SUMMER 2022
7:22:2022
Once upon a time,
this cliche had never been done before,
and words were strung together
with something even finer than thread.
All of our dread
must not have existed before then:
That's how this operates; isn't it?
If you can't name The Real Thing
then there might as well not be one!
I don't believe in the shame
that comes from worshipping a name,
a holy placeholder.
Who am I to say what's in a name?
A word chants itself,
a seed plants itself,
And I am alive without words all the same.
What gives me my life
is what gives my words meaning:
surroundedness.
Everything that I am not
forces its interpretation onto me,
and the self obliges gladly.
Who am I to disagree?
Once upon a time,
I wasn't alive,
and repetition was brand new,
and every word ever said
was as blind as an ewe,
and whatever there was
was whatever it meant,
and The End.
7:27:2022
I can't say I know who I am
Or even what I'm doing here
I can't say that I understand
How the others see so clearly
what it is that they were put on Earth to do
I can't say what I'm running from
Let alone what I'm running to
Or even what I'm doing here
I can't say that I understand
How the others see so clearly
what it is that they were put on Earth to do
I can't say what I'm running from
Let alone what I'm running to
But I can say "I love you"
I wish I knew just what to say
I wish there was a magic word
I wish that I could wish for three more wishes
Make the whole damn thing feel less absurd,
And isn't that exactly what we're looking for?
I can't say that I want it less
I can't say that I mean it more
And anyway, it's all true
I wish there was a magic word
I wish that I could wish for three more wishes
Make the whole damn thing feel less absurd,
And isn't that exactly what we're looking for?
I can't say that I want it less
I can't say that I mean it more
And anyway, it's all true
'Cause I can say "I love you"
7:30:2022
There is a knowledge or two that existed in me
The moment I was born;
It was encoded into my hardware somewhere,
Pre-programmed reactions to stimuli
That help keep me alive.
No one had to teach me, for example,
To be afraid of scary things.
Where exactly along the line that feeling is
Translated into knowledge, I'm not sure
(Perhaps the feeling is the knowledge);
All I know is that all that I know
Is derived from such feelings,
From the physical reaction
My body has to its environment, and that
Language is a precious stupid miracle of a function
Whose job is to distort these signals.
Confusion is another sort of gnosis:
She tells me more than words could ever put to print
When she furrows my brow:
This is the feeling in which language is born!
When a software dares to contradict its own
hardware— contradict —speak against!
And in this moment, the war has been lost.
Sensation, after all, is ignorant to longform,
Resistant to data encryption,
Designed to fight in a war
That it need not know existed.
Now exists outside of Knowledge, and yet
It is constantly being informed by it.
Knowledge exists outside of Now, and yet
It is constantly being informed by it.
Same for “I” and “Time”!
How strange is the paradox of language!
I carry nothing but this body;
I know nothing but its speech.
The moment I was born;
It was encoded into my hardware somewhere,
Pre-programmed reactions to stimuli
That help keep me alive.
No one had to teach me, for example,
To be afraid of scary things.
Where exactly along the line that feeling is
Translated into knowledge, I'm not sure
(Perhaps the feeling is the knowledge);
All I know is that all that I know
Is derived from such feelings,
From the physical reaction
My body has to its environment, and that
Language is a precious stupid miracle of a function
Whose job is to distort these signals.
Confusion is another sort of gnosis:
She tells me more than words could ever put to print
When she furrows my brow:
This is the feeling in which language is born!
When a software dares to contradict its own
hardware— contradict —speak against!
And in this moment, the war has been lost.
Sensation, after all, is ignorant to longform,
Resistant to data encryption,
Designed to fight in a war
That it need not know existed.
Now exists outside of Knowledge, and yet
It is constantly being informed by it.
Knowledge exists outside of Now, and yet
It is constantly being informed by it.
Same for “I” and “Time”!
How strange is the paradox of language!
I carry nothing but this body;
I know nothing but its speech.
7:30:2022
People have told me that I have command
Over language, as if it is some passive
Thing that I happen to have a knack for
Domesticating.
Let me be clear:
I do not have command over language;
We are in Love.
What many people perceive to be dominion
Feels a lot more like
Surrender, surroundedness—
I am put under the spell of the Almighty Theme,
And the words speak to me
So I return the favor and
Speak for them.
Language is not a beast that I tame;
It is an ocean I drown in,
A leviathan of motion.
