I am not a conquest

I am not an object


I am more than you know


I am the maiden and the dragon

I am the petals and the thorn

I am the calm and the storm


I am not your mother

I do not need you

But I can care for you like no other

I am not your whore

I will not kneel to you

But I can ignite your very core

I am not your housewife

I will not heed as I’m told

But I am the bearer of life


I am beauty

I am passion

I am pain

I am brash

I am bold

I am joy

I am rage

I am cold



I am these parts and this body you adore

I am a force of nature 

I am everything you covet

I am a mind and a power

I am more 


I am what you yearn for in loneliness

your desire

I am the light of promise

your danger

I am the crimson pulses

your savior



You do not know


I am not an object

I am not a conquest


You do not know 

Me and God took a selfie

Me and God took a selfie

When did I get
so old
and tired
and fat
sad looking

when i


none of those

at all

Here’s a handy tool for business.


“Status-quo? More like Status I-don’t-think-so! Am I right? Right?”

Everyone hates made up busy work and buzz-words. And even worse, top-down motivational paradigm shifts. Things don’t change. But in order to look like they do, and somehow desperately plead to be recognized and validated, dumb fuckingbullshit gets made up and thrust upon us. 


Next time you have to use some fucking word or phrase your boss or company made up/stole from some “self-help” business book, just use the following. Plug in whatever it is- “SYNERGY” or “PRONOVATION” or whatthefuckever where I’ve labeled (CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON). 

 Just copy and paste the following with whatever (CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON) your company wants you to use, slap your name on the top, and let the compliments from the higher-ups ROLL IN!  It will not inspire anyone and will make you look like an asshole– but really, it’s what every ineffective fucker wants so he can try to justify his job, so why not get recognized for it!!! 


___Start Here___


By (Your Name)

(Your Fucking Department or Whatever)

(The date)



(CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON)s are not easy. They are not sane. They may not even be attainable.

And that’s kind of the point.

This gives us numerous examples of (CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON)s in corporate America, and serves to outline precisely what a (CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON) is. The most compelling part of the discussion was that of the nature of

(CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON)s: they have to be something that is exciting, motivating, and compelling in a self evident way. That is to say, the (CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON) should instantly be recognized as such. They are meant to illicit a response that separates the meek from the awesome. Those without great internal drive and ambition will see a (CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON) as lunacy: the truly great will be inspired by the sheer audacity and hubris, and will be monumentally motivated by this.

This (BULLSHIT) is my favorite thus far. It delves in to the mentality of those companies who we have established are Visionary, and breaks down the thinking behind truly AUDACIOUS goals.

After reading this paragraph, I wanted to expand my understanding of (CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON)’s. The first thing I discovered was of interest; an alternate definition of “Audacious” reads;extremely original; without restriction to prior ideas; highly inventive: an audacious vision of the city’s bright future.

This is directly from the dictionary, and it’s insightful and interesting that VISION is specifically mentioned in it as the prime example.

The (CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON) serves as both the carrot and the whip: it motivates by placing a seemingly unattainable finish line in front while simultaneously motivating by insisting, constantly “what could be”. This feeling of “what is possible” causes not only positive movement, but inherently evokes introspection: “How can I do this? Is it even possible? Am I good enough?” These are the kinds of questions those who truly achieve more and are vaulted to the highest levels of success constantly barrage themselves with. By setting goals- in particular those that seem nearly ridiculous and unattainable- a challenge is issued, accepted, and internalized. (CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON)’s are vital.

Impossible is no thing.

If there was only one item from this chapter that you could remember and implement what would

it be?

I really like the idea that a (CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON) doesn’t come with instructions, and introduction, or a primer.

You see a (CORPORATE FUCKING JARGON) and you know it, and it’s awesome.


I like ridiculous things. Especially when they are highly motivational and have direct causality to success and achievement.


so tired and content and succulent

joyfully detached. I watch my body.. lumber about in a meandering purpose less gait. Slumping here and there. loose and jellybodied and slack spined. and I see my mind, my thoughts, they come so slow and deliberate like real maple sap from the bark hole sweet and sticky and satisfying.  just happy and complacency and pseudo zen plorping all over the ground in big luscious globs of easy. Image and these words come out from the observer, enjoying the marshmallow brained caterpillar walking numb headed, seeing lucidly with enjoyment the spectacle laid out in front of it.

