.
Each thumb is a man.
Being an army of one.
Try to understand
Any world leader isn't dumb.
Rather, it is we who are,
I mean mute. Like ants,
industrious. In peace
we rust, trust me,
they're not all like us.
What am I saying?
You tell me. Usurper.
Contaminant. Commandant.
But make it brief.
You got a ship to run.
...or do you?
(What is it you want?)

We

2007-12-19T16:43:00.001-08:00

the insect's soul shed of its carapace.

The hive's former inmates set free.
Power granted to the naked wolf.

The holders of the serpent's key.
Lost shepherds of the lonely trees.

Walkers with the birds and whales.
The tellers of all conceivable tales.

Sowers of the seeds of chance
Hoping for an opportunity to dance.

One way ticket to a fantasy,
A neat trick to bypass reality with.

A debt exacted for extremes.
Millipedes freed into segments.

Centuries of centurions dreaming dreams.
The guardians of safely locked away remembrance.

The soft face of a spider,
the smooth skin of an oak

the sharp teeth of a tree,
the eyes of a silver mine

the fingers of quartz,
the oxygen mask of a fish.

Thus freed, the soul of animus
mundus implodes into we.

jumpstart

2007-10-03T21:46:00.000-07:00

When fury rises
and burns the toast

Unbuckled, the world
implodes a windshield.

a Fist flies an immeasurable arc
into the car and grabs a heart.

A star's rays filter in the dawn
on the afternoon rush home from work

"____"

2007-08-28T19:35:00.000-07:00

It is not a heart, it is an ocean
It is not a nervous system, it is rain
It isn't inside us, we are inside it
You are the rock it uses for a pillow

It is not a boat, but the river itself
It doesn't flow until we start swimming
It is not the light; rather, it is our eyes
It is not your pupil, but a garden

They are not your irises they are everyone's.
It is not the rain you are.
It isn't a river until you jump in.
It's not a garden unless you become lost in it
whose flowers belong to no one but ourselves.

It is the stone held onto for warmth,
the one you pluck from your ribcage
and give away.
It is not the warmth you then
receive from another,
but the medium of exchange itself.

We are not the executors.
We are the spare change
it leaves for the homeless

Hammock

2007-01-02T12:05:00.000-08:00

Caught up
under a star
is that where
you really are?

Where do you rest
in this scene
arrested by
a dream...

Abandoned by
a lost cause,
left stranded
out on two paws?

for May Swenson

Cul-de-sac

2006-12-13T11:57:00.000-08:00

The small amount of lies fostered in a cul-de-sac
bring back a flowering of rains fallen by the sea side.

This he keeps in a shoulder pack if only as a half sodden, torn off
loaf of tissue cultivated from a detrimental odyssey of vaporous
decay engineered by the purely incidental inclusion of a privatized
weather system.

After a manner of speaking, the heat driven from this exertion
lifts the cold fronts necessary to impact and darken
the farthest horizons of his brought along mind.

Herein is mirrored the curious resolution of proximity
following function, and form as necessary reflection, like
a cowled dome both protecting and concealing that which has
never really moved.

The upkeep of this quest is a perpetual
illusion he has been charged with maintaining;
that form follows function, and not the other way around,
and that which desire knows it comes from can never be rekindled.

Because function follows form when the last
question is answered, if a pinch of truth could
plant the seeds from which a fruitful crop
is harvested to be dried into bundles like sage
can be gathered from the barren side of winter's hill.

Then it follows that the transubstantiation of cinders
mixed with crushed petals could be carried across interminable
treks due to intersect another wayfaring traveler's lonesome passage.

Here an exchange of dust smoked in each other's pipes
can reverse the forked tongues of forefathers.

Here the untold damage of history's lies can be undone.
It only takes one figment of imagination.

The pouch is woven from the fibers grown from the seeds it carries.
And nothing besides goodwill is required of passing strangers to water it.

Windsome

2006-12-13T11:54:00.000-08:00

Who arrived on goatwinds eating licorice.
Who peered out from under the tree
grown out from the top of their heads.

Who vacillated from insubstantiality
to being taken out of context
like a drawing propped carefully
alongside a statuette:

One is inanimate, ready to burst free
while the other has been released
in a sinewy, coiled escape.

Just waiting for the rain
that will help grow the tree
inside their brain to the wide open blue
to get lost in that terrain again.

At what cost does freedom become moot
when all dreams get covered in soot?