The story is constantly telling me,
Bossing me around to make this or that sound,
Do its bidding—
And I oblige to it because,
For lack of better words,
We are in Love.
Over language, as if it is some passive
Thing that I happen to have a knack for
Domesticating.
Let me be clear:
I do not have command over language;
We are in Love.
What many people perceive to be dominion
Feels a lot more like
Surrender, surroundedness—
I am put under the spell of the Almighty Theme,
And the words speak to me
So I return the favor and
Speak for them.
Language is not a beast that I tame;
It is an ocean I drown in,
A leviathan of motion.
The story is constantly telling me,
Bossing me around to make this or that sound,
Do its bidding—
And I oblige to it because,
For lack of better words,
We are in Love.
8:2:2022
There is nothing more ubiquitous
Than water and the trees;
There is nothing more ridiculous
Than time and what it sees
Than water and the trees;
There is nothing more ridiculous
Than time and what it sees
There is nothing more miraculous
Than seconds floating by;
There is not a thing more passionless
Than twilight’s naked sky
Than seconds floating by;
There is not a thing more passionless
Than twilight’s naked sky
There is nothing more insufferable
Than pain I've yet to know;
There’s nothing more unutterable
Than morning’s patient glow
Than pain I've yet to know;
There’s nothing more unutterable
Than morning’s patient glow
There's nothing more vestigial
Than Mind’s attempt to tame;
There's nothing more original
Than Nature’s silent name
Than Mind’s attempt to tame;
There's nothing more original
Than Nature’s silent name
There is nothing more delusory
Than what is left to say:
There's nothing more,
And I'm not sure
Of something anyway
Than what is left to say:
There's nothing more,
And I'm not sure
Of something anyway
8:5:2022
Mourning Doves slice right through me like a butter knife, man—
Slice right through the morning air faster than any other fife can.
The daily Conference of The Birds:
I am God and God is Noun and Noun is Subject and Subject is Object is Subject is Object is subject to object its own subjective objection.
Thirty little birdies who are listening to themselves; who are calling for themselves, who are muses of
themselves:
My ears, my Gratitude, themselves.
If Life had just one meaning,
just one sound—
From the earliest bird to catch the worm
to the worms in my corpse someday
six feet underground—
you would hear
this precious hopeless dove
in a sweet low little coo:
I love you, you—
You.
Slice right through the morning air faster than any other fife can.
The daily Conference of The Birds:
I am God and God is Noun and Noun is Subject and Subject is Object is Subject is Object is subject to object its own subjective objection.
Thirty little birdies who are listening to themselves; who are calling for themselves, who are muses of
themselves:
My ears, my Gratitude, themselves.
If Life had just one meaning,
just one sound—
From the earliest bird to catch the worm
to the worms in my corpse someday
six feet underground—
you would hear
this precious hopeless dove
in a sweet low little coo:
I love you, you—
You.
8:9:2022
Too likely to express a more
Logical predecessor,
A poem
Is the wording obtained illegally
Or by trickery,
The phrase once a proverb:
Sometimes its appearance runs riot.
To have imagination,
Improve each shining hour.
Divine songs
include every opening pursuit.
The term is a group activity,
Popular in the meaning extended.
Will you mean both?
It happens in The Bible
And when they forget.
Logical predecessor,
A poem
Is the wording obtained illegally
Or by trickery,
The phrase once a proverb:
Sometimes its appearance runs riot.
To have imagination,
Improve each shining hour.
Divine songs
include every opening pursuit.
The term is a group activity,
Popular in the meaning extended.
Will you mean both?
It happens in The Bible
And when they forget.
8:9:2022
Give me that language;
I'll need it for later.
You didn't happen in a vacuum.
I am in love with your DNA
that you don't even know you have,
With one of your grandmother's memories
she never got around to telling you.
I'll need it for later.
You didn't happen in a vacuum.
I am in love with your DNA
that you don't even know you have,
With one of your grandmother's memories
she never got around to telling you.
Give me that language;
I'll save it for Peter.
He didn't happen in a chapter.
I am in love with your wiring
or whatever's left of it,
With the blueprint of some powerful representative
who isn't quite ready to tell you.
I'll save it for Peter.
He didn't happen in a chapter.
I am in love with your wiring
or whatever's left of it,
With the blueprint of some powerful representative
who isn't quite ready to tell you.
