Digging For Dada Collective surreal distopian society visual poem

Squiggle wiggle visual poem

Untitled visual poem

The Logic Brain visual poem

News Article Explaining Economics In A Very Logical And Articulate Manner

Astronauts  have illegally obtained classified footage that they put on youtube for all to see from a camera that is a fake eye. The eye was kind of hazel but also cracked. Suspicions were raised about the space pirate wearing the eye patch to cover the fact that he is not blinking. He did not cover the fact that he was a spy. The eye camera was then buried in a voodoo ritual, it is mandated in some mossy law somewhere and congress couldn't get it together on time to over turn it. There was simply nothing for it, it had to be done. The footage shows a view from space revealing that the world is flat. The space pirate’s eye was then the cause of the rising of the dead in Haiti and the zombie priest plucked the moon out of the sky and put it into the American currency circulation by investing in the stock market. That would have been okay when the moon was full but as time went by it waned and even became gibbous and spooky. That is why we are in a recession and the stock market all but exploded with roving packs of werewolves.

What was I saying again?

the gas mask filters out pixels they

color the air with false reality confetti it 

blinds white and black deco holes into

drifting, eyes being held by

a helpful dreadlocked nymph who

lives inside the soldiers head but

is not a symptom of

pixel inhalation and

secret moments in solarized cobalt blue and

grainy figures in fish eye focus are

his armor and so are

the poppy field hat wearers who

throw seeds and wear seeds and are

blossoms yet to be but red petaled they are i

saw it worn on

fat arms sweating, sewn from scribbles and filigree and labyrinths they

turn and twist into clashing worlds that are also friends really, you

have to keep moving to be real and

in war between dichotomous forces you must

fashion armor that grows and dies and laughs and wilts and

kicks and twirls and flies and pouts and 

is born one more time for

it cannot break under the pressure of

the turning writhing twitching absurdity that

hard unyielding impostor we mistake for

logic it is or is not so

order the last round it is or is not well

that red light glowing it is or is not see

that building you live in it is or is not and

that body you inhabit it is or is not i am telling….OUCH!

I stubbed my toe!

It hurts so bad!

Dammnit!

Fragments and Such about evolution, human kindness and arguing with a banana about philosophy

                                                                                        Catholicpatristics.blogspot.com

Extinct 

the bloodline of a saint

is a rare precious thing

red on the vine it rots

so that others can touch 

the sun.

this is not a finished work

but was prompted by Colin Quin's stand up 

where he points out

we are descended from the biggest assholes history has to offer

most likely any creature, person or even plant with an altruistic nature

has died off in the survival of the fittest

hmmm...

what a cool thought experiment!

a species of altruistic humans going extinct

species that were once named saints

and should be placed on the endangered species list

there is an open door there for some sci fi fun

but....

i have not finished the poem because i am unsure about the concept

and how it regards plants

i shall have to talk to my lemon tree about it

and have a discussion in my garden

I just hope my strawberry patch does not tell me to fuck off

and I do not get into any arguments on my banana phone 

on my quest to discover

the true story

of blue apples

and what they really mean

A Memory philosophical poem

i remember you

i mean….

i don't know

i remember you

gentle 

with a caterpillar

on your finger 

how can I hate you

when you exist in that reality

a memory painted golden

by time

that is not even mine

but a thing told in passing

a thing you said

that just stuck in my mind

i can see you

putting the caterpillar in your pocket 

with those huge calloused hands

so carefully 

so you could find it a home

some place safe

from a place of danger 

but you are the gentle symbol of my hate

the expression of humanity i distrust

yet cannot help but love

the thought of you

that I have shined

and polished

precious

hunched over 

head buried in your hands

in an existential pose

of despair

of pain

of time

of erosion

here i sit

as you once sat

generation after generation

the same posture

the same form

the same potential

untapped

in that futile

huddle

a circle

unbroken

stops at my feet

but we now

are the caterpillars

that may or may not

exist

in this gentle

time

i have made.