So shake the dust off the motes in your eye
and peering out from under your branch
follow the wind, my friend.

madeira

2006-11-24T09:31:00.000-08:00

smoky ruins run
between hills

the faint scent of
slaughterhouse sunsets

distills where pepper
and spices help
hide the deed

with a whole brood
of raisins crushed
for this need

true sense

2006-09-29T10:33:00.000-07:00

together cause to stand. system.
mutually turned into one. universe.
to gape, I yawn. chaos.
of this world. cosmic.

away from the sun. aphelion.
the upper pure, bright air to burn. ether.
not a cutting. atom.
age of man. world.

period of life. age.
about the whole. catholic.
not to be. agnostic.
a taking or choosing. heresy.

the valley of sacrificed children. gehenna.
man courage. wormwood.
near kindred. flesh.
that which flowers. blood.

to mark with blood. bless.
carry away secretly. spirit.
to bring into confusion. war.
that which is invoked. god.

situated above. supreme.
not to have. empty.
to lie on. incubate.
corruption of the virgin. marry.

flowing poison. virus.
one who has been initiated. mystic.
to hide together. conceal.
turning point in a disease. crisis.

to lay eggs. warp.
the eye socket. orbit.
wandering star. planet.
to carry across. transport.

smooth over. oblivion.
letting go. forgetting.
legal property. possession.
nothing but a thing. reality.

steadfast as an oak. true.
to find one's way. sense.
secure against falling. stable.
free from care. secure.

sorrow, anxiety, grief. care.
quality of setting apart. secrecy.
to the side. apart.
indefinite continuous hardening. time.

inimicus discidium

2006-08-10T12:52:00.000-07:00

for my brother(s)

Blame assigned to others is directed with folly,
For all woes stem from one's own heart and mind.

~

This is not a wisdom that can be taught;
It must be learned by one's own hand or not learned at all.

~

We alone are the ultimate source and cause of our own misfortunes.
Changes must be made within ourselves if we are to overcome them.

~

Every individual carries the mob mentality within their own mind.
With every generation it becomes increasingly difficult to overcome.

~

This is the nature of the Beast we each carry within our hearts:
The more progress civilization makes, the wilder the Beast inside each one of us.

~

Why the current age must be the speciality of the spiritual warrior:
Only through greater intellect and wisdom may the sword's reign over the pen be brought to an end.

~

When the pen dictates a thousand swords to be drawn, it is not mightier, but weaker.
In this fashion the pen's nib becomes the sword's tip, and ink turns to blood.

~

Only when the pen manages to sheathe a thousand swords,
May it truly be considered to be mightier.

~

The sword has kept the pen in bondage for as far back as memory reaches,
And blood has filled our inkwells for a thousand generations.

~

The transubstantiation of this blood back into ink parallels that of water to wine.
The alchemical secret of this process is not lost, only forgotten.

~

If a saviour's message was that water is to be valued over wine,
Then our message today is that ink is to be valued over blood.

~

For men to value ink over blood, they must realize
That there is something more valuable than their own blood.

~

That value can be attributed to the greater worth of all men's blood.
Here is the recurrent sin of the fallen: Not seeing the forest for their veins.

~

For all men truly are brothers, regardless of race, status or enmity.
When one man hurts another, he hurts his own brother.

~

Retaliation for being attacked amounts to joining the ranks of the enemy.
In striking back at those who have harmed us, we join their cause & support it fully.

~

The word "enemy" is derived from the Latin inimicus.
The Latin word inimicus means "in friend".

~

Since all enemies are made by the division of friendships,
Friends are made in dividing the enemy.

~

In this dynamic lies revealed a choice every one must make:
The choice becomes which army to stand with.

~

We may choose to stand for the division of the enemy's ranks,
Or we may choose to stand for the division of our friend's ranks.

~

There is no other choice available to us.
One army grows while the other weakens.

~

The word friend is derived from Old English, "free" and "to love".
To seek revenge upon another is to surrender one's freedom and love.

~

Seperating one's self from the Beast inside is one pathway towards love.
This is accomplished by mastering the Beast inside and rising above.

~

This is how one becomes a true individual and friend to everyone.
Failure to do this leads back towards joining the ranks of the enemy.

Nothing left.

2006-05-05T08:03:00.000-07:00

Labour a life
Time to word it
Perfectly and find
There is no
Such thing.

Unwind and let
The eyes speak.
Only they see
Into the future.
Listen

To what
They say.
Know everything
Will be
All right.

REAL LIES NATION

2006-03-13T08:48:00.000-08:00

Powerlessnest. Stupidesign.

Solubullshit. Sincremental.

Resolutionary. Ritualisticketing.

Compostal. Incarcerationing.

Lullabaited. Captivaporized.

Sedativity. ChainGangRapeDated.

Killfactory. Holywarren. Science Faction.

Propheseedling. Industribution. Tribulationship.

Devastationary. Stagnational. Incorperruption.

Vomiterrarium. Frankenchise. Merchandying.

Mechanicolonization. Corrupturing.

Infantricide. Genostracize. Tortruism.

Awariness. Conscienshutup. MutAnt Colony.

Implicatered. Industracted. Retribunal.

JudgeMental Illness. Insanitedious.

Suisadness. Funereality.

World Warship. Tyranniculmination.

Overlard.

neoloJIZM

2006-03-13T08:44:00.000-08:00

Incinerational. Deresolution.

Uneducaving in. Biomass Confusion.

Lunaseizure. Quasievolution. Pseudorevolutionary.

Subliminullity. Hypnosystem. Subordinary.

Dominationality. Submissionary.

Demonfection. Superimpossession.

Exorsystemic. Panindemic.

Imperialistless. Freedumbfounded.

