in a heartbeat, another year has come to pass.
yet, the prison of limbo is still the status quo.
is retrograde motion the way to progress
or have the wheels already been set in motion?
new year's resolutions are for the feeble minded.
change starts from within and it starts here and now,
for everything is always in motion: the only constant.
moments, snapshots and glimpses are all we have
to anchor our experiences to the ocean of (un)reality.
our naïveté drives us to search in vain for answers
to questions concerning the purpose of existence,
hogtied to the sinking ship of linear perception.
the chaos of infinity is pleading to be uncovered,
waiting for us to transcend our perceived limitations.
the future offers us a smörgåsbord of opportunity,
from which we can create something breathtaking.
this dilettante is sick of starting things I do not finish.
from now on, I will climb hills before scaling mountains.
Somebody Comes to This Place
It is an old story.
Somebody comes to this place
and grows up in the shadows of buildings
and stars and other somebodies
Somebody learns to love:
to know intimately the houses
of the spirit and the flesh.
Somebody learns to hate and kill
and scream and curse like hell.
Somebody learns to be afraid and lonely
and sad, and to know the secret
of darkness.
Somebody learns to like the rain,
and things which are soft and green,
and hot food and cold water,
and the blanket of sleep,
and the music of the land and the sky.
Somebody learns so many things.
It is an old story.
Somebody comes to this place
and lives
and then goes away forever.
-Richard Brautigan
without foresight, indulging is retrospective justifications,
we set the harlot hounds of desire free
and the schism we use depleted uranium to maintain
is tomorrow's cataclysmic clash of corrupted canines,
searching for the bone of truth inside a river of dingbat dogma,
dressed up as a pretentious liberating raison d'être
it's high noon as the nuclear rapist claims another victim of complacency
and vacuum-in-fear vampires make their penultimate pilgrimage
to the boneyard of progress with fangs freshly sharpened
there's no need to reinvent Terman's eugenics paradise,
for the maternal mistress has perfected the design
of her super-deluxe all purpose civilisation cleaner
soon, there will be no reasons left for her to cry her sulfur tears
the playground of linear perception: torn asunder
the pharmacy of short lived fantasies: torn asunder
on this retrograde, radioactive day of judgement,
mother mendicant will finally claim her sweetest revenge
in the end, all things flow back to the source
and we saw...
crypto-fascist order sold as democracy
the representation is an actor's presentation
dropped from the heavenly realms of decadent info-sucking
what we believe is what we want to believe
hold your heads up high brothers and sisters
the champions of freedom are headed our way
drink through styrofoam syringes
then pick up your life saving remote control
it's going the be the ride of your death
step outside: they're coming with their happy bombs
let the shrapnel cleanse the dirt, sold to us
and if you leave the room before your turn
then you must be here because you can't see properly
