courageous-xellah

[courageous-xellah]

Pithy Party

Down the steps in the space where we shared a place,

In the time of lights and yelling of fates, which were slowly made, slowly made, softly placed, solemnly.

Rise, decompress, apologize, profess, And arrest. What was that? Where?

Perhaps some context;

Preferred allowance and limits of our company. Sending a positive message through hallway reverberations, And addictions, fans, rumbling AC, the couch moments.

Glancing. Story of the year. Weird.

[courageous-xellah]

Finally picked up a turntable. The dream has been realized.

[courageous-xellah]

Active Verbs

Find it so hard to get my money on the way to the game. Lose weight and get it together with my friends. Change my life and I have a great day. Forget about the future; I don't have a lot of people in my life. Travel to the point of having a bad day. Decide to do that in my room and my friends are so much better than this. Take it back to the point of having a good idea, but the fact is that it was not. Have a good idea of what you are. ------ Courtesy of iOS 8 autofill.

[courageous-xellah]

The Waste Land: Portrait of a Failed World

This is the first of four papers that I am writing for my final English course at Ohio State. It's on my favorite 20th Century work, The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot. ------ Introduction: The Waste Land dictates Eliot’s concerns that the modern world has lost a natural, driving force from the past, and that modern society is unable to reclaim this nature. His modernist vision is one of fragments; the post-war world is broken and no one has the answers to putting everything back together. The difficulty of this work comes from connecting statements about the condition of modern living with interjections of confusion, loss, grief, despair, and nostalgia. It is here that we see Eliot’s depiction of the present world contrasted to a vibrant and hopeful past. The Waste Land elaborates on memories of a brighter past, the ruins of a pessimistic present, and desire toward a better future through usage of multiple voices and perspectives, natural elements from vegetation mythology and ceremony, and a fundamental attention toward our collective lacking as human beings. I. Fragmentary Voices, Present Ruins, Hopeful Past A multitude of speakers dominate the first three sections of the poem, creating a cacophonous barrage of memories and conversations that highlight a greater sense of loss in the world. From the beginning of The Burial of the Dead, we have the voices of Marie and a patron to “famous clairvoyante” Madame Sosostris. Marie recalls a blissful youth directly juxtaposed to elaborations on “a heap of broken images, where the sun beats” (line 22.) The reoccurring theme of ruinous rocks and lack of water to sate a thirst for life begins here and runs throughout the entire work. Madame Sosostris incorrectly asserts upon the future using such terms as rocks and water, but Eliot crafts her declarations as a warning sign to the world’s failed ways. The patron to Sosostris is looking for meaning, looking for purpose. They have failed to find truth in other ways, so they have resigned themselves to seeking out a tarot reading with little bearing in objective truth. This disassociation from sensibility is driving these interjecting voices to searching for truth in less sensible ways than in the past, and they are both unable to root it out or find a way back to sensible, pure happiness. Things that once brought happiness no longer apply, and the methods for finding happiness in new things are unavailable. This dual prong of pessimism presents itself at the end of The Burial of the Dead, as the voice wanders through an unreal, unsubstantiated London. They are in grief and a brief conversation with a man known as Stetson seems arbitrary and spectral. Lines 70-76 demonstrate an estranged quality of language intended to carry the weight of death in the post-war era. It is strangely intimate in everyday conversation while simultaneously seeming inconsequential, ordinary, and distant. This disconnection to mortality is central to the world’s failings, as later voices urge forth a sense of urgency, of returning to the concrete reality of life’s natural progression. II. The Fisher King, Vegetation Mythology, Nature Vegetation mythology forms the backbone of The Waste Land’s deeper metaphysical interpretations toward a dry, desolate world unable to revitalize itself to its former glory. Vegetation mythologies are Eliot’s primary method in crafting the overwhelming sense of irrevocable loss in A Game of Chess. We are given a detailed portrait of a wealthy woman’s sitting room, and using this elaborate imitation of nature, we derive meaning from the juxtaposition of a modern and a natural world: something is wrong. Her room is eerie, unsettling, and