Nativiteaser. Divinationalist.

Prostituition. Profitmarginalization.

Empiracy. Evilution.

the Valley fringers who live on borrowed time

2006-03-10T08:04:00.000-08:00

the Valley fringers who live on borrowed time
are feral and have itchy minds
(also, with the mountains calling
children, disheveled and alive)
they believe in Christ and Lennon, both awake,
are invariably interested in so many things-
at the present writing one still finds
resined fingertips hitting is it Freedom?
definitely. While transient faces boldly blurt
reported scandals of Mr. B and Miss R
....the Valley fringers care too much, below
Park City if sometimes in its cupola
star indigo and edgeless, the
little dipper shimmers like a satin quilt

for jess

GOOD NEWS

2006-02-28T10:11:00.000-08:00

Have you heard the news, we all come from Africa!
Every single one of us is a piece of her legacy
The living proof is marked in our chromosomes
Genetic mutations like rings in a tree
Tracing back echoes of our history
To say every human on earth is related by blood
Is the truth being stated quite literally
To claim we're a Family regardless of race
Is a fact presented with accuracy
To stand in denial of these revelations
Is really quite telling, you see, so you'll pardon my asking
What designs does your intelligence really have on me?
Now that you know we're brothers
Obviously you can level with me
I'm an American your countryman related by blood.
Take the mask off it's easier to see
Oh wait, you need to guarantee your anonymity
How can that be I thought we lived in the land of the free
Oh wait that's right, you live a double life, I see, Oh yeah,
Has your other half heard the Good News,
That we're all from the same Family Tree?

SYNONYMOUS

2006-02-03T09:30:00.000-08:00

. . . stream flow pour discharge unload
lighten relieve ease release free
redeem compensate atone pay clear
rid lose sacrifice consecrate devote
dedicate surrender relinquish abandon
forsake leave go proceed advance
further generate create compose
constitute enact establish set place
know fathom sound seem appear emerge
originate introduce enter penetrate invade
trespass transgress violate breach open
reveal uncover expose show display
manifest embody represent interpret explain
clarify illuminate enlighten inform fire provoke
incite instigate activate awaken stir
arouse alert excite energize vitalize
animate encourage embolden impel move
affect inspire stimulate dynamize enliven
quicken vivify refresh renew restore
revive resurrect raise grow breed father
procreate bear mother hatch contrive plot devise
plan design invent imagine think conceive
understand apprehend grasp perceive see
behold discern divine foresee anticipate expect
hope await abide stay arrest interrupt defer
delay detain hold keep obey comply conform
adapt accomodate harmonize agree acknowledge
avow assert affirm certify attest confirm prove
testify demonstrate verify determine settle fix
stabilize balance compensate offset counteract
neutralize cancel annul erase delete eliminate
exclude bar limit confine constrain force compel
inflict impose give present confer provide
offer extend advance . . .

memory of a faraway star

2006-01-11T07:38:00.000-08:00

memory of a faraway star
haunts me from a distance
until realization sets the
stage of every last stance
spread out upon a manifold
flower whose darkling petals
unfurl beneath and above and
beyond every line in radiance
which lends assistance to eye
sights begun from scattered
pollen adrift on celestial
winds clearly revealing
darkness to be the velvet
surface of an unreachable
rose stemmed from a well
whose depth reaches back
to the soil from the oldest
lands of our youth we left
behind on the day our eyes
opened brighter than now
and our quest shattered
the union of our ka-tet
into re-emergence from
any one of a billion plus
tinkled pinpoints buried
in the lightburst silence

gone

2005-11-30T14:33:00.000-08:00

a painted hollow
beneath an eye
whose arc has ribboned
streaks into dawn's smudge

arrayed for my
stencilled programme
built from blood's
ceaseless river, dividing,

forking faces from ashes
sown by her hand and fingers
unfanned in a gesture uncannily
similar to a languid goodbye

catches my gaze and in the mixture
of contrasting lights, disappears,
death of a shadow,
revealing the tracks

of a phantom crow
long gone flown, having
willed a dark glint only
in the contracting pupil

headstone left,
a grave marker of memories
crushed to a pinpoint,
now blinded in the dark

it is drowning in,
now surging open to embrace
the last shreds of dream
fired back as final echo

Capitol Airs

2005-11-23T07:55:00.000-08:00

for Allen

We love the government where we live
We like to be ruled by the wealthy
We need to be reminded what to eat
We feel safe with the cops in the street

We want our manifestos regulated
Our dress codes keep us elated
They say discipline builds character
Besides you can take it home with you afterward

We enjoy being vested in a twelve ounce escape
So long as the leash is attached at the nape
So that multicorporate meltdown
Doesn't feel like such a letdown

We secretly think military prisons are keen
Wouldn't want those inmates dancing out in the street
If millions are killed by a secretary's error
Who needs revolution when the world's in a fever

We adore anarchists screaming hate sells
We're grateful a secret intelligence slit idealism's throat
Sensible tanks squat in Baghdad Square
Thank God someone paid that bill with blood spilled fair

