Cut off at the last moment
a plan in pieces when the picture was near complete
rain on watercolors when the day was bright
and words unspoken brought unrelenting night

One more day
a sunrise away
everything unraveled in confusion
so many words I wanted to say

If there was just one thing you knew
kept inside for the moment to be right
could have been that last handhold
for you to climb into the light

Cold now the hearth and gone the soul
never knowing but maybe wishing
still fallen before truth was told

structure broken
support was decayed too long

sunken into the sea

I was not a siren but should have sang my song

The post Stolen Silence appeared first on Bass Bastard.

I like to view this in an entirely different way. We are heading towards death. It is the invisible barrier that we will one day encounter on our trip through spacetime. We are like the skydivers that have switched to the flying squirrel suits. We are plummeting at near-terminal velocity with the illusion of control.

We can modify our pathway along the course of gravity, but ultimately that great attraction still wins. There are no parachutes on this ride. You do not get to safely land and try it all again. (Unless reincarnation is true, I suppose…) You meet the filter at terminal velocity and the electricity that runs the sub 60-watt bulb in your skull flickers out. The signals to and from your amygdala and vagus nerve stop and your coprocessors wind down.

Then the mass of symbionts that have been travelling with you start the process of breaking down your meat suit for further processing.

But you – your energy has ether moved on to a dimension we are unable to perceive within this flesh, or reaches a resting ground state.

Death does not come for you. It quietly waits for you to arrive.

Will you be on fire when you hit, or just another cold breeze coming through the door?

The post No destination appeared first on Bass Bastard.

Troubled Waters Is an instrumental track that started as a piano composition.

The post Troubled Waters appeared first on Bass Bastard.

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

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Let me know if you want the source for your own entertainment.

The post Don’t do drugs kids… 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.