unnatural. The painting of Philomel does most of the heavy lifting in organizing the flaw with this woman’s carefully crafted imitation of reality. This literal portrait frames the woman’s attempt toward reconnecting with nature, but only frustrates both her and the reader. This woman is unable to vocalize her loss, just as Philomel was unable to tell her story after having her tongue cut out. She instead weaves a tapestry to tell her story, and the woman presented in The Waste Land has weaved a tapestry of her own in the form of her elaborate sitting room. The critical difference, however, is that this woman’s tapestry falls short of complete expression, whereas Philomel succeeded. As with The Fisher King, modern society is unable to imitate the former glory of revitalization and expression from the past, falling short at every attempt to reclaim natural life. Natural elements, such as fire, water, air, and earth, create categories by which Eliot conveys his respective concerns over the modern state of affairs. All elements are present in A Game of Chess: air that sooths but does not mend, unnatural copper fed fire representing misplaced desire, earth of jewels and marble (possibly referencing the lust of Mammon and the death of natural humanity due to technological greed), and water in the strange liquids of the woman’s perfumes. Tied to each of these elements is a sense of polarity: earth is death, water is life, fire is desire, and air is frivolous talk or purposeless action. Eliot returns to earth and water in greater detail in What the Thunder Said, creating the moving “rock and water” segment (lines 331-359) that outlines modernisms exact lacking: there is only death, only rock, and there is no longer water, or nature to rejuvenate humanity. The Fisher King is dead, he cannot be reinstalled, and vegetation will not return to the modern world because of a fundamental shift in humanity during and after the First World War. III. Dissociation, Ruins, Fragments, and the Future The final segment of the poem, What the Thunder Said, ties the previous threads together and asserts Eliot’s views on a fragmented and flawed modern existence. The first stanza (lines 322-330) neatly summarizes Eliot’s grand view of the modern world with uncharacteristic, straightforward language. “After the torchlight… after the frosty… after the agony…” all serve to synthesize the elements of war that have led to humanities ruin. The remaining lines draw attention to society’s dwindling lives, dying with “little patience” (line 330.) As the title suggests, this opening stanza is what the thunder said. More plainly, this is the truth that is evident after the war and it is everywhere. Eliot recalls fragments from earlier in the work; mountains, spring, rock, fire, death, and a clever use of reverberation to mimic the fragments’ own echoes. These fragments are organized and clear, yet elusive and inculpable, just as natural truth and purpose have evaded the voices throughout the work. Eliot’s use of repetition of these fragments throughout the rest of What the Thunder Said forms his final assertion of optimism, despite the contemporary state of his failed world. In the final stanza we find three lines that create this vision of the future: lines 424-425 and line 431. The first, “I sat upon the shore…” conjures the image of Eliot fishing upon the shore of a world in ruins, hoping to catch a hold of some truth or greater understanding; the second, an echo of the first, “These fragments I have shored against my ruin” is his assertion that, despite a world in ruin, he intends to hold these poetic fragments against his own mortal quandary in the hopes of achieving fulfillment. These lines shed immense light on Eliot’s true vision of the future as an artistic endeavor deeply invested in a hopeful, fragmented modernist perspective. He is not suggesting that we rebuild the ruins to their former state but instead use the fragments for new purposes. With these three brilliant lines he casts the future in a nuanced hope, different than the hope of a brighter past, while maintaining his view of a flawed present. Conclusion Eliot does not relent in describing the post-war condition as anything less than failed, lost, and irrevocably doomed. Instead, The Waste Land goes to great length in describing the nuances of this confused state before offering a final optimism on modern fragmentary living: we are broken, we cannot mend our condition to match the past, and therefore we must use our broken facilities for new purposes. Ezra Pound famously stated this belief as “the carving of new wood” (the new wood being broken by Walt Whitman, of course.) Through the wandering, illusive passages of The Waste Land, we revel in the innocent glory of the past, absorb the grim reality of a ruined present, and press our lidless eyes toward a future of fragments.

