love poem for the apocalypse part 3

though death may greet me at any moment,
everything is alright
and everything is ok

for the blood that runs as my circuitry
the cerebral lightning that defines my perceptions
and the chemical change that gives me direction
need not last forever

but within the thoughts that slowly crawl
through my bespectacled head
there exists these creatures
with lives eternal

experiences -
priceless!, says the wisest man i have known.
those fleeting images and feelings of exploding moments
that tantalize the senses -
they define this tattered world as I know it,
with illusions that fool me and drive me mad
defining reality as it is known

memories -
those hazy windows to the shattered and incomprehensible past
those old hags that sit around and moan about sexual dysfuntion
those burned out angels that talk to themselves, lost in space,
whose memories are curiously missing or incomprehensible
they bring you up and
bring you down and they pointlessly shove you around -
they are the living dead
roaming around your ghost town mind

divinations -
whether soothsaying based on the meaningless zodiac
or mere anxiety of what lies ahead,
we foolishly claw at the void of mystery
only to sacrifice it's majesty
wallowing in puddles of empty superstition,
looking to prophets and seers rather than the all knowing now;
attempts to see what lies ahead
only leave us nauseated and braindead

but let me tell you my friends, the end-times are here
they're happening right now,
they're more than just near

we're either cowboys indians or monks
and we can't stop living our roles
still reading from that moldy old script
that we fished out of the lake before the sewage cleared

we're wasting our time,
contemplating loudly and obnoxiously
in our costumes of pride and esteem.
all pomp and circumstance, no spontaneity,
we claim to carry the truth and strive to guide the masses

but we only end up bored
dead,
diseased and
devoid of pleasure,
creating vast expectations that only separate us from the moment,
building temples of doom and industry that satisfy our need for inhumane stimulation

self destruction is how we respond -
we pursue annihilation in the name of escaping this mess,
romanticizing degradation and
writing poetry and punk rock songs
in our attempts to understand
and finally come to terms with
the emptiness that lies at hand

but don't shout, don't scatter, don't think these things truly matter
please don't worry
don't worry bout' a thing;

please don't worry about the voices in your head
please don't worry that god is dead
please don't worry about the feds at your door
please don't worry about nuclear war
please don't worry about the stock market crash
please don't worry about the radiation flash
please don't worry about neurological disease
please don't worry about existential unease
please don't worry about getting to heaven
and please don't worry about going to hell

please,
just have no fear
for the end-times
are finally here

creatures of pure id

creatures of pure id
on the road to disturbed braindeath
their mania only fueled by promises of empty pleasure
debauchery is all that makes sense
they live within us and scream in our moments of boredom,
they try to hide in our moments of pride

so many of us scared to death
by the thought of losing it all to the malice of the Earth

so many of us apathetic
to the thought that it's all up to us if we want to save it

so many of us
have nothing to live for but the self and it's glorification

so many
minds
and
so many
bodies

separated by the machinery of industry

if we look to the stars and stare
we're either terrified or amazed or simply bored
confused and disoriented,
led to a narcotic rampage till the day they die

trying so hard to make sense of what can't be understood
trying so hard just to have something to live for

and when it all falls away the world turns to a violent brothel rather than a temple of peace

liberation, what does that mean to most?
to have the freedom to live selfishly and without regard to others
to endlessly indulge in however way they wish

but to me that's not liberation
that's the most cruel form of slavery yet
to be enslaved by the disgusting follies of the self

aesthetics

a science fiction dream
of mysterious planets and life forms exotic
where the madman wizard rants his bogus mystical philosophy
and the ancient death band plays
for hours and hours and infinities
with their endless jams of droned out confusion
confusion is the music they play
like a hypnotized folk singer
drunk on anarchism and idealism
yelling at squares and they huddle on by in the streets
eating from dumpsters and
raiding the culture of all it's dying of
no one holds back their most poisonous words
there's a savage nuclear war in all our heads
that's spreading through the air all night long
jazz music is nonsense
so is poetry
there's no more need to talk
silence will save us from the horror of language
we rot away in our own cubicles while floating in space for the rest of eternity
kept alive by machines
mankind will sacrifice it's humanity to any means as long as it can survive
but that's only logical
and logic is the only thing you can trust
do you trust logic? it's usually the most sensible thing to do
but when boredom comes logic is an obstacle to liberation
and who can blame me for wanting liberation?
some moments so intense
some so pointless
but all might as well be the same

the sun

AAAhhhhh, the sun, the astral being that defines our human timescale. The radiance and energy provided by the sun has caused it to become an object of worship. It has been my opinion that it makes more sense to worship the sun that it does to worship a god or gods. However the beauty of the sun is that it provides to us regardless of our reverence. It has no intelligence (that we know of or can be expressed to us) yet has created the conditions under which intelligence can exist.

revelations

This weekend I took LSD and MDMA and had the realization that my goal in life to be able to express everything I think and feel without being clouded by my ego. Essentially I want to be able to spread knowledge and ideas without making an ass of myself. This requires a mastery of language and an inner understanding of the mechanisms of my own mind. It will take a while to get to this point, and I may never get there, but nonetheless I think it's a noble and worthwhile personal goal.

love poem for the apocalypse part 2

"Apparently there is a great discovery or insight which our culture is deliberately designed to supress, distort and ignore. That is that Nature is some kind of minded entity. That Nature is not simply the random flight of atoms through electromagnetic fields. Nature is not the empty, despiritualized lumpen matter that we inherit from modern physics. But it is instead a kind of intelligence, a kind of mind." - Terence McKenna

Laying in a mildewed hammock

staring into the stars,

I prophesize the death of the universe

and listen to my thoughts

ramble endlessly

and when the white noise in my head clears

it becomes apparent -

It's time to escape the systems of old,

escape the present and ignore the future,

for time only leaves us in a

linguistic chaingang, a postmodern rut

To extract understanding

from the shattering fragments

of human language

that sit inside my cranium

To compose childlike games

from body language

to distract from the backbreaking

monotony of everyday life

It's time to burn down the sports bars.

to roam unselfconscious through

the jungles that created us,

for we are not are products of the

factory of mass-culture

but animals capable of infinite experience