This is personal

my first words written after being institutionalized:

Don’t become a psyche patient. Initially I found it worse than jail in some ways because they are more concerned about suicide oddly enough. There were actually some great folks in there and some hot nurses. Of course, there were some edgier individuals as well–a guy who screamed at something he imagined as if he were going to rip it limb from limb and such, but the staff kept everything under control. I felt compelled to keep to myself, read, and call my public defender I had just been assigned. A veteran seemingly med-zombie nicest dude teaching me MMA and looking out for the young guys. An extroverted skinny blonde who was quite the flirt. A woman who looks way worse than she should and won’t speak. We all just want to go home with our meds.

No cords, sealed and locked windows, weighted chairs. Most staff ignores you and you cannot make a call until a given time. I encourage anyone out there not feeling themselves to get help–don’t get me wrong, but I warn this trip will stress you out and is a bit traumatic. I was locked up for ten days against my will after going to a hospital to get a prescription to calm me down. Get meds and a therapist. They said I could be there three weeks. I nearly shit. I’m encouraged to ponder political action to rectify the situation poor souls like me have found themselves in, but helpless ultimately. I want to sue the state. I want to fix the mental health system and pay the increased taxes for it, I want to tell people to vote “right” and call their state assembly representative. (Colorado if you’re so inclined). There is a list you must sign up on in order to use the telephone. You need to ask for a towel and they aren’t left around. It takes forever to acquire any of the belongings you initially entered in, so you are forced into paper-cotton scrub-blue garb. I had no music e.g. phone and headphones, to tune out the drama, of which there was plenty. I am asked to stay an arm’s-length away from the nursing station at all times. I’m just tired, can’t sleep and want something to lean on. Where is breakfast, I wonder. I’m told there is a snack? They don’t tell psyche patients anything and yet expect strict adherence to a set of rules you aren’t barely aware of. I say don’t take your meds if you don’t want to, but it will probably prolong your stay. Every toiletry item looks like it was made in the People’s Republic of North Korea. I went from Longmont to Highlands Ranch after two evaluations. Meals, groups, cigarettes are highlights and lockdown time is a lowlight.


The river danced lazily between the lush hills

The clouds watched it, shaping their comments carefully

The Sun watched the clouds and shook its head while the aliens three galaxies away watched it all; bored and apathetic.

Poison flowed from the pipeline into the dancing river, changing its dance and killing fish which floated up and mirrored the clouds, glistening and rotting simultaneously

People shook their heads, but the masters of the universe didn’t care.

The clouds bore toxic particles as well which they longed to drop upon the cold earth and diseased plants

Chaos reigned and the weather took to destroying the poor tortured planet.

Unless someone like you…

A whole awful lot… Nothing. It’s not.

All in My Head

No time for writer’s block in improv or no such thing?

Faith would be nice, but I’ll settle for hope

Got to clean these dirty glasses and clear this smokey head

Get excited about life instead of counting days til you’re dead

Trying to get my hands on some paper all I can grasp are some shreds

Love finds a way to overcome it all the real and the B.S.

Makes all the fear the doubt the broken self esteem worth it in the end

Just sittin riffin tryna spill it all out

Create something express myself that way instead of shout

On second thought find me a pillow to absorb the noise

And watch out as I hurt around all my toys

An child’s distraction from an adult’s labor

Just need to remember how lucky I am and do myself a few favors

Okay, can we just–

“My revolution is born out of love for my people, not hatred for others.” –Immortal Technique “Poverty of Philosphy” Revolutionary Vol. 1 

Earnest faces talking races

Humanity divided


never. make me. PC?

Who me? Woo-whoa.

Agendas. Sensationalism. Narratives. PR?

We are

In this 2gether

2-get-her well again, mother

O, brother why bother

Hay sister–you missed her

Struggle shared? acknowledged? compared?

