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.


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.



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


I’m walking briskly like the breeze

As it’s whisking through the trees

And we’re both doing so with ease

And yet I’m wary with good reason


For the temperature’s a tease:

It’s getting cooler by degrees

Still balmy, mind you, for a freeze

Is quite unlikely for the season


Still a skeptics heart would seize –

It seems it’d take only a sneeze

The skies to pop, populace flees

And dryness take a try at treason


But now… the clouds must hear my pleas

Deem them sufficient to appease

Without my dropping to my knees

The sky beheld – so quelled, a boon


Because for now there’s but the breeze

And time for birds and boys and bees

To sing and saunter as they please

Til nigh’s the rising of the moon


I was thinking though, on my walk home last night, about how serious we tend to take ourselves, myself included even, and how unnecessary it really is. Relationships are more valuable than checking my emails a couple hours earlier. Finding an opportunity to grow yourself means more than chaining yourself to your paycheck, especially if you have enough to live on plus save some. I think some of the things we were taught to value are a little off, or at least we have them misprioritized. This shit is fun, life, or it should be. We bring our troubles and concerns on ourselves, some justified and others not, but that’s for each to decide on their own. There isn’t some grand tournament to participate in whose rules we must play by or whose prizes we must hope to acquire. It’s about enjoying this shit, whatever that means to you. Kick the fuck back and stop getting so caught up in yourself. Breathe. Laugh at your stress. It’s not worth it. You’re doing it because you opted to, because you love it even. That’s everything in our lives. Let’s practice acting like it.