Here, this is us. Essayists, triers and tempters of both fate and our selves. Trust fund brats and usurpers of brother’s birthright. Despite the news of the end of the world we walk on steady earth. She does not wobble—and if she spoils, we revel in her grapes and sing the songs of sailors and[…]

A voice creates, rattling the dirt into self-knowledge. Then one day the dirt speaks too.That Adam, dirt-man responds to God in His own tongue is the miracle in GenisisHis voice meagerly rattles with puberty.A back-talking primate born in rebuttal.”…and whoever is born after him, for the sake of this deed he will belong to a[…]

We men once tempted by the thrill of the hunt of the red kill and what it meantSedated by freedom — freedom and fakery by red dripping plasticLions fed for obeisance free steak in exchange for freedom indeed we’ve been built a wide cageBrilliant Jews – and their lessers copiously note-making our paths “he likes[…]

sacrifice while you can, for you are fated; either to a heavy cross, carried but chosen, or a light grave of belated burdens with no time to make good.

How might this really end, this endless desire? Do you doubt the limitless want of the gods within—to live eternally in the pleasure of the present? I would count that foolish. And a god of this very sort comes promising “rest” —we do not want it. We’d rather agony if agony promises, however remotely, this[…]

Can he yet be saved, this sugar-addled addict? We feed the mass man as we do the herd from which he eats—the corpophagic masses. And that hungry mental organ? What does it know, too, but its diet: sui generis foie gras—the cognitive animal produces its own feed. Mouth to mouth, slave to slave, “truth” to[…]

this stubborn pride seems to lord over me must I take these losses to the grave? must they be my name and dress? “you’ve done it once and for all marked now for misery and meager” he calls before God with each mourning sun “that soul of yours rid yourself its burden! —here, I’ll take[…]

Did I miss it, the point of life? falling for that big lie and loving it—love? If I skipped the heartbreaks, the silent monotone misery, traded for silence and monism, was this such a terrible trade? Sure, I’ll have robbed another of lightened load, buying enlightenment instead. And if I acquired that sacred host, with[…]

What about a writer so good he wrote a character he couldn’t erase?; one who refused either end of the pencil; every grain of graphite lain bent a little his way, gathered in the gravity of ages—of sages and stories? What about a zealot mad for pain and by it? Like fated lovers one dancing,[…]

a busy world counts the need for peace evil, quietude ignorance, room for presence starvation how can a man pursue “Oneness in Being with the Father” whilst the chop surrounds his sinking head, a threat to breath, to aspiration—to spirit? at every moment he is expiring, dark banal currents tow him downward to nothing Leviathan’s[…]

When you’ve killed off all your unbelievers and all tongues and jaws wag ‘rightly” what world will you have wrought? a heaven stacked of bodied bricks? temples of rank offering fearful compliance sans love, sans reliance souls racked and taut not surrendered, not faithfully purchased But you’ll do it—make hell for lack of facing despair[…]

I will not be brave every day, nor even very many days. But of those rare ones I will make fire. Some men and times are born pregnant with courage, it is irrefutable in them and they each have no cause to conscience its abortion—it has been coming and they, each a bearer and comer[…]

I will not be brave every day—nor even very many days. But of those rare ones I will make hay. Some men and times are born pregnant with courage, it is irrefutable in them and they, each, have no cause to conscience its abortion — it has been coming and they, each a bearer and[…]

man dancer upon his own dirt unbeliever in his gods seemingly without recourse but he has misconceived of their flight as though they’ve absconded at his bluffs instead they hide now within him; through his feet they stomp in his throat they wail surprised at his creative hand man, the dirty puppet convinced he’s a[…]

The bright flight seared —smeared— the ink that stained my browned body. Coordinates skewed lat for long, feathers darkened. Yellow and sharp, beak now cute and rounding. Talons remain but feathers black now for night’s plunging stead of day, and eyes to match—keen machined fine instruments turned black fat saucers, hungry dinner plates. “What creature[…]

Why ‘Isis’ for a group’s name who leverages terror? Behind her veil, Nature’s honesty: virtue alone will not do in this world. If men are agents of god, meant to order, to subdue, then our business is order, subduction—even of our fellow man. What does order demand but nature’s own truth? Terror, chaos—these subdue man[…]

destroy beauty in the name of safety confidence in the name of surety agency in the name of equality self in the name of other hide the man from his instincts give him something static and sure drown him in lust and call it love denigrate his gods replace them with passions and you’ll have[…]