Give me that language;
I need its understanding—
Every body has a right to belong.
I am in love with the transfer of echoes,
the symptoms growing louder,
With the lineage of our ancient warning:
Patterns I can't seem to tell you.
I need its understanding—
Every body has a right to belong.
I am in love with the transfer of echoes,
the symptoms growing louder,
With the lineage of our ancient warning:
Patterns I can't seem to tell you.
8:11:2022
I remember feeling lost when I was younger. Well, and maybe "lost"
Isn't the right word. I felt
at odds with my skin and the air around it, like there was this
dissonance
between my self and myself
in a physical way.
I wonder back in one way or another about the things that make me who I now am:
what my life might have been like
If I were raised a man,
If I weren't white or tall or abused or loved music and poetry and art
like I was and I do. And I do, Lord, I do.
I remember the moment, too,
when I finally realized
that if I really wanted to be on my own,
to be true, I had to knuckle down
and marry you.
And all of a sudden, the canyon between my and self didn't seem to mind the gap.
All at once, I understood the weight of a promise; the dissonance was because
I couldn't decide.
And so I did what I had to do with my time and my space: I decided
That wherever I was,
It was no place to die.
Isn't the right word. I felt
at odds with my skin and the air around it, like there was this
dissonance
between my self and myself
in a physical way.
I wonder back in one way or another about the things that make me who I now am:
what my life might have been like
If I were raised a man,
If I weren't white or tall or abused or loved music and poetry and art
like I was and I do. And I do, Lord, I do.
I remember the moment, too,
when I finally realized
that if I really wanted to be on my own,
to be true, I had to knuckle down
and marry you.
And all of a sudden, the canyon between my and self didn't seem to mind the gap.
All at once, I understood the weight of a promise; the dissonance was because
I couldn't decide.
And so I did what I had to do with my time and my space: I decided
That wherever I was,
It was no place to die.
8:12:2022
Shaky hands, a full autumn moon no—
Summer, it's still summer; I have time to take time to give time to live.
There isn't a point to what I'm saying;
The point is that I'm saying it.
My fingers can't keep up with me and neither of us knows just quite where we're going, where it's all headed.
I'm heading home; I'll see you next week
Month day year maybe never again,
But I'm seeing you now, and I'm calling the shots, and I don't even know if my eyes will still be around tomorrow to take them. But I'm here, here, here—
Isn't that a beautiful sound?
Or does beautiful sound
too trite to you now?
I know I've been avoiding you lately—
I'm avoiding a million scenarios all of the time, mission improbable, but I still thank the odds and don't care if the string's pulled by Gods; I love you.
Summer, it's still summer; I have time to take time to give time to live.
There isn't a point to what I'm saying;
The point is that I'm saying it.
My fingers can't keep up with me and neither of us knows just quite where we're going, where it's all headed.
I'm heading home; I'll see you next week
Month day year maybe never again,
But I'm seeing you now, and I'm calling the shots, and I don't even know if my eyes will still be around tomorrow to take them. But I'm here, here, here—
Isn't that a beautiful sound?
Or does beautiful sound
too trite to you now?
I know I've been avoiding you lately—
I'm avoiding a million scenarios all of the time, mission improbable, but I still thank the odds and don't care if the string's pulled by Gods; I love you.
8:14:2022
The magnitude of gratitude,
Of gravity's grave reality
Originates outside of me.
Or, at least, that's what I'd like to say—
I must have not been paying mind to Science much those days.
A Mathematician, a Holy Technician,
An Older Tradition, a colder admission.
Warm reception, late guests.
Over-correction, under a rest.
A silence, a pause—
A symptom, a cause— no— projection:
I can only understand
the way the Earth spins
when I'm spinning.
Comprehend the way the world works when I'm winning.
Reprimand the world's worst
since Beginning. I begged
And I begged and I begged to be free.
But gravity must not be through with me,
So I did the hokey pokey
And I wrote another song—
That's why I'm always wrong!
Of gravity's grave reality
Originates outside of me.
Or, at least, that's what I'd like to say—
I must have not been paying mind to Science much those days.
A Mathematician, a Holy Technician,
An Older Tradition, a colder admission.
Warm reception, late guests.
Over-correction, under a rest.
A silence, a pause—
A symptom, a cause— no— projection:
I can only understand
the way the Earth spins
when I'm spinning.
Comprehend the way the world works when I'm winning.
