Particular Moments

More Stars than There are

Quest of the 144 Star Clusters

17, 17, 17
Everywhere - the air has become Charged.

Could We now go back
to Sleep, this death row slumber,
of slow but certain
downward demise ---

Is it possible
to now close your Heavy
Shell-shocked Eyes,

Once We've been Called
to Awaken and Rise, and
to Cast Thy Net
to The Right?

Have the Brave
Engaged themselves, for Our Sake,
In the most Pivotal Conflict
of the Times...?

This War that spans
Across Space and Time;
that Decides the Fate of Man ---

Which Path shall Our Children
Set sails on,
Enslavement, Chaos, or
A picturesque episode
of Blossoming Peace?

And Who are the Enemies?
Inter-dimensional demons...?
Hahah - Surely they were
Tough to Beat.

(Have you had Visions,
Seen the Foul Smelling
beasts...crawling Beneath
the deceivingly vacant Deserts?

Have you...had your hands bound
as you witnessed the raping
and devouring of your Kin
Under the the blackened sun...?!)

Having survived the gory
Eclipse,
Where is Your Righteous Anger?

Shall We be Valiant
In Memory and Honor
of the Good, the Exploited, and the Fallen?

Shall We take on the Sword
of Vengeance,
After We've mourned
The Innocence destroyed,

White Flowers Inflamed,
Ravished?

.
.
.

Fellow Men and Women,
The Prophesied Age of Aquarius
hath Dawned Upon Us
All,

After having been maliciously
Denied
So many times (dark hands).

The Warriors of the Past
Who risked Everything to
Usher New Earth forward ---
1860, 1960, once more 2000 ---
Are they now smiling,

Now that We draw nearer to victory
This Time, Once for All?

No more resurrections
to the vile. Hydra's head
Severed, cut down
Under Cyrus' Command.

Brace Thyself.
Normalcy as We knew it
Gone out the window,
Everything up shall be Revealed
to be down;

Hidden Treasures are to Sprout.
Fact shall be overturned by Truth
Logic is to be rectified by Love.

Open your Mind and Souls ---

Do you see
The Fountain holding
The Water of Life
Rising, soon to burst,
Freely?

 
 
 

Shall We Become Like Flies?

Have you been Alarmed
By the specks
of Tragic Truth
That have peered through
The Fog of terror and anxiety
In this Year of years,
2020?

“They are dropping like flies.”

Who are these unfortunate Souls,
Who let go of their Names,
Their Friends and Families—

Their Loved ones,
and Exchanged
Their Significance and Purpose

For an irreversible membership
In the Nameless Club
of Decaying flies?

Who are you?
You Individuals now turned
Empty seats?

You, The Hole
In our Hearts?

If God Willing,
You are still here,
Help Us, if you cannot help
Yourself —

Help Us,
So we shall not shed
More Tears,

So we aren’t further
Sobered and Yellowed
by your Departure.

There’s plenty o’ Pain
Here,
We’re sure —

But it’s still bearable
and Beautiful
With You Still Here.

A Dog Who Smells Like Fish

There’s a Joyous Dog next to me —

She smells like Fish
And the scent of Fresh Soil
After a good, long
Rainy Day.

Every paw-step she takes,
A rich breeze of Life
Follows;

She likes to Chase,
And she likes to eat,
With a crazed gobbling,
That is.

Somehow,
I sense that
She is more Alive
Than the likes of me.

Sound Check

Another Year and Half on Hiatus,
When will your Songs be Heard?
When you've been put Under?

Break your Eggs, my Friend---
You are every bit as Consequential
As the Stars and the Moon!

It'd be a Sin
To hide your Essence
And mute your Lustre.

Eye of The Storm

Faint
But not so
Distant

Echoes
Of Sweet Melodies,

Sang by the Innocence
Of Our Children.

The Sun’ll Shine
Once again,

As their Precious Tune
Draw nearer,
and Nearer —

Let it be,
That This Time,
The Better Angels
Of Our Nature

Will Never Again
Allow the Beauty of Innocence
To fade and wilt into
Grotesque and Unseen
Absence…!

Never again,
Shall We turn a Blind Eye, and
For millennia,

Tolerate the hidden,
Unseen, unheard, but
Grossly Rampant Lacerations
That took place
Night after Night,

Six-feet Under.

Yes,
The Sun Will Shine
This Time —

This Time…
Broken Hearts
Are Not Forgotten.

Seasons

Is it really true---what they say,

“One life ends, Another one begins.”

If so, is it the best one could wish for?

We live in a strange reality, one in which the best lessons are taught with loss and death. We survive the perished, and live our days breathing leftover air.

We go to different places, make new bonds, start and restart new lives---each a second chance, all to one way or another, make up for what we could not rescue in the first place.

"We'll do it Better this time."

It's not so sad as it is bittersweet, like the passing and rebirthing of seasons.

Living in A Present End

The Sun rises upon our City,
Shining through
and eventually rising past
the Dust
and Smog of Unspeakable
Terror---

That which some of
US have been Spraying
and Pressing,
with an devilish
determination of Doom,

Upon those defenseless
in our muddy, Earthly
Lot.

You Stand by
the East-facing window,
and Dawn radiates itself
half-muffled,
through our Now
Sedated Sky---

Constrained by its
Silver veneer of death,
Mapped haphazardly
and logically
Overhead.

You Look back
in the Mirror, and
the Silhouette looks
Back sickly,

With Blood-Shot Eyes.

