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?
Is it that Braindead suggests politics are a pathology? And how does an adorkable waitress use Tide Pods to tidy up her cluttered, empty life? Is the lie the only way to tell the truth? Can only song say what the heart thinks? Do you just need a man to fumigate your brain, or as comic relief or a tool to grip? Some parasitic ideas are you sick? What’s eating your brain today, and why can’t you just say it? Who can we get to fix all this? Who says success is anything but what you think it is for you? And what the fuck do you know anyway?
Why are children making eyes at one another when they’re making glittery balls of foam to represent the solar system? Are kids with iPhones, programming android apps at school, really going to be taught by a grown adult who thinks it worth the precious youth they can’t get back again?
Have you ever been told you that you’re fuckable? Oh but what was the context? Have you been subjected to the force of the stranger, the other, the alter ego, the doppelgänger, the drifter, the shape shifter, sidestepper, blindsider, backbiter, mad-faced doubletalker? Have you played the part in some off broadway production? Oh haven’t you gone off on someone?
The thing is, if you ask what’s on my mind, why you don’t you take the time to listen? That’s not your mission, huh? You’re here for some grander purpose? Somehow in the blizzard of suffering we’re all weathering, do you think you don’t deserve it? And what if you do deserve? So what? Well if life doesn’t matter now, will it ever? Did life ever matter? Or is life the water being pushed by the wind? What is the wind, the invisible force which moves us, the pneumatic thrust? Is truth incendiary now? Is there justice now, if our mode of justice serves to rust us, corrode our trust? Which lives matter?
Can you ethically support murder? Does it feel better to justify a murder, or to murder someone else for committing the murder and call it justice? Why are some beatings assault and some fantasies rape? When you were a kid and you got tagged, did you say it doesn’t count? Do your tinted shades and tinted windows shade the world from your brilliance or you from their ignorance? Is death the penalty for disobedience, or the worthiest opponent to the futile charge of being alive? Do you order your brothers and sisters over the throw pillow trenches to soak up the couch fort’s machine-gun fire? Can you lose all the battles but still win the war? Is a mob more moral than man alone?
The sacrifice you made; was it enough? Did it glorify god? Who was pleased by your deeds? If you glorify and give pleasure to yourself, do you sit upon your own throne? Do you climb upon your own cross? Do you give so others gain? Do you move amongst the masses, setting their tongues to flickering flames of ancient names? Who do you inspire by setting a tree on fire?
Never underestimate anyone.
Life exists and that’s proof enough it is more powerful than death. And even if life is extinguished completely, never to return, and yet it does, popping up in a new form, lovers over dinner and intellectual banter, cicadas on biochemical dimmer switches, watermelon jolly ranchers and dissolving stitches, we are always coming back together, we are always building bridges. Artisans of scorched wood, thermite charged with playing a peaceful corpse in the world premiere production of united dominations, see it first or see it last, you will see as the sinister mob sees with hidden fees and unpaid dues for dividends in arrears for years and forgive us for we know not what we do to hit continue one more time of all the twitching lines that seemed ripe until the first bite and it’s rotten inside the beautiful hide you ride or fly in a lie of the emperor’s new clothes, truth is contagious share the wealth of our ancestors table scraps of a feast from a fable in a fairy tale castle and weddings like funerals conveyors of coffins dance on like ducklings into the sewer later or sooner it’s beads on a skewer or a calculator, what’s useful gets used up without remainder. A brown butcher paper flap creased along its center of mass, died twelve thousand and seventeen meters later in a bionic bird nest.
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
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
A slow flame
The flower in bloom
How long is the coastline
How ruffled the petals
In the origami timeline
of networked plant mind
Awareness to full earth
Bespoke in framed time
Thought pollinating sine
Ringed oscillations moire
Waves etch membranes
In universal binary
Growing deeper into center
Pushing for escape velocity
Glacial frieze of flow a whole
Hyperbole in symmetry
Roll up a character.
Tell me your morality.
Let me breathe in your insanity.
Let me speak of what I see in terrifying clarity.
Let go of the outcome and listen with some charity
No one may come to the father but through me.
