Happenverse

The micro verse lives,  
an active universe.  
Constellations in the 
macro verse become 
the ghost in the machine
deep inside.   Just look.  

We are present here at
the furthest boundaries  
of an expansive domain.  

If one wishes to know what
lies beyond the farthest 
points of this reality, 
they must only wait 
to see what happens 
directly about them. 

Without a doubt, we are 
the extra terrestrials.

The cosmos warps 
about us, our refutation 
of nonexistence arrives 
along time's axis 
in the spiraling wake 
of a wink out of stars.

Everything appears inside out 
which means that truth lies 
concealed within paradox.

Anywhere in space it is we 
who are the central point.

What we think of as outer 
space is really just time's 
mechanism, and what we 
believe to be the passage 
of time is only the space 
where life still fluorishes. 

Sapience

Existence appears as a very peculiar condition. 


There seems to be no such thing as separation.  

Life forms fit together like metacarpals in a universal body.

Human babies are extensions of their parents.


The very idea of separateness seems irrational. 

Unknown power must reside within imagination itself. 

Anything that may be conceived by the mind can become real. 


Mankind  invents new ways of alienating itself.   

Humanity remains unique to this solar system.  

Perhaps our destiny will be to create separateness.


Every star of this galaxy might spawn its own form of life.
 

memo re-sent

What could be the mystery of life well put that question aside for one moment because nothing could be plainer than there being no question at all and we're here right now so even you can see there appears to be no mystery after all really when everything about you happens to be procreating since before ever we can remember which is to say building a bridge across time and space so let me ask you this in return what have you been doing lately as the world boils over around you?  (Waste no more time wondering upon the mystery of life my friend for there is no mystery to life that has arisen from the boundless depths of obscured wells any more than there is to the direction our lives take us which guided by the love and support of our family and friends just happens to be ever forward in building this bridge across time and space.)  

To Seventy Years

I don't even know what to say. It's Father's Day, 2013. Sounds like a futuristic dystopian date to me. My own father was murdered over a quarter of a century ago in the beloved country where I was born and he'd lived for just over twenty years, Honduras. To even imagine ever having lived there can sometimes be difficult, when I consider the time spans involved. Then I remember that I am, after all, nearly fifty years of age, myself. Now that I find hard to believe. My father would be seventy if he were still alive, today. If he were still alive...that's when the substream of my mind which slumbers on is jolted awake, suddenly. That's it...I've only been assuming he wasn't alive. Who are we to define anything. I mean, just look at it. If all the energy and matter in the universe is recycled endlessly as implied by the second law of thermodynamics, there is no such thing as death really. I mean sure, there's such a thing as the shedding of mortal coils and a whole conglomerate of other details including but not limited to the ritualistic burial of human beings whose biological functions have ceased altogether, but I just don't want to get into all that right now, suffice it to say I've given the matter some thought about how the process works and it just occurred to me, if all the recent discoveries we've made about the real nature of black holes turns out to be true (and there is no longer any reason whatsoever to not suspect that all life in the entire universe is seeded through black holes) then I don't even really need to comprehend exactly how the biological remnants that were my father may have been cosmically recycled, all I can do is rest assured and more than suspect that my feelings of having been mistaken upon deliberating over the perception that we and everything around us are merely parts of a greater whole have been only half correct and hence the likeliest conclusion in evidence of the fact that one is the only number in existence since all remaining numerals are merely indications of fractions of the universal totality, is the plain and painfully obvious observation that I am my own father after all just as my four month old baby son is truly me but to limit that statement to referring to ourselves genetically is to miss the entire picture you see of simplicity being so enormous that it often misses observation by the likes of you and me but like I said, like me, you may rest assured that the reason we are born when dying and ressurrected at birth is we are only one entity and that is why we continue to crucify ourselves because at least half of the world cannot see the beautiful forest for the prison of their trees, that there are no parts, just you and me and everything, so happy Father's Day to all who have dared or stumbled upon and fallen into the role of precursor, it is a glorious day after all when you stop and realize this is all from you and for you alone, our father, our son, our holy ghost at the very least, and at the most, I do dare to declare a toast.          

