It used to be so dark in here. 


Would you like some fries with that?
There on special today. 

Pot ate toes.                                        Tar Tar              
                                                                                                and catch up.

                   Corn syrup                                

                                                               interrupting out of my knows. 

How did the cows get so BIG? 


Water you talking

                                                                                                                                                   Favourite note:
                                                                                                                                                                                   Beef lat. 

Sex you all in you end owes
                                                    are the asbestos. 



Reflect the Vital Element. 


Exist to Exit
The soul escapes. 


I don't see harmony...
                                           I see harm & money.
I vs me.  
A part of the company. 
                                           Apart from the company of God. 
God it? 
Capital i just want to be free
from this self-destructive game of make belief. 
If they can't make me,
they'll force me to agree. 

I just want to be
and leave the dept department
without having to depart from my land and family.

We may no longer be picking cotton
but we've quickly forgotten that we're all still living as slaves.
Got invisible chains disguised as minimum wage
and words written on a page in CAPITAL LETTERS. 
I should have know better than to go and sign my life away
before I had even learned the language which would navigate my fate.

Familae is latin
for household of slaves...

Secrets old and secrets kept, 
whilst we live vis-a-vis with Visa-card debts.
The masters make the cards. 
The masters think they are Gods. 
God it? 

Ink and paper. 
Ink and paper.
Ink and paper. 

Industry to tree dust
and treat us like products.

Have we forgotten our origins
amidst these origami nations?
Composed of contract legislation,
written with words whipped out of contra-dictionaries. 

It's easy to forget the mission, 
with funnel tunnel visions
and thoughts that only bury the mind from finding the clear
and the quite contrary, 
encaged in the age of the clipped canary. 

Self-assigned stories defined man's rivals
and pre-pre-scribed "proper" survival
with the arrival of the printing press.
Forget your guess, this one is best.
Here's your bib. 
Your Bible. 
Bye. Belle.
Buy. The Beautiful. 
World's number one selling book is bound to be meaningful. 
But history is only his story. 
What about hers? 
The stories of our mothers.
Those who natured our births, 
gave us sisters and brothers. 
The women that make the world go around. 
What I have found is that all stories have worth,
and his story is no better than hers. 
And mine? 
Well the more I think of mine, 
the more i come to find that
my story is a mystery
and there is no single way to live. 



I love my words. 
My words are best.
I will feed you my words
till you like the taste. 
Until they taste like yours. 

Ingest. Ruminate. Relax.

Now regurgitate them back,
with a few others you've found.

Ah yes.
I love the sound. 

The sound of obedience.

You must too.
Like I had to. 
                                  Like we have to.



In order to understand God
we'd have to overstand God.
Until then
I recommend that we d
                                            the pen
when trying to define
and construct these "truths" called "facts".

We are all children
born to the same mystery
despite how many times one has spun around the sun
or what one has read from the dead
or the educated. 

Our instinct could be emulated
not folded and molded
by the ruled and the regulated. 

The magic exists in the infinite
not all theses insignificant
dollar distractions
and plastic attractions
given by the given
not learned by the living,
earned through passionate hard work.

What do you live for?
The love, the hate,
the moods, the foods,
the bait, the chase, 
the fame, the shame, 
the friends, the fucks, 
the family, the money, 
the loss, the luck, 
the sad, the funny,
the taste, the touch, 
the tears, the lust,
the sun sets and sun rises
to your minus y(why) 
soundtrack of imaginable waves.  


Farm a sea
of deep-enders. 


Valentine Dazed

"Happy Valentine's Day! 
I bought you a beard!!" 

     - A beard? 

"A beard!!" 

     - That's weird... 
     - ...Worse than I had feared...

"Oh come on! It'll be fun!!
You and I will both have one! 
We'll talk in old ways: 
'like ve ahr frum ova seays'
Just like you told me you'd love to do.
No time or place. 
Just me and you".

     - Mm.. not today. It just feels wrong...

"But I even got the ones that were extra long..." 

     - Some other time! I'm all dressed up and nice. 

"I think you look amazing. 
...Isn't that suffice?" 


My soul leaps in sleep.
Higher than the sheep and those silly fences.

No sense in counting the repetitiveness
and so instead I live this new day dream
and merry nightmare differently.

I name my days and my nights
and that mysterious line
where white meets black.
That creative crack where the light first starts to seep,
or where it first starts to sleep,
depending on which way
one has been taught to read the spectrum.
Left to right. Right to left.
Attention to the closest line at depth
there where lies the guess...

probably the oddest probability
when one has to be right
and the other is left
prolonged to the wrong impression.
Despite what language and law recite
there is no wrong, like there is no right
and I know that you might not agree
and try to trample me with an example like murder
but you have to leap a little further
and realize that worth is birthed by human words.
Everything has virgin value.. 

Bugs with unbeknown beauty
give their guts to our vehicle grills
without sending even the smallest chill
down our selfish spines
yet when one of our own kind
is found dead in a river
we scream until we're sick
and kick until we quiver
at the thought of such a precious loss.
The thought of something without a cost.

Perhaps when i can purchase a praying man
instead of a praying mantis for 4,99
or when the insects divide the land in sections
creating their own comprehensions
of imported importance,
will this glamour of value
and worth of words seem absurd.

My soul leaps in sleep
higher than the sheep and those silly fences.