God's a Sonofabitch

Devoid of fear with no need of courage
a unique place that so many call ourselves
sits buried under flesh and thinking ground
in burial always recognized but rarely ever felt.

Alabaster purity of single purpose
where we dream that everything makes sense?
Maybe where gods themselves are found
and souls evolve, arise, and are incensed.

The questions remain all asked,
though the starting point remains unclear,
if all the ends justified the means
then why are we still here?

Are we built for greater things,
or is there nothing left to fuel.
Does god remain high above,
or does human energy amount to a sacred pool?

When the pain of asking is all through,
and all the walls are broken,
do we sit in furious love and take the beating
our wicked recognition the wounding token?

If not now, then when and why will the light sound like a shout?,
We all search for it in absent things,
that once we cared about.

Music Inside

Filigreed fucks with papers all Johnny-on-high,
diagnose another cluck with illness
so long adrift it must be because they don’t try.
Embrace that soft noise
make it part of your heart,
believe you’re insane though it tears you apart.
Now wrap up all tight into desperation and love,
never feel certain and it fits like a glove.
It’s not that it’s wrong,
hell it’s probably right,
but we dance to our own tunes,
even into the shadows,
coming out of the night.

Sinking in the Snow

Snowflakes kept outside the box
where glass can’t soothe the heat,
internal networks are diamond cast
shed no light to speak.

In microcosmic glory
where the radars are turned up high,
we smelt our fears to brightly shining things
bid nothing but hell goodbye.

Until the final moments
when awareness creeps cross your spine,
it’s been nothing but elder days
dropping messages to sink in seas of time.

No more glistening rainbows
with colors meaningless and pure
it’s all come down to nothing now
when love lost, and found,
was only the last cure.

Brackish

There’s a miasma rising up in the fields of defeat

where stands wisdom and knowledge of hope as it crashed

broken and sour but flavored to taste so wonderfully sweet.

Where the rivers of flair have all run themselves dry,

moments of passion sit in ominous fashion,

Reflecting one last question I dread to ask—why?

Does it all matter or is it all derived from a ghost,

walking down the halls of memory,

playing shadowed film run through with smoke.

If nothing is true and life itself is the lie,

I’d beg for forgiveness,

say I’m sorry for every goodbye.

In those glimpses of purity

that forever I doubted,

lay drinkable water,

though it were horribly clouded.

Institutionalized Child Abuse – an outline and a solution.

I’m terrible at formatting on WordPress, but here is a very succinct set of slides on the issue of the Troubled Teen Industry and my proposed 5-step process to mitigate the damage being done to thousands of children annually, prevent further abuse, and compensate the victims and families of those who have subjected to this type of malicious programming.

All thoughts and feedback are welcome, this is a very personal issue, but with movements like #breakingcodesilence, podcasts like #TalkTroubled and the involvement of the Survivors of Institutionalized Abuse – there is a real opportunity to shut down a deceptive, profiteering, and vicious industry that has taken a toll on so many.

Thank you.

-S

#breakingcodesilence

Please support the end to institutionalized child abuse.

This petition is in support of new laws and regulations regarding programs that have systematically abused, tortured, scarred emotionally to a comparable degree of a soldier in combat, and financially ruined countless families – all for thousands of dollars and a promise to help desperate parents looking to help their children.


Reform the troubled teen industry Petition

New

A new morning where my head is going to be dampened with new knowledge and no sleep and some regrets mixed with enormous gratitude for what the world provides and the people in it.

Peace is elusive, just like anything else that gives tranquility, hard to come by for a brilliantly stupid man-boy like me. But it’s getting there as only broken things can, piece by piece.

No breakneck speed this time, no thrashing and flailing around to get it all done now. So slowly that you almost can’t even see it happening, the fragments of something never truly whole are dancing to their own demanding need to be complete.

Feels like something new.

Gods, Giants, Children & Men

Found this unexpectedly in my drafts folder, don’t remember writing it, but then again I don’t remember a lot of things in the ways that others do at least.

I don’t know that the entirety of any story,
will cover what I had wanted to say initially.
I don’t believe that the ideas are wholly there,
sitting more like clumps of clay
waiting for a better artist than I to mold.

I had a moment once where the world laid open its belly to me and told me to come close, listen at a heartbeat that thumped with mysteries beyond anything I had ever dreamed of before. A kiss to the forehead of reality and the absent blast from it’s withdrawal were the price. The air was a hazed crackle of something intangible and without form and face. A feeling left as an impression the walls of truth and the faded glories of all the wishes we had as children. When we were young enough to put our heads together and pass thoughts back and forth, pretending we were telepathic and could read each others minds. Racing the wind across the grass and stumbling because we felt we had grown wings to carry us at the speed of air. We were flying, brazen fuck yous to the established status quo of gravity bound worms that we had been, free to soar, smiles cutting our faces so broadly that they felt like they would never leave. It was a moment and a time when there was nothing impossible and anything you could think was only a moment of focus away from being achieved.

Close down to a belly thick with the furs of nature gone to shit and trees whistling with empty branches. An incoherent ramble across the soft pink that raised out a welcome heat in radiance and peace. Touch the skin with a shovel and pull the axe blade back out so that the blood could go free. Cinders and ash blasting away thoughts and giving the entertainment for the evening and the night as the moons went rising over the hillsides and into the ethereal realms which can be tasted in the heart and break the mind that walks through them.

Safely in the comfort of truth we could sit in the caverns beneath what you saw in the over world. We were realized and all to ourselves. Peaceful gods surrendering to the joy of being lighter than the air, more stable than the mountains outside. Fucking giants as children, children as men, and something gone to dust during the interim.

Something About Trees and Monsters

Simulacrum bonsai spirit shining bright,

tendril bushings famously tiny

sit so perfectly tight.

Clipped to stand proudly small,

deficiency rests on laurels deep inside

where no one fears the height

but is aware of the fall.

Watered down trivia the company kept,

guessing games fuel creativity

while vices rumble and trouble

until tranquility arrives, envelops and sets.

Your ghost is born on silent words,

freedom found out where they fly

unbound from earth by roots,

out in the open air

where birds sing and lost men die.