Alternative American

I'm a writer, a critic, an odd soul, and a generally subversive element. Welcome to my blog about everything (but Mutemath most of all).

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The first of thirty poems in a new collection, to be released digitally later this year.

If no one is around, In the eye of a storm, The peak of a mountain, Or in ancient cities Buried beneath deserts, Then there's Heaven on Earth. If no one is around To bear the devil's mark, To ignite divine wrath, Or to finish the job Of submerging the land, Then there's Heaven on Earth. And when no one is around, With nary a single sound, Everywhere is sacred ground. Silence can't be more profound When no one can revoke it; When we're forever quiet, Then there's Heaven on Earth.

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The ninth and final poem in A Collection Shrouded in Mystery.

I. Want to be with Want to be you Want to see you And believe you Want to be with Want to be you Want to see you And believe you Want to be with Want to be you Want to see you And believe you Want to be with Want to be you Want to see you And believe you II. A carbon copy Unoriginal A facsimile A redundancy A carbon copy Unoriginal A facsimile A redundancy A carbon copy Unoriginal A facsimile A redundancy A carbon copy Unoriginal A facsimile A redundancy III. Want to be a carbon copy Want to be unoriginal Want to see a facsimile And believe a redundancy Want to be a carbon copy Want to be unoriginal Want to see a facsimile And believe a redundancy Want to be a carbon copy Want to be unoriginal Want to see a facsimile And believe a redundancy Want to be a carbon copy Want to be unoriginal Want to see a facsimile And believe a redundancy IV. Want to not be here Want to not be me Want to close my eyes And suspend belief Want to not be here Want to not be me Want to close my eyes And suspend belief Want to not be here Want to not be me Want to close my eyes And suspend belief Want to not be here Want to not be me Want to close my eyes And suspend belief V. Want to be with Want to be you Want to see you And believe you Want to be a carbon copy Want to be unoriginal Want to see a facsimile And believe a redundancy Want to not be here Want to not be me Want to close my eyes And suspend belief Want to be you Want to be a carbon copy Want to not be me Want to be your facsimile

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The eighth poem in A Collection Shrouded in Mystery.

I'm a canvas framed with an image I can't own, and I'm admired by some for appearances alone I'm a portrait of a man, a trophy on display; an object of desire to be stolen away I'm a deceiver and unbeliever who dons a God-given image for the sake of fitting in A portrayal of a man is all I ever am, and now all I want to be is none of the above Neither man nor woman, person nor deity, or anything other than an image of my own

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The seventh poem in A Collection Shrouded in Mystery.

pressed against your face, your tears bore holes through the fabric what a waste when it's gone, you'll wish you hadn't tossed it away or, you'll grab another; perhaps this one won't fall apart so easily what a waste soon, there won't be any flesh and blood left just you, and your tears, and your loneliness just your broken self when you've disposed of everyone else what a waste

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The sixth poem in A Collection Shrouded in Mystery.

Outside these walls, the landscape burned to ash after a fatal clash between nature and nurture. But nothing will touch us here- we know who we are, devoid of our fears, devoid of our weaknesses. We pray to our god and serve our lord well and love each other, so we won't go to hell. I admit, my child, perfection comes at a steep price: strict adherence to tradition- to ancient codes colder than ice. And with that said... ...there won't be peace until you've bought it- you're our sacrificial lamb. The highest honor, well-deserved; spill your blood to cleanse the land. Keep your chin up and face your fate- smile, dear, you're going to heaven! There's nothing we appreciate more than death to be enlivened. Now, close your eyes and embrace the darkness; you'll be remembered until next harvest...            

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The fifth poem in A Collection Shrouded in Mystery.

with or without the sun and the moon, we bask in the light in each other's eyes with or without a purpose in life, I wither without you-- wither and die flowers bend to seize the light and open wide to taste the sun I twist and turn and put up a fight, all for a chance to be with someone a shade of doubt-- I wither regardless; with or without you, existence is hopeless a silver lining-- we wither together; twist and turn into precious and priceless works of art

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The fourth poem in A Collection Shrouded in Mystery.

I see the willows weeping; I see the widows grieving; I see the melancholy pervading every word ever spoken... and I see you, but you're not there. I see you, and I'm not here. oh... I'm not sure what's true or false as I move to check your pulse, and I'm not sure that I'm alive; it's a meaningless distinction now. I'm not sure what could be worse; life alone is a wicked curse and I'm not sure if I can allow myself to say what I feel now. and I'm sure it's you, but you're not there. I'm sure it's me, and I'm not here. and I see you... can you see me? you're not there, and I'm not here.            

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The third poem in A Collection Shrouded in Mystery.

quod erat demonstrandum! the numbers correlate to actions that we take and it simply can't be random-- this narrative we make simply can't be fake we built a perfect model, so if anything goes wrong we have plausible denial... which is why it's perfect! everything that happens is a part of the plan: chameleonomics and the fall of man; housing market crashes and home foreclosures; ashes to ashes and critical failures we're worshipers of numbers and the figures never lie; let's stand atop a street of walls and make a killing 'till we die

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The second poem in "A Collection Shrouded in Mystery".

on what basis do you need to know? answer is no; you have to know, I'm ignorblissitarian to be fully aware is wicked paranoia it's better to indulge your veritaphobia don't fill your headspace with everything impractical you'll never need the facts when you can be believable then what you say is how it is, and how it is, what you say I saw a moonman who was perfect at piano play a man who struck a chord that flew across the firmament the moonman story always makes me feel important and that's what matters in the end; I'm ignorblissitarian

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Don't quote me on this.

Me

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The first poem of A Collection Shrouded in Mystery.

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Monument (Official Music Video) by MUTEMATH From Paul: We feel so fortunate to have met Charles "LaLa" Evans when we did. He is the living embodiment of not only our song "Monument," but everything we aspired to write about for this whole new album. We are so honored that he allowed us the opportunity to share his simple yet profound story of an enduring love through our song's music video. It's the first time we've ever attempted anything like this, but we felt like this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to make a documentary-style music video highlighting the life of a very special soul who might not have otherwise had their story told. We sincerely hope you enjoy and are able to take away the same joy and inspiration that we were upon getting to meet this wonderful man.

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Tryhardest

Rome, in a day, wasn't built by idle hands; No one understands how to die for their art When they've yet to live to tell a new tale; They're bound to fail when their sights and sails Are set upon innumerable sales. Why try and jeopardize the little self-esteem they have? Why play Powerball when success is less than a pipe dream? Who picks the winners in the celestial lottery? Follow that person on Twitter, and perhaps you might be seen. Which nest do we lay eggs in if we want the sun to show? Cease with the questions; you already know nobody knows. Tryhards try harder when victory isn't guaranteed; Be one, or get into line with the rest of the land of the free.            

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Away

Turn away and don't look back; the earth ahead is caked with salt. The rivers run red with blood; with sun eternally eclipsed. Frozen shoulders populate the crater of a meteor. Politicians stipulate the ratio of birth and death. Every fear which you can have present themselves in perfect form. Nobody will hear you scream in the place where love goes to die.

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Handle With Care

Handle with care Fragile people Never stumble Just one fumble Secures a loss Shattered across Countless places Ones you can't face Alone again            

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Steven Universe is back?

STEVEN UNIVERSE IS BACK!