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Of Self and the Other ~ Friday, August 14, 2026

They will patronize you for money, no? They, who are they, The They, just ask Martin he knows Das Man well, they greet you and smile exactly as if they were your best friend yes, they act cool, real cool but fake, pure spin widows black build their webs, red hourglass intricate, complicated, full of bile leave well alone, description in the end lessons learned, the mirror reflects the mind patronize the patrons, life without class ask Martin, the Nazi, a professor troll the web, the widow, that is the case rongwrong with Phil, The They, what is the score ontology starts with Edmund, the base nobody cares about Ludwig, unkind if I appear, I am sorry, no less zen as a guide does not make sense of this ego, as an elf on the shelf, to speak you know, about others, as to address ontological being as meaning understanding self and other, we kiss forget lost time, Marcel, observe this beak obtain capital, Mr. Gabidar real currency to spend, time spent cleaning money...
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Zen in Evanston ~ Tuesday, August 11, 2026

Umbrellas turn inside out in the wind maybe in Chicago where the wind blows blows, blows, cold gray stones skipping inside out remember not to fall in love, unbind empty dumpster divers in the city llamas at the Lincoln Zoo, the heart grows less fonder, closer or farther, I doubt ascertain the facts at hand, distance drives speculation, unknown, what a pity turn the cards over, hidden in plain sight umbrellas turn inside out and break down remember the city just wants to fight nothing doing, infatuated, drown in the lamp light, at night, the city thrives nobody sees the mice and rats scramble scramble, scramble, along Sheridan Road if we did not move outside the city definitely provincial, the bramble energetic squirrels in Evanston outside their attitudes, ciphers encode understanding underbelly, gritty tumble dry on low heat, the beat cops dance inside the doughnut shop, armed with a gun nothing but false authority, question the lie of our humanity, it kills ...
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Aliyah Yerida ~ Tuesday, August 11, 2026

Is there no love in this world anymore If I told you, I believe, for a lark silence, your face turns crimson with anger theater of distress, as you could guess how I came to lose my faith in the dark enlightenment of a wraith, a specter rest like a sheet on a wooden hanger exceptions to the rule, I say, God bless nothing stands in the way, am I a fool only you did not sneeze, ask the rector leave me alone, humanity, I turn over in my small head, the clouds that pass virtue is a thing-in-itself, I burn eternal life with an idea so crass imagine a choir of boys at school not a voice heard, only farts from armpits this is not the beginning of the end history teaches us an illusion is there no love in this world, little shits sniffling, snotty, young brats, what can I do window to the world, recline to ascend only music, my dream, my delusion rest assured, I must die, if not now, then leave it to the Piedmontese , a shoe drops, we wait for the other shoe, as well ...
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It is the runner that makes the shoe great ~ Saturday, August 8, 2026

As it is not the shoe that makes the runner so, it is not the role that makes the man in business as in pleasure to treasure the other as sister and as brother in all affairs to make aware presence such is the meaning found in the mirror nothing but introverted language games obvious to mind monadic nomads to see how nothing moves but the senses thoughts appear in the sky as fluffy clouds how is it people cannot see these thoughts everything changes over time but space shove the stone angel face and meditate how people ignore the rules of the road only to complain bitterly, so bold everyone observes the changes, the ground that quakes and shifts, back and forth, back and forth how contrived as imagination dreams arguments valid and not invalid to recognize what is sound or unsound monsters imaginary become real asinine as a prophesy fulfilled kindness hidden in truth, yet in plain sight everywhere different yet the same, to hear signals and smell the smoke as re...
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Down Memory Lane ~ Saturday, August 8, 2026

Do you remember when we were children of course, you pinned me down and tickled me yet, because this took place behind closed doors of course, so much more happened in our house understood, mom and dad were gone at work remember how you were a child back then each time, I look back, I remember this memories are funny that way, trauma enfolds just like diverticulitis maybe foreshadowing how dad would die blurry, fifty years later, the torture each time, I look back, I remember pain remember inexpressible sorrow when you have no one to turn to, family honestly, for many, an ugly word each time, I look back, more out of habit not just a need to remember the hurt we were not close and would never be close each time, proximity nearly killed me were children meant to be left all alone each time, you blew your bad breath in my face remember, mom called me an elephant each time, like when we found our Keeshond dead children are known not to be nice or kind how did I sur...
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Eat Me ~ Friday, August 7, 2026

John 6:57 57  Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. --- Just because...is that not enough for you, until I met her, I chose death, my own sitting still as a monk, clouds in my mind throwaway lives, how sad, gray skies turn blue answer the question before me, this pain search the whole universe, my skin is brown the fact that I cannot see, am I blind honestly, what is the point to this life each day, I wake up with nothing to gain living so long, I feel like an old man invest in the future, is that a joke visions of suffering, the world to span insist that others must feel just how broke normal people, ever so full of strife give guidance, as if full of light, what lies Father, I met a young woman, we spoke as if we knew each other, as old friends thanks for all the angels, all in disguise however, I still cannot make much sense each day, with no money, I wake up broke really, what is th...
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Good Morning, Sugar Bowl ~ Thursday, August 6, 2026

First thing, in the morning, I cut a line in the morning, a razor blade, Franklin religiously, a novena, nine days suffer the rosary, mirror supine taste the sweetness, Walter, my dad is dead think you know better child, a shot of Glen hollow within, embrace the creep, displays in the windows as I pass on the street now, am I awake or asleep, instead given nothing matters but delusion illusory, hit a bump in the road nothing but confusion, this illusion this imaginary throne, take a seat heated as a carseat in wintertime emissary of the devil, barn owl millions and millions in the bank, I sank on the golf course, a hole in one, my crime rests with the defense in a court of law normal, this morning routine runs afoul in the eyes of observers, still I drank needlessly, to numb my body of pain given I scuttle with my ragged claw I drink as a dictum, get drunk and high cupidity with a bottle of gin understand, dear reader, how much it pays to stay alive, healthy, and not decline asinine, m...
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