Concrete like Hoffa, and just as illusory.

Where heightened sense meets quests begot;
The monk, the lover, Shaman Ocelot.
A slowing fast, consumption’s defeat
Still the mind, and if even, cheat.
The misconception of the Shortcut King
Played a harp plucked many a string.
In seeking out this Holy Grail
the quest is forfeit, all shall fail.
For their minds seek out the wrongest answer
a personal crusade, the consuming Cancer.
When in sounder minds, and in calmer waters
Mirror placid presented learned daughters.
To teach the lessons to humbled men.
Future. Past. Now. Again, again.

Labelmakers

No, I wasn't raised in the struggle, in the hussle,
but I was brought up to know the value of work.
and I've earned my keep to live here, too.
I've been taught the scalding truths of trust,
of understanding and the endless push to help
our comrades, near and far, different as they may be.
To live and to feel the progress of trying,
and for those that recognize this themselves,
have earned there place to learn further and say
with conviction, that we are all belonged people
of this safe haven of Earth, Littleton to Detroit,
Chernobyl to DC, Baltimore to Grosse Pointe.
Labeled as we be, people are people are people.

Musings on fall afternoon

From the cider mill to Rackham,
Fall focus regionalism and to
write what you know,
but what I know transcends far far more,
for me, anyway.
Geographical, mindset limitations,
the plight of the story untold,
until the story unfolds,
the balancing act of segregating oneself
from a larger scope, we aren't Michigan
or America, black, white or else,
but human.

Cryptic Tones (Over/Under)

The chaos of Jazz, because they know.

Intricacies of the brain, of what it is

to be a human being being here, alive.

And with that knowledge, the burden

the weight of the world bearing down

unto the partial minds of many, the frail

bodies of the lowest of low, that

which torments them into such beauty

of breaking conventions, elusive patterns,

complex seeming disorganization.

Becoming the quest to understand

to discover oneself the process

of coming to know, of coming to be,

that which accounts for mistakes,

the medicine of the music,

put in the form of these notes

to Red Herrings and cul-de-sacs

a labyrinth of storytelling prosper 

With smooth walls and sharp

turns, broad corridors and gaps.

Looming above all else, improvisation,

No two identical ways in

No two identical ways out.

Perhaps.

Switches

The stitching quilt-work of the present moment
an intricate and provocative reality woven
from eons of memory, experience, growth.
The alluring reality blanket which envelops
consumes, protects, guides, folds;
revealing more unto itself and simultaneously
concealing, fluctuating waveform monumental
moments. And with completion of this
fragmented sector of the Collective Experience
Drive, to another, and another, until Singularity.
The relative back and forward in time; X,Y,Z,
with faint, distant recollection of understanding
pulse-in regained and pulse-out lost, binary
universal conscious on one front, quantum
in yet another respect, and so on, and so off
and so on, and so off.

Some Thoughts Before Sleep

I've been thinking a lot lately about the world outside of the scope of my conscious being. There are so many brains around me, and, at any given point they're contemplating and processing their own unique set of thoughts, ideas, memories. I often find my mind in wonderment to how all these other brains around me come to think in the patterns they do. I understand the conditioning and external stimuli in the environment of their upbringing can greatly shape this, but how is it that they can overcome this and exercise free will over their life, break the proverbial cycle and think independently of their shaping? In essence, I am curious what it takes to get outside the box to think out there and look in to better understand not only oneself, but the environment in which they were a byproduct.

For me, it was a lengthy process. I had to learn to absolve my Ego, to let it first shape itself and grow to a degree, to rely on it as a safety net of my youth, then all at once, forget it. Letting go of it and understanding my place in a much grander, universal schema. Once gone, I came to know the well-crafted illusion or veil upon which my life had been based. It was a lot to swallow, a lot to come to terms with. Most that I'd known and come to depend on was simply wrong. Conversely, I felt the shackles come off, and with it, a new sense of purpose and lightness of being. I understood the point of living, of observing the growth of the universe, of existing in the present moment, and letting go of the anxiety-ridden future that had for so long plagued me.

