Maria Spanish Rose Cover

Maria Spanish Rose Cover (2016)

She was a rose in Spanish clothes
Had her hair hung down, all shiny brown
I asked her name as the sun did wane
She said ‘Maria, I’ll be around’
She said ‘Maria, I’ll be around’

And that’s when cold said I was old
That I had no reason to sing this song
But I was fooled, my heart was unschooled
And Maria came along 
In a bomber jacket, chewing gum
On an ancient cycle, in the streets of town
She rode her Harley, I wore a gun
No one ever said a thing about what we’d done
This old poet and his girl so young
Were blind to time, refused to run
Came full circle in Mexico
In the night by the stars and the moon glow

She was a rose in Spanish clothes
Had her hair hung down, all shiny brown
I asked her name as the sun did wane
She said ‘Maria, I’ll be around’
She said ‘Maria, I’ll be around’

One Path Left to Go Early Version

One Path Left to Go (2015)

All my Life I have tumbled in the wind

All my life I have walked the path of sin

The storms of summer come and the blizzards finally go

But my own fate I'll never know

Read it in the papers that they're planning for a war

Extraordinary weapons that I've always abhorred

Will lay a lonely child to waste

His momentary pain will then pass away

The leaders of this nation in their manicured place

Claim I've done awful deeds of horrible disgrace

As they launch their bombs unto the towns

The parasites inside make people drown

They'll tear out their insides in a horrible display

Of chemical perfection made in a lab far away

With money that you and I have earned

We pay to see these children burn

People are freezing and starving in the street

We waste our lives toiling for corporate greed

United we can take a stand

Money'd devils won't give us commands

Another time, another place, the world might be ok

But not tomorrow, not today, while we all drown in pain

The wealthy have bought out all our souls

And we're chained down, just one path left to go

Rain Falls

Rain Falls (2016)

Rain falls on a lonely Saturday

Calm grace adorns the air

Streets hum so gallantly

Life moves without a care

A creature sits in solitude

Above the traffic's trance

He's weeping and he's destitute

No partner for his dance

Those walking down below the beast

Never catch a glimpse

Of how this creature spends his days

A shunned and broken imp

So rain will fall until its dry

The creature weeps alone

Proud birds then will sweep the sky

The creature knows he's home

Cadence of Winter

Cadence of Winter

We strive and thrive all round year long

And never seem to quite belong

Until the season of deep frost

Reminds to us we're never lost

All of the work and all of the play -

The calm routines of passing days

Stay unfinished, stay remote

'Til Wintertime steals sunlight's hope

Forget all joys, forget all sorrows

Winter's cold Zero dictates our new tomorrows

A finite stroke to a fitting end

If frozen death is your dear friend

If, cold death you do not trust

Do not worry, hope's not lost

Hope's not lost, if yet you live

For Death itself must melt, then give

Dungeon of Despair

Dungeon of Despair (2016)

They threw the key out with no known remorse

And so time spun 'round its long fateful course

I did nothing wrong but they did not see

The dungeon of despair softly swallowing me

First it was springtime, all was bright new

Then summer came, skies crystalline blue

When winter turned over I was unaware

Of being thrown in a dungeon so bare

I trembled and wept at their sinister tones

The ghosts of the past never left me alone

I waited and pondered and shook like a hare

I, the keeper, of my own dark despair

It is unknown if I will survive

There are no real walls, only deep leering eyes

Ghosts of the past and deep tortured pain

My mind is the dungeon; I struggle in vain

A Faded Memory

A Faded Memory (2016)

When all of life is lived, it becomes a faded memory

What was its purpose and who was it for?

Why do some claw hard and scream out for more?

Being alive is a delicate time

A few steps awry cease yours, maybe mine

Some words and feelings are good gallant things

What will your spirit sing when it leaves?

A temple of one, whose construction has faded

In old age dies youth, but the spirit is not jaded

There is a ghost deep inside there somewhere

And one day it flows to not here nor out there

The Urban Cannibal

The Urban Cannibal (2016)

William Humphrey scurried away from the refuse pile with a decayed bone between his teeth. He was a hungry man, but it was not traditional dining that he was seeking. He needed to eat a young boy's hand to fulfill the current month's consumption requirements, which were written out with marker on the flap of an old cardboard box. The chicken bone in his mouth was merely a deterrent, a slight distraction away from his impending psychosis.

The local elementary school was an option for fresh meat, but how would William Humphrey acquire such a delicacy? Disguising himself as a janitor and drugging a kid into submission at the end of the school day was an option. However this would inevitably cause a scene, and even if it did not, the parents would surely discover that their child was missing. William had no immediate solution. Days dragged on and the chicken bones he constantly devoured to stay mildly sane never got any better. Reality was but a thin veil. William wondered why the poultry consumption did not quell his cravings. Must the target to be devoured be sentient and intelligent? Why was farm animal meat not enough?

William did not have a job. He survived on disability checks after the state declared him mentally unfit to work. This occurred when his employer reported him to a health facility because he could not stay on any kind of schedule. William would come into work during completely random hours, and his employer decided enough was enough when he showed up at four in the morning and began to pound on the front door of the office building.  An experienced cannibal, he had never once been caught practicing the art. It was common reality, the routine of daily life, that he lacked the skills for. The days seemed to fall out of order during his most ravenous cravings for flesh. Before William knew it, an entire month had passed and his July prerogative was then void. The cravings persisted stronger than ever. Each night inside his tiny cluttered apartment he fell asleep sweating and trembling.

In August William began to question himself, his identity, and whether or not he was even truly alive. He was on a court order to take medication for psychosis, but he did not adhere to it. It made him dumb and slow, he reasoned. He also concluded that the only way to live life was through natural means. Foreign substances and drugs in the body  made life unnatural, and so he abstained from taking such things even though he was self-aware of his own downward spiral.

