Broadband Alienation, Questions.

How can your eyes
get so close to mine?
How can your mind
be inside of my mind?

We can both feel one another.
We can “hear” each other’s thoughts.
We can share mental images, dreams.
You can violently, so rapidly sift
through all my episodic memories.

Are you looking for something?

Paralyzed, a puppet of your will.
Once I fought, then chased comfort
in this: both aims, unfulfilled.

Do you have the vaguest notion
of what you’re doing to me?
I want to be angry, enraged, yet I

wonder if you even
have the capacity to understand…

Yet you’re so much more evolved.
Such a higher fucking being,
or so you tell me.
Yet you also claim I’m one of you.

Tell me: what’s the meaning?

MIN?

In the corner
of my bedroom, betwixt

the window and the bed

you were standing,
peering so far down,
so deep into me,

that you broke me.
You fucking broke me.

Haven’t been the same since.

So what the hell are you?
Who am I?
What did you do to me?

Why can’t
I fucking remember?

Aliens.
Out of body.

Still fucking with me
after all these years
without any efforts

to provide
a goddamn explanation.

What the fuck is going on?
Fuck this fear, my terror, the dam.
What the fuck am I in?
Fuck this fear, my terror, the dam.

Ode to Nimi.

We were children.

To us,
they were mystical beings.

She was the teacher.
My teacher.
A lone title she gave,
though later,

I named her.

How could I not?
She delivered lessons,
unveiling

the secrets of the universe.
How could I
not strive to personalize?

She meant everything to me.
My anchor in a storm.
She meant everything to me.

So lost, bitter, and bruised now,
I could use you, Nimi.

I miss you, Nimi.

Distance, Denial, & Abducted Context.

Distance
makes the mind’s
doubt stronger,

lets me let you slip away,
into the category of a dream,

until I’m terrified
and paralyzed
and you’re in my fucking face again

with your raping eyes,
with your raping eyes,
dissecting, infecting,
testing my broken mind.

Just a tagged animal.
Just a lab monkey.
Just a pawn in a game,

a soldier in a war,
holding secrets locked
in memories
I can’t remember.

Don’t even know
what side I’m on…

I can’t find comfort in ignorance.
I can’t be authentic hiding silent,
in my dark, dismal denial.

Given the right context,
everything makes sense.

Why do you keep it from me?

In the Gray, Eager for Enlightenment.

Tightly shut these two eyes
just to blast the third one open.

Nearly blinded by darkness,
feeding, bleeding the visions
of all those nasty, intolerable
former divisions, obstructed…

No more.

So I lay here, patiently
awaiting those untold horrors,

within this cold,
penetrating silence;
upon this cool,
metallic table…

Caught again. Another
catch and release.

You always come ’round again.

Immobilized. Paralyzed.
My body is my own: no more.
Alien faces. Grays. Almond eyes.
Staring. Probing. Impossibly close.

Still, I await direction.
Still devoid of purpose.
Skeptic awaiting conversion.

All you told me has yet to add up.

Sympathy for the Aliens.

Journey through this twisted,
deprived, dirty mind.
By your own volition, no less. 

Regardless, I extend my apologies. 

Resistance helped along
by circumstantial abstinence
(not to be confused
with those egoistic incels):
my explanation, justification, 

for this kinky dungeon
of my alien psyche. 

Mutual attraction plus consent
is the key to unlocking
these doors
to our hells. 

I tried to stay away…
Tried to eliminate you.

You and I remained.

So it is.
So I deal.

So I evolve
anyway.

Navigating the Alien Subspace/Mastermind.

They come to you.

Inhuman silhouettes
plague you. In this,

you feel sure,
there must be
some meaning.

More than just scientists
isolating, tranquilizing, abducting
and studying a specimen
they then tag and liberate,

only to track and monitor
remotely, occasionally

apprehending
for another episode
of catch and release.

I’m clearly just a fish out of water.
I just don’t belong.

Too weird, feeling like a stranger.
Square peg stuck
in a wicked world of round holes.

Plow in, carve out
a space for alien things,
bootleg memories,
against typical, traditional
experience, outline

a way, paying dues,
compensating owed attention
to the weight and impulses
of the carried mind,

largely draped
in shadows still,

all as you contribute
to resuscitation
to counteract
the collective decline…

You’ve forgotten,
dumbass —
in light

of the accomplishments
achieved,
despite conscious
ignorance —

all that’s come to pass:

the desolate desert
of the past; the world you abandoned
to find and study
the elements that contributed

to that epic
catastrophe
in resonant, cosmic
echoes and casts…

Remember
to recalibrate your path.
Just recall,

to better mold the casts
of what we’ll all become.

Not a slave to Them. No, only in the buried I.
Not just a messenger, yet:
within, deep in the core, a message resides.

Take
and do with it
as you will,

just please, stay true.

Be yourself.
Express all your denied;
all dismally accepted
aspects of mind.

Impulses inspire
strangulation, lacerations.

Bottom to top:

subspace.
mastermind.

Open: I.

Fear that I’m growing.
I fear I’m going blind.

Suicidal Paranoia & Other Nocturnal Tendencies.

Behind the drawn shades,
outside the latched window,
in the dark of night,
they observe.

You can feel their eyes.

Two fixed on the body, one
watching the mind.

Nothing more
than an animal in a zoo.
Tagged and tracked remotely
till it’s time for another check-up.

No more monsters than we are.
Like the human, just another animal.
In mind, in heart, their motives perceived
as no purer, their tactics are no more acceptable.

Behind the locked and bolted door,
busily intoxicating, researching,
reading, watching, building
some semblance of understanding;

expressing in words and images,
strangling out the rest
through naughty, strobing videos
and perverse imagination:

just trying to survive
this psychologically,
just trying to manage
this emotionally.

Aim to collapse by sunset.
Restless, interrupted sleep.
Bizarre flashes of dreams,

symbolically revealing,
eye out for residual memories
bleeding through, defeating
their attempt at concealing…

Sure to catch them again.
It’s never long.

Call me bat shit crazy.

Such a dream it would be,
to be so wrong…