A prophet walks into a bar and sings a hymn “I have good news, weary friends.” the drunken gods all roll their eyes ’round to hear “The almighty—he has need of your sorrows!” ‘finally, a song worth singing,’ one cries “A love, a guilt, a melody, the crying babe and laughing pauper, the sin-lover in[…]

how might love win in an evil world? does hate not also have its hopes? who is measure of good but victor? must not love be a lion?

I have heard it said, “hope is a beggar,” as if hope were hopeless and the beggar poor but if he begs, he begs of us a kindness; a gift to the poor in spirit and if he hopes from us his daily bread, then mana he feeds our hungry souls What is a beggar[…]

“How could a good god conscience such evils as men?” —Do you not also write in pleasure from pain? Now for the claim: “He is in you,” and “in your heart!” —Do you not also do evil in good’s own name? Yes dears, that is where he dwells A resounding “Yes, and!” I proffer; Your[…]

Do you mean to rule them? Indulge their somatic senses—feed the animal its endless fill. Make of him a beast by endless feast, then build him a pen. Fill him too with fear: absolute ambivalence; in ecstatic fervor cometh his messiah. Now offer this fattened frightened faggot the binding fist, power to his feminine frivolity—he[…]

-or – “People do not have ideas” An idea is atemporal, and as such, has the capacity to become eternal. Most ideas are derivative, but some are fundamental. The more parsimonious between its possessers, the more fundamental an idea necessarily is; the more fundamental, the more eternal. Ideas resonate in the abstract —in the aether[…]

A Chiasmic Cavalcade and Calamity I’ve learned your habit of weed I keep it in my ear I’ve loved and lost And shrugged and tossed I have found my way indeed Through weed, that is, my dear Waste and haste besought and ground me Bones they do adhere But spirit rides the crashing tides Eternal[…]

There is nothing more to say. I’ve not a thing more to add. We’ve made our warnings and drawn our lines. Feeble old men feign leadership and we believe their haircuts––the sloganeers and television artists. We could have been great. Triumphant lovers and heroes-of-yore-come-modern body of god unto man––unto herself; hand holders, yellow flower pickers[…]

For the praise of men. We get high on hierarchy. Higher still on the laud of women, laudanum. High atop the shoulders of the dumb masses, amassing clout, above our betters, the working bodies, the machine of mankind busy writing his story, history. We forget the magic, the poem, the ink in our pens, and[…]

May we forgive our brothers, and ourselves the rhythm of the night. May we seek the day, the deus––the light.

Perhaps oneness is the orgasmic enticement of god experiencing his self reflection through two consciousnesses that are both him—consciousness itself folding in, bliss to the body, ancient life energy crackling across the synapses of our minds. This is why the French call it the ‘little death,’ the ecstasy of orgasm, and Shakespeare, ‘to die.’ Universal[…]

The only rule the Catholic Church should have is that the pope be a dyed in the wool artist. The pope’s real name is Pontifex: “bridge maker.” He holds the férula to represent the leadership of the tribe via the symbolic stick (the tree of life in man’s hand) connecting the great Above to the[…]

Enslave yourselves. Become masters over your instincts, and martyrs to yourselves. Find clever ways to route your uproarious demons who demand satiating, into pleasure traps of productivity and personal-communal gain. Transmute your desires into unreasonable acts of outlandry in colorful expression. Practice the dark arts and tantra. Enslave yourselves or you will be enslaved by[…]

To subdue the earth is akin to knowing it. To seek knowledge is to seek the subduction of the earth and all her secrets, our environment, in every way, in every material, and in every concept and contrivance of man—in man himself. To subdue the earth, god’s mandate (or man’s excuse for his rabid, oft’[…]

Isn’t that the truth of the fateful burden of great men—to have fatal flaws, to inevitably fall short of his ideals? There are both glory and sadness in self-directed ambition. Tony Stark has his pride, Superman, kryptonite, et al… It’s more hopeful to see a flawed hero than an idol—the former you can emulate, the[…]

