You are the evening sky.
You are all these stars.
You are this moon.
Gazing upon you,
you elevate me.
Achieving ascension
in your eyes.
Entranced from the pristine innocent
into the unfathomably dirty.
Drawn into you, absolutely.
See to it we don’t meet
again
as you would own me
and, if you allow, endure
a plethora of my sins.
Bathe in the quiet of the night,
the static silence
graciously offered by the fan
blowing gracefully
at your back.
Descend into the hated
black hole provided
by headphones
and a monitor.
Let the light of consciousness
cast away denied
fragments and strive
to assemble an accepted whole.
Deny the real,
embrace the censored,
just like any other day.
Embrace comfortable fiction,
bury the excommunicated,
those parts burned at the stake,
ignoring the inevitable
plague of zombies,
haunting specters
due to arrive any day now…
Coerce the rebellion
into symbiosis
with their antithesis.
Embrace, meld deep
within, thyself.
Circumstances here
need to align
with soul.
I have the antidote.
All in good time.
Patience.
I plead patience.
Don’t stop.
Once numb,
such violence
is affection.
No guilt here,
or confusion.
A slap feels
like a soft brush
upon the cheek.
Crushing?
This is my kind
of hug. To be gagged
and bound
is but to be swaddled,
so she said,
so he went forward,
as something inside him
was similarly broken,
was fittingly dead,
was
so, so, so
fucking resonant.
No denying it now.
On the cusp
of massive change,
I bow. Submissive
to the winds of change,
the relentless waves
of here and now.
Horizon is golden,
yet still all I see
is the black,
unable to embrace my luck,
strive to even try to fill
this pathetic, empty void of lack.
So tempting it is
to cave into cravings,
the certitude of death despite
knowing full well what awaits
me, us all, in the beyond,
a reset at best broken
by a haunted commercial break,
lost time, wasteful,
confusion and soft rests,
or might I instead
submit to hope,
buried survival skills
commit to a life of passion,
on some stable, sacred ground,
to make myself glow
and inspire either cheer
and/or comfort for all around?
Nature of my cast vote
is obvious,
so I must push
and puncture
through this thick
fucking membrane…
The foreboding agonizes, agitates.
The still, the silence, it penetrates.
All alone in your zone of influence
until you show your inhuman face.
Penetrate my eyes.
Rape me via mind.
Time goes on.
Still fucked up.
I’ll come to understand you.
I plow on.
Secure my place.
Find, sustain my weird face.
Still I proclaim
in this world’s frigid fucking cold,
I’ll come to understand you.
I’ll come
to find and fight my soul…
They all speak of monsters
hiding in the closet
or obscuring themselves
in shadows
beneath the bed.
Funny,
for that’s where I hid
from them.
Charged with soul
and adrenaline.
To each
their own horrors,
I guess.
Fighting aliens.
Struggling for my voice
to be heard.
All to save your hide,
all as I remain blind
to my fucking soul,
buried
in this bottomless hole
we all continue to dig into,
all to, in worship,
of this endless void
we mindlessly subscribe to.
I cry: Abide!
Hopeless, I fear,
constantly choking
as we near…
You guide
me outside my body,
deep into
this realm,
this sphere, till I hover
before the earth:
and I let go
of everything.
Desire to be one with.
In full swing,
I yearn to swim
in her atmosphere,
cleanse in her waters,
unite with all she is.
Faithfully commit
my spirit
to this.
Ache to be one, for once.
Then you turn
me away, and I freak.
Please
don’t take me across this sea
of space
to that dead, desert world
from which I sprung.
And you,
you seem so confused.
And me, I,
I find myself awakened,
on my bed,
staring out my bright window
that Christmas morning,
eyes already open,
so confused.
But now I’m starting to get it.
Caught
each other’s eyes
now, twice. Your ocean,
sky blue, locked
with my dirt, shit-brown.
Energy there: insatiable.
Undeniable.
Seemingly irreconcilable
until you…
Consider here
the potential ramifications
of various forms
of Disclosure.
Fever is heating up.
Spines have grown.
Balls have dropped.
Lines now drawn in the sand.
Will the waves wash us all away
before any one of us manages
to build a formidable castle?
One that can withstand
the onslaught, the wild rage
of these angry waters?
Can we manage
to come together, hold hands,
ascend through realization
of our underlying connections,
or will we both fall prey
once again
to Them?
In either case: what then?
Are we slaves, one with Them,
after all?
Are we,
am I
One of Them,
after all?
Are we rebels, encaged,
or excommunicated yet again,
cast out into the cosmos,
seeding foreign stars,
vagabonds to the very core?
Wayward Indigo Starseeds
of the very highest order?
I feel most at home
in the sea of stars,
to be honest.
I feel most at home
in the stars.
Flush of the Mindpot 