Effort is energy, but not always progress
Movement is agitating, and often, we regress
Vibrations that phase in the ways the game plays
It is never obligated to bring about redress

Silence is golden, but not if we’re deaf
Listening is impossible if no tools are left
All the lies for which we prise the tympanic caul
Ripping out until the noise stops and we’re bereft

Anhedonia is not a form of peace
Falling to our death is not a release
A rictus they inflict us is not benedictus
We are naked and alone, but now without fleece

Hung by the Achilles, we’re shaved and then drained
For our lives and time, we are deceived and detained
Give up all you have is how we are trained
To support the parasitic idea they’ve ingrained

Silence is not consent
But it will not protect
When the dragons are hungry
And the pigs are erect

The parasite will never be satisfied
So it must be destroyed
Fire and steel and minds be deployed
Against the idea that meaning is to be employed.

Will the new growth be cancer
Will it nurture the body electric
Will the cocoon become a chrysalis
and we remain liquid psychometric

Non-Newtonian settled in a groove
Life not impacted enough to solidify
Dehydrate and crust over
evaporate and waiting to die

Vertebrates sell their bones
thinking change is in the air
when the time comes to make the change
Their spines are no longer there.

You’ve forgotten what you are
where you’ve been, how to live
you’ve sold the plot and cried of loss
and the soul you had to give

If god were real
and sober
and caring
She would have aborted you decades long past
your whining
your compromise
bread and circuses
That could have been something so vast

This is what we’ve become
This is our slow quietus
We gave up on looking outward
for walls and artifice

Mocked for accolades they did not request
the children of the house of Me
left on the hook for foolish ancestry
and a world that shouldn’t be

Those places no longer exist. They are miles, kilometers, light-years away. Lost to the motion that is life. Life is not static. The universe, as we currently understand it, is expanding. Our galaxy is moving with the local cluster. Our star orbits the galactic core: our planet, the star. Our bodies are forever dying and rebuilding. Once that process has reached its inevitable end, our component elements return to the motion of succoring other lives.

The limitations we place on ourselves very often manifest as our desire to anchor in a fixed point. We allow our curiosity to calcify and become brittle. This is anathema to our own growth as individuals and a species. We must become fluid. Like Water – Bruce Lee.

To struggle with this is natural. Change and the chaos it brings are very often painful. We are conditioned at our very core to oppose change once we have settled into something we identify as safe and comfortable. A cave to shelter in. A bountiful meadow.

These are traps.

Ideology is the same. Religion, political beliefs, and holding to theories that have solutions to debunk them. The data stack of knowledge we use as a foundation must be forever expanded and solidified so that we may grow higher.

In spite of all of this being true to my knowledge, we must also remain watchful. Curiosity about consequences must accompany curiosity about the new and unknown. This should not become fear. The pain of consequence is just as often a teacher as is success.

This is how to correct many ills

This is the root of my growth.

And then I climb out and the lingering bits crust over and fall away, leaving itching reminders of where they were in my psyche.

But the lingering adhesions where the edges are… remind me that the attachment points are still there. That I am still wired to interface with the morass. The primeval shade of unspecified rage and bile wants to burn the edges.

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?

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.

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

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

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.

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