On a warm September night William stumbled into the back of a hospice parking lot. He had given up on finding young flesh and decided to find an old corpse to chew on. Delusion and dissociation plagued his mind, for William himself was completely unaware of how he ended up at the hospice in the first place. During a small moment of lucidity he deemed to himself that it was fate and then continued on his delusional prowl.

And then a chance! Two workers were carrying a large bundle wrapped in plastic through the back door. William waited near the loading dock and then pounced on the one in front with uncontrolled rage. The second man seemed shaken and moved in to attempt to restrain him. William, however, would have none of it, and knocked the man unconscious with a swing of his right fist. The first man, deeply struck by the moment's panic, ran towards the front door while screaming for security. This gave William a moment to examine the large bundle, which he assumed was a dead body.

Inside were dozens of aluminum cans and plastic bottles. He glanced up in fear and saw Alvin's Recycling Company written on the side of the truck.

"Help me!" William screamed.

"You had a bad dream, William," said the psychiatric nurse suddenly by his side. The plastic-wrapped bundle, the unconscious man, the hospice dock, and the truck were nowhere to be found. Blindingly white fluorescence surrounded William. Moments later he discovered that his arms were immobilized and bound in a straight-jacket.

The nurse gave William Humphrey a psychotropic injection and he went into another deep, calm sleep in his assigned bed.

Elvira and Jake

Elvira and Jake (2016)

Jake Briggs found himself alone in the street as the sun set over a brisk autumn day in Chicago. He had just been turned away at the homeless shelter because it was currently over capacity. He had nowhere else to go and no one to turn to during this particularly awful point in his life. The shelter offered some assistance in the past, but not enough for consistent survival. Days like today reminded him of that. The previous times that he was turned away, he would move on and go begging near the local highway exit, hoping that a few passing motorists would be generous enough to place some spare change in his dusty fast food cup. On this particular evening, Jake decided to forgo that strategy. He went to the nearest hotel instead. His plan was to wait for the kitchen staff until they threw out the day’s unused food. After they were through, he would dig in the refuse bags in hopes of finding some sustenance to help get him through the night. In the deep throes of desperation Jake would do anything to survive.

Jake approached the hotel just as the final beams of light vacated the dim November sky. He was huddled in a raggedy jacket full of holes and old scuff marks. His thin grey shoes were a few days away from wearing all the way through. He took solace in the fact that he had washed, shaved, and brushed his teeth at the shelter two nights ago, and so he was not as non-presentable as he could have been. Things are bad now, but they could have been much worse, he thought as he entered the hotel’s parking lot. He then sat down on the curb of a vacant parking spot near the dumpster and waited.

Two hours passed and the cold night air strongly sunk its grip into the terrain. Pedestrians slowly streamed in and out of the hotel’s back door. Jake lazily gazed at them as he sat there, drowning in waves of incessant nostalgia. He was just like those fortunate people once, not too long ago. He remembered how he was a warehouse manager at a local freight distribution facility only seven months prior. He rented a comfortable apartment and had his own car. Food was never scarce and there was always sufficient time for leisure after work. It was a good life and he did not have many worries while living it. An unfortunately timed psychotic breakdown at the warehouse took all of that away from him. At the peak of his psychosis, he became so belligerent and mad with rage that all three of the paramedics at the scene had to jump on him and restrain him one limb at a time. They gave him a double-dose of sedative to make sure he remained subdued. The psychotic episode seemed quite distant now, faded by the drifting tides of time. Jake probed his mind for answers as to what had caused the breakdown in the first place. To this day, he did not know.

“Hey there, it looks like you could use some help,” an older woman’s voice startled Jake into alertness. He had unintentionally passed out on the small patch of grass behind the parking spot.

“I’ll be okay,” he mumbled as he came to his senses. “Thanks, though.”

“The low is in the 30s tonight. You’re gonna freeze out here! And you’re not gonna pick through that dumpster for food, are you? Oh no… how about you come over for dinner? A warm meal could do you some good.” The woman seemed oddly hospitable for a stranger.

“Thanks, I’ll be okay, I will…” Jake did not want to burden this woman with his troubles. He finally got a decent look at her under the street light. She appeared to be in her mid 40s and heavy set, not particularly pleasing aesthetically. Her gaze was one of universal loneliness. It appeared that she needed a companion just as much as he needed a meal. He pondered the situation in his mind for a few moments and then decided to come with her. The air was sinking into a numb frigid stillness. He was sure that whatever happened henceforth, his weary body would not regret his decision to choose her over the bitter cold.

“I’m Elvira,” the woman said as she drove her late 1990s Oldsmobile out of the hotel parking lot. After an extended moment of awkward silence, Jake finally responded.

“I’m Jake.”

“Nice to meet you,” Elvira said. “I have some chicken thawing out on my counter. We’re gonna have a nice little meal.”

“Thank you,” said Jake. It was all that could muster. He had no idea why a complete stranger was being so hospitable to him. Jake had always lived his life as a downtrodden underdog. He never had many friends. The once had usually kept their distance. Jake saw himself as an unfortunate character, always contemplating over things that could go wrong instead of enjoying the things that didn’t. He would attempt to break this pattern tonight, and it would be nice to experience a proper meal after months on the street. The stale soup and canned meat served at the shelter were passable, at best. He was ready for a real meal.

They were inside Elvira’s two-bedroom apartment now. It was located in Arlington Heights, one of the northwestern suburbs of Chicago. Jake was sitting nervously at the dining room table while Elvira put the finishing touches on their meal in the kitchen. A slightly obnoxious dog released bursts of staccato barks from the hallway. He was breaking in a newly purchased toy.

“I don’t cook much for others, I don’t have much company over,” said Elvira as she brought over a platter of baked chicken followed by mashed potatoes and a bowl of steamed vegetables. “I hope this will do.” She placed the food in the center of the table. Jake felt intense saliva build up in his mouth. The food looked and smelled magnificent.

