In Diegesis

Heaven’s rising again
like the welling up of tears.
The emotional expulsion,
how could this be real?
It’s real. It’s real…

Heaven’s rising again
like the spelling out of fears.
The photographic emulsion
I’m seeing what’s real.
It’s real. It’s real.

Heaven’s rising again
like a belly full of beers.
The body’s self-propulsion.
Your flesh is real.
It’s real. It’s real.

Heaven’s rising again
like the melting of gears.
The societal revulsion.
My spirit’s still real.
It’s real. It’s real.

Heaven’s rising again
like the telling to our dears
beside the tide of the ocean,
Everything is real.
It’s real. It’s real!

Jesus was a miracle man
and my friends are pretty good people.
I believe in miracles, man.
I believe my friends are just going to become better and better people.
Even if they’re not my friends
right now (know what I mean?)

I believe the universe is expanding.
I believe the word “squared” in Einstein’s Theory of Relativity is the scientific home for God.
Think about it.
I believe in stories. Artworks. Colors. Music.
There’s this part of my brain that turns on when I believe things.
And I love turning it on…

more than anything.

God is a Spider, or Something

like that.

It made a Web, and that’s
Consciousness (all of it),
and then it had
Thousands of Babies
(by Itself – THAT’S THE THING!),
and all those Thousands
had their own Thousands,
and it goes on like that
forever,
and all the Googols of
us Descendants make
our own webs and we model them
on the webs that came before us,
which were of course originally modeled
after God’s web,
which is consciousness, remember.
And that’s our home in our short lives.

I’m making my own web now
(growing up, becoming a Man, you know),
and this right here is a part of it, this very poem
stretching out to some firm unmovable structure,
secure,
like a damn fine, I mean impeccably perfect
metaphor, yeah.
And you, reader,
you know your fate.

I’m going to EAT YOU!

I want to be like a party for you.
I want to be a shimmering light.
I want to be the thought that keeps you up at night.

Whatever that thought may be.

I’ve got too much starting to do.
It’s hard to step from the shimmering light.
I want to be the thought that keeps you up at night.

Whatever that thought may be.

My identity’s like an ocean on fire.
I want to be who you most admire.
Who you want to make love to

20,000 leagues under the sea.

I’m beginning to tell
the difference between
me and everyone around me.
What is that called?
The individual?

The line?

I’m like a spoke growing outwards
from the source of all consciousness,
and I’m trying to reach the wheel of humanity.
I know I can’t change the direction of its momentum.
But at least then I’ll be part of it.

I’m growing.

hardened
bitten
dead skin
like crescent moons
falling
into the trash.

let’s have a romance.
let’s get trashed and dance.

so many people have cancer.
i don’t have cancer
or any answers
at all.

let’s get trashed and dance
and have a romance.

the falling into
trash
crescent moons like
dead skin
bitten
hardened.

I recently woke up, it’s 10:18 AM in Chevak, Alaska. The sky outside my window is a pale azure, saturated with a tint of white. Last night I dreamt that I was staying at a hotel in Florida. I was watching movies with an old friend, and for whatever reason there was a remarkable amount of sexual tension between us. Eventually she just reached face-first for my downtown sailor and started going at it. Strangely, I felt real pleasure. Then I woke up and texted the girl, telling her about the dream. She found it amusing, and I went and masturbated thinking about it in retrospect. When I came I unleashed a torrent, like the Ents knocking down the floodgates at Isengard. My tissue disintegrated. I was a complete mess. Then I woke up for real. I realized I had had a dream within a dream. Feeling as I do every morning when I wake up – namely, unmotivated – I stayed under covers for a while until I eventually masturbated for real, which snapped me out of my sleepy entrancement. After I came this time, which was more like a honey dispenser than a floodgate-opener, the song from “Drive”, which I watched last night, surfaced in my ears. “A real human being / and a real hero…” My eyes opened wide. The masturbation and the dreams seemed like a lifetime ago. Today’s a new day, albeit a pale azure one.

Scientists in Kentucky discovered
that time crystals can exist.
Low energy particles that loop

endlessly

through time. Real matter,
but with no useful energy
output.
This reminds me of how I feel
in the morning when I don’t want
to get out of bed.

Scientists wonder if time crystals
could exist in imaginary time,
parallel timelines to what is actually

happening.

This reminds me of how
in the afternoon
I want to create beautiful things
and masturbate and
sleep and
read
at the same time, but
I can only ever do one thing
at a time.

I think what you just said is beautiful.
But you only said it because you think it’s true.
It’s weird how you don’t mean what you say.
It’s weird how you don’t listen to yourself
the way I listen to you.
You asked me a question and I didn’t know what to say.
Because I wasn’t sure how my sound would fill the space.
Moments unfolding leaving memories all the same.
Prana shakti my breath you know it doesn’t change.

I got a wind chime soul I’m hanging on your porch.
You’re swinging as you’re dreaming of our priorities.
Looking out for all the minorities.
Please, please me,
oh yeah,
like I please you.
I got a wind chime soul I’m hanging on your porch.
You’re making out with some other guy on your swing.
Some righteous guy.
A good guy.
I don’t ask why
God breezes by without paying any mind
to our priorities.
To the minorities.
I don’t wanna die ordering
things.
I’m not gonna die ordering
anything.
I got a wind chime soul I’m
hanging on your porch.

Next year’s gonna be absurd.
Touching down on planet Earth from the mothership.
City lights? The view from my window is not a silent movie.
Philly is a slow elevator ride in space.
[Up and down mean the same thing and
it never ends.]
Next year I’m gonna spend my time thinking of all the magnificent things I can do in a box.
Next year I’m gonna tell people all about the seventh sense
and God and how
nothing really makes any sense and how
sanity and insanity are
the same thing.
And when next year is over
I’ll have a college degree.

A song, like a meal,
is only worthwhile
because it ends.

a partial wind blow / a straight line stemmed in time
the city how it grows
i beat up my shoes.
cookie cutter souls breathing partial wind blows
my mind is full (of holes)
my mind is full (of holes)
my mind is full (of holes)

Chillin’ /w/ Dr. Strangelove
I’m living in a screen
Breathing in themes / nothing’s / obscene
Nothing’s obscene nothing’s
obscene.
Now a kid is telling me he wants to die
And I’m paralyzed on the other side disguised
as a guide
But I don’t always remember how it feels to be alive
It escapes me, it escapes //
me…
I guess I’m not cut out
to be //
a teacher

There’s a line separating the sacred
from the consumable.
Which side are you on
right now?