3.23.18 – Freestyle XVI – Fallacy, Malice

Understandably, reprimandingly, single-handedly so
compromising, unsurprising, undecidedly whole
counter-parted, broken-hearted, open-started and go
simply vicious, so pernicious and auspiciously droll

A coal miners son, fed to wolves one game day
a namesake afforded him but never felt the same way
after that, and no matter what you can’t have it back
the men in black amount to the means of seizing reduction

On a one-way vanderbilt, the man who built it stood stared
out on the whimsied winter, wondering what could stand it there
He hadn’t dared to be more than a keen observer
but sooner or later every nose gets a whiff of the fervor

Stir-crazy, a rat and terrier columbine
Shocked when I met you still you claim that you’re collar-blind
and hard of mind, how wonderfully wrapped in cryo-flame
centered on the wisdom you’ll willingly live to die or gain

Am I ashamed of the person who is becoming me?
Am I to blame for the one who wasn’t confronting me?
A honey bee would a sting a single soul for its sweetness
somewhere in heaven the mercenaries are paid back

Somebody claimed that a man is born just to see himself
to breathe in stealth but it seems we’ve turned it to greed and wealth
you needn’t help us, we’re well aware of our dire fables
So introspective, connected to all these wire cables

It’s all a fallacy, malice, I say it callously
no golden palaces, chalices, gleaming gallantly
In a million miles from now I’ll only be lurking
around the corner, working off a morning’s worth of insanity

We talked about how art means more than critics do, how everyone’s a critic and even the good ones don’t add as much to this life as the people whose existences they live to justify. The point was raised that you ought to at least be an artist yourself in order to qualify as a critic, but that doesn’t really seem to be a requirement after all. Everyone’s a critic, but what good is that? What good does your opinion of public expression do for anyone else? Is that your expression, your power, to glean your purpose off of everyone else’s? Shameful. I don’t listen to music or read a book or watch a movie because some other arbitrary individual with a title of authority suggests that I ought to or ought not to, I do those things because I decide that they’re worth doing, or that the art speaks to me, and no one else can make that decision for me. So why does anyone feel the need to spend their time qualifying anyone else life over doing something with their own?

If I were impatienter I reckon I’d be stationed somewhere…different from here, sure, but that means nothing as it sits. If things were different, things would be different. If I were less inclined to let myself be happy… more maybe that’s precisely the problem, and I’m only running in circles from myself, to be ‘successful’ or be ‘happy’… as if it were even a question worth asking. Masking your bullshit, the bullwhip’s got me pulled in and there’s profits on the line, stocking every dime, stop! there isn’t time. Binding, these mind games, wishes never penny-tossed for, many-crossed for, 3.25%. Blimey, what a time to be unwinding, right before my eyes a new environment in entirety, I see it shine and it inspires me, they could fire me and I’d wire the sum of my parts, no, more than that my common, two and essence back into my account of how this all ought to go, what we all ought to know, but are all too afraid of letting go. No more buybacks. No more life hacks if you just stay on the right track, act like you’re your greatest asset, facetous, masters are coming after us but what have they got on us, what do we think we need from them, aside from what we’ve already inherited, the greed of men, we bleed in the end intend to do something beautiful, useful with existence up to then. The tide is coming in and though we don’t know where or when, we ride it, glide but never bide or go outside it, we’re pirates, and life is an unmapped sea.

Measly me, seized the deed the dieties, to eternity, burn with me, for tomorrow you may live, and you’ll want to have a few decent stories to tell then. Fend for yourself, they tell you, as if it’s not the only thing you’ve ever done, as though living here means you’ve never run, well aware you were always the clever son but could they’ve made a better one? Better how, exactly? Someone more exacting, precisely civil forfeiture, torture, mortuary and no more. Boredom, sore cords in the throat, frozen open, totally silent. A recipe for violence, riled up little rhyme or reason craved heathens, depraved of even a time for being reckless, a crime for us to expect this life to be more than paid breathing to us, screw us, who us? Your brutal constituency, are you listening? Misdemeanor for tagging beams on the sidewalk while the guy talks about protecting coal mines, and I’m the dirty dealer. We don’t want to be what we were before, we want to be something new, better, whether or not we make it surely won’t stand to take any more of your improper-pander, slanderizing idealizers, scientists and final visions to halt the grimy emissions or at least incite the fines to drive these mindless men toward kind decisions, environment dying, buying ourselves a ticket to mars is about the lowest crime there is, time to ditch this shithole, fix ol’ red up for business, admissions exorbitant, commissions come forward my friends. Let’s end it here, or clear it up, dear god, steer us toward salvation from our own contamination, or make sure we don’t get far enough to fuck it up again.