The ruler sets the rules. He rules over his fellow by the rule, the ruler, measurement of men and their deeds, their work, their time at tension, where and how they ply their attention, the labor to which they are cursed as the conscious animal, the animal that blushes and needs to—at his shame for[…]

Prophets are incompatible with Profit. Jesus was a non-GAAP compliant trading partner, offering bad currency in a game who’s mechanics are built on sacrifice and payments. Thus we had to kill him to make him understand: “We don’t do ‘free’ here on earth, bro.” We made a payment of him. “This we do in remembrance,”[…]

A church of dimes I begin. A dime at the door, the exact replica of the tithe, the tenth. Kataboles placed in the epitomic dish, above it the only righteous sign to hang reads “change.” Business first, then you get your salve, your salvation. Yes then I blaspheme for an hour. A rant of consciousness,[…]

The choice of someone who deeply understands man’s consciousness via its orientation toward time, is the man who once argued to another “look, we will feel guilty if we are late, and so the alarm in the iPhone must be programmed to trigger again at the ninth minute hence, and this will reconcile him to[…]

Can there be any fun without violence? If we become peaceful will we not also resent our sublimation to all? Will our resentment not turn to hate, and our hate to some trick? Violence! Untempered wrath. Only then can a cooling occur. Lightning must strike to dissipate. Our consciousness is subject, and with her come[…]

“I don’t know. I’ll ask the boss.” What an inane response to offer to a simple compatriotic scheduling request from one man to another. This man’s abdication accompanies not a sheepish grin, but a shadowy one. His greedy shadow is ‘getting away with” one of its perverse indulgences: that of the small conveniences abstracted by[…]

Modern man refuses the science of etymology when it shows him what is intuitively obvious to his cognition: words are symbols constellated in the mind. The constellations are at bottom precise, but constellated differently, though similarly in each mind. Their lack of document-ability is at once his frustration and aversion to the superposition of symbols[…]

Politics implies governance—to govern, to limit, to constrain, restrict absolute impulse-driven animalic instinctual behavior of, and over, the polity—the whole body politic, everybody, every body: to restrict by law everyone according to Capitalism benefits best via atheism—for a time, anyhow. The orientation of capital toward god and the conflation of the two is as old[…]

How many years separate us from the feebleness of our grandfathers—how many days? How many moments of youthful glory are left in our bones—how many leaps in our legs? We are our fragile fathers. We are their youth, their second leaping. We are their spirit, living beyond their short days. And our sons, the same,[…]

Knowledge is entropic, belief it’s thinning warp and woof, gravity, our fearful pull at the threads of the universe, and time, our nostalgia for its childhood myths written in stained symbol upon an old blanket which no longer warms us, but, like life itself, we are loathe to let go.

As God is diminished further by science, as the sacred is dissected further into the profane and as the redemptive, restorative value of the violence done to the scapegoat, the peace of brotherhood brokered in the meaning making mana poured out in his symbolic blood further loses its potency, what are we meaning making beings[…]

Discovery is the domain of science: developing the secrets enveloped by Mother Nature via the consciousness mechanism of the being blessed and cursed to view the world as a place for science, forever seeking all science, all knowledge: omniscience. Discovery is the domain of science. Knowledge of ‘what’ and ‘how’ is its product. Myth is[…]

You once were all but when you were all, there was no you. All knowing was all doing—only doing. A closed circuit of life and death, pain and pleasure, all one. Opened up by an accidental awakening, a stumbling out of the womb by a terrible startling dream —a start indeed— a dream of death.[…]

The modern takes his symptoms as root causes and aims his technique oriented-ness, his ego’s subjectivity’s existential fear of death, the opposite of its consciousness, unconsciousness, darkness to its enlightened tool seeing and wielding hopefulness in his techne, his food cooking, lion scaring, protection from dark critters on the forest floor having descended from ancestral[…]

The world must go on but you mustn’t. You surely mustn’t do any damned thing. You must? Must? For god sake’s why must we do anything in particular? Must we buy televisions and the things they sell us? What a devious ploy, a salesman in every home. Must we go on pretending with our striving?[…]