Minimized, trivialized, rationalized



You foul creation. hate clouds

Let the sun part them

Throw my heart on the ground

Put it in your palm so you may feel

It beats too. beats black blue

Red yellow cotton

Likes boys likes Girls

Eats food that’s rotten

Paddles pitifully

Dies washed on shore

Heaves overboard, hopes sharks

Somersaults from windows 1676 feet high

Perfectly paralell minimal splash

Faithful heathen Bisim Ilah-Matrem Maria-Adonai-Beelzebub

N2, O2, CO2, H2O, Fe, N, CH3, H3C, OH, O, CH2, NaCl, [O, C, H, N, Ca, P, K, S, Na, Cl, Mg

C6H12O6 (s) + 6 O2 (g) → 6 CO2 (g) + 6 H2O (l) + heat

6CO2 + 6H2O –UV light–> C6H12O6 + 6O2

hope, Love. hate, longing.

categoricaL imperativeS

Plankton in the rough, (don’t) be carried on

Fight. smile. win.


A Aardvark, An Platypus

As if “The defeation of ISIS” were all that mattered.

Poetry, as a form, is abhorrent to the blog format.

Let’s find a theme, then shall we? The schizophrenic wannabe artist entreats the ADD part of himself.

What about the SUBTRACT fraction, what proportion is it of the sum of all Isaac? Mathematics…is universal! The language Prometheus “spoke” to Bob–icons, gestures, cartoons, and diagrams notwithstanding.

We (humanity now, including its multiple personalities and struggle for identity) use numbers and symbols and equations and statistics to help explain the universe, or the closet around us, as it were or may be. But not is.

“It is what it is”–what the fickle does that mean? Nothing, which is zero, but is it, in fact, even less meaningful than that? Does it detract from an otherwise meaningful moment in discourse? Is this waste of time–this futile attempt of metaphysical emphasis on the thing, whatever it is, or is not, meaningful rhetorically in that regard itself–wasting time, filling a gap when a respondent can think of nothing intelligent to say?

I recently got into an argument with a mathematically minded and supposedly logic loving individual. You may have seen it, or may see it by scrolling down, I do believe. But is Ross Perot’s academically praised, emotionally devoid, artistically-bankrupt logos appeal the most legitimate rhetorical form of persuasion?

Is the appeal to authority–be it one’s OWN?!?!? Or perhaps some group of researchers in some office somewhere–effective? The same researchers who earn grants based on sensationalized media releases? Who legitimized eugenics and claimed that Africans were “an inferior race?” Who studied the scripture and dogma with zeal and persecuted Galileo?

The scholar is only as good as their humility, the readiness of their pencil, the wax they’ve dug out of their ears–on this we agree, immeasurably. Of course, one should read the article, the essay, in its entirety, and do so critically, wary of the publisher’s, author’s, and sources intents and means of filling their coffers.

Where, then, does this leave intuition? The articles that don’t get funded–that aren’t seen. Intelligent design that isn’t science, or scientific, but a philosophy nonetheless? Who are we? Who are we to? Who are we to say? Who are we to say that? Who aren’t we to deny it? It is NOT what it appears to be. It is NOT ‘anefin’ ( gloss: ‘anything,’ in a certain UK dialect which I’m quite sure isn’t Received Pronunciation).

Which brings me back to the matter at hand. Do I really give a burger-flipping fart what you have to say? Should you of what I have to say? There is no obligation. Our words may never form in our tender vocal folds, thought, but trapped, seeking refuge from rebuttal in our larynx. They may fly past each other at fierce velocities–flying off through the walls, through the atmosphere, through the solar system, echoing into eternal empty space, out the arm of our spiral galaxy, bounce around the galactic cluster, burrow fervently, with an intrepid righteousness to the cold, flavorless end of the universe. And then slip through undiscovered astrophysical phenomena and begin, as the ship does in asteroids, at the OTHER end of the universe, much faster now, forgetting how long ago it passed light, sound, and other sluggish, cute energies and particles and slamming in through the backs of our necks, subliminally interrupting our consciousness when the idea sparks through our medullary pyramids (giving atlas a well-deserved breeze as it hurries by) and impacting, like Theia, where the air from our lungs first gave the order for the cords to produce voiced speech.