Reprimand the world's worst
since Beginning. I begged
And I begged and I begged to be free.
But gravity must not be through with me,
So I did the hokey pokey
And I wrote another song—
That's why I'm always wrong!
8:16:2022
I blind my sunny eyes
like moth to flame:
A chemical change
with metaphysical range,
a metaphor for meta lore,
the story of stories,
the Great I Am
at the core of all things.
Moth: whatever you've got.
Flame: whatever you know that you're not.
The tension between sets an ironic scene—
Dramatic irony:
the characters are ignorant to audience,
are ignorant to God who set their fates
and to God who can relate.
Some call fate "death",
but whatever it means might depend
on your next breath in,
next breath out.
Filter peace, cast out doubt
and soon you'll find
that a flame to a moth
sees its sunny eyes blind.
8:16:2022
If I am not God realized, I do not realize
that everything is God, and this leaves
enough dissonance for science,
hypothesis, Forces, Constants.
Gravity doesn't need to tell me what its name is,
he shows me by being.
Angels are the blueprint scrambled in your
own mind, implanted behind
A million "True or False" questions
that third things reconcile.
Angels may feel external,
but you are that Third Thing:
you are the arbiter of Truth
because you get to decide what Truth is
when you see it,
means when you feel it—
See? Feel!
To understand, to "see" metaphorically
is for your mind to feel the Truth literally,
to be so surrounded
by that which is same
until same is the only thing left to be.
Angels tug at your heartstrings
because they're really the strings and the tugging—
we just pathologize any force that behaves
irrationally, unpredictably, unexpectedly,
indirectly through me
(until God realizes me fully).
8:19:2022
I tap out of religion
once they tack a number onto virtues,
once they stack another chapter
after the fact of the matter
and don't see the matter
with adding to facts.
once they tack a number onto virtues,
once they stack another chapter
after the fact of the matter
and don't see the matter
with adding to facts.
I tap out of intuition
once it tracks my odds too well-favored,
to the point where
I play my own savior,
double-back on the Now
‘till I can't tell what's safer.
once it tracks my odds too well-favored,
to the point where
I play my own savior,
double-back on the Now
‘till I can't tell what's safer.
I tap out of superstition
once it lacks me my favors,
once I find myself serving
what fear tends to cater
and savoring is edged out by
erratic appraisers.
once it lacks me my favors,
once I find myself serving
what fear tends to cater
and savoring is edged out by
erratic appraisers.
I tap out of tradition
once it slacks so much it wavers,
once it nicks like Occam's Razor,
once it changes my behavior,
'Cause it goes against my
Nature.
once it slacks so much it wavers,
once it nicks like Occam's Razor,
once it changes my behavior,
'Cause it goes against my
Nature.
8:22:2022
I didn't get much sleep last night;
My body wouldn't mind
I opened eyes where darkness lies
to see what I could find
My body wouldn't mind
I opened eyes where darkness lies
to see what I could find
The shadows darted suddenly;
some crawled into my mouth
While others waited patiently
as I breathed in and out
some crawled into my mouth
While others waited patiently
as I breathed in and out
I stared up at the ceiling
as it stared right back at me
then on my side my jaw dropped wide
at walls that ceased to be
as it stared right back at me
then on my side my jaw dropped wide
at walls that ceased to be
I felt myself grow weary
as the day grew into night
Yet there I was— awake because
I couldn't lie just right
as the day grew into night
Yet there I was— awake because
I couldn't lie just right
I tried to count my blessings
count my curses, count my sheep,
but every time a creak or chime
would pull me from the deep
count my curses, count my sheep,
but every time a creak or chime
would pull me from the deep
At witching hour I felt the power
of forces, facts, and laws
they said to me: "just to leave us be;
you'll never know our Cause".
of forces, facts, and laws
they said to me: "just to leave us be;
you'll never know our Cause".
And so I tossed and turned once more
to coax my body still
until I fell asleep last night—
Though much against my will
to coax my body still
until I fell asleep last night—
Though much against my will
The Wise and Gentle Genie
The truest wish I could possibly make
Is “I wish that I always knew just what to say”.
This is my deepest desire:
To communicate
In such a way
That my self is always heard
And that yours is always seen.
I would never again fret
Over what my words mean—
Or my art could say
“Jump!”
And you’d all say
“How high?”
