Friday, May 6, 2011

Childhood’s End for Humanity?

by Kevin Carson

Center for a Stateless Society

May 1, 2011

History, since the agricultural revolution, can be usefully conceptualized as an offensive-defensive arms race between technologies of abundance and social structures of expropriation.

Until the appearance of agriculture, human society didn’t produce a large enough surplus to support much in the way of social organization above the hunter-gatherer group. Agriculture was the first technology of abundance sufficiently productive to support parasitic classes on a large scale. With agriculture came a superstructure of kings, priests, martial castes and landlords who milked the producing classes like cattle.

We now seem to be nearing the end of an interval of ten thousand years or so between two thresholds. The first threshold was the appearance of the first large-scale technology of abundance — agriculture.

Since then we have been in that aforementioned arms race. Sometimes technologies of abundance produce an increase in the social surplus faster than the class superstructure can expropriate it, and things become better for the ordinary person — as in the late Middle Ages, when the horse collar and crop rotation caused a massive increase in agricultural productivity, the craftsmen of the free towns developed new production technologies, and the decay of feudalism resulted in falling rents and de facto emancipation of large sectors of the peasantry. Sometimes the advantage shifts to the social structures of expropriation, and things get worse — as in the case of the absolute monarchies’ suppression of the free towns, what Immanuel Wallerstein called the “long sixteenth century,” and the Enclosures.

We’re approaching the second threshold, when the technologies of abundance reach a takeoff point beyond which the social structures of expropriation can no longer keep up with the rising production curve.

The interval between the two thresholds has been comparatively brief, compared to the hundreds of thousands of years that homo sapiens has existed in something like its present form and the billion years or so that the sun will likely be able to support human life. Seen in that light, this interval is a brief initial adjustment period in the early stages of human productivity. The state was an anomaly in this early stage of the technological explosion, in the childhood of the human race, by whose means the parasitic classes were briefly able to piggyback on the revolution in productivity and harness it as a source of income for themselves.

During this brief interval, parasitic classes — bureaucrats, usurers, landlords, and assorted rentiers — used the state to create scarcity by artificial means, in order to enclose the increased productivity from technologies of abundance as a source of rents for themselves. But after these first few millennia, the productivity curve has shifted so sharply upward that the increases in output will dwarf the rentier classes’ ability to expropriate it. What’s more, new technologies of abundance are rendering artificial scarcities unenforceable.

Around forty years ago, it was fashionable to say that humanity was entering the “Age of Aquarius.” There is a sense in which the 1970s really were the beginning of a new age of human liberation. They saw the birth of the two technologies of abundance — the desktop computer and cheap numerically-controlled machine tools — which will eventually free us from the grip of the corporate state and its artificial scarcities.

The apparent reaction of the decades since — neoliberalism and the Washington Consensus, Reaganism and Thatcherism, the jackbooted police state of the Drug War and War on Terror, the neocons’ wet dream of a Thousand Year Reich enforced by the Sole Remaining Superpower, the Digital Millennium Copyright Act — can be seen as a desperate rear guard action by the corporate state, the death throes of a dying system, a last-ditch effort by the forces of artificial scarcity to suppress the forces that will destroy them.

This effort will fail. What file-sharing has done to the record industry, and what Wikileaks has done to the national security state, are only the dimmest foreshadowings of what technologies of abundance and freedom will do to the old authoritarian institutions.

Encryption and darknets are destroying the power of the music, publishing, and movie industries to collect rents on their so-called “intellectual property,” and eliminating economic transactions as a tax base to support bureaucrats.

New physical production technologies, by extracting greater outputs from ever smaller inputs, are rendering the privileged classes’ huge supplies of land and capital utterly useless as a source of income.

Ordinary people, with cheap means of informational and physical production, will soon be able to meet our needs through peaceful production and trade in a fraction of the present workweek, and dump the rentiers off our backs.

If this framing of human history is valid, we’re just finishing the dawn of humanity’s brief childhood, and entering the long afternoon of its maturity.

