I have had this dream before

  

These visions are wasted on me

Wasted on my infant heart

Discarded by my limbic system

And yet every night

I ride the cursed fairground

Lights and circles and flashes of

What

Throwaway monsters

Empty threats of an approaching life

But the heart still hits a drum roll

Sending adrenaline through me

Ice water in my lungs while

I sleep

These bodies are not yet finished evolving

I think

Otherwise we would awaken

Into the morning sun unfettered

Joyous and without fear.

chz podcast 6 (demo)

2

Many people – in the absence of a total or complete personality – find they are adept in convincing themselves of who they ‘are’. Usually this persona continues on for so long that it becomes for all intents and purposes ‘real’ and any chance of real self-discovery is lost forever.

Quote of the December

The art which we may call generally art of the wayside, as opposed to that which is the business of men's lives, is, in the best sense of the word, Grotesque.   John Ruskin

Testament to musclebound creatures and sirens that bring ships crashing to rocky deaths.

To fear the silence is to fear yourself

To reject isolation is to spurn your own

Continuing evolution

Not deep thought

Not abstract consideration of the void

Rather just plan nothing

Dropping the engine down from fourth

Slowed to a stop

An evening hillside

Eyes over the horizon of the city

Shielded from the posturing

Cocooned from the shouting

And screaming and music

Dancing to yourself

Secretly singing love songs

And the sadness of it all is a wave

And you rise and fall

With it

Delicately in the quiet

Nothing to prove

Nothing to fight for

But inside…

Still climbing granite boulders

Struggling toward the source of all hurricanes

Forward on gut instinct

Breaking chains

Napalm on every bridge

Bravely evolving in the near dark.

But is it abstract ENOUGH…

Sat in a chair

For too long

All manner of forms beginning

To atrophy

Mid-way to the end of days

All luck left behind

Laying down in bed

An old man’s smile

Crossing my face

And eyes scrunched closed

Blocking it all out

Or trying to at least.

Cut glass cruelty

Voices as un-tuned violin strings

Fists submerged in buckets of ground crystal

Cast iron necktie

A hundred pounds pulling on you

Screaming on the way down

Laughing in the face of the descent

All spaces deleted

And senses diminished

And repetition held in the

Highest regard

Praise the Lord

Poems like breathing out underwater

Voices like broken violins

Faces like the fronts of skyscrapers

Too much going on inside to

Really ever know the truth.

Calm before the storm

It reminds me of Beethoven

(All of my references are from

pop culture)

And the wind cries

Mary

And I run a treadmill to nowhere

In the summer heat

Carry weights

Push

Pull

But not too much

Then smoke a half cigarette

Down to the end

Scramble to find the right music

Struggle to make these lines

Balance

For why - I do not know

They don’t

So I forget my own rules

And sit in the dark

And flip a coin that lands on its edge

How I do not know

But it is no surprise

And today like every day

There’s war outside

Everywhere except in here

It seems

Though if you looked hard enough

I’m sure you could find it in here

Too.