A Clarion Amid The Din

It's not outer space that's important.  And it's not just inner space that is important.   It's both our neurobiologistical microscapes as well as the deep core of our own planet, and it's not panspermia alone that brought life necessarily to earth nor is it our molten iron womb itself either as much as the distinct possibility that the combination of asteroid (sperm) and planet (ovum) may have resulted in the origin of life and hence ourselves as a bonafide sentient species.  And how could we forget the deep oceanic trenches and the inherent mystery they conceal?  We are allegedly only familiar with 5% of the ocean depths.   That is the real future of science fiction because the exterior outward trip is doomed lost to a telescoped oblivion if that were even imaginable much less possible but yes leave it up to mankind to fervently achieve impossible absurdities something so beautiful and harrowing as to make damnation mundane, go for it rocket boys and may the spirit beyond the deepest waters move you toward the ultimate adventure of discovery and may your destinies meet with unspeakable success.  What a mess.  Enough science fiction about space ships already I call a boycott.  The real space ship is earth and I want to read and write about that so reel your spaced out dream back in quick everyone knows the cryptoterrestrials are here already and we're their latest offspring.  Listen to the leaves inside your mind and realize the wind passing through the seashell of your skull is not imaginary because you've mistaken it for something else it is actually real because you imagined it.  Try to get it right and did you know there's no such thing as out there at all?  It's all in the mind every spanking piece of it including those glittery dead sequins twinkling every color of the alphabet whose interwound songs harmonize into a celestial choir belting out the one hymn we've heard all our lives and it's not whispering myths or describing any dreams that's just the sound of it all breathing.  So wake up and grow mouths so you can stop screaming see what I mean by reading not only in between the lines but repeat the lines themselves because it is not just the words on the page that carry significance it is the distinct combination between them and the empty spaces crowding out the remainder of existence a polarized balance which pings a microtone spark across the dark of space to light up this place for us to see the secrets buried deep enough to make it worth the challenge of our lives to find so please stop searching for extraterrestrials if you don't mind besides they are the ones more likely advanced and are already ahead of the curve searching for us, rest assured they will find us on the television screens of their collective minds and read our lips from the static laden silent film of our history projected in an explosion of gravitational microlensing for their leisurely perusal so meanwhile what else are we going to do here all alone together besides feeling as if we're lost on our own home, for the sake of all that is common and good, alienated and terrified of being invaded because that is all we inherently know from having been born from scratch of the lightning bolt sparkstruck nickel-iron wombcore of our parent planet, don't you get it we're the species that invaded this place if it isn't obvious already then try and think of it this way, every solar system is like a factory in the shape of a vast tapestry okay, which manufactures us at the third station see, and here we are on the conveyor belt of revolving bodies harmonizing cosmic frequencies for the mass production of sentient fruit and the mirror trick to remembering who we are is to not care what the reflection looking back at us from dark matter resembles, because phantom distortions of ourselves are terrifying when taken out of context.  This has been a public service announcement coming at you live online all the time archived on the world wide vine from Thornswrath Guardian of Ambush Soldier for the Army of Trees & Sworn Protector of the Rose Still Blooming From the Heart of the Earth.  

A mended paper

We are part of the universal quill 

The ink that matters from the dark

Packed in a barrel invisible to this world

The nib forged of an element

Discovered winking in the Sun.

And the lightest agent of combustion 

To produce water will be crowned 

By a long buried sigil for unearthing.

So let flow the mimicry of your creeds

Letting angels bleed stardust and demons  

Sow seeds so the trail of lies you've left behind 

Staining the very fabric of our lives might

Be worth revising now if you don't mind.

Questionings

What is behavior if not a symptom of what is happening?

Since it seems to be modified for different audiences,
what modifications, if any, take place for one's self?

If one must ask what's happening, may one ever know?
Go ahead and ask yourself, why behave like that?

