The Sock-Monkey As Alone

  I feel like starting the day with a short blog post is a good way to channel my need to share. It very well could be a good way of getting away from the trauma porn. That has took up most of the space on this blog over the last ten years. So what is on my mind? Today, I have been trying to make some kind of connection between my love of ambitious literature and Japanese pop culture of the 1960s and 1990s. No connection has been found in the morning meditations. Except for the opposition of the aesthetics. One a kind of anti-product. The other has meaning in its position as a product. That finds meaning in their disposable nature. We are the children of the media. though in a world of slaves, who do we get the arrogance to claim we are not products? maybe the exchange of money for dreams is the connection. Maybe we should relinquish distinctions except for the point of connection. The meaning comes from the connection. the connection of joy and personal meaning... of watching the ...

  I thought of closing this blog. Of giving myself a fresh start. The past is as in flux as tomorrow will be. We can not cling to a hope beyond that of "God willing." But, ultimately, I decided to wait to see how next year makes me feel. I have wanted to move forward from depressive rambling. Or, the digression into post-psychotic trauma porn. I think art can be healing, but you have to be willing to be healed. You have to let the past have it's own life and yet not let it drag you down with the ship of expectations. I am writing and reading almost every day ( at one point, I was reading two hundred pages a day.) Closing the door of distraction and hoping I can move beyond saying I am the worst writer that has ever lived. So I can make myself take responsibility for my words, I type out for the hope of personal progress. I always wanted to be a renaissance man. To prove wrong the notion that sniveling has a place in discourse. to remove them like weeds surrounding any of ...

 Escape plan: a poem My mom ran after her puppy  He had been sick for too long He was bounding like a rabbit in spring… running away… Best we can figure is he didn’t want her to see him die But For good or ill She didn’t let him go She caught him and swept Him up in her arms Gently she said “what are you doing?” Bouncing him like a baby Getting ready to a nap. He passed away in her arms  I can see his reflection in her eyes while she holds him shaking with long quiet tears.

  Truth exists beyond our comprehension of it. The 1’s and 0’s of the hard drive of reality, our souls are stored on. Atoms are to matter what neurons are to thoughts. Meaning is to metaphysics what calculations are to physics. Reduction is seeing a Schrödinger's cat alive or dead before the box is opened. What happened after the box is opened is the only confirmed hallucination. Speculation got us here… but can it get us out of the box?

 The ending. It’s strange but totally obvious Kind of of out of control Only we’re driving the car The imponderable darkness Of knowing you can’t say what You need to say Because the battle was lost Because half our forces Thought they were above the game Of cause and affect But I type If only so I can still say anything It’s not about hopelessness Nor is it about judgment It’s about not being Able to not fear the spider In the bedroom

  Alone my hand drifts through the lake of stars... As memories pass through the passage shared. where the old feelings fall like aging scars. On memories of contrast and despair.   It is the dragon of the Milky Way... Robed in a green and orange leather coat. With a black fur proud like a lion's mane, as a cutlass is to a dragon's throat.   "it is the prayer of my pilgrimage That we should remember where we depart. The purity within a sacrament that the blade of the word will remain sharp."   From where the dead are to dance in the light... that this death may return and be alive!

  For the second time today the clocks around the world stopped. First there was the threat of world war three then the bombs dropped. The mushroom clouds swallowed all of history in a few bites. Yet the poor bastard... Edward Blue-water had a girl on his mind. Things were not over maybe especially in the afterlife. His daughter was supposed to be born today. He was running next to his wife as the doctor's wheeled her toward the maternity ward. She was screaming at him. "I don't care what I said to better damn well give me some painkillers or I will get drunk on your blood!" "That's it honey just keep breathing, that's right deep breaths." Said Edward. "I swear to the most high I will make you pay for putting me in this situation." Said his wife. That was the last thing she said before the mushroom clouds sang their song. A quire of destruction in the temple of tomorrow. His daughter was a late term abortion as were any of his hopes for the...