Below, my first go at re-covering a book, The Poetical Works of Edward Rowland Sill, 1915. The book had been in my collection for years as just the textblock with torn endsheets, and after moving out to San Francisco, finally, I’ve found myself with a latent goal for all these volumes that I’ve rescued from dollar-bins and dumpsters, and that is to learn how to repair and conserve them, that they might be able to spread their insight for another 100 years with just a little assistance.

12.20.18 – Freestyle VI

The whole point of this was for insight
and if you hold yourself back for any reason, well, you’ve lost it
I’m tryna know the way, yeah
I’m tryna understand myself
and it’s night like these that show me how far I’ve come
and how much I still don’t know
Eatin’ fried food on a Wednesday
broke a hundred dollar bill for that soul food
and damn is it tasty, somethin’ about the nights I had no choice but to
but now it’s by choice and I feel it all through me as a result
Ha, I sat at the cocktail table tonight and decided that I am an adult
not just listening politely, but perhaps I oughta be engaged like I’m one of them
You’re not just listening anymore, you’re one of them
so why do I feel like I’m just biding my tongue?
Everything’s that said I remain a player unsaid so as to not sound dumb
but that’s not the real reason
I’m intelligent, my thoughts are relevant
but in the moment I would much rather sit reticent – why?
maybe I feel they’re titled-based and maybe I feel a tidal wave is
pulling me up towards a shore I’m not meant to be on,
rather, pulling up from a shoal should never have settled for
I know that this has all been said before but these aren’t my people
either by my own will or what have you, I don’t want to keep them
or keep this up
Pretending I’m a part of it when I’m at the bar with them and
when they all leave I remain to chat with the tender
much appreciated my man, pay him in tender
I don’t even want to pretend that my status has any import
show up in high heels, ties, suits, and I’m still in my black jeans
Either I’m slightly out of pocket or I’m in some black genes
apart from the flock, or at least the one that I graze with
the one I concede to sell my soul but it pays with
the one I swear I don’t wanna spend 2 or more days with
I tell myself that it’s coming and to be patient
but maybe the whole point is that I gotta decide to quit waiting
I’m more than aware by now that these just aren’t the type for me
You all do you, and be beautiful, but that ain’t right to me
Seems like I simply unfit to sit with society but
there’s no rule against that, and honestly it sounds fine to me
if I’ve got the choice I’d rather be me entirely
And never been convinced that that wasn’t an option all along

Man I just want to be free of this place
Like everything about it has me all green in the face
like what I see doesn’t matter, it’s what I feel in this space
And everything I do seems to be for the sake of complacency
Like life-support for a philosophy I never held
vestiges of hope for a life I never wanted to live
that I’m not meant to
I’ve been sent to do something very specific, and I believe that
Even if I only get close to it, I am me
more than anything else I’m liable to try and be
and all the world is my oyster but I’m aimed at a separate target now
There’s all the world to explore, certainly, and no one could get to it all
but I’m down to give it a shot, all that I’ve not learned yet is worth it
and that’s most things, but those things aren’t what I’m really here for
More than anything, I just want to capture moments with words
and that’s what that dude said at the bar, music can decorate time
and art only decorates space, but he’s a bit out of line
you oughta feel for your passion, make it the most important thing to you
no matter what you do, believe that that’s the only thing for you
I didn’t choose this trend either, friend, but it suits me
and if you need a purpose that’s the truth, see?
It’s not about understanding, man, look what you’re handed
and play the game with that – you can only hold the bluff for so long
and soon enough one or another thing will catch up to you
either you’ll yourself to the stifling, forget who you are underneath who you tried so hard to be
or not to be
or you’ll be unable to hold it back, and crack, as it were
You know better of course, you’re only now sane for the first time
slipping back into the flow like I finally writ my first rhyme
eudaemonia, money’s got a hell of a way of playin’ ya
against yourself, and your selfish if you take all the time you need
to make sense of it, and all the while you’re rackin’ up dollar signs
and feelin’ like you don’t have to worry no more, you’re finally movin’ up
to where though? If I’m always gonna feel lost
what does it matter how situated I am when I just wanna get outta here?