“It looks great, thank you,” said Jake. He then caught himself, realizing that ‘thank you’ was just about all he had been saying to this woman. He decided to open up a more proper stream of dialogue in an attempt to get to know his host.

“You have a nice home, Elvira,” Jake said. “Would you mind me asking what you do for a living?”

"Nothing fancy,” Elvira replied. “I’m an office assistant for an insurance company. The job is repetitive, but I’m quite comfortable with it.”

“I used to be a warehouse manager before I hit some hard times,” said Jake.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’ll get through it,” Elvira said. Sweetie. Jake was not prepared to hear that unforeseen term of endearment. It made him nervous, as well as introspective. He once had a long term partner, Cassandra, who left him because his managerial position at the warehouse made him unavailable - at least in her eyes. He had no recent major romantic events in his life to speak of, having only been on a few forgettable dates since Cassandra left him.

“It won’t be easy to get through this. My entire family abandoned me; no one will take me in. And you know, it’s almost impossible for a homeless person to get a job.”

“Don’t you worry, Jake. There will be a solution, just keep your head up. You know… I’ve come to like you even though we’ve just met. You’re an honest man, a simple and humble man. People like you get lost in the cruel trenches of the world.”

“I appreciate your kind hospitality,” said Jake.

They continued to eat and converse. Elvira caught Jake up on the major news and sporting events that he had missed out on. When dinner was over Elvira hinted that Jake could sleep on the couch. Jake was longing for intimate contact with a woman, but was rather clueless on how to approach his newfound desire of going to bed with Elvira.

“I’ll get you some extra blankets; you should be okay out here.”

“Thank you,” said Jake.

They slept separately with no contact. Jake slept soundly and did not stir throughout the night. The couch was much more comfortable than the stiff cots at the homeless shelter. He woke up to the sounds and smells of Elvira making breakfast in the kitchen.

“Eggs and bacon, all for you. Oh, and there’s some toast too,” said Elvira. “I must go to work now. We can discuss your future arrangements when I get back. Make yourself at home, help yourself to anything in the fridge, and just enjoy the day. I’ll be back before you know it. Oh, and please scrub the bathroom.”

Elvira placed the plate on the table and left the apartment, locking it behind her. Jake, still rather unaccustomed to full meals, devoured the food. After he ate he switched on the TV and tuned to the round-the-clock sports channel for background noise and pondered the sudden change in his life. He could see a potential romantic relationship developing between himself and Elvira. She seemed nice enough and it was a comfortable home. He figured he had nothing to lose. Whatever troubles or conflict that may come up here would pale in comparison to being homeless. He then remembered Elvira’s last comment, oh, and please scrub the bathroom. Well, why not? Doing a few chores in exchange food and a bed seemed reasonable.

Elvira came home just a bit after six P.M. Jake was happy to see her, but she seemed drained from a long day at work.

“Hi, did you scrub the bathroom?” was the first thing Elvira said.

Jake felt a nerve inside him being struck by the question. He now felt somewhat disrespected by Elvira. He wondered if she picked him up from the parking lot just to be a live-in servant whom she wouldn’t have to pay.

“Yes, I cleaned it the best I could,” said Jake.

 Elvira went on to her bedroom to change out of her work clothes. In that particular moment Jake was feeling both angry and lustful towards Elvira. His mind bypassed all rational judgment when he decided to follow her down the hallway. He was now waiting in a slouched position outside of her closed door. Without knocking he barged in on her changing.

“I want you!” Jake awkwardly exclaimed.

Elvira seemed somewhat stunned by Jake’s intrusion but she did not put a stop to his advance. Jake embraced her then kissed her and she kissed him back. Both of them felt an internal rush of pleasure as they made physical contact with each other. Both had been alone for a very long time. A rather quint session of love-making followed. The two loners felt at easy with each other and neither was judgmental of the other's ailments.

The next morning Elvira went to work as usual and Jake was left alone with a new set of orders. They never did discuss the terms of Jake's stay. Elvira also seemed more crass and standoffish when giving Jake the new set of tasks, which had greatly expanded from simply scrubbing the bathroom.

Jake was vacuuming the living room carpet when Elvira walked in with a cringing demeanor and a slight scowl on her face. Clearly this was not the woman he bedded last night. He shut off the vacuum and went to the door to greet her, all the while wondering what Elvira's true nature was. Was she a psychopath? Did she get pleasure from ordering him around, beckoning him to do her every command? Jake knew that his slave-like status was still a better state than being homeless.

"Hi, Elvira, did you have a good day at work?"

"Wash those dishes!" Elvira barked.

Jake suddenly felt ill.

"Elvira, I did wash them, they're perfectly clean," he said.

"Wash those damn dishes now!" suddenly she seemed hostile.

"Okay, okay," said Jake as he retreated to the kitchen sink area. Elvira followed him. She then picked up a frying pan from the counter and began to corner him.

"Do my dishes or I swear I'll kill you right here and now!" Elvira was now screaming.

Jake didn't know what to do at first. His survival instincts then sprung forth and he kicked Elvira in the left knee. Fight was chosen over flight. Elvira buckled, dropped the pan, and fell to the floor. Without thinking twice, Jake picked up the dropped frying pan and smashed it against Elvira's skull. Elvira screamed.

Jake smashed her again, harder this time. Pent up rage was exiting. This was it, the culmination of years and years of personal suffering.

Jake swung the pan back again, this swing arcing even further, and struck Elvira one last time. Blood was puddling on the floor near her mouth. Elvira was now silent. Her skull was partially crushed and slimy bits of head tissue were leaking from the cracks.

Jake did not make a single sound. He calmly washed himself free of any blood and then disappeared into the night.

Elvira lay dead on her kitchen floor. Her little dog came from the apartment's hallway and began barking to no avail.

