Fault Lines and Fire

Monday, February 10, 2025

Some things crack before we feel them.
Some things burn before we see the smoke.

There’s a weight to inevitability—
to systems built on fractures,
to fires that were always waiting for a spark.

This piece came together in waves—a reflection, a reckoning, a question.
How long do we navigate fault lines before they give way?
What do we do with the fire once it’s here?

A still moment before the shift. The dust settles, the earth splits.
A quiet, quiet burn.

Oops, All Collapse!

Time trails, Darko and our paths,
the energy guiding us before we get there.

The inevitable—
expose the corruption, bring justice.
When you hijack the matrix,
what do you do with that?

That slipping me,
missed my meds again—
what a freak,
out here saving the day.

The cosmic curation of circumstance,
the opportunity
to be the next shooting star,
a streak across the system
before they even see the glow.

A flash in the pan,
that whiz-pop bang—
fish in a barrel,
an elevated redemption,
Robin of Loxley reincarnated,
and hell’s coming with him.

I protest hate,
I champion a smile,
laugh loud in the face of monsters.
Justice, equity—
transcend the politics,
burn through the bureaucracy,
rip the red tape into ribbons
and let the wind carry them.

The inner workings, navigating,
like Spidey sense—
all the hits slowing down,
fighting just by avoiding,
dodging fate like a glitch in the code.

The silence slaps me woke,
a so-called mind virus—
so is money and greed
at the expense of the lesser,
so is power held by a fist
that never learned how to open.

Uncle Ben guilt,
seeing the face
of the things I let be.
A thousand pardons,
and I’m still serving,
still repenting,
still carrying the weight of sins
I didn’t commit
but didn’t stop.

Wish for you,
make a wish for me—
coming in hot,
burning up bright
for the good of humanity,
or what’s left of it.

The false—
nice in sheep’s clothing,
a pack of mangy wild dogs
running the place,
licking the marrow of progress
like it was theirs to consume.

To get things great,
deconstruct progress—
bring it back
to a black box
for the super rich.

A cascade of doubt,
but who doesn’t?
Everyone feels it,
but they went ahead and did it,
asked questions later,
built the bomb first
and prayed they’d never need it.

Plunge the experiment forward,
cross the line,
contain the fire,
draw a bolder one,
one they’ll call a monument
until the next war turns it to rubble.

States up serious,
the space race,
now AIs—
who builds the fastest,
who controls the mind?
Who writes the new commandments
and who gets to read them?

Frantic wealth,
the oligarchs of a smoldering torch,
a dim light left of civilization,
a beacon or a funeral pyre—
who’s to say?

The gamer—
were we conquered
as soon as we sparked
the first flame?

That tool, a weapon,
that warmth, a blaze,
that hell to raise.

That heart to break,
for the injustice—
there’s gonna be hell to pay.
And by the time they see it coming,
it will already be here.