That thing you’re building—it will fall apart. The new relationship you love so much—it will fall apart. The family unit—it will fall apart. The loving hopeful stories, just anecdotes of love against the terrible, sad, grey wall of forever. Hope against all of time, what is that? We die. We work, we hope, we create[…]

You’ve made a sin of a son bringing light into this world without the pattern of the father to guide him; the very essence of the father, the pater: the pattern. And you could not manage it. Worse, you’ve sold yourself that lying snake‘s oil. Just a thimble’s worth covers the skin. Somehow bastards beget[…]

In my dream I can feel her. She is in the next room over—just across that threshold. Anything can happen before the crossing, but after, everything is set neatly in stone. I forget she is there; lying in a bed, awaiting, atomb in hopeful blindness for some king—or a prince at least. While I clamor[…]

The heart can hurt with hate for itself. When it beats it batters, wall against wall. I can feel it’s sour vengeance; the thunderer against the coward, angry at its smaller nature, it’s weaker resolve, knowing who will ultimately fail everyone first. How meager a muscle for what it should and could have been, were[…]

You mean well, but pity —especially pity spread ‘round freely and generously— only heaps hot coals of shame upon my head. Do you know that? Do you know it in secret? Are there small fragments of vengeance in your recruitment of others’ sympathies on my behalf? Do you find any small, sour joys in spreading[…]

To whatever we are afraid, we are a slave twice. Once to the fear itself, and again to he who wields the object of our frightening—or its picture. Best to be careful in dispensing our fear, for one batch begets the next as a good yeast. It is the only resource of which we do[…]

What must we brand ourselves with now—now that we’ve forgone our allegiances to our old kin for kindling? The spirit of our tribe once nourished us, and not so long ago. Our roots, our lineage, the tie that bound us to earth’s forever. Only the oldest families maintain themselves still. The state and its conferred[…]

We are not men any longer. Men rode rough seas and rougher horses—into dark places they brought their callous human light. We cower and tremble in silent —and all the time more loudly— petition of kindness, grace, acceptance, hoping our shaking or our shaking voices will garner us safety from even the slightest shades cast[…]

Is there any sense in avoidance? Any reason to dodge the inevitably drawn countenance of death? If not —if she comes all the same— then is there any sense in avoiding the warm sun that shines on her face along with the gloom of her latter days? Forgone light to spite the dark, the dark[…]

Why do we fear the dead so? What does it know that we do not know? What might it know? That this is all a rouse? Ha! What a joke! What a weak attractor. Perhaps we do not fear death itself, but simply do not want to go so soon! We think we shall wait[…]

What purchase have I upon this ledge of words I build? I sit atop it like a proud mason some days, forgetting my mortar has yet to set. Who can claim words, however strung together, his own? Who is the brick maker -nevermind the brick layer; he follows a pattern, the pattern of some, many[…]

There is nothing left to discover. Nothing undocumented, undisturbed by the morals of man. A resource to be found in every whale’s bone at ocean floor instead of awe for how she might have lived, a ‘perhaps’ that might start a wonder-filling story. Resources are the ‘ought’ from the ‘is’ now. No, there is nothing[…]

Good and evil are a godless man’s gods; contriving, inventing, assigning meaning to the world made in his own image—all in some flailing attempt to re-interpret the world; his fall into consciousness was indeed a fall: from the heavens of knowing to the plane of confusion and contrivances in wild speculation; a happy ass thrown[…]

Cry out, but if you can’t hear the echo of love? Beg advice, but if you look sideways in every direction? Demand a path, but if you sneer at its boundaries? The directionless man must try both forks and in so doing loses his steps, confuses his stride, turns after false paths and false truths.[…]

Let us poison ourselves. Suck in the blackness. Drink down the death. Take the money—it’s what you’re after. Trade us our light, we’ll take the dark, the corner cut out for the traders and fiends of us you’ve made. Now make us moral. Tell me my slow death is pretty. Rue and pillory dissent—we can’t[…]

Flowers, makeup, fancy car, eye lashes, confidence, height, cleverness, humor, hard work, a glance away at just the right moment; these are all a trick, are they not? Signs of health, security, reliability; all tricks to forward the species. That we believe them -and want to- is more evidence of our orientation to be tricked,[…]

