Massiah

Ooooo child, your forehead radiates like a sunrise.

Merry Fucking Christmas

No, give me the money so I can slowly lose it on frivolities
bit by bit and inch by inch
i'll spend that legacy and then i'll die
having left nothing behind
but self-indulgent words
relatable to no one

Winter Hibernation

I feel like I can't do anything I used to be able to do
like a cheesy song on the radio I
am half the man
I used to be
better than this give
me one more chance
baby bottom bread bunch
I am queen of shit canal right now
But I'll come crawling out eventually...

If I worked for the CIA

...I would create books that look like they were from the 70's or 60's to fill the minds of the hipster youth.  I'd disguise them cleverly in old local used-books stores, with dusty covers and controversial messages.

Verdun

Verdun
in the sun.
Glazed.
Cherry shrub
spark ray.
Smells like toast
And unemployment.

Verdun
on the
run
through motorcycles
hacking coughs
pigeon chicks
and the rot.

the waves of clouds
balcony breakfasts
and burping cars

Verdun
left unsung
strewn out on laundry lines
worry wrinkles
and cigarette ash

Verdun Heroic
like the pigeon
who stole
the bagel
off his plate
in the only
fancy
restaurant
on the
block.

The Hollow Wake

Hey little flowers

you tower over ants

the ants eat my crumbs

the air is full of frequencies

the babbling brook inside

bubbles

doubles

down the hollow wake.

QUOTE OF THE DAY

'I am not, I will not be.
I have not, I will not have.
This frightens all children,
And kills fear in the wise.'
Nagarjuna

into empty

and now time hurtles you away

back-flip paradise

into empty

I see the memories

float

Your face, though burned on my everything

cannot cure me

cannot cure me

untitled

the dealer gave me bad cards
i played them well
but they were
shitty

THE SLOTHY TURTLE

The slothy turtle turned him down with a frown

she was in no mood for mister kisser's flashy fister

Her ways were ones of the goddesses

cavalling on the moon

with sceptors

and dragoons.

With a wave of the shell, slothy turtle slapped the suitor silly.

After all, his advancements had surpassed his familiarity.

GAN EDEN

there is a world where everything i used to believe

still exists.

It's buried under my ribcage,

next to my most precious arteries

and bones,-

and it festers

and burns

and hums

and cries.

LOVE (again)

Am I being unreasonable? There's no way of knowing, when it's just the two of us, two flawed logics dueling in the dark.

And the path is corrupted henceforth.  And the trust has been broken. And all of the careful illusions I had placed around you are starting to fade.

THE METRO PEOPLE

grey black bronze
stuffed jeans with care
beady eyes and infants
sweaty, warm hearts
and toy parts
spilt beverage on my seat
the wrenching knobs of scheduled stops
whooshing breath
girl with bow
And all at once-
large laughter awakened
by the freckle-faced teen
on planted platform.

THE DEBATE

Where does art end, and vaudeville begin?

the matrix conundrum

For some, reality is a harder pill to swallow than for others.

Leaders

Because it's the pain of having no purpose. Because we feel useless, a drain on resources, oppressors. And we invent jobs out of thin air.

And why do we give our leadership over to power hungry mongrels? Why don't we give moral support to the people who are modest, yet effective, not so outspoken, but generous listeners?

 They are the ones who should be our leaders.

More Art

© Giant Campfire Blog

© Giant Campfire Blog

© Giant Campfire Blog

EGO

serve the world.  enjoy the world.  people do this simultaneously?  Sometimes I get the suspicion that much of my life has been spent chasing shadows my ego created to keep me occupied.

have i rendered my life useless?

Early Childhood Marketing

The worst form of evil is the deliberate manipulation of the innocents, making them the instruments of their own demise.

THE FUTURE / HOPEFULLY NOT

For quite some time we had felt that revolution should be in the air.  But we never rose to the occasion. We were too distracted by the mesmerizing lights of prosperity. 


And late at night, all of the pot heads would wonder to themselves if they were just being paranoid, or if it really was the end of the world.



And after Japan fell, most of us knew it was only a matter of time.  Oddly enough, there was no panic in the streets.  People retreated back into their living rooms with their drugs.  


The sociopaths knew there wouldn’t even be enough time to reveal their power to the world.  And besides, there would be no world left to rule.  



Some people came up with elaborate plans for escape.  They all failed.

Add Some Fuel to that Fire

Why do we love computers so much? Because it feels powerful to live in a world of your own creation, a world where your command dominates.  It's almost like we are too hurt to risk trying to connect in person anymore.  (Emo.)

We like the safe distance.  And we like the fact that we can control who we are willing to interact with.

It's so safe.  And it's fun.  And it's useful.  But it's also terribly...weird.

And I wonder sometimes what someone from the distant past would think of our music if they somehow landed in this time period.   And why do I have the sinking feeling that they'd say it reminded them of the snarls of a cat in heat.

Yours, truly.

The inevitable hoax of living a decent life is that being human, there ain't no way of truly being decent.  And the deception of that situation is hard on the system.  Denial brings the weight of lies...

The Great Beyond

Writing is escapism, but escape to where?


Photo is © BrokenSphere / Wikimedia Commons  and remixed a bit by me...

Our minds are vast chasms, littered with portholes to other dimensions of time, space, form and spirit.  But we graze around on the grass for most of our lives.

Am I not in the real world when I am writing?  I am simulating reality.  But it is not a reality that is entirely like this one.  Obviously, being human stipulates that my perspective is limitted to that of a human, but to that end it is still limitless beyond even its comprehensional self-assessment.

And do these worlds, these portholes in the mind, can they bend together to create even larger portholes into the mystical beyond?  Or is that what happens when we die?  Do we jump into one?

Or are they all just entries that lead into the same collective outer-world?

And the mind, vulnerable and self conscious, peaks through?

***This post was written while listening to Farewell Neverland from the Hook soundtrack***


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HoPppjPkO80

The Strange Art I Make When I'm At Work...

© Giant Campfire Blog

© Giant Campfire Blog

© Giant Campfire Blog

© Giant Campfire Blog

Capitalism: A new take.

I just watched this thing where the guy said that there was a mine that shut down in the western world because the western world would rather buy from the cheaper, er, other world.

This implies, if there is a strategy, that it is one of using up the other countries' natural resources first.

Or just plain old amassing of all resources in one area of consumerist waste....

For what purpose? Or accidental?

Consolidation? Disposal?

Imagine if it all froze, how silly (or scary) we'd look.  Semi-technocized.... (No, it's not a word.)

(Luckily words don't have to be words for me to use them.)

World Peace

I think one of the reasons we are so afraid of peace is because in order to achieve it we'd have to see ourselves through our enemies' eyes.  The shame of that, among other things, keeps us wilfully ignorant in the face of suffering.

Art

Attempts to make the individual experience collective.

Political party/bash

Um, why do we have political parties again? Isn't it ultimately a room full of individuals? I don't get it. Is it a money scheme?

And furthermore...

Would the proactive thing to do be to work with government? Work on government? Pressure government?

Or would it be to rebel? Lose all inhibition and finally stand up for everything I believe in?

But: How can I impose my will when I am advocating a cessation of imposition of will?

And where does will come from, if no one can fully answer the questions of who and what they are?

It seems that destruction comes from false solutions, memory veins established after one moment of exhaltation and song.

THE SOLUTION

Campaigning should be taken out of the democratic process.

Let's just vote on policy.