chipperplacebo

[chipperplacebo]

There was an array of words but their forms have dispersed into nothing my environment eludes me like the shape of those words unable to be grasped

chiral incompatibilty atomic loneliness quantum loneliness loneliness, it seems, is unforgiveable loneliness, it seems, is the fundament the plinth of reality

furrowed with brief black cruelty living becomes harder as the struggle between remembering and forgetting becomes an intolerable war

the mind dips and swims like the moon twisting between penumbra and whatever the light is called…

I don't remember the shape of that word.

[chipperplacebo]

Night of 7/16/25

I drove from lake, to lake, to lake

The moon was huge and ember red

Shivers, the lanes between trees and alleys

I laid down before dawn, and dreamt

Nightmares of arguments and wasps

My son woke me and told me to come downstairs, to talk to mommy

"We have nothing to talk about. Goodbye."

[chipperplacebo]

I beg you for a more beautiful way to be destroyed

I want bravery and wisdom when I am torn apart

[chipperplacebo]

There is a light inside that turns on and off when it is on, you are when it is off, you are not

it turns on for maybe minutes in a day, or maybe days in a month but it cannot stay on

it may come on while you are sick while you are hurt while you are bound in chains

and you must keep moving even when it is off you must stay awake even when it is off

no one must know that it is off nearly all the time you must keep going.

[chipperplacebo]

October 6, 1985 - February 17, 2024

[chipperplacebo]

blood longs to be reunited with the wound

[chipperplacebo]

today i swallowed gasoline

Bad feelings, anxious Memories of Lost love Memories of old fights "Living a rich tapestry" The painting, naked against lush My sister's portrait watching Meeting friends, estrangement New person, woman, pretty Memories of Cheryl Infidelity, dissatisfaction bad memories Rape, Brennon, scars My rape, crying in the alley Acid sheet sitting in my car the gun, over and over, night Stories, the camera Waking and sleeping Clint, my good and trusted friend War, and the warrior Dressing my cat as the blue m&m My son, checking his breath Waking him often to make sure he hasn't died Childlike grief, not childishness

[chipperplacebo]

A realization came

That in all things beautiful, there is a melancholy ending. A change will wash away what should not be lost, and all memories good or bad will haunt the rememberer to their last moments of fading dementia

And also

That in moments of horror, of sorrow, in utter agonizing defeat, there too is heroism and bravery. That the adversity and the broken steps of our palest hour can light our way to our greatest pride.

and so the great sinusoidal wave flows and ever flows from tragedy to sweetness

[chipperplacebo]

Something like a riddle

I am the wounded leg that will not heal The catch in your breath that does not fade A thought that no faith can be real I am the grave you have made The font of all regrets, of all shame The want of love in a perfect child The loss of a perfect winning game I am despair reconciled

[chipperplacebo]

a wound is a lesson sent forth in time the scar a device to send you back to that moment when you were twain asymmetrical time, the before and the after of your near death or enlightened pain

[chipperplacebo]

Ode to Judge

My son

You will walk three lines O'er many lives

Be taught the ways I never knew

To reach back through the tangle

Of time and genetic memory

Into a tree of ganglia

Like roots

Until, Lo There, he sees his ancestors

And his future

and his

present

purpose

He will take the form of a beast

And on four legs crawl and howl

Until he stands upright

And finds his hands

And his speech

And his sword

His trustworthy sword

And learn to trust too himself

And in old age

His wisdom crystalize

Into Ljóðaháttr, Amber

Or some new song that we cannot fathom

Out of the babble of the innocent

And those first wild eyed thoughts

And in some seven years

When his mother and I tire of beasts

He will learn the lessons of Chivalry

A second education

Not in the way the world is

But in the way it should be

And he will ride out with his Host

His Lance of bicycles and nerf bats

And learn that the world is like La Chanson

Full of monsters and heroes

Full of failure and victory and pain

We heap upon him playful tasks

And upon those tasks accolades

Until he grows canny and strong and merry

And carries the gems of his memories

Like ransom and pay

In the stout strongbox of his little heart

For the rest of his days.

And though we may pretend

That childhood will wane, will tarnish,

As his wisdom opens his eyes to the world

As the world truly is

As all who bear children must surely lament

And we will guide him into manhood

Into the uncertain future

His sword hand will learn the ways of the new war

Of the $-vector//and//payload

Of the rifle and the drone

Of the propaganda viruses

And the creeping fear of

-----

He will question all our truths

For he will have learned circumspection

Even to gods, and sweethearts, and his own memories

And though it pains us, we let him learn

Those painful lessons of the adolescent

That they who are too wise and too stupid

To reap from any other

Teach themselves.

And in the blink of an eye

He will be a Man.

I hope

A better man.

Than I.

[chipperplacebo]

While my hand is not reaching for the sword

It reaches out to cover my eyes

Or the faces of ghosts that I recognize

Because my hands cannot make a word

[chipperplacebo]

self/other

I don't want to be tortured or penalized, I want to be punished, understand? I want some righteous moral archangel in their alien wisdom to tell me, in no uncertain terms what it will take for the guilt the anxiety to die to subject me to just, wretched existence and through a cathartic agony cause knowledge to flower poetic and undeniable the way to never feel that transgression my transgression again

[chipperplacebo]

Poem for Shan

in the year of stillness (which is to some worse than death) many beautiful things came to an end, or became grey places of rest for the living ceased to provide nourishment and the banal evils of living became monstrous things some would come to an unfortunate end in that year when things seemed hopeless, that it was time for life to end. they laid down their heads to rest, to breathe, to no avail. so instead came Nyx, and wrapped them in starry shawls. to those who witnessed, or were forced to witness, we found grief in our attachment to those who could not come with us into new years, better days, that we value greatest through camaraderie and willingly, or unwillingly, carried the burden and the honor of their ghosts but painful as it was, we carried them with us out of stillness to new places, warm with light, warm with the heat of the living and as we learn to laugh again, as we regain the strength to celebrate, we share our laughter like wine with the dead we carry in our story.

the dead then are no longer still, but dance. the dead still know how to dance, friend.

especially if given wine and song.

[chipperplacebo]

there is an unattainable shade of green I have been trying to reach it, nights it is mottled in shadows and undertones deeper than the deepest secret of reds and for some strange reason, I think there is gold within it. hidden underneath. it is alive, but stone cold. like a polished moss. like water, seen through thickest glass, in reflected light. I have never seen it with my eyes but I have seen it nonetheless.

[chipperplacebo]

strike with your whole body every vertex, every chord do not let the enemy move dictate the flow, only by your design is there a passage to crash, to flow there are parallel lines that form in the voids between sword and sword pathways into the red place that a mind once dubbed _sightofkillingblow a giddy epiphany

[chipperplacebo]

in the cold bay there are unknowable tides waves that effect some status quo until the event horizon of the surf decides to accept you without consent irrevocably