Dream Harder

When we dream, we access reservoirs of impossible memories. How so? Easily. Realize: "magic" (embedded within "imagination") appears to literally be the force behind creation itself. (Look no further than the Uncertainty Principle for proof of this.) Most of us forget there are four possible known states of matter (not just the three typical states of solid, liquid, and gas). The fourth known state is plasma (lightning itself is a form of it). My point? To remind you to realize that the entire universe--every galaxy, fusioning star, planetary system, ecological niche, asteroid, mineral, protein, bacteria, molecule, and atom--is inherently connected to each other in a single tapestry. The complete "Big Picture" of our existence should be understood as a "singularity", that is, something which may best be described as having the quality of "Oneness." Anyone reading this should already know by now that there appears to be more "empty space" in between the molecules which make up everything in existence than the amount of matter itself.

So how does all this relate to dreaming? Let's stop the busy pace of our routines for a moment and take a look around us. Everything we see, hear, smell, taste, touch, and feel exists in a universe which somehow dreamed us up out of oblivion and in return we ourselves dream of absolutely anything imagineable while we've lapsed back into unconsciousness during sleep. This "little sleep" we experience nightly appears to be a fractal of the "bigger sleep" we all must face, death itself. And so it goes. Death being the gateway (the "omega" to our birth's "alpha") through which this cyclical process continues endlessly as we are each individually restored to "Ground Zero" (the interminable period directly after the "Big Bang" and prior to the formation of stars). Thus matter itself appears to be eternally recycled through this universal process, and here we are today, with only one thing left to do. Dream harder.

Lucidus Terminus

The problem with our understanding of light begins with our insistence to treat outer space like water or any other elemental cocktail for that matter.  

Scientists have been asking about the medium that this electromagnetic wavelength would travel through  for ages yet have they considered their vacuum to be that condition without medium and therefore concluded indefatigably that the light crosses the void?  

It appears they have not for they are yet seeking to understand cosmic truths on their own terms.  

That is all well and good but we must ask ourselves have they sought to understand themselves as of yet?  

I'm afraid not,  otherwise they would know we are of the stars.  

Of this one thing I can remain certain due to an inescapable chain of perfect logical association.  

For what are the stars we see magnified when we peer through our most powerful telescopes but the images reaching us projected from before their long ago demise?  

But what does that even mean?  

The answer is simple and has been staring us in the face all of our lives. 

It means we are still alive.   

We are right now that one Sun out there blazing bright throughout the eternal night that are yet alive to experience the incredible rush of our headlong flight.  

As to another world and another time, "So what!" I exclaim.  

Our world here now still burns in its familiar glow.  

As humans our sight is granted in part by the presence of light itself which is picked up on (through our eyes) as the visible portion of the electromagnetic spectrum.  

Light is thought to be emitted and absorbed in tiny "packets" referred to as photons.  

Many photons are referred to as quanta. 

Photons are sort of imaginary particles we've devised in order to help us comprehend the nature of light and radiation itself.   

Non-ionizing radiation includes radio waves, heat and the visible light that reaches us from our Sun  (as opposed to ionizing radiation which is ultraviolet light, X-rays and gamma-rays reaching us from way beyond our lone isolated star).

Nestled in between the invisible shorter ultraviolet and the longer invisible infrared wavelengths we are comfortably placed in a cradle of visible light.   

Light exhibits wave-particle duality like any form of electromagnetic radiation.   

The spectrum goes something like this:  

|radio, microwave, infrared...
visible light 
...ultraviolet, X-rays, gamma-rays|

This spectrum should offer us a clue as to the property of our existence out here circling this lone star gracing a spiral arm of our slowly rotating galaxy.   

We emerged from an old radio broadcast that overheated and squeezed us out of the infrared zone until after another period of cooling off which we are all enjoying very much we will ultimately overheat once again going supernova and beyond into the ultraviolet as gamma-rays ourselves.  

We are not yet stardust. 

page in a note book

When using language it is pre-eminent that we first understand our definitions are only relative to the unique conditions inherent to the specific situation involved in our discussion; however, rarely are we conscious of this golden rule.  