Let’s say I sit at a wooden desk wearing full wools
By candlelight, in the twilight of a winter afternoon
The smell of match smoke always gets to me, and flickers up while I write to
myself, whomever I feel compelled to give a few words to
All my life I’ve been fascinated by the amazing things that the words do
and in that time I’ve made sure to take plenty of pictures
I mean I capture those moments, they’re fettered, lettered,
Translated time into words and I’ve got a lifetime of em
smoke a pipe beside the fireplace, writing
anything else that manages to make it all the way through my mind
it belongs somewhere, and as long as I’m unsure
just where, I’ll bring it all to the forefront
and perhaps once I see it right in front of me I’ll quit fucking around and take it.

1.23.18 – Freestyle XI

It’s a race against time then, and not much else at all is worth running for
A hundred more lines, or a thousand and maybe a single one of them hints at the truth
Or they all do, really, but it’s up to the rest of existence to make some sense of it
And I to give them as many opportunities to do so while I’m here to keeping trying shit
What isn’t it now? What are you waiting for? Tell me, what more do you need to be, to be?
In not so much time I’ll be more than that, different, and I can never speak to that person again
What isn’t worth capturing, in this moment, what isn’t worth using your existence for?
Every book that I rebind, every verse I record somewhere – physically, let’s do more of that
And less of… well, I’m lazy, and apparently more likely to get high that heightened to any state
I’m cold-blooded, operate best in the sun per my reptilian instincts, and couldn’t care less
About anyone else, I’m so hung up on my own is and aren’ts that I’ve no time to notice yours
But of course, I do still, and fall for you, and fall behind myself, true crime – I said I have no time
And obviously, I do. Still, if all we’ve got is a shot at making a difference in another’s existence
And there’s so much to existence you and I will never get through, it only seems right to do
As much as you can manage, as long as you don’t lose yourself in them, you are them
By them, of them, for them, humanity is so much more autographic with me as a bookbinder
And so much more musical with my sounds bouncing around in it, ringing off each new ear
And so much cleaner and greener for every can and cardboard carton picked up off the curb

I don’t ever want to host a house party, just to entice a group of people into my sphere
I don’t like to mingle, like getting a taster spoonful of every flavor in the Coldstone cooler
And leaving without settling on anything, or having the enhancement of any flavor at all
When we first meet, we ask each other the same questions, no matter the scenario
We always default to the same few queries of each other, such that we just say the words really
Without ever asking a question as though you wanted the answer, because we don’t
Nobody wants to waste their life away listening to what anyone else has to tell about their life
There’s no time, all I can afford to beg you to praise me or commiserate with mine, cyclically
Look at me, here I go, here we all are, because I can’t stand being alone with myself
What do I do if I have nothing to busy my mind, keep me outside of myself so I can say I’m fine
I have nothing to prove to any of you, it’s myself I mean to impress, and I digress by saying so
I suppose I’d rather be here, graphically digressing, under the guise of latent artistry
The hardest bit is the part where I have the dreams and the means but just won’t wake up
So apathetic to my current status, subsisting at it, that I’ve done nothing to remove myself
All these ideas I have of what I could be, I should be, but I haven’t set to make any moves
Nope, still sittin’, and ever-more wishin’ I was elsewhere, that I had something to back me
Some-thing. For me. Selfishly I just want to be valuable to everyone else just like they do
I’m just as hopeless, hoping that I can do something to prove me wrong for your sake
But it’s all made up anyway, and if you really have something to say it needs no warrant

And maybe I just don’t, or I won’t because I’m sure as hell not putting any effort in it now
There’s no reason for it other than a lack of focus, a lack of purpose even, no right move
Because without a direction I’m tossing darts at the horizon, swimming in circles
And the water is fine, or it could be, but still it isn’t enough, which just begs more questions
Am I better off trying my whole life to change it, or I ought I just learn to be happy with what is
And is not? I’ve got plenty of time to decide, if having an answer is all that matters to you
The fact of the matter is, in either case, you won’t find anything without keeping your eyes open
And you won’t ever hold something valuable unless you go out and grab it for yourself
So wait or not for the answer of whether or not it’s worth the effort, but take something out of this
And put something back, you, by, of and for us all, and for yourself, with the time you’re granted
In another moment, you will be entirely new, and looking back on what you did or did not do
And the only one who it matters to keeps regurgitating the same few mantras every morning
Mourning his own inaptitude… inactitude, and then perpetuating the shit for no one’s sake, cyclically

Eventually something’s gotta pop, I tell myself, every afternoon with a millimot doting on my own ego
In reality, either I’m gonna decide to grab or never have the chance to let it go, no holding back
For all that’s left to know, a few things about me are pretty damn clear and I still manage to mute them
Refute or transmute then, pretend I’m doing dutifully what I set my mind on beautifully, the dreams
Accrue in me, still I sit silent and stupidly and watch the world spin by, wondering what to do
The answer is something, anything, as long as it is true. If you conceive it, it’s you.

