going down hard in the pivotal hour with vigor spunk
hard in the paint
grinding the organ into a fine powder

a thrust, a crisp gust in the air
now cropdusting the room

inhale deep into your lungs
so deep, solo, it’s at the bottom
coated at the core

nose burning, eyes watering, relief overload
you’ll want it again & again

Love Is Noise (The Hallway Tale)

Rumor has it there is a secret so mysterious, curiosity was created on the spot when the first sight of an entrance to a vault deep in the bowels in the House of The Holy came about. The House of The Holy, crafted by a Creature that didn’t like to live alone.

A lantern held above one’s head will illuminate a sign saying The Corridors of Actuality.

Once, a prince from a nation faraway traversed through the maze of rooms, above the prince’s level of comprehension, above any level.

He first came to a door with a thick rusted padlock with the word


tried as he might to open, the door would barely budge an inch. Except, daddy longlegs breathed out from between the door’s thin cracks with each attempted push, as if he were giving it CPR, until the spiders busted the frame open and the lock flying off against the wall. Didn’t get much better from the there.

The next door had no sign written across the front and wasn’t closed completely. It was cracked open a smidgen, a faint glow of a putrid green peers through as inviting as it can be. Scrawled in an off-white crayon in every dark room was one word:


He entered the next. Here, he got lost going through this one for a quite some time as he couldn’t keep track of it, it had no bearing on his actions. So much time in this hallway…he hasn’t been seen by the outside world since.

On the floor in one of the rooms in that corridor, cracked glass and smudged lines, a sign with the barely legible word:

L   (   S    T

Corridor after corridor, the trip would have continued, each one vastly different from the previous. If he is able to make it out some day, he would reach the door marked:

Vexed & Hexed

Just to have to pick between corridors Fear and Pain

There is apparently a corridor beyond these two, a seventh door of highly questionable ambiguity, some speculating of it being a never ending repeat of the two some emotions. Some say the corridor has rooms harboring brand spanking new emotions humans have yet to experience -either positively or in a negative light- and some doubt it’s existence at all.

Little is known beyond the fifth room, those who may have traversed through them all have yet to return to tell anyone or chose to keep it to themselves.

There’d better be a damned good reward hiding underneath all of that.

Consider that if you ever decide to travel it yourself.

For You Are A Prince

rise rise rise
like the moon in the night
rah rah rise
warrior queen dancing through a fight

rise rise rise
scream amaroidal nothings into the void
rah rah rise
like a banshee, then prance far away

rise rise rise
Your everlasting now is coming ’round
rah rah rise
Don’t let nobody turn you down

rise rise rise
you’re not Sigmund fucking Freud
rah rah rise
don’t waste time interrogating the grey

Rise Rise Rise

from this day forth
question everything except your abilities
do declare and be forthright
‘I am a prince’
who prances at night

rah rah


The way up The Ladder
is paved with malnutrition
false convictions and
anonymous participants

The way down
wouldn’t take you for
anything & doesn’t seem
nearly as sweet post-
the way up

0 mph

Are you uncomfortable?

Do your bones poke your skin from the inside and you’re aware of it 24/7? Have you bitten the tip of your tongue off when suppressing a rage no one should see, no matter how much it’s deserved? Been touched inappropriately by an ape in a pinstripe suit? Have you stopped giving a baboon’s red rectum about much?

How many cases labelled as “tragedies”; how many tragedies with the exact same circumstances need to happen around the world before someone calls these tragedies out for being the blatantly prolonged purposeful travesty that it is?

[can u relate]

Pop Quiz: What on Earth is more dangerous than a human being? Write your response below with a #2 pencil. [Go on, I’ll wait, there’s plenty of time.]
Nervousness, anxiousness…are you psychosocial dysfunction in motion?

Control is a false sense. The only thing one can control is their actions, and even that’s not 100% true. Everything, every sense of control, is deception.

Does cement feel like blades of grass under your feet? Do the names of colors not make sense to you anymore? Have you broken a cigarette upon taking it out of the pack and found yourself on the verge of hysterics? Has The Fear been dulled down into The Familiar?

[Don’t even talk to me unless you see the moon during the day, and the sun at night]

If you answered yes to any of these questions, you are on the fast track towards success!


2016: A Space Oddity [part 4]

Zoom back in a bit more, back towards what’s known as a grounded reality. It is entirely possible to see the hand of God allowing underfed birds to peck seedlings from the palm or slapping a minor across the face for using teeth.
Crystal skulls raining down from cumulus clouds, moisturizing the fairy air further, whistling tunes of days of past. Tunes of woes unto those whom confuse tradition for sacredness, praising sacrilege.

This sort of psalm, broadcasts 24/7 around the world, and can be easily tuned into without any sort of electrical device.
Figuring out which station is which is the difficult part, so all sources must be subjected to extreme scrutiny…

I notice I seem to be standing on what feels like solid ground and look down at my feet. I’m surprised not to see smoothed cement but nothing.

Still lost in some region of deep space. The nebulae and galaxies more like splotches of paint thrown at a canvas like one of Pollock’s masterpieces. The ‘paint’, however, is still wet. Dripping from their splat of origin, technicolor spider veins branching out onto the blank excess of nothing. The runoff trickles down on the proverbial floor I stand on, beginning to puddle at my feet.

Celestial bodies surround me, seeming to be within arm’s reach, but millions of light years away.

Reality is quite the optical illusion.


Like a scene extra without clear direction
bobbing & bitching in the background 

Like an actor chasing after the gilded idol
chewing on scenery

Like an in over his head director
flossing with fish vertebrae

Like a pissed off fuming costar stuck in traffic
lagging the at the intersection

Like a stand-in off his mark
cutting the frame rate in half

Like an understudy applying stage make up
glitchin’ the motherboard a new one

Like the executives after production
basking in the afterglow

Real Folk Blues

gazing up at the clouds lightly toasted by the clement glow of gaseousness
wondering exactly when the warmness was replaced by a doppelganger
willowy silhouettes veiled in the reaper’s cloth,
shadows with a flashlight,
causing the familiar to be an alien nation

Stage V

All things are transitory. All things must pass. Attachments whether to material possessions, to people, to places to name, are futile. Despite your clinging, these things will fade away.
-Hari Kunzru

And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Nothing in your life at any given moment comes with a lifetime guarantee. We’ve all heard a variation of this at least a thousand and four times before.

Being alive means feeling uncomfortable a minimum of 80% of the time. Being uncomfortable can mean growth, percentage remains uncertain.

The interesting thing is that it’s not always clear when it’s growth or just strife for the sake of strife.

Which brings this to an uncomfortable close.

It’s difficult to speculate about something you do not understand, the same way you can not have emotions for someone you’ve never met.

When engaged in the present, each moment is brand new and is open to an infinite amount of possibilities. A meteorite could hit the White House. I could spontaneously combust. Half-dollar coins could rain from the sky. All possible. The likelihood of the events are irrelevent.

Are the things I fear the most the things I secretly want?

Again, it’s difficult to speculate about something you do not understand.

Thrive today. Worry about tomorrow later.