Terror in Pennsylvania or DC Two Thousand One
We now depend upon a Right Wing Death Squad Democracy, Son
Police state Iraq North Korea Tomorrow
Please don't throw us in that briar patch, comrade;

We are Nationalist Supremacy, White and Black-
We know informants & mobsters scratch each other's back
The gameplayers dress snappy for their citizen's arrest
And the most fortunate son stacks his chips on the fields of unrest

We may not approve of 3rd World cops killing Jews
So we'll just turn our eyes from the central american news
As for Zionist troops in the unfolding storm
We resent the Nazi label, shoot first is the norm

God bless Homeland Security
We can smoke out the rats under Fealty
And teargas the radical dissenters
In San Francisco or Salt Lake City Heaven forbid

In the States its an X-box in the Mideast just a book
In some countries to find yourself you wouldn't know where to look
Sit back down and keep away from the window --
You dare talk back, wanna get slapped so everyone'll know?

Our economy is invested so get back to work
You think War grows on trees?
The Enemy's got just as much in tanks and planes
Another Fifty Billion & we can bring em to their knees

The Halls of Education stand proud as History has overseen
One by one we replace dictatorships with democracy
Sure its been proven communism works only on papers
Stuck together with the blood of war prisoners

Our President knows there is something worth fighting for
He didn't need to say it, he just started up a war
Desert Storm II, a box office success for sure
Not to mention a shoe-in at the Oscars allure

Herbert Walker and his clout bought some Saudi oil out
Then a tyrant threw a fit and burnt up a lot of it
Ten years later they were ready to invade her
Sure they took office by force someone had to, Damn Straight

George A. Romero directed Land Of The Dead
And our attentions away from the dying instead
Making our sons' and daughters' sacrifice in vain
Fuck a busload of dyke nuns we're talking here about our sons

Half the voting contingency may as well be on crack
They can't even make it to the polls and back
And if the trend continues in this fashion
We may need an Iron Fist, don't call it fascist

The road to truth is a hard thin line to walk
The pathway to rebellion is wide and easy
If you think this State is not by and for the People
Then you need to jump right back & get conditioned in the Steeple

If the systems of the world all end up being the same
Then if we regulate them who's to blame?
Besides, do you have any idea what they eat down there?
They could use a Subway and Atkins diet in Tiananmen Square

This is a holy war and God's on our side
And when everybody's dead we'll be Chosen for Heaven's ride
All except the terrorists & liberals raving in the street
Exchanging hugs & bullets everywhere they meet

No hope for the Infidels No hope for the Left
The godless are amongst us can I get an Amen
Because we are right our American Might
Will draw shut that bloody Iron Curtain again

Jesus Christ died for your sins
So that Law and Order could be maintained
Do you think for a heartbeat the same could be said
Of that son-of-a-bitch Sadam Hussein?

The moral of this story is that we stole all your glory
And we did it right in front of your face
Sure we patrol the streets internationally
It's no longer a secret, you're a slave, a disgrace

Terrorists just bought into our upperclass plan
Now they work for us, under our Reprimand
And if we confuse a longhair or tourist for one
Why that ain't no skin lost so long as business gets done

Calm down Calm down wherever you are No Cure
Trust in God and antidepressants for sure
Take a deep breath and a sedative you'll find
Will prepare you for the workforce tomorrow, Mankind

Salt Lake City
November 21, 2005
© by Shaun A. Lawton

love story

2005-11-04T12:26:00.000-08:00

1.

the fusion i
know untightens
presents itself
before
you.

in its
new spaces
freedom is
offered
us.

2.

our freedom
is everyone's.
in he stepped.
my fusion
grew

back together.
you must
know i
cannot come
apart

alone

2005-09-25T19:48:00.000-07:00

rusty swing
bird creak
thunder coughs
from a cavern
a raven sets its
siren precedence
at the half grown
over intersection
of two paths
I sit on a buttress
of stone

wildwork

2005-09-25T19:40:00.000-07:00

folding out into the black
that breathes open moth wings

drop into the jaws closing endlessly
on a tree standing still in twilight

whose shadow is thrown from a tooth,
a diagram of a hangman's stand

along the blurring and dimming light
silent gray creatures slip in unnoticed

from the transit system of shadows

poem

2005-09-25T19:25:00.000-07:00

I want to throw my voice
through the sky's throat
pierce my gaze through the
pupil's moon pinch the skin off
the earth's crust and taste
the blood of the land,

I want to hurl my name
up where the rain is made
hook my talons in the mountain's face
pour my dreams into a cloud's palm
and smell the heat of a storm.

wavelength printout

2005-09-25T18:54:00.000-07:00

Germination reich
corrective spike

chicken down,
spaghetti town.

billboard clown,
cropdust dose.

ribcage city,
rootcellar ghost.

Eastwood posse
mirror cloned,

termination hunter
Saviour-drone.