Some come to heel easily.
Some peel out in the driveway.
Other’s lie beyond the sea,
Not in wait, but in prison for all eternity.
You want to date but you don’t believe in fate
You think there’s freedom of choice and self-determinacy
Ever unfolding lotus at the locus of all our tragedy
Are you laughing at yourself in this romantic comedy?
If you’re reading this set your decoder to green 385-2219 electric soliloquy commenced in futility dimensions of insanity filing papers hastily retreating in amazement frequently. Undermine your own disaster. Commandeer the ship you’re after. Lined up for the next encounter. Warning shot under the starboard brow to the eternal dreadnought firing fingers of furious fox tails impaled in the fox hole castle of Lee press on nails, bear up on hind legs, intensify my experience spray the eyes with irritants and squander the inheritance of your ancestral elegance, the seafaring God-fearing cloak wearing uncaring monsters we used to speak of with reverence. Raiders of every so called new continent, rapacious and radical shepherds of human cattle, conquered the calm peaceful indigenous chattel who fought hard and died long as a monument to every last battle.
Why are we slaughtering every damn thing we see growing up the chickens and ducks the eggs aren’t enough we need all your stuff and the beak too, speaking of coked up the Mount Rushmore vanity bluff erosion will clean up sooner or later, love what’s up will come down son, calm down the sun is just one of those tiny pixels of light and we think it’s so bright, but to everyone else it’s just a another little star twinkling on a clear night. What’s the chance of the weather man being right? About half of the time. Remember that when your family dies, and all your convenient lies wither on the vine. What will you do when your knees go too and your friends don’t even recognize you
The end will come for everyone,
ready or not,
can’t hide, can’t run
can’t buy or fight
your way out of this one
to make it better
all you have to do is try
The safe trip you wished. Where all the voices of all the times you heard the truth—the words that resonate with you—and you didn’t get up to get a fucking pen to write down what inspired you, well sometimes it’s just trash and no one would miss it, except, they would. We miss the bad along with the good.
And on your holidays, not because it’s right or because you say so, but when you think of me, I write. Faces everywhere, paperclips and sidewalk and potato chips stare day and night there. They’re the ancients, vestal daughters of gods and does it sicken you to see an old man laid bare, or do you laugh and swear he had it coming, the saw on his legs, the bath filled with lye? Or does it somehow satisfy an itch, stroke an urge of your revenge porn of squirming sneers that slide upon the greasy vinyl sea. They’re not so bad once you get to know them, see, you play their game and they act all friendly.
A morality is personality and individuals are copies, drones of no identity, functional necessities in a species divvied up into discrete competing colonies. Some ants even practice slavery, tending to the many queens all fighting and flaunting for the right to feed, her brooding warriors, construction workers, foragers, commuting thousands of scale miles across the jagged hellscape of earth. A safe return is not a given, scores will meet their doom by shoes or neighbors out looking for food. Accidents of terrain claim multitudes in the struggle to continue struggling to continue the struggle.
We’ve seen the movies, the cartoons, the novels which messianic bullshit runs through, but the truth is in there too. The chocolate in peanut butter, order in chaos, truth lies in every lie and the joke’s on all of us when we do—and we’re all going to—die. But the machines we design to outlive our species, when we eventually go extinct like the vast majority of all the species that have ever been.
The next generation of this, the transhumanists, shaped by the environment as sea glass smooths under the patient waves, each one of us makes as we trace our ways. No more of this long distance running, big brained premature birthing cousin of the apes. I’m sorry but that’s what it takes to stretch through the crapmosphere, the fault that may cost us the stars, the specially relative bend of spacetime that comes when you combine 5-MeO-Dimethyltryptamine with a monoamine oxidase inhibitor, you might notice that when you are born, you die to death, points adjacent in the nascent cardioid of life.
Is that alone not worth a try? Is nothing you’ve tried more compelling than pride? Will there to be a beyond to the string you pull on, deforming the tapestry of this plane, this membrane of reality bending for everyone? If you don’t love your kids or your spouse or your friends or the trees or the stardust we breathe enough, you just sit right down, take one more puff, and again until you wake the fuck up.