1…2…3...

Stylized. Chic. Logistically situated atop a precipice that has yet to peak. We are alive, fully functional, yet inherently winded.  We live as we live, ignorant and often ignored.  Flourishing in a sad derangement of philosophy, a tenor trembles, the trebles high, the bass is broken, and the backsides collide in slates filled by worthless plights. We are clustering in collapsible rings, and so the relics flicker to a new decree, instilled anew in 1…2…3…

A high-fructose dichotomy exists. The bling is sated on the side of outdated radio.  There’s an alto sax playing, a barometric drop a-glow with pressure. With the weather here who can know?  Forward marching so shall we go?  Alive, aloof, we are so disbelieving, always looking for that definitive shred of proof, without, it’s all but din and cacophony, a wasted sound spins in 1…2…3…

After and before, before and after, centers of attention, mid-points for disaster, high-strung, low brow, tensions mount, tackle box without bait, we can’t wait, we can’t wait, to be free, to be free, never begins in 1…2…3…

Hi-fi, new wave, Wi-Fi enabled sense of shame, a sentinel, vanguards of tradition take the fall, are decorated with blame, a livewire flickers in the rain, shocking, shocking, mounted atop the roof of mind, finding shelter beneath a tree, electrocution starts in 1…2…3…

a stack of smoke breaks free life’s soot, in stereo, in stereo…history beginning once again, do you believe, can you believe, streaming live in 1…2…3….

Algorithms.  Anomaly’s.  Stars, bars, lines and code, cracking, breaking free, a dynamic apostrophe relates in 1…2…3…

A variety of translucency bleeds light. A latent vibration echoes a shiver. Illustrations and details, set a sail as elusive, it is nature this is not conclusive.  The words are but representations of what could be. They are only symbolic remnants, ruminations of sound, shattering, stinging, stringing bolts together lightning fast, from which an atomic breeze is distinct…sparkling strong in 1…2…3…

Eardrums bleed with potential. Insinuations label the disturbed and mental, a domination of the populace speaks to the decibels herein found, loud and proud, pounding pavement without the soles of shoes ever once touching down to the stone of ground. Lies start their spree in 1…2…3…

Pride, mounted, jib to spar, cards dealt near and far, gonna let her ride, gonna double down.  With a bluff so strong, you’ll have to have the cards to match or else victories pronounced in 1…2..3…

A fire-fight on planet Nero, golden bricks amassing zero, half-life dwindling, flashing fast, quicker than a video blast, sub-cultured species, harnessed-reined, these are but men, yet still heroes of a different dream, sandman strikes in 1…2…3

Another place, another, realm, cast iron, zinc-plated, breast-plate smell. Glistening, gleaming shapes, photons, protons, electrons swell as a neuron’s beam berates us well, pattering upon the trip of wires, higher, higher, the pikes backed up, there’s no way out, doubting the magnitude of what has just transpired, anarchy.  Rioting in 1…2…3…

A turning zephyrs tail-spun wisp, whipping round, made to shift, retching trees up from root. The severed cracks spanning the ground, all is lost, nothings found.  In a place so high, like Kansas singing from the sky, Carry on my wayward friend, one day soon we’ll make amends.  Until then, the past must persist as long as our breaths still mist, gone again, gone again, marching orders coming quick, dialysis is pronounced, the bile’s thick, black in nature, mankind's sick, the bile’s thick, grey-black-brown-green cultivating this damaged scene, action cutting back in 1…2…3…

A serial apprentice in a frost-bit state, alleviating a pressure mostly high, it’s gonna blow, it’s gonna blow, anxiety trembles as tension grows, flames ignite and the tragic flows, every swiftly, ever long, the pastures are a plenty, the iron-work is not as strong as we thought.  We were wrong, we were wrong…our actions erred, our plots are lost, we’ve been caught, red-hands bleed green.  Disgrace curtsies in 1…2..3..

We twiddle our thumbs and hum our tunes, pass the buck and shoot the stag.  There are those that believe in life yet quickly opt for death. These are the yellow that we see, climbing so high up into trees, scared stiff like cats with claws exposing themselves in 1…2…3…

Little green men are arming up. They live below ground, underneath the craters of the moon, some live in fear, others change their gears, holding signs, praying to, whatever probes they will soon find.  Ineptitude reaffirming in 1…2..3…

A lulling gaze is cast, it shines down upon me and you, you and me, and there we are and here we see, a fallen society, reflected upon in 1…2…3..

Fear swims into and out of mind.  Some gets broken; some are bound. Some lose sight; others are slighted before ever being truly found. Numbing in 1..2…3…

 There is true evil in play. It does exist, in the arbors and the groves, in our biases and the hate that grows. It’s danger dangles in the wind, it’s hounds are hunting, the scent is strong, lost soon becomes found, humanity is digging their own plots to lie, worldwide evacuation begins in 1…2…3…

Shingled, shackled, neon sight, jingle, jangle, brilliant, bright, final, finale, fragments, finite, tragic flow, traffic flow, oh so slow, all have stopped to watch the world have itself a go, fireplugs, arsonists, jitterbugs are juking jabs and shuttling stabs, we are as one here in this plan, painful… pain, Houston called.  Problem’s been solved.  Another acronym bleeds another sign.  Abbreviations activate their launch.  They start the clock that’s ticking free. Countdown’s commencing in 1…2…3….

