Last I looked the world shattered around me.
And now it's time for me to leave and pick the pieces up.
In a world of positive clarity,
nothing is clear anymore.
There is no right
and there is no wrong.
People come and people go.
The world is a horrible and beautiful place.
We are our final end.
We live as we die,
alone.
And we must be okay with this.

I want to be free of this heart.

I will miss you all.

Be strong.

Gentle Man Alone


The young maricones and the horny muchachas,
The big fat widows delirious from insomnia,
The young wives thirty hours' pregnant,
And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night,
Like a collar of palpitating sexual oysters
Surround my solitary home,
Enemies of my soul,
Conspirators in pajamas
Who exchange deep kisses for passwords.
Radiant summer brings out the lovers
In melancholy regiments,
Fat and thin and happy and sad couples;
Under the elegant coconut palms, near the ocean and moon,
There is a continual life of pants and panties,
A hum from the fondling of silk stockings,
And women's breasts that glisten like eyes.
The salary man, after a while,
After the week's tedium, and the novels read in bed at night,
Has decisively fucked his neighbor,
And now takes her to the miserable movies,
Where the heroes are horses or passionate princes,
And he caresses her legs covered with sweet down
With his ardent and sweaty palms that smell like cigarettes.
The night of the hunter and the night of the husband
Come together like bed sheets and bury me,
And the hours after lunch, when the students and priests are masturbating,
And the animals mount each other openly,
And the bees smell of blood, and the flies buzz cholerically,
And cousins play strange games with cousins,
And doctors glower at the husband of the young patient,
And the early morning in which the professor, without a thought,
Pays his conjugal debt and eats breakfast,
And to top it all off, the adulterers, who love each other truly
On beds big and tall as ships:
So, eternally,
This twisted and breathing forest crushes me
With gigantic flowers like mouth and teeth
And black roots like fingernails and shoes.

in the light of the fact
on the lone and level
sand stretch far away
in the heat of the action
in the settled dust
hold hold and sway
in the meeting of mind
down in the streets of shame
in the betting of names on gold to rust
in the land of the blind
be
king
we serve an old man in a dry season
a lighthouse keeper in the desert sun
sleepers of dreamers and white treason
we dream of rain and the history of the gun
there's a lighthouse in the middle of Prussia
a white house in a rogue state
I'm living in films for the sake of Russia
a kino runner for the DDR
and the fifty-two daughters of the revolution
turn the gold to chrome
gift, nothing to lose
stuck inside
drunk on freedom
stuck inside a new dominion...

At any given time, two million Americans are in jail, and only two states will let them vote while they're there. America puts more of its people in prison than any other country in the world, apart from Rwanda. I'm not going to get into the many iniquities of America's mass-incarceration policy right now, but it's worth noting that the slope of the pitch is increased by the so-called War On Drugs, which has systematically contravened the Universal Declaration On Human Rights and the Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh and Eighth Amendments to the American Constitution in its drive to ensure that one third of all black American men will spend some of their life in prison. And a lot of Hispanics. (And more than a few white people.) In a quarter of American states (including Florida), nobody with a felony conviction is ever allowed to vote again. Other US states make it possible, but difficult, to regain the right to vote after a felony conviction. In Florida, one third of the black male population already cannot vote. Half a million people are disenfranchised in this way in Florida alone. Bush "won" the American election by "winning" Florida by 537 votes. Go figure.

Dear Friends,

The United States is a nation at war, gas tops $3 a gallon’ deficits will amount to $5 Trillion over the next decade. Faced with that, society asks everything from the military and nothing from us but to spend out tax cuts. That’s predictable, perhaps, when politicians provide us permission-even in wartime or days of disaster. –to view taxes not as a way of protecting the welfare of fellow citizens and the homeland, but as simple theft that must end.
The belief that taxes are unnecessary remains a political persuasion and not a delusion so long as we pretend to see no link between spending and services. Our roads, for example, are completely incapable of dealing with what’s to come; yet many would chew through their seat belts in gridlock rather than pay an additional penny in taxes.
We will, however drive on these same overburdened roads to save that same penny at a big box dispensing cheap goods from foreign factories off shelves stocked by workers whose wages don’t begin to reach poverty line. Somehow, we fail to connect those shopping jaunts and the disappearance of U.S. manufacturing jobs, or the renewed march of poverty, or the fact that a record breaking millions can’t afford and don’t have health insurance.
America’s growing and certain affection for social Darwinism reaches its apex in the nations hospitals and doctor’s offices. The US health care system is enormously expensive and increasingly uneven, but we cling to it as if it’s perfect. The rest of the First World reaps the economic and social benefits of universal healthcare while America sows instead national bankruptcy. Rocketing costs are increasingly visited only on those who need care, an abrogation of the social contract when it’s needed most.
For a nation founded on hope, how did we become so brutal in our social calculus, so cynical in our national conversations, so incapable of believing in good intentions or the common weal?
Some fast growing industries are devoted to expanding divisions along racial lines, along income lines, along philosophical lines, even when tragedy should erase them. Disagreement is a requirement of a healthy democracy, but the modern breed of politician-liberal and conservative, professional and amateur-doesn’t debate so much as declare holy wars.
The ongoing divorce of Americans from America is suspended occasionally for immense tragedy. But if history is any indication, that spirit will fade too soon, buried in culture wars, by character assassinations, by a million petty differences others employ to divide us and fatten their wallets.
It would be easy to blame the nattering classes, in the media and in the halls of government for that and for the sorry state of American discourse and democracy. But we’re the ones who listen, even as we don’t vote, and don’t demand better.
There’s another way. In a few corners, away from the ranting and railing, reasoned discourse continues, even flourishes. You see it on a few blogs, in most newspapers, and occasionally of TV and radio. Mostly, you see it wherever Americans listen instead of shout, debate rather than declaim.
That is where hope lies.
The fading American social contract can be renewed with every thoughtful effort to understand our differences and similarities. That’s where our duties to society become clear, where the blaring operatives and divisive politicians grow silent and irrelevant. That’s where, in the end, we realize that we owe today’s instigators nothing, and owe each other everything.