Must We Rebuild Their Anthill? A Letter to/for Japanese Comrades

By Silvia Federici and George Caffentzis

Dear comrades,

We are writing to express to you our solidarity at a time when the pain for those who have died or have disappeared is still raw, and the task of reshaping of life out of the immense wreckage caused by the earthquake, the tsunami and the nuclear reactor meltdowns must appear unimaginable. We also write to think together with you what this moment marked by the most horrific nuclear disaster yet in history signifies for our future, for the politics of anti-capitalist social movements, as well as the fundamentals of everyday reproduction.

Concerning our future and the politics of anti-capitalist movements, one thing is sure. The present situation in Japan is potentially more damaging to people’s confidence in capitalism than any disaster in the “under-developed” world and certainly far more damaging than the previous exemplar of nuclear catastrophe, Chernobyl. For none of the exonerating excuses or explanations commonly flagged in front of man-made disasters can apply in this case. Famines in Africa can be blamed, however wrongly, on the lack of capital and technological “know how,” i.e., they can be blamed on the lack of development, while the Chernobyl accident can be attributed to the technocratic megalomania bred in centrally-planned socialist societies. But neither underdevelopment nor socialism can be used to explain a disaster in 21st century Japan that has the world’s third largest capitalist economy and the most technologically sophisticated infrastructure on the planet. The consequences of the earthquake, the tsunami and, most fatefully, the damaged nuclear reactors can hardly be blamed on the lack of capitalist development. On the contrary, they are the clearest evidence that high tech capitalism does not protect us against catastrophes, and it only intensifies their threat to human life while blocking any escape route. This is why the events in Japan are potentially so threatening and so de-legitimizing for the international capitalist power-structure. For the chain of meltdowns feared or actually occurring stands as a concrete embodiment of what capitalism has in store for us —an embodiment of the dangers to which we are being exposed with total disregard of our well-being, and what we can expect in our future, as from China to the US and beyond, country after country is planning to multiply its nuclear plants.

-please read the entirety of this powerful letter at

Thursday, April 28, 2011


After pepper spraying a family in Portland, a police officer said, "That’s why you shouldn't bring kids to protests." Blaming the victim is the standard defense for political violence. Kids and parents should be safe at legal rallies because protests shouldn't be cordoned off, ordered to disperse without time or a place to go, and attacked.

At least one woman had a miscarriage after the WTO demonstrations in Seattle in 1999. I told somebody about this and they got angry saying, “Anybody who goes into a situation like that while they're pregnant is irresponsible!” But she was a local resident who's neighborhood was invaded by police using tear gas. Who was responsible for that?

Pondering these events, and helping raise twin radical toddlers, I contacted the family that got pepper sprayed in Portland and offered to bring our kids if they ever held a protest against the way they were treated. It felt good to talk about my anger and the fear of kids being hurt at political events.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Anarchism swept us away completely, because it demanded everything of us and promised everything to us. There was no remote corner of life that it did not illumine ... or so it seemed to us ... shot though with contradictions, fragmented into varieties and sub-varieties, anarchism demanded, before anything else, harmony between deeds and words
Victor Serge, Memoirs of a Revolutionary

Wednesday, April 20, 2011


you are the wind

are the notes

I am singing

you, the wind


to singing

you are

the voice

am I speaking

to you, the wind?

are you listening?

the channel is flush with flow and flux

my wind will blow through and through

the sea is blue and black my child

my river

is red, when she runs

when she leaves me

my son will shine

the paint will dry

when you are gone

the wind will moan

am I wet?

dying or sleeping or somewhere

close, yet distantly off the street

the river we’ll cross

where we will meet

in the center

at death

are you a sharp corner

am I stone?

should we cry to the open eyes

of atmosphere

the lids of space containing us?

can I simplify my pattern?


I am the trunk, the bark and branches,


you are the wind, the air, the river, sweet whispers and love

is the song

Friday, April 15, 2011

"Those who profess to favor freedom and yet depreciate agitation, are people who want crops without ploughing the ground; they want rain without thunder and lightning; they want the ocean without the roar of its many waters. The struggle may be a moral one, or it may be a physical one, or it may be both. But it must be a struggle. Power concedes nothing without a demand. It never did and it never will."
Frederick Douglass

Who's Lying?

