Cogitus Rex

The two, like characters from a fairytale, lived down the road from the good place. They had wasted their years in vanity and consumption and had nothing to show but a shabby house. They hated their limitations, they hated each other too. When he or she would get a chance to visit the good place, they brought their bile and poured it in glasses to serve all around. The people of the good place overlooked such evil, wishing instead to be accepting of differences. This bothered the crone to no end. She found someone new to hate. She developed a tale that would make the good place bad. Her lies she would craft to make all the virtue she had been shown, dissolve in a lie of epic proportions. But she made sure to hide it from all who offered a sympathetic ear. She painted all the kindness as imposition, she tarnished good names for her own amusement. Sadly, it was the community that suffered from the lies. The good place remained good and the 2 never found their way back to it again.

I wonder how anyone can live by giving away all their integrity. To be critical of another and then accept their invitations. To be willing to be used by someone who is busy recuperating their failures by associating with reputable people. I am not of this cut, I stay where I have put myself after coming to terms with the facts of a situation . If you don't value your own judgment, if you can be swayed by a cheap meal served by a cold and calculating face, then I don't want to see yours. I am happy to be alone as much as I am, for I find the fakes just too much to take. But for those who would be my friends, I say, do not play yourself, because once you have been played, you are no longer in my game. I choose my friends carefully, I don't put them in place to be fooled by them. So listen, if you care to have my ear, listen closely to what I say... If you cozy up to liars and such I 'll not have you in my way. They say it is a fool who makes his world smalle

Opposing forces are organized politically. The dominant force establishes governments. The governments derive their power from consent. The consent flows from the public which is composed of factions that define the opposing forces in a society. The notion of authority being derived is the central notion of representative government. As the factions that support the government begin to become disaffected from policies the governments impose, the nature of government changes. It becomes the state. Government becomes corrupted into the state as less of it's authority is derived legitimately. Then the image of government is imposed on the public, government becomes repressive. Such is our time that we face a grand opposition. The opposing forces are squaring off again, but this time there will be conflict specifically directed against the state. It has come this far.

He had that mixture of arrogance and intelligence that made his mind attractive to thinkers and threatening to everyone else. He even revelled in his smugness at times, realizing that affectation was as much a tool of persuasion as facts and sound arguments. It had served him well, earning him a good income in the rarefied cultural environment of the wealthy and culturally influential. His knowledge, experience and skills, had made his life comfortable. He had rubbed elbows with the greats of contemporary art, the collectors and shining stars from both coasts were no stranger to him. He had enjoyed many conversations with masters in their field who often ended up disagreeing with his points but would remain engaged... "He was the kind of old fool that burst into a house, shouted nonsense and returned twice more to drive the point home." To be "enabled" means so little on the face of it. Unless one finds oneself disabled, limited, perhaps by an

It's a wall we build to hide the other side of ourselves from our view. On either side we hide all those who we are who we would rather not be Our ideals straddle this wall like some eggman waiting to fall but all along firmly glued to the spot   We are what we are not we fail to see too often the other side of this contradiction Our loving ideals reduced to pure fictions on either side of our divide from our truths we must hide unpleasant to see the inability to live up to what we claim incapable of focus, we end up lame Yet no one is perfect and better to be honest at least in bright daylight with open eyes ready to see that we aspire and fail, but not for lack of trying it's because we are cracked and involuntarily lying it hurts too much to see ourselves as all that which we think "not me" but it doesn't end there it never ends, the best would be to become an honest friend to the people on the other side o

Into the deep blue of a night sky pour my lone soul and let the four winds blow these feelings to her. Ask the magic of the moons caress and the sparkle of stars to change the forlorn to a smile, plant on her lips this kiss I can't give and fill her heart with all I long to say. Send raven clouds direct and swift as sparrows, to wing my missing joy by her bedside a day away. Awaken her with the smile I save for her beautiful face. Great wheels race, take this melancholy, enraptured of darkness, and speed the distant moment of return nearer to this place where separated lovers meet. Mantle dark, which blankets many a sad lament, take this weight of waiting, lift it to the void, for my strength can only bring it to me on this wrinkled bed which sags in the spot where she would lay. Throw off this cover, rend these stifling sheets, urge the breeze she keeps to wrap me instead and air this space of

...the moment comes when you find the center is a falsehood, the road will kill you surely as a stroke rejects the heart of hell rising up to greet you, to share your triumph, festooned in garlands of fruit and roses kissed by the cupid, shot by panthers, that roam the streets of all small ventures... toast your success and wait for the other shoe to fall, trip up partners, search for new mates and twist the meanings of words so they glean an advantage, gold gleams and silver is pretty, the heart hardens as the years drip from open vanity, you never knew, it didn't matter and the day comes at last... push those hands deep into these pockets and deliver the freedom of kingdoms to me, return the old sweaters to the mall, visit the garden of wisdom, save the experience of wilderness and bleed the animals for adventure, we build a better nature than she does so we win the game, and you think it's me you're fooling... where there is love the world goes round and when the