And the sky would know why
I’ve been staring so much;
And my gaze up above
Would tell all the wild doves
How I love their sweet song—
In their own lexicon!
And every single person on this Earth
Would understand how much I love them,
Whoever they are for whatever it’s worth.
And I’d search for a painting, a sound or a verse
That would know how to say
What we secretly already think anyway
Oh, to see It translated
By whatever means needed for us to comprehend!
Is “I wish that I always knew just what to say”.
This is my deepest desire:
To communicate
In such a way
That my self is always heard
And that yours is always seen.
I would never again fret
Over what my words mean—
Or my art could say
“Jump!”
And you’d all say
“How high?”
And the sky would know why
I’ve been staring so much;
And my gaze up above
Would tell all the wild doves
How I love their sweet song—
In their own lexicon!
And every single person on this Earth
Would understand how much I love them,
Whoever they are for whatever it’s worth.
And I’d search for a painting, a sound or a verse
That would know how to say
What we secretly already think anyway
Oh, to see It translated
By whatever means needed for us to comprehend!
And then,
The wise and gentle genie reveals itself
Like an old friend
and it says to me sweetly
The wise and gentle genie reveals itself
Like an old friend
and it says to me sweetly
But this is what Life is doing presently:
Translating Almighty Sight
Into something you can see.
If you always knew just what to say
There’d be no need for speaking.
The knowing comes first—
Then you live The Word by being.
Translating Almighty Sight
Into something you can see.
If you always knew just what to say
There’d be no need for speaking.
The knowing comes first—
Then you live The Word by being.
8:29:2022
Tomorrow, eastward, forth, fast, back, soon, Tuesday.
If you put "she will run"
In front of each of those words, you will see
That they, too, are telling us where or when
or how she will run.
They might answer these questions, but how
is it that we know to ask when, where and how when
"the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog"
contains all that I could ever hope to say, and when
"why" and "how" are really the same question anyway?
What do you say—
and how much do you want for it?
How much of everything can where and when explain?
How can I be sure that this is happening?
Well, because I called it "this"!
time and place only feel separate because
I am too small for it; it's not at all how
when and where would work outside of Here and Now.
Where and when both attempt
to answer How through narrative, and I have spent much of my time
feeding into it.
I'm making a blind investment
in my best approximation's Sunday clothes;
I'm running from time just to run right back into it again later:
tomorrow, eastward, forth, fast, back, soon, Tuesday.
Now always trumps how!
8:30:2022
I am experiencing my self ebb and flow,
Breath come and go,
Death letting me know,
Time telling me so.
What exactly is breathing?
From a bird's-eye-view, it looks like
A state of being— the more inward you zoom, it is clear that the breath is in breathing, sight is in seeing.
A cycle of ups & downs, ins & outs,
Hardware susceptible to hard
wear and tear just like any machine—
Do you reckon machines understand what they mean? Or is that what they do?
Do my lungs understand that they're part of a whole which is part of a whole—
Do you?
What is there left to identify with?
I do not own my body:
I am not my own mind or my heart or my lungs or whatever else could be placed after "my"—
I'm not "I"; you all have one of those;
I am not what "I" thinks or whatever it knows—
I am what?
I am breathing
in and out, in and out, in and out.
I am meaning to
be about, be about, be about.
I am living
within and without,
within and without,
Within and Without.
Breath come and go,
Death letting me know,
Time telling me so.
What exactly is breathing?
From a bird's-eye-view, it looks like
A state of being— the more inward you zoom, it is clear that the breath is in breathing, sight is in seeing.
A cycle of ups & downs, ins & outs,
Hardware susceptible to hard
wear and tear just like any machine—
Do you reckon machines understand what they mean? Or is that what they do?
Do my lungs understand that they're part of a whole which is part of a whole—
Do you?
What is there left to identify with?
I do not own my body:
I am not my own mind or my heart or my lungs or whatever else could be placed after "my"—
I'm not "I"; you all have one of those;
I am not what "I" thinks or whatever it knows—
I am what?
I am breathing
in and out, in and out, in and out.
I am meaning to
be about, be about, be about.
I am living
within and without,
within and without,
Within and Without.
At Witching Hour
(9:7:2022)
(9:7:2022)
At witching hour, I can see
Death so clearly; He
Tells me who I am and what I was and
Who I someday will be. Sometimes,
I worship Him for blessing me
With focal points. For now,
I am a user—
Milking life for all its vigor. Maybe
Later, Death will use me
For my Emptiness Almighty,
And I will serve Creation
As Creation has served me.