‘But I did not believe in a
Heaven and hell world of opposite’s kind of reality
And I gained control of myself
And I decided to press on’

The Chemical Brothers – ‘The Golden Path’

1.7.18 – Tipping

I don’t want to hear any more about what you ‘almost were once’
Your through-rose-colored-glasses-cast past-tense fantasies
Facsimile, similar only in the sense that you’re living next year’s story still
Spare me your good intentions, they’re stops you never made on your way here
Where did you come from?

What are you made of that your recipe doesn’t explicitly list?
What do I taste when I’m near you – I don’t want to hear you
Pining for the life that you too missed, all that’s gone unmixed
Unless your soul-stirrings render any sort of reality out of you
Unless you’ve moved to produce a new facet or two out of your confusion
It’s as ephemeral… and now it’s already ancient history, incapable and unworthy of discovery

Someday you told me you were about to… but then life happened
As if there were anything else happening
If life gets in the way of you living, you really are in a sorry state
You’re making it as it makes you, the beach between will and was
No grain waits for the waves to pause, nor does the sea seek an inland lap
But the balance is struck on just that front, and we call the sea as we see it, be because and in spite of it
The tide might guide you by its own logic, but those who tread in place can’t blame the water

Consider yourself a leaf on the breeze and you’ve already lost the will to live
Dropped off and ceded your green to other tree-steepled, fare falling to the whim of the wind
Is air too to be blamed for refusing to cessate, ferment along with you?
If ever there was a futile fancy it was in they who proposed that time alone will tell us anything
It will tell us everything, and you’re worse off with that than you are with a blank slate
Then, at least, you’ll have no choice but to be more, every stroke new, every idea a breakthrough
We would rather wallow in our insatiable search for knowledge than steep in a simple truth
That being that being is its own reward, and you’d spend your victory lap reviewing the receipt

Meet me at the crossroads of all that you will never fulfill, and we’ll drive in circles until we’re blue in the face
In the passenger seat is your fear, not of failure, but for your lack of a map
Your soul the backseat driver who’s never led you astray, still you mostly demand that they look out the window, stifling
And how clearly it all blurs past from that vantage point while you stare straight ahead
Unable to brake, and unwilling to challenge your perception of what may or may not be beyond the city limits

Climb to the top of a mountain, but before you do ask it kneel before you, place you atop itself
And after, look out over all those who were like you, and understand why it did not
It’s not a matter of anyone pulling the ladder up behind them – it’s the ladder which makes the summit worth anything
Would we be anywhere without going there, and if so, what would any place be but between the last and the next?
What a way to turn all the world to a snowglobe; to make yourself even smaller than you started
If only we would take a single step with our own feet, a single sidewalk would hold a new universe with each

1.10.18 – Self IX

I think I have goals but I can’t or won’t set them

I roll them around but I never accept them

I either over or under-vet them

I see them out so far ahead of me, or so vaguely, that the blurred span of color over time is not insignificant but utterly unknowable and socially I’ve no bolster to do anything about it

I can tell you in one minute that every second of existence is a witness and party to the infinite miracles out here, how everything comes around in its proper place, and comes about with good reason, according to the universal logic, then the next minute I will drop them all on the floor as they come because I don’t have enough time to decide what to do with them.

You just gotta do what you do and it shouldn’t be so hard to sustain something like that. Keep the energy in, direct it, don’t give it up or allocate towards anything that you can’t enhance yourself with. Grow upwards, not outwards. There’s no such thing as a meaning if you would only take the time to realize. You’ve got it. You let it go, You retain it and you let it show. Get it, go. Only one thing left for me to take on yet and its the essence of humanity. Let your vanity loose, spruce it, make no use of it if you can handle doing so. You would go the top of any ice cream cone if you managed it. Here were are now though. Let’s get ready for a piece of the coming, and maybe be that much more aware of how ready it is to you. You’ haven’t got the time to wait, just the energy to pull minutes closer to you, a magnetic self, bringing the universe on into yourself and through again. The last time you made any effort to move, there were stars falling as a result. They’re yours now. We’ve taken them, made a gold chain and lain to rest anything that ever weighed us down, made us frown, laid us crown. Bade a scoundrel to do your bidding, and all that is is good in you will sharpen and hone all that is lustful, greedy. Win your own ring, and pursue yourself with a fiercer passion than anything you see here. Everything that follows is a result of what you see here. What do you see, hear? What is now that must be taken advantage, and which will not wait for the future under any circumstances, begging us to be a part of it? Where will we go without going there a single step at a time, and which of those steps can we ever take but the next one? There’s no such thing as the achievement of normalcy, of purpose, of humanity, but we are all meant to be a part of this, to create and it and be created by it, see it bud, flower and come to fruition in our own time, and rot while the rest of the perpetual forest lives and dies on.

