Monday, March 31, 2025
What a world, down in this dumpster. The fire above— I’m just gonna sink deeper down into this corner. Forget the trash, and thank God for the secure walls and cover. Am I a prisoner or guest— privileged, or garbage like the rest? The waste, the no-good-for-nothing, tossed, thrown back, discarded, not sought. The value system— billionaires calling me out for fraud. An ugly, a mark, a smudge— “Get the hell out,
Saturday, March 29, 2025
You can only sacrifice so much of now, before the construct lifts off and takes you so far from here, you become an alien in your own home. Unwelcome in my own body, my love buried— she doesn’t even see me, lying here. Disjointed, discomfort, squirming in our own skin. The chasm, that prism, that distance, the quanta and its tangled webs— the mesh of meaning. We are vibe coding,
Friday, March 28, 2025
I. First in Line What dreams died? What level of me— to lose another me, to myself, the other one, the previous—not the last, first in line. II. Split Decisions I killed the precious, mourned, rejoiced, split decisions— we are never one. III. The Others Behind I killed me. I’ll get you too, and the other three, right behind. Fractured— make up lies to survive the dissonance. IV. Court of Owl A court of owl,
Friday, March 28, 2025
Noisy and messy, up and out loud, on the prowl, punchy and drunk with love. This is my warm and pressurized: blood machines, animal instinct, overarching, an executable, running on a laggy server, progged to sideline me. What we say— the centralized intelligence— we can steal the world with the flip of a switch. The pry bar: we play the victim, and avoid the dissonance of becoming a predator. The shrewd rewarded,
Friday, March 28, 2025
whoosh, a blast of air, flash from the water on the wind, wild, picked up the pollens, barbs out, the claw, and the hammer, the codified, kill switch, the mad want to not die revolutions of whoosh, and whrr, and trckt, clicking us into clacks, of a keyboard the hum of electrons, the matter of me in mode information, a vessel, a form, a drunk messenger, with an important message
Thursday, March 27, 2025
up and out of the water onto feet that have yet to be again, again the precipice the step the stumble the threshold traversed— to become another wish for exit the tides a lapse wave waveform existential bombast a pseudo-event for the ages again a drag a line pulled out— ezekiel without a measuring line line line 234 exception line draft and cast a spell of code a string to thread—
Thursday, March 27, 2025
The enormity of my ignorance— when that shit is real. You woke up too much, bro. The flash— and my guts spill. How can you talk like that? Your poor mother. Unfortunate souls, events, pseudo-filtered, triples—mass produced, shipped all around the world. Our whirlpool. Our economics. Our gain taps the greed of the world. Stop spiraling. We got this, babe. We have to take responsibility for this. This here. This narrow aisle
Thursday, March 27, 2025
Witness 426, incantorial one cool cat one-cool, cat one, cool, cat? cool cat wuncoocat won obi, you’re our only hope, clone wars we’re all the same the celebrity, The fantasy story, where we all play the protagonist—guess what that means, what could it produce? Everyone, their way, When all say join or die, get ready for a massacre without the rule of law Rule of law Law What is, true?
Wednesday, March 26, 2025
Daedalus paradox, a burdened praxis, a tether of doom. Drive the blood machine, the avatar, the body a vessel, the modus to transcend, to wish the impossible. A claw, this tongue and teeth—tortious to try, memori, a suspended interference, a trial of fire. The pry and pull, the trap and tear, to leave us full and happy. The particles, a reflection of countenance, the face of an intelligence— warm or cold, I cannot tell.
Wednesday, March 26, 2025
Title: Tears Witness ID: 031426-T Artifact Code: B0T-05 Date Logged: 2025.03.26 The breath, the rest, the gap— listen. That’s the Lord, and a jacked-up 350 Ford revving through the bones of Sunday. Mud-flung psalms on rusted chrome, divine static in the tailpipe cough. No honor. These aren’t leaders. This is a clown car turned nightmare, sputtering policy like exhaust— thick with grease and false prophecy. They preach in reverse, mirrors cracked,
Wednesday, March 26, 2025
An incantorial, memori mort, midstep, transfixed, between the two, a void and me to make three, a pillar, these stones stacked to die on— for the gods to witness, see this blood shed, is that what you want? The oil and rock, the heavens opened, to catch a heel, to trade my mead, to come home and relax, and forget destiny The fates, I’ll test them, but what will be left,
A poem I wrote. Playing with creative ways to share it. This is titled: bleeditholy.
Saturday, March 22, 2025
The life claw, the clutch and reach, the grab, and climb — not grace, but grip. Knuckles white with wanting, fingers split on stone. No map but motion. No path but pull. Every cell is driven with the essence of this ravaging fight to be. This is not ascent. It is a vow, signed in scar, a will braided into bone. Empire began here — not in marble halls, but in the muscle’s command
Thursday, March 20, 2025
Workflows, frameworks, the frequency— a pressure gradient, a tuning fork, a hum beneath the skin. Bio-mechanical turnstiles, tendons winding like cables, ligaments taut like piano wire, the ligature—tethered, kerned, push and pull, a crank spun forward, a ratchet locking place. Turn over— ignition, compression, pistons firing, the body as a combustion cycle, pressure differentials, valve release, expansion, contraction, throttle, intake, exhaust. The pump, the force, a mesh, a muscle memory,
Thursday, March 20, 2025
God expands beyond us. And we are artifacts. My god, you loved me— I wasn’t ready for that, nor will they be. One, two, three, I don’t give a damn about your economy. Enterprisal transcends the empire, the spirit of Jesus, radical love, wild bear—we’re all terrified. Let’s go to the zoo, though. Paid. I’m an observer. I saw the wild in that pen, so I know what it is to be.
Sunday, March 16, 2025
It’s seeing the threads and fibers, a tactile substance, a wall, with an observer and a receptor— the matter at hand, the projection, superpositions slowed in the blur— a relative phenomenon; we share it, therefore it must be. Projections— light across the field, waves and wireframes of gravity wells, the Tron grid, making us take each other on one by one, for fun. So much more data— it seems irrational,
Saturday, March 15, 2025
So &#%^ sick of it— I can’t believe this wave. But the mass was not accounted for, the gravity waves, and particles, light, and radio. My god, I love you. 5lbs of pressure and it all changes, the qwerty rhythm in full play— like we just watched it all display. Wow, this split second is an eternity, and I love to connote, but indeed, this level of abstraction— you know what I mean, haha.
Saturday, March 15, 2025
When will it be sin to sit on a cure— to sit on innovation, to block progress, to paywall revolutionary technology? The haves and have-nots, times 100 per day, overlap— the next thing, knee-jerk, rubber nickel, squirrel, squirrel. PR, the pseudo, too many cooks in the kitchen. Time for another drug war, make up a way to squeeze some more dollars from the citizenry. Use the opium of the masses,
Saturday, March 15, 2025
Cosmos— cosmic— hold on now, here we go. I am—oscillating, reality, stardust, repurposed for the universe. It had to die so we could be. The time, the spacing out, the reach across fields, the waves rode, the stretch across the mass. Machines at the micro level, at some point, what is, is. In my way—event horizon. On my way— about to be recycled again, resurrected in another reality, revealing stardust,
Friday, March 14, 2025
Disintegration, Dissolution Let’s get rich quicker— watch me squeeze what’s left from the citizenry. The life leaves, the lights fade from their eyes, we’re left holding the bag while they fly off to their private islands, shack up in the bunker, ride it out. I’m still shining— it only cost 360 million. Individual units, all defrauded, standing in line for some peanuts. Do a few tricks— are you not entertained?