[courageous-xellah]

Without and Still

Without Life, the fantastic utterance, We dissolve in just conclusion, Leaving us nothing but fine Fury lost, contempt, compilation Or any matter except Absolute lacking. Spanning whole divides, this beauty Is silent, unequivocal. Looking, Observing a universe churning, Marking all manners passing. No revelations, fear or despising Existence without. Existing in term, Being as a body lost. Sans alii And, in turn, sans wanting. Sans desire. Beauty becoming objective, Strife concrete, matter altogether Obsolete. Canceling channels of energy, the drawing forces Utter chaos tamed by inevitable balance. O, to see that sprawling majesty; A pittance, a plethora, a vastness Of serenity. Motionless. Zero. Still. ------ This work was inspired from a conversation about Aesop's Fables and speculation on post-death energies.

[courageous-xellah]

In Three Words

I'll stay brief- It is true. This affected you Word gets out I'm confident, fast Tonight I ascertained You gave up. It's all over. Put in words The disease reigns. One-off conversations In the rain. Silent car rides Stars above rooftops, Still growing old. Love's a noun "You can't come." Distress and loathing Debate our way. I loved you. Tear it out Hold onto saviors. Oh God, why? Driven to talking You didn't know; Won't ever now. You were loved. Put to words Intimacy was lost. Bright electronic screens Faces I've lost. Same places, time Where sighs manifest. Kiss me later Have fun tonight Let me rest.

[courageous-xellah]

Uncertainty Before Complexity

Trends in my time are suspicious conclusions Our tendency toward glass raising, rabble rousing, And satisfying grand resolutions. Nothing ever happens and nothing is serious. Unfulfilled holes in our lives yearn toward piling; And yet just few scoff at such remarkability. Polite, meaningless expectations to be confounded. Logic sees through present tense, Past foolish whims and easy exits Or kitche philosophies of commoner's sense. There's a terrible beauty in finding justice and yet it seems some inevitable plot. Alluring, captivating our nature Drawing, satisfying our presumptions. And yet there are costs Time to be paid and debts to settle. Wastes of all manners, Dangerous influences to lives cast off. Fools and martyrs foot the bill To our romance, our silly wiles. And yet there is you Floating through broken, useless things; Bicycle wheels, beads, a good read or two And a single pinata. Watching human folly, The Casual Comedy. Easter in Ireland, tea wasted in Boston, 30 years of roses, a tank and a man, Soldiers sloth in a foreign bay. You're unphased as the rock. Too long a sacrifice is a pity, unlucky toss of the dice to be tested. A small sneer reaches your lips, And yet you speak: "I don't need you. Your villains and martyrs, Heroes and simplification. Needless loss, Pointless action or dreams of death. I lack the holes, prerequisites to candor, Lacking nothing through this refusal." Can this decree transcend time's tattered page? Will lessons, yours, inform uncertainty? Truth is rarely pure and never simple. Language no longer suits our purpose The rock, ineffectual, cares not for dalliance. If there were only water, perhaps. And yet the unpleasant act, revolting Nature, and shivering bosoms lack This vital essence still beating shrill. ------ This work is a summation of several weeks collecting inspiration and my recent studies of Yeats's "Easter 1916", as well as The Antlers's album "Burst Apart".

[courageous-xellah]