I am defined by whatever I'm not
Just as much as I am what I am, because
Both inform me:
I find my impression imprinted
In the space around me and in all that I see.
For now, I believe that
I am alive, and that Life describes me:
Death is not something that I can relate to—
Not really.
At witching hour,
I only see Him clearly
thanks to Life’s impression
Informing Him so starkly.
Death so clearly; He
Tells me who I am and what I was and
Who I someday will be. Sometimes,
I worship Him for blessing me
With focal points. For now,
I am a user—
Milking life for all its vigor. Maybe
Later, Death will use me
For my Emptiness Almighty,
And I will serve Creation
As Creation has served me.
I am defined by whatever I'm not
Just as much as I am what I am, because
Both inform me:
I find my impression imprinted
In the space around me and in all that I see.
For now, I believe that
I am alive, and that Life describes me:
Death is not something that I can relate to—
Not really.
At witching hour,
I only see Him clearly
thanks to Life’s impression
Informing Him so starkly.
9:9:2022
I’m beginning to think that everything is nonfiction.
Say you’re telling a story
About characters and settings that don’t exist
“In the real world”, whatever that means—
Through your setting a scene, they are seen!
How could you comment on something unreal;
What does that even mean?
Your characters and settings
Are all true:
Imperfectly rendered, irreparably you.
There is nothing you could say or do
That doesn’t draw from the things that have
Happened to you.
You are the filter, the author:
These words are all synonyms for your name.
God is literally speaking through you!
Your actions are God’s declarations—
And if God can say it, so can you!
If you can say it, then it’s true.
If you don’t mean it, shame on you!
This is why words carry power:
Whatever you manage to get down on paper
Or say out loud literally, physically
Changes the world.
If I say “I’m thankful”, I am.
If I say “I love you”, I do.
God is telling a story
Who’s telling its own story, too—
It’s an audience of one,
The best out of three
And a story for two.
And the moment you’ve
said everything’s when
Everything is
True!
Say you’re telling a story
About characters and settings that don’t exist
“In the real world”, whatever that means—
Through your setting a scene, they are seen!
How could you comment on something unreal;
What does that even mean?
Your characters and settings
Are all true:
Imperfectly rendered, irreparably you.
There is nothing you could say or do
That doesn’t draw from the things that have
Happened to you.
You are the filter, the author:
These words are all synonyms for your name.
God is literally speaking through you!
Your actions are God’s declarations—
And if God can say it, so can you!
If you can say it, then it’s true.
If you don’t mean it, shame on you!
This is why words carry power:
Whatever you manage to get down on paper
Or say out loud literally, physically
Changes the world.
If I say “I’m thankful”, I am.
If I say “I love you”, I do.
God is telling a story
Who’s telling its own story, too—
It’s an audience of one,
The best out of three
And a story for two.
And the moment you’ve
said everything’s when
Everything is
True!
9:15:2022
The birds all skipped town yesterday.
Well, all the birds save the crows, I suppose.
I guess that makes them locals:
Settling right where they are for the winter,
Settling on down,
Settling.
There is a certain wisdom to be found in settling.
Crows are one of the more intelligent birds,
After all: they are omens that very few heed,
They collect shiny things same as me.
I will say, it’s much quieter around;
Neither flora nor fauna seem up to
Replacing their summery sound.
Still, the absence itself sings its own kind of tune,
Though much harder to follow
than songbirds in June.
The sun beats down on my head like
The dead of July— but the birds and I,
we know better.
We can feel the air constricting,
Hear the trees celebrating another great season,
Twitch and itch with the urge to ditch
This small town— only I will stay put
And the rest will fly down
Save the crows. Crows don’t treat me so kindly;
They see right through my antics
And don’t care where I’ve been
Or where I’m going like a seasoned bartender who coaxes me back to my vices.
Another year gone, another year more and I Swear, I will close my damn tab out for good,
Leave all that glitters behind
for the crows to sift through
And skip town like I always hoped I would.
9:20:2022
Once upon a time, there was a story in need of telling. This is a story in which Time and Place had not yet found their bearings; Time cycled sloppily through Place, and Place relied on Time to do anything. Because of this, the two resented each other. Both of them longed to be free of the other, but freedom, apparently, was neither a time nor a place, so it didn’t describe them, so they couldn't be free.