Bankers are Terrorist

It might seem dull at parts but watch the whole video. To me it seems to tie the drug war, the economic banking crisis, and mexican cocaine all into one knot at the feet of the murderous old fucks who run American banks.-Icaro Psychedelic Collective
What does drug money laundering look like in the 21st century? Can you believe Wachovia, Bear Stearns, Lehman Brothers, Bank of America, CitiBank, the Federal Reserve, and the biggest banks in the world, were intimately involved with Mexican drug cartels? And that the cash liquidity of the underground cocaine market is the only thing keeping the global financial sector running? Watch the video, read the story that broke in the Guardian, and make your own conclusions. Watch the sound byte pulled at the 7:00 minute mark. According to the UN investigators, in times when other bubbles burst, the only thing keeping banks afloat is the unceasing global demand for cocaine. What a trip!-dosenation

Monday, April 11, 2011

Obama's Secret US prisons in Afghanistan

US officials have acknowledged the existence of secret military-run prisons across Afghanistan where suspected terrorists are held and interrogated without charges, for weeks or months on end.

The US military previously denied operating secret prison systems in Afghanistan, although a number of human rights groups insisted they were.

The previously administration, under former US President George W. Bush ran a network of secret CIA detention sites, a program US President Barack Obama was highly critical off. The discovery of a new network under Obama will likely anger many.

Little is known about the methods which are being employed in interrogations today, but if they resemble Bush-era tactics, torture is likely being used. -read more at rt.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

listen dylan

Civil Civic (No 803)

This duo's brainiac mix of math rock, prog and electronica is never less than clever, intricate and complex

I really dig the use of these kind of synth-pop melodies over droning guitars, much like rano pano off of mogwai's new lp. I need to find more!


Friday, April 1, 2011

mystery pills

thoughts fly
when I'm feeling like death
there is no desire left
but cold lonesome
shattering content illusions
doused headphones
pierced corneas
ecstatic sickness prickling my fevered body
and swimming up my spine
there is nothing to do
but lay down
nowhere but back
worried that rental thugs
realizing I'm on drugs and kicking me out
on the street
I feel dead
beat down by some mechanical drumstick
and I have no idea where I am


remove tongue
with scissors
then salt rub
saute in ass cheek fat
with onions
silence me, voice
taste my young
fading away in a cloud of
burning incense
lop of genitals
for the meat grinder
add garlic and pepper
imagine blood sausage
a new phallus for a broken boy
fix me for dinner
throw away the shell of an
old toy kept
safe and never played with
take me off this
for a moment
you touched me with a curious gaze

I believe arri was looking for this

mogwai, kronos quartet and charles manson..innnntense...

Scary when he makes sense isn't it? I believe that's what scares people the most about Charles Manson. If they look too close they may see themselves mirrored back. Most people run all their lives away from themselves because they fear themselves more than Mr. Manson... and perhaps they should. It's easy to cage an animal while forgetting we are also animals.

Monday, March 28, 2011

5 Reasons Why Technology Can Never Be Neutral

1. Technology Devours Nature

Thanks to the automobile culture, for example, in the 20th century, an area equal to all the arable land in Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania was paved in the US This means highways, off-ramps, parking lots, etc.--each replacing countless eco-systems.

While the developed world quenches its insatiable thirst for the newest and latest gizmo, much of the subsequent e-waste is exported to countries like India, China, Pakistan, Nigeria, and Ghana. "The pollution and related health problems in countries where e-waste is dumped will increase massively as the amount of electronics used worldwide is growing exponentially and the number of countries used as dump sites will grow,
-

