I am gullible, a naive realist

On occasion, I must get a real sense of things
the belly,
the anus.

I am fast approaching unapproachable
It's terrifying to face the edge of all nothing
the roar of yesterday's tomorrow
on the horizon

It turns out
followers
cars
money

are comrades in arms

those pipe dreams are nonchalant

Fact and Fallacy

Our world is an overlap of half truths and shaved mysteries;
I leap across the lines and blur myself into grey
***

My drug of choice is sweat in my eyes as I crest a 2000' gain on a run, or two quick coffees coffees and a self-induced orgasm

I need a shower and a check for 10K

I need a lover who wants more than a tight form and an open mind

I need, myself, to show the fuck up

I am in bed and my coffee is gone, drank it up and I want another but don't want to leave this moment as I know today is going to run out of minutes before I am back here finally at two, or three am.

I need a coffee one more just in this one more moment, the fridge just clicked off and I am listening to the birds

*** step back*** one moment, I am making one more ***
***self-met needs***

i have to go i have so much to do so much to be
evidently no one is going to be able to do it
so i happily agree to captain oh captain my ship
sails on all waters

Badgers and Hedgerows

Badger and Straight Pine

Are medicine cousins 

****

Inhale four, five, almost six 

Exhale the same 

Climb the edge of my childhood mountain 

This terrain so familiar 

These boulders strewn across the madrone ridge could be the left over scatter shot of Artemis

I was here as a child last time 

Skinned knees and cheap cotton

Lungs equal parts soot and nickel 

-

I slept nestled in the belly of a granite boulder- hidden from view back from from the trail ***

I'd forgotten sometimes you have to go all the way to the top 

before the voices fade 

And the people who look for you give up aginst the twilight and mosquitos

--

Today I ran by

Surprised and remembering an almost forgotten 

Instant nearly thirty years ago when I crouched in the same rocks

Listening to the sounds of the quieting forest and ascending moon

-

The grey junkie haze as weeks of overlapping yesterday's tomorrow press against the window of forever and I can't quite see the peripherial margins as they grey out against my car payment and my ex wife's cantaloupe tits

-

Badgers and Straight Pine are medicine cousins

Penumbra'd Cliches

I step outside to time my dab pen and pretend like the silence of the predawn moments is not familiar.

Out beyond the sound of I-5 I hear the first rooster, pQkkl.

Now, it's a few nights later and I continue to ride that push and its pull is stronger than electricity. I fall into all of it the abyss, open armed and familiar, welcomes me back. I hear the pull of sweet hot metal and feel the longing of the incomplete inside curve of brands on my right arm.

I wonder at times what I have begun, unthinking, only how many cycles must I suffer until Hegel, appeased, relinquishes his cold fingered throat hold on the perpetual up down of binary assimilation.

The big piece, perhaps the biggest, is the one missing from my heart. It might be horses, it might be jesus; it could be cocaine or a fuck in the park like a sunday afternoon. These lips they long for honey from the comb

 I fall into the abyss of my own awareness and it is half-mad on a sheer butte of pent genius. Molten veins and the thought that perhaps someday this heart will explode into tens of millions of pieces as our star is engulfed in the fury of its own demise and I sit here, now, and pretend to give a fuck.

That there, somewhere, is meaning-- I am to find in some arms or some distant embrace that pulls nothing but skin from the form of flesh. I am heartbroken to know who it is that I am truly, to have that singular and utmost private conversation, know my own embrace. It sounds destitute and scarce, I mean it not to. It is just this heart of mine, always longing ever for home and I am here, so alien and lonely.

I am with so few words of any meaning. All, thankfully has been lost thanks to Saussure in an independent search for meaning separate.

No matter, this slays

I tire; I refuse to accept lack of meaning

Lack of meaning is limp dick in my mouth.

Perception vs Intended Meaning

I want to start s comic book called inception vs perception 

That's not even the right word. Everywhere now is the pressure of reflected identity. Am I self identifying appropriately, is my branding on point, are my eyebrows of fleek?

All of the space between perception and projection is a haze of misinterpretation. This smog of doubt- is it on the ears or the mouth, this confusion. 

***

I am smashed these days between myself identity and my identifiable self. I smear the lines and shift through shadows. It's tranquil and I am training myself to be strong in body as in mind because birches I can. This unapologetic selfhood is birthright and I'd rather shit in public than pretend to be concerned over coddling your perception of what I am, than being who I am.

It's not on me that I am your red hot dream; that I bring out your daddy urge to tell me to be safe out there. It's not on me that you've never touched a bike a bike as big as mine, ol boy you have no idea how big my bike real is. 

It's not on me that I do pull ups and run in eight pound boots. You can state that I look like an athlete despite the tats the short hair the red lips the black stilettos. I can see that. I can also see you seeing me thinking, hoping, believing that in not as smart as you. 

I get up each day and make choices. It's alright because peace comes to the warrior through the dance of the grouse.

What you see is not what you think you see. You see what you think you see. I see both.