OR, they may tickle your ears, provoking an uncomfortable shudder, and sink into your consciousness, like water sinking into sand. See, without hearing each others’ words, we all have heads full of sand. It is my high hope that we may continue this and other dialogues, not necessarily between us two individuals, but among humanity at large. We may have different ideas of what the problems are and how to best approach them, but we shall find, time and time again, that we share more sentiments and values in these regards than we do not.

–until next time, my friends and kin. And remember: world peace starts within each of us. Judge not.

Greener Pastures

Like the great philosopher Mario once said, “Here we goooo!” The black sheep finally mosies down the valley to fill up on education grass and economic leaves. He’s a very spoiled black sheep, and he likes it that way. To avoid Hollywood’s oldest cliché–over dramatizing–he decides not to begin with a Tolkein-esque epic adventure introduction. It’s just a story about a humble sheep, trying not to be a sheep–not that there’s anything wrong with sheep, per se–but the animal’s domestication has brought with it a reputation of submission. *Shrug* What’re ya gonna do?

Enough about the future. I was going to say the now is much more interesting, but obviously, we have to be careful, because a lawyer will say, “‘now,’ when he wrote that he was sitting somewhere writing. That’s not terribly engrossing.” So let’s cover our bases and say the very recent past, shall we? Thank you. Anyway, I’ve been working as a paid circulator–I know–and I have to say, it’s actually pretty amazing. I’ve met all kinds of unique individuals and had hundreds of conversations and heard dozens of rants. Each interaction can run the gamut from Wow, I didn’t realize she was breastfeeding and she’s a huge supporter of the campaign, and darnit, Freud, I meant to say we are ‘wrapping up the campaign,’ not ‘racking’ up the campaign, but ma donn (  o)! to something more like Yeah, fuck you too, old man. I’m a human being godamnit, and your parents didn’t raise you to act like that, may they rest in peace. The moral I’ve taken away from this work that I recommend you all heed is, “You never know.” You can’t judge a book by its cover. You can’t reject yourself before even making a request of someone. You can’t presume to know anything about a stranger and it is foolish to think otherwise.

That’s all for now. Stay cagey, internet.


I was more interested in flesh and she was more interested in chemicals. Trying to remember what a romantic connection feels like–or did I ever know? Is it unreasonable to expect you to shut the hell up and scream while I fuck you in my thoughts? This is when my audience gets uncomfortable with the sexuality–goddamned Puritans. Pervert. I’ve heard it’s an evolutionary and psychological fact that people think about sex multiple times each minute–which is clearly more some minutes than others (God I love when she leans over the counter like that). There are 1,440 minutes in a day. Imagine the shape we’d be in as a species if we had safe sex that often! Gyms would go out of business.

I’ve starved my artistic nature. How else do you make meaning out of this mess we call life? By worrying about the how’s and the what’s? Why is always the more interesting question. Ethics and politics. Engrossing and putrid. It’s important to get yourself into emotionally healthy habits. Everyone focuses on physical health, but all forms of health are woven together, if one end of the web breaks, the whole thing is flailing in the wind.

Fear itself is the enemy of rational thought and also of one’s (or the communal) pursuit of happiness.This is hard to read–chaotic he was talking about sex and now he’s talking about health–real stream-of-consciousness crap, I can’t  do it anymore. Do I have a point? Will I tell you what it is? Are you entitled to it? He needs ADHD medication, poor bastard. Well fuck you. I don’t need your approval. This is art goddamnit. Not to say I don’t appreciate your feedback… As if I want to sell my heart and soul to earn a dying! The crazy part is, I love you all. I’m an atheist, yet I do the equivalent of praying each day, and wish all living creatures well, be they friend or foe. Foes can be allies at times. I think we should all try a hell of a lot harder to love each other than we do. Call me a hippy, but then look at Syria and tell me I’m wrong and I’ll tell you to do something vulgar. At any rate, have a great fuckin day.