I see the end. The end of man; we decaying ones, fertilizer to the next ones, the übermenchen. The will of man is peeking around a corner. Overwhelming sadness we will feel, a Great Sorrow and Great Nostalgia—perhaps a Great War even must accompany a Great Leap to the man of tomorrow; perhaps Man isn’t[…]

I like you—but is it you that I like, or is it the feeling of your liking me? What is it to like, anyhow? To liken, to ascribe adjacency along some plane, some descriptor; am I not simply fond of the adjectives you slide beneath my feet? Perhaps I enjoy tripping over my own ego,[…]

Freedom is poison for small souls who naturally see themselves sinners; this is the nature of mine which I see most often in myself, second son of a king; a wish upon a star ungraspable; a knowing dream, describable but fading with morning’s fog. It rises, this lust, but I do not know her well[…]

A year has passed I am fat now I have grown in knowledge but not in wisdom I know better how to lie to myself and to lie still A year had passed and nothing has changed The world is worse but I am worse yet A grandfather has died, two in fact; a building[…]

A man came to town one day, a sleepy little village. The women ran the shops in these times. Every shop a fashion store and each cordially sold something different from the other as to avoid impolite competition. When one made a newly patterned skirt, the others may copy its shape but only its shape—politely.[…]

A contempt for my lack of discipline, Cerberus run free. Neighbors made aware “he mustn’t be trusted—hardly a hound can keepeth he!” Embarrassment. Shame at mine lost whip, too; my back never met the lash. And here I sit: exposed and head hung. And if silently trot mien shmerzhunt to avoid detection, to spare me[…]

Who drew the line when we moved our devils inward? Who said “evil” for the first time—evil inside us rather than out. “It was the god of revenge, or lust, or love” our elders said “that possessed me.” And they were honorable in their claims, and their gods honorable all the more. Then came the[…]

Something that we cannot see but can see it’s effects—this frightens us like dogs of rolling thunder; cowards we become; suspicious, shaking, superstitious; everyone is our suspect when invisible currents shock our skin in every room, under every tree. Soon cornered, the dogs we are, we bite—or look for some braver one to do our[…]

It’s a free ride. It makes me sick. I sit here, wandering if, when, how it will end. Lose responsibility and lose the weight that tethers you here—but is here a place or time or circumstance you care to be? Is the way out a free —truly free— reabsorption into unconsciousness? Sleep this one off,[…]

A—What are your aesthetics? B—I have none. And he scoffs at me with his moral prejudices against those he holds lowest; to have nothing to hate, no meat to steal, not a word to scoff at nor borrow for later advantage; that is the greatest sin—to seem of disinterest. And to defend it? Well that[…]

A—What are your aesthetics? B—I have none. And he scoffs at me with his moral prejudices against those he holds lowest; to have nothing to hate, no meat to steal, not a word to scoff at nor borrow for later advantage; that is the greatest sin—to seem of disinterest. And to defend it? Well that[…]

Why do you submit? What must you think of authority—that they indeed author? And if they do? You presume them poets—and good? Kierkegaard? Elliot? Or perhaps masters of civility. Plato, Aristotle, or an Adams as compromise perhaps. You presume they own a pen and have ever authored a truth of the soul; you must! You[…]

The holdout, the preservative father, the stakes at boundary line––the warning to culture: “this far and no further”––these are the guideposts of wisdom, and wisdom’s limit; bound to be transgressed, painted the inviting orange of temptation to the unwise seers of fruit across the plain, the believers in future’s cyclical promise, its gain, its down-going.[…]

Love is a margarita. A belief in love is love. I agree with you and I’ll fight on your side is love—when you’re probably wrong I’ll fight for your right to belong; in your anger and falsity and hope, through the worst hell in you, into the best of you. I’ll believe in you—your most[…]

I may lose my way. I may lose the game. And when I do, I’ll lose your interest—and with it your love. You can do what I do, and the ease of this place enables this. We used to have a place, a difference. The machines we built, the jobs we created, the goods we[…]

He sits in his car—a placid thing to do in form; conformity to a cage, though a moving and capitulating one—and rhymes a conflicted man’s words; a full-hearted attempt falling flat only on account of its irony: condescension to others by artifice of a larger, more expansive cage, rolling the original rhymer’s contrived artifice to[…]

