Only because I’m listening to time of the season by the zombies
Month: April 2023
wish you were here
don’t call it a flashback
I do as I can to avoid drugs
other than those readily
available to me but
tucked away in some sac
Or gland other hidden
wrinkle of the brain.
A perfectly measured dose
triggered by random
but accessible memories,
a passing fragrance
an old photo
a song on the radio
moms cooking
that one shirt.
let those gaps in the brain
be flooded with the
transcendental ambrosia
our flesh has prepared us.
The Trojan Horse has Nothing on Us
imagine for a moment the passion that must exist, despite everything else, between two lovers – enough so to create a new life. to procreate is to sit at that unfathomable symposium drinking the nectar of the gods.
the only weight worth carrying
born violently into a violent world
I will teach them to walk
and give them every part of
me so that one day their
legs and hearts will have
the strength to leave me
behind.
the sixty-ninth hokage
What might that world be like
where the curious monkey
never drank the rotten juice,
or consumed that strange alien fungus,
or took in those thick and billowing
clouds of smoke that emerged from the burning bush.
What might that world be like
where man sought nothing more
to stop the pain
than the works of thine own hands and fortitude.
Where it was never learned nor taught
that we were capable of giving up or giving in.
Where doing anything was better than nothing
and was everything you could ever need.
How those never ending city skylines
might reach out and kiss the heavens.
How the sidewalks littered with the hopeless
might instead be plated in the golden broken dreams
of those who didn’t resent them, but gave purpose to them
through contribution to the greater good.
How our children and our children’s children
would enjoy the shade and bountiful harvest of plentiful jungles
planted by those who walked before.
How the earth and all of its abundance might coexist,
only borrowing from each other with the intent to return with more
than was received.
How so many of those lost souls may have made it to the morning,
just in time for the light of the new day
to wash away those black memories we all have
woven into the organic and gelatinous fibers of
our DNA.
the future is now… (and it’s AI generated)
(A few pieces of AI generated artwork. The original prompts have been mashed up into whatever garbage this is. Sorry but your welcome.)
It’s your second wedding anniversary but your wife is literally in a mental institution.
A man too scared to acknowledge his God but even more afraid to deny him.
Like a dying animal on DMT, I try to laugh the pain away.
I just want to see what a computer thinks “the death of a dream” looks like because it can’t be worse than reality.”
Every time I try to outrun myself
They traveled the open oceans by the light of the stars
and despite my path being laid clear
as though Siri was reading me the turn-by-turn
I feel lost.
Just as a stone thrown from the trail
becomes buried among the thicket.
A slight miscalculation is a critical error
when your dreams lay among the stars.
The answer must be somewhere,
In my children’s smile,
In the bottom of an empty bottle,
under the flashing lights of some
dark and dingy back room,
with a fake name and cheap perfume.
Madness is one hell of a drug.
because honestly wtf
Where might it be…
that those two exuberant bundles of light
who against the titanic foe of space and time
happened upon each other
In that one fleeting moment that was just wrong.
Who’s magnificent dance was so great
that in it they let slip away the world around,
finding themselves in free fall
delving into darkness, that wondrous light
taken from them in that vacuum
of pleasure and vengeance and heartache.
where might it be…
that those souls are given a chance
in that place where the rest of life dims,
happening upon each other not here,
but in that place where those things which
break our bonds are incomprehensible,
where love that is meant is able.
where that perfect place you find yourself in
is all you will ever need.
where might it be?
Suburban Youth 