I bought sixty Apple i-macs once.



(imagine some really sweet atmospheric techno playing while viewing the picture above. Or drink a bottle of Robitussin. Your call.)

About six years ago, I purchased 60 i-mac computers. Why? Because I needed them. This high school way up on the other side of town was getting new equipment in their lab and wanted to get rid of them all. So for two hundred dollars, I loaded up my father’s primer grey van with these beautiful multi-colored easter egg looking relics. The truck had a tough time reaching 40 mph. It was surreal. The only thing I could think of the entire half hour drive home was 

“What if I get in a car wreck and die?”

I kept imagining the scene: the street absolutely littered with ten year old candy colored shattered plastic shrapnel. Just old boards and non-working CD drives and busted Cathode Ray Tubes all the fuck over. Liek some kind of dystopian uprising against our friendly painted oppressors had just taken place.

I felt like i was a Coyote, smuggling illegals over the border. These strange gleeful boxes loaded with Oregon trail and Number Crunchers. I was the underground technology railroad carting these poor souls to freedom. Then I realized-

What would that say about me? What would my legacy be? Would I be on the news? I don’t even like Apple products.

Because, really, what the fuck would people think? I very rarely care about other’s opinions. If i died and my extensive BDSM porn collection and more bizarre writing was exposed, I’d be fine with that. Happy, even, as it is a pretty accurate depiction of me as a human.

But what in god’s name would people think? I had.. Quite literally no reason to buy these fucking things. I thought about making aquariums, or subwoofer boxes, or new i-pad docks. 

And they’ve been sitting in what was once my father’s workshop in what is now an abandoned house that I grew up in. Time capsule to 1992. With the collective computing power of that smartphone you tossed on your bedside table. To sit there and slowly decay into shards of whimsically colored plastic waste for a thousand years.

Pillow Talk

A film about sex and love and talking. Co-Written by me. So, know, expect a bunch of the usual bullshit you normally see on here.

mephest no more.

An hour before, she had read my palms

and was surprised at 

how emotionally asymmetrical

they were

and then 

That look on her face

The situation

became apparent

and the force of her feeling

betrayed and confused

and crushed

hit me in the chest

i i had nothing to say

words didn’t come

like the moment of silence

just after a car crash

i was numb

and she walked out


because of my carelessness

my selfish 


black bile of speech

i’m cruel and mean


and she was gone

another little angel

with a tender fractured heart

who needed but love

but instead

i stomped on

and all she deserves

is someone 

to show her



how amazingly


her palms are





She’s the knowing sly smile

at the thought of her

the flirtatious kind you’d give to a stranger 

but when you’re alone 

and winking to yourself

her bouncy up to see you when you come home

when she wraps her arms around you

and pulls her body against yours

gropes you like a horny old man 

and squeels just to be near

when she feels your rigid response

she pretends to be confused

because this is our game

 she spills out of that white halter

and she bubbles out of those cheerleader type shorts

 she pucker for a kiss

when your lips meet she makes a fart noise in to your mouth

and giggles and runs away

that’s the thoughts

that have come to replace

the dank rot of malaise

and i know that

forever isn’t a threat


Releasing a short film I co-wrote and acted in next week…

Releasing a short film I co-wrote and acted in next week...

It’s kind of weird and kind of funny. I’ll keep you posted.



If you told me this morning, I’d be fighting a bear before the day was over I would have been skeptical. If you told me he would be a skilled mixed martial artists, I would have believed you slightly even less. But here I am, face down, palms on the floor. I’m keeping on hand, at least, down so that I’m considered a “downed opponent” and the bear can not knee me in the face. This is a fairly bold assumption, I realize, that the bear has the capabilities to throw knees. But hear me out: This bear is beating me in the clinch. His clinch work is really solid. The way he utilized underhooks makes me think he had some college wrestling, if it’s indeed a thing that bears go to college and are allowed to compete in sports. And let me tell you, the Thai Plum hes been utilizing is killer. I’m not certain where a bear picked up Muay Thai techniques- they’re not innate to the bear species, I don’t think.