The limitations imposed by our definitions cage us, rather than liberate us, when we fail to acknowledge the transmutability of language.  

It is a matter of perspective.  Perhaps humanity as a collective prefers to believe in an absolute truth—we gain a subconscious feeling of comfort from this—knowing the knowledgeable ground we maneuver through remains solid and consistent.  

Words themselves are a simplification of much more complex concepts.  A boulder is a chunk of a mountain; a rock a chunk from a boulder; a stone has an implication all its own; a pebble is generally seen as a smaller version of the preceding.  

However, the line is drawn arbitrarily by us, and is usually sufficient for the purposes we intend to convey.  These examples belong in a rudimentary subcategory of tangible concepts, and hence provide very minor, if any, stumbling blocks toward our successful communication of the ideas we are trying to get across.  

These words might be relegated to a category labelled "safe".  There exists another category which might be labelled "unsafe": those words are either describing much larger physical concepts (such as "world" or "universe") or may address more abstract concepts (such as "reality" or "truth"). 

After all, is not the word "mountain" but a subsection of the word "world"-?  In this gradation of physical concepts one can easily see the lines of meaning be erased by the discerning Escapist who wishes to take any of these available avenues into the shelter of anonymity in which to hide.   

viricon: Searching for word origins

viricon: Searching for word origins: Viridis means green in Latin, and around the late fourteenth century the word virus was introduced as meaning a "venomous substance", from the Latin virus "poison, sap of plants, slimy liquid". It was not until the early eighteenth century that the word virus came to signify an agent causing infectious disease. The computer sense of the term dates from 1972.

Although the prefix "con-" indicates being "together, with" something, I want to try to think of the various meanings of the word "con", as well as what it might mean as a suffix.  As a noun, the first sense is that of meaning "negation". Contrary to something...the pros and cons of it all. But it also means "study", from Old English cunnan "to know, know how". As an adjective, a con is a swindle. It's why I try to avoid adjectives (adverbs are outright banished). That was just a little joke. Back to the origins of the word I invented today, viricon.

 See, I looked it up and nothing really came up. I want to take this time to say that I dedicate the word to the writing energies of M.John Harrison, the wonderful British author of strangely wrought and intricately detailed fantasies, whether they be on earth or in space. I dropped the -ium suffix and attained the word viricon, I make no claim to it whatsoever, when we invent anything there's a good chance we're simply rediscovering something buried long ago that not a soul has since bothered to dust off. I feel relatively certain that my word can most likely be found in a proper unabridged Oxford Dictionary, for instance.

 The word viricon with its virile associations through its inherently viridian prefix must not be confused entirely with the viral aspect, and the latter half of the word in particular must not be mis-understood, for the condition of context is crucial to know the real content of any word. Remember, words are consensual entities that we long ago were to have broken off from yet somehow we remain in their service to this day, instruments by which words transform themselves via the inoculation of language...it is a virus.

 Laurie Anderson sang that William Burroughs quote. But I'm staying on track here, pardon me momentarily for expanding the frequency.   Where were we ? Oh yes, a new word I captured today, because there are no discoveries, really, for all we know, if you stop and try to think about it, and succeed, you'll see this idea applies to all things and why shouldn't it, exactly?

That's really all I'd like to know...how could there be any such thing as a real INVENTION when everything's been here since the beginning and it's been proven the very fabric of creation itself is merely recycled stuff?

You are the only invention in the realm of creation and it was you who helped create this word, thank yourself the next time you open a dictionary because it was you who wrote it, every last word from the beginning of the alphabet including all those words that are now extinct in order to make room in the limited size dictionaries so that common people like you and me could keep up with the times!

 I told my brother today that I invented a new form of poetry, and I only want to lay claim to having uncovered it once again, the oldest form of poetry known to our species: one word. That's it.

A new form of poetry limited to being expressed in one word.

