In the middle of the morning
At the start of a day
I saw the beaming lights of distant
Loving people finding long waves
From celebrated corners of the fairest stellar side
They came to give us pleasant dreams
Came to help us find
In those beams of blistered vision
Pulling up to heaven
There was no resistance from the lambs
Floating into mother ship’s wombs
Landing in new feet again
This is the future we had dreamt
A utopia of science and emotion
The religion of standing still
And the blasphemy of angry will
Sent this vessel first to extinguish
Now to experience a wandering flight
Into what was once considered night
Now it’s seen as it unfolds
To be a long story not yet told
Our insignificant stance in the infinite dance
Of matter and importance none
The energetic transfer all to one
In magnetics we find solitude
Or disperse into a wash of atomic color
I await this coming wave
An invasion of the norm
The mighty ships of pirates
Arrive to free the earthly slaves.
science
Portable Black Hole
Is the Black Hole here too
Amidst the roll of hills
And still of water
I does follow me no matter
Can it be diverted like the stream
It wants to swallow all my dreams
Maybe I should fall in
Over expose my limited vision
Expand my particles beyond their capacity.
Let the funnel feed on me until the streaks of light are squeezed thin then dissolve into alternation
I should not fear the squeeze but I do
It’s my wholesome nocturnal home
The bridge into the central chamber
From the outermost bad behavior
When it’s done with me
I’ll know
Saturday is the Future
0 4 0 5 2 0 1 2 – the combination to the future. Digits have taken hold, swarmed and calculated our humanity. It’s not so bad, when I can get away into hills out of radiation’s way.
I’m like a paranoid alien-snatched renegade, waiting for the day the operation will be made. For all of us are to be disposed of, like so many articles of clothes of finicky consumer bodies fit with colorful bits.
My courage must be quick, undoubting, or the fans this shit will hit. Keep a low eye on the overhead situation. Always know the quick route to the underground compounds.
I hate to make such frightened blade running sounds, but the sun will start to don a dimmer light. The days will seem like disco Vegas nights, never knowing when to sleep. We’ll step out of body into dreams, regaling memory chips of better days before the neutron winter haze, when flowers lined the steel passageways.
Probe the data deeper still, before when grass coated feet roamed the hill and salvation seeped up from the ground and rained from the sky, pressing hard between this mortal goodbye. The future was so far away, the following afternoon or maybe the day after: Saturday.
Yes, Saturday was the bright and illustrious future. Please don’t make me go back—forward to the digitized black and video sun. I don’t want to lose the inclination of the hill I run. The composite formulation does not compare, nor does the filtered ventilators to this wild grass perfume air. Please, may I stay. Let me live in this state, even though I tremble knowing that this too is an algorithm, a bio-digital meta vision. There is no escape.
[unsolicited hopeful response follows]
If you can imagine what you’ll see, it’s not even close—beyond the construct of a low-voltage synaptic random access melancholy. But I indulge… What if this numero-visual race, and this endless hurtling through black space is suddenly understood to be a great journey, through the mythic dually proven hypothetic plasma-driven emotional magic dream heart, into the bright hot molten core of this Saturday?
The Grand Insignificance
What starts so seemingly big, ends in supreme insignificance. A nervous feeling, a throbbing sinus structure, a number of swishing thoughts through the mental membranes–all conspire to fabricate a reality of facts.
Then I look up at the early April Sun, warming my face from more millions of miles away than I can understand. This perspective is not a thought, but shift of reality, and it comes slamming into earth like a meteor, a contextually small particle that can easily disrupt the temporary function of another larger particle.
The science may astound, but it is the vast mystery that fills me. The insignificance of it all is what makes me feel grand.
Martian Returns Home to Earth
Martian touches down again on his new blue planet. His red home is long since gone. He’s been to this bar before. It grows familiarity slowly like crystal formations from the salt caves of his youth. This time it seems different. His complexion is somehow paler. His voice is steady with inflections of the native species. Where once situations used to baffle and confuse, he reconciles the mood with modicum of pleasure. The genetic structure unfolds further. Waves of nostalgia pour generously. He now wants to come home to his new home, in the wild frontier of non-chloride social atmosphere. He still checks as his breath deepens. Test it for noxious carbons. It’s safe now. The acclimation has been successful.
Space in Between
What are these sounds? Vowels and consonant Japanese? It pleases me to know that this city brings the world together.
Still we all see ourselves as separate, different. Sometimes I see the ever changing infinite variety of an organism. Whole and complete, not in a goofy hippy sense, but in a completely unfathomable scientific mystical babies born from thin air number of stars equals grains of sand why did she do that I’ll never understand sort of way.
What about the space in between the electrons protons neutrons quarks and strings. It’s an inward fractal spiral of thought if my mortal mind gets caught. It must be love. The intangible antimatter anti energy. The force that binds.
I’ve pondered this space in between, the thoughts taking me to places I care to never see again. Now there is peace in the not knowing. And that space is growing. Letting in much more of that which I will never know.