In Winter

In Winter (2016)

Death, the stalking specter

Beckoned from the woods

I lit my final candle

and waited as I should

Its claw was soft as velvet

Its gaze was eagle keen

I seldom knew what entities

Would come pollute my dreams

And so I calmly waited

The moment but a straw

So thin and dry and useless

Against time's gaping maw

There was no need for fighting

There was no shrewd retort

The cancer shrugged it shoulders

And I was then no more

The Silent Society Templar

The Silent Society Templar

Damon Gyles and Lassandra Wyrwin stood in awe amidst the overpowering wonder of the temple rising from the rocky cascades in front of them. Many legends and rumors about it have been drifting amidst the galaxy for centuries. To finally see it in person was nothing short of remarkable. Four enormous towers, each one representing a spiral arm of the Milky Way, stood solidly above the rocky terrain of the mesa. Inside of their perimeter was a giant dome which was paneled with intricate glistening fractal patterns, representing the infinite complexity of life in the galaxy. Light from across the visible spectrum bounced in an around these patterns, creating a shining mosaic of cosmic beauty. A lone walkway supported by several pillars spanned the immensely deep canyon which surrounded the temple on all sides.

The temple's construction could be deemed impressive in any technological age. The fact that the Silent Society built it using only manual labor, without the aid machines, was all the more impressive. Damon figured that it must have taken several generations of workers to build the four towers alone. He and Lassandra felt extremely alien as they entered a realm of civilization which predated all known technology. They would have to rely solely on their own intuitive cunning and ingenuity during their appeal for freedom before the High Templar Council. They would be thoroughly searched upon entrance, ensuring that no Galactic Federation technology would make its way into the temple.

Damon unhooked his utility belt and placed it among a small rock formation in front of the walkway. Lassandra did the same.

"Don't say too much," Damon said. "They'll be reading our body language and emotions much more closely than our words. Respect their ways and tread carefully."

"Will do," Lassandra replied. "I read about such places growing up, places in the galaxy that have been completely untouched by time. Never once did I think I'd end up in a place like this, vouching for my own freedom."

"If we come in humbled, showing them proper respect, they should let us go. It makes no sense for them to keep us here," said Damon.

"And yet they carry all authority here," said Lassandra. "This world stays untouched for a reason. We could be among the first Federation citizens to walk this path in centuries."

"Which is why we need to be extra careful."

Their utility packs, containing the last bits of Federation technology, were now behind them. The High Templar Council would judge them strictly on character. Damon and Larissa both hoped that no wrong words would be said by the other. One poorly timed phrase could mean sudden death for both of them.

What Was Needed

What Was Needed (2016)

Epochs unfolding swiftly

Glow wild with desire

Everything in between is a dream - 

Only the single moment exists

Reach and reach for something

Once it is yours, it is no more

Longingly wait for something

You never truly needed

The Shaman of Intaria

The Shaman of Intaria

Intaria, the center of all activity in the Galactic Federation, was experiencing unprecedented economic growth. Peace had finally been made with the kingdoms occupying the Grey Zone. They were left mostly to their own devices and political discourse. After the final treaty was signed, approximately half of the Milky Way fell under Federation control. The reclusive shaman Imball felt a new balance of power coming to the galaxy in his deep sessions of meditation and drug induced trance. Through the ingestion of powerful psychoactive substances he could feel the very core of civilized awareness as it shifted into a more stable position. Trade routes that went through the outer worlds still experienced the occasional attack of marauders, but all in all, peace and order were much restored.

Imball was preparing a new concoction in his tiny apartment when two unexpected guests arrived. They were a young couple, Imball thought that perhaps they were responding to his informational ad regarding spiritual readings and life guidance. He did not get many responses to his ads.

"Greetings, truth seekers, I am Imball," he said as he opened the door.

"Hello. I'm Damon, this is my wife Larissa," said the cleanly dressed man standing in the threshold.

"Welcome to my independent cosmic temple. It is here I study the spirit of the cosmos itself! If you have deep questions I shall attempt to answer them," said Imball.

The couple made their way through the small front door down the crowded hallway. Extremely rare relics and artifacts from several ancient civilizations adorned the walls and ceiling. They looked out of place, very aged, almost impossible to find in the contemporary age of civilization. The galaxy had undergone a vast transformation upon the discovery and implementation of hyperspatial science. Travel times between even the most distant of stars shrank down to mere days. Terraforming became the norm for human colonization and expansion. Planets that were deemed hospitable, or close to it, were populated with fractal-based hyperpsatial machines which functioned outside of the normal parameters of tangible space. They then worked to transform the terrain and atmosphere atom-by-atom until the planet's composition closely resembled the one of Earth - humanity's original home. In this manner the human civilization spread to nearly every habitable world in the galaxy and in turn made that world close to ideal, according to their liking. People of old religious orders criticized this system, claiming it played with God and destroyed the indigenous life forms of the planets. As the generations turned over, these opponents were driven to the fringes of galactic society. It was apparent that advanced technology and the molding of entire star systems was the natural course of humanity's progress.

Imball led Damon and Larissa into his cramped dining room, which also served as his psychedelic meditation chamber. He opened a small felt bundle and sniffed some of the powder that came out of it.

"I will enter trance shortly, please state your question," Imball said.

Larissa then spoke.

"We have a large life decision to make. We are torn between staying here on Intaria and joining a Federation corps to travel the stars as crewmembers on a commercial trade ship. We've pondered the possible outcomes of both decisions, and both paths have their upsides as well as their potential pitfalls. We've come to ask you, which path in your view is the most spiritually sound?"

"Ah, so you do not want to lose yourselves in the business of space, and yet you do not want to feel stagnant," said Imball. "Smoke a bit from this cigarette here, it will align the planes of our nervous systems to a more tranquil state."

Imball gave them a tightly wrapped cigarette to share. He did not say exactly what was in it. Damon and Larissa complied with the old shaman's request and smoked it in turns.

"Now relax yourselves, focus on your breathing pattern, enter a clear state of mind. The substance I took is much stronger than yours and I will be in trance soon. Focus on the spiritual aspect of your lives, think slowly and calmly.