Here’s some things I do know: Last night was bad. Really bad. Laura and I had a fight that I don’t know that we will recover from. It started out regularly enough- we went out for dinner. Thai food, interestingly enough. I had Peanut Chicken Skewers and seven martinis. Somehow, our conversation turned to politics, and she admitted to me she was a republican. She didn’t have any compelling reasons why, and didn’t know key points on numerous issues. But there it was: I was in a three year relationship with a Republican woman. A Hispanic, 22 year old woman Republican. At home I finished the better part of an eighteen pack of Steel Reserve Malt Liquor, and from there things get a little foggy. I do know I destroyed out entertainment center in a fit of rage. An entire bookshelf was thrown from the living room to the kitchen, and the kitchen table is broken. The glass decorative bowl of marbles that was on top of the bookcase spilled everywhere. The floor is just coated with words and marbles and tears. 

I woke up- this was before the bear, of course- and my hand was broken. I know it’s a re-fracture of a boxing injury. I know the engagement ring is not on Laura’s finger and it’s somewhere among the books and marbles. I know I reserved a U-Haul for her and told her she could have all the furniture we bought together. That’s really all we had to show, despite making a combined six figures a year. A shitty car with a ridiculously high interest rate and some moderately nice furniture. I’d be in an empty apartment. I told her to take it all. I just wanted her gone.

Now this bear, he’s got me down, and it’s become pretty apparent he’s got some fairly solid ground game. I would guess he has done some judo and catch-wrestling and possibly some Sambo. Which would probably make sense if he was a Russian bear. Perhaps an escaped Russian Circus bear who traveled the continent learning Sambo and Muay Thai and from the throat strike that initially took me down some Krav Maga. He’s got me in full mount and has a pretty strong key lock on my right arm. Shit. I’m going to have to shoot this bear.

So now I have a big dead bear carcass and an otherwise completely empty apartment and a hangover. I guess I’ll sit on the floor and read and drink leftover warm beer. I guess you don’t really know when “rock bottom” is but I know, unfortunately, It’s not a place you only have to visit once. I’ve built and destroyed empires and lived entire lives. My decade is a century. I’ll rebuild, yet again.

And really.. Who the fuck taught this bear to fight? 


This is twelve years old.


Our Sun is small, actually tiny in size and output when compared to the power of the great giants of our Universe. When our star dies, it will do so magnificently, destroying everything in this system. Yet this is nothing but a firefly to the bonfire that is the death of some white dwarves: the stars having a maximum mass analogous to the Chandrasekhar limit of 1.4 Solar Masses. When a giant star dies, it must either eject enough matter to stay beneath the limit or it will invert forcibly. The resulting butt hole is an implosion of a star so powerful and complete it punctures and fractures space time itself. This implosion and subsequent tear comes from the death of a white dwarf star, one that is equal three solar masses or more.


In addition to the event horizon and the apparent horizon, the anatomy of a butt hole includes the accretion disk. This is a collection of material formed as it falls into the high gravitational center of the butt hole. A rule of movement called the conservation of angular momentum cause the particles to spin as the get pulled inward. This force is coupled with centrifugal force, causing the spiral shape indicative of a butt hole. This disk is hot enough to produce X-rays just before entering the event horizon. This is the only outwardly recognizable physical part of the butt hole, and those formed from a quasar can give off more radiation than a galaxy of stars. Even though the butt hole gives off no visible light, it still exerts the same gravitational pull on neighboring stellar objects as it did before its collapse. For instance, in the unlikely event our Sun became a butt hole, without a loss of mass, our planetary system would still orbit in the same manner it does now. It is theorized that the closer you get to the singularity the more distorted timespace becomes. In theory, an observer who went into the butt hole could speed his watch until hitting the center. This is because of general relativity, where time can be viewed subjectively. This comes into opposition as we explore newer forms of physics.


