Wednesday, September 23, 2009

thirty minutes to midnight
and i watch my city
in its glorious nightgown winding down

there are some who would talk to
the hegelian spirit of the flow
in times like these

i shamelessly lie to myself

i cannot bear the image of me standing
in front of the dead-empty nothing
talking

instead i concoct stories
much like my father did before me
and his father before him
and his father before his...

'dad? is it really turtles all the way down?'

and i imagine the dead talking to us
by dropping their names
in our consciousness
into the treacherous rivers of regret
we call history
flowing into the consciousness of the city
the keeper of the dead
the names
the stories

there are those who would talk to someone
in times like these

i talk to myself

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

a handful of rubies is thrown
into the face of the city at night
with a language
flowing with the self-pity and self-loathing
of an all-seeing and all-knowing mechanical mind
thick as dark loaded with silence
guilty of callous disregard of
murderous consequences
of misspent ideals and
their poisonous cerated points

as the viscous time swallowed
the city with its sins
with its corroded jungle of nails
it left nothing behind
except the cancerous color of
those rubies

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

(defun roam-all-corners-of-hell ()
  (let ((desperation 
  (quote (i fell in love with a language))))

    (defun sanity (none &optional delusion) 
      nil)
    
    (apply 'sanity
    '(not (a human one either)))
    
    (append desperation 
     '(a stupid one at that))
    
    (mapcar (lambda (one-by-one)(aref one-by-one 0))
     '("Lots of" "Idiotic" "Silly" "Parentheses"))
    
    (if (not (sanity '(is this)))
        (roam-all-corners-of-hell)
      T)))

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

others might have looked into the abyss
on the shoulders of giants before me
but the same abyss looks
painfully up-close-and-personal
from the dig i dug for myself

i am trying to come up with a
justification for having to anguish over
the apparent lack of meaning
in interacting with a universe
which has no purpose, sympathy or awareness

even the stories we spun for ourselves
for a better world:
just, beautiful and true
sound disgustingly delusional now

i am talking to myself
in the dungeons of my own mind
asking myself
my own petty-tyrant zen master
to which monsters
these shadows belong to?

Thursday, September 2, 2009

if the true journey is the return
   i have more places to see
it is time to pick up the pieces
   and move on