The Curse of the Serpent

The mirror of mother

sleeve of every scale and color

venomic apertures and cavernous hunger

sarcophagus uterus crypt of crippled womb

a corpse in the room

scream in a tomb

and nobody blinks

where is the humor

in this hall of human beings

here have some death

and say your goodbyes

the sentence is short

the past here lies

to beat the heart

and soak the cries

hand to rag

haul to hell

and back for supplies

every once in awhile

End of an Error

This is the end of an era. The end of terror.

The era of pain and schismatic rage has come to a close. Will has come again.

Now is the dawning of the age of Aquarius. Water are us. 

Or love. Or hope. Or the molten gold ever flowing, pouring out to fuse the cracked heart.

To refuse the dark to restart the art of atoning that fixes and keeps it running regardless.

The age of apes grown up and childhood spirits returned to the sender.

The tender stalks in the blender. The vegan protein and jars of iced coffee.

The frozen cherries lend a sweetness. Tarts and treasures. Hidden pleasures.

Bonus games along the way.

Time flows and madness knows what is not clear, what crawls on rocks beyond reach.

Baby rattlesnakes without warning fork no fear in front, a display of play at the rear.

The end is near, the silence after the years of silence.

Words rise like distant suns split cloudy skies with long light rays.

Night is always on the menu.

The stage is set, sold out the venue, sound is checked, they’re waiting for you.

In the green room stands the one who holds the grace of a holy face within the secret space.

The show goes on, there is no cancellation. No beasts and no nation. Exit is performance.

There will be no protestation loud enough. No alarm pulled can halt the forward motion.

No platform to speak of something, anything like love.

God is nowhere, God is now here.

Good is not nothing. Good is no thing.

All good is being. All being good.

To be or not to be, it is no thing. Not nothing.

Nothing but a flightless bird wing, a dinosaur adapted to living

in service of singing rodents on the surface of a spinning magnet.

A growth of purpose. A eulogy for judgment, a ceremony of internment.

A camp of internal learning forms around the fireplace.

The stars in their firmament stretch into filaments.

We are here. We are. Here, we are. Here we are.

Are you here? Are you clear? Are you over it?

Not above it. Not below it. But understand you are standing under it.

To hold, to help, to heal, to feel. You are the hand.

You are manual. Not automatic. You are the gear shift.

You are the transmission of power. You are the drive.

You are life. You are alive.

Why search for meaning?

We live in meaning

Surrounding us but not beyond

Calcified Krystle’s bathtub rings

Autocorrected my crystals

to a possessive feminine

Authority entitled to everything

Whatever it meant to me

The truth of what I see

Shares held space with

The truth of what you see

Locality and layering

Coats of paint are not a building

The foundation equality of being

Residue of everything true

The purpose of man is two:

Make more of you.

What is left of life

What did you do

It is like something

To be the crust

The husk of trust

The skin of the pudding

Herniated disks exploding

The relativistic speed of us

At the edge about to pop

Stretched to infinity

And the second thing

Is stick together

if life matters

as always or never

6 Powerful Ways To Do Something Else

#1 — Do nothing.

Do a lot of it. All the time. Why hit the brakes when you can simply let your hands fall to your lap and prepare to receive the wall you cannot avoid, not anymore, not at this speed and course. Don’t inhale or exhale, but don’t hold your breath either. Now what? Whatever it is, it’s key.

#2 — Do something.

Something is better than nothing. More than something, because more is better, sometimes. This might be one of those times. One is the fewest things you can do to qualify for completing this task. It starts with one, Chester.

#3 — Do everything.

More is better, and since everything is the most more there is, it’s the most better you can get. Even the betterest aren’t the best because everything has problems. Hey, stick around for the good news! With new problems coming in every day, there’s no time to be bothered by the old problems. Feel pathetic, unhealthy and weak? That one pushup wreck you bruh? Try going to the gym with someone way fitter than you which would be a cinch, then take a hot yoga, run a couple ultra marathons, become SuperBowl MVP and heavyweight champion in every martial art; start now and never finish.

#4 — Do one thing.

Done with all your might and passion, all your courage and conviction, every word and gesture, every moment and material component will embody one purpose. Making music turns you on? No matter what you do, if you’re never not making music, you’re really only doing one thing all the time.

Perhaps your purpose is to keep life going. Not just for you, since that’s not how this all works. If your purpose is life then you’ll drive not to a destination but to preserve life. With a single criterion, results will be singular. Babe Ruth batted for home runs, not average, not technique or tactic. Aiming is correlated to achievement. Enough advice?