Fireflies in the sky, burning through the night, galactic tumults sure shine bright. The comet’s tail is trailing nigh.  See the ripsaw shredding through its test.  Violating it’s own principles for the camera.  So many are all too eager to show who’s best, itching to dominate all things in view.  Close your eyes and deeply breathe, this may get ugly in 1….2…3…

A conditioned response rings that bell. Sounding chimes, pealing well. The heat, it grows.  The sweltering spells a new communion steeped in heat.  In every nook a glutton hides.  In every shadow there lives a knife.  Greed’s apace in 1…2…3…

1 to 3

1, 2, 3.

One to two

Two to three,

all is changed, yet nothing has. All is through, all is done. Escape routes hatch. Eyes now see.  Eyes believe. What a view, what a view, yet never realizes, it’s simply the same sights they’ve always been accustomed to. Reframing stirs a new beginning in 1…2….3…

For all that’s happened, for all that’s been done, we can only pray something positive from this comes.  Hope commences in 3…2…1…

In Gelatinous Space

listen to ‘In Gelatinous Space’ on Audioboo

Of confitures sealing in the sweet

marmalade’s enduring quest for the conservancy

and the prompting of deliquesce—urging forth a fluctuation, setting still degrees of cogency—in thaw, until only trickling liquidity is left

It’s like the world’s been doused at first

and then drowned as its movement’s been rehearsed

And here, you find your entirety’s been smothered in pectin,

sluggishly plodding limbs throughout, the coagulating terrain

to which the self stirs silently about

Perspectives alter

as once steadfast points of view

diminish then dissolve, deteriorating

in the hesitancy you’re flailing within

Perspectives vary—from the numb to the decayed

stewards of thought, dream, surrender, then dream again,

seemingly all a part of something apportioned someplace that’s ever been above and beyond the ideals instilled by mortal hands

Ordnances are found, and in such hidden estates, we locate the

weaponry we’d forfeited many days ago

Preponderances accumulate in algid states

where what was deemed luxurious not long before

it stares you down, evangelizing the integral salience,

that’s always been deferred, yet never ceded its importance

to the very game you’ve claimed to, if not tame, then at least to have trained

Sludge, slag within coulees of expansive sight

oozing, seeping through scoria, basally encapsulating the prism’s light

arms, legs with their passions cooled

by embalmed gelatinous masks of glazing drook

ingratiating oneself to such confounded states of reality

wriggling, jiggling, writhing still, in a glistening sense of dream

porridge-like moments, inspiring deflation and its merry bands

of stagnant clans, coiling then collapsing, around, within, stifling drive and

breeding a yearning, for a solidity ever-after permanent in its stability

Bubbling becomes ever fixated upon the stories of escapade

dripping frozen space in timeless states of catatonic embrace

beyond the lips, chilling illustrations impart their never thawing

artistry—formed at the point of first gasp, forever indicating the escutcheons detailed embodiment of gelid finality  

Theology of Sin

Broad strokes invade the subtlest

Placidity, with an entourage of corrosive

inhibitions, the boon of tranquility-swathed

picaresque.

Dashed by despondency and ire, inveracity

Grooms its toiled prepossession-brokering legerdemain

through generalities voiced in hearsay and

hegemony.

Salacious seeds ferment ensconced.

Suckling-in, nestled-upon, the undefiled teat

of ablution, that sees its wellspring dry in

retrocession.

A residuum of salubrious crumbs, the delicacy

for obsidian aphrodisia, effuses. Contravention’s valiance,

amidst vituperrious flood, ultimately wanes, in slumping 

abnegation.

Marketing Campaigns

Marketing Campaigns

Evil charmed a CLEO with it’s:

Building Hate…One Ire at a time

Campaign

Blindness caught a whirlwind of media attention for its:

Visions you just don’t see everyday

Not for profit promotional plea

Pain, promoted itself well with the spin heard round the world:

For the agony that aches each day….Pain is free

Not surprisingly, Weakness failed, when first airing its PSA:

Feebly crawling toward futility

Indecision idled, it wasn’t sure, but thought perhaps their program

Advice for the decidedly undecided

Could potentially offer something some may or may not decide upon

Other notables:

Failure: Victory’s lost are losses gained

Hope:  Dreaming above reality

Confusion: The Vaguest of The Vague: Hazy Descriptions of Possible Possibilities

Deceit:  1.   Truthfully fabricating since…

             2.  Deception: Available in Every Language

 Well, I missed my first day posting yesterday.  Between this and that I just couldn't get on-line yesterday.  I'm going to make up for it later on.  I have a few posts going up today but just looked at the clock, so I'll have to post this one, which is just some fun I was jotting down.  I'll post the others later and then try to catch up on two days of reading, hopefully this thing I have today won't take that long.