The Intellectual Fall of Man

This is a short paper I wrote for a literature classes at OSU. It discusses Milton's argument toward an intellectual degradation in humanity after original sin. My argument is that Milton's primary vehicle for displaying this loss of intellect is through Adam's expressions and speech throughout Books 9-12. ------ Milton builds a variety of arguments throughout Paradise Lost to explain the ways of God to man, and after the fall we observe a crucial construction in Adam: a loss of intellect as a consequence of disobedience. Adam and Eve not only sinned through disobedience to God’s command but also through false idolatry. Consequently, their lack of faith in God as the peak of existential hierarchy reflects in their degrading intelligence; they replaced God with lesser idols, and their intellect followed to lesser faculties. Milton’s argument mirrors the Protestant notion of closeness to God through direct, unmitigated devotion. To be close to God is to have a personal relationship without intercessors. Disobedience is the first threat to this intimate relationship with God, and inferior intellect is the second. This is another point in Paradise Lost where Milton distinguishes his representation of the fall from Genesis; Adam’s expressions and speech after the fall become gradually less eloquent, less lyrical, and less intelligent. His lust, use of soliloquy, invocation of nature, and inability to discern the future draw his intellect into question. Using these formal mechanics, Milton qualifies his construction of a fallen human race made intellectual inferior by original sin through Adam. Adam’s first inferior expression after the fall takes the form of lusting after Eve. Adam experiences the advent of carnal desire and lust (starting at line 1013 0f book 9.) Adam looks to her with lascivious eyes, a marker of carnal, sinful desire. Milton’s shifts to using hyperbole in describing Adam’s sexual attraction to Eve; “For never did thy Beauty… adorned with all perfections, so inflame my sense with ardor to enjoy thee” (lines 1029-1032). Milton continues his use of hyperbole in lines 1017-1026. Adam’s language transforms Eve into something palpable, a consumable to be eaten. “Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstain’d” is Adam’s rationalization of lust. He has faltered from his previous position of innocent reason in estimating Eve’s beauty, and has resorted to a base, lustful desire. Adam isn’t going to literally eat her; Milton draws a direct comparison between the sin of eating the forbidden fruit and Adam’s lust for consuming Eve through hyperbole. This allows Milton to mirror the facade inherent in lower forms of comparison. In heaven all things are equal; heaven is the pinnacle of truth. Expressing Adam and Eve’s desires through anything less than direct statement is Milton’s way of constructing an inequality. Hyperbole is their imitation of pre-fall direct comparisons that makes them less intellectual. Adam invokes the narrative form of soliloquy after falling, making him reflective of Satan. Satan used soliloquy in earlier books to represent his internal thoughts after the battle in heaven and his jealousy of Adam and Eve in Eden. It is also the narrative form of theatre, which holds connotations of falsehood and deception. God and the Son speak directly to each other in heaven; their thoughts translate to speech without any solitary council or rumination. Adam’s soliloquy, starting at line 720 of book 10, expresses a fallen perspective. Adam’s solitary speech exasperates his fate and contains clauses ending with exclamation points, hyperbolic comparisons, and questions. These are markers of an indirect understanding of truth and contrast greatly to the lyric pattern of speech used by Adam and Eve before the fall. By changing his pattern of expression, Milton aligns Adam with Satan but also with the theatrical tradition of imitating reality. Adam had no need to soliloquize before the fall because he was in direct consort with God’s reason; God was his only idol and he sought to understand the world through him alone. After he forsakes God as the sole point of worship, he is confronted by a myriad of logical mazes necessitating mental gymnastics to rationalize and understand (expressed in lines 828-830 of book 10). This logical degradation is not a direct punishment set forth by God, but instead a result of Adam and Eve’s replacement of sole worship of God with lesser idols. We see Adam’s faltering intellect in his appeal to pastoral sentiment at lines 855-862 of book 10. By juxtaposing his complex emotional response to death with simple imagery of the natural world, Adam seeks to reconcile his logical struggle into a simpler, more ideal reality. Additionally, Adam debases God by invoking nature as