READING POETRY IN 2K10

As your eyes skim
these Words,
skipping stones
slapping sos, likes
Drinking great gulps
of simile, Gorging
on syllables,
do you Feel
our layers of
fine-spun Filth
snugly fit
over each molar?

Set yourself on
Auto-pilot as your
legs fight to
Escape the horror
while reality Follows
pawing, kneading
neon claws in
gruesome waves
decorating every
detailed twinge, Electric
blue as a Gaudi
scale-model monument,
child-like & Petrified.

But do you even
really want to
feel? Every
ruined step? Every
blistered thought? Every
faulty circuit clumsily
tied and wired to
these wilted words,
Tumbling?

i know You,
as i,
would rather
simply
sink.

THE EXCESSIVE PROXIMITY OF LIFE AND ITS DOUBLE

Undoubtedly,

the human experiment has been a failure.

Our future was hijacked

before our very births, our homes

invaded by unwanted figures,

ideologies, atrocities.

We live like quadriplegics

unable to flee this disaster

unable to cover our eyes

unable to fend off its advancement.

Or else we play like children, making

sandcastles with moats of sewage

suckling the teat of forgetfulness.

Machines have been constructed

physically, socially, theoretically

vehicles of control on a collision course

with human extremity.

Our generation

has come of age in an era of

cybersaturation.

The siren song is familiar to us all:

the modem sending its signal through

the ether,

passing through

the multiverse, harsh

yet inviting.

We dream

of jacking in

of mainlining digitized escape

of ditching our suitcases of flesh in favor

of electronic signals.

And while we basked in gloriously

unrestricted communication

endless information exchange,

our connections with the

vast expanse of p h y s i c a l i t y

withered

and these machinations conquered nature.

Like K. we stand
resigned

weak in the face of this

virtual social machinery.

To give in,

to accept the inevitability

of a ghost in our

internal robot is

to worship a false idol:

systematic control on a pedestal,

trapping us in a complex web of

wires and steel

created by power,

baited by escapism.

Cyberspace

is a realm of unquantifiable desire

advertising instant gratification in

every possible permutation.

Freedom from physical identity

social persecution

ethical constraint,

wrapped cozily in a cloak of anonymity.

But unless we accept the dystopian potential of

Complete Awareness

then consciousness in the robot is a masquerade.

There can be

no gender fluctuation

no individual codification

without a database monitoring what seems like

fluid movement or endless possibilities,

a machine dedicated to

algorithmic pattern recognition.

The robot is fueled by our own

arrogance and we overestimate our

ability to fool our progeny. Forget

going underground

disguising our presence,

the whims of this reality are

dictated by programmers and

profiteers analyse every choice conceivable,

statistically evaluated

by those we would attempt to escape.

Assume

knowledge was decentralized,

that the open source movement was able to

carve a rift

between universes,

we could feel rivers of data flowing

between our fingers

free to mold and construct

visions radically subjective,

beautiful.

What then? At what point does

human experience become

impotent?

Phallic and vaginal beauty

castrated

into code? Every aspect of our identity

prefigured

with mathematical accuracy?

The scientific rationalism from which

this creation was spawned

assumes a strict level of objective realism

denying perspectives unexplainable

from federal formulas or civilized symptoms.

Everything else is an anomaly

        standard variance 

co-opted             subsumed

recycled              subversion

regurgitated         subservience.

Nothing
can save us.

Our very existence bleeds

exploitation and faith

in transcendence only ignores this fact.

Hope

of cybernetic escape screams a throaty

NO

into the faces of those unable to afford the

hefty price of virtual exuberance

and lines of resistance are redrawn.

We are left with few choices

hearty acceptance, quiet denial,

or a revolution of reality still unknown.

Only death can speak to us

in an unknown language and

only the death of our species can write a requiem

deserving of memory.

HOLES IN HEAVEN

The Earth wobbles more than it used to
and magnetic north is drifting through the
membrane that separates sky and space,
the atmosphere Tesla wanted to make glow
and shield from missiles or radiation but caused
ionospheric disturbances breaking up satellite communication:
radio frequencies arousing the spinning, speeding molecules
until they sweat and glisten
reflecting the mountains, caverns, subterranean
oil wells uncovered through thirty feet of rock,
shaking the earth.
From Athabaskan land in Alaska
haarp songs paint the sky, squeezing
megawatts into gigawatts in defiance of chaos;
indifferent to butterfly wings or lightning
bolts striking the soil.

The satellites are creating holes in heaven
and we don't even know the peak power of an antenna's
pulse as it sends electromagnetic data
coursing through clouds and mingling
with currents of the Auroral ElectroJet,
stimulating filaments and penetrating underground
in rivers of electricity, x-rays, and ELF waves.

But we only think at fourteen cycles per second
and these frequencies can be generated!
which fuck with our emotions and even children
know that minds can be controlled;
after all we are mostly energy, or at least water and waste
equally bioregulated by the earth and
mimicking signals of passivity and anxiety
like needing to piss so bad your teeth are floating.

COLD WAR EXPERIMENTS IN PARANORMAL ESPIONAGE

It all started with a pulsing beam of microwave energy
to irradiate the ambassador in Moscow. We know about this
from animal testing and simplified Russian revolutionary history:
a time of chaos and sinister color when
anomolous phenomena was tested on political dissidents.
Later: Einstein, Freud, and Messing met in a smoky room
sending psychic messages, predicting Hitler's death, robbing banks
then slipping through plain view into the films of the premier telekinetic medium
as if pulled by the electromagnetic energy fields she manipulated to make frog hearts explode;
psychic mind control for when your insurance provider denies assassination coverage
and you have to use zombie agents to fix the chess match and boost national pride.
When the man with no face arrived on the scene to restore morale through
acoustic radiation and microwaves trained to hypnotize
we dropped acid and the communists tried to kill the pope,
heard the fuckin pinko zombie agents even shot Kennedy.
Steeped in the occult history of Rasputin, Tunguska leveled forests
and fireballs in the sky colliding in deafening explosions
they really just want the alien technology to fly circles around
us: mystified by Sputnik psychic senders and Cuban missile crises.
Meanwhile, undetected in arctic waters the Nautilus receives
long distance psychic calls; mental images fly over the vast
Siberian expanse, connecting to a telepathic infrastructure beyond the reach of our senses but
remotely viewed from Special Dept. #8. where in low frequency anticipation
images from a trance unfold: (1) detailed topographic maps, (2) a Typhoon-class submarine where a man sits, his mind penetrating time, (3) military grade psychics in formation walking through a minefield, slowly, (4) electric photography capturing the radiant life-field that surrounds
everything.