Citystupid and the light doesn't shine in my eyes blind longing and filling up the emptiness in streets that reek of unknown piss beer bottled up inside molds to stink and tar is its bed in the company of fines and arrest and filthy clothes borrowed from the charitable dumpster complete dissolution the dream of surviving and survival's fit only to be rejected for being glazed over  as ice in winter muscles emaciated so eyes can't  see giving up the ghost and keeping the lovely bottle trade me in for the deposit trade me in and keep the empty trade me in and keep the change trade me in I'm too stupid now to live in the city. podo

So this is the future... a lashing wind that blows hard enough to rip plants out of the ground and leave them dangling to the lines that had held them secure the ties transformed in nooses, little dead tomatoes wither the rains, too light, carried on the winds loosen the soil, making roots meaningless rotting saplings slowly yellow in the crater where they once stood firm even the sky, once all blue now cloven, like hoof part grey and menacing part azure, offering escape but no escape is available not from the mess we've made and too little too late is cold comfort when there's nothing on your plate my friends, there is no friend for a friend would have stopped upon realizing the damage being done no friend and not friendly the response is coming and on this evil wind comes the messenger warning of the fall, of the end of it all not just here, no. everywhere from desert to mountain and sea to shining sea, from rounded hilltops to rolling

Loganberries grow slowly vining their way across the ground stretching out spiny limbs to hug the earth setting little roots in to the moist loam sprouting new clusters of leaves they must be very patient because once started no stunted growth will express a part in the glory of a fruit as big as my thumb, loganberries in shades of green, pink, red and black surrounded by flowers that promise more bounty they like moist and hot, they like to be near rocks they hang from the trellis by the bodega keeping company with the grapes that also vine but don't hug, only strangle with curling fingers wrapped tightly around a node Loganberries are not friendly though they stick soft skin with harsh thorns pricking the fingers that try to groom and harvest them, much like a lion who will not suffer its mane be combed.

the       wind               blows                    hard     the   branches            it rips off                          the trees       litter              the                    ground around                                                  the cabin       they       lay on the        browning     leaves scraped                                                             off the limbs yesterday          the wind                        is          constant                           for       days with              powerful gusts            i n t h e n i      gh t                                that push the trees to the limit                                                   of their                                     ability to           withstand         this                     gale                         eucalyptus suffers, but                                                does not break while                      juniper           becomes                

I hate fucking liars those who fan flames hiding behind false demeanour as they craft pathetic games. I hate those fakes all smiles and light in reality they bring you a deadly fight. I hate those who value my wife, while trying to figure out how to get her out of my life. I hate those who pretend to be friend the ones who would take from me but not be there at the end. I am no lover of manipulative charms their only real intent to bring us their harm. I am no lover of wordsmiths or poets, hiding behind words like I don't even know it. Pretenders to the throne those all alone who covet what is out of reach for them. The danger of others, alligator smiles conceal the bite that smothers. I hate them all, for being unreal for lying about what they really feel. I hate them yes, because that is justice and I wish they would return to their mothers.

I am not a volleyball despite what some may think. I am an honest man, I work hard and I stink. I am not some pseudo-man acting one way while hiding another, pretending to be me. I could just as well be my brother. I am not invisible, I am not bandaged and hidden. I am the one so few encounter, I am what is obvious and given. But in a world of players in this world where truth matters little I am still not a cats toy,  I will not be covered in spittle. So play your games, hoist your net, but don't be surprised or saddened at what you'll never get. Some men are real, some men are fake, I am not a man who wishes to be on your plate. Some women are fish, some men are fishers but I've never ever been one to cast a line to so-called well wishers. I am He, who plants corn and spinach and broccoli, I am He who waters those in need, I am not a porn star or a man who values deceit. I am a man, an honest one best I

Idealized and glorious  the friend ship sailed the glassy sea the crew was steadfast, loyal and brave as friends often need to be for each other, all for one and one could be thee, and I must sail true because we are sailors on this sea and none can walk on water nor should need ever be yet storms appear from time to time and the friend ship must confront each wave and sine signing off on patience, understanding that respect is what floats the ship each sailors duty done and none are bound to the mast for none would dare be the  others last. The friend ship, sails through storms and gales,  it steers by an ever fixed mark as playwrights and poets have said and philosophers too Yet the friend ship too must dock and at no expense dispense the passengers as due, for sometimes these bonds dissolve, and people part their ways, separated naturally, as a ship will disappear between the cresting waves.

