Life is a Beautiful Dare

Carefully discern the cost and the calling. 
Then, commit for life, if you are able.
If you can't be X all day, much less for life,
try being X for the next second, minute, or hour.
Failure will never stand in your way,
unless you fail to learn, the true failure.
What you say and do, it matters.
How you survive, it matters.
You don't have to screw people
to live, as long as living is enough.
Make the effort, focus, watch your mind.
For your mind, your ideas about the world
are like trying to capture being alive
with a camera, a microphone, or a word.
It makes objects of moments. Moments
are life, succulent and raw, a ripe fruit
better tasted and felt than captured and told.
Reach for grace, weave it through your life
and the lives of others, in community. Together,
we can build a life of shared experience,
of deep connection and intimacy. Beauty
is everywhere, we only need to strive to see
through our own senses and those of others
to dip into the richness of our lived experience.
Knowing, ain't doing, my friends. I know enough,
to write this, but I also know that I am too frequently
sucking on the stone pit, the abstraction better
thrown away that prevents us from eating good fruit.
And all fruit is best, when it is shared with love.

Fakokta Dazibaos

Start with a basic principle:
yauh peng, yauh leng - in English,
inexpensive and beautiful. Empty,
alone, a blank canvas five inches 
across, bounded by ears, separate
yet susceptible, social mind virus. 

Catastrophe has already happened,
from one view. Another angle, sees
happiness, created whole-cloth out
of disposition and a clean heart.
Sense, nonsense and in between, a line 
can't be right, left and/or wrong.

Layers, subcultures of lost, brittle 
men coalesce into reply guys, wienie 
wagers, and boojeymean lodged in the 
Callipygian cheeks of society, coprolite, 
surplus to requirements, in places
normalized for deficits of wonder. 

Covering what stinks, habitual
evidence of a lunch, long past
Nature's Shitness Protection Program
revealing God in what she's not, 
and what she is may be just another
evaporated, dehydrated, Stone being.

An unmagicked, McJunk world, three ring 
shit show, exponential, terrible, 
uncapable of bearing the intimacy of
scrutiny. Changez vos amis, but there
can be no separate survival or
adjusted destinies. Truth comes last. 

TEOTWAWKI

living in the doom, catastrophe 
paranoia of the psychoentirety, 
a trash fire, landscape lighting 
florescent, sick room architectures 
broadcasting dead news to unwitting 
recipients, dream/nightmare remnants, 
black anxiegenic chemistries awaiting, 
reagents and catalysts, parlor 
epidemiologists and physicians, 
a confederacy of a billion clowns, 
narcissists, fascists and a mule 
turning paranoia into public policy 

mystics of the stream, waterflesh 
bubbling personal microculture, 
the best swims between the net, 
fishing, the pitiless puta, thrusts 
his smooth skinned erection towards 
the wild, the permaweird, memory-wired, 
on the float, uplifting imaginary vortex, 
against a loser's catalog: black jerseys, 
bum guns, and jack boots - stomping 
an exogenous shock, giving birth to a thin, 
grim newness, destined for the trash of civilizations 

The WYSIATI Prison

What you see is all there is,
a closed ideology fakelore, a mazeway garden,
fruiting failed perspectives and shared paranoias.
Quant illusions, analysis is paralysis.

Divert and subvert. Launch determines
orbit for every apex, when the monkey bells
the gorilla they call it jungle justice, a harmless
bruising, the shot before the anesthetized heart.

But, the kakistocracy provides: 24 hour water,
electric fusion fleshlights, a wankbank, weird 
excretion dependent, generative of natural-adjacent,
CRISPR life, selected for a skidmarked sky.

An unspoken quale, smells like nothing else,
deep in the boojum and bafflegab, counterphobic,
insufficient evidence of normal on the weirdo safari.
Quis potest sapere audere?

Comment Chains

Man is born free but everywhere is in comment chains,
assembly-line production "memes" in social media-ready
baggies for your unnourishment, the whole world, 
a sad maze of thinly disguised press releases.

The future is here and everything needs to be destroyed, 
salt the field, plant your seed in the sucking wound of need, 
harvest, pack in two lost matching suitcases, left circling, 
forever on a carousel going nowhere being eaten by flies.

New & Old Lands/Water

In the deep, a subterranean cache, 
drip echoes, hardened magma flows
turned rivers, unseeing fish splash,
the earth's heart is on fire, blows.

Aquifers, filtered-moisture fed
flushed, a sucking river vortex
pulled, underground caldera bed,
formed before the prefrontal cortex.

Gardener's vision, compulsive
separating out the amoeba shits,
from the snail's slime, repulsive,
drowning in what the mystic omits.

Love me, love my amoebas, gross
we came, why, reality is blobby,
mess is not something to diagnose
the only certainty: its sloppy.

Sea change, rich and strange
pour yourself into strange waters
our many lives are frozen, deranged
paper Jesuses offered up for slaughters.

If only, I.F., I'm fucked, too,
quale, a different cell, all
different moments, a different you,
same behavior keeps you a thrall.

Suffering. Dismiss the teacher,
sub-human, human, minor god,
in our luggage, every creature
carries the mask of self, a facade.

Can those in the Black Iron Prison
be saved? What of the Palm Tree Garden?
New life, from pain, is risen.
From lessons, there is no full pardon.

Somewhere, above, there's another
underground. Do not despair.
Wait in the depths, unseen Other,
a new sea/land awaits, I'll see you there.

There’s More in the Mortar Than the Pestle

Mazeways, reality range and glowing red                                                                            
rat cunning, invention of engines, fuels,
tanks full of the stored fat of bloodshed,
machine-shaped, faceted 3D printed jewels.

Factories of fascism, launching rockets
on the ecliptic, living within the lie,
full manifests of memes and dockets,
launch determines orbit, STANDBY.

Red glare, the bombs bursting in air
48 hour screams, a pounding earthshake,
an evil tongue commentariat billionaire
declares, "All news I don't like is fake."

Idemopotence: same action, same result.
Nesting doll of lost futures, a relic
of an afterlife and the future cult,
merely breathing in the psychedelic.

There's more in the mortar
than the pestle will say,
what's real, what's fake,
what's in-between in the grey.

Semi-Auto Cut-Up: Experimental Condition

Pixels without proverbial provenance, 
they both knew what they were.
Buffet Buddhists, defying cages,
tagged for progressive classification.

Wonder world, inexpressible problems,
all lonely, we live with each other.
Chronic complainers, a hundred times
a hundred, gloomy mind experiments.

The emotional surface of lost futures.
Do we know enough to know the truth?
Unconscious man grapples, but finds
little to grip, advanced, but enough?

Unreadable barbarian news file,
the experimental Machiavellian composer,
weary, whistles on the way home,
her faith in the process, crushed.