He looks back at you,
as if you were the one
who were dead,

"Have you been suffering obliviously,
If not having had been
Duped
into Half-Hosting
Our Greatest War?

Living one eye blind,
While having lent the other
to play mere Bystander?"

Cup of Starfucks


Give me a nice Cup
of Starfucks:

Quickly procured
and scantily done---

I don't care about all
The Plastic
on my tongue,

So long as Their
army of Robots
churn out The Dope
from Morning
to Dawn.

So pour me
that neat Cup
of Cheap Grace,
A dozen or so ounces
A day,

Easy and laced,

Until All of Our
Bodies Shut Down.

getting even with madness

shadows crawling, sins go on repeating
as you scantily prop your back,
fighting cross-generational
demons.

years without Transcendence
or pure self destruction,
cut out from the fast and easy
perishing---

do you find yourself now
so needlessly harsh,
morbidly crass;
so stubbornly brash?

would opening your skull,
and peeking in to
snap these tense cords
bring you final release?

mute screams, muffled
between inner ears
reverberate and
seep---

until we are nothing
but knots over knots:

finding ourselves
in a messy string.

But hey now---
hey now, hey now:

If we are so Lucky
as to
Carry On Living...

Remember,
Grit your teeth!
trace the harder
route to Release---

Follow the timeless Patrons
of Form and Patience,

And all the while,
.
.
.

Rage.

Plan with fervor;
Desist; Trample if you must---

but Do---
not try but do,

Toss
until chaos
becomes Peace.

Contemplation: A Midnight Night Storm

The rain has been persistent throughout this night. It is a bit past midnight, and woken up by the whirring phone that warned of a possible flood, I am urged to stay up and wait for this tumultuous deluge abate into anonymity, so that the mind can finally quit thinking out loud.


The nature of the thunderstorm was not felt until I looked out to the balcony to rescue our potted majestic palm, which had been tipped over by the fierce wind, and was laying miserably on its side, with its branches awkwardly stuck into the balcony fence.

"My poor friend..." I lamented as I ushered myself outside the door.

Almost immediately, the reality of nature struck, as my pants and T-shirt quickly began soaking up the rain droplets being blown sideways past the illusionary comfort of having a roof. Wet garments feel thinner than when they were dry and warm, and the wearer gets reminded of how divorced we as a species truly are, when a little wetness and rain seem to become an ordeal.

I scurry back to the apartment with the palm, feeling its weight compounded by all of the water its soil drank up during the three hours it had been left in the downpour. Maybe it was no coincidence: I needed to get up from my purposeless slumber to ensure the comfort and survival of our botanical companion.

The various drizzling sounds of precipitation, with automobiles occasionally traversing in its midst downstairs, coupled with intermittent lightning strikes and their delayed, distant rumbling---there is something nearly otherworldly about the rain. It dresses our surroundings with a mystical skin that which speaks a variety of stand-alone languages: clarity, release,  even a grimy ruggedness, and more (depending on one's experience).

As a human creature departed from nature, I was(am) an lizstomanic, so I put on my pair of budget noise-cancelling headphones: a tune from seemingly another era comes up unexpectedly, and I am rushed into a special place, delivered there by a simple, much taken granted for ritual.

It is the strangest feeling: when personal melodic favorites that defined previous periods of one's life re-emerge in the distinguished present---he/she is temporarily dropped in an altered state, in which most of the old sentiments associated with the those near forgotten songs come rushing to the forefront of his/her senses, and it is so vivid that one could begin to fantasize, and maybe fear, if time and reality had rewound itself to a point in the unraveled, perhaps unravished past, or even more incredible, if the present reality was even real at all. What if, instead, we actually all unknowingly dwell within some simulated dream-like realm fabricated by our consciousness that had long ago been laid to sleep, perhaps forcibly locked away, shut tight behind a set of heavy, cold doors? What if---our True Awakening would produce a Light so Bright, that it'd tip the universe at its present state off its balance, and blind all of those who are too acquainted with both the Dark and Light..? 

Ugh, but really, who has ample practical time to ponder elaborately on such thoughts?

I beckon it'd be better to live and sift through the pieces as they come. So long as one remembers to simply.listen.

You might pleasantly surprise yourself with an set of tunes so personally ancient that upon hearing such, a mystical picture of that instant of yourself, now barely recognizable, is freshly painted before your mind's eye. Old song, old Self---but listen and feel closer, and allow New Interpretations and Realities to manifest, albeit they are many folds more difficult to procure than their once bone and flesh counterparts from that foggy, distant Past...

Still, Do try, partner! Like a slap happy Western Adventurer, striving on, against the lasting barrenness and with ever dogged Optimism and Faith, seeking to rekindle those porcels of Gold: prized Jubilance and Humanity, that which were hollowed out by Time and Fate, while the conscious of old became suspended in a day-by-day, week-by-week, and years-to-decades daze.

By this, look from outside your self-possessed veil, and acknowledge your hidden oppression, to which you had unwillingly handed your consent: to bear and its shroud of shoulder bending, neck snapping weight. Feel the pain and weariness, and acknowledge them. Then brew them all into a nice cup of rolling Storm, and let it rain down with a thunderous deluge, stirring you to wakefulness from your induced Sleep.

Look! Your Majestic Palm has been blown side ways, flailing in helplessness! Who does it have, but the full attention of your present Wakefulness?