Saturday, March 26, 2011

beach house

I am fixed, light
like a lamp
dulled in the shade
aged by the sun
I am hooked
barbed lip piercing tied to monofilament
or was it gut string?
or a song?
am I a broken blade?
tricked into cutting stone?
maybe metal smelted in the glow
words passing
between moving bicycles
lost in the stream
a grain of sand on your feet


its different here
because the air has changed
my lungs are filled
yet I'm so thirsty
dying to breathe
smelling like a paper mill
a dumpster
and I'm still an
infant, young sapling man
limbs branching out to the sky's
farthest reaches
you're still
a broken shell
on this polluted beach
at the end of my street
the salt air is a tide
rising into
my chest when I'm home
kneeling down
to touch the ocean
as she pulls away

missing person

a stranger I met
in her protruding
a trap
some body projected on
this leaning black screen
back in the corneas brown
green depth
I tried to mentally separate the two
conflicting characters within
but couldn't
pry you from your
beauty, shield
protections and silent defense
attraction just
distracting me from demented bliss
and dishonest intentions

Thursday, March 24, 2011

we needs to cover this with violin guitar and drums

for RE & DP

bass, guitar and groovebox drums mixing sweetely. plus shitty vocals!

The signs of the defeat of Libyan revolution - Statement by a Libyan anarchist

I call on all the peoples to support us, the Egyptians, Tunisians, French, even Chinese, all the peoples of the world, we welcome their support and sympathy.

In a few hours, the UN Security Council will decide to start air strikes against Libya. France has said that it is ready to start the bombardment from tonight.

We condemn this international resolution, if it is realized. And we totally reject any foreign intervention in Libya, whatever shape it may take, especially a French one. France, that sold Qaddafi weapons worth billions, weapons that he is using today to blow up Libyans, the same France that didn't stop such deals until 3 weeks back.

We condemn this intervention that will transform Libya into a real hell, even more than now. That intervention will also steal the revolution from the Libyans, a revolution that has cost them thousands of dead women and men so far.

To be liberated from Qaddafi just to become slaves to those who armed him and empowered him during all those years of authoritarian violence and repression.

What can be said while waiting for the bombs?

Because bombs will not differentiate between those who are pro-Qaddafi and who are against him.

Colonialist bombs, as you know, have only one objective: to defend the interests of arms traders. They sold Qaddafi arms worth billions and then we ask them to destroy them now... Then we will buy new arms through the new government - it is an old, well-known story. But there are people who cannot learn except through committing old mistakes, made long before.

please

Saturday, March 19, 2011


I was in the wrong forest

with the perfect clouds to

fill my lungs

and part in walking

tasting the moss and guava wood

long needles reaching off the stretched arms

of dark figures

grey skinned woodsmen

speak only in whispers

and quiet creaking squeals

but surrounding me I cannot

ignore their



spear wielding spirits threatening

righteous death


fearless living on

through the forest

in the heavens above your


Friday, March 18, 2011

I wish I could live in the bleak bending forest of minimalist piano

i think it is the fact that it sounds like a child exploring a scale they've just discovered, a young, ignorant soul trying to rach and grasp the beauty that the world can create. wishing they were able to see and feel and taste and touch the world and all that's in it, yet mournful that all they have is a room and a piano. the moment before clarity, when beauty and sorrow, fear and sanctity all wrap into themselves

