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.”

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?

dim streetlights.

We walked the streets of some imagined imagined city.

You didn’t hold my hand. You said there was a party down the street.

I told you I didn’t want to go. That if we went we wouldn’t leave together.

You looked me in the eye and told me you didn’t need me anymore. You turned and walked away.

My subconscious knows it now.

Then why is it still so hard for me to accept?


I stay up at night

waiting for something that 

will never come.

It’s been so long 

most nights I forget 

What exactly it is that 

I am waiting for 

But when I do 

And I think of you 

My heart feels heavy like lead

Because no longer are you beside me

in my bed

and I miss your smile

your sweet sweet voice 

that welling in my chest  

that gave me the strength 

to take on the world,

just you and me. 

The Return

And after an unexplained and unnecessary break I have found myself returning to my writing. I have a few stories that I have been working on recently, both shotty and loosely assembled, but still stories just the same. It is becoming quite apparent to me that I need to spend more time developing my writing skills. I feel as though I have potential that I can not afford to let go unexplored.

Why is it the miserable so often develop an affinity for written word? Why have so many great writers died by their own hand? Why is it that those individuals that are blessed with the ability of storytelling seem to also be some of the most troubled?

It’s saddens me to see that so many people around me are losing touch with their creative minds. Cell phones are a plague, technology has completely restructured society, fuck the system…all that jazz. But really though, when I see dozens of kids sitting in the library staring at their game of “8 Ball Pool” on their phones rather than doodling or talking to the person next to them, it makes me sick.

Anyway, the rambling could go on for days but I will stop it here. I’m still not too sure how I’m planning on putting these two stories together but this will be the first place they will be available. In the meantime, I’ll be on here fucking around like always.