“I kill things from my hot tub while I’m drinking.”

The apex of all Creation – or a sign of the Apocalypse?

Probably neither. But I’d prefer to engineer something more realistic.  With much less orange.

I wrote my only complete poetry manuscript, Climbs & Diving, on public transit routes, beer-drenched Philadelphia countertops, and in between the three jobs I juggled after I was jettisoned from Rutgers into the apathy-saturated petrodollar-lovin’ population. Those days were stark and glorious.  The futures traders would never get it and neither would I, but we wouldn’t get it in completely different ways.

I wrote the final poem first on a snowy spring break trip to Maine during my last year of college.  I couldn’t tell you where the lines came from but once I had committed them to paper, I knew the poem could be even better.  So I printed out the poem, cut out the lines, and put the cut out lines in a hat. I then rearranged the poem line by line as I removed them from that hat and in a few months I had eeked out 32 more poems that have since survived several hard drives, a couple wars of aggression, and a hare-brained scheme to move to Vermont.

Here’s the final poem:

XXXIII.

Towards the root notes
Of New England climbs and dives
Unfolded during the volume
White thighs complete
With nervous twittering
Where’s Montana
Divvied up among ossified lookers-on
And the elaborate equation
Under an undulating Bronx
“What’s wrong with you?”
Vibrating in quick audacity
Where’s the one thing that I bought
No more shakiness
Through the thistles
Of an inaudible barre chord
“Just off Main St.” in Penebscot, Maine
Under the chandelier light
And not even wearing a brassiere
I can hear everything there
“Everything is wrong”
Weighted the consonants incorrectly
From the vowel shop by the harbor?
Where’s Wyoming?
Pushing glass back into the dirt
Into new English signs
With you and more importantly
I climb and dive

Is something wrong with this picture?

My only concern regarding a society liberated from the force of government would be the ongoing aggregation of corporate power in the face of depleted natural resources. 

I’m beginning to realize and fear that this reality is a part of the human condition and will continue to be a challenge to any system or non-system.

I don’t think it’s up to the “anarchists” among us to make excuses for engendering meaningful peace by active and vocal non-participation, but conversely the role of those who Vote to explain why their candidate and political party can better administer social justice than their opponents. It’s like racism, no child is born a Statist. We learn that the government is Good from before the time we learn about Santa Claus, except the latter myth goes away after childhood. I couldn’t tell you why adults choose to believe in fairytales, but I do know that the longer they choose to subscribe to them, the less likely those persons will ever be to overcome them.

Voting is childish.  All belief in all government is anti-human.  Government  places superhuman powers to those who aspire to power – namely sociopaths, charlatans, and hoodwinks whose only goals in life are the accumulation of power over others.  It is quite unfortunate yet strangely amusing that the average Consumer enjoys being led over a cliff by the pro-torture crowd but it’s important to keep voting in the Big Daddy types to make us feel good about ordering McDonald’s from 12 mpg Suburbans, hating Muslims, Voting, and Moving Forward.  The President’s made it abundantly clear that we’re definitely not gonna be doing any Looking Back.  So clear, one could call it transparent.

I keep daydreaming at my dream job hoping I won’t fall asleep.  The rainbow that I cross for work still leads to a parking lot filled with trucks.  Trucks and taxes speed across the landscape of the American Dream and I’m too caffeinated to care. But the coffee’s never free.  There’s always an agenda on the other side and I don’t have any action items planned for the discussion.

It’s OK to hate your job,just pay into the pyramid and shut up.  It’s OK to blame the politicians but don’t forget to Vote.  It’s OK to invade nations, just turn off the lights before you go out. You’re encouraged to contribute, but don’t expect a tax deduction.  Don’t explain your case, just pay the fine. It’s OK to talk, just don’t let thinking interfere with your work.

Blood and oil mix all too well

The US government is openly admitting to the mass murder of 77,000 Iraqis.  We all know the actual number is at least 10x this amount.  Murder through collective action is still murder.  When will we wake up to who we are and reclaim our future?

Not worried about Twitter feeds

I want to go to Mongolia.  Living in a yurt, falconing the green plains under crystal blue skies, not worrying about traffic, no Manhattan Projects, no population, just Life.   It’s not Facebook that makes people like you.  Twitter isn’t making the world more fascinating.

Leaving Philadelphia was a wise decision. You can only glue so many experiences together in one locale with the same folks before the pastiche gets blurred to black.  When that happens, the world gets dark.  Cops and ambulances, sirens and violence.  Freeways filled with Hummers with OBX oval  stickers.  If you want to change the human world, you must first leave it behind.

Knit and Purl

I talk through you & filter subjects
Little sunsets flare out from your wings
Our words burn out
Pondering surface tension
Kicking eggs into oxygen
A new fragmented experience
They talk through you -  abrasive notions
Your wings fold back
Having no home
Gravity guides freefall
Reason can be a string of logical ideas
Or a person perched above an oyster’s pearl

Walkman

My poems mosey wayward
Order a double whiskey
Dousing flames with petrodollars
A canon of words
Feuds with the jukebox
I spur
When the poems start stumbling
Preferring a Walkman to talking

Musical Notes

Everyone says they have the best sex
Like they’ve planned a grand opera
Speaking in symphonies
Are little crumpled up musical notes
Lying beneath your crumpled up clothes
Waiting to be used – incompletely decomposed