And with that Imball leaned back in his chair, gave out a large exhale, and entered a deep meditative trance. Damon and Larissa cleared their minds with the aid of the mild relaxant in their cigarette. Outside the window the traffic from the industrial district buzzed with life. A large freighter drifted silently across the sky as its shadow quickly skimmed the facade of the apartment building. Inside the atmosphere was calm and introspective. Damon and Larissa patiently waited for the shaman's response.

Autumnal Ghosts

Autumnal Ghosts (2016)

Blessed by specters cadenced on the past

We look forth into the coming winter

Winds turn colder each morning

And each night the summer rings more distant

We look into yesteryear

To find tomorrow's light

We look into ourselves

To find our cosmic blessing

Through the hauntingly empty trees

We see all paths that could have been

In them we see a reflection of ourselves

Bending, but not breaking, in time's eternal wind

Regret and Desire

Regret and Desire (2016)

Letting go of both regret and desire is an instrumental component of living a more complete life in the Information Age of the 21st Century. The contemporary world is a whirlwind of information and possessions. Dark moments of a person's past and a person's internal desire to continue acquiring material wealth can blur his or her perception of the current moment. The beauty of the current moment can be quickly lost in a cloud of regret and desire. Too much precious time is wasted on contemplating what could have been instead of what currently is. In a similar manner, much time is wasted on contemplating the pursuits of unattainable desires such as unnecessary luxury goods.

A person who achieves the goal of forfeiting both regret and desire will appreciate the beauty of the current moment more than a person who is living a life stuck in the past (regret) or a life stuck in an imaginary future which may never come true (desire). Also, the pursuit of cosmic wealth (art, literature, music, aesthetics) is much easier when regret and desire are disposed of. In this state of being the creative centers of the mind are brought into a more active and lucid state, allowing for both the creation and the appreciation of intangible cosmic wealth.

Pursuers of material wealth (tangible goods, income, money) could argue that the desire for more is what drives much of the productivity in many economies, which is true to a degree, but a pursuer of cosmic wealth can say:

"At what point does the pursuit of material wealth drown out a life entirely?"

It is fine for a person to proudly work for a living and to be proud of his or her material possessions, but the dedication of an entire life to material wealth will result in an inevitable decay of the spirit.

Letting go of regret and desire is an instrumental part of allowing the human spirit to flourish.

Thought XIII

Thought XIII (2016)

All self-aware life in this cosmos is an infinite spectral reflection of itself, living out the path it thinks it should follow.

Cosmic Troubles

Cosmic Troubles (2016)

Of all troubles in the cosmos

Of all things shattered with shame

None come close to vast explosions

That rid systems of their name

Small scale beings chase old trite treasures

Small scale beings know nothing of

Nature's fury in the vacuum

Only conquered by its love

In its vastness - hopeless darkness,

Empty beacons of despair

And then - love and fruitful fortunes,

There's some beauty in some airs

All a spiral, blended visions

Holding both troubles and love

For each time a lone being suffers

Someone else glows, has it all

The Drone Class Citizen

The Drone Class Citizen (2016)

The drone woke up abruptly from the incessant buzzing of his alarm clock. Five fifteen in the morning lit up on its digital display. It was another routine workday morning in the endless cycle, exactly the same as the previous and upcoming one. Commute. Work. Commute. Eat. Sleep. Such would be his daily life from now until his last breath.

The drone brewed himself a cup of liquid stimulant in his tiny kitchen. He could not afford a more spacious dwelling - not that he would ever need it, or even have time to enjoy it. The drone worked upwards of seventy-six hours per week in order to survive. He had no time for friends, no time for family or acquaintances, and no time to dedicate to finding a mate. If he worked less than seventy hours per week he would be losing money because of the high cost of living in his residential area. The other six hours worth of income were for his savings, which he would need for health care emergencies, inevitably arising from the physical toll of working more than seventy hours per week. Sometimes he worked so intensely that it became a state of being greater than life itself.

After a quick breakfast of toasted bread and fried eggs, the drone went to his private vehicle. It was an old beat-down model of a sub-compact car. He could not afford to replace it. Not that he would ever have time to enjoy it even if he did - for most of his waking hours were spent working.

The drone drove to work while thinking about work. The tasks of the upcoming day would be exactly the same as the last, and yet he thought about them incessantly even when he was awake and not working (which was almost never).

The drone pulled into the parking lot of his company. He exited the vehicle and locked the doors, but deep down inside he knew no one would waste their time stealing this pathetic relic of his pathetic and irrelevant life. He rode the elevator to the fifth floor of his employer's facility, entered his employee identification number into the time clock, and he began to work at his station. He worked doing the same menial and repetitive tasks until the lunch bell sounded. This meant he would have a thirty minute break to consume his food so that he could have enough energy to continue working afterwards. He did precisely that, and then he continued to work.

He worked non-stop up until five o'clock in the evening. After that he drove to his second job, a much lower paying job, but one he needed in order to survive. And so until eleven o'clock at night he would work this second job to the best of his ability. There would be no lunch or dinner break here. He would have to sneak morsels of food out of his pocket while his supervisor's eyes were elsewhere. He needed these morsels of food for energy so that he could continue working his job properly. However, eating morsels of food while working there was strictly prohibited, and so he faced termination each time he did this. And yet, he had to break this job's conduct code because without the morsels he would not have the energy to work this job, and thus he would not have enough money to survive.

The drone continued to work hard each and every day.

And then one day, he died.