the primary muse in understanding his plight. Milton uses this invocation of nature to connote the advent of literary complications in understanding God’s ways. Men use liturgical mediations on nature as a method of finding truth, which Milton seems to disagree with. Milton invokes a holy muse in the first lines of Paradise Lost to make this point; other muses harken lesser truths than that of God’s image. Adam recalls another relationship with nature as he laments his exile from Eden in book 11 (lines 315-330). In expressing his sorrow in losing his direct connection to God through the divine nature of Eden, he uses nature itself as form of idolatry. “Pile up every stone of luster from the brook, in memory, or monument to Ages” expresses Adam’s desire to build a monument to God to compensate for his sins, or perhaps serve as a reminder of humanity’s fall. Either interpretation lends itself to fault, hence Michael’s response that Adam is foolish to believe that God exists only in Paradise. Milton creates a materialistic construct through Michael in lines 334-369 of book 11. Michael corrects Adam’s false understanding of God as anything less than omnipresent, and presents the entire world as God’s material. Adam falls into despair about being apart from God after leaving Eden and Michael qualifies this fallacy by placing responsibility on Adam over the circumstances of his punishment. Adam cannot blame his exile from Eden as reasoning for his separation from God, but must instead face his own shortcomings in replacing God with nature. Adam’s ascent to the hill with Michael demonstrates Milton’s argument of intellectual inferiority through excess and Adam’s inability to comprehend the fecundity of the future. In his first vision he sees Cain murder Abel and can’t reconcile his own fate of death. Michael quantifies the variety of ways that man will die and spares no excess in describing the many diseases that will befall mankind. Milton’s use of excess is critical to outlining Adam’s capacity for knowledge. The visions demonstrate Adam’s increasingly naïve knowledge of the future, and reflect his mortal faculties. Adam is fooled into believing the vision of tents and women coming down to greet the men as positive; Michael quickly lectures him on not judging good solely by appearances. Upon his conception (lines 250-355 of book 8) Adam moved about the world with an innate, pre-existing understanding of reality. He approached God’s design with ration and mild nature. He lost this understanding and falls into value judgments informed by passion or unfree will. His original sin of following passion instead of reason continued to inform his decisions after the fall. Michael eventually switches from showing Adam visions of the future to orating because Adam cannot handle the intellectual task of processing the future. In some ways Adam is reverting to the mental capacity of a child as he loses his ability to reason. Michael recognizes this and treats him as such through lectures and lessons. As Michael reveals the coming of Jesus in book 12 he must continually temper Adam’s excitement with additional qualifications. His response to Adam’s joy, starting at line 386 of book 12, is a prime example of Adam’s undeveloped understanding of God’s methods. Adam will die for disobeying God, but Jesus must also die to make up for Adam’s transgressions. By forgetting the mortal pain Jesus will suffer and focusing on the salvation of mankind, Adam lapses in his judgment once again. His focus on avenging the serpent is also concerning, considering the sinful nature of revenge. Michael is quick to correct Adam’s misplaced thoughts of vengeance and aligns him instead with the ransom model by which Jesus will repent for mankind’s sins. Milton tasks Michael in guiding Adam’s increasingly simplistic view of complex ideas toward a deeper understanding that steers clear of any reason that does not lead to God’s will. Adam and Eve both falter intellectually from the fall, but Adam’s reason is of primary concern to Milton’s argument. Adam came into the world with intimate, innocent understanding of God’s vision and of the world’s mechanisms. Milton employs the aforementioned constructions to give readers a concrete understanding of the scale by which original sin damaged the human intellect. By replacing God with lesser idols, Adam tangles his innate reasoning toward God with a long list of others, creating intellectual fallacies that he struggles to navigate. By the time Adam leaves Eden he has been given hope, a true vision of the future, and the task of procuring the human race, but not the salvation necessary to attain his former intellect. He is lessened intellectually because of his mortal sin, and as such must struggle to reclaim his relationship with God outside of Eden.