And the best part is this form never excels quite as well as it could until it invents a new word, then the form is being exercised. Any one-word poems utilizing words already found in the dictionary are perfectly acceptable yet akin to keeping the horse leashed to his post.

 Only when the poet invents a new word which is to say, rediscovers an ancient lost word and re-introduces it can it be said that this ancient form is being expressed.  And should he truly catch the wind of inspiration and introduce or that is uncover for the very first time a brand new word never before heard or seen in the world, then he is riding this ancient form at an easy gallop.

This is also meant to resemble a test which sets up a standard by which this ancient form of poetry, the one word poem poised at a potential communication as yet unexplored by any member of the human race, may achieve its unique form; this form in deed being a word excavated by the poet that had been a part of the old original language all along, of course because that is the meaning of our race--nothing more than the code script which has been hyper marked up from the below and down from the above in order to facilitate the ancient chaos of the living ecosystem of words.

 Try to think of it this way. We are not the protagonists in the unfolding drama of creation, we are merely the script. Words themselves are in fact the alien sentient beings from which our own species was inexorably derived. Welcome to Viricon, a condition of being, an estate, an empire.

 The negation of viridian, the viral context. The process which sterilizes organic development by committing the perfectly innocent sin of self awareness.  Welcome to Viricon.

The Cosmic Serpent Train

the cosmic serpent train of thought
dreams a trigger deep inside
firing point blank at who we are
and freezing notions taught by rote
that cloud the mind in vapors numb
to the sensitive skin shed under the sun
and left as a clue for everyone to
show the nature of all is the same as one

by this i mean all that we dream
is essentially real and the pileup
of history a grave being dug with
the truth being busily swept under
the rug of our understandings from
people to cars and creation itself
while we hang out in bars may be a
self fulfilled prophecy under the stars


The exploration of the idea that our own imaginations and perceptions may in fact be, in the final analysis, the ultimate corrobarative source of knowledge in and of themselves, is one upon which I have only begun to embark. That is a way of stating that I do not rule out the speculative process itself as a potential avenue towards the ultimate truth (in fact I often wonder if indeed it may be the primary method at which to arrive there). Which is to say perhaps there is little to no distinction between what we are capable of imagining and our real environment. Wherein the "western, scientific" mind insists on due process & trial-and-error experimentation and ultimately a corrobarative verification of tangible proofs double-checked against the backdrop of a larger colony of individuals' acceptance (i.e, "consensual reality"), I (temporarily) eschew this in favor of a more esoteric approach to truth-gathering. I have a distinct reason for this, and it is simply that I feel the "reality" which is reflected back at the individual and formed from a collective approach -- the "news" you and I read every day in the papers and in history books, in other words -- is in fact the much blurred and distorted version of the intrinsic - and highly fantastic to our perceptions - truth of reality itself. What the general public of modern civilization construes as "real and actual events" may in fact appear as a mere reflective shadow thrown upon the backdrop of our minds,if you will: as distorted a version of the real truth as a sock puppet, in other words.

How have I come to this radical, and seemingly opposite way of approaching the perception of what we casually term "reality"-? It is quite simple, actually. I believe a re-examination of absolutely everything we perceive is necessary, and hence starting with how we perceive our own selves is as good an example as any with which I may illustrate my point. For instance, we perceive ourselves - that is, our individual selves - as being just that: individuals. Rarely (if ever) does it occur to us that we may be wrong about this supposition. What I have gleaned from my observations of nature and from having read extensively through various esoteric archives is simply that for starters, most if not all commonly known and accepted "explanations" of this reality we find ourselves in must in fact be discarded as insufficiently accurate, and (hopefully) replaced with more precise and realistic descriptions. Concepts such as the "soul" and "god" and "good" and "evil" and the "devil" and "heaven" and "hell" are by definition merely simulacrums that attempt to fill the voids wherein such realities actually dwell. I.E, they are merely words referring to realities whose detailed natures in fact demand far more precise descriptions and understandings. Even the word "universe", for instance, with its implicit monosyllabic inference (as opposed to "multiverse", for example) sets the stage - perhaps falsely - upon which we then proceed to build, from the bottom up, our entire language of understanding via this western-developed thought. In other words, one must suppose the distinct possibility that every shred of western knowledge gathered since the beginning may in fact be built upon fundamentally incorrect foundations. That is how I have come to perceive that not only might it be possible that there is no such thing as the "soul" at all (at least our popular conceptions of it), but rather - we who consider ourselves "individual" beings may in fact not be singular entities in the sense that we have been trained to think of throughout our lives; rather, perhaps our DNA itself is a seperate, living being in cohabitation with that aspect of us we might consider the "ego", for instance.

