book for sale

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first,

thanks to everyone who has been reading throughout the years

second,

i’ve published a book of stuff from this site here.

(don’t worry. i left out all the really shitty stuff.)

please support the Benevolent Economy that we all hold so dear, and buy this book.

i am 30 years old, and although i have always dreamed of writing a book, i don’t know that i ever thought it would actually happen.

to be fair, i took the easy way out and self-published.

but whatever.

my words are in print, and i am happy about it.

so thank you very much for reading.

cheers to a better world someday… or right now.

whichever is fine.

sincerely,

image

your shameless author

war chest

just park that jet on grandma.

put the tank in the library.

let’s store these grenades in that school.

drive that humvee over to the junk heap.

there’s a pond for that naval vessel.

this prison will go great with our dog pen.

course you can fly your drones where you’d like.

barbed wire? there’s more back in the baby’s crib,

she don’t mind. she’s little.

 

 

fuck this seriously

welcome to

post-truth,

god-money,

buy buy buy world.

where

the vortex of our collective ignorance

is swirling in the pit of our guts.

together

we’ve broken ourselves apart.

 

striving towards a store bought life.

a gate to keep out guilty thoughts of privilige

and poor people.

existing because economy.

 

fake-news land.

real vs. fake as in:

the russians are coming!

pizza-pedos hide in plain sight!

this election was a battle between two sides!

it all becomes real because

no one knows what is

fake.

 

schools flushed down the toilet.

left vs. right forever.

this hollow land

viewed through a screen

is suffocating in its complete lack

of ambition and kindness and

purpose.

 

there is no other purpose

for everything or

anything other

than money.

bills on a pallet,

numbers in a numbered account

that no one wants you

to know about.

 

blood of the kids?

our greatest treasure.

humongous footprints of evil

that look like craters on a dead planet.

we are ants in the shadows of

cthulu.

bring me the head of terror and

i know it will be a

white man.

 

shuffle the papers,

say ‘i don’t recall,’

win the game with lawyers.

don’t forget to take

their curtains. i know

the baby is screaming in

his dead mother’s bleeding arms

but there’s a market

for tragic collectibles.

 

there’s no fighting this monster

which is us.

the invisible hand guides us in relation

to one another, but

maybe we were supposed to be alone.

there is purity in the humble self.

peace in meditation, introspection,

silence

 

or we could just share,

give, awaken ourselves

to our own evil.

we could give relentlessly

to fight away our greed.

 

my dad has a poster,

“teamwork: none of us is as dumb

as all of us.”

we will destroy this planet.

hubris is what tells us

we’ll survive. that we’re

resillient enough.

we are the unsinkable

species. nevermind

the rest.

 

if you need me, i’ll be

reading books to kids in an

elementary school bunker

that is everyday closer to

being taken away.

 

and the kids,

all born since this war was 8,

well,

fuck them, right?

 

we will use them later

to die for our

what-have-you…

peace of mind?

 

 

this infinity sandwich

pi is the

perpindicular needle

which threads together

pages and pages

and pages

and pages

of dimensions.

 

(consider the toothpick’s role

in a turkey club.)

 

it pierces the parallel spaces

where we do

or don’t

exist.

 

(not every layer

in the turkey club

is bacon.)

 

it governs the laws across all

physical dimensions.

 

(you can’t make a

sandwich with

nothing.)

 

to find the end of pi

is to find god.

 

(eating the sandwich

will be

everything.)

 

to find god is to

love and pity

our human nature.

 

(we just had

the opportunity

to actually eat

a sandwich,

but

are we  grateful?)

 

which is why

we won’t find it.

 

(we are complaining

to the waiter about

the bill.)

 

i don’t mean to

overstate the significance

of humanity.

 

(we are just a glob of mayo

on one of many,

many layers.)

 

but if we could

pierce our hearts

on pi,

we might actually see

elsewheres which

exist on other

pages.

 

(as mayo we inspect

the toothpick and notice

that outside of

what we know

there is also bread,

lettuce, tomato,

etc.)

 

or maybe i’m just hungry and

am tired of being

mayonnaise

 

from this

 

when gagging on

the stench

of death’s hot sewer

breath,

one remembers

the flower smell

in a lover’s hair.

 

i tell myself

fear is

transcendable.

 

runaway injustices

stampede our bodies

and stomp on our faces,

crushing air from our lungs and

shitting on our brains.

 

they say we’re dead, but

we still claw at

the lid of the coffin.

 

darkness is absolute

except for the light behind

our eyes that we cannot

seem to extinguish.

 

we get close in the dark coffin.

 

then she whispers,

‘i’m pregnant.’

 

‘i’ll save it,’ i say, and

i prepare the hanger.

 

 

but the baby comes fast,

faster than our wheezing

breaths.

 

it comes.

its little hand melts

the walls and eviscerates

the monsters in

our darkblind eyes.

 

this baby is so strong.

stronger than us.

 

we teach it all we know,

which we know is not enough.

 

for instance,

we cannot teach her how

to get out of

this.

 

our bodies turn to dust.

 

she is a seed in dead soil.

 

elsewhere

i remember st. helens

and the life after

explosion.

 

i see a slender fawn

gallop through a

world of ash.

 

i cry and see it rain.

our baby sticks her tongue out

to catch the water.

 

her mother taught her that.

 

i think,

maybe she will make it.

maybe.

 

she just might.

 

 

 

great fire

ashes blow down streets empty

except for the homeless.

the fire burns nearby, in

the city heart.

scorched bodies stench

collapsed building dust

and smoke.

there is no water to spray.

there is no trust or hope

of any sirens or help.

every where is another

great fire.

the fire divided

and conquered.

consolidated, then

consumed.

flamelicking the skin

off child bodies dead

from too much smoke,

the fire burns.