[courageous-xellah]

Correspondence with Cupertino

I, I love the new version of this month in which the government has been the best thing ever. I don't have a great way of saying the new version and I have no idea what I'm doing. I have no clue who I was in my life and death. I'm not sure what I want you to be. You, You can get it right away and I don't have to go back to my house. You know that the only one who is a great day to be able to do it all. You are so cute; I can't even see you in a while and then the new one is the best. The new one for you guys should make it so hard to find out who you are. So many things. The best way to go back to sleep now; goodnight everyone. The, The only thing I have to go back to my friends and family members of a sudden urge to be able to get my money back. I'm so tired of being the only thing that would have been the same thing as a whole bunch of people. I'm at the end of this. The only thing: I would like to see you soon. I promise you that the only one that I have to be able to see you soon. Enough of this. ------ I created this poem using nothing but word prompts from the new iOS 8.

[courageous-xellah]

The Lexiphane

Fractals, oh fractals amidst us! How their broken company pervades, imbricating eager summation of our predilection. Nonplussed in nature, gentilesse in stature. Will mirrors wield, yield at reckoning? Or bend to breaking as precious subjects? Differentiating fractal's brooding truth from mellifluous ebullience or shoddily-surmised standards requires precursory positioning. Henceforth, carefully comprehend the concinnity of catoptromancy: Observation is a keen, elision disclosure of fractals. Note factual precedence and proceed in linear fashion. Voices call, crying in directions unnaturally thrown. Jumbled digression. Vouchesafe in knowing juxtaposition breeds false fallacy. Logic: “Tua est?” Fear: “Refert?” Fractals are ambivalent beleaguers. Fugacious yet immpecable; sempiternal company to the ailing mind. Reel at them, conflate an eon of nonsense with epics for an age. With ephemeral subject, lack of verb, and wont of object, fractal’s glamour lies in dissolution. How these fractals gambol about in mesmerizing nonchalance. Self-similarity imparting disparity. Demured of polarity, mutual inductance, the drawing forces. Bearing its name without antecedent is desultory and desuetude. Your use of argle-bargle is not welcome here. Commensalist fractals bear our labarum. Treasonous misogamists deny the quality of rebirthing fractals. Words are sussurous, iconoclasmic. They are beguiling. Fractals are strappado-strung truths. Zetetic and ever-elusive.

[courageous-xellah]

Blood Brothers

Never have I spoken truths As truths to giveth you. Our time is candor too parlayed; More distant thou than I would bade. Perhaps in your future ears will hear My long-last penance amicably endeared. Words hold honor past present tense. Your presence triumphs thine own recompense. Wont not subsist off lesser friendship Than thou finer, pleasant kinship In perpetuum bond. This lasting luster, All Memory's splendor may muster. Writ these words well, Brother. Unerring bond; greatest of all others. ------ Another poem from "Better Halves", and another sonnet.

[courageous-xellah]

Take Leave of Me, Sad Creature

Through time and trial, arrested apart Our consummate thoughts invariably start. For-swoon to lie within your grace At long last feeling ardent embrace. Lacking, I, your amorous charm Penchant, yours, doth does disarm. Not once hath I smoldered a funeral pyre, But steadfast up-keeping my one true desire. Lips cloistered, feign all save only your kiss. For thou which greets said lips with bliss Bereaved of smooth countenance, alight and amiss. Unite us; to lasting, to love's languishing dire! Vouchsafe my heart in noblest trust. Begone crippling fear. Relinquish you must Dark harbingers, banished by courage and poise. My shelter of arms shall shut out the noise, Cast off ill-worries and feelings misplaced. Find salient peace whilst recalling thine face. ------ This is the first of several poems that compose "Better Halves", a longer work that I've been slowly building over the last couple weeks. The title is an allusion to "A Description of Cooke-ham" by Emilia Layner. You can read it here: A Description of Cooke-ham

[courageous-xellah]

Recognizance; Rhythm and Rhyme

I ran today, that’s why I’m dressed this way. Stressed and depressed. Too poor to be well-dressed. This isn’t fulfilling in any way. Just a huge waste of a day. The harder we work the luckier we get. Don’t you forget. If I were you I’d put that away. Stop fretting, you’ll be okay. You’re such a pain. Complaining about walking in the rain. Should I give up the dough? I don’t even know. He would never know; I should go.

[courageous-xellah]

Special Snowflake

Anything but normal. Self-flaggelation is the way forward. Progress. Become abnormal to break the mold. Define and promote problems that don’t exist, little foal. Parody has coalesced into reality. A laughable mess. Co-opted by well-poisoners who oppress and scold. Ableism enforcing ignorance. “We stand tall!” Is it real, is it fake? Can you guess? Privilege and shaming or so I’m told. Heard it from the banal. You’re born with it, more or less. It is uncontrolled.