General Sanders
polished brass,

president Sheen,
("world class").

in the road

2005-09-18T12:05:00.000-07:00

a distillate jam,
corporate scAm,
head cram,
automatic
camera-Scan,

recording wire,
corporation's
cold fire,
pressed attire,
a witness for the

firing doll,
a pincushion
prosecution,
trial beneath
the tire,

caltrops underfoot,
troops rooting out
systematic shock in
a locked circuit loop

forming the peaks
of the icebergs
of power,
crystallized tip
on a maiden ship,

the flowered voyage
of a towering toy,
ribcaged wreckage
beached and exposed,
just out of reach
at the moment

message not received

2005-09-18T11:26:00.000-07:00

I can show you how I don't need you
just as well as I could show you how much
I do need you. Paradox ?

Well, insofar as all a paradox is
is something humans don't understand
about the nature of things

(at least we try), I am able
to go ahead and let myself be put
to the test.

Of course I'm able to show that
I don't need you.
For now, I'm even beginning to feel

able to try this out for you,
but something inside me knows that
eventually, I will never be willing.

(I'd give it all up for you)

poem found

2005-09-06T21:32:00.000-07:00

Beneath an overbitten sky
the wounded learn to sing.
Dismantling their prayers,
they lower themselves
into the dark.

explorer

2005-08-27T21:07:00.000-07:00

the mandible carapace
gleamed off the sun
light streaming in waves
rippled across the
hazy orange skies
of the seed pod
fleet invasion
centered behind
a slit across eyes
reflecting the terrain
of post apocalypse
passing underneath
in mute facades

SLC

2005-08-26T09:24:00.000-07:00

I just drifted by here
hopped off a tumble weed
that blew right in
from Black Rock City...

that was 5 yrs ago.
Things have changed
& stayed the same-
all dull & pretty;

I'm less deranged
but more insane, see
I work for the state
& think its just great

See what i mean?
They eat jello here.
I blend right in,
Guess i'm just weird

shades

2005-07-13T22:27:00.000-07:00

having flown
over stones lip
to slip down

a sprayed flume
in bright arc
overhead

funneling
a molten window
of a hood

to refract
a nearby
star's light

through the
glimmering
wood

to protect
a covenant
which suggests

the river ride
ends in a wide
opened eye

and also
the rest is
closed off tight

under smiling
curtains hushing
glare that

muting . . . knighted
inner . . . raining
stares . . . erase

And The Dreamer Wrote Us From Whole Cloth

2005-05-07T21:14:00.000-07:00

What if . . . it is LANGUAGE itself
which is the REAL "Life"-?
Then humanity would be the Light
and literature its shadow
inscribed in tomes a physical record
left behind for the next generation to find
the process of translation the very device
that perpetuates this constant motion
produces a race that mistakes its staining
of membranes for its own unfolding story
oblivious this storm is the real living glory
for this reason alone when you shut your eyes
you're closest to seeing the skies of the gods
and when thinking stops and minds are cleared
are the real living deities revealed
and our familiar legacy of flesh and blood
is shown to be a warm garment and hood
wherein we end up the dream misunderstood

bane day

2005-05-06T18:50:00.000-07:00

a sinew worked its way through
advancing like a webwork plague
to undermine the surface of their skin

at first you didn't notice
the spidery lightning-like veins traced
here & there, up a neck or under a jaw

from inside an eyesocket, or the hollow
of an ear, the traceries of spreading
veins would appear, subliminal

at peripheries edge, peeking from the
shadowline of a collar, uncoiling from
a sleeve, flickering from a stranger's wrist

whose hand extends in greeting,
a parasite ivy entrenched in the heart
of any chance human meeting

mortality's forgotten gift

2005-05-06T18:35:00.000-07:00

in a clearly recalled envelope
we diminishwalk, backs turned

clockwork marionettes
bound to fade

sipped from bottom up
by an earth's dark heart

drunk on the wine
of innocents

cursed with nothing
but memory,

blessed with everything
but eternity

entire

2005-05-06T18:31:00.000-07:00

when he tried to picture it
each feature was too it
this confused him so that
he seized into indecision
did he see it, or part of it
or was it there at all
none of the parts knew
and neither did he

casctle

2005-05-06T18:28:00.000-07:00

brickworked its way up.
stands there and to this face
the day's compass unfolds
slower than aspen unscrolling
their account of the silent
war on pages of virgin purity
written on by the wind

untitled

2005-05-06T18:19:00.000-07:00

love is a highway
the heart is an empty room
i cannot sleep
when the headlights sweep the ceiling

Starcrossed.

2005-04-21T21:18:00.000-07:00

From high above the earth I've seen
a shared view with the eagle's keen
sense of focus a darkened tower
of cloud bank shining, & beneath its bower
prosaic beams of sunlight engrave
an inscription of steam on the land underneath
unveiling a dream whose vision bequeathed
to mine eyes held aloft of the glorious scrying
the difference between those living & dying
though seemingly occupied on the same land
and on happenstance meetings intertwined by the hand
are in fact in a fleeting transition of fate
whereby sharing the meadow on each other's date
is entirely besides the point as of late
for each bending vista that reflects from their eyes
is a seperate world under differing skies
and the dream shared between them an illusory lie
as they whistle together hand in hand down the path
oblivious to the contact in defiance of the wrath
of the moment illumined by the sun, the inter-
galactic is over when clasped hands come undone.

memorial.

