Jealous GodI’ll be your jealous god
Your one and only fraud
Your filled space to place
upon the pedestal and nod
TurnsListening is calibrating to another’s matrices
as they rotate spaces within their own novel, pulsing seas
In-formation lingualized, meant to in process realize
that through these turns and in these eyes
language implies another
Be KilledWould you take a bullet for what you believe in?
Would you kill, or be killed?
If there is an afterlife where the good are rewarded eternally,
what reason is there to kill rather than be killed?
Why fight back against something that is forcing you to fight back?
Why not fall into the paradise of a loving god?
Someday Song TitlesBenefit of the Meta-Doubt
The Novelty of the Unintended
I'm Sorry to Notice
The Collapse of the Quantum Vector
The Burden of Empathy
The Burden of Apathy
Entirely Impractical Mad Wizard Shit
Exist, Subsist, Persist
Paid Off and Comfortable
Averages and Absolutes
The Walls Should Be Thicker Here
Mostly Muscle Memory
Evidence of Intention
Christian with a Gun
A Fool's Devotion
Ridiculon Capital Fuckery, Inc.
Ruined by Proxy
Science in my Philosophy
Philosophy in my Science
I Don't Know, I Just Feel It
Strontium In Our Bones
Citizens of the Winning Empire
Empires Never Win
Persistent Phantom Body
Things Moving in the Periphery
It's Fucking Gig
MereWe were thrown into an ocean of emotion.
It never quite managed to convince us it was worth it, but it wasn't trying to. We kept pushing on. Our curiosity was morbid.
We knew there was the potential for more, despite our constraints. We knew there was something better we could build with what it gave us.
But the world kept coming down around us. Our tools were weathered and destroyed.
All we had left was the ability to gaze into each other's eyes.
We cried into each other. We asked that silent, rhetorical 'Why.' We couldn't stop.
But we did. The shudders stopped anyway. The tears refused to come any longer. The light was different. The wind sounded new. The nerves in our fingertips stretched into the earth, and we felt the soil for the first time all over again.
Galactic PrimeI'm Galactic Prime, number-ornate,
dust-woven thermodynamicism incarnate.
Bathed in radiation and wrapped up in garments.
I see the nest of the hornet and wonder what God meant.
Words come out of my brain seemingly pre-ordained,
a matrix of matter combining matters
that make the rain feel phatter
and fatten the lessons that implode anyway
as each new day I am forced to realign my ideals
with the actual, factual mess of this consciousness.
Energy spires into wells, conspires into cells,
feels its way through the dark
until the parts of it that survive
the cannon-fodding of its own hapless nodding
manage to thrive.
It's doing all of this to itself, and the crumbs it left when it knew it would forget have molded into dust.