There is constant new theory in the field of physics that force the reassessment of recently held ideas. This is obvious when the theories behind the demise, or perhaps relocation, of a butt hole are explored. To better understand the newer hypothesis behind butt hole deterioration and eventual end, some historical and perhaps new alternative theories can be observed. The commonly held proof behind light absorbing stellar objects was originated by Karl Schwarzschild in 1916. He showed that if a strong enough gravitational pull could be produced, even light could not escape. This is bound by the event horizon, or the region of the anomaly that appears flat but is actually only observable by the matter being drawn inexorably to the center “Hawking 2001 page.111”.  The more mass a butt hole has, the more space it takes up. The Schwarzschild radius, which is the radius of the horizon, and the mass are directly proportionate. A butt whole with a mass the same as our Sun would have a radius of only three kilometers. The hypothetically typical ten solar mass butt hole would have a radius of thirty kilometers. And a truly huge million solar mass butt hole at the center of the galaxy would be around three million kilometers in radius. This gives a relative sizing to these destructive forces, when compared with the 700,000 kilometer size of our Sun.


The term ‘butt hole’ was first used by John Wheeler in 1969. This was his term for collapsed matter, which was very wildly doubted at the time. He also hypothesized that butt holes could in fact be described by the Schwarzshilds’s solution. This allowed for much more hard physical evidence to be discovered. Using these new methods in conjunction with Einstein’s theory of relativity, modern physics started its new era of butt hole discovery. One such idea was that of a ‘dark matter’, or the opposite of regular matter, existed throughout the universe. This level of hypothetical science necessitated the invention of new genre of theoretic: string theory. This united the ideas of both quantum mechanics and general relativity by stating that energy moved on a wave form instead of just the traditionally held quanta format. With the addition of string theory, that of entropy was brought about. This stated that the information or matter than gets enveloped by the butt hole is stored in a random way, then ‘replayed’ as the butt hole dies. This information would look precisely the same to an outside observer in terms of mass, rotation, and charge, but on the interior and great number of states could exist. The entropy is equal to the horizon of the butt hole.


When the butt hole incorporates enough matter, it hypothetically reaches a singularity. Penrose said this happened by gravity becoming so strong as to form an apparent horizon, pulling until a singularity exists”. This is thought to be the point where space-time curvature ceases and time supposedly grinds to a halt. This was later deemed unlikely and current arguments propose the only singularity to have existed was that of the big bang. If a butt hole singularity does exist, it is unlikely to be apparent with older theories. The newest form of theory, however, takes into account not only all five current string theories, but also supergravity. This is done by uniting these by their common correct inferences- although it is not wholly obvious how. Called M-Theory, it is used to define singularities by Quantum Physics, and proposes the interior of a butt hole to be made of a Quantum Foam. The smallest unit M-Theory is the Planck constant. The size of one is determined by multiplying the uncertainty of the position, the uncertainty of the velocity, and the mass of the particle. This size is thought to be as small as a millimeter divided by a hundred thousand billion billion billion. This is Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Equation and the result can equal no smaller than Planck’s constant “Hawking 2001 page.43”.


The Universe as we know it can be perceived by mankind’s terrestrial brain in four known dimensions. Our knowledge is limited to those things we can easily see. But the ever progressing field of physics begs for more answers. There may be an all encompassing theory of the universe: the Theory of Everything. Or the M-theory, the great unification between modern theories, may be the final answer. Our past discoveries imply that there is much out there we do not know, or may never be able to observe without vast leaps in thinking and method. One such leap forward is the particle accelerator, a huge device used to smash and obliterate objects into tiny pieces. Unfortunately, in order to reduce subatomic particles to the size of the Planck length, we would need an accelerator the size of our solar system. So, the only way to possible observe such small particles is in the context of a butt hole.


