Friday, April 14, 2017


This wonderful spark of life
At her worst she's better than anything I could be
She gives me strength and order
She is everything I want to be
I want to be better than her

She must have mountains of strength and she has her extraordinary tools
She has everything I want and she does not know it
I want to be better than her

Catch a draft and I'm spinning now, I'm spinning so fast, I want to be closer
She latches on, I'm slowing, I am the Earth
Not to me, not to anybody
I'm so close to her
I need to be better

I am the image of stasis.
I am all.
This moment of clarity is timeless.
This moment birthed love.
This moment is Gaia.
This is everything forever.


Monday, September 29, 2014

I could die in your coil
I would finally feel

You hide me so well
You drown my demons in drink

I love you before I know what love is

I have become


Friday, August 29, 2014

I long for that feeling, to not feel at all.


Thursday, August 07, 2014

Penny Crush Parade

The machine is dying.
The machine is on fire.
Hurtling in no direction.
Metal bled, create the past.

Someone jam the wheels. 
Take down the sails.
If I had the means.
Had I the gall.
To steer, that which can't be stopped.

Let us await.
Await the hour.
Maybe I'll have it in me. 

After all. 


Wednesday, July 02, 2014

"The life of this world is only the enjoyment of deception (3:185)"

The monotheistic doctrines of this world are the real deception. Courtesy of the Church and the Mosque.

Saturday, May 31, 2014

A Prayer

When it's time to fall,
Let the ground catch me

When the lights are out,
Let the momentum survive

If the waters break,
Give me buoyancy

When I'm not as translucent as I hope I'd be
I am The Comedian

When I fade away
Lord give me strength.
For I am the unloved.


Tuesday, May 27, 2014

God pulled the plug.

Mother nature and the nature of man conflict.
Warm, humming wires and whirring cogs now frozen still.
Once occupied minds, now desperately try and grasp on to anything.
Anything even remotely reminiscent of a few hours ago.
The soft hum of spinning fans would be a delight.
A reassuring reminder that even though my conscious self is occupied, things are working.
I do not remember the last time I picked up a pen.
Already my fingers have begun to ache.
Have I really filled out half a page?

If there really is a Hell, and we're living it,
then this must be purgatory.
Whatever I am writing right now has no purpose.
I haven't decided why I even began.
Maybe I'm bored.
Maybe I wanted to make use of however much sunlight I have left.
Maybe I'm remembering my life at a much simpler time.