                                                                                                pdphoto.org

An Alien Who Met Some Professional Animals On It's Visit To Earth sci fi photography story

Here are some animals I have met

they are professionals...

experts in their field...

or patch....

with purpose and vision

I cannot recommend them more highly

it was like they are born for the job...

but....

Those humans.....

they're slackin' on the job!!!

what is it they are supposed to be doing anyway?

They can't possibly be management!

their not.

then who?

the rocks

the ones that have mica in them

and the ones polished smooth by the sea

ah...that makes sense...

sense?

huh? oh yeah...sense.

sir?

nostalgia that's all

sometimes i miss having a body....

i still have it you know....

I put funny hats on it sometimes....

sigh...

ah well, deploy to your next assignment 

and kid....wear your hat!

dismissed!

Short Story Within A Short Story folk tale about philosophy, gardens and blue apples

A short folk tale that appears in a long short story I wrote 

“Harkin! Once upon a time there were no farmers and humans wandered, taking this berry or that and chewin' on this or that there root as they liked. You see, the garden is a gathering of vegetables and fruits that the hungary vagabond might come across on a walk around but this garden floats in time and space for fear of the same hungary vagabond, a fearin' that he might enjoy the food so much that he would build a house right there and then bring his family and in doin' just that he would then be  bringin' a village and mayhaps in a moment of blind Eeee- rrationality he would a build and build up so that a paved city there would be where no vegetables can grow accept in REGulated areas. Then they got to thinkin', it was either that or become a city of their own making and then when the village came they would find themselves inside the outside. 

Ah! That was smart yes-sir-eee-bob! And harkin! When the garden found a particularly good patch they then a grew vast windows and open doors and in a seein', the humans disowned cement and mortar and became the ones farmed.

What fruits can humans produce you may ask?

Their unique perception, that's what! That so does arrange and organize a one's reality, organically sewn into the fabric of the garden so it was as a tapestry and in going bout the work of craftin' and weavin' and spinnin' up this here artistic endeavor did the blue apples appear that when you eat em' had the unique character to take the eater's mind which is but a part of the garden and reflect it upon the whole. It was in one of those dispositions that a mind did wonder oh where oh where did the sky go? And so in his spirit body he did peak out of the rind that encompassed all and in a peakin' he so did see a giant pluck the orbed world with him contained inside and with two or three violent bites a yum a yum a yum......did but the core of his reasoning remain. Tossed aside upon the ground then did the seeds germinate into twenty instead of one and only then was it clear that it twern't nothin' more then the head of the hydra that is severed when a body dies even such a one as an entire world.

The end."

The Self Kissing Frog short surreal visual fairy tale poem

the self
 



                  kissing




                                                   frog.

Censored poem with colorful language

i see how it is

shit fucker

born free?

no comment.

i see how it is

dick sucker

born free?

i plead the 5th.

i see how it is

you fucking cunt

born free are you?

there are no

words for it

I tell you!

Fragment of short story witty banter fantasy about religion and poot the votive statue

"Here! This is the last of our chickens. go to the market and get some ginger."

"For the beans?"

"Wha?! For the….for the beans?! Are you mad? For our figure at the temple!"

"What are you going on about woman? It's a votive statue….it doesn't need …ginger….it doesn't even have a proper mouth!"

"This ginger is not for eating! It's to be given as an offering…you know….to the god we worship?! What is it going to give the gate keeper then tell me that, eh?"

"Look, I traded two chickens,  one of my nicest pots and my very own marker medallion for this…..shit!"

"Keep your voice down oy!"

"Yeah yeah…..I'm just sayin, votive statues all this….."

he said gesturing to the ornate temple at the center of the village…..

"it's all bullshit."

"But I'm the village medium I am and I ain't bullshittin."

"But honey suckle your aren't the village medium it is your step sister, remember?"

"I don't have a step sister."

"What they got divorced already?"

"Of course not, you can't get divorced that's why I'm stuck with you."

"But you said you had a step sister twice removed and then this long story I half listened to."

"So….you don't listen to my stories, eh?"