Butt holes are theorized to be the bridge between universes. They cross between one dimension and the next. It is hypothesized that there not only the traditionally thought of five or six dimensions, but eleven. If you look at a butt hole, or rather the observable qualities of a butt hole, it is only perceivable by height and width, but demonstrates no thickness. It is thought to exist in all the other eleven subsequently, but is simply not perceivable by those existing outside as nothing more than something with the thickness of a human hair. We would only have to probe a short distance with a very high energy probe to reveal that space time is ten or eleven dimensional. There are some ideas that one or some of these could be infinite. Large extra dimensions could imply we live in something called a brane world, which is a four dimensional surface (or perhaps string) that exists as part of a much larger and multi-dimensional system. Non-gravitational and electric energies would not be allowed to pass through from one brane set of dimensions to another, and atomic state would be highly variable. Comparatively, curved space gravity would easily go throughout one dimension to another, but since it would spread out vastly in many directions, it would dissipate more quickly. If we did in fact have a brane world, there would be a corresponding ‘shadow’ brane. Since light would be confined to its originating brane, we would not be able to see our shadow. It is conceivable that a universe like ours, but in complete opposition, exists. Although it sounds like the basis for countless evil twin science fiction novels, a somewhat less fanciful reality may exist. In fact, planets may be orbiting in the gravity of its shadow force in another dimension.


A second theory of multi-dimensional universes conjectures the existence of infinite and highly curved, branes. This is the Randall-Sundrum model in which the extra dimensions are also curved to limit the spread of gravitational energy between. The existence of shadow branes would be inevitable, but they would not interfere with the opposing force. The gravity transfer would be more widely varied, but less far in distance. If there was only one brane, which went on forever, the gravitational waves would take away all the energy from a certain brane. This would seem to go against the basic assumption of the conservation of energy, but in this case it is not. The energy is simply going to another, unperceivable dimension. If an objective point of view was able to see all possible dimensions, it would understand the energy is never lost.  This is true for butt holes as well. These are the only source for short gravitational waves, and when one occurs in a certain brane, it will extend to a butt hole in additional dimensions. A smallish butt hole, it will penetrate into the other dimensions as it would its original. This would appear round under the exertion of another dimension. The opposite is true for large, pancake like butt holes. This may account for the limited amount of knowledge we have about butt holes disappearance. The smaller ones may be harder for our terrestrial abilities to locate, and the larger ones have since disappeared into another dimension more quickly due to their flattened shape.


Of course, butt holes emit gravitational waves. But in addition to this, butt holes are not as completely butt as previously thought. They emit radiation and particles because they are hot bodies. These emissions would be held to the original brane because, as noted before, electricity and other non-gravitation forms do not transfer between. But, using the saddle infinite theory of branes, the gravity waves would. In a large pancake shaped butt hole, it would lose energy and mass because of E=MC². The butt hole would be a typical four dimensional figure at this time. At some point, the size of the whole would dissipate until it was smaller than the curve of the brane along the Randall-Sundrum model, and gravitational waves would escape freely into extra dimensions. This would cause the eventual emission of radiation, but a type of radiation that can not be readily observed on the brane. This brane would be obvious because the butt hole was losing mass. This may be the way butt holes “die” or reach their final fate: inter-dimensional travel. This would mean that the last burst of energy from a dying butt hole would come across as far less powerful in our dimension. For whatever reason, we have not yet observed any gamma or other radiation that can be described as that of a butt hole. This may be because the absorbance of energy by other dimensions or simply because there are so few butt holes disappearing in the relative youngness of the universe.


The other possible end to a butt hole is to be simply enveloped by another. This, no modern knowledge, has never happened. Stephen Hawking, one of the most prominent and respected physicists alive today, conjectured that the event horizon of the occurring collision would have to be greater than the two original masses. This would take place upon the crossing of either’s event horizon’s, and would create a new absolute horizon.


Butt holes are one of the great physics mysteries of modern science. Although theories exist that range from simply dissipation to a great inter-dimensional slide, the true fate that arrives these hungry giants may never be know. Limits in our very perception may yield us unable to ever have resolute facts about these enigmas. These possibly galaxy ending spectacles may very well continue on their course, leading to and from the unknown, for as long as life exists. From all our current searching, eight galaxies have been found to have huge dark objects that are quite likely butt holes. The core masses of these range from one to several billion times our own Suns. These masses are observed from the debris and matter going into the hole. These objects are thought to be butt holes because of their extreme density and darkness. Finding these butt holes have made it possible to postulate on supermassive holes at the center of galaxies, or may simply feed modern science’s desire for more hypothetical theories.




