The Sock-Monkey As Alone

  Today I have watched more YouTube then I feel comfortable admitting but like any unhealthy addiction it continues in-spite of my hope that I   will read more. Or at the very least play some videogames instead of watching multi hour documentaries on them. The projects are coming along nicely I have been writing and trying to find ways to focus my output and narrow my focus on what I am trying to express. Been out of my house way more trying to continue down the the path of healing my scorched soul. I have beat several games on my bucket list including Gunstar heroes and mother 3 which has made me very happy. Mother 3 may be my favorite game. I thought it would be from the several times I have played the first chapter and bounced off of it not from lack of interest but from context. While Gunstar heroes may be my second favorite game and I love it for its playful madness or near euphoric chaos. I feel it is only rivaled by sin and punishment in my list of favorite...

  Finding the words is often the hardest and still, frankly, the simplest of tasks. We pick up a word and hit it against our head like it is a rock. And if you're good at it, you end up with a concussion. Hum, maybe I am taking this metaphor a little too far. Maybe we need to take the word literally and bonk ourselves upside the skull with it. So what are we looking for when we search for a word? What reaction does it bring? Is it in us or someone other than us? What we are looking for is what's next, and how it is expressed is the moment, which is an expectation for the future. What is my expectation for the future? I try not to have them anymore. I feel I don't have a future to look forward to. Just a painful cling to the next cup of coffee or junk food I stuff in my face. simple disposable pleasures that usually occupy my life. To occupy is as close to pure gratitude as I seem to be able to get.  Am I aspiring to lie, or am I doing it no matter what words I...

  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...

I have been working on a hypertext that collages together elements of most of the Panzer Strider fiction. Into a chaotic multiple-choice hyper text. I have already written the ending and am working towards it. When it is finished it will be about a novel's worth of text at about a third done it is over twenty five thousand words. I had to take a break from writing several years ago because I felt I was running on empty. I kept starting and stopping projects, which culminated in the first version of Panzer Strider. If you have read is a man getting raped in the ass and then his bird friend, messiah, kills the family of the man who did it and is crucified. I don't know what this was about other than my mental illness crying out trying to find some kind of stopping me from pushing myself further down the rabbit hole of being "productive". The new version of Panzer Strider is not that one. It almost exclusively shares the vaguest hint of the former setting. IT has mecha,...

1 Nirvana - in utero The band that changed my life. I thought I was Kurt Cobain for over a year hallucinating and psychotic. A band that is in my DNA that I am still trying move passed. from he symmetrical melodies droning post industrial riff and amateurish anti-hero solos.  I made every kid in the 90s think I could do that and of course we couldn't... Kurt executed rock n roll for being the unobtainable dream that only madness and purest pursue nowadays as the rest of the rest of the world samples those old hits or plays in similarly sad cover bands.   2 Slipkot - All hope is gone. The maggots on the corpse of rock n' roll was Heavy Metal where all the worst tendency's of rock n roll are what you aspired to. Cliche extremes of horror film imagery and pornography's emotional complexity. A nightmare that swallowed the dreams of a generations looking for the party... though with understanding we approached it like Jason approached a victim in Friday the Thirteenth.  and ...

  (Love one another) Things come and go People drift in and out of life  One day you have a future Another day wounds and strife  What I need to say I stubbornly hold down Blame me It’s fair Our future isn’t bound But I still hope… Despite the evidence  That a heart can heal As I move to repentance 

(Discombobulated on my birthday) Beyond yearning Is the bedrock The binary state of yes Or no Birthdays are complicated Thirty-six-years of poor decisions Lead to this one being alone It didn’t have to be alone I chose as I always have Morning sadness Evening peace Will I ever get used To reruns on tv as the main dish? Don’t know and don’t care - The world Is on its way to ending The final judgement will show us  how the coin lands Though we flipped  and caught it in our palm The judgment is not hours to make We are everything and nothing The plot The extras The victims And the persecutors  But we are not one thing, that is the judge It’s in the air All we can can is…. Hold out our hand in expectation To catch the coin And let our name be called To whichever It may be Eternal salvation Or eternal damnation A billion choices …but all roads lead to Rome.

 The sparrow  Birds as a metaphor  Freedom above trust -  When time is coming  For an expression of lust -  I see my strength  Weakness is its kin  To float above sorrow  With gravity as a friend -

  The newt We were (me and Chey) Walking around the neighborhood  She saw a little newt missing an eye On layers of brick Holding back the bank of a hill Picking him up And placed him On a stump Where I assume He found peace And potential safety We were going to break the rules Of my lease to help the critter Take him and rehabilitate his Tiny life But when we got back he was gone I was anxious I hope he is safe We’re all tiny lights in the darkness  Mine was dimming till Till you rekindled the flame Flames carry from souls Like fire on a candle wick Souls renewed become something new Trash blown into The corner of the roundabout  I don’t know what is the metaphor Or the truth to articulate Other than I hope We have more days like this one Saving a life Is no little victory But if you include the newt… Chey saved two And I would not have had The joy of witnessing Any Of It… without…