So I've been reading "a brief history of everything" recently (again actually(or some would even go so far as to say infinitely)) and something crosses mind.

If the universe is infinite, then all things are possible.  infinite possibilitiy, infinite potential comes naturally from infinite space.  if this is true, then there are doubles for us.  exact doubles- not even quantum alternate us's.  not only would these exact doubles exist, but there would be an infinite amount of doubles for us.  There would be no room for the concept of indviduality.  But in an infinite space you get everything.  including individuality.   a paradox?

Don't worry yet, the thing is that you have your big (x+1) infinity, and your little infinity (X/2).  if you are constantly able to divide something in two, then we are crossing an infinite amount of space every time we move even a fraction of an inch and reaching from one end of infinity to another, but that isn't supposed to be possible.
Probably none of this is new thinking to you guys, but I think i fell behind the curve at some point

So i guess i'm hypothesizing that the universe isn't infinite, quantum realites aren't as cool as they probably could be, and that black holes and pokemons are the key to everything.

Welcome to infinitum theoretics beeyatch!

Nobody as far as I can see is making use of those elements in the air, which give direction and motivation to our lives. This age demands violence, but we are getting only abortive explosions. Revolutions are nipped in the bud
or else succeed to quickly. Passion is quickly exhausted. Men fall back on ideas and habit. Nothing is proposed that can last more than 24 hours. We are living a million lives in the space of a generation. Our time is a skeleton dancing in the wind, serpents issuing from the rotted tongue and the bloated pages of ecstasy slimed with excrement. And I will join my slime, my excrement, my madness, my ecstasy to the great circuit which flow
through the subterranean vaults of flesh. All this
unbidden, unwanted, drunken vomit will flow endlessly through the minds of those to come in the inexhaustible vessel that contains the history of the race.

But there is another race.
A race of artists who, goaded by unknown impulses, take the lifeless mass of humanity and by the fever and ferment with which they imbue it turn this soggy dough into bread
and the bread into wine
and the wine

into
song.

Sanctioning Art in The face of Turmoil

Art more often than not is born of the intelligences refusal to reason the concrete. Like expression, art begins where thought ends, and allows for the mind to get outside of itself and place it in opposition to others. Not for it to get lost but to show and reflect the blind path that all have entered on. The work of art embodies the drama of the intelligence and gives rise to culture. It is in fact the very backbone in which culture rests.

Now, I do not necessarily believe that their exists a deontological obligation as artists to interfere in the worlds affairs. However as men I do. For it is the goal of every artist to engage in the endless expedition to learn to speak the voice of the heart. If we choose to interfere as men then that experience will inexorably affect our language, and if we fail as artists of our own language, than what kind of artists are we?
It would be foolish to predicate the notion that the values of creation are in favor of those values pertaining to humanity, or vice versa for that matter. For in my mind you cannot discern the two, in fact it is a great means to measure the grandeur of an artist in how they manage the balance of the two. We must serve both suffering and beauty simultaneously for there is scarcely any passion without struggle.

However it is imperative as artist to avoid the lucrative temptation to believe his or herself solitary, when in fact they hear this shouted at them with a certain base of delight. But to rather realize that we stand as equals with those who are working and struggling. It is the very vocation of artists when in the face of oppression to open the prisons and give a voice to the sorrows and joys of all. I do not believe that art by itself can produce renascence, which implies justice and liberty. But without it that renascence would be without forms and, consequently, would be nothing. Without culture, and the relative freedom it implies, society, even when perfect, is but a jungle. This is why any authentic creation is a gift to the future.

Afterglow

the afterglow is best, when the green doors
are barred to the streetlights and the last of
them have cabbed their way away; saturday
inhales our friday smoke, transforms greys
into blue morning, offering the scent of snow
in trade for animosity: it loves you all all all.