She told the truth, the insightful one, precise and sharp, terrible and accurate, an inescapable light shone in his every crooked corner. Both lovers swallow the sword; one the smooth edge of lies, the other, it’s jagged truths. And it cost him everything, this exposition by the burned girl. Removing illusion and with it his[…]

Its like an artist, madly scribbling as if digging for golden ore inside himself, mining the lining of a deep domed atrium, pencil being the only lead available to this crazed alchemist –both he and the element, the basest of things– running the margins with no regard for form, tossing now-heavy pages behind his head[…]

That its what you need says nothing about your ability to attain —let alone provide— it for yourself; From what fount will those necessary skills suddenly pour forth; what embodied spirits visit the needy–surely not those for which they want, lest they be rich. From which procedural pools of knowledge will your intuition drink at[…]

I am embittered into a darkness not of my choosing. I write and paint and eat my way further into its crust, the darkness. Harder rind lay ahead. I bear my axe at solemn stone walls, head cocked to bear these long front teeth to stone like a Guinea into a many-carrot diamond surface, lusting[…]

A thing can be lost—and you’ll think it’s forever: because who wants to lose a thing with tempered reason? If it’s gone, then let the full dramatics, the entire travesty of it knock me over with a single swing. No sense in hanging hope on the eight count, nor the eighty. Let’s have a damn[…]

I don’t want my potential. I don’t want my art, my experience, my past successes and failures culminating in some wild rhapsody. I don’t want to turn a new page, renewal. I don’t want a big tent revival, salvation. I don’t want to be seen by all, or loved by a few, or to start[…]

I have done every wrong thing, but in the name of right. I have cheated women. I have twisted truths. I have admitted only for the effect it brings. I have returned things thieved only for the benefit of relieving my guilt. I have made solemn promises and found rationalities for bending them. I have[…]

Best of luck Ye shallow endeavorer In your contrivance of a pond amidst jealous mother, an ocean Wallowing in a single element Sleepy swine devouring the pearl May many smooth layers upon agitated grain —the meat for which you hunger, unknowing of its flavor, and so, sure to miss it in your nature which we[…]

Mother squalls her rage at the thief. Father springs into action, yelling his own brand of fiery throated threat. Down upon the wind he spreads wide to gain his steam and with it, courage. Larger, cold, and hungry; a broad tipped and brawny bully. The norm of nature, piracy. He kicked in the doors, front[…]

Between these two pines, nestled in muscle-y roots, with a sense of protection from the world of noise and mindless scourging, I sit. This comforts my heart’s discouragement as I watch our ball bound wilder and faster downhill to hell, with fewer and fewer of its atoms’ permission–less of it’s own accord. I see a[…]

What did we even argue about in that horseshoe place in Sonoma? I remember my pitch being higher than I expected. I was so exasperated with disappointing you, and knowing I was bound to do so more and more often as I spun out. You must’ve thought “Why can’t you just get your shit together?”[…]

We dare not speak out against orthodoxy, but in this naive selfishness we preserve nothing but meagerness. Afraid to lose our lives in a single rush, we lose them slowly and without the possibility of distinction the revolutionary act may have afforded us; that to say, without any payment for our forbearance of the interest[…]

What is it to save someone’s life? It depends on who’s life, does it not? To save an old man’s life is to prolong the miserable pain of youth wasted. To save a young man’s life is to doom him to heartache and loss. Not only these things, of course. An equation could be made[…]

What does it mean to lose the familial patriarch? Our sadness steps in what remains of his big footprints, unrecoverable truths forgone on the long walks of his livelier years—but what mattered then, perhaps to us both, was play; and play was proper too, while his feet could still dance with ours atop them. Those[…]

We turn a shy glance leftward over the cheek while whipping rightways, to hide the thing from ourselves while stealing a small shining bite at the apple’s glare; this, to satisfy our curiosity, but, in keeping with our predispositional notions, to likewise preserve deniability and thereby forbear culpability; in this we create a second guilt,[…]

Death and the Devil, those two confused cousins. One innocent but for the single act–which surely can’t be held against him any more than the writer his writing (though this strikes me a heinous comparison, as the writer often does more damage than his due)– and the other the negator of life. How different it is[…]