[organic-emotions]

café gematria

in the queue mata hari jim morrison the lovers of valdaro jezebel and

her dogs she wrote those letters with ai i never believed her

anger management

enough logistics, here are events:

your annointed hand on my knee opposite heel crushing

serpent skull lean in your breath smells figs and tears my heart tremble sequence

my lips your lips 10-5-6-5

my adenine your

guanine my thymine

your cytosine the name

of god on ivory tea cups

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HYMNS OF SPRING AND THE OTHER SUBLIME

and if it wasn’t forever it was the barely there act of touching the teeth of god the hair of trees the queues unexpectedly multiplying in vacant minds it was a never forever with a side dish of post-possibility the mouths agape the knees bended the amnesiac’s prayer smudged and wiped off with a drop of providential spit don’t know who to thank for the sacrosanct loneliness the filth most logical yet showered off without preliminaries this is the definitive audience in the repertoire of youth understated in my illogical yearnings i believe in this sky and in the string of tears that floats atop the pearlescent sea no one knows why we are here perhaps only for a glimpse of reflected truth that we run away from it’s always the illusory confirmations it’s always the tending to these gardens that i might always dwell as the i who used to live inside eyes of perennial green

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we adhere to the religion of pharmakon in attempts to fit inside standard picture frames. we pick our poisons not by our own volition, of which we are unaware of, but by the precise ninety-degree angle of our bended knees. to pray is shameful, better yet kneel in front of the beast and worship it with each borrowed breath. life becomes a futile exercise of breathing when the nose is the only body part above the water. we squirm like useless termites in unmade beds where sleep comes in sequences, at work where the unabashed slave trade reigns, in the supermarket queue where we mindlessly pick another set of chewable poisons, in families that collapse under the weight of ideological nonsense. finally, the human being warms its scrawny hands at the flickering light of a post-soul candle. we never love because love is obsolete and has not had a system update in ages. if we do decide to love, it will be with a designated side of the putrefied brain while the seat of the soul remains uninhabitable for sanitary reasons. instead, we magnify our ache and pleasure points and we use our unclipped nails to tug and pinch at the fear wound that threatens to cover our entire physicality, consciousness, and etheric body. the fear spreads liberally and it is not a green card, but a red card we will present at the gates of our creator. it is a crimson card that the creator will rip apart and throw into the chasms. it only grants damnation, but not the kind that comes from the quantification of sin, but one that is self-imposed and worn with pride during one’s lifetime, a badge of honor. the pills allow us to crawl on all fours in an age where walking is a genetic deformation of the spine. long live pharmakon!

[organic-emotions]

you are the poetry, shaman

perhaps we are one and the

same made of stardust and

lexicon fueled by dead wishes

feeding on the debris of comets

always facing the other with total

fear and yet recognizing the metal

parts the mechanisms of abandonment

there was a light and i told it to engulf me

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the theater manager

say i dreamt it that i was being

held hostage by my gentle side

so give caesar what is his

and to gentleness her own

but if i think of you let it be a prayer

straight from the heart and if i see you

i’d rather have you clothed in white light

draped in primordial love and if i hear you

i’d prefer songs of hope and never despair

the soul is deceitful but better yet the eye

hearts collide together and implode separately

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THE GRAND ENNUI

and when i have it all

it's not the things themselves

it is my face reflecting brighter

my smile heavier than before

rays of sun a cheery shade of citrus

orange grass of raw emerald eyes

filled with stars and too little light

in the hearts of pedestrians as a

measure of my own illumination

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maybe not tomorrow

my life is like my heart

i lead from the chest there

are many mirrors that i'd

rather not glance into there

are mirrors i cannot resist

i love being human,

it cramps my style

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david bowie and candy clark photographed by steve schapiro on the set of 'the man who fell to earth', dir. nicolas roeg, 1976

[organic-emotions]

BEAUTIFULLY MISPLACED GRATITUDE

fighting arms get sent over to

paraguay on a bipedal journey

of redemption knotted shoulder

hearts with a side of things they

will never gesticulate except for

clock hands that experientially tick

away not out of inertia but spite

indeed it was a most suave lent

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ALREADY ALL READY

a carefully curated love the

bath water already all

ready soaked in the

unexplainable

decade

explain this to a college student

explain this with slight empathy

gentle ether in waves of unreliable

not enough bliss on your blessed

inner canvas as i momentarily gazed

into the fixed eye of the moon with my

crescent smile the ever growing certainty

our previous eyelashes knotted in time

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PERPETUALLY SUPERFLUOUS

pink ranunculi white orchids

yellow tulips adorn my window

my body’s water memory

in flakes of iridescent white

the crimson many miles away

i only look behind my shoulder

when i pass by that first hotel

i documented it all with little

to no accuracy for preservation

purposes in my secret reservoir

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INTELLIGENTSIA TEARS

granted a most suave impasse

in the ever shaky sand frame

with unfurling landscape the

last hiding place before all was

revealed green fields in your

secret percolator the waves

crashing on the screen of

your pūpilla obstructing

finality and pretence

a simple affection

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A PRIORI

last seen relinquishing my

longing on a day reserved for

slumbers the crickets chanting

their flip phone buddhist ringtones an

incomplete coloring book the bench as the

final meeting place street lamps flickering on

then off my old friends the ones i never did see

again this secret chill of future remembrance a

suave drizzle the wholeness no one could quite recall

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measures of precaution

on a mind that adhered to

nothing but self-preservation

all that misplaced relief did gnaw at me

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THE MIRROR ROOM

the we is just another me in the mirror i

forgot all about it as i put on an earring

then the other i stumbled on non-words

i ate my granola like i meant it and then

i thought of you with sincerity and when

my heels clicked and turned it happened

it finally occurred to me and then i knew

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trepidation a lifeline

which is out of order

something unworthy

and petrified by fears

gentle smoke grasper with a

predilection for sanctitude

watch it seek its way out

by parading within i now:

rely solely on quietude

hide in plain sight

reject all tensions

for simpler effects

no longer

rabid-hearted

[organic-emotions]

{30.01.2025, 20:56}

the scavenger jumped sideways

again it’s buzzing through the screen

once more i must renounce all fear

trade it for faith worth every penny

the yawn was properly delayed

stored inwards in its dormant state

once it’s in the past it stays there

and never goes anywhere with the

longing i make me a leather fort i’ll

see what i can do from here on there

there now that’s a very good boy