Empathy/Apathy. Base what you say on the good it can do for humanity, and regard what humanity does with what good it can do for you. I live for everyone else because it’s important to me to do so. I have all there is to learn and to contribute back into the cycle, and anything which won’t enhance you, your ability to create and to contribute and to own it, it’s not worth picking up, and in fact you are not living for them at all, because they do not know what good you can do, only you do. Therefore the outside comes in filtered through apathy, and a sense keeping yourself in a seat of priority before accepting anything you witness, and the inside goes out through a screen of empathy, and should not make it out into the world if it will not do it some net good. Any way that you can make yourself better for the sake of everyone around you… it’s just so obviously superior to doing anything for any other reason. It may well be as simple as setting that perspective for yourself, to believe that you are doing good for the world by doing good for yourself, which causes it to be so. Or this is just exactly what I need to make sense of it…

It’s on me now. It is me. I’m here writing this out without a clue where it’s got to. Where did stop while it kept on, mentally I am not the type to get ahead. I’d rather put the back of it to the grass and let the breeze whistle through my ears as it goes. Where the sunshines, I shine. Photosynthetic. I make light of the situation. In any case, I’m as unaware as the next guy to try and make something of himself, and we don’t enough consider the ingredient list nor consciously let go of it. Be rare. But be that, or obscure, it’s only fair. Pair the skill and what suits you with the will to do it. We’ve got the better option in our hands, in our back pockets, tattooed over our arteries. Don’t leave it on the kitchen table when you rush out to work in the morning. Measure it against what you thought you were capable of, not against what you think anyone else wants. It’s there in everyone and you fucking know what I’m talking about, even if you don’t too refer to it as the ‘soul’. You feel it when you’re there, and you don’t have to tell me or anyone but it is, but you have a responsibility to humanity to profess it to yourself, and what you do with it then…. your prerogative will be to quit holding back, and you will create as you were created, and be not a minute more by your life, but for your life


So very little of this cityscape is organic. Who raised that pole, planted that bush, laid that grate, smoothed that sidewalk, lives in that house, dropped that broken glass bottle? One just like you. Nothing you see is without some element of humanity, some personality, some something that might have been you, something normal. Which parts are yours? Who painted those lines? Who cares? Who wants to paint lines someday? Who just wants to care someday?



I am never held back or kept from my intentions by rules as much as I am by my own will

Mmkay, so what are you gonna do with that?

Well, I need to just take ownership and do those things and move past my distractions and excuses and believe in my goals and do what I’m meant to do

Which is…?

…I don’t know. I don’t know what I want exactly.


Words. I want words. I like writing them, making them, reading them, using them. Find the right words.

The right words for what?

The right words… to describe… the truth… reality. The words to capture reality. To share this reality. To share life. The right words to pass on something meaningful from what I’ve learned from my time here, something outside of myself.

You need to write religiously. Seriously. Read like it’s study, apprenticeship, rather than a hobby or something to pass the time. You hate your present habits but it has nothing to do with their monotony – stultification –  and everything to do with keeping the wrong habits. Work at what you know you must and at least you will know you’ve made some progress in some intentional direction.

Now, like the man out his car window said: ‘Put your phone away and live your damn life’


That thing that you had been hiding for so long – didn’t it kill you?

Didn’t it claw at you from within; twist you to nausea like guilt so often does?

Maybe you’re just stronger than me – I know that’s what you thought.

It pissed you off that I always kept my cool. I made a point of keeping it, and I still do.

To you, my lack of hostility made me soft. I never knew what the thing that made you soften was.

Your entire life you were falling, and you never let me catch you until you were caught.


Try disparaging yourself more deeply

Cutting yourself down more comprehensively

Perhaps then you’ll finally be rid of all the reasons to go on

Maybe to aim so low is already too much of a direction for someone looking to be lost