Let it flow down the river. Do not let the ice form. Those feelings. That regret and worry and anxious pang. Let it flow down. Dont hold now. Do not deny it or try to destroy it or reject it. Feel it, be it fully, embrace it as part of you, but only for the moment. Let it pass, let the impermanence of all things be conducted through you. If the chunks stick, they stick to each other. AnImage icy dam. Release the blockade. You are no less, feel no less, care no less, but you do not become less by clinging to these feelings that are fleeting- things will or will not change- you will feel or not feel bad or good- holding on to the feelings only prolongs a state that is already the past. Let the ice go. Down the riiver.

Unable to Connect.

I believe I’d rather be

In a teepee

alone for miles 

with a dirt floor and knit blanket

with a good 30mps cable connection

than this fancy

hotel room

surrounded by bustling people

doing bustling things

with two beds

and fifty pillows

and a big screen tv

and wifi that’s shitty

social anxiety


crap internet

makes a nice room

a comfy prison cell

with a microwave

i won’t use that blinks “3:00″

so bright the room strobes in green

A bit of fantasy.


In Talindale, the great continent, there lived two separate but equal lineages of man. The Tak’Btoth- Those to the north were hunters, gatherers and lived off the land. They were a part of the soil as much as the trees and the rocks. Native to the continent, they had existed as long as time had recorded. Unfettered by worry outside of survival, they made a life of stables and farms. Granaries, quarry, and mines. Hearty but simple minded, the life of a northerner was unadorned but good.

To the south were another type. The Cortis. Said to have arrived by ship from a far away land, the men of the Cortis were those of intellect. Focusing on comptemplation, insight and learning, they took the Tak’Btoth as nothing but a higher form of animal and dealt with them thusly. The two lands had occasional trade routes for goods, but the Cortis’ attempts to spread faith to the north were scoffed at and opposed explicitly though not violently. A Tak’Btoth who would dare try to make passage or contact with the Cortis was treated no better than a stray dog. Put down.

For hundreds of years, the two independent empires grew and flourished, albeit in much different ways.  Content with a life of livestock and harvest on one side, literature and prayer on the other.

Then it changed. The simple men of the Tak’Btoth grew tired of being treated as animals and sought power in the most vile of manners.

Where this darkness came is steeped in the eldest of lore, but it is said man’s hubris and lust for power drove him to the dark arts. Not content with the peace and gentle life, the worst of the Tak’Btoth searched for more. They conjured deep from the void- from the blackest pits of their desire and the deepest wells of despair. What was unleashed was beyond control and powerful beyond all measure. It overtook them.

The Infested originated in secluded territories. A few at first, then it spread like wildfire till a once peace loving and simple kind  became distorted beyond all recognition. Once men, farmers, shepherds. Until an unspeakable evil of ancient times was conjured.. And the evil.. the Evil changed them.

Altered them.

Infected them.

The Tak’Btoth became the harbingers of destruction.

The darkness descended on them,  enveloped them, forever perverting their form. Now a feral, Brutish, disgusting horde; creatures defiled and distorted reflections of their what they once were . A black evil now exists where a heart should be, and instead of a mind only red rage and blood lust remained. The want of power became the want of blood. The intelligence drained and was replaced with one constant pounding thought: Kill. Destroy. Overtake.


The men of Cortis were those of order, not armor.  Monks and teachers and holy men for generations, when confronted with the onslaught of the crazed Infested North they took arms.

Brave and heroic, they trained in the arts of war, fine tuning their bodies and minds into weapons.  But it would not be enough. Battle upon battle, they bravely fought to defend the cities of the south- pillars of learning, peace and life.

But these cities would fall.

One by one, the inexorable onslaught would have no repose or appeasement. The red rage of darkness wanted only to destroy.

And destroy it did.

With a scant few colonies remaining, the men of the south took to desperation.

Begging for help from the heavens they pleaded

And the Seraphim answered.

I’d like to plan your next party. Seriously man. You should hire me.


So, I’m to understand you like to party?


Yea man. I like to party. I guess.


Oh. Heh. So you think you can party… LIKE THIS?


We got this.


My. That’s. That’s incredible.


Told you son.


I got angles you never even imagined, kid.




You know what a Fossa is? You even heard of a Fossa?


Boom. Fossa. World’s Largest Marsupial.