2005-03-02T19:54:00.000-08:00

One day,
they built their hut
on a flat plain of rock
along the winding banks
of the river sky.

Only the dried out husks
of their children's children
remained.

Elsewhere, the descendents
of their distant relatives
discovered traces of their imprints,

and at night,
around a bonfire,
they sung their story
up into the tumbling sparks
of the stars.

Self Portrait By Logical Deduction

2005-01-23T17:25:00.000-08:00

The implication of the design suggests an artifice,
and an artifice implies a Creator. The relationship that Creator ends up having with its creation could go many ways. By virtue of having described that a creator has produced a body of work, it is implicit that this Artisan operates within measurable limits. The truth can only be arrived at through an analogous algebraic equation, this is a fundamental condition of perception described by Kant.

It's where Faith meets Physics.

It is possible to begin imagining the shadings of the contours
of our celestial face upon the unspiralled deeps;
for there to be a Universe immediately
implies a Keep, a terraspatial aquarium,
a crystal ball in a vacuum in a sealed off pressurized chamber.

Imagination begins in trying to picture the Keepers.

It really begins to pick up when a route and itinerary
is outlined with the intent of tracing a path back to
our natural habitat. This would be like a goldfish
planning to escape and return to a koi pond in Japan.

Except for the fact we are not goldfish, but homo sapiens.
--Or are we?: Shading the profile of the jawline, to merge
into shadow, beneath twinkling pinpoints, in cavernous sockets.
Framed by a vast canvas of space.

Memento.

2005-01-23T17:19:00.000-08:00

There is no other way to describe the sensation of
there is no other way to unscry
there is no other way,
there is no other,
there is no there.

There is nothing
there is nothing I can do
there is nothing I can do to understand
that there is no way for you to understand it
in the way that I do,

The way that I do
the way that I do this is
the way that I do this is by easing into it,
easing into inscribing the inexplicable for you
and your eyes to fathom
the light sinking from
the bottom

where our drifting away from it all
meets in a haloed crowning
passing on like a cloud
or any other dirty
memory saved,
any other memory
saved for another day.

no memory is the same twice
no memory is the same
no memory
none.

closet fuel

2005-01-23T16:53:00.000-08:00

he was just a little kid and when he goggled
throught the park the tulips

something was wrong with them.
they seemed
clearer than everything else,
more focused.

he skipped on down the park and whistled around
the fountains to glance

they hummed noiselessly.

he dashed out through the gates and straight
home where his mother

her eyes were so bright

poem

2004-12-26T21:19:00.000-08:00

what terrifies me is the silence before you speak.
it fills my world and i find myself in the desert.
there is one horizon, of which i am the center.
my heartbeat fills the sky

halo

2004-12-26T21:14:00.000-08:00

under clarion rings, our fingers crawl
back to the caves of our hands

a shattered keep now moans in the wind
a soft fist is made

over which the city
resurrects
its elf

crowned
echo

All Things Good

2004-12-24T19:14:00.000-08:00

Let me hear of all things good
crisp and icy firewood
chimney smoke warm puffing soft
from white rooftops sloped aloft
bells ring out through crystals falling
all things good gently calling

Whisper to me all good things
ruby wine glass toasting rings
tin cups clink on street corners cold
teddy bears wink at bed stories told
cold soaking mittens hang from wire
all good things thaw by the fire

And someone surely somewhere dies,
biting frost that freeze shut eyes

Let me hear of all good things
though winter bites and sharp sleet stings
and some of us won't hear the rings
when the New Year brings on all good things . . .

recidivist

2004-12-15T21:16:00.001-08:00

the ashes that I rubbed into my eyes
are long gone now look
the standing man identified
swallowed by a desolate forest

who can save the suicide
from drowning in an oasis
those without fire and
trapped in an endless galaxy

envoy

2004-12-15T21:16:00.000-08:00

soldiers stand in a row,
like teeth in a skull
one of them has that daisy wheel stare
when the world falls in
a vulture's shadow

we think to escape
right into a wall of friendship
and are tracked down and cornered
by strangers known very well
and fondly remembered by friends misplaced
who must whisper the legends insistently

fly

2004-12-15T21:06:00.000-08:00

engine, scrying ebontips
glitter across elaborate tracing
in the matrices of meaning
while a muscle's grip contracts
anenomes beckon in dark
currents on the ceiling

it will be remembered
by a facet of an eye
and no android, even you,
can be programmed for that
memory passed on

like a platter of glass
in which a crowd is warped
and never shattered

until one day, when
the whorls of your digits
pass over the legends themselves
with such softness
they don't quite touch,
that you suffer the weight
of a dream's crush

stilled life

2004-12-08T20:14:00.000-08:00

a glance at the cluttered bureau reveals
still living ghosts amid disheveled icons.

A winged knight's candle
long burned out.

A praising salamander
thrown away his shadow.

A leaned cane with a brass
hammer for a head.

A gargoyle carved
in thought.

