The Moonburn Cycle

I. Nighttime Indulgence

One sugar-glazed moon gaze earns
Sunday sundae sunburns
Morning dew on a hollow creme brule skull
And the Godfish flops beneath
In search of something wet
Something tidal
An audience for
Its moonlit recital

Tonight's moon is a ray-gun,
turning moon gazers into the sun
Light and warmth trapped in my heart
nomadic, unstrapped, (forget) drift apart
Between my eyes and groin, they pass
I study me through a magnifying glass
Recycled repast for my glowing gains
Fledgling feelings flicker, growing pains
I burn create me

II. Landing

I drift home like snow
Ahead of behind myself
Each crystalline chip lurches forth
like a car with worn brakes,
driven by their very shape,
piled like busted glass pancakes
Melted by the time I arrive
Painstakingly reformed
So designed to be broken
Like a glowstick
Now I see it!









Now I see it!









Now I see it!

Salt Water Heals

I'm the forest, every damned tree
Thousands of miles a blanket of me
My face
terminates
at your rocky shore
Condensation - sap
to seal the gap-
running from an open sore
You are simply the ocean
As helplessly as
I toss timber doubloons
Into your high tide
Only to be promptly returned
With limpest lapping

Your foamy water reaches my roots
exactly
as involuntarily as they draw it in
and all I want to do is die
so my soul can retreat
Instead I grow
smaller
and
smaller
around
your
eroded
feet

Trees know what it is
I just know what it's called
but I can't speak to set my mind at ease
Of what makes me feel warm
as I sit and wait for the salt water to freeze

Second Handers

One day, I got stranded living in the present moment. It happened when I was reading a review of some book by Eckhart Tolle (1) on Amazon.com. I was reading on my bed, my laptop providing the light in my blanket tent. I hadn't slept for a few days due to a high victory of the mind over the body: I was going through a spell of beautiful, beautiful depression. A good book used to put me to sleep but I did not read books anymore, I merely experience and recreate them through other people's explanations. See, reality had long become too cumbersome, and the traditional escapism of internet role playing games held no appeal for me (due in part to the social stigma, but mostly the lingering precariousness of dependence on internet and other escapees/players), so I was on a mission to retreat entirely into my brain. My first step was to internalize sex, which was pretty easy, most people have already done this in one way or another. Food, or specifically, sustenance was the most difficult. I eventually lived on a diet of plain boiled unsalted rice and watch people cook on youtube and imagine what flavor I'd experience with their end product. I prefer youtube because unlike cooking shows on television, people on youtube sometimes end up preparing something awful, just like real life, and they must eat it regardless. Adherence to pleasing fantasies weakens the mind, but creating the nuanced damnation of pineapple-salmon with cream sauce nearly grants the imagination arms and legs to excuse itself from the "table of the body", so to speak. The final hurdle to complete self-immersion was to learn to breathe vicariously, thus conceding all biological functions to the power of my thoughts. I completed that as the oxygen ran out in my blanket tent at the same time I finished reading the book review, and when my Self saw it's polar opposite reflection, it surged out from my body, essentially like I sneezed my psyche inside out. The book review was like pepper in the nose of my brain, its mouth full (having consumed my Self), spewed its contents out into the astral plane where it vanished forever.

Having no Self is difficult. I now assume the moods and emotions of anybody around me, my mind merely a tool for perpetuating wretched reality. Some people go grocery shopping; I walk the streets trying to harvest a pleasant conversation that I can absorb and take home every single day. There's nothing more frustrating than capturing a happy moment that can echo through my empty head and ricochet around my nerveless body all night, only to encounter a downer just before I walk into my apartment, so I am stuck with their agony until I find someone who is at least mildly content. The worst part: if I accumulate pleasant conversations, I become a source of synthetic, nearly pure positivity, which is annoying and slightly depressing to others. My feelings mimic their annoyance and depression, which makes me even more annoying and depressing to be around. So people simply avoid me until my misery makes someone who is less miserable than I am happy that at least they aren't THAT miserable, and I can harness their happiness for myself. The only benefit to being marooned on this incarnate island without my Self is that I save money on rice.

(1) Which one is not important.

Bill Murray Haiku

Garfield devours lasagna

Nibbles at Bill’s

Credibility

What About Bob plus Saw

Baby steps cut off my leg

And get the key

My life is Groundhog

Day plus Momento:

Have we met? Does it matter?

I take my women

The way I take Bill Murray:

No Show? DVD.

Groundhog Day plus Saw:

I tear off my balls every day

‘Til I like it

Some friends and I

Crossed streams onto some marshmallows once

Worst. Smores. Ever.

Noone showed up at

The Dan Aykroyd Crashpad

He’s at my house crying

Jobot’s new crepe

The Royal Tannenbaum

So good, you’ll fuck your sister

Bill Murray is on

The Ghostbusters 3 set in

Apache Junction

Ghostbusters 3 will

Be filmed in my pants starring

My dick as “Slimer”

Crowd-pleasing haiku:

Ghostbusters 3 will take place

At a Chick-Fil-A