Riposte... Passersby, not passers buy the problem of the world is that not everything is on sale, nor is everything to be had. The milk is never free, even after you’ve bought a cow there is always more milking, more caring, more feeding, and the land has even greater needs. Free at last, but not free to last? Is that what anyone wants? What pertains to others, does not pertain to me. Free from the very first. No news is good news, but bad news travels faster. So many will not notice because it isn’t nice, transform oneself into a cube of ice. The state of a union is unity, the state of covetting is want The state of happiness is clear the state of doing what is right. And right is what is left when the false dreams and expectations fall away “scales from eyes”, as the elders used to say. Passersby, a glimpse is gotten but such privilege is not a right. Associations path is accident that happens, and “Where have I been all my life?” is the most

 Awake sleep insomnia the quiet of the night, deepest slumber denied but still I dream but the dream becomes words in sequence like passing seconds that mark my solitude the veil, dark, covers the land the wind, strong scours the trees the sleep that evades me the day that starts before the others even waken and after so many years after so many meetings in front of this screen my lack of sleep is not a lack of rest but a nap, waiting to happen and waiting is what insomnia teaches  

An armadillo has decided that our farm is very tasty and digs holes every square meter looking for worms and grubs to eat It entered my garden yesterday and set my dogs barking but I was asleep and my wife decided that it was best to leave the night to the unknown This resulted in there being numerous holes along the edge of the fence and by the foot of the beds, little piles of soil that traced the hunt But how such a beast works through the night making hundreds of dents in my fields, inviting my little dogs to dig as well is truly a marvel So what shall we do, I asked our man and he said that it would be best to evict this nighttime guest and in the same breath reminded me that it only eats earthworms and that it wont touch the crops So despite a search a shovel digging in any hole found in earth the armadillo is still unseen and tonight I may leave the doors open enough for the dogs to cha

'Alone again naturally...' the words from a popsong                                                                   Nothing and no one are imaginary Only being in the midst of the real is real                                                                          Alone is a false perception because Being is relation and primarily that                                                                   Nothing can't exist no one can not be When I try to be me I find the rest of us                                                                      It is important to note that we Seek for a sense of self                                                             We yearn to be individual and we deny that such Is only a slight degree of change                                                                 A trick of the mind a bubble of thought That floats in a space more crowded than not

Picking up where I left off... the brushes have been waiting patiently... Now the yellow light that tints the clouds before the arrival of night invite me to see The way the edge of a cloud will shimmer when it competes against the darkening sky when tension can be a spectacle fine and mauve  is a compromise The rays of whitehotgold stream past faster than fast not my sight which lingers in the soft greyblue of a cloud shadow dumbstruck As the great wheels race, tracing arcs across the sky a violet overtakes the scene punctuated with the first dots My eye now takes it all in as one I sweep vision broad along the horizon majesty is not for a better name is sought than to leave it untitled.

--> Loneliness / void we toss ourselves away into that bottomless hole, failing to notice no amount of company can fill a space where                                                         you don't exist Hollow is self undiscovered                                                                         I useless desire that guides from outside Void isn't                                                                              me absent from my world nothing can fill what is never                                           present nothing will complete                                                      what isn't    animal that looks for itself find a face is a mirror                                            find a face in a mirror

A birthday gift to all who have failed to grow up, to all who think that friendship is a negotiable currency, to all who think they can be whoever without concern for anyone else, to all the fakes who smile at you while lying to themselves, to all who say that they love you, without even really knowing you, to all who think that appearances are what counts, to all who never worked harder than they needed to, to all who submit to bullshit instead of railing against the fools, to all who stand by and watch while the psychopaths they elect destroy the world built by better people than we , to all who discard without a thought for where the trash ends up, to all who consume because they know no better, to all the hollow characters that haunt others lives hoping for meaning, to all the followers of celebrity, to all who believe the justifications of the fearfully violent, to all who never awaken from the pipe dream of riches, to all who destroy youth to save the children,

We are fragile, little thin-skinned beings. Even insects have more to protect them. They hardly give a care, as they go about their tasks. We complain and cry, we are unhappy and dont really know why. The beetle carries on, even when all it has to eat is shit. We want gluten-free life, so we don’t have to feel the actuality of “it”. Bees work, arduously, not in anticipation of a day or a weekend free. But if we don’t get a break at 10:30, for a smoke or a coffee? Well…it’s just so unfair. Not red in tooth and claw are we, not even fit to roam the forest at night, not ever to burn more brightly than our meager lamps allow. A cockroach and his kin will be kings the day after tomorrow, the same as it was in a carboniferous age they remember, in some ancient memory. Like little pink things that wriggle in fur-lined nests, we are so soft and oh so very weak. But evolution offers a way to change, to toughen up and be free outside the cage. We can become strong, in the face o

..it is to walk outside the lines within a tradition I value to let the four footed be a caterpillar of smells sought tails wagged, talk barked next to trees leaving a stream that others will see along the edges of the land, the fence barbed wire and banana trees flowering daisies and okra down the slope along the edge that keeps the cows from coming across the stream under the guayaba, near the papaya a hole dug by an unseen guest who walks at night to see where I've been during the day my dogs smell the absent one and after a few circles and a piss the walk heads up the hill.

Rain dark is the grey cloud cover the wind drives the raindrops sideways the birds and other tree dwellers are hidden in the forest. The parched land, its body spread wide opens her mouths and drinks deep the gathering gloom. Like a woman tired after too much days work all she wants is a warm bath, a shower will suffice but nicer still to lay in the tub and let the water wash away the grime and the heat.