We can't stop the destruction of the world. 
I don't understand. 
We were meant to bear witness to it. 
It is out of our control. 
It is "just happening." 
We are "just happening." 
Strange weather. 
Slow dilation of time. 
Death was the only promise life made to us. 
We don't see a way out. 
There is no way out. 
Every moment is joy. 
There is only one moment. 
Devastation in the Third World. 
Media tycoons. 
Oil companies. 
Private jets. 
First class travel. 
Exotic destinations.
5 Star restaurants. 
Colonized mind. 
"We deserve this." 
"Aren't we smart?" 
Ocean acidification. 
Mass extinction. 
Droughts. Super storms. 
Collapse of agricultural system. 
Surrender into it.
"You are doing a great job." 
"Pat yourself on the back."
Spiritual materialism. 
Who is witnessing? 
"I am helpless."
Why hast thou forsaken me? 
Burning Man, blinking lights. 
"Hot girls" with robot hearts. 
Tech geniuses worshiping silicon. 
Green entrepreneurs. 
"Experts are taking care of it." 
"Let's merge with our machines." 
Loss of presence. 
Empty of meaning. 
Mystical anarchism versus
Hedonistic libertarianism. 
More boring words. 
Time never happened. 
Infinity is beyond imagining. 
Samsara is Nirvana.
Aboriginal songlines. 
Buy more toys for the kids. 
Let's accessorize. 
Pretend we care. 
Art world spectacle.
Naive faith in progress. 
Time dilating. 
Awareness is bliss. 
Planetary consciousness. 
Transcendence of ego.
End of adolescence
for the species mind.

June 6, 2015


The rebel tore off the hands from his watch
and set them free in the garden: The minute hand
burrowed into the earth, squirming like a worm. The hour hand
bore a hole in the firmament of eternity, exploding
into rainbow neon confetti.

He waited for her on a street corner.
The street corner was on a continent on a planet within a solar system
spinning in a galaxy around an enormous black hole
inside of which a gigantic super computer dreamed
of tiny fragments of carbon-based consciousness
dancing the tango together on the edge of a volcano.

He smashed the blank watch face against a tree. Revolutions
started up again. The masses marched and the martyrs
made their messianic proclamations against the tyrants, who
watched the whole thing from secret underground bunkers,
toying with the controls of killer drones containing
weaponized plagues on irradiated darts.

He remembered her mascara, her glittering eyes, and
how she gazed into the vast emptiness of cosmic space
It was the day the rebel alliance captured the Higgs Boson,
the God particle. One day earlier, nanotechnological breakthroughs
began to inextricably convert the material universe
to colorless, odorless grey goo.

The rebels protested against space, time, God, the mother, sanity,
comic books, freedom, slavery, and antimatter. The government
told the people not to panic. Sensing the encroaching
overwrite of the code, animals began to balk. She couldn’t go
anywhere in her Manolo Blahnik heels once the movie
stopped and the herd stampeded through the mall.

Night rebelled against day. Time rebelled against space.
The streets were drenched in the blood of patriots.
They found each other in the third scene of the fifth act,
two mini black holes, unraveling
one toy universe after another, eternally returning
to what never was.

The Mirrors

When two mirrors meet, they reflect crystalline light and labyrinths.
One is already remembering the future in the cool afterglow.
One doesn’t always know where one ends and the other begins.
When two mirrors meet, time begins again.

We give our hearts away.
We yearn for immersion in the beloved.

She is like a cat that walks on the ceiling where moonbeams crescendo.
Sometimes like a fierce cat; other times, like an alley cat or a stray.

He doesn’t always understand the logic of cats or their soft purring paws,
or their claws.

There is a fountain from which both joy and sorrow flow, he/she sits there
Time passes in its unmovable way.
There are no obstructions, no obstacles,
once we forget there is no “other.”

She longs for a deeper draught to quench her thirst, not knowing her thirst is infinite.
He yearns for the naive music of old fashioned times, the flutes and cymbals
but the band drifts farther away.

The mirrors walk through the weave of psychic attention, snagged on little hooks
of identity. Some call it a party.

The mirrors multiply themselves, seeking reflections and nuances. Everybody is
speaking faster and quieter all of the time. She dances
like a cat, guided by spirits. He touches her where her pain lingers.

Everything spins.