The Irrational Response

Why do the fools
Who bend time with their rules
(Or so they think)

Instigate our ire
So we retaliate with fire
(Yet we thought ourselves wise)

Do they not then
Own us again
(As they once did, before they blinked)

Therefore, be restrained
So that they may be contained
(And we might slip through the gap in their eyes)

Ambiguous Youth and the Memory Thereof

Mmm,

How I long for youth
To be an eternal fire
Never hungering for fuel
Never knowing desire

What makes that event
Most pleasant to remember
Though the flames of glory
Throb now as an ember

Why?

Is it in the action we live
Or do we caress the wind
There finding our solace
In what we cannot rescind

We may try to forget
But in our hearts is pinned
That which we loved
And those we chagrined

For even when wary
When we keep our eyes skinned
While one minute holy
The next we have sinned.

Solar Flare

As fiery as the newest of virgin mornings, he unhinges his wings in the greatest of furies, for only the man of the sun may conquer the darkness. Certainly he lives with limitations, like the magnificent beast that watches his every move, or the black, winged creatures that clutch at his feet. Indeed, it is the shadows that, in his incandescence, he creates that will be his undoing, someday, at some indiscernible point in the kaleidescope of uncertainties that haunts his future. Still, for this moment he is alive, and in his youth there is nothing that can contain him.

His eulogy is silence.

Justification

Some screams are cut short
By the muffled cadence of
Swift justice,

Justice that echoes down night's lonely corridor.

So my children know pain
Pain that is the foundation
Of love,

Love that seeks shelter under the wings of a great beast.

Still more have seen
The brilliant light that pierces and slices and cuts
The light of truth,

Truth that heaves on its shoulder a weary mountain of deceit.

Deceit, that great mis-architecture,
Unfathomable how deceit when used,
Can become truth when abused,
And love, when it waits,
Quickly becomes hate,
And justice . . .

Justice knows no full form, for justice is the most cosmic of paradoxes;
Mixing facts with fiction,
Affection with friction,
To bring all, barring none,
Under its jurisdiction.

RIPEAP

'Tis naught
That I would not give
To realize but some fraction
Of that which dwells in my fragile mind.

But naught
That I would say
Would make you stay
So why attempt?

For my prose
Shares not
The fullness or faith
That I imagine myself to possess.

So flee from my
Dogged cliches
And at last you'll be out of my clutches.

Fire

Slow,
Fluid,
Attacking with great power.

Forcefully effervescent,
It consumes.

A gaze into it's depths
Is a carnivorous glimpse of hell.

You will the swill into being,
But it only glares at you,
Forced into non-servitude,
For it serves none but its own.

Janus Assassinates Himself

Shake my hand
While my knees shake
Knock together when
You knock on the door.

All you can do
I fear you'll do
To me.

All that you have the potential
To achieve
I fear will be deferential
To the will of the crowd
To the face of love
To your own self

So slash your wrists
In ironic betrayal
It's bound to happen anyway,
Sooner

or

later

Five Days Since His Aircraft Disappeared

BleedingHeartCommunist: The manner and substance of my peers' conversation is frequently cause for frustration.

Kabri: I would venture to guess that it also leads to loneliness.

BHC: Indeed, but loneliness is to be preferred over social compromise.

Kabri: Perhaps, at times.

BHC: That is my justification; what exception do you find?

Kabri: Well, I find that in forced social obligations I can be alone in the midst of a crowd. Likewise the opposite may be true in the company of one. So the real question is: which is preferable?

BHC: The companionship of the few to the isolation amongst many.

Cry Softly, We Will Sell the Tears

I knew you couldn't,
Can't.

Hold a grudge for me,
As you can see,
It pleases me to see you,
Free.

Because to fly,
You must first shackle yourself to your wings.

Let me be your chains.

Fasting for Long?

Why do you hate me?
Oh murderous saint,
Do not abandon me in my quest,
Lest I faint 'long the way.

The heathens worship in temples,
But I worship alone,
In silence, suffer,
For mine is a cast-aside honor,
The honor of lone-ness.

So do not hate me,
Crying butcher,
Do not scorn my efforts,
Mine is a healing power,
But I cannot heal that which is not broken.

Don't be foolish.

The faith and the faithful couldn't be more different.

True beliefs are exhibited by the believer.

All that springs from their mouths is nothing compared to that which springs from their hearts.