It has been simultaneously rewarding and immensely frustrating to be where I have been of recent. The former in regards to having a better grasp on wholeness and purpose, and the latter in response to the concept that many still could get to this point. In due time, I believe that many will. I am fortunate enough to have come to these realizations with much potential life left to live. Some will realize when it is too late to reap the rewards of this gained insight, when their bodies are frail or cynicism has infected the depths of their soul. Time is important, but not all-important. To make much of the NOW as possible tends to yield the greatest quality of life.

I continue on, tormented by the words which may only reach a handful of ears with the hopes that my experiences and conclusions drawn may impact another, but hold no expectations that this may realistically be the case, for having such regard for my words and thoughts to directly shape the entirety of another mind is soberingly naive. Rather, I would like to think that I can trigger others to question their motives and beliefs, to hold a critical eye to that which has otherwise been foundational cornerstones to their life, so that curiosity drives some forward to further depths of their own selves, and eventually to the realm of the unknown. The only thing I can know for sure is that I can control and improve my own small corner of this universe, and through that, impart tidbits of my experience into the intricate memory webs of others in their own respective journeys.

Prima Materia

The chaos, the alchemy, that yielded you and me
The Golden Age of beholden days follow us around
Our ever-changing selves, nano-second blood-brethren
particles, partial prints and imprints in memoriam of time,
non-linear–what was before and what is yet to come,
the anxiety asymptote of setting it aside in lieu of NOW,
Forging every precarious moment and setting forth
upon the infinitely delimited present in our presence
and unfortunately to so many, the lack thereof; as minds
seek out saturation of TV dinners and the faint blue glow,
the shade of which so aptly painted the portrait of their prisons,
their minds locked on and in doing so, locked in, to Progress,
"Success" and the expectations set not in stone, but rather
through the airwaves, developing a sixth sense of sorts:
Tuned in, turned on, but most certainly not dropped out,
That's not the way, that's not the way, that's not the way.

Understanding Power

The infinite possibility of distraction,
forcing us to look anywhere but within,
and present us not with questions to ask,
but with anything that holds our attention
for seconds shorter and shorter, frantic buildup
to the very brink of subliminal torture.
As the puppet-masters cling to control
guiding the thoughts of the hive mind,
leading lemmings to leap, "yes sir, how high?"
And so those are the questions posed
to those most accountable, most liable
with the most to lose–power.
Ventriloquist anchormen stabilizing Noah's Ark,
From the seas of change, the dark unknown abysmal
future of man, a planetary society, a planetary conscious.

3-Minute Love Poem

It can't be done, she said.
But I knew, oh, how I knew
The me that she'd come to see
Pieces of the puzzle
fitting so very perfectly.
12:00 o' clock, middle of the night
Hands touching for fleeting moments
Bound by time, we're only human
I want it spent with her.

Idea

And so there is, no greater cause, than that of sharing ideas with one another. Ideas are, at the very core of things, the quintessential purpose of existence. Our very being, as products of evolution approximately 14 billion years in the making, are unique in our ability to observe, to decipher, record and be. With the discovery of each new idea, we are furthering the Collective Knowledge. This database will be passed on down the generations, and inevitably some will permeate more than others. Nothing lasts...but nothing is lost. Each experience gained, each memory formed, adds a new layer of complexity to the intricate web of the cosmos. As big or as little as you could ever think, the intricacy makes itself ever more apparent. There is no greater gift one can give than that of an idea. Something so seemingly simple, yet with power causally linked to paradigm shifts. The true ability to enable change. Each experience gained, each memory affected, leads to the greater understanding, the ability to live in the now, to live with prowess and fully. There is not a greater achievement than that of committing to the current and sharing with any willing ears the ideas which you've gathered over your existence.