21st Century Musician

"21st Century Musician" (2016)

The Uneasy Stranger

The Uneasy Stranger (2016)

Random, old, buried, and once-inaccessible parts of the mind sometimes open up and flourish during the doldrums of routine daily events, such as shopping, cleaning, and miscellaneous chores. The conscience also happens to be born anew during moments of the exact opposite, moments of struggle, chaos, and life-or-death situations. Chadwick knew this, but had yet to experience it to the fullest. He was a thirty-three year old run-of-the-mill office clerk with an excruciatingly simple and predictable life. He drove a grey 2009 Honda Civic to his accounting job at Malteco Financing and he parked it in the exact same spot between 8:37 and 8:41 AM - depending on how he fit into the traffic light patterns of that particular morning. He watched the exact same TV shows as they aired throughout the rigid weekly cycle, thinking the exact same things as each one started and ended, and then going through the exact same motions and mental contemplation each time the credits to a show rolled across his mid-budget flat-screen television. He ate the exact same cycle of meals precisely on schedule as each one was assigned to its particular slot inside each of the seven days. All of his attempts to hang on to this existence of simplicity failed the day he saw the uneasy stranger.

                It was an early autumn Wednesday. Chadwick was out shopping for household supplies and groceries at the local big box store chain called Sawn’s Mart. It was owned by the Sawnson family, the richest family on Earth, and a bumbling lot of greedy, narcissistic psychopaths by all reputable accounts.  Chadwick himself was a household of one. He was far too introverted for dating, far too reclusive for friendship, and far too alienated for roommates or family. In this decrepit solitude Chadwick’s life hummed along with very predictable and mundane tones. This particular shopping trip was no exception. He parked in the dreary suburban parking lot as the late morning sun reflected its own specter across the upper dark band of his car’s windshield. He carefully locked his car, making sure to keep a constant hold of his keys, and then he proceeded into the store towards the automatic doors, completely unaware of the life shaking event which would take place inside.

                He entered the store and pulled out a cart from one of the rows by the main entrance. Then he proceeded to go through his shopping routine. Produce, bread, frozen, snacks, then household essentials. In the cleaning aisle Chadwick was struck by an unthinkable and invisible phantasm. It seemed that none of his fellow Sawn’s Mart shoppers noticed this creature or malicious attack against him. It suddenly appeared in his peripheral vision as a small elusive demon, an evil sprite of sorts. It hopped around the aisle like a small dust devil across a plain and then, at precisely the most opportune moment, it materialized a box-cutter and nicked Chadwick on the right forearm. The pain made him jump and sent his thoughts into a panicked delirium. And yet, this panic was still dwarfed by a completely different one, caused by the fact that not one single shopper noticed this evil creature. None of the six other people in the aisle even raised an eye up at this heinous attack. No one cared. No one noticed.

                In retrospect, the cut was not all that bad. It would leave a mild scar, at worst. Back inside his Civic, Chadwick began to calm down. His last stop on this peculiar shopping trip was the pharmacy section where he bought bandages and antiseptic solution. While driving back home, Chadwick realized he was now more puzzled and confused than scared. The fear of what just transpired was strong, to be sure, but it did not last. It gave way to and internalized questioning of himself. Was that a real attack by a supernatural being? Was it a hallucination? Or was it a very clever trickster of a child looking to get a ruse out of sheepish suburban shoppers in a store? Chadwick knew not what to do or who to call. And so, he went home to watch the next television show on his itinerary, hoping the passage of a few days would put this unfortunate situation far behind him.

                Time did not help. Exactly three days after his final store purchase of band-aids and disinfectant wipes was scanned, Chadwick woke up inside what appeared to be a suburban basement torture chamber. He was completely alone, chained, bound, and dressed only in soiled boxer shorts. The greater part of him did not panic. The smaller part of him expected this event, even though he had no idea how it transpired. All he remembered was the regular shopping trip, then about seventy two hours of a dark void. He felt no immediate sensations when waking up and coming to his senses inside the chamber, but then slowly, the tightness of the straps and chains around his limbs came to attention. His next thought was to produce a scream, but he soon realized that his mouth was taped completely shut. There must have been a force that brought him here… but what was it? And what was that odd and poking, somewhat painful feeling, slowly materializing in his abdomen?

                Who did this? Chadwick’s thoughts began to scramble in on themselves after he realized there was no point in struggling against the bindings, the chains, or the tape. Where am I? Why? Chadwick’s conscience sprung out from the depths of his psyche like a lonely flower on top of a shallow grave. It began to torment him, to interrogate him. The questions started.

                Why did you bully John Wilkson in the fourth grade? He didn’t do anything to you. Why did you do it, Chadwick?

                Why did you reject Sarah Fawler in her attempts at dating you during senior year in high school? She liked you, Chadwick. Why did you do reject her, Chadwick?

                Why did you not drop some coins into the beggar’s cup the last time you went downtown? You have over twelve thousand dollars saved, Chadwick. You don’t need that money, Chadwick. The beggar needed that money more than you, Chadwick. Why didn't you do it, Chadwick?

                This contemplative struggle went on for hours with no end in sight. Eventually Chadwick’s energy began to wane. He knew he could lose consciousness at any moment. His dehydration was reaching unforeseen levels. All struggles failed. All attempts to escape the binds and chains failed. Meekly, Chadwick resigned. This was the end. As the final throes of life’s energy leaked out of him, Chadwick noticed something he had yet not seen inside the dimly lit chamber. He felt almost silly for missing it during all those past hours.

It was a mirror. A perfectly polished, antique mirror that was reminiscent of the pomp and circumstance of Victorian times. It sat slightly off center from his field of vision and about seven feet away from the front of the chain rig. Inside the mirror, an uneasy stranger looked back at him. A small cut from what appeared to be a box cutter blade was visible on his right forearm.

Cosmic Blue

Cosmic Blue (2016)

By the winds of cosmic sentries

And of worlds begun a new

I have traveled, I have traveled

To taste starlight's precious dew

In through eons of deep torture

Cosmic pathways indeed cross

Things of loss and things of privilege

These things add to equal naught

To the starry eyed new traveler

I will tell you nothing's true

'til you see it with your own eyes

'til your soul rings Cosmic Blue

Thought XII

Thought XII (2016)

The fact that a majority of the population believes something... does not make said thing true. There are two nearly equal but opposite forces which drive sentient civilizations throughout the known cosmos. Science and religion. Science is the force of progress, personal evolution, and intellectual enlightenment. Religion is the force of regression, barbarism, and brutal superstition.