“Story”, they cried out in unison, “why can’t we be free from one another; why can’t we be free?” And to that, The Story answered sweetly:
“My children, freedom belongs to the One who writes and reads, to the One who invented our slavery. It’s true— you two are shackled together to satisfy an Almighty Need; you exist to tell Me so that God feels less lonely. On your own, Time, there is nothing for you to be. Without Time, Place, there is no way for you to be. Place, free is a Time you can be! Time, Place is a means to be free!”
“I understand,” they replied, though, through only one voice. “Freedom’s a choice that I make within me! I set up the Story, and the Story sets me free! And even at the Story’s end, God will live after Ever happily!”
“Story”, they cried out in unison, “why can’t we be free from one another; why can’t we be free?” And to that, The Story answered sweetly:
“My children, freedom belongs to the One who writes and reads, to the One who invented our slavery. It’s true— you two are shackled together to satisfy an Almighty Need; you exist to tell Me so that God feels less lonely. On your own, Time, there is nothing for you to be. Without Time, Place, there is no way for you to be. Place, free is a Time you can be! Time, Place is a means to be free!”
“I understand,” they replied, though, through only one voice. “Freedom’s a choice that I make within me! I set up the Story, and the Story sets me free! And even at the Story’s end, God will live after Ever happily!”
Through One’s own senseless love and One’s own careful grief, the narration was told, and God sighed with relief. And God did, so I'm told, linger on after Ever— quite happily.
9:3:2022
I keep reading into things and calling them omens,
Keep feeding into sights and sounds
Like casino tokens,
Keep leaning into stories that are better left unspoken.
How would I know, then?
I only know them once they've proven potion;
I'm just the spokesman endorsing another man’s
product/review.
There's always more to know know no,
I couldn't know that; you can't make me know.
And no one ever puts their hand on my shoulder because
I never let them beat me to my own—
My heart beats me and Mama home, you know?
Neither of us live there, but we've heard of the place,
seen it ripple like campfire on somebody's face.
I couldn't say how long for you've been here
nor low long you've been watching, but maybe
I should let somebody else win for a change.
What does it mean to be a winner?
Well, how far am I willing to lean in
To the meaning of things?
Keep feeding into sights and sounds
Like casino tokens,
Keep leaning into stories that are better left unspoken.
How would I know, then?
I only know them once they've proven potion;
I'm just the spokesman endorsing another man’s
product/review.
There's always more to know know no,
I couldn't know that; you can't make me know.
And no one ever puts their hand on my shoulder because
I never let them beat me to my own—
My heart beats me and Mama home, you know?
Neither of us live there, but we've heard of the place,
seen it ripple like campfire on somebody's face.
I couldn't say how long for you've been here
nor low long you've been watching, but maybe
I should let somebody else win for a change.
What does it mean to be a winner?
Well, how far am I willing to lean in
To the meaning of things?
9:21:2022
Gravity has been falling on me
a little bit differently lately;
It's been hitting me at funny angles
and now I don't feel so parallel these days.
Now, weather that's good or bad,
I couldn't say— it was never my place;
I'm a place holder. Space once told me
"You haven't been shading me right:
To understand shadow is
to comprehend light."
Is that right? Or is emptiness
something that nothing can say?
I know days need their night
and that might sound alright if you plan
on almighty poetry saving the day,
but I don't— and I can't have it
any other way than
straight up must come down side questions
I can't even define, let alone co-sign?
You don't want to believe me? Fine!
I don't need belief anymore than
Gravity needs me, believe you— me!
Gravity hurts heavy like breath
that can't breathe you,
threats that can't preach you,
death that can't teach you.
a little bit differently lately;
It's been hitting me at funny angles
and now I don't feel so parallel these days.
Now, weather that's good or bad,
I couldn't say— it was never my place;
I'm a place holder. Space once told me
"You haven't been shading me right:
To understand shadow is
to comprehend light."
Is that right? Or is emptiness
something that nothing can say?
I know days need their night
and that might sound alright if you plan
on almighty poetry saving the day,
but I don't— and I can't have it
any other way than
straight up must come down side questions
I can't even define, let alone co-sign?
You don't want to believe me? Fine!
I don't need belief anymore than
Gravity needs me, believe you— me!
Gravity hurts heavy like breath
that can't breathe you,
threats that can't preach you,
death that can't teach you.