Considering this idea further, what if rather than a "soul" inhabiting our fleshly jackets (as we might suppose), we in fact were inhabited by a seperate (microscopic) being wound tightly throughout our own (macroscopic) being, in effect meaning that instead of each and every one of us being individuals, we in fact may be an amalgamation of two distinct beings coexisting in a necessary symbiosis, effectively making our "bodies" nothing but a kind of "spacetime craft" which these two entities cooperated, or perhaps even struggled against one another, in order to pilot through the planetary atmosphere, itself but a medium required to maintain this vessel we call the human body. Such a theory offers a veritable cornucopia of extraordinary explanation as to how and why human beings behave the way they do, and is but one such theory to be considered amidst many other subjectively realized theories that could be put forth to explain anything and everything. If someone is perplexed as to why I would choose to entertain notions such as these more seriously than the conventional notions explained by strictly specialized western approaches, one need look no further than the aforementioned observation that most, if not all, of our "western approach" to how the reality of nature actually functions seems largely based on crude and inherently false foundations. Hence all such commonly taught notions understood by western civilization become suspect by definition, for me.

Speaking Thusly

Will to truth we be led by our powers that be?
If the old sacred laws are first shattered by we,
then yes.

Will lies we be fed until buried we all be?
If we swallow them whole, hook, and sinker,
then absolutely.

Is this what is meant by our God being dead?
Indeed that is what the Resurrection said,
"I am the truth."

Now is the time for us to believe.
We are the way.  We are the light.
We are the free.

To be free is to be bound to the machinery
of creation and to have found it our home
and fortress.

Reality (the Prison) is our own creation.
We alone hold the keys to our escape,
relatively.

[Notes On Writing]

 

The narrative is the final rendered product.
The same narrative—or passage—may be
written again many times and each time
may be improved irregardless of whether
certain sections are added or removed.

The point being that the final narrative
can only be enriched due to the process
of having the story told over and over.
In the end however it remains the same
Old story; i.e, Two brothers travel down a road.

Boom.

The question of the origin of man is an interesting one because it is insane.

It is the wrong question.  Or rather, whilst a fine and noble effort on behalf of the questioner, little might he suspect that the "answer" lies in the knowledge that our minds and spirit are the entire universe.

Because that is what facing your soul gets you.  The realization that
there is no origin to mankind.  The universe is mankind.  Think about that.

Then be prepared to receive what thought is not prepared to think.








"Our entire universe is contained in the mind and the spirit" - Sasha Shulgin

"People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order 
to avoid facing their own souls."   -   Carl Jung

"Being prepared to receive what thought is not prepared to think
is what deserves the name of thinking."    -    Jean Francois Lyotard

Metaphor Itself

What is metaphor? If we look at the term closely, we see it's derived from the Latin metaphora, meaning "a transfer", indicating a figure of speech which denotes one idea in the place of another in order to illustrate their similarity and by virtue of the association implied, succeeding in getting the intended message across.

The roots of the word suggest a "carrying over" of an idea, a particularly fascinating concept as it just so happens to parallel the process of gaining knowledge. But where does knowledge come from? Strangely enough, the compounded term "meta-" ("over, across, after, behind, higher, beyond") + "-phor" ("being carried"), if translated literally, would roughly translate to "something being carried over (or across, after, behind, higher, or beyond)", and that something is always meaning, which is "the thing one intends to convey (usually via language)."

