The End of the World

The veiled one replied,

And who wouldn’t be proud of me?

An atmosphere of polka dots of

Light bent on gravitational waves

Within a vast ineffable folded space

Some degrees north of an asteroid

Belt held her nebulae in place

Beneath a sulfuric acid sky.

There is no weave, no hue devised

What can hide divine form from the mind.

Even the deepest blackest masses

Yield their truth with backstage passes 

All in their own due time.

It’s just a little ways

I said to make the 6:58.

Stopped once along the way by

Stutter steps and heavy breath 

With diesel passing on the left.

Three chums into the boxy whale 

Before I scarce could catch its tail

And mouth agape it kindly waits

To catch me in the baleen seats

Along its windowed flanks

Only to spit me out about 

Twenty-some odd times a week.

Been awake awhile now

While most are still asleep. 

I could regret about everything

But I haven’t got the time.

I’m not the strongest link

The weakest or the richest soil

To grow a crop of human

If you hold on to your pride,

My name is gratitude,

I will remember you.

How to feel better about your mistakes, today!

Fix them!


Just kidding. You can’t, and you never will.


That said, it could have been so much worse. Every mistake is a Wikipedia entry. You can edit it to suit your short term motivations but scrupulous and admirable individuals will spot it like a Canal Street Guchi or Parada. Learn from the mistakes of your younger self. You’ll find a direct approach to wisdom through humility.

If anyone tells you they know what’s going to happen or says “Here’s the reason why…” doesn’t approximate a semblance of an authority on why anything at all has happened, or from what impenetrable dark comes the whole of our experiences in a continual present, and into what inscrutable darkness of the eternal future does your nowness evaporate?

I don’t know, maybe. We’ll see, or won’t we? Shake the magic 8-ball inside the inky mind. That’s all anyone has to offer, a tired old trick a last dollar winning scratch off jackpot of another scratch off ticket. Everyone can play the numbers maybe win a bit, by bit and byte and batch and buy a try again a whole life later. Maybe sooner, stay tuned, keep this channel up and over.

What is your point?

What do you mean?

Why do you happen to be?

Your purpose as a human being? Not just a job or a calling or a career or an idea. Your overall purpose in a timeline encompassing all of human history? If the species you are born into lives any longer than you do, what will they do? How will they live?

How will our species go extinct, like any of billions of other species. Not just individual DNA, heritable traits, behavioral episodes that can be syndicated rerun shows. What will they think of our music tastes, our hairstyles, our fashion plates.

Will pillars of carved limestone hype Yeezus or will the Cult of Madonna reign?

Will we be looked upon as a time of shame? Is this the slavery of our grandchildren’s day? Is there yet another war of our world to come and wipe us off it? Maybe the flood. There’ve been asteroids and climate changes, we didn’t die yet but give it time. 

A film strip, a living crystal, towering into the future. What are the fissures between us, the shear lines, the mineral inclusions? Why are we arguing about such trivial things? Why are there no sufficient medical advances that can keep us from killing ourselves? Why do we still apply lethal force to prove a point? 

Are we not yet evolved to move objects with our minds? Create the world we want to live in, instead of destroying the one we’re still living in, still just surviving, every one of us. What do any of the titles matter, who do the categories serve?

I don’t know much in comparison to what there is to know, but I know some stuff you don’t. You know some stuff I don’t. Let’s trade in experiential gold. Are we here to reach each other or to get away from each other? Are we just reaping fields of friends? 

We don’t know how we got this way, or what we’re here to do. All our words are fictions, but they’re real like tools. A tool is a representation of its activity; how do you do? So let it be written, so let it be done. 

I’ve Been So Wrong

in truth i’ve been right too
i have some clue what’s going on
and we all do, by the word we share
a case for liberty we bear on high
through the existential mire
but i am half a human trapped in
wrapped around another halfling
one foot to move upon the stream
one hand to sail the current flow
one eye to see the way the wind blows
grafted hips, heart and tongue
grown together two in one
sympathetic symbiotic stem cellularity
developmental psychology it seems
presents conclusive evidence in reams
we live in the time of invisible mind
a separate experience like bubbles
curvatures in space-time literally
narrative explains so much to me
that characters are created as we
create ourselves in voluminous waves
tsunamis and ripples and iceberg alike
the spectrum of water is different same
mercy for everyone of us by name
the nameless shameless bliss
my faltering courage time and again
did cause me miss heady heavens aplenty
paws whose thorns were too deep stuck

to speak freely
i’m thankful, sorry and happy to be
is there something you need tell me
i want to help make more of us
more love of wisdom, moderation,
courage and some other things
i learned from you embrace the strange
and from you to always tell the truth
i learned from everybody something
and every word, gesture, chapter, verse
if only we can be kind and temperate
let not justice become justification
by the blinding power of the word
michael’s flaming sword come down
between this and that, then and now
judgement of the monsters in our dark
we persecute ourselves for saying, ow
stubbed toes to amputated souls
the scale of convoluted tones
of which all melodies are formed
emotional topographic modeling
made possible with quantum computing
something like collective thinking
distributed integrated circuits
in static free clean rooms
some of us in red splotched rubble
nuclear submarines and canoes coexist
the delicate hand is in every fist
given birth to your favorite kiss
the real love we all deserve is this
that we are all in one big clan
the woman and man, the fox and hare
the blind and the stark raving mad
the rocks and the waves crashing
the age of cloud intelligence
crystalline plumes in atmosphere
the mountains made sand made plants
transhuman androgyne watch the dance
black growths on a tree branch
bird of curiosity, memory and loyalty
what one knows, all soon know

listen to the crows
we’ve done worse but we can do better
spirit retained in law
though it fail by the letter
calling out for help
offering gifts and wonders
hungry for anything that breathes
and lay a healing hand in harm
squatting in the rain we feed
that one must pay and bleed for
my need for the force of deed
and yet the word has not been heard
it is not agreed that we heed
parallel processors at clock speed
organic computing livestock are we
do not enact violence
do not remain silent
to speak but not judge
to listen completely
for what can be done in love.