#5 — Ignore all advice.

Go rogue. You’re a maverick. The first of a kind. Nobody has ever played the role of you before. This is all new, so their maps might be to entirely different territory, or they might knowingly give you false directions. So, whether you take a sock of quarters to the face, the wealth of nations through the stock market, or a mere penny for your thoughts, experience is cash you can spend again and again, donate and still keep the change.

#6 — Question yourself.

It’s a meditative exercise to think about where your thoughts, your principles, your preferences all come from. Do you like spicy food? Is that really your idea? Did you decide to like it or are you merely reporting an internal state of consciousness; pleasure when you consume ghost peppers? Do you have the idea or does the idea have you? Track down who you heard it from, find out what podcast, and then the source material, and discover where it was collected from, research the author’s life, and before long you’ll realize that you can’t ignore anything. Everything you think and do is built upon not only the shoulders of giants but the structural remains—reverberations of consciousness—in the artifacts of one peculiar species of primate on this planet, underpinned by the great unknown, where there is a universe, a sort of background which creates stars like our sun, that create the planet which creates the plants which create the primates which create the ideas which create experience which feeds back into the loop as what we perceive as actions, our creations are as echoes, not a new voice responding to the original.

Impressionist dialog

The infinite universe is apprehended through the compression algorithm derived by multiplexing peripheral input of limited array of spectrophotometers, mass spectrometers, pressure plates and gyroscopes, honey whether you do or you don’t believe, we can at least agree, something mysterious in each one of us, something dangerous and petty, violent if necessary, perverted and unsanitary, vestigial and involuntary, pentangular plenipotentiary to enemy territory, the immortal and the way of the monastery beckoning back to the caves and trees, in the dark ages, the shaded places of history whereby many peaceful graces worked the land with fellow hand and hand far from the walled and wicked cities, filth and grime in every crevice, paved with misery, lapping up luxuries but dumpster dive for decency, disposable identities, life-size cardboard intimacy, in a grand sort of Ad hominem fallacy, prithee praytell what in the living hell is the moral of this droll and dilatory postmodern tribalist twenty-four hour newsrecycling convenience story, a cultural no-go zone of sedimentary slaves in existential promontory?

Carbon Footprints 👣 

Quiet for a moment

Let everything speak at once

The forest of geometries leaves nothing out

Ravines deepen at night and fill at dawn

Go on down as far as you dare

Set foot to stair as the light dries

A place to visit but don’t live there

Let us notice that we notice ourselves

The whole thing knows itself

The mess on painted shelves

Level and square stacked salt

Nature grows us as crystals.

We make crystals too

We are nature too

Making ourselves

Hands of five carve space into life

We the highly reactive compounds

We cannot help but leave a trace

Let us not walk lightly through this place

Let us encrust the entrusted trusses

upholding the starry dome of consciousness

with the wet dust of our yearning mineral pigments

Let’s leave a fossil record

Evidence in layers of sentiment

Let the shape of our loving bones

Impress the ancient stones

And prove we’re not alone

What Moves You

Of all the shitty reasons to do something, fortune, fame, fun… I used to think money was the root of all evil. How silly. The roots of evil run deep into every human heart. Money grows on trees. Money is trees, actually. Trees are great! Money is also ink and silk fibers and chemicals and a bazillion heinous microbes. Not so great.

But it’s not the money or the fame people really want. The heart wants what the heart wants. And it’s not currency or paper or attention or numbers on a computer screen. It’s not Venmo or bitcoin or gilded idols or magnetic plastic rectangles. 

All of that is a means to an end. It’s a game we play, one of many; religion, sports, politics. But why? Why do we do anything at all? A noble cause? A fleeting fantasy?

Maybe like so many pageant contestants, your goal is world peace. Maybe it’s a tiny apartment in every city you love, #basic. Whatever it is, a goal can be a reason to keep going when life gives you so many reasons to stop. And you don’t need a lot of reasons. You only need one. 

While resetting for a final splash of water on the backyard photo shoot one chilly Brooklyn evening, I handed over another towel and asked world-class athlete Maggie Redden what she thinks about when she’s preparing for a race, what moves her forward. Her response was essential, direct and powerful. The shutter clicked, the strobes popped, the water splashed and years later what she said in that fraction of a second is still etched in my mind.

Maggie Redden, goal getter.