mugtpek

mugtpek
no troubles
on mind should
ever worry ya.

drink a glass
everyday,
tell a lil’ lie.

catch’t
in yer teeth
they’ll know truth.

least thought’ll
speak something,
hope’s sake.

hey jude

Watching the screen flicker
the world is more beautiful when
there are lights behind it.
So soon I feel ugly
tired of my own freedom.
Suddenly, to be capable
of anything
and to be on pursuit again is
frustrating.
Remember when
drinking was an occasion and
a kiss was social suicide?

It's hard to find life satisfying when you're sure that
the world is a big Beatles song;
it's embarrassed and exploited,
but mostly misguided and misplaced.
Somewhere in that tune
there's a mind that intended greatness
but the rest just dropped mud on the mirror.

band-aid

these days you sink wherever you can
except around me, firm in the sentiment that
we should all get away from each other
while it will still hurt, like a band-aid
that's been on just long enough to
rip out some of your leg hairs
upon removal, and promptly be thrown
into the garbage;
otherwise, without your knowledge,
it slides off into a middle of a pool,
picked up later all soggy
by some disgusted passerby.
we all spend a certain amount of time
soggy, floating underwater, but not quite
sunk deep enough to reach solid tile.
you keep me floating
above the bottom, but not quite
standing straight, and i do the same for you,
so we do not entirely sink but neither
are our heads above water and
we do not entirely breathe.
because of this my favorite days
are those when things are calm
as band-aids floating in the empty pool
can not be greeted with disgust when there are no swimmers,
and as i firmly close my eyes and feel
the hair around my head moving subtly with
the minute currents of stagnant bodies of water.
submerged, i can appreciate the solitude
that comes with feeling everywhere on your body
the consistent texture of water,
a calm sense of nothingness,
despite my vague awareness that you,
somewhere, are doing something to prevent me
from drowning,
or the sense that one day i will
have to pick myself out of here as
the responsible swimmer undergoes
the disgust of throwing away the soggy band-aid
so that no one else will have to encounter it.
we should all get away from each other
while it will still hurt, you insist.
when band-aids in pools slip off without notice
they sit so stagnant and become
a burden for the responsible swimmer,
losing a band-aid in a pool
means nothing to the person who needed it,
and who should therefore deal with it.
to rip out a few of your leg hairs
and expose not-quite-healed cuts right by
your knee may not be pleasurable
but sometimes it is necessary
to feel pain rather than to feel nothing.

We are the Future Eaters

With deft precision we eat our future
like daisycutter bombs to the vietnamese canopy
incinerating the leaflets to begin a new winter
one where all is clean
and white
and void of human tracks
except my own dirty boots
which I cannot escape from

Hallucinogenic Manifesto

Some distorted, spiritually-driven consciousness has clouded the minds of the army of marching teens and twenty-somethings. Rewarded with space and lost in time the clouded march smells like spirits and smoke. Their eyes look past the goal. The goal is unattainable, their true driving force is the expansive fields and forests that make the cities we live in (so bustling and crowded) seem like wastelands of empty verse.

No single person has been so motivated to see the world for what it's not. No group of eager learners so desperately avoid learning what the generations before them know from years of rote memorization. Their science, our science, is to discover the undiscoverable, conceivably- to do the impossible without ever truly making it possible.

So with a history of psychedelic irrationality and knee-jerk epiphany, the hordes of tripping teenagers hold their pipe bags tightly enough to ignore the social injustice that we are so sure we could cure with a few grams of grass and a shot of whiskey.

Can we march on the capitol steps for hallucinations' sake?
Is it fathomable to take our familiarity with the unusual and use it toward a tangible good?

Yes, absolutely yes.

The unusual is not only healthy, it absolutely necessary. The proselytizing of the greatest generation, the moral bankruptcy of the baby booming generation (in the sense that it is perfectly moral to say one thing and act on another) has left us with no other options than to ignore responsibility and reality in lieu of the most righteous nirvana, the more responsible apathy: creativity and the high.

No chemical can reproduce our passion for expansion. The learning we yearn for is a haze of metaphysical theories. Our yearning is born as the inquisitive sensitivity for all beliefs other than the one that rules in this day: the worship of the mighty dollar.

It is our right to see history as a bad omen for the future. Where will the high go? Has a resurgence of free-love manifested only sleaze and empty consciousness? No one man, not one community, not one species can determine the future in a sense of specific events. Fueling even more the feeling that we, malleable wisps of purplish smoke in a cloudless and buildingless skyline of opportunity, can make ourselves by the morals and mores that we see necessary for a society in which the individual can witness his resurrection only to become earthly with the next conversation or cigarette or dimebag. We have relaxed ourselves into a new planar reality, one that promises to answer the questions that none have answered before without regards to whether or not the answer can exist in the cold modern reality (with its confining boundaries that we know the human mind is more than capable of escaping).