The reasons for this misdirection
predelection
long sense forgotten
misbegotten
stomach summer turn unchastened
like your yellow leaving
summer winter occupy.
So you the fairy
underwary,
likened unto heart of darkness
filthy future fantawry—
the witty, merry, filled with pity
dangerdirty
endless wander
and somethingthirty
hedonistic solipsistic
hypocritic oathoramic
latent un-post-pediatric
under-radar-fly—
your every fashion
never lashing,
neither very liked or wanted
known or vaunted
figurehead or hero left to die.
You are the bane,
the wane,
the one to vie—
you are the end,
the sent,
the night,
the burning, turning, winding light
don’t take my word,
don’t wait or gird—
just go forth and crucify.
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§ As you get older, the ghosts become more real than anything else.
§ Under the leaves, soil. Under the soil, stone. Under the stone, souls.
§ Radically empowering individuals in society may be the worst mistake we ever made.
§ Want to be a radical? Refuse to suffer. Then, wait for the assault.
§ Goodbye 2017, part two. (The real part.)
§ Sometimes you find home where you’ve never been—and you dwell where you aren’t.
§ The self can’t play Atlas for postmodernity because science is now supernatural.
§ Rehab is universal. So is history.
§ Identity, transcendence, and tactics.
§ Untitled. (a.k.a. Pretty faces, new old photos.)