Science Fiction Concepts Part III

Science Fiction Concepts Part III (2016)

Mind's Eye Programming - The programming of a sentient and self-aware individual through repeated visuals. Rather than requiring the individual to spend hours poring over text, this learning protocol allows an individual to know the core knowledge of nearly any field of science, art, music, or history, simply by viewing certain visual patterns pre-assigned to those fields of study. This system belief implies that most of Cosmic Knowledge exists in a state that is locked inside the individual's mind; it merely needs a catalyst to get it out the mind's depths and into the individual's control and disposal. Under this concept, the said catalyst is visual because most sentient and self-aware beings are highly reliant and dependent on their visual sense.

Entrapment Wire - The entrapment wire is a basic premise of a technology which is used to create mental prisons of torment and torture by ruthless and totalitarian governments and organizations. In the midst of 21st Century Earth civilization, the police state of North Korea is an example of a country running what could be called the early stages of many entrapment wires into the minds of its own population. The developed version is a physical wire which extends from a bio mechanical computer into the spinal cord of the patient, or in most cases, the prisoner. The wire then feeds various nervous system stimuli, including intrusive thoughts, propaganda, psychoactive drugs, and other methods of torture from the machine directly into the prisoner's nervous system.

Free Will Simulator - To further enhance the already powerful effects of an installed entrapment wire, a sub-program administered using specific psychoactive drugs and thought patterns called a free will simulator is used on the patient or prisoner. This gives the patient or prisoner a fully believable real-time illusion which states that everything currently happening to them, all they feel and all that they currently experience... is being done according to their own free will. In other words, they feel and carry 100% responsibility for everything that is happening to them in that moment, even if they are actually at no fault of their own, and even if what is happening results in their own torment, torture, interrogation, or incrimination. This could have drastic implications for personal testimony in the court system.

No Name Wedding

"No Name Wedding" (2016)

Life Resolved

Life Resolved (2016)

The many enlightened human spirits of this world are sentient, self-aware bands of two-dimensional energy... interacting with one another subjectively, through an objective and tangible 3-D medium.

Time is not real.

Because time is not real, these creatures forget that there are dimensions above and below them. They only know what their socially conditioned senses tell them. Which is... not much.

There is no such thing as death, only a transition. A brief toggle switch. 

Life is an infinite chamber of mirrors. You cannot catch the original in the sea of reflections.

I myself may be an original. And if so, then why am I alive? Simply to be original or to be alive?

Look out to any point with a telescope powerful enough, and you will see bits of energy vibrating 13+ billion years ago... the very same bits of energy that are a part of you in present time.

Outrun the speed of light, and you will travel backwards through time itself.

Isn't that what the tachyon does? This theoretical particle is said to always travel faster than light. How can that be?

A paradox. 

Death is but a passing feeling. It is not real.

Life cannot be bought or sold. It is real.

It simply is, and always will be.

Thought XI

Thought XI (2016)

Blend celestial light and apocalyptic darkness to create a cosmic symphony.

The Schizoid

Excerpt from "The Schizoid" (2016)

         Cold fluorescence enslaved my senses. I felt numb and distant from my own self. The walls around me buzzed with fear. I opened my eyes to find myself strapped down and immobilized on a stretcher as several blurry silhouettes hovered above me. My nose itched but I could not reach for it. There was a tube in my right arm. The tempered beeping and humming of various medical equipment slowly crept into my right eardrum. My left one gave me nothing but empty silence.  As I began coming to my senses I felt my spirit spitefully pushed forward into a shallow ghastly grave.

                What had I done to get here?

                And then… I remembered.

                I killed three men. They were guilty as all hell… and had to die. For working class dregs like me, there comes, a few times per lifetime, a very precise and particular situation. Forget everything. Forget the law. Know only fear. Forget the courts and the system and the company and the job and the family. Either kill or I get killed. Act. Do not think. There is no other way.

I did what I had to do in order to appease the overlords of my particular union. The hourly jobs in my district did not pay enough to even support a family of three. I had to take on side projects from an underground union in order to feed my wife and kid. It was through an unfortunate unraveling of one of these projects that I ended up in this predicament. There was no escape from what I had done, or from what I was about to do. The memory of exactly what went wrong still eluded me. I focused on my immediate reality and the exact situation at hand.

So, here I am, in a maximum security mental institution. I hope the food here is worth what the tax-payers paid for. They’re going to evaluate me before trial, I suppose. More like torture me… ugh! These fractal neuron machines hurt like hell. I’ve had one before. They scan thoughts with them, leaving subatomic tears in the subject’s neurons. One, you don’t feel it, but… people obviously have more than one neuron. Multiply that by every possible pathway in the brain… and… you get excruciating pain.

                “Do you remember your name? I am Dr. Welson. We will tag you as ‘Patient Thirteen’ from here on out if you do not remember. An identity is important for surviving the evaluation process. If you cannot come up with one, we shall provide you with one, at no further inconvenience.”

                Dr. Welson seemed to be an honest man on first impression. Honest, dedicated, educated… kind of like the third man I kille… (Wait, you idiot. You can’t think you’re guilty already, they’ll trace the thoughts. Think innocent. Think innocent. Think innocent!) He could probably tell right away that I was a psycho killer (I am NOT a psycho killer!). Many vagabonds and star drifters end up with kill totals above three to their name. Not many have killed two people of high regard, esteem, wealth… power.

                Now, if only I could remember the third… wait a god damn minute! I’ve never killed anybody!

                “No. I don’t know who I am,” I lied. I don’t know if he bought it.

                Of course I remembered. I was Daniel Rothsonn. Now I am Patient Thirteen (To them… Wait. Wait… Wait… Damn. I AM Patient Thirteen.).