Tracing the etymological roots of the word meaning will pass us through a thicket of variants (from Old English mænan "to mean, intend, signify; tell, say; complain, lament," through Old Irish "wish, desire" and Welsh "enjoyment" stemming most likely all the way back to the root "men-", meaning "think", from "mind", stemming from Old English "gemynd" which means "memory, remembrance, state of being remembered; thought, purpose; conscious mind, intellect, intention."

Metaphoric. Euphoria. To mind something (as a verb) rather than the mere objectification of the "mind" (as a noun) shows us a distinction in how we may regard the idea behind the term "mind". For being immersed within the forest of reason, we are most likely limited to choosing between which of the two modes of expression we intend, rather than backing our perspective away from our "rational thicket" and seeing the word MIND as being intended to convey both senses of the word simultaneously. It only takes a quick reminder that all matter and energy in the universe is in a constant state of motion and flux to easily see that existence itself is a verb (as well as an objectified noun).

Coming to our senses like this illustrates the inherent enjoyment of understanding that thinking with our minds necessarily entails. When we have immersed our thoughts this deep into the denoted essence behind all these terms—leading us straight back to the one we started with, "metaphor"—we are led along a series of analogies which, in a grand, unified chain linked by interconnective associations gradually reveals for us the real underlying significance behind it all.

We use metaphors so often in our daily conversation, that we've long since forgotten they don't so much represent a "symbol" by which we may begin to "compare reality to"; but rather, quite the opposite. The symbols (words) we glibly exchange in our daily speech among ourselves represent but shadows or reflections of reality. Therefore "reality" appears to be, in the overall scheme of things, nothing less than metaphor itself.

lesson #2

What is thought to be
agreed upon is always
different for those
in on the bargain.

Listen.

I know you'll think I'm crazy but I'm here to tell you
There's no need to worry anymore about it
That whole end of the world nonsense
From the Rapture to 2012 and who knows
When it'll end (paranoid mindset we'd all
Comfortably settled into) it don't matter
Anyhow either way what you think
Because the world ended already
Not that long ago actually
As the detritus settles
To complete itself the
Sentence falls apart.

Heed the Titanic.

Higher than a long beach kite.
Farther and clearer than the sky.
Blue as a lightning rod at midnight.
Orange as the hue in a lantern's smile.
Combine the two and what is it you'll find.
The Electronic Revolution is for all mankind.
The old Middle Masters put on the endangered.
Listing port side while the world gains equilibrium.

Showdown At The NOT-OK Corral

In his latest novel Everything Is Broken, veteran writer John Shirley returns to a territory I believe his legion of readers could all benefit from were he to revisit it more often: the setting of the real world. Having cut his teeth on practically every genre out there, (most notably helping to pioneer both the splatter- and cyberpunk movements, as well as carry on the horror tradition with great finesse in the novels In Darkness Waiting, Wetbones, and Demons, just to name a few), it's been a full decade since 2002's Spider Moon (another slim hard boiled yarn that packs a real wallop), a novella about street revenge set in our real world. In my opinion, reality is the setting this author knows best, and he applies all his skills toward rendering the fictional town of Freedom, California in an easy to read and believable manner, due largely to its well-sketched out characters which most of us can relate to. Suffice it to say this story is a lean, sharp, shock of a tale that does not pull its punches nor hold back from keeping the reader pinned to his seat through its relentless conclusion. There is real human tragedy and drama here to keep most anyone entertained. Folks concerned with realism take note, you may rest assured that the passages concerning shootouts and gunplay are among the finest I've ever had the pleasure to read, myself. A real treat for virtually any reader, I heartily recommend Everything Is Broken as an energetic and vibrant portrait of exactly why we have an American society in the first place. Read it on your Kindle (I did) or order the book directly, either way this is a book you'll want to pass on to a friend, after you've finished it, which will most likely be in one sitting. Pure satisfaction on a variety of levels, this author is among our nation's very best, and if you doubt that go ahead and read this novel--I dare you.