Trigger warning: Proceed with caution. We love all of you! Except cis-scum. You are normal; naturally you disgust. Trans-everything is preferable but not thin. Attention cis-males! Succumb! Abandon your rights. It’s only just.

Check your privilege. It’s only lawful. Upset that you don’t get attention? Melt special snowflake, alone and unconsoled.

——

[courageous-xellah]

Sojourn

Escape Intrusion You're older and clearer. Ready to demand order. From the walker, the sinister omen. Likeness of two bound together. Descend into worlds only you know. Pass through doors never opened. Keep only what you cannot lose. Find your separate peace. Alone but always accompanied. Take this journey through the mirror. Then: Past lives. You are a child. The innocent repercussions are cicadas and car rides through town. Songs on the radio and your parent's arguments. The puppeteer asleep at his command, your sprite little form free for a while. The double's shadow rushed the dusk your still beady eyes did witness. None did weep. A syndrome of subjective doubles. You knew better. His smile grotesque and leary, too far from fantasy to be anything but genuine. He never talked but was always listening. Now: Lives are passed in expectation. Decisions accounted for in size and worth. Your childhood mirth is a relative sum collected long ago. Payment for debt amassed, too much to grasp. Upkeeping who you were is a grave enterprise. Upheaval at who you've been has given you direction. The form stands in your way. The face in the mirror. When? You let him in. He did not surprise you. Your arrested nature captures the beggar. Upon the threshold you set eyes upon him. You see them watching. Half Deaths, Half Lives Not yourself or a double but one altogether. Identical twins you can't tell apart The double-goer; a familiar stranger. Forgotten and unmet through time and trial Yet readily able matching shadows In-step of strides, breath and candor. Is it you? Or them? Are they us? Speaking slowly: “Can you hear me breathing?” “Are you listening?” “Can't you feel me sinking?” “Is my ugly face unrevealing?” “Can't you hear that gentle knocking?” “My surreptitious fears are growing.” Two Faces One Name "Where am I?" "Almost home." "I've forgotten my way back." "I've been trying to remind you." "Do I want to go back? Home?" "You wish to return?" "I don't know how." "I must lead you back." "I'm not sure I can return." “Are you too far gone?” “I am a shadow's regret.” “Too small to circumspect reason for returning?” “Will you bring me back in one piece?” “Bring me back to me or to you?” “Make us whole.” “You don't know yet, do you?” “You're already home.” A Safer Place A hidden room. Visible, tangible and permanent. Inside confines of boundless attribution, Insatiable predilection for knowledge Not for peace of mind but coalescence. A fortress. Home you will never out-grow. Some holy place you have returned to. Secrets you now know. A doppelganger doubt washed away. Faces pressed close to yours are not the nightmares; All the light of the world is your mind. No shadow creeping can invade, No double screeching will pervade Your new-found sight. Part maturation and Perspective's flight from saturation. Walked the quandary's path of identification Received vindication from sojourn You can feel the difference; borne again.

[courageous-xellah]