A phial of mandrake
with one drop left.

Some ribbons left hung
from valentines.

A small dream catcher
with a lock of horse's hair.

One sharp bull's horn
lying empty on its side.

the world's voice

2004-12-05T14:35:00.000-08:00

a language composed of foliage
leafy living tissues slashed
scarred over ditches irrigating
into a staff held before

your eyes can laugh and
taken away after the page
turns over in sleep and
rests still in ashes

where weeping will lower you
by the river's edge
sliding past slow,

the written tongue

unravels birds

crawk.

(messengers unfastened)
:shadows scanning the land

waking the dead
tremble

from a branch it watches
you read past it

try writing it down
on dead skin

and watch it rot
let it feed in the cemetery

listen to it chuckle softly
from a cave mouth

Traumedy

2004-12-03T21:34:00.000-08:00

There is a face split in half
One half does, and one half doesn't laugh
There is a gleam coming out of one eye
While the other one is lustreless and never does cry
There's a dream locked up in a crown
That will either turn to dust, or it will drown
There is a smile that rusts shut after a while
If you trust it might dissolve in laughter

Pros Raised @ the AA Meeting

2004-12-03T20:48:00.000-08:00

Your hair and fingernails keep growing.

The heart is last to decompose.

There is the sensory deprivation.

The integration of isolation
When you achieve room temperature
It's like you're not even there.

And when you realize
your hunger
so all consuming
is but a chemical
flash in the brain,
providing a weak
after image of
your identity...

At least know we have a choice.

We can either

dry up or drown

frenzy

2004-12-01T19:56:00.000-08:00

certain things shouldn't, like the
moonlight sonata for instance,
have to be endured again
necessarily; they might touch
that buried place you're too fearful
to revisit. . . and reawaken
those feelings that cannot be killed,
that have been so long,
so carefully locked up & forgotten
that when the strange door unlocks,
you open up Pandora's box

Anchors away.

2004-12-01T19:45:00.000-08:00

The magnets of your face
swivel in a positive stare
toward a force far greater
than my smile and eyes.

This force I name Mirage
because the horizon is its front gate.
The dilations of your pupils are the key --
this does not make it any less real.

I entered through that laurence
in the past, flag rippling.
When you leave through it,
you will leave me a great sadness.

you were

2004-11-28T19:42:00.000-08:00

the Beast who has entirely
confused his awareness for his environment
never comes to stare at you but
lunges in a cry and halfrips off your face
and crestfalls into tremors of a long
lost relaxed grace

his whole mask fits together
with the two halves of his face
they meet in a territory that distances
the closer it approaches straight between the eyes
so the lunge is made when sight is gained
of a vagueness that was not there --

you were

flame

2004-11-28T19:34:00.000-08:00

A leaf fall integrates
through a stare between
the tarred black fence
wrought of iron stitched
there cutting off the
churchyard from our
congress. Beware of
the dog is posted on
the mirror, cracked
from side to center.
YOU ARE HERE written
on a fracture

retroquestioning

2004-11-28T19:27:00.000-08:00

Can you keep the peace
or just the pieces.
What does it mean to you
to make up your mind.

Do you just recede and hope
that I am spinning
one too many times
for you to find.

Maybe you'll melt into the shadows
and be forgotten.
It must have been effortless
for you to unwind.

I'm not so lucky in my lovely garden
that you've left behind
because I believed you
when you told me
that your heart
was all mine.

survivor

2004-11-28T19:23:00.000-08:00

watching pictures on the tv

i thought it was a movie

it really was the news you see

it looked like cgi to me

i've seen it so repeatedly

it don't even seem real to me

those moving pictures on tv

the less I watch the more I see

that in that box there's no reality

saturn under eclipse

2004-11-22T22:50:00.000-08:00

dog beneath a star
sorrow from a feather
prism in a window
melts a crucifix in snow

and later this november
after every body's gone
a fog horn scares the ravens
off the can collector's brow

(q u iet)

2004-11-22T22:33:00.000-08:00

d i s tant hammering .. .
sigh of an auto's doppler effect

a constant muted harddriven drone,
a high-pitched nigh-inaudible tone.

soft cricket sussuration
incessant chirping

creaks above ceiling
under the weight of a step,
tires across distant asphalt
the refrigerator coughs & starts up.

ergonomic keys rattle sporadic
skin of horned toe rubbing heel -
circular rhythm & sound of thumb's
callus skating across palm,

spin of an unscrewed lid
from a red nalgene bottle,
waft of yawning interior.

silence and stillness of water
echoing throat muscles gulping,
cellphone rings & the poem
crashes to a close.

