etching its way through the fractal road practical stowed in the crevices
psychic ceviche but there is no lime
ticking in the aftermath when there is no time

taste the acid etching through the crevasse under the corpus callosum, widening the divide between what we calculated and what was chosen

Sour thoughts and smooth brains talking about soft hands and black stains on lung scans but not enough miles on my airplane scans to smoke a camel in quicksands…

Where were we?

susurrations of scales over sands expands the bands of spectrums still unseen in the violence of the liquid scream
the only comfort in the taiga is the lack of scales and thermal vision, making the frisson of fear of the enlightening one

the glowing son

the burning sun

am I the only one?

But this fertile garden now frozen in fear, the fertilizer steaming in the fresh fallen ice
looking for the navigation device
or just the vice
that drove the motor
the engines
over the edge

the irony of freezing to death staring into the eldritch fusion reactor we call god.

The post Etching appeared first on Bass Bastard.

It disguises as need

it knows when that has failed

it wants

the echo not decaying
just reverberating
I want
becoming obsession

lying to me that I need

I want

It

the hollow one needing me to consume in it’s name

forever empty
forever in me
it feeds on misery

If there is happiness it is not
if there is growth it is rot
it triggers on the absence of it

it needs it
it is the ever present drive
of want

it gets in your head
it drives false need
it leaves you hungry
when it makes you feed

consume for want

It wants to be bigger
It wants to be small
It wants the shiny things
It wants it all

it wants nothing
so it can be filled again
it is empty
so the want can begin

I want

It

to

be

silent

The post Want appeared first on Bass Bastard.

always there
a hand, a smile, a sound, to lead or follow
loved and lost
when was the last time I said I’d see you tomorrow?

I’ll see you tomorrow
Until the days are no longer numbered
the silence sucks in sound
and every time it leaves me number

a last goodbye
she was on her way to help, to give
the road was her home,
the road was the last place she lived

Always loving
a helping hand, advice, an ear
loved, lost, gone
but somehow always near

I’ll see you tomorrow
Until the days grow long and ends
I’ll see all of you
all of my shadows and friends

I’ll take pain over apathy
The scars stitching me together with love
holding together
when I don’t know what I’m capable of

When I am a shadow
and the last light that would have been me reaches the ground
Just wait until tomorrow
and your road takes you where you are bound

I’ll see you tomorrow
Once the days have passed the horizon
once more in hearts and eyes
and the tears no longer cloud your vision

The post Shadows and Friends appeared first on Bass Bastard.

Digging through the junk drawer

finding shit I knew was lost

A bic lighter

random keys

to locks that have lost their relevance.

The noise on the peripheral persists

so I dig through another container

a t-shirt I do not recall

a sock with a skull

a 3D printed polygonal cat

But there are no spoons

Each container full but empty

and the clatter at the periphery persists

a dull roar from outside

reminding me that reality still exists

Earplug container, only one side

mints of a dubious flavor

keep digging

the hell of it all is I need to go out there

Where are the fucking spoons?

I find sufficient noise in the rectangle

no wires, just cacophony

the silverware will have to wait for later

reality awaits

two shoes

two socks

underwear and pants

torso covered by something hanging

at least I have a knife.

slip on the shades.

The post Junk Drawer appeared first on Bass Bastard.

Memory is not a shelter
it is a trap for the unprepared
a hole in the row, as cavities grow
and the rictus is mistaken for smiles

a shell of a comfortable mirror
pointed back but not pointed to self
never looking ahead to the alternate paths
just falling into the concentric patterns of death

Shatter the walls of reverie
tradition and how the things were
a trap set by the lazy unconscious
and the death rattle of growing’s last breath

Memory is for reference
Now is for life
the future is chaos blooming
Stop digging and start nurturing existence

Lose the anchors
lower the stones
breath and walk free into now
create today without false resistance

The post Looking Back Blind appeared first on Bass Bastard.

Away from the scarred and broken
mending lines and pain
A confession long unspoken
of plans too long refrained

To tell the truth to myself
would shatter me away
when I look at what is left inside
there’s nothing left to say

Hatred left a wasteland
rage a scorched path
violence was the answer
but the question’s never asked

born into all the world could teach
before the mind could grow
who is it now, what can become
something I can never know

So I pay myself a visit
Across the ashes and the flame
should I peel away another scar
I’ll never be the same

The post Last Payment appeared first on Bass Bastard.

Lost to flow
Lost to pain
A mother returned to the energy plane

Left behind
Left in sorrow
Fear in facing the thousand tomorrows

Holding hands
Hold agony
Absent but watching over her progeny

The body is always weaker than soul
The spirit continues no matter the toll
Mind carries spirit from one to the next
And still the waves of grief will roll

Where we go is where we wait
Where we wait the light purifies
Why pain is endured corporeal
When the end is what life defies

The post Where we go appeared first on Bass Bastard.

Stare at the blank page. Stare at the empty DAW. Stare at the keys. The strings. The silent powered-off amplifier. The empty canvass.

The chemicals just bounce around in a neural stew. No answers. Just agonizing white noise refusing to resolve into a sensory gift.

Defy the static. Turn on the amp. Drag a sound into the DAW. Strum the strings. Press the keys. Make zero sense. Write nonsense words strung together arhythmically.

Motion defies entropy.

Motion defies entropy.

Move.

The post The Process appeared first on Bass Bastard.

The post Moth appeared first on Bass Bastard.

The feeling of impending something quiets
the shadows shrinking but still looming defiant
The void keeps calling, but goes to the machine
convinced alerts are red but the lights are all green

I want to know, before that moment that I go
To see it coming before I face that last breath of cold
Brace for impact or embrace the real fact
but I want to go before the suffering takes hold

Living in agony to distract from the hurt
growing my fears in my mind’s fertile dirt
comfort finds me and rocks me to rest
until the voices rise up and tighten my chest

No pills to calm me, just seeking out arms
the kind to embrace, or the kind to do harm
Mother earth don’t deny me my natural right
to be aware of what’s coming and a chance to fight

I want to know, before that moment that I go
To see it coming before I face that last breath of cold
Brace for impact or embrace the real fact
but I want to go before the suffering takes hold

Money can’t buy happiness, but it buys all the pills
it pays for the faceless and pays all the bills
Filthy paper tuck intimately behind tight strings
the touch then the absence of all that it brings

The lies whispered from inside the skull
keep the sleep meter empty and adrenaline full
The void keeps calling, but goes to the machine
convinced alerts are red but the lights are all green

I want to know, before that moment that I go
To see it coming before I face that last breath of cold
Brace for impact or embrace the real fact
but I want to go before the suffering takes hold

I want to be ready when the suffering takes hold

The post Ready? appeared first on Bass Bastard.