I can turn the whole world off by closing my eyes, so cover your intentions while sky reflects on sky It’s raining outside but I got this umbrella, it’s an easy metaphor low hanging fruit can taste better when you share it with your friends and you’ll all live together, forever and ever, forever or never The Will eclipses and positions but can love without condition I wanna see the thing in-itself I wanna be the thing in-itself god bless us mammals, every one I was a camel, a lion, and a child of the sun, god bless us mammals, every one I have indiscriminately sinned, (suspicious metaphor) seen pouring in some funny, only cortisol-sequestered door, in dimensions of the witches I found no corporeal experience or anything that could amount to something more, bisected every scale that read “thou shalt,” I ate the apple core, closed eyes as I looked up and turned perception inward toward burnt shadows in the ceiling long enough to make the muscles sore, learned goodness insofar as goodness in and of its own accord ...but still I’m bored.

Thousands of volcanoes burst forth with scarlet magma holding dormant potential beauty in the form of newborn rock. These incredibly active gateways to the very inferno Dante pilgrimized dress the planet as a sulfuric hellscape, and one that looms over the head of its neighboring planet’s inhabitants as a grim vault of negative potential, a threat lurking deep in our collective subconscious that this is our rock’s future. While the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change asserts with sinister undertones that earth can’t possibly mirror its climate by our volition, many astronomers believe that vast oceans of cool liquid water once decorated its surface. For all we know, in a past that precedes all memory, these oceans teemed with life. The more we learn the more we realize we have no fucking idea what we’re talking about. After all, all our math buckles under the pressure within a black hole. Water vapor traps heat in the form of sunlight, and in turn the increased heat evaporates more water, a disastrous and ever-intensifying cycle, much like the cycles we dig our future selves and past selves into. Ultimately, this means that we likely won’t suffer in a clone of this blatant and tangible slaughterhouse, but we “yearn for what [we] fear for”. Many will survive, but we are one. From the first breath of the elusive newborn narwhal to the vast 2,385-acre body of armillaria ostoyae, consciousness begets consciousness as sky reflects on sky. You can feel it behind your pupils, all things as all people are interconnected so delicately and so dearly at the submicroscopic, subconscious liquid mantle of being and nothingness. If it doesn’t work for everyone, then it doesn’t work for anyone. Perhaps hope lies solely in the nebulous construct of measurable time, a futile grasp at the puff of smoke from that final cigarette. If the microwave radiation at the edge of the known universe we’re observing billions of years in retrospect due to the speed of light across distance tells us anything, it’s that time is malleable. There’s no decade and there’s no day, 
just the rotation of moving rocks in space. If we can leave the solar system, we can learn to do good, 
but... what does it mean to do good? Whether in time or in space, we will raise the standard of the very word. Mill rolls in his grave at the thought that the greatest good for the greatest number is no longer enough. The ability to reason brings along with it the ability to empathize. If it doesn’t work for everyone, then it doesn’t work for anyone.

Photograph the quark cause it can’t be missing Turn it on and off if the brakes start hissing Culture pirouettes like a nova cluster Then blindly set ablaze the poise you can muster There’s no incantation to hold the stars at bay to slow the glacial pace of el shaddai verge Fried lysergamide televangel, a self-help gesture to cope in common codices, self-certified to sell all those common courtesies Courier to cater to lazy nothing Exhume the curiosity, kill its conscience Get on and off the autowalk till its ending Tug all the tiny veins that are circumventing New sea level rising, fool for polar blinding Soon the gulfs are drying, troposphere cracks and the trees are winding One limb is ripped from another as engines crack and spurt along the sun-cooked highway at high noon Mountains level and insolent magma cores thresh from their seedling source, gnashing at unphased gods Mobs march on while boulders uproot and tremble with jaundiced malaise in a sea likened to crystal against its scattered shore While hopeless disenchantment baked in bricks are propelled through bank windows once more There’s no incantation to hold the stars at bay to slow the glacial pace of el shaddai verge Fried lysergamide televangel, a self-help gesture to cope in common codices, self-certified to sell all those common courtesies All is torn away when all is second to none and don’t perform an action that can’t be undone

n/a

Cataclysmic stellar Exordium of another Apoptotic program inside out, infinite Mass distorting fabric spacetime, kiss the cusp of extruded light Extant, extinct, thinking, “I am Mind but I am blind” To Now Up Down Leap Of Faith Weight Height Mass Size Can’t Re- Flux In vicarious ache Thoughts become concave Conscious of itself Serpent eats its tail

The Will eclipses and positions but can love without condition. (this song features a sample of Joseph Campbell reading Chief Si'ahl's letter on "The Power of Myth" VHS)

Froze between the room and the zone, the beam Buckles with the weight applied slow, strung with Blinking lights all bound to a rope, feel the radiating pains of each one, and each Cries a middle thoracic blow, watching planetary wheezing and groans, lament telescopic lung rales and moans Liquid diamond ocean floor Osteoclastic social norm parabolic vertex or Tipping point toward life no more Veins flushed clean with mercury strife becomes medullary titanic simulacrum Feel the program shutting down Seven sibilant systemic sins Hemorrhaging to rupture within, looking Abiogenetic and bare, postpartum Postal potion posing despair, Sunsets used to hold so much grace, but now symbolize elapsing time’s race Mono no aware, each taste ephemeral no amount of intellect Could reverse all epithets make divided mass regret Enough to end all dissent No big words could make you care Don’t need prophets to declare Beginning or ending where Each person will blankly stare A state of emergency All our hopes are out to sea All life on earth on its knees Pleading for security Sublimate uncertainties hear unpresbycutically The oneiric hums beneath clouds’ seraphic symphony emote paroxysmally Excavate the will to breathe eschew all your legacies Leave footprints and those only If I’m breaking out of here, we are breaking out of here

Sit in the cavern with arms folded tight, I stand close to the center, a torrent of light but I can’t seem to place it to language or eye while the world of our washbowl explodes left and right Always the watcher, look out on the stone where a single grasshopper licks dirt on its own and I’m waiting for something to leave me a sign but each time I get close it won’t leave me alone so I’ll speak for the ocean, tear muscle from bone if it answers the question of “cannot be known”