Trends

Sydney The Vow. There are no filters; our sun sets on futbol and politics. You asked me a question and I answered it. Where is our budget? It's missing. Hand turkeys have worked 0 days without blaming labor. New York Brooklyn is perfect. They stand with Israel. What more can you ask for? S.P. on television: Honey, I Shrunk My Brain, The Mary Tyler Moron Show, You Are Dumber Than A Fifth Grader, How To Cheat Conservatives Into Paying $10 A Month... And Blaming Liberals For It. Conservative Bible Hour, Pretty Little Liars (oh wait, that's taken), Mexican Is The New Black, Rocky Government Shut-Down Horror Show. Two bullets for the village in the West. Bodies stink in those coffers. Baseball still matters. Winnipeg We're on tour but we're on the run. We're on the run because that's the life that was chosen for us. Why does Winnipeg get it's own hastag? Fringe culture breaks free from conventions and becomes common. Hypocrisy ensues. Soon the sewers will be above ground, Dad-rock will become new-age and all fans of Friends will be super-indie. Berlin Rock-stars, knee-replacements and golfing. Z isn't just for sleeping on. Bankruptcy is the secret to wealth (via an extremely shady promoted source). Whore out a shared video to achieve attention from the robots. This fall I'm going back to school with an attractive Aryan man. Can't understand a word he says, what he stands for, or why he's popular but I must follow him and replicate his behavior. Become one with my cybernetic programming. Albuquerque BANG BANG BANG BANG. Tomorrow we will be hot and glamourous. A true pairing will become one with the universe and one within myself. I can't sleep because of my fandom. Because my brothers and sisters are dying in front of the whole world. Because I'm a get-away driver. Because wi-fi is tracking my location and someone is spying on me. Because I am become Thot. Let me grace you with my walk. A game of walking shall we play, dancing even. Let it overtake your consciousness. Madrid Music is not what I do, it is who I am. Who I Am. Who Am I. They have Kardashians too. Good to know the U.S. isn't the only nation plagued with abomination, pandering over-zealousness and undeserved royalty. Reading Spanish has been unsuccessful. Columbus The familiar is the most simple. Waffles, boxes and Texas. Our midwestern minds rest in the mideastern region of our nation. Paradox can't derail comfort. Explain the origin of humanity and I will give you the Heartland. “Lucy did.” This heart is yours. Fall is coming and the weekends must be shed. Skin will shake free from the heat. Our urban hibernation commences.

[courageous-xellah]

Entanglement: 106 days of images, voices, colors, dreams, shapes, light, visions and the internet.

Day 1: We don't go through life. We are on life, in the midst of life. It is intravenous. It is empowerment. A consciousness wrought from inanimate, unmitigated unconsciousness. Day 17: Everything at work is censored. I think things will turn themselves off and they don't. Sometimes I wonder if I had all of the answers in a past life. The “Man with the Plan”. Isn't it funny that wind and wind are the same word? You can leave me. Day 23: Radio waves. Speak to me in tongues. Glottal fry. Draw little beads on my eyelids so that I can see you while I sleep. What you're seeking is seeking you. That's not true. The Before and After of Being Scared. Day 30: Come close to my face. The moment is intense, the music is intense. You know something is going to happen. Adrenaline and then dread. The sinking felling before fright. I never really wanted to die. I just didn't want to live for fear of facing every day. Mood swings are never secure enough; they always falter under duress. They aren't rated for heavy loads. Day 46: It's all about the bodily pleasures of Now, not about growing old and providing for those that come after you. Spend money that you don't have because you will grow old. You will grow bitter, and you will regret every single moment. You won't be coming back. Can't come back, won't come back. You're so sensitive. I am a machine, a machine, a machine, a machine, machine, machine, machine machine machinemachinemachinemachine Day 51: Makes your heart race. American Muscle. Run the quarter mile in the watchman's car. "I saw you out there on the stretch." "Ah, that wasn't me." Day 72: Another dreadful delay. Not this again. X-ray's hint at familiars. Ingrained psychosis. I won't ever shed the spectre. Even your talk, your logic won't change it. Thanks for trying to cheer me up. You should probably go. Day 79: Sometimes I go places that I've never been and see familiar people I can't possibly know. But I do. The faces are there. Whoever I was then I can't ever be again. Day 84: Nobody wants a 50 year old anything. You're damaged goods. A medical liability. You aren't worth the bones that hold you up. Day 99: In Remembrance of Me. It's a whole Mass. Piano ringing and light cast on arches. Tight collars and satin linings. It's a package of hope delivered. Day 106: If you articulate more clearly Siri will understand you and she won't have any problems writing things down correctly. Try something. Repeat everything I say because everything I say is golden. Hear the word vomit all over? I keep going. Hermes is the latest messenger. I have this book, I own this book. In the back of it was a freshman and I have actually owned this book. The customer still has it. If I folded like that my family time would be cheap. Time to eat, eat, eat. Sounds not spelling. Voicing, manner and place. Phonetics. It's the same thing as khakis and car keys. I could cut these wires and ruin everything.