So beware,
And judge not the judgmental, lest you prove them right.

So It Begins

Well, here I am. I am suspended over the chasm that divides apathy and intensity. I am caught up. I am being processed in a whirlwind of confusing emotions and logical paths that twine to and fro and twixt one another in the maze of psychological mess. In other words I have no idea what conclusions I have come to.

Every once in a while I need to descend into self-induced doubt concerning what I've seen, heard, and believed. It makes it all more real to me when I emerge finally, triumphant in my realization of some truth. But today I am fractured. Today my doubt threatens to break me.

I cannot lean one way or another, lest I lose my body to flames, lest I fall into a chasm of indeterminate size. I am torn. It is not always like this, but today I cannot yet fall into the ways of one belief or another. I cannot yet choose one structured mode of logic o'er another.

It is the way of things, that I should consider, reconsider, hypothesize, create, destroy - over and over again. It is the way I was made, the way I was born, even borne, and it is the way I will die. So I pray to any power that may be -

Please, I beg of you, do not judge me for thinking, for if thought, if reason, if searching for ultimate truth is sin, I want no part of you.

The Facets Of Power

What is power?

The ability to invoke change, great or small, intentional or otherwise.

Where does power lie?

In emptiness,
For that which is empty longs to be filled.

In friction,
For it is friction that produces change.

In words,
For with words, we implicate that which we desire into being.

In atmosphere,
For therein lies the ability to manipulate emotions.

In reason,
For through reason we may convince even ourselves of some truth or untruth.

In love,
For love in its truest form cannot keep itself from changing all involved in a most spectacular fashion.

Babel

Nearly all the world
Crumples at your feet
And you attack me.
What can I provide that you can't?

Why lean into
And over
The dike that retains
My self-loathing
Now take your finger out of the dam-thing!

Your feigned stupidity only makes things worse.

Sure I know what power words hold
But if you won't leave me be
I will return to the graceless scar
That is my inoculation
My transfusion from love's enlivening pains
How could suffering be so useful, Mister Gibran?

True,
I say many things
But you cannot hold me to them.

Foolish, that you fling your faerie-self upon me
A holistic whore
Bent on destroying body, mind, and soul.

Can you continue?
Still, my vagaries and vulgarities intertwine
Like our legs.

Like our thoughts.

Like our destinies.

Or so I thought.

Shut Up (I Won't Do What You Tell Me)

The bass
The rock
The mic
The treble
I like my metal
Without mindless psychobabble
And if the suicide
That I deride will coincide
With what you say
Does that make me okay?

The bass
The rock
The mic
The treble
I like my metal
Without mindless psychobabble
Just a some chick
And a dude being ironic
Maybe this time it'll stick
That there's more there than saying "dick"

The bass
The rock
The mic
The treble
I like my metal
Without mindless psychobabble
Sure I can live without
The self-doubt that you're about
But your clout is worth the shout
'Cause the music's what
You're about.

Be Adult About It

Adulthood is not age induced.

Adulthood is not based on one's demeanor.

Adulthood is not your diction.

Adulthood is not a thought process.

Adulthood is not when you provide for yourself.

Adulthood is not being mature.

Adulthood is not when you're accepted by other adults.

Adulthood is not _____ because . . .

Adulthood is a myth.

How do I know that
What is true coincides,
With the waxing and waning of
The ongoing tides?

And so my mind derides
My heart for its captivity-caused naiveté

Sciolism
Cannot hide you
Behind muscle-tissue textures
Because I have read so many faces
That, like an old series of novels
I can predict the end
Before it comes
And you
Won't.

Photographic Memory

Sometimes I find myself absently flipping through photos of myself for a great length of time. Many perceive this activity as one inspired by misplaced pride. I wish I could agree, but sometimes I have to see myself through another lens, either mechanical or otherwise, if only to keep in touch with myself.

Maybe it sounds strange, but perspective is crucial to my existence. I feel as though, given enough time to mull and muse, I could lose feeling in this extremity of the soul that we call the body. The emotional jetlag of being yanked from my mental wanderings back to my physical location is made less potent by not feeling at all. In this, I am failing, for I cannot find a way to feel and think simultaneously, so firm are the ways in which I explore my world.

Let me encourage you to not only ponder, but experience. Think and feel together, that you may encounter the fullness of life and not live in death of the soul; for spiritual death is the truest.