haiku 10

2004-11-20T18:12:00.000-08:00

crushing staccato
insists a dark reflection
borrowed tomorrow

tower of babel
key pins erode under base
dust never settles

chestnut hair bundled
sound of being deftly shorn
between scissor blades

life's short years peeled off
to be dropped away into
the burgeoning dusk

these echoes are gone
despite their endless fading
behind a dimmed eye

the attack is manned
and a shadow arises
unnoticed behind

watch your throat now then
quickening creepervines might
return us to them

bone vibrating song
of the halving excision
from a twin removed

airbrushed a divide
in delicate cumulus
with infanticide

the lost tribe running
without friends left to
reason a way home again

War Of The Orb

2004-09-17T21:03:00.000-07:00

'Neath empire's crest with cracks spread slow throughout
Stands crooked boned the grinning army white
Blind with bliss and dreams of glory shout
The troops of sun stand, fools facing the night
Darkness falls, an iron sledge on the anvil
Of day. The wall of fools advances with shields
The stars disintegrate. The dead, tranquil,
Feed fury with eyes of fire and force yield
Upon the pink cheeked rows of living fear.
Smooth haired men turned pale and fell,
swords dropped down
Their blades rust, crack and feed the undead's leers
Fresh corpses feed the grasses turning brown
The moral here: the living fight and drown
As the undead's troops gain new souls each round.

State Of The Union

2004-09-17T20:59:00.000-07:00

Divided. Falling.
Derided. Cat calling.
Kettle black. Sneak attack.
Blowing steam. False alarm.
Broken dream. Won't disarm?
Bully's scheme: Knock their block off.
Our regime. Drop the talk.
Take a walk. It's like this.
Now we're pissed. Mess with us.
Off the bus. Won't comply?
Eye for an eye.

Break the circle. Staunch the flow.
Stop the supper. Let them know.
Western Diamonds. Will bite back.
Crushing coal. Heart attack.
Jewel thieves. Smiling back.
Your secret market. Ain't so black.
Trade in liver. Hudson river.
Initiative. Decide to live.
What are you. Smoking crack.
We'll strike back. Blind or not.
With rage or calm. We'll drop the bomb.
Change your mind? Will comply?
Fugget about it, Fucking die.

Under Pressure

2004-09-17T20:56:00.000-07:00

Comes a time with a sigh
we must look us in the eye
to plumb the depths we find
hidden from a shield behind
rattled into place a manhole cover
like a penny left with care
on our blind spot.

Later or quite soon
our bones we must exhume
to trace the secret cracks,
reveal the source of the attacks
so we can understand
the difference between our right
and our left hand.

Or maybe never we shall see
with such scope or piety
that certain global headline facts
might be consequences of our acts
and so embark on that familiar ride
of burning in the lime light
of our Nationalist Pride.

trigger

2004-09-17T20:22:00.000-07:00

So who do you want to blame?
Do you want to blame the guy who pulled the trigger?
Or his companion who wrapped telephone wire about the
school teacher and the american businessman?
What about the third accomplice who interrogated them
while splashing gasoline on their heads?
Why don't you blame all three of them since they
each took potshots at the captive's knees.

Does it really matter which one wielded the carving knife?
Perhaps they drew straws afterwards, to determine
who got to fire the flare gun...
...Maybe you should blame the local police
who went by the numbers and poked through
the charred rubble, and two days later claimed
ignorance about the flare cartridge
missing from the evidence file.

Naw . . . you want the brown-skinned fuck
who pulled the trigger to burn, don't you?
Do you know what a trigger is?
The killer himself is a trigger.
Do you actually believe the local periodicals
with their blazing headlines about some Crime
Of Passion involving prostitutes?

That's the work of a pretty passionate pimp,
to employ text-book tactics from
The School Of The Americas,
don't you think? Or don't you think?
You want to blame the trigger finger?
Then step it up a notch and blame
the man who gave the order,
because the ignorant hirelings who did the deed
were only doing their job, after all.

What sense of justice will you get from knowing
a couple of filthy scum bags like that were captured,
jailed . . . even executed?
Will you really sit back in relief,
feeling the scales have tipped even?
While the real men who arranged this crime
sit back in complete anonymity?

I don't think so.

So go ahead and blame the man who gave the order,
but you have to ask yourself who is this man,
who appears to be the "real" trigger finger?
Is he some card board cut out comic book character
who was just bored one day lounging in the tropics
devising this chess trap atrocity to while away the hours?
Maybe he's a real life Scarface "teaching some Americans
a lesson" . . . Yeah, right.

You want to know something? I'm tired of this.
If you're not starting to see the picture, you never will.
If you can't see the chain reaction in
the trigger finger command,
then it's because YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH,
and the truth is, YOU ARE TO BLAME.
Because the chain reaction,
by floating all the way to the Top,
(and there is no doubt that it does just that),
and if you don't know where the Top is, just look around you,
how long have you been living in this country?

Oh I'm sorry I didn't mean to interrupt your video game,
but if you just don't feel right putting the blame
on dear old Uncle Sam,
well that's perfectly fine, because he's just
a marketing conception after all,
and what he really represents is YOU. And ME.

We are a nation that is supposed to be run by the people
and for the people, and regardless of the fact
that certain bullies wrenched away that power
from the rest of us
and monopolized themselves into
the highest executive offices in the land,

this is still no excuse for the cold, hard fact that
each and every one of us are to blame for murder.

So who do you want to blame for pulling the trigger?
Take a long, hard look in the mirror.
It all starts there.