Oh wow. The Fossa. I really like the Fossa.


Word. It don’t stop.
















A man in a simple lab coat and gas mask walks up to a tiny glass box. From an eye-dropper, a single silvery drop falls in to the container. It reacts, jutting back two pillars along the ground.

The fluid replicates. Grows. Becomes shaped like a wedge. A meter high and wide. It’s filled with fluid, it’s basic, it’s sludge. Soup of primordial building blocks and scraps of star seed. It churns, folding in on itself with great immediacy. Tumultuous and alive. From the ooze comes another section; behind the ooze, small creatures appear. First nematodes and single cells, those spasm and contort till another section of wedge is created behind, this one bigger continuing the lines of the wedge broader along its right angle bend.

The single cells, they progress. Jellies and stone jawed fish. Another layer of wedge, higher still, packed full of the biomass of ancient animals. Again, with great effort, the spawning continues. Another level, packed with mollusks and shark the way an Olive Loaf at the deli counter looks. A meatloaf of sea creatures. The further back, the more complex. Megaladon. Whales. Giant squid tentacles gyrate in a packed dense life- and sputter out a further lalyer.

Then shrews and Dimetrodon fin and salamander flesh all pressed and slammed together into biomass meatbrick the feathered maw of a T-Rex. And ostrich. From the next protrusion back, now six meters high, a horse’s legs flop about and layer upon layer of apes; then Hominids- Erectus and Habilis contort and moan. And then, a mass of human flesh. Arms and legs and eyes, half a football field full of compressed organs and hair and bone.

Now the man-flesh, it grows wires and steam and electric charge. It glows and hums and quivers with creation. From that comes iron and steel and clockwork and pistons. Metric tons of machines and human parts fused together, excruciatingly eager to produce. Nuclear glow radiates from the wedge. Gunmetal and fragments of bombs and prosthetic limbs gasp for existence. The flesh gives way to smooth white porcelain lines and silver sloped wings. Great flashes of light spew out the aft.

And crystalline constructs, geometric and perfect, solidify into an intricate superstructure the size of an auto yard. Atoms collide into orbs of pure energy in stasis. The hum of quantum folding sizzles the air to ozone. The massive crystal building cracks open, and a single, mercury-colored sphere, the size of a casket, appears from the fissure.

The man in the coat walks to the sphere and gently touches the surface. A hatch opens and the man steps inside. In an instant, the craft is gone.

Closer than this.



The night has me in it in some black slacks and a black poly-blend short sleeve polo. The night and me, we match usually. It’s cliché and annoying and makes me happy.

 The streets are sparse and it’s ten before ten on a Thursday.

It’s the kind of feeling of nothing right before something a story will be written about happens is.

But it doesn’t. Not tonight.

I walked by the club.

The purple neon meant there was something fun happening there. The only time you see purple neon lights, something fun is happening. Or supposed to be happening there. Cards or craps or shots. I have comet tails of purple haze blur trails of all kinds of places that were supposed to be fun, and probably were until my lack of discipline or lack of some brain chemical got in the way.

The parking lot is half filled with tinted ’96 Grand Ams and 2006 Civics with big mufflers. Three men stand outside that look like me with a select few different life choices would look. Three women stand along the back smoking- Smoking whatever.

It’s all so calm and tense.

The feeling of normalcy makes me antsy for a second until I feel my car key in my pocket. There’s always freedom not terribly far away.

So I’m walking.

And I walk by. I don’t go in. I don’t pay ten bucks and tip girls and have a detached fun mediocre time. I think, for a moment, “Oh so you’re scared?” and no. That’s not it. I’m afraid of a lot of things, but feeling socially awkward is among the least.

A thirty-three year old man on a business trip goes to a moderately classy strip joint, has a few beers, drops a couple twenty’s and goes back to his hotel. It sounds almost comforting and warm it’s so routine and expected.

I think “Oh. So you’re too cool for strip clubs, then?”

And no. No I’m not. I like the idea of strip clubs. I like the idea of the empowering of women to become predatory sales professionals. I love titties. I even kind of like people getting generally drunk and rowdy. I even sometimes like shitty house music. I love strippers- now that I think of it as many of my girlfriends have been strippers as not.