"No sugar dumpling, I mean yes!" Heppo said fawning over his voluptuous wife. "I'm not saying anything bad about you sugar bottom. we could get some sugar instead of ginger…..for the beans…..it would save us half a chicken!"

"HURUMF! Well someone's a medium whoever that may be and I KNOW I know…..that there is such things inside of us as souls and more besides! If your not fearin then why yous bought the statue then, tarry and way you are afraid of the darkness, the mad creeping darkness and the eye that looks into our own and sees naught but itself!"

"No, actually wife…I am not….I just don't want undo attention from the priest's military."

 "Ohhhhh…un do… he says…that's big talkin there for a potter husband, I should have listened to my mother and married the butcher…..a man becomes practical beein' round blood and guts like he."

"He smells like rotten pig and looks like rotten pig and he's also a rotten pig!"

"Humf! better then a…..grasshopper that talks like a…..ummmmm…..peep frog or something."

"Nice try honey."

"Hurmf! I would know better then you if I did know which I may or may not."

"That's the best argument for anything I've ever heard…."

"Well then that settles it! You ARE getting ginger for poot and that is that……I'm not going to have him carrying my eternal soul and getting stuck at the gate of light it just won't do."

"You NAMED it? and you named it Poot?"

"What else would I name it, it looks like a Poot."

"Well, fine dearest honey suckle bottom……I will get the ginger but all of this….all of THIS….."

He waved his hand at society….

"Is bull."

The Big Fish Dadaist surreal rambling poem fantasy sci fi

Another dada and Ian Esslemont inspired experiment 

I noticed in his novel Esslemont's characters either tend to trail of when talking or are cut off before they can finish their sentences....  

The Big Fish

                       local.stv.tv  

i'm hooked

I assure you-

turn your face from us, and rightly so……

turn away

from the truth

i won't judge, my gaze is inward…when…i ….left….

that was not my intent….

he murmured, perhaps-

and if I did…then

show me.

No! Please….

that's a big fish!

oh, yes…..but oh how your lying….

at his side- an artifact 

unique

orbed

obsidian

self-possessed

inherent to all

who look upon it

childish scheming-

-and strong

slipped their grasp. no

don't be a fool

don't we?

Don't

I do. 

he muttered darkly

to himself

clutching

pawing

his prize.

wretchedly small…..

…..perhaps you shouldn't……

oh?

gleaming

-you are a mystery to me

i take full responsibility

you do?

I do

I caught

the legend

like a flu

although….

shrug-

oh well...

achoo!

Unspoken dadaist surreal sci fi poem nature, health care, immortality

Unspoken

I am 43 years old

second of my kind

i am existing

it is a major health condition

currently in critical condition 

a condition common around the world

due to conditioning 

through repetition 

and other cons of all kinds

states of how do you do

and other pleasantries 

of real slang tongue 

But symptoms are severe

so be very scared

the saving angels are infected

transmission of the virus

on wavelengths 

to antenna 

powder wing

and feathered feeler

caught in the blind

operating eye, shining

so

take appropriate measures 

when listening to the radio 

beating frantically 

against the sonic iris 

a medical mystery

in the air

France, Germany, Jordan, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and the United Kingdom -- have died.

i am a woman

the nurse is a man

we are both 43 years old

the nurse is an angel 

sickened

a dangerous new virus

is not new

WHO

said

a

statement 

after becoming ill 

according to the WHO

human infection 

called cities

acts like a cold and attacks the respiratory system

a hard shell looms above

cancerous

our roots wither

the angel dims

spring comes

But symptoms are severe

this virus poses a medical mystery 

it's architecture is ridged

and it spreads and spreads

I am a 43 year old woman 

i used to be

an immortal goddess

the nurse is dead

all the angels are

we have to push through the cement

to get to the light

i once was

the tree

in eden 

no.

yes….

but,

i was born 43 years ago

with skin and everything

a ripe second

tall and fat….

heavy

on sweet.

some one

cure me

of my humanity

this need

this hunger

grows

from

the 

(.)