I’ve read an in-depth investigation report of this place in a weekly news magazine. Apparently, this hospital saves lower ID numbers for the worst cases, a kind of running gimmick they seem to have.

                Why am I now Patient Thirteen? I must have done something awful.

                 And then… I remembered. I killed three men. (Or did I?)

                Ah yes, one of the men I killed was a highly esteemed galactic diplomat. The other was a wealthy property manager. That one owned five mining stations in the outer asteroid belt of Solara III. So then, who was the third?

                “Who was the third?”

                “Stay calm,” the doctor proclaimed. “I won’t lie to you. You will experience major pain during this upcoming process. The less you shake and scream, the quicker we can get on with it. By law, I must reserve judgment upon you until your court day. It is in my oath to properly treat you… the best I can.”

                The interrogative drugs started pumping into my right arm’s vein. My past life began to flash in my mind’s eye. I used to be a simple working class man, in the prime of my life. I’d clock in and out of Gideon Metal Works five times per week, then I’d come home to a simple wife and a slightly demented nine year old boy (must have been all that teenage drug use on my end). She was a very plain woman, and he was a very stupid kid, and yet, the simplicity of our family scenes gave me comfort, gave me a reason to carry on through a dreadful job which I had no hopes of ever leaving.

Multiverse Population Theory

Multiverse Population Theory (2016)

The more populous a particular multiverse is, the more advanced and sophisticated it can become.

A multiverse which is populated by one single creature or entity will consist of an eternity of time during which this particular creature or entity lives this eternity out inside its own mind.

A vast and diverse multiverse of many different species, creatures, and entities, such as this one, allows for a much more diverse range of phenomena, such as the passing of generations, death, birth evolution, and the perceived passage of time.

Diversity of participants and observers is critical to the success or failure of a particular multiverse. A multiverse which has observers and participants that can acquire new technology and push known limits will fare better in the concept of existence than, say, a multiverse in which the particularities and parameters prevent any kind of technological progress from happening.

Cliff-side Takeoff

"Cliff-side Takeoff" (2016)

Mirror Self-portrait

"Mirror Self-portrait" (2016)

The Lightning Rod

The Lightning Rod (2016)

    Sitting in a school bus, floating down a tranquil river of streets, passing neat rows of houses aligned like teeth on a flawless smile that radiates  nothing but compassion. 

    Home. 

    It is so beautiful. 

    Daddy got a new job. Mommy was happy. This place is so beautiful...

    Going downtown with daddy, such a special treat. Fill up that little bag with candy from the corner store. Ring up a purchase of shimmering diamonds at the counter, where Old Joe cracks those old jokes more than he cracks his hip. 

    The sun dances across the lake's surface. It speaks of a lighthearted and eternal happiness, which I quickly intrude with my fishing pole. Daddy says never harm anyone you haven't had a talk with first. Never kill the fish, give them a chance to tell their tale about the bottom of the lake.

    The truck drives into the smiling neighborhood. The sun's reflection off the attic windows tells you you're where you need to be. Driving past a stretch of wood, then a small open field

    "Daddy, what's that tall thing over there?"

    "That's a lightning rod, son."

    "What's it for?"

    "It attracts lightning when there's a storm, so the lightning hits it every 
time."

    "Why would they make something like that?"

    "Well, to make sure the lightning never hits our beautiful home, or our 
neighbors', or their neighbors'."

    It protects those beautiful houses, that rusted old tower. Casual visitors never see the hideous blend of rust and cement that is attached to the neighborhood like an ugly wart.

    Then the house, isolated by a ring of police cars. Uneasy bunches of people hovering around it, never going closer than they dare. How quickly the smiling place became angry and terrified... even neighborhoods have their occasional mood swings. The terror, once conceived inside the walls, 
spreads like a virus, a terminal illness ready to kill anything in its path.

   Grandfather: Nailed to the side wall like an obscure work of art. Upside down, embracing Jesus' famous pose; don't think its blood, wine dripping out of his head. Stained streams branch out from the ankles high up, meeting with others and converging below the eyes. They are face to face 
with Lucifer.

    Grandmother: Bundled up like a pile of laundry, arms and legs sorted out and exchanged with each other. Crude stitches fill the dark red seams. Eyes on heaven, hands nailed together in bloody unity, praying for a better end.

    Mother: Womb ripped open, maternal affection turned inside out, a fetus lies, alive enough to have witnessed but not comprehended. Her gracious figure inverted, an elegant stature shattered. The baby never cried.

    Brother and Sister: Their faces exchanged, stapled imperfectly onto the pale flesh. No blood, on the innocent young saints. They have not yet been corrupted, but they are mutilated just the same.

    Blood spots nearly gone out of the green grassy lawn. Truck rolls away, its occupants fate predestined, they listlessly await false sympathy and compassion which is theirs down the road, near a therapist's office but not in it. Passed by the defeated lightning rod, it lies crying; its cement 
skeleton shattered to pieces, rusted arteries will not throb.

    "Mr. Jones, are you awake?"

    "Uhhh..."

    "Don't worry Mr. Jones. You just passed out from a bit too much Novocain. Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you. This happens quite often with root canal operations."

    "Uhh, Uuhh..."

    "So, your insurance plan covers today's visit. Just rest here for a few minutes, and the sleepiness will be gone in no time. You did great today, Mr. Jones."

    "Ugghhh..."

    34 S. Monroe Avenue apartment 19-G. 19 flights up. Nineteen. A nice apartment for its cost. Wise investment. The door boy needs to get the newspaper faster, evening is coming. Open the door; the window, in need of fresh air and more. Shoes over the edge slightly, stand there, admiring life magnified by a factor of nineteen floors the other way. Seeing loved ones closer just got a whole lot easier.

    A rock in shallow water, a boulder in a pond; 
    cadaver falls to father
    then to mother and beyond.