Thursday, March 17, 2011

mind tricks

carton of cigarette juice

childproof pineapple

pill bottle

won’t open

my head

needing something stronger

than the drugstore can provide

so I go to where the junkies

hide their magic

inside bricks

outside the gas station

reach in like

I’m fisting concrete and receiving

the gorgeous crystal secretions

dripping mushrooms

grow in the forest

even when its shaved down

purple swirls of ice-cream

eyeballs tilting

towards the elephant

I consumed

there’s no space in my


so the nose goes up

rocket ship

chocolate chip ladies tending to the garden

of gnome statues

raping snail shells and drinking their slime

the grass grows where the shit hit


mosquitos trying to get inside


find my force-field



at 6:30

everything is golden

even the mousey white man’s glasses

reflecting through the window screen

flashes theses projections

shifting shadows

blind or beaming their yellow shards

soldering my mind to them

with each turn

our eyes perceive intrinsically altered views

reflections on the salted body

then its dark and grey in the shade of kuli’ou’ou

and the sky

is oil above her indifferent arms

this is my time

and I would sleep all day till 6, never waking

I’d take

the route 23

like a photo, gunnin’ the shuttering seats carefully

in the evening

when everything is beautiful

even isolation

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

blood, alone

stabbed by dirty fork
when I reached for a spoon
to eat icecream

Saturday, March 12, 2011

heretic, wall of silence

dirty laundry

girls lining the trees

soaked cotton

wet hanging necks


the horse falling under

this lone world

pools the moonlit ocean and salts my lens

arc lit nights

reveal our fossils mortality

a moment’s echoed canyon

sounds remember when

la luna’s rings reverberates

a new way burns through the old

till smoke clouds the sun

we cannot harness

the mother of life

or return her to the cold


this gift

my red insides

full of

rare dog fed on


lost in the propellers wake

drunken yelling, pushes come to thrusts

through busted windows, shadowy dreams and iron oxide lusting

I am

losing more from you

then my

trust in feeling


these senses erode

the sand flows over low lands

tall boulders and eyes rolling when

water falls down

her face

rivers become valleys

streams and small creeks

now a mix, flow

soapy trickle

your sick tricks and

fucking cement


lies never cover

can never compare to

the dirty nature of these

naked truths

what I see with open eyes

and arms extended

you’ll never know

these deep

blue mountain rivers

and the still

tree shaded shores


by my closed mouth

for the shapeless I cannot feel

I thought I felt your shape but I was wrong
Really all I felt was falsely strong
I held on tight and closed my eyes
It was dumb I had no sense of your size

It was dumb to hold so tight
But last night
On the birthday in the kitchen
My grip was loose my eyes were open

I felt your shape and heard you breathing
I felt the rise and fall of your chest
I felt your fall
Your winter snows
Your gusty blow
Your lava flow
I felt it all
Your starry night
Your lack of light
With limp arms I can feel most of you

I hung around your neck independently
And my loss was overwhelmed
By this new depth I don't think I ever felt

But I don't know
The nights are cold
And I remember warmth
I could have sworn I wasn't alone

mmm....tasty lo-fi

Phil Elvrum and Julie Doiron

Friday, March 11, 2011


Why are powerful drugs used to starch shirts, powder insoles, and make unique clothing? Because they are also excellent fine powders and durable textile fabrication materials. From Hamilton's Pharmacoepia at Vice.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

the skin that’s broken

black streams of hair

twisting through the valley

collecting glances,



in the flow like my chances of

knowing the path

realizing contentment after your facts are

revealed folly


down the paper road towards her

I’m wholly disappointed

in this aura

flashed past

like walking laughter

travels stationary

falling into ordinary desperation


deeper and deeper till words no longer matter and there is only this

sound to turn my wheels in a cold puddle

dead children’s silence

holding on to

a novel way of saying no to everything

singing “look for me in the

open ocean

sky and dessert”

and I agree to devote

time to this ruin

casting off reality as a filtered


a dirty window

lenses wiped with a narcotic spirit

smoke and vapor cleanse

lights my psyche

turning pages under my tongue

tell me the questions to this

answer I found in the lost places



“kiss the skin that’s broken

and build me a new sea

made of your fallen and

collected tears”