Rainbow surreal poem fantastical drunken lament about religion and giant tweezers

The following was half dadaist writing experiment half fan fiction

I took two pages in a bar scene from Ian Esselmont's Stoneweilder 

selected fragments of sentences and words

and strung them together with a little sci fi twist

and other twisty twists!

Rainbow

                                                                                                       kroq.cbslocal.com

of this covenant….. 

I was merely dictating my calling!

rubbed the sleep 

rub a dub dub

from my eyes

listen!

I'd only dreamed

of such generosity

don't you see

don't you?!

you see….

blinkered 

in a negative

confrontation

as you are

listen!

chants

in a crowded room

eyed

uncertain

silent

ah yes, in that place

i remember

the dirtiest most degrading tasks

and the children! the children!

won't you buy me another shot?

wide eyed 

and soft 

suspicious of such generosity

I had no intention of leaving

let's drink to the children's health…

to their health!

                 allmusic.com

the drunken brawls 

like a grin

it was me 

small and chanting

such destruction

from my small unformed hands

such fear

now awake 

and grinning…. 

yet you helped me

you had seen no sign

half-blood

the old indigenous tribes

and another civilized 

or so it would seem

and the seat of office

officially closed

no justice

no justice here

faith

and faked pleasure

a regular hot bed of black market activities

buying and selling 

harvesters of rainbow light

in air Zeppelins

shining

holy vessels 

virgin voyage

                                                     metalvideo.com

large golden tweezers

way up in the air

of this covenant 

I was merely dictating my calling

a promise

a dream

I'd only dreamed

of such generosity

under the skirts

of golden domes

The air Zeppelins 

ufos

a calling 

harvest the photons

distilled in funnels

dripped in beakers

infused in blood

what was this promise?

half-blood

i am….

the old indigenous tribes

know best

                                     aguywalksinto365bars.com

that there is no justice

in faith and faked pleasure

revived and animated

fading

the survivors

of the first 

flood

did not look up.

                                                                                                   www.businessinsider.com

The Egg Collective surreal political poem about capitalism and reincarnation

The Egg Collective

www.veganoutreach.org

a never ending supply of bright young things

geometric angels 

become softer

rounder

broken.

damaged further

into

perfection.

wiki


The Egg Collective

www.public-domain-image.com

a never ending supply of bright young things

geometric angels 

become softer

rounder

broken.

damaged further

into

perfection.

The Egg Collective

sharonswannabecottage.blogspot.com

a never ending supply of bright young things

geometric angels 

become softer

rounder

broken.

damaged further

into

perfection.

My First City Siren surreal poem

My First City Siren

(http://pixabay.com/p-77333/?no_redirect)

my first city siren

came winging out of the night

like a god mouth howling

without a god head thinking

a brother sister hurting

the red flashed like the sweetest 

sugar crackle

sweet haze

of confusion

that struck me so

in my lofty vision

but I lived near a hospital

and the god ear shriveled 

up on the godhead god

all the old gods

are sick and 

silent 

here

the illusion of heaven

are crickets in the field

are toads in the pond

a choir of the first 

songs

my first city siren was so young a voice

bouncing off the brick and mortar

born

I fear it might become

an old song

one day

and a new voice

beyond 

rises

in 

it's

pain

but whatever 

head that is 

god

you might be

throw it back

all unhinged 

and raw

the first city siren

that rips through your

dark mind

windows

flashed

illuminating

the chirp

and hum

of the field

glowing

radiating

incandescent 

our voice knows 

no words

for such

pain

our footsteps crush

the choir

so sympathetic

to our

journey 

but 

tread lightly

for

past the

crushed and crashed

silence

of our 

quaking hands

and restless feet

the still

earth 

reveals 

the gnaw of worms

in the earth

that is

our bodies

without sound

my first city siren

passed my by

an ache

in my

godhead

god

an ache

under

the 

fedora hat

a halo i so

remove

from my ears

in the meadow

of false heaven

the ground still

eats away

beyond

beyond

(from wiki commons)