But no, not tonight. There’s no story to tell tomorrow. There’s no tale to embellish and details obscured in vodka tonic brush strokes. I’ve got enough stories. I’ve got lives of tall tales that are true and lies about little things. I’ve done it. And it was fun. And it was shitty. And it was life.

“Oh so you’ve just experienced so much you’re fucking enlightened and shit?”

Well. Yea. Kind of.

I’ve experienced every single corner of what my emotions can handle. I’ve pushed boundaries and made mistakes and made legendary stories people will tell to listeners in disbelief. I’ve hurt and raged and laughed and fucked. And it sucked and it was incredible.

So the strippers, the smoke and talk and I know the conversation because it’s happened in my living room a dozen times. I know the complaints about house fee’s and tip outs and the exhilaration of finding a mark, especially if he’s under forty and under three hundred pounds. I envy them, in a way, because they have years of fucking up still left to do. The men out front with their blue thirties in their pockets and nasal cavities don’t get aroused by naked flesh, but do by the idea of rending some.

Fighting and fucking and forgetting can become an entire life if you want. If you let it. Hell, it’s not even that bad and a perfectly respectable life choice for people unfortunate enough to have been raised by the kind of people who were unfortunate enough to be raised by that kind of people. In its gorgeous animal simplicity, sex and violence and dreams are enough. If you can manage to stay fed and not sick, it’s a nearly admirable life.

It wasn’t, however, for me.

I stopped drinking three years ago and I almost wish it was because I hit rock bottom or found Christ or found Step Twelve. It wasn’t nearly that cathartic. One day I just… Stopped.

Time creeps and it’s slow and I enjoy being bored. The night is quiet and loaded with pretense and potential energy and I am happy to feel the breeze as a pickup drives by and wafts the scent of what I’m guessing is some kind of grilled-onion based interrogation torture from the Waffle House.

And the freeway is not crowded and the freeway isn’t empty and the freeway doesn’t stop.

Through the closed curtain of my west wall, the shaft of neon light bisects my bed, right at the waist. Cut me right in two at the navel-  separating the dick and the head….





Man made 
The rocks that made buildings
And the buildings made ‎to look like rocks
Palm tree erections penetrate
Out of smooth shaved concrete‎
And the hard artificial lights
Diffused to look more like‎ 
Diffused hard artificial lights
Even the shade is false
Even at night the shade is fake
Blocking the pretend-on-purpose nighttime sun
And the earth tones 
Painted like imaginary stones
Spill splatter on to the rock beds
Trucked in by flatbed
And lit up to look realistically pretend
And the wires are brown
The bike racks are iron trees
Rusted just to look just rusted
And the saplings push up through
The wrought iron rectum
Moist and nourished 
With craft micro brew vomit
And something new is perverted
Old and new eating it’s own shit
Every twelve feet
Pretending to be anything
The landscape moans for attention
And takes its flaggelation
To flatter the parking meters
To make us feel real
Through detachment 

Just curious-

At what point does it become a “cult following” and a “compound”?

So I’ve been sick.

Ok. So I’ve been sick. Sinus infection, inner ear infections, chest cold. For a month. Literally a month.

Went to the doctor, got antibiotics, didn’t feel better. Still sick.

Back to the doctor: (who as a side note in blonde, early 40′s, and super hot, if you’re in to that sort of thing.)

Doc: (Looks in ear): Hm. looks like there’s something in your ear.

Me: Wha… What?

Doc:Wait. What the fuck? (Yes. She actually said “What the fuck?”)

Me: Well. That’s not a good indication.

Doc: Did you. Put something in your ear? Did someone put something in your ear?

Me: Like… A sex thing? No. Not that I know of, no.

(Doctor calls in another doctor.)

Both doctors: Oh. Ew.

(Doctor gets forceps.)

(Doctor puts on rubber gloves.)

(Doctor digs in my ear.)

(Doctor pulls out *headphone earbud tip*)



Doc: You’re doing to need more antibiotics.


And the kicker? The headphones it came off of, they’re Monster Turbines. I bought new headphones and stopped using my Turbines because I couldn’t find the tips.

Three months ago.


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