washing away the flavor

of quickened years shifting over body like all my fears

stapled together

and nailed to the nearest

swim trunk

soon forests fill with posters

of my deformed face and beached

near death images remain with me for a while

till the rain returns a smile when she walks by

mushroom circle

we live in plastic

fearful of water and weathering the heat of

isolation or a/c suffocation


this occupied land

these are my colonialist’s words trying to form

my oppressed mind into some free illusion

but I live on time

borrowed from death

owing the air to everyone I sold

a single breath in debt I’m

surrounded by thieves sleeping

in fallen leaves underneath

the dead trees I dream of

burning cities back to fertile ashes

inoculating clouds of spores

Tuesday, March 1, 2011


have you ever swam

through pillowed dreams

like this

resting on me

so that we can both

breathe love

easily embrace the insides of our

spines and

find the climbing ferns

intertwining around

pillars of your kind


face me naked

stripped of mask

and worn illusion

I’ve been craving your rusted beauty

beneath the paint

do you sometimes think

of being purified

by blood and lust

have you imagined

green forest palaces that fill a hazy air

with our own thickened


if I whispered it into your ear

would you pull away from


soft warmth

of my breath’s wool

even in

frigid weather

walking hours on vapor secrets

and told jokes dissipating

like my bleak eyes' dark holes

deepen the brown dirt

disintegrating lies in salt water

can you taste it

my sour expression realizing the impossibility

that you would take me for what I wish

in this undressing

disrobing the fertile valleys scent

cleanse my moist stressed


if only I could say what’s

clouding my mind

the torture

without feeling human for

someone’s skin

and seeing every moment with lids weighed down

your picture hidden

hung low and

disfigured within

Monday, February 28, 2011

Seattle cop murders deaf native woodcarver

Recently released footage from a police cruiser's dashboard camera shows the events leading up to the fatal shooting of a partially deaf man by a Seattle police officer.

John T. Williams, a Native American wood carver who was partially deaf, was killed on August 30th after walking past Officer Ian Birk, 27, on the street with a knife in his hand.

The dashboard camera footage shows Williams slowly crossing the street in front of Officer Birk's police cruiser. Birk then approached Williams and repeatedly told him to "put the knife down." Seconds later, Birk shot him four times.
more at the raw story

Friday, February 25, 2011

Bringing the Revolution Home-Leil-Zahra Mortada

" services cuts, unemployment, aggravated financial crisis, arms deals, nuclear energy, the plundering of every inch of the planet, the destruction of nature, the WTO, the IMF, the World Bank, border-police forces, immigration laws, racist governmental policies, deportations, genocides, colonial exploitation, imperialist control, economic and political hegemony, war, occupation, the so-called G8, multinationals, patents, forced labor, NATO, modern-day slavery, sweatshops, global warming, educational cuts, unjust housing prices, media hypocrisy and manipulation, censorship; Christian, Muslim and Jewish fundamentalisms; rigged elections, murderous foreign policies, slaughtering of indigenous peoples and their cultures, state-funded terrorism, state-funded lies and unfounded fear campaigns, sexist and homophobic laws and statements, brutal violence on all levels against non-whites, impunity, corruption… the list is endless. These are but a few adjectives that describe all of the governments today, not just Mubarak or Ben Ali, or Ahmadi Najad."

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

for tess


lovely sauce liquid

dancing soles


tossed down to the below

underground echo of

voiceless pipes

the gutter don’t flow

in the summer I go where the mud dries

to redden my eyes

ready my soul for oblivion

shred the self to tattered bits

leave the parts I don’t need in it

piles of shit


from archaic monkey tribes

who’s greed halted evolution

they believed in an answer

like us

where there is none

no solution but the question ritual psychic


one salutation to the sun we worship

the light because it

gives us life

and sight

matter in the dark plane devoid of inhabitants

the same gods can take this gift

swiftly as it takes to blind

the naïve we return to

divination searching for

what I never had anyways and

grieving my losses

oh lovely lost spirit

I so carelessly

left aside

Thursday, February 17, 2011

Monday, February 14, 2011

Georgia Prisoners Organize Largest Prison Strike In U.S. History

“..ON MONDAY MORNING, WHEN THE DOORS OPEN, CLOSE THEM. DO NOT GO TO WORK. They cannot do anything to us that they haven’t already done at one time or another. Brothers, DON’T GIVE UP NOW. Make them come to the table. Be strong. DO NOT MAKE MONEY FOR THE STATE THAT THEY IN TURN USE TO KEEP US AS SLAVES….”This was the message sent out by one of the strike leaders on the fifth day of the largest prison strike in U.S. history. What started out on Dec. 9 as a coordinated strike in at least five of Georgia’s state prisons was originally intended to last only a day, but quickly evolved into a larger, longer struggle when prison officials locked down a number of the prisons. The strike was coordinated by a network of prisoners using cell phones that were smuggled into the prisons. If caught with a phone, a prisoner could face five more years in prison.

