Writing as Resistance

“The Goal: an era of investigative poesy wherein one can be controversial, radical, and not have the civilization rise up to smite down the bard. To establish and to maintain it. POETS MAY REMAIN IN THE RADIX, UNCOMPROMISING, REVOLUTIONARY, SEDITIOUS, ABSOLUTE.”
—Ed Sanders, 1976

Universe become a black box like the individual human experience, our

Souls delimited into a control system

. Rather than each individual being a part of the whole universe, we are subjects of a control system, the environment is excluded from the cybernetic mind; becoming a resource to be exploited like human consciousness becomes an energetic mine.


Texts flatten youth,
like possessions use
the classes their rulers make up.



            Mooned by full moon, dark strikes not the bright light
                        Up high in stark quietness obliged
Not by the divinity of any holy ghosts spirited in wind, swiped
            Pipe smoked the devil stashed tobacco, debacle beneath hide
                        Fleas bite the imaginative corner of totalitarian dream, might
Does not make right of fleas bite into an alligator strike
            For the people, not blind
            By the people, odds dined
            Of the people? . . . . neigh
Find cosmic rhymes in dictatorship: a butt-kiss sick sign {-}

25 June 2021; 1:12pm


The golden apple
is the struggle for immortality,
power and knowledge.
It is hierarchical permanence 
or more precisely its
           striving forth 
which drives all conflict.



Beauty, easy to say yet gorgeousness boundless on earth neither heard nor seen by the herd. . .
Birds flitter wings of anxiety amidst the dark clouds of perplexity, rushing home to their families for the lightening brings with it the thunderous roar moments before the downpour, no mercy at all. .
Bald mountains slowly take shapes, like monsoon green cakes, here and there we see emerald flakes, rocks of dark crimson lay awake down from the peak creek, deep not the crystal water clear albeit the top it’s near. .
Flocks of flight dotted the sky: draw lines, take shapes, rainbow curved up the eastern horizon coloring the ranges, river to the west reflects sliver though sometimes the silver-lined clouds cover the setting sun. .
Bountiful gifts of nature nurtured not by citifying but by dumbing all of us to natural state of minds blinding a bit at times.

12 June 2021


General Strike as a State 
           of Mind, for
The Market is all your Life
           has in store.
The World is War, all the 
           Time, war. 


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