read more at infoshop the most important site for world news

Monday, February 7, 2011

Sleep, Eat Food, Have Visions

nothing to hold

sound oscillations permanent metal air

conditioned mental hospital hair

observations on old folks

tired tantrum attacks

walkers in the snowy eyes

of grandchildren

one way mirror to a

clear eyed god

a law abiding citizen

turning inside out for the king

bending over sideways

as the instructor stretches her purple spandex

leading the man upstairs


via mechanical chair

large bosom

Philipino nurse

checking my temp

forcing down meds

feeding my head with her sweet lies

how I won’t die tomorrow

slowly everyday

each hour is pain

beyond relief I

sleep two hours a night because

I don’t believe in dreams anymore

they don’t visit me

much like my children and the rest of them

family ties are strong as

my eyesight

I know death is bliss thinking

too much

I remember how you

kissed in the dark

and now in the evanescent morphine body buzz

fleeting high of happiness

as I drift off

dizzy smelling disinfectant and scented candles somehow

there is no longer an I or me

or you

nothing to hold but the infinite



that we truly are

Sunday, February 6, 2011

head massage

course hair


golden grass pathways

I’m going to go through this

open field

and after the ground gives in

where the sea wins

bursting blue-white-birds

spraying waves


really timeless movements

ancient letters or

a code

I’m deciphering the

distance between us

running close to the edge of

crazy and dead in a dark place

facing her again above

black and silver schools

clouds of swimming


leaves falling

men trimming giant’s


like a hedge

grind me like a garbage disposal

downing drano-booze


doom filling my head

the chamber rising over lungs

and city lights reflecting through

splitting cells

shit storms of nothing

raindrops end

under the microscope


Friday, February 4, 2011

rusty old pipes

slipper piercing

goddamn these cheap things

worn down things

mimosa thorns and leaves

shells and shattered bits of Heineken bottles

Hawaiian emeralds

right on my own beach!

earth and sky kiss

with no building disruption

or phallic mountains

just grass and brush

stroking my ankles passionately as I float through them

usually it itches or bothers

but now they love me

and I can go on living


because a place can share such feelings

I was sharing my blood and voice

with her crashing cry

blue green and white to the mud


tiny bits of coral

biting at me

basalt seat imprinting on my skin

starting my

emergence into the wet

flowing force of her divinity


Thursday, February 3, 2011


frightened by dust and echoes

paranoia settling beneath silky smooth


these memory

foam impressions I had

just ideas that reoccurred

as apparitions on the edge of my eye

opening the head with a

pickaxe like tool

sometimes right through the socket

I tried to run away from them

but their smoke followed

as I exhaled white ghosts

flying with me past


yellowing the blackness in this lighting age



disease! oh sickening thoughts!

life broken down

to her core

isn’t worth it to a dead man camera

angles falling

shaking at the gun

pointed downwards to him

images like this

flashing bulb

light house memories

warnings of steep tragedy and rocky

shallow reefer


I know

I’m getting ridiculously closer to


but further from the trail

losing track of time

the path is

slipping away

till I cant find you anymore

and I’ve nothing to answer

or say to you anyways

sweet mirror

balled face

forgetting I’ll never be free of

you dear vibrating

echoing memory of this place

dahga bloom

I need to relocate

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

The Revolution in Egypt

A thoroughly inspiring article

Tuesday, February 1, 2011


electric bicycle

white chick running by I know

the bus is never coming

and the sun is still getting high

I’m so toasty

I’m bakin’

takin’ in my turn

my words are burning

forget them!

I feel ashed out like a cigarette

tapped on the boot like a pipe

lit all night in the dark

chocolate blackness of the moist air

sometimes dreams are not sweet but sour

sometimes I’m running from something

but I get this rush off the chase

the hunt or the game or whatever

you want it to be

I’m fighting for my life

or maybe fighting living it

feigning desire for freedom

but really killing my own by

risking everything for shallow independence

perhaps I’m just greedy and wicked

in pending vengeance for the defenseless

stripped naked child of an ego

refusing to let go of this sick urge

for black market cash

this whole scheme will lash back and

it needs to be changed

you know

I’ve aged

and realize now

a